In one of my earliest memories, I was about 3 or 4, I was sitting on the living room couch watching Saturday morning cartoons with my great-grandmother. During a commercial break, she turned to me and turned me to face her. "This is important," she said.

It was portentous. It's not often that an adult (and who is more adult than your GREAT-grandmother?) wants to tell you, a little kid, something important.

She leaned closer. "Always remember... we are not English... we are WELSH!"

I'm sure I nodded solemnly.

We went back to watching cartoons.

I always remembered what my great-grandmother told me. But I was puzzled as to why it was so important that we were... grape jelly?

(For those of you who are not American, there is a popular brand of grape jelly called Welch's.)

When I was visiting my grandmother, sometime in my mid-20s, my dad and aunt were also there. Suddenly my relatives were all speaking a foreign language. Turns out, this dinky coal mining town in southeast Kansas was populated by Welsh immigrants, and my family had started life speaking Welsh.

I couldn't help but think of Alex Haley pestering ambassadors to the UN to see if any of them recognized the few African words passed down from his ancestors... my relatives didn't even bother to tell me: "Oh, we grew up speaking Welsh!"

But, great-grandma was right: my great-great grandfather and grandmother were Welsh.

Here's the family legend: my great-great grandfather was a city-slicker from Cardiff. He was going to emigrate to the US and wanted to see all of Wales for one last time. In some dinky village he found a bunch of angry villagers holding a witch trial. Great-great grandpa thought she looked cute. He made a bargain with the irate villagers: he would take the witch off their hands; he was moving to America soon; he'd take her there where the magic couldn't reach them across the ocean. They agreed; he and, what would soon be my great-great grandmother went back to Cardiff. They didn't go to America very quickly: the couple had a baby before they left (plenty of time to curse those villagers if she'd wanted to!), but they did eventually sail to America and settled in southeast Kansas. Their youngest son married my great-grandma, the one who wanted me to remember we were Welsh.

So, my great-great-grandmother was a Welsh witch. I have a friend who thinks this is hilarious.

As a teenager, I noticed things about my grandmother (the great-grandmother's daughter) and her relationship to the people in her tiny town. Whenever anything happened in town, especially something bad, she'd sort of take credit for it:

     "Henry's dog got a thorn in its paw.
         It wouldn't heal, and he had to take it to the vet!"
     "Yeh... that dog is always digging up my garden..."

I also noticed that, far from attacking my grandmother with pitchforks, people were always bringing her stuff: casseroles, homemade jam, homemade pickles, vegetables from their gardens, even a slab of bacon once.

And, no, none of it seemed to be poisoned...

My grandmother... my OWN grandmother, my father's mother was the witch of her town!

During another visit (after finding out my relatives all spoke Welsh without ever telling me...), my grandmother pulled me aside. Like her mom so many years before, she had something important to tell me.

"In our family, we have witches."

I nodded seriously.

"The way it works in our family, the witch has a SON, his DAUGHTER is the witch."

I nodded again.

"I have only one son. He has only one daughter..."

OK, I get it. I'm the witch.

But, I'm a scientist. I believe magic is found in cosmology, and quantum physics. And I'm certainly not going to start taking credit for all the bad things that happen locally. It wouldn't work in a city, anyway. You'd have to be in a small village where everybody expects you to be the witch.

But, I'm sure not going to tell my grandma that I'm onto her racket.

"I'm a scientist, grandma," I told her, as gently as possible.

She nodded. "I know. But you're also a witch."

We both smiled. We each thought we were right.

And... I guess, we both were.

In my early 50s, I came to Colorado to apply for several jobs opening up at a government facility. I knew several people who worked there, and they were interested in my skills. I would stay with my 99-year old cousin (who I called "Aunt") until I could get settled.

But... she had been deserted by her caregiver of 15 years. She was eating only 1 saltine cracker and a half juice glass of orange juice a day... I decided the job would always be there... some job... somewhere... but I needed to take care of my Aunt.

When she died (age 102), I was immediately sued by her lawyer, who thought he had arranged her estate so that he would get the whole thing. He also thought she was a millionaire. She wasn't, and she also wrote a holographic will (legal in our state) leaving everything to me.

Several lawsuits later, I was running out of money for lawyer fees and settled with him. He got the money; I got the house and the cat. And freedom from never-ending lawsuits!

While I was being sued, I placed red and black stones in the window sills, thresholds, even the mail box. When the lawsuit was settled, I broomed the house.

Cosmology couldn't help. Quantum physics couldn't help.

Maybe I'm a witch after all...