Wednesday, September 23, 2009

AA is for quitters

So yeah, I had my first AA meeting yesterday.
I don't think I need it but it was okay. What I mean by needing it, is I have a great support system already, but I have to go.
I guess I just don't understand how you can be court ordered to go by a judge when you pray to God, say the Lord's Prayer and a nation where we have Freedom of Religion.
Oh well, anyway it was ok.
And not like I am an Atheist.
My oldest son shows signs of being an Atheist and it kind of worries me. But his writing is well as his artwork.
This dude asked me yesterday how I felt about my drug and alcohol eval, I said it was depressing.
I know I used my drinking alot as an inspiration to write, now I just have to find that groove without the alcohol....did anyone see it laying around anywhere?

If so please return it, it's probably at the bottom of a bottle.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009


I just realized that I am 37 and that it is not too old to be twitterpated. Brother if you are reading this....yeah so?
And thanks for making me an aunty again...hope it's a girl.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Well, Nancy....

Ok that is what my uncle says to get on my nerves...and he says it in a Ronald Reagan Nancy here in a nutshell is what is going on with me.
Testing out sobriety, first because I had to now because I want to, never realized hangovers are harsh. Lost 200 lbs of dead loser weight. Broke up with a loser who only had me at his level.
I am facing some shit right now I would rather not talk about.....yet.
I am still me, despite everything. Despite how weak I made myself in the past, I knew I was strong and I still am. thanks for still reading, if you are still there.
Mama's back, this time new and improved.
I'm through with this being lost shit.
Wait till my internet is back up at home, y'all be sick of me.


Dana Dane

Thanks to Mike S in Maine for emailing me this quote, I love it.

"A man can fail many times, but he isn't a failure until he begins to blame somebody else."
~John Burroughs

Sunday, June 14, 2009

The Garden

A long time ago, when I was a little girl, my grandma's yard was dirt. Not any old dirt but that sticky, white, gumbo clay that rez cars like to get stuck in.

Then when I was about 7 or 8 she decided to grow grass and plant trees. I would watch her tend to it and ask her anxiously when the trees would grow big so I can have a swing. She would laugh at me and say by the time they were that big, I would be too old to swing. I would be lucky to sit under thier shade at the age of 18.

Despite everyone telling her that gumbo can't grow grass, she still did it. She would proudly sit in her lawn, amongst her flowers and battle dandelions and clover. My uncles used to tease her that the front yard looked like a circus because of the lawn ornaments. One year she even had a windmill in the front yard.

As she grew older, she took less interest in her lawn, maybe it was too many takojas, maybe she grew tired with age and none of us noticed because she always seemed invincible. She would always talk of having a vegetable garden, though...someday, she would say. She wanted corn, tomatoes and the works. Basically everything to make her own salsa. She never planted that garden.
Instead, last spring, my Uncle Jerry planted a garden. It was almost the who;le side of his lawn. Boy, my Grandma was fired up.
Did you see your Uncle's garden? she would say as she did a drive by of his house. You just wait until fall, we will have a big cookout from just that garden. She would drive by and say "Look, just look, it's a bloomin'."
She was so proud of his garden and talked of making salsa from it all the time.
If you read me regularly, which I know I don't write as much or if you know me, then you know that my grandma passed away last July.
She never saw the fruits of my Uncle Jerry's labor or ate anything from that garden.
My uncle still made salsa and gave me a jar last fall. When I ate it, I imagined her saying it was the best salsa in the world. I pictured her letting tomatoes ripen on her windowsill from that garden, like I did.
He planted another garden this year. So did I, but mine is small and a salsa garden. this is his second year planting it, and this time without her.
She isn't here. But this is a story of life and how, no matter what, we move on, live, love, learn and grow with it.
Like a garden.

Thursday, April 30, 2009

What's the matter with your "feel right", baby?

I love that line from the song that is on my video linky thing. So I got to thinking, what's the matter with my 'feel right?"

and wanted to blog it, see I gave up a job that I used to love but it go annoying after awhile plus the lure of my couch and doing my crafts there is awesome. No punching a time clock and my perks are strong ass coffee, TV all day, my couch, my cat, people stop by and visit and what's really cool. I sell my stuff on a daily basis almost but right now am saving up for a BIG SALE.

Anyways here is what is the matter with my feel right, I sit by my front window. Which is great, but some things about my hood annoy me. I look out of it all the time like my cat, My cat watches intently because it's his hood too and he knows what is going on, he rules here. I live in a housing spot called North Ridge, one of the roughest in town but I grew up here so I can walk around the block without getting attacked by any dog except my Uncle Jerr's dog Brownie, who is rumored to have broken someone's arm and I holler "PUSS" at him everytime I see him and send him into Cujo mode.

Now one thing about here on the rez is, no one freakin knocks on doors, for fear of dogs I think is the original thinking or reasoning but it got to a point where everyone is just plain and simple fucking too lazy to get off their asses and knock.


I get sick and tired of it because I am busy, and then I hear the annoying honk. I look out across the street or next door and sometimes it's the people that LIVE there beating their horn for someone to come out, peek out or notice that they are annoying the whole neighborhood with the incessant beating of their horn. Sometimes t's two of those motherfuckers about 3 houses away both beating their horns as if in competition as to who will come out the door first. This just bugs the crap out of me, and to make it worse no one here notices because they all think it is normal!! I don't know. *smh* It just bugs me when I see that out my window.

Another thing wrong with my 'feel right' is there is this dude in the hood that lives on top block with all the other crazies (sorry Uncle Jerr) and he ha a nice ass Monte Carlo, he been workin out at the gym and he looks nice ass himself, lost alot of weight, he alright. But his fuckin stereo system in his car, I can hear him round the corner on top block and it's like WTF, my house is shaking from the bass. I have to turn my TV up and I have no remote. Cuz this bitch is drivin all slow through the hood like HEEEEY check me out, I'm fine as hell now. He makes me miss shit I need to hear on news and I curse you Joe G to gain it all back! *points finger at loud slow car*

What fucks with my 'feel right' at night are dogs. The mangy motherfuckers bark all night loud as fuck. It starts from one ends of town, west, and works it's way east in the middle of the night ....EVERY NIGHT. I'm fine with it unless I wake up at like between 3 and 4 and I hear it. Then my boyfriend told me his grandma told him that it was a ghost or somthing that runs through No Bottom Creek from the West to the East and it drives the dogs nuts. Now when I hear them barkin, and hear it get near my hood, I lay awake thinking of that ghost thing running through the creek behind my house, I think of how it could go off track and come through my back yard into my door and sppok the hell out of me and then I hear the dogs barking to the East and I know the ghost didn't get lost but damn I have a hard time going back to bed.

