Saturday, November 12, 2022

One Lumberjack Home

Stillwater, Minnesota, 1860 photo from Wikipedia

For nearly forty years, I lived in Stillwater, Minnesota. By the time I settled there the town had grown from a small village nestled in the bend of the St. Croix River to a welcoming site for tourists. Along the way, it had been the homebase for countless lumberjacks who spent months of each year in the North Woods. The logs they cut floated downriver to Stillwater and its mills. 

All that took place in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. By the time I bought a house on the South Hill, the lumberjacks were long gone but their memories and their myths of the folk hero Paul Bunyan and Babe, his Blue Ox, remained.

A Stillwater Sawmill of the 19th Century 

Becomes a 21st century Antique Shopping Center

 What also remained were the “lumberjack” homes, built of lumber harvested by them. 

The lumberjack house I bought was built in 1870. It became the home of my heart. Toward the end of our sojourn together, I hired a contractor who changed the attached back porch into a four-season one for me and then remodeled the kitchen and bathroom, which had been added to the original house in 1910. That section of the house also had a pantry in which sat the washer and dryer.

The unfinished basement of the house had old, old, old windows that let in rain.  The crawlspace beneath the 1910 addition became a  hidey-hole for all the cats who ended up inhabiting the house with me. The basement steps, as well as those that led to the second floor, were narrow and steep. 

They were part of the reason I ultimately sold the house and moved back to Missouri.

Meniere’s entered my life in 2006, and the acute rotational vertigo episodes it brought with it made falling a daily—sometimes hourly—occurrence. In fact, I tumbled down the steps several times, but was always fortunate enough not to break any bones or suffer a concussion. However, the number of falls helped me realize that I had to live in a one-story home with no basement. Steps had become too hazardous. Also, both my friends and I were aging, and I needed more help with daily living. 

So, I left Stillwater and

moved back home to where I had younger family members on whom I have come to rely as this life-journey continues. 

A young couple bought the home and were delighted with it. They felt that it had “good vibes.” They wanted to start their family in it.

The inspector I’d hired to examine the house before I put it on the market had been impressed with all that I’d had done to it, especially between 2001 and 2009: totally new electrical wiring throughout the 139-year-old house; four-star double-glazed windows throughout and on the new four-season porch; a new furnace and AC,; all new appliances (washer, dryer, refrigerator, hot-water heater, and range) during those years; a new roof; new steps, railing, and sidewalk leading to the back porch; new front, porch, and back doors; and the remodeled kitchen and bathroom.

Unwittingly, the young couple hired the same well-respected inspector. On the day we signed the papers, they told me he’d encouraged them to buy, saying the house was “a heck of a deal!” He found only one thing needing attention: one branch of the tree at the side of the house had leafy twigs touching the outside electrical wiring. 

 All I had to do was to hire a tree trimmer who took care of that offending limb—although a quite graceful one—in a matter of minutes at a minimum cost.

All this came to mind in the last week, as I purchased a new washer and dryer. I suspect that my next posting will be about that experience and the “vibes” of my home here in Independence. I tell you, with contentment in my heart, that life is good—when I keep things in perspective. 


Monday, October 24, 2022

The Motorcycle Ride & Flashback

 Months, not weeks, have passed since I visited Idaho in late April. Since then, I’ve posted about the “so-called” date I had and the tattoo Ruby—who calls me Grandma Dee—did for me. I’ll end this trilogy of adventures with my motorcycle ride. 

Last March, when Gino, one of Ruby’s tattoo mentors, bought a new motorcycle, she bought his old one. Seeing that motorcycle by the curb, I said, “You know, Ruby, I’ve always wanted to ride one!” 

“Not this one, Grandma Dee. There’s no flat seat behind me.”

That ended it for me. Not for Ruby. Unbeknownst to me, she talked to Gino, whom I’d met a few days before at his tattoo parlor. 

