Monday, April 30, 2007
I am coasting a hangover this morning. Not a bad one, just a slight one. Yesterday I bought myself a bottle of Chardonnay, Fat Bastard by Thierry & Guy, it was delicious. I invited Aimy over and Heather showed up with two of her kids. I made a pasta salad and BBQ-ed some ribs and chicken.
We drank the whole bottle. They had never tasted wine before. Or Heather said she did out of the box. I just wanted them to see how it was to cook out, enjoy some wine and not party like most people do around here.
This morning as I went for a walk I thought about how we couldn't sit outside and drink a glass of wine without risking going to jail or feeling the guilt of enjoying a bottle of wine. If I didn't explain alcohol is illegal here and anyone caught drinking it will automatically sit 8 hours in the drunk tank at the jail.
I admit I drink a beer to watch my Yankees on TV or when I BBQ. I don't let it get out of control and I don't want it to. There have been times in my life I did drink too much, but that is the past.
But I was thinking this morning as I went for a walk how many people let it get out of control. This reservation is a so called "dry" reservation.
I don't see dry, I see people with no hope. People who start drinking things that kill them faster because they feel as if there is no hope, no body cares, or whatever reason that drove them to be so dependent on alcohol so bad that they hang out outside of grocery stores. They ask for quarters, dimes, anything to go towards there next drink. It is so sad really.
I give them money, I don't know why....I pity them, I guess. I know some people say "Don't give them a thing!" But I keep my change in my drink holder in my car and kind of use that for them.
So as I was driving home I was thinking of things my mom sid to me the other day about people never sobering up and what a joke it was that this was a "Dry" reservation.
She asked me what i would do if I didn't know how to bead.
I don't know, I told her ...probably be like everyone else and pawn all my shit and not have things like this computer or my kids wouldn't have games like many many people I know down here.
She then told me she don't think treatment works for people around here. They get sent away and filled with hope and return to this so called dry rez where there are no jobs, they have no skills. They come back and their hope for a new life slowly diminishes. They turn back to drinking to forget all of it.
My mom taught me so much....she used to be the director of an alcohol and substance abuse treatment place in town for years and she seen alot. She told me the worst thing to do was to "judge" people for what they did with their lives.
Does this reservation being dry solve anything? No.
Will it ever change? Probably not. Maybe if alcohol was legalized...but who am I to say? I just remember reading about the PRohibition and how crime and alcoholism rates went down when it ended. (BTW, if you don't know me I am fascinated with that era!)
Will I ever be able to drink a glass of Chardonnay here without guilt? Probably not. :)
Anyway those were just my slightly hungover thoughts lol.
The picture above I took from Old Hospital Hill this morning, when I went for a walk at the track. I love the sunrise and was blessed to see it this morning. i also plan on doing a blog soon about Whiteclay, Nebraska. The border town...not really a town that sells beer. Second highest beer sales in Nebraska. I am doing a story for the paper this week about an organization in Whiteclay that has a thrift store and is starting a co-op for crafters. But I would also like to write about Whiteclay in my blog...a second part of the town and people that live there.
Ironically this song was playing on the radio when I drove home after my walk....lol...yeah I have a twisted sense of humor
Saturday, April 28, 2007
How come you moved back?
Are you leaving again?
I can't wait to leave.
I have to leave here, there is nothing for me here.
If I stay here I will die early.
I hate it here, why did you come back?
I hear that all the time. And I try to explain why I came back to the reservation. I didn't come back to try and make a change but if ever I do that would be nice. I didn't come back to tak about living off the rez, because even though it was fun, it wasn't all it was cracked up to be. I came home for one simple reason and it took my 8 year old son to help me find the right way to explain why I came home. Here was our conversation the other day.
My son Stephon told me "Mom the next time we move..." and I cut him off "We ain't moving no more baby."
He looked at me confused, "What? Why? How long we staying here?"
I'm home." I told him.
"But why Pine Ridge?" he asked me.
"Because this is where I am from, I was born here."
"But I was born in Minnesota." he says.
"But this is where your people are from." I told him.
"Which people?" he asks
"Your relatives, your ancestors...this is where you come from."
"What are ancestors?"
"They are the people that lived here long before either of us were born."
"So they always lived in Pine Ridge?" he asked.
"Um, no they traveled around and followed the buffalo for food." I told him
"So why do I have to stay here now?" he asked
"Because I came home, there's no place else I would rather be right now."
"So when I grow up, if I move away, will you always be here?"
"So if I miss you, can I always come home?" he looks at me smiling like he is finally getting it.
"Exactly." I tell him, smile and continue beading.
I am home. I came home for them. And I will always be here.
*pic i took last summer of some chokecherries outside my grandma's house.
Friday, April 27, 2007
took some pics
this dumpster at the dump always gets me...it says "was you a cutie once" I admit when I first seen it I was like...IS THAT MEANT FOR ME??? I was a little offended lol.
Looking out my front door up towards old hospital hill
Taking Stephon for a walk.
trash and prairie grass
plastic bag stuck in a broken fence
well that was today
someday i will post more pics of the rez
The days go dripping by
My life is a whirl
spinning, never ending
The tears I cried
The times of laughter
The hearts I broke
The days of sorrow
The nights of passion
The cherries I picked
The wine I tasted
The stories I heard
The meals I prepared
The dreams I had
The smiles I shared
The storms that trapped me
The hopes I dared
The victories I scored
The sins I committed
The prayers I prayed
The lies I told
The novels I read
The art I created
The words I wrote
The life I gave
It is all spinning
I wrote this poem on Oct. 27th in 2005. Sometimes things just hit me and I write it down, which is why I started a blog in the first place. This is a repost from 360. The picture I found on Yahoo Image Search. It is Minnehaha Falls in Minneapolis. I went there once.
This song is for someone who recently came back into my life....good times...you know who you are and don't be scared to comment here. haha just teasing.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
i originally first saw it on a friend from Hawaii's blog Aloha from 360. I was never able to use it because then I was at the library (aka methadone clinic from blog addicts) because the library didn't have Java, I couldn't use it. So, just the other day I remembered that I probably could use it now with the way my cousin "hookep me up" on this old computer.
