Each year we celebrate our natal days; each year the anniversary of our death passes without note or fanfare. Although we don’t know the date of our eventual demise, in Baby Cat’s case, his two dates may well have been one and the same. We’ll never know for sure.

My husband Mark (with whom I share a 26th anniversary today) wrote eloquently about Baby’s Last Day and included much of his history.

Baby came to us as a tiny kitten with his feral mother. He didn’t purr his first year, but finally found his voice. He was so small when we first saw him with his milky eyes and backset ears that we thought he might be blind. He looked more like a mouse than a kitten. Eventually his blue eyes turned yellow-green and his ears perked up. He ultimately weighed 14 pounds, but we still called him Baby. Or Dude or Little Guy or Doodle. His white paws were enormous, compared to our petite Kitty. He was soft as a bunny, with back feet reminiscent of a jackrabbit. His long gray tail had 3 black rings at the tip, like a raccoon.

He was mostly an outdoor cat, sleeping under our spruce tree and the neighbor’s spruce tree. We tried to make him sleep inside at night, not always with success. But Baby always came running when I’d whistle for him, just like a dog. He didn’t necessarily stay inside then; he might meow plaintively at the door, wanting to go back outside. If the weather was bad or cold, we’d make him stay in. Or he’d come in one door and immediately trot to the other door to go back out. When the weather was bad, he’d check both doors, perhaps hoping for a different result, then turn despondently back into the house and lie on the bed or chair.

Each fall when the gas furnace kicked on the first time of the season, Baby would yowl in terror and run for the nearest door. Eventually, each season he would remember that heat was good (even if loud) and would drape himself over a pillow in front of a heater vent, fur blowing gently in the warm breeze. He would also nestle into the electric blanket covering our couch during the winter. Often he was forced to share the couch with Kitty and the dog. On exceptionally cold days, he would jump from the floor under the bedspread and nestle, a big lump on the edge of the bed. We never figured out how he could breathe under there.

Baby was a mellow cat, almost Zen-like. Sometimes he was too passive, submitting grumpily to Kitty’s constant cleaning of him until he’d finally had enough and would stalk away, head wet with Kitty’s saliva. He came home with scratches on his nose and occasional abcesses. We never saw him fight, so we theorized that he just sat there and let another cat swat him, then walked away back home.

He had his decadent side. He might lounge on one’s legs, like a tree branch, purring and cleaning himself. He’d stay there until my legs fell asleep and I had to move him to regain feeling.

He never really craved attention like some cats. He wanted it on his own terms, usually when it was least convenient to the human. If I was sitting on the toilet with the bathroom door cracked, I would see a fat white paw poke through the crack, opening the door. Then he’d pad in, purring and butting my legs. I’d say, “Excuse me! I’m trying to use my litter box.” He’d ignore me and continue to purr and rub my legs. Sometimes he’d stand up, balanced on the toilet rim demanding to be petted. When I was weeding the yard, Baby would wander out from the bushes, butting my hand with the trowel. I always wondered if he could hear the weeds’ protest and wanted to stop me. When I was working on the computer, he’d jump onto my desk and stand on the keyboard, producing an endless series of s’s. I rarely minded his intrusions.

We also had a winter ritual. When I emerged from the shower, I’d put on my robe, open the bathroom door, and in would come Baby. He’d sit in my lap in front of the wall heater, and I would rub his throat and vigorously scratch the top of his head. He would act as though he didn’t like it, shaking his head and walking away a few steps. Then he would head-butt me, seeking more.

He had a ritual with Mark too. Mark is allergic to cats, although not deathly so. Still, if we failed to make the bed in the morning, we would find Baby curled on Mark’s pillow, never mine.

I have many images of Baby: waiting at the corner of our block, until we appeared. Then he’d walk alongside LuckyDog as we headed home, shoulder to shoulder, cat and dog tails erect, parallel plumes. He liked to sway; if I was on the wood-slatted swing out back or the quilted hammock, he would watch the motion and join me, timing his jump to the swaying. Once we had an infestation of mice in the garage and outside, and Baby ate four or five in one afternoon. I witnessed one mouse sliding down his throat, legs and tail the last to vanish, just like the python we used to housesit. In the morning I’d open the front curtain and see him on the front porch futon, lounging in the sunlight, lazily looking up and meowing at me. In October 2007 we went on a short camping trip, and when we returned home, Baby was nowhere to be found. Mark looked around and finally heard him mewing sadly, but distantly. In our absence, Baby had climbed the ladder to the roof of the house, but couldn’t figure out how to get down. The neighbor and cat-sitter didn’t find him, and he probably spent one night on the roof.

