The End

My Garden

Carpenter's Point, MD

November 2016

Today marks the end of my Garden 2016. Now, everything will be bare until that first purple crocus peaks through the ground some time in March.  Already, I can’t wait to see Garden 2017.

The Other Math Bitch

The Other Math Bitch
Sister Celestine
Merion Mercy Academy
Merion Station, PA
1970-71


She was tall, rigid and purposeful in all of her movements. She had porcelain skin and jet black hair.  She was attractive in a stern way. She was a nun so her looks were not necessarily important to her (or so I thought).

She taught Geometry to the 10th graders.  She enjoyed math and she tolerated her students.  Sometimes she was so oblivious to us it felt as if we were not even in the room with her as she explained one theorem after another.  She never checked for any understanding.  Getting through her lesson was her only priority.  In hindsight, she may have been labeled with Asperger's Syndrome by today's standards.

She learned our names but never took an interest in anything else about us.  She didn't greet us or ask how we were doing. She marched in everyday, opened her books, instructed us to stand for a prayer, instructed us to sit down and then began her lesson; all in one sentence.

Every day we had a quiz. She stood in front of the classroom and dictated 10 problems to us. Then she would instruct us to pass our sheets to the girl behind us and collectively we corrected each other’s papers. Around the third day of school we talked amongst ourselves at lunchtime and decided that we would help each other with these quiz grades. And so when we each received the others’ quiz, we corrected answers so that all of us passed the quizzes.

It baffled the nun to see that so many of us could past the daily quizzes but then fail so miserably on the major test. Regardless of our contrasting grades she just didn’t seem to care. She suspected nothing and we continued every day to change answers and grades to the benefit of each other. Finally, one classmate surrender to her conscience and told on us. Sister Celestine marched into class that day shaking in anger. She was frightening. Her face was beat red. Her tone was curt and demeaning. She spoke to us with what seemed like hatred to me. It was ugly.

However, the next day we resumed our daily routine and resumed our responsibility to grade each other’s quiz and we resumed our commitment to help each other. We were just not so obvious anymore.

We had a major test maybe every two weeks. Many of us failed miserably. We had to take this tests home to be signed by both parents. I remember telling my mother about this mandate and she was highly offended. That brought me great delight. I always liked it when my mother didn’t like something about my teachers. She thought the nun’s decree conveyed mistrust within her marriage. She didn’t like the thought that my grades would not be discussed between my parents. With this insight into my mother’s thinking, I somehow talked myself into believing that was okay to forge my father signature on this test and every future test.

Then I started thinking it was a good idea to forge both signatures on every test. That plan worked well for me for quite a while. But then I got caught and Sister Celestine confronted me. I told her that I had signed a test but with my mother’s approval. I told her that my mother was out of town, at a conference for a week and my mother suggested I signed the test on her behalf. The nun believed me and I escaped any consequences for my actions. And her indifference to the truth just fueled my defiance towards her.

She loved to solve theorems. She would stand at the board and whip through a problem in a frenzy. When she finished she would turn to us, delighted with her success and ask "does everybody see that”. Nobody ever responded and she just continued with the next problem. It didn’t matter to her that we often did not understand. She was only interested and getting to her lesson plan. And so the year progressed without any interactions amongst us, without any real understanding of geometry and without any regret of this wasted experience.

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A Ticket To Heaven

A Ticket To Heaven

Our Lady of Lourdes School

Philadelphia, PA

1962-1966

I went to Catholic school and the nuns at my school pride themselves in knowing everybody’s family business. They spewed negative, judgmental inferences as if it were their duty part of god’s work. And they would often prod and probe all sorts of private family matters. Divorces were shamed. Families that said the rosary together were praised. Public recognition was made of those who attended Sodality with their mothers. And the discovery of a non- Catholic family member was scorned and ridiculed. “These people were not going to heaven,” a nun once told me.

