The Ebarb years

The Buddhist have a saying, “first the love, and then the laundry.”  It means once all the excitement is over then you go back to the regular rhythm of life and it’s daily chores.  And that’s just what we did.  Jay did not move in with me until after our first wedding.  He was still working for Albertson’s in Shreveport at the time.  Some days he would stay with Momma Muriel, some with his mom, and some with me.  He was steadily looking for work closer to home.  I was working for Fort Jesup and volunteering with the Sabine Parish Humane Society.

I am hesitant to tell you the rest, because I still want to please you.  However, as I am committed to writing the truth of my life, I must be ready to admit my mistakes.  I am culpable for my actions. Let me first say that I was good park ranger, tour guide, historic interpreter, whatever you want to call me.  I knew my stuff. I did as much research about the time period and our little fort that I could.  I understood how it functioned in the community, it’s role in the state and national scene.  I loved to listen to local people talk about the fort and what it had meant to them.  The best compliment I ever got was that I gave a better tour then the guides at Gettysburg.  I talked to my guests and found out what they did for a living and what their hobbies were.  I used that to gear the tours to what they were interested in. I heard many stories, entertained and broadened many minds in my days there.  I had monthly programs and built up a volunteer base.  When I left we had increased our attendance by quite a bit.  I was very pleased at the work I had done there. 

However in Louisiana when you work for the state you have to play a bit of politics.  I am not very good at it.  I’m just not a good liar.  Someone just starting out with the state usually has very few connections.  I am also not very good at working in a group.  I just never have been.  I tend to want to take charge, if I see there is not effective leadership.  I was given little training for my job and basically at times thrown to the wolves.  I was told go make a program, and get us more attendance without any idea of how to do that.  Thank the gods for the fort keeping records of past programs or I would never have even been able to fill out the paper work.  I did the best I could.

Working at the fort, like most things in Louisiana was at times feast or famine.  One day I would have 40 school kids come in and then I would not see another living soul on the property for two days.  Fort Jesup had 3 managers in the year and a half that I was there.  The first one was kind of a dud.  The third one was a pawn, but the second one, she ….she was a nightmare.  Her name was Kathleen.

I am not blameless in this, mistakes were made and I was in the wrong on many occasions.  There were many strong women who were fighting for control of the fort’s future.  My job could be very, very boring.  I spent many hours on the computer, sometimes researching about the fort and others like it from that time period, and sometimes goofing off.  When we were asked to move all of our ranger things to the third floor, I built a palate, and often napped between guests.  I got caught and reprimanded for this.  Not the best move, but something I should mention in my effort of full disclosure.  

The things they asked me to do often befuddled me.  I watched my bosses take credit for things that I did.  Things I planned and initiated.  I was given paperwork for another park and told to write the programs for their interpreter.  I refused.  If I had to do my own work, he had to too.  They would tell me to clean exhibits that were already clean.  Clean bathrooms that were spotless.  Mop floors that had no dirt on them.  We had a cleaning lady and a maintenance staff of two, for our little less than 5 acre park.  I would often bring my sewing, embroidery, or crochet with me, or use the spinning wheel to pass the hours.  I even learned to play a period instrument, though badly. 

Kathleen was awful.  She was verbally, mentally and emotionally abusive to all of us.  Everything was by the book to her.  Her way often went against what I was being told by hire ups.  She would chastise me for the littlest of things, like picking common wildflowers at the park or once taking a ride around the park on a motorcycle with some guests.  Things I saw as harmless.  Then there was my dress.  Our district manager, Tommy, told me he wanted me in historical dress at all times.  She told me she wanted me in our park uniforms.  I did what Tommy told me to do.  This caused a great bone of contention between us.

In September of 2004 I had my annual review.  It was basically a yelling session.  I was told what a horrible ranger I was and that the only reason I was going to be allowed to stay was because they had yet to find someone qualified to do my job.  I was basically a place hold, a human book mark, until they could find someone else.  Again Kathleen told me there was something wrong with me and how stupid I was.  I began to seek counseling again to find out what was wrong with me.  I was eventually diagnosed with ADD and an above average IQ. 

