Finding My Voice

Closed

2011-09-21T10:53:00.001-07:00

I am moving.....sorry for the inconvenience but this shit ain't cutting it anymore. I love my blog but blogspot is going to hell! With all their spam comments and non fixing tech people...http://justarezchick.wordpress.com/You can read me here from now on.Thanks for reading....really. I'm crazy and don't know why people read me but they do....and thanks.I might import these blogs to wordpress if I could figure the shit out.Hope to see you there.

Don't pity the poor

2011-09-14T11:15:00.001-07:00

I watched CNN this morning and they did a special on the poor.
When I say I "watched" it, what I mean is I listened to it. I listen to CNN in my sleep and lay awake after the alarm goes off and don't open my eyes until the snooze goes off again.
So as I was listening to the report on the poverty in America, and all the hatred this nation has for the poor. As if poor was a choice.
There was one lady who was poor all her life and just got stuck in that lifestyle, brought kids in the world, into that lifestyle. Now those kids are living that lifestyle, the statistics of those kids making it out of that lifestyle are slim.
I am poor. My family is poor. We have a roof over our head but we are poor. We have internet that we really do struggle to pay each month, along with all our other bills but we are poor. My children and I have Medicaid and get food stamps and we live in an apartment above my mom. My mom doesn't have health insurance and I wished she did. So many people think you automatically get free healthcare just because you are an Indian, but that's not true. That is true if you choose to live on the reservation but once you move off, the healthcare doesn't exist. And you can ask anyone that lives on the rez, the healthcare isn't the greatest.
I am poor, but not as poor as some people, but according to the charts and graphs, yes I am.
I have met people homeless. I have met people who live either without water, plumbing, electricity, and/ or heat. Some people don't care and will make a home out of a broken down trailer. They try to make it as cozy and comfy as can because it's theirs. Have you ever taken the time to sit and talk to some of these people. I have. I have talked to them, hired them, and had a beer or two with them. I had neighbors who didn't have electricity. Sometimes they cooked on top of their wood stove, sometimes they cooked outside on a grill or a fire pit.
Sure they drank everyday, but seriously their chances of getting a real job, like everyone bitches about poor people getting off their asses and getting a job, were slim. Think of the homeless and poor and their hygiene and tell me you would give them a 9 to 5. They drink because it is their escape from their life as it is now. The hope they have is just to make it through one day to the next so they could scheme again for that next drink to make them forget the real struggle of trying to fit in a world that hates them.
My neighbor could fix any car and put a fence up in a couple of hours. He could light a furnace, winterize your house and whatever other small job was needed. And at times when people I knew stole from my house, such as steaks out of my freezer....my neighbor would watch my house if I wasn't there.
He was poor but him and his wife would have given me their last cup of coffee.
I am not writing this because I believe the poor need pity. Believe me that is the last thing they want is pity. I am writing this to let you know, don't hate them. They didn't draw a picture of a poor person in 1st grade and say "When I grow up I want to be poor so America can hate me." No, they drew a picture of a singer, a rock star, a teacher, an artist, and in my case, a cashier (for real) too. They had dreams and somewhere along the way, those dreams dimmed until they ceased to burn anymore and the only dream was to exist in this world, as a poor person.
Don't hate poor people, don't pity them, just understand they never wanted to be poor.
After all, not everyone can be as lucky as you are. Remember just because you might have your menu planned for the next two weeks or just for tonight, just because you ain't feeling the hard times that are happening, doesn't mean there aren't people out there struggling on a daily basis.

Change

2011-09-12T06:24:00.001-07:00

I said a couple of weeks ago I was homesick.
One of my bros said "in due time."
He meant, of course, when I get off paper, I can go home.
I can go home now, if I wanted to, but I am scared of messing up....drinking....being driven to drink by the surroundings, yes I am that weak.
Then the more I think of it, do I want to go home? I was there for a few short years and hit bottom....that is all possible always.
So when I say I am homesick, I mean the feeling. Being surrounded by your people, the land, the huge huge beautiful sky that is only that beautiful in the Pine Ridge Rez. The feeling of the culture that is so alive as it was a hundred years ago. I am very proud to be from Pine Ridge and to know that we still have our ways.But I am also leery of the new ways, the turning to alcohol and drugs because you can't find work, the turning to alcohol and drugs because you did find work....I used every excuse I had until I had no more.It came down to my addiction.
Yes, I can live on the rez, with my addiction.
The question is, can I do it?
I am not sure about that yet.
I am not sure about moving home yet, not sure of myself yet.
I know things will be different, but that's a given...things change.
Always.
Will there ever be those days of sitting around a fire listening to my dad tell stories while we make soup on the fire? I hope so.
Will I ever move into my old house? I don't think so.
Will I ever be able to live there again and still be friends with the ones I was with before? Will I be able to be sober there?
Everything changes all the time, feelings change, things move on....people change. I told a friend the other day, I realized with age, that things changes so much and so fast that if you want to say something, you better say it. Do things you want to and love and live life in the moment....because someday you are going to sit there and realize there is no going back. There is no DeLorean to take you back.
I am happy in this time in my life, if I move, I have my eyes on a small town not far from here....that's if. I fell in love with it.
I am still homesick, yes- I will always miss the rez.
I am also homesick for the past.
But the realization that life changes, was hard but much needed. I am in the moment and loving life as is now.

Preview~Pointing With Lips

2011-09-01T17:07:00.001-07:00

As it got dark out, we could hear the traffic and noises from the pow wow. I don't like going to the pow wow because it is so busy, it's like being in Wal-Mart when food stamps come out, and I just get too frustrated, but I do love being able to sit in my backyard and enjoy the drumming and singing.

I sat, relaxed, and watch my brothers and our kids all run around catching fireflies to make a lantern. Times like these, I love being from the reservation. The kids knew they could get their uncle to tell a story if they got enough fireflies. Mark was great at making up stories off the top of his head. It was definitely very interesting to have a hand in raising him, which always falls in the hands of the oldest sister, no matter what.

When Uncle Mark measured the firefly light and he determined that that was definitely enough light for story telling, he gathered all the kids around.

He takes a swig of his beer and puts it down:

"OK kids, today I am going to tell you of a contest, an event that happens in the district of Two Left Feet." He looks around for drama's sake.

"Where's that at?" One of the kids interrupts and gets shushed from the other kids. They all know Uncle Mark tends to pout when interrupted.
Mark goes on "This is the story of Chepa Big Buffalo and the Mr. Commod Bod championship."
One of the kids said "Nay-oh" but everyone else remained quiet to hear the story.
Mark gets his glazed look that could be from the story telling or from the beer and his voice changes to that of a woman's.

"Would you like more to eat, Chepa?" Chepa's mom, Verna, is standing above him with a skillet full of scrambled powdered eggs and a spatula. There was also fried potatoes and onions simmering in oil in a skillet on the stove. In another skillet the luncheon meat was slowing to a sizzle since Verna had just turned it off.
Chepa was still chewing, he motioned for seconds with his hand. He nodded his head and shoved the plate towards his mom. He knew his mom turned commods into heaven. He has been living at home for all of his 33 years, well except for a couple of stints in JDC and one time when he tried to go to job corps, that didn't work out and Verna had to drive all night to pick him up.
One day, when his rap career got the jumpstart it needed he would buy his mom a house with a brand new six burner stove, he only imagined what she could cook with a six burner stove. The chefs on FoodTV had nothing on his mama. Even though he was almost full his stomach growled.
She was made for breeding commod bods. She was also the manager and trainer for his dad, Chepa Big Buffalo, Sr. who had won the 4th, 5th, and 6th annual Mr. Commod Bod Championship, Chepa was always proud seeing his dad grab the Golden Brick trophy and a hundred dollars cash. (Now the prize was up to $1,000) After his dad would win, he wouldn't come home for a couple of days, when he did there would be a royal fight between his dad and mom. That always resulted in a shiner on his dad for a few days and hickeys on his mom as they enjoyed the Golden Brick Trophy, because it was always all he had left when he came back.
Now that his dad was no longer here, it was Chepa's turn to take over reign as Mr. Commod Bod, he came a close 2nd last year, and third the year before. Each time losing to Lorenzo Belly Fat. Now that Mr. Belly Fat lost a toe in in a cat fishing accident, the title was up for grabs, as Lorenzo sans little toe, lost that Commod Bod swag that won him the title for 10 years straight. He no longer had that "I just killed two buffalo and walked off the rez" look. That same look that gets skins into fights when they move to cities.
So this year Chepa was ready. Ready to take back the title and bring it home to his mama. The same title his father received 17 years earlier and held onto for 3 straight years. He would do his father proud, because this year there was no Lorenzo Belly Fat.
Today was the big day, and despite hanging over, Chepa was ready. He had a few big cans of fortified malt liquor to help him through the hangover, plus he knew if he drank them, he would get that "just right shine" that was required only of Mr. Olympia's and Mr. Commod Bod's.
As fast as Chepa ate, Verna was there to dish out more. He ate faster than someone with a full set of teeth. "More Mama, more of the fried luncheon meat." he growled in between the forkfuls. The USDA approved can of luncheon meat gave a good gleam to his dark skin and it tasted better than SPAM. But the contestants from the body building competitions and weight lifting contests had to buy their shine. Mr. Olympia himself couldn't shine the way Chepa did when he was hanging over and ate a huge commod breakfast. It also helped right now that there was no air conditioning, the one in the window quit working two summers ago.
Finally after his fourth helping of everything, Chepa let out a long, loud belch that sounded like a herd of buffalo running. Then he drank the rest of his big can of malt and let out another loud belch. Buffalo again, running. He rubs his belly for luck and walks out to the clothes line full of white tank tops or "beaters."
"Chepa!" his mom yells out the window "Your going to town shirts are at the other end of the clothesline, those are the whiter ones."
Sure enough, when Chepa looked, his dingiest, most yellowed tank tops were at the end he was standing at. These were the ones he did his hustling in, cutting wood, gathering cans, tearing the copper out of wires, all in the name of a dollar and a dream, a hustle and a scheme. He walked along the clothesline, letting his hand trail through all his beaters. The next set of beaters were not so dingy-kind of white, wearing around the house kind of beaters. The next set were the ones he snagged in, his around the rez, spittin rhymes at a party kind of beaters. Finally the last set that he walked up to to the brightest white, almost torn from the package of three- white, fresh off the Wal Mart shelf-white. These were Chepa's going to town beaters. They were whiter than the tourists that came to the rez in the summer time to "hippy" it up or the ones that came to "save" the souls of the skins rez-wide. Chepa slipped the beater over his head and savored the smell of bleach that came with it. He pulled this over his tezi (belly) and went back in the house.
Once inside, he walked over to the full length mirror and started tying his bandana over his head, representation was everything, if he represented himself right, he might score an agent today. His mom was watching him down the hallway.
"You're so handsome, I don't know why I don't have any takojas (grand-kids) yet." She said to him.
"Don't worry Ma, once I win this, I'm going to use the money to get my rap cd cut, then you will be complaining that you have too many takojas, in every district!" She smiled as she was folding a basket full of his tank tops.
Cheap took one more look in the mirror before he left. His shine was in full force, you would be able to find him on the darkest night in a blackout. His tank top hugged every roll and stretched tight over his belly like a drum. His jeans hung onto his body for dear life. Hanging low where he should have had an ass and no matter how much he hiked 'em up, his butt crack always managed to peek out and give the world a sideways smile.
He gave his jeans one more tug, "I'm ready Ma." He said as he made his way to the front door.
Verna followed him out and handed him his sunglasses, aviators-AIM Movement style, he should have had an earring, dammit, he thought.
"Thanks Ma" He gets in the passenger seat of his mom's car and pulls the mirror down to check himself out with the shades on, he wished he had thick hair to be able to grow braids, maybe he'll try again. After all, he not only plans on winning this title, but hanging onto it for a few years. This contest was on his 10 year plan. The air conditioner in the car didn't work either and even though the breeze from the window was cooling him off, he didn't worry about losing his shine, it clung to him always. He knew once he got on that stage, the sun beating down on him would simmer him and make him shine up like a new penny.
The parking lot was crowded. This was the last day of the four annual end of summer competitions. The first held a couple of days ago was the Commodity Cook Off, Chepa had meant to go, but got lost on his way, hence the hangover. The second one, Miss Chokecherry Eyes was held last night, crowning the winyan with the most outstanding eyes, and ability to remember the traditions of use of the canpos-chokecherries, food of the Lakota. Earlier that day they had the frybread eating contest, using the wojapi from the Miss Chokecherry Eyes competition. And the best was saved for last.
Mr. Commod Bod.
Chepa took his place in the Mr. Commod Bod line, he could already feel his pores emitting the sweat needed to keep the Indian man shine going. Other contestants were already taking their strut around the stage, you could hear some getting booed, some were getting cheered.
Chepa noticed the frybread leftover from the Frybread eating contest, along with big bowls of chokecherry wojapi used for dipping, on a table behind the stage. His stomach growled, even though he was full, he was getting sun drunk from the hot sun and the beers he had for breakfast. He couldn't resist, after all....it WAS fry bread. He started dipping and dunking and growling and mauling the fry bread and wojapi until he felt a tap on his shoulder.
"You're up, man. They're calling you."
Chepa wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, pulled down his tanktop because it had rolled up and walked out on the stage. This contest was his. He walked out with both hands over his head, half eaten-forgotten fry breads clenched in his fists.
"Here he is! The son of the man who won the 4th, 5th, and 6th Mr. Commod Bods! He is back to try it again this year, give it up for Chepa Big Buffalo, Jr!"The crowd mostly boos, except you can hear his mother cheering wildly.Chepa leans into the mic "Soon to be known by my rapper handle, Skillet! Skillet in da house, woot woot! Look for my new cd up and coming 'Big Greasy' to be at the pawn shop soon, and email me at skilletgotrhymes@rez.com !" He walks away from the emcee and does his strut around the stage with his fortified malt glaze, showboating in front of the judges table, yeah he was sun drunk.After they announced all the runner ups, Chepa had hope that he would win, $1,000 would let him party hard tonight and probably get him a girlfriend. He knew for sure his mom would let him party in his room in the basement, if he won.
"And the winner is.........(drum roll from the drum group).....Chepa Big Buffalo, Jr. Also known as Skillet!" The drum group beats hard on the drum.Chepa goes to do a round on the stage, remembers he still has frybread in his hands, he takes a bite of one of the breads, walks like a rooster across the stage and winks at Miss Chokecherry Eyes.He decides to show off for her, after all she may want to party later in the basement. He stuff the whole frybread in his mouth, then realizes he can't chew it. It's too much, it feels like dough is rising from his insides. He can't even open his mouth, he was dying! His eyes were bulging!"He's choking! He's choking!" He heard his mom yell, oh lord, mama come get me...he thought in his head.One of the other contestants pushed on his gut to attempt the Heimlich maneuver but instead this happened.Chepa exploded on stage. Kleppa-(vomit) everywhere. Everything he ate and drank that morning and maybe yesterday too, when he staggered home in the middle of the night and started a small kitchen fire cooking dog food, exploded everywhere.
He spewed like no one ever saw before.
"Disqualified!" one judge yelled.
"Noooo!" his mom screamed.
All the runners up threw up.
The judges threw up.
The drum group threw up on the drum.
Miss Chokecherry Eyes threw up, well, chokecherries.
Everyone there threw up, barfed, puked, and kleppa-ed until they could no more.Eventually Lester Pretty On Top was the only one in the contest who didn't puke. He was 102 pounds soaking wet, 6 foot 4 and braids like a mouse's tail but he won. He was the new Mr. Commod Bod. But nobody will ever remember who won that year, no body will remember who won the cook off, Miss Chokecherry Eyes, or the frybread eating contest.
All they will remember is the year everyone kleppa-ed.
Mark finished his story with a flair, I love how dramatic he is when he is story telling. Our little brother Misu war-hooped. I gave out a leelee. Mark gave us high fives. And all our kids gave a combined "NAY-OH!"
Creighton started in "Nay Uncle, thats from that movie, that old movie mom likes, Stand By Me!"
"No it's not. True story." Mark says, as he is done giving high fives and sits at the picnic table.
"There is no sucha place as the district of Two Left Feet!" one of the kids chimes in.
"Sure!" Mark says, "It's over there." He points in no specific direction with his lips.

