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 dreamshe had, she says. ‘Now, Jakita, you dream lots, did you ever dream about going to Heaven?’ asks Momma.
Like how does Momma know I dream?
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 dreamdreams 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 laid roses.
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 toan 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 globematerialized 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….
Heaven’s dazzling colors.
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 Ibelieve 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 ScryersClub, oh and her truck. What else does a body need?
Mirrors are so spooky.There is always an image lurking around, breaking through the surface.
Truth was many young farmers came calling ‘in the day,’ but Miss Misfit Molly, had thegift. 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 afull moon and creeping back when thesun 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 bedand 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 ScryersClub 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.
Misfit Molly’s Magic Teapot and what do you know…. Is that her image on the silver tray?
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 husbandswho 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 clientsfrom 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.’
Momma shares her story with Ruby, Charlie,Gen, and Jakitausing Tiggeras a head rest.
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.
You know, I love thinking there are Angelsand Fairies that make our world a better place…oh and sometimes, I may be naughty because of those little red devilswith 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, AngelsandFairies…we have themin plain sight, or hiding under flowers,even peeking out from behind the rocksthat bleedrivers of silver,in the sunlight.
I believe I fit nicely in to this picture.
I know what you are thinking. Those AngelsandFairies… 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 AngelsandFairies Dance,sitting right on our front step because 1) it was summer, 2) the moon was full and 3) the AngelsandFairies had auditioned,practisedand 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 moonwas 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 WildClemto 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 NeverLand.
Clemhears the Call of the Wild.Andy and Gen
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 AngelsandFairies, on pointed toes in adorned ballet slippers, their diaphanous wings and tutus, the subtle hues of the miniature roses and impatiens from pale shades ofyellow, 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.
Garden AngelsandFairies
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 AngelandFairy 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……
The Angelsand Fairies
If only youBelieve, on aMoonlight Night,theAngelsandFairieswill reveal themselves, If only youBelieve…
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 flowingdown her back and RIP Braveheartwas 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.
PlaidRainbow dance apparel. Can you see the kilt, the silver / gold flapper, the soft pink colors.
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.
Grandmama & Grandpapa, their youth restored.
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.
Bad Boy Andy Wants Out NOW.
And all it took was Bad Boy Andy, padding in to Momma’s room, emittinga dangerous 90 decibel meowto make the music halt, the RIP Party fade in to the star-studded night asthe 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.
3rd in a Series: Also read: Life in the Country is Kind Of Lay-Back Fiddle When I Can, Work When I Should
As it was and should be, forever and ever!
Oh, there are many tales come out of country living and I am just the one to tell you. I may seem sceptical but Momma wouldn’t lie to us, would she, Gen?
Some things, they have no beginning, no end. They just go
This is an awesome tale!
on and on and on, passed generation to generation, like your Christmas turkey on a platter. Such was the much ado about Molly Misfit’s Journal and the Secret Society for Scryers.
Like, on one hand, they might be a bunch of crack pots who knew nothing about nothing or worse case scenario, they might just know the secrets that everyone hoped and prayed would be taken to their grave, without ever seeing the light of day.
The very scary reality was, since the knowledge of its existence, it was soon realized, there were no social-economic boundaries for admission. You could barely read or write or be an a seasoned academic, a welfare bum or an elitist who would barely nod to recognize the existence of others. You just needed ‘the gift’ to be invited to join. Ah, it was an insidious cancer that had to rooted out once and for all, chased out of the county like a good for nothing bootlegger….but, on the other hand, ya know, one of your own kin might be involved…and blood is thicker, I’m just saying…..
Ripples in water can change your whole course in life for the better or the worse.
Now the locals knew you don’t let the police in their neck of the wood investigate what they thought was a victimless crime. It was rumored that even if they saw a criminal commit a crime, they would hedge their bets, say they couldn’t really say for sure….it looked like the bad guy robbed the bank but, you know, who could tell if that was money in the bag he carried as he fled the scene. Oh, the cops could give Mr.Slow-Poke tickets or throw a body in the drunk tank overnight, but no where in their Job Description did it indicate they were to beat the bushes for A Secret Society of Scryers (it was secret, duh???) and a mirror pool that conjured images of the past, present and future.
Odd shapes and colors that only Scryers can translate!
Maybe, just maybe the locals should hold a forum, get it all out on the table, piece by piece and make a gigantic jig saw puzzle, so that a picture formed visible to all. But where exactly could a meeting be held? The mayor declined the use of the town hall. At that time there were no arenas. What about one of the local churches? There were plenty to choose from – Born Again Brethren, Anything Goes United, New Fangled Pentecost and of course, even the Catholic Church had members who were reportedly scryers.
Well, the local priest was like a ‘see no evil, hear no evil, I wasn’t there it didn’t happen’ type. If a Catholic wanted to believe this heretical mumbo jumbo, it was on their souls. It wasn’t like the Protestants embraced the idea, but they were a curious bunch. That is why their own ancestors left the Holy Catholic Church so many years before. Then, being Protest-ants agreed to disagree and all set up their own doctrine. More things change, the more they stay the same! And that is where it got very tricky. Oh, those United would go to the Gospel Hall, the Pentecost Temple and / or extend a place to meet for all faiths and even the unfaithful. It seemed these left-wing thinkers did not understand that there were invisible lines in life you do not cross…and for a good reason.
