19 minute read
“The Price Paid for Cigarettes” by Janice Kimball. Who really paid for the cigarettes?
The Price Paid For Cigarrettes
By Janice Kimball
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On a Saturday night in December, I was about to put on my pajamas and go down to say good night to Gran-
dora, when she called up to me. “Kya, I need you to go to the store for me.” She was out of cigarettes and George had refused to go.
“ No,” I lied.
I trudged through the deep snow of our back alley to the side parking lot of a closed diner and onto the sidewalk. The businesses that had been scattered along Greenfield Road had closed up. All was black except for an occasional car, wheels spinning, kicking up snow in its wake in the unplowed road. Although I must have been eight or maybe even nine at that time, how I remember it is that the snow was up to my knees as I struggled to move along, but that must have been ten years ago. It is said that I had been small for my age, so I suppose that is possible. I walked toward the lit bulb dangling on a telephone pole where there was a cross street, half a block’s distant. I crossed to the other side of the road there, so I would only have to deal with crossing one street when I came to the intersection.
As I shuffled along in the dark toward the next bulb, now and then a car would crawl by lighting up the falling snow in a blinding flash of brightness. And after it passed, the blackness would return. It was not until after I walked through that second cross street and the dark returned, after being able to see the promising traffic light a block’s distant and the overhead sign of the Westgreen all-night market beyond that, that I became afraid.
I could hear someone walking behind me. With the heavy scarf leaving little but my eyes exposed, I wasn’t able to look back. When I stopped, the footsteps stopped. When I tried to move along faster, I couldn’t because of the snow. The headlights of a slowly moving car that was approaching from behind made a shadow of my small stature with a gigantic person following me at close range. My heart started to pound. My breathing became heavy. My eyes riveted on the Westgreen sign, a beacon of hope that kept me from panicking as I walked steadily along as fast as I could, with the footsteps behind me still echoing mine.
At last I reached the intersection. By then my panic had reached a crescendo. I was just a few yards away from the store and safety, but as I began to cross the street, an arm reached around and grabbed me by the shoulders. As I toppled backwards, I let out a piercing scream. A truck making a sharp left-hand turn left me and my follower covered in slush.
“Lucky you didn’t get killed!” my follower, who turned out to be a stocky woman, exclaimed, brushing herself off. We looked each other over. “Why, I thought I was following a dwarf, and here you are, a young girl,” she exclaimed. “I don’t know what you’re doin’ out here, but you follow along behind me as we cross this street.”
Stunned, I don’t remember making a reply, or even thanking the woman. I only remember the fierceness of my trembling as I at last entered the Westgreen store. Except for the man behind the cash register, the place was empty. I leaned against a shelf to catch my breath and gather my wits before walking up to the counter.
“Two packs of Pall Malls,” I said.
Slapping them on the counter, he said, “Is that all?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“What note?” I answered, my eyes wide.
I was in shock. How could this possibly be? I thought.
As I was about to leave, I remember him saying, “Listen, girlie, the next time your grandmother tries to send you to buy her cigarettes, you tell her to go buy her own.”
The warmth of the store must have melted the snow and slush I had been coated with, because when I stood before the intersection to head back, I felt I could freeze to death, it was so cold. I don’t know if it was from fear or the increasing cold that my trembling increased. The light turned red for me to cross, however, all I could do was stand before the intersection shaking. A car drove up blocking the crosswalk. A man, leaning over, rolled down his passenger window.
“What are you doing out here this time of night?” he asked. He had a nice car, so I figured he was trustworthy.
“I went to get cigarettes for my grandmother,” I replied, my teeth chattering.
“Well, you’re going to freeze out there. I’ll drive you home,” he said, pushing the car door open. For a moment I paused. “Well, don’t just stand there, get in!” And I did.
I hadn’t quite closed the door when I turned to look him over. He wore earmuffs and his bushy eyebrows almost hid the hardness in his eyes. His jaw was clenched in anger. I started to push the door back open in an attempt to jump out before he drove off.
“Shut the door,” he demanded with authority. And I did. “How do we get to your house?” he asked.