I began to drink heavily to cope with what was going on at work.  I didn’t know what else to do.  I became good friends with the gentlemen who was head over all park rangers.  He had told me to come to him with anything.   I also called and talked to the park rangers where she had previously worked.  I wanted to know if it was just me she hated or had she done this before.  I asked if they had had any problems with her.  They told me they had and had kept a log of all she had done to them.  When she had come to my fort they had destroyed the log.  I began to compile my own, with dates as best as I knew them. I advised other to do the same.  I sent an email to the head of the park rangers telling him my problems. He told me to document everything and to speak to Tommy.  I was quite terrified as I did not like Tommy, but I typed everything up and made plans to meet with him any ways. I did not know that my emails were being monitored until Kathleen confronted me.

“Are you planning to turn me in?”

I did not speak until she became adamant and belligerent.  “Yes,” I finally said.  “How did you know?”

“I get a copy of all your emails.  How many incidents are you planning to turn me in on? One?” 

I said, “No, at the moment 12.”

“If I go, you go!”

I turned in my report in to Tommy anyways.  In a few weeks, Kathleen was given a bright shinny award for her service and then she officially “retired.”  I am quite sure it was retire or be fired. 

The question, for the higher ups, now became what to do with me, the whistle blower, and trader to the good old boy system.  I have always had problems in knowing when to keep my mouth shut, and this was one of the times.  I began to tell other rangers what I had done, how she had treated me and that I was the driving force behind getting rid of her.  No good deed goes unpunished.

I was sent to Los Adaes State Historic Site, a 18^th century Spanish fort, a few miles away.  It was also run by the same manager that ran Fort Jesup.  Before I could apply for Kathleen’s job, someone else was appointed.  Los Adaes had no visitors, no internet, and few books.  I think it was their holding place for me, until they could figure out what to do with me. 

The new manager began to take inventory of everything on the site.  I was questioned about items that came up missing.  Some of these things had been missing for years, long before I ever got there.  One of these items was a reproduction pocket watch, total value about $30.  It had been in an exhibit and I began to carry it with me as part of my persona.  I did not wear a watch.  Didn’t think it would look too good with my historical dress.  I should have just bought a cheap plastic watch and put it in my pocket.  No one would have ever known, but I didn’t.  There were days that I would forget I was carrying it and come home with it.  In time I could not find the watch, now whether I lost it, or it was stolen from me I will never know.  When they finally confronted me about the watch I told them I did not know where it was.  I offered to pay for the watch.  I even offered to pay twice it’s value. 

There was also a sewing machine that came up missing that I was accused of stealing.  I had mentioned to them that mine was broken and in the shop.  I told them, “Why would I want your piece of plastic crap when I run a vintage cast iron 1969 Singer sewing machine.”  Because I could not prove to them that I had not stole the machine, and could not find the pocket watch, they fired me in January of 2005.  They told me, “You don’t meet our expectations.”  Tommy said, “I did not want to come down here and do this.  This came from high up.”  They had found their trumped up reason to get rid of me.  I was told I could never work for state parks again and that I was not allowed to ever set foot back on Fort Jesup property.  I even had to fight with them to get unemployment.  The judge concluded that although my actions may have been moral reprehensible they were not criminal and they could not deny me my benefits.

I have been asked over the years why I did not fight the state. I had no definitive proof that turning Kathleen in had caused my firing.  There were things like my sleeping pallet, the pocket watch and performance review that they would bring up.  I had no money to fight an organization that would close ranks to cover its ass and protect its own.  No matter what had been done. 

As for Jay he had been hired as a Park Ranger himself at the newly opened South Toledo Bend State Park, a job which he loved.  He was given six months in which to pass the physical, he failed.  So by March of 2005 both of us were unemployed and looking for work.

Jay and I continued to look for work.  Jay even went back to work at Albertsons for a few weeks.  He finally got a job with Family Dollar in Shreveport.  Jay was back to driving, to and from our house in Ebarb.  As gas was so expensive, he would spend a few nights a week with his mom or Momma Muriel, and then a few nights with me.