Anyway back to my window, someone is honking outside.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

thank me

i was looking for a link that I put in my yahoo 360 blog like forever ago for my son

I read the blogs, then even read my blog on blogger for the past year

you know I am so glad I blog

if I ever get alzheimers everyone can see how nutty I was before that

i laughed, smiled, cried through my blog

and i thanked myself for writing it

if you ever have nothing to do, go back read your blog and thank you

Friday, April 24, 2009

what it do bro?????????

painting by Bunky Echo-Hawk
I was talking to my brother the other day as he was cruising through a poor sectin of town where he lives. He was at a stop when he noticed all these people sitting outside their apartment building around a fire that was in the grill or something. He said they were drinking beers, throwing sticks in the fire, listening to music, he didn't say what music but in my mind I was thinking Bob Seger or Fleetwood Mac. They were laughing and relaxed, just chillin.
He said, you know whats funny? Is that on the oter side of town there's these people that live in a big house with a 30 year morgtage, 2 nice cars in the garage and their teen age kids probably drive nice cars. They probably both work and never see each other so they cheat on each other, their kids are probably in therapy because they have these expectations their parents want them to live up to and they feel they will never measure up to them.
yeah I said. They probably put on a front in public, like the perfect family but the mom drinks in private and the dad cheats on her with some single mom chick thats a waitress at his favorite bar. They probably eat hamburger helper every night just to save money to pay for the perfect life.
I'll stay poor, I told him.
Imma go to the bar he said.
Imma crack a can of beer with my shades drawn so the cops don't see it, but I will think of you at the bar, I said
Later Sis, he said.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

My brother Jesse's blog

I got permission from my brother to repost his blog that he has over a myspace, myspace sucks for blogs so I wanted it to be read here. Before I do that I wanted to post this picture for Sue. Above in the picture is my Great Great Grandma Molichika or Granm Molly. Back in the day she was a scadal kind of because she drove a car and smoked cigarettes. She always had a man to provide her of these things.
Next to her is my Great Grandma Julie who was Dick Wilson's mom. Dick was tribal president for many years while the tribe was in turmoil.
Next to her is my Great Grandma Louise, she married a man who didn't like her to speak Lakota. That is my grandma's parents. Grandma Louis used to cut my hair with a ginormous silver scissors, that I was sure would cut my ear off.
Anyways they are drying meat in the picture. Which was pretty much what they had to do back in the day, to carry through the winter, that is how it was. You couldn't go to the store and get meat at the drop of a dime. Life was harder back then. Times were tougher. The government wasn't quick to help our people, just more quick to hope we faded away.
Sometimes I think with all the technology we have and the more life moves on, we could be fading aways in some way. then I go to a dinner where wasna (made with dried meat) is served as an appetizer, and I know through it all we are still here, still Indian. And after reading my brother's blog, today is a good day to be Lakota. (Thank god I am not out drying meat because I have to)
My brothers blog and a song from my son

Angels on the Moon - Thriving Ivory

As I can't be what I perceive, I am not this body-mind or
any thing that I am conscious of.

As there must be something unchanging to register
discontinuity, I am not this body-mind, which is neither
continuous nor permanent.

As the person is a changing stream of mental objects that
I as the subject take to be my body-mind, I cannot be a
person. I am, but I can't be this or that.

As it is my presence, which is always here and now, that
gives the quality of actual to any event, I must be
beyond time and space. I was never born, nor will ever
die. -
Nisargadatta Maharaj

I at one point in time, I was not in control of my life, but surrendered that control to the ego. I never knew how to live in the now, but always lived in day dreams or mental movies of past events that i either really enjoyed or disliked. I had an abundance of garbage in my head. The ego kept me in fear of living in the now, but was always worried about how people would think of me. The ego was always talking, mental chatter they call it, never allowing me to experience life but always telling me whats going on in life like a commentator that will not shut up.

I have silenced my mind

I have never been more free in my entire life,

ever since, it seems like life has switched from black and white television to HD tv..everything is better when you allow yourself to become more aware of the present moment, it seems right because this present moment now, is all we have and is all we will ever have you could live your life resisting it or waiting for this moment to end so you could be happier later, why wait..

The buddhist call this seeing with the third eye, the eye that is conscious. ever since I have opened this eye, I have seen the world as a theater of the absurd. it seems like life is as less serious as i thought and I have learned to have more fun now..I went out a few weekends ago to a popular little college bar that had a dance floor which everyone in the bar was to afraid to dance on for fear of judgement..So I went out there and boogied, people laughed but i had not a care, for I was living the life they want to live, but are afraid to.

this is what jesus called bringing heaven down to earth..To live, not to wait to live but to live in peace and be at peace with yourself and the world around you. I am more happier with the people around me because i am more happier with myself.

This is what most unconscious people call losing your mind, which they are very close in there assumption but not is more like losing the control the brain has control over your life, the brain is a tool just like the rest of your body, a tool that loves to solve problems, if left uncheck it can create problems in your life so it can solve them..

So what are you waiting for, there is a life right in front of you to live..never resist it..there is a latin term for it "carpe diem" which means seize the day, there is no time like the present.

I will write more about this awakening, if you have any questions please feel free to ask.

Monday, April 20, 2009

my wussy boys

that actually is all three boys sleeping on one couch, so anyway i am on messenger trying to talk to someone and also on someone's blog reading while she fed her husband rotten potatoes and laughed about it

when one of my boys screams like a woman




he is on that same couch hiding under a blanket screaming, the oldest boy who is also bigger than me gets the broom and comes walking in like a warrior

and hands it to me.

my youngest son comes out of the room, sees me with the broom, sees the wasp and runs back in his room,

i hit it once, miss it and the one on the couch peeks from under a cover and screams again.

my oldest, biggest kid who can bench over 200 is standing in the kitchen while i swing furiously at the wasp-bee-thing. i hit it enough to make it fly out the window.

my tough bad ass kids go on doing whatever they were before that little wasp made my boys into daughters

damn wussy ass kids

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Th Weekend Cometh, Pray for King James

The little hobbit dude in the pic is my boys' little brother James on their daddy's side. Any spare prayers can go his way as he is in the Minneapolis Children's Hospital this weekend awaiting the results of MRI's and all sorts of tests. My boys are worried and their dad is in Minnesota awaiting the results with James' mother. I baby sat James over here at my house a few times, while his dad had his turn at custody.

