Music

Ever have a song get stuck in your head and it doesn't turn off? Ok... here is what i am 'listening to' today....

thought i oughta bare my naked feelings
thought i oughta tear the curtain down
i held the blade in trembling hands
prepared to make it but.....
just then the phone rang
i never had the nerve to make the final cut

pink floyd

I Repeat.... I Wish I Had Said That!

"Having installed a legacy Class 5 switch just 3 years ago, we did not initially consider installing a whole new switch," said Godfrey Enjady, General Manager of MATI....

"We now hope to spread the word about the advantages of VoIP technology to Indian country." Full Story

Gee... wish I had said that. Glad to see he made the switch...(pun intended).

Last Day

Update to yesterday's post: today was the final day of the Rural Telecon Conf, and I thought I should provide proof that I really can make it through the day without wearing gum on any of my accessories.

Guess there's hope, afterall, for this social rez butterfly.

Ms. Etiquette

This week I have been attending a Rural Telecon Conference. In attendance are some high level government officials, corporate executives, and lots of techies like me interested in broadband deployment.

When it comes to networking and glad-handing, you could say I am in my element. I love meeting people and talking tech with anyone who crosses my path. One of the cool people I met was William Elk, the "Tavern Father" from Sherman Alexie's movie "The Business of Fancy Dancing." During the whole conference, there were only three of us natives so we kinda stuck together.

Meal times are always awkward at these conferences. Maybe it's the rez in me, but their luncheons are usually - or unusually - a little too formal for me. I never know which fork to use, despise cloth napkins, almost always manage to rub my sleeve across someone else's cake, and can easily make a mess trying to chop my salad into manageable bite-size pieces. There are no exceptions.

But the biggest dilemma I face is where to put my gum. I never remember I have gum until it is too late. It might seem logical that I should probably just swallow it, but for reasons unknown to me I can't get myself to do that. Now, if I ever find myself in some future therapy session I just might mention this. But I am not in therapy, so I usually end up scanning the table for at least one stupid paper napkin to put my gum in.

Well, today I was in luck. There was a paper napkin sitting right there in front of me, and I didn't even have to reach across anyone's food to get it. Jackpot! Ok, so I grab the napkin, spit the gum out, then place it under my plate and out of sight. No problem.

I was sitting at the table with the other two natives and a couple of techies i didn't know, talking tech, and listening to the keynote speaker. We were getting into some cool conversations when I just happened to look down. Earlier in the day I had my sunglasses on, but in the name of politeness I decided to take them off and hang them from the neck of my shirt. Well, when I looked down during the course of one of these conversations, guess what was pasted to one of the lenses of my glasses? A big blob of chewed up gum. Oh my god! I cannot believe these guys did not tell me! I sat there like that for the entire meal and not one of them said a word. Even the "Tavern Father" did not say a thing.

Here I thought I was Ms. Etiquette. It took a lot for me to NOT roll on the floor and laugh my ass off. But since this was a formal luncheon, I simply turned away from the table, quietly scraped the gum from my glasses, and placed it in the paper napkin where it was supposed to be in the first place without saying a word.

My Inheritance

10/11: Thanksgiving Day - Canada. Columbus Day (observed)- USA.

50% of me ought to be in Canada with my relatives committing gluttony and sharing too many stories. The same 50% ought to be sharing these stories in my own language, with the remaining 50% protesting the observance of the day when THEY arrived to eventually rob me of my natural inheritance.

I am a first generation English speaker. I speak this language fluently, and sometimes perfectly, but not by choice. It was the "sisters" who made this decision for me, and this was done years before I was even born.

They abducted him when he was just a little boy. Abducted, tormented, and held him captive. A six year old hostage. A six year old prisoner of war... A war he did not start... A war he did not understand... A war that had long been declared over.

They tell me there were many little prisoners like this at the Kamloops Boarding School. Little prisoners who would be washed of all natural and native influences - heritage - language - culture. Prisoners who would not be released until THEY were satisfied that they were re-created in THEIR own likenesses. Their short haired, bitter-filled, English speaking likenesses.

I always knew he had an angry streak. I also knew he was afraid of bats. But it wasn't until my adult life that I would find out why.

We used to go to Canada a lot when we were kids. I always liked to visit with my grandma. She always seemed so alive and full of life as she told us her animated stories. Dad was our interpreter.

I never thought to question the need for an interpreter until I became a teenager. One day while he was gone, she began to tell her stories. I desperately wanted to hear her stories. I desperately needed to hear her stories, but there was no interpreter to be found. No one else had the patience that dad did to convert her stories to English.

When he came back later that day, I somewhat angrily asked him why he did not teach us the language. In my mind, I was really expecting a fully detailed explanation for this. Afterall, I missed so much during his brief absence in that one afternoon. All he offered was to say he didn't learn English until he was 12, and he did not want us to go through what he went through. End of story. Period.

Years later during my annual visit to Canada to clean his grave, I stopped in to see my aunt. We were washing dishes when she suddenly began to tell me about their experiences at the Kamloops Boarding school. I had never heard this before. He never talked about it.

I listened very intently, and was surprised to hear her voice become little. She sounded so innocent, and so afraid. She told of the sisters and their weapons of choice. She told how the innocence of a little boy and little girl was lost too soon. Sometimes in their fits of rage, the sisters would use rulers with the big balls at the end. Sometimes it would be straps. Sometimes they liked to use fear tactics. They would come up with many ways to punish the children for speaking their language.

