This is me...whoever that is.

Here I am at age 35 almost 36 and still wondering what I will be. Not what I am, I think I know what I am and I know what other's perception of me is.
What I mean is what will I be?
What of me will carry on other than DNA.
Will I leave a mark?
As waves lap on shores and prairie grass blows in the wind, will I be remembered?
What will be remembered?
The fact that I like to laugh, mostly at myself but laughter is what makes life so fun.
Or will I be remembered for the fact that I am ok being alone. There is nothing wrong with being single and I wished I could shake that into the mind of every low self esteem everywhere.
Yes I got married on a whim but it was fun while it lasted and I am glad it didn't.
I love the solitude of me.
I don't know. I can sit and wonder about what I am or who I am or what people will remember...but I will never know.
I just hope I will...be.
Know what I mean?

gun control

I don't like to get too political when I write, most of the time, anyway. I
try to stay in centerfield. One thing I don't agree with most of the male
members in my family is about guns. I hate them. I know that if you like
them, you have the right to bear arms. For whatever reason you may have,
whether it be protection, to hunt, or to intimidate.
So this is why I am for gun control. When I was around 11 or 12, I
was accidentally shot in the head by my brother. Now a bunch of you
are probably thinking..."no wonder."
But let me tell you the story.
We used to go touristing in the Black Hills when I was younger. Back
then, it wasn't the "hole tribe," (I will tell you about the "hole
tribe" after this.) It was just my step-dad, mother, brother and I.
We was at this place where you could take old time photo's. My
brother and step-dad grabbed fringed leather jackets and guns right
off the bat. I didn't want to tell them they looked more like Daniel
Boone than they did warriors, if I remember right, my brother might
have even had a racoon tail cap on. I didn't tell them because I was
doing my best impersonation of Laura Ingalls, and they would have said
I was hanging around the fort. I won't tell you what my mom was
wearing, but she looked like the type that you would see hanging out
in Deadwood back in the day, if you know what I mean.
Anyway as we was waiting for our picture, my brother and I started
looking at the props. I was standing there looking at the guns with
him, although they were not fascinating at all to me. My brother
Travis was touching them as if they were made of gold. Finally, he
found one that spoke to him. He pulled it off the wall and looked at
it over and over. He put it up to the side of my head. I was
obvlious to him because I was used to him shooting me with his toy
guns. I started to yawn at the same time as he pulled the trigger.
BANG!
It was loud. I dropped, every customer in the store ducked, my mom
screamed and my step dad jumped on Travis and pulled the gun away.
"JESUS!" the photographer screamed.
I put my hands to my head to hold my brains and blood and skull
together. I was rolling side to side when I realized there was no
hole in my head. Although I was still crying, I was amazed that some
holy intervention had saved me. My mom ran over and checked my head
for holes, looking through my hair as if the bullet was hiding.
The photographer came running over blabbering "I am so sorry about
that folks, thats one of the guns we use for the mock shoot-out we
have every hour, it was loaded with blanks, and I never thought anyone
would shoot someone....here your picture is done, no charge."
We walked out of that gallery with everyone staring at us, me
sniffling and traumatized, and my brother punished again.
So even though it had blanks in it, blanks have killed some movie
stars in the past. I am lucky to have a hard skull. But, this is why
I hate guns.
*The "hole tribe" is what we call us seven siblings. It was derived
from a surprise birthday party I threw for my mom and we all didn't
have time to sign the card. I told my sister Jaida to sign it the
whole tribe and when my mom read it, it said the "hole tribe."

Shelfari

I added this Shelfari to this blog waaay down on the bottom. If anyone has one of these, add me to your list so I can see what the hell tickles your fancy.

I am still adding books as I remember because my sweet little princess Justice likes to hide my books.

An Old Tabloid

So yesterday AL held me at staplepoint and made me confess to a minor crime I commited in the passion of the moment or however you say it. This was an old challenge from Myk on 360 to write a tabloid story about yourself.

What would your tabloid say?

Dana Dane Found Out....mugshot unearthed!!

After intense investigation by the tabloid staff, who were tipped off by various angry ex-boyfriends and one ex-booty call....this mugshot was uncovered by our investigative team.

