Happenstance, life happens

Happenstancelife happens

JUNE 6, 2011

Happy Father’s Day to every guy who ever made a difference in the life of a child.

This is the final issue ofHappenstance

Thank you for readingand thanks to all

my wonderful contributors.

Books byF.S. Vander Meer

Available atwwwwww..vvaannddeerrmmeeeerrbbooookkss..ccoommTome on the Range Bookstore

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Not Just Another Day is a series of dailyreflections that celebrate the gift of life.Based on the author’s Christian faith tradition the book uses Bible passages,prayers and readings to capture thecommon experience of living a life offaith in an ever-changing world.

In Future Imperfect conflicting forces control two individuals seeking stabilityand sanity amid escalating political andenvironmental chaos. Their lives arefraught with lies, treachery, and an al-tered environment.

In The Ballad of Bawdy McClure shorthauler Jake Casey is confronted with theage old question: Who can you trust?From the opening scene in which hefinds the body of his murdered friend tothe end he is constantly questioning themotives of those closest to him.

Inside this Issue• From the Editor, p. 4• A Musing, p. 5• Essay, Kim Delgado, p. 6• Voices, Robert Gallegos p. 7• The Tent, p. 8• A Creative Spirit, p. 10• Semilla, a LV Institution Turns 40, p. 12• A Walk in the Woods, p. 14• Sunrise Kiwanis Outdoor Show, p. 15• Recipes & Chat, p. 16• El Zocalo Featured Artist, p. 17• Connie Mack’s Eclectically Yours, p. 18• Tiger Lilly continues, p. 20

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Thanks to Happenstance ContributorsYou made

Happenstanceworth reading.

Happenstance ContributorsRegular contributor Cindy Charlton is a publishedcolumnist for inMotion magazine, has just finishedwriting her first children’s book, and is working onher memoirs. In the tent she talks about her father,a man big in stature and in heart.

Kim Delgado is a native born Las Vegan who hasbeen retired for 10 years. She was a state em-ployee and also worked for Las Vegas CitySchools. She has written for the Las Vegas Opticand La Herencia

Recipes & Chat writer Pamela G. Daves shares aMaple Pecan Pie recipe and her comments on afew happenings around town. Her commentary islike sitting across the table from a friend sharing acup of tea.

Robert Gallegos’ look at Yesterday gives an upclose and personal perspective on days of old. Hislifetime of living in Las Vegas lends authority to thisregular feature and puts a different spin on nostal-gia.

Eclectically Yours is a diverse view of a world full ofsurprises. Connie Mack’s mind works a mile aminute and she often puts those thoughts to paper.She brings a fresh look to common and uncommonexperiences.

Niki Sebastian continues to produce wonderfulstories from her own life experience and her manyinterests. As a health care professional and stu-dent of human nature, she captures the essenceof what people do with finesse and sensitivity.


Vol 2, No. 7, June 6, 2011 Happenstance Publishing

Back Image: From clipart.comCopyright, Sharon Vander Meer, Happenstance PublishingSelect content may be used with appropriate attribution:

Sharon Vander [email protected]

Cover Image: clipart.comSome interior images from: clipart.com

Copy Editor: Sally Hanson


A literary and general interest magazine

Happenstance PublishingPO Box 187

Las Vegas, NM 87701www.happenstancelifehappens.com

Copyright 2011Blog: sharonvandermeer.blogspot.com

All rights are reserved by Happenstance, life happens, a digital magazine published by

Happenstance Publishing, Sharon Vander Meer, in Las Vegas, N.M. Reproduction of contents inany fashion without written permission from Happenstance, life happens, is prohibited.

Happenstance, life happens, is not responsible orliable for the loss of any unsolicited materials or

incorrect dates or incorrectinformation in articles. The opinions expressed

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the views of their authors.

From the editor...

It’s been real... well, interesting I guess. I’ve tried twice to getHappenstance off the ground and each time I’ve found myselfoverwhelmed by the details of getting it done. So—and this

time for sure—this is the final issue. I will continue to blog. Pleasefollow me at sharonvandermeer.blogspot.com. Writing a blog helpsme exercise my writing muscles and keeps me focused on improve-ment. In the meantime be sure and read this issue. It is full of won-derful articles from contributors and a few articles by moi.

In A Musing I write about my father Tommy Conkle, who passedaway a year ago. He was a marvelous man and the best dad he knewhow to be.

Sandy Poppers, owner of Imprinted Impressions, a company thatsells personalized ad specialties, is a long time friend. She has beenquite successful and is one of many female entrepreneurs in LasVegas. She has decided to put her creative skills to work learning theart of painting under the instruction of Duffy Peterson. See her storyon page 10. I also write about Jane Lumsden and her beautiful store,Semilla Natural Foods. This unique Las Vegas shop is celebrating 40years of being in business. See page 12.

Cindy Charlton is back with a story about her dad, Claude Charl-ton. He is fondly remembered by his friends in Las Vegas and lov-ingly characterized in The Tent, on page 8. Cindy continues her ownwriting and is focusing on her survivor’s book. Keep up with her byfollowing her blog at cindycharltonspeaks.com.

Niki Sebastian returns with I Went for a Walk With My Grampa, inwhich she recounts his influence on her life through the books heread to her, the walks they took and the love they shared.

Kim Delgado remembers Sherry Anne Clancy in an essay aboutthe first time she and her partner, Annette Clancy, met Sherry follow-ing an incident with their sweet dog and a mangled package.

I selected the final article by Robert Gallegos in his There Was aTime series, written for the Las Vegas Times. This article never ap-peared in print. It summarizes a life lived to the full despite personaltrials.

If you can read Connie Mack’s Ten Little Inklings without shed-ding a tear or two, I’ll be surprised. She is a hidden talent waiting tobe discovered. I pray she finds another avenue of publication.

Pamela Daves offers a recipe for Maple Pecan Pie served up witha little chat on the side.

This month’s featured artists at El Zocalo are Sam and KathyDixon. Their beautiful jewelry is remarkable for its fine workmanshipand appealing designs.

And Tiger Lilly continues, although this will be the last chance toread a part of it for free. It is now published in e-book format and isavailable for $9.99 at fastpencil.com.

So, this is a wrap for Happenstance. I have enjoyed publishing it,but also know my limitations. My focus will be on writing and pub-lishing my books. It is my dream and one only I can make happen.Thanks for reading and thanks to all the people who contributed.They made it interesting.

—Sharon Vander Meer


http://www.cindycharltonspeaks.com/

http://sharonvandermeer.blogspot.com

http://sharonvandermeer.blogspot.com

http://www.happenstancelifehappens.com

When I write about my mom it’sfairly easy. She was a char-acter and defined the

word extrovert. My dad, not so much. Dad passed away just a little

over a year ago. It seemed gettinghim eternally settled took an in-ordinately long period of time.He died in Phoenix where hewas living with his wife, Vir-ginia. We had two lovely serv-ices for him there, one at theretirement complex where hewas living and a second at thefuneral home for people whoweren’t able to attend the first.Dad loved to be made over soI’m sure he was looking onwith glee.

At his request burial tookplace in Las Vegas so he could benext to Mom who is at Pilgrim’sRest near Storrie Lake. So, my fatherwho disliked flying almost as much as Ido, made his journey home via air. Becausehe died at the beginning of a longweekend (Memorial Day) the deathcertificate and other paper workcouldn’t be completed right away,which meant he had to wait severaldays before he could leave Phoenix and reach his final restingplace. Waiting for anything irritated him. Christmas, birth-days, vacations, he wanted things to happen NOW. He wasworse than a kid. When it was clear he wasn’t going to sur-vive the debilitating effects of pulmonary edema, he wantedto go right away. He was headed home and was anxious tosee Mom and my brother Don, and other beloved familymembers and friends.

He also hated being late, so the fact we were down to thewire getting him here in time for his own service would haverankled him. The graveside service was simple but nice withmy friend Kathy Allen singing and my brother and I andother members of the family saying something in remem-brance. The one thing I remember clearly is my brother, Marc,talking about Dad’s standard greeting, “Hello, the house!”when he came to visit. Marc said, “I can just imagine Dad ap-proaching the gates of Heaven and saying, “Hello, thehouse!” It was the first time I gave myself permission to cry.

Dad was truly gone.Dad was a rough-cut fellow in someways. He did not have the benefit of a col-lege education. He barely made itthrough eighth grade. He did havedignity and innate wisdom thatcannot be taught in any school. Hewas a student of the Bible, an or-dained minister and a passion-ate believer. He had no doubtsabout salvation or the wages ofsin. He was an old-time Baptistin the sense that right andwrong were quite clear to him.Some would say he was hide-bound and radical. To that Isay he was a man who believedwhat he believed and lived ac-cordingly. You can’t ask muchmore of a person in this life. Henever hurt anyone and in factwent out of his way to be kind. He

might not agree with you, but he re-spected your right to have your opin-

ion.My fondest memories of Dad

come from my childhood. By thetime I was a teenager he and I prettymuch agreed to disagree, but therewas never a time when he wasn’tproud to be my dad.

I’ve thought about the lessons I learned from Dad andwhile there are many these are the ones I most cherish:

• Believe and live what you believe. • Put God first and trust that everything else will come together.

• Honor your responsibilities as a mate and parent. Do not fudge a little here and a little there.

