Kickapoo Kamp, Kerrville, TX -- 100 years old: Turning Point at Turtle Creek

Many prayers for the victims of the tragic flooding at summer camps, including Camp Mystic, in the Texas Hill Country.  What happened over the 4th of July weekend is truly heart-rending. The piece I am sharing here was written before the tragedy. It offers memories but changes identities, as a tribute to the life-changing experience of Kickapoo Kamp, hoping it encourages others to spend a moment to reflect on their own happy memories. 

Link to recording: https://youtu.be/8HuqAn7PXfI 

Speakers near the recreation hall blared Golden Earring’s "Radar Love" for what must have been the tenth time that day. Battery-powered radios scattered around camp added to the soundtrack of the summer of '73—Grand Funk Railroad's "We're An American Band," Elton John's "Daniel," and Vicki Lawrence's "The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia" competed with the constant refrain of "Locomotion" by Grand Funk that the younger girls couldn't seem to get enough of. From the direction of the counselors' cabin came the melodic "Eres Tu" by Mocedades, its Spanish lyrics floating across the camp grounds, while someone else had tuned into a station playing Sister Janet Mead's rock version of "The Lord's Prayer," the unexpected hit by the Australian nun that had become an international sensation. 15-year-old Genni Dyer shifted uncomfortably on the wooden bench, tugging at the hem of her shorts that seemed determined to ride up her thighs. All around her, girls chatted excitedly, their voices creating a cacophony that mirrored the chaos inside her head.

Why did I agree to this?

Five weeks at Camp Kickapoo near Kerrville, Texas. Five weeks of trying to be someone she wasn't—someone who could easily make friends, someone who didn't overthink every social interaction, someone thin.

"There you are!"

Genni looked up to see Melody Boker waving enthusiastically, her blonde ponytail swinging behind her as she navigated through the crowd. Behind her trailed her younger sister, Nancy, whose perpetual half-smile always made Genni wonder what private joke she was enjoying.

The Boker girls were the reason she was here. Ted Boker and her father, David Dyer, had been thick as thieves since their days at the University of Oklahoma, where they'd bonded over rock formations and late-night study sessions for their geology master's degrees. While her father had gone on to become district geologist for Samedan, first in Ardmore where Genni was born, and later in Oklahoma City, Ted had taken a teaching position at the University of Texas.

Source: Wikipedia

"Dad's looking for you," Caitlin said, plopping down beside Genni. "They're announcing cabin assignments in ten minutes."

"Great," Genni murmured, fighting the flutter of anxiety in her chest. New cabinmates meant new people to impress, new people to inevitably disappoint.

"Aren't you excited?" Melissa asked, her eyes wide with genuine curiosity. At thirteen, she possessed a sincerity that Genni envied. "Second session is supposed to be the best. The swimming hole will be perfect by now."

Genni forced a smile. "Can't wait." At least in the water, she felt comfortable. On the Oklahoma City swim team, she'd found a place where her body was an asset, not something to be criticized. Her mother's voice still echoed in her head: "Genni, honey, maybe just half a portion? You're getting a little chunky for summer shorts."

Last month, she'd won bronze in the 200m butterfly at the Oklahoma Junior Olympics and placed eighth in the 200m freestyle. In the water, she was graceful, powerful. On land, she was just... chunky.

"Come on," Caitlin said, tugging at her arm. "Let's go find out who we're bunking with."

 Cabin Osage housed four girls under the Choctaw tribe designation: Genni, Caitlin, a tall girl named Debbie from Houston, and a quiet, bookish girl called Laurie from Austin. The cabin itself was rustic—wooden bunk beds with thin mattresses, each camper’s foot locker, and a shared bathroom with lukewarm water at best.

Genni claimed the bottom bunk beneath Diana, unpacking the stack of books she'd brought: Future Shock by Alvin Toffler, The Peter Principle, a collection of Jorge Luis Borges' Ficciones that her English teacher had recommended, Franz Kafka's short stories, and her favorite, Richard Bradford’s Red Sky at Morning. Novels about plucky heroines who prevailed against all odds were her comfort food for the mind, while Butterfingers and butter-top bread were her comfort food for the body.

"Are you really going to read all those?" Vanessa asked, peering over her shoulder. "It's summer camp, not summer school."

Genni felt her face flush. "I just like reading."

"Leave her alone," Diana said quietly, not looking up from her own book—something with a worn spine and yellowed pages. They were older campers, experienced. This was Genni’s first year at Kickapoo, but she had spent other summers at Oklahoma camps – the Southern Baptist Camp Nunny Cha-ha in the Arbuckles, and Campfire Girls Camp Cimarron near the Cimarron River. 

"What are you reading?" Genni asked her, grateful for the intervention.

"The Bell Jar," Diana replied, showing the cover. "Sylvia Plath."

Genni's eyes widened. "I've been wanting to read that."

"You can borrow it when I'm done," Laurie offered with a small smile. "I've read it twice already."

"As Boethius writes in 'The Consolation of Philosophy,' it's through adversity that we discover our true selves," Genni said, then immediately regretted it. There she went again, dropping medieval philosophy into casual conversation.

But Laurie just nodded thoughtfully. "I've heard of that but never read it. Tell me more later?"

Before Genni could respond, Melody, who had been organizing her makeup collection, turned around. "If you two bookworms are done bonding over ancient dead guys, we should head to the dining hall. It's almost dinner time, and I heard it's fried chicken night."

Genni's stomach rumbled in anticipation, followed immediately by her mother's voice in her head. Chunky girls don't get asked to homecoming, Genni.

"I'm not that hungry," she lied.

Diana looked at her curiously. "You should eat something. Tomorrow's the first activity day. You'll need your energy."

Something in Diana's tone—understanding without pity—made Genni nod. "Maybe just a little."

 The first week at Camp Kickapoo fell into a rhythm. Mornings were for swimming in Turtle Creek, where Genni quickly established herself as one of the strongest swimmers. Afternoons rotated between crafts, hiking, archery, and free time. Evenings were for campfires, sing-alongs, and on Fridays, a social with the boys' camp across the lake.

Genni felt a friendship with Diana, who shared her love of books and didn't fill silences with meaningless chatter. One afternoon during free time, they sprawled under a live oak, reading.

"What would you be doing if you were home right now?" Diana asked, marking her place in The Bell Jar.

Genni considered. "Probably the same thing. Reading. Or sketching."

"You sketch?"

Genni nodded, reluctantly pulling out her battered sketchbook from her backpack. "Just designs. Nothing good."

Diana flipped through pages of clothing designs—angular business suits with unexpected details, school outfits that balanced practicality with flashes of personal expression. "These are amazing, Genni."

"They're just doodles," Genni mumbled, but pleasure warmed her chest.

"You could be a designer someday."

"That's not a real job," Genni replied automatically, echoing her mother's dismissal.

"Says who?" Diana challenged. "My aunt's a buyer for Neiman Marcus. She says fashion is serious business."

Genni's eyes widened. "Really? Do you think... I mean, could she look at my sketches sometime?"

"I'll ask her to write to me," Diana promised. "She'd love these."

In that moment, beneath the Texas oak with cicadas buzzing in the background and "Radar Love" drifting from someone's smuggled-in transistor radio, Genni felt something unfamiliar—possibility. A Spanish-language station faded in and out as someone adjusted the dial, catching fragments of "Yo Te Recuerdo" by Juan Gabriel before settling back on the American Top 40.

 During the second week, Genni gained a reputation as an impressive runner during the camp's daily morning jogs. Her swimmer's endurance served her well on the trails around camp, though she remained self-conscious about how her thighs looked in the required shorts.

"How are you not dying?" gasped Caitlin after one particularly grueling uphill section, her face flushed.