This is the end of chapter 2 of my book "Pointing With Lips: A Week in The Life OF A Rez Chick" A work of fiction, written by me, thanks for reading.© Dana Lone Hill 2011

I'm not alone

2011-08-28T12:45:00.006-07:00

I came upon a realization, as of lately and thanks to the evil empire of facebook.

For the rest of my life, I am going to have to put up with the fact that I am a felon, from other people's points of view. I mean, you know me, i really don't give a rat's ass what people think of me ever since I smoked weed in a CRX with my Jamaican friend Junior "I have 13 cousins whose first name are Junior" White. Junior always got deep in conversation but talked to me about not caring what other people think of you, which might explain his style.

Anyway, even though I could give a rat's ass, I realized for the rest of my life any opinion, thought, action I do, is going to be judged and weighed against my past. That's kind of fucked up, but it is what it is, you know. Is it gonna make me shut up?

Hell no! Well actually, I am technically not "speaking" but I will type on, oh yes I will.

Turning my whole journey or experience or whatever you call it, (sentence) from a negative to a positive is what I'm working on in my life, in almost every aspect and on a daily. I find myself getting more and more involved with the community, even though I am somewhat anti-social, they ask, I can't resist. I know some ex-cons don't like to talk about the time they did and ask why I write about it, this is just how I deal, ok? Anything and everything I write is a mouse click away if someone don't like it. And if it upsets your apple cart too bad, don't read me....on here or facebook. Simple shit, simpleton.

Either way, I will write about what I want to, I will still have opinions, I don't care if anyone don't "like" what I think, say, or write...I'm not alone, after all, I have children, my ancestors, and I am blessed in that way.

WHOEVER I THINK I AM

2011-08-27T14:29:00.002-07:00

WHOEVER YOU THINK YOU ARE

THEY SAID

AS IF I NEVER LIED IN

AND MADE MY BED

AS IF I THOUGHT I WAS

SOMEBODY

AS IF MY PAST

WASN'T MUDDY

JUST SO EVERYONE

WHO WANTS TO KNOW

I'M NOT WORTH

A MIND BLOW

DON'T LET MY WORDS

RUIN YOUR DAY

DON'T LET MY THOUGHTS

FUCK YOUR PLAY

I KNOW WHOEVER

I THINK I AM

AND EXACTLY WHERE

I STAND

I KNOW I LOST

ALL I STOOD FOR

AND HIT BOTTOM

LOWER THAN THE FLOOR

I KNOW I HANDLED

AND FOUND MYSELF

I WAS ABLE TO GRASP

AT AND ACCEPT HELP

I'VE EXPERIENCED THE FEELING

OF BEING SET FREE

AND THERE IS NOTHING SWEETER

THAN THAT TO ME

THERE WILL NEVER BE A FEELING

AS EQUAL

AS THAT DAY THE WINTER SUN

WAS SHINING ON MY SOUL

I'VE HIT MY HIGHEST HIGH

NEVER IN MY PLAN

SEE I AIN'T NOBODY

TO BE "WHOEVER I

THINK I AM"

~DLH

Free To Be Me

2011-08-25T15:38:00.003-07:00

*pic is from over my house in the city

I have always known that I had the freedom to be me, to be who I am no matter where I was.
I was able to handle jail, prison, all of it by laughter and my wit, only because that is the only way I know how to be and it got me along so far.

Often, the table I sat at in county jail was always getting warning for "laughing too loud." That wasn't me, I met some crazy ass wonderful women in there. Out of the two county jails, the federal transfer center in Oklahoma City, and the prison itself, I was surprised to find out what took a good toll and tried it's best to kill my spirit was the halfway house. I wrote the poem Wallow there, because I honestly felt as if I walked into an episode of The Stepford Wives. I couln't believe they had all these 20 something Barbie dolls working with us, looking down their noses at us and acting and making us feel as if we were the scum of the Earth, it got to be depressing, annoying, and I felt hatred burning into my soul.

It was the first place I went in the whole journey where humor got me nowhere, even with most of the residents because everyone else there was letting their spirits die too.

One day I was talking to two older federal ladies about food, I LOVE FOOD! Especially soup and frybread, nothing makes you feel more at home than soup and frybread. Then they told me, Wellbriety has soup and frybread. Of course my ears perked up, mouth already salivating, but I was like
"What's Wellbriety?"

It's like a 12 step program, kind of like AA but not really, it's geared more towards Indians.-they told me.
I was game, frybread, I'm there, thats the rez in me, the skin in me, the big girl in me.
So I signed up.
What I found was a place I could be me, every Friday. A place I could hang out with my people, hear and sing our songs, smudge away negativity and air what I need to in talking circle. It was social, relaxing, and supportive. It showed me, that somewhere in this city, I was free to be me.

Not what I was labeled in society.

Not the number I memorized for the last year and a half.

Not how they looked down at me at the halfway house.

Not how the people who interviewed me looked at me when explaining why I was a felon.

I was Dana, the girl who came in quest for frybread....and found a niche where her spirit was happy.

Thanks for listening as I still sing the praises of Wellbriety.

dlh

To see the poem Wallow, please send me an add on facebook. Thank you.

Hang Over Soup "Do Over"

2011-08-21T12:28:00.001-07:00

Today's lesson in church was about new beginnings, it kind of tied into all the other stuff I ran into today, like the elder's meditation from Grandpa Fools Crow...

"The greater the faith, the greater the result."
-- Fools Crow, LAKOTA
The Creator designed us to act on faith. We are able to do this by holding firm to our beliefs. If we believe something and if we don't want the belief to change, we need to add the power of the Great Spirit to this belief. We must always have the spiritual added to our beliefs. If we don't add the Spirit, then we may very well change our minds the first time we are tested. Each time we are tested and we don't change our minds, we get stronger. The wind may blow on the red willow trees bending them and causing the roots to grow deeper. The more the wind bends the tree, the bigger, stronger, and deeper the roots grow. We should be happy that we are tested. It's the Creator's way of making us have greater faith for greater results.

Great Mystery, Grandfather, I know if I am tested today that I can count on You to give me the courage to get to the other side. On the other side of every test is the reward of strength. Make me strong.

And a random quote I found while stumbling on the internet,
‎"Don't go around saying the world owes you a living, the world owes you nothing. It was here first." -Mark Twain
~This is a great quote because in fact don't we owe the world? If anything at least a good attitude in life. It's not like we get another one.

It made me think of what my mom told me when I was finally free, don't go around being sorry all the time, because you can't waste your life being sorry, it's done, over with, you move on now.

So I am moving on, starting over, a "do over" what have you, and I am doing it with a new attitude, learning and being more accepting to learn all I can about life while I can.
Like Fools Crow said- "The greater the faith the greater the result."
This time I am going to be more open to learn, to have faith in myself that I can do this and to know that there is no way in this life the world owes me anything, I owe the world a piece of who I am so that one day when I am gone, the things I say and wrote about might be posted as someone's facebook status. Fuck yeah.

(still can't quit cussing, sorry.)

Drove By Yesterday

2011-08-19T06:27:00.013-07:00

*pic by my sister Jaida, naturally.

I drove by the exit to Waseca yesterday, the place I like to call Club Fed or Club Feddy Feddy Fat Camp, I am slowly gaining back the weight I lost in there thanks to my new addiction to sweets.
My kids can't believe how I have this new found craving for sweets, and almost anything too. Doughnuts, I never ate before until I went there. It's every other Sunday, you have to stand in line for about 45 minutes to an hour at 7am and get a doughnut, and damned if it don't taste like Krispy Kreme. Ok, I totally don't know what Krispy Kreme tastes like because when I wanted to try the line at the Mall of America was too long. Yet there I was, wearing my sweats, in line with killers, embezzlers, drug dealers and mostly mules, waiting for my fucking doughnut.

It was fucking worth it, though.

You never know how good shit is until you don't have it, hence my new fondness for sweets.

You never know some things until they happen to you.

Like when I drove by the exit yesterday for a split second I wanted to flip off the place just for all the old feelings, the entrapment, the "when am I gonna get the fuck out of here!" feeling, then I remembered Kujo, my room mate who still has 15 years, and Dani, my bunky who still has 27 years, both my room mates whom I love dearly. I helped Kujo with beadwork for her dad's outfit, she gave me my tattoo.
Dani had a girlfriend in there, they both did....but Dani's girlfriend will be getting out soon. She was sad and happy at the same time about that.

So many nights we spent up late talking, them asking me questions about the outside, what is an IPOD, how are cellphones now, that sort of thing...
Both girls try to do their time with little drama as possible, both girls wake up every morning with the thought that this is another day to get through, this is my life, it is what it is. And it was just that, but with alot of laughs.
I was a short timer, drifted in and out of their lives, been there done that, moved on.
When I drove by I thought of where I was last year, how I wanted to feel freedom and see beyond the fence so bad that the glimpse of a Culligan truck confirmed to me that yes, the world is still out there and life does go on....without you. Which seemed harsh, but considering you are one person, it is true, just hard to grasp at the time that everyone in there is in the same boat as you, every single soul doesn't want to be there. The simple act of picking out a candy bar and taking it to a cashier with money is amazing when you first get out.
And I thought of them, my room mates who still got time. And take it on a day by day basis everyday because they have to.
And I have the audacity to take my recovery and supervised release day by day, what they would give to be here.....

Seriously fucking humbled just driving by that exit.

Thank you God, today I am here and not there.

This song reminds me of Waseca, and all the sisters I left. I will never forget the lessons I learned there and the laughs and the wanting of being where I am now. Even though every one that was in there for the rest of this lifetime will wear the label of a "bad person" that never changed the fact that we all have a soul. I remember when this song was playing one day and my friend A (another short timer)looked at me and said "I don't belong here."
"Me neither" I said.
MaanF*ckTheFeds

I CAN not

2011-08-17T18:52:00.003-07:00

I used to have this thought in the back of my mind for a long time. I used to think this before I turned myself in, after, and when I sat my number out...I thought

"One of these days I will drink again."

Like matter of fact and like it was a part of my life I couldn't let go. Or maybe not ready to let go yet.
It was so much a part of my life, I didn't see the illness of it.

A wonderful counselor who listened to Jimmy Cliff, Bob Marley, and Sublime music, somewhat of a left-wing radical, kind of old, fuzzy, hippie dude, showed me one day.

He took the sentence on a dry erase board "I cannot drink while on federal supervised release."

I related to the sentence, bummer, cannot drink, sucks, have to find a way around that, I thought.

Then he underlined CAN. Then he looked at me and said "Dana (because he called us by our first names, everyone else called me Lonehill) look at what you CAN do."

"You CAN do this, because this government may have locked you up but they didn't kill your spirit. Your spirit needs you to take care of you now and you CAN not drink while on federal supervised release. It is a choice you CAN do."

I don't know if he made me see the light or if I felt the planets aligned or what, but I did know that I was strong enough to CAN not drink. That it was a choice also, not just a requirement and obligation.

I was strong enough today, thank god.

I will pray for tomorrow.

Wellbriety Facebok Page

Facets of Me

2011-08-07T13:23:00.005-07:00

As much as I put out there, as much as people know, there is so much more I keep inside. I have a whole side of me out in California, a family I never met and am getting to know because of facebook, and now that I am slowly getting to know them, I am thinking, why did I think this would be so hard? Why did I cautiously step forward like I was stepping in cold water?
I knew since I was a little girl, that a part of who I was, was my family out there. I never thought I would know them, or they would know me. Then it happened, connections were made and slowly I am getting to know them. I have a cousin who is also a writer. I have an aunt who is a sweetheart, an uncle with a strong heart. I wonder now, did I inherit any little trait from any of them? Do I raise my eyebrow like this one, or laugh like that one?
I am thankful today they are in my life today and look forward to meeting them all someday. This proves that love is deep in your heart. Deep inside you know who is a part of you, a facet in your life, especially when you can feel fascination and love for your family, and you've never met.
Yet.

