A Tiny Piece of Blue, cast in 1934 rural Michigan in the winter months, tells the harrowing story of a dirt-poor girl abandoned by her parents to fend for herself during the Great Depression. In the course of Silstice’s struggle for survival, she comes into her own. “Silly,” technically orphaned after her parents’ house burns down, gets on with a kind farm woman, Edna, who dotes on her but who is powerless in getting her husband on board to help the kid. One cannot fathom how crustaceous and heartless the old man Vernon is. He may not know any better, and his farm may be down the hill too.
Poverty Close Up
It’s a heart-breaking, close-up look on destitution and poverty. Penny-pinching pain. Charlotte gets into the heads of all three at-risk main characters: Silly the destitute, the kind woman, the self-righteous man—all three shine a light on the plight each from their own perspectives. The pace, the writing, the research, the sensitivity—are awesome! Charlotte does a wonderful job of bringing a critical part of American history alive in this close-up. Child trafficking adds to the wild adventure. Many lost boys roamed the country on cattle wagons during that time. That’s why Boystown came into existence.
Resilient Characters
And what a juxtaposition of characters: Silstice, the matter-of-fact orphan who struggles for survival, takes on Vernon. The tight-wad, heartless curmudgeon does not seem to know any better than to subjugate his wife. In contrast, the kind-hearted, do-gooder wife Edna, in lieu of not having children of her own, takes a gaggle of 4-H girls under her wings. As the story takes one breathless turn after another, the prospects change, mostly getting more dire and haphazard. And the characters change too. Is there yet a spark of kindness in Vernon or is he all business with the girl?
The pairing of a life-wise, hardened curmudgeon with a young girl facing the realities of life is a crafty presupposition for Charlotte’s character development. She stages her characters at a farm, a library, and the county fair at a time when the survival power of one dollar is another week.
A Tiny Piece of Blue (find out what is blue) is a wonderfully gripping read. I couldn’t put it down until it was finished. A Tiny Piece of Blue is available on Amazon.
Florian is a tough little boy battling leukemia, quite a hero
By Renate Mousseux
Once upon a time there was a house named “Loretto 8,” a great three-story home to three different families.
On the first floor lived a family who had a grocery store. The family had two daughters, Uli and Margie. On the second floor, the owner of the house lived with his beautiful wife Rita and two daughters Gabi and Suzie. On the third floor lived a lady with her niece, Renate, “moi.”
Everybody got along great, all the girls were friends, and are still friends to this day! I moved to America, but we are all still in very close contact.
To my great joy, they all visited me on different occasions in the States. In the USA, I became a foreign language teacher, German and French. Usually, I traveled to Germany once a year at the end of my guided Educational Tours. I have retired since and not traveled because of my health conditions.
Uli married, moved to Switzerland, and became the owner of a successful dental laboratory. Margie took over the grocery store. Gabi graduated with a doctorate in Indology. Suzie moved and worked in another city, married, and had a wonderful son.
That great son is now an adult, successful, and has a family of his own. And low and behold, they have a beautiful son, Florian. He is lively and very intelligent, well spoken, and just an all-around great boy.
Suzie, the grandmother, is so very proud of Florian. Every long-distance phone call we had, she told me wonderful stories about her grandson. Until this one day: she called and related to me that Florian, 6 years old by now, has developed cancer, Leukemia.
We were all extremely touched and saddened by this sad news. He is in and out of the hospital and receives chemotherapy. The parents and family deal courageously with the situation. But the real hero is Florian who still smiles and submits to all treatments as required.
The nurses love Florian and are so impressed. They insisted to take a photo with him because he is such a wonderful young patient. He explained in detail to his parents and grandmother what medications he needs to take and their effects. Florian is amazing, he pays careful attention to all instructions given by the doctors. In the recreation room he has a tricycle, which he loves and uses. He races around with it so fast that the father has the hardest time following him with the transfusion stand.
There is also a girl who was also just admitted with leukemia. They befriended each other.
I thought maybe a bandana would cheer Florian up a bit, he could be a little “German Bandana Cowboy.” I live in Arizona, where I see many cowboys. I sent him a red bandana like theirs, and yes, I was right: he did like my present.
My friends sent me a great photo of Florian proudly wearing the bandana. What a joy!!!
If I win a prize for this true story I will forward the entire $ amount to little Florian to fulfill any wish of his.
My wish is also that this story will have a happy ending like all stories beginning with “once upon a time.” The great difference is: The above is a true, real-life story and not a fairy tale!
For all of you who pray, please do so.
For people with strong mental abilities, send positive energy please.
This is archaic, I know. I should have done this on Instagram or Snapchat or at least Facebook. But here is a collection of snaps, match ups of regular people with famous people. These images from US Magazine (I am kidding) are no selfies either.
Why do we take pictures with famous people? We want some of the stardust fame rub off on us too.
I remember how cranked up I was about meeting Alice Cooper in person. As a teenager in Germany, I had his Bravo poster up on the wall, blackened eyes and all. On that day, Alice was promoting a friend’s sandwich shop. Alice Cooper, bad boy rock’n roller, is now a celebrity for saving the youth with his program Solid Rock. He has a music studio each for budding musicians in Phoenix and Mesa.He gets the youngsters engaged and off the street. I have visited Solid Roch with my student groups. A neat place!
I am certainly not a stage hog. But—The most famous picture, which I had always wanted, would have been with Elvis Presley. I was only a teenager when he died, cried my eyes out. But Gisela Solms-Wildenfels got a shot with Elvis when he was stationed in Germany. I stumbled into Gisela at a flea market in Wolfratshausen, where she was selling Hummel cups and other trinkets. She is of that Elvis generation. And this one encounter gave her joy to last a lifetime. She gifted me a copy of her Elvis picture.
Kurt Warner & Susmita
And on the story goes. I am not a sports crack, but I could pick out Kurt Warner (Arizona quarterback, 2005-2009) on our flight back from Omaha to Phoenix. We had attended a country music festival in Le Mars, Iowa. The football legend agreed to a photo with the cutest of us, Susmita. She didn’t know who we snapped her with, but it made me happy. Old reporter soul. Can’t ever switch off my scanning mode in an airport.
There are many more incidents of brushes with fame. Sometimes we don’t even realize when a celebrity passes by. I missed my chance to take a selfie with Max Raabe from the Palast Orchester. Oh, well. Better luck next time.
AnnElise arrested by TV cops Hubert & Staller (Christian Tramitz, Helmfried von Lüttichau)
Arduino co-founder Tom Igoe, remote controlled man Josh, and Priyanka Makin
AnnElise, AZ Attorney General Kris Mayes, Jeanne Devine, Randy Miller (SRP Board)
AnnElise, Kate Earley, and painter Jack Earley on Valentine’s Day in Loveland
The Bandana Book II was well received at the launch party. Thirty guests with international backgrounds celebrated the UNUSUAL ENCOUNTERS in the newest Bandana edition. With 24 delightful stories, the new Bandana Book is bigger and better than the first. Hopefully, it keeps going.
People came from just as many countries as backgrounds. We had a lot of amazing talent from India, Sri Lanka, Germany, Peru, Finland, Colombia, Latvia, cross-USA, and even home-grown Arizona talent. Let’s see where all the bandana stories and guests come from.
DAN BALDWIN, Bandana Author
is a prolific Mesa writer, ghostwriter, author, public speaker. He has two new titles out:
“My new how-to book on writing, I’m Looking for People Who Can’t Write Good – Random Brilliance, Brainstorms and Blogs on Writing is now available in ebook, paperback, and hardcover.
My latest paranormal non-fiction book will be released by the end of June –The Sky People and Our Ancestors. I’ll be appearing on podcasts Conflict Radio,on Shifting Paradigms In Medicine, and on The Typical Skeptic in June.”
is a writer, cowgirl poet, and reenacter of the Western glory days of the Wickenburg Marshals in Arizona. She teaches art and gives art therapy in her art studio or behavioral centers. She spends as much time as she can writing. You can find all her meanderings and writings atwww.americancowboyjournal.com or at www.jeantolle.com
RAINE (KEYA HUNTS-IN-WINTER), Bandana Author
Raine won the Imakinations “Totally Young Writer” Award. She is at her young age–going to be a sophomore in high school–a prolific writer of fan fiction and fantasy stories. She likes to dive into online platforms and has gotten an amazing response in cyber space.
NOEL ALVAREZ, Bandana Author
Noel is a longtime school counselor with Mesa Public Schools and over the years has served many families in the Native American Education Program, until she recently transferred into another position. She is Navajo and Muskogee Creek. She has improved many a student’s outlook in life. She makes anyone feel better with her gracious smile.