Genni shrugged. "Swimming. It's good for your lungs."

"Well, it's not fair," Vanessa complained good-naturedly. "Some of us are suffering back here."

"I'll wait with you guys," Genni offered, surprised at her own confidence.

"No way," said Melissa, who had caught up to them. "You're going to win the Choctaw points. Cherokee is killing us in archery."

The tribal competition was fierce at Camp Kickapoo, with each activity earning points toward an end-of-session trophy. Genni had never been a key player in any team before, and the feeling was intoxicating.

That evening at dinner, she surprised herself by taking a full portion of chicken strips, salad, and potato wedges, eating slowly and thoughtfully while listening to Diana talk about the latest news on the Watergate hearings.

"Nixon's going to resign," Diana predicted. "My dad says it's just a matter of time."

"My dad says he should've resigned months ago," Vanessa contributed. "The whole country's waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"It's like we can't trust anything anymore," Genni said quietly. "Like everything we thought was solid is actually... I don't know, quicksand or something. Alvin Toffler talks about this in 'Future Shock'—how rapid change creates a kind of disorientation. But really, it reminds me more of what Aquinas explores in 'Summa Theologica' about truth and authority."

The table fell silent for a moment.

"That's deep, Genni," Melody finally said, but not unkindly. She adjusted the macramé choker around her neck, a perfect complement to white t-shirt with the navy blue neck and the Choctaw logo.

"Sorry," Genni mumbled, tugging at her own white t-shirt with green Kickapoo Kamp lettering. "I've been overthinking again."

"No, you're right," Diana said. "It's like what Kafka writes about—the world suddenly not making sense anymore."

Vanessa rolled her eyes. "Can we not talk about Kafka at dinner? I'm trying to keep this down. I don’t need Grigor Samsa, the giant human cockroach crawling around in my head.  We had to read that last year for English."

They all laughed, and Genni felt a strange warmth spread through her chest. This was what it felt like to be part of a conversation, to have her thoughts considered.

 By the third week, Genni had fallen into an unlikely friendship with her cabinmates. Even Debbie, initially intimidating with her Highland Park confidence, had revealed herself to be funny and fiercely loyal. Melody remained chatty but had taken to asking Genni's advice about books worth reading.

Melody dressed one evening in her new low-rise hip-hugger jeans with the wide cuffs that had become all the rage that summer. Her polyester shirt with its butterfly collar perfectly matched her platform sandals. "My mom just sent these," she announced, twirling to show off the ensemble. "What do you think?"

"Totally fabulous," Debbie declared, looking up from her own outfit—denim hot pants paired with a crocheted vest over a halter top. "Genni, you should borrow my suede fringe vest sometime. It would look dynamite with those culottes you wore yesterday." They loved changing out of their camp-required shorts and t-shirts to explore 70s styles.

Genni glanced down. At home, her mom encouraged preppy outfits, ignoring the fact that Genni desperately wanted to wear the same fashions as everyone else—the peasant blouses, maxi dresses, and wide-legged pants that dominated teen magazines.

One hot afternoon, they escaped the Texas heat by taking refuge in their cabin. Laurie had brought a battery-powered radio, and they tuned it to a station playing the melancholy strains of Cat Stevens. From cabins nearby, Roberta Flack's "Killing Me Softly With His Song" drifted through the air, while someone else blasted Paul McCartney's "My Love" loud enough to hear across the compound.

"The first song was from Harold and Maude," Genni said, surprised. "Don’t Be Shy – oh my goodness. I love the song! You've seen it?"

Diana nodded. "Three times. My mom thinks it's inappropriate, which makes it even better. She hates the song, “If You Want to Sing Out, Sing Out."  

"What's Harold and Maude?" Melissa asked, having stopped by to borrow sunscreen.

"Only the best movie ever," Genni said with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. "It's about this young man who's obsessed with death and this old woman who teaches him how to really live."

"That sounds... weird," Caitlin said, wrinkling her nose.

"It's beautiful," Diana countered. "And the Cat Stevens soundtrack is perfect."

"If there's a sad boy and an old lady, why is it your favorite?" Vanessa asked Genni curiously.

Genni hesitated. She wasn't used to explaining her inner landscape to others. "I guess because... it's about finding your own way to be happy. Even if it's not what everyone else thinks happiness should look like." 

She ran a hand through her hair, wishing she had Melody's fashionable shag haircut instead of her ordinary shoulder-length style. "Dante explores this in 'Vita Nuova'—the idea that true happiness comes from a kind of inner transformation. And Avicenna talks about how the soul needs to recognize its own nature to find fulfillment."

Diana added, “The fake suicide attempts are really funny – and then you realize that Harold is making a statement about American and Vietnam – how death-cultish it was to have the young go to Vietnam to be traumatized, badly wounded, and killed. It’s funny because he’s trying to shock his mom – who’s just a total nightmare who cares about her social events and not her son’s well-being. And then, he meets the total free-spirit Maude.  Anyway – it’s a long story and there is just so much to it – especially when you find out that Maude is a Holocaust survivor who tells Harold to relish life.”

“And,” added Genni. “You have to do what you love, not what someone prescribes for you.”

The cabin was quiet except for Cat Stevens singing softly about trouble. Outside, someone's transistor radio blasted Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On," a song the counselors were constantly trying to ban from camp. From the direction of the lake came the soulful Spanish lyrics of "Eres Tu," which had become an unlikely crossover hit in Texas that summer, especially popular in the hill country with its strong Mexican-American influence.

"That actually makes sense," Nancy said finally, adjusting her mood ring. "Like how my dad wanted me to love geology like him, but I want to be a veterinarian."

Genni smiled at her. "Exactly."

"Well, my idea of happiness right now would be not melting in this heat," Vanessa announced. "Secret swimming hole? The counselors are all at their meeting."

Source: Wikipedia

Diana raised an eyebrow. "The one past the restricted trail?"

"That's the one," Vanessa confirmed with a mischievous grin.

"We could get in trouble," Caitlin pointed out, but she was already reaching for her swimsuit.

Genni felt a flutter of anxiety. "I don't know..."

"Come on, Genni," Diana urged quietly. "Live a little dangerously."

The phrase, so reminiscent of Maude's philosophy, made Genni smile despite herself. "Okay, but if we get caught, I'm blaming all of you."

 The secret swimming hole was a revelation—a deep, clear pool formed by a natural dam of limestone, shaded by bald cypress trees with their feathery foliage and knobby knees protruding from the water. The limestone walls of the swimming hole were striated with bands of darker material, telling a geological story that Genni wished her father was there to read.

"It's like Keats wrote," Genni said, gazing up at the dappled light filtering through the cypress branches. "'A thing of beauty is a joy forever: its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness.'"

"You really do have poetry for everything," Debbie said, but she was smiling as she dipped her toes in the cool water.

A flash of movement caught Genni's eye—a six-lined racerunner lizard darting across a sun-warmed rock, its bright blue stripes vibrant against the limestone. Further up on the bank, amid a tangle of mustang grape vines, the distinctive black and yellow pattern of a Texas patch-nosed snake was visible as it slithered away from their voices.

They slipped into the cool water with sighs of relief from the July heat. The creek bottom was a mosaic of smooth limestone and river pebbles, with occasional patches of soft sand collected in the deeper parts.

Genni floated on her back, gazing up at the dappled sunlight through the leaves. For once, she wasn't thinking about how her body looked in her swimsuit or what her mother would say about her sneaking off. She was simply present in her body, feeling the water support her weight, hearing her friends' laughter echo off the limestone walls.

"Race you to the other side," Vanessa challenged, and without thinking, Genni flipped over and took off with powerful strokes.

