A long time ago…when the earth was green and there were more kinda’ animals than you’ve ever seen…Momma told me a story…part fact, part fiction and maybe, just maybe, part fibbing.

It seems when Momma and her Sister-Who-Taught-Her-Most-the-Things-She-Knows were playing in the forest one day, they met up with an old man, wearing an indescribable plaid shirt, flood pants held in place with ratty old suspenders, a bulging gunny sack slung over his back. He did not look left or right but trudged forward, a stoop in his back from the weight he was hoisting.

Now Momma and her Sister-Who-Taught-Her-Most-the-Things-She-Knows recognized everyone in Seven Counties so they raced home to ask their Mama (who we’ll refer to as Grandmama) whoever could it be.  Grandmama explained it was The Hermit who lived way back on the Third Concession, who only came out once a year in the summer to get supplies like sugar, flower, tea and coffee…other than that The Hermit lived off the land, fished from the streams, hunted for meat…like wow…people actually still did that?

Just their luck, their Papa (who we’ll refer to as Grandpapa) walked in as Grandmama was telling Momma and her Sister-Who-Taught-Her-Most-the-Things-She-Knows the Truth, the Whole Truth and Nothing But the Truth….that is when the Secret was revealed…time those girls learned so they could pass it on to their kids and so on and so on… till death do us part. 

Grandpapa explained, yes, you saw The Hermit….but…he is also The-Man-Behind-the-Moon.  It is his job to take a pitchfork, a mega-long, long pitch fork and put the moon up in the sky every night and take it down every morning…and The-Man-Behind-the-Moon was eternal, not like Dracula drinking helpless victim’s blood, but being kept alive all these years by moon beams (not moonshine, moonbeams). No death and resurrection for The-Man-Behind-the-Moon…He was, He Is and Ever Will Be!

Momma and her Sister-Who-Taught-Her-Most-the-Things-She-Knows looked at each other, then Grandmama, then Grandpapa.  By now you know, Country Folk are Believers…they Believe in God Almighty, Sweet Baby Jesus, Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, Wee Fairies and Gnomes in their garden… and in no particular order.   Yeah, Country Folk Believe in everything….well, accept Donald Trump.  Only Right Wing Republicans Believe  in Trump… sometimes, most of the times.

Many a season has come and gone. Momma and her Sister-Who-Taught-Her-Most-the-Things-She-Knows have had children that had children and they still have not heard of the death of The Hermit, AKA (also known as) The-Man-Behind-the-Moon  and in small towns, well, they have match box coffins and funerals for even the country mice…..give them a proper send off…which leads them to Believe (there’s that word again), Grandpapa was maybe on to something…

Not like Grandmama would give him up…she was no Conspiracy Theorist but she sure had the Best. Ever straight face of a World-Class Poker Player.

So what do you think? Any guesses???

PS: Scientists need not reply.

Check ignition and may God’s love be with you..(Dave Bowie)

Momma has us all gathered around because she has a story to tell us….not really a story…no, a dream she had, she says. ‘Now, Jakita, you dream lots, did you ever dream about going to Heaven?’ asks Momma.

To begin with, correct me if I am wrong (not very often), aren’t dreams inside your head, the content invisible to all except the dreamer?  I am confused.  How does  Momma know if I dream dreams about chasing butterflies and romping with kitties?  Then there are those nightmares where big, mean slobbering dogs are chasing me, growling ferociously, their tongue hanging out, just about to pounce on top of me, when I mercifully wake up. Well, you know finger-on-the-pulse-Momma.  Apparently she can see inside my head and watch the dream unspool in my head.  But dreams about Heaven? Not so much, Momma.  I am a grounded Pedigree Havanese Aquarius, not a frivolous make-it-up-as-you-go-along mutt of questionable origins, you know.

Ignoring any offense intended, Momma tells her dream of both science and wonder that had happened years ago, before RIP Daddy died.  It had been a long day.  Momma fell into a deep sleep but was awoken by a translucent globe of blue at the foot of her bed.  Unafraid, she quickly sat up to better survey the ball of light which, like the earth’s path around the sun, was both moving forward and  rotating towards her.

