Author Archives: Jeannine

Family, journaling, Life, Me, meditaton, Native American Women

Dig Deep, Look High, Be Thankful

Rough week.  Lots to think about.  Decisions to be made.  I was very happy for the last of the warm weather to be able to sit outside with my coffee and do some praying while I thought…

I am a protector, this I know and understand.  I protect those I love and I protect them well.  But what happens when those I love walk out from under the protection?  I begin to understand a little bit about how the Creator feels when we walk away from his protection.

I was reminded of a story…my childhood was not smooth but honestly, for the most part I remember being happy.  There were seven of us…mostly girls.  I am the oldest of the brood.  When I was 18 and my next two sisters in age were 16 and 15, one of them took me aside and told me that my job was done.  They didn’t need me anymore.  They were grown and they had me to thank for getting them this far but I was no longer needed to protect or guide them.  For real, she said it just like that.  I remember standing there with my mouth hanging open in disbelief.  I remember being hurt, in my heart. 

This hurt lasted several days.  I didn’t know what to think.  I wasn’t sure of what my place was supposed to be anymore.  I know that she did not tell these things to our Mother.  I know I didn’t tell her, either.  These were things that were shared just between the sisters, as some things just are. 

I had been praying, for the past year, to be free, to grow up, to not be responsible any more.  I had been the big sister since I was 18 months old and it had been a tough 18 years.  Those siblings were a lot of work.  Still, once she had said those things to me I just couldn’t be anything but hurt.  It took several days for me to realize that all of my prayers had been answered.  It was a sudden realization. 

Then I started smiling again.  Then I started planning!  Within two years I was gone.  I had started my independence in college but then joined the Air Force and was off to basic training and I never looked back.  MY life had begun. 

Several years later I was home for a visit and the very same sister who had so happily dismissed me made sure to tell me that our whole family had fallen apart and it was all my fault for leaving.  This time I just smiled.  I knew who was responsible for my life and who was responsible for hers (or the “families’ life” as she put it).  I returned to my own life intact.

That story came to mind as I pondered this week.  It is my life again.  There are steps I need to take to make sure that I am healthy in spirit.  My loved ones will stay under my protection or not…I don’t make that choice.  I will remain strong as my protection does not end and my family is worth the effort.

My world changes from time to time with my age and experience.  There are things that need to be done now that I have crossed this line and become the grandmother.  Ceremonies that need to be completed so that the journey can continue.  I am looking forward again as the week ends and I sit here, I realize, happy for my rough start.  It makes me dig deep into my soul and look high to the Creator and to be thankful for everything.

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Girlfriends, journaling, Life, lifecoaching, meditaton, Native American Women, Retreat, Writing

My Sacred Journey

I have such wonderful friends.  But even as strong as we would like to be there are times that even the strongest of us hits the wall and dang, does that hurt.  We all decided long ago (everyone in my tiny circle is not as young as we used to be) that we were not going to allow that wall to stop us even if it slowed us down a minute.  So we decided to get together and have a weekend retreat.

The crew, like any crew, as specialties.  My specialty is being a life coach so I took the lead.  I named the retreat, set the agenda, made the to-do list and lined up the teachers.

We learned some mediation do’s and don’ts.  We learned some easy-peasy journaling techniques and we studied-just briefly-the how’s and why’s of “chemical reactions to emotional inputs”.  We built a “God box” to work on faith building and….we talked!

We talked and we cried and we laughed.  We acknowledged that we are strong and that we are fragile, that we are young at heart and as old as the hills.  We heard, from our own mouths, some real wisdom and some really silly notions.

It was a good weekend!

Winter is coming and this is where we needed to be….looking at ourselves, getting ready to get into hibernation mode.  We are not bears so we cannot sleep the winter months away but we are women and we can take this time to slow down and look deeply into our mirrors.  We can use this time to really think about everything we went through this weekend….to think about our Sacred Journey, about the women we walk with, about those we have left behind, about what we learned and what we want to learn next.

We will open our “God boxes” next spring after we have filled them with our prayers to see what has transpired in our prayer lives and see our how our faith as grown.  We will have laughed and cried even more when the winter is done and the spring has started again.  We have so much to look forward too.

Now I am sitting here thinking about everything that happened this weekend and find that rather than be physically, emotionally and spiritually drained I am excited and energetic.  It is so wonderful to be with such wonderful women all weekend and to know that we have fueled each other, built each other up and took the time to remind each other how much we really mean to each other and to ourselves.  I am filled with gratitude.

My sacred journey continues….

