Witches. My maternal grandmother was born in Salem, Massachusetts, in 1908. If she’d been born 215 years earlier, she might’ve been tried as a witch.

She was odd. Did paintings on mushrooms and burlap sacks. Played the accordion. Once performed with a birdcage on her head. Went to a pro-wresting meet with my brother and come back hoarse from cheering.

So yeah, she was odd, perhaps odd enough to have warranted the “witch” word in 1693.

Fortunately for her, and for me, she lived at a time when women were not hung as witches and were also allowed, despite plenty of obstacles, to own a business. Continue Reading →