Experiences, Insights & Humor on the “Long Road Home”
November 5, 2021
By Steven Maisenbacher
When life throws you a rainy day, play in the puddles. ~ Pooh Bear
Walks On The Grass
One time along the way in Phoenix, Arizona, the child in me came out to play. It had been hot as only the desert can be in July when lo and behold along came some rain, but it seems that no one told it to stop, so it rained and it rained and it rained, days on end before it finally slowed down to a sprinkle. While the ground was still soaked and everything pretty much flooded it was beautiful temp wise, upper 90’s and just as pretty as it could be. So I decided to go to the yard.
Now I do not know what came over me, but I stomped in every water puddle along the way to the rec yard. See, I have always been a puddle stomper and love the “SPLOOOSH” it makes when you stomp down in them. Smile. So I make it across the compound merrily stomping my way to the rec yard, shorts, shoes and t-shirt soaked to the skin! As you go through the gate to enter the rec yard you pass the offices for the recreation staff, then next to that the barber shop and then a little drainage concourse that slopes down on several sides and meet in a big drainage grate.
It had been raining so very hard for several days that water had filled the pipes from the drainage area and created a pool 3 – 4 feet deep and about 10 feet across, a veritable swimming pool! Seeing this I just could not control myself. I took off running from the patio, across the sidewalk, past the barbershop, threw myself through the air and belly flopped right into the pool of water! The feeling was amazing!
But then the rec cops came out. They ordered me out of the “pool” and made me get away from the area, which was a good idea in hindsight because this was the desert and that was a scorpion that just floated past my head. So out I come and head for the track. Man, even more fun! I stomped my way around the entire 1/3 mile track thru every puddle, rivulet and wet spot I could find. When I finally got back around to the office side of the track the rec cop told me I had to leave and go back to the unit. I couldn’t believe it! I had been tossed off the rec yard for puddle stomping, a purely childish but innocent endeavor. So I re-stomp the puddles all the way back across the compound to the cell block, thinking it was really amazing that I didn’t actually get in any trouble other than being thrown off the recreation yard and sent back to the block.
So I get back to the block, wet, soaked and saturated and the air conditioning hits me. I’m one frozen person so I come out of the soggy clothes and get into a nice warm shower. By then it’s getting near 4 pm count time, so I just go hang in the cell listening to the smooth jazz station out of Phoenix on the radio and reading or whatever. We get counted and immediately after count, when they are opening the cell doors, an announcement comes out of great P.A. speakers in the sky:
“ATTENTION COMPOUND AND HOUSING QUARTERS, THE COMPOUND IS OPEN FOR A 10-MINUTE RECREATION MOVE TO THE RECREATION YARD! REPEAT, THE COMPOUND IS OPEN FOR A 10 MINUTE MOVE TO THE RECREATIOON YARD. THE YARD IS OPEN…TO EVERYONE EXCEPT YOU, MR. MAISENBACHER, YOU CAN’T SEEM TO CONTROL YOURSELF AROUND PUDDLES.”
This was not the first time my childish behavior got me in a bit of a stew, and it sure wasn’t the last time. But a kid has to have fun sometimes.
Now I must speak about the Panther or Tiger Dance. This dance is conducted by the Panther or Tiger Clan for members of the clan and those who want to invoke or call for the spirit of panther or tiger to come to them. Dancers first fast and purge themselves using the black drink and then prepare their bodies for the dance. Dancers wear the whole hide and head of the big cat. Many have their faces painted to resemble their spirit animal with claws hanging from their neck.
As the Clan Mother of the Panther Clan screams the panther cry, the rattles begin rattling. The dancers make offerings to the spirit of the panther and begin dancing; moving, stalking, and leaping as attacking their prey. Each dancer will be seeing the panther, visualizing in their minds its heart, its spirit, its body, and its mind; invoking all its characteristics to become one with them. They will feel it, taste it, hear it, know it, and believe it. Faster and faster they dance and move; leaping, pouncing, clawing and snarling through the night until they lay exhausted and the dream becomes real and the spirit of the big cat is there speaking with them; welcoming them as family. Other Panther Clan members and clan mothers will watch over them as they lay receiving the gifts and teachings from the spirit of the big hunter.
Sneak-up Dance
Now many of you know how sneaky we were (still are) always sneaking up on anything. But did you know we have dances for that too? Well we do. They are called just that, Sneak-up dance. Now in the old, old days these were to show off highly creative athletic abilities for being flexible, balanced and in rhythm. The dancers would prepare themselves in different styles and techniques of camouflage to blend in. These dances were conducted by the war clans and rattles were used to begin the dance. Then silence.
The drummers take their sticks and start tapping the on the edge of the drum like a woodpecker, faster and faster as the dancers begin moving, twisting and bending with their feet moving in perfect time to the drum. Then the lead drummer hits the center of the drum and all the drummers begin playing and singing the sneak-up song to a steady fast rhythm. The dancers feet must make every single beat. Then suddenly it stops. Every dancer had better be in rhythm with a foot down or he is out. In sneaking up on a prey or enemy, many times you must freeze, no matter what. So “being out” means the dancer was judged to not be frozen at the sudden stop of the drum beat and must leave the dance area. Now the only one who knows when the drum will stop is the lead drummer. He uses signals to let the other drummers now and they follow him. This applies to all songs and dances.
The lead drummer is usually the lead singer as well. Now winning this dance was very important back then because these skills are highly desired by all. Going from a dance of frenzy to a sudden stop with no warning yet so sensitive to the drum that you are prepared for anything, that takes skill. The dance continues till everyone has been eliminated except one.