I spent the next nine months looking for work.  I even went back to selling Avon.  I was depressed.  I was demoralized.  To have been accused of theft, was soul crushing. I felt humiliated.   I felt I had borrowed the watch and lost it, never that I stole it.  We felt stuck.  I was terrified we would lose our home.  We had no idea what to do.  Then Katrina and Rita struck. 

Ilsa

Three weddings

In January of 2004 it was time to turn my little leased Saturn in.  Jay and I decided to buy a truck.  Now Jay’s step-father had worked for GM for many years.  Because of that he got what is called a GM certificate.  It allows GM workers to buy GM cars at wholesale price.  The person who’s name is on the top of the deal, the primary buyer, must be related to said GM employee.  Jay and I are not legal married at this point.  The date has been set, the clothes are being made, the dress has been bought and the invitations have gone out but no we are not married at this point.  My name goes on the top of the deal, because I have a little better credit score then Jay does.  We sign the papers and I take the truck home.  I’d always wanted a truck!

We get a call a few days later from our salesman that there is a problem with the paperwork.  The lien holder had kicked it back because my name is on the top of the deal, I am not official GM family, and not authorized to use the certificate.  We have committed a little bit of fraud.  We have two choices: bring the truck back and try to redo the deal, or get married immediately.  We decide to get married. 

On February 5, 2004 Jay and I are legal married by the local Justice of the Peace, in my Momma’s living room in Keatchie.  I wear a simple white shirt, black skirt and no shoes.  My mother freaks and keeps yelling at me to put my shoes back on.  Oy Vey! It is just my parents, Jay and I and Paige.  It all happened so fast that Jay forgot to invite his parents.  My father gives me away by kissing me on the forehead.  Something he used to do when I was little and sick and he was trying to check my temperature. It’s just our little thing.

As I start to say my vows I become overwhelmed.  My father is standing behind me, I almost faint on him.  He pushes me with two fingers, ‘cause he is a very big man, and says, “Don’t make me get the Shotgun!”  What??  I regain my composure.  We had never practiced our vows.  When I said them for the first time, I wanted them to mean something.  I place my hand over Jay’s heart, swearing on it when I take my vows.  I say all the vows, but I refuse to say that I will obey him.  I believe no one should have to blindly obey anyone.  It should be a choice.

There is an old saying that when you marry someone you marry their whole family, and that is very true.  A wonderful husband with a bad family can be a new bride’s worst enemy.  I know many women who have a lot of trouble with their in-laws.  I am blessed that Jay has a wonderful family.  That is one of the reasons I agreed to marry him. 

I’ve often said that when I married Jay I not only got a husband, but I got a grandmother too.  There is another old saying that men marry their mothers.  While I love my mother in law, and she has never been anything but nice to me, we are very different people.  We are cut from different cloth, me and her.  She loves to shop.  I hate to shop.  She loves shoes and purses.  I despise shoes and spend most of my life barefooted.  At the time I could count my shoes and purses on my hands.  I have since become a bit more girly.  My mother in law is very much a city girl.  Nothing wrong with that, it’s just different.  She is by no means a Novelle!  She and I are both steadfast in our resolve that we love and what whatever is best for Jay. 

Knowing Jay’s mother, and how different we are, I often wondered why he would choose to fall in love with a very country girl like me.  When I met Momma Muriel, Jay’s paternal grandmother, I knew why.  The first time I met her she told me a dirty joke.

“Hey!  You know how to kiss a ducks ass?” she said

“No.” I said

She then blew, as if to blow the feathers away, and made a kissing noise, “But you got to be quick!”

We both exploded in laughter!  She from the joke and me from the fact that this woman of 76 has just said the word ASS.  Novelle would never have done that!  Oh I liked her already.  Momma Muriel and I became fast friends.  We were both country girls and cut from the same cloth you could say.  She’s spent more the 40 years as a nurse and had seen it all.  She was fierce and independent, despite being confined to a scooter most of the time.  She still drove and did all her own errands. 

Momma Muriel lived in an old trailer on 22 acre just north of town.  Her land was full of very tall old pine trees, beautiful Bartlett pear trees, thick woods and a creek.  I feel in love with this place the first time I saw it.  Years later she would ask us to move out here to care for her and in her will she gave it to us as her last gift.  The more I feel in love with this little piece of land, the more I knew I wanted to be married here, in the spring when the Bartlett pears bloomed with their beautiful white flowers. 

