Whores. Let’s talk about them.
I’ll let you catch your breath from reading that. I think we’re all ready now. It will all make sense in the end and I promise, you’re not sinning.
To begin – I have to share the story of my youngest brother. He’s five years younger than me and number ten of all of us kids who lived. Lucky for him, ten is a lucky number. It was a Saturday morning in the early 80’s. Erik didn’t get his way and he got enragingly frustrated. He got so frustrated that he called my little Mom a “whore.”
I was well into my teenage years and knew right well what that word meant. I was mortified that my youngest, cutest, most in touch with God brother did too. Now Mama had raised nine kids prior to Erik. She raised us not by managing us. She let us roam free, learning rights from wrongs, learning to socialize and respect our friends, neighbors and community. She taught us to love our country but most of all-how to love God and what He stands for.
Erik was the golden child. He was talented and smart, sweet and had Norwegian good looks. He nearly lost his life that day. I never in all my years saw my Mom that out of her head mad. So he calls her a whore and our Mama took off running towards him screaming, “What did you just call me? Say it again! Call me that again!” He flew up the stairs as Mama chased him. He fell on one of the upper steps and covered his head instinctively aware that he was about to get clubbed. I’m near my sixth decade and I never in my life received a spanking from my Mom. It just wasn’t common. We were witnessing a first right there on the stairway!
She yelled again. “Don’t you ever call me or any other woman a whore! Never! Do you hear me? Do you even know what that means? Tell me what that means!” Erik was confused by how angry she was. He howled and howled as she kept on him to define a whore. He said, “You know. Like scary, ghost haunted things and something I don’t like right now. You’re just being a horror not letting me do what I want to do!”
Mama asked, “Are you saying horror or whore?” Erik answered, “Horror, Mom. What does the other word mean?” Mother went silent. She didn’t hit him. She said, “Don’t call your Mother names, not ever. I won’t be here one day. What if I die today and you called me a bad name? How would you feel? Now go watch cartoons.”
Mom and I laughed and laughed in the kitchen. We’re still telling that story. Soon after, Mother taught us all the importance of annunciation! There is another form of whore that’s not a whore or a horror. It’s hoar and it’s a frost. As I’m typing I’m witnessing it. Water crystals hit a solid surface and freeze. The freeze grows into elaborate shapes taking on the form of whatever it lands on. The trees on my “prairiedise” look like a Courier and Ives painting. On sunny days filled with hoar, have you ever noticed that the blue of the sky is a true baby blue? It’s soft and calming. As the hoars grow on trees -their remnants make paths of sparkling diamond ice on pathways. The sun glimmers with sparkles divine. If you are a whore or a horror and want to become an appreciator of nature instead – go mingle with the hoars. They aren’t a horror!
The Blonde on the Prairie is a lover of ND. She is an author and motivational speaker, owner of “Monkey Balls” food truck and Joyologist to the elderly and disabled and, now, also to children wherever she is needed.