So let me start...be warned-this is very freaky.
First off you upload a picture of you. Then it has different options...like how you would look as a baby-child-teenager, etc. Then it splits it into race, but only gives 4 categories. The only category I could enter was West Asian, figuring that is what my features came closest to, plus being one fourth Filipino...you know.
So here is me as an Afro-Carribean.
Here is something i never ever pictured...lol. Me as a white woman...(A Lakota man's dream come true...haha just teasing.)
Is it just me...or do I look uptight?
Me as an East Asian.
West Asian...Phew...it's me!
Now the options change to paintings.
Here I am as a Boticelli
ME as Anime
There was also an Apewoman option...but if you know me...well you know I am not that fond of the primates....I have a little phobia thanks to Wizard of Oz, so you won't be seeing me as an apegirl.
Here is my favorite of all that I messed with. My son in Botticelli
Well the link is on top...if you want to try it...have as much fun as I did.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Anyway, she encouraged me to keep writing it.
I have yet to show it to Bobby....he's our gay friend. He really does take care of all of us like a brother. Or a man. I appreciate the friendships I made as I moved back here on the rez.
The people i hang out with now are not who I used to hang out with. In all honesty when I left the rez at age 18 I could not name a single person who WAS my friend. My sun used to rise and set on my ex's ass. Everything was him and my whole world. It wasn't only me, all my friends back then had already had men by the time they reach adulthood and expected that to be their life.
I come back and most are either on their second or third serious relationship and I see only one that is still with their man.
It's funny how life is-was-seems when you are 18.....and you walk around with stars in your eyes and are so certain of your future.
Then you get older...and one day you are in your 30's and just wondering what's next.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Did you expect any less?
Computer parts jacked from 5 or 6 different people
Stuff sitting in their basements-I put to use
Fingerprints and crayons on the wall
clean clothes that will never get folded
phone within reach
beautiful artwork hanging
Desktop made by my son
And Fran from Down Under on messenger
A/K/A Missy Angel
Hi! Fran! *waving*
Monday, April 23, 2007
The following blog contains the opinions of one skin...me. They do not reflect the opinions of all skins everywhere. It is also a repost from my old 360 blog, so some of the hyperlinks may not work, that is if anyone really does click on those, lol.
as an Indian, ad-libbing during a Thanksgiving play]
Wednesday: "Wait, we can not break bread with you. You have taken the land which is rightfully ours. Years from now my people will be forced to live in mobile homes on reservations. Your people will wear cardigans, and drink highballs. We will sell our bracelets by the road sides, and you will play golf, and eat hot h'ors d'ourves. My people will have pain and degradation. Your people will have stick shifts. The gods of my tribe have spoken. They said do not trust the pilgrims, especially Sarah Miller. And for all of these reasons I have decided to scalp you and burn your village to the ground."
That was from the movie The Addams Family Values. I remember when I first saw that I was like, should I be offended? Then I was like, why? It's the truth.
"Dana, my lonehill from the west. I think you're a wonderful blogger who has open your doors with a peek into your "western" world. You have done a great deal of shedding away my stereotypes of the West and the American Indians. Before, I had grand Bonanza images and Roy Rogers wonderments which have all been diminished. Thanks. *grin*"
That was a comment from Eddo the other day in this blog. It is amazing that some people do have these stereotypes still to this day. Once when I worked mail order for a native arts and crafts store, The Sioux Trading Post, I had a TV show from Japan call me. The viewer had just saw Dances With Wolves and they had a few questions for me. The standard, "How is it to live in a Teepee?" "Do you still ride horses?" "Do you hunt buffalo" If any of you are wondering the answer for all of those is NO.
Ok, so I am putting this out there, I hope nobody gets offended or pissed off, if you do then thats your fault for letting me control your emotions. Yes I am Native American/Indian...whatever. The tribe is Oglala Lakota Sioux, I do beadwork, I sell it wholesale in bulk to retail shops. I do NOT make gold chains, 18KT, I don't even own one. I cannot make a dress, I don't even wear them. I hardly ever do special orders because I have so many orders backed up right now that I will not stop, take time out to make one pair of earrings and send them to Spain and wait for a check, (I still think that was a prank, didn't work) I am from a spiritual and cultural people, that doesn't mean I know why the wind blows in the trees, or why eagles fly. I don't know why you hear drums....maybe there's a Jumanji board around somewhere. I don't care if Kansas City calls its team Chiefs or Atlanta call thier team the Braves. I am not even a fan of either anyway, I like the Vikings and don't see anybody complaining about that. I am actually kind of evil minded and come from a long line of evil minded women. I am not Pocahontas and don't run around with a racoon and sing to the Blue Corn Moon, though that would be damn funny if I did. I am just me, I embrace my culture, am proud of my heritage, do my beadwork, and am evil minded, so don't ask why the sun looked red today, I will tell you it's because your eyes are bloodshot. By the way, as I am typing this it looks like I am pissed off, I just want you all to know I am smiling.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
I don't remember the exact date I found this him on blogspot but it was awhile back. I was doing a blog on 360 about lurking and I did a Yahoo image search for the word lurker. I wanted to see what came up for the word lurker. One picture was a comic book character looking guy that I liked. So I clicked on it and it led me to a blog....I was like....hmmmm interesting. So I clicked on the blog to read it. I noticed the whole blog was based on this guy's travels on the city bus. I used to love riding the bus just to watch people when I lived in St. Paul. So I read his blogs and loved his style of writing and his detailed accounts of riding the bus. I was hooked and bookmarked him. That was JohnB. The only person that reads me here that is not from my 360 world or my column. You will have to check him out one of these days. So then today, I realized I wrote a story of riding the bus, but it is kind of sad. I remember when I wrote it I was looking for a picture of a view from the bus window and I couldn't find one anywhere. But I noticed John has some pictures from the bus window on the side of his blog. They are awesome, I could smell the