I had spent months sewing and weaving clothes for our Ojibwa wedding.  For Jay I made a cream colored drop sleeve shirt.  While not period, it looked nice.  I wove him a belt on an Inkle loom.  He wore his brown canvas pants and a black beaded choker that he had made for himself long ago. 

My regalia had taken months to construct and research.  I had made for myself a purple drawstring skirt, a full length white apron with ribbon embellishment, an embroidered pocket, a handkerchief with a tatted edge, a blue tribal style shirt circa the 1700’s with ribbon embellishment, and a double sided shawl with fringe, in our wedding colors of purple and teal.  Jay made a leather sheath form me to carry my dear antler handled knife in.  We beaded the bottom and added tinkle cones.  We designed the sheath to hang on the string of my pocket.  Jay also made me a beaded choker, and Maddie gave me a cow tooth to hang from it.  I wore my hair in braids.  I also wore a ring given to me by the Caddo tribe years before and earrings made by a Caddo – Adais lady. My maid of honor, Mary, had made me a leather head band, with eagle plumes that Jerry had given me.   In my hands I carried a bouquet of feathers that Mary had also made for me.  Both of these things were her wedding gifts to me.

While I might have looked silly and stupid or disrespectful to some people, I felt beautiful.  I felt I was doing something very true to my heart and my soul.  It was always our intention to be as respectful as we could to a culture we felt such a connection to. 

In attendance were Momma Muriel, my parents, Mary and her husband, Jerry and his wife.  Jay’s parents refused to attend.  Prince, Pumpkin, and Precious looked on at us from the pen.  I had hoped to have them in one of the ceremonies, but having them watch and protect us during this time was the best I could do.

At sunset Jay built us a sacred fire.  We gathered close to it with Jerry and his wife.  She wrapped us in a blanket that Momma Muriel had crocheted many years before.   Jerry brought out a small little bowl to bless the fire with.  Inside was cedar from the tree under which his grandmother was born.  We were all shocked to find out that she and I had the same birthday.  To it we added our gift of tobacco.  Jerry gave me the bowl as a wedding present.  It sits on my altar to this day. 

At some point Jerry tied our hands together and we took our vows to each other.  I think I was crying a lot, ‘cause I don’t remember as much as I should.  Jerry spoke many words to us.  He told us of marriage and to keep our minds and our bodies clean.  He told us we were married in this life and the next and we could never divorce.  We like to joke around our house, that the only man who could undo our marriage is Jerry, and he is long since dead.  We are stuck with each other, whether we like it or not.  Finally Jerry brought out an eagle wing and blessed us with it.  That was the most magical moment for me.  To me this was my wedding.  If you ask me when my anniversary is I will give you this date.   To me everything else was just for show.  There was no reception.  We just all went out later and ate fried catfish, Momma Muriel’s favorite. 

The next day on March 20^th, 2004, at 2 o’clock in the afternoon, at Keatchie United Methodist Church, Jay and I were married, again.  We were married in the same church my parents had been married in 22 years before.  Our invitations were simple and printed on parchment paper, in color from our home computer.  They were sealed with a silver wax stamp of two intertwined hearts, our little symbol.  We hand delivered invitations to those we could and mailed the rest to those we could not.  We had about 30 or 40 people in attendance.

The wedding was very simple and informal.  I wore a white chapel length dress with a v-neck and short sleeves.  I was hesitant about wearing white, because I had been married before.  Etiquette says that a bride marrying for the second time should wear cream.  When I told this to Jay he said, “You wear white for me baby.”  I loved that, and so I did.  My hair was piled high on my head with ringlets.  I wore a wreath of flower and ribbons in my hair and carried beautiful silk flowers with ribbons. 

Mary, made all the flowers as her gift to me.  She made all the corsages, flower for the bridesmaids and stood as my Maid of Honor.  Maddie and Paige were my bridesmaids.  Instead of buying stupid dresses for the ladies to wear, that were ridiculously expensive and they would never wear again. I asked that they all wear something purple, something that they would wear again.  They did and they all looked lovely. 