BETTY MERMELSTEIN, Bandana Author
“My latest publication: This is Fetch, an illustrated children’s book published by Pegasus Publishers. My books for children and adults can be found at Punkynotes, including published poetry and short story links.”
Tuula, now living in Henderson, NV, is a native of Finland and a world traveler. She has enjoyed encounters with Jane Seymour, James Patterson, and other celebrities. She likes to read true crime stories and mysteries along the lines of Patterson. She has written about two suspicious or criminal incidents.
UTA BEHRENS, Bandana Author
Uta Behrens has made her career as real estate investor. She has sponsored many educational and community organizations. In her golden years, she has authored 7 books: The Truth Seeker, Journeys in the Lifeboat, Journeys Into the Past, Ultimate Betrayal, Journeys into Foreign Lands, and Journeys as a Landlord. I enjoyed helping her produce the last two volumes.
TIM HUNTS-IN-WINTER
Tim is a member of the Lakota Standing Rock Reservation. He has been an advocate for Native rights and has worked as promoter and coach for Native youth in Mesa school system. He is also an excellent story teller and a treasure trove of Native American history. Lately, he has specialized in researching the Lakota code talker history of WWI and will soon publish a paper about his findings. Timothy Hunts-In-Winter
SRIANTHI PERERA
Srianthi is a professional, international journalist and book author with roots in Sri Lanka. She entered the book world with her well-received coming-of-age story, A Maiden’s Prayer. Srianthi recently published a humorous and educational travel story book that she coauthored with her childhood friend Romany, Two Friends on Many Roads.
INGE McKEEVER
Inge, with German and Latin American roots, has been a successful business woman, a Jill of Many Trades. She has the drop on fashion trends and is currently dealing in themed costumes. Special events and Halloween are keeping her real busy. As she has had much multilingual experience with the preschools she ran earlier, she is now working on a bilingual curriculum for children. It could be the next Rosetta Stone.
PATRICIA SAUNDERS
Patricia is the older sister to Inge (above). She recently documented her incredible life story in a memoir. Her journey led her from Ecuador to Colombia to finally Portland, Oregon. She overcame many challenges and professional obstacles to become a successful woman with great trust in God. Faith alone didn’t get her to the top; she worked hard for her success. A woman of her word, Patricia directly speaks her mind. Read up on her journey in From Surviving to Thriving.
MATT & MAYA KELLER
Matt (from New Mexico) and Maya (born in Lima, Peru) Keller are our long-time serendipity friends from church. Matt and Maya are expert trailblazers, and we enjoy their encyclopedic knowledge of hidden paths. Matt is a horticulturist and shares his experience with domestic and foreign fruit trees on his blog Phoenix Tropicals.
SANDE ROBERTS
Sande has been a mitigator for public organizations and a life/success counselor in schools and private practice. Her motto is “You can be the difference!” She now teaches workshops in suicide prevention, PTSD, Emotional Freedom Technique, and financial personality. Her book We Need to Talk about Suicide has received great attention. Recently, she also published a children’s book, Blake’s Great Day.
JEANNE DEVINE
Jeanne, our activist friend and founder of the grassroots organization Unlimited Potential in Phoenix, always inspires us to seek new adventures in humanitarian efforts.
as well as Dr. Inder Raj Singh Makin (host), Sarah Bohrer, Ruth Ann & Jerry Thacker, Rita Rucks, Debosree & Tamas, and everybody.
AUTHORS celebrating with us in Spirit:
ELISABETH SHERWOOD, Payson, AZ
Elisabeth is the inspiration and creator for the Bandana cover image. Her cowgirl, and now cowboy, collages are mysterious and humorous at the same time. You can see more of her art at INSTAGRAM.
CHRISTIAN BAUDY, Hamburg, Germany
Christian is a poet, painter, activist, and author. His German debut poetry collection Blättern unter Bäumen (Turning Pages below the Trees) appeared in 2021. In 2022, Christian published his first bilingual children’s book, Robert’s Teddy/Roberts Teddy. Sometimes Christian’s poems are coupled with paintings. His recent INSTAGRAM.
GISELA BAUDY, Hamburg, Germany
Gisela is a trained editor, and long-time freelance journalist, focusing on ecological and socio-economic change. Many of her poems can be found online and in her poetry volumes Worthaut (Word Skin), Blaues Ufer (Blue Shore), and Winter im April (Winter in April). She writes eco-social haikus, eleven-word poems, prose poems, and epigrams with her husband Christian Baudy. Follow her INSTAGRAM.
EMILY TOADVINE, Kentucky
Emily is this year’s first prize winner. She spent 25 years in journalism, mostly as features editor at a newspaper in Danville, KY. She now works in Kentucky’s bourbon tourism industry.
RENATE MOUSSEUX
Renate, originally from Freiburg, Germany, has been a lifetime educator in foreign languages, foremost German and French. She has documented her harrowing life story that ultimately led to great success through tenacity and ingenuity in her memoir, Renatle. After retirement, she has also become a body language interpreter and has evaluated witness behavior in famous criminal cases for TV stations. Her humanitarian activism is exemplary. She certainly has earned the Totally Humanitarian Trooper Award.
ZARCO GUERRERO, Mesa, AZ
Zarco Guerrero is an eminent figure in the Valley’s (Phoenix) cultural life. He is most well-known for his masterful masks that he carves or creates with papier maché, fabric, and other materials. He is also a community activist, philanthropist, story teller, performance artist, and historian. Zarco researched a much philosophical background behind the bandana, which is included in this collection. Find out more about him at Zarkmask.com
RUSS YOUNG, Kentucky
Russ is a photo historian who has researched a number of historic processes, such as cyanotypes and kalotypes. He gets called on many professional conventions that study the evolution of photographic chemistry. He has a keen eye for landscape photography. And he is a keeper of tradition to the point of reenacting parts of the same.
EDDA BUCHNER, Texas
Edda is a journalist and German correspondent living with her husband, Helmut, a sculptor, on a homegrown ranch near San Antonio, Texas. Edda has for many years shared her farm experience in her First Hand Living column in the New Braunfels newspaper and later collected her stories in a book called Texas Kaktuswein, Leben aus erster Hand. She continues, painting, writing stories, and gardening.
KATHERINE ZAWADA, Pennsylvania & Montana
Katherine is a first-year student at Swarthmore College by Philadelphia, PA. She earned herself a tennis scholarship and continues on the college path with top grades. If she keeps up the good writes, we will see a book from her soon.
BETH DOTSON, Kentucky
Beth won a prize in the first Bandana Book, but got too busy with her first novel. “This year, I will finally see one of my dreams fulfilled—my debut novel, Rooted in Sunrise, will be published and released into the world on September 17, 2024,” she writes in her newsletter. Aside from writing and publishing, Beth likes to get her hands dirty while gardening. bethdotsonbrown.net
VICKY LESCOE, Mesa, AZ
Vicky is a much cherished educator in the Mesa Public Schools system. She was recruited by her friend Noel to write a story about her hiking experience and knight in shining bandana. We hope she will write more for us.
HAPPY TRAILS to all of you writers! Keep up the good writes!
Environmental Day at the Capitolearlier this year, struck my memory chord like a gong chiming in my head. Activists from all corners had gathered on the Arizona Capitol grounds in Phoenix to lobby for water protection measures and have a word with their District reps.
Water rights are a hot topic in Arizona. All the Southwestern states’ livelihoods depend on their secure water resource, mostly the Colorado River share quotas.
The Colorado River is so dammed up that none of its waters reach the Gulf of California any more. Lake Mead, in 2023, was at its lowest since the Hoover Dam (1 of 15 Colorado River dams) was built. 2023 was another heat record year with 50+ days over 110F. It’s a damn’ dry situation. For many Native Americans, Navajos included, water has always been scarce.
My friends took me to Gallup. More precisely, a rural lot outside town on the Navajo reservation. I had been cautioned: there is no running water. So bring a pallet of bottles. For that part, there would also be no royal flush. I got it. Outhouse. No worries there. I had grown up on a farm with a Plumpsklosett.
A couple of miles on the north side of Gallup, my GPS turned me onto a dirt road. I made it across the narrow bridge, but was soon stopped by a curious horse in the middle of the road. Anyways, the rainy spring had made the road rutted, but after I got the hang of it, the tracks became quite passable.
It was a beautiful scene out here in the afternoon. The horizon started to take on an amber glow, the boulder mountains toned into a warm ochre, the blue zenith sky darkened to let the stars out, and the scarce pine trees poked their spiny arms into the fresh air. All was quiet out here, except for the dogs.