 Ruby called with the news: she and Gino would come by and pick me up in fifteen minutes.

I pulled on my thickest hoodie and tied the laces of my red shoes—ready for adventure. 

Geno and Ruby arrived; I rushed outside to greet them . . . and Gino’s whiz-bang of a motorcycle. Trey and Elisa rushed with me. When Gino crowned me with a helmet, I felt like Darth Vader. Fearless. 

Helmet donned, I tried to swing my right leg over the back of the cycle. No way! I simply couldn’t get my leg—with its knee replacement and its indicators that hip replacement is next—high enough to “throw it over” the backseat of that powerful machine. (It’s moments like this that tell me that at 86, I’m aging, aging, aging . . . into OLD.)

Both Elisa and Ruby came to my assistance, holding onto my right leg and lugging it up, up, up until we had all 138 pounds of me, my clothing, and that helmet upright on the seat. 

There was no backing to the seat, so Gino encouraged me to sit as close behind him as I could and to hold onto the front of his down-filled vest.

“Grip it!” he said. “And when I lean right or left, you do that too.” He demonstrated the graceful leaning, explaining that I’d need to do that when we went around corners. 

All in readiness, we departed. For the next fifteen minutes, Ruby led us up and down hills and out onto what I’d call highways. 

Only once did I feel a frisson of fear. In her enthusiasm to “show me a good ride,” Ruby had gotten a little too far ahead of us. As we went around a corner, Gino had to put on a burst of speed. 

I could feel my hands losing their grip and sliding past his ribs and then, as I’m desperately trying to hold on, my body starts moving backward. Inexorably backward.

A vivid photo flashed in my mind of me flying off the tail end of that supercharged cycle and hurtling backward through space to land like a deflated hot-air balloon in the shrubbery of one of the homes we’d blurred past. 

Years before, in May 1977, I’d been riding my ten-speed bicycle down a hill in Stillwater, Minnesota, and inadvertently pressed the handle brake when I hit a pothole. The bike and I separated; it flew up into the air, and—the neighbors told me—did a couple of circles before falling in a heap on the street.

 I flew—the neighbors measured the distance—almost eighty feet through the air, landing on my right side. I ended up in the hospital for three days with my right collarbone broken in three places and the side of my face deeply scraped and raw. For the next ten weeks, I wore my right arm in a sling. Therapy helped me regain mobility and flexibility. 

That memory flooded my brain as I felt my body moving inescapably backward. 

“Hold on, Dee! Hold on!” Gino’s words streamed past me. I tried to lurch my body forward. Tried to resist the force of momentum.

Gino yelled; Ruby heard him. Both slowed down. And I? I rejoiced that I hadn’t taken a ride on the air as I’d done in Stillwater in ‘77. All was well.

And . . . I’d had a memorable motorcycle ride.


Monday, October 3, 2022

Belated Responses to Comments on 9-17-22 Posting

 Hello All,

Once again, I’m responding in a post to the comments you left for my September  17th posting about Elisa—the young woman who has become family to me—and the gallbladder operation scheduled for her.


 In my posting, I indicated that the doctors had found cancer in her gallbladder. 


Fortunately, that was incorrect. The surgeon in her hometown hospital recognized that she’d been having pain from the gallbladder for several years. The pain had nothing to do with cancer. 


Unfortunately, since November 2015—at a time when I’d been visiting and Mike (her husband) and I had rushed her to Emergency at the nearby hospital, she’d tried to tell the doctors about the persistent pain she’d been having, but they dismissed it as simply back pain “that everyone has as they age.” 


With that information in mind, here are my responses to your comments:


Cynthia’s comment: As I also keep up with her on Facebook and her blog, I think she has had the surgery by now, or it is imminent. At any rate she is encircled with my loving thoughts, with light, with wishes and hopes for healing.