Sources tell us that in the summer of 2005, Dana Dane was walking from a small casino to her mother's house in Pierre, SD. After winning a sizable jackpot and drinking beers with friends, Dana Dane was said to leave the Longbranch Saloon at approximately 1:48 am.

Matilda Hockenback, a waitress at the time says this "she was so sweet and was so happy when she won her $250 jackpot, I never would have guessed she would commit such a crime when she left here."

A house on 1048 Park had the best lawn ornament collection back then. Gnomes, Fairies, and Turtles...oh my!

"I seen her." said the creepy man that lived next door. "She picked up the turtle and walked away like it was nothing."

A close friend of the family was able to take a picture of the lawn ornament in question.(see above pic.) She was told that Dana Dane was going to return it a few nights later but her mother fell in love with it , thus starting a burning desire to collect many turtle lawn ornaments. (Which, ironically do not sit on her lawn.)

Who knew we had such a notorious criminal amongst us.....May the lord forgive her possessed soul!

Now please tell me yours! NOW! Or your lawn ornaments will never be safe.

History is not to be forgotten

I once wrote of how I would love to go see New Orleans. Anne Rice's books had me obsessing over it. I tried to go back in 1996 with my friend Sheryl. We walked into a travel agency with our tax refunds and paid for a 4 day trip. the trip included taking an Amtrak round trip, one meal a day, the hotel room which was just off the French Quarter, and two tours of the city. I was so excited. I had my two oldest boys then, they were 4 and 3. I had wired their father money to come get them as we shared custody, but as usual. It didn't work out.
My brother made it to Mardi Gras before I did. He went with a bunch of friends on a cross country trip and Mardi Gras was one of the stops.
He also went to Mardi Gras last year. He was in for a big shock when he saw the destruction that Hurricane Katrina left behind. He told me what freaked him out was how it looked as if the hurricane had gone through there the day before and what freaked him out even more was the fact that the government just kind of completely forgot about New Orleans.
That kind of sounded familiar to me.

The other day I watched a documentary on the musicians of New Orleans. they talked of how they felt their music represented America because they were always there.
I started seeing parallels and similarities from this documentary to another place in history and time.
Just certain things people said in the documentary and the narrator said that made me think of another people.

Such as:

"History started here too and to write it off means you are not saying anything for your own country."

"It's unbelievable that this was a city for 200 years and the music is all that is left. Where are all the people that gave this city a name, gave it it's culture. There is nobody left."

"I am from here, this is my home, I love the music. When I lost my home to the Hurricane I thought I would rebuild and come back. But what can I do except vote and give the government the right to say what I probably don't want to say. I ain't nothin but a vote in this country during election time. The rest of the time I am forgotten."

"This is my life and home, this (jazz music) is my culture, where do we start to get it back."

One of the last quotes from the documentary I will put down is this one.

"Mardi Gras came back in 2006 to a torn city with an air of joyful defiance, but where does it go from there?"

It was this documentary that made me realize that history is important to all of us. While some people would rather forget about it and push it under a rug, it is important to the people it happened to and it will remain important for generations to come. Just because it is easy for the government to forget it, the people never will.
Hopefully, one of these days I will make it down there, but Yankee Stadium is first.

Yay-Boo

Yay, I got my first paycheck. It's only half of what it should be and it is SWEET!

Boo...it has to go to bills that I need to catch up on.

Yay-I set up my IRA today. Get this my investor dude is from Podunk and you know I love that town, but this is what I love his name is Buck. WOW! I am totally trusting a dude named Buck with my retirement fundage. I love it.

