Baby Steps are just as hard as Leaps and Bounds

This morning, I took some big steps toward my independence. They were small things to get done, but made me feel better none the less. I had been putting them off, making little excuses in my head as to reasons why I couldn’t get them done at the time. Today was different, everything seemed to want to get done, and before I knew it all of the little bits of paper work and information I needed to get things moving seemed to appear before me. So I took the pen and just got it all over with. Today was a small step in a direction full of big steps. I only wish all the steps ahead were as easy and painless as the ones I took today. It’s hard changing ones whole life. You start the process and then it suddenly becomes apparent just how radical the change will be, which brings on a heightened state of panic in the back of your head. You become aware that you are stepping in to uncharted territory, and walking away from the familiarity of what you know. This is both terrifying and liberating at the same time, a feeling I really don’t care to feel for very long. It is unsettling, nerve-racking, and all together strange. I’ve been going on an odd roller coaster of being completely pumped and excited to being very freaked out and unsure. I keep asking myself questions like “How am I going to do this?” and “What am I doing?”. Finally the answer to my two continuous question was answered today. Ironically by the same voice that has been asking these questions in the first place. The answer was simple. “You simply will do what you need to, or don’t and continue on in limbo.” So today, things got done. They were irreversible steps in the process of obtaining my freedom. A small weight has been lifted and it is suddenly a little easier to bear. So that is one less thing, and thank God.

I'm a Singing Indian from a White Trash Life-

Everyone has things in their life that they only share with certain others. Most people actually go through great pains to hide some of these little odd edges of their lives. What makes people interesting is their complexity of character. The many hidden sides of our lives are the makings of who we are as people. I was reminded recently; by one of my close friends of just how many of these little corners I actually have in my life. And she reminded me of it while I was sitting in a restaurant singing loudly and doing a great job at embarrassing her in front of people she didn’t know. First let me explain the singing. As anyone who has read most of my blog entries, you know already that I am Native American. What most of you don’t know is that I am also fourth generation white trash strait from Oklahoma. And it is with this heritage I must explain. Did anyone know that Okies have their own style of music? Well, it’s reminiscent of the movie “Oh Brother Where art Thou?” I’m talking down home, back woods, pure good old boy country music. John Denver was one of these I believe. So, to give you the entire feel for what I am talking about, I have to start a second story.
Two years ago, about this time of year my tribe celebrates Blue Corn Planting Festival. It is over one of the three day weekends. We all go up to the grounds, and put up our lodges. (Most of you would call it a teepee.) I actually own a real one. And we camp out for the weekend. During that time we have various ceremonies, weddings, birth celebrations, and honor ceremonies. We dance in the traditional way all day long in full traditional regalia, we have a huge feast, and then it is all over. All of the old people retreat to their Campers, and the rest, well they slowly find their way into one of the lodges. The fire in the middle makes the canvas glow warmly across the fields, and it calls to them like a beacon in the night. So to get to the point, they all start finding their way into my lodge, or my mothers, and before you know it, there are thirty Indians sitting knee to knee in a big circle around a little fire in side a teepee. What happens next it the important part. It was the first time I had ever brought Jolene, and she had no idea what to expect. Sitting there passing around home made corn chips and salsa, telling jokes, my Aunt Toni asked if she could use my flash light. She had been laughing too hard and had to try to make it to the out house. I smiled, held it up, (knowing full well what was going to happen) and answered her. “You mean this little light of mine?” I asked? What happened next was both hilarious and horrifying to Jolene. The whole lodge full of Indians broke into song. “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine!!” Well, three hours later after Big Johns rendition of a song called “Mountain dew, doodlie dew” in a serious back woods baritone, everyone finally got tired from laughing so hard and went back to their own lodges. Jolene looked over at me after the last guest stepped out. “What the hell?” She asked. “Wow, that’s not a side of your life you share with many people!” She laughed.
My family is like the frigging Vontraps. They break out in song at every social gathering, and at most even bring their guitars and banjos, complete with song books with lyrics to every old song ever written.
So now I bring you back to me singing loudly in a restaurant, only now you will understand that is the 50th birthday of a close family member, and there is a banjo and thirty other people singing very loudly in a public restaurant, and the song the man with the guitar has chosen is none other than “Jolene” By Dolly Pardon. (Coincidentally Jolene has always hated this song.) And as the last chorus is being strummed out the waiter comes in and in a sing song voice pipes up that “Jolene, Jolene, that’s who needs to sign her tab!” She was horrified. Right about then she looked over at me with a red face and a smile, and says “I would give anything to video tape this and show everyone you know just what a dork you are! I bet even your boyfriend doesn’t know just what a folk singing freak you really are!” Thank God she didn’t have a video tape that day. I’m sure she will get her chance one of these days however. So everyone has to be something, and I am fourth generation white trash from the other side of the tracks and can sing every back woods redneck song written since the thirties. I guess it could be worse for someone as cool as me. It could be on tape!