Mark’s blog entry explained that Baby blossomed after Kitty’s death in July 2007. Irony abounds even in the animal world. Baby was mostly an outdoor cat his whole life probably because Kitty dominated and bothered him. After Kitty died, Baby evolved into a different cat. He stayed indoors much more, he talked often after 14 years of silence, he purred more, lap-sat more, visited more people who came to our house, rather than running for the door. But he didn’t get to enjoy his ‘top cat’ status for even 8 months.

It took us a few days to notice that he had quit eating. After a week, we took him to the vet. She found an abdominal mass the size of a fist. X-rays and blood tests revealed that he most likely had inoperable cancer. The largest tumor was inside his small intestine, blocking food. They kept him overnight to rehydrate him, and when I went to visit before closing hours, he had perked up due to the IV fluids entering his right front paw. I petted and brushed him and sobbed for a half hour, trying to come to terms with the fact that he was terminally ill and unlikely to live more than a few more days. The next 24 hours we debated: how do you know when is the right time to euthanize him? Why can’t he tell us how he feels and what he wants? We waited too long to euthanize Kitty–what should we do for Baby?

The universe sent more irony. As soon as I got home from the vet, the neighbor kids across the street rang the doorbell. They had found Baby’s collar, which had been missing for more than SIX MONTHS, in the church parking lot behind our house. I was certain this was a message from the universe, but could not unravel the meaning.

We had planned to euthanize him tomorrow, getting him through his 15th birthday and our 26th anniversary. But after lying on the floor with him for hours, gently stroking and brushing him, I realized he was extremely uncomfortable. What was the point of keeping him alive? We injected fluids under his skin to help hydrate him, but he couldn’t keep down the Prednisone, opiate, or even water from his bowl. So we called the vet and moved his appointment to yesterday.

The vet tech wanted to take him away to put in the catheter for the euthanization. But I had promised Baby I wouldn’t leave him again. So she inserted the catheter in Room 5, the room that you don’t want your pet to go to, the room where Kitty and our friend Meg’s dog Jackson were euthanized. I stroked Baby as the fluids entered his body, and we heard him purring, even during the euthanization. Then the purring faded.

When we got his body home, waiting to be buried, we both swore we still heard him purring. We hope we were wrong.

During the last few days of Baby’s life, Mark and I manifested our grief physically. Mark says his was a taut feeling in his stomach, like he needed to puke but couldn’t. I felt a severe tightness across my heart, and tried to swim it out at the YMCA. I also felt a great weight of sadness. After Baby’s death, I felt some relief from the physical pain. Although we are both very sad, we feel that we did right by him his whole life. We have no regrets other than that he couldn’t stay with us a few more years. We gave him a peaceful end.

My friend Ann wrote, “Baby’s a very sweet cat…really the best cat I ever met. With visits every four years, I only got to see him a few times. But I will miss him very much…he was very good company while I visited, more of a buddy than I ever really knew a cat could be. He made me feel at home away from home. He is a beauty on the outside and the inside….”

Although Baby shared the house with Mark, me, Kitty, and Lucky, he was my cat. If a cat can love something or someone, then I believe Baby loved me in his own cat way. He would curl up with me as I read a book, purring. Perhaps it was my warmth he craved, perhaps my company. It doesn’t really matter to me. Either way, I am buffeted by grief. Ann’s right—Baby was the sweetest cat I’ve ever met.

Photo by Mark Justice Hinton

However, I noticed a glaring error in the movie. The plot builds to a climax at the King and Queen’s Ball in New York City. People dress in medieval costumes and dance what appears to be a spastic version of an English country dance (think Jane Austen meets a robot). The Ball’s announcer says, “And now the moment you’ve all been waiting for…the King and Queen’s Waltz.” Partners are gathered, the music begins, and a rather long “waltz” ensues.