Jay wore a white shirt and black pants.  His grandfather was his Best Man and his friend Robert was his Groomsman.  All of our friends and family were there, yes even Novelle. 

As my Dad walked me down the aisle, I stopped to light a candle in front of a picture of Oma.  We were married by a pastor who’s name I don’t even remember, and I am not sure I had even met before.  By this time we were kind of old hats at this. 

For less than a hundred dollars we rented the Keatchie town hall and held our reception there.  We had a lovely Italian cream cake, with double hearts on it, green sherbet punch, and finger sandwiches.  We had decided on an afternoon wedding, because we didn’t have the money to feed everyone.  It was a nice way for everyone to have a break in their day, and still have time to go home and mow their lawn.  We had our little toast and cut the cake for our friends and family to enjoy.  As Jay does not dance and we have never had a special song, until recently, there was no dancing.  We opened gifts, thanked everyone for coming and went home. 

Jay and I were too poor for such a thing as a honeymoon.  We would not take that until years later.  We just changed clothes, loaded up our dogs, got in our car and headed back home to Ebarb.

Ilsa

 

Queen of my double wide trailer

At Thanksgiving news came from my landlord that he intended to sell the little trailer I was renting.  I had a month to find a new place or to buy it from him.  I was a bit taken aback.  I phoned my parents who agreed to help.  Within two weeks my parents had found a repossessed 16 x 80, 2000 Skyline trailer for sale.  They put down the down payment and I signed the papers.  The trailer was put in my name so that if something ever happened between Jay and I, he could not suddenly kick me out of my own home. 

We began to look for a nice park to put our new trailer in.  That can be difficult as trailer parks are usually squished together, by park owners to make more money on lot rent.  They can also be denizens of human existence where drugs and crime run rampant.  We finally found a nice park, Peach Tree Hill Mobile Home part.  It was run by a police officer in the community of Ebarb.  The lots were spacious and what crime there was, was kept to a bare minimum.  There was also no problem with us building a pen for our dogs.  Hell the old boy running the place must have had 40 chickens in a coop attached to his barn. 

Our new home was moved in during the first week of December of 2003.  The house was in, but it was up to us to hook into the sewer system, the water line, and get a pole for the electricity.  Jay is kind of a jack of all trades.  On one of Jay’s days off he was busy under the house hooking into the sewer system.  That day there was a storm moving in and the wind was just a blowing.  Jay doesn’t like the wind, so he was just a cussing and a fussing at it.  I decided I need to take a break from him and let him cool down.  I told him I was going to go and haul the garbage off and that I would be back in a few minutes.  I told him he should take a break too.  I jumped in his dark blue Pontiac Grand Am and headed for the dump.

Now for those of you who live in the city and have curb side pickup, let me explain.  The dump is a country term for a place to take the garbage.  When I was a kid this meant driving down a dusty road and just throwing it out somewhere.  Then there are open landfill dumps where many people pick threw the garbage on a Sunday afternoon, looking for treasure.  A nice dump is one that has a big blue compacting bin with a fence around it, recycling options and a guard on duty during the hours it is open.  He is there for two reasons: to prevent people from picking thru the garbage and to stop people dropping off animals like garbage. 

Then you have what Sabine Parish had in the days that we lived there.  On the Sepulvedo Loop, not far from our house, there were three large open blue garbage bins.  People could just dive up anytime day or night and dump whatever they pleased there.  Often times what they dropped were unwanted animals.  Many times we drove up to find the dead bodies of dogs that had been used as bait dogs in dog fighting rings, or kittens with their eyes not open yet. Sabine Parish, in those days, had no animal control.  Family pets that were no longer wanted were simply dumped at these locations, with the hopes that they would fend for themselves.  Some survived, some did not.  I began to make the rounds at the dumps putting out food and water for these animals.  Once I moved to Sabine Parish I began working with their local human society. 