deisel when I look at them. Anyway. Before I copy and paste my story I wrote back a year ago I will tell you the day it happened I was narrating it as if it was written and I was reading it. I do that sometimes, I'm weird. So like it was the saddest day in my life, so I will tell you a funny story of riding the bus, well it's criminal and funny. My boys and I wanted to go to the mall and we hurried to the bus stop, so we didn't hit the rush hour fare. I had the exact change figured out and when we jumped on I put my money in. $1.25 for me and 50 cents per kid. Which was $2.75...no ma'm it's rush hour the asshole driver told me. I was like WHAT? I look at his digital clock and the minute changed over so it was just now rush hour when I put the money in it wasn't. Rush hour was 1.75 per person, even if you was a newborn! I owed like $4.25 more and he was looking at me like the Grinch that stole Christmas! All I had was a ten and he said "You know I don't make change!" So I threw the whole ten in there, because the people behind me were cursing under their breath. I swear I could hear the words "hoochie mama." I sat down pissed off because I was ripped off. So we go to the mall and I forget about the Grinch. I played it out just right so we hit the route when rush hour was over. I had exact change and I jump on the bus. It was the Grinch again, he smiled and said it's still rush hour. I was like WHAT? I look at the clock and it is 1 minute BEFORE Rush Hour is over. I just stand there waiting for the clock to turn. The Grinch was like WOULD YOU HURRY UP! PEOPLE ARE BEHIND YOU! So I put my $2.75 in and tell him I have to look in my purse for more money. All I have is a twenty. I immediately start asking people for change. Most ignored me but one lady asked me why and I told her as I avoided the Grinch's glare in the mirror. Just jump she said, he's an asshole. I was like WHAT? She said he won't chase you and smiled. I was like OMG and she told me lots of people do it. Especially since you put extra money in before I would if I was you but thats me and I ain't you. I thought about it. I had like 95 cents in my pocket. So when we get to my stop he looks at me through his shades and says "You got the money." like he was pushing drugs or something. My kids are off the bus, waiting for me. I put the 95 cents in, look at him and say Sorry and jump off the bus before he can grab me. I tell my kids..."GO!" and we walked real fast to our apartment. I told them we just broke the law. So yeah I am horrible and after that, everytime I got on his route he made sure I had ALL the money in. So that's my first bus story and here is my second. Written a year ago.
Views From The Bus Window.
She watched the familiar corners and storefronts pass by with a heavy heart. There was the diner she thought she would someday get off at that stop and have a lunch there. There went the quirky furniture shop she had always meant to go in. The antique store she actually did go in and buy vintage postcards. All of it went by the bus window that she leaned her head on. Her 3 year old son was also looking out the window, but his heart probably isn't heavy, she thought as she pushed his hair down, only to watch it stand up again. That was worth a slight smile.
"Randolph." The bus driver shouted.
"Let's go, that's us." She told her son and they got off the bus to wait for the 21 bus.
"Where we going, Mommy?" he looks up at her with his puppy eyes.
"To my school baby"
"Am I going to sleep on the floor again?" he asks smiling, guilty because everytime he went to her art class with her, he fell asleep.
"No baby, mommy is done with school now ok. I am not going anymore" she says and swallows the lump in her throat.
The 21 bus pulls up and the girl gets in with her son. The ride is only a few short blocks but, she wasn't in the mood for walking today. Remembering when she started, she would always choose to walk, with a happy skip to her step. She lets her son pull the string to stop and they get off.
"The campus is still so beautiful," she thinks as she looks at what has happened in the 2 weeks since she has been there. The art building has decorated and there are about a hundred carved pumpkins on the steps. There was no Oil Painting 101 today and that is why she chose today to collect her things. The room seemed so dark, even with the skylights, maybe because it was empty. The smells, the oils, the turpentine, she never thought she would miss that. As she packs her paints and brushes, she thinks of the first day of school.
She had made this decision in life to go to college and pursue her dream of being an elementary teacher at the age of 30. "Wow, by the time I am 34 I can be someone's teacher!" the thought of it used to make her giddy. She chose The College of St. Catherine in St. Paul, MN. The day her acceptance letter came she was so happy, she took her children out to dinner.
"This is it boys, no more hard times. No more struggling. Your mom is going to get her college education and have a good job. No more bartending, waitressing, or anything else I hate doing."
They were proud of their mother.
She found an apartment in a good neighborhood near a huge park and zoo. The rent was double what she was paying now. With public assistance and her craftwork though, she thought she could afford it.
The day of freshmen orientation, she was absolutely terrified. I am so old, she thought. Everyone here is going to be so young and here I am, 30 and mother of 3. She was waiting in a lounge area for the orientation to start. A girl walks up to her.
"You have children, right? I memorized the names of all the freshmen who have children and seen your name tag"
"Yeah" she says, wondering if this was a game or what, because it was weird and she was already nervous.
"We are having a SWAP meeting right after orientation, right here in the lounge. SWAP is Students Who Are Parents. We get together and plan activities for the children. You are welcome to join."
"Thank you" the girl says "I will be there."
That took the girls nervous level down one notch. Soon after they sheperded all the freshmen into the Chapel. The Dean spoke and many of the faculty, various groups and the Student President. Many Alumni stood up and spoke of the possibilities at St. Kate's. When orientation was over, only the faculty was released. Afterwards, the freshmen were instructed to leave the chapel through the same exit as the faculty. The exit was a tunnel like structure that adjoined the chapel to the commons. They were intructed to leave pew by pew in single file. Upon entering the tunnel, the faculty and upperclassmen were lined up clapping. Making the freshmen feel as if all was possible.
After her SWAP meeting, life seemed so promising. "I will be sitting over on that bench someday with a group of people laughing. Just like the pictures in the brochure." she thought.
"How could so much change in a matter of minutes?" she thought as she finished packing her paints and brushes.
"Come on baby, lets go home." she grabs his hand and they walk to the bus stop.