Dee’s Response: Dear Cynthia, You’re right. Elisa had her gallbladder operation last Tuesday (September 27) and all went well. The surgeon recommended that she rest for a week—really rest—and not work. She edits for a company in Idaho. Her work is done at home and the staff—from near and far—do a zoom meeting each day. Peace.


Molly’s Comment: Elisa sounds like an amazingly strong young woman. I hope things work out for her and that all will indeed be well. (finally sorted my sign in problems and can comment again!}

Dee’s Response: Dear Molly, she is all you’ve said, and things are working out. NOW . . . will you please, please, please share with me how you worked out the Google sign-in problem!!!!! The solution eludes me. I’m unable to leave comments on Bea’s, Inger’s, Cynthia’s, Joanne N’s, or Susan’s blog. I’d so like to be able 1) to leave comments on the blogs I follow—albeit sporadically!—and 2) to respond to comments on this blog. Please clue me in! Peace. 


Inger’s Comment: And Elisa has been supporting me and giving me strength after my cancer diagnosis. Not a word about this. I will write her, for sure. I will read her blog first, then write. Thanks for this. Let's talk soon.

Dee’s Response: Dear Inger, that sounds like her! I know she is concerned about your cancer diagnosis. I so hope all is going well for you. Will you be doing chemo or radiation? And when does the treatment begin OR has it already started? Your blog readers I’m sure are responding with their prayers and thoughts and good wishes. You mean so much to so many people. Take care. Peace. 


DJan’s Comment: I also included her by name in my morning prayers and will continue to do so. Sending her and you both my sincere love and hope for healing.

Dee’s Response: Thank you, DJan. The hope for healing—expressed also on Elisa’s Facebook postings by many readers—expresses so beautifully a quiet, sincere, and tender belief in the power of prayer and of community. 


Rian’s Comment: I keep Elisa and you, Dee, in my prayers always. There is a prayer I like that says, "May the Light of God surround me, the love of God enfold me, the power of God protect me, and the presence of God watch over me. Wherever I am, God is... and all is well.

Dee’s Response: Dear Rian, thank you today and all days for your prayers. And thank you, also, for sharing the prayer of Light. I’ve written it down and have it by my bedside, here by the computer, and also by my easy chair in the room where I embrace my best thoughts in meditation and musing. I’m adding to it the community—the Oneness—of all of us so that I’m saying, “May the Light of God surround me and the cats and all creation . . .(remaining words and then) . . .  Wherever we are in Oneness, God is . . . and all is well.” I so appreciate your sharing this. Peace. 


Sandi’s Comment: đź’™ Sending my love.

Dee’s Response: Dear Sandi, thank you! I so love the blue heart. Somehow it has, for me, more depth than the red, despite the fact that red and purple are my two favorite colors. Blue, for me, has the depth of the Universe. Space beyond the beyond. Peace.  


Jean’s Comment: I'm sorry your friend is suffering, and I will keep her in my thoughts and send healing energy out into the world aimed her way.

Dee’s Response: Dear Jean, I just so appreciate your saying “aimed her way.” The image that brought to my mind was of a comet bound for Elisa and perhaps, meeting along its path someone else who needs your healing energy. And so, that energy, alive in our Oneness, may touch so many on its path to Elisa and within Elisa will touch others as she shares her story and finds the beauty that lies in us all. Peace. 


Joanne’s Comment: Dear Elisa, I pray that through the circle of pain you feel the circle of love and compassion we all have for you. Be with peace.

Dee’s Response: Dear Joanne, I am in awe of your vision of a circle of pain being overlaid or encompassed on enlightened by a circle of love of compassion. What is so true for me is that when you and others leave comments, they plunge me deeper into my firm belief in our Oneness. All of us are in that circle of pain (physical or emotional or intellectual) and also that circle of love and compassion. That is Oneness for me. And sometimes within that circle we are most in need—of love or health or understanding or compassion or relief from the burden of our own misunderstandings or fear or hatred or loneliness. And it seems to me that you are saying that the love and compassion we send out to anyone may reach far beyond to encircle whatever another needs. Given those degrees of separation that have been written about, I’d say that your love and compassion and that of all able to think of others touches people way beyond our realization. Beyond and beyond the boundaries of our own lives. Peace. 


