Contemplation, journaling, Life, lifecoaching, Me, meditaton, Native American Women, Uncategorized, Writing

Thursday Thoughts

I keep thinking that I have something to say. Then I sit down and my mind is blank. I drive around the state all day long with so much going through my head. I get all excited about sitting down and getting all those thoughts out….but I find now that I am too brain-dead to put too much together.

I find it frustating, to say the least.

So I guess tonight I will just ramble. Maybe some of those wonderful things I was thinking about earlier will come back. If not, then at least I have had some typing practice, and I get to spell things. I am one of those people who, when you can’t figure out how to correctly spell the word you want to use, will just pick a different word. Hopefully it will convey exactly what I want to say even if it isn’t the first word I wanted to use.

I was on a kick, once upon a time, to use different dictionaries and pick different words every day…that got old and I could never remember any of those really cool words I looked up. I learned a few new words but overall, not worth my time.

Honestly, there is so much insanity going on in the world that I don’t even try to make sense of any of it. All these years I thought people were changing, not just some but many people. Turns out, I was wrong. We are in such a sad state.

Protesting, fear, anger, I’m right there with everyone.

As a Native American woman I think I can say, for real, I’m scared. I feel more endangered than ever before. It’s an ancient feeling. I am sure that my ancestors knew this feeling well. Yet I go to work everyday. Talking with and helping people with disabilities. I write my reports, supervise the staff assigned to me, and collect my paycheck.

I read a meme on Facebook today referring to all of this insanity. It was a Buddist monk sitting in a meditation pose and the meme said something like all the chaos being OK since it means that it is clearing out the bad and good is coming after it all. It was supposed to make the reader feel better. But all I could think was, how long?

I still wonder…how long? Will I survive it? Will any Native person survive a level of hate so high it hasn’t been seen since “manifest destination” ran rampant over us all?

We stay in faith. We stay in prayer. It will do.

Contemplation, Family, journaling, Life, Me, Native American Women, Uncategorized

Pressing Tears

My days had been busy with work projects which for me, generally means writing lots and lots of reports. I can easily spend six hours a day trying to keep up with all the reports that I am behind in. This is a heavy weight on my shoulders, being behind. When I am not working to catch up with those reports, I am making and keeping a hectic driving schedule, meeting after meeting after meeting..

My husband has been off work for about six weeks now. He was injured while on the job and workman’s comp pay has been trickling in. He feels guilty. Because my main concern was that he follow his therapist instructions and get better I had not been asking him to help more around the house during this time and so many of my home chores were also getting behind. I did not feel guilty. I rarely do. There is only so much a human can do in a day and if work is taking up most of my time I can forgive me for not being the perfect housewife.

But this day he had been trying to do more around the house. He had done the dishes and was busy working on the laundry. He then passed through the kitchen and asked if we had a spray bottle. I was just finishing up a batch of reports and asked him why? He said he had some shirts to iron and needed to spray them down with water. I reminded him that our iron had spray capability, all he had to do was fill the water reservoir. He thanked me and wandered on his way to set up the ironing board.

For the first time in weeks I felt a little guilty about not getting to all my chores and I remembered how well he did not iron shirts. Oh he was able to get the big wrinkles out but his attention to detail around the collar and sleeves was a bit lacking. I smiled and announced that I had finished report writing for the day and told him that I would get his shirts done.

There were three shirts laying across the back of a chair and three hangers thrown on the bed. I laid the first shirt out across the board and started. The first shirt was tedious. I was thinking “why did I say I would iron? I hate to iron”, and I do. It is my least favorite chore. Those permanent press inventors are real hero’s of mine. The second shirt began and my shoulders and stance next to the board relaxed and I started to smile. I was remembering that this was one of the chores I learned at my mother’s side.

There are so many things that our mother’s work hard to teach us when we are young. Sometimes those mother’s get to know if they were able to pass on all the knowledge and wisdom they accumulate to their children and sometimes they don’t get to know if they were successful. I am not sure if my mother knew that I had mastered the collared-shirt. It was not one of those things where she said “here, do it like this”. No, this was one of those “osmosis” teachings. She would iron shirts and pants for my step-dad and I would sit or stand next to her and talk. She would talk too but she never stopped ironing. I learned by watching.

The longer I stood there that day and the more shirts he “found” in the closet that needed to be pressed (there were five by the time I actually got done), the more I enjoyed my task. I took the time to remember her standing there with her ironing and I learned to enjoy my ironing. I know that my step-dad appreciated looking nice when he got dressed for work and I know that my husband really appreciates putting on a crisp looking shirt. I smiled more and more as I turned the shirt to the angles on the board. I took a certain amount of pride as I hung each shirt when I finished it, making sure that each collar was in proper position and that the sleeves were aligned on the hanger.