His mom is or was a hooker that broke up my high school sweetheart romance, in the end I could and should probably thank her for giving me the guts to get out of that relationship that was totally one sided.

All in all, we ended up being friends, not me and the hooker but me and my ex. We got past the petty shit and drama, got past our own egos and started being adults. We realize fighting is not good. We do what we can for our kids and I help him out with his other kids becase they are just kids and the siblings of my boys. Plus, their mom is young and preoccupied with her other kids.

I talked to her once on the phone, she called me a couple of summers ago all drunk and apologized to me for what she did in my life and said something that stuck out

"I should have listenbed to you back in the day Dana, when you told me to take care of myself and not depend on any man to make me happy. I should have listened to you." i said that the night I told her to have my man because I was leaving him for good.

She is now 28 and no only got fucked over by my ex, but other men.

Don't worry about it, I told her. I should have listened to my mom when I was 18 and she told me pretty much the same thing. 18 year olds are strupid and think happiness is in being a part of a couple, well not all 18 year olds, there are many that are the exception, but anyways I once said I wished I could write a book of life experiences for the 18 yr old population out there so they would know to think of themselves and their futures and not about love or what they think is love, but what 18 year old would listen?

My son once asked me, would you be 18 again if you could.

Fuck no, I said, I was too dumb back then.

Well, when did you stop being too dumb, he asked.

Shit, I was dumb yesterday, boy.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Balloons {Shudder}}


I must explain this.

Last summer I invited these interns from the museum to my brother Dirty Steve's birthday party at the 20 bar (best bar ever) in PoDunk. i was trying to look all cool and shit bcause these are chicks that are like almost 20 years younger than me, going to college for some artsy degree that I always think shoulda woulda and coulda about and they are all standing around listening to my words of wisdom that only life experience can give you along with silver hair, when something lightly brushes my shoulder. I't a balloon, a yellow fuckin latex balloon!

I jump and karate chop at it but fail to hit it so I do my best Chuck Norris kick and it flies across the room where some tractor ass chick sits on it and it POPS! I shudder slightly but thank the balloon god it didn't pop by me.

I hate balloons!

I am not sure if it started at my 4th birthday party when one popped by my ear or I don't know if anyone remembers A&W root beer drive in's But when we used to go this dude in a bear costume (root bear) would come out and give us this hard candy that we would choke on later and a balloon. As soon as I seen that muhfugger coming iwould try to make myself as lttle as possible in the back seat and scream my head off. I wonder if he has guilt issues with his thereapist to this day for scaring the crap out of me and giving me a lifetime fear....bastard.

So yeah I think that may be why. I feel better getting this all out, maybe there is a break through in my blogtherapy here.

Saturday, April 4, 2009

Thank God, My moms, My pops,...

I started this blog or writing I don't know how many times.
I want to be thankful for me.
Not to be egotistical, because of all people I know, I, myself am most down on myself, even though I know I am cool as fuck. I just want to thank everyone for who I am.
Like God for one, because of all the times I started this blog, it was about being Lakota. I am so gotdamn thankful for being bron into a culture I totally love, live, appreciate, and breathe everyday. I mean, I LOVE being Lakota. Where else can I get schooled about the "old stories" that were handed down by elders by someone younger than me, other than here? where else can I buy the most ancient and traditional form of art for five bucks on the corner other than here? Where else can I see FLOCKS of other races show up to snag on my people's culture, religion, and art and appreciate more than the average person that was born and raised here? Where else can I be as proud to be where I am from, other than being proud of my culture?
I also want to thank my mom for having me, she made me who I am. Even as much as I fought her through out my life and resisted her ways, her teachings, and everything she did to make me the woman I am, she still made me and she gave me life. no matter what, my mom, at age 17, suffered through 2 days of labor to give me my life. And never once have I regretted this life. I made so many mistakes, turned in so many wrong directions but my moms made me the strong woman I am and will leave a legacy for my daughter to follow. (Just not the mistakes, I hope.)
I want to thank my dad for making me, even in his absence in my life I knew he was missing. ?I felt it. I felt him being gone, and him being back in my life fore the last 20 or so years has been awesome. You also made me, .
Both of my parents, gave me my wit, my outlook on life, my humor, and most of all you gave me life, that I passedon to my beautiful, beautiful children.
Thank you, Mahalo, Danke, Pilamayan. Multiple.

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Life hands you

Life hands you cherries and you eat them even if sour

Life gives you love in all forms

Life gives you dreams attainable at the greatest heights

Life gives you heart to move on

Life gives you hope every spring

Life gives you me to read

Life gives you a Coke and a smile


Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Oh How I Miss IT

You can hear the waves hit against the rocks by the shore. The cattails do a slow dance with each other in the wind. The sun teases your bare shoulders. A fish jumps at a waterbug in the middle of the lake. A piece of driftwood sits smooth and gray from time spent in the water. Rocks are round and colorful just under the surface. A speedboat pulls a laughing water skier by. Oh how I miss you, summertime, if only my youth would visit too.

(from the creative writing challenge group)

Monday, March 23, 2009

It's about teamwork

There is something most people don't know about me. I'm shy. I really am, you probably can't tell from my writing. I have to get really comfortable around someone and then they say "Geez, when we met you was so shy now you don't shut up." I admit, after I am comfy I talk, get sarcastic and say dumb things for self entertainment. My aunt once said, "I never knew you was funny."
I was like "What? You grew up around me and never knew the charm??" Just teasing, but for real, I am shy. I used to know answers at school and never raised my hand, never turned in my paper first, I was just always shy and didn't like to show off, writing is easier. In fact I used to always be picked to go to the spelling contest at Porcupine School every year and I always chose written, until one year my 4th grade teacher who hated me and was so mean said I had to enter the oral division. I was so mad. I hate speaking publicly but I made it to second place. I will forever hate the 3 letter word that took me out to that little witch that smiled when I spelled gem;J-E-M. My shyness and fear of public speaking followed me in college when I had to give a presentation in a classroom of like 40. The presentation was on what was important in our lives and it was a women's college, and every girl there cried when speaking about boyfriends at home and whatnot. I was 30 years old amongst all these 18 and 19 year old chicks, so I let them think that my presentation made me cry when really I cried over the fear of speaking publicly. (I was shaking, yo.)