“You have to go down Greenfield Road that way,” I stuttered, pointing left. I felt hopeful when he got his car turned around and we were headed in the right direction. “Turn left at the second street, go one block, then turn left again,” I told him. My heart was still pounding as we approached the side street where we were to turn. He didn’t slow down and I noticed he didn’t turn his blinker on.
“Can’t see a dammed thing in this snow,” he said.
“Turn here—here!” I shouted, and to my relief he did.
He pulled up in front of Grandora’s house and turned off the motor.
“Thank you for the ride,” I softly said before I got out.
“I’m going to the door with you to give that grandmother of yours a piece of my mind,” he snarled.
The survivor in me replied, “No, please don’t. It wouldn’t do any good. It would just make her angry.” We sat in the car in silence for a few minutes before I said, “I’m going in now. Thank you for not going to the door with me.” Stepping inside the vestibule, I waved goodbye, and he drove off.
“Did you get my cigarettes, Kya?” Grandora asked. “I forgot to give you a note.” Janice Kimball
Verdant View
By Francisco Nava
Your Garden and the New Year
Janus am I; oldest of potentates; Forward I look, and backward and below I count as god of avenues and gates, The years that through my portals come and go. —Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882)
January was named for the Roman god Janus, known as the protector of gates and doorways which symbolize beginnings and endings. Janus is depicted with two faces, one looking into the past, the other with the ability to see into the future.
Traditionally a time for fresh starts, January is also a time for renewed energy and grand plans for the year ahead. We cast off the old and welcome the new.
What to do in your garden in Janu-
ary
Tidy up. Clean pots, tools, and greenhouses.
Plan your yearly garden. Order seeds and plants. Review what worked in the past year and what did not. Plan changes and try another approach to see improvement. Draw up a garden plan to help you decide the quantities you will need. Plan vegetable plots with good garden rotation to prevent pests and disease buildup in soil.
Prune roses to just above a bud and remove any crossing or dead branches. Cut back ornamental grasses to within a few centimeters above the ground. Clean up perennials like sedums by cutting down old stems. Remove any faded flowers from winter pansies to stop them setting seed. Prune apple and pear trees. Leave plum, cherry, and apricot trees alone for now.
Harvest parsnips and leeks. Remove any yellowing leaves from winter brassicas as they harbor pests and diseases.
What to plant in January
It’s cold at night and in the early morning but warms up nicely in the afternoon. Every few years there are January rains, called cabañuelas, but don’t count on them. At the viveros, look for ageratos, snapdragons, tibouchina, hydrangeas, zinnias, Kalanchoe blossfeldiana, veronicas, gazzinias and vincas, pansies, petunias, stocks, and bergenia. For the flower garden, from seed try Brugmansia (syn. Datura) (Angel’s Trumpet), corydalis for its attractive foliage, michauxia with its exuberant, white flowers, and Lady’s mantle for future flower arranging. Continue watering when necessary, remembering that the native plants know it’s the dry season. Plant bare root roses, sweet peas, and bare root fruit trees. Plant amaryllis bulbs for flowers in spring. And plant lettuce, asparagus, spinach, and beets.
Continue weeding and mulch as much as you can.
Seed viability
Most seeds are viable from three to five years, with some exceptions. You can perform a viability test for your seeds by placing ten seeds on a moist paper towel and placing it in a plastic bag, keeping the towel moist for approximately a week. Count the seeds that have germinated and multiply by 10. This yields the viability of the seeds. If three of the ten seeds germinate, you have 30% viability. If eight seeds germinate, then you have 80% viability. The 80% seeds you can use, throw out the 30% seeds. Aside from viability seeds also have vigor, which is the ability of the plant to thrive after germination. Keep both of these in mind.
In early spring or late winter you will see fewer insects and diseases, so your plants and vegetables should get off to a good start.
“To read a poem in January is as lovely as to go for a walk in June.” —Jean Paul Sartre
Francisco Nava
Hermila Galindo
By David Ellison
Hermila Galindo seemed like the reincarnation of either Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, or Susan B. Anthony, Janet Rankin, and Margaret Sanger all
rolled into one. By any standard, she was an amazing woman.