While waiting for her bus, she thought of how tired she was. How hard she fought with welfare in the past 2 weeks to help her get her funding for daycare. How welfare turned her down, only to say she needed a job over 30 hours a week if she wanted daycare, even if she was a full-time student. How she approached SWAP to see if they had any ideas. How she marched downtown to the big social services building to give her caseworker a piece of her mind and was told to take a number and sit down. When she did get to speak her mind, her caseworker told her no daycare without a job, because you are under a sanction for not having a job. "Well thats a fuckin Catch-22 don't you think? Do you really think a daycare will take my kids for all the hours I am in school and 30 hours extra? I might as well give them away!Why don't the father get sanctioned, why can't he be punished. I feel like you are punishing me for being a single mom and I am trying to do something here, I am not milking the system like so many others!" She turned and walked out. She thought of how she wrote to her State Senator and complained. It was an election year, so she recieved a quick response. He understood her anger, when he was done with the election he would get back to her on the issue. She was saddened when he died in a plane crash just weeks before the election. She felt as though the gods were against her.
Walking away from the college that day broke her heart, all things that were possible, just weeks earlier, died that day. Walking away that day was the hardest thing she ever done in her life.
The bus came and the girl and her son found a seat by the window. She wanted to watch life go by as she went home,... from the bus window.
*God I miss the bus.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Materialistic things I like about Spring
Little girls in Easter duds
Opening Day for baseball season
The crisp weather with the cool breeze
Rain that causes streams and puddles
The smell of cooking on a grill
Yard sales and other people's junk
The days get longer
the weather is nice
yet kids are still at school
New kittens and flower seeds ready to plant
I love all these things of spring
but depsite it all
I still hate moving my clock ahead a f*ckin hour
Don't get me wrong 360 is a wonderful place4 with great writers but the blogging society there is quick to judge and trash-talk.
I have to admit when I sign onto the internet it's really hard for me to not automatically sign into Yahoo. I have to change my homepage to Google, so I won't be trying to do that anymore. I even changed my primary email to Gmail. I still accidentally sign my Yahoo password onto here or Myspace. I made the choice to leave 360 and I didn't do it for attention.
DESPITE what anyone says.
Even though all that bullshit started with Cuan at the beginning of the year, I was thinking hard about leaving 360 before that. I was getting tired of people telling me who said what about me and blah blah blah.
Then it was getting clickish. Well it was clickish LONG time ago, and I admit I wanted to be cool. I joined in the bullshit. Changing avatars to please the crowd, making blogs that went with the theme. It was a way of expressing my creative streak but it led me from my writing. Which was really f*cked because then there was people that read my writing and there was people that read my blogs that kissed the clique's ass.
Which is why I wanted to leave 360 B/C...before cuan.
When he made a point about one of my blogs in a deragatory way, I admit. I cried. I vented through blogs, I was pissed, I had wonderful people come to my defense. People I still miss so dearly. I was hurt, plain and simple.
After that I had somewhat of a writer's block. I opened my blogspot and myspace, I already had but I fixed it up. I just couldn't leave 360 though. As luck would have it my old 360 page would close up on me, I couldn't read other comments and instead of contacting Yahoo I just created a new one.
But it wasn't the same. I no longer spent as much time on Yahoo. What a blessing in disguise. I no longer went around to read what was going on in everyone's life. And I didn't feel guilty if I didn't read someone's blog.
I was sick....I know.
I made the decision over two weeks ago I would leave 360. I was going to leave my blog up but I only left the first one up. I told one person I was leaving. He was my closest friend and all his recent drama with 360 made it worse for me. The fact that soemone stole his family pics freaked me out. He kept having to make new pages, I think he is on his 4th. I miss him like crazy and I know he is mad at me but I can't change that.
Before I left I had something to say to one person and I did. We talked via comments and on his blog. It was the Howard Stern wannabe...Cuan. I had alot to say to him. I messaged him. He sent me an invite so we can talk and not message and we talked. There was only one other person there. (Doug) So it wasn't like we talked for people's sake. He admitted alot of things in message form and on his blog to me. He admitted he was wrong Especially when I told him his blog about Don Imus, well what I thought about it. That I thought that the most hurtful form of racism was the people who said they weren't racist but yet made little, deragatory remarks like Imus did, like he did. Especially from people that don't know who you are. I had a good talk with him. I still think he acts like a 7th grader, but I made amends and I don't hate him.....anymore. And then I left 360.
Apparently he did an apology blog to me, which I never seen. Because he deleted it, of course. And of course nobody would tell me if someone was apologizing to me, only when they talk shit about you do people tell you....even go out of their way to tell you, that's how it is on 360. i admit many people came to my defense but the same amount or more thought I was attacked because I wanted attention.
Now I hear via grapevine people are talking about me and Cuan. Let me just say this here and now. When we talked it wasn't planned. It wasn't for attention, I basically showed up unannounced and if people were lurking I have no idea. I didn't do it to piss anyone off and I am not a traitor. (as if)
I am just sick of hating people.
I am sick of being judged.
I am sick of drama.
I am sick of the do's and don't of blogging.
I am sick of who I should and shouldn't have on my friends list.
Because I am like....35 years old and I don't conform to blog society like it's middle school. (anymore)
It was just easier to close.
So that was the tale of the death of my 360 blog.
Thus the birth of my blog here.
For the readers of my column of blogspot peeps, you really didn't have to read this LOL. Sorry lol.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
He came up to the little house I was reading in.
"Let's do something." he said. He was 7 and I was 9.
"What?" I looked up from "Little Women" and spit my sunflower seeds out.
"Let's go exploring. I'm tired of playing here."
"Where's Behshid?" I asked about our step-dad.
"He's cooking...he won't notice we're gone" he said. I thought about it, but decided to tell him we were going for a walk. I didn't want to worry him. He had just fed us lunch and my mom was still at work. I told him we would be playing in the field by the Cottonwoods. He told me to be careful of snakes and we started on our journey.
"Where did you want to go?" I asked Trav. To this day it amazes me how old we were, or young for that matter. And that I let him take charge all the time. Of course it was no secret...he could beat me up since he was 5. But I never was a fighter....until I psycho-ed out on him, then he would run.