My friend’s house had a warm, cuddly, welcoming air to it. It was very much ranch-style in its decor with blankets, Native art, and the occasional antler. This was a much privileged outing for me, because a group of strong Native women shared their time and space with me. And I finally would get to see Window Rock, the Navajo capital, as well.
We had the most comfortable picnic with fine mattresses to sleep on. We were glamping on many things, television included. However, there was no running water. And you feel that right away. The kitchen had two large water containers by the sink, but, unlike rare wine, the water in it had not improved its taste since its delivery. It was only old and best used for washing dishes. And still, it seemed to be too precious for that as well. We used paper plates all the way through.
I learned fast: keep the hand sanitizer and wipes on the cabinet by the entrance for the bathroom trips, don’t drink too much, so you don’t have to go too often, and save your paper plate for the next meal. I learned to brush my teeth with bottled water and spit each mouthful into the desert bush. I had this urge–when preparing breakfast, making a sandwich, getting sticky fingers–to go to the sink. But the sink had no water. A long time ago, when the family still lived here, they carted in their water on a truck to fill the tank outside. But that was the old days.
Many Navajo families have no water lines going to their houses. Imagine, any and all water has to be hauled over long distances and bad roads. Imagine how hard it will be to maintain proper hygiene. Imagine how health-compromised individuals might suffer. Or what about elder and infant care? Staying well and healthy requires a reasonable amount of water.
Yes, on the second day I felt the dearth of water. My armpits got stinky. I wetted a Kleenex and went to work. But what about the long range? How would I keep clean, wash up, brush off the dust? I don’t think there was a creek nearby and many hopes for rain in the Southwest are in vain. All you can do, really, is drive to the next truck stop on IH 40 and use their public showers.
I wasn’t ready to do that just yet, but on the third day I hit the pedal to the metal to get home to my own comfort.
Back to the Environmental Day. One Native organization, Tó Nizhóní Ání (“Sacred Water Speaks”) from the Big Mountain community on the Black Mesa Plateau in NE Arizona, protested the industrial abuse (hydroelectric project) of water: The Black Mesa Pumped Storage Project.
Pumping groundwater to the top of a plateau to make it generate electricity—a questionable project. It would seriously endanger the aquifer. As of this February, three of such proposed pumped storage projects were fortunately denied. A remarkable victory for the Navajo environmentalists.
Native activists are fighting for the Earth and US ALL. Water is so precious. We think we know that. But that’s not enough. Someone needs to make us FEEL its preciousness.
Therefore I propose a universal
No-Water-Running Day
Switch off the water main in the evening and see how the next day goes. And touch no faucet at work or school either. Toilet included. Don’t flush. How will you get through the day? You will be allowed to prepare for the water emergency by your own design. But don’t forget: No water will run for you on tap. And why should it? Water needs a break too. It runs all the time.
Kreuzfeuer in Texas (Crossfire in Texas), a Western, is based on a true story. It happened during the Civil War (1861-1865) in Fredericksburg, Texas, Gillespie County. The German settlers, who had arrived 15 years earlier with the German Adelsverein emigration project, were against slavery. Therefore, in 1861, almost all Fredericksburg citizens voted against secession and for remaining in the Union. That was the beginning of a calamity. Immediately, all immigrants had to swear an oath on the Confederacy or be hanged, the Union Loyal League was disbanded, the young men sent to war, the old men recruited for the home defense. And the Comanche kept in check by the Frontier Regiment. Worst of all, in August 1862, a group of 61 German Unionists was slaughtered by the Nueces River on their way to Mexico. Their remains weren’t buried until after the war. Germans were afraid to draw more wrath on themselves.
Vereinskirche in Fredericksburg, TX
The hunt on the Germans was on. Self-declared partisan rangers pressed the settlers for money, food, goods, and valuables. Fredericksburg was terrorized by the Hängerbande for years. The top rabble rouser was a certain Captain Waldrip. He led especially vicious attacks on German citizens. In February 1864 the teacher and merchant Louis Schütze is murdered. His brother Julius Schütze reports that incident and the events following the murder in his 1886 Texas Vorwärts account “Meine Erlebnisse in Texas”. Julius initiates the prosecution of the murderers, which spawns off the Grape Creek massacre. I read Schütze’s account while researching German history in Texas. It made such an impression on me that 25 years later I decided to make a novel out of it.
Engelbert Krauskopf
We kept as close to the story as we could. My coauthor Georg Unterholzner and I introduced several Native American (Comanches) characters to the mix. They spruced up the points of view in this murderous tale of redemption. The real life model for our protagonist was the pioneer Engelbert Krauskopf. He was a pioneer, gun maker, business man, explorer, and master of many trades, as well as a community leader. He also kept friendships with Comanche chiefs.
Here is the Kreuzfeuer story: Eberhard Kohlkrug, the gun maker of Fredericksburg, is an ordnance officer for the Frontier Regiment. But he rather delivers his percussion caps to the Germans and their home defense. The Major presses him to produce more ammunition, his wife Rita becomes wary of their Comanche maid, the Indian raids are increasing, but Eberhard always plays it safe. Until his friend Louis is abducted. Eberhard gets his friend Matasane involved to recapture Louis. Too late. Louis body is still warm when they cut him from the live oak.
Julius Schütze rides up from Austin. He demands justice for his brother. The wolf pack does not like to be dragged in front of the judge. Now the events take a dramatic spin for the worse. One of the Waldrip gang, Gibson, threatens Eberhard several times about his ammunition, raids his shop, and rapes his Comanche maid. Eberhard is a reluctant hero, but Gibson had it coming. From this point on, Eberhard’s life spins out of control. Done with playing it safe.
Eberhard swore three oaths in his life: never again to make a coffin, never again to shoot a man, and to do away with this scumbag. He broke all three.
Now the Western is out. In German, of all languages. It will be a while until it’s translated. But I will keep you posted.
What sparks an idea? I used to think that inspirations would strike me with thunder and lightning. But, no, sparks can be quite slow at times. Think about the ketchup bottle. It’s been around for a hundred years, but only since the last twenty it’s also standing on its head. Duh! Why didn’t we think of that sooner?
Bandana Book I
The Bandana spark, which has now become a book (CLICK ON RIGHT), came with a slow glimmer too. I never go out on a hike without a neckerchief. Since my old Texas days, I have become protective of my neck. Sunburns sting! Yep, that’s why I my collection of bandanas keeps growing.
One of them was a gift from my daughter, with a Native American design. Once I went into the gas station at Star Valley, says someone behind me, “I like your bandana.” This Native American had recognized the Hopi pattern on it. It was nice to be noticed. A bandana can carry a strong message. Since then, I have also acquired a Navajo design on top of many other colorful patterns.
Bandana Stories
The older a bandana, the better the tale. Master mask maker Zarco Guerrero, here portraying a Cholo, knows all about the mysteries of Dia de los Muertos, plus the Central American bandana. When you Google for bandanas you certainly come around many Boy Scout uses, such as for a bandage, splint, tourniquet, wash cloth, trail marker, carry bag, and what not. And then, as you might imagine, all these incidents have circumstances. And the circumstances make for suspense. You can spin a gazillion yarns off of one small bandana.
Bandana Origin
Even the origin of the almighty, universal, wonderful bandana has a good story or two. I heard, the bandana was a tobacco snot wipe to begin with. Imagine, or don’t, that rag used to be white. And the tobacco stains wouldn’t come out any more. Therefore, an Irish tradesman had the fashionable idea to print his bandanas up in color. The print work was done in India, thus the pretty paisley patterns. As we all know, the cowboys came to appreciate the bandana too—duh, red neck. Bandanas trigger excellent cowboy stories.
Bandana Warriors
Or think about famous men. Some of the toughest cookies wear bandanas: Geronimo, Winnetou, Rambo, Hulk Hogan, John Wayne, Bruce Springsteen, Bob Dylan, Bob Marley, Willie Nelson, and other warriors. Right, the bandana takes to the street for activism.
Here is Ed Kabotie, member of the Hopi tribe, a well-known edu-activist, sharing his fight against uranium mining at the Grand Canyon. He also resents the now much in vogue “land acknowledgment” towards the Native American nations as a hindsight excuse for the colonial land grab and subsequent oppression.
Bandana Art
Independent from my instigations, Elisabeth Sherwood had made a collage series of bandana cowgirls, the mysterious types. (One of her gals to the left.) This was just perfect for the Bandana Book cover. I asked my friends, they wrote stories, I put them all in a book. The second one is on its way. It’s titled “Unusual Encounters.” The stories cover a rainbow of experiences and are deliriously good.