Boo-I was almost attacked last night by my ex's gf. I swear they are making me feel slightly retarded. I come out of the store last night and thought I was avoiding the same homeless woman who I promised a quarter because I realized I paid the exact amount and didn't have a quarter. So someone runs behind me and calls me a fuckin bitch. I was like DANG all that for a quarter. Then my friend Joe (ex's cousin) told me it was Fugly Tracy. I look back and she is standing there with her hands on her hips....like she wants to roll. Now this is why I am feeling slightly retarded. Why does this bitch want to fight me? Over her man? Whom I might say I kicked to the curb back in 2000? I fuckin don't get it. Mind you she was probably coked up because everyone knows she is a coke whore, but why wanna fight his ex? Who obviously don't want him? And remember I had to get a protection order to keep the mother fucker away from me. I don't care if the bitch called me a fuckin bitch...I am. To some people I am a sweetheart. But I can be a fuckin bitch and coming from that whore I take it as a compliment. I just don't get why she wants to fight? Why they think I broke the whore's windows out? They are so off. They got me thinking...am I in the wrong? but I know I'm not. I'm just confuzzled by the whole thing. and if anyone (Tiff) wants to know why I won't fight that whore. Here are my reasons

1. I don't want that bastard thinking I am fighting over him, because he will.

2. I don't have shit to prove. I know who I am. I know I am a way better person than her, way better mother because my kids don't do drugs, nor do I do drugs with them, and I don't do drugs. I like my beer and if they want to hold that against me in court they can think about it when they stick that blow up their nose. and obviously I am a better lover if I need a protection order to keep the ass away.

3. I don't need to waste energy on a coke whore...and this is cross posting to blogspot for the local readers, I hope somebody sends that bitch a link.

Yay- I am off that fuckin subject.

Boo- There is nothing more to boo about...oh I know I have to wait until Sunday to see Brett Favre.

Yay-My sister is coming into town tomorrow and my boss wants me to talk to her about entering our annual art show with her photography.

Yay -its fuckin Friday

Boo- I might have to be busy dashing hope and dreams of people trying to sell stuff we don't need and ruin their shceme for beer or weed. And might be too busy doing that too see you guys but I will try.

Yay- I can be online for another half hour straight.

Random Writing Challenge Number 11

In the Random Writing Challenge Group the phrase "If I have to play that board game one more time" was chosen. I decided to go with the one that had one vote. "She longed to slip her feet back into the ocean."

Thanks again Carol for another great challenge.

Sidra

She longed to slip her feet back into the ocean. Actually she never been to the ocean and nobody called her feet...feet....but she daydreamed of the ocean everyday. Sidra was born away from her motherland. Now she lived where people watched her, laughed at her and took pictures of her so that they can prove that they saw her.

She had a man for awhile, his name was Tuma. She loved him and missed him dearly. He was born in the motherland and was taken from his mother when he was still a baby. He would often tell her of the coldness of home as they suffered on the hot concrete. He told her of the openess and the ability to go when and where you wanted, for as long as you wanted to go. He told her of how his mother would fish for him and how he couldn't wait to grow big to be a wonderful fisher like his mother.

Then because Sidra could not have her own baby, they took Tuma away from her to someplace far away. She didn't know where they took him but she often lay around and cried for him. She hoped he was with his mother.

She lay on the hot cement in her lonlieness. Humans were screaming at her...laughing at her. She only wanted Tuma. Fuck them, she thought as she got up to swim. She jumped in the tiny pool of water that only allowed her a few short strokes then she flipped underwater where there was a glass wall that allowed even more humans to laugh at her and snap pictures from inside. She swam like that back and forth, flipping under and back to the surface....snap...snap...snap of the cameras. All of it was driving her mad. The madness making her swim even more.

"Close your eyes and forget these disgusting humans, Sidra." she told herself as she did a backstroke back to the glass...daydreaming of Tuma and a land of ice that never ended.

Lakota Star Quilt

Since some people are curious about where I work.

So I think I will slowly fill you in on what's what. Like show you some of the stuff we carry. The quilt up there is a baby quilt.

The Lakota Star Quilt or owinja (quilt) in my language started from when women were put in boarding schools post reservation life. A single star is made up of small diamond shaped pieced together in eight section that form an eight sided star. That eight sided star to the Lakota represents the morning star. The morning star represents the direction from which spirits travel to earth and is a link between the living and the dead (in extension), thus symbolizing immortality.

The quilt is a sign of respect given at weddings, graduations, birth and even draped on caskets at funerals, replacing the buffalo robe from pre-reservation days.

Both of my great grandmothers (paternal and maternal) made star quilts but it is a craft I have never learned and probably never will.