"Let's go to the creek." he said. I didn't care...it was so hot and the creek was great. Nice, cool and so much adventure down there. Our dogs Skippy and Pup were with us. Pup was actually our neighbor's dog...we ended up adopting him later. His real name was Taco. Anyway...they barked and ran ahead as Travis and I made our way down the cattle path to the creek. The creek we had been to before with Behshid. Wild grapes grew there and mint leaves. He picked the peppermint for tea all the time. When we got in the shade of the trees, we started following the small creek. It zig zagged everywhere. When we came across a fallen tree, we would cross it to the other side. We played war...with guns we made out of sticks . We played pirates. Soon we were bored and decided to go to the abandoned farmhouse up the hill on the other side of the creek.
I don't know how long the farmhouse was abandoned...everything was still in there. I always used to wonder where the family had gone to just leave everything in there. Of course it looked like people had gone in there....and helped themselves to whatever. It was trashed, for the most part. We sat on the old chairs and looked at the old magazines......I looked for books. We opened every cupboard and drawer. Pretty soon this became boring too. Then we noticed a bedroom with the door closed. We had never even seen it before. We came here with Behshid before, there was tons of peppermint growing here. I had a bunch of it on the old table in the kitchen to take home to him.
Travis walked up and opened this door. I walked up behind him. It was a little girls room.....I didn't focus too much on the room. I seen something on a chair in the corner. It was a Raggedy Ann doll. I used to have one, but lost it. I wanted it so bad. I started towards it....when Trav hollered at me.
"Dana...NO!" he scared me...I stopped.
"What?" I asked, wondering why he was so mad.
"Don't take it....look." He was looking at the room with wide eyes. I followed his gaze. I couldn't see what he was so scared or mad about. Then I noticed. The bed was made. There was curtaions on the windows and they weren't busted out. The doll was on the chair. There wasn't stuff laying all over. This room, out of all rooms, hadn't been touched in all the years this house sat there. There wasn't even dust anywhere. The curtains were blowing. I looked at Travis and he was looking at me.
"Let's go." I said. We ran out of there. It took us no time to cross the creek and make our way home. I think the house was maybe a mile from ours, but we made it back fast. I even forgot the peppermint I picked for Behshid. He was looking out the door when we came back.
"I was just going to look for you...where did you go." he said.
"Just exploring." I told him.
"Well stay here now, your mom will be home soon." he walked back inside.
"Did you see it?" I asked Travis and he nodded.
"Do you know what I am talking about?" I asked him again.
"Yes" he said
"Well what then?" I asked again, getting impatient.
"The curtains were moving.....and the windows were shut" he said.
My heart was racing...we had to think of another game to play to calm down. To this day, I can't believe we were 7 and 9.
You can call it an overactive child's imagination....but something just wasn't right in there.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
My good friend from Yahoo 360 sent me a link to that article. I read it and realized how much blogging has been a part of my life in the past two years. Shoot I even had a man come and go but my blog is still here. Well, technicallly I changed my blogging neighborhood, but alot of what that article says shows me why I did.
A blog IS a personal journal that we choose to put out there. Sometimes we put personal stuff out there and sometimes we don't.
We choose our what goes in our blogs. Sometimes that choice gets crossed in our heads with "WHAT OTHER PEOPLE WANT TO READ." That is the point where I took a step back and realized that no matter what my blog was mine and it was about what I wanted, not what would get more page hits.
But when your actions on a blog start to piss people off like for instance. say...if you choose to comment on another person's blog that someone on your friends list don't like...and to bloggily be judged that way is crazy. Or say the fact that a person could even be attacked on a blog over what they write, who they are, who is on their friends list....etc....etc....it's all merely bullshit.
I hate the whole idea of friends lists, and crap.
Sure it does make it easier to get around and read but why not just also have it like it is here on blogspot? I do fine with the way it is here.
The more and more I fix up blogspot with favorite music and other stuff the more and more I feel at home.
Because this is MY online journal. This is my life I blog about. Nobody can judge me here....I don't even think there is a blog god that can judge my blog. :)
As the dude in the article "What good does it do for any of us to journal our way into self-realization if we then fail to take it to the world around us?"
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
I went out to our casino with my mom on Saturday night and I won! :) I won a thosand dollars. Somewhere, some god or goddess was smiling down on me.
So I didn't bead all weekend. I paid ALL my bills. I took my kids shopping. I bought myself a digital camera. It's not the best. It was one of the cheaper ones, but FINALLY I own one. I also needed it for work.
So you will be seeing more pictures from the reservation.
The pic posted up there...as you can see I am not at all good with the camera yet is a letter I got from a prison. someone that reads my column. The guy drew me...that's kind of creepy.
BTW I don't look like that. LOL I don't go around with a feather in my hair and I do wear clothes. I can see the drawing has my eyebrows and that is it.
Well I will be posting more pics of the rexz...be prepared!
Saturday, April 14, 2007
WOW this brought back memories and there is me...the last cheerleader to get to the girls. CHRIST I must have been slow, but OMFG I am SOOOO skinny!
Anyway here it is....nostalgia and size 9! Oh and the girls won State of course....but I WORE a SIZE 9!
Friday, April 13, 2007
Nobody wants to ever talk about racism, because it is so ugly. It is easier swept under rug. In fact, I would rather sweep it out the door, but after seeing all the hoopla about Don imus, I feel I need to talk about it now.
I grew up on a reservation. When I was a kid things were more "in your face." What I mean is, when I went into a drugstore, or gift shop in a border town I was followed, watched....the sales clerk even being a few steps behind me. I remember making sure my hands didn't touch any part of my body and I had the 20 dollar bill my dad gave me to spend out in the open in one hand, just so the clerk knew I had money to buy the bubbles, and coloring books I wanted.
I remember my grandma arguing with some of the workers...declaring "We have money! We don't steal! Even though our land was stolen, we are not thiefs."