After easily winning, she treaded water, waiting for the others. Diana arrived second, her technique less polished but effective.

"Show-off," Vanessa called out when she reached them, splashing Genni playfully.

"Can't help it if I'm part fish," Genni retorted, splashing back.

"You really are amazing," Diana said. "You could probably swim in college."

The thought hadn't occurred to Genni before. Swimming had always been something she did, not something she could build a future around. "You think?"

"Absolutely," Diana nodded. "My cousin got a scholarship to swim at Rice."

A scholarship. A way out. A path forward that had nothing to do with being chunky or pretty or normal. Just being strong.

"I might look into that," Genni said thoughtfully.

 That night at the campfire, Genni sat between Diana and Melissa, toasting marshmallows for s'mores without her usual guilt about calories. The past three weeks had changed something fundamental in her relationship with food. She wasn't cured—she still heard her mother's critical voice—but she had begun to see food as fuel for swimming, for running, for living.

One weekend, Ted Boker stopped by camp at lunchtime on his way back to home. "Having fun, girls?"

"The best, Dad," Caitlin assured him.

"Glad to hear it." He turned to Genni. "Got a letter from your father today. He says to tell you he's proud of you for trying something new this summer."

Genni felt a lump in her throat. Her father, unlike her mother, had always accepted her as she was—bookish, analytical, and yes, a little chunky. "Thanks, Mr. Boker."

"You remind me of him at your age," Ted continued. "Always with your nose in a book, always asking the big questions."

"I do?" The comparison startled her. She'd never thought of herself as being like her father.

"Absolutely. He was the only other undergraduate who wanted to debate medieval philosophy while we were supposed to be studying rock formations." Ted smiled. "You've got his mind. It's a gift, even if it makes life complicated sometimes."

After he moved on to check on other campers, Diana nudged her. "Medieval philosophy, huh? You've been holding out on us."

Genni blushed. "It's just something I read about once."

"Don't do that," Diana said firmly. "Don't make yourself smaller."

"What do you mean?"

"You do this thing where you know something interesting or have a unique thought, and then you apologize for it." Diana's gaze was steady. "Stop apologizing for being smart."

Across the fire, someone had started playing "Radar Love" on a guitar, and the familiar notes floated up with the sparks from the fire.

"I've been driving all night, my hands wet on the wheel," a counselor sang, and others joined in.

Genni looked around the circle—at Diana with her quiet intensity, at Caitlin braiding Melissa's hair, at Vanessa teaching younger campers a complicated hand-clapping game. For the first time in longer than she could remember, she felt a sense of belonging.

The fourth week brought the camp Olympics, a day of intense competition between the tribes. The Choctaws were trailing the Cherokees by a narrow margin, and the final event was the lake swim—four laps of the marked course, with each tribe fielding their strongest swimmer.

"It has to be you, Genni," Melissa insisted during the strategy session. "You're our best shot."

Genni felt the weight of responsibility pressing on her chest. "What if I mess up?"

"You won't," Diana said with certainty.

"But what if I do?" The anxiety that had been her constant companion for years bubbled up. "What if I let everyone down?"

Vanessa put her hands on Genni's shoulders. "Then we'll still be your friends, stupid."

The simple declaration stunned Genni into silence.

"It's just a game," Caitlin added. "A fun one that we really want to win, but still just a game."

Genni took a deep breath. "Okay. I'll do it."

At the lake's edge, Genni adjusted her swim cap, trying to ignore the crowd of campers cheering. The Cherokee swimmer was Kimberly, a tall girl from Dallas who had been eyeing Genni with respect mingled with competitive fire all week.

"Swimmers ready," called the head counselor.

Genni closed her eyes briefly, centering herself. In her mind, she was back at the Junior Olympics, feeling the water welcome her.

The whistle blew, and she dove.

The world narrowed to the rhythm of her strokes, the burn in her muscles, the steady pattern of her breathing. She was vaguely aware of Kimberly beside her, matching her pace. At the first turn, they were neck and neck.

By the second lap, Genni had settled into the meditative state that always came during long swims. Her mind, usually buzzing with anxious thoughts, quieted. There was only the water, the movement, the steady beat of her heart.

On the third lap, Kimberly began to flag slightly. Genni maintained her pace, letting her endurance carry her.

The final lap was pure joy—the knowledge that her body was strong, capable, carrying her toward the finish while the voices of her tribemates urged her on.

When her hand touched the dock, seconds before Kimberly’s, the explosion of cheers barely registered. What she would remember later was the feeling of being lifted from the water by many hands, of Diana's fierce hug regardless of how wet she was, of Vanessa's uncharacteristic whoop of victory, of Caitlin jumping up and down while Melissa chanted "Choc-taw! Choc-taw!"

That night, celebrating their overall victory with an extra hour of campfire time, Genni found herself writing in her journal—not self-recriminating thoughts or angsty poetry, but a letter to her future self. Remember this feeling, she wrote. Remember that you are more than what people see or say. Remember that you can be strong and smart and weird and still find your people.

She paused, chewing on her pen, then added: As Boethius would say, fortune's wheel turns for everyone. Today it turned in my favor. The Peter Principle suggests that people rise to their level of incompetence, but maybe sometimes we also rise to our level of unexpected excellence. Maybe Aquinas was right about how virtue is cultivated through practice—swimming laps, making friends, being brave enough to be myself.

Across the campfire, Melody was showing off her new Indian print gauze blouse and elephant bell-bottoms that her mother had sent in a care package. Her cork-soled platform shoes made her tower over everyone else. Next to her, Debbie had paired some spectacular striped pants with a peasant blouse, adding puka shell beads that gleamed in the firelight.

 The final week of camp arrived with the bittersweet knowledge that their time together was coming to an end. Genni had exchanged addresses with Diana, Vanessa, and of course the Boker girls, with promises to write.

On their last free afternoon, Genni and Diana returned to their spot under the live oak, now a place of comfortable silences and deep conversations.

"Are you scared to go home?" Diana asked suddenly.

Genni considered the question. "A little. I'm different now, but home will be the same."

"Maybe that's good," Diana suggested. "Maybe home needs you to be different."

"Maybe." Genni plucked at the grass beside her. "I'm going to miss this. Miss you."

"We'll write," Diana promised. "And maybe next summer..."

"Maybe."

They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the distant sounds of the camp—shouts from the ball field, someone playing piano in the rec hall, the ever-present "Radar Love" from someone's radio.

"Hey," Diana said suddenly. "I never asked why you came to camp this summer. You don't seem like the typical camp person."

Genni hesitated, then decided on honesty. "I was... not in a good place this past year. My parents were worried. My dad thought being with the Boker girls might help."

Diana nodded, understanding without requiring details. "Did it? Help?"

Genni looked out over the camp—the dusty paths between buildings, the shimmer of heat rising from the tin roofs, the lake glittering in the distance. She thought about her body, carrying her through water and over trails. She thought about her mind, finally finding people who didn't flinch when she mentioned Kafka or medieval philosophy.

"Yeah," she said softly. "It did."

Five weeks at Camp Kickapoo near Kerrville, Texas, in the summer of Watergate and "Radar Love." Five weeks that had somehow managed to be a lifetime.

Somewhere inside her, the girl who'd arrived—lonely, self-conscious, hiding behind books and comfort food—was still there. But alongside her now was someone new, someone who could win races and make friends, someone who could remain analytical and bookish without using it as armor.

"What are you thinking about?" Laurie asked, her own outfit a perfectly on-trend combination of a smock top and wide-legged jeans. Her center-parted hair fell straight and long, the quintessential early seventies look that Genni had always admired.

Genni tugged at the hem of her simple shorts, but for once didn't feel self-conscious about her lack of fashion sense or her athletic build. Here at camp, her strength had become a source of pride rather than shame.

