Here on the Flood ranchero, using the term loosely, daily routine is stamped into my body and soul to the point of being tedious and monotonous. As a rule, I do love this kind of life, but there are other considerations. Presently the putting together of crafts for a showing at the grandchildren’s school is my discipline. This can be a bit depressing because in this world where so much can be bought at the dollar store it hardly seems worthwhile to do our own small useful articles needed on the homestead.

Nevertheless, I doggedly set my jaw to designing: Aprons with art work (a heart with a winking, smiling face and a chef’s hat on one corner) pot holders with sassy chicken prints, other pot holders from a Mexican throw no one wanted, key chains in Native American colors, buffalo applique on place mats and tablecloths, and on and on it goes.

All this for the purpose of education for all the children who might get the idea that art is for more than just painting pictures.

Of course, the real reason will be to help the grandchildren to learn to write down their sales, so that we can visit our tax lady, where they can learn about paying sales tax and income tax. We all know the adage, "death and taxes." Tender ages that they are kids today are quick and sharp. They will absorb and learn, I’m sure.

Just when I felt I could go no farther and was berating myself for my lack of youthful enthusiasm my sister called.

"There’s a book signing at the library today. The couple are descendants of the Chickasaws. Can you go?"

Rhonda was listening to the speaker phone and I could tell she immediately was interested. No sooner had I hung up, when I saw her scooting her wheelchair toward her room.

Set in stone was the decision to go, although I was feeling so pressed to keep working,  and I was still trying to think of a way out, when Rhonda came from her room in the lovely new turquoise dress I made for her and the beautifully designed Indian necklace a Ponca friend had given her.

Of course, I melted and immediately set myself in motion.

What a thrill to meet the authors, Bill Paul and Cindy Paul. Their book, Shadow of an Indian Star, is about the history around Paul’s Valley, Oklahoma, the town bearing their family’s name.

No longer was I shuffling along as I came home while remembering the couple who gave the presentation of their book.

He was as slim as any of his ancestors of hard riding western men. His long legs stretched out to one side of the table beside his wife. The boots he wore fit him well and there was no doubt he was easy in his clothing, as if it was what he wore most of the time.

Cindy also was slim and built like that classic cliche we all know and love. She stood before the slide show presentation of their family’s antique photographs. Her dress was a soft western blouse over a easy flowing skirt. Both pieces were held together with the concho belt fitted down close to her hips.

Who can explain the mind and how it works? My attitude upon returning home was completely different. Gone was the lethargic me. Here in its place was someone who could see the reason and why, for what I was doing. Amazing isn’t it?

Here’s the Url to their webpage:

http://www.shadowofanindianstar.com/