Arkansas Patti’s Comment: I am so sorry that Elisa's cancer is now in her gallbladder and is causing her such pain. I just prayed for her and will continue to do so. May the doctors and God find a way to bring her wellness.

Dee’s Response: Dear Patti, as you probably saw in the introductory paragraphs of this posting, I was wrong—the cancer isn’t in her gallbladder. She has had the pain though for years (since 2015 or even before). Right now, she’s relatively free of pain, but she so needs rest from the past nearly two years of the cancer journey + all the operations + the writing that she’s continued to do (it’s essential for her to write—like breathing!) + the being part of her family’s activities, etc. I continue to encourage her to rest and to say “No” to requests when her body lets her know that rest is necessary. I think, Patti, that I’ve become a “nag!”(Maybe a “hag,” too. Not sure!) Peace. 


Sue’s Comment: Thank you for this powerful, beautiful and heart-rending post. I am sending oceans of good wishes across the seas.

Dee’s Response: Dear Sue, I can just see those good wishes (oceans of them filled with live-giving plankton, sparkles of sunlight, and night-time mysteries) fluttering like butterflies over the seas to Elisa. Better yet, I can see them as those marvelous colorful Australian birds, photographs of which you share with us on your blog. Your words create images for me that tickle my fancy! Peace.


FINAL NOTE: I’m feeling somewhat giddy with delight over all these comments that reveal just how wonderful all of you are—so concerned with Elisa, so responsive to her story, so generous with your thoughts and prayers. Take care. Be gracious to yourselves.


I hope to post this week on the final part of my vacation in Idaho: The Motorcycle Ride! 



PS: I don't know what explains the white behind the lines. You know, one of these days maybe I'll enter the 21st century and become tech-savvy! But don't count on it! Peace.

Saturday, September 17, 2022

Coming to You in Oneness

Hello All of you who are regular readers of this blog and its sporadic postings. It’s late on Friday evening, but I just spent a wee bit of time looking at Facebook and realized I needed to share with you some news about Elisa, the young woman who has become like a granddaughter to me and who has Stage 4 melanoma of the bone.

The most recent news about the melanoma has been that the only tumor left was at the original site on her lumbar spine. All her Facebook friends and her family got this news a few days ago.

However, tonight I saw on Facebook some concerning news about the cancer. 

First, let me explain that Elisa and I text one another nearly every day, wishing one another a good day and sending bushels and heaps of love. About every ten to fourteen days, we talk on the phone. I wait for  her to call because I never want to interrupt her naps. Resting, as we all know, is necessary for healing.

When we  talk, she brings me up to date on what is happening. However, we haven’t spoken for several days. Her text greetings have been as upbeat as usual and when pain or concern was mentioned, I missed the implications.

Thus, I was not aware of the intensity of the pain she’s been feeling for nearly two months. It must have been Tuesday night that her husband rushed her to the ER because the pain had become unbearable (my word, not hers). 

The ER discovery was that the cancer had attacked her gallbladder: the reason for her two months of intense pain. The next day, she drove down to Salt Lake City for her monthly scans and her infusion (immunotherapy). The doctors there confirmed that she needed to have her gallbladder removed.

However, because the meds for the cancer and for the tests and operation conflicted and also because the operation is “iffy” given the cancer, there has been much stress finding a way forward.

In her Facebook posting, which I read this evening, she spoke about “crying” and “sobbing” and simply feeling unequal to the test that was necessary today. She is, as many are, claustrophobic, and the test simply overwhelmed her senses and exacerbated her fears. 

She is so tired.

And so, I come to you again, to ask that in the Oneness that unites us all you will hold her and her life dear. 