Now I’m no musician, although I have spent 100’s of hours on stage with them. And I am 99.9% sure that the King and Queen’s Waltz is not a waltz. Instead it’s something in 4/4 time. The fantastical pyrotechnics that follow, Godzilla-style, may have banished this observation from many viewers’ heads, but surely some musician took note?

What say ye, bloggers?

Hugh, a gentleman from England, was seeking permission to “assemble a book of dances suitable for calling at English dance clubs,” and he wanted to include some American contras, in particular some of Gene Hubert’s dances. His Google search turned up a tidbit of information that Jenny Hubert, Gene’s widow, had posted a comment to my blog entry about Gene’s death. Hugh emailed me asking if this meant I had a contact address for Jenny.

I did not know that I had a contact email for Jenny until I checked the details of her comment. Lo and behold, there was an email address. Since I am a privacy advocate and did not want to give Jenny’s email address to a stranger, I forwarded Hugh’s request to Jenny, and she responded:

“Thanks for your email and your desire to protect my privacy as well. I believe Gene would be pleased for his dances to be used, as long as he is given credit. He never charged for his dances and I think he assembled and distributed the dizzy dances books at his own expense. He never made any money from writing contra dances and I believe he wanted people to have free access (callers and dancers) and to share the joy of calling and dancing with others. The remaining dizzy dances books are with the Triangle Contra Dance Society (in the Durham, Raleigh, Chapel Hill, NC area).

Macon and I are doing well. We think of Gene daily and know he lives on in our hearts and in the spirit and joy of dancing everywhere in the world. I am so thankful to have known Gene and for him to have fathered my son. Macon has many of Gene’s physical features and he is growing up to be a delightful boy, turning 6 in November. Warm Regards, Jenny Hubert”

Jenny & Macon Hubert, 2007
Photo courtesy of Jenny Hubert

Then I told Jenny that I had accidentally found a great web link to a bunch of Gene Hubert dances. This happened when I was researching dances on Michael Dyck’s excellent web site, which I use constantly! She wrote back:

“I took a look at the link you sent me and had found the original document that is sited in the attic about two weeks ago. That document speaks to Gene’s wishes regarding use of his dances, in his own words, and I think that is a great link to cite for those who seek permission, as well as my comments, since I suppose his copyrighted work became my property, and people are seeking to do the right thing in getting permission to publish his dances. … I don’t have a problem with your putting my email address on your blog entry. The contra dance community has been a great source of support for me and Macon in the love they sent to us in thought and deed. My email address that is likely to go with me when I get a new computer is wholelotasoul@yahoo.com Jenny”

Jenny, thanks for sharing Gene’s dances with the world. Gene lives on in our hearts and spirits and through our dancing feet. Part of Gene also lives on physically through Macon. Huzzah to you for teaching Macon to love music and dance! And to Al Gore, or whoever actually invented the Internet, muchas gracias.

Merri Rudd
Albuquerque, NM
www.merridancing.com

This column first appeared in the Albuquerque Journal, Business Outlook on September 20, 2007. Reprinted with permission.

Remembering Justice Pamela Minzner
by Judge Merri Rudd

Over the past few weeks, you have probably read or heard about the death of New Mexico Supreme Court Justice Pamela B. Minzner. A list of her awards, accolades, and accomplishments would fill several columns. From those professional summaries, one might not know that Pam, as she instructed everyone to call her, was the nicest woman one could ever hope to meet.

I know because Pam Minzner cheerfully mentored me for over twenty years.

I met Pam in 1986 when I clerked for Judge William W. Bivins on the New Mexico Court of Appeals. Pam was also a Court of Appeals judge at that time. She treated me, a young, inexperienced law clerk, with inordinate kindness and respect. She patiently helped me to analyze legal issues, offered me her last $5 for lunch, and insisted that I take her umbrella to go to the commuter van because it was raining. (I declined.) And she was not even my boss.

Over the years she counseled and inspired, prodded and supported me. At times she believed in me more than I did in myself. She encouraged me to strive to be intelligent but intelligible, accomplished without being arrogant, and true to a high standard of ethics, no matter what. She taught me that generosity of heart is the greatest strength any of us can aspire to have.