Now days the Sneak-up dance is still played and done a little differently. I would recommended it to all of you, even learning to properly dance in rhythm with drum it is very fun and teaches you lots of balance and skills. Today we use this in a chair game in the center of the area. Depending on how many dancers there are , there will always be one chair short and includes female and male, young and old alike. When the drum stops everyone must sit in a chair. The first in the chair wins the seat. The person left without a chair is eliminated. This is a game of laughter, and fun and breaks the ice in any gathering. Kids love it because it’s a game. We always have prizes for the winner but it isn’t really about prizes, it is about having fun and laughing. There is more honor gained in letting a child or elder win than in winning yourself in a game like this.
Experiences, Insights & Humor on the “Long Road Home”
November 1, 2021
Steven Maisenbacher
Walks On The Grass
I’m thinking this sounds crazy, but I also have given it a lot of thought, like years’ worth, and over the years I’ve come to the conclusion that as a child I did so many bad things, not because I was a bad child, but because I was doing bad things as a tool to get attention from my father that I got no other way. Never once can I remember him paying any attention to me unless I had done something that warranted punishment. It was like the old “just wait till your father gets home” because my mom never was the disciplinarian with us boys, always my dad. One thing was certain, if I acted up I got the belt on the butt, and my dad had an ample supply of which I know I must have dang near wore out.
I was certainly not my dad’s favorite, how could I be? I was constantly doing bad things – stealing little things, lying, sneaking around, destroying stuff, breaking things, messing with stuff I knew better than to mess with – knowing of the certain spanking I would get if I got caught, and I always got caught. Being bad was my hallmark, and my claim to my dad’s attention.
Now, I know I deserved every bit of every spanking I got. I did some monumentally stupid things as a kid, and every time I would get the belt. Then after my punishment my dad would say, “Now I want you to know I love you and that is why I spanked you.” Then he would hug me. Those were the only times I can remember my dad telling me he loved me or him hugging me.
Humm. I believe to this moment that I did a lot of what I did just to get him to hug me and tell me he loved me because I know I never got an “I’m proud of you.” Heck, how could he be with me always being bad and getting into trouble? Never-the-less, as I reflect now as an old man, knowing all this and facing it for myself finally makes sense of things.
My dad worked hard all his life, he didn’t have time for my shenanigans and I was his only “bad” child. I’m over it and I don’t need to be bad anymore, not for anyone’s attention or any reason. So there it is. It’s all better now and I can be my true self. All those monsters in the closet, well, it took me 40 years, but I smashed ‘em. They are no more…
Experiences, Insights & Humor on the “Long Road Home”
By Steven Maisenbacher
Walks On The Grass
Sometime along the way, it’s been so long ago, I’m not sure when, but I am sure where – about 30,000 feet in the air, somewhere over the state of Michigan, or between Michigan and Chicago. It was back in the 80’s, I was on a disciplinary transfer I think, from USP Leavenworth, KS to USP Lompoc, CA. So it’s like late January, or early February, absolutely freezing outside, snowing pretty hard, actually really hard. I was surprised they were even flying us.
First let me give you a little lesson in how this all worked. When you’re going to be transferred, before leaving for the airport, you are herded into a big pen area, usually a hundred in a pen built for 45 people, but hey, it isn’t supposed to be comfortable. So they take 5 of us out at a time and march us to another pen where we are strip searched: “Hands in the air run your fingers through your hair, behind the ears, open your mouth, lift your genitals, squat and cough, ok put these on.” Usually “these” were old clothes from a million other transferred people, but they toss you a t-shirt, pants with the stretchy waistband, no pockets, a pair of socks and then a pair of “Jackie Chan’s” or deck shoes, the blue ones, slip-ons with just a rubber sole. It’s not unusual to get 2 different sized shoes, or 2 of the same side, but it’s, “they fit, wear em…”
Now it’s on to the next pen, where you may wait for three hours standing up or sitting on a concrete floor, with a toilet and a sink and 99 other men in plain sight. from there it’s out and down the line to be chained up with shackles, then a belly chain with handcuffs to the belly chain pretty much immobilizing you. If you’re high security as I was for more than a decade of my 37 years, they have a little added something, called a “black box.” This device snaps over the hand cuffs, then the belly chain hasp is run thru it and the contraption is then padlocked so that you will definitely not move your hands together.
The black box is such a cruel and inhumane device that I’m surprised it hasn’t been outlawed and done away with. A little side note for you: the black box was invented by an inmate and given to the cops as an extra measure for securing aggressive or violent or escape risk inmates. The inmate who invented it was later stabbed to death for his trouble, undoubtably by another inmate who had been subjected to it at some point.
Anyway, once you are chained up you are marched to a bus where they again pat search you, before putting you on the bus. You are then taken to the airport of choice to await your flight on CON AIR!
These “Con Air” planes are usually 727’s with the seats intact and seat belts to give you an added securing – nothing like the Nicholas Cage movie. There has been a bunch of rumors as to where these planes come from. Some say they were confiscated by the DEA from drug smugglers, others say they rent them from rich senators. The one I have heard that makes the most sense is that they are leased from different federal agencies that have a surplus of materials and are not using them, so the Department of Justice leases them. Who knows?
Whatever the truth is, I want to tell you about what actually happened on this particular air transport. As I said it was a mid-winter flight from one penitentiary to another penitentiary. Because I was a high security-high risk inmate I was of course in a black box with all the other “jewelry” that attends it. One thing about the black box inmates, they always keep them on the far inside, up against the fuselage on the window seat, simply because that’s the furthest position they can put you from where the marshals walk up and down the aisleway during the flight, seeing to the security and all of the inmate passengers.
We’re in the air and I happen to be looking out the window into a snow-filled sky when I notice a piece of the wing’s skin appears to be gone; I can actually see the ribs that are under it. As I’m looking at that, Whoosh! The panel next to the one that is missing goes whipping off, into the sky! Gone! I’m like, “Hey Marshal, is the wing supposed to be flying off?”