That as you hike, weave, write, feed the cats, go for walks with the dogs, watch a favorite television show, explore the wonder of our world, rest within your own thoughts, or deal with your own health concerns (and I know that several of you are in the midst of your own cancer journey), you will at some moment hold her in Oneness.

That you will trust, as Julian of Norwich did during the Black Plague all those centuries ago, that “All shall be well. And all shall be well. And all manner of things shall be exceedingly well."

We have no control over much of anything—or so I believe—except for the way we respond to life: its hollows and hills, trauma and triumph, heartaches and happiness.

Moreover, none of us truly knows—despite our deepest fears or our abiding faith—what well means in Julian’s prayer . . . or in our own. The question is always, “In this situation, what is the best that might happen for all concerned?”

For myself, I simply trust that whatever happens will be for the good of the Universe and the people involved. A basic tenet of the way I live my life is that out of everything comes good. Always, there is good—maybe not immediately, but in the long run of the days, weeks, months, years that form the span of our lives. 

Still, I want to hold Elisa—and all those who are going through dark days—in Oneness for we are all, truly, One. We all unite in that which makes us most human—the desire to reach out and hold the hand of another with love, compassion, mercy, gentleness, and acceptance in our hearts. 

Thank you.


The three photographs are from Wikipedia.

Tuesday, September 13, 2022

Belated Responses

 Finally, finally, life has settled down, and I can respond to the comments several of you left on my last posting (8/30/22). I simply cannot figure out how to respond to your comments on my blog page. It’s the Google signing in that defeats me. So, I’m doing what I consider the next best thing: printing your comments here with your name and then responding. I hope this works for those of you who left a comment. 



Ruby is just precious, and your tattoo is perfect! I know you are enjoying it and all it stands for, along with the memories of the day you got it. Dee, you are truly amazing!



Dear Cynthia, I do continue to enjoy Arthur’s face on my forearm. As I type—even now—I can look down and see those eyes and feel that all is well in my world. Peace.



I love that Arthur is permanently a part of you - as he was from when you were first given him all those years ago. This is a delightful post, Dee. Thank you. And you ARE amazing.




He  truly was a gift when I was five and so lonely, missing my parents and brother. No one ever knew about him and his presence until 1976 when, inadvertently, I let his presence and that of the Three Presences from the convent, slip out. The memoir on which I’m working will talk about all this. I so hope I can do  justice to the four of them. Peace. 



She did an amazing job with your Arthur tattoo. I'm happy for you that you got it, and it was a memorable experience.




Dear Jean, it truly was memorable. Ruby didn’t talk while she was working except to explain anything I asked. She’d made a template of her drawing of Arthur—from the figurine—and pressed that template on my skin and then did something I didn’t see and then began with the ink and the needle. I felt nothing but deep contentment as Arthur’s face slowly revealed itself. Peace. 



What a wonderful experience! And you shared it so well. I especially like the third from the last photo, not just of the tattoo but of you, too. Thank you for sharing this with me!!!




Dear DJan, thanks for mentioning the photo you liked. To be truthful, that’s the photo in which I thought I looked as if I were “three sheets to the wind”!!!! Also, I see that I posted that photo twice! But perhaps I miscounted and the photo you are talking about is the one of Ruby and me. She is such a love. Peace. 




What a great experience, I would love another tattoo.




Dear Jo-Anne: And I’d love to read a posting about your tattoos! Or at least see photographs of them. Hint! Hint! Peace.



That's a very good reproduction of Arthur -- always with you now.




Dear Joared, yes, she captured him. And I find myself looking at him as I type or wash my hands or prepare a sandwich. The truth is, and this may sound strange, but I seem to have plunged into a pool of serenity in the last few months since Arthur came to be imprinted on my arm. Peace. 



Arthur is a fine fellow, and now lives on your arm as well as in your heart. Elisa and Ruby as point and counterpoint made for a lovely afternoon. Job well done, all.