I used to own a pink star quilt my Grandma Agnes made for me...since then I haven't had one but hopefully some day again. (Hopefully that someday isn't like.....Thee Day.)

The Life Of A Beader

The Life of a Beader

I bead but I write this for all Lakota artists.

I learned to hustle from beading from my mom. According to her, she used to bead for my diapers and milk. She learned to bead from going to school at St. Mary’s in Springfield, where she also learned how to eat a proper meal with five different forks or something like that. I remember her beading as I properly ate her beads.

I learned the basics of beading at Pine Ridge High School from Bryan Brewer, Sr. I soon begin one of my first jobs at Sioux Trading Post in Rapid City before it was owned by Prairie Edge.

I worked mail order and talked to people from all over the world everyday. It was one of my favorite jobs and being as young as I was, I really had no idea there were jobs in this world that just sucked.

Well that was 17 years ago and I have had many jobs that sucked and many jobs I enjoyed. The last time I worked was for the tribe. I was RIFed, or laid off. The only two times I worked for the tribe I was laid off, so therefore I depended on the peanuts Lakota Country Times pays me and my beadwork. (Just teasing Amanda) I knew when I moved home it would be hard to find employment. But it was more important to me to be around my family and my culture.

I would never want to lose my culture through my artwork. It is a part of me that I take to the heart. For every item I sell there really are blood, sweat, and tears.

I guess to the person who is buying it, it is a beautiful piece of artwork. To the person who stayed up late making it, it was dinner for five. Or part of the light bill or propane. Or the ever famous last words “I need gas money.”

(Sometimes as an artist you really do need gas money but don’t want to say it because it’s so cliché.)

What people here don’t realize is that when you move away to other reservations, the culture is often fading. Most people on other reservations don’t know how to bead or it is a part of their past. Most of those are also “per cap” Indians who have the ability to buy their culture. This works out great for people like me, who depend on their artwork.

I am happy to say that the struggle of hustling my beadwork is about to taper off as I have been employed by The Heritage Center at Red Cloud School. It is different for me to see things from this side of the hustle, but I know how it is. I have been there. Now after being out of a 9 to 5 for about two years, I am happy to say that I love my job.

The local artwork is beautiful and always amazes me.

Remember the next time you buy a piece of beadwork, quillwork, carving, painting, or starquilt from someone, they put a piece of themselves into it for their family. Here on our reservation and the surrounding reservations the life of the Lakota artist may be a tough one, sometimes hard and humbling, but we share ourselves with the world through our art.

sigh

Last week was stressful.

Due to my ex-monster.

I don't know what his deal is. I was trying to be a cool baby mama. Not asking for child support even though he has NEVER paid. Letting him take the boys for the weekend. Of course, he never tried to be in their life until I got my house, then when I got married last year he chased my husband away.

When I stayed in podunk for the rest of the summer I let him and his fugly chick watch my house and boys. When I came back I let them stay in the basement until they found their own place. Instead of looking for a place to live they go and get pregnant (supposedly.)

So I kick them out. The night I kick them out of my house her windows on her brand new car get smashed and little ol me gets the blame. First off WHY the HELL would I break the bitch's windows out when 1: I want her to leave. and 2:I don't want her man and haven't for 8 years....I had that mofo for 11 years and he isn't worth a plugged nickel...or the 5 minutes.

So anyway even living with his mama now, he was still coming over to my house. Acting like he can ust walk in and shit. The last straw wason New Years when we was having a birthday dinner for my friend mother, (who happens to be his cousin, actually everyone there was HIS relations, but I have been involved with this family for so long, they all treat me as part of the family.)

So after that incident and him coming to my new job and telling me he was going to get me kicked out of my house and his girlfriend calling my house over and over, I got a protection order and we go to court on Feb 4th. I am willing to grant visitation rights only IF he agrees to pay child support.

So if I didn't answer any messages or email last week, that is what I was going through.

Seriously, I am not a dramatic bitch, I hate drama and don't like feeding it but DAMN why do I gotta have drama with a man I haven't wanted for 8 years?

This weekend was peaceful, with lasagna and good football on TV.

I was just thinking...

...now that I have a job and will get my first paycheck at the end of next week. I will have more time to do other things than bead...like read.