• Discipline is an indication of love. Permissiveness, no matter how well meaning, is not.

• Be a leader, not a follower.• Love with all your heart.• Have courage.• Be creative.• Have fun.• Always, always, do your best.Miss you, Dad. Happy Father’s Day to every guy who ever made a dif-

ference in the life of a child.

A Musing

Happenstance • www.happenstancelifehappens.com • June 6, 2011 • Page 5

Tommy Jefferson ConkleOctober 4, 1924 - May 27, 2010


It seems like such ashort stay thatSherry Anne Clancy

spent in Las Vegas. We wereso aware of her arrival be-cause she became the sec-ond Clancy to reside in thiscommunity.

Her arrival here had animmediate impact on the lifeof my partner Annette P.Clancy, who had been livinghere since 1979. Sherry Annewent to work for HighlandsUniversity and Annettestarted receiving some ofher mail and also phonecalls. When she first camehere Sherry went by thename of Anne Clancy.

One special packagethat was delivered to our ad-dress by mistake led to theopportunity of meeting thenew Clancy in town. A pack-age for her was deliveredand left on our front porch,much to the delight of ourone-year-old black lab. Ourdog was in that chewing phase where everything was achew toy, so she thoroughly enjoyed tearing up andchewing Sherry's box.

Since we were already aware that the new Clancywas employed by Highlands, Annette called her, apolo-gized about the package and invited her over. Sherrydrove up and had her dog in the car with her, so webreathed a sigh of relief knowing she would understand.Annette explained the destruction of her package as shehanded it to her. Sherry laughed and was very graciousabout the whole thing. The two Clancys exchanged infor-mation with each other and the friendship began.

Time passed and the "Clancy Girls" turned out tohave something else in common besides their last name.It turns out they were both artists, Sherry did oil paintingand Annette is a watercolorist. Very often they both ex-hibited their artwork at the same galleries and partici-pated in local art shows.

My interest was not inart, so my conversationswith Sherry Anne weremostly about local politicsand community issues. Shealways listened with inter-est, but I assumed she wasjust being courteous.

Annette continued toget a few phone calls in-tended for Sherry Anneand people would often askher how she liked workingat Highlands. I think theyboth found humor in thewhole thing. Some wherealong the way Sherry Annedecided to use her fullname instead of AnneClancy in order to distin-guish herself from Annette.I suspect this change mayhave helped the two Clan-cys.

Eventually WhenSherry Anne went to workfor the Optic, I had morefrequent contact with herduring the time that I wasa member of the Optic Ed-

itorial Board. Very often I dealt with her when I went toplace political ads. During that time and leading up to herlast employment with the City of Las Vegas, Sherry Annewould say to me, "Why don't you run for mayor?" I neverknew if she was serious or simply pulling my leg.

Very often Sherry Anne and Annette would talkabout putting on a joint art exhibit and calling it the"Clancy Girls Art Exhibit". This lovely idea never tookplace and Annette shared this regret during the memorialservice held for Sherry Anne on April 25. Many othersshared their memories of Sherry Anne that day, and itwas clear that this Clancy woman had quite an impact onthis community, during her very short stay.

Annette and I wish to thank all those wonderful andresponsible friends who arranged such a loving and sen-sitive memorial for Sherry Anne Clancy.

—by Kim Delgado

EssaySherry Anne Clancy Remembered

Fireworks over Water by Sherry Anne Clancy


VVOOIICCEESS

Editor’s note: Since this is the final issue of Happen-stance, I decided to include Robert Gallegos’ final article inhis series, “There was a Time,” originally published in theLas Vegas Times. This is an original article that never ap-peared in the Times, but it summarizes a life well lived evenwhen times were hard. I thank Mr. Gallegos for allowing meto share his story over the past several months.

In 2008 I completed forty-two years of sobrietyand eighteen years retired. I look back at thoseyears and realize life goes so fast. Writing my

stories makes it seem that life went too quickly. Mywife and I are lucky that we have our children andgrandchildren living close to us. Although both of ushave had our health problems, we are still able to takecare of ourselves and our home. We still clean houseevery Friday. My wife cleans the refrigerator andkitchen and both bathrooms and I clean and polish thefurniture and vacuum the carpets. We are now bothseventy-six years of age and have been married forover fifty-six years.

I want to thank the many people who have calledme about my stories. I have had calls from Florida, Ne-vada, California, Washington State and from manyparts of New Mexico. Locally almost everywhere I gopeople compliment me and tell me to keep it up. Evenstrangers recognize me from my pictures in the Timesand ask me countless questions and give me words ofencouragement. Local calls have been many, especiallyfrom elderly people, and to date, not a single negativecall.

Why did I become an alcoholic? I have beensearching for the answer for the past forty-two years.Maybe it was a combination of several things. I amvery grateful and pray to God that I continue on this“Natural High” for the remainder of my life.

I have faced many health issues because of mydrinking, but I have no one to blame except myself. IfI look at a bottle of liquor, it’s like looking down a bar-rel of a gun. I had an older friend of mine once tell me,“Rusty, you and I are not going to hell, we have alreadybeen there.”

I hope he was right.I tried to help with the finances that I lost in those

years by doing extra work when I quit drinking. By myestimation, I prepared over 7,500 tax returns over the

years and I was a bookkeeper for various businesses(not all at the same time): Ralph’s Café, 85 Coffee Shop,Juarros’ Service Station, Liquor Store and Beauty Shop,El Rialto, Rye Lounge (and other of Ralph Garcia’s En-terprises), Ludi’s Grocery Store, R.V.’s Transportationand Parson’s Landscaping for more than twenty years.For shorter periods of time I was the bookkeeper forservice stations owned by Casimero Encinias, Manueland Eusebio Bustos, David Romero, Fernando Galle-gos and Ernest Romero. I also had La Cocina Restau-rant, S. & E Plumbing, The J.C. Lounge and Jim’s AutoSales as clients. To my knowledge none of the busi-nesses had any problems relating to my work. I nevercharged very much for all of my services. Now I haveonly R.V.’s Transportation, Parson’s Landscaping,owned by two of my sons-in-law, and Connie’s BeautyShop.

I would like to think that we were a credit to ourrace, for the most part. I will be forever grateful for theestablishing of West Las Vegas High and for the privi-lege of serving in the military service of my country. Iam a very patriotic person and I try not to buy any for-eign made high-ticket items. I vote in every election,and although I am a Democrat, I have never voted astraight ticket. I vote for the person who I think will dothe best job.

I don’t mind saying that I worry about the futureof my country. I will never forget during the civil dis-obedience outbursts at the start of the present Iraq War,when a national news reporter stated that it was a well-known fact that ten percent of Americans hate Amer-ica, and these ten percent influence another fivepercent. From some of the opinions I read in the pa-pers, I tend to agree.

I must admit that I do not like what I have heardrecently. Three members of long-time Las Vegas fami-lies have told me that they are thinking of leaving ourtown because of the politics in our city and the lendingpractices of some of our local money lending institu-tions. These people were friends, not family members.

Lastly, I have to be grateful and very thankful formy wife who stuck by me through the very roughyears when she alone provided for the family. I’mlucky to have her and I still love her like I did manyyears ago.

—by Robert Gallegos

A changed life

My sister and I walked out of his apartment,arm in arm, with his words “I am the luck-iest man in the world,” still ringing in our

ears. We had just said goodbye for possibly the last time.Dad held each of us close, and told us how much he lovedus. He had come to terms with the end of his life. Mysister and I had not. We were weepingopenly before we got half way down thehall to the elevator--two grownwomen on the outside, two lit-tle girls on the inside, scaredand agonizingly sad. Myfather was in the endstages of Parkinson’sdisease and, realistically,we knew that we proba-bly would never againsee him alive.

We got in the car,and began our journeywhich would eventu-ally lead us to our sep-arate homes in separatecities. But this day we weretogether, living in the same space, breathing the same air,as we recounted our lives with our dad.

We began our “do you remember when’s” before wehit the outskirts of Santa Fe. Pretty soon peals of laughterreplaced the tears. We couldn’t tell one story about Dadwithout laughing. Our 6’4” father was big in stature, andjust as big in personality. He always had a joke—most ofthe time off color, a little ditty mostly off key, or a storywhich entertained anyone within hearing distance.

He had a horrible memory for names and couldn’t re-member the name of his best friend most days. I have at-tributed my out-going personality to my dad. At an earlyage, I would be sent into a room, hand extended, saying“Hi my name is Cindy and yours is…?” This clever ploywas designed to elicit the name of the person for my fa-ther’s information, without making the other person sus-pect that my dad could not remember their name.

But mostly what I remembered was my dad’s enthu-siasm for life. He had a way of making life feel uncompli-cated, and “normal.” Very rarely was there drama in my

home. It took me many years to realize that our norm wasreally not the norm at all. And believe me, I have cher-ished and held tight to that “ab-normalcy” throughout mylife.