From somewhere in the distance, some of the Hispanic campers were playing "Tú y Yo" by Roberto Carlos, its romantic Spanish lyrics a reminder of the rich cultural blend of Texas.

"I was thinking about Avicenna's concept of the flying man," Genni said, surprised at her own candor. "The idea that even if you were created suspended in the air, unable to see or touch anything, you would still be aware of your own existence. That your sense of self is independent of your body or surroundings." She smiled. "And I was thinking about the future. And how maybe it doesn't have to be a shock after all."

This is an excerpt from Shells and Shadows, available at Amazon in paperback, e-book, and audio. 

Todos Santos: Just published!

What if death wasn’t the end—but only a border? And what if someone found a way to cross it?

Dr. Wisteria Vanish, a trauma psychologist grappling with unbearable grief, is drawn to the remote desert town of Todos Santos, Mexico, where whispers of resurrection swirl around a rogue military medic. In an underground lab carved from ancient stone, the dead stir—but what returns may not be human.  Available now on Amazon.com

 Todos Santos is a philosophical literary science fiction novel that follows Wisteria Vanish, a trauma psychologist and former competitive swimmer reeling from the loss of her husband, David, who was killed by an IED in Afghanistan. When a mysterious biotech defense contractor, VitaNuova, contacts her with a shocking proposal—to investigate a rogue scientist in Baja California who may have found a way to reverse death—Wisteria reluctantly accepts, drawn by both professional curiosity and personal longing.

The journey takes her from Norman, Oklahoma through the haunted landscapes of the Texas Panhandle and into the deserts of Baja California, Mexico. There she meets Dr. Holdsby Asher, a former Army medic turned controversial researcher operating out of an abandoned silver mine. His reanimation experiments blur the lines between life and death, resulting in disturbing partial resurrections: biologically functional beings without apparent consciousness.

As Wisteria becomes immersed in Holdsby’s world of ethical ambiguity and scientific obsession, she also connects with Maria Bentley, a hotelier and former pharmaceutical researcher, and Elena, a once-dead trafficking victim who regains agency and becomes a symbol of consciousness evolution. Together, they confront the implications of Holdsby’s work—and the darker motives of VitaNuova, who seeks military applications for the technology.

Through a series of morally fraught encounters, Wisteria is forced to choose between complicity in a terrifying future or becoming a bridge to new understandings of grief, healing, and being. Her poetic reflections on trauma, memory, and identity deepen as she explores the “spaces between” death and resurrection—not only in others, but within herself.

Structured in four parts—Descent, Darkness, Transformation, and Resurrection—the novel foregrounds themes such as Julia Kristeva’s concept of abjection, the existential dilemmas posed by Sartre and Camus, and Berger and Luckmann’s social construction of reality. It interrogates the meaning of consciousness, identity, and personhood through the reanimation of partially conscious bodies and the corporate desire to militarize immortality.

With its haunting desert setting, philosophical underpinnings drawn from existentialism, social construction theory, and Kristeva’s abjection, Todos Santos is a meditation on what it means to be alive, to grieve, and to evolve. Ultimately, it is a story of resurrection—both literal and metaphorical—and the dangerous, liberating, and deeply human desire to bring the dead back, if only to say goodbye.

Interested in writing a review?  Let me know and I'll send you a galley proof ... Thank you in advance!

Why Neuroscience Matters in Website and eLearning Design

When it comes to designing websites and eLearning programs, it's easy to get caught up in tools and templates—but there’s something deeper that can really elevate your work: understanding how the brain responds to design. Neuroscience isn’t just for labs and textbooks. It offers practical, powerful insights into how users take in information, stay engaged, and remember what they learn. And when we apply those insights, we can create learning experiences that are not just functional, but impactful.

Keeping those neurons firing! (recorded on Juneteenth by Susan Nash)

Take something as simple as color and shape. A recent study by Nissen and colleagues (2024) used brain imaging to explore how people respond to different website designs. They found that blue-colored designs and rounded buttons made people feel more relaxed, less skeptical, and more likely to engage. Why? Because our brains evolved to associate blue with safe, calming environments like the sky and water, and to view rounded shapes as approachable and non-threatening. On the other hand, sharp corners and lots of red can trigger the opposite: alertness, caution, even discomfort.

Here's an example: an online learning platform revamped their interface, swapping out harsh red accents and boxy buttons for soft blue tones and rounded shapes. The result? Learner engagement and satisfaction scores climbed significantly. People stayed on the site longer and completed more modules. It wasn’t just about making things look nice—it was about tapping into how the brain naturally processes visual cues.

Another real-world example: a global logistics company redesigned its compliance training. They color-coded content so users could instantly recognize urgency—red for critical warnings, green for safe actions, and blue for instructions. These visual signals aligned with how the brain reacts to color in high-stakes settings. The results were clear: learners performed better on scenario-based tasks and made fewer errors. Neuroscience explains this: when cognitive load is reduced through intuitive design, people can focus more on the content and less on figuring out what to do next.

Verbal processing matters too. Research on language areas of the brain (Amunts et al., 2004) shows that when information is structured in logical, semantic categories, people are better at remembering and using it. This has huge implications for how we write eLearning content. Organizing lessons into clearly defined themes, using consistent language, and providing visual anchors (like icons or mind maps) can support the brain’s natural way of retrieving meaning.

Why is the dog wearing a black sock? (sketch by Susan Nash) 

Now, imagine a virtual high school biology course that uses subtle attention cues—like pulsing highlights or animated arrows—to bring learners’ eyes back to key information when they start to drift. These cues could be timed to match typical attention cycles (about 10–12 minutes). While hypothetical, this kind of design could increase quiz scores and completion rates by keeping learners mentally “in the room.” It’s a simple, neuroscience-informed strategy with a big potential payoff.

One caution: just because something sounds scientific doesn’t mean it is. Neuro-linguistic programming (NLP), for example, often uses fancy terms like “neuro” and “programming,” but as Roderique-Davies (2009) points out, it lacks real scientific backing. That’s why it’s important to focus on design practices supported by solid, peer-reviewed research.

In the end, understanding a little neuroscience goes a long way. It helps us create websites and learning experiences that feel intuitive, engaging, and even enjoyable. And best of all, it helps learners get what they need faster—and retain it longer. For anyone involved in design or training, that’s a win.

References

Amunts, K., Weiss, P. H., Mohlberg, H., Pieperhoff, P., Eickhoff, S., Gurd, J. M., ... & Zilles, K. (2004). Analysis of neural mechanisms underlying verbal fluency in cytoarchitectonically defined stereotaxic space—The roles of Brodmann areas 44 and 45. NeuroImage, 22(1), 42–56. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.neuroimage.2003.12.031

Nissen, A., Riedl, R., & Schütte, R. (2024). Users’ reactions to website designs: A neuroimaging study based on evolutionary psychology with a focus on color and button shape. Computers in Human Behavior, 155, 108168. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.chb.2024.108168

Roderique-Davies, G. (2009). Neuro-linguistic programming: Cargo cult psychology? Journal of Applied Research in Higher Education, 1(2), 58–63. https://doi.org/10.1108/17581184200900014

How Did Teresa de Avila keep from being killed as a witch?

 Teresa of Ávila lived in 16th-century Spain during a time when the Catholic Church was incredibly suspicious of anyone claiming direct spiritual experiences. The Spanish Inquisition was at its peak, and mystical experiences were often viewed as potentially heretical or even demonic. Women, especially, faced scrutiny if they claimed to have visions or direct communication with God. 