It was at the dump on the Sepulvedo Loop that Prince would enter our lives.  I had come to dump the garbage. I was not making my rounds that day.  It was just starting to thunder and mist.  I opened my door and then WHOOSH!  something had climbed over me.  I turned and looked in passenger seat and there was a half starved terrified little soul.  He was black and tan and looked to be half Chihuahua and half Dachshund, a Chi-Weenie.  I said, “Hello!?  Can I help you?” He was just shivering.  I did not know then that Prince was frightened of storms.  I told him that I worked with the Sabine Parish Humane Society and that I was there to help him.  I excused myself to throw the trash away, then got back in the car and drove to my house. 

I was so excited to have rescued a small dog.  I knew of several friends who were in want of a small dog.  I let Prince in the house while I finished doing something.  When I came in the house I was so excited to tell Jay what I had found. 

Jay is sitting in a chair in the kitchen and says, “Momma I think we have a problem.  I’m in love.”  There was Prince in Jay’s arms and giving him a hug.  Jay was smitten. 

“No,” I said, “I had already figured out who to adopt him too.” 

“Nope he’s mine now.”  And they hugged and that was that. 

I named him Prince because after I left Mike I told everyone I was going to treat myself like a queen because he never did.  My handle for a long time was HMQueenIlse, Her Majesty Queen Ilse.  A queen does not need a king to rule.  She can take care of herself.  Jay had become my King, and now we added a little Prince to our growing royal family. 

Prince had been thru hell.  When we found him he had 3 broken ribs, ringworm, 2 toes that had been dislocated and had healed crooked, and a BB permanently imbedded in his back.  The vet guessed he was a year and half old.  He was also a wreck emotionally.  While he loved Jay, he would let almost no other man touch him.  If a man with a baseball cap and a beard came around him, he would lose it.  It took us five years to be able to take him in public.  It wasn’t until the last few years of his life that he would even let a strange man touch him. 

So Prince, Precious, Pumpkin, Jay and I made a little family.  With our new home in place we went back to planning the wedding.  We intended to have two weddings, like normal people.  We did not plan to have three. 

Ilsa

Making Plans

Jay and I continued seeing each other, falling deeper and deeper in love.  He would steal away to my house whenever he could.  He would come for what we called, “sleepovers.”  I was not allowed to sleepover at his house.  While my mother in law loves me, she was not too keen on her unwed son having sex under her roof.  I had told my parents long ago at least if I have sex in the house, you know where I am.   I’m not out on a pipeline somewhere, or back in the woods where if something happens to me you can’t get to me.  My parents adored Jay, they still do.  When Mom would come to say goodnight to me, she would tuck Jay in bed first and then me.  I still think they like him better than me.  At some point my father told me, “If you ever decide to get a divorce from Jay, just walk right across the hall and take out a restraining order against me ‘cause I’m going to kill you.”

Now I had lost my job in the Summer of 2002 and I continued to look for work, any work for many months.  When you have a B.A. most people don’t want to hire you.  They think you will become bored with the job and leave as soon as they have invested all that time and money in training you, or your find something in your field.  They also don’t want to hire someone who has a lot of education and not as much work history.  Again a lot of men doing the hiring are intimidated by an intelligent woman. 

My Anthropology degree, while pretty on the wall, was not worth very much here.  North West Louisiana does not invest in science or preserving their history.  There were a few private museums here that were run by volunteers and only one was run by the state.  There are also no state historic sites here.  There was nothing here where one with my degree might make a living.  It’s kind of like having a marine biology degree while you are living in the middle of the desert.  My dreams of a higher degree had been dashed by my GRE results.  I was too stupid for graduate school, plus now I was in love and I did not want to leave him behind.  I took the civil service test and began to look for work with the state. 

About the time I meet Jay I had finally found a little job as a barista.  That job lasted a few weeks, before the owner told me they were having money trouble and would have to let me go.  They closed a few months later.  I had friend named Paige (who’s so twisted she deserves her own article and that I plan to write a little later) who’s father owned a convenience store.  I asked her to get me an interview with him.  She did and I was hired a few days later.  Even he was intimidated by the fact I came to the interview in business attire, with a resume in a nice folder for him, and had a degree.  He didn’t want to hire me at first because I had a degree.   He, like so many others, was afraid I would get bored and leave.  People like him sometimes forget that we all have to eat.  Paige had to explain I was just very professional.  I stayed almost 6 months, a lot longer than many of the people there. 