Anyway I only meant to write about how it is to be Lakota and just confessed what a wuss I am, although if it icomes down to the written word, I am Jedi-like. I just thought of these thoughts the other day after a conversation with one of my inspirations for writing. My mom. She was saying she had watched the Crusaders on SDPBS website, since she is in Oklahoma, and she had mentioned hearing one of the broadcasters talk about our reservation and what a basketball oriented area the reservation is. We then went to talk about how kids around here will play in their backyards, on the streets and anywhere they can put up a basketball goal. Many times there will be no net, but these little kids will all be playing and talking about the local high school players as if they are NBA players, pretending to be them. I remembered that when I was younger, not that I was ever at all athletic (Although I have an outstanding record at rock,paper,scissors.) I remembered other kids on the playground pretending they were high school players from the early 80's and then when I was in high school, I remembered them pretending to be some of my classmates. Basketball is not only a passion here but it also teaches our youth a way of life as a Lakota.

That's what it comes down to. My mom reminded me of that when she mentioned that about the broadcaster saying that our reservation was basketball oriented. She said, " It's not just basketball, it's our way of life. It always has been."
We discussed it further and she had mentioned a familiar scenario with me. She said that when she used to go to Parent Teacher conferences with my younger brothers and sisters the teachers used to tell her "Your kids are quiet, well behaved, but they never raise their hand, yet if I call on them, they always know the answer. Why do you think they won't raise their hand?" I had heard that before at the various schools my kids had gone to off the reservations. My mom simply told her "Even though my kid didn't grow up on the reservation and around their people, they still carry the values. They are not about excelling as an individual, they are more into helping each every individual out as one team."
We discussed how this affected us today and back in the day. Even though it seems that as parents, we don't pass this down, it must be instilled in us from generations before. Our lives are like long ago, we support one another, or we know that we are supposed to. We had to help each other, work together, as a people to even survive. This trait has somehow survived throughout the generations, we are not about ourselves as an individual, but we are about us as a Lakota.
And that is why all the legendary basketball teams in the state are from the Pine Ridge Reservation.
As a Lakota people, let's never lose that.

Sunday, March 22, 2009


(thanks to Amy for the word)

Distance take me far from here

Out of my life and far over there

Take me over the terracotta rooftops in Southern Italy

Take me from the blowing trash of this poverty

Take me to endless sunsets in the Pacific seas

Take me far from social disease

Take me where guns don't exist

And gorillas live in harmony in the mist

Take me over the rainbow in a field of poppies

To the wise talking trees

Where hobbits live and dance all night

Take me away from this fight

Take me from blowing trash

Where statistics thrash

Where homeless are rampant

Pockets full of lint

Heartache on a daily

I turn off the TV

Distance turns to real life

On this rez in it's all glory and strife

Friday, March 20, 2009

Don't call me Native American, Dammit!

Ok this started with a link I put up earlier. It's a local story here about teens shooting at homeless Indians in Rapid City. Rapid is so backwards with racism. You would think after all these years and a city that is pretty much surrounded by nine reservations, they would accept Indians. Many people move off the reservation to the nearest city in the hopes of a better life for their young families. I did this when I was 19 and pregnant. I soon moved to Minnesota because I couldn't get past how I was treated and in turn it was making me racist towards non-Indians.

Anyways, one person amongst the many that think we (Indians) are making too big of a deal over the shootings and piss throwing, is irate over the fact that the newspaper calls us Native Americans. Not mad at the issue of racism, throwing of human waste, or hate crimes, but the fact that the newspaper, not us, called us Indians Native Americans. They say something like "Hey I was born and raised here, I'm a white Native American."

First off let me start by saying the term Native American was created by some noopid twit in the 60's who thought that calling us Native American was supposed to be a "politcally correct" and more polite term of saying "Hey, all you 500 tribes here in America, we have a new label for you."

More and more newspapers and other media outlets are calling us Native Americans. At this point, along with some others, I don't think we really care about the political correctness because as the commenter said "I was born here too." They're right. We are all native to somewhere.

The big deal with the word Indian is some believe that Columbus named us that and some believe it was derived from the word Indios. Well let me quote my mentor columnist Tim Giago here.

~I am a firm believer that most historians are wrong when they credit Christopher Columbus for coining the word "Indian" because he thought he was landing his ships in India. In 1492 there was no country known as India. Instead that country was called Hindustan. I think that is closer to the truth that the Spanish padre that sailed with Columbus was so impressed with the innocence of the Natives he observed that he called them Los Ninos in Dios. My spelling may be wrong on the Spanish words, but the description by the padre means something like "Children of God." ~

Who knows where the word came from, but I like to think that Columbus didn't give it to us, since for centuries it was also believed that he discovered America. It was also believed he was a hero and not a murdering, pillaging, rapist. What do we know.

Screw labels, but if you must, please don't refer to me as a Native American. Call me American Indian if it makes you feel more politically correct, call me Oglala Lakota Sioux if you want to get technical or just Lakota for short. Call me a Skin if you're a skin too. Or call me Dana, if you know me.

Every human being that landed on the shores of America was an immigrant. They came to this land from Europe bringing along their baggage filled with religious strife and racial prejudice. They discovered that this was not an empty land, but a land filled with thousands upon thousands of industrious and spiritual people. They took from the Natives their industriousness in order to survive and crushed the spiritual because it was not only beyond their comprehension, but a challenge to the teachings of their Holy Bible.
~Tim Giago,

Thursday, March 19, 2009

there was a time

there was a time when i thought the tooth fairy was real and i could catch him

there was a time when i thought i could run barefoot for the rest of my life

there was a time when a blue popsicle made my world ok

there was a time when i thought i would live by an eastern shore

there was a time when sunsets were prettier than sunrises

there was a time when blowing every dandelion seed meant my wishes would come true

there was a time when i thought i would live happily ever after

there was that time

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Grandmas Soup Pots

This pot (Not the pot pictured) was at my house since last summer. I guess when my aunt's were staying with me they borrowed it from my gram without her knowing and then they moved out. I had no idea where it came from but it was nice, copper bottom and really cooked good. So I just assumed it was mine.

After that my grandma passed away. One day my uncle came down here and was talking to me, he seen me making soup in the pot but said nothing until later that night, he called me slightly intoxicated.

I wanted to tell you at your house but do you know where that soup pot came from, with the copperbottom?

Actually, no. I said as I lovingly washed the pot. (I love doing dishes while talking on the phone, it makes the chore seem less so.)