Teresa became known as a mystic because of her extraordinary spiritual experiences - ecstatic visions, levitation during prayer, and what she described as mystical marriage with Christ. She wrote detailed accounts of these experiences in works like "The Interior Castle," describing the soul's journey through different stages of prayer and union with God. Her writing was so vivid and psychologically astute that it influenced spiritual practice for centuries.

What made her particularly dangerous in the eyes of authorities was that she was a woman teaching about theology and mysticism - areas typically reserved for male clergy. She also reformed the Carmelite order, establishing stricter convents that emphasized contemplative prayer over the more relaxed monastic life common at the time. This reformist activity drew attention from both church and civil authorities.

Teresa definitely walked a tightrope regarding accusations of witchcraft or heresy. Several of her confessors initially thought her visions might be demonic. She was investigated by the Inquisition multiple times, and her writings were scrutinized for theological errors. The fact that she experienced physical phenomena like levitation made her particularly suspect, as these were often associated with witchcraft.

However, Teresa had several things working in her favor. She was highly educated, came from a noble family, and was incredibly shrewd about church politics. She always submitted her experiences to male confessors for approval and framed her mystical experiences within orthodox Catholic theology. She also had powerful allies, including influential Jesuits and eventually King Philip II himself.

Her influence during her lifetime was enormous. She founded seventeen reformed convents, mentored other mystics like John of the Cross, and her writings provided a roadmap for contemplative spirituality that balanced mystical experience with practical wisdom. She managed to navigate the dangerous waters of her era while fundamentally changing Spanish monasticism.

Here's a website that explores the Seven Mansions of the Inner Castle written by Teresa of Avila. https://myss.com/entering-the-castle/seven-mansions/ 

Sophie Charlotte Belnos: A 19th-Century Company Artist's View of Indian Culture

Sophie Charlotte Belnos (1795-1865) stands as a significant figure among the Company Artists—European artists who documented Indian life during the British colonial period. Her meticulous illustrations of Hindu religious practices and Bengali cultural life represent some of the earliest ethnographic visual records of colonial India, offering unique insights into the intersection of European artistic techniques and Indian cultural documentation.

 ‘Nautch Girl or Bengal Singing Girl’

Early Life and Background

Born on February 18, 1795, in Danapur, Bengal, Belnos was raised in Calcutta as part of the European colonial community (Roebert, 2021). While British by nationality rather than Anglo-Indian, her upbringing in India profoundly shaped her artistic perspective and cultural understanding. Her marriage to French miniature artist Jean-Jacques Belnos, who had introduced lithographic printing to India in 1822, proved instrumental in her artistic development (USEUM, n.d.). This partnership not only provided her with technical expertise in lithography but also positioned her within a network of artists and cultural observers in colonial Bengal.

Artistic Development and Professional Career

Belnos began as an amateur artist but evolved into a professional lithographer and illustrator, demonstrating remarkable entrepreneurial spirit for a woman of her era. In 1847, she established her own lithographic studio in Calcutta, gaining artistic and financial independence (USEUM, n.d.). Her transition from amateur to professional artist reflected both the growing opportunities for European women in colonial India's artistic landscape and her own determination to document the culture surrounding her with professional rigor.

Major Works and Cultural Documentation

Belnos produced two landmark publications that established her reputation as a Company Artist and cultural documentarian:

Twenty-four Plates Illustrative of Hindoo and European Manners in Bengal (1832)

This seminal work featured hand-colored lithographs created from Belnos's original sketches, with lithographic work by A. Colin and her husband (Saffron Art, 2020; StoryLTD, n.d.). The publication included descriptive text in both French and English, reflecting the multicultural nature of colonial Bengal and making the work accessible to both French and English-speaking audiences. 

The work documented both male and female dancers, providing insights into Bengali cultural practices and social hierarchies. Notably, Belnos recorded that "natives of both sexes of respectability will never dance themselves; it is considered derogatory to their dignity," capturing indigenous attitudes toward performance that predated later colonial moral campaigns (Roebert, 2021).

The Sundhya or the Daily Prayers of the Brahmins (1851)

This comprehensive documentation of Hindu religious practices showcased Belnos's deep engagement with Indian spiritual culture over nearly two decades of observation. The work illustrated various prayer ceremonies, hand gestures (mudras), religious vessels, and devotional practices dedicated to deities including Vishnu, Ganesha, Hanuman, and Shiva (Rawpixel, n.d.; The Heritage Lab, 2021). This publication demonstrated her commitment to understanding and accurately representing complex religious practices that were often misunderstood or misrepresented by European observers.

Artistic Analysis and Cultural Significance

Belnos's work represents a unique fusion of European artistic techniques with Indian subject matter, characteristic of the Company School style. Her illustrations demonstrate several key analytical features:

Technical Innovation: By combining traditional European watercolor techniques with the newly introduced lithographic printing process, Belnos created works that were both artistically sophisticated and reproducible for wider distribution. The hand-coloring of her lithographs maintained the personal touch of original artwork while allowing for multiple copies.

Ethnographic Precision: Unlike many contemporary European artists who romanticized or exoticized Indian subjects, Belnos approached her documentation with anthropological rigor. Her detailed attention to religious gestures, ceremonial objects, and cultural practices suggests she spent considerable time observing and understanding the contexts she was illustrating (Roebert, 2021).

Cross-Cultural Perspective: Her work reveals a European woman's attempt to bridge cultural understanding during the colonial period. The bilingual text in her publications indicates an awareness of multiple audiences and a desire to communicate across cultural boundaries. Her documentation of both "Hindoo and European Manners" suggests she saw herself as documenting a hybrid colonial culture rather than simply exotic Indian practices.

Gender and Social Commentary: Belnos's inclusion of female dancers and her observations about social attitudes toward performance provide valuable insights into gender dynamics in colonial Bengal. Her work captures the complex social hierarchies and cultural tensions of the period from a female European perspective, adding a dimension often missing from male-dominated colonial documentation.

Historical Significance and Accuracy

Belnos distinguished herself through her commitment to ethnographic accuracy, a quality that sets her apart from many contemporary Company Artists. She included endorsements from members of the Royal Asiatic Society to validate the authenticity of her cultural representations (Roebert, 2021). Her collaboration with Jean-Jacques Belnos produced some of the earliest visual records of yoga practices during the colonial era, featuring detailed illustrations of yogic postures and spiritual practices that modern scholars consider remarkably accurate (The Heritage Lab, 2021).

Legacy and Later Life

Belnos's documentation provides invaluable insights into 19th-century Bengali culture and Hindu religious practices that might otherwise have been lost or misrepresented. Her work represents a bridge between European artistic techniques and Indian cultural subjects, embodying the hybrid nature of Company Art while maintaining respect for the subjects she documented. She died on April 24, 1865, in Copenhagen, Denmark, leaving behind a body of work that continues to inform our understanding of colonial Indian culture and early cross-cultural artistic exchange.

Examples of Her Work

Several of Belnos's illustrations are available in digital collections:

Religious ceremonial illustrations: Hand gestures and prayer poses from "The Sundhya" can be viewed at Rawpixel's Sophie Charlotte Belnos collection

Cultural documentation: Examples from "Twenty-four Plates" are featured in academic discussions at Pictorial Indian Dance History

Contemporary exhibitions: Her work has been displayed in modern contexts, as noted in the Artsy collection from Swaraj Art Archive

Sophie Charlotte Belnos's contributions to Company Art demonstrate how European artists in colonial India could serve as cultural interpreters, creating visual records that transcended mere documentation to become valuable historical and anthropological resources. Her work remains significant not only for its artistic merit but also for its respectful and accurate representation of Indian cultural and religious practices during a critical period of cultural contact and colonial transformation.