Yes, the scryers had their secrets that Misfit Molly carefully penned down in her unknown journals until death-did-she part. No kidding, the locals had a pickle on their hands…maybe a whole bottle.
The spooky mirror pool…..There definitely is something going on in there!
Although it seemed like a reasonable resolution to explore the Secret Society for Scryers, it just tore the locals asunder as they struggled with nailing jello to the wall. Could it be the non members were all jealous? Whatever! They solemnly swore that by golly, they would get to the bottom of it or die trying….all they needed was time, oh and a place to meet. What about our place 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?).
Gliding, dipping, staring in to each other’s eyes. From Morguefile.com Babzy_P8110029.jpg By Babzy
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.
Glittering, twirling balls of light. Dancefloor_Balls_ From Morguefile.com 1504 (2).JPG By Alvimann
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.
Andy is transfixed yet unbelieving.
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.
Yeah! Now that was a surprise. Fr Morguefile.com DSC_2502.JPGBy can131
In this wide world of surprises…some good, some not so good, some downright nasty, it is always interesting to see what comes up in your comments.
Areoccurring comment that totally baffles Momma (anyone else get this?) is the one that says something like, how can I contact you, when it is obvious they are contacting you already. What is that all about?
Imean, if they were at all serious, the Commenter would leave a valid email address or some such cookie crumb trailso that poor Momma could actually find out what is on their mind….like do they want to give suggestions (aka criticism – probably) or extend a book deal (probably not). If it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, it is probably a duck or Spam, eh?
Then there are the comments that sound like gibberish, blended together by a computer who is not yet fluent in any language.
Now, it may be Morse’s Code but although Momma is old (enough), she wasn’t even born till the 1950’s so she does not speak, translate or even have a clue what the message is. Now, that new fangled state-of-the-art technology shown on the big screen or in TV programs, sometimes tries to befuddle you with what letter to keep, which to discard to get the hidden message but that is way above Momma’s pay grade…so we suspect more Spam, somehow sliding under the tried and trued anti-Spam security fences anchored in place, guaranteed to dispel this problem.
And it doesn’t stop there. There are lots of so called comments hitting the site that are actually trying to sell you just about anything in the world from shoes, to clothes, to insurance….and SEO’s (Search Engine Optimization) tools.
It is all good! From Morguefile.com AlyaYasamaya
Why you could spend a fortune getting more visitors who would probably try to sell you something you have no use for. It seems the World of SEO’s is very keen on Momma’s blog going viral and are absolutely sure if she would just open her purse, her blog would be an overnight success…even though, it is heavy in words and light in images…not a good thing for today’s world where visual stimulation comes from pictures, videos, anything but the written word. You can’t fool Momma…besides she tried a free (of course) SEO and ended up deactivating / deleting it because it seemed to slow down rather than increase traffic. Anyone else have that experience?
Still, never despair, we tell you because Momma has a system(true Virgo that she is):
Momma’s Comment System
Deletes Comments 1 Step only: From everyone who wants to put a hand in her pocket and sell her anything. There are too many hands in there already spending her money….and it is getting crowded….
Approves Comments
Step 1 -Sounds like a rational comment- no sales pitch (yeah) Step 2 -Looks up IP address Step 3 -Makes sure no Spam associated with IP Address Step 4 -Discusses w/Jakita (true story) / Responds / Approves
All this being equal, Momma can use her discretion, follow none of the above four stepsand approve your comment if she jolly well feels like it. It is not really a democracy I live in.
I got no comment!
Truly, Momma wants you to know she totally values your feedback and is tinkled pink to hear from you. It makes her day to know someone, somewhere out there is on the same wave length….that she is not in a vacuum….
Once you hit that publish button, you never know what forces will suck up or catapult your heartfelt renderings….
And may God (and the Hackers) have Mercy on our forever faithful Blogging Souls.
To quote, Charles Dickens, (and who doesn’t ☺), ‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.’ There were plenty of people in the small community who lived in fear, after realizing Misfit Molly’s Journals and Ledgers outlasted her. Did she, could she, have something about…. them? After all, truth be known, everyone has secrets that they do not want to see the light of day. This place was a hotbed of the inappropriate and unfortunate.
Follow the path, turn to your right, walk 100 feet, take a sharp left…in to the unknown.
Remember all those years ago Miss-I-Never-Did-Anything-Wrong-In-My-Lifeleft town in a hurry? You know there were rumors….like she left pudgy and came back thin. Now, she was all legitimate, married to Mr. Investment Banker. Suppose he knew about it? Suppose it was foreseen and recorded accordingly in Misfit Molly’s journal? Shame. Shame. Double Shame!