She urged me to keep trying after I lost two bids for probate judge. She jubilantly swore me in with a few days’ notice in 2001 when I was appointed by the Bernalillo County Commission to fill the vacant position. Again, in 2003, she made time to swear me in before dashing off to attend the Governor’s inauguration. Although I presided over a small county court and she served on the highest court in the state, she made no distinction about our relative positions. Pam’s world view did not include a hierarchy.

How proud she was when I presented two of my former students to the Supreme Court for admission to the state bar as new attorneys. She had taught me how to mentor others.

Pam grappled with each case before her, meticulously crafting judicious decisions and dissents that were well-grounded in the law. Sometimes we debated ethical issues at length, playing devil’s advocate to each other and ultimately adopting the highest standard of ethics, even if that was more than the rules required.

In 1999, when Pam became the first female Chief Justice of the New Mexico Supreme Court, she said in her speech, “This higher standard [of professionalism] is neither a matter of ethics nor a matter of malpractice. It is a standard that we ought to aspire to as a matter of life-long commitment. It is a journey without hope of official reward or fear of official sanction. We are looking for a better way…doing right for right’s sake.”

I have kept this quote on my wall for eight years.

Pam embodied many qualities: generosity, humility, humor, a community spirit, a positive attitude, a simple approach to life, independence, perseverance, and devotion to family, friends, cancer survivors, students, and colleagues. Pam managed her cancer and its complications for twenty years, conducting herself with dignity, grace, and a quiet appreciation for the present. She was gracious, considerate, and nonjudgmental. The arrogance that often accompanies power was absolutely absent in her. Her keen mind melded with a compassionate heart. She assumed the best of everyone, even those who might not have deserved her compassion. As Pam’s son said at her memorial, she lived a life that was meaningful, perpetually reflecting on whether she could have done better.

Pam led always with her heart and her intellect, not her ego. Would that we could all learn to be so selfless.

I was only one of those whom Pamela Minzner mentored. There are thousands of other people whose lives Pam influenced, inspired, and touched. Send your stories and remembrances of Pam, both personal and professional, to me at jueznm@aol.com, and I will compile them for Pam’s husband Dick and her sons, Max and Carl.

The last time I spoke with Pam was May 6 of this year. She called me at home to discuss a work matter. We talked for over an hour about the law, the judiciary, her illness, my future, her future, and her family. Although it was Sunday and we both had other obligations that day, she talked as though she had all the time in the world.

I wish she had.

Postscripts:

Chief Justice Mary Mullarkey, Pam’s Harvard Law School roommate, wrote an enlightening article about women at Harvard Law. The article is posted at:
www.law.harvard.edu/students/orgs/jlg/vol27/mullarkey.php

State Bar of New Mexico, Bar Bulletin, Oct. 29, 2007: Scroll down to page 15 for a touching tribute to Pam from many sources.

Selections from Pam’s memorial, held at UNM’s Popejoy Hall on September 8, 2007:

Reverend Albertson or Rath said that Pam worked for justice in the law and for social justice. She lived this extraordinary welcome in both her personal and professional life. He spoke of lessons, such as, “Do not claim to be wiser than you are. Live peaceably with all. Your love must be completely sincere.” He concluded that Pam did all of these in her daily life.

Anne Bingaman remembered that when Pam was teaching full-time at the UNM School of Law and working up until she gave birth, this was no big deal, even though it was in the 1970’s and not a usual choice back then. “Of course, women can do it all. Pam was always directed to others. It was never about her.”

Pam’s son Carl said she knew how to live a life that was meaningful, of service, love, kindness and generosity. She perpetually reflected on everything–could she have done better?

Her younger son Max said that as a role model Pam was extraordinary, the most modest, patient and kind person who always assumed the best of everyone. She never wanted to criticize, was joyful in hope, patient in affliction. He lost his mother, but he will keep her always as his role model.

New Mexico Supreme Court Justice Edward Chavez noted that Pam always ended her speeches with “Adelante,” Spanish for “keep moving forward.” Pam was a cancer survivor and a tireless legal scholar, She did what was right, and she gave the Court the discipline of her editing. She had a reservoir of genuine thoughtfulness and was constantly evalutaing herself. When asked if she had left anything undone, she said “no.”