MK-

In the words of Alanis...

Life seems to be playing jokes on me in the form of ironic mishaps. First this week was the letter I never got, the letter that has delayed my freedom and cost me a job that pays close to three grand a month. Then there is the never ending ups and downs of the situation I am in. Irony it seems is not without a sense of humor. The joke Irony is playing on me is really friggin funny too. To find something and not be able to have it, to realize you’ve had something you wanted and lost it. The list is endless. And to Irony I tip my cup. Cheers to you Asshole! Hope your week goes the way mine has.

MK

Little worlds crashing down.

The images of that day will be burned into my mind forever. Will it be the same for her?
The air was hot and dry like all the summer days in Eastern Oregon. I was nine years old that day. The wheat fields were already plowed and the dust devils swirled around our house in little mock tornadoes. My sister and I had a daily ritual of walking down the dirt road from our house to wait for the ice cream truck that turned around at the city limit sign at the bottom of our hill. We set out that day happy little girls with a hand full of change jingling in our pockets. I remember the sky was void of any clouds that day. The sun remained at the top of the sky, its heat radiating down on the dry cracked earth. The ground was so parched that the dirt road became a soft powder as we walked barefoot across the fields. The air was so stagnant that the dust remained in the air for what seemed like hours. As we walked, the ground gave off little puffs of dust and it became a game to stomp the little clouds of powdered soil into the air as we walked and laughed. We both laughed so hard that we cried as we hopped up and down in the dirt. I didn’t know it at that moment, but in a few hours I would run down that road again making little puffs with my feet, and I would cry then too, but not from laughing. Several hours later, my parents told me and my sister that they were getting a divorce. Life as we knew it would change forever.
I worry about the impacts my actions or inactions will have on my daughter. My Mother has been divorced three times and is currently on her fourth husband. I know from experience that these things can be very confusing and disturbing to a child and their mental health. But inaction will take it's toll too. I remember the whole day like it was yesterday, the day my parents left each other. I was four years older than my daughter is now, but I wonder how it will affect her just the same. Decisions like this seem to be hard on everyone. It is hard to take a child with you into an unknown decision, and it is hard to watch them live in an unhappy home because you are scared to change too. Something that my daughter said the other day confirmed my worries.

Two days ago my daughter had her little friend come over to play. She had never been in our house before, and as Nicole walked her through the house I listened to their conversation. “This is my Mommy’s room.” She said. “Where does your Dad sleep?” The little girl asked. “Oh, he sleeps in that room.” Nicole said pointing to a different door. The other girl looked confused. “Why do your parents have different rooms?” She asked. “They fight too much.” Nicole said with a shrug. They were off to play, and I was left sitting dumbfounded on the couch. How in the world could I let this happen? I have let her fall through the cracks of life into a place where I never wanted her to go. The choices I am making in my life will have an impact on everything in hers. It is a huge responsibility to deal with, and I can only hope that the decision I am making will benefit her and not harm her. How do you explain these things to a five year old? There is no book, or manual that comes with a child when you become a parent, though I could use one about now. It seems that all I have to work with is my own experiences as a child in a divorced home. You would think that I would know just what to say and do having been through this several times in my life from her perspective. I know how this affected me as a child, and it hurt. I know now that my Mother made the right choice. My father only got worse before he got better. But I don’t have the luxury of hindsight and I wish I did. I am still unsure. Life has become a mock tornado, and all things seem to be up in the air spinning in different directions all at once. So much change all at once, so much to do, and so much to say good bye to. How do people do this alone? I am alone in this, and it has begun to sink in. I am surrounded by well meaning people who say they will help, but I am beginning to see that no one will be able to help with some of this. It is going to be up to me and me alone. So it comes to it, and I am the one who will have to tell her. It is killing me knowing I will have to be the one to drop that bomb on her little world. What am I going to say? Will she understand?