And did you hear about the time, years ago, when the flag was removed from the local high school, then lit on fire? Boyhood hi-jinx or treason, do you think? The police were perplexed. No charges were laid. Still, the talk was it was the captain of the team, who now happens to be….. our sanctimonious, law-abiding Mayor. Do you suppose theSecret ScryersSociety had been able to solve that mystery, even if the local police couldn’t?
What about the Fancy-Pants-Family, whose kids were too good to go to the local schools? Nah, they were sent to private schools where they lived on campus. Where did the parents get all their flashy money? Were they part of an organized crime family? Or maybe they were part of Witness Protection Services, buried so deep in the woods, even the bad guys would not find them? … Betcha the Secret ScryersSociety could tell us the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
A distorted reflection of what we were, what we are and what we will be, so help us God. From Morguefile.com p_mirr14_01a.jpgBy pschubert
Ah, but the locals knew. Without a doubt that magic pond, with its smooth surface, shaded by the century old fir trees held secrets that only could be revealed to those with The Gift.And how delightfully rich it was to find out that Misfit Molly had found her road to infamy and was able to get the attention in death, never bestowed upon her in life.
It was time to read those ledgers….but there is always someone taking the very joy out of your living. It seemed the Secret ScryersSociety was taking the town to court, trying to get an injunction in place to deny the town folk the right to read the Journals….something about a person’s right to privacy in life, in death, in death after life. But never Kid a Kidder. Everyone knew that the Secret ScryersSociety did not give a fiddle about Misfit Molly. No, they were all about the cause. A lot of folks started to realize, it would be a long, protracted, bitter battle, with lots of scrying along the way, before the proof was in the pudding.
Look to the past, live in the present and hope for a future.
But, hey, biding their time is a specialty in a one horse town. Sooner or later, Pandora’s Box would open. The good and the bad would hover over them to free the innocent and to smother the guilty. It was worth the wait, even if it took till Kingdom come!
Country folk, you know, they play the long game. You won’t see them posting incriminating pictures or videos on Facebook or Instagram. No Twitterfeeds for them.
Bank in gnarly tree roots where dirty deeds are stored for perusal if you catch me in a dire circumstance. Bank in the Wild Woods From Morguefile.com IGP2125W.jpgBy earl53
No, they see you, catch you dead right or wrong, in some compromising circumstance and they file the indiscretion, in their Dirty Deeds Bankso that they are one up on you, like a Guaranteed for Life Threat, hovering over your head, but hey, who is counting?
Still, this was top-secret…..so secret that one of your family or even you, may be aware of its existence, but you never divulged your knowledge not to your mother, father, sister, brother, best friend, the local police or even the parish priest. You had the burden of the secret because the powers that had been given you….. the gift of scrying (or the curse), the ability to see what was and will be, depending on which way you tipped the kaleidoscope.
And so it came to be that when Misfit Mollie passed on, the bucolic country doors were flung wide open, by the volumes and volumes, meticulously written in cramped handwriting about the art ofscrying and the members of the community who were involved, like the church deacon, the kindergarten teacher, the family doctor and the judge, who put your second cousin, twice removed away for twenty years on trumped-up charges.
The courthouse where the judge is king. All hail the System!
Maybe the poor judge had been under the influence of the mirror image pool. Maybe, when he gazed in to the pool, he saw strange, inexplicable moving shapes. Maybe he thought his real calling in life was to help the hopeless move to a looping netherworld to await rescue by theSecret SocietyofScryers and Oddballs.
Homemade bench where the SSS meet before going to their Mirror Image Pond. No one is allowed to go alone because translating images is a team effort.
It was shocking, unbelievable but…..where was that mirror image pool? Maybe it was time to take a gander, to see what all the fuss was about, you know…..because no one really believes in those back woods ways, do they?
Misfit Molly, well, that was understandable, no one in the town had much to do with her. She needed something to fill her days…..but the judge, the deacon, the teacher, the doctor. ‘What is this world coming to?’ they wondered.
Once the town police got a hold of the story, it was up to them to decide if a crime had taken place. Could charges be laid? Did money exchange hands? On the surface, it looked like no harm, no foul, but what about the judge and the second cousin twice removed? Was his sentence more divination than interrogation?
The first step was to approach the SSS (Secret SocietyofScryers ) listed in Misfit Molly’s ledgers and ask for the location of the mirror image pool. It was like the members had all been struck with amnesia. They all gave a different location and none of them led to a pool, a brook or a teaspoon of water.
Look deep into the water. Do you see your past, present or future? Try squinting. That helps sometimes.
Seemed they had taken an Oath of Silence (that’s what Secret Societiesdo) and would rather face the local jailhouse than betray the cause. Oh, there was a lot of digging to be done in impregnable territory before the truth (if the truth) would rise like a Phoenixand satisfy the largely curious, yet mystified inhabitants who could not believe such chicanery had taken place without their knowledge. But even more important….Could anyone actually see their past,present or future in a pool?
If it were so, just get out of my way. Oh, lots to learn, lots to tell. Country folk can be so conniving!