Immediately, he’s on his radio and literally dived on top of all three of us in the seat to look at what I’m talking about. Within seconds there is a swarm of air marshals at my row, all trying to see. I can feel the jet descending as this is going on. The marshals instantly start closing all the window shutters that slide down so that we can no longer see what the heck is for all appearances, the wing falling off, or rather flying off.
Now I feel the plane decreasing speed and the wheels going down. The pilot comes on and announces that we are making an “unscheduled” landing in Detroit, Michigan. The weather is in full force and the pilot instructs all marshals to secure the passengers. So the marshals scramble, making sure everyone is buckled in.
We land in what I can only call white-out conditions, but I don’t know this right away. I couldn’t see out and we sat there on the ground for an hour or more before they even try to get us off the plane. The delay of course was because they had to get buses and make arrangements to house a jet-full of federal inmates until they could get another plane to get us out of there. So they are trying to do all this in below zero temperatures and all we have on are t-shirts, stretch waist pants and canvas deck shoes. From somewhere the marshals come up with a few Anorak coats to throw over our shoulders and they begin taking us off this jet one at a time.
When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I see they have a rope tied from the stair railing on the plane running some 25-50 feet to the bus door. I literally could not see the bus from the plane, it’s snowing that hard, sideways. So they have one cop holding the rope and one arm on me, another cop holding my other arm and they’re screaming, “Walk with us, just keep walking, we got you, we got you.”
By the time we made it to the bus I was beyond numb with cold. The bus was a ratty old thing, but at least the heater worked. They put me in a seat and took the coat to use for the next guy. They kept bringing in people until the bus was full. Then they untied the rope from the door and moved the bus away from the plane. By this time there are a zillion cops posted up around the busses, armed with shotguns and machine guns, like we were going to try to go anywhere in chains, deck shoes and a t-shirt. The whole scene was so surreal that I didn’t even bother to look around at how many busses they were filling, had to be at least six.
So finally off we go in this bus caravan headed to various jails in the vicinity. My bus ended up at a county jail about 45 minutes from the airport. They didn’t even bother with the rigamarole intake they usually do with all the paperwork in transit they make us fill out at any stop. I find out it is almost 11 pm in the night and I last remembered it being about 5:30 pm, when the wing started flying away. I only know when it started because I had been thinking about my medications and wondering how long before I was going to get them, so I asked a marshal what time it was. Anyway, they managed to feed us green bologna sandwiches and we survived until they came back late in the afternoon the next day to take us to another plane and on our way.
This was some frightening stuff, but in the end as soon as I spotted the wing thing missing and said something, all bets were off. The marshals did not play. The whole operation came off like a military maneuver which now in hindsight is pretty cool. After this little escapade, I have never had a problem getting on a United States Marshal’s air lift. I saw right then on Con Air, the cops are not trying to go down with the plane, so if they trust their lives to it, I’m good to go. I will say this, I think I’d rather fly a little less restricted, or daringly, in other words, less of the chains, more of the wings. I have been thru probably 20-25 flights in my years of incarceration with the feds, and this was by far the worst thing that has ever happened to me while flying “CON AIR.”
The turkey is a prominent winged figure in Mvskoke culture. Turkey is known for its constant vigilance and quick readiness to fight for its flock; its proud demeanor and its dance of love. The Mvskoke admired the turkey for its flying skills, its ability to lift its heavy body into the trees in heavily wooded lands as well as its hunting abilities. Most importantly, they loved turkey for its size and the abundance of food it provided for the people. Every part of the turkey is used by the people and turkey feathers are more prized than even those of the eagle. Turkey feathers were worn by warriors going into battle.
In very old times the Turkey Dance was a woman’s dance only. Then later, it became a courtship dance between women and men, and a beautiful dance it was with both sides displaying and mimicking the exact movements of the hens and gobblers. Even later, and to the present day, the turkey dance became a men’s only dance. Still a beautiful and athletic display of admiration and honor for the turkey, the men dance with feathers strapped to the shoulders and arms, with wing fans in each hand, and tail feathers attached to the rear end, the men strut as male turkeys, to attract all the females to its beauty, strength, fierceness, and natural beauty. Dipping their shoulders down, first one side and then the next, the dancers drag their feathered arms, throw their chests out and spread their arms with feathers extended just as a gobbler would do in its challenge to all. The dance to honor turkey is danced in a circle counterclockwise on the ceremonial grounds during the green corn ceremony.
When women did the Ceremonial Turkey Dance
Travel back to the days of old time when women did the turkey dance. It was the most beautiful and meaningful dance for the Green Corn, the most important ceremony of the year. After the grounds are cleaned and prepared, the ceremony begins with the women doing the turkey dance. It is important to understand the prominent role of women in our culture. The women not only were highly respected but had prominent positions in society. Our clan mothers made decisions that were the best for their clan. The clan mothers came together and decided what was best for the town. When something was of great concern and affected the nation, all the town clan mothers met and made the decisions. Once these decisions were made they were relayed to the miccos and councils and the men carried out the wishes of the clan mothers. Clan mothers listened to the needs and wishes of their members, so you can see how important women were and still are. Much changed over the years as the old traditions were influenced by male-dominated cultures and their beliefs, so that many today have forgotten the beauty and simplicity of the old ways and traditions.
Now, imagine a Creek town. The central square grounds have been swept all nice and clean. It is midafternoon and the fire is burning; the men and visitors are seated in shelters around the square and the drummers and singers begin as the chosen first four women dancers to come out. For these four, to have been chosen to lead the turkey dance for four years is a great honor and they take much pride in all that they do.
The women’s cheeks have been painted with a mixture of red ochre clay and blackberries that have been picked before they were ripe, accenting their faces like the red-faced turkey hen. Bodies, bare from the waist up, gleam with sweaty streaks of ashes mixed with gray clay with highlights of white clay. Turkey feathers, strapped to the shoulders and upper arms and four turkey wing feathers carried in each hand, mimic the wings of the turkey hen. Skirts made of feathers from the turkey reach just above the knees where lengths of wrapped down feathers are tied, completing the transformation.
