This photo has been around but oh my goodness...sometimes it helps to bring clarity to the moment...

small stuff

You've heard it before, "don't sweat the small stuff..." My question to you is this: what entails the property of "small" in terms of the vast quantity we all sludge through and call "stuff?" We all have such differing views of what is small and what is stuff, opposed to what is momentous and what is of dire import! I'll weed out a petty item on my own for now: Work. We're all painfully aware of the varying degrees (lol...pun intended) of pay encountered in just one place of employment. From the receptionist to the CEO all are labeled with a value created by compensation philosophies determined by nameless, faceless and at times seemingly soulless industry driven entities. All too often the talented and brilliant office manager may remain just that because this poor individual never took opportunity by the tail and went to college for that almighty piece of paper, the degree. Without this degree one might receive recognition, accolades, pats on the back but will most likely not rise up among the ranks of one's peers. I digress. Walking into a building, are we met with the CEO? For tribal entities, are the offices of the governing body in the front of the building? No. The first person you'll meet is the front desk receptionist. This person for all intents and purposes prepares you for the rest of your experience in this building. Is she friendly, knowledgeable, did she smile, greet you, look you in the eyes and competently send you to your goal location? Most likely. Why is it then, that the front desk receptionist is usually lowest on the payscale of that organization and lowest in recognition at, for instance, company banquets? Here's my hypothesis: very often the person hired for the position of front desk receptionist entered that position with dreams of one day making herself known for the genius she is then gracefully and grandly making her way to the corner office. When this hasn't happened in a number of years, she begins to lose the gloss on her smile. Her once friendly greeting may become a tattered and embittered "hello, who may I say is calling" and ...wait for it... SHE ENGAGES IN PETTY OFFICE POLITICS TO FORCE HERSELF INTO SOMEONE'S BETTER GRACES. Phew! Now that I've shared this, I actually DO feel somewhat better about a certain co-worker! I realize that it's not a personal vendetta at all, she merely wishes she were afforded the same "perks" as some of those who walk by her daily without even a glance in her direction. Gradually the realization has hit her that she will remain in that position until she does such wondrous feats as attaining her degree in SOMETHING. That seems an insurmountable goal for sometimes it seems the siren call of other expensive pastimes drains her resources. Although I won't pity her, for pity denotes a sense of superiority, I will understand her and smile in the face of the petty darts she tosses my way. Office politics are much better understood when discussed. THANK YOU!!!!!

singing in the rain...

There's really nothing to compare with having been raised in a somewhat beige world and at the midlife range be tossed by sheer grace into a world of color beyond imagination. I've said it before and I'm saying it yet again: not ONE DAY goes by that I don't give thanks for being home. Home where I can bury my barefoot toes into that lush aquamarine carpet I fell in love with back in the late 90's; where I look out to the north, south, east and west of me and see only rich fields of wheat in different shades of ripeness (according to season); and where I can see the OTHER end of town which is 15 miles away and I can see the wind turbines cheerily blinking in the dark up to 50 miles away...Home where I've been taught the songs that bring us through our darkest days and help us rejoice in our most joyful moments - where my brothers have taught me the craft of weaving... So there it is. I'm grateful to be home. Last week was a rough one in this homeland. Three deaths in six days. Another one early this morning. I was at a "house service" for one of the families who lost their beloved and part of our life at home entails "cleaning" the house after the loved one has left. The leader brings a mixture of medicines in to "smoke" the house and the singers follow through, they sing from one end of the house to the other bringing that glorious Light of our Creator's into each corner of the room. I sang along with those who were cleaning and as I sang I could clearly see our songs as weaving...each thread of song woven tightly and skillfully around the warp of the lives of our families and friends. Creator's Light in various colors and shades making designs sometimes only visible to His eyes. Each vessel made from these songs was one of us and I could clearly see us standing in a row to be used for that which we were created. When one of our loved ones "leaves" it is our belief that the rains will come and wash their footprints away. This helps in the healing process. What an honor to be singing in the rain.

a quiet place...

Last night I had a dream. It was so vivid...I was with a group of people at home, we were gathered at the longhouse at what my son, when young, would call "blue dark." We looked towards the western sky and suddenly it was lit up with fire and sparks. Clear. Fire and sparks. Either Mt. Hood or the Three Sisters were erupting. All I remember is thinking "oh babies, run, please RUN."

Truth is, one day, none of us will know when, the sky IS going to light up, the fire's going to be somewhere near people who are loved and suddenly, thousands, millions, maybe even ALL life essences as we know them will be extinguished.

My hope, strength and peace in the midst of that dark knowledge is this: THIS WORLD IS NOT MY HOME.

Today I canceled my FB membership. In the glaring light of constant electronic traffic I realized "FB is not only the social network, it's the distraction, the false idol and the utter nonsense of these days." I tire of the constant whining of relatives "does ANYONE know where I can get a cheap so and so?" This looks so innocent and I've seen many respond, but looking deeper you can see "Does anyone have a so and so they can give me so I don't have to go buy one of my own? I SO need these new shoes instead!"

Ah the utter jaded soul. I don't want it! I want to remember the snowy days with purity and innocence. I want to share thoughts that are read in more than a fleeting glance; I want MORE...

So long FB, HELLO BLOG...I've missed you!!!!!!

REALLY? it's been THAT LONG???????

Oh believe me, there have been more times than I can count in which I thought, "OH I WILL BLOG THIS" for you and I know, once it's in blog, it's FOREVER:-) right?

This Saturday is the memorial and some Indian namings...

What does this mean?

In my Indian world (it might be different in YOURS) when we lose our loved ones, we wait in mourning for a full year...one full dance around the sun before we take up our practices again - those of us who hunt must put down our rifles; if we are a pow wow dancer, we must hang up our sparkly laughing dresses and if we are a stickgamer (my love and fun forever) we must put away our songs and bells. Our year is almost over and on Saturday, we'll have our memorial for our mother. The mother of William (deceased); Victoria (deceased), We'eke Eykse We'eptes Aayat, Xunanpee, Twiepietit, Bill, Lonnie, Jolie, Heyuum Asa Kii, TukWyash and Waptas Timine passed away Nov 3, 2010. Although we didn't all follow traditions, we all had our way of passing the year and on Saturday we'll gather together, have a giveaway, dance into the longhouse in one long line; sing a few songs and remember our mother's smile and wise words...THEN comes the namings!

Names are what identifies us as Indian. I don't know about other tribes but that's how it is here at home.

I'm looking forward to AND dreading Saturday...but here it comes!