When I see a bandana these days, my imagination gets sparked. What’s next? An exhibition? Do you paint? Make photographs? Prints? Sculptures? How about making a bandana exhibit together?
Australia (yes, this is NOT China) drives on the left, walks on the left, sneezes to the left. How do you avoid being run over? Are Australians bound to be more left-handed too? I figure, they’ve got to be, because the left does most of the work in a car: gears, wipers, climate control, radio. Try that for a change.
Darling Harbor skyline
So, here we arrive in Sydney, in our Holiday Inn, in December 2023. Wherever you look, there are no fat people, least of all the slim and trim Singapore Airlines hostesses. Have they banished the overeaters to Tasmania? Hardly anyone in downtown seems older than 30. Where do they put their seniors? These skinny, fashionable Oriental girls and boys must be all students? I sure feel out of place now.
We tourists are the oldest people around. Some grey-haired troopers in North Face puffer jackets carry sizable backpacks and meander about with walking sticks and hiking boots. Occasionally, you see parents dragging their kids around in a cart. They could be British or German or Dutch. We all hang out at the Public Market. That has everything we need, from lychees to toothbrushes.
The Holiday Inn at Darling Harbor lies amidst China Town. Only Asian people around, Beijing ducks in the shop windows, tasty donut holes (Emperor Puffs) filled with custard, boba shops with many flavors, and the whole range of Oriental cuisine. But what’s with the jostling? Did everybody switch off their inborn proximity sensor?
Asians seem to have expensive seafood taste: a can of three abalone mussels for 100 Dollars! I am not joking. All that dried seafood, some of the most ominous kind, is all very expensive. The abalone—big trays of different mollusks, 1 kg for $675—are harvested in the wild waters of the Tasmanian Sea. Some shell fish divers have even braved shark attacks.
But just go for it! In Australia, you don’t need money. They will take a plastic card for everything. Even the commemorative coin machine at the Sydney Aquarium spews out your minted penny for a tap. The aquarium is an excellent place to go under the sea. It has some of the best shark tanks around
Buses also will let you ride for only a tap: a tap on and a tap off. (No, not a swipe!) If you’re lucky, the tapper doesn’t work and the driver lets you go for free. However, something is amiss with the busses: a signal flashes “bus stopping,” but where-the-heck do we stop? Count on the driver to let you off at the right place because nobody else may speak English.
I always thought I speak English well, but my American accent occasionally collided against the Aussie-speak. It was sure fortunate that our friends taught us lessons about slurpy Tim-Tam cookies, Lamingtons, and the (peculiar) Vegemite spread in the safety of their home. Later I learned some of the local intricacies the hard way.
On the first morning, a ketchup packet exploded on me: I pointed it the wrong way, squeezed, and voila had ketchup all over my snout. Most things don’t seem obvious when you’re under a 14-hour jet lag. Yeah, the blow dryer flicked the frothy soap all over my shirt. Silly me, I hadn’t approached the duplicitous (double-action) faucet from the right angle. Fortunately, Sydney seemed so much cleaner than our American cities. Kudos to the restrooms! And drinks come only with paper straws and there is an extra charge for takeout containers.
I had fun bumbling along the parks and exploring on foot. My mission on Tuesday was to reach the beach. Another faux pas! Bondi is pronounced “Bon-die” or “Bon-day” Beach. Good day? Or a good day to die? Huh? That’s what the Lakota would say. The bus driver wrinkled his brow, then smiled, and taught me the correct pronunciation of my destination.
I finally made it to Bondi. The sandy bay looked just like in the pictures. I encountered fewer tattooed people here than I had expected. But the ones that afforded body art, displayed their whole tribal story from neck to toe. Surfers, right!
It’s fun to watch the surfers at Bondi. Even better than staring into the tide pools at La Jolla. I settled into a coffee shop for a capuccino and avocado sandwich. Australia had me then and there.
At the Sydney Darling Harbor Wildlife Zoo posing with sleepy Koalas
With The Medford Remains Jackie Sereno has put out her second “Circling Eagle Mystery,” after her debut novel “Breaking Ground.” Her second volume of the family saga tells us about the making of a murderer, a Native American boy breaking free from the foster system. This story with a real twist unfolds on two time lines. Richard Circling Eagle investigates his father’s mysterious demise and his mother’s unexplained disappearance. The Medford Remains is an incredibly rich and suspenseful murder mystery and family saga playing in Northern Wisconsin. For all of you who like Tony Hillerman stories, Jackie Sereno very well matches that in-depth research.
I had the great pleasure to help Jackie with the pictures for her Medford Trailer. Actor Cainan Thomas from Fort McDowell (AZ, Yavapai) was the model for the key pictures of the story. It was such a nice adventure to set up for the shots at my friend Renate Mousseux’s house in Fountain Hills. As his former teacher, Renate has know Cainan and his family since his childhood. Cainan is an actor who has played Native American characters in movie productions.
The pictures (below) turned out great. Here is the gist of the story: “Decades after Thomas Circling Eagle’s suicide, his wallet is discovered buried in an abandoned barn. That puzzling fact intrigues his now grown son Richard, especially because its contents contradict the suicide assumption and include a reference to mysterious human remains uncovered in the wilderness near Medford, WI.”
That sets Richard on a quest for the truth.
A long forgotten wallet with troubling clues inside.
If you are an “adult” like me (whatever that means), you may have left most cartoons behind you. But I like an animated movie once in a while. Animations help us to look beyond reality. They punch our buttons, hit us on levels of irony and travesty, where reality just does not reach. Here are my top five animation movies.
Shrek turns all fairytales upside down. I like it so much, because I grew up with a lot of Grimms’ stories in Germany. And Shrek busts our stereotypes once and for all: nothing noble about the steed, a prince turned out short, and an ogre who is a philosopher. There are surprises around every corner. I love how all the characters are mixed up in a paradoxical stew. Best of all is the twist in the end: Be who you are, not who you think you should be. And don’t we all love dragons!
Monsters Inc. shows us the inside workings of a scare corporation–very well done! The monsters are more scared of humans than the other way around. When the monsters march to work, I am reminded of our current political scare tactics. Doors hold a fascination for all of us. Don’t we always want to know what’s behind them? Are we afraid to open them? So cool, how the doors are played throughout. The nice thing about Monsters Inc.: Truth be told, laughter creates more energy than fear.
Wall-e is the most real and scariest animation that I know. I have always had a knack for utopias (Brave New World, Time Machine, 1984). A tiny robot is the only worker left in a post apocalyptic world, when spoiled-beyond-belief humans have escaped on a spaceship. Humanity, all fat like mast oxen, has fallen victim to limitless comfort seeking, subscribing to the Buy&Large, until all life on earth was buried under trash. So what should we do? Go about our business, as the world goes down? Think. Think again. Do something! Recycle, vote, refuse the plastic!
Rango must be counted as one of the best Westerns of all time. It’s up there with Dances with Wolves and Unforgiven, but not only because Johnny Depp is the chameleon. If you’re ever talking “characters” in an animation–it’s Rango. But I like it the MOST for its DIRE dire story line, especially for us in Arizona. A little desert town called Dirt is running out of water–because a greedy corporation diverted it. Similar monster developers and corporations have bought up everything in the Valley of the Sun. When will our Valley run out of water? What can we do to conserve it? Certainly the cancer-like sprawl doesn’t help.
Finding Nemo instantly thrilled me. It had a good story, I can identify with short term memory loss (ha, ha, Dori!), and I have always been fascinated with sea life. At one point, I had wanted to become a marine biologist, reading too much about Jaques Cousteau and an Austrian scientist, Hans Hass. Both swam with sharks and studied their behaviors. They weren’t the blood-thirsty beasts as often portrayed. Imagine:
100 million sharks are killed by us in a year!!
Sharks, in return, hardly kill 10 humans a year. Something is off here. Something is also off at the Great Barrier Reef. It’s dying from global warming.
Thank God for animation! At least we are able to participate in nature vicariously via movies. Although that’s not enough for me. I need a regular, in-person experience with nature to balance me out—not necessarily with sharks, but a good hike on the Rim will do.
So, if you got nothing better to do, watch a movie! I just gave you my top five animations.
Wow, I hopped on the Internet–it’s astounding what bandanas are all good for! I thought I could make a book of it. But not without your help. Submit your entries! Download the guidelines below. $200 grand prize; $100 second; and $50 for honorable work (multiple)–tell your friends!