Dear Joanne, I so like your terms “point” and “counterpoint.” I hadn’t thought of that, and it just tickles my fancy. And, yes, the afternoon was lovely. Meeting her mentors was a delight. One of them will appear in my next posting—about a motorcycle ride. Peace. 



I am delighted that Arthur is now with you wherever you go. Ruby nailed the image and I love how you entertained the other artists and clients. Bet they are still talking about that neat lady they met and her cool tattoo.



Dear Patti, I’m not sure about their continuing to talk about our conversation in the tattoo parlor, but I bet that they do shake their heads every time they think of meeting a nun who laughed loudly, belly shaking, and shared stories of riotous times in the convent. Peace. 



Good for you! I got my first tattoo when I was 70, and the second-and-final one at 72.



Dear Linda, so good to find a comment from you. It’s been a long time since I’ve visited your blog, but I will do that sometime soon. I’ve truly been an on-again/off-again blogger for the last several years. 


I’d love to see photos of your two tattoos and hear the stories behind them. I plan on getting one more also—it will be written—in my mother’s script--on my left forearm and say, “Dolores, you find what you look for.” That was one of the most instructive legacies she left me. In some ways, it is the bedrock of my life. Peace. 



Love the pictures, Dee... and the tattoo. I do have a question (just curious), when you decided you wanted the tattoo, how did you decide where you wanted it?



Dear Rian, I knew that the entire body could be and has been for many the canvas for tattoos. However, I have for the past two years been trying to write a memoir, and the threads that hold it together have eluded me. 


When Ruby began her career, the thought came that perhaps being able to sit here at the computer and type and look down at my right arm and see Arthur’s gentle eyes and his abiding love for me would help me find the way through this labyrinth of a memoir. Peace.





Ruby did a great job. I love the pictures, #6 of 14 is my favorite. It's so wonderful to see you all together and having such a great time.



Dear Inger, I, too, especially like that photograph. My long-sleeved t-shirt with the stained-glass window effect also pleases me mightily! Peace.



Dee’s Comment on the Posting:

You know, one question didn’t come up in these welcomed responses from you, the readers who are so dear to me in Oneness. That question is, “Why no color to the tattoo?” The answer is that I have a form of cutaneous T-cell lymphoma—a skin cancer labeled “mycosis fungoides.” In its early stage, this cancer reveals itself in pale pink patches on my skin. These patches are sometimes active and sometimes not. When they are, I do light treatments three times a week and/or use a cream medication. When active, the patches are seen because of the pale color. 


When I spoke to the dermatologist whom I see every few months about getting a tattoo, she was enthusiastic, but said that I couldn’t have color because that would hide the active stage of the cancer. 


Ruby’s artistic ability, I think, truly shows in Arthur’s tattoo because the black seems shaded, in some places, and thus “colored.” Peace. 

Tuesday, August 30, 2022

Finally, the Tattoo!



From your comments, I’ve concluded that my past three postings have whetted your interest in the Arthur/Dee tattoo. 


In the first posting, you met Arthur,  my lion friend, who’s been with me since September 1941—kindergarten. 


In the second, you met Ruby, the enterprising child of the dandelion patch.


In the third, you met her as a young adult who’d set herself the goal of becoming a master tattoo artist.


Now! VoilĂ ! The three meet in the Tattoo Parlor along with Ruby’s mother and my “grand-daughter”—Elisa. 


I’ve never done a blog that featured several photographs. Today, however, I’m letting the pictures tell the story. You may ask, “Was it painful?” No.


“Did I ask Ruby a lot of questions?” No


“How long did it take?”  About a half hour and during that time, Elisa stood next to the tattoo chair. She kept telling the clients and the three other tattoo artists—Ruby’s mentors—what an amazing person I am. I just let her say whatever as I knew I’d never be meeting any of them again and so it didn’t matter if they held preposterous thoughts about me.