Well when mom was alive she got after me and argued with me about that pot. She loved it and she blamed me for stealing it or never giving it back. It turned into a two week feud. i don't want it now, he said. I just thought I would let you know that. I saw it on your stove and wondered if you knew that. Take care of it.

I put it in the strainer to dry and cried while I watched it dry.

I had no idea it was hers but now that I knew, it made me miss her again. How do I numb the loss of her I thought, everytime I use it I will think of her.

My man lost his grandma almost 3 years ago. He still cries fo her once in awhile. Grandmas are strong women, living longer than everyone and knowing SO much more. The Indian grandma always steps in and raises her grandkids also. Like a protective lion over her young, she makes sure they have enough to eat, a place to sleep and so on.

He went down to his grandma's house whenever we got our big order of porcupine quills in to get the pot his grandma used to dye her quills in. It took us 3 days to dye the quills. The first day we had decided to make chili and cornbread. Chili was one of my gram's specialties. I can't make it like her but I try with alot of tomatoes, onion and seasonings. You could smell it along with the vinegar and dye we had boiling for dying the quills.

I looked at the two pots, both boiling and serving the same purpose they had when the grandmother's were here and alive. The same things, loves, and ways of life our grandmother's passed along to us.

We will probably never get over the loss of our grandmothers but seeing the two pots boiling, well it was a beautiful thing.

Monday, March 16, 2009

The Pride of Being Lakota

Last Saturday night I watched the Lady Thorpes in the State A Championship game. i watched it with nostalgia that took probably many of us 20 years back to the first time the Lady Thorpes brought it back.

I was just a cheerleader then, but I remember the feeling of winning it all. I remember there was never another high like that in my 17 years. I remember after it was over and we went back to the hotel there was a buffet set up for us. We all started grabbing sodas and food, we were treated like queens, but we couldn't understand why there was beer in the ice next to the sodas. Is this because we are off the rez?" We wondered. Then a few uptight ladies came running over and made us put the sodas back informing us that the food was for the girls and fans from Spearfish. So after being burned like that we all just threw each other in the pool. We screamed and war hooped as late as we could and woke up early to take the trophy back home.

nobody on the East River knew who we was, or cared that we just won state. It hit us when we went through Mission, the rival rez, they held signs up congratulating us. A little past Martin there were people lined on the sides of the road, honking and screaming. I think everyone of us in the bus was crying.

That was when it hit me that we weren't just proud to be Thorpes, but we was proud to be Lakota.

See there is this pride inside of us all that maybe stayed there after we were froced on reservations, forced into boarding schools, forced to speak English and cut our hair. Maybe our growth as a nation and people was halted by all this a hundred or so years ago. But that fighting spirit inside of every Lakota you ever meet is and always will be there, whether it be on the basketball court, in education, through art...we live in these conditions forced upon us by the government but each day, the pride of being Lakota makes us fight on to have at least that. Pride.

Thank God everyday for blessing you with being Lakota.

Thanks to the Pine Ridge Lady Thorpes for showing us that pride on Saturday and good luck to the Red Cloud Crusader boys team next week at the State A championship, we believe in you. Good luck to my little tahunsi Kiley.

Friday, March 13, 2009

Grandma Backpack

This is a story that I have to tell, no matter what anyone thinks of me.

Last year when football season started, I bought some ribs and some beer. It was like in September and if you know me I love football. Well to make a long story short, cops busted in my door and took us in to jail for drinking, it's illegal here, if you didn't know that.

The jail here, you do 8 hours in a drunk tank with about 14 other people before they switch you over to the inmate housing. Then after the next shift comes in, you get to make phone calls and get out for $35. So I get out and go on with life.

I have court over the $35 fine coming up and can't get off work to go to court, can't postpone it because about 100 other people have court at the same time, the same day. They usually just drop the charge and give everyone their $35 back, big waste of time and money, in my opinion.

Anyways, so I consult a tribal lawyer, which here a tribal lawyer takes a test, I think and pays $50 for thier license...anyway she tells me if I don't show up for court that I would be forfieting my $35 fine. Fine, I thought, they can have the $35.

Fast forward to Christmas 2008. I have a friend who at the time was only 20. Can you ride with me to Whiteclay and buy me a 6 pack of Smirnoff Ice. Just go to the first bar I tell her, the guys a perv and don't card girls. I tried, he's not working, she said. I'll give you 5 bucks. OK, I say.

I get my shoes on and we leave. We are followed by a cop. He doesn't stop us until we are halfway there. To make another long story short, my fine wasn't forfeited and I had a bench warrant for it. I was non-bondable on Christmas and the next day of court was on New Year's Eve. So I sat for what seemed like forever but it was only 7 days.

And our jail is new, so it's like camp without the outdoors. There are four girls to a pod of two bunks and my bunkmates were all funny as hell. But it's not a cell, just like a big dorm.

I was in there with an older lady named Darlene. "Grandma Backpack" is what they call her because every where she goes she is seen with her camoflauge backpack. She called us all "my girl..." shared her food with us and talked to us.

Most of the time, I see her standing in the border town of Whiteclay, drinking with the rest of the homeless, though she isn't homeless. She always has something in her backpack for you, new shampoo or whatever she can sneak in there in stores. Sometimes she sells those things, sometimes she just give them away. She was the same in jail, giving things to everyone. Helping everyone out.

She was the only one not worried about using her phone calls for bail money, she called looking for her backpack. When she finally located it 2 days and 4 phone calls later, she relaxed and waited for a TR bond. (temporary release)

I was in a funk, it was the holidays and here I was, as if I was this horrid criminal. I read as many books as I could (one a day) and swore when I got out I was never gonna ever gonna watch The Wedding Singer again. See there is a TV and VCR in there and everytime a new load of girls came in, they watched The Wedding Singer as if it was brand new. And now I hate that movie with a passion, in fact when everyone went to church, I hid it.

When Grandma Backpack got a TR bond before the rest of us, she went around giving everyone stuff she had collected, like coffee packets from church, little candybars from church, magazines from the library, when she got to me, all she had was a piece of paper with a Bible verse. I'm not big on church or anything, but I took it to use as a bookmark and gave her a hug.

When I read the piece of paper, I smiled.

It said this.

"I am important. God has a purpose for my life therefore I have hope." Ephesians 2:10

Aftert that I took as many pieces of the Yatzhee scorepad papers as I could and started writing this. You see Grandma Backpack didn't have anything to give me but that piece of paper. But she gave me so much more than that. She gave me hope, and no matter what I do in life, I know there is a purpose. At this point I am still writing, in longhand the book that she finally made me start that day.