References

Roebert, D. (2021, September 5). Depictions of dancers in the Bengal Presidency by three artists: c. 1820-1840. Aspects of Pictorial Indian Dance History. https://pictorialindiandance.wordpress.com/2021/03/13/depictions-of-dancers-in-the-bengal-presidency-by-three-artists-c-1820-1840/

Rawpixel. (n.d.). Sophie Charlotte Belnos images. https://www.rawpixel.com/search/sophie%20charlotte%20belnos

Saffron Art. (2020, January 15-16). Sophie Charlotte Belnos. Antiquarian Books Auction [Lot 38]. https://www.saffronart.com/auctions/PostWork.aspx?l=29841

StoryLTD. (n.d.). Sophie Charlotte Belnos - Twenty-four plates illustrative of Hindoo and European manners in Bengal. https://www.storyltd.com/auction/item.aspx?eid=4253&lotno=4

The Heritage Lab. (2021, June 20). Yoga: A story in art. https://www.theheritagelab.in/yoga-art/

USEUM. (n.d.). Sophia Charlotte Belnos. https://useum.org/artist/Sophia-Charlotte-Belnos

Fountain Square, Baku, New Year's Eve 1999

The fountains surge at mechanical intervals against the Caspian night, their waters catching fragments of light from small fireworks that bloom and die in children's hands. Their sound mimics conversation—the rhythmic murmur of voices just beyond comprehension, like the Russian phrases that drift past my ears, half-familiar syllables that force me to strain for meaning that hovers always just out of reach. Art nouveau facades curve around the square in elegant contradiction—wrought iron railings twist into filigree dreams while Soviet concrete slouches behind them like a guilty secret. I stand among the cobblestones, foreign feet on ancient ground, watching elegant women drift past in their narrow-shouldered blazers and dark lipstick—the careful glamour of a decade that promised everything and delivered fragments.

photo by susan smith nash

The kimancha's bow draws across steel strings, weaving mugham's modal lamentation through the crowd. This is music that builds meaning note by note, like Wittgenstein's language games—each phrase a world, each ornament a way of seeing. The musician's eyes close as he navigates the ancient pathways between joy and sorrow, his instrument's voice threading through conversations that switch between Russian's familiar harshness and Azeri's liquid syllables, languages dancing around each other like cautious lovers constructing reality from borrowed words.

Wind from the Caspian carries the eternal scent of oil and gas seeps, that petroleum incense persistent as the fires that once burned without end from this earth. The wind is relentless, constant as the flames that now burn in hearts rather than temples. I think of Zoroastrian altars, of Leyla and Majnun's doomed passion, of Dede Gorgud's twelve tales that shaped meaning from nomad memory long before empires learned to name this place. The fountain spray catches my cheek, cold and sudden against the warm breath of ancient fires, and I am reminded that language, like love, like revolution, constructs the world it claims to describe. Here in Azerbaijan, at the crossroads of empires and languages, meaning shifts like the wind patterns across the Caspian.

The old Soviet buildings lean against art nouveau's flowering iron, concrete socialism crumbling into capitalism's uncertain embrace, while the mugham continues its spiral ascent through modal territories that know no borders. Above it all, Persian arches and Islamic geometries remember older grammars of power.

Tonight feels less about reconstruction than about witnessing—the way midnight fireworks illuminate faces caught between worlds, between languages, between the weight of empire's end and the lightness of small hopes ascending like sparks into the winter sky. In planters between the fountains, olive trees stand patient as prophets, their silver leaves catching wind and light, while winter roses cling to thorny stems with the same stubborn grace that keeps the human spirit flowering in the harshest seasons.

The kimancha falls silent, and in that silence, the wind carries whispers of Majnun calling Leyla's name across the centuries, while gas flames flicker in the distance like punctuation marks in an endless sentence we are all still learning to read. Here, among the poppies that will push through cracks in concrete come spring, among the jasmine that perfumes summer nights regardless of which flag flies overhead, I understand that the human heart rebuilds itself with the same persistence as these ancient fires—unvanquishable, eternal, finding ways to bloom even when the world above seems to crumble.

Yeni il mübarək, someone calls out, and the New Year arrives with the taste of petroleum and the promise that the spirit, like these olive trees, like the fountains that flow regardless of empire, endures and renews itself from sources deeper than any human design.

Susan Smith Nash, Ph.D. 

Norman, OK 

Time-Lapse Expressions: The Modernist Vision of Marcel Duchamp and Giacomo Balla

I would love to have seen the new art at the 1913 Armory Show and that which followed. Marcel Duchamp’s “Nude Descending a Staircase” was mocked and referred to as shingles flying everywhere.  Earlier, in 1912, Giacomo Balla’s  painting, likewise portrayed motion in multiples. Now, all audiences would automatically recognized it as individual frames from motion picture film.  The way of seeing reality is fascinating – it’s a convergence of the new technologies in x-ray (seeing the skeletal form), and silent film, evoking the Lumiere Brothers and also films from Edison’s studios.  The art corresponded to the new wave of innovation which we now refer to as the Second Industrial Revolution (the first was steam power, the second technology that included automation, communications, sanitation), etc.).

Nude Descending a Staircase (No. 2) - Marcel Duchamp

I had the chance to view “Nude Descending a Staircase (No. 2)” at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. The experience of seeing Duchamp’s work in real life makes it clear that the viewer is supposed to enter the experience of the work – emotionally and cognitively – as the work itself requires the viewer to interact with it in a unique / different way than simply looking at a sculpture or painting. 

For example, the famous “objet trouvé / “found object” entitled "Fountain" and signed of R. Mutt, 1917, is a urinal that demands you perceive it as a sculpture, but you’re not at all prepared to do so, since you’ve interacted with this everyday item in the real world, and it’s a mass-produced industrial object which is gazed upon and regarded, but not in a museum and not as a work of art, but as a utilitarian, functional machine (is a toilet a machine?). 

"Fountain" by Marcel Duchamp

In “The Bride, Stripped Bare by her Bachelors, Even,” which is a mixed media installation also at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, you are forced to look through a tiny opening in a door to witness, voyeuristically, a Greek myth playing out in front of your eyes. It may not be literally Leda and the Swan, and the incubus concept may be outside your experience (well, one hopes!).

“Nude Descending a Staircase (No. 2)” is a painting, but it has the feeling of being a balsa wood construction. In the early 20th century, balsa wood was regularly used to build models and prototypes of machines, vehicles, boats, and fanciful inventions. Thus, by creating a painting that looks like a balsa wood prototype, Duchamp forces the viewer to reperceive the work of art, and to challenge the viewer to think of art as speculative, and all about the way that inventions can be made, and that it does not matter if you’re an artist or an engineer. If you have a mind that can think in multiple dimensions, and across time, you’re a part of the exciting, seemingly infinite future.

 

"Dynamism of a Dog on a Leash" (1912) by Giacomo Balla

The same can be said for Giacomo Balla’s hyperactive little dachshund in “Dynamism of a Dog on a Leash” – so cute!  But what makes the depiction so relatable?  Instead of focusing on the dog’s face, and instead of giving the dog oversized, emotional eyes that look directly into the eyes of the viewer, the dachshund is more quintessentially “dachshund” than a sentimental version could ever be, and every dachshund owner would absolutely agree. The dog is all about energy, action, and forward motion.  

If you look at the breed from its utility, you’ll think of how it was bred to hunt gophers. At the same time, if you look at the breed from the perspective of a modern urban owner, you totally relate to a frisky, territorial, and cutely aggressive little dog that loves to run on his tiny little legs. Instead of the face, the big, soulful eyes, and a setting in nature, we have a little urban sweetie whose energy somehow reflects and refracts the energy of the young woman walking her little darling. It’s all about sympathetic energy, and thus, Balla paints life itself.