My father was devoted to his family and friendsalike. He was warm, he was kind and he was ap-

proachable. He was the type of dad that manyof my friends wanted, but never had in

their own home, their own lives.I remembered standing in

my front lawn one summerafternoon, a gawky 13 year-old, new to the world of“teenager.” I was in my newmint green shorts, cutematching top, and just be-ginning to acquire thefigure that every prepu-bescent girl dreamsabout. The croquet

course was set and atthe ready in our front yard. One ofthe neighborhood boys, on whom I

had a major crush, came strolling up our driveway. “Hey,” I said in my best flirty voice, “Wanna play

some croquet?”“Yeah, okay,” he hesitated a little. “Do you think your

dad will play with us?”A young girl’s dream date was thwarted by my father.

My would-be boyfriend really wanted to play with mydad, not with me. It wasn’t just my neighborhood crushthough; everyone wanted to “play” with my father.

I remembered my father and his fishing buddies’ an-nual fishing trip every Memorial Day weekend. The weekbefore this much anticipated event took place was spent inpreparation. My dad provided the “sleeping quarters” forhim and his fellow fishermen. He had somewhere, some-how acquired a sixteen man tent. It was large enough forthe ten-plus men who would inhabit it—but it was a ver-itable monolith to us kids.

The weekend before his fishing trip, Dad would dragthe tent out to our front yard and begin to erect hisbeloved canvas and pole temporary home. Since this wasthe one and only time during the year that the “home”


The Tent“The weekend before his fishing trip, Dad would drag the tent out to our

front yard and begin to erect his beloved canvas and pole temporary home.”


was used, it desperately needed to be aired out beforethe trip.

As the tent took shape, the neighborhood kidswould show up—“build it and they will come.” Theylined the driveway and front porch, “oooing” and “ah-hing” as the tent grew taller and bigger. My beanpolefather, dripping with sweat from the exertion of thislaborious task, would shake his head at the PG-ratedaudience, as if in disbelief that they were there. Ofcourse they were “there.” The Big Top was going up atthe Charlton’s.

And then the directives to my mother wouldensue. My father, on his way out the door to work,would instruct my mother.

“Don’t let the kids play in the tent.”My mother, eyebrows raised to her scalp line,

would sarcastically intone,“Yes dear. Oh and I’ll cure world hunger, bring

about world peace and reconcile the national budgettoo.”

Dad would shake his head, the smile working atthe corners of his mouth, and off he’d go. The minutethe car left the driveway, the kid homing device wouldgo off all over the neighborhood beckoning everychild from 5 to 15 to our front yard. Tent games wereabout to begin. And every afternoon, my dad wouldarrive home from work, only to find the neighborhoodkids and my sisters and me under The Big Top. He’dsneak up to the tent flap, stick his head in and growl,

“What are you doing in here?” “Hi Dad, wanna play circus?” Each kid would stop in mid-action waiting in

hopeful anticipation of his answer. Because my dadwas the biggest kid of all, chances were good that he’djoin right in….or at the very least not kick us out of hisrank smelling tent.

In all of his efforts to be authoritative and scary,he managed only to be everyone’s biggest and besttoy. He could “yabba dabba doo” just like Fred Flint-stone, and every time someone asked him how hewas, he would say “Grrrreat,” just like Tony the Tiger.He was silly and fun, and he was earnest and wise.Friends and family sought him out for advice andhelp. They borrowed money from him and paid itback. They admired him, they respected him, and they,just like his children, adored him.

Dad’s love for nature was contagious. I can’timagine growing up in my household without notic-ing the buds on trees, the “greening up” of the vege-tation around us, or the brilliant reds, blues andpurples of the New Mexico sunsets. My sisters and Icould locate the North Star, Orion, and the Big Dipperpractically before we could recite our ABC’s.

I remembered Dad waking my mom, my sisters,and me in the early hours one summer morning towitness a meteor shower. We all stood outside on ourlawn, in the cool air, warm in our jammies andwarmed by his love, as the cloud free, endless blacksky exploded with magnificent celestial fireworks.

He taught me to fish, to ride my bike and to re-spect my friends as well as my enemies. He neverspoke ill of anyone, and told me once when I was inhigh school and feeling pretty “high” about myself,and no doubt dissing someone, that kindness was thegreatest attribute a person could have. I got the mes-sage without feeling put down.

He was a gift, I was blest.My sister and I parted ways at the airport. She

was flying home, and I was driving the short distanceback to my house. We clung to each other crying as ifthe pain of losing Dad would never cease. Wiping ourtears, I asked her if she was okay. She asked me thesame, and then together we said, “I’m grrrreat!”

I got in my car and headed for home to my ownfamily. I wished my kids had had more time to spendwith my father. But I knew in my heart that their edu-cation of this great man would not end just because hehad. He is such a part of me, his stories, his figures ofspeech, and even his goofy jokes, that my childrencannot help but be touched by him every day. And inthe end, I know that they are as blest as I am.

When my father died on June 14, 2007, the worldlost one of its best and brightest lights. The spectacularmeteor show that I witnessed for 51 years simplyfaded away, never again to light up my sky. My tearsfell on the upward curve of my lips; I was crying andsmiling at the same time. I was lucky and I knew it,because there simply was no better man, no better per-son, no better dad.

—By Cindy Charlton

“We all stood outside on our lawn, in the cool air, warm in our jammiesand warmed by his love, as the cloud free, endless black sky exploded

with magnificent celestial fireworks.”

Sandy Poppers injects her energy into a num-ber of passions but recognizes the need forbalance and has been practicing tai chi since

1996. This morning ritual gives her physical flexibilityand balance in her life.

“I don’t let stuff get to me,” she said. “It’s not worthit.”

Sandy and her constant companion, Misty, a stubbylegged pooch with a sweet face and fierce loyalty, werein Sandy’s studio space at El Zocalo Gallery for this in-terview. Painting is a new endeavor for Sandy. Whenher family asked what she wanted for Christmas shechose art classes.

How did entrepreneur and sales dynamo Sandycome to be working in her own studio space learninghow to paint?

The short history begins with Sandy’s birth inCarlsbad, N.M. When she was in fifth grade herfamily left there and moved to Corpus Christi,Texas. Much of her early life was spent in Texaswhere she went to school, married and got her de-gree.

It’s possible she has a built in sales gene be-cause even her early job experience was in sales ofone kind or another. Her degree in government andsecondary education from the University of NorthTexas prepared her to be a teacher but that wasnever in the cards for Sandy. Perhaps because hertype A personality is better suited to entrepreneur-ship and the private sector. Although in the courseof her career she has done training, as she did whenPolaroid launched its innovative SX-70 camera.

“I worked my way through school in the cam-era department at Woolco. Anyway I did demon-strations and training. I found that I enjoyed it.

“One thing led to another and that led to sales,”she said. In the years prior to coming to Las Vegasin 1987 she worked in that arena, went through adivorce and discovered the field of promotionalproducts.

It was a visit to Las Vegas that brought changeto her life. “I came to visit my sister, and never left,”Sandy said with her familiar laugh. “The VictorianGazette was just getting started and Kera Andersonhired me.”

To better prepare herself for doing ad sales forthe Gazette, she took design classes at Highlandsand began a love affair with Apple computers andcreative design.

In the first incarnation of Mainstreet in LasVegas, Sandy was its third director. The fledgling

organization launched successful projects including theChristmas Light Parade, an annual event held on thefirst weekend in December.

Through all this Sandy continued her ad specialtysales and honed her graphic design skills. Later sheworked at the Las Vegas Optic doing ad sales and devel-oping specialty publications, and at the Hermit’s PeakGazettewhere she did ad sales and community relations.In 2001 she was able to launch her own company, Im-printed Impressions.

“I was doing it anyway, working on commission. Idecided it was time to go it on my own,” she said.Sandy joined the Promotional Products Association inDallas giving her intro into an industry full of fun, func-tional and attention-getting products.


A Creative Spirit Takes on Painting

Sandy Poppers, artist and entrepreneur, is also a techiewho loves to try out new geeky devices. Here she prepares todemonstrate the Nomad, a brush for touch sensitive deviceslike iPads.

PHOTO:SHARON VANDER MEER


“There is a vast inventory of products. My goal is tofind the right product at the right price for the customer,”Sandy said. Her graphic design experience is a benefit tocustomers because she can send camera-ready art for thead item.

Which brings us back to the studio and Sandy’s artclasses.

“I’ve been wanting to draw all my life,” she said. “I’veeven taken drawing classes, but I’d never picked up apaint brush until now.”

Her biggest hurdle has been the realization that youdon’t do it once and then it’s done.

“I’m a perfectionist. I want to get it right the first time.I’m learning that I have to take it a step at a time and allowmyself to not have it perfect.”

She was a little surprised to find that much of whatshe already knew was applicable to her painting. “Youdon’t know how much your life experience helps whenyou start something new. Having a graphic design back-ground helped me understand intuitively about thingslike perspective and light and dark, things like that.”

Sandy has worked out of her home office for manyyears, but the idea of having a studio space in a gallerywas too good to pass up.

“It gets me out of the house. When you work at homeyou isolate yourself. Here,” she waves her hand at her sur-roundings, a small space inside El Zocalo Gallery on thePlaza, “I can be part of an art community. I love beinghere. The gallery is always changing and being on thePlaza gives me a sense of the pulseof the community.”