I don't know when I will really finish Modern Day Tales from The Rez, but at least I started it.

(translated from the back of 6 pages of Yahtzee scoresheets.)

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

The Condiment Queen

I did it again last night. Supper was late due to no ride and the air outside froze your nostrils up. so when my cousin James gave us a ride the only place open was the local convenience store, Big Bat's. I bought 12 pieces of chicken and jojo potatoes. I then remembered I was out of ketchup at the house so went to the free condiment table and it was like...


I went for the ketchup but the honey was in the way so I swiped a fistfull of honey, and sweet and sour. There was also barbecue sauce, who knows, my boys might dip their chicken in that. Salt and pepper are always good. I don't use salt but it comes in handy, heck in jail you use it to barter with. I also grabbed some mustard to mix with the honey. i went bonkers.

I love condiments! To me they are the most amazing invention in the modern free world. They are like pre-packaged mini wateca, and when I see them I lose all control. I bet there isn't an Indian woman or woman for that matter that don't have a pkg of salt stashed somewhere, purse, bra, in a corner in her house somewhere. And you know we all have "that drawer" at home, that contains enough condiments to cook with.

I remember being at orientation for a job and there was a brunch table. I was waiting for a co worker to sit down so I could stuff my purse with a bagel and doughnut when I saw it, little flavored cream cheese! I swiftly took a look around and grabbed eight of those suckers.

Behold, you have met a Condiment Queen.

Check this out, they have brown sugar and vinegar too!

Click HERE

A-1 sauce...oh I must have it!

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

The Wachinko Warrior


This story was inspired by many a brother in law, brother, uncle and friends. It was contributed in part by a couple of girls I met in passing. Like the legend of the Wateca Warrior Princess, there is a legendary warrior in every family, the Wachinko Warrior.

The Wachinko Warrior was probably babied by mom or grandma and knows he has someplace to go if he gets kicked out of his house, like once a week. He has many friends and cousins that will keep him too. Not particularly because he is charming, or maybe he is...and that is why he gets kicked out. He was probably looking at his woman's friend or watching Taylor Swift on TV all "some-how."

Anyway the Wachinko Warrior travels lightly, usually his wachinko bag is a shopping bag, which is good because he is aware of the envirmoent and recycles. It is often referred to as a "go to hell" bag and it's only packed for the moment. I will tell you what everyone thinks is in the wachinko bag and what really is in it.

This is what his mom wants to be in the bag:

A comb, toothbrush, soap,extra roll of toilet paper, condom, because if her baby really does that he needs to be safe, his ID, a phone card to call mom so she can go pick him up, a lunchable, extra change of clothes and clean socks and underwear.

This is what his wia (woman) wants in the bag:

A picture of her, a phone card, no change of clothes because he will be back and her chonies.

This is what his other girlfriend wants in the bag, the one he thinks he is going to be with for a night but she thinks its forever:

His ID, to start a new life with her, a condom, something to drink, his EBT card to wine and dine her, and a coupan for windshield repair.

This is what is actually in the bag:

A clean pair of chonies.

I know this because I had to house many wachinko warriors for the night. And the one that was at the doorstep, with a laundry basket full of his woman's underwear, you know who you are.

Remember the next time you see a man walking, trying to keep his head up proudly but you can see the single tear on one side like Iron Eyes Cody, with the recycled shopping bag in his hand, looking lost, that is, my friends, the Wachinko Warrior.

Saturday, March 7, 2009

Fried Macaroni and Cheese

Certain things in life make you happy. Happy at that moment, happy to be alive and experiencing it.

Like giving birth to a child, a very painful journey in itself but I did it four times, know why. That moment they give you your beautiful baby makes it all worth it. Makes you feel happy to be alive, powerful as a woman that you have just given life, a living, breathing baby that will depend on you forever. Someone that will love you unconditionally and that you will protect fiercely.

Another moment is seeing you kids do something that is unselfish, something as simple as bringing you a dandelion, no matter how many times it happens it makes me tear up and be happy to be alive.

Or it could be something as simple as laying on a comfy couch with a quilt, while it is rainging and you are still kind of in the middle of what is a great book, one of those books that plays in your head like a movie as you read it, you have hot coffee on a table nearby and your cat purring on your lap.

Or it could be going to a bar with your friends and everyone laughs all night.

Or it could be waking up to a clean house, that smells like coffee.

These are all moments to live for...they make life worth fried macaroni and cheese.

Friday, March 6, 2009

The Red Door

At one time this was a happening place. A gas station back in the day of full service, when 3 cute guys would come out at the ring of a bell and service your car before you and your family went down the turnpike to the beach for the day. Old men would go there and sit on their haunches and spit tobacco while talking to the owner about what was happening in their small town, they would talk about things like who won at bridge, who came over for dinner on Sunday, and how their grandkids were getting up there in age, soon being going off to that Bible college. The owner and his family prospered from this full service station. They prospered enough to have a big house that his wife polished every wood thing in it on a daily basis and cooked full meals from recipes handed down to her from her mom and mother in law. They ate meatloaf once a week and thought it was a sin that such a thing as TV dinners were invented and her peach pie was the best in 3 counties and had 2 blue ribbons to prove it. She hemmed clothes while watching their TV and mended socks. She even needlepointed their pillowcases and lovingly ironed everything in their house. She smoked cigarettes and drank vodka when no one was looking. Then one day she was gone, no one ever knew where she went or what happened to her. Rumors were that she ran off with a young man but in truth she ran off with her sisiter in law. Her husband stopped watching the full service garage, their children moved from town when the garage stoppped bringing in money, the woman was happy somewhere on the East Coast with her sister in law. The man drank himself to death and the garage became what it is now, just a red door in the midwest. But the woman, well she never mended another sock again in her life.

(OK that wasn't a true story but I like making things up to my sisters pictures. I call it a sisterly picture challenge.)

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

curdled dream

Everything I thought

never would be


Everything I wanted

never came


Someday I will be

and will have

but for now it is not


i will still rise


like a curdled dream

Saturday, February 28, 2009

Now....I love penguins

See that pic of my daughter with my siblings. See my evil little sister in the middle. That penguin hater! Who likes taking pics with her broom because she's a little witch...anyway.