I got the word in September of 2003 that I would be a Park Ranger at Fort Jesup State Historic Site outside of Many, Louisiana. It was built in the 1820’s and had been used as a staging ground for troops in the Mexican American war. I was terrible excited that I would finally be able to put my degree to good use, and to make a living for myself.  It was an hour south of where I was living and an hour and half south of Jay.  For the first few weeks I commuted back and forth from Keatchie to Many.  But we knew this would never do.  I began to look for a place to live. 

I refused to leave Precious the first behind.  Would you leave your human children behind if they suddenly became inconvenient for you?  No she was my child, just because she had fur did not mean I got to cast her aside because a place to live would not allow pets.   

Precious the first had come to me in those years of writing the “Prodigal Daughter,” from a friend.  She was a beautiful black and tan Dachshund.  She had been rescued from the Bossier pound.  Her owner had been an elderly lady, who had died of a heart attack, a few weeks after Precious the first had delivered puppies.  The family had sold the puppies and took Precious the first to the pound.  The day my friend got her Precious the first was so engorged with milk that she had to ride home on a towel.  For years Precious the first would wake up screaming in her sleep.  I know she was dreaming of her pups.  Over the years she had become my trusted companion. No I was adamant she would come with me.  I would not leave her behind. After a few weeks I lamented to a co-worker the problem I was having trying to find a place for both of us.  He told me that he had a cousin who had a trailer that would allow pets.  I was overjoyed.

In October Precious the first and I moved into a little trailer in the tiny community of Belmont.  Jay came to visit when he could, but for the most part we were on our own.  It was the first time, other than living in the dorms in college I had ever lived on my own.  It could be exhilarating and terrifying at the same time, especially at night. 

I did not want Precious the first to be lonely while I was gone to work, so I decided I should get her a playmate.  I put a call into the Shreveport Pound and told them if they came across a Dachshund to give me a call.  They called three days later.  They told me they had picked up three doxies knocking over garbage cans to stay alive.  I told them I would take all three.  I happened to be on a date with Jay when we got the call.  By the time I ran to the bank and got out the cash, they had already adopted out two.  On the way there we had already decided on the name, Pumpkin.  No matter the color or the sex of the dog.  It was October you know.  I was calling everybody Pumpkin about that time. 

When we get to the pound we are led back to the kennels.  There sat the most beautiful, scared, little red Dachshund on a green bed.  They opened the door and I crawled in and laid on my back in submissive position.    She began to give me kisses.  I picked her up, proclaimed her Pumpkin, and gave her to Jay.  And so we add Abigail Pumpkin Plaisance to our family.  Pumpkin and Precious the first fought a lot in the early days, but at least they were company for each other. 

Jay and I had been together for about 10 months at that time.  We were engaged but had not set a date as of yet.  Our families were getting pretty tired of the fact we were sleeping together, but not married yet.  We decided to set a date.  We would marry the week after my birthday in March when the flowers would be in bloom, my favorite time of year.  I figure that in the coming years he might remember one of the two dates, since they are so close together.  He has never forgotten either. 

Now at this time in my life I am Christian but I am also still very interested in Native American Spirituality and Native American culture.  Jay is and has always been interested in their different cultures.  At this time I have even danced in a Pow-Wow, and have my own regalia.  Although it might be cliché and not politically correct Jay and I feel we have spent many lifetimes among the tribes. 

I am talking on the phone one night with Mary, a friend of mine.  I mention to her how I wish we could be married by a Medicine Man.  She asks me, “Isn’t Jerry Fairbanks a Medicine Man?  Can’t he marry you?”  I said I will find out.  Indeed my friend, who I have talked about before, is an Ojibwa Medicine Man and can legally marry Jay and I.  We are delighted!  We begin to make plans for our Ojibwa wedding.

When our family hears of this, they are not pleased.  They do not consider such a thing to be “legal,” their way of saying they don’t consider it to be correct.  I tell them if they want us married in the church then they will have to pay for it.  They say they will.  So we begin to plan for a church wedding as well.

Ilsa