As a seven-year-old this thought weighed heavy on my heart. My grandparents weren’t Catholic. Ida, my grandmother, was raised as a Catholic but left the church when she married my grandfather, Jack. He didn’t have any religion background but when we cornered him for an answer he told us he was a Mason. And while I didn’t know what a Mason was, I did know that wasn’t good enough. You had to be a Catholic if you wanted to go to heaven.

 If Ida and Jack were at our house on Sunday, Ida joined us for church. She wasn’t really going because of her religious convictions. She was just going because she always like to be part of the crowd. Jack would stay home and enjoy the quiet and complete the Sunday crossword puzzle. And I would saunter off to church worried about his soul.

Jack was a very kind man so I couldn’t understand why he didn’t want to be Catholic. I prayed for his conversion. And whenever I earned a crucifix or a religious statute for good behavior, I put it away for Christmas or for his birthday. I would take it out wrap it as nicely as I could and presented to him on one of these special occasions.  He would thank me with such a sincerity that I thought for sure he loved his gift. And deep down I hoped that this cross, this rosary, this statue would be the one gift that finally sparked a glimmer of conversion in him. But it never did.

Years later after Jack was long gone, my mother and I talked about all these religious artifacts that my siblings and I gave him in abundance. My mother told me the behind our backs he would laugh at the collection of religious artifacts he had received. “Great!  Another damn crucifix,” he would tell my mother and the two of them would laugh.

I don’t know if there is a heaven or not.  But if there is, I am sure Jack will be there.  And I hope those mean-spirited nuns are elsewhere.  What audacity to frighten little kids.

Winter Solace

Winter Solace Ceremony
Sweat Lodge
Rising Sun, MD
December 20, 2013

I always wanted to go to a Winter Solace Ceremony.  I didn't quiet know what was involved. But I imagines some drumming, chant, celebration, good food, good beer, good spirits and goodwill.  But I could never find a ceremony near me.

In causal conversation, an acquaintance told me about a local ceremony and I inquired about how I could participate.

"You have to be invited.  It's by invitation only," she let me know. "You can't just show up."  Now she spoke to me as if I was rude for even suggesting that I might participate.

So when my friend told me that her step-father offered a celebration on his property and I was invited, I was elated.

"What do I bring?", I eagerly asked.

"First, I'm just telling you, it's way out there;  lots of kooks come to this thing.  So don't get all dressed up.  Wear something like a towel in the sweat lodge and something comfortable to change in to later.  And bring something for dinner.  Everyone brings something to share".

"Are you coming, why don't you come?" I begged just a little bit because I wanted the company.

"I went once and that was enough for me. Those people are fanatics." She was adamant. "Once was enough".

So I went.  I had the option of going at 8 AM which was when they were going to begin to heat the rocks.  The pit was dug up the night before and the rocks would heat up for 5 hours.  The participants could arrive any time after that to get ready.  The ceremony started around 1 PM and would last for roughly four hours.

I showed up around noon and made my way to the field.  People were already busily making their prayer offerings. I stumbled over to the crowd and introduced myself.

"Have you ever been to one of these?",  Sitting Goat asked me.

"No, no. No I haven't, I responded nervously.  I was a excited but nervous when I got up this morning.  But now that I was here with Sitting Goat and Hard Bull and Grey Coyote, I was just nervous.  As I scanned my immediate environment, I thought that maybe, just maybe, this was yet another moment in my life where I was grossly out of my element.

We had to take twigs, swatches of cloth and a pinch of tobacco which we bundled all together.  The cloth swatches were blue, red, white and yellow. Each color symbolized the earth, water, air or smoke. The tobacco symbolized something and other pertinent information was thrown at me and immediately, I felt inferior because too much information was coming at me and I was expected to understand all of this and make specific offerings to compensate where I was lacking in water, earth, air or smoke issues.  I was also told that I was to offer prayers which corresponded with these elements. Suddenly I was overwhelmed so I began to assess how I could be more of a spectator rather than a participant in this event.