Bandana gone to the dogs
Bandanas have been an important hiking gear for me. Sometimes we have turned around when I forgot my neck-saver. Indeed, I am a redneck. I burn easily. Perhaps that happened to the cowboys too, when they were driving cattle under the scorching Texas sun. Ditto. Necks turn red. Or, wait a minute, were they wearing a paisley red bandana? That would explain the expression, too.
My bandana is blue and has Hopi dancers and decorations on it. Of course bandanas come in all colors and patterns, but red is still the best. And those colorful mini rags are usually dirt cheap. Michaels, the crafts store, will sell them for a couple of bucks. Don’t pay any more than ten. Some bandanas like to claim a boutique extravaganza. Mine actually came from a Goodwill store. Maybe 50 cents? I’ll ask my daughter.
John Wayne’s trademark rag
What else is a bandana good for? It got me thinking. My grandpa never left house without one in his trouser pockets. Mostly—gee thanks, but gross—he used it to wipe snuff and snot off his mustache. But at times (I hope that kerchief was clean), he carried mushrooms or blueberries home in his bandana. He tied the diagonal corners together to make a carry bag. On one occasion, he used his bandana as a bandage after he cut his hand splicing kindling wood.
A bandana could, seriously, save your life. Maybe you got injured and needed a tourniquet. Or you got lost and needed a flag for the helicopter search team to find you. Or you needed to filter drinking water from a desert puddle. My friend Edda might use a bandana as a signal flag for the prettiest Texas cedar tree for Christmas. And on it goes.
Bandanas are not only for hikers, cowboys, and pirates. Animals like bandanas too. Do you have a bandana at home? Maybe you can write a story about it and send it to me. I am so much looking forward to that!
November is Native American Heritage Month. The Mesa Public Schools NAEP celebrated a fabulous Heritage Night at Westwood High School. The evening was filled with Native royalty, sizzling dance performances, and a heart-felt community spirit. The evening started with an invocation by Freddie Johnson, Diné, and the Land Acknowledgment read by Vice Principal Paul Davis. Keynote speaker was Steven P. Toya Sr. from New Mexico, a much loved counselor and educator. NAEP Program Director Esther Nystrom was visibly proud of her District team that night. Senior NAEP Liaison Debra Toya from Mountain View High School had brought the Royalty and top performers to the stage.
Amazing performances by the internationally acclaimed Indigenous Enterprise group (top row) and Renae Blackwater/Maswade (above).
The fancy Rooster Dance
Multi-talented performers
The Drum Group (above) fired up the spirit of dance. Then the Traditional Akimél O’odham Singers (below; Salt River Pima) invited everybody to join hands for a social dance.
Everybody dance, and . . .
. . . they all did.
Finally, Thunder and his brother Tyler read us a story called “Thunder’s Hair.” Here Tyler and Thunder are with team leader Tiffany (middle) and their mom (right).
Debra Toya and Esther Nystrom provided gifts for Royalty and honorees.
Great job, everybody!
IMPORTANT NOTES:
Arizona is home to 22 Tribal Nations that comprise approximately 28 percent of Arizona’s land base. Two important legislative bills impacted the Native American communities in 2021:
In April, Governor Ducey signed a historic tribal-state gaming compact agreement that modernized gaming in Arizona.
The Governor also signed legislation allowing Native American students in communities across Arizona to wear traditional tribal regalia at their graduation.
Dr. John W. Molina is a remarkable health professional and activist. I met him first at my own house, when he attended my friend Renate Mousseux’s launch party for her memoir, Renatle, Mosaic of Life. Renate had known Dr. Molina for many years. She had organized fundraisers for his Las Fuentes clinic in the past. Dr. Molina makes a striking appearance, looking the part of a Native American doctor wearing a long braid and traditional regalia.
A couple of years later, I got to edit and produce Dr. Molina’s own life story. Having worked with Native American youth in the Mesa School District, his memoir was a real eye opener for me as I kept editing away. Molina’s title evolved over time and became Im Jittoa Bo’o—My Healing Journey, leaning on his Yaqui heritage. And the content reads like a movie. The “Healing Journey” and life experience thrilled me on many levels. I fell right into it. This book, which came as a complete and quite clean manuscript to me, helped me see the Native American experience through Molina’s eyes.
Dr. Molina’s story is written in an engaging narrative voice. He is careful with word selection but all out honest. He grew up in the little Yaqui town of Guadalupe near Tempe as a day laborer’s son. He finished high school (an exception in his community back then), hired on with the Navy, then became a pastor for a Christian church, studied psychology, and eventually landed a community project looking after diabetic patients from his own village. Molina saw many unattended ailments and a great need for a doctor. “Why don’t you become that doctor?” his mentor challenged him. And so he did. After medical school (UofA), Molina specialized in OBGYN and founded the Las Fuentes Community Clinic. So much for the first 25 percent of his CV. He is also a jurist, healthcare advocate, and Doctor of Humane Letters, the whole list is hard to remember.
Molina is totally honest about his bumpy road to success. He faced bullying, alcoholism, prejudice, peer pressures from his own tribe, but whatever he set his mind to—he accomplished it each time at a high price and at his own risk. Tragedy struck not only once. Racial bias in the professional arena did not deter him.
Along with studying the academics, Molina also observed the ancient knowledge of medicine men. As a healthcare compliance officer for Native Health, he now makes sure that Native American patients receive good quality of care. He has reached a position that allows him to work from his cultural roots, through a holistic outlook, to serve the the whole human being. As a young physician laboring through 36-hour-shifts, he also strove for integrative approaches and, when possible, allowed the traditional healing methods to cure the body as well as the soul.
Many times Molina encountered serious doubts and discrimination. “You are a doctor?” hospital parking attendants would ask him when he walked by in street clothes. At a very young age he had realized that a white coat makes all the difference.
My favorite passage is the part where Molina hashes through the decision making process of becoming a doctor. He tells his mentor. “If I go to medical school, I will probably be 40 years old by the time I become a doctor.” His friend replies, “You will be 40 years old whether you become a doctor or not.” Simple fact. Age is an arbitrary measure, but what you do with your time has real value.
As I navigated through the book, my admiration for this man’s determination, ambition, and compassion grew with each chapter. As an anthropologist I was fascinated by the fact that Dr. Molina also turned to traditional healers and the deep knowledge from the past.
Molina narrates his story with bone-chilling honesty. He shares painful details about his affliction with addiction, family tragedies, and professional trials and tribulations—as well as his remarkable, almost miraculous successes.
All throughout his reflections, Molina does not go easy on himself. He has led a full and restless life, but he overcame, regrouped, and always put himself back on the straight road again. Now, granted, he is still a workaholic, but all to the benefit of the Native American nations and their health improvements.
Im Jittoa Bo’o—My Healing Journey, by Dr. John W. Molina. Read it. Molina’s book will enrich your outlook. Money is not all that counts. Insights are important too—and maybe a long list of credentials. Or better, what you did to help others.
You can find out more about Dr. John Ward Molina MD JD DHL on his LinkedIn page.
Waiting. Waiting again. Now at Safelight Autoglass.
This wait was totally unexpected. The timing was freakish. An ice block from the overpass hit our windshield as we were driving under it. It delayed our trip by a whole day. Dreadful.
Aren’t all waits dreaded? The wait in the doctor’s practice, the turn of the red light, the hand of the clock to reach twelve? Waiting for summer, for your turn, waiting for what and why?
During this time of Covid, we had a lot of waiting to do. And we still haven’t learned anything. We still don’t like it and we are not good at it. Waiting takes practice. It’s a skill, It’s an art. Good waiting makes creative and happy.
Many of us (used to instant gratification at a click) couldn’t wait any longer but then we learned it again during the Covid year. Waiting to go back to school. Waiting for take out orders. Waiting in the carvalcade to get your specimen taken and then waiting for the results to come back. Wait, wait, wait a minute or an hour or a week.
The wait at the post office (even pre-Covid) was usually the deadliest for me. I always thought each PO visit would shorten my life by a day or two. So I avoided the PO. HOWEVER, I was so WRONG: actually the PO extended my life. It tricked me into appreciating my time more. The PO gave me slack time that I wasn’t aware I had in my rushed daily routines.
“Waiting for God” was a British sitcom about feisty older folks in an assisted living home. They didn’t jus want to wait around. They wanted to be players in their home court. Nobody wants to wait. Waiting seems a waste.
Waiting is good. Why? We discover our own inner world of fantasy and creativity.
Ask Jaime Carrejo. This Denver artist just now has an installation at the Museum of Contemporary Art called “Waiting.” He made up a colorfully decorated waiting room where the walls seem to come alive in floral patterns and the hanging plants randomly raise or lower themselves. I know all about the ins and outs of this exhibit because my daughter Priyanka Makin (proud mom shout out) designed and built the motorized mechanism for ten of these trailing plants. These spider plants are making a name for themselves by hanging on a thread.