And that is a beautiful thing.

(I missed reading)

pic by my sis...isn't she great? http://www.flickr.com/photos/jaida420/

Have a nice weekend everybody.

Perhaps

I was a bit harsh on my brother for writing what he did.
Because I DO get fired up when people don't like my opinions too.
But I felt he was a bit harsh on his people and he should make his blog public.
His blood quantum is more Lakota than me.
I just wish he would really be proud of who his people were, are and, what they will be. what he will be.
In a way I feel like...how can some people say I inspire them when some of the same issues I write about a member of my own family can't see?
My 16 year old brother loves his people, loves my writing, and is a sponge to any and every book he can get his hands on about our people.
I know I can't force my other brother to be proud of who his people are...
I mean, shit... it took him forever to come out of the closet and admit he was a damn republican.
When we all knew...



Ok I had to add to this because I already posted it after that.
What is so wrong with being proud of each other?
Why is it so much easier to put people down?
Is that what the world has come to?
Especially when it is your own people?
But why not all people?
See this isn't just my brother, this is everywhere...look at your news.
I could give rat's ass about Britney Spears and whatever drama she is going through, but I refuse to watch it on my news anymore.
Everything is so negative.
People are always whining about our jobs being outsourced to India where almost everyone there ane their sister has a degree or two.
But the other day for tech support a very nice man named Raja helped me with my problem. After I was juggled from this person to that person and yes I was starting to hint about them taking our jobs when they couldn't even find the right person to help me, I was stuck with Raja.
In his words
"M'am, I am very sorry they have sent you here and there....but no need to worry or fear anymore because now you are stuck with me and in this kind of situation I am a rockstar!"
He had me up and running in two minutes.
So I don't know Raja or Dale whose job he took in Indiana, but I do know that he is a nice man. I'm sure Dale is too.
I don't know.
I am tired of negativity.
I am not perfect.
I bitch.
I whine.
I groan.
Is it so hard to not be so negative to others?
I'm trying.

Adjusting back to "Rez Life"

I had two things happen this weekend that inspired me to write this.First off, my little brother had a well written blog entry in his myspace account that really twisted my chonies in a bunch. In his "Open Letter To Indians." He talks of his love for his people but in the same sentence voices his disgust in his people. He writes of how we really all just like to cry around about the past and drink it away, when we should be worried about the future and how our culture isn't in our DNA but rather needs to conform to today's world. (I know for a fact if you see all the tape and superglue at a pow-wow, that we have conformed.)
Well after sending him a half dozen messages that just about boiled down to me egging his blog, I signed off the internet and decided not sign back in. After all he was born here, but never raised here and still don't live here. When I was twenty three I knew everything too, even more than I do now. Plus I really think it must be easy to be able to say what is right and wrong with the rez, when you don't live here. Then I found my brother's words in the hallway written with marker on a piece of paper. I asked my oldest son if he did that.
"Yes." he said.
I asked why.
"He (my uncle) made me so mad by writing that, I wanted to keep it and when I become somebody I want to show him I did it." he said, so now you all know we don't have a printer.
That's right. I thought as I walked away.
I guess I took a personal offense to my brother's blog entry because I have been writing for the paper for a year, blogging for almost three and many times I do honor the past by writing about it. At least I thought I was honoring it and not "crying around" about it. Then I finally open my email this morning and find a letter from a reader. He says my words inspire him and he wants to know how my children have adjusted to "rez life" after living off the rez all their lives.
They were all born off the rez. I was out in search of a better life, but like I said all the time denying what we have right here.
You see, what we have right here is a culture that is so proud and involved in who they are. Yes, I know sometimes the past comes up, we must honor it and move on, like most of us do. I mean how do you tell the elderly to forget the past that they lived through when most of them are still healing from it. Also, if you are anything like me or anyone in my family, you don't tell the elderly anything or surely you will get "ka tah-ed."
So because my children were born off the reservation, honestly this has always been a sanctuary for them. This is where their huge and I mean HUGE extended family is. If you know Pearl Cedar Face-Dixon's clan then you know how many relatives my kids have. And I think having family around every corner helps for children to adjust to rez life. Of course it probably won't be cool when it comes time for them to snag, which I hope is a looong way off. Because I remember back when you pretty much had to ask if you were related to someone before any of that. If having family around isn't the case.
My suggestion is to get involved in the community. If anybody knows me, I am pretty much of an introvert. I stay home, bead, and watch every reality show that was ever made on TV. But on the rare occasion that I do get out of the house to go to a celebration like the memorial Christmas dinner we had or to my dad's kettle dance last summer, there is nothing like it. Being around your own tiyospaye is one of the greatest feeling in the world.
When we was out on my dad's land, with the Lone Elk tiyospaye,after everything was over and everyone was digesting their food, smoking cigarettes and joking. I sat back and looked around. My daughter was chasing the daughters and granddaughters of my cousins through the fields and laughing. I remembered the days when I used to follow their mothers and grandmothers like that out in Porcupine. The funny thing was my daughter Justice, had only met those little girls just hours before that, they called her over, put make up on her, next thing we know here she was running and laughing with them like she knew them for all of her 3 years. That is how you know you are home and around family.
Here on the rez, even if you go out within your community, you run into family. And going to such cultural events will make your children feel at home. Soon the city will be nothing but a memory.And when you and your children start say eez, enet, and josh, then you know you all have adjusted and are home.