Aside from her career, Sandyhas been active in the communityin various ways, most notably per-haps her service as a Rotarian.During her year as president shestimulated a fund drive to raisemoney for Shelterboxes followingthe earthquake in Haiti. UltimatelyLas Vegas and Las Vegas Rotarywas responsible for sending eightof the boxes to Haiti and two moreelsewhere in the world where aneed arose. The durable boxeshave uses as do the contents, cho-sen based on the nature of the dis-aster. Most commonly there will bea large tent, bedding, tools, a waterpurifying system and items forchildren, like coloring books andcrayons.

She also instituted the Books toChildren program in which story-books are donated to children in

Mora, N.M. on behalf of Rotary speakers. The things that are important to Sandy are her rela-

tionships with family and friends, Misty, and being cre-ative.

“Being creative is a by product of you liking what youdo. I admit to being a bit of a geek. I enjoy being a consult-ant to help people who have Mac problems. I want to help

people with their iPads. Technol-ogy is always changing and thisinnovation will be a favorite for along time. As a consultant I canhelp people get acquainted withiPad basics.”

What makes her unhappy? “Injustice. People treating

other people badly. I do try tolook at the bright side in life, but itbothers me to know people sufferat the hands of others. I believe inloving kindness, in the philoso-phy of pay it forward. Whensomeone does something nice foryou, do something nice for thenext person you meet.”

Sandy Poppers’ business, Im-printed Impressions, may bereached at 454-1069 or by e-mailat [email protected].

—By Sharon Vander Meer

“I believe in loving kindness, in the

philosophy of pay it forward. When someonedoes something nice foryou, do something nice forthe next person you

meet.”—Sandy Poppers

Sandy’s first project as a fledgling artistwas taken from the back of an art’s magazine.


Semilla: A Las Vegas Institution Turns 40

Jane Lumsden, ownerof Semilla NaturalFoods in Las Vegas,

has the zeal and energy of acorporate raider coupled witha social conscience and innatebusiness savvy. Her store hasgrown steadily since it startedout as Old Town NaturalFoods in 1971, largely becauseshe has never strayed from thestore’s original mission to pro-vide healthy foods at a reason-able price.

Semilla Natural Foods, lo-cated at 510 University Av-enue since 1981, has expandedto meet the growing demandsfor organic foods, traditional herbs and supplements.

Bob Martyn, along with his friends Lyman and LindaWhite, helped fund the startup of the store forty years ago. Heand Jane later bought out the Whites and continued to partnerin the operation of the store for about ten years before Bobmoved back to California, becoming a silent partner until Janewas able to buy his share ten years ago.

Jane remembers fondly all that led her to the fortieth an-niversary celebration set for June 11.

“Those were interesting years. I was not quite 17 when Icame here. I dropped out of high school. My parents weregoing through a divorce. When I joined Bob I made the deci-sion to help make this venture a success.

“Maybe if I’d been a business major or had a backgroundin creating a business plan, I might have expanded the storesooner; maybe it would be bigger,” Jane said. “But I don’tknow that I would change a thing. The store has grownsteadily. Its growth has kept pace with my learning curve. Ithink the rate of its growth has kept up with the community’sability to support this kind of store.”

When Jane first came to Las Vegas she and Bob lived inthe basement below Old Town Natural Foods, which was lo-cated in the Plaza Drugs building.

“We had access to about three-quarters of the basement,”she said. “There were three establishments upstairs: the sodafountain, Guerin’s Market and us. I remember Mr. Guerinwould come in at 5 a.m. and start to sweep the floor upstairs.The dust would filter down over our heads while we’re inbed.” She laughs at the memory. “We weren’t there long beforewe moved our living quarters, but you do what you have to

do.”In the area set aside as a

kitchen Jane baked bread,made yogurt and created herown granola mix for sale inthe store.

“It was quite a time. OldTown was vibrant, althoughpeople were reluctant to comeinto the area. The BrownBerets were starting up and itwas an interesting and oftendifficult period.”

She recalls standing onthe steps of her business, achild under one arm, her keysin her other hand. “One of theBrown Berets would be block-

ing me from going in and I’d have to tell him to step aside soI could open.”

Doing what you have to do may be the defining character-istic that kept Jane and Bob going in the early years. “Somedays it was an $80 day, some days a $150 day. A $300 day wasa great day!”

Even with social upheaval going on across the countryOld Town was beginning to emerge as a business district. Sherecalls The Gallinas River Trading Company and a used book-store that helped to stimulate traffic. When revitalization ofold buildings began the area transformed from a place peoplehesitated to enter into a thriving commerce district. “Preser-vation efforts of people like the Slicks was a saving grace forthis town,” Jane said.

After ten years Bob found a new location and the storemoved into a Victorian house on University Avenue where ithas been ever since.

“Our business nearly doubled when we made the move.We were more accessible to more people,” Jane said.

When Bob moved back to California, Jane and their twochildren remained in Las Vegas. “I love it here, although beingin business here isn’t easy. Everything is so cyclical. Just aboutthe time you think everything will start to improve, somethinghappens and we go back down, and then we have to buildback up again.”

Despite the sometimes-bumpy Las Vegas economy, Semi-lla thrives. Perhaps that’s because the store is responsive tocommunity buying habits in the context of its core mission ofselling quality organic foods at a reasonable price. It now hasfive employees and a healthy working relationship with the

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COURTESY PHOTO


Farmer’s Market.“We carry organic produce, but during the growing sea-

son we encourage people to go to the Farmer’s Market. For usto be a middleman for the farmer doesn’t make any sense.They get the most for their produce when they sell direct,”Jane said.

This is a facet of Jane’s business model that has served herwell. She supports community and independent businesses.Her greatest concern for the future of Las Vegas lies in whatshe sees as a lack of activities for children and youth.

“Drugs? Alcohol? That’s the result of boredom,” she said.She laments the lack of access to the city’s recreation cen-

ter. “It’s not within walking distance for most kids. We have

to look at ways to stimulate young people with meaningfulactivities. Kids are far more intelligent than we give themcredit for. I remember when the Arts Council had workshopsand classes for kids in the summer. We need more of that. Ilove what the UWC (United World College) plans to do inpartnership with the schools.

“We need to improve the quality of education in our town.The standards at the high school should be set higher. The kidscan do it. They will strive to meet whatever standards are set.If the standards are set low, that’s what they will settle for. Ican guarantee you that if the standards are set high there will

be a greater excitement about being a teacher and being a stu-dent.”

If that sounds like a dreamer talking, remember Jane’s suc-cess is based on believing a health food store could be success-ful in a small town. She has made it thrive throughperseverance, hard work and remaining true to her values.“The community’s enthusiastic support of Semilla is the truemark of its success,” she said. “I thank all of our customers.”

Jane credits Semilla’s success to staff she has had over theyears. Cathee Sandoval was with her in the critical years fol-lowing the departure of her partner. “She stayed with me andhelped on so many levels.”

After Cathee left others stepped in including Jane’s sister,Amy McFall. “Each one had talents and skills that fit the needsat the time,” she said.

Current staff includes manager Debbie Morse, front-endmanager Bernadette Fernandez, Daniel Hern and Irene Taylor.Jane is on hand most days and always has her eye on what isrequired to improve the business, like the renovation of thestore several years ago that doubled the sales area and createda more light-filled and open environment.

As the store prepares to celebrate 40 years in Las Vegas,Jane reflects on what it takes to make it in business.

“You don’t have the luxury of buying in large quantitieslike the chain stores. You have to be watching all the time. Yousometimes have to forego your paycheck so the employees gettheirs, and the business keeps growing. People will recognizeyour passion and get excited about what you’re doing.”

Is it worth it? “We started our business on the philosophyof only taking out of the business what we needed to get by. Itwas never about profit; it was and is about providing goodfood at a good price.”

In addition to being an entrepreneur Jane is a sculptor. Herwork is fluid and detailed, reflecting her philosophy of doingwhat you have to do whether it’s running a business or creat-ing art.

“You put a lot of time, money and effort into creating artthat may not have a monetary return, but you do it because ofwhat it gives you. Life isn’t one thing; it is many things. Ourgoal should be to satisfy all the different facets of ourselves. Itis important to create time for all the activities we have passionfor.”

Her passion for providing Las Vegas with an alternativeshopping source for organic foods has provided a good livingfor her and her family for forty years. Join with Jane and herstaff as they celebrate this milestone on June 11 from 10 a.m. to2 p.m. at 510 University Avenue. It will be a joint celebrationin cooperation with the Farmer’s Market, which opens at 7a.m.

—by Sharon Vander Meer

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PHOTO: SHARON VANDER MEER


IWent For a Walk in the Forest was thebook title and first phrase I learned toread, precociously at age three, sitting

on my grampa’s lap as he read the story overand over to me. The book was paper bound,about 6 inches high and 10 inches long, with ablack and white cover sketch of the forest sur-rounded by a pumpkin-orange border. If youopened the book out flat, so that the back andfront covers made one whole picture, all theanimals met on that forest walk could be seenhidden among the trees. In the delightful man-ner of children’s fantasy, the animals collectedin that forest ignored the habitat restrictions which wouldnormally prevent them meeting, except perhaps in a zoo.

From the safety of Grampa’s lap I learned about lions andhorses, a giraffe, an elephant, deer and antelope, and a mon-key. When the reading walk was done we rested. He smoked,and I trapped the smoke rings he blew into a wide mouth bot-tle, where they magically retained shape until the genie whoalso lived in the bottle stirred them into a fog to give himselfshelter.