The Joy of Gymnastics: OU Meets Arkansas at Norman - Joscelyn Roberson, Faith Torrez, Jordan Bowers, Frankie Price shine

I had an amazing experience!  I had the chance to attend the OU-Arkansas women’s gymnastics meet at Lloyd Noble on Friday, January 31. 

University of Oklahoma gymnast getting ready for floor exercise.

I love OU’s women’s gymnastics, and I was really excited to see that now that we’re in the SEC, we would have a meet against the University of Arkansas where World Cup Floor Ex champion and Olympics alternate, Joscelyn Roberson, is competing.  I purchased great seats for myself, Shandell, and little 3-year-old Brielle and 7-year-old Monty, in order to see Joscelyn Roberson in person.  What would she be like in person?  I’ve certainly seen her in videos, but do they do her justice? 

Three-year-old aspiring gymnast wearing her OU Sooners leo and dress.

It was so amazing to see Texarkana born and raised Joscelyn Roberson compete in person.  I first became aware of her during the 2023 Pan American Games and also the Cairo World Cup where she earned a Gold in Floor Exercise.  Her coaches in Texarkana should receive huge credit for developing such a great athlete and sportsman as well.  At any rate, when I first saw her, she was 16, and at 4 ft 8 inches, a little powerhouse.  Her music and her tumbling passes were incredible.  She did receive criticism for “lack of artistry,” but honestly, I think it’s only because she does not have the sylph-like appearance of a rhythmic gymnast.  Also the code of points privileges difficulty, so tumbling passes become superhuman in difficulty, along with floor-based wolf turns. I followed her career with avid interest, really disagreeing with her detractors, and I think they have no idea whatsoever about Joscelyn’s true “provenance.”  This is just a theory, but I suspect her tumbling prowess is due to the depth and breadth of tumbling talent and coaching in Texarkana, thanks to Cheer.  Texarkana high schools, such as Arkansas High School regularly rank in the top 10 nationally.  They are stunning!  Granted, their technique is quite different than gymnastics, but many of the tumbling passes require tucks, twists, and more.  

Joscelyn Roberson (far left) getting ready for vault. 

I was sad to see Joscelyn suffer a serious ankle injury during a warm-up for the vault.  She came back, better than ever, and earned a spot as an alternate for the U.S. Olympic Team going to Paris. I was secretly hoping that she would sign a Letter of Intent with the University of Oklahoma.  OU has earned a reputation as a team with tremendous concentration, discipline, mental toughness, and consistency.  They did not advance to the National Championships last year, but there were injuries, and they were rebuilding.  This year, OU’s women gymnasts are ranked #1 in the nation. It was exciting to see Jordan Bowers and Faith Torres (tied for all-around in this meet) along with teammates Lily Pederson, Audrey Davis, Addison Fatta, Danae Fletcher, and more.  I am incredibly impressed with OU’s coaching and the support behind the scenes.  I used to see the women’s gymnastics team at 6 am at Murray Case Sells doing low-impact cardio in the diving well and it was all I could do to restrain myself from going totally “fan-girl” on them and asking for autographs (on what?  My swim cap?).  I was a huge fan of the now graduated Ragan Smith, Madison Snook, and many others.  One true hero who led Oklahoma to national championships in 2017 and 2018 was Maggie Nichols (who was in the audience!!).  Maggie wrote about her experiences in a book. Her courage always stunned me – she was one of the gymnasts who testified against Larry Nassar.  In fact, she was “Athlete A,” who was the first to report to U.S. Gymnastics what Nassar had been doing to the gymnasts.  That took incalculable courage!! Instead of continuing to pursue elite gymnastics, she chose to go the college route.  When she was competing, it was almost unheard of for an elite gymnast to leave their club and to compete in college, where the rules are different, and the routines do not have the same degree of difficulty (or at least, didn’t).  This was before Jade Carey and Sunisa Lee broke that mold.  Apparently, Joscelyn Roberson is following in the tradition of Jade and Sunisa and is on the U.S. Nationals team.  I don’t know about members of the OU gymnastics team. 

The scoreboard after OU's final rotation on the floor. Their consistency is truly remarkable. 

It was reported that Joscelyn had been battling the flu earlier in the week, but she looked really strong. Her first event was the vault.  I could see her on the monitors, and more or less from our seats, but we were next to the floor, and away from the vault.  She did not seem to get the distance off the table that she has in the past, and there was a bit of a hop.  But – wow – what a difficult vault! She did a twist onto the vault before she blocked with her hands, and her hands where perfectly squared so she was able to push up high and get energy to do even more twists off the table.  It was really impressive. 

Her floor routine was really interesting to me. She still used the song “Stanga,” which OU gymnast Olivia Trautman had used in the past.  Sagi Abitbul & Guy Haliva recorded “Stanga” which has been remixed to infinity.  The first time I heard it, I literally had chills.  I used to listen to my CD-ROM of the “Le Mystere des Voix Bulgares” on my way to work in Oklahoma City for Kerr-McGee.  I would park in the parking lot east of the railroad tracks which is now Bricktown, and be really pumped up by it.  I had both collections, Vols, I and II, and just loved them.  “Stanga” borrows heavily, and is in my opinion, perfect floor ex music.  When I was in gymnastics, I had a routine choreographed to a literal bullfighting music from a record my mom had treasured, and it exuded pure passion as well. 

At any rate, Joscelyn is still incorporating “Stanga” (wonderful!).  Her routine has changed a bit.  Her first tumbling pass was incredibly high and she just totally stuck it.  I was a bit surprised because I thought that in college gymnastics you had to step back onto the back foot.  Perhaps she did, and I did not notice.  It went quickly and that is something I can review in recordings. The biggest change is that she took out the floor wolf turns (no wolf turns on beam, either).  She did have a great deal of sass in the dance elements, along with lots of playfulness and gestures to the crowd, encouraging them to pick up the volume of cheering.  I was going to say entreat, but it there was definitely a feel of play at work. The coaches at Arkansas are great for her. Jordyn Wieber is their head coach, and she is a champ.  She looked very elegant in a white flowing pants suit a drapy jacket (turns out she is expecting), and high heels.  OU’s coach was also elegant in black. Joscelyn totally stuck her second pass (which she always did in her elite performances) and the execution elicited gasps of admiration. Her floor flexibility moves were serviceable, but I think they could be more original.  Her split leaps have really come a long way, and she has made impressive improvements with turning her feet out and making sure her feet are all the way up.  Her final tumbling pass was a triumph.  I know I’m a bit at a loss for descriptors – my hands-on gymnastics experience was at a very rudimentary level, although I did take gymnastics classes for years that were offered to children through the City of Norman and OU, and then later, I had gymnastics every day in 9th grade at West.  I did not take gymnastics in tenth grade.  I’m not sure why. I focused more on swimming. 

Joscelyn was her team’s anchor on the beam, and she totally nailed all the skills. She did not have all the different skills that she had in her elite routine (no wolf turns), but she had really complicated combinations, and her dismount was a twisting one, with a blind landing.  Dangerous!  Her precision and confidence were palpable, and her team cheered her on.  She received her team’s highest score on the beam – I think it was a 9.925.

Scoreboard after the Arkansas Razorback's rotation. 

The scoring has been really stringent this year, especially after complaints about too many 10.0s and scoring inflation helping certain teams.  I guess it’s a good idea to reserve the 10s for the truly remarkable performances, and not succumb to the idea of going to a very complicated code of points that contains multipliers based on degree of difficulty.  With such an emphasis on dangerous skills, I’m actually surprised there have not been more tragic accidents.  Perhaps there have been, but we are just not hearing about it.  