She threw in “. . . and she was a nun for a number of years!!!!!” That bit of gossip caught the interest of everyone there. So, for the remainder of the tattooing, I responded to questions from everyone. None of them had ever known a nun before, much less one who’d left the convent. They seemed amazed that I had a sense of humor and that I was—well, frankly—a human being!


All in all, a rollicking and somewhat whimsical experience for me. 


And while Elisa encouraged questions and “egged” everyone on and I responded, probably with some exaggeration, Ruby just worked her magic. 






Friday, August 19, 2022

"Can't Help Falling in Love..." with Tattooing

Fourteen years ago, Ruby, a six-year-old, provided forks for her hired playmates to use while digging up dandelions. She and her mom didn’t agree on the profit margin Ruby had established. However, the young entrepreneur made enough money to purchase tools for her next venture: Art.


Throughout her school years, she entered art contests and won ribbons.  Whether using oil, watercolor, pencil, or chalk, on paper or canvas, her creations were evocative. She carefully listened to someone, like myself, talk. She “saw” pictures; she “felt” emotions; and then, she produced a piece of art that spoke to that person in a personal way.


I have been the recipient of several of her creations—one sits on a bookshelf across the room from me. I’m looking at it now. It’s a path through a forest. In the background is  the silver sliver of a waterfall. Whenever I gaze at that oil painting in its pentagon edging, I travel through that forest, to that waterfall, and stand ready for its tumbling water to drench me in memories that will speak to the readers of my next memoir. 


I have other pieces of  her art on my refrigerator door, on my bedroom wall, and in a folder entitled “Ruby’s Art.” Through these gifts, I can trace her growth as an artist.


While still in high school, Ruby began to post her artistic designs online. She sold many of these and also took orders for more individual designs. She is now twenty—soon to be twenty-one. All those years of art have morphed into one love, one passion: to create personal tattoos with ink as the medium and skin as the canvas.


When she first shared this love with me, I thought of Elvis Presley singing “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” Elvis sang of physical love. Ruby, I thought, can’t help falling in love with tattooing.


When that love affair began three years ago, Ruby’s went to a local tattoo parlor that was well-known in several states. “Will you take me on as an apprentice?” she asked the three renowned artists there.




Ruby didn’t take that emphatic “no” for a final answer. Instead, after school each day, she came to the shop and did odd jobs: unpacking and shelving supplies, sweeping floors, dusting cabinets, cleaning toilets and sinks, picking up lunch for the men. 


Periodically, she’d ask, “Will you mentor me?”




For a year she showed up each workday afternoon. (It reminded me of the Little Prince and the Fox in the classic book by Saint-ExupĂ©ry.)  During that time, the men gave her an assignment: To study the history of tattooing, its diversity of styles, and its most famous practitioners; to write papers about her studies; and, finally, to create designs that were examples of the varied styles. When she talked to me about her discoveries, I could hear the excitement in her voice.



Weeks, months, passed. Then last summer, while she swept the floor, the three men—convinced of her commitment—spoke: “Ruby, we’ll mentor you.” 


She began with customers who wanted simple designs. As the weeks passed, her mentors had her take on more complicated tattoos. Under their tutelage, she began to develop her own distinctive “light” touch tattooing and her own distinctive style.


She did all this without pay.


In 2022, she began charging for her work. The photo below shows a recent tattoo she did for her sister. As children, they’d both modeled outfits their mother designed, made, and sold. One photograph shows Sky in yellow; the other, Ruby in maroon. These aided Ruby in her design.

When next I post, I’ll share with you the tattoo Ruby did for me.


Sunday, July 31, 2022

Background on Tattoo Artist

Ruby, Elisa, and Dee during the 2022 date-tattoo-motorcycle visit!

When first we met, in January 2012, Ruby had just turned eleven, and I could see, during her visit here with her mom, Elisa, that the young lady already had a mind of her own. She didn’t hem-and-haw when I asked her about the recipe she concocted for our Saturday night dinner. Nor did she hesitate when I asked what she’d like to do next. I thought she was, in some ways, shy, but she was also extremely capable of speaking up for herself.