Pam’s memorial service ended with the Reverend Francis Rath saying, “Harry Lauder, a famous opera singer, used to tell a story of his boyhood in Scotland. He liked to look from the window of his home during the gathering twilight, and watch the work of the lamplighter with his long pole. The man went from street lamp to street lamp as he ascended the hilly road, leaving a trail of lights behind him. Then, as the road sloped downward, the lamplighter disappeared from view. Someone has suggested that THAT is the pattern of a life well lived; someone who has left behind them a trail of lights. Pamela Minzner left behind a long trail of lights. Do not let those lights go out. May her memory and spirit be with us now and forevermore. Amen.”

Amen, indeed.

“After the Ball Was Over…” (Waltz)
composed by Jim Buechler, Taos, NM

As soon as the lovely programme designed by Mary Beath for The Enchanted Assembly: An English Country Dance Ball arrived, we knew this would be no ordinary dance event. Each dance listed was given its own page, with complete directions and historical notes supplied by William DeRagon. The pages were soft to the touch and soft white in color with shaded images of summer vegetables overlaid, the type fonts clear and elegant, the little booklet itself bound by hand with black yarn as a suitable keepsake for a memorable occasion.

For hundreds of years English dancers traveled great distances to events like this; and on the morning of June 30, here in Taos, Hope, Rebecca and I loaded our overnight bags and our finery and some traveling food into our Conveyance and set off in this same tradition. Dancers from Durango were already on the road, and those nearer Albuquerque would have to set out before long to make the practice session at the Heights at 1 p.m.

The practice session, or rehearsal, had been carefully organized and was a dance in itself. But first there was a a good deal of reconnecting with friends, with dancers not seen perhaps for two or three years, dancers, in some cases, whose names we did not even know (until we read them on their name tags) but whom we knew quite well, as dancers — by their looks and their moves on the dance floor. The mood was all friendliness and anticipation, as before a big game that our side was certain to win. Our coaches were William DeRagon and Richard Wilson, taking us through the playbook two dances at a time, by turns, and of course they made the dancing fun. Both these longtime leaders on English Country Dance in New Mexico appeared exuberant that at last a real Ball was about to take place.

On entering a ball-room, a 19th century handbook tells us, all thought of self should be dismissed. The petty ambition of endeavoring to create a sensation by dress, loud talking, or unusual behavior, is to be condemned; also the effort to monopolize a certain part of the room, or to form exclusive circles. Unanimity and good feeling should prevail.

After a quick supper the three of us, with our Abuquerque hostess Barbara, stepped into 106 degrees of heat on the sidewalk outside. The assembly rooms at the Heights, however, were a most civilized 68 degrees I would guess. We were a bit late — the opening dance, “I Care Not For These Ladies”, a three-couple circle danced as mixer, was already in progress. Yet as Rebecca said next day driving home, the effect, with the entire room all in motion, was of really coming into a Ball of an earlier period: everybody was in formal dress and their expressions, though all beaming and happy, were at the same time serious and dignified, their graceful movements, led by the music, expressed the utmost consideration for all the other dancers, their pleasure at being there with each and every one. We changed shoes and joined in and were immediately caught up in this unanimity and good feeling. It was very powerful.

I am not a Gentleman, but I play one on the dance floor. Alldancing involves playing a part, more or less, but in English Country the parts are defined as “Lady” and “Gentleman”. Essays used to be written on the qualities necessary to both, qualities that are built into the English Country Dance tradition. The elaborate and delightful courtesies, for example. The emphasis on eye contact — a wandering eye indicating at the very least a certain disrespect. In the sequence Set Forward and Turn Single, then Two-hand Turn, theLady and the Gentleman approach one another, give a little bow to acknowledge their pleasure in the encounter, then return to take hands and turn just once — their bright faces, their locked eyes, their very movements expressing their great satisfaction to be doing so. When to this courteous behavior is added the formal dress of a Gentleman — in my case a tuxedo — the illusion that one really is, for the moment, a Gentleman and a far better person than in actual life, is very strong. I wonder if it is the same the for the woman playing the Lady, in her ball gown (and what a wonderful lovely variety of gowns there were, on June 30!). In any case, many a Lady by her look and gesture made me feel a true Gentleman that night. “Corelli’s Maggot”, which begins with the Setting-Turn Single-Two Hand Turn sequence above, was the second dance, as I remember, and next came “Mad Robin”, with its demonstration of all those exciting possibilities inherent in eye contact.