When I was a kid I thought all white people were bad. I thought they all looked down on us. It got to be so bad that I felt inferior when we moved to a nearby city. I was made fun of by only one kid in first grade for being Indian, but at the time it felt like the whole class looked down on me and hated me. I withdrew into myself. I could have made friends. I could have been "normal." But I was so scared because of one little idiot's opinion of me, and to be real, you know he learned it from his parents. All the racist things he said. What first grader just thinks that stuff up.
I cried to move back home and I was sent back to my grandma's for the rest of first grade. I was still shy but a happy shy...well, until I peed my pants on the bus.
Anyway, moving on.
When I moved away from home and to the city at age 18 I applied for every job i could get. does anyone remember how hard it is to get your first job? I mean you are so scared and you dress nice for the interviews. You have no idea how to give good interview, no idea how to lie a little to make yourself look like the best option. I must have went to a dozen interviews and didn't get one job. I, of course chalked it up as racism. I know now it wasn't, I was just a naive, inexperienced, 18 year old who was starting to get an attitude. It was easier to claim racism than blame my lack of experience.
Anyway I had a friend who worked at Burger King on the closing shift, which is basically cleaning all the grease off of everything. She got me a job there working two nights every two weeks. I know that is so pathetic, but I took it. It was nasty. I hate Burger King.
In the mean time, since I was only getting 16 hours every two weeks I also got a part time job at an arts and crafts gallery called Sioux Trading Post. On my third night of work at Burger King I was screamed at for not going fast enough on something I had no idea what it was. I was never the cook. It was my first night without my friend and the other manager. I walked out. Chalked it up to racism. It was easy to call things racism, even though that manager was 8 months pregnant and a bitch anyway.
I worked at Sioux Trading Post full time after that and I was able to sell my beadwork. I was able to "shine" in my pride of my heritage. I learned more about my people and who I was working there, then I did in my whole 18 years on the reservation.
I learned a thing or two about a thing or two since then. I learned to recognize it when I see it and not just assume everything ansd everyone is racist. Over the years and all the moves I made many different friends from many different cultures. I lived on a border town for a while in the last two years and I saw racism and I didn't. Some of the people there know that they can't survive as a town without our tribe. Some of them still don't like us...but that's their loss. Some of them grew up among us and everyone knows everyone. Alot of them work for our tribe, so they need us. For our hospital, for our schools, for our Dept. of Social Services.
I don't see it like I used to.
There are racist people who are up front about it. They are hated for their attitudes and for being up front. Then there are racist people who keep it inside, but you know they are. They can say deragatory remarks and it's ok, because they claim they are not racist. Or they are not a minority so they are insensitive to what hurts and what doesn't. They even lie to themselves about who they are. Either way, racism is hurtful.
My kids went to many diverse schools. They don't see people as black, or Indian or white or Filipino, because they are all 4 cultures anyway. They never picked their friends based on color. Like my mom said, adults in towns spend money on studying what can make their community more diverse. They bring in study groups to try and make the small town community a better place to live with the different cultures involved. But somehow, it is easier for the next generation to get past color and see people for what they are...human. The children have figured it out on their own. Let's hope this only gets easier as we go along.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
The year was 1997, I had my 2 oldest boys then. We lived in the pretty little town of Red Wing. My mom lived in a huge 5 bedroom split level home. It looked even more monstrous because it was on the upper level of the neighborhood and sat on a hill. Her front yard and driveway were downhill. She would hire me occasionally to come over and stay with my 5 siblings, whenever her and my step dad went out of town.
She also had a Rottweiler named Jasmine that year. Jasmine was still a puppy, but you know that stage they hit, where they get real tall and clumsy. Right before they grow into thier paws. Jazz had a bad habit of climbing the deck in the back and the garage and then the roof. There she would bark for attention.
Well it was around Halloween when I had to go up to my moms with my 2 boys. They all wanted to play with the fog machine, that my mom purchased so they can have some sort of special effect when passing out candy. In the family room they built a "nightclub." With a strobe light, the fog machine, Christmas lights and the stereo. Ok I admit I helped them.
I was upstairs when the brood approched me again.
"Can we please just fog the whole house? We want to play hide and seek?"
"Yeah sure" I say, I retreat to my moms room because I know that will be the point of clarity.
After a half hour I hear various smoke alarms going off. I run out, can't see, they turned it off and are pulling batteries out of alarms in different rooms. I know this is highly illegal, but hey, anything to keep them quiet, sane and not fighting for a couple of hours.
Next thing I know they are calling me out again. I can't see. The strobe is red. I am questioning whether or not I can breathe in this red, flashing fog. I start to feel like, clausterphobic, for a second, then somebody grabs my leg. I let out a scream and began chasing rugrats at high speed. We are all running like maniacs...then the doorbell rings. They all run and hide. Dam, I hate being the adult sometimes.
I make my way down the stairs and open the door. As I open the door, a whole cloud of fog (it was cherry scented) follows me out and surrounds the Mormon family next door.
After a coughing fit, Bishop Lash asks "Are you all ok?"
"Sure" I say," my mom just bought the kids a fog machine and we were testing it out." I close the door behind me, because the fog won't quit and I don't want him to see the red flashing light.
"Ok" he says, looking at me doubtfully "You let us know if you need anything"
He starts walking away with his wife and kids, then turns back "Your dog is on the roof again."
Dam that Jasmine! I think, in all the chaos, we didn't hear her barking. I walk down to the lawn so I can see her and tell her to shut up, before I went to retrieve her. When I looked back, I noticed...OMG, how could I have forgotten, my mom took the drapes to the cleaners, because some little girl (who shall remain nameless) colord them with markers. The huge bay windows in the living room looked like damnation, fire and brimstone, the lake of fire...and on top of that you could hear the kids screaming. Thats when I also noticed, cars driving by real slow. Looking at the house. I wished I was 12 years old so I could flip them off. Instead I yell at Jazz to shut up, wave at the cars, and go to the back deck to get my dog.