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Contemplation, Life, Native American Women

No Show

To the rest of the Friday afternoon Starbucks crowd I realize that I look just like another yuppish hippy girl ticking away at a teeny tiny keyboard enjoying a vente mocha but I  am not.  I am, in fact, a frustrated supervisor who had an interview scheduled to start half an hour ago.

I want to say that I am angry but I really am not.  I just wonder, you know?  I wonder about the people I hear who sit around complaining about their lives and who don’t do anything to actually change their circumstances.

She has a job.  I know she has a job because I read her application.  When I set the time for the interview she specifically asked for a time after her shift at her current job.  I think…wait, I thought it was admirable.  So many people just walk off the job leaving current employers hanging that it is actually refreshing to speak with someone who appeared to have some work ethic.  I suppose that this has not changed, work ethic she has….courtesy she does not, and here I sit.

There are a lot of people who say they want better jobs or better lives that can be attained by better jobs but I am just not so sure anymore.  Perhaps there are some people who really do need work and would like to have anyone meet them for an interview but not here, not today.

The coffee/frappuccino crowd wains and wanes, the professionals, the students, the expected and the “never thought he/she would enter this place” kinds of people purposefully and aimlessly order drinks as I sit here watching.  If I had any guts I would ask a few if they need jobs.  Afterall, I did come her to conduct an interview.

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Contemplation, getting in shape, Life, Me, Native American Women, Writing

Lost and Found Again

I work very hard at knowing myself.  Looking into all the nooks and crannies can be tedious at best and scary most of the time.  But there are times when I let myself get worn down and suddenly I find that I am empty.

It’s not the good empty when you release all your stress and can sleep soundly again.  It’s the empty that you feel right before you realize that depression is the next stage of your digression.  It’s not a comfortable feeling.  I don’t like it.

Then, as it has happened so many times before, the miracle to wake me up and help me focus again.

I was talking to my nephew on the phone last night.  He and I have stressful jobs in social services.  We compare our days and make our jokes and dream of winning the lottery so we can leave our stressful jobs behind.  I confessed that I have not written anything in months, no blogs, no stories, nothing.  Then the magical words, the miracle…”Auntie, you have to recommit”…simple, easy.  He excitedly told me of his newest writing project and let me know how much I would love to meet the elder he is working with and added that he had to do the same thing…recommit.  He sits down every day to write…even if  he only gets in 10 minutes a day.  Our normal hour and a half conversation was cut short as it was getting very late and he still needed to get his writing done.

I was exhausted last night when we spoke so I didn’t write then.  Today I wrote some reports and sent some faxes and made some phone calls.  These things are never done.  There will always be reports to write but this is not the style of writing that I like to do.  So tonight before I go to bed, as tomorrow promises to be as crazy busy as the days of the past couple of months, I will write.   I will be happy that I took the time to sit and let the words flow even if it was just for a little while.

I took the 21 in 21 Challenge this month, to walk 21 miles in 21 days.  A nice way to help rebuild that walking habit.  I wrote at least one report I was behind in each day.  I cleaned a spot in my house that I haven’t cleaned as faithfully as I should.  This ‘recommit’ theme seems more of a command than a suggestion for me.  I’m a life coach, I notice those kinds of patterns.

I am less frustrated with me now.  I am beginning to feel purpose again.  I will probably still only blog a couple of times each month but my stories will start making progress again.  Even as I write tonight, new aspects of the stories coalesce where only fog was present before.  Artwork that I need begins to seem ‘not impossible’.  The emptiness is filling up.

Thanks nephew for saying the things you are supposed to say!

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Contemplation, Life, Me, Native American Women, Nature

Mko Winter Wonders

Winter finally came by.  She is walking sometimes softly and sometimes with a little anger.  She is singing quietly today but there have been days when her song was more a wolf’s howl.  I sit inside on those days, not even daring to move the curtains aside.  Those are the days that I am really feeling the bear inside.  Those are the days when napping doe not come with guilt.

I wonder about the bear often during the silent days when snow muffles all the rumblings of the day.  I put on my coat, scarf and gloves and shovel the patio clean.  I stomp around in the drifts and mounds that I have created and my feet stay dry in boots laced tight.  I think about all the animals living in the snow without boots.  I wonder if their feet/hoofs/paws are cold?

There was a time when walking along the country road and enjoying the beauty was a big priority for me.  Those days are not long gone, yet…but a little gone.  My concession, I suppose, to living past the half century mark.  I would have my camera in hand working hard to keep some record of the beauty I was privileged to witness.  But I have to tell you, during the warmer months when I look at those pictures I do not remember the cold so some of the magic is lost.  Maybe that is the real truth of two dimensions.