I like contra dance well enough, but the feeling in contra is not at all like this. At FolkMADS camps theThrift Shop Ball is always fun, but it is after all only a parody of a Ball. The Enchanted Assemby was a serious effort to replicate the real thing.

It has been nearly a month, yet a residual feeling of deep satisfaction remains in all of us who were there — including, I believe, the four musicians. I like to think they found it easier to act their own roles as the Music, as the 17th century dancer and diarist Samuel Pepys calls such players, with the Gentry all so splendidly attired dancing finely in front of them. (And if the musician’s real-life status was a modest one, let them remember W.A. Mozart, like me not a real Gentleman himself, who nevertheless delighted in dancing the part; and wrote many a contradanse besides.) There has been a good deal of talk among us, not to mention the whizzing of emails, concerning this “glow” that has not yet been reduced to ashes. I think it was no single encounter, nor even the great collection of encounters between Lady and Gentleman, that produced so extraordinary an effect, but rather an intense general happiness that we all moved and indeed lived within, for the time.

Traveling back to Taos as to a small country town after a grand ball in some old novel, we tried to imagine what this same intense pleasure must have been like 200 years ago — pleasure so intense that the dancing was prolonged through the night, and often continued over days and even weeks, through a “season”. It was easy to understand how marriages, or love, or perhaps something else might be the result.

Noralyn Parsons adds, “Thanks especially for all the hard work: William DeRagon and Richard Wilson, Gemma DeRagon, Gary Blank, Karina Wilson, Della O’Keefe, musicians; Kit French, M.C.; Meg Adams, decorator and refreshments; Bob and Nancy Ford for registering and sound; Jim Buechler for publicity; Chris Conway for being there and seeing us through, and for all the helpers. It was just lovely.” And thanks to Noralyn for helping to organize the whole event!

Today, July 3, 2007, Ms. Kitty the Cat was euthanized at 10:47 a.m. She was approximately 19 years old, or about 93 in people years. She mostly died of old age and failing kidneys, perhaps “failure to thrive” if a death certificate had been issued (one was not).

We adopted Kitty from the Albuquerque Humane Society shelter on April 13, 1990. She came into the shelter pregnant, but the powers-that-be felt she was ‘adoptable.’ The shelter vet aborted her kittens and fixed her at the same time. Her bobcat-belly fur spots took a long time to grow in. I wanted to adopt a black and white cat similar to our one that had died of leukemia. It was down to the black and white and Kitty. We were in the visiting room with Kitty, and at the last second she put her paw up to Mark’s face and gently patted his beard. That was that. They both sneezed all the way home.

Kitty had been failing the past few months, down to 4 pounds and very frail. Yesterday she lay on our chests for hours, too weak to pat Mark’s face. This morning as we observed her head hanging in her water bowl, unable to drink, we both knew it was time. The euthanization took less than 3 seconds. She died peacefully, with both of us stroking her head and gently holding her tiny front paws. In her eyes, I saw her life light fade to death’s dullness. There was little discernible difference between her living and dying presence.

Those of you who knew Kitty over the past 17 years have your own stories to tell–both good and funny ones of her galloping through the house like a wild-west pony, man-handling the 60-pound dog, curling around one’s neck like a living stole. One summer she captured the fancy of a small male box turtle who lived in the backyard. They would play hide and seek in the tall grass. Others will tell of her uncanny ability to adhere to those who most disliked cats, including climbing onto the back of one such person and refusing to vacate. Most will remember that she loved to snuggle on one’s lap, especially if one held a brush in one’s hand. She purred and purred with satisfaction, and when one lap was used, she’d move to another.

We know that we gave Kitty 17 years of care and love and life. We know that life evolves into death. Yet we will miss Kitty’s antics, presence and energy much more than we realize. May we all live as long and loved a life as Kitty did. May we continue to adopt adult animals from shelters and rescue groups and give them many years of hope and life. MR

I hated Memphis, which makes me prejudiced, I suppose. I hated Memphis for its utter disregard of human and civil rights. I lived there when Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated, race riots abounded, and segregation was rampant. I left as soon as I could.

Prejudice lies against people of different colors, sexual orientation, ethnicities. Prejudice invades the non-human kingdom, too. How much killing has been done in the name of ‘erasing predators’ like a dirty chalkboard or ‘harvesting wildlife’ like a corn crop? Snakes and wolves, both of which enchant me, bear the bitter bulk of human prejudice.