At the age of only 15, she moved to Mexico City, joined a liberal political club, and gave the speech welcoming the triumphant Venustiano Carranza to the city. She believed he would save the country. (He agreed.) She so impressed him that he made her his private secretary and eventually even his official representative to both Cuba and Columbia. She ended up writing Carranza’s biography and at least five other books that praised him, at least indirectly. In the end, though, as with most everyone else, she became disillusioned with him.
It was with her life-long campaign to secure women’s rights that Galindo shone in her own right. Also at 15, she published a groundbreaking, controversial magazine, The Modern Woman, in which she wrote, “[A wife] has no rights in her home,” she complained. “She is excluded from participating in any public matter and lacks the legal personality to enter into any contract. She cannot dispose of her personal belongings, or even manage them, and she is legally disqualified from defending herself against mismanagement of her estate by her husband, even when using her fund for purposes that are most ignoble and offensive to her. She has no authority over her children and she has no right to intervene in their education . . . . She must, as a widow, consult the persons designated by her husband before his death, otherwise she may lose her rights over them.”
The following year Galindo crafted a document for the First Mexican Feminist Congress entitled “Women in the Future.” It brought down the house with its radical notions that women needed to free themselves from church oppression, and that they deserved complete equality with men, including secular education as well as sex education. It criticized both male hypocrisy and machismo (today known as “toxic masculinity”). Most women were scandalized.
Undeterred, Galindo introduced a proposal for the new Constitución of 1917 calling for women’s suffrage. When it was rejected, she simply ran illegally for congress herself, becoming the first Mexican woman to both run for and win a national election, although the electoral college overruled the results.
Galindo married soon thereafter and disappeared from public life. But she reemerged in 1952 to run again for congress—this time legally—and became the first-ever congresswoman in Mexico. The next year she was instrumental in pushing through an amendment to the constitution which finally allowed Mexican women to vote. She died a year later—after an exemplary life of vision, passion, determination, courage, and service.
Mexico finally honored Galindo by placing her visage on the new 1,000-peso bill.
This is a selection from Dave’s upcoming book, Niños Héroes: The Fascinating Stories Behind Mexican Street Names.
By Juan Sacelli
January 1, New Year’s Day, is an approximation of the winter solstice, ten days
before. The winter and summer solstices are the two days in the year when a line through Sun and Earth points most directly toward Galactic Center, which we can cosmically call “the Source.” We time our year by our relation to Galactic Center. On the summer solstice the line goes from Sun through Earth away from the GC, seeking new horizons; on the winter solstice, the line is from Earth through Sun to GC, back to Source, or going home. In the Northern Hemisphere, at winter solstice the days begin to lengthen instead of shorten. But longer days do not immediately bring warmer weather. It takes awhile to “reheat” the planet. That interval between the lengthening and the warming is symbolized by the 10 days between winter solstice and New Year’s Day.
But whether we think of the start of the year as December 21 or January 1, both take place in the sign of Capricorn. Capricorn, ruled by Saturn, is the sign of structure. Governments are structures. Jobs or careers are structures. Families are structures, as are religions. Committed relationships are structures. They define a within or without, a container for our energies and efforts. This year January starts off with a new moon in Capricorn on January 2, which allows us to make certain predictions about the structures and commitments of the coming year. This is an invitation to reframe (restructure) the future, as in, “What are your New Year’s resolutions?” We are trying to set goals, parameters or structures for our own story, but also trying to make predictions about where we fit into a larger picture—politics, ecology, the stock market, the housing or jobs market, all governed by Saturn.
But what about the rest of the chart at the new year and new moon? The positions of other planets and their relationships to each other describe (not cause) influences for this new moon and new year. First, we note that Saturn itself, the ruler of Capricorn, rides 30 degrees ahead of the Moon and Sun, in the sign of Aquarius. What that tells us is that we must continue to translate our Aquarian ideals into practical applications. Concrete ways of replacing carbon-based energy with renewables, for instance. Uranus, ruler of Aquarius, is trine (120°) and ahead of Sun-Moon, reinforcing this message, while Mars in Sag lags a semi-sextile (30°) behind the new moon, implying the possibility of increased conflict if we don’t care for Earth. Or don’t make other appropriate corrections in our political and economic systems. Thus, we have both a prompt and a warning.
