Suzanne’s Reflections on her Medicine Necklace event

Monday Morning Reflections
On my weekend of
Exposure with my Treasures
Suzanne Lewis

First, I am filled with a jubilation that I made it relatively soundly through. Saturday night after 10 hours in a 10’x10’ booth, I could barely walk. Thank goodness for my hot tub and Panaway Essential oil.
The experience was surreal. In December when “Pickin’ Boise” announced it was coming to Boise, I thought it was a menu (antiques and art) that my unique treasures and tribal (especially Tibetan) artistry would possibly fit. I have been actively seeking a market place for the last couple of years.
Being approved the jury for the show made me chart a timeline to create the inventory, develop a medicine story for each necklace and put a price (no easy feat) to the circles of stones, create a booth, manifest signs and business cards. It was a wonderful discipline that is priceless.
Since I have PTSD and am one recovering from a brain injury, stress and getting triggered was my nemesis. I can get set off by smells, intense people, etc. This was a first time to be public and be unsure of my ability to stay sound, peaceful and breathing.
My wonderful friend, Marlene Marcias, stayed by my side, my number one sales person and truly beautiful being. Having to stay in a 10’x10’; space for hours on end was way too hard for me. Dear Marlene protected the booth so I could stretch my legs and breathe the fresh outdoor air.
Anywhere you go there you are. My dearest friends reported that my booth held a charge, unlike any other of the 120 booths. Like a magnet only those who could feel the intent entered into the booth. I have such a fine loyal community that teamed together to help me make manifest this artistic stage of my life. So, I felt Stephanie Wilde with her gift of business cards in the booth; I saw the hand calligraphy signs created by Michael Jones and he was with me (quite literally showing up Saturday afternoon to support me); to my neighbor and good friend Brian, who shared his own booth fixtures with me plus carted, hauled and set up and then took down the booth. To Nancy Budge and Gay Whitesides, who are my spectacular bead buyers, especially the Tibetan artistry.
So I was in a protective container of loving supportive friends. There are numerous stories I could share of those special peoples who chose to step into the booth. For now, I am going to give the bookend stories.
At the beginning Saturday morning I heard a voice say “It was worth the price of admission just to get to see you one more time.” I looked up to see an elderly, kindly gentleman. He opened his arms and I knew him, Charlie Brown, from the early Seventies. I was teaching mathematics and science and he was my student teacher. Our hug of reunion was so poignant. I started teaching when I was 21 and the Viet Nam Error was in its ugliness.
The junior high I taught at was the same one I attended in my youth and where my father was head coach and disciplinarian. I marched in a protest down Capital Boulevard and almost lost my job. Somehow Charlie, a decorated pilot in the war, came home pretty broken and ended up as my student teacher in a radical team teaching individualized math program I had written and was testing in the school system.
Charlie is 20 years older than I. I last saw him 40 years ago when I left the public education and Boise to return to the land to live out my last days as I had a growth in my Pituitary in my brain. He wanted to tell me I was the best teacher ever his time with me established a venue in his life to be a children’s advocate. One last hug, he whispered “I love you.” Memories overflowing with tears.
The bookend story occurred the last minutes of the show Sunday afternoon. With my need to keep moving, Marlene held the bead fort often while I escaped. There was a “gaggle” of women all one family who wanted to talk to me about a “Windhorse” necklace. Three times they came by and I was gone. Marlene till the last minutes of the show, kept contending that they were going to come back. I finally got her to leave reluctantly. Out in the parking lot, she saw this family drive up and she ushered them in through the back door.
The woman who was intrigued with piece was a tough woman type. I began sharing Horse Medicine, what means to me, high feminine, instinctual nature, animal nature, grounded, strength. I also shared the admonition that the downside of horse medicine is the issue of loyalty. Horse will bust its heart to tend to the master, the beloved. Boundaries and self reliance first, always trusting your inner guidance. My storytelling made her eyes swell with tears.
She asked the ageless question of me, “Are you a Native American?” I chuckled, I just had my DNA tested and I am 85” Welsh Celt and 13% Irish. The grandmother reported she was Welsh too, with a quarter Native American. I looked at her and saw some familiarity. Then I asked, “Where are you from?” Malad, she stated. “That’s where my original families are from”, I echoed.
I went on to share that the issue if we were Native American has been tense my whole lifetime. One of our family stories on my mother’s side was that my great grandfather took a second wife and she was a Native American. Her father was Chief Wasaki, known as the “gourd rattler” (note I am a gourd artist). I was to learn that his wife was a relative to Sacajawea.
By now the circle of listeners had grown. No one in the family unit had a dry eye. The grandmother whispered to me “That’s our story, too.”