A vivid memory from childhood involves my mom, a party, some smart-aleck kids, and a snake in east Tennessee. We were at a friend’s house, it was dark, and a kid brought a snake up to my mom. Expecting her to scream or show fear, the kid was suitably impressed when she touched the snake and admired it. Trick tripped up! I remember being stunned.

After college I lived in a group house in Nashville with three other women. One of them had a friend with a young son Chris, who loved snakes (Chris is now a 40-something herpetologist somewhere). Our newly found ‘independent women pride’ did not allow us to decline the many offers of holding Chris’s latest acquisition. He taught us a lot about snakes, and I grew to like them.

When I was in law school in Albuquerque, we used to housesit for a professor. He and his wife had chickens, dogs, cats and a 6′ python. The chickens would attack your knees with spirited pecking; the cat threw up under the sofa; the dogs jumped and shed on you. But the snake Venom curled around your arm for a long time and watched TV with you.

We have encountered several snakes while hiking, but they’ve never meant us any harm, even the couple of rattlesnakes we scared up in the desert.

Last week our neighbors across the street called in a frantic panic. “There’s a SNAKE on our front porch! We’ve lived here 54 years and NEVER seen a SNAKE in the neighborhood. We don’t know what to do; we want to kill it.”

“Don’t kill the snake,” I said. “We like snakes.”

Mark and I went over and observed our neighbor sweeping a 3′ bull snake with a large broom. It slithered and zigzagged madly, trying to slide out of harm’s way. On impulse, Mark reached down and picked the snake up quickly, holding him behind the head and down the body. The snake curled around his arm and hung out while we discussed what to do with him. Our neighbors will probably never look at us quite the same again. We have handled the slimy, scaly serpent of satan.

But snakes aren’t slimy; they’re sleek and cool. They’re sinuous and powerful. They crave warmth, not affection. This bull snake didn’t hiss or strike, although we’ve heard some of them pack a mighty bite. Also known as gopher snakes, bull snakes are harmless. They eat rodents and smaller snakes. Think of them as cannibalistic cats. Some of them are docile, some mean, kind of like humans. All are protective of their young. When they’re scared, they pretend to be a rattlesnake and shake their silent tail.

Because dark was coming, we took the bull snake inside. The dog didn’t seem to be able to smell the snake. He showed no interest. We called around the neighborhood to see if anyone had lost a pet snake. No missing snakes reported. We put him in a pillowcase, researched the web to confirm identity, and decided to release him to the wilds the next morn.

We hiked up the Embudo Trail a ways with our pillowcase package, picked a sunny, rocky, wild spot. I opened the pillowcase, removed the snake, and off he slid. We were standing right beside him and couldn’t see him. We wished him a long and safe life and returned to our urban world.

The universe rewarded us that afternoon with an unexpected email about a used popup camper for sale. We had been looking for two years. We bought it. If someone asks me about the day of the snake, I will simply say, “it was charmed.”

Perhaps the moral of the snake story is: if we examine our prejudices toward snakes, we might achieve understanding of our human prejudices. May we all gain enlightenment and tolerance, for the sake of snakes, as well as our own humanity.

Mark’s version of the story is posted at: www.edgewiseblog.com/mjh/uncategorized/snake-handlers/

New Mexico Music and Dance Info: www.folkmads.org, a fantastic up-to-date web site for the New Mexico Folk Music and Dance Society.

Info on Las Cruces, NM dances is at www.zianet.com/lcludeman/contra/snmmds.html.

The New Mexico Dance Coaltion www.swcp.com/~nmdc/links.html has more info on dances, not just contra dances, around New Mexico.

www.nmdance.com is Albuquerque Swing and Country Dance Club.

www.folkdancing.org/new_mexico.html and www.tifd.org/SWDir.htm contain much info about all kinds of dance around the southwest.

To subscribe to a New Mexico local dance e-newsletter, please contact Susan Kellogg at glkello@nmia.com or call 505-299-3737.