I wonder too, does the bear think about me?  Does she dream of me during the winter while she sleeps the shortened days away?  Does she hope that I am taking good care of myself as I do not have the luxury of a den?  Are there times when she thinks that we might be connected?  Native teachings will tell me that she does and I am happy with that knowledge, I hope she is as well.

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Contemplation, death, Family, Life, Me, Native American Women

Rock and Roll Payday Memories

I spent the day on the road. Total miles logged was 230. When you spend that much time alone you have a tendency to think about things that normally you do have time to think about. Today I spent my time thinking about my parents. There are just certain things that trigger memories and then when I am driving I have time to let those thoughts keep running.

My mother died 3 years ago. Her passing was not easy. She was ill and she had suffered a heart attack. She lingered for two weeks in a hospital that was far from her home. She was not alone, one of her daughters and her husband were there with her. My father died several years prior to her passing. His passing was not easy. He suffered complications of diabetes after a surgery. He was not alone, two of his daughters, his sisters and several of his nieces and nephews were there when he passed.

I think of this and I am glad to have been an intimate part of that passing. I wish that I had been able to be there for my mother as well but I am glad that the same sister who stood with me while my father passed, stood by my mothers’ side as well. I can think of no greater expression of love than to be present at the passing of a loved one. To hold that hand and to say “I love you” or “thank you” or whatever is on your mind to say at that last moment.

The first thing I do is to plug in the ipod and cue up Janis Joplin. I play the entire uploaded album as loud as my factory installed speakers will allow while singing along with Janis and I smile because she was one of my mother’s favorite musicians. The I look for a convenience store, any one will do as long as they sell Payday candy bars. I buy the biggest one I can find and I eat the whole candy bar, savoring every bite and I smile because this was my dad’s favorite candy bar.

While I complete these little rituals I have established for myself I wonder about my parents. I wonder where they are? I wonder what important works they are working on these days? I wonder which of their heathen children they are watching closely today?

I hear so many people lament over the loss of a loved one that spend so much of their lives espousing their belief in a Creator and an afterlife that promises to be so much better than this life we live on this world but when push comes to shove…what they actually believe is far from what they have espoused. The absolute lack of faith explains so much to me.

For me, blaring Janis Joplin and wolfing down a Payday candy bar are the traditions that I hope I am passing down to my own daughter who someday will face these things. Someday she will think of me. I trust that she will just play the music she knows I love and eat a candy bar that was my favorite and smiles knowing that my new adventure has begun. I hope she wonders what I am up to and I trust she knows that I am having a blast.

She will then take everything that I have given her and pass those things on to her daughter and that makes me so happy. I know deep in my heart that my parents are happy about this as well, whatever they are doing today.

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Uncategorized

My Little Christmas Miracle

There are no presents under my Christmas tree.  Is it wrong that I don’t feel bad about that?  My children are all grown and they are busy making babies of their own. Their Christmas trees have piles of gifts festivally wrapped and labeled.

Instead of heading out to the crazy malls and instead of sharing all my personal information with the world via online shoppings for each and every child and grandchild I opted for a family gift for each family. I should clarify, each family with children.  I do have one child that has yet to start her family and she is getting a nice Christmas card with lots of hugs and kisses enclosed.

I was two weeks late putting up my tree and up until 10pm that night I wasn’t so sure that I would bother with it at all.  I have yet to get the outside lights from the box in the garage that normally flicker deep into the night.

Oh, I could blame work, I could blame a desperate personal financial crisis but I won’t.  When I was 18 my little sisters sat me down one day and told me that they did not need me anymore.  They thanked me for raising them and teaching them the things big sisters are supposed to.  Apparently, I had done my job and now my job was done.  I sat in shock for several minutes, I cried for several more (unseen by my little sisters), I began a prayer that I have yet to finish…a thankful prayer.  Not by choice was I the big sister of six siblings but it was my position and I did my best.  Now it was finally my time.  Now I could begin and end a day without the burden of taking care of all those siblings.

This is where I am again.  I love Christmas, the lights, the traditional tv shows, the presents, the foods, the giving and the getting.  It just dawned on me this year that my children don’t need me anymore to create that Christmas magic for them…they are busy creating Christmas magic for their own.  For a minute I was in shock and for a minute more I cried, and now I continue the prayer I started all those years ago…that same prayer of thanksgiving.  I am thankful that my children are happy and doing for their own children what I tried to do for them for so many years.

This year I am working on creating a new Christmas magic that is not so stressful and not so expensive.

This year the lights on the tree are for me.

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Contemplation, Life, Me, Native American Women

I got this…..

When we were young we did crazy things. We tried new things. Sometimes we were really excited about what we were up to and sometimes we were just a bundle of nerves hoping the outcome was just a little bit successful.