Blogger Burn Out

I got it.
I am tired of blogging for the time being...which in blogworld means about 2 days.
Maybe even one day. You know I can't stay away.
I keep thinking why the hell do I blog?
Then I see some of the stuff I wrote and really am glad I did it.
Back when I first started it was for me...then it was for other people, like I really did care if someone did read it.
Now it is for me and for other people.
I realize that some people in this world do care what I have to say. which is nice because there are alot of things I would like people to be aware of.
I am going to take a little bit of time off just to get my ducks in a row and rest on my laurels...I always love sayings in which I have no idea where my ducks or laurels are.
Or why can't my ducks rest and my laurels be in a row?
Just teasing....anyway
I have some serious burnout from writing and probably from starting the new job.
I haven't even blogged on Multiply today...oh my!
I will be back...gimme two days because you know once an addict...always an addict.
We seriously need some rehab for blogging!
Love whoever reads!
Except for Red Sox fans...then it's only Lauri I heart.
-Dana
PS-To the guy who came in the store today, I know I told you about this blogspot and sorry for taking a break now...go to my archives back to last January when I started blogging here, those are my greatest hits...lol.

Repubs For Obama

I DO love him and I am not just saying that for Daisy.
Last night, after watching his speech just confirmed my vote.
How could you not vote for him?
Every four years since I was 18, I have voted. One year I almost cried until my mom took me to the polling place and actually voted herself, first time in 28 years. So every leap year is about politics, summer olympics, and my real birthday.
Almost everyone knows I am to the right and I DID NOT vote for the last administration.
I am actually left and right on certain issues, but made the switch back in 2002 for my own personal reasons.
Everyone always asks me, "Why don't you just be independent?"
As if, just because I am a repub I am all evil and crap.
I don't support the war, the death penalty, nor am I an evangelical christian...I am me.
Single mom of four, now working, and one of the few people who are willing to be who I am, despite which party I am registered under.
Check you all later.
Go Obama!

Jobby Job

I love it...LOVE it!

But it was only day one and I had to turn so many people down already for buying...because I am not supposed to buy until next week.

And already the sob stories started. We need money, we need gas, my sister is dying RIGHT NOW in the hospital and I don't have gas....

Cheese and Rice, I don't work miracles!

Sad...I never did have a good sob story, but I am thinking of writing them down for my own amusement.

So I work with two wonderful people and my co-worker is "half ass married" like me.

The first paycheck isn't until the 18th and I want to say I have some of the bestest friends in the world for giving me rides and baby-sitting for me.

So now that I am professional and shit, I think I will go watch the news, ignore my kids and kick the cat. *no beer* Plus after this New Years I don't want to see another beer until at least Saturday. lol.

Sorry I am not getting around to your ever so interesting blogas, but I am also behind in some orders....oh and btw I can't buy from myself WAHHH! lol

Ok for real, now I am going to go watch the Iowa Cockiss