I went for a walk at the zoo, with my grampa, most Sun-days from when I was seven until I was twelve. He wouldcome down on the train from Baltimore to spend the day withus, and would take me for “our” time. Not always to the zoo,sometimes to the park or just for a walk around the neighbor-hood. He would ask me about my week in school, what I hadlearned and what I was reading, and he would tell me aboutthe poem he was working on, or the article he was writing (inHebrew, or Yiddish) for The Forward (which he pronouncedas though a “v” began the second syllable). It was importantto him to pick just the right Hebrew word from among severalchoices for his poems, to convey mood and spirit, as well asmeaning.

I went for a walk on the beach—alone now, a world awayfrom my grampa, he still in Baltimore and I on the sand atNha Trang, picking up tiny pink and black and pearl-coloredshells which elderly Vietnamese refugees from the north col-lected to string into elaborate necklaces. I wore a small goldpendant Grampa gave me, with the Tree of Life etched into it.A link, he said, that would stretch from Vietnam back toMaryland, to keep us sharing our walks. Those were harderyears, without his immediate presence and gentle wisdom tobalance the emotional stresses of my early teens.

I missed him still, when I went for a walk in the Bois deBoulogne during my high school years. I wrote to him, sittingon a sarcophagus in Pierre La Chaise cemetery, one of the fewplaces in bustling Paris that I could find solitude and quiet.Those were very hard years, for both of us. He was no longerworking in his dental practice and had fewer places to publishhis essays and poems. He was no longer as able to care for

himself, and not very aware of time, so hisreplies to me were intermittent, and rarely re-sponsive to the questions I asked.

I went for a walk in the Crum Woods onSwarthmore’s campus, during my collegeyears, and felt his presence through the guitarin my room, a fine instrument I’d found in apawn shop, for which he gave me the seventy-five dollars to purchase. I’d asked my parentsfor the money, but my mother had respondedin her usual fashion. “Why don’t you proveyour interest in playing guitar by learning on aborrowed one before you ask me to spend my

money on something you may not pursue?” Fifty years later,that guitar stays easily in tune and its tone is admired byeveryone who plays it.

I went for walks by the Chicago shore of Lake Michigan,and along the Charles River in Boston, after helping mymother to settle Grampa in Miami, where the better weatherand the presence of a few close friends made it easier for himto manage. We talked on the phone since his eyes had failedto the point that he could not write, nor easily read. With ametal-bound, rectangular, hand-held magnifying glass leftfrom his collection of dental tools, he would slowly read thedaily Yiddish press, sharing his opinions with me on theevents he didn’t trust TV news to present fairly. He worried,after the Six-Day War, that while its outcome improved Is-rael’s security at the time, there would come from it a negativeturn in world opinion toward the Jewish state. He would, Iknow, be distraught over the actions and decisions taken re-cently—the wall, and the West Bank settlements which havebecome symbols of oppression rather than statements of free-dom.

I went for one last walk with Grampa, along the path be-side the railroad tracks in Lamy, here in New Mexico, after hecould no longer live on his own. My mother and I moved himinto a nursing home outside Santa Fe, where I visited withhim several times a month, and brought him to my little con-verted boxcar house for an outing, the one weekend he wasstrong enough to come. I told him the story of looking out thetrain window, age twelve and on my way to Vietnam, seeingLamy as a strange, wild and western place—missing him des-perately and never imagining that we two would walk to-gether there. He answered that it was good to walk with me,though he didn’t really grasp where we were, and com-plained to me that there were people in his nursing homewhom he could hear speaking Yiddish from a distance butwho, when he came close and spoke to them, would not an-swer. I tried to explain that they were speaking Spanish, notYiddish. He was by then seriously deafened, hearing justenough scraps of language to know when it wasn’t Englishbeing spoken. Like most speakers of more than one tongue,

I Went for a Walk With My GrampaHer grandfather’s influence remains with writer Niki Sebastian

as she looks back at a relationship that began with a book

with advanced age Grampa’s communication abilities lastedlongest in his first language, or in his case his first two, Yid-dish for everyday and his beloved Hebrew for poetry andpraise.

My grampa died within days of his official 91st birthday.Official, rather than real, because he had to transfer a birth-date from the Jewish (lunar) calendar used in what he calledthe “dot on the map village outside the dot on a map town”where he was born in Russia, to the western calendar he en-countered when he entered the U.S. as a 20-year-old man in1907. Knowing Shvat to be a spring month, he arbitrarilycalled it March. He equally firmly rejected the proposedAmericanizing of his name to Hill, insisting that “No, myname is Domnitz, Aaron Domnitz.”

I go for walks now, often a brisk measured mile by StorrieLake, or a leisurely stroll along Bridge Street, and realize I amjust the age Grampa was as my parents prepared to take us(his only close family) across the world to Vietnam. After 14or more years of weekly trips from Baltimore to DC (he beganthem when my mother became pregnant with me), how greata change—and loss—that must have been for him!

I wonder, but have no one to ask, why my parents didn’tbring him with us? Perhaps it was discussed and he refused?More likely, I’m afraid, my mother determined that she didn’twant the responsibility. That was her standard reply withwhich to block everything from my having friends for a sleep-over, to helping host visiting dignitaries whom it was my fa-ther’s job to entertain. Blessedly it was also her responsewhen Grampa needed nursing home care, so that I got to havehim close to me for those precious last 18 months of his life.We went for so many lovely walks, in our talks, during myon-my-way-home-from-work visits with him.

Because life in his natal village had gone virtually un-changed for centuries before he left it, his awareness bridgednearly 300 years. Thus, we talk-walked streets of the 1700s inRussia as readily as those of Santa Fe in 1975. He shared theconcern of many, that our technological skills so far exceedour ethical advances. “Will we now bring war to the moon?”was his question after that “one giant step” for mankind.

Grampa’s dental cabinet, filled with a fragile, gaily deco-rated porcelain tea service from Vietnam, sits in my diningroom. I use his magnifying glass when I need stronger eyes.The guitar provides music from many cultures, when I enter-tain students from the United World College. I pick my writ-ten words with care, respecting the importance he gave tonuances of meaning.

My grampa started me reading about a walk through aforest to meet different animals. He continues to guide me onmy walk through life, meeting its varied challenges. Some ofthat guidance arises from one of the last things Grampa saidto me, shortly before he died. I’d asked if he had his life tolive over, what he might have done differently. His answerwas that he had only two regrets. The first was that hethought perhaps my mother might have been a happier per-son if he had remarried (he raised her on his own), but he’dnever found the right woman. The second was that he wishedhe’d learned to play the mandolin. No wonder he supportedmy learning the guitar!

However long my own life walk turns out to be, I hopethat when it ends, I will have as few regrets as my grampadid. With his gifts surrounding me, and his ethics a part ofme, I have every reason to succeed.

—by Niki Sebastian


If outdoor activities and fun inthe sun is on your mind for thesummer you will want to check

out the Sunrise Kiwanis of Las VegasOutdoor Recreation Show set for June18, from 10 a.m. – 4 p.m. at the AbeMontoya Recreation Center on GrandAvenue.

Visitors to San Miguel and Moracounties and everyone who experiencesthe wonderful recreational activities ofthe area—like camping, hiking, fishing,golfing, biking, boating and hunting—will enjoy the variety of informationshow organizers plan to have on hand.Jeff Mills, Kiwanis president, said thesefun in the sun activities provide hoursof enjoyment with little impact on the

family budget.New Mexico Game & Fish will

have an archery display and attendeeswill learn skills with a bow and arrow.You can view native fish in a trailermounted aquarium, courtesy of theMora Fish Hatchery. A taxidermist willbe on hand to demonstrate his art.

Also expect:• skateboard demonstrations, • hula hoop contests, • games, • prizes, • music • food. • Door prizes awarded throughout the day. New Mexico Sportsmen for Fish

and Wildlife will be selling raffle tickets

for two ATVs. New Mexico TrappersAssociation will have a raffle for a silverfox blanket and a Weatherby 22-250rifle. Sunrise Kiwanis will be selling raf-fle tickets for a 22 rifle with a leatherscabbard.

Other exhibitors include PendariesResort & Golf Course, Las Vegas Na-tional Wildlife Refuge, Army Corps ofEngineers–Santa Rosa and ConchasLakes, National Wild Turkey Federa-tion–Mora Chapter and the Becomingan Outdoors Woman Organization.

“Bring the family,” Mills said.“Spend the day. Have some fun andlearn how to enjoy an outdoor “stay-cation” in beautiful northeastern NewMexico.”

For more information call 617-6242.

Sunrise Kiwanis Club Shows off New Mexico Outdoors

RREECCIIPPEESS &&CCHHAATT

Featuring Pamela G. Daves

Iattended Highland Univer-sity’s graduation ceremonylast month and heard the

opening remarks of President Friesand the motivating commencementaddress of Hector Hernandez, SecretService Agent.

President Fries enlightened theaudience with these facts. Only six outof ten students in New Mexico gradu-ate from high school and only three ofthose six actually attend communitycollege or college. The most startlingfact was that 69 percent of all master’sdegrees being awarded that day inMay were being awarded to women.