I wasn’t so much proud of me. I was proud of what my mother accomplished as she ironed and talked and of what I learned as I talked and watched. I was happy that she had been able to pass on so much to me, things she did everyday as mother and wife that she passed to me to use as I became mother and wife. By the time I had finished ironing my eyes were glassy with early tears that I didn’t let fall. He would not have understood at that moment how very close I was to my mother. I could feel her smile as she finally knew that she did, indeed, succeed.

Contemplation, journaling, Life, Me, meditaton, Native American Women, Writing

A Little Wine, A Little Sadness

I have to admit to being a little sad these days. You might think that sometimes winter does that to some people but winter does not make me sad. As a matter of fact, the first day of winter is often the happiest day of the year for me. It means that the days will no longer be getting shorter. The days do, in fact, start getting longer and this is quite awesome. Conversely, as you might imagine, the first day of summer is one of the sadest days of the year for me.

You might think that the end of greatly anticipated holiday cheer would make me sad. It does not. I am relieved, as most mothers are, once the crazy season is over.

No, not any of the things that you might think….my computer died and now I am sad. Sad enough it seems to drink wine and attempt to blog from my tablet. Oh, some folks might just laugh but I am a very tactile person. This flat screen is not my thing. I bought a blue tooth keyboard for my tablet way back when. I used it so much that I had to use white fingernail polish to repaint the keys, twice. Then it died…I was sad that day also.

I think I have things to say. I feel words making my figertips itch for keyboard action. This is difficult. Failed hard drive, devastating news. No tax return…yet, no new computer.

That’s it. That’s all I wanted to say. To let cyberspace know why I am absent. Thinking about another glass of wine…cause you know, what else can I do if I can’t write? Ahh well, breaking into my stash of cool pens, running two journals at once, I will get through this, I hope.

Maybe this is the universe telling me to read more.

And now that I have said all of this, I am not so sad…either that or I have definitely had enough wine for the night!

Contemplation, journaling, Life, Me, Native American Women, Writing

Piano Fingers

I was perusing Facebook the other day and watched a video of four people playing the same piano. They all took turns turning the pages and smiling, eight hands roaming up and down the keys as they pounded out the piece they were playing. I liked the music and pictured the same piece being played on four different pianos by the same four people. It would have sounded the same but would not have been as fun to watch.

What I noticed more than everything else I was watching was that they all did that thing piano players do, you know…rocking back and forth to the music as they changed tempo and raised and lowered sound of the keys from soft to loud and back to soft. All piano players do it…as I have observed. I am not a player so I can’t say that I do it but I notice things like that.

It started me thinking. I could start imagining myself sitting at the keyboard of my laptop rocking back and forth as I pounded out my blog or a story or a chapter in a book. I could imagine writing faster and slower, changing tempo as the thoughts rolled out of my head and to my hands; pounding now and lightly tapping then. I wondered how that would look to the casual observer. I wondered if getting so into my writing would cause me to do the same so I sat down and started writing. My first words were tentative and as the thoughts began to flow my typing got faster and faster and mistakes were backspaced and corrected quickly then the thought would end and everything would slow until the next thought was born. Two hundred words, three hundred words…five hundred words and so on until the piece was completed.

Funny thing is, I never once swayed forward or backward. I didn’t lower my head and listen the tapping as I created each sentence. The speed varied on the thought but that was about it. My typing as always been a bit like listening to a DI walk across the room…rather loud as each heel strikes the ground as the DI pounds each step into the floor. Yes, I walk the same way as I type…just a bit intense. I have had to paint the letters back on the keyboard I use for my tablet twice now. Still, no swaying to the words the same way that a pianist sways to the music that is being played.

I would stop every now and again to look back over my work. Piano players, I noticed, don’t do that. When I didn’t like the way a sentence ended or didn’t like the way one thought flowed into the next I took the time to fix it. Again, piano players don’t get that luxury. Once the music is sounded it is out there and once a mistake is made the best you can do is try to cover it up with the next note or change the piece altogether and then let everyone think that you meant for it to sound that way.

These are just the things I was thinking today. All I can say about that is piano players are not typist when they are playing and typist are not piano players when they are typing. I think that even if I did play the piano I would not sway to they typing like I would sway to the music….

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.

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!

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.

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.

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!

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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First Nations Women are the Nations' first ladies

Category Archives: Me