Everything is so beautiful today. Everything with my life, my kids are with me, my cat, there is no humidity in the air, we have food to eat, the BeeGees are playing right now, and the sun is shining through the trees with the utmost will to shine on me.

And that is another facet in my life.

If I write it.....they will come.

2011-08-05T14:18:00.001-07:00

Life is so amazing sometimes.
I wonder why I continue to blog when almost all of my ol' gang of blogging buddies have taken their blogs down, when I have no idea why- when it takes precious minutes out of my day.
I wonder why I get so worked up and passionate about certain things....then it is as if Tunkasila sends me a message and lets me know that
YES
I still am doing what I am supposed to be doing.
I know I need to publish my book, a friend let me know not to be in a hurry, mold it, play with it and shape it. That I will do.
My blog has nothing to do with my book.
My blog is here for a reason, one of those reasons showed up today in an email....

And I know with all of my heart right now, I am doing what I am supposed to be doing. I know this so much, I want to cry almost. I feel this so much, it's as if I am the dude Kevin Costner played in Field of Dreams and I just plowed under my cornfield....

I am almost breathless, the clarity of my dreams, wow, I can't even say.

And I guess

If I keep writing it....they will come.

To the person who emailed, please keep in touch.

~Dana

There is no safety net

2011-08-03T14:08:00.000-07:00

I was thinking the other day, how close I came to drinking a beer. I didn't have it in my hand or in front of me or anywhere near me, but I craved it as if the foam bubbles were popping in my face. I wanted the feeling because most the time beer tastes like crap, right? That fuzzy, warm feeling you get from head to toe that makes you not give a fuck.

And I wanted that because my Grandma Erna passed, even though, when I hugged her bye a few years ago, I knew it was the last time I would see her ever.

I wanted that beer despite almost 1 year and 7 months into my sobriety because she was gone, because I had no idea how to deal without her, because deep down, I'm an alcoholic...still.

And that showed me that even after all this time, all the time I invested in recovery, there was no such thing as a safety net of time. When I see people getting their coins at AA for so many months years, whatever, that all those coins are worthless. They ain't shit, I would rather have arcade coins.

There is no safety net.

My sobriety is a day by day thing, for sure.

Although I am proud of my one year and almost 8 months now, it ain't shit because my strength is not in that longevity. My strength is in my heart, my prayer, my pure want of a better and longer life. And in my support system, my children, my family, and my Wellbriety group.

The strength in numbers is not in length, but in quantity. In knowing there are those there for me, and knowing that I am not alone.

Mitakuye Oyasin (All My Relatives)

If Grandma Dod were here....

2011-08-03T07:40:00.004-07:00

If my Grandma was here, would everything be perfect?
Would the two oldest poodles on Earth, Bear and Shaggy have died?
Would the Cubs have won the World Series?
Would "her son" Obama have seemed more fulfilling?
Would she have been so disappointed in me?
Would the grass in her yard still grow?
Would the price of gasoline have been so high?
Would Charlie Sheen have lost it?
Would she have a facebook under her dogs name?
Would she have won those football picks by now?
Would she have been by my side in court like she was in my dreams?
Would she have made Kaylene name her brand new baby girl after Princess Diana?
Would we have been having a huge cook out for her 77th birthday, all halfway nervous as to whether she was gonna chew us out or not?
Would we all be healthier?
Would we still be the Bright Family?
Would we have snuck away from everyone to get Klondike bars?
I don't know what we would have been doing, what we would have done, or how we would all be now, If she was here.
I know she would have loved us all, told us to love each other, and get along because we were family, live our lives....um wait, she would have said that in her mind and heart.

If she was here she would have said "Roll out the barrel, Let's Go! Let's Go! Let's Rodeo! This ain't no got damn rest home, get up! Get up dammit! You can sleep all you want when you die, GET UP!!! LET'S GET THIS SHOW ON THE ROAD, MY CUBBIES PLAY AT 5!"

And we would have jumped our asses up awaiting orders....yes, we would have.

Happy Birthday Grandma, love you, miss you and hope you're watching your Cubbies, where ever you are! With young Elvis!

Scatter Their Own

2011-08-01T15:52:00.003-07:00

These guys rock! They have less than 48 hours to make enough money to make their first video. Click on the video to donate. Rock on Scotti and Juliana, wish you all the best!

Taking care of our own.....

2011-07-31T09:39:00.006-07:00

I get sick of American Indian women being portrayed this way. Or like this.

Always a scantily clad, shoulder-less, buckskin dress with a wolf. WTF is up with that??? Maybe some of these young girls now like to go around, dressed with thier ass cheeks hanging out and tiny tight shirts because it makes them feel good about themselves, but that is not what we were ever about.

We were always about family, about taking care of our own.

There are still so many Lakota women that are about family, many American Indian women about family.

Sometimes things get in the way, things happen to a young woman along the way to make her forget that. I was a horrible mother for awhile. I thought I was ok, but delving in my alcoholism hurt my children and made me miss precious time with them. I never wanted them to be "survivors" of my sickness, but that is what happened.

I met so many girls along the way, young girls that I talked to and listened to their stories. I listened. And they told me, why they turned to alcoholism, why they turned to drugs, why they became who they never thought they would be a few years earlier when they were dreaming of happily ever after. All of it had to do with some sort of abuse. In turn, it led them to abuse themselves. I am still connected with many of them to this day, I see them doing te same things they did to get them where they were when I met them, and some of them are trying hard to change their lives in a world that don't give a shit. I think it hurts so much because they are the same ages or almost same ages as my oldest kids.

It hurts my heart to look at a young girl, young mother with hopelessness. I wish the best for you, I think to myself, I wish you would see the light, I wish you would look at that baby and see the precious life you gave.

But I don't, I remain silent and remain a friend and let them know when they need to talk, I am there, just as I was there in the cell block we walked laps around when they told me their stories.
I pray for these young girls every day and their children, just as I am sure, someone must have prayed for me.

I also met many women older than me, who listened to my story. Women who in their own little ways, listened, said something to me that made sense, something that I still carry in my heart to become who I was meant to be.

See us Indian women can endure because of family. That is what keeps us going. Our life source. That is our reason for being on this precious Mother Earth, for our family, our people, and our way of life.

And so is the story of Moving Robe, Tashina Mani, The Hunkpapa Lakota that fought in the Battle of Greasy Grass, or as the Government likes to call it, The Massacre at Little Big Horn. Because we all know if the government does it, it is a battle or a victory, when it is against them it is a massacre.
Moving Robe's brother was killed and she took his lance and went into battle to avenge his death, she is rumored to have secured a revolver and has two confirmed kills. She is also rumored to have killed Custer, but that is not confirmed as many have claimed that.
That is a woman warrior. Taking care of your own, wanting to go to war for your family. No different than anyone who signed into the armed services after 9/11.

I wished I could make these young girls see that, life is so precious. I wished I could show them they are strong, beautiful, young, women-mothers, that don't need men to treat them bad to be someone. I wished I could make them see that. I had to find out the hard way....but I thank god I did.

We are Indian women, we take care of our own. I will be there to listen when and if they need me.

This is the kind of picture I like.

Moving Robe, as a younger woman.

And Moving Robe as an Elder.

"A nation is not defeated until the hearts of it's women lie on the ground, then it is done. No matter how strong it's men or how numerous it's weapons.". Cheyenne Proverb

Wellbriety Freakin Rocks, but this whole day rocked!

2011-07-30T00:29:00.000-07:00

I had to sit and write about my AMAZING day before I drift off to dreamland.

It started off with me waking up happy as hell because one of my good friends is free today. He left the halfway house in another city at 8am this morning, and I woke up happy thinking, fuck yeah, I know how that feels. No one over you anymore know that they are over you. So I tagged him on facebook with Godsmack's Alive.

Awesomeness. You have no idea how freedom feels, how it is such a want. When you are locked up the want and need for freedom is so bad, it is like a hunger or thirst. I thank Tunkasila another Lakota was released today! (A couple of leelees if I see you.)

Then I kind of freaked out because my ex messaged me today. We talked. He's the one I married. I told him he was still my friend, no matter what and I wished he would sober up because I hate hearing about him going around town drunk and beat up.

He said he has nothing left in life anymore. Nothing and that's why he drinks. I said Are you kidding all those songs you spent years gathering from the elders, visiting them, taking them blankets and tobacco so you can learn the old songs, all the spiritual songs you have. You have more in your heart with those old ways than some people spend a lifetime trying to get, don't say you have nothing. You are lost, you need to find yourself because I sure don't want to be going to your funeral next. He said Thanks, he was on his way to a pow wow to sing. I asked him to sing from his heart. He told me thanks again for saying what I did and I wished him luck. He was with one of his sober friends, so I guess maybe he was going to a pow wow. I wish him the best.

The next thing is I made a sale and my sons made more money than me today, that was cool as hell. I was walking around with my two oldest then we decided to split ways so they could explore the city, I walked along the river that runs through this city.

I saw the river and decided to sit by the river for awhile and ponder. I was texting one of my best friends the whole time, I must say it feels good to have him back in my life too. We are hoping and praying (well I might be the only one praying) to go to the Yankee/Twins game together. That pic above is from sitting by the river while texting.

After than I walked to the store, got cold chicken and coleslaw for supper because I knew I wasn't gonna cook. I think when I walked into the store it was maybe 95 degrees, when I walked out it was 118 degrees. This old lady in a huge van asked if I wanted a ride, I thought for a millisecond about all the vans like that on Law & Order SVU, then said sure. It was really hot. I live 3 blocks uphill so it wasn't that far for her to pick up speed as someone might chloroform me from the back seat, I had mayday ready to text but she took me home. When I got out I looked back because I knew I heard breathing.
There was not one but three large 80 plus pound dogs in the back on a mattress. Whoa! Ha Ha, that was a surprise. Oh yeah and she talked about the book of Revelations on the way back and Mayans and whatnot. Nice old lady and three ginormous jomonstrous doggies.

Next I get ready for Wellbriety, still texting bff, and then I am off.

I get to Wellbriety and as I get there I get an email from my old boss, whom I attempted to make ammends with about two weeks ago, fingers crossed the whole time. It went through, The feds, of course never gave him my apology letter they probably peed on it and laughed. I was able to get it out and have him forgive me and my heart is so much lighter. It was such a HUGE step in my recovery process.

Next I saw someone from home, who was also just released from prison. Someone who was new to this town and I went to school with all my life. Sometimes a familiar face is all someone needs. I sure would have appreciated it. I was able to give encouragement, straight from my heart and he thanked me.

Everything and everyone I interacted with today had a purpose.
Including my brothers comment on facebook about my post on Wellbriety.

"Anything that helps my sis over come the bullshit this world drops all day. each and every day. love u sis."

This comment from Mike

"Dana...you know you're on the right track for YOU when you start looking forward to such gatherings and attending all things sober. The heart and head may be messed up to the max, but still easier to cope and grow when sober. You get to make decisions that you can appreciate later, unlike most decisions made when high."

Then this text with my one of my bff's Ron

"Awesome, seems like you're having fun. And that's what matters."

And I will end my great beautiful awesome lovely wonderful day there!!!!

"Sit back and watch the world go by" -WayJay

2011-07-26T21:02:00.001-07:00

LOL This is a picture my sister Jaida took when we went back to the rez of Grandma Tiny and the newest edition of the family, my cousin Kaylene's precious baby Nakiya. I think I spelled that right. I guess Grandma Tiny is a legend for making babies cry by talking to them all sad and saying "Oh poor baby, who's picking on you..." and stuff like that and the baby will indeed cry. Word is, she used to make me cry in less than a second, nice to see she still got it like that.

In my recovery process, I learned about life going on, with or without you.

And today was a good day in my Pirate Reformatory Class. Or Moral Recon-whatever Therapy. I completed Step 3. (I would spell it right but my book is upstairs.)
I realized something when I was going through class, things I worry about that I have no control over. I like to credit myself for being smart enough to dodge that whole "not letting other people's toxicity damper my moods."
But to actually try and worry and stress over other people's problems, that are not really my business, see I even have the nerve to say "not really" my business. Because these are people I love and I wish I didn't worry about them so much because life just has to be.....sometimes, let it be, you know.
I agree it is a waste of energy, I do need to not let it get to me. And my final goal in the step was to someday reach that level of Wolakota. Beyond peace. Today I realized I will never do that if I let worry stress me.
I question myself how, how, and how do I not worry about my family? As a Lakota woman who has a strong sense of family, how do I not let that worry burn bright as picture show?
How do I relax enough and let life play itself out like that picture show?
We also talked about temporary. I remember being stressed, worried, like I was carrying a huge weight on my shoulder and it actually weighed me down at the nape of my neck, about being locked up. I wasn't really scared because I had talked to my dad and he told me some things. He told me (he actually knew I was stressing about prison before I told him) but he told me that us Indians are hustlers, we know how to adapt and survive anywhere and we do good in prison, not that we should be there, but we can handle it. And I did. He also told me a bunch of other stuff that I will never forget and never would have gotten through if it weren't for him. But all that went by so fast that I got how we talked about things in life being temporary.
In fact life itself, is temporary.
Like I had to say good bye to one grandma a couple of weeks ago and at the same time say hello to a brand new beautiful niece.
Yes, my instincts are to worry about my family, to think that is my job, but I realize there is nothing that worry will do but give me more silver hair. (Yes, I said silver)
I have to sit back, as my cousin WayJay says, and watch the world go by. (Of course he says it from the front seat of his car sitting outside of his house with a beer in his hand,) but it sounds like good advice, nonetheless.
Life will indeed go on, with or without my worry.
Gotta learn...sit back and watch the world go by.

