Maybe this holiday, Kwanza, is not as bad as I thought. When you said you weren’t having Christmas, I kept wondering where I had failed. Still, as long as it’s a religious ceremony with feasts and gifts like Christmas, I guess it’ll be okay. Why does it go on for so many days? You haven’t explained all of it to me yet . . . I was attempting to tell the Bowdry sisters about your goings on, but I just don’t have enough information. Is the Maulana the same as the Savior, or is he like a minister, for you all, I mean?

Here is a recipe I want you to have, so there won’t be too much heathen in your Christmas this year (I found a wonderful way to make a dressing for turkey with hot sausage, cornbread, and peanut butter that’s supposed to be African but I know you don’t eat pork).

Mama’s Kwanza Recipe (for Sassafrass): Duck with
Mixed Oyster Stuffing

Wet the cornbread, break into bits and fry in the butter with the celery and onion. Add seasonings. As mixture gets crisp, add oysters & pecans. Stuff your duck & bake in a 450° oven for 15 minutes, then lower to 350° and bake 15 minutes for each pound. Baste every 15 minutes. Don’t forget to cover the bottom of the pan with water, and be sure to keep the duck tightly covered until the last 15 minutes, when the skin can brown.

Now, that seems like a dish packed full of love and history to me. Send me the other patterns you’ve been working on. I was trying to see if I could set up my warps like yours to make “art” things for Christmas sales to Mrs. Fitzhugh’s friends. Charleston doesn’t have the sophistication of California, but things change, even your mama (smile).

Love you so much, my oldest daughter,
Mama

P.S. Are you sure that Mitch has talent? I looked at those drawings over and over . . . can’t say I know what they are about. You be sure he loves you as much as you love him. It’s better for a man to love you a little more than you love him . . . take my word.

Chapter 12

dancin is the movement of oceans/

the caress of many lovers in canyons

laced wit poppies n coca leaves/

dancin is union of spirits layed

to rest among splinterin shells

n fires of adoration in the heat

of comets n volcanoes/ dancin

is how i love/ how i share carin

how did mama say it