In Cherokee with the Cherokees

This week we took a trip to Cherokee, NC. I haven't been there since I was a teenager, but the place hasn't changed much -- except for the giant strange-looking building containing Harrah's Casino. It was a great trip, not just because of reliving old memories, but because of visiting old friends we hadn't seen in eight years. I have no excuse for not going to Cherokee because it's only a four-hour drive from home, but our friends now live in London and were back on vacation. It was a treat to see them.


I was amazed at the Indian crafts from the double weave baskets to pottery to carvings at oodles of stores all up and down the main street. Since our visit was during the week, not many people were at the Museum or milling about in the shops. However, the play "Unto These Hills" telling the story of the Cherokee people had almost a thousand people in attendance on a Tuesday evening. We went back stage and saw how the scenery was transported on a small train car and where the actors waited in the wings. I was surprised that more accidents did not occur since most of the area around the stage was natural rocks covered with sand.

We had dinner at the restaurant only a dozen or so feet from the vast array of hundreds and hundreds of gaming machines. Our friends' daughter was fifteen years old and was fascinated with the way they treated her at the casino. Since no one under the age of twenty-one could be on the casino floor, we had to wind tortuously through the building to get to the casino entrance near the restaurant. The guardians said that our friend's daughter had to stay on the tile near the wall and not get on the carpet to walk the thirty feet to the restaurant. She felt like she was being treated like her dogs, being told to 'stay off the carpet'. I don't think she minded it much since she said she was going to tell people 'back home' that she was thrown out of a casino. Apparently the younger set thinks that is more interesting than being in a casino or gambling. She was a good sport about it.

At the restaurant, they seated our group in an unused section in complete privacy. At first we thought nobody else was there, but as we left, we saw the main section which was nearly full. It's always nice to have that feeling of having the restaurant to ourselves. The food and service were excellent; however, our friend had heart surgery a year before and was on a low fat diet. He ate his salmon and green beans while eyeing my husband's steak and potatoes au gratin.

Overall, we had an enjoyable trip with lasting memories with many people and things that can be used in my novels.


Sabena Stone -- Author of The Rachel Christie Murder Mysteries

What Can You See in a Face?

What’s Can You See in a Face?

I always looked at people as people and didn’t really study their faces. Not like artists who are looking for that one particular face that stands out among the rest. That is, until recently. I went to a birthday party for a lady who was 80 years old. The attendees ranged from a few months to the guest of honor’s age of 80. Although many were related, some were not. I couldn’t help but look at each person’s face with a new light.

Looking into the face of an eighty-year-old woman, each wrinkle signifies something different. I kept imagining one wrinkle for every cry over the troubles of her own or her children or the losses in her life of husband and family. Yet, also, with that face came the smiles of happiness. Happiness of seeing a son she hadn’t seen for a year. Happiness of seeing a great-great-grandchild who had just been born. Happiness of all the people who were there to wish her the best. One thing I noticed was the eyes were happy, not sad.

I couldn’t help but think about my life during the different stages of life as I looked at the corresponding face of the person with whom I was talking. Of course, I can’t remember anything less than about five years of age. Then I remembered happy times and fights with boys, related and unrelated. I was opinionated even then. In the face of the young married couples, I saw their hopes for the future with their mates and the love for their children. Talking to the young professionals, I saw the glint in their eyes and the smile on their faces as they talked about their dreams.

Many people have speculated about Mona Lisa’s smile. I envy the artist who can, not only, paint a portrait, but also portray the soul of his subject.

Faces are the gateway to souls. I hope that when, or if, I reach 80, I will be as happy as the lady I saw.