Right in the old cante....

2011-07-24T10:24:00.003-07:00

I haven't really been feeling the urge to write, from my heart. Then I read this link my friend in Paris, Karin put on her facebook to this guys's blog.

I especially didn't want to write anything about anything to be even associated with the recent passing of the new member of the 27 club.

But after reading that guys blog, it hit me in the ol' cante. (heart)

When I was in treatment, we were given this chart called the Jellinek Curve and was told to find ourselves on it. I started on the left side and worked my way down, until I got to the bottom, where the circle was.
That is where I was before I got locked up.
I knew it, all along.
I just never wanted to know it. I hid it from myself more than anything, making my drinking a big joke....so I would never have to face it...feel it....or fear it.
I tried to act like it wasn't hurting anyone, though I knew it was, especially my kids. I used excuses to drink, every excuse I had.

When I finally got to prison, the wonderful man who was my treatment counselor showed me what the two outcomes of my area on the jellinek curve were....incarceration, or death.
I thanked God I was in prison, my kids did nothing in this world to deserve to lose their mother. Sure I was locked up, forced to be away from them for a while, but I lived.
I will continue to live. For them.

When I was asked the other day in my MRT class, during testimony, "Do you feel a force inside you that makes you want to be sober?"
I said yes, it is the will to live on, for my children.

See for me, prison wasn't a bad thing, though I hated it every day, every minute I was there, I am thankful I went.

Because I live.

Mitakuye Oyasin

2011-07-19T11:04:00.002-07:00

Do NOT underestimate who I am
Or twist the meaning of my words
For so defiantly with my right hand
I will throw down some wicked nouns and verbs
Like this:
I come from my mother
Whose knowledge spreads like the Milky Way
I come from my brothers
Who are the warriors of today
I come from my grandmother
Who wasn't scared of a soul
I come from my father
Whose heart glows like a red hot coal
I come from my sisters
Who always stand to the side of me
I come from my grandfather
Whose beliefs are rooted deep as a tree
I come from my ancestors
Whose spirits are those that are truly free
I come from a strong people
Who have been underestimated
Remember that
Before you think you know who we are
For we are all related.
Mitakuye Oyasin

© Dana Lone Hill 2011

What? I'm an engine now?

2011-07-16T05:14:00.000-07:00

So many times in my life, I have dealt with with alcohol.
Like my grandma died or when anyone died, I drank and tried to remember them in a good way.
Holidays, almost every feeling, whether good or bad, I had-was dealt with inebriated.
I saw the world as maybe an artist from the Impressionism Era you know-no clear lines.
Which is crazy, that's how I paint. I always wonder if maybe they were near sighted back then, but it can't be that, the details in all the colors are there.
I got used to letting the brandy go down my throat in order to cope.
Now my life is different.
Now I deal.
And cope.
Without.
And it's not easy.
And I am not doing it this way to prove a point to anyone. All I am doing is proving to myself I can do this.
And I think I can.
I think I can.
I think I can.

Rezervation Girls

2011-07-15T15:28:00.000-07:00

*sigh*
I miss all my rez girls.
When I was in county, so many of the girls were doggin' on rez girls.
-They're so scandalous!
-They're so mean.
-They're hatin'.
-They're jealous.
-They'll take your man.
-They fight.

I heard it all, and trust me I asked for more. I thought it was funny. Funny that rez girls had such a rep.
I was born and raised on the rez, the Pine Ridge Rez at that.
It's funny the rep you get for being a rez chick and then for being a rez chick from Pine Ridge.
I don't know how many times people get "that look" when I say I am from Ridge.
I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world, though. The world I grew up in, the memories I made, the chinese fire drills at the four way, the hay ride, the times out at the T, the Satellites, East Dam, Whiteclay Dam, cruising round and around the town on summer nights laughing, it was some of the best times of my life with my rezervation girls. My cousins, my friends, Paula, Georgine, Joy, Lori, Aimy, Cayme, Sox, Lisa, Melita, Lisa, Andrea, Darin, there were so many....and so many times we hung out, raising hell, being young and not giving a fuck.
Those were the days and maybe we all didn't accomplish our dreams, but we did have them, back on the rez.

Are rez girls really all that bad...ask any one of them they'll tell you.
Not bad, bad ass.
And the times were bad ass.
We used to sing this song as "Rezervation Girls"

Those were the days. I can look back now that I am approaching 40 and say I had such fun in my youth. And someday I can look back to these days and think the same way....

Writing About Some Kind Of Wonderful

2011-07-14T05:24:00.002-07:00

"A writer is a writer not because she writes well and easily, because she has amazing talent, because everything she does is golden. In my view, a writer is a writer because even when there is no hope, even when nothing you do shows any sign of promise, you keep writing anyway."
~Junot Diaz

That was sent to me by my friend Mike in Maine and I know in my soul I am a writer. I wrote myself through the most turbulent time in my life because that is the only thing that made me feel better, hopeful, and because that is what I do.

Here is a piece I wrote while I was locked up in federal. This was probably October of 2010. 5 months from release, but I didn't have a release date yet.

When I first got my second hand radio, most of the songs made me sad, reminded me of a different time. Reminded me of home, of my mom,of my dad, of my kids, of my brother, of my aunt, of my friends, and of course, of him or whatever. I had to work hard at getting over the fact that I was away from all that I love.
After I got over it, music set me in deep thought, thinking of what to write about now as I walked. Every word meant something. Every phrase a philosophy until I came back to my precious notebook.
I got off work today, took a cold shower, and elected to stay in rather than go to rec. I needed some alone time. I put my headphones on and Louis Armstrong's "It's a Wonderful World" played.
I opened the window through our bars and pulled up the shade. The breeze was blowing and for once didn't smell of the trash pile or pig farm the prison supposedly sat near. I watched all the things out there that Louis sang about: the sky of blue, clouds of white, leaves of green, and all that crap through the bars. I remembered being in county and seeing it but never feeling the fresh air on my face. Feeling that tease of freedom that is right around the corner for me.
This incarceration is not only a slap in the face kick in the ass wake up call. It is also a gift to me.
I am sober.
I can see clearly the second chance at life I was given.
This was my chance to make right, to do what I was destined to do, and to make time and memories for my children.
This is my life.
Louis Armstrong had it right, What a Wonderful World indeed.
I feel it in the breeze through the bars.
Thank you Wakan Tanka.

So that was writing from the inside, have a wonderful day.

Where I come from....

2011-07-13T07:00:00.003-07:00

So I went back to the rez, took my Grandma Erna home, and we had a nice service. It was so good to see my family, maybe it was part of being locked up, maybe it was part of not seeing everyone since the last funeral, maybe it was part of going through loss together, maybe it was part of living off the rez, (btw my Steve Madden shoes survived the mud), or maybe it was just because deep inside my heart there is a need for connection to my family, I felt so comfortable and loved at the funeral yesterday. Everyone that gave me a hug, held on for a minute and kissed me. Nothing was said about where I was or what I went through except by a drunk Uncle who teased me a little bit about "Big Mama getting me in prison." I retorted by saying "Maybe I was Big Mama." But the hugs are what got me, I let them hug me and enjoyed being held, even with my 39 year old ass. This is what freedom was about, this is what I dreamed of....this is what family is. I was sad to leave. It made me miss those days back when we had get togethers for more than funerals. When we had family events for holidays and one aunt would bring homemade pickles. When everyone had their special dish and the love was there with the food and the stories. I've been talking, trying to get the word out. We don't really do that anymore except maybe within our own immediate families. We need another big family get together. To just enjoy ourselves. Aunt Erna, or Grandma Erna (I always called her aunt) was the last of the brothers and sisters that started us all out as a family. It's never too late to start the traditions over, especially since Aunt Patty makes a bomb ass pasta salad. Lovin' my life and where I come from today.

Within-273

2011-07-07T06:21:00.000-07:00

It was fate they say
That rage of hate from yesterdays
Although it was about an hour late
It still picked me up on the way
And took me to a land of no opportunity
Listening to the man
While praying for mutiny
Never did I dream this would be me
My life didn't seem to have a hold of me
As I looked about me
And at the fence that held me in
Although I wanted to scream and shout FREE
I knew that "free", that that's what I found within.

-Lonehill 10543-273

Stumbling

2011-07-06T05:36:00.002-07:00

"-as each of us can live but one life, a choice must perforce be made.
We choose in reality without ceasing; without ceasing, also, we abandon many things.
The route we pursue in time is strewn with the remains of all that we began to be,
of all that we might have become.
But nature, which has at command an incalculable number of lives,
is in no wise bound to make such sacrifices"

I found this on http://www.stumbleupon.com
Which is a very addictive website, btw.
But it really made me think.

We do shape our destinies by the choices we make and by the choices we throw to the side, you know. What's going to happen, eventually will, but we shape the path there and inadvertently become who we are by those choices.
Sometimes in life we don't think that the choice we are making today, something as small as not stepping on that ant on the sidewalk may affect us down the road. Like the butterfly effect.
Because it is this one life, we have to choose for.
But nature, nature is choosing for many, including ourselves and has no mercy or caring of the outcome. Nature could be as beautiful as it is harsh and mean. And one of these days this planet will shake us all off like bugs....and start over with cockroaches again.
Although we are already stumbling down the path we were meant to be on, what we do or don't do today can and will shape us as to who we were meant to be.

Makes me wonder about the young med student in Florida who just passed his boards and wanted my number.....but my boss put the ixnay to that. Aw, he's probably boring as hell anyway and don't even like baseball.

RIP Grandma Erna

2011-07-05T05:08:00.003-07:00

Grandma Dod, Grandpa Bog, Grandma Erna

When I was little, my grandpa Bog died. That's him in the picture. He was my Grandma Dod's twin. It never hit me what death was then. I didn't go to the funeral. I remember when so much family was gathered at Grandma Dod's for this though. It took until I was 7 to realize what death was, meant, the sadness of it all, when my Aunt Kathy died. She was 15. There was no way she should have been lying up there in a coffin, but she was. I distinctly remember thinking. I'll play with her later.
Then I saw the sophomore class from her school go up to the casket and let out one combined wail, and it hit me right then and there. I was never going to see my Aunt Kathy again, was I? She was never gonna tease me, let me sit in while she smoked joints and burned strawberry incense, while she listened to Dr. Hook and Rod Stewart sing and daydreamed about whatever 15 year olds in 1979 thought about. I was never gonna tease her until she chased me again.
And I cried so hard because I realized she was gone. Taken from me and my life and I am so selfish, I want everyone I love around me.
My Grandma Dod was taken from me in 2008. I'm glad she didn't have to go through me being in prison and everything. It probably would've broke her heart.
While I was locked up my Grandma Erna wrote to me. She wrote to the judge for me about my character, one of the only ones that did. She sent me money now and then, always apologizing for not sending more and always apologizing for not having anything interesting to say. She never had to apologize. I told her it was just wonderful to hear from her.
She moved back East about 4 years ago, to take care of her son (my Uncle Pete) with his progressing Parkinson's.
I had a feeling I would never see her again.
The last time I talked to her was before she went in for surgery, she had cancer. She told me she was so happy I was out, she loved me and she didn't have to worry about me being locked up anymore.
Talking about me, when she was going in for surgery!
I told her I loved her too.
She was all heart, always helping me out even though I never asked her too. That's just how she was.
She was never the same when she came out of surgery. She passed yesterday about 2 in the afternoon.
Another Grandma gone.
I'm gonna miss her.

I love you Grandma Erna, I will miss you always.
Rest In Peace, and join your family on the other side. They are surely waiting for the last sister.

I'm gonna go cry for the hundredth time, now that I have another reason to dislike the 4th.

The Story of the Kick Ass Boots

2011-07-04T09:16:00.009-07:00

One time, when I was a bartender in the strip bar like a zillion years ago, my best friend Becks the lap-dancing waitress at the time had told me about these boots.
They're kick ass and about a hundred bucks.-she said. I'm going to the Mall of America tomorrow to get a pair, if you want a pair give me the money. I'll bring them to work tomorrow.
I hesitated. I had two young sons at home and my job was great with tips but a hundred bucks was , well a HUNDRED BUCKS!
I don't know.-I said.
Well, think about it, let me know.-she said.
Every time I banked a tip that night in my beer pitcher, I thought about those boots. There was a stripper there with those boots on, she's the one that told us about them. I kept looking at her boots thinking...man, a hundred bucks.
I never did anything like that...for myself.
I remembered when I was about 18 years old, I saw this girl I went to Jr. High with, she had two small babies. In her cart she was buying all the necessities of being a young mother.
But nothing for herself.
My mom pointed with her lips, -Don't ever let yourself get like that. Take care of yourself, as well as your children.
When I thought of that, I gave the hundred bucks to Becks. I knew I would make another hundred the next night.
I bought those boots.
And damn they were some kick ass boots.
Every time I wore them, I thought about how I was able to take care of myself, that time.

Wolakota

2011-07-04T05:47:00.002-07:00

Wolakota is peace, beyond peace. Being happy with who you are, what you have in this world and not wanting more, while in this world.
I'd like to think I was there, I know I'm not, but by God I will claw my way there. Sometimes, in this world you have to lose yourself to find yourself.
It's about finding myself now.
Amazing.
Wolakota: my goal in life.
I pray for Walakota for all my relatives who are lost and not at peace. For all those who need to find themselves today, I pray for them.
Wolakota.

Learning to Fly, but I ain't got wings.