Pervy Poetry

Cries of satisfaction

Each breath a word,

Breast against breast

Pelvis against pelvis,

Hearts pulse in time

with eachother.

Rapidly rising Rapidly Falling,

muscles tighten,

contracting, stimulating.

Continuous motions for

one common goal.

Praying, Laughing, Screaming

It is the O

Just a little while longer........ 

Rage Calmly Grows, I Wait....

I can feel the rage swell in my stomach. It pulses with each new word. Every second is more verbal ammo for my arsenal. Boom, Boom, Boom. His words fire at me like bullets into the air. They no longer hurt. I’ve grown sadly accustomed to hearing the unintelligent barking. The rage burns in my chest like fire, warming my arms, and fists. I’m not a violent person, but he brings it out in me from some far off forbidden corner in my soul. The hate and anger grows as it feeds on its self. The hate feeds the anger; the anger feeds the rage and so on. How far will this go I wonder? It will inevitably get worse before it will get better. The cold emotionless stare is the only thing keeping me calm. If it weren’t for my ability to step out side the box and shut down, I wouldn’t be able to control it. My fist clenches and I bite down hard on my growing hate and disgust. He isn’t even talking to me. He is yelling at the television again. Like a mindless Zombie from a horror story, the screen holds his attention. More auditory stench rolls off of his tongue in a wave of profanity and cursing. His constant anger is like electricity in the air, static and hot. We’ve been over this before. I’ve asked and begged and demanded he stop. The cursing brings me back to my childhood, a world where a different angry man ruled with absolution. I was unable to stop my father. I can however, stop this one. It could be the last thing he sees tonight, the static flicker of the television. I could stop it all, and calm the night. I could, but like I said, I’m not a violent person. So I sit, and wait. It will come soon. That one moment I need to end it forever. I calmly sit and wait the fire rages on deep in side. No one even notices. It hasn’t risen to the surface yet. All things come in time. This will to. Hopefully the moment comes soon. Hopefully it comes before I just snap and take the closes blunt object to his head. The infuriating babble continues on, falling from his mouth in an endless cascade of meaningless and vulgar words. Hopefully he stops soon. He would if he knew. He should. But he doesn’t. So, I sit and wait, just a little longer.

Threw Off My Groove!

By nature I have always been great at multitasking. I was gifted at a young age with the ability to think about several different things all at once, and have always been good at getting all of the little menial tasks that need to be done, finished before most people could begin to sort them all out. Today however I seem to be somewhat off. I have burnt dinner twice tonight. The first dinner should have been simple, but while I was on the phone with my brother, I completely forgot that it was on the stove, and ended up carbon bonding pasta to my favorite wok. So I scrapped that idea and went for a second try. I put a new pot of pasta on to boil, reminded my self to turn on a timer(which I instantly forgot to do) but while I was cleaning up after my disastrous attempt at a simple meal, the bath tub overflowed and completely soaked the bathroom floor. I was up to my ankles in hot water, trying to dry the bubbles off of the tile when I realized my brother was still on the phone. The phone was still on the counter, and I knew already that he had hung up on me because I had set the phone down and forgotten he was there. By the time I got to my phone, I realized that I had left the stove on, again, (timer forgotten to begin with) and there was now a thick black cloud coming out of the second round of pasta. I have matching black pans sitting on my counter, next to the phone I forgot about, and the water has begun to crawl into the kitchen. I believe it is true, that someone’s IQ can literally drop ten or twenty points when they are thinking about something or someone. Today, I don’t know what I was thinking, but it wasn’t the tub, or the pasta, or even the phone. Perhaps I just wasn’t destined to eat pasta today. Who knows? Maybe I need some Ginko....