I can say that because I am older, smarter and more brilliant..and quite simply a bad ass...well anyway she hates penguins. I don't know why! I am obsessed with why anyone would hate any of God's little precious creatures but to hate penguins is just pure evil. They have hard lives, I watched MArch of the Penguins, Happy Feet...why oh why hate them???

So I been on messenger with her and sending her penguin factoids. I never been one of those chicks that was all weird and obsessed with dolphins or turtles or something but just because of her I THINK I NOW LOVE PENGUINS.

Did you know penguins don't jump...they bounce?

Amazing...I want a penguin.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

I used to eat dirt

I did.

My brother who stole toys from the neighborhood and crapped his pants in front of half the neighborhood was considered normal. I ate dirt, when I wasn't eating sunflower seeds and had my nose constantly stuck in a book. When I wasn't writing wild stories about things that didn't really exist. When I wasn't running from monsters that didn't really chase me. When I wasn't talking to the rabbits in their house. When I wasn't walking way out in the country and pretending to get lost. When I wasn't looking for treasure that I was sure Jesse James buried back in they day. When I wasn't pretending to be Laura Ingalls not of the TV series but of the books.

I used to eat dirt....and brown crayons.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

What a cryin, low down, dirty shame

Isn’t it a Shame?

Imagine this, you are not from here but are gambling at the local casino. You hit a jackpot and take your honey to eat at the buffet. After stuffing your body and purse with food you make your way to the gift shop to buy your honey some of the beautiful local handmade artwork of the local tribe. When you get there you find that hardly ANY of the artwork in the gift shop is locally made. In fact most of it is from another tribe in the Southwest.
What a shame!
Did our tribe or our people that are employed at the local casino really make a trip to the southwest and buy all of their jewelry?
When I worked at The Heritage Center at Red Cloud School, many people came from many different tribes, from around the country, and the world even, to buy the local arts and crafts. As Lakota, we have a reputation for our art on every level, both traditional and contemporary. So it disappoints me to see the casino gift shop highlight the artwork of another tribe, that isn’t even local. It’s as if there are no artists among us when we all know there are.
How can we deny local artists and craftspeople of that sale? We have a plethora of local artists in many, many different mediums that there is no reason that any gift shop two days from this reservation should highlight the artwork of a tribe that is states away. There is no reason for a local gift shop to highlight the Southwest jewelry of a market that is already flooded.
I mean if we really think about it, and think of the many wonderful local artists who paint, carve, bead, quill, quilt, etc, why do we need to carry silverwork of another tribe? Why do most of the gift shops in the Black Hills carry southwest work? If we go to the Southwest, are we going to see our Lakota artwork featured?
The economy in this day and age is tough enough, but on this reservation it is always tough. I don’t need to go over statistics again for this reservation, don’t need to tell anyone how hard life is here. All you have to do to see how hard life is here for some people is step out your front door. Everyday is a struggle and a scheme for many.
So why is the featured art at our local casino from the Southwest? That is a slap in the face to all the local talent and creativity. All the money spent on that inventory could have been spent here on this reservation. Everyday someone here sits at their kitchen table beading, quilling, painting, carving, putting diamonds together for a starquilt, putting the ear hooks on a pair of earrings in the hopes that they can go out and sell whatever they made to buy diapers, a meal, put gas in their car, or propane in their tank for heat.
To all the local artists, I thank you for your creativity and heart you put into your work. Keep it up and speak out for what you believe in.

Monday, February 23, 2009

The Day of The Wino

There is this wine, I think it is called muscatel. And I heard it is a dessert wine from Spain. For years, maybe even decades, it was considered the worst thin g that could ever happen to this reservation. Winos were laughed at and looked down upon for drinking the muscatel. It was considered illegal, well it still is.

Any alcohol is illegal here. But back in the day, when my gramps was alive, he drank wine sometimes. Mostly he drank beer. But he would sit down on "bullshit corner" with the other vets and old guys and have a nip of thier vino while talking about life in general, rez gossip and grandkids. They were harmless people, gentle strangers to all and old buddies to each other that met up in the middle of town to sit and talk about life. Maybe thier lives on a reservation were so hard or as a veteran it was so stressful they had to nip. Or maybe they nipped because they wanted to.

But back then they (the winos) were accepted in this society. They didn't harm anyone, had great stories, and stayed out of the way of everyone.

Nowadays the cops took that part of our society away. They are full force in getting alcohol off the streets of the rez, that they actually helped the drug dealers profit. Cocaine is a major problem here, along with meth and taluu, which is paint thinner.

It is easier on this reservation to be a coke dealer than to be a wino. Which is why we are a mess here today in .

Here on this reservation, it is easier for cops to bust the person who will drink a beer rather than take on a coke dealer, who may or may not be a cop or related to a cop or related to someone on tribal council. The old vets and old guys can't sit in peace on the corner anymore and bullshit. They have to resort to drinking awful awful shit they never would have before.

As Lakota, we were proud warriors, are still a proud people, as a functioning society... we are fucked.
(Don't expect this in the paper, they don't print me anymore. *fuckers*)

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Only On The Rez

-Snow is a good thing because it covers the trash.
-Spring means forgotten trash and mud.
-Christmas is really tax season and Santa works for H&R Block.
-Jealousy and love is measured in broken windows and windshields.
-It don't count if your 3rd cousins or more.
-Panty Tree is full after the prom.
-The shoulder of the road on the way to the dump is called the "trash lane" so those hauling trash can drive slowly there.
-Stray dogs are legendary and have names, just no homes.
-Everyone that makes popovers sit in the same place and sell the same thing, thus I dubbed it Popover Wars.
-Someone will steal the cheese out of your fridge but leave your TV alone.
-Someone will steal your air conditioner out of your window while it is running and you are sitting by it.
-You can get "death by cream corn" when someone throws commod cans at you.