2011-07-03T06:37:00.001-07:00

I love so many of Tom Petty's songs, so many of them hit home, so you know he has heart.
Yesterday when I was cleaning, I heard Learning To Fly so I will post it at the end here.
That's where I think I am, I think.
I'm learning to fly without wings. I'm learning to be happy and control my emotions by my happiness,...without the aid of alcohol.
I had to open up my heart in MRT class last week and give my testimony. God it was so hard to tell them why I was committed to change. It's not like you can say, "Just cuz." I was able to do it with a shaky voice and ready to cry at times but I did it. I told everything I have ever done bad, well almost but my progression into alcoholism and how easy it was when I moved back to the reservation. I told how it made me forget any bad things I knew I had done, and how easy it was to drown.
And I was drowning that whole time.
I was looking for a life preserver and thought the FBI threw me one. Tell us, they said, everyone will go down.
I did.
And I went down.
That was my first lesson in this government don't give a fuck, this government will lie to you. And they can.
SO that's when I knew.
It was time.
To take care of myself.
The right way.
To stand back up and keep my head up.
I came from my grandmas, and I will not go down like that. I will not be "that one that got locked up." I am still me and I will let everyone know who that is.
I am that one. That one that is a mother to four beautiful children, that one who writes with all her heart, hopefully like Tom Petty sings. That one who loves the Yankees and collects rocks as memories.
And that one,
that is currently learning to fly.

Tin roof....rusted.

2011-06-30T05:11:00.005-07:00

My brothers were talking about "takin' the rainbow back" the other day.
I think the whole conversation started with us all discussing the name of my mom's wireless
B-52's
I asked if she named it that because of the fact that she's a hag and she went to one of their concerts. She swears she didn't.
She swears the internet company named it for her.
Anyway, I think all the siblings were a little suspicious.
Then my brother Trav started singing a line from "Love Shack."
We all laughed, and I am almost sure it was me that whispered "gay."
He said "Why is that song associated with gay people?"
I don't know, I said. It just is.
They just took the rainbow, my brother Jesse said. And rainbows are ok.
We might have to start something, take the rainbow back. I said.

Now I would never take the rainbow back. I don't care all that much for rainbows. I just wonder how somethings get associated with gays.
Rainbows, triangles, Judy Garland, antique-ing, Bette Midler, Barbra Streisand, Madonna, wine tasting, Bravo, vintage lamps, velour pants, hair styling, (because who gets their hair done by a chick?) disco, they just took it all.
But to tell you the truth, I've been a hag since I was four years old, so they can have it, I'll just hang right in there with.

Just sayin'

2011-06-26T21:05:00.002-07:00

I'm always just sayin' all kinds of shit.
My brother always used to tease me because I write and he said it was just me talkin' shit on paper. LOL.
And I admit, I do. I talk shit. Sometimes, I am merciless. Sometimes, I piss people off. LOL.
Sometimes, I make them think.
Sometimes, I make them see the truth.
Sometimes, I make them laugh, or cry.
I don't mean to, I just talk shit...on paper too.
I even did it in prison, often listening to people, when they needed to be heard. Offering a shoulder or trying to make them laugh somehow.
Sometimes pissing a guard off with baseball trivia and because he was a Yankee hater and t I told him the Yankees were like the big brother to the Twins that always beat them up.
And I told people about me, my life. I told so many people about my life and what is in my heart in my blog. And it has been a blessing to me, for I never needed therapy, although I think I came close.
Now I am opening up another part of my life.
My blue collar bitchiness in writing.
I want people to know what it is like to be a housekeeper.
So as if you don't have enough to do...here's another part of my life in writing. Unfolding...
Not Maid For This Shit: Imagine that: "Work is hard. I don't have to remind anyone of that because it is a crappy job and everyone knows it and that's why no one works it. The pa..."

Soul Scraping

2011-06-24T16:04:00.008-07:00

There's always sidewalk trash on my way to work. But this was on the bridge just off the interstate.
I don't know who these people are who can dig that far down to hold a sign like this up for all to see. And know that each one that passes you thinks you're a beggar and worthless and just keeps driving. I mean that's some scraping of the soul right there, putting it all out there and letting all know you have nothing.
I don't even like to ask for change for a dollar.
Coming out of prison, I did some serious soul scraping by going around, applying for jobs, it was tough....to see people look at you that way, but you put your head up, get your warrior look so no one fucks with you and move on.
Seeing that sign on the ground gave me mixed feelings, I mean the person must have found food, and hopefully a kind soul, (not some psycho.) And it also made me realize life is tough out there, everywhere.
I am thankful for my job, even if at times they try to kill me. LOL. Thankful for the roof, the water, electricity, and most of all for my family....for without them, I would surely have a sign like that too. Although I am sure mine would be prettier, more creative, and catchier.

Texting With My Bro

2011-06-21T07:07:00.002-07:00

Last night I was texting with my brother about his health. He said he was so pissed all the time and so stressed it was taking a toll on his health. He was gonna work on being happy.
I texted "Yeah you gotta be you, stop conforming to your environment. Be a happy mofo again."
He texted "I know right? Gotta Be Me! That sounds like a Cookie Monster song!"
I texted "Cookie Monster don't eat cookies anymore. They fucked him up real good. He eats veggies now."
Him "WHAT????"
"Sure, they blamed him for obese kids. You know %$#*@ people are fucked up. As if I wouldn't stash cookies from the kids anymore, lol."
"What a pussy whipped world we live in..." He texted

Typical of me and my bro, as we texted during the storm about his health, it turned into conversation about Cookie Monster....

(pic is the window during the lightning as I lay there texting)

I saw a spider today

2011-06-20T14:20:00.001-07:00

And I knew my brother was OK.
And he is.
:)

Brother's Keeper

2011-06-19T15:48:00.002-07:00

My brother just left. He went home to Minnesota.
He told us he thinks something is wrong with him health-wise, he stayed here for the past 5 days with two of my nephews.
I guess I kind of knew something was up with him because of the way he always talks about all the crazy ass times and things we did, but I tried to ignore it and pay no mind because it feels like we just got over the obstacle of my incarceration and now this is the next curve ball. Whatever it is he feels is wrong with him, it has him questioning his mortality.
I don't like this. I don't like seeing him like this.
But I also know this is my brother, we been through thick and thin. He was the one who came down from Minnesota to the reservation and took me to the federal building to turn myself in. He was the one who walked with me through the mud for 3 miles.
He is my brother and whatever we need to do we will do.
We are Lakota.
We will do this as family.

Today I Am Sober

2011-06-15T20:05:00.003-07:00

When I was locked up, I remember when that one year of sobriety came, I told my roommate "Hey, today's my one year of sobriety."
She said "It don't count if you're locked up, you start counting when you're free."
I felt instantly shot down, like what the fuck? I was seriously kind of proud to have one year down because it had been awhile.
I pondered it and thought of all the people that went to solitary for drinking hooch and I thought, you know if I wanted to drink hooch, I could. I could do all the messed up shit people in there were doing, but I chose not to. I chose to do my own time. And that choice was to act right, finally.
I'm too old to be getting in trouble, kids are growing up, can't afford to lose anymore time with them. I was facing seven years so I was lucky, I got 18 months, that way I could see my sons graduate high school.
Now that I am out, I face negativity like that shot down all the time. When I got out of the halfway house I went to a Wellbriety meeting and told some chick, that I just got out of the halfway house and it sucked there.
"Yeah I know" she said. "I was there 3 times in the past year."
"Whoa. I am not going back there ever." I said.
"That's what you think, I said that 3 times."
"Well you don't know me." I told her. "I believe in myself."
And I do and every time I run into that negativity I feel a bit stronger in my sobriety. Even when people don't believe in me.
will I be sober forever?
I don't know.
Will I be sober when I get off paper?
I don't know.
Will I be sober tomorrow?
I don't know.
Today, I am sober.
Today, I feel the strength within me.
Today, I believe in myself.
So you see, it don't matter what anyone says to me.
Cheap shots don't hurt, I know how bad I was and I'm not gonna do an Eminem rant of all my bad points like on 8 Mile when he didn't want the Free World to diss him.
I'll just say what I said before, to myself:
Today, I am sober.
Today, I feel the strength within me.
Today, I believe in myself.
And that's enough for me, today.

The Ability To Maintain

2011-06-13T06:28:00.001-07:00

The strength that lies deep inside
Gives one the ability to maintain
Where grown men have broken down and cried
At the fall of a gentle rain
You have walked and endured
The lightening and thunder
Others have tempted easy escape and been lured
Now their souls lie broken asunder
You hold tight to that strength within
And walk through the torrential rain
For this life is yours for living
You just have to have the ability to maintain

-dlh
June 13, 2011

(For all my Sioux brothers and sisters on the inside)

Drinking Cold Coffee

2011-06-08T18:14:00.002-07:00

I get so tired from my job, cleanin rooms ain't no joke. I swear it is where people want to be the nastiest they can be. *sick bastages*
Plus I work with like girls that could be my daughters and keep up, they never believe me that I am their mamas' ages lol.

I heard from one of the girls I did time with.
She's still in there, I hear from them time to time.
I told her I pray for her to be strong every day and think of them everyday. And I do.
I feel as if the relationships I established on the inside are strong in their own way because we met at our lowest point in our lives, we were all straight, and we somewhat depended on each other, as family.
I think of those girls everyday.
I think of their kids.
We all made mistakes but that doesn't change the fact that there are families out there missing someone.
And in the United States, they have more people incarcerated than any other country with the population only growing every year, never flatlining or decreasing. But nothing can be done, it will still only rise. Tax payers will pay and people will struggle to pay their student loans off every year.
It is what it is.

Realize

2011-06-05T06:50:00.000-07:00

Visualize
And realize
With your evil eyes
That your fucked up ways
From way back in the old days
Of tryin to take my people's ways
Of thinking you're The Man
The government with a plan
A plan to take these people's land
Repress them, Depress them, Oppress them
Make them forget their spiritualities
Give them blankets with disease
Lock them up, throw away the keys
Guess what Mr. Man
Mr. Govt. With a Plan
We're still here to take a stand
To let you know, this is our
Motherfuckin land.
Where you and yours do your livin
But you can have the fuckin land
We're on the rez, we ain't trippin'
Because a piece of land is just dirt
On any given day
Despite it all,
We still have our pride, our spirituality
And our ways.
Hoka hey!

DLH-Waseca FCI

The Price of Bacon

2011-06-03T21:39:00.007-07:00

I sometimes try to pretend I don't give a fiddles about the world, like nobody cares, right? If you care about the ozone and feel guilty about all the Aqua Net you used in the 80's, then you're a flippin tree hugger.
If you care one way or the other about politics you're an extremist, or not extreme enough.
I came from a spot where people are for the most part ignorant about what is going on in the world, cripes I DIDN'T even know about that oil spill explosion thingy that happened in the Gulf, right? Well, whatever it was it happened in April of 2010, I found out in October of 2010.
Had I been free, I would have been alllll over that, probably not doing anything about it, but feeling sorry for the wildlife, cursing fossilized fuel, which is really "God." I would have been plastered to CNN and raising a fist with Anderson Cooper and Sanjay Gupta.
But I wasn't. I was on the inside, wondering how everyone in there could be so ignorant as to what is going on with the world and not knowing myself. I wondered how they could think Obama was a terrorist because their mama told them so, or how they could be preturbed by his middle name. So what? Who cares what his middle name is, my middle name sucks stink toes too.
Then the more my date loomed in front of me and teased me, the more I thought about being free and not giving a flip about what was going on with the Big World. All I could think was "I'm gonna be out there....out there."
I didn't care what was going on out here, and saw why the rest of the inmates didn't care. I had no idea we were in a recession. Why even care right?
Not like you can vote to change it.
Then I got out, and realized how it must be for people to have to pull themselves up to even be on the lowest level of humanity again.
So I got out with this hard ass attitude like, "I don't give a crap about the world anymore. People can trash it, people can do whatever and I will not give a fuck." I will not live by CNN and watch the world via CNN like I can actually do something about it, because for real I have no voice anymore.
I can write, yeah that's always a voice, but I can't vote, man. I have voted in every presidential election since I was 18. So I was all heavy metal hard like:
Fuck this World!
I don't care!

Then I accidentally overheard that they found Bin Laden and killed him.

And I felt myself being sucked back into the vortex, I was trying so hard to stay away from.

I avoided CNN and all news channels like they were an ugly one night stand.

Then I saw the price of bacon.....WTF!!!

Really?

World, I am trying to not care and be all heavy metal-head bangin-hard core about not caring...

But why you gotta fuck with my bacon, man.

btw-I know there is nothing I or anyone can do about the price of bacon, but man.....*smh*

2011-06-01T06:10:00.000-07:00

One of the hardest things to realize and accept when one obtains freedom is accepting the fact that people change, things change. I mean, I changed, in a good way. And some changes you see or experience are good, some aren't. Like I realized my precious daughter has a fear of bugs. My second born fights his dad, who, I would be the first to admit was and has been a dipwad in the past. But that was the past and I commend him now for being a man and stepping up to care fo our sons. I don't expect a big "welcome home" anything, not even a pat on the back. Because where I was, don't deserve any kind of celebratory anything. I am sure there are those who would be happy to have a beer with me because I'm out. But that would really only be to have a beer, you know? Nope, I don't expect anything or want anything from anyone. Except I do find satisfaction in knowing that I'm happy to be out and I have a profound appreciation for freedom.

November 3, 2010

2011-05-30T08:35:00.003-07:00

I saw something that broke my heart today.
I saw a lady with a 20 year sentence say bye to her daughter, who was released today. This lady is in her late 50's and she has 18 years to go on her sentence.
Her husband sold drugs, she didn't, but she knew he did so she got a conspiracy charge which is an automatic 10 to life.
Her daughter was turned on them and eligible for early release with a drug program. Her mom said she knows she had to do what she had to do, she was after all her daughter and pretty much all she had in prison.
Being a felon, her daughter can never visit, with her mom's age and health, who knows if they will ever see each other again. I was somewhat miffed her daughter was irritated with her mom for "making a big deal" out of her leaving. Because what she is not thinking, is this might be the last time they see each other ever. The mom couldn't stop crying, it was so heartbreaking, I had to look away.

My affirmation for myself today is a Persian proverb my Iranian friend Cyrus told me, and I have been using it alot through this whole journey.
"Even at the end of a long, dark night, the sun must rise."
It is a simple, onle line sentence tha packs so much power within it. So much power that when you think of it, it is almost breath-taking.
I have thought of this many times this year.
You must firmly believe in this sentence with all your heart because no matter whats happens in your life, what you are going through, how ever you feel, you must believe and know that sometime soon things will get better, the sun will rise.