The description for “Waiting” says that “Jaime Carrejo explores the relationship between confinement + duration (=waiting) by layering Southwestern symbolism, mid-century design, and objects from his domestic space.” Wherever this comes from, it is just fun to watch and live inside for a while. More often than not, the pictures on the wall of my doctor’s office have come alive too.
Here is what we learn in this exhibit: Waiting doesn’t kill time. It makes the relationship between space and duration more colorful and essential. Waiting entertains us too. We never know what might happen next. So waiting becomes the real adventure.
My idyllic hometown, Ascholding, received a hodge podge of oversized industrial buildings over night. Some structures are large enough to park the whole church inside. Was this necessary? Where will this insanity end?
Im Jahr 2018 hat das idyllische Bachzeilendorf Ascholding ein Gewerbegebiet erhalten. Hier (anklicken) ein Überflug mit den Dohlen vom Kirchturm: Zuerst das wunderbare Alpenpanorama, dann das industrielle Schachtelwerk.
Da haben wir den Salat–ein “Gewerbegebiet.” Die zwei größten “Flugzeughallen”, überdimensionale Fremdkörper, verhindern nach allen Richtungen den Ausblick. Solche Mammutbauten gehören nicht einmal an den Rand des idyllischen Bachzeilendorfes. Bieten die neuen Firmen den Ortsansässigen viele gute Arbeitsplätze an? Die landwirtschaftlichen Felder sind für immer zerstört, die Sozialstruktur verstädtert.
So war es früher einmal: auf dem Feld links unten steht jetzt das Gewerbegebiet.
PHASE II: Geht es jetzt so weiter? Mehr als 80 Parkplätze für den Edeka Markt (insgesamt ca. 120 Stellflächen mit Kindergarten eingerechnet) sollen noch kommen. Aber brauchen doch mehr Grünflächen und weniger Abgase, um das Global Warming zu reduzieren? ABER: Die nächste Bauphase (II).
Wie viele Parkplätze braucht ein Lebensmittelladen in einem 1000-Seelen-Dorf?
So viele wie der Holzwirt (40 geteerte, 30 auf Kies)? Oder so viele wie der Netto in Egling? Genau 68, aber Egling ist größer. Oder so viele wie das Kaufland in Geretsried (120, wenn ich mich nicht verzählt habe)? Welcher Parkplatz ist jetzt da am schönsten?
PHASE Baustelle mit Keltengrabung–2019, siehe Schotterfeld
PHASE EDEKA und Kindergarten–2020–Siehe Mega-Markt
Mark Twain is my American literary hero. Recently, I had a chance to take a picture with my idol at Tlaquepaque in Sedona. Wow! Our chat felt nice.
Mark Twain, aka Samuel Clemens, was a journalist before he was a novelist. He started to craft stories as young as 12 years old. He ceaselessly honed his art as a newspaper reporter, first in St. Louis, MO, and then many other places. Twain found just the right words, perspective, and dosage of humor that he was able to “get away with murder.” Lesser scribes would have been hung.
I believe in Twain. A master of social criticism and satire, he pointed out hypocrisy, absurdity, and profound human misery. Imagine, a seasoned alley cat like Huck Finn coming to his own conclusions about the runaway slave, Jim. These unlikely companions float down the Mississippi on a raft with plenty of time to learn from each other. Use your brain, man! So Huck did. In his own way, Huck Finn was a humanitarian of the simplest kind. Kind.
Another character I admire is the dude in the Connecticut Yankee at King Arthur’s Court. That’s a story of brain power gone awry. The Yankee’s square-headed mentality and modern weaponry caused total destruction in the chivalrous, medieval world. In a doomsday scenario, royal jousting spiraled fully out of control.
Yes, Mark Twain showed us the whole spectrum of human nature.
Twain was a master of religious satire and got away with it as well. Captain Stormfield’s Visit to Heaven tells a story of how the afterlife turns out much differently than expected for the main character.
One of our greatest problems is, which Twain often indicated, that we people like to overrate our own importance. “All you need in this life is ignorance and confidence, then success is sure.” Dang it! We see that all the time.
I learned a lot of good words from Mark Twain as well and added them to my American street vocabulary. Although by now antiquated, I still thoroughly enjoy expressions like “low life, bottom feeder, scallywag, carpet bagger” and many more. We might use other words today but the same character types are still lurking around each corner.
Finally, Mark Twain’s excursions into the German language are hilarious. How can the prefix from a verb break off and resurface at the very far tail end of a sentence? And he sure admired the German knack for assembling some of the longest composite nouns in the universe, such as “Donaudampfschifffahrtskapitänsmützenabzeichen” (Danube Steam Shipping Company medal for the captain’s hat).
And if Twain were still alive, he might play even mightier tricks with words. Especially now that we have entered the age of alternative truths and official lies are not even concealed any more.
Language has always been a creative process. It has to, because the world keeps changing all the time. If Latin were still a living language, someone would have made up new words for “aircraft carrier” or “underwater mortgage” or “fragile facts”. Or borrowed them from another language?
Let’s face it. Since the last elections, our vocabulary will soon add some new inflexions: That’s so trumpish! What the trump just happened? Don’t trump me! Let’s join the Trumpler Club. (Not me. I am not a Trumpionista.) Atta trump!
Oh, trump! Where will this end? Let’s read those Mark Twain stories again.
It’s Lent. Now what? The choices for Lenten penance are as many as there are sins. Except for beer. I can’t give up Märzen and Doppelbock as a good Catholic, especially since St. Patrick is such an important saint also for us Bavarians. (At least it seems the Irish are related to the BaI-risch.)
So I gave up Facebook. Nothing is easier than dropping something of little use? I don’t do Facebook much. So I barely felt a sting by giving it up for Lent. Done deal.
If I can do it, so can you, Catholic or not. Abstinence from Facebook is a good exercise for self-control and curbing your needless curiosity. You might learn to master your budding (or raging) addiction. Who needs to know everything about everybody all the time?
No Facebook? Just grab your phone and call your friends. Drop them a postcard. Stop by on your way home from work. Watch a movie, get creative. But don’t get sucked in.
Soon you will realize that a Facebook fast makes you free. Free from the burden of needless worry. Free from anxiety about so many scary health problems distant relatives of your friends are struggling with. Free from being hacked into, or being mobbed by obtrusive advertising, or from being overwhelmed by the constant flow of forgettable news and movie clips.
A Facebook fast will make you healthier. You will get more exercise, protect your gall bladder from envy about lavish vacation trips to Waikiki or the French Alps, and make your bond stronger with your pets (or children; what about the old board/bored games?).
Wouldn’t it be nice, if we could have a day, just a day, of “All quiet on the cyber front”?
Even if we all do the Facebook fast together today, yesterday’s news will still be there tomorrow. (Don’t fall back on Twitter or Instagram or Linked In.)
Yeah, watch out! Facebook is the largest marketing machine on the planet. It’s an ultra, super, mega, giga, tera data warehouse. Think again . . . you did? . . . thank you!
Yeah, one aspect you should give up forever: don’t vent your medical complaints to the Facebook phishing engines. People, wake up, medical information is confidential! Only the doctor may know! Why would you trust the Internet with your ailments?
At best you might be bombarded with drug ads, at worst receive a tombstone in the mail. Or you might be declared dysfunctional, insane, or delusional. Or unemployable. Beware. Your host or hacker or back-upper is always listening, not only your friends.
Like many, I have a love-hate relationship with Facebook, but I can easily do without it for a while.
Fazit: Live better, give up Facebook! Like you would scorn junk food. A Facebook fast can be educational and cleansing.
Dear Mark Zuckerberg, you should try it too. Can you do without Facebook for a day?
Renate Mousseux gathered with her friends Bruno, Barbara, and Brigitte at the Fountain Hills Gallery after a body language presentation. Like many, they had been looking forward to Renatle’s Mosaic of Life with suspense.
“Renatle, Mosaic of Life” is now out on Amazon. The cover looks sassy and the story is full of suspense. I am so excited! Renatle’s mosaic of life adventures came beautifully together in her memoir. It is out on Amazon as paperback, plus a digital version on Kindle. Here is a review from the Fountain Hills newspaper.
YOU ARE INVITED: Friday, January 27, 2017, 7 p.m. Renate will be reading excerpts from her book at my house. Please RSVP to my e-mail.