The next week, Red Cross-LasVegas had a bake sale at the State Em-ployee Credit Union office to raisemonies for our Mid-Rio Grande Chap-ter of the American Red Cross. Overthe years, we have learned that home-made bread and pies sell like hotcakes. So, I decided to make two pecanpies for the sale along with banana nutbread loaves.

Our youngest daughter, who livesin Allentown, Penn., and I have al-ways claimed that we each had thebest pecan pie recipes. Eventually, Itried hers and wanted to have therecipe. However, it took her a numberof years before she shared it and herrecipe is the one I made for the sale.Here it is.

Maple Pecan Pie4 eggs1 ½ C. pecans1 1/4 C. light brown sugar½ tsp. vanilla1 C. maple syrup¼ t salt2 T melted butter

Beat well all ingredients, exceptpecans, in a mixing bowl. Add pecansand pour into a 10” unbaked pie shell.Bake at 350 degrees for 50 minutes.Remove, cool and serve with whippedcream.

The cookinglight.com website offers the following tasty appetizer to getyour Father’s Day cookout off to a deliciously spicy start. The choice of ingredi-ents tones down the calories without sacrificing taste.

Grilled Pepper Poppers

1/2 C. soft goat cheese1/2 C. fat-free cream cheese, softened1/2 C. grated fresh Parmesan cheese1/2 C. finely chopped seeded tomato2 T thinly sliced green onions2 T chopped fresh sage

Prepare grill to medium-high heat. Combine first 7 ingredients in a bowl, stir-ring well. Spoon about 2 teaspoons cheese mixture into each pepper half. Placepepper halves, cheese side up, on grill rack coated with cooking spray. Grill pep-pers 5 minutes or until bottoms of peppers are charred and cheese mixture islightly browned. Carefully place peppers on a serving platter. Sprinkle withcilantro.

“This potato salad recipe was developed for a dad who doesn't like mayon-naise,” states the Cook Light website. “Instead, it's dressed with a summery vinai-grette that permeates the potatoes with flavor (make sure to add it while they'restill hot). Cherry tomatoes, colorful peppers, cool cucumbers and salty olives adda variety of flavors and textures that sets this potato salad apart.”

Light and Fresh Potato Salad Dressing:

1/4 cup seasoned rice vinegar2 tablespoons canola oil1/4 teaspoon salt1/8 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Salad:5 C. cubed red potato (about 2 pounds)1/2 tsp salt1 C. chopped peeled cucumber3/4 C. sliced grape or cherry tomatoes3/4 C. chopped green bell pepper1/2 C. chopped orange bell pepper1/4 C. chopped green onions1 (2 1/4-ounce) can sliced ripe olives, drained

To prepare dressing, combine ingredients in a large bowl; stir with a whisk.To prepare salad, place potato and 1/2 teaspoon salt in a medium saucepan.Cover with water to 2 inches above potato; bring to a boil. Reduce heat, andsimmer 8 minutes or until tender; drain. Add potato to dressing in bowl, tossinggently to coat; let stand 15 minutes. Stir in cucumber and remaining ingredients;toss well. Cover and chill.

An Appetizer and Side Dish to SparkUp Your Father’s Day Cookout

1/2 tsp. kosher salt16 jalapeño peppers, halved lengthwise and seeded Cooking spray2 T chopped fresh cilantro


Samuel Dixon is a master silversmith.He appren-ticed under Sal Chavez, of Sal’s Jewelry, located onCentral Avenue in Albuquerque. Sal and his son are

renowned goldsmiths and silversmiths. Sam was able to takepart in the instruction and is now a master silversmith be-cause of a program for disabled veterans. He has been silver-smithing for more than twenty years, and specializes incustom belt buckles and other custom pieces.

Sam is a local; his great grandparents homesteaded out-side of Las Vegas. They had a store on 6th Street called “LaTienda Del Banco De Ahorras” (The Savings Bank Store),from around 1905 to 1908. Sam graduated from RobertsonHigh School in 1966, and then joined the Marine Corps.

Sam and Kathy use hand tools, handsaws, and hand filesto produce jewelry. All forming, cutting, and manufacturing

is done without the use ofpower tools.

“We pride ourselves in ourability to create quality silverwork by using manual tools towork the silver. It is very labor-intensive to work with handtools, however, each piece isone of a kind and cannot be du-plicated. This makes each pieceunique and a treasure to theowner of the piece.”— SamDixon

Kathy started her gift shopwhere El Zocalo is now, in1996, then moved over toBridge Street. She was treas-urer and then secretary of Old

Town Commercial Club (now the Las Vegas IndependentBusiness Alliance).

She started oil painting in the 1970s, when she lived inAlbuquerque. She was a licensed cosmetologist for 30 years.Kathy started silversmithing with Sam as his student. Shealso crochets wall hangings and won second place at theNew Mexico State Fair for her work. Some of her beadworkearrings are in the showcase at El Zocalco along with the sil-ver jewelry. She is now a member of the Las Vegas Arts Coun-cil, and entered four of her paintings in the Nature art show.

H:What is your art medium? S & K: Sterling silver, copper, brass, cabazones, coral,

sleeping beauty and other turquoises, rose quartz, mother ofpearl, malachite, dichroic glass, sugerite, azurite, charoite,black onyx, whatever can be worked into fine jewelry.

H: How long have you been doing this?

S & K: Twenty-five years for Sam, fifteen years for Kathyand working as a team. Kathy has been painting, beadingand crocheting for thirty-five years.

H: Are you self-taught or did you have formal training? S & K: Sam was taught by Sal Chavez in Albuquerque.

Kathy learned from Sam.H: What gets you excited about your art? S & K: Creating pieces that will last indefinitely.H:What inspires you? S & K: Taking plain silver and creating a work of art. H: You are the Featured Artists at El Zocalo for June.

What will you be doing for your lecture/demonstration andwhen will it be?

S & K: Sam will make a ring out of silver on Second Sat-urday, June 11. Kathy will answer any questions while he isdoing that.

H: Tell me something about yourself that expresses whyyou are an artist?

S: I have a need to express my-self by creating a one of a kind item.

H: Do you work at another pro-fession or vocation or is art the focusof your working life?

S: At this point of my life, as a100 percent disabled veteran, silver-smithing is my only focus.

H: What brought you to LasVegas and how long have you beenhere?

S: My family has been in thisarea since the 1800s. I have beenhere most of my life.

EL ZOCALO FEATURED ARTISTSThe Art of Quality Silver Jewelry

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ECLECTICALLY YOURS: CONNIE MACK

MamaMama wouldn’t bondSo I hugged to a pig

And I did all the thingsThat my little piggy did

Mama wouldn’t bondSo I snuggled in the hillsThe sagebrush and the oakWould mold me to their wills

Mama wouldn’t bondA doggie was my friendI wished to be a dog

All day I would pretend

Mama wouldn’t bondI was powerless of courseSo I drew all my power

From the strong back of a horse

Mama wouldn’t bondNo kind word would she saySo I derived my sweetness

From a warm, soft bale of hay

Music LessonsI played second fiddle

Through thin bars of my cribSecond fiddle, I played back up

When I was just a kid

Fiddle was the instrumentI played inside my cage

Fiddled second to resentmentAnger and to rage

I played second fiddle To jealousy and hate

Second fiddle to their fightingSecond fiddle, second rate

I played second fiddle In the year of ‘56

Second to his buddiesSecond to his kicks

Second to men’s selfishnessSecond to their prideTo their insecurities

Second when they lied

Second to a dollarA bottle and a bingeSecond to a Harley

To a needle and syringe

Double DutchWe didn’t play jump rope

Anymore after The divorce

Weekends“He’ll pick you up on Friday” She snarled

So pack your stuffThank God, he was comingLife with her was rough

I waited by the windowI sat from four to ten

Then I got up on Saturday And waited there again

On Sunday morning earlyI listened for his car

Again I sat not guessing That he was in a bar

Self EsteemI wish I had a penny

For every time I felt like chump change

Denying to PleaseI bent my heartTo fit the part Of any roleAs needed

And though my feelingsBruised and broke

As actressI succeeded

I twisted my emotionsTo make ‘em fit the bill

I crammed ‘em all togetherIgnored when they were ill

When I felt a symptomSuggesting they weren’t greatI blamed it all on something else

And then I went and ate

Anytime I couldn’t sleepI saw no problem still

Just kept a glass of water By my bed

And took a pill

Ten Little InklingsAfter writing about married men and the driving directions I have received here in Northern New Mexico, I have decided to offer a

little poetry. The following are from a collection of autobiographical rhymes I call “Ten Little Inklings.” I mean, I figure that if ten littleinklings equal a clue, and I’m starting to think that they probably do….


Co-dependencyHealthy poundsDropped offLike flies

Circles darkRinged ‘round my eyes

I no longer Lived in meSolely nowI lived in heHis life lost In a syringeI lost my life

Inside his bingeCommitmentSo many timesI had a plan

“Tomorrow I’ll go straight” Then someone

Passed a joint around“Tomorrow” had to wait

Hot Bloody LevisHot bloody Levis

Blood smeared phoneBlood splattered carpet

Bleeding aloneBlood heavy towels

Filled washing machineNothing escaped bloodNothing was cleanBlood on the knobBlood on the doorBlood pulsing overBlood flooded floor

Blood stained stretcherBlood soaked sheetBloody red siren

Bled down the street

Memorize ThisTry to rememberTo do what’s right For me, not herMe, not himMe, not they Me, not them

I Mean, ReallyThey all want my life

And I’d give it to ‘em tooBut I’m usin’ it right now!