In the twinkling of a *, Momma claimed she was sucked inside, instructed to spread her hands and feet, in a V formation, to touch the furthest points possible of the translucent globe.  It appeared to Momma that her body had become a bright white light, semi-transparent but clearly recognizable.  The globe continued its journey moving forward and  rotating, along a darkened path to an unknown destination.  Momma said she was more curious than traumatized, not even questioning, just enjoying the Tom Sawyer-like adventure.

All of a sudden, it was like a space shuttle re-entry to the Earth plane, as the globe materialized in to an aircraft, that pierced through the darkness to a land of dazzling white buildings, walls, and  inlaid marble stone.  Even all the inhabitants wore white togas.  Wait a second.  Somehow a white toga had materialized on Momma…and there was Grandmama and Grandpapa to greet her.  They were so thrilled to see her.  Still they made it clear, Momma had not yet earned her way to Heaven yet. Her life plan was not completed – there were things to do, places to go, all to be revealed in God’s good time.  So sorry but here is a Return-to-Sender Label, oh, and leave your toga for other In-bounds. Heaven is very Green – the 3R’s (Reduce, Reuse, Recycle) rule Supreme, don’t you know! See ya later Alligator…in a while Crocodile….

Just like that, no further explanation, Momma was awake in the dark, in her bed.  There was no globe ride home, no pretty lights.  Momma says had been allowed a peek so she could look forward to the treasures in store for the future.

Now, I am not saying I believe or that you have to believe, but you know our Momma, she swears by, it so that is good enough for me.

Miss. Misfit. Molly. McMatchet.  The Miss was a label.  You hadn’t quite made the grade.  It told the world, (her world), that she hadn’t been able to snag a man.  Who needed one?  Miss Misfit Molly had a roof over her head, food for her belly, the Scryers Club, oh and her truck.  What else does a body need?

Truth was many young farmers came calling ‘in the day,’ but Miss Misfit Molly, had the gift.  She saw right though those suitors.  They wanted the McMatchet Farm, not her.  Anyway, what husband in those days, would put up with a wife going off on a full moon and creeping back when the sun rose?

Everyone knew Miss Misfit Molly in Momma’s little town.  They heard her boxy old  1940’s something classic black Ford pick up truck coming, long before she arrived…and if a chicken crossed the road, at the exact moment, she would engage her ship-like horn  that could be heard in seven counties, so the story went. Now, not too many women were driving in the 1960’s and certainly, if they were, they had a car, not an old pick up truck with a sumptuous cab, classic truck bed and white wall tires.

Ah, but those country folk, they smirked when they saw her coming.  They kidded her unmercifully about her mechanical skills. What woman could change the oil, put on tires, fix the engine of a pick up truck? Miss Misfit Molly could….and she would do yours as well, if you could stop laughing long enough to ask her.

Miss Misfit Molly’s passion was the Scryers Club which she had managed to wangle a front row seat, as a child,  many years ago. Having a Teflon Brain, she would race home after every meeting and record minute detail of the images on the mirror pool,  of who said what, the plans going forward and the results to date. 

Then it started happening to her.  Miss Misfit  Molly started having visions, seeing things, not only in the mirror pool but in a teacup….a suitcase meant, you were going on a trip, a star, you would be honored before your peers, a heart, you would receive a marriage proposal, a black crow, very ominous, get your affairs in order, your days on earth were numbered.

Now the housewives liked to dilly dally in this nonsense, get their tea leaves read but sshh, they did not tell their husbands who would tell them it was all stuff and nonsense. No, they kept it a closely guarded secret, never even telling their mothers or sisters or friends, for fear of being laughed at. Yet Miss Misfit Molly knew and although she never told in life, had legions of ledgers, filled to the brim with the names of clients  from the very families who founded this town. However, in death, when her black crow came calling, she was set free and could divulge all. 

