In Which Someone Sees Me For Who I Am–Miriam Sagan

The Oklahoma City farmer’s market is a bit raucous compared to Santa Fe’s. That is, folks hawk their samples–taste this cheesecake! Try some sauce!

A tall gentleman with an American flag motif pull up mask offered me some bar-b-que spices and then startled me by asking: “Are you Jesse James?”

For fourteen months I’ve been wearing my bandanas–purple, pink, black–instead of a conventional mask somewhat to the disgust of my cohort who find it informal, perhaps not efficient. But I like my bandana. Instead of making me feel like I’m in a medical setting, I tell myself I just might hold up a bank and I hum a few lines of “Pretty Boy Floyd.” (Oklahoma knew him well…).

“No,” I told the guy.” I’m Jesse James’ grandma,” I said.

He laughed. “Amazing what a gene pool can do,” he batted back.

A witty friendly guy. How I’ve missed this kind of interaction with strangers. The vaccine has given it back.

And finally, someone saw me for who I am, with my bandana. I’m an outlaw, a free spirit, but a conscientious one. I’m practical–the bandana has other uses. I’m colorful–it might even clash.

And I’m glad to be here.

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About Miriam Sagan

I'm blogging about poetry, land art, haiku, women artists, road trips, and Baba Yaga at Miriam's Well ( The well is ALWAYS looking to publish poetry on our themes, sudden fiction, and guest bloggers and musers.

2 thoughts on “In Which Someone Sees Me For Who I Am–Miriam Sagan

  1. A cool view into a different culture, Mir!

    So funny you mention Jesse James’s grandma. Jb found out decades ago the hat her name was Zerelda, the old country form and f my family name. Fyi!

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