One more image stands out for this new moon: Venus moving into conjunction with Pluto. Here Venus depicts our relationships, and Pluto our deeper soul purposes; in other words, it is time to bond with those who reflect and support our own core reasons for being alive on this planet at this time. To know the difference between superficial and deep bondings (all true bonds are soul mates).
We then have a full moon on January 17. Full moons always test a primary polarity—in this case, while the sun is coming to the end of Capricorn, the moon is opposite the Earth in Cancer. The test: do the structures we are choosing for ourselves and our society allow us to sense and feel the subtle, or sometimes-notso-subtle, flows of sensation and emotion which make our lives interesting and worth living? Does it feel good where we “live, move, and have our being?” For this full moon, what jumps out is the sun’s conjunction to Pluto. That is to say, we are looking at fate or destiny, which is not an external force coming from “it” or “them,” but the consequence of the core choices we ourselves have been making.
For some of us, the final lunation of January is a new moon in Aquarius, conjunct Saturn. I say “some of us” as this new moon will come shortly after midnight Central time February 1, which means that for those of you in Mountain or Western time zones, it will still be January. Either way, the conjunction of this new moon at 12° of Aquarius pushing into Saturn (15° Aquarius) emphasizes the urgency of breaking free from the restrictions of past ways of organizing our collectives, in order to give room for new solutions. Here a conjunction of retrograde (review) Mercury with Pluto (fate, our souls) represents the struggle to disentangle our minds from the truisms and banalities of the past; that is, from regressive Fundamentalism in all its forms, religious, political, legal, and cultural. (Oh, and for those of you who become preoccupied with Mercury retro, this one runs from January 14 to February 3. But really, all that means is if you’ve thought things through clearly ahead, you’ll be OK. but if you’re having problems with communication or travel, that tells you that you need to do some reprogramming. Retrogrades are always opportunities to catch up with the work we didn’t get around to earlier).
It is my purpose in this column to describe through astrology some of the crosscurrents which affect our lives, as well as the details of “which planet is dominant when.” I also hope to give some clues as to why and how astrology works. If you have questions or comments in either arena, feel free to let me know; if appropriate, I may discuss your question in a future column.
Brief bio: John Sacelli has been an astrologer, poet, dreamer, idealist, seeker, and rebel for 79 years (don’t we all have birth trauma?). He can be reached at <salynx@me.com>.
By Mark Sconce
Every year about this time, St. Nicholas begins To organize his trip abroad Amid the children’s grins.
But news this year at Christmastide Includes a sober piece: That certain children far and wide Are shockingly obese.
Never one to shirk his duty, Old Santa makes a vow: “By shedding from m’own big booty, I’ll show the children how
To take a little pride. I’m setting the example For children far and wide To make us all less ample! Ho, Ho, Ho.”
And so Dear Santa shopped around To find the right equipment To help him shed his portly pound Before the Great Transhipment.
Mrs. Claus encouraged him Throughout the days and nights. She fantasized him slim and trim And bought him trendy tights.
The active adult that he is Soon led to Leisure Village, Where fitness is a booming biz, Where dumbbells curl and curl…
The Fitness Center
The Gallery of grunt and groan, The Palisade of pain, Where fitness buffs are wont to hone Their muscle and their brain.
Welcomed as an honored guest, Dear Santa needed training, To finally look and feel his best Trans-fatty foods disdaining.
Cybex apparatus staff Were there to spot poor Santa, Who cut his workout time in half So he could drink a Fanta.
They worked his pecs; they worked his glutes, Abdominals and deltoids. They exercised him to his roots And retrofit his rhomboids.
They goaded his gamellus, His traps and pectoralis; They lowered his patellas And pulverized his pelvis.
Santa finally had enough. To fitness world, “Adieu. I’ll never be a fitness buff And be a Santa, too.”
The residents all rallied round To bid a fond farewell, And everyone could hear the sound Of Santa’s ‘scape from hell:
“Merry Christmas to All And to All a Good Night!”