The women begin to dance counter clockwise around the square; their movements beautifully mimicking the turkey hen, the special bird they honor and portray. Their bodies move in time with the drum and rattle; arms hanging down at an angle, spread out a little from their bodies, bent forward from the waist. Clucks coming from their throats sound like the hens they are becoming.
Now, with feet dancing in perfect time to the drum, they dip one shoulder down dragging the feathers of that hand near the ground and then switch to dip the opposite shoulder. Then raising up from the waist and stretching their necks upward, the dancers look around as if listening and looking for the mate they are calling for.
With chests thrown out forward, the dancers stop to peer in each direction; they lift their feathers and hands upward briefly before moving on to the next. Four times around the square this will be done before all the women are called to come and join in the dance.
Each has been so anxiously waiting for their time to join in.
All the while, the men look on, smoking, drinking the black drink, and occasionally shouting out encouragement as the women dance into the evening before dark.
Couple’s Turkey Dance
The couple’s turkey dance was both beautiful and romantic. This was a social dance primarily for young men and women; married couples or unmarried, and at some point, even children were invited to join in and participate. Moving in rhythm with the drums or shakers, the men and the women form two separate lines around the square. The dancers all have feathers strapped to their upper arms and shoulders; the women wear feather skirts wrapped around their waists, while the men have feathers strapped at the waist to form a turkey-tail bustle at the back. The men wear beaded breech cloths which hang freely in the front. Each of the women holds four turkey wing feathers in each hand while the men hold a turkey-wing fan in each hand.
Now, the dancers all face each other with a space between each man and woman of about 16 feet to allow space for them to move towards one other, dancing as a turkey would in its courtship ritual. The women begin first, dancing counter clockwise until each one chooses a man in front of them they wish to dance for. Now, many times unmarried women will have several males she may be interested in so she may first dance for one then later move on the circle and dance for another.
Then the males do the same thing; the unmarried ones can dance first for one then continue the circle and dance for another. Imagine the beauty of seeing this in motion, a circle within another circle in the square; all moving, dancing inward and then backward and then moving on to the next if they chose. If they stay in place then they have chosen and been accepted.
The women dance towards the men first; their movements inviting and yet shy at the same time. No touching of the body is allowed; only dancing close and using the feathers to entice, and then dancing back. Now it’s the men’s turn; they dance forward and begin their own strut. Mimicking everything a gobbler would do, they spread their arms slightly outward, bend at the waist, and stick the head upward. Then they stop and throwing their chests out, give out a loud “gobble,” and strut about, showing off their strong athletic physiques and abilities while using the wing fans to brush the females. Will she accept so that he may continue his dance, or must he move on around the circle to try his luck with another?
When you imagine the dance, remember too that our people loved to laugh, and in the dance, there were always those who were gifted at acting out these frolics, deliberately looking for rejections, just to keep all the watchers and dancers laughing and having a great time. When the children were invited to join the dance, they mimicked the motions of the older ones; this way they learned and had fun too.
Experiences, Insights & Humor on the “Long Road Home”
By Steven Maisenbacher
Walks On The Grass
Rummaging Around in My Head – Just a minute ago I’m laying down with the earplugs in, under the blankets all toasty warm and comfy but I am not at rest, “Artists Workshop.” I don’t know what’s going on but I’m sure as heck gonna try to get over it. See, I was given my date to go home the other day, Monday to be exact. Well, Monday I was told the date, not that I go home on a Monday. Actually I go on a Wednesday, I think, August 31st, 2022, but that’s not what this is about.
Ok, it kinda is. Here’s the skinny, I have not been able to come up with any dang story ideas and I have not been able to have 15 minutes thought without my mind going back to: I AM GOING HOME! I need to be ready and I’m really not, or at least not as ready as I could be if I could get the things I “think” I need.
I’m trying to finagle some classified ads from any decent sized city’s newspaper. I want to start being aware of what things cost, or at least my two big worries – a laptop computer and a phone – just so I’ll know what I will be looking at spending. I don’t have any money to speak of, and the little I have been able to save is going to have to be enough to get me started in life again.
Then there are the other huge anxiety monsters for me, second only to the phone worry and the computer worry. They are the vehicle worry and then the housing worry, but I am going to a halfway house where they will supposedly be able to help me, but then again I don’t know how or even what kind of help they can provide other than I will need to get a job.
But there’s another worry monster, what the heck can I do and will anyone hire me to do it? Let’s face it, this chassis of mine will be 62 years old and the body is kind of dinged up with a few medical speedbumps to slow down my roll. So I’ve got to wonder if I’ll be successful in getting on social security disability.
Now having said all this, I want to know why I can’t seem to focus on any story. Heck, I haven’t seen Booger in weeks and I haven’t had a real solid song run thru my mind in months. So, where DO the words go? Is there like some sort of hang out for them too all go and chill while I’m on this stress mess rollercoaster?
Is it because I know now the exact day and date on which I will be sent out the door into a world unknown to me that has me twisted? Or is it the fact that I can’t count on anyone other than one person in my life? (I know ya got me Sings and I appreciate it.) Or is it the fact that there is just so much I don’t know vvvcc?
Everyone tells me it’s a whole new world and I get that part, but it’s the part where they just set you in it and walk off that has me all stressed and yes, all the platitudes apply: I’ll be fine, I’ll figure it out, it won’t take long, don’t worry…blah-blah. And while I appreciate everyone’s confidence in me to successfully navigate the ocean of it all in an inflatable canoe, I have to honestly appraise and consider my precarious position.