She is going crazy when I get her down, she hears the kids screaming inside and wants in so bad. I slide open the deck door for her, she flies past me and proceeds to chase rugrats around like I was. OMG I think, they are having so much fun. I am sure people think we are witches, or worshippers, or the Adams Family. I watch my kids, siblings, and dog running in the fog laughing. Then I think "WHO GIVES A CRAP!" If we stop now, the damage has been done, already.
"Hey you rugrats!"
"What" they sound a little panicked, like I am going to turn off the fun.
"You better run, cuz I am going to get you!!"
They scream and run.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
This was a video I made for Yahoo 360. I sold almost all of the items on Ebay.
I made the above handbag for my mother for Christmas. She is obviously a huge Prince freak.
The front and back of another handbag.
A coin purse made of brown cut beads.
And lastly, a checkbook cover I made that is still, as of yet, unsold.
This is a variety of my work and two of my mother's barrettes-wolf eyes and white buffalo design
This is what I do all day and night when I get time. I need to be doing it more. I closed one blog on another site down because it took too much time away from my beading and took too much energy from me with all the negative energy that I over-react to. I have Myspace, mostly to be a "family patrol" to my kids and siblings. Blogspot is my niche.
Hope you enjoy. My beadwork can be found on Ebay under the seller's name j9lonehill...along with my mother's beautiful barrettes. She does post new items everyday. Click here
Thanks for reading,
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
*above pic is Pine Ridge, where I live. Taken from the west.
My aunties were drinking at um , my uncles house the other day. Let me explain that. My mom has half-sisters by her mom that are twins and they are inseperable even at age 38. The guy's house they was at was my uncle (indian way) on my mom's dad's side. All very confusing, at any rate "We are all related." Anyway my aunties called me, they are some what gypsies so they asked if they can stay with me. Plus the place they were staying they packed all their food and had it with them.
I knew I could really use it, plus use their help, so I said yes. They asked me to come after the food because they didn't want to drive.
I walked in and the 3 of them were sitting at the table. My uncle gave me a hug and told me to have a beer with them. I told him just one because I ahd potatoes boiling at home. Through that one beer he told me different things about the reservation. We talked about how hard it was to live in "white society," but we also addressed that we wished the people here took care of this town.
We talked of how "Yes, we know and accept that we was booted from what was given to us. We was put here, some of the ugliest land here, but we still shouold appreciate it, take care of it."
This is something I felt a passion for for a long time. How some people don't care about how this town looks. They feel like it should be someone else cleaning it up. Because almost eveerything else in life is given to us....makes me wonder what soveriegnity is? I mean surely long time ago, we NEVER disrespected the land like we do now.
He said one thing to me that made sense "Dana, writing about something and doing something about it are different things." I mean I knew that but even though it is overwhelming I will make my kids pick trash.
I seen that when I was on my way to the casino one day. An elder unci (grandma) was on the side of the road picking trash and on the other side was a young couple. And they weren't picking recyclable stuff, just everything. How neat was that?
I have a few pictures I can post of the reservation just to show you. These are pictures I took back in January just north of town. Prett huh?
Now here are some pics I took in January in town.
This is a collasped trailer...just sitting there.
Don the street from me this is in a front yard.
This is the dump, I don't ever see them do anything with these bales of trash.
The reservation has it's share of problems. Statistically the county I live in has the lowest life expectancy in the US. Sometimes I wonder what the trahs around here contributes to that.
All I think is we are Lakota's...when did we lose respect for Mother Earth. Something has to be done, I just don't know what, but I will go pick the trash that blows in my yard.
Until next time...AKE. (pronounced ah-kay, meaning again. We don't have a word for good-bye)
Monday, April 9, 2007
How many of you have one in your family or know of one raising grandkids?
I am sure almost everyone does. They care for their young like lions...well female lions. They are over-protective, aged with that Indian sense of humor and always come to the rescue for their grandchildren. Thank god for grandmothers.
I have my maternal and paternal grandmother still and "Indian way" I have many more...I am so lucky. My kids have their great grandmother on their dad's side. What a rock she is. She is 77 years old, still works serving meals for the ederly, everyday. She is currently raising one grandkid and 5 great-grandkids.
You know she told me once, "I never had a life of my own, I always raised someone else's kids, but if I don't do it who will? They are unsica(pitiful.)"
She walks with her head held high, she demands respect, not in a way where she tells you straight out to respect her, but her presence and her aura demand respect. I know I did her wrong once when I was helping make potato salad for some holiday and I drained all her pickle juice out of the pickles. She didn't say anything but the looks she gave me, I knew I had to find some pickle juice ASAP. She is a strong woman, I don't know one of her grandkids that are not scared of her.
In fact one of her grandsons, and I witnessed this, once said "Gram, can I call you the Dalai Lama?"
She responded "What? Why would you call me that?"
"Because when you walk in a room, everyone bows down to you." he said smiling.
"You don't call me nothing but grandma!" she said with a curse word thrown in there. That wiped the smile off his face and he put his head down. As soon as she went out of the room, we all laughed at him.
He did use a word to describe her, Matriarch. I looked this term up and he's right. Wikipedia says The term is usually applied to the oldest female in an extended family, who by virtue of her position has a degree of granted authority because others have trust in her.
Now how many of us know women like that? Let's hear it for the uncis! (Unci= pronounced oon-chee means grandmother.) If they didn't raise us, they sure had a hand in raising us. They passed on all their virtues of respect, heart, hope, humor, and most important of all love. To all my dozen or so grandma's reading this, I love you all. (I really should have saved this for Mother's Day! *josh*)
As for you gacas, (grandpas) I will be writing in the paper about you soon.
Sunday, April 8, 2007
November 9, 1997 ~age 25~
I woke up at 9 am Florida time. I had been in St. Pete’s Beach for over two weeks. I was staying at my boss’s beach side cottage and although I loved every minute of it, it was also lonely on my own. I shower, get dressed and go down to the beach one last time. I stare at the water, the seagulls, the big empty beach chairs at the Holiday Inn next door. I had worked every night I was there but one. I did get to see the sunset over the water. It was spectacular. I was living a dream right then and there and I knew it. I had never seen water so big that there was no other side. Even if it was “just the Gulf” it was spectacular.