Hostility In My Veins

2011-05-28T06:10:00.004-07:00

I was born with hostility in my veins;
Flowing like dirty water down the street after it rains.
Dripping from my fingertips while I write;
Like the icicles hanging from my HUD house in the sunlight.
The hostility the government stirred into my people's blood;
It was always there, but now it's dirty as a puddle and thick as mud.
"How do we take care of them?" Mr. Govt. says;
"It was all supposed to be better when we put them on the rez."
"That was supposed to civilize them, make them docile;
But what seems to have happened is we made them hostile?"
Mr. Govt. You can't take the warrior out of our women and men;
You can't cut our hair and expect us to not be what we've always been.
You put us on a reservation and call us savage;
Then you act shocked when we uprise and ravage.
We break your laws so you put us on the inside;
Then you act shocked when we still show our pride.
But you see, being on the inside is like being on a reservation;
And the way we act, is a part of your creation.
Remember that when you question why we are how we are;
The warrior in us will always come out like the evening's first star.
Because you see, we was born with hostility in our veins;
Flowing down the street like dirty water after it rains...

-Dana Lonehill 10543-273
May 2, 2010
Waseca FCI
Waseca, MN
(my first prison poem, written upon arrival)

Here I Am

2011-05-27T04:16:00.004-07:00

That's a saying from the inside, when someone shows up they start out by saying "Here I Am," and it used to annoy the hell out of me.
They also start each sentence or conversation with "Listen" because they are all attention whores. They been locked up so long, they want to make sure you hear them. So in a way I understand why they all talk like that. I mean, who was I but a short timer with a short little number? Like all the other short timers showing up in and out of their lives and daily routine of getting up at 5:30, showering-going to breakfast at 6-work at 7:30 and so on and so forth, same routine everyday for years without ever going anywhere away from there, unless it was in a book or if they were lucky enough to have figured it out, in their mind.
I made some good friends there and a couple of enemies.
And I'm not there, I'm here. Free to come and go without the use of a book or meditation. Free to wander wherever I want, whether that be physically, spiritually, or mentally.
Yet every day, EVERY DAY, I think about it. I think about them. Those I left behind who still have time in that place. I don't ever want to go there again EVER but every day I can't help to think about all of it.
And I want to cry.
But I won't cry because I am out here, where they want to be. If it wasn't for the sisters I made in there, I wouldn't have gotten through the halfway house as strongly as I did. I wouldn't be able to maintain my sobriety so strongly.
Maybe I'm one of those people that draw strength from others, hopefully it don't take away from them to do that,
but
yes, I think of that god awful place everyday and of them, locked up as society's outcasts, bottom of the barrel, criminals, and I know it makes me a stronger person.
Because I know that's how people see me, other than my true friends, and immediate family. I am no better than Timothy McVeigh, Charles Manson, or Lindsay Lohan. I have experienced a shift in attitude to those who now think of me as pond scum, but still talk as if they still like me.
And they might make jokes, like we are still all cool, but I can feel their opinions as if they stood up in my soup and screamed them at me.
But I'm cool with that, people have a right to opinions. I have no more explanations for my past, IT IS WHAT IT IS.
I'm still me and
"Here I Am."

Best Letter Ever

2011-05-22T05:29:00.002-07:00

I wrote dozens of letters to my sons while I was away. I told them they didn't have to write to me, because it was too sad to hear everything that was going on in my absence. Plus I talked to them on the phone, followed them in the old newspaper I used to write for, which my old boss sent to me on a weekly basis, Thank you very much. It almost felt like I was there to read about their football and wrestling careers. Almost.
But almost didn't cut it, I wanted them to know that I thought of them on a daily basis. I wanted to connect with them on a deeper level. So I sat down in my bunk and wrote what was supposed to be a congratulatory letter to my son on his team winning the World Series, after all I had experienced the same joy, not only the year before but 6 times in my lifetime. It's not only a joy, that is easy to get used to, but a joy like no other. This was a level I can really connect with my boys on, baseball. So this is it...The Best Letter Ever

Dear Boys,
I thought it was finally time I talked to you about something. If this isn't the most important letter you get from me, it will be the one you never forget. Don't worry this isn't the dreaded talk about...you know what, or the ol' birds and the bees. Because, well this isn't the 50's and I know you all watch R rated movies.

This letter is about love. Pure love. Since you are all about to be men, you need to know about love from a woman's point of view, more importantly from your mother.

You see before your father, I had a first love, a love that has been the one constant in my life. A love that was always there for me, through thick and thin and it never left me.

This love is baseball.

Baseball took my heart during the 1977 World Series. I was 5 years old. I had come in from playing outside to chaos and madness. MY mother and grandmother (Grandma Jeaneen and Grandma Dod) were screaming and jumping up and down. Grandma would kick my mom out the front door and she would sneak back in the back door.

I sat down to watch the TV and see what brought out the madness in these women.
It was baseball. World Series, Game 6. The Dodgers vs. The Yankees. (This is when I sold my soul to the Yankees.)Reggie Jackson hit three home runs that game. He became Mr. October and I became a fan.

You see the deal with baseball, is that it is magical, for those who love it. Players and fans alike. Nowhere else will you see the kind of magic baseball can bring you. It's the magic we live for all summer. That magic of coming back to win it by one-bottom of the 9th-bases loaded-full count-crack of the bat-out of the park-stealing home-pitching a no hitter-kind of magic.
I saw such magic. Maybe not in real life and maybe it was on TV but I've seen such magic.
I gt to see Rickey Henderson break the stolen base record. I saw Cal Ripken outlast the Iron Horse, Lou Gehrig. I saw Mark McGwire break Roger Maris' homerun record that held up for decades, then I saw Sammy Sosa soon follow. I saw the Twins go from worst to first in 91. And, yes I saw the Red Sox win it (finally) after 84 years. I also saw your grandma go from being a Yankee fan, to a Red Sox, fan to a Yankee fan. It don't work like that and hopefully someday I can forgive her for that. I saw Darryl Strawberry comeback, again and again. I saw Nolan Ryan pitch a no hitter at age 44.
I saw my Yankees win it all many, many, many times, including breaking in their new home. But I also saw them go out this year, or rather I heard it on the radio, walking around to get better reception.
Congratulations Ty, your team went all the way this year, now you know how it feels, but don't get used to it, my team will be back. Don't let your dad try to claim any of that glory, he's a stinkin' Mets fan. He was never a Giants fan.
Ask him how heartbroken I was to sell our Reggie Jackson 1971 Topps for gas money two years before he hit the hall of fame. Or how we lost our entire baseball card collection in storage. It still hurts.
There is no love like baseball, my sons, hold it in your heart always because you clearly get that from your mother.

Love & baseball
Mom

P.S. I hope you remember that plan we made back in '06. When I go to the big baseball stadium in the sky, which is the old Yankee stadium, I'm sure because clearly God is a Yankee fan. I still want my ashes spread by the shortstop in Yankee stadium. Not on a sticky beer spill in the stands Jalen, but by shortstop. Of course you will all be arrested for trespassing but there will be further plans for your bail, since you will all be in your 70's.

This ain't no fucking country club.

2011-05-18T03:33:00.006-07:00

play this and read on. (my new theme song, at least for today)

Something hit the side of my bed. I sucked in my breath and opened my eyes, I hate being woken up and it scared the crap out of me.
There was a flashlight in my face, I couldn't see anything.
Get dressed and come with me. -A harsh whisper.
Why? -I whisper back, what the fuck was this shit?
Just get dressed and come with me- harsh whisper again.
I was kind of scared, because I was thinking of stupid movies like Sleepers and shit where the guard have their way with inmates. But then again there was no way, out of all the bitches here I was gonna make some guards lust list. Not with all these bitches that got real time.
I get dressed warmly cuz it's winter and chances are, I was going to a different building, plus as I woke up, I really woke up and realized I was probably going to pee in a cup.
Fuck.
This is such bullshit. I thought. I know plenty of chicks that snort wellbutrins, but I am not one of them. Shit I didn't even snort shit on the outs. WHAT THE FUCK!! I was pissed as I trudged through the snow in the middle of the night. I glared at the snow, because it had the nerve to sparkle inside the prison compound.
Sure enough, I get there and 4 other random chicks are waiting, all pissed off, swollen eyes.
They give us the schpeel, 2 hours to piss or we go to the SHU, which in Hollywood terms is "the hole."
One girl wants to go first because she has work at 5 am.
The next chick comeout, she couldn't pee, got nervous and I think she crapped she was apologizing and saying something about the chili for lunch.
The next chick also couldn't go, she got nervous.
I went, I could pee in the middle of the night, I knew I could.
I follow the female guard into the bathroom, I've done this before for drug tests.
No big deal.
I get in the stall.
Undress.-she orders.

What?
I said take everything off-she commands
Are you serious? I ask
YES
I have done this before, but not when I was awoken at 2am.
BITCH BITCH BITCH FUCKING WHORE -my mind screams at her as she watched me take every stitch off.
She has me do the drill, which I know. Even the bend over and spread em routine which is the most humiliating thing in the whole fucking universe, just to remind you that you have no dignity, no control, and that you are scum, scraped off the scum stuck on the bottom of a scum bucket.
After I do the drill, she says I have to pee naked.
Ok- I nod, thinking what the fuck. She watches me take the cup and plop down. I want to cry, but I put myself here.
I can't pee.
C'mon bladder, fucking produce so this bitch will quit looking at me- I beg my bladder.
I'm still holding in tears.
Fucking bladder, I look up and she's looking at me holding a cup on the toilet in my birthday suit.
Stupid rotten fucking whore, I scream at her within the confines of the gray matter.
Then I quit screaming at her in my mind and think of peeing. I think about it so hard that I can feel the urge, then finally I go. I'm so nervous I go, like all over the cup. But I don't give a fuck, I peed. Right?
I give her the cup.
Disgusting-she says
Yeah thank you slutbucket-I answer within myself.
Get dressed and follow me out.
I wash my hands and get dressed.
She bitches to the dude guards about how disgusting I am to pee all over the cup, I was never good at positioning that right anyways, I don't give a fuck, fuck her. She's the one that will still be here after I walk out these doors. This is her fucking life looking up scumbuckets asses, all for a pension. I hoped my pee spilled all over her. Fucker.
My drug test cleared, I was told to go back to my unit and go to bed.
Fuck this place, I thought on the walk back. Anyone who had the nerve to think we was living it up off their tax money needs to let the feds control their lives for one hour and see how they like it.
Yeah I know we all "deserved" it, but it's no fucking Disneyworld.
It's no country club, and it certainly wasn't a vacation.
Even if the fucking snow has the nerve to sparkle. I kicked at the sparkling snow as I was sent back inside, in the still of the winter night.

um, yeah, this went down.

2011-05-13T21:48:00.001-07:00

My mama at the Pita Pit
Ma: I would like two Humus Pitas, please
Drive thru chick: Um ok I can't get the total right so just pull up
(mom pulls up wondering if the Pitas are big enough for my vegetarian sisters.)
Ma: How big are they
Drive thru chick: What
Ma:The pitas, how big are they?
Drive thru chick: They're $8.43
Ma: No but how big are they? I might want 2 more falafel ones.
Drive thru chick:You ordered small ones.
Ma: I don't recall ordering any size. I think I need two more. Can I get two more?
Drive thru chick:Um, NO.
Drive thru chick: But thats OK! (Drive Thru chick closes window)
My mom is in shock. 'Where am I?' she says to us.
Drive thru chick opens window "That will be $8.43.
Ma: Since I can't order more...(She hands over her twenty.)
Drive thru chick: It's ok! They are really filling. (She's like a size 0, she makes change.)
Drive thru chick: $15.67 is your change
(She turns and looks at her screen and turns back to my mom)
Drive Thru chick: That will be $8.43, please?
Ma: I just paid you.
Drive thru chick: No, you didn't, did you?
Ma: Take me home. (to my brother)

Seriously, I busted a gut. OMG it was too fuckin funny. It was great.

Strong and Independent

2011-05-10T19:08:00.003-07:00

After this whole year of being gone,the last three out of her life, and her out of mine. We spent some time together today and it was good. We went to the park and she wore me out. I sat awhile and watched her play. She is so independent, to a point where it's scary but it's also good. She will be a strong woman in this lifetime, I can see it. It's scary to have a daughter and know that she will experience the heartaches and joys of womanhood. She is already too independent, I know I can't be that controlling type of mother with her, also because that is not me. I've had friends with nagging mothers who got all involved in their love lives and such, my mom knew when I was making mistakes but she let me make them. She let me live,love, laugh and cry and she was there....always in the end to tell me it was going to be ok and that I was a strong, independent woman thahttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gift didn't need to be needed. I had a hard time this past year and a half but I did it because I knew I could, and I knew my mom and daughter would be there when I was done.
I plan to let her be the strong independent woman she was born to be.
And I will be there when she needs me.
What a good day it was, today.
Also, I taught her how to swing without being pushed. :)

Cheesecake Log (from the inside)

2011-05-08T18:04:00.001-07:00

1 cup cream cheese
1 disposable cup of vanilla pudding
1/2 cup of countrytime lemonade mix (dry)
1 cup of creamer (non dairy powder-dry)

1 pack of Pecan Sandies cookies

1 small trash bags (or saran wrap)
1 bucket of ice (or a fridge)

Crumble cookies into oblivion, mix crumbs with hot water until it's a tough dough. Roll dough out onto the trash bag (ok saran wrap, in the free world.)

Mix cream cheese, vanilla pudding, lemonade mix, and creamer with small amount of hot water. Don't let it get watery. Mix well and spead over cookie crumb dough. You can add small pieces of snickers (my fave) for Snickers cheesecake. Roll with the plastic wrap into a log and let chill either in ice water or in fridge...another free world luxury. When it's chilled you should be able to slice off a piece of cheesecake.
Of course this is the free world and you can just go buy a cheese cake, but this was one of the small ways, using commisarry items, people made their time go easier or celebrated each other's birthdays.