I mean, if I’m so overwhelmed now that I’m tripping, what’s going to happen to me when I’m in the middle of it? Will I cower in a corner of the bus station and tremble amid the masses? Will I be able to figure out how to activate the stupid card they are going to give me with all my funds on it? And what do I do when people ask me why I don’t know how to do this or that? I am not into the shades of truth, do I tell them I just walked out of a federal prison and that I am really freaking out on the inside while keeping a stoic face to the world on the outside?
Ok, enough of the ramble, my original thought was, where the heck do the words go? I know they are there lurking inside and I know I want to talk about the things that matter to me if no one else. It’s about my worries and it’s all part of the cleansing after all these years. So please, pay attention and try to at least act like you understand my dilemma. Smile.
Really, why has stress and worry over all the things I have no control over become a problem? Could it be the simple fact that I don’t have control over them that is the problem? Is the solution as simple as me finally saying and meaning, “So what, I’ll figure it out?” YES, In fact that’s the one thing I had better try that I haven’t!
So, from this second on, I refuse to trip on what hasn’t come yet and the things I “might” have to face. I will burn that bridge when I cross it. That way I won’t have to go back in retreat. Never surrender and never retreat. Hey look! The words are back!
Moonshine So Fine
Now my people been in these hills for a long, long time,
always been our way to make the finest moonshine,
and the revenuer man says we’re bound to get caught,
but we never have thought about that, no, not a bit at all.
Moonshine so fine,
So fine that sweet moonshine...
Well my grandad’s grandad hit these mountains, after the 1st world war,
he raised his family and some profits off the things that he would grow,
and a little extra something from his corn whiskey in a jar,
and him and his friends would sit strummin’ on those ole flat top guitars, singin,
Moon shine so fine,
oh so fine sweet moonshine...
Things have come a long ways and changed up quite these days
with the hydro's and the oxy's and that purple haze,
but things in these ole hills will always stay the same,
where a man's as good as his shine and his shine's his claim to fame, singin’
Moonshine so fine,
So fine sweet moonshine....
It's true! The words are back...smile.
Experiences, Insights & Humor on the “Long Road Home”
By Steven Maisenbacher
Walks On The Grass
I gotta share a secret with ya. You may not know it but sometimes when you get that “I’m not alone feeling” you’re right. See I know for a fact that Booger sneaks around “visiting” folks as he calls it. And when he does he goes invisible for a couple reasons, the first being not everyone can handle the fact that there is such a thing as a talking dog that can become invisible and walks around upright like we do. Secondly, it allows him to creep up and see what’s going on without being detected and he is a super sneaky little guy.
Like remember that time that you had French fries but all of a sudden you were at the end of em and you coulda sworn there were more in the bag? Well, there were, you were Boogerized! Or remember the time that your drink was almost full but when you went to take another drink it was half empty? Yeppers, Boogerized again. Dang ole Booger, I’m tellin ya now right here, as I live and breathe, Booger is pretty much a sneak and he is forever getting into my stuff.
Like the time I came in from work, and there he was, got my extra ball cap on, layin up in the bed, all propped up on my pillow and foam wedge, dang chocolate Santa wrappers all over the floor and in the bed, all foil shredded everywhere and strewn around like he had been tearin up and shakin a feather pillow. The danged dog looks up at me and says, “I didn’t do it.”
“C’mon Booger, I see the chocolate smeared all over your fat little furry face!”
“Naw, man, see there was a burglar in here when I came by to see how you were Walks, and I got into a terrible tussle with him, I tell ya Walks, the fur was a flyin and the candy was going everywhere, but the guy smeared this here chocolate on my face tryin to blind me as he was pummeling me and it sorta kinda stayed there and I can’t seem to lick it off cuz my tongue ain’t quite that long, and you know I’m sure, how sometimes when you’re eatin’ and you feel a little something stuck right above your mouth, ya try to get it and can’t … it’s like that.
“And as we was a fighting and carrying on, some of the foils fell into my mouth but I couldn’t get em out so I just had to chew em up a smidge. then it was easier, but then the guy was so much bigger than lil ole me that he over powered me and got away. But I was tired then and thought I better get me a moment of rest afore you got home or I woulda cleaned your cell for ya, cuz that big guy I was a tussling with sure made a heckofa mess. I just hate that he got away Walks, I did manage to chew him up pretty good bein’ that he was so much bigger than me.”
“Dang mangey mutt, I’m gonna tan your furry little fanny! Get your flea-totin, barn yard smellin behind out of my bed right this minute and take off my hat while you’re doing it! C’mon Booger that’s my good hat, silly mutt!”
POOF!!! Booger vanished. “Damnit Booger! You come back here right this minute, clean up this mess!”
But he was gone and I knew how fast he was. I was positive he had shot out the cell, across the day room and on out the door, but I also knew if he happened to see an officer on the way, that since he was Booger and already invisible that cop was gonna have a wet shoe. Sure enough, here comes the cop looking down… wondering what he spilled on his shoe. smile. Boogerized.
Now, I know these tales ain’t the longest in the world, but that’s just the lay of em. See Booger ain’t the kinda guy to hang out in any one place for a very long time, seems like he might be a little on the hyper side, unless of course he is hanging out in the tube with his (seemingly enough) main squeeze, “Candy” the prison cat. Yea, ole Booger ain’t too discerning when it comes to the ladies he will run around with. See Candy has had a rough life, pretty much spent in prison, having kittens that always seem to get spirited away by the staff around here, and she lives in a drainage pipe that runs under a sidewalks here on the compound.
She’s one of those ole scruffy brown and black stripped felines, with a poked out eye that she lost in a cat fight, and a serious kink in her tail. But hey, guys like Booger seem to think she’s the cat’s meow. Yeah, I know, bad pun. Anyway, I have seen Booger peeking his head out of her lair on more than one occasion when I am crossing the compound, usually when I’m heading to work of a morning, grumbling about how I hate my job. He will stick his head out and go, “Hey ya big dumb human, ha ha, you gotta go to work and I’m gonna hang out doin’ just what I please…” ha ha… the little so & so…
Anyway, I can tell you all sorts of stories about Booger and me and his antics if ya wanna hear em. they ain’t all long and they ain’t all short, kinda like Booger’s tail, but they are all exactly as I see em in my mixed up crazy mind… Boogerized.