Every morning I would walk that beach down to the big pink hotel, the Don Cesar. This was my last. I had a taxi coming to get me at 3 to catch a 5:15 flight back to Minneapolis. I went to the house, packed my bags. Left out my jacket and put on jeans and a new Bob Marley T-shirt I bought. I had to dress accordingly, as to the plane ride with a switch in St. Louis and flying into the Minnesota winter. I shivered as I thought of the cold.
I walked to the to the nearest souvenir shop to buy gifts for my family. All the shells I found on the beach were small. Plus my first day on the beach I saw a man on this huge looking bulldozer like contraption. He was gathering all the shells and crushing them into a path like pile. People jogged on that path. I was horrified that I had to get seashells in a store. Who knows where they came from? I made my purchases. Walked even further down the street and had another first time experience. I ate at IHop’s. OMG, it was exactly like in my dream and better than any Tremendous Twelve I ever ate at Perkins at 3 in the morning.
When the cab came after me I made a decision that had been bugging me for the last week. I had decided right then and there that I would not move to Florida and manage the bar for my boss. This decision came from one palm tree. It was decorated with Christmas lights and it just wasn’t right. All the Christmas décor just seemed out of place to me. That made me feel like I would be out of place, I thought.
The cab driver was nice. He talked up a storm on the history of the Howard Frankland Bridge. Most of which I forgot. I loved looking at the Bay. Then he pointed out a dolphin in the water, going along as we did. The cab driver was willing to stop at Yankee Stadium (Legends Field, ok Rala) so I can take a picture but my camera was packed away. So I said a little prayer to George Steinbrenner as we passed it.
At the airport I got hit on by the skycap. I was like “Dang must be all the Sun.”, then I checked in and was starving so thank god Tampa International had a KFC. I ate from the buffet. Then went to a lounge to relax, read, and wait for my flight as my nerves settled to some chardonnay.
Flying makes me nervous, I won’t lie. But once I can look out a window I am fine. I guess I get nervous about the landing part every since I seen that one flight in Iowa land in a fireball and people were lying all over the corn field. I was relieved to see that I got a window seat. A little short pudgy man had to get up to let me into my seat. He introduced himself but I don’t remember his name. He was going back to his home in Chicago, was originally from India, and worked as a nuclear engineer. He even gave me a business card, just in case you know...I ever need a nuclear engineer. When the flight attendant came around he asked if I would join him in a chardonnay, I was like suuuuuuuuuure. So he ordered us two each. Well, this should be interesting, I thought. We drank the chardonnay, talked about our lives and just things in general. We laughed a lot, but that’s just the type of person I am. I like to laugh whether I am tipsy or not. A sense of humor means everything to me. When we were over St. Louis the pilot announced that the runway traffic was backed up and we had to circle St Louis for a bit. I looked out to see if I could see the arches and the city was above us. At first in my chardonnay pickled mind I thought immediately ALIENS. You know like on the movie Independence Day where those big spaceships are like on top of the White house and stuff. Then I figured out we were flying at an angle and felt silly. I panic easy; I am a Pisces, ok. So I counted 13 other planes circling St Louis like sharks. I looked for the arches because I missed them on my flight over. I saw river boats but no damn arches. Now I like have to see it in person to believe it is there.
I landed in St Louis ok, without the plane turning into a fireball or me flying in a cornfield. My flight to Minneapolis was announced as I was saying bye to Apoo, (OK, not his name but I jacked it from the Simpson’s.) I sat next to a lady that didn’t offer chardonnay but she liked to read, which was fine with me because I had brought Terry McMillan’s “Mama” with me to finish but Apoo never gave me a chance.
The pilot announced as we were getting close to land that it was a “sunny 3 degrees in the Minneapolis/St. Paul area.” I put my jacket on and got off the plane. My mom and best friend was waiting for me. We found my luggage easy and I walked outside. The arctic blast hit me so hard when we opened the glass doors. I thought of the beach in Florida, of the palm trees, of the sunshine. Did it really matter to me that my Christmas lights hung in the right climate?
The answer was yes.
Saturday, April 7, 2007
I'm not really sure about Easter this year. I know fosho there will be NO hard boiled egg fight again...like last year. Washing hard boiled egg out of your hair is horrible!
We are having it here at my house, 1st Easter here. We'll hide eggs for the younger ones, I'm sure the older boys will think they are "too old" for that. (But never too old to trick or treat!)
Makes me wish I was a kid sometimes....my kids do. Especially when I watch them play.
I even miss the sibling rivalry where Trav and I used to beat the crap out of each other so much my mom bought us boxing gloves. That worked for one night, until I realized it only gave him parental permission to beat the crap out of me and knock me punch drunk. Still it was fun. Especialy destroying the gloves.
I wished I could play agian until I was so cold, I had no idea I was so cold until my red cheeks hit the warmth of a house and all of a sudden I felt the cold as I warmed up.
I wished I could run around again until I was out of breath, sides aching and laughing from the fun.
I wished I could dye eggs and make a huge mess that pissed my mom off. Because now all I do is get pissed when I see the dye everywhere.
I wished I could enjoy a holiday meal I didn't have to stand on my feet all day to get ready.
I wished I could trick or treat and fill a bag up with candy...only because I was young and pretending to be someone else. and eat the candy until it was taken away from me...with a tummy ache.
I wished I could wake up to a tree surrounded by presents given to me from people that loved me.
I wished I could see an airplane flying above me and try and chase it. (That was my mom doing a fly-by ogf my grandma's house for real. My mom is amazing.)
I wished I could swing in a swing so high until I felt like I was flying in that small airplane like my mom.
I wished I could walk two miles into the prairie again, chasing the rainbow's end...never finding it but coming home with a fistful of wild flowers.
I guess I could still do some of the things, but dang I had a good childhood. As adults we tend to focus on the worst of our childhood because it scarred us, but we never think of how good we had it sometimes. I was blessed with some good times.
Have a good Easter peeps!