Oh, to be in that place, at that time as the ledgers opened and the secrets poured out.  Kind of put life in perspective….What the world needs is more of the like of Miss Misfit Molly. Yep, those ledgers, like Facebook today, gave more information then we ‘needed to know.’ 

Still, the shoe was on the other foot.  The smirking faces went stone cold serious, because like Momma always tells us, ‘The truth can set you free or bury you,’ as it hovers over you, revealed only in God‘s good time.

Be sure your sins will find you out, one day!!!

You know, I love thinking there are Angels and Fairies that make our world a better place…oh and sometimes, I may be naughty because of those little red devils with pointy ears, long tails and pitch forks  that lead me astray, a bit.  Now there are no devils in Momma’s front garden (well, that I have actually seen) but one time we had a swarm of insects, straight out of the book of Exodus.  However, Angels and Fairies…we have them in plain sight, or hiding under flowers, even peeking out from behind the rocks that bleed rivers of silver, in the sunlight.

I know what you are thinking.  Those Angels and Fairies… are man-made not heaven divined.  You would be correct, of course. That is why, I was so stoked the day Momma told me that  one night at midnight, we would watch the Circle of the Angels and Fairies Dance, sitting right on our front step because 1) it was summer,  2) the moon was full and  3) the Angels and Fairies had auditioned, practised and were ready to give a performance of a life time…..if only you… ‘Believe.’ I believe Momma…Yeah, I’m a Believer (not so much Belieber …but he’s okay).

Round about midnight, when the moon was high in the sky, the Believer Team consisting of Bad Boy Andy, Diva Calico Gen, myself (Jakita) and Momma walked out to the front step to get a first row seat.  Out of the shadows came Call of the Wild Clem to join us, not really sure why we were there, but willing to give it a try.

So we waited, and waited, then waited some more.  The cats were ready to leave, I was bored and Momma kept cajoling us to just have patience.  We waited some more…I am so ashamed to tell you but like the disciples in the Garden of Gethsemane, I found myself drifting off to Never Never Land.

Wait, what’s up?  Momma is saying, ‘Look, Jakita, Kitties, do you see them?’ I strained to make out anything in the inky darkness but wow, what was that?  An unseen orchestra played a lilting, whirling, twirling melody…..and like a Aurora Borealis light show, I am blinded by a circle of little tiny Angels and Fairies, on pointed toes in adorned ballet slippers, their diaphanous wings and tutus, the subtle hues of the miniature roses and impatiens from pale shades of yellow, pink, purple to vibrant reds and dazzling whites. I could not blink nor breath, for fear the spectacular scene would disappear as quickly as it had materialized.

I sensed,  rather than saw the Cool Cats, as captivated as I was, none of us moving a muscle, caught in space and time as we stared in wonder and bewilderment. Through the fog of mystery and reality, I heard Momma calling my name and in that instance, the bright lights receded, the music faded away, leaving only the beams of faint illumination from the full moon.

‘Momma, Momma, what happened?  Did you see that?  When can we do this again?’  We were so disappointed when Momma said it is a once in a lifetime occurrence to have been blessed with a vision of the Circle of the Angel and Fairy Dance…but scientists would scoff at us, tell us it was just a thousand fireflies, lighting up the night. Best we keep this citing a secret…but we know, truth is definitely overrated because……

If only you Believe, on a Moonlight Night, the Angels and Fairies will reveal themselves, If only you Believe…

It was a normal day.  The sun came up, the sun went down.  I was walked by Momma, the cats were let in, then let out, by Momma.  And somewhere as the night settled in, the Sandman came, sprinkling that magic sand, setting a family scene so heart warming, yet bending and distorting time, as only dreams can.

On to the stage stepped RIP Lovie who had been a decade older than RIP Braveheart in reality (or as we knew it).  However tonight RIP Lovie was a wee damsel of four or five years, her long, curly blonde hair flowing down her back and RIP Braveheart was a handsome young gent of about twenty-five, resplendent in his kilt and dagger.  Funny stuff, those dreams.