I say these things because I am here again, although not nearly as young as I would like to be. Mostly I am excited but my nerves are starting to vibrate.

I can honestly say that I make my own decisions and I know this so I know that whatever comes of my choices now are of my own doing. I cannot help but hope that this does not turn out like my first meatloaf, as small as a pound of butter but weighed as much as a brick of gold…it was so bad we could not eat it and in those days we ate anything. Of course, I was not alone in that creation nor was I a cook and I am happy to say that over the years I have improved my cooking skills and these days my meatloaf is quite tasty.

The toughest choice I have ever had to make in my life I made in fear. Years later, looking back at the course of my life, if asked, I can answer that my only regret being that I did not give myself enough credit. I was stronger than I thought at that time but I was young. Had I chosen the other road, I would have been just fine. Hindsight being 20/20 and all that.

I have been working on this manifestation stuff, like most people I know, needing more money than I have. Out of the blue my caseload doubles. Well, the opportunity was presented to me, excited and scared I said yes. As the poster child for the Procrastinators of America there is potential here for some real disaster. As a master manifestor-in-training…this will be interesting to say the least as I am sure that my paperwork did not just double, I think it quadrupled.

I just need to remember now that I am stronger than I give myself credit for and that having taken this particular road, I will be fine…I got this!

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Contemplation, Me, Native American Women

My Great Golfing Adventure…Not!

Overall I have to say that I am happy with me. I have done things that I wanted to do. I have tried things that scared me and survived to tell the tales of my adventures. There are things that I would still like to try and lessons yet to be learned. I have declined some adventures because some lessons can be learned from watching others. Whether they fail or succeed I can learn just fine from here, thank you very much.

But there is one adventure I have yet to take and somebody is going to have to explain the draw to me. I mean, I feel it, I really do. There is something peaceful in the watching and I do like that but there is something else and I cannot explain it, yet. I do feel, however, that this is an adventure that I cannot take alone. I can see that it is possible to walk those links alone but you never see a lone person whacking away at that little ball. At least I never see a lone person whacking away at a little ball.

There are men and women who participate, there are all colors of people who love this game, age does not seem to be an issue so I am confident that I would not be out of place. But when? Who? Where? I am getting impatient waiting on someone to take me golfing. I have my own clubs thanks to a dear friend who decided that his career of walking the greens was over. He said, “we are about the same height so these will work for you just fine”. He was right, the clubs fit me perfectly. My golf bag is not fancy, not pink, not new, but it is functional. My son-in-law, excited that I wanted to learn bought me all kinds of tees and yes, pink balls. I have a glove that fits my hand. I even have a girlfriend who has volunteered to drive the cart around, as she has no desire to actually golf she just wants to be part of the adventure.

Three summers have come and gone and still those clubs sit in my closet. I am getting discouraged. Am I wrong? Should I go alone? Is it socially acceptable for a lone person who has no clue to show up at some community course and “just do it”? I’m not feeling that. I think I am supposed to be part of a group, at the very least, of a twosome.

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Contemplation, Life, Me, Native American Women

Skeins of Life

I wish that crocheting really was relaxing. I sit down with a skein of yarn and I dream of big things…pretty things…useful things. Truth be told, I know one stitch. The “granny square”. It’s a cool stitch to be sure but there are times when I would like to crochet a different pattern.

Rather than lament about my inability I will be glad that I can work that granny square into some pretty awesome afghans given all the modern colors they can do yarn in these days.

I listen to other women talk about how relaxing it is to sit and crochet. It is not so for me. I don’t know why but I attack the yarn, crochet hook in hand, with that same attitude I attack most projects I get involved in….keep going until it is done. My shoulders are a bunched mess of muscle, my fingers ache from holding the crochet hook in one hand that the yarn in the other. My eyes burn from keeping careful watch on the number of stitches I am whipping up as I go.

I took up some old broken tile that needs to be replaced to day, I walked two miles, I cooked three meals, I folded some canvas tarps that needed to be folded (those suckers are heavy) and I did dishes that equaled the cooking I did. After all of these chores were done I could finally sit down and had a chance to relax….but nooOOOooo.

Why do I crochet then? Good question. I like the yarn. I feel the challenge calling after I have taken a skein and rolled it into a ball. Giant-ass ball of yarn staring at me, daring me to make it into something.

I think all of my kids have afghans now, probably most of my grandkids and both of my dogs. I don’t know who needs this afghan but it will be here when the new owner walks into my house. I will feel good when it is done. I will know that I met the challenge thrown out to me. I will have used my talents to the best of my ability…limited as they are. It’s a granny thing, I hear……the making of afghans.

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