On a blazingly sunny January morning, I marched into a sanctuary outside of Denver, Colorado behind three huge paper maché puppets. They were elaborately fashioned, built on backpacks so they could be carried on the backs of their puppeteers: A brown skinned grandmother, two white braids and a kerchief, a coat hanger twisted into a pair of wire rimmed glasses on her kind face. A smiling mama, her cheeks pink and a bright red mouth up turned at the sides... Read more