Momma claims it was like an Arabian night, where the full moon was high and the stars hung low, twinkling, beckoning all takers to reach out a hand and pluck them from the sky.

At center stage was Momma’s niece, RIP Lovie and nephew, RIP Braveheart and to the side was a beaming RIP Daddy, proud that he had time travelled them, so nothing else mattered…WE were together again.

It seemed RIP Daddy’s task was to line up the music because RIP Lovie, in her long, gold flapper dress, with tassels of  entwined silver and RIP Braveheart, in his blazing kilt and black topcoat were ready to dance a jig, even jump over a sword, so happy they were to be together again… And Momma, of ‘come dancing’ fame, dressed in the lightest pink dress with layer upon layer of tulle, joined in, whirling and twirling in wild abandonmentt.

Now, Momma’s not sure, but still just for a few seconds she swore, when she squinted her eyes and opened her ears, she saw a young RIP Grandmama and RIP Grandpapa standing in the shadows, smiling with joy, clapping as the music filled the night air, pregnant with the promise of tomorrow.

And all it took was Bad Boy Andy, padding in to Momma’s room, emitting a dangerous 90 decibel meow to make the music halt, the RIP Party fade in to the star-studded night as the dream crashed like a meteorite, separating the known from the unknown, our world without end. Amen.

But nothing else matters.  They were together again, briefly, but still, together again.

Next time take me, okay Momma?

Now I am just a dog.  Still it is my sworn duty to report to anyone that will listen what I see, hear and feel….and this is a good one….I promise.

So it was the usual dog and pony show, Momma running around, dressed in a ratty black sweater that the cats like to suck on (makes you wonder, do they think it is their Baby Mamma?) and leggings that have become worn and torn from constant use. With the window cleaner in one hand, a cleaning cloth in the other, Momma was all set to find dirt to conquer.  She stopped in front of RIP Daddy’s 22 by 18 inch framed picture and started to polish the glass.  As she did so, I heard her talking to him, chiding him actually, about never dropping in anymore.  She knew, she said, he was busy with ‘other worldly’ tasks but still, would it kill him to give her some of his time (sound familiar yet, guys?).

As I sat there, I could tell the joke was on her because, RIP Daddy was standing behind her, his hand on her right shoulder.  I can not say, if she saw him, heard him or sensed him, but to my surprise, she set the spray bottle and cleaning cloth down, put her arms out as if encircling his shoulders and then, there they were, waltzing around the room to the strains of the Blue Danube Waltz.

Momma had the most amazing dark blue ballroom gown, with a fitted bodice, and layers upon layers of a chiffon skirt while RIP Daddy looked dashing in his formal black and white.  Their posture was erect and perfect as they gazed into each other’s eyes.

Right before me, I swear, our living room turned in to a vaulted ballroom with glittering chandeliers and huge dance floor balls that shed pools of light and shadow, as they whirled and dipped effortlessly.  I was mesmerized, yet dizzy as I watched them encircle the highly polished hardwood floor.

All good things must come to an end though and it had to be Bad Boy Andy who would wreck the ambience.  He came in to the room, whiskers and tail just a twitching and watched in a kind of fascinated but incomprehensible fashion.  A meow that emanated from his very bowels pierced through the soul-feeding Blue Danube Waltz. Momma and the music stopped. Her Cinderella ball gown was replaced once more with her ratty black sweater and worn leggings. And to my sorrow, RIP Daddy seemed to evaporate in blink of an eye, the minute the music died.

And not one to miss a beat, Momma greeted Bad Boy Andy, asked him how he was and did he want to go outside? I was shuddering.  There is no understanding my Momma.  First she complains RIP Daddy never comes and when he does, she interrupts the process to let the cat in, let the cat out.

It is all too strange for me.  Momma always said poor RIP Daddy danced like a Douglas Fir Tree, awkward and rooted in place. Looks like he has figured it out now.  But RIP Daddy, he’ll be back.  And the dance can go on.