Joscelyn Roberson congratulated by fellow Razorback after a great performance on the beam. The atmosphere is truly joyous and supportive. (photo Susan Nash)

I was expecting to appreciate the meet, but I did not expect to absolutely love it, which I did!  Wow.  The overall feeling is joyous and participatory, and I think it’s very healthy.  It’s a far cry from the gymnastics events I attended in the past where the waves of nervousness combined with parental obsession and coaches’ ambition created something pretty unpleasant.  I think I’d prefer electroconvulsive shock therapy to attending one of those kinds of meets. It reminds me of when I swam on the swim team as a 12-year-old and  saw a parent spank his little daughters at a swim meet in Enid for not getting their best times.  Perhaps his daughters were horsing around and merited some firm talk but that?  I was glad my parents did not like attending swim meets.  Competing is scary enough – why add aversion therapy??  

The meet concluded with a score of 197.828-195.975 as Oklahoma continued its winning streak against ranked opponents and remained the No. 1 program in the nation.  The Arkansas team was very impressive, and it is really thrilling to have the chance to see such high-level performances.  

Unsung Hero: My Mother-in-Law

 Myrtle Juanita Robertson was born July 16, 1924 at the Central State Hospital in Norman, Oklahoma.  Despite its name, Central State was no ordinary hospital. It was, in fact, the State of Oklahoma’s largest hospital for the mentally ill and the criminally insane. Her mother had been institutionalized after the death of her husband, but there are no remaining stories of why she was institutionalized, nor why her 11 children were all given up for adoption. Myrtle Juanita, who always went by “Juanita” did not realize that she was adopted until much later in life, and then, when she learned about it, she looked desperately for her brothers and sisters. She found one, Charles, who had lived a very difficult life. I met Charles and immediately liked him.  He was a small man with a wry sense of humor.  He had bleeding ulcers, however, and I think that the end was already near when I met him.

But, to back up a bit. Why on earth was Mary Etta (Shields) DeWitt treated in such a harsh way? The answer has to do with a hidden history of mental institutions.  Juanita’s parents were members of the Citizens Band Potawatomi, removed from Illinois to Kansas and Oklahoma, and then given allotments.  The DeWitts had land near Little Axe, Oklahoma.  After Juanita’s father died and her mother was institutionalized, something happened and it appears that the mother lost all her rights to anything at all.  This dark, shameful history is not acknowledged.  Juanita was raised by a family in the same town as the mental hospital, and she never had any notion that her mother was in the rather terrifying mental hospital on the east side of town, nor did she have any idea that she had 10 brothers and sisters.

https://fringejournal.blogspot.com/2022/11/oklahoma-sanitarium-company-1895.html

Juanita graduated from Norman High School and then went on to attend the University of Oklahoma, where she majored in education. She continued with her education and became a social worker for the State of Oklahoma.  Years passed, and she was contacted by the Bureau of Indian Affairs to let her know that she had inherited land from her parents, and that she had at least one surviving sibling.  This was a shock to Juanita, who did not realize that she had been adopted, nor did she have any knowledge of her Potawatomi heritage.

 

Ironically, at the University of Oklahoma, at the same time that Juanita’s mother was institutionalized and her children taken from her, the University of Oklahoma, literally 2 miles from Central State Hospital, efforts were made to preserve Native American culture at the Western History Collection. There are many harsh ironies in this situation, which will be the subject of a later, more detailed meditation.

Finding out that she was adopted, and then, the tragic circumstances, put Juanita in a state of shock, and she started to piece together all the things that had never made sense from her childhood, and also the deep sense of trauma, rupture, and horror that she could never shake off.

She immediately dug into her past and also into Potawatomi heritage, customs, and language. More than anything, she felt a deep, searing pain when she thought of those who were overwhelmed and helpless, who ended up losing everything, and dying alone, destitute, and sad. She could never change the past. There was nothing she could do to rectify the wrongs done to her mother and her 10 brothers and sisters.  However, she could fight for better conditions for the Elders.

 

Juanita was able to work with the State of Oklahoma, and in doing so, she worked on programs to benefit the elderly.  At the end of her career, she could look back and see all the programs she had helped shape that had to do with providing nutrition as well as emotional support to senior citizens in the State of Oklahoma.

Juanita died at the age of 90, an unsung hero, a Potawatomi who was able to reclaim her heritage and to fight for meals, companionship, and human dignity for elders.

Her funeral took place on a rainy, cool afternoon at a funeral home in Purcell, Oklahoma, where I had attended the funeral of my dear mother, just three years before.  I signed the guestbook and fought back tears until I looked out the window and saw my ex-husband running across the parking lot in a downpour, clutching a cardboard box.  Instantly, I knew what it was.  He was carrying the urn with the ashes of little Ricky, Juanita’s beloved white cat.  I remembered Ricky well. Ricky was the meanest cat you could possibly imagine. Ricky loved to hide under a sofa and then lash out with his razor-sharp claws.  I lost many a pair of tights to that crazy cat! But, Ricky loved Juanita, and Juanita loved Ricky.  Later, I wondered if somehow Juanita’s mom, Mary Etta DeWitt, had shared her spirit with Ricky, and she was there to do everything she could to protect her little lost baby.

Little Ricky, the cat, and his adored owner, Juanita DeWitt Robertson, are unsung heroes.

 

 

Unsung Hero: Susan LaFlesche Picotte (1865 - 1915)

 In July 2024, I had the chance to participate in an event at the National Academies of Science in Washington, D. C.   The topic was how best to clean up the orphan oil and gas wells that can pollute the air and groundwater, and thus improve the living conditions for many people, especially those who suffer from socio-economic hardship.

 

The building was a majestic example of intricate Art Nouveau with stained glass, wrought iron, and lovely nooks and hidden galleries where tributes to the nation’s most visionary scientists could be found.

 

I was excited and inspired to happen upon a tribute to women scientists.  I was deeply moved.  One of the first to really catch my eye was Susan La Flesche Picotte.  La Flesche was the first Native American woman to earn a degree as a medical doctor, returned home to build a system to provide medical care for the people of the Omaha nation, and to institute practices that would dramatically reduce communicable diseases.  

 

She was born in June 1865 on the Omaha Reservation in what is now Nebraska.  Her father, Joseph La Flesche (Iron Eyes) was chief of the Omaha tribe and her mother, Mary Gale (One Woman), encouraged their daughters to get an education. So Susan studied at a missionary school on the reservation before being accepted to study at the Elizabeth Institute for Young Ladies in New Jersey.  From there, she matriculated at the Women’s Medical College of Pennsylvania, where she graduated as valedictorian in 1889.

 

After returning to the Omaha Reservation, La Flesche instituted a number of changes:  She advocated the construction of a hospital and European-style frame houses to provide more ways to keep the patients in as sterile facilities as possible. She was a huge advocate of public health and encouraged families to install screens on doors and windows to keep disease-spreading flies and mosquitoes from entering. She discouraged the use of shared drinking cups at village wells, and was a dedicated physician, traveling great distances to see patients.  She was able to achieve her great dream of having a hospital built in Walthill, Nebraska, on reservation land.

La Flesche often spoke out against the great physical and mental toll that contact with European settlers and the Office of Indian Affairs had taken on the health of indigenous peoples.

 

To me, La Flesche is an inspiring figure for many reasons. The most obvious is that of overcoming the odds to become a doctor and go back home to fight for better conditions and treatment for her people. She never gave up, even when her own poor health made it difficult.

 

While Susan La Flesche Picotte has had the great fortune to have been remembered for her efforts, it is very important to keep in mind that there are many unsung heroes, especially within communities that are under-represented, isolated, and historically under-served.  It is a good idea to take a moment to think about those who made contributions, no matter how large or small, and to thank them.