Back Off!People don’t tell birds:

“Don’t fly!”They don’t correct:“Blue in the sky”They don’t tell fish:“Out of the sea!”Why do they feel

They must change me?

CourageFacing fear

Is a Near-life Experience

Kinda Like An AvocadoTo completely love myselfNot run away in haste

I must develop somethingIt’s called acquired taste

Far Out!I’m So Sane It’s

Freakin’ Me out!

On The NatchNot when I was marriedNot newly engagedWas I more euphoric

Than when I write each pageYeah, I’ve been drunkAnd I’ve done drugsBut never been as high

As when I’m writing poetryMan, I mean, I fly!

Scattered AshesAs ashes fly

Through the universeScatter the agony Scatter the curse

Scatter the memory of every pageScatter the agony Scatter the rageScatter betrayalScatter distrustScatter my ashes Into the dust

Scatter my hurtsInto the stars

Scatter the hopelessnessScatter my scars

And when you scatter These ashes of mineTell me you’ll scatter All my hard timeBlow each abuse Out to the sea

And promise then GodA life new to me

Chapter Thirteen Who’s on First

Alex was content with putting on his jacket andgoing outside with Krank. Lilly retrieved herjournal and sat where she could keep an eye on

the boy while she wrote. On the one hand Annie hardly seems capable of holding

herself together yet on the other she makes up her mind andsticks with it. In that she is very like Milly. Yes, and see wherethat got her. Alex just upended a pot of dirt on the patio.

Everything back there is such a mess I’m not much worriedabout what more damage he and the dog can do. From the look of itI’ll have to start from scratch anyway. The first thing will be to re-place that darned sliding screen door. It didn’t bother me not havingit there when it was just me, but with everybody going in and outa hundred times a day the bugs will take over the house. Oh, well,it was one of those things Harve was going to do and I never gotaround to after he was gone. I remember the day it came off. Thanks-giving three years ago. One of Michael’s buddies ran into it whenthey were playing football.

Lilly swallowed back the lump that suddenly formed inher throat. They used to have such big Thanksgiving celebra-tions when Harve was alive. She twitched her nose and re-turned to her journal.

Alex was none too happy to be left with me, if I’m any judge.I thought sure he would start in bawling the second Annie left, butafter about five minutes of pouting he asked to go outside and he’sbeen there ever since. I must say, a boy and a dog can find more todo with a stick than you ever can imagine! I don’t remember Eliz-abeth and Michael being able to entertain themselves in such amundane way. They were always going sixty miles to the minute,what with one thing and another, or plunked down in front of theTV. I hated the TV. Still do.

The patio door slid open and Krank bounded in, fol-lowed by Alex. “Krank’s thirsty.”

“Really? And how exactly do you know that?” An expressive shrug was his answer. “Caleb put water out for him this morning. Are you sure

it’s gone?” “Krank’s thirsty.” “What about Alex, is he thirsty?” The shrug again, followed by, “Maybe.” “How about a glass of milk?” “Krank likes sodas.” “Krank doesn’t get soda and neither does Alex.” He started to bull up. “Crying for what you want doesn’t cut it with me. Fact

is it may mean missing supper.You want to miss supper?”

“Mom will let me have sup-per.” He leaned his chin on thebarstool and gazed at her withclear brown eyes.

“Well, we’ll see about that.”Alex continued to keep his

eyes on her, never removing his chin from the barstool. Shewent back to writing.

Michael was master at a variety of tactics to get what hewanted. It never worked with me, but nearly always workedwith Harve. Now there was a man who truly had a heart ofpuredee gold.

Alex’s eyes bored into her but she kept writing. Sometimes Elizabeth and Michael would gang up on me to get

their way, wheedling, whining, the silent treatment. This little guydoesn’t know it, but my skills as a tough cookie were honed by mas-ters. Krank is getting restless. I hope Alex caves pretty soon or thedadblamed dog will start howling and if there’s one thing I can dowithout it’s a call from Phyllis Arrington.

“Milk and cookies?” Lilly finished her sentence and set the pen aside. “Let me see what I can find.” Alex returned to the backyard with a peanut butter sand-

wich and a glass of skim milk. Krank sat watching the child.What kept him from taking his share of the sandwich was amystery to Lilly. All the animals she’d ever encountered werequick to take whatever was available.

Mrs. Candy’s Pekinese was a nasty dog with a bad atti-tude and a tongue like a toad. Sit down with a cup of tea anda plate of cake and he’d have it snapped up before you couldblink. Mrs. Candy would titter and coo, “Silly dog!” Lillywasn’t much given to having tea and cake at Mrs. Candy’s.As it happened, that was no longer of any consequence sinceshe never went there anymore. And why would she? Shewould just get the latest lecture on “getting out” and “mak-ing a new life for herself.” That’s the kind of thing Mrs.Candy insisted on saying, even coming up with suggestionson just whom she thought would be a good replacement forHarve. Lilly shuddered to think anyone would believe shewanted another man in her life. If you were lucky once, don’tthink you could be lucky again.

That dog is amazing. I have the feeling if anyone tried to hurtAnnie or her children, they’d soon find out exactly what that ani-mal is made of.


TTHHEE RREEAADDIINNGG RROOOOMM

— CONTINUED ON PAGE 21 —

Chapter ThirteenWho’s on First

Iwonder how the interview is going. I know I should keepmy nose out of it but I just plain don’t trust Patricia. Iguess, under the circumstances, it’s understandable she

would be a little tetchy, being wheelchair bound and all. Even whenshe was walking around on two legs she was mean as a sack full ofhornets. I know Annie could have done better. I did tell that childif she wanted nights to ask for days. Patricia will give her just theopposite out of spite, if I know my Mrs. Mercer!

Sorry, Harve. I know you would be quite upset with me if youknew the resentment I hold in my heart. I can’t help it. That womanwas the death of you! Okay, so eating too much fat and having afondness for chocolate ice cream and Death by Chocolate cake prob-ably didn’t help. Dr. Wells was on you all the time to watch yourdiet and exercise more. But Patricia Mercer contributed, her andher uppity ways. Harve, my dearest, I miss you so. And now hereI am with strangers in the house and not a clue what to do withthem. I know what you would do and I’ll try to follow your lead:kindness, forgiveness, trust, and understanding. Those were yourwatchwords. I try, my dearest, I try, but you and God know I failmore often than I succeed.

The patio door rasped open, distracting Lilly. “When’s Momma gonna be back?” Lilly glanced at the clock and noted nearly two hours

had passed. What was taking so long? “Soon. If you’re not going back out, shut the door.”Krank wriggled in as soon as he saw the door was clos-

ing and headed for Lilly. Alex shrugged off his jacket and leftit in a heap on the floor.

“I’m bored.” Lilly’s nose twitched; her least favorite words. Not much

changed with children. “Pick up your jacket and put it away. Then find some-

thing to do.”“Can I write?” he asked, ignoring the discarded garment.“Pick up that jacket and put it away. Then we’ll see.” He looked for a moment as though he was going to re-

fuse before snatching it up and dragging it down the hall to-ward his room. Lilly wasn’t looking forward to his return.How did you keep a four-year-old happy?

Chapter FourteenOn the Clock

You’re early, I like that. I can’t abide people whodon’t show up on time. How do you do; I’m Pa-tricia Mercer, Patricia HadleyMercer, as I’m sure

your aunt has already told you. Please, come in, have a seat.”Annie hesitated. Aunt Lilly’s obvious dislike of this

woman couldn’t be ignored. Mercer seemed harmless

enough sitting behind her cluttered desk. Everything elseabout her was sleek and tidy, from her thick golden hairpulled back from her brow with a silver and turquoise clip,to the cream-toned silk blouse she wore. The only thing thatmarred the appearance of togetherness was a pencil stuck se-curely above the clasp in her hair.

“Thank you for taking time to interview me for a posi-tion.”

Annie sat across from a woman whom she now knew tobe the niece of Trey Hadley. Her cousin. This was a compli-cation she didn’t need. On the other hand, if it meant a pay-check who was she to complain?

Patricia removed the pencil from her hair, made a noteon the paper she was looking at, and placed the documentin a file folder. She returned the pencil to its place in her hairand smiled.

“I always have room for family. Although not manymembers of my family are willing to work as hard as youneed to work to keep a quality restaurant running in a smalltown. Are you a hard worker?”

“Very.” The two women studied each other for a moment. “How did you know…?” “You are a Hadley, or how did I know where to find

you?” “Both, I guess.” Patricia slid open the middle drawer in the desk and

took out two photos. She handed one to Annie and waited.The image was of a young woman from another era but itcould have easily been Annie in a fashion time warp and ahairstyle from the fifties. Patricia handed her the other photo.It could have been Annie with shorter hair and more bodyfat.

“Your great-aunt,” Patricia pointed at the first photo.“Your aunt and my mother is the woman in the secondphoto. I don’t know why I didn’t know it immediately, butseeing you was so unexpected.” She hesitated for a moment.“To be honest I—we, the family— thought you were dead.”