To truly understand the history and culture of the early South-eastern Mvskoke Creek People, it is essential that we learn to respect their customs and mores exactly as they were. Nowhere are the strengths, beauty, and good-heartedness of this ancient culture more apparent than in their traditional dances. Considering that life was a hard enough struggle, the people looked for any reason to celebrate and have fun. Whenever games, feasts, ceremonies or social dances were planned, the word went out to all the neighboring towns. These times were pure fun for everyone and they served to strengthen the bonds of clan kinship and allowed young people opportunities to make new friends and find future marriage partners from different clans.
All the different clans that made up the basic structure of the Creek’s matrilineal society, be it, alligator, turkey, deer, bear, wolf, turtle, beaver, opossum, bird, snake, etc., were responsible for arranging dances and feasts to honor the talents and special attributes of their particular animal. Most towns were comprised of several different clans. All towns had a majority clan, but every clan was respected, so even the smallest clan had a time to control the dance and show respect for their namesake.
In reading and hearing other Mvskoke or Mvskoge speak in Oklahoma, I understand many claim to know the true traditional ways. Their grandfather was so and so, and it was passed down and taught to them. I listen and pay attention, and I watch what they do. I’m not saying they are wrong, but I will say this: many things they do have been influenced by other beliefs and practices. For instance, the use of peyote. During the government’s relocation of the tribes, peyote was introduced to the tribes in Oklahoma by the Comanche and the Native American Church was created.
I mention this because I have heard many so-called experts of the traditional Mvskoke or Mvskoge ways say that the use of peyote is our tradition. This is false. We did use certain psychoactive plants for spiritual purposes or healing purposes only, but not peyote. We were known for the different poisonous plants we used. This is the reason many called us the People of the Holly.
Another practice I hear of and have seen claimed in Oklahoma as our tradition are the popular songs and dances of today that bear little resemblance to that of our ancestors. As my Native brother, Richard Thornton pointed out in a People of One Fire article, How Your Creek Ancestors Really Danced, descriptions of our courtship and love dances written by the earliest European explorers on our Southeastern shores reveal they were energetic and exuberant, very unlike our shuffling stomp dances that evolved over hundreds of years of direct contact with Europeans.
In contrast to the Europeans, who were suppressed in their emotions and feelings, we Mvskoke and Mvskoge were an openly affectionate and loving people. In our courtship dances, we were unashamed in showing off to each other to attract mates and prove our love and abilities. To see the Turkey Dance, Snake Dance, Alligator Dance, Heron Dance, and Feather Dance was to enjoy the beauty of who we were and how much love we wished to show. In these sensuous dances, the teasing and the erotic beat of the drums would drive the people into sweating bodies and raise the arousal of male and female alike.
Sometimes – well, many times – falseness was told to outsiders by all tribes to keep our ceremonies safe from outside influences. Our people thought it was a joke to tell the outsiders wild tales to hide our sacred ways. The elders of many tribes swore a vow never to speak of these things for more than 100 years and as a result, many true ways were lost on the following generations. When I have seen these dances today they are nothing like the old ways of our people. The Fancy Dance of the western tribes is more like the tempo of our original dances. In doing the Turkey Dance we reflect the courtship ways of the turkey. The males are showing the ladies how powerful and beautiful they are. The ladies in turn, mimic the hens, being coy and attractive, looking all beautiful and sexy, enticing the males to dance even harder to show how powerful they are.
Ceremony – Heart of the Community
Now understanding the significance of the Green Corn and Planting Ceremonies, is to understand the modern-day ribbon dance in some respects. Women do the Ribbon Dance to celebrate the power of life and rebirth they hold as does our Mother Earth. Each year she brings forth new life in a never-ending cycle. As our Mother Earth spins and turns, so do our women because life revolves in cycles and circles.
Therefore, it is so important to understand all the symbolism. All females dance at these ceremonies, from the oldest to the youngest. The youngest ones are carried in the arms and the ones who are too old and frail are lifted and carried too. We honor our connection to Mother Earth, to Grandmother Sun, and to Grandfather Moon, who is in love with them both and chases after both, affecting the energy of both mother and grandmother. This natural dynamic reminds us that women have needs and want love and they become aroused when they enjoy having their particular needs met.
Planting Time
So, look closely at why planting is so important to our people. When planting season came there was a celebration and all members joined in. The ceremony was supervised by the head clan mother and the beloved women. Just as women have moon cycles (menstrual cycles), Mother Earth does as well. So, each year it was important that the fields were burned and cleared. I won’t go into the full planting ceremony now, but the key point to remember is that our Mother Earth’s womb was prepared and ready to accept the seeds we placed in her. We give the seeds love and all the care we can to help it grow, just as we do for a baby growing in its mother’s womb. This is why the women are in charge of these things.
We men, well we do men stuff like listen to our women. Yes, seriously we are supposed to do what we are told to do. Any man that has been around when the woman is pregnant knows full well, you are going to be busy doing this or that. And you might not tell your buddies or friends, but when mama wants something you go get it!
We all celebrate with joyous songs and dance during the planting because a pregnancy is beginning. We are all happy but we know we must all take care of these infants too. We all must work the fields (communal gardens) besides working our personal family gardens. Dancing is a way of celebrating our love. If a woman is pregnant and is singing and dancing, the embryo feels all of this and as it grows into an infant it feels the joy and love even more. The same is true of the plants; the seeds feel you dancing and singing your love. The plants are alive, they feel, and they feel our love. So, we love them because we know they bring life to all of us too. We share this bond with them. This dance of life. The ribbon dance is a symbol of the umbilical cord connection to all women: to our Mothers, Grandmothers and to all life. This is the reason why the women dance the Ribbon Dance.