You all heard the term before, "Only on the Rez..." Almost everyday, so please if you live here or ever lived here or on any rez...please add to this phrase in the comments.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Without Grams

Without Grams
By: Dana Lone Hill

It has been awhile since I lost my Grams, and I am not used to it. I have a hard time adjusting, I cry, fight these feelings and try hard to forget my pain of life without her. I even talk to people, friends, relatives and ask them “How?”
How do I get over losing my grams? She’s gone…and how do I deal with it? You know what people tell me? They say it takes time; you will be alright, ok Dana. And then they tell me how it was to lose their Grandma and how they dealt with it. Then they cry after awhile and they can’t handle the pain of losing their grams, the woman that set the path in thier lives, the woman who taught them, like my gram taught me- to be strong and not take crap from anyone. And now all of a sudden, I have to go through the rest of my life without her. How do I do that? I realized after seeing, hearing, and lending my shoulder to more than a few, that no matter what my Grams wasn’t coming back here on Earth to be here for me. I realized how selfish I was to think she would stay here on Earth for me and only me forever.
No longer could I just pick up the phone and ask about important things or talk about things that mattered to me, in life, like I tried to do so many times in the last few months.
Yes, Grams I did vote for Barack.
How do you make creamed peas?
Is there school tomorrow?
Do you know how the weather will be?
Grandma, you know the Vikings rule.
Can you please tell me the secret to your potato salad?
I know you love the Cubs, but you know the Yankees rule,
How come you never told me Elvis was so cool?

I started thinking about all the seemingly stupid questions and statements I bothered her with and started thinking about how she put up with me. I love my grandmother truly and deeply but what can I do? I can’t wave a magic wand and bring her back. Then the other day during the Superbowl, I realized she didn’t leave me.
It was in the middle of frying chicken that I thought of how I called her one other time during the Super bowl from Minnesota and pleaded for her to teach me to make fried chicken.
I must have taught you well, she said, because I am making fried chicken too. We stayed on the phone for the next two hours burning up my phone bill and she taught me to fry chicken, her way. She also taught me potato salad that day, and although it is good, it is not the secret recipe that I think she took to heaven with her. I started thinking of all the other things she taught me in life, like my deep appreciation for sports, my soft spot for cats and dogs, my awesome sense of humor and my ability to write. I didn’t know she wrote until I saw an article she wrote for The Lakota Times way back when her mother and my great grandmother passed away, in her honor.
Her honoring her mother through writing for her inner strength made me realize that those we were raised by and grew up with don’t really leave us. They stay with us by all the inner strength they passed on, skills they passed on, and things they taught us about life…like a simple bowl of potato salad.

Monday, February 9, 2009

The Legend of the $2 Shit

When my mom lived in South St. Paul MN, (or was it West, I get them confused) she lived about a block from Walgreens. One thing I never knew from growing up on the reservation is that a city can just turn your water off...for not paying your bill. I knew like lights and stuff can go off but WATER???? I guess for civilized folks thats easy to see, but water? lol. Now I know how my ancestors felt back in the day when they thought "How the hell do you sell land?"

So by the time my mom lived in South St Paul (or West), I was used to the concept of getting water turned off, being I was 32 I had to hustle around a time or two to pay the bill just to have the luxury of flushing the toilet, which brings me to my story of my brother Jesse.

When my mom's water got shut off, instead of waiting for her to pay the bill later in the day, he trucks it to Walgreens' buys two gallons of drinking water just so he can walk back to her house and take a shit to flush the toilet, thus became the Legend of the $2 Shit.

What I never understood was why didn't he just use the public restroom at Walgreen's, then again when men shit they like to take over 20 minutes and marinate in their own stink.

(pictured above is the reciept from the $2 shit that my mom saved, god I love my family!)

Sunday, February 8, 2009

Just an update

Finally bought a new computer and it is sweet.
I am apprenticing as a quiller....sweeter.
I will post a pic of all the quill colors I dyed in the last two days.

I have learning everything from plucking a porc to picking quills that are the right size....all that is left is the wrapping and damn if it isn't hard.

I believe I learned the right way though, from the beginning. The process is long and hard and time consuming.
In these steps.
Getting a dead porcupine, usually roadkill but I just purchased 5 pounds from Montana and there was hardly any hair at all in them.
Washing the quills with Dawn dishsoap to get the dirt and grease off.
Rinsing them then soaking them in fabric softener so they don't get staticky.
Next you lay them out and let them dry, always turning so they air dry.
After you boil your dye and dye the quills which is a time consuming process in itself because they quills have to constantly be watched and turned, in order for the right color.
After rinsing the color off they need to be dried again....then they are ready to be picked looking for the right size.
When that is done you must select a pattern and trace onto rawhide. The pattern is then cut very carefully with an Xacto blade.
You choose the colors for the pattern and proceed to wrap the item you just cut out. After the item is wrapped you then prepare it for sale, such as putting on earwire or jump rings ot necklace clasps or a leather tie.
Hu, and some people thought it was just a pair of earrings.
This is tradition that carried on into the contemporary age.
Pictured above is an earring and necklace set by Anita Big Crow Begay.

Here are the quills before I dyed all of them.
Picture 005

After I dyed them
Picture 034

Picture 035

Colors you never seen in quill work

Saturday, February 7, 2009


The man with the shiny pipe puffing out cherry tobacco smoke looked at the modern day warrior and said:

What is the belief of your people on heaven and hell?

The modern day warrior stood by the pool table in the polished area of this man's house that he just met at the bar. He wore a leather jacket, was smoking a cigarette, and held the bottle of rum the man gave him to swig on. He took a long drag of his smoke, a gulp of the rum and answered:

There is no heaven or hell. Our lives here on Earth are as bad as it gets. This is our hell, heaven is next.

The man with a collection of fossils encased in locked cases worth more than the young warrior's income, snorted:

Ha, no wonder your peoplewere bad ass warriors. I would ride into battle too if life here was hell!

He laughed as the modern warriors realized all of his ways of beliefs from generations back suddenly came to a halt, by this man, he met in a bar.

The man sharpens his pool cue and swigs the rest of his brandy:

But what if, what if hell is really night after night of twisted dreams and heaven is when we awake...and then, there is nothing else?

Monday, January 5, 2009 and death by post it note...

She was tired. She worked for a non profit trying to save the world.

Her days faded to nights and most the time she only remembered her head hitting the pillow.

She woke with a hangover, head pounding. It had become a habit to buy a bottle of gin on her bus ride back. After her divorce and her ex was awarded full custody, she had nothing but her Tanqueray and tonic, and her cat. She would drown herself in gin to forget the problems of her clients.

"Your daughter called, you missed her birthday party last night." Her co worker yelled at her.

She forgot? How could she? She went to her office and looked at her desk. there was post it notes layered and piled everywhere. She knew she wrote it on a pink one, she began peeling off the layers of post it notes.

Doctor's appointments, clients appointments, vet appointments, reminders to buy this, pick up that.....until under a note about an appt. at court, she found it. Her baby girls birthday party reminder.

She looked at her post its, layered everywhere. In those layers was a life she didn't live. A life that slipped through her fingers by post it note.

Little reminders that faded from time....