One fine day, I chatted Renate up after the German luncheon about doing a story about her for Amerika Woche. Right there my own life changed. For this interview, Renate and I met in an Indian restaurant. She gave me the full scoop about her body language expertise—and some playacting examples. We had a fabulous time.
Several weeks later, Renate approached me about writing her life story. I had no idea what all was to come in Renatle’s Mosaic interviews. I was in for some genuine enrichment.
We started taping Renate’s story. Once a month I drove to her house on top of a Fountain Hills peak and listened to her true tales. War times in Germany. Concealed at birth. Prankster childhood. Love gone awry. Down and out in Los Angeles. More than once, my jaw dropped. Renate laid it all out. Barred none.
I won’t give away more than what is on the back cover: Renate was the love child between a French jazz trumpeter and a German patrician business woman. Renate’s questionable existence was concealed from the family for months. Aunt Liesel finally discovered the baby and brought her home.
As a toddler, in 1944, Renatle survived the infamous Tigerstorm carpet-bombing attack on her hometown Freiburg (Germany). The whole town lay in shambles. In that night 3,000 people died. Renate’s uncle and other good Samaritans brought aunt, grandmother, and baby Renate to a Luftschutzbunker—with nothing else but a blanket wrapped around their nightgowns.
Yes, but her mother and father, Trudel and Emile, were buried alive in rubble of the dental lab where they worked. By a miracle, both were rescued days later and put into a hospital for a year. They never fully recovered . . . and then, mother . . .
Tears welled up in her eyes. She asked me to stop the recorder.
More pauses were to come. Why did Renate go to America? She was expecting and wanted to give her baby a home—but not a brute, bisexual, drug-addicted father. Renate escaped, but barely. Finally, things seemed to fall into place in Arizona, with her teaching immersion classes for French and German. It all seemed good, or was it? Her new husband had charm and pedigree.
“I never dwell on the past, even though I sometimes cry”, Renate said. She is one of the most cheerful and people-oriented persons I know. And like any serious Girl Scout she is looking to do at least one good deed a day. She always carries a gift for unforeseen occasions in her purse.
Now it’s two years later and the book is done. “Renatle” turned out well. And so did her book.
Since we started writing, Renate has made many appearances at TV stations commenting on presidential candidates’ body language or the expression of witnesses in high profile murder cases. She started her flourishing BodyLanguage4Success business after her retirement as an Arizona foreign language professor for almost 30 years. More information at BodyLanguage4success
All this fame could have spoiled Renate, but quite to the contrary she is a charming, helpful, and very open person. A gem. And I learned a great deal from her. Each interview and every editing meet was a lesson for me. Here we are at the Fountain Hills Gallery presenting Renatle’s Mosaic.
“We judge a person in less than the first two minutes of an encounter based on their appearance and behavior,” body language specialist Renate Mousseux says. “65 percent of our communication comes across in nonverbal expressions.” That’s significant.
Renate, my friend from nearby Fountain Hills, is unstoppable. Not only because she drives a Jaguar. She has achieved outstanding honors in foreign language (French, German) education. After her retirement from a busy high school and college teaching career, she ventured into BodyLanguage4Success.
Renate, or as she likes to be called “Renatle” in the Freiburg dialect, has commented close to 50 times on presidential speeches, criminal cases, and witness depositions at Arizona TV stations. She has read every book about body language that she could get her hands on. Now she delivers highly involving seminars to professional or social groups. Here is her take on Hillary Clinton for a Phoenix TV program:
And here is her piece on Trump:
Renate reads through the body language. She has eyes in the back of her head, her students discovered. “I could tell from far if anyone in class was cheating or not,” Renate says. “They called me Eagle Eyes.” Since she was a child, she liked to observe and imitate people. In college, she put funny mime acts on stage. Consciously or not, we all do it and read it—ever so sublimely.
“Body language doesn’t lie, especially not in the long run,” she says. She keeps the humor light and on its feet. When she models the stances, gestures, and facial expressions at a seminar, she draws the audience into some real life situations.
I have seen Renate in action many times. Her gigs are definitely charming and entertaining. She means every word she says. How is your handshake? Let’s see. She can give you good advice for an excellent first impression.
“Well, Schätzle, when you are with me, you don’t need to do this,” she tells me and gently pulls my hands from my hips. She caught me again. Hands on hips means a defensive attitude. Honestly, I didn’t mean to. Do I have to investigate my subconscious now?
Also beware of crossed legs, arms behind back, or someone stroking their chin. There is an explanation to everything, but one odd behavior alone does not make a “criminal.” I learned these features from Renate while taking notes for her book. We have been working on her life story, Renatle, A Mosaic of Life, for some time. Later this fall it will be ready for the launch.
Renate’s life story is an incredible adventure. She married into a Hollywood disaster, was down and out, and overcame some terrible blows. Yet she always stayed positive. Her turbulent story, a roller coaster of curve balls, will be available on Amazon soon.
Recently, her hometown paper, the Badische Zeitung published a write-up about her activities. CLICK on image.
“We always have to see the whole picture of a person and not judge them by a single feature,” Renate says. She has, among others, volunteered her skills for Find Me, a worldwide network of psychics working on missing person investigations.
Body language is active twenty-four hours a day. In company with people, you use body language as much as the other one. In fact, some 800 body language signals are emitted within a thirty minute conversation.
An Fräulein Anna Waldmann, Schmiedmeisterstochter
In Schönegg, Post Dietramszell, Oberbayern
Am 2. April 1917
Liebe Base! Die besten Grüße aus dem Lazarett sendet Dein lb. Vetter Seb. Disl . Zt. Festungslazarett II, Reliktenheim I, Saal I, Warschau
Viel Grüße auch an Eltern und Pumperer Zilly
To Miss Anna Waldmann, Master-Smith’s Daughter At Schönegg, Postmaster Dietramszell, Upper Bavaria
April 2, 1917
Dear Cousin! Fondest regards from the sickbay sends you your dear Cousin Seb. Disl. At this time from the Fortress Sickbay II, Infirmary 1, Room 1, Warsaw Many regards also to your parents and Zilly Pumperer
This is a postcard from World War I. One day I rediscovered my grandmother’s correspondence. MIND YOU: The man lies in a “Lazarett”, no telling what his wounds. I don’t think the generals would have excused him for the flu. And there he sends “best greetings.” Never mind, he was still alive. That was the important message in all postcards from the war.
Mighty Old Postcards
Growing up, I used to think, “Wow, these cards are really ancient!” I kept them together like they were, in an old tin can for tea, ever since I crossed over to the American continent. Now these postcards from the war are even more ancient. The older I get, however, the more these relics seem like yesterday. 100 years is not a long time. 100 years ago from 2016, I would have been in the middle of a World War like both of my grandmothers.
Anyway, my grandmother Anna seemed to have had galore of boyfriends, judging by the stack of postcards she received from soldiers. The pictures from the front lines were newsworthy and showed captured cannons, bombarded churches and all kind of technology of war. The backside contained brief pencil greetings, no complaints whatsoever. Everything always seemed to be good with the troops.
Mail from the Frontlines
My grandmother wrote many letters to the front lines and encouraged the “homeboys” who she grew up with. Her two brothers were drafted as well. Oma kept the postcards from the field in a neat stack, which are my treasure now. Writing to soldiers in Word War I was like sending care packages to Iraq and Afghanistan. I always wonder, did these young men come home to tell their stories? Did they perish in the trenches? St. Mihiel was near the Siegfried Line.
Erich Maria Remarque was born the same year (1898) as my grandmother. He went to war too, was wounded and wrote a book about his experiences: All Quiet on the Western Front. It wasn’t usually quiet for very long. The grenades hit with awful blasts. My grandfather never talked much about the war action. He served in the cavalry on the western front. After he returned unscathed, he had a cross made out of grenade shrapnel that he collected in the field. A token of thanks to the maker of us all.
I don’t have any postcards from World War II. But I heard from a German lady I just recently interviewed that she, at the time an art student, was also expected to send letters of encouragement to soldiers in the field.
Let’s hope we will never need any more postcards like these.