The planting dance is the connection of love, so the females lead the dance 4 times around and then the males join in, alternating between each female, because males are needed to plant the seed of life. This is balance. We must be balanced to feel our beauty and love. This is a very romantic love dance. In the old times, the males brushed up against the body of each of the women sensuously to arouse them, smiling, teasing and attracting their love. Planting season wasn’t just for planting plants!
Green Corn Time
Green Corn is a celebration of life’s new cycle: The lighting of the new Sacred Fire and home fires. The letting go of all past deeds – gaining balance through forgiving the wrongs and making right the wrongs the people have done over the year. New friends, new goals, new cycle of life. Green Corn is a new day, a new beginning for all. It is a time of being so thankful for all you have been given.
Green Corn is also the time for new courtships and new blood lines to be introduced. Even enemies are invited now to become friends. After the blessing of the lighting the Sacred Fire being by the sacred fire keeper and beloved women, the Fire Dance is led by the fire keeper, the fire apprentices and beloved ones. Each woman of the house, according to their position of rank, takes a burning ember from the sacred fire back to her lodge to relight the fires of each home.
A feast follows and then comes the time for the dancing to commence. The first dance will be the beautiful and sensual Feather Dance. In the Feather Dance, the women will choose their lover or mate. All is done in beauty and a sequence of moves that to see or participate will stir the emotions in anybody’s blood. The women line up on one side of the square and the men line up on the opposite side. The men all have feathers in their hands. Usually these will be crane, flamingo, heron, or duck because of these birds’ very beautiful courtship dances or the fact that their feathers are beautiful and feel good when teasing a woman’s body.
The men must use only the feathers to gain the attention of the woman. The woman may reject any man’s attention, so the men must dance as sensuously as they can to show off their abilities, strengths, balance, and desires. A man may bow to the ground on one leg and start at the feet of the woman with a feather in his mouth insinuating his desires. His body can get very close; just not touch the woman. The discipline the man shows demonstrates his commitment and character. If the woman rejects the man’s attentions with the feather, he moves on to the next available female.
The Butterfly Dance is similar, only the roles are reversed and the women use their shawls instead of feathers. This is the origin of the Fancy Shawl Dance so familiar today. If a woman touches a man with her shawl while she was dancing, she is signaling that she is interested in him. The woman’s body is scented in honeysuckle and wild plum blossoms, and dyes from blackberries used to accentuate her most alluring features. Dancing erotically, arms extended, a mischievous glint in her eyes and a taunting smile, she teases the man, yet he cannot touch her. He must become the male flower, swaying his body in rhythm with hers.
The rabbit dance is a love dance as well. This one the man and woman dance together as a couple and the moves become more and more complex as they dance faster and faster with lots of touching which causes accidents which are fun for dancers and all who are watching.
Now you understand why the Europeans had such a problem with the Native people’s dances. At least on the surface, European attitudes about morality and sexuality were entirely different. They simply could not understand that the Native Peoples saw themselves as natural children of the Creator. With nothing to hide, the people were not ashamed of their bodies or their need to love and be loved. I hope this gives everyone a better insight.
Experiences, Insights & Humor on the “Long Road Home”
By Steven Maisenbacher
Walks On The Grass
I seem to have found a new hobby. It involves just staying in my bed, thinking, and letting my mind wander across the fields of my thoughts and wishes, ear plugs in, eyes closed, blankets pulled up, or not, depending. It’s so relaxing and de-stressing to envision some of my plans or to make new ones, design new jewelry ideas and revisit some old ones, looking to improve on them or add some more styles, and colors, mixing the gems up in my mind, letting the pattern flow like water across the stream. What a wonderful pastime this is proving to be, quiet, even productive.
It’s also proven to be a place where I can explore new ideas and again, revisit old ones, where I can weave my adventures and mold my thoughts, write my songs and forge my stories, who would have thought that the quiet would be so very useful, calming and relaxing, yet so wonderful in its ability to provide a workshop that can be cleaned up with the flick of a thought, erase the slate, just open the eyes or move on to another thought, letting the tide of thoughts free to wash ashore into consciousness.
I kind of like my new hobby. I have been calling it my “Artist’s Workshop” but it’s really so much more. It’s a place I can retreat to where I don’t have to face the fears that I have deep down inside, the ones I don’t tell anyone about because I don’t have anyone to tell and I don’t want people to laugh at my fears. To me they are real, and there that is. See, being out here is being vulnerable to the thoughts I don’t want to think about, but in the workshop….Mmmm, relax and enjoy the ride. Things are mellow and peaceful, and I don’t have to be afraid.
Not so much afraid as apprehensive, the world is frightening to me now because I don’t know it. I mean, I know me and I know my plans, but to do the things I want to do as I finish life, I will have to step out there into the unknown areas, into situations and environments that I am not familiar with. Everything will be brand new to me, and this I am sure is going to be a confusing and tumultuous endeavor.
I will have to try to navigate the seas of humanity, crowds, traveling to and from, here and there, upstream all the way. The thing is, if you don’t know how to do something you tend to be uncomfortable doing it until it becomes as familiar as your pillow or your clothes. So the things you take for granted, things that are commonplace, I have never done and I still have yet to learn. I never really had any experiences as an adult in the world. I came to prison very young, I have learned to live and thrive and survive in here, but I don’t know how to program a T.V. to play a movie, or how to turn on a cell phone, much less how to use it to call anyone or to look up directions or make an appointment or to order something.