But then Running Buffalo sauntered over and asked us to crawl in to the lodge.  This was it.  We entered a structure that was tightly covered in blankets and tarps. There was only one entrance and the opening was low tot he ground.  I had to kneel to get in and then crawl to a spot. We were crowded in there. Most of us were dressed in nothing more than a sarong or bed  sheet. We sat cross-legged and there was very little space. Blankets were placed on the bare ground but the snow and cold offered very little comfort or protection from the elements. Running Buffalo wanted to know who was here for the first time. Of the dozen people, three of us were new.  We were instructed to sit by the opening and told to pay attention to the heat.  If the heat got to be too much for us, we were told to leave but not until an appropriate break in the ceremony.  In other words, we were not to leave when Father Rock was being added to the smoke pit. And we were to crawl out backwards as we left.

Running Buffalo cleared his throat and then prayed to the stars and the sky and the sun.  He summoned the guardian of the rocks. With that Hard Bull entered the lodge, carrying a molten hot rock which he transported with deer antlers. He laid it on the smoke pit. We all thanked Father Rock.  Hard Bull crawled out of the lodge, Running Buffalo poured water on the pit and stream filled the lodge.

We threw our earth offerings in the pit and the smell of tobacco filled the smokey structure.Then, one by one, we went around the room and people offered individual prayers and concerns about their earth issues. i panicked a little bit because I wasn't sure what an earth issue was.

"When I pick up a handful of dirt, I want to praise Mother Earth.  I love her and I love that we can grow food and nourish our bodies.  But how do we nourish our souls?  How do we do this?  I pray to find ways to nourish my soul", said the first woman.

Others followed her lead of thanking Mother Earth. But then very quickly, people started becoming more personal and divulging very serious hardships. Many of them cried as they tried to get their story out.  I made up my mind to keep all of my prayers upbeat and thankful. This moment was not going to be a therapy session with these kooks.

As we finished our prayers to the earth, Hard Bull was summoned in again and another rock was added to the pit.  More water was pour and more steam filled our space.  The air got hotter.  We threw in our water offerings. The people's issues got more intense.  I struggled with quitting or staying. The heat wasn't bothering me. But the public praying made me uncomfortable. I stayed and just kept my prayers as shallow as possible.

After we prayed to all of the elements, we crawled out of the lodge.  I was so stiff from sitting in this cramped position that it was a struggle. I ripped my sarong as I attempted to maintain my modesty but I think Hard Bull may have gotten a compromising glimpse of me.

The crisp winter air slapped me in the face.  Immediately I was very cold but my clothing was way up at the house.  And the ceremony wasn't over.  We gathered in a circle and Hard Bull offered us a peace pipe. I didn't participate as I was a nonsmoker. We stood barefooted as the pipe went around the circle. Running Buffalo asked us to reflect on our blessings and peace. And the ceremony was over.

We rushed back to the house and got in to our warmer clothing. A few minutes later, dinner was served and I become aware of how hungry I was.  As I woofed down food, I heard people talking about their next pagan event. They rattled off one event after another and they committed to  attending all of them.  I had one thought on my mind: finish up, get out of here and take this event off my bucket list.

Erroneous Assumptions

Erroneous Assumptions
Cecil County Democratic Club Headquarters
Elkton, MD
November 2, 2016



I am in the headquarters of our Democrat Club. An old, crusty, heavy set, white man walks in and it is easy to stereotype  him as an old fart Republican. He looks around doesn't seem to see what he is looking for.  I ask if he needs any help.

 "Do you have a Hillary yard sign?" he asked.  

I had been told not to give out any more yard signs so I told him, "No."  

"That's too bad because I want all my neighbors to see that I voted for Hillary.  I'm a Republican and I can't vote for that man.  I can't vote for any man who brags about assaulting women.  I want my neighbors to see my sign." 

 I just wanted to grab him and hug him.  Instead, I thanked him and gave him a lawn sign.