Dana Dane-Revised

2011-05-07T14:15:00.003-07:00

*sigh*
There was so many things I was supposed to do according to all the 10 year plans I made in my life. Some of these plans I made in daydreams. Some in jail, doing eight hour stints, some in job interviews....some with career counselors and some in various treatment settings. I'm done with ten year plans. Christ, I'm nearly 40 now, I highly doubt I need to plan until I'm 50. How do you pencil in Cougar years-mid life crisis-start looking at younger men----teasing! That's one family tradition I don't want to follow. Anyways,I'm done with 10 year plans because I am still me, know what I mean? Not necessarily new and improved, although I feel brand new, it's more like...
Me-Revised.
So the me that I am now is taking care of her spirit.
I am strong...still.....barely. Oh the number of times I wanted to curl in a ball and cry my eyes out. But I couldn't. I had to stay strong for me.
And for my kids.
The new me realizes she has choices. And opportunities.
This is my time to stay sober,and know that it is a choice.
My choice. My opportunity.
Let's do this.

Home Free

2011-05-05T17:19:00.003-07:00

well this city is home now...I am at my mom's house. I wrote sooooooooooo much while I was locked up. I learned so much about my self in the past year. I been counting down to this day FOREVER on a little notepad.
First off
I will never be a lesbian because it didn't happen yet after the ultimate test.
I am in perfect health except for I need to lose wieght which I lost 35 pounds in county but plateau-ed in prison because I worked in the kitchen.
My blood pressure is slightly high so I am on meds for that and it's now normal.
My daughter is the most amazing beautiful girl child in the world. She is 7 and obsessed with dinosaurs.
And I have discovered new heros.
My sons.
They are the strongest men I know other than my dad, but maybe stronger than him.
They are going to be seniors in high school, one is going for a Bill Gates scholarship, the other is a steady 3.0. They were honored a couple of weeks ago along with their wrestling team for being on honor roll all season. They didn't make it to state but they made second round play offs in football and Ty made all conference while Jalen made honorable mention. And all this and still strong enough to NOT use alcohol and drugs. Truly amazing.....don't get me wrong I'm sure they still fart and throw dirty socks around.
They are still at home along with Stephon and their dad.
I am sooo fortunate their dad stepped in and my mom had Justice because I met so many girls that lost their kids.
And I saw so much inside.
I saw people's daughters, mothers, sisters, wives, grandmothers....locked up with me. Yeah we made mistakes, but we were still somebody's mom. And that want of freedom is hard, so hard it's a pain. I feel for the sisters I made in there and left. And I remember it's what we did, not who we are.

Facebook....really??

2011-04-02T09:46:00.000-07:00

So I heard about this on the inside, how facebook blew up?

WTF?

I don't even know how to use this muhfugga!

So anyways, here is my muthafuggin update

I am currently in a HH until May 5th

I have a half job I had another one but the little goddeesses at the HH ix-nayed one so I am still hittin the bricks as they say

I have seen my beautiful daughter but not my bad ass boys yet

I get up every day still counting down and go to bed at night marking X's

I still love the fuck out of the Yankees

I am still writing

I wrote a fiction novel in county which will be published hopefully this year

We're (my family and I) are going to go with self publishing because well I don't want to deal with the word no lol (Do people still say lol? Miss T said they do but I think she just don't want to like made me feel bad)

I have some other books in the works, another fiction and one sort of memior slash affirmation slash poetry slash my sons viewpoints those will also be published soon.

I discovered while I was in there that my two oldest boys are writers

Awesome writers and through them I have to courage to do this sobriety thing

If they can do it while in high school on a reservation I know I can.

They are my heroes

Mind you they are not saints

they still fart, stink, and all that

but they are bad ass

I can't always get on here but I try to at least once a week

I guess what i want to say for anyone who asked if I am going to apologize or whatever

I just want to say

I did my time

and one thing I learned time is precious

I will not go around saying sorry.....sorry...sorry

i am making amends as I can and if I disappointed anyone

I'm sorry about that

that's about all you will get...if you want more you have to pay for the bitch....ha...just teasing...anyways

because I did my time, prison probably saved my life and I don't have any more time to be sorry all my life I have things to do

(Like see a Yankees game)

And I want people to know one thing prison is not a country club

mind you it's not like shawshank but it's not anyplace where people are just chillin' and getting fat

everything you love is taken from you, and you are put somewhere you don't want to be

with other people who don't want to be there

nothing is in your control and nothing about it screams country club

I left alot of cool ass sisters in there and I pray for them everyday

Really I am just happy to be out and breathe and see the traffic and birds and squirrels and billboards

I'll be on more after May 5th

(Well we have little stupid prison squirrels in there who didn't know they were inmates, stup[id squirrels, the one that lived by our window was named Bill-lay...you know how they say it on Young Guns.)

Anyways I missed the fuck out of you guys....

Go Yanks!!

Oh yeah thanks to whoever wrote me and kept in touch

Pink Houses for You and Me

2010-06-03T15:51:00.000-07:00

I remember in college how hungry I used to be. I had a couple of bucks one time so I got a salad which was sold by the weight. I barely had enough to pay for it but damn it was a good salad. That was the only time I was able to afford to eat at that college.
I was so happy to get accepted there, I did everything I could to go. I was a single mother and I desperately wanted, dreamed, and lusted after a better life. Against all the odds, I thought I could make it.
I took an overprice apartment in a good neighborhood for 99 dollars more than my monthly welfare income. I transferred my case from the small town I lived in to the city of St. Paul, MN. The first thing I found out after a month into my classes was that I wasn't approved for daycare. I needed a thirty hour a week job to get approved. I cried on the bus ride back from the appointment with the state. My future that included no low income housing and food shelves vanished. I dropped out of college and stayed on welfare in order to live. Well that's that story.
My life had high points and low points since then. I was definitely at t a low for a minute there (like the last two years). I met the wrong people, trusted them and my dumb ass is where I am, but I consider this a blessing. It sobered me up. Am I gonna be sober from now on? I can't say. But I am right now.
Yesterday (Memorial Day) all us Oglala Lakotas gathered with each other and prayed. We remembered our families on the outside. It was a hard day for all of us so we stuck by each other. Some of the girls lost parents while on the inside. It was hard.
We ate good for the weekend, though(because of the holiday). Bacon cheeseburgers, broccoli and cheese, salad, fresh fruit salad, onion rings, cheese sticks and Hershey's ice cream pie form Burger King. I was like screw the diet, this is what I worked out for. I was stuffed, stuffed. AS I walked the track I listened to my friend Tuck's headphones. Pink Houses by John Cougar Mellencamp was playing. I thought back to those days when I tried to go to college to make a better life for myself. How I could cut the bad part of the veggies, pull chicken meat from the left over chicken to make some kind of stir fry for my kids and I. I thought of how hungry I was in school. How jealous I was of the younger kids in school with their parent's credit cards.
I listened to Cougar Mellencamp sing, I was so full I walked the yard a couple of miles, the weather was nice, the razor wire was even sparkling. Here I was full, committing gluttony in prison. The govt fed me but I'm locked in. On the outs, they fed me a dream. Ain't that America, for you and me. Ain't that America, little pink houses for you and me.

Update

2010-05-06T14:02:00.002-07:00

April 30th 2010

It's been two days. Starting to feel a little more comfortable here now. Have to get used to it still. I'm sitting outside right now and you don't know how damn good it feels. There's about 1,500 of us here. Everyone splits off by race. My extent of being outside has been hustling from van to courthouse, to van, to jail, to van, to another jail, to van to plane, to prison transfer center, to plane again, to bus, to prison. And believe me, I gulped every breath of fresh air I could in all those transfers. Fuckin A this feels good now. I just walked a little over two miles and it's not even 3pm yet. Birds are tweetin and shit. Rockin Robin! Address is below for those who want to write. Postcards are gladly accepted. Send no stamps. I''m just happy to be here. My peoples are here, Lakota, we watch out and take care of each other. Still working on the weight loss, will update again soon. Just wanted you to know that birds in the prison yard sing just as pretty, dandelions are just as yellow and smell as sweet on the inside. Grass just cut too. The smell of after the rain is just as fresh and razor wire is pretty with a sun setting behind it. Hello small town America, we're right next door.

Pictures, postcards, greeting cards and letters only
Dana Lonehill 10543-273
FCI Unit D
P.O. Box 1731
Waseca, MN 56093

No stamps please!

-dlh

April 16th

2010-04-22T14:05:00.004-07:00

On April 16th at 4AM, I heard the call I was waiting for, "Lonehill, get ready! Marshalls are coming to get you." I was hauled downstairs with two others and we rode across the state with seven other guys. We were shackled for the whole ride. OMG I cannot explain how humiliating it is to stop midway, via the ride and go into a convenience store shackled to pee. People look at me like I'm Dahmer, but
hey, I had to pee.

That's what I have to face, I'm a criminal now. I gave up hope of the F.B.I. going after the people who received or took the moolah long ago. I resigned to the fact that I was going down like a drunk cheerleader for this. And I did. I just gave up. I didn't fight it when my lawyer suggested I take it to trial. I didn't want to put my time and freedom in the hands of twelve South Dakotan jurors who clearly wouldn't be my peers. Plus I knew there would be local media coverage at the same time my sons were at the prime of their high school sports season. So I gave up the fight before I started and pleaded.

Battey (the judge) hung me, but I'm alright. This is the slap in the face I needed. I lost 32lbs so far (woot!) I will be well brand-used lol. No I will be brand new when I get out. Single, sober and hopefully successfully published. I made the choice to keep writing because this is the only vice I have to get me through it.

I told my son tonight i will be sober when I get out but I will still smoke my menthol's. He was all like "You don't smoke." So I said "Oh yeah, but I will." He said "why?" I said "When people quit drinking they join AA and smoke." Anyway, I'm now in Sioux Falls, SD. I don't know when I will be flying to Oklahoma but it will be soon so I will post an address then. From now on I can't receive stamps. Thanks everyone who wrote. I love you guys. I'll keep writing and let you know how it is on the inside, writing with bruised wrists.

Waiting On The Sun

2010-04-17T23:50:00.006-07:00

The dream is at it's demise
As lashes start to flutter
Eyes now open wide
Lying still in a warm slumber

Winter is set on the window pane
Brushed strokes of frosty art
Darkness of dusk lingers and remains
Stillness accepts the beat of a lonely heart

Time lingers, stretching on
I watch for the faintest of blue
in the earliest signs of dawn
Like frost as it secedes to dew

Then I see the bluest of faint
Hidden at the edge of the horizon
All that is alive in the moon's fate
Here we watch, waiting on the sun

-dlh
February 2010

When I wrote this poem, I didn't realize how cloudy it was. The sun slipped by incongnito. Damn that sun!

The Guitar Pick

2010-03-20T17:16:00.003-07:00

One of my earliest memories is of seeing the world from the tabletop. My eyes must have been even with the kitchen table back then. I remember the overflowing ashtray, the empty beer cans that didn't make it to the trash can, the ring made from the cans were crusted black because the more the adults talked and forgot to ash their cigarettes, the ashes would either fall on the table or little embers of it would fall into the wet beer rings.

Country music would play loudly, adults screamed at each other just to be heard. It was always the same crew. My grandma, her niece and nephew(who were older than her because she was the youngest of twelve children), and her twin brother, that was the core of the group. There were friends and other cousins that came and went. My grandpa, when he was around, usually sat outside in the shade of snakeberry tree or the shade of his squaw cooler which is a lean to built of tall posts and covered with pine boughs. That's where he drank his muscatel wine and sang old standards. Inside the house you were guaranteed either Merle Haggard, Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, Loretta Lynn, and so on. Still the same music I listen to today.

I remember on one of these occasions, my grandma was hosting all day. I don't remember who was there but my grandpa wasn't. There was a lady there. She was bigger and light complected. I don't think she was white, but I think she was an iyeska (half White – half Indian). Most of the people that hung out there were iyeskas.
Anyway, this lady had a guitar and was able to sit and drink as long as she played the guitar and sang. She even took requests. Which tickled my gram, she requested her ass off. Patsy Cline, Loretta Lynn, the works. I stood by my grandma and listened to the lady sing. She had a pretty voice and every time she finished a song people would war hoop and clap. She would try to guzzle as much beer as she could before the next request came in. Soon her voice was giving. To this day, I now know it took on a Janis Joplin sound to it. It still sounded pretty, but gravelly.

She begged for a break. Even in my youth, I knew she didn't have to beg. They played country music for awhile. After awhile, my grandma had a request. I don't remember the name of the song but it was about rain and love and such. It was beautiful. Everyone was quiet while she sang.

When she finished, she grabbed her beer. I think just to wet her throat.
“Sing it again!” My grandma barked.

She sang the song over and over and then finally took a bathroom break. When she sat down my grandma had evil eyes. “Sing it again.”, she said.

“I can't”, she said. I lost my pick here somewhere and my fingers are bleeding.

“Bullshit.”, my grandma said, “You wanna stay, you play. You're hiding your pick.”

“For reals, I'm not lying. Look at my fingers.”

I looked, they were indeed bloody.

“Then you're out the door.”, my grandma said.

Instead of letting her just leave, because my grandma had her mean eyes on, she beat her up all the way down the stairs and out the front door. Throwing her guitar out after her as if to say, “There!”.

I was not too shocked. I had seen my grandma beat people up before. But never for anything like that. Even though I was 4 or 5, I knew it was wrong. I knew enough to know that my grandma was drunk and felt sorry for the singing lady with bloody fingers.

My grandma still had mean eyes and I didn't want to see anymore fighting. My brother was in his usual spot under the coffee table, drinking his bottle and watching T.V. I scooted him over, it felt safe under there, and Grizzly Adams was on.