I am awash in the things I don’t know or have or have never experienced, I’m virtually a time traveler, unwelcomed in your techno world by the sheer fact of where I came from, so I’m kind of afraid of all it will take to get from here to there. Once I arrive, I’m sure that I will make it thru. I’m fairly clever, I’m now able to read and understand and I’m pretty good at masking my emotions and being the stoic person that this past 37 years has created. I have survived intact in spite of it all,
I’m not going to keep tripping on what I will have to go thru. I’m just merely saying that I WILL go thru it, and if you happen to see me looking confused or baffled, or if I don’t seem to understand something, I assure you it’s because I don’t. Not that I’m playing dumb, just that I don’t know, but give me time, I’ll figure it out. After all, I can always go to the “Artist’s Workshop” and cogitate on it. Smile. You all have a nice day, I’ll be glad to share mine with ya….
Experiences, Insights & Humor on the “Long Road Home”
By Steven Maisenbacher
Walks On The Grass
Well hello there and welcome to “Where the hell did that come from!” I’m your host, Walks On The Grass and for the next however long it takes I will be introducing you to a very special and very clever dog, invisible tho he may be. (please forgive the bad language; it goes with the territory.)
I first met Booger in United States Penitentiary, Lewisburg, PA in 1990. I had stirred the pot with the prison administration in the wrong way, as I was often to do, and this particular stir landed me in just that, “Stir.”
See there are actually levels of “pissed at you” that the cops can entertain, and this one was a doozy. I found myself in the “tombs,” a section of the hole down in the basement at the far end of a terribly dark and dank corridor, like the hole that time forgot, and that was mostly what it was.
Now I had been in there for more than a month, no human contact, food slid under the door like a dog, no phone, no mail. There were no books, no pens or paper or anything, and I was the only one in this hell hole. A nurse came every 3rd day to take my vitals thru a bean slot in the door. Other than that, there was no one anywhere around and with a steel door and the long hall I heard nothing from the outside 24/7.
The situation was really bad, in fact, it took “Booger” to keep me sane, or at least in the semblance of sanity I am currently still enjoying. I’m not the most stable of all, but I’m not drooling on myself and or babbling incoherently either. Well, mostly not. Smile.
So here I was, sitting in my cell. The floor is a slab of concrete, there’s a super thin rubberized mat in the middle of the floor and a lightbulb in the ceiling about 12 feet above me and that’s it. Oh, yeah, they gave me a paper blanket too, the type they use for suicidal inmates when they are watching them. I guess it was more to say they gave me something to keep warm than anything else, because it was like November and that would explain Booger’s winter coat.
Anyway, Booger is about 11 inches tall at the shoulder, but when he is “playin’ it cool” and walking upright he’s almost 2 feet tall in his bare paws. He’s as black as a devil’s heart and twice as smart as Albert Einstein; he has figured out how to become invisible, also how to talk and do all sorts of amazing things. Booger is definitely a crafty little mutt, and as bad and mischievous as the work week is long, (and that’s pretty darn long).
So let me tell you, as I was sitting there wrapped in paper like the crappiest of Christmas gifts. I happened to look up and “poof” there he was, standing up on his hind feet, leaning against the cell wall by the door, looking at me looking at him.
“Dude,” he said, “What the hell did you do to get stuck like this?!?”
Now imagine my surprise as I was sitting there doing the stir, just thinking and tripping on all the “how longs and what ifs” that were so firmly and obviously a part of my circumstances to come. I just shook my head thinking, “Damn, now I’m seeing things.”
“Walks,” he says, “You’re in a f-ed up position here! I mean, you know you can’t beat these people and I don’t know what it is about you that makes you think even for a second you can. But Dude, I’m a friggin’ invisible damn dog.”
Then he like turns into this vapory clear mist that settles in the spot he was in and then rematerialized and said, “My name’s Booger, and I’m your dog, but I ain’t nobody’s pet and I’m gonna keep you safe and help ya out on the old noggin side.” (Meaning help me keep what little at the time was left of my sanity.)
Now I’m thinkin, what the f***? An invisible dog?
So he goes on to say, “Check this out,” and he pulls out a chess board, and pieces from his seemingly endless invisible pocket, and starts setting the board up.
“Care for a game or two? This ought to help, ain’t no one ever not been restored without a good ole ass kickin, and I am definitely the dog to plant my little chess boot in your behind.”
Then he swipes the board off the bed, all the pieces go flying all over the cell and he screams, “Checkmate fool! I win,” and vanishes into thin air.
I’m floored thinking, oh no, I’m done for, I’ve finally snapped, my lord I’m seeing dogs that talk and act like humans and oh no… Well I tried to resist as long as I could, then out of the same thin air he had vanished into he re-appears.
“Don’t worry Walks, I’ll be back to hang out when I feel like it, but don’t forget, I’m your dog bro.”
So there it is, the story of how I met Booger.
But you ain’t seen nothing yet; I’ve been cool with Booger for 30 plus years and he has sure as heck gotten us into some spots and pulled more than his share of antics. I can’t count the times he has given me a fit or gotten me into trouble. Smile…
One time I refused to attend a disciplinary hearing because the cop told me no pets allowed when I told him I needed to bring my dog or he would tear my pillow up if I left him alone. So needless to say they came in and shook my cell down looking for a pet, then breathalyzed me and then urine tested me thinking I was either drunk or on drugs.
Booger has also gone thru transit with me, peed on the legs of U.S. Marshals on the tarmac while I was waiting to board CONAIR, and even more wonderful moments of mischief. Smile…
I sent Booger to obedience school and now they want to send him back, seems he started a dog-food insurrection, demanding pop tarts and cheese puffs and chicken bites and crackers. Got all his other furry felonious friends involved as well.
Yes, Booger has all sorts of adventures, in fact he is almost a super hero, note strong emphasis on “almost” but he has a bad boy streak, a spoiled little brat. smile! Now he is almost famous! Again, emphasis on “almost.” Smile…
So take your time, go get a cup of coffee, we will be back later, Booger and me…
Journeys of the Spirit 