Geschrieben den 29. 5. 18
Will Dir kurz mitteilen, dass ich in Frankreich bin, geht mir bis jetzt ganz gut, und bin gesund, was ich von Dir sehe. Auf baldiges Wiedersehen, grüßt Dich Josef Lämmler
Josef Lämmler, Feld Rekruten Kompy. 4a
2. bayr. Inf. Division
Written on May 29, 1918
I just want to briefly let you know that I am in France. Until now I am doing rather well, and I am healthy, which also seems to be the case with you. Looking forward to seeing you again soon. Many greetings, Josef Lämmler
Josef Lämmler, Field Recruiting Company 4a
2. Bavarian Infantry Division
12. Juni 1918
Werthe Nanni! Komme heute endlich dazu, Dir zu schreiben. Bin noch gesund und guter Dinge und mit meinem allgemeinen Leben zufrieden. Seid ihr wohl schon fest an der Landarbeit. Wo ist dein Bruder Kaspar? Hoffe immer auf Glück und freu mich auf ein frohes Wiedersehen. Freundlichen Gruß sendet Franzi
June 12, 1918
Dearest Nanni! Finally I managed today to write to you. I am still healthy and in good spirits and content with the general circumstances of my life. I assume that you are already working hard in the farm fields. Where is your brother Kaspar? I am always hoping for luck and am looking forward to a happy reunion. Sending fond regards, Franzi
A Tiny Piece of Blue, cast in 1934 rural Michigan in the winter months, tells the harrowing story of a dirt-poor girl abandoned by her parents to fend for herself during the Great Depression. In the course of Silstice’s struggle for survival, she comes into her own. “Silly,” technically orphaned after her parents’ house burns down, gets on with a kind farm woman, Edna, who dotes on her but who is powerless in getting her husband on board to help the kid. One cannot fathom how crustaceous and heartless the old man Vernon is. He may not know any better, and his farm may be down the hill too.
Why do we take pictures with famous people? We want some of the stardust fame rub off on us too.
I am certainly not a stage hog. But—The most famous picture, which I had always wanted, would have been with Elvis Presley. I was only a teenager when he died, cried my eyes out. But Gisela Solms-Wildenfels got a shot with Elvis when he was stationed in Germany. I stumbled into Gisela at a flea market in Wolfratshausen, where she was selling Hummel cups and other trinkets. She is of that Elvis generation. And this one encounter gave her joy to last a lifetime. She gifted me a copy of her Elvis picture.
is a writer, cowgirl poet, and reenacter of the Western glory days of the Wickenburg Marshals in Arizona. She teaches art and gives art therapy in her art studio or behavioral centers. She spends as much time as she can writing. You can find all her meanderings and writings at 
Noel is a longtime school counselor with Mesa Public Schools and over the years has served many families in the Native American Education Program, until she recently transferred into another position. She is Navajo and Muskogee Creek. She has improved many a student’s outlook in life. She makes anyone feel better with her gracious smile.
Tim is a member of the Lakota Standing Rock Reservation. He has been an advocate for Native rights and has worked as promoter and coach for Native youth in Mesa school system. He is also an excellent story teller and a treasure trove of Native American history. Lately, he has specialized in researching the Lakota code talker history of WWI and will soon publish a paper about his findings. 
ELISABETH SHERWOOD, Payson, AZ
Zarco Guerrero is an eminent figure in the Valley’s (Phoenix) cultural life. He is most well-known for his masterful masks that he carves or creates with papier maché, fabric, and other materials. He is also a community activist, philanthropist, story teller, performance artist, and historian. Zarco researched a much philosophical background behind the bandana, which is included in this collection. Find out more about him at 
Edda is a journalist and German correspondent living with her husband, Helmut, a sculptor, on a homegrown ranch near San Antonio, Texas. Edda has for many years shared her farm experience in her First Hand Living column in the New Braunfels newspaper and later collected her stories in a book called Texas Kaktuswein, Leben aus erster Hand. She continues, painting, writing stories, and gardening.
Beth won a prize in the first Bandana Book, but got too busy with her first novel. “This year, I will finally see one of my dreams fulfilled—my debut novel, Rooted in Sunrise, will be published and released into the world on September 17, 2024,” she writes in her newsletter. Aside from writing and publishing, Beth likes to get her hands dirty while gardening. 
Environmental Day at the Capitol earlier this year, struck my memory chord like a gong chiming in my head. Activists from all corners had gathered on the Arizona Capitol grounds in Phoenix to lobby for water protection measures and have a word with their District reps.
The Colorado River is so dammed up that none of its waters reach the Gulf of California any more. Lake Mead, in 2023, was at its lowest since the Hoover Dam (1 of 15 Colorado River dams) was built. 2023 was another heat record year with 50+ days over 110F. It’s a damn’ dry situation. For many Native Americans, Navajos included, water has always been scarce.
My friend’s house had a warm, cuddly, welcoming air to it. It was very much ranch-style in its decor with blankets, Native art, and the occasional antler. This was a much privileged outing for me, because a group of strong Native women shared their time and space with me. And I finally would get to see Window Rock, the Navajo capital, as well.
Many Navajo families have no water lines going to their houses. Imagine, any and all water has to be hauled over long distances and bad roads. Imagine how hard it will be to maintain proper hygiene. Imagine how health-compromised individuals might suffer. Or what about elder and infant care? Staying well and healthy requires a reasonable amount of water.
Julius Schütze rides up from Austin. He demands justice for his brother. The wolf pack does not like to be dragged in front of the judge. Now the events take a dramatic spin for the worse. One of the Waldrip gang, Gibson, threatens Eberhard several times about his ammunition, raids his shop, and rapes his Comanche maid. Eberhard is a reluctant hero, but Gibson had it coming. From this point on, Eberhard’s life spins out of control. Done with playing it safe.
Bandana Stories
Bandana Origin
Bandana Warriors
Independent from my instigations, Elisabeth Sherwood had made a collage series of bandana cowgirls, the mysterious types. (One of her gals to the left.) This was just perfect for the Bandana Book cover. I asked my friends, they wrote stories, I put them all in a book. The second one is on its way. It’s titled “Unusual Encounters.” The stories cover a rainbow of experiences and are deliriously good.
Australia (yes, this is NOT China) drives on the left, walks on the left, sneezes to the left. How do you avoid being run over? Are Australians bound to be more left-handed too? I figure, they’ve got to be, because the left does most of the work in a car: gears, wipers, climate control, radio. Try that for a change.
The Holiday Inn at Darling Harbor lies amidst China Town. Only Asian people around, Beijing ducks in the shop windows, tasty donut holes (Emperor Puffs) filled with custard, boba shops with many flavors, and the whole range of Oriental cuisine. But what’s with the jostling? Did everybody switch off their inborn proximity sensor?
But just go for it! In Australia, you don’t need money. They will take a plastic card for everything. Even the commemorative coin machine at the Sydney Aquarium spews out your minted penny for a tap. The aquarium is an excellent place to go under the sea. It has some of the best shark tanks around
On the first morning, a ketchup packet exploded on me: I pointed it the wrong way, squeezed, and voila had ketchup all over my snout. Most things don’t seem obvious when you’re under a 14-hour jet lag. Yeah, the blow dryer flicked the frothy soap all over my shirt. Silly me, I hadn’t approached the duplicitous (double-action) faucet from the right angle. Fortunately, Sydney seemed so much cleaner than our American cities. Kudos to the restrooms! And drinks come only with paper straws and there is an extra charge for takeout containers.
I had fun bumbling along the parks and exploring on foot. My mission on Tuesday was to reach the beach. Another faux pas! Bondi is pronounced “Bon-die” or “Bon-day” Beach. Good day? Or a good day to die? Huh? That’s what the Lakota would say. The bus driver wrinkled his brow, then smiled, and taught me the correct pronunciation of my destination.
It’s fun to watch the surfers at Bondi. Even better than staring into the tide pools at La Jolla. I settled into a coffee shop for a capuccino and avocado sandwich. Australia had me then and there.
I had the great pleasure to help Jackie with the pictures for her Medford Trailer. Actor Cainan Thomas from Fort McDowell (AZ, Yavapai) was the model for the key pictures of the story. It was such a nice adventure to set up for the shots at my friend Renate Mousseux’s house in Fountain Hills. As his former teacher, Renate has know Cainan and his family since his childhood. Cainan is an actor who has played Native American characters in movie productions.
The pictures (below) turned out great. Here is the gist of the story: “Decades after Thomas Circling Eagle’s suicide, his wallet is discovered buried in an abandoned barn. That puzzling fact intrigues his now grown son Richard, especially because its contents contradict the suicide assumption and include a reference to mysterious human remains uncovered in the wilderness near Medford, WI.”
A couple of years later, I got to edit and produce Dr. Molina’s own life story. Having worked with Native American youth in the Mesa School District, his memoir was a real eye opener for me as I kept editing away. Molina’s title evolved over time and became Im Jittoa Bo’o—My Healing Journey, leaning on his Yaqui heritage. And the content reads like a movie. The “Healing Journey” and life experience thrilled me on many levels. I fell right into it. This book, which came as a complete and quite clean manuscript to me, helped me see the Native American experience through Molina’s eyes.