That's when I noticed in his hand that wasn't holding a bottle, he held a guitar pick.

2010-03-19T11:07:00.003-07:00

I looked up at the Federal building through a blur. Not only was my eyesight fucked without glasses or contacts, I was drunk. Drunker than I'd been in a long time. Tore to the floor, sorority girl drunk. Plus, I think was crying. That's how drunk I was, I think I was crying, maybe not. My brother walked me inside to turn myself in. Thank god he did or I would have turned right around and looked for a grassy knoll somewhere. I vaguely remember being cuffed and escorted in the cargo elevator that comes out right outside of the marshal's office. I think I fell asleep in the holding cell. I remember a lady giving me a PBT test. I blew in it like a professional PBT-er. I wanted to say “Take that!”. I passed out again and woke up again in the dingy holding cell. It was dark and scary. I wanted to go to the jail ASAP. I hollered for someone, nobody came. I kicked the chain link fence and three of them came running out. “Can you take me to jail?”, I begged. I don't know how much longer it took. Next thing I know they are interviewing me. The Marshal tells me he was already in Pine Ridge that day looking for me. I told him I was up here at a restaurant having my “last supper” and “last drunk”.

That's all I remember of the interview except for being hauled to the jail. I had never been to any other jail except for the one on the reservation. It was different. I changed into black and white stripes immediately. I went through my booking interview in my drunk polite, “Miss Manners” mode. I remember the lady laughing at me as she was booking me, so it was “Miss Manners / Comedian” mode. She gave me two blankets and sent me to my holding cell. They brought me a tray, I don't remember what it was, but I ate everything on it. Everything. When I tried to pass out with my two wonderfully warm blankets, they told me to go watch T.V.. I sat in a waiting room-area and couldn't focus. I finally asked if I could go lay down. I slept soundly in the bright fluorescent lights. The county jail, which was the first white man's jail I had ever been to, was okay. In my drunken slumber, I remember being thankful for having 2 blankets, a mat on concrete slab, food, and I was warm. It wasn't like the tribal jail that throws you into a dirty ass – cold ass drunk tank with homeless drunks who cry, who sing, who snore, and fart. I was the drunk in there, who couldn't sleep, and that eight hours they hold you feels like forever when you are sobering up.

I awoke, I think in the middle of the night. The girls I was in there with were all asleep. There were six beds in there and all but the last one was occupied. I was rum dumb and staggered to the toilet. I peed and then drank water from the sink. I was hungover thirsty. I realized then when I lay down that I turned myself in. My time was in someone else hands. The governments. I now belonged to the government. I knew for over a year this time was coming. I knew I spent much of the last 18 months drinking to try and deny and avoid this day. I was now on my way to being institutionalized. Big surprise for an Indian, right?

The whole next day was sleeping, reading, trying to eat, and sleeping again. In the short time I was in holding I met a lady who was the namesake for one of my friends. Two young girls who had minor charges and were to get out in two days. A chick who was on her way back to the state prison. She had a different blanket because she was on suicide watch. She told us she took a bottle of sleeping pills and gulped them down with a fifth of whiskey. She told her man in Texas what she did. He told her he was calling the cops. They found her in a snowbank. She spent 3 days in the hospital before she was healthy enough to go to jail. She showed us all her frostbite on her foot. They brought in a new girl. She was 35, she said, and had some unpaid fines. She talked with us and seemed okay. Her slab and mat was furthest from the door and windows and in the corner by the cinder block walls. She moved her mat towards the front of the cell. We were all talking about the different reasons why we were in there when the new girl started crying. Then she hyperventilated to the point where it scared all of us. We pounded on the glass until a C.O. came in running over. They took her out of the cell and sent her back in with a paper bag to breathe into.

I never really believed in that paper bag theory. When I was 12, I rode in a six seated plane that had me freaked out at the landing. I tried breathing in the bag while the pilot swooped and swirled to find a good spot to land at the airport(twas a hayfield). By the time we landed, I staggered out delirious, dry heaving, ready to faint, and thanking god. The paper bag did nothing.

So anyway they take this chick for like an hour. She comes back all serene. I knew the bag didn't calm her down. They gave her some pill. She started telling us she had to sit out a 700 and something dollar fine. That is why she was freaking out. I wanted to say that's only about 18 to 20 days. My future is uncertain!!

In the holding cell, the night before when I was passed out, there was a girl in her own cell, about in her 40's. She was singing, hollering redrum, over and over. She asked for tampons and stuffed them in her ears. She plugged her sink up and flooded her cell. She knocked her head off the wall to bleed. They put her in a “suicide dress” which makes it impossible to move. I never seen one, but yeah I heard. I guess when the C.O.'s looked up, she got out of the dress and was standing there naked. Nuts! For the duration I was in booking. I felt like Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest. All day it was like someone put a quarter in her and and you'd hear “Redrum! Redrum!” I silently thanked my brain for not being weak. I can't imagine what It would be like to totally lose control of your mind like that. That's a scary thought. I returned to my book. The book was about a lawyer whose client was suing the mob. It was cheesy but I got into it. Right when the story was unfolding a C.O. came in the holding cell and called out 4 last names. We were to go upstairs, where it was better for us. I wasn't allowed to take my book. It actually took them about 2 hours to move us upstairs. We sat in the same area I sat in the night before and watched T.V.. In these 2 hours, I watched other inmates and trustees move about life behind bars. Their actions and thee way they moved around was so normal. All I could think when I watched them get on and off the elevator with ease, wait at the doors until they were buzzed through, and casually stroll to the next door and wait, it was like watching lab rats go through a maze. It was expected. Sad. Not that I felt sorry for anyone, it was just that that particular lifestyle was normal? I can't explain it, but wondered if it would ever feel normal to me, someday. I prayed and hoped not.

later gater

2010-01-19T10:52:00.002-07:00

will post an addy later for anyone to write to me....if you are a hater from the family that got me in troublr....fuck off.

to everyone else i am soon to be incarcerated and would love some mail'

addy will be posted here later

AA is for quitters

2009-09-23T10:28:00.004-07:00

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 stuff.....in 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 awesome....as 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.

Twitterpated

2009-09-22T08:40:00.002-07:00

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.

Well, Nancy....

2009-09-17T11:33:00.003-07:00

Ok that is what my uncle says to get on my nerves...and he says it in a Ronald Reagan voice....so 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.

respectfully

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

The Garden

2009-06-14T10:04:00.001-07:00

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.

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

2009-04-30T10:12:00.004-07:00

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 not...it'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.

HONK! HONK! HONK! HONK!

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.

thank me

2009-04-26T08:05:00.000-07:00

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

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

2009-04-24T10:37:00.007-07:00

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.

My brother Jesse's blog

2009-04-21T10:43:00.003-07:00

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)
Now
onto
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 totally..it 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.

my wussy boys

2009-04-20T17:38:00.002-07:00

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

WASP!!!

BEE!!!!

AHHHH!

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

Th Weekend Cometh, Pray for King James

2009-04-18T09:17:00.001-07:00

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.

Balloons {Shudder}}

2009-04-16T09:11:00.000-07:00

So

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.

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

2009-04-04T16:06:00.003-07:00

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.

Life hands you

2009-03-31T10:20:00.001-07:00

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

Live

Oh How I Miss IT

2009-03-24T09:15:00.001-07:00

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)

It's about teamwork

2009-03-23T13:57:00.003-07:00

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.

Teamwork.
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 people...as 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.

Distance

2009-03-22T09:33:00.000-07:00

(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

Don't call me Native American, Dammit!

2009-03-20T12:46:00.002-07:00

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, Indianz.com

there was a time

2009-03-19T08:20:00.001-07:00

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

Grandmas Soup Pots

2009-03-17T17:50:00.004-07:00

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.

The Pride of Being Lakota

2009-03-16T10:30:00.000-07:00

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.

Grandma Backpack

2009-03-13T10:26:00.004-07:00

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.)

The Condiment Queen

2009-03-11T08:41:00.002-07:00

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...

Hallelujah!!!

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!

The Wachinko Warrior

2009-03-10T10:14:00.003-07:00

Wachinko=pout

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.

Fried Macaroni and Cheese

2009-03-07T09:50:00.000-07:00

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 it....like fried macaroni and cheese.

The Red Door

2009-03-06T10:27:00.001-07:00

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.)

curdled dream

2009-03-04T20:45:00.002-07:00

Everything I thought

never would be

yet

Everything I wanted

never came

yet

Someday I will be

and will have

but for now it is not

yet

i will still rise

sometimes

like a curdled dream

Now....I love penguins

2009-02-28T12:25:00.004-07:00

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.

I used to eat dirt

2009-02-26T10:03:00.002-07:00

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.

What a cryin, low down, dirty shame

2009-02-24T11:07:00.000-07:00

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.

The Day of The Wino

2009-02-23T15:22:00.004-07:00

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*)

just click it

2009-02-16T19:35:00.004-07:00

Only On The Rez

2009-02-12T12:18:00.004-07:00

-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.

Without Grams

2009-02-10T10:23:00.000-07:00

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.

The Legend of the $2 Shit

2009-02-09T08:33:00.000-07:00

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!)

Just an update

2009-02-08T08:14:00.003-07:00

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.

After I dyed them

Colors you never seen in quill work

untitled

2009-02-07T10:58:00.003-07:00

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?

...life and death by post it note...

2009-01-05T12:09:00.000-07:00

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....

Twirl

2008-10-28T17:04:00.001-07:00

When I was a little girl, my grandpa would twirl me. It was always all of a sudden and spontaneous.

He would be in the middle of cooking, he would be listenig to some old standard on the radio or old country and singing. He would step away from his cooking, take a drink of his beer and grab my hand as I was running by and twirl me.

"Stop Grandpa." I would laugh. Which made him twirl me more, in the middle of the kitchen. I remember seeing the walls whirl by in their 70's color theme and rooster wallpaper. I remember smelling the food, smelling my grandpas beer breath as he laughed and sang to me. I remember seeing the fruit magnets float by me. I remember my grandma smiling but at the same time telling him not to tease me.

I would be embarassed but I knew, if I snuck up on him again, he would sneak up on me and twirl me again.

One of my many Halloween stories

2008-10-28T12:54:00.001-07:00

How sweet it is to out your family.
The year was 1997, I had my 2 oldest boys then. We lived in the pretty little town of Red Wing. My mom lived in a huge 5 bedroom split level home. It looked even more monstrous because it was on the upper level of the neighborhood and sat on a hill. Her front yard and driveway were downhill. She would hire me occasionally to come over and stay with my 5 siblings, whenever her and my step dad went out of town.
She also had a Rottweiler named Jasmine that year. Jasmine was still a puppy, but you know that stage they hit, where they get real tall and clumsy. Right before they grow into thier paws. Jazz had a bad habit of climbing the deck in the back and the garage and then the roof. There she would bark for attention.
Well it was around Halloween when I had to go up to my moms with my 2 boys. They all wanted to play with the fog machine, that my mom purchased so they can have some sort of special effect when passing out candy. In the family room they built a "nightclub." With a strobe light, the fog machine, Christmas lights and the stereo. Ok I admit I helped them.
I was upstairs when the brood approched me again.
"Can we please just fog the whole house? We want to play hide and seek?"
"Yeah sure" I say, I retreat to my moms room because I knew that would be the point of clarity.
After a half hour I hear various smoke alarms going off. I run out, can't see, they turned it off and are pulling batteries out of alarms in different rooms. I know this is highly illegal, but hey, anything to keep them quiet, sane and not fighting for a couple of hours.
Next thing I know they are calling me out again. I can't see. The strobe is red. I am questioning whether or not I can breathe in this red, flashing fog. I start to feel like, clausterphobic, for a second, then somebody grabs my leg. I let out a scream and began chasing rugrats at high speed. We are all running like maniacs...then the doorbell rings. They all run and hide. I hate being the adult sometimes.
I make my way down the stairs and open the door. As I open the door, a whole cloud of fog (it was cherry scented) follows me out and surrounds the Mormon family next door.
After a coughing fit, Bishop Lash asks "Are you all ok?"
"Sure" I say," my mom just bought the kids a fog machine and we were testing it out." I close the door behind me, because the fog won't quit and I don't want him to see the red flashing light.
"Ok" he says, looking at me doubtfully "You let us know if you need anything?"
"Sure"
He starts walking away with his wife and kids, then turns back "Your dog is on the roof again."
Darn that Jasmine! I think, in all the chaos, we didn't hear her barking. I walk down to the lawn so I can see her and tell her to shut up, before I went to retrieve her. When I looked back, I noticed, how could I have forgotten, my mom took the drapes to the cleaners, because some little girl (who shall remain nameless) colored them with markers. The huge bay windows in the living room looked like damnation, fire and brimstone, the lake of fire, and on top of that you could hear the kids screaming. Thats when I also noticed, cars driving by real slow. Looking at the house. I wished I was 12 years old so I could flip them off. Instead I yell at Jazz to shut up, wave at the cars, and go to the back deck to get my dog.
She is going crazy when I get her down, she hears the kids screaming inside and wants in so bad. I slide open the deck door for her, she flies past me and proceeds to chase rugrats around like I was. OMG I think, they are having so much fun. I am sure people think we are witches, or worshippers, or the Adams Family. I watch my kids, siblings, and dog running in the fog laughing. Then I think "WHO GIVES A CRAP!" If we stop now, the damage has been done, already.
"Hey you rugrats!"
"What" they sound a little panicked, like I am going to turn off the fun.
"You better run, cuz I am going to get you!!"
They scream and run.

This year will be my first haunted house this year...if you dare stop by.

Sometime you are just inspired

2008-10-25T19:58:00.001-07:00

In this Nebraska prairie

On this old, lonely dirt road

Between these amber fields of dried grass

Grown for yearlings to become prime rib

At Marie's Casual Dining

During tourist season

I look at the stream in the morning sky

Made by a jet plane passing by

And I wonder

I wonder why

Destiny brought me here

~dlh