They once threw my dad in the attic when he made such a mistake. They were kind enough to give him a sleeping bag and water, but decided to withhold all food. He was locked up there for days. Locked up there with the bats. Bats that happened to get stuck in the sleeping bag with him as he tried to hide from them. Bats that scared him when he was so small.

In a few short moments of time she poured out nearly 60 years of pain, and then she stopped. She didn't say anymore, and I didn't ask her to.

Almost like Trading Spaces

I'm getting new windows and doors, and I can't wait.... i can't wait... i can't wait.... i can't wait!!!

The rez house I have occupied for so many years is over twenty years old. Like many other rez houses, it has desperately needed a change. I have been talking about it for at least three years, and have come close to doing it so many times, but when it got down to it I just didn't know where to start.

Then we got a new Housing Director. In conducting his initial audits, he made a discovery..... my house has been paid off AND I have been in an overpayment status..... apparently for quite a while.

Maybe I should have asked him when it happened, how it happend, or why it happened... but I didn't. The details of the past became insignificant at that point. I was so excited at getting so much back, it more than made up for all the times when I thought I gave too much.

It didn't take long to make up my mind about where to start. I would have enough to do four episodes of Trading Spaces if I wanted. In assessing my home, I made a decsion - new windows and doors are exactly what I need right now.

Little Things

I think it is my patriotic duty to drink Pepsi.

I only have five screen names.

I think top sheets on beds are useless.

I like porches... well, the car, too.... but i really mean the house kind.

I smoke Export 'A' Mediums.

I successfully gained weight within the last few years (it was a deliberate attempt).

Almost all of my pens are purple.

I forgot the password to one of my screen names.

I'm too lazy to spell out my last name, so I abbreviate.

I'm a tree hugger.

I write "bucks" on my checks instead of dollars (as in 'twenty bucks').

I own a '98 Mustang GT and have no plans to upgrade.

I love my job.

I accidently gained more weight than I meant to.

I have had the same bank account for twenty-two years.

I will never own a cat.

I don't like milk.

I'm an introvert. Ok, maybe not.

I rarely smoke at work (about three times a year at best).

I always get the rental cars with the remote control horns because I can never remember what kind of car I rented, or where I parked.

If the ingredients are not easily recognizable, I probably won't eat it.

I met my long lost brother, Gary, for the first time about nine years ago.

My favorite shoes are Black High Top Chuck Taylors (nostalgia).

My sister always gives her pets a first name with her last name.

I smoke a lot at night.

I love Sobe Green Tea.

I prefer being online and listening to music over watching TV.

My mum's first name has eleven letters.

I don't smoke at work because I am always too busy.

I'm obsessed with sunshine.

My home PC only has 128Mb of memory.

My favorite cereal is Cinnamon Life.

I have too many books.

I don't use my middle name. Ever.

I mistrust most hair dressers, and almost always cut my own hair.

I'm a first generation English speaker on my dad's side.

I get annoyed when people at work ask me if I'm busy. Hello? If I wasn't busy I would probably take a break and smoke, too....

My grandmother lived to be 112 years old.

I prefer my debit card to cash.

Sometimes I miss the Army.

My car is blue.

I played the claironet in grade school.

I'm afraid of heights.

My favorite flowers are poppies and cosmos.

I still own vinyl albums, but have nothing to play them on.

The oldest song I have was originally recorded on a wax cylinder.

When I see guys in tight jeans, I always ask myself "what for?"

Bender

He was dehydrated when I found him today.... neatly placed in an obscure location in the room. Put away and forgotten.

When they first saw him, they just had to have him. He was too cute and adorable just to pass by.

"Mom, mom! Can we buy him? Can we please? We promise we will take care of him!"

In the back of my mind I knew this was a fad. I knew the novelty would wear off. I knew he would eventually be neglected and forgotten. But After about fifteen minutes of debate and much begging in the hallway of the mall, I caved in.

And so it was today with much guilt that I "remembered" Bender. I was washing dishes when I came across the tiny jar of Hermit Crab food on the counter.

"Hey, where's Bender? Has anyone checked on him lately? When was the last time he was fed? Has anyone given him any water?"

When we first got him, they used to parade him around. His home was on the counter for everyone to see, and he was the star of the show.

As a rule, I live a busy and hectic life. And I guess it is this reason that it didn't occur to me to notice when they moved him. Not until I came across the half used jar of crab food.

They told me they moved him upstairs.... to the bedroom. No longer the star of the show, but now "taking up space and getting in the way." I rushed upstairs to find him curled up in a ball in the corner of his small cage - tucked away tightly inside his shell. His water had obviously been evaporated for days, and his food was pitifully littered all over the sandy floor of his otherwise neat little home.

For a moment I was afraid... afraid that he had died of thirst, or starvation, or even worse.... heartbreak and loneliness. I immediately began the inner dialogue of blaming myself.

Much to my relief, he was alive when I found him.... malnourished and dehydrated, but alive. I don't know why this means so much to me, but it does.

As I filled his bowls with fresh food and water, I sat for a while and watched him drink. He drank like he hadn't had water in a hundred years. After he had quenched his thirst, he retreated once again into that safe place in his little black and white shell.

I silently promised him I would never forget him again. I think he silently believes me.