During that visit, I learned about what she was like at six. It was then that she showed herself to be a true entrepreneur. One day that Spring, her mom offered to pay her ten pennies for every dandelion she dug up by its roots. 


Ruby hurried outside with fork, knife, and the trowel her mom provided. 


Elisa returned to her writing and didn’t notice, as time passed, that Ruby returned to the kitchen several times for more dinner forks and knives.


 An hour later, when Elisa had finished here blog posting and gone to the sink for a glass of water, Ruby bounded into the kitchen again. 


“Mom,” she asked, “do we have any more forks. Or trowels? That would be good! Any trowels?”


 “Why do you need them? You took a trowel and a fork, too, when you went outside.”


“I’ve got more workers than forks,” Ruby replied. 


“Workers? What are you talking about?”


Ruby’s face, at six, gave nothing away.


Elisa marched with her first-born daughter to the front door.


What greeted her was the sight of a number of children—most Ruby’s age or younger, but a few, older—assiduously digging up dandelions in the front yard. Because a gentle rain had soaked the grass the night before, all the youngsters wore muddy feet or shoes.  Mud smeared their hands. Their shorts. Their tops. Their lips. Clearly, a few had, in their industry, licked the lumps of mud that clung to their cheeks.


“Hi, kids,” Elisa called. Most of them looked up and “highed” her back. Several, however, unwilling to be distracted, simply continued digging, mudding themselves.


Looking down at her six-year-old, Elsa asked, “Ruby, why exactly are all the neighborhood kids digging in our yard?”


With a gap-toothed grin, Ruby said, “I hired them, Mom. I’m the boss. They’re the workers.”


“And do they get those ten pennies I promised you could earn for each dandelion root?” 


“No. No way. They get five. I get the rest.”


“So how much do you think you’ve earned?”


“Lots,” Ruby said, looking up with her gapped-tooth grin. 


“They did all the work though,” Elisa said. “You’ve got to admit that.”


“But I bossed them.”


 “Well,” Elisa said, never being a complete fan of capitalism, “I think you earned three pennies for furnishing the equipment and for being bossy. The kids each get the seven left.”


“No, Mom!”




And so it was that Elisa and Ruby called a halt to the project, gave each child his or her earnings, and accompanied them each home to explain to the parents. 


This was the beginning of Ruby’s entrepreneurship. In my grab-bag of stories, I have more I could share with you about Ruby, but the one you need for my next posting is this: How She Came to Be a Tattoo Artist. 


Next posting, I’ll “expound” on that. I know you all want to see my tattoo, but as those of you who’ve followed my blog for years know, I have a need to always provide background. Only by doing that do I provide justice to a person, a happening, an emotion.


So, two weeks from now will be another story on Ruby at twenty—sixteen years after today’s story—and then, two weeks later, the unveiling of my tattoo and the experience of having Ruby create it for me.





What Elisa’s latest scans at the Huntsman Cancer Institute in Salt Lake City revealed about her Stage #4 melanoma of the bone has, as Elisa says, been “awesome.” Many others are using the word “miracle.” Her oncologists say that they’ve kept from her not only the dire seriousness of her cancer but also their doubt that she’d live even two years beyond November 2019 when it was discovered.  


Here’s what has caused the elation: All the tumors are gone from her brain, her lungs, her upper back, her hips, her pelvis, her ankles. She still has tumors at the base of her neck and on her lower—lumbar—spine. But . . . a big BUT . . . these are smaller than they have been. 


So, thank you all for your prayers. Positive thoughts. Healing visualizations. Continuing concern. May peace and joy descend upon you and bring into your life the overwhelming contentment that comes when we know that the Holy Oneness of All Creation, of which we are all a part, has enfolded all of us, once again, in an experience that reveals our Oneness.