Monthly Singing: FOLK SONG CIRCLE the 1st Friday of each month in Corrales, New Mexico. 8:00 P.M. TO MIDNIGHT; Contact: Laurie McPherson 898-6978, lauriemcpherson@hotmail.com or lmcpherson@salud.unm.edu

New Mexico Music Links: www.abqmusic.com is neal copperman’s awesome music venue with lots of concert information for music-lovers.

www.southwestpickers.org has info on bluegrass concerts around Albuquerque.

The Outpost Performance Space in Albuquerque, mostly jazz and folk, has a web site, www.outpostspace.org/.

Santa Fe Concerts: GiG is Santa Fe’s non-profit performance space. GiG is located at 1808 Second St. The suggested donation is $7 to $10. All shows are at 8 PM. Check out www.gigsantafe.com for more details about each week’s artists and listen to their music samples at the Listen link!

rogerlandes.com/ is the web site of Roger Landes, Taos musician extraordinaire and organizer of Zoukfest, www.zoukfest.com.

To sign up for the e-mail list for Parkland Circle House Concerts (Albuquerque), write gcnewma@sandia.gov.

Arizona Music and Dance Info: www.tftm.org/contradancing/cdancing.htm (Scroll down the page to find links to various Arizona dance communities.

Colorado Music and Dance Info: www.dancingtheweb.com/coloradocontra/ccovenue.htm

Email me other links and I will add them to this page. Thanks and happy dancing and playing,

Merri Rudd
merri@merridancing.com
www.merridancing.com

Taken moments ago, December 19, 2006, 3:15 p.m., Albuquerque

Speaking of snow, check out the oh-so-clever “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas” at badaboo.free.fr/merryxmas.swf If that link won’t work for you, try www.thecompassgroup.biz/merryxmas.swf

The 100 or so musicans and dancers who attended last night’s music and dance party at the Heights know what a fine, festive, food-filled and fun-filled evening it was. Merri called her favorite dances over the past 15 years, including Karen & Greg Tie the Knot, Trip to Phan Reel, M.A.D. About Dancing, and Chuck the Budgie. Ken Cooper called two dances, which allowed Merri to dance with her hubby Mark. The Megaband added the old-time versions of Jingle Bells, Deck the Halls, and We Wish You a Merry Christmas (did you know it was a waltz?!) to their repertoire. We still had two lines of dancers at the end of the night, and many of them were seen smiling all evening in their holiday finery. A smorgasbord of food and drinks lined the entire wall of the other room.

We would love for you to share your music and dance memories (recent or distant), thoughts, good wishes, stories, and/or reflections about last night, etc. by posting a comment on this blog entry (scroll to bottom of this post to comment). To you who shared food and drinks, played rowdy dance tunes, danced beautifully, cheered enthusiastically at each announcement, and recorded the event, THANK YOU! from all your hosts and hostesses: Merri, Melissa, Lew, Bob, Nancy, Ken, Michele, Kelly and Gina.

For those who were unable to attend, here are the anniversaries and occasions we celebrated:

Merri Rudd, 15th anniversary as a caller (called her first whole dance on December 7, 1991 at Lloyd Shaw with Megaband playing).
Melissa Wilson & Lew Suber, 15th anniversary as a couple. (Their 2nd date was at that 1st dance Merri called. Melissa, who was the caller scheduler at that time, hired Merri.)

Here’s Melissa & Lew dancing on December 16th

Bob & Nancy Ford, 15th wedding anniversary is Dec. 31, 2006, and Merri forgot to mention this last night, so sorry! Bob’s been our ace sound guy for years.
Michele Von Boeck & Ken Cooper eloped during our thrift store prom at the 14th annual FolkMADness Camp in Socorro on May 28, 2006. Merri officiated.
Kelly Kellstedt & Gina Jenner eloped the next evening, May 29, 2006, in Anita Shenkman’s backyard, Eva Ceskava officiating.

Karen & Greg, the 1st folk couple to be married by Merri; Michele & Ken; Merri; Gina & Kelly

Honoring the Award-Winning Megaband, who has played for our dances for free for 30 years. We gave them “awards,” which we hope they can wear for years to come. Fiddler Jane Phillips helped Merri figure out all their names.

Megaband members making merry music!

Honorees’ hand-crafted “awards”

It was also Dennis Vik’s birthday on December 17. He is only slightly older than 15.

That’s my brief report on the evening. Look forward to reading folkies’ comments on this blog!

Merri Rudd
www.merridancing.com