Annie’s mother had rarely spoken of her hometown orthe Hadley family except to express her dislike for them.Now it seemed she had a raft of family members who pre-sented a whole new set of problems. For starters she wouldhave to fill the children in on her family history or they wereapt to find it out from someone else. Why had she thoughtcoming back to her mother’s hometown was an option?

Patricia smiled. It warmed her eyes and took away thebarrier that closed off her emotions.

“For my part, I’m glad you’re very much alive. Pleasedon’t let Mrs. Irish give you the wrong impression about me.We’ve had our differences over the years. I’ve put them be-hind me; for some reason she is unable to. As for me, I lookforward to introducing you to the rest of your family.”



Annie blinked. Oh, yeah, this was going to get very com-plicated.

“Look, uh, Mrs. Mercer…”“Patricia, please, we’re family after all.” “Oh, of course. I, umm, I never told my children about

the deaths of my parents.” Patricia regarded her in silence, a silence Annie felt com-

pelled to fill. “I’ve never told them about Trey Hadley.” “If you don’t mind me saying so, from what I hear he

was no prize. You wanted to protect them I imagine, but isthat wise? They’ll find out some day and when they dothey’ll think you lied to them.”

“I haven’t lied. He was gone and it didn’t seem necessaryto talk about him.” It sounded weak even to her ears. “Maybethis was a mistake, coming here I mean.”

“Do you need a job?” “Well, yes, but I really don’t want my children to be

hurt.” “The truth is painful but not knowing and finding out

from strangers is much worse.” Annie knew she was right but at the moment gathering

up her children and running like hell seemed like a reallygood idea.

“I’ll pay you minimum and tips. A good waitperson atPrimetime can make $75 in tips on slow nights and $250 onbusy nights.”

She paused and smiled slightly. “I can tell you our staff has many $250 nights, which is

when you will be working.” Annie brightened. Nights. That’s what she wanted and

she didn’t even have to ask for it. “How often would I be working?” “I’ll start you at three shifts and we’ll see how it goes.

Evening shifts are from 4:30 to closing, about 11 o’clock bythe time everyone is out of here.”

Annie did a quick calculation in her head. It would betight, but she had made do on less. Maybe Aunt Lilly wouldlet them stay with her a little longer, until Annie could putmoney aside to get a place.

“If you want to think about it and get back to me…” “No, that won’t be necessary. When do you want me to

start?” “Let’s get the paperwork out of the way. You’ll need to

fill out an application so I have your contact information, aW-4 and what not. If you have references, I’ll need copies ofthose, just for the file. It’s my business and I can run it prettymuch the way I want, even pay you off the books, but I findlife is much less complicated when I play by the rules.”

Patricia handed her a file folder. “Get everything filled out. When you’re done I’ll put you

on the clock and take you around the operation so you canget an idea of how things run. We’ll put you to work begin-

ning tomorrow. We have a simple but strictly adhered todress code. If you don’t have appropriate clothing, let meknow and I’ll give you an advance to buy what you need.”

“I’ll be fine,” Annie said, and hoped that was true. She re-ally didn’t want to start a new job in debt to the boss, espe-cially this boss.

Chapter FifteenThe Real world

When Caleb spotted his mom’s car he barelymanaged to keep from running toward it fullout. Instead he hitched up his bagging cargo

pants and sauntered toward the Mustang. His lie had spreadlike spilled milk. It hadn’t occurred to him that in a smallschool the effect of such a tale would be far greater than in abig school like the ones he attended in San Diego or LA orPhoenix, three of many places he’d lived in this young life.

Mom was going to kill him if she ever found out. He gri-maced. If she found out? Cripes, she would find out.

Because he knew it irritated her to see his hair hanging inhis eyes, he brushed it back with his fingers before getting inthe car.

“I had the best of all days!” Marie said, bouncing up anddown on the back seat like a gerbil on speed. “And I madeTWO NEW FRIENDS!”

Caleb slid down and popped the seat back. Mistake.“Worms don’t sit upright because they don’t have a

spine. You do. Sit up straight.” His mother was different. She must have gotten the job.

She was always better when she was working, more in con-trol, like the job gave her power she didn’t have otherwise. Insome ways the transformation was good, in others it wasawful. For one thing she became much more alert to her chil-dren’s behavior. He readjusted the seat and sat up straight.

“How was your day,” she asked. “S’ okay.” “Just okay, nothing more.” He gave a spare nod and turned to look out the window

so she couldn’t read what was going on inside his head. Itseemed she could really do that sometimes. It was downrightscary.

He spotted Reymundo among a group of four or fiveother rough-looking boys and a couple of pretty but trampylooking girls. Even though they were in dress-code-requiredclothing of navy blue shirts and tan pants, he recognized thedo-rag colors of gangs he’d stayed away from in LA. Everyone of the boys was either wearing a do-rag on his head ortied around his upper right arm. It was play-acting. Danger-ous play-acting but that’s what it was. These guys didn’thave a clue how really awful the gangs could be. These guys




were wannabes, but no less frightening. The colors hadn’tbeen evident earlier in the day, on school grounds, butschool was out and nothing could prevent them from wear-ing them now.

Caleb wished he hadn’t sat up, that he was down onhis spine like a worm because he was pretty sure he wouldact like a worm if he faced off with Reymundo again. Thesighting was brief but Caleb saw the boy raise his arm in afisted gang salute that made Caleb’s belly turn to water.

“Caleb?” “What!” “Don’t take that tone with me. I was talking to you and

you were ignoring me.” “Sorry, Mom.” “I see the other children are wearing uniforms.” Children. Was Reymundo a child? “Uh, yes, ma’am. Tan pants and red, white or blue

shirts. I have the list of where you can get the stuff in mybackpack.”

“Marie has to wear a uniform too. It sounds like it’spretty much the same. I don’t know how we’re going topay for new clothes for both of you.”

She was back to sounding worried. The magic of a jobdidn’t take away their financial realities.

“It’ll be okay, Momma,” Marie said, picking up on hermother’s distress. “I don’t have to go to school.”

His mother blinked, as if struggling to get back to thatplace of being in control. Caleb swallowed.

“Oh, yes you do, and we’ll manage, don’t you worryabout that. I got a job today!”

Caleb heard the enthusiasm in his mother’s voice butdidn’t for a minute think it was real.

“My teacher says I’m a very good reader,” Marie in-formed them, diverting his mother’s attention and allow-ing him the luxury of ignoring everything that was beingsaid.

Just how much of a problem was Reymundo going tobe? Was it better to tell his mother about his lie or hope shenever found out? Like that was going to happen. He could-n’t fart without his mother knowing about it. Maybe hecould get work and make money so they could move outof this crappy town real soon. He could mow lawns andclean yards. Mrs. Irish had a big-ass riding mower, a gaspush mower and loads of gardening tools. Maybe he coulduse them to do the work.

“Caleb Styverson!” He jerked involuntarily but kept looking out the win-

dow to keep his mother from seeing the anger that floodedright through him. He didn’t feel like talking, couldn’t shesee that? He shrugged to indicate he’d heard her. “I saidthat for now I’ve been given three shifts but if that expands,I’ll need you to take care of your brother and sister. I don’t

want Aunt Lilly to think I expect her to take care of them.” “You mean babysit the babies?” he said, twisting

around enough to make a face at his sister. “I’m not a baby!” Marie protested. “I’m not, I’m not,

I’m not! You’re the baby! Baby, baby, baby! Hah! BabyCaleb.”

“Marie! Stop that this minute.” Marie slumped back in her seat and crossed her arms,

her lip pushed out enough to catch rain and drown her—if, that is, it happened to be raining. In a car. Caleb’s jawpopped with the effort it took to keep from yelling. He wasthinking weird. Thankfully his mother had shut Marie up.Her constant patter drove him nuts. What really ticked himoff was that if he had to watch Marie and Alex then hecouldn’t get a job because he never knew when his mothermight need him. That sucked because he got kinda tired ofbeing the one who had to take care of everybody else, in-cluding, every once in a while, his mother.

The car pulled into the drive. The second Caleb openedthe door he could hear Krank woofing a welcome. Beforethey reached the steps Alex had the door open and wasflinging himself at his mother’s legs while Krank danced adoggie jig, overjoyed by the sight and scent of familiar peo-ple. Poor ole’ Alex, having to stay with the old bag most ofthe day.

The second they stepped in the house the smell ofsomething good made Caleb’s stomach growl. Cookies,chocolate chip if he wasn’t mistaken. His mother hadn’tgiven him nearly enough for lunch in the cafeteria and hewouldn’t take the free lunch the school offered; he’d ratherdo without.

“Fresh baked chocolate chip cookies for anyone whowants them,” the old woman called out, her voice comingfrom the direction of the kitchen.

“Take your things to your room and wash up first,” hismom instructed.

He and Marie raced to obey. He barely beat his sisterback to the kitchen where Caleb encountered the bafflingsight of his brother sitting on the old woman’s lap dunkinga cookie into a glass of milk while his mother chattered onas if this was the most normal thing in the world. It rein-forced the possibility they would be here for a while.Damn. He knew he had to tell his mother about the lie, buthe just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Later, when the oldlady wasn’t around.

______________________

This is the final issue of Happenstance. To read the restof the story of Lilly Irish, Annie and her children downloadthe e-book at ffaassttppeenncciill..ccoomm.


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