Monthly Archives: January 2021

Signs

Posted by Jan 31, 2021 Faith 2 Comments


The first two definitions of the word “sign” when used as a noun according to the Merriam-Webster online dictionary are:  1) a motion or gesture by which a thought is expressed or a command or wish made known, and 2) a signal.  My father taught me an appreciation for signs, both when learning to track (but we never hunted) and also when he taught me to drive.  Like my father, my husband and I share a love for historic markers, old signs, and even advertising.  I guess the most classic is the old bar sign, “Beware of Pickpockets and Loose Women.”  I believe it originated in New Orleans, although I am not sure.  I also love the more modern “All Unattended Children Will Be Given an Expresso and a Free Puppy.”  I have no idea as to the origin of that one either.  In our neighborhood a couple of years ago someone chainsawed an old, historic living tree for its wood.  It rises up from a creek bank and grows parallel to the ground instead of vertically.  That is known as an “Indian marker tree,” tied back long ago as a sapling to help tribes know where they were.  This was especially important because where we live is basically all flat.  I still remember on the beginning day of our honeymoon in Paris I asked my husband where he thought we should go first.  He said we should go to the top of the Eiffel Tower and he was so right.  From above he was able to orient us, helping us learn not only where famous landmarks were but in which direction.  I may have been the one who knew French but he really helped navigate us around the city.  Of course sign language is imperative for those who cannot speak and/or are unable to hear, and “Indian” sign language was crucial for cross-cultural communication.  Old cartoons used to poke fun at it, but smoke signals were also an ingenious way for Native Americans to communicate.  Daddy fought in Korea and he said, despite all their reconnaissance, they could just not figure out how “the enemy” was getting their information.  Turns out an elderly couple in this tiny little house were posting American coordinates by the way they hung their laundry.  In the Bible Luke 2:12 says, “And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.”  Rainbows are said to be a sign given from God.  I am reminded of the old joke where this guy is in a flood and someone comes along with a rowboat, telling him to get in.  “God will save me!” the man cried.  As the waters rose a motorboat stops to offer help but the man said again, “God will save me!”  After hours of severe flooding the man wound up on top of his roof.  A helicopter spots him but the man waved him away, yelling, “God will save me!”  When the man drowned and got to Heaven he asked God why He didn’t save him.  And God replied, “What?  Two boats and a helicopter weren’t enough?”  I have always liked signs, in whatever form they may take.  I recently found this sign and it now hangs in our kitchen.  Whether you believe in fate, you may be lost, or seeking inspiration … I say always look for the signs.

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Look At Us

Posted by Jan 24, 2021 Family, History 2 Comments


One of the things that drew me to my husband the first night we met was how very much he knew of Native American history.  The latest book he has been reading is on the killing of Crazy Horse.  He has thoughtfully and sincerely been asking me all sorts of questions as to my beliefs.  I was so close to my father that when Daddy died church, like pow wows, became extremely difficult to attend.  Mama and I cried through a lot.  I could see the look of sympathy on people’s faces at church but it just made things worse.  At pow wows I saw my father’s old friends, watched the Grand Entry, and heard the Flag Songs with a broken heart for years.  What kept me going was God and listening to those men sing, sitting around the drum in a circle with the women behind them — not because females were considered “less than;” rather because they are viewed as the backbone of American Indian culture.  My husband just asked if I realized native cultures were matrilineal.  In a dead-pan voice I told him that was the basis of one of my cultural anthropology papers at SMU which I am honored was kept as an “example” by my professor.  Thinking about our new Vice-President being both a woman and not white made me realize how novel she must seem to so many.  But all I could think of were the numerous unsung Native American women who came before her.  Wilma Mankiller was appointed as the Cherokee Nation’s first female Principal Chief in the mid-1980’s.  Pine Leaf was known as Woman Chief of the Crow nation after becoming an excellent marksman, hunter, warrior, and horse rider in the 1800’s.  The Shoshone woman Sacajawea is, in my opinion, completely responsible for the success of Lewis and Clark’s Expedition of “Louisiana Territory.”  From North Dakota to the Pacific Ocean, she kept those men alive, aiding in the establishment of cultural contacts with other tribes as well as teaching them natural history — and all with a newborn strapped to her back.  The picture above is an artists’s proof I was gifted of the Sacagawea dollar which was minted for general circulation in 2002.  Pocahontas was the first Native American woman to earn the distinction of appearing on paper money, having been depicted on the $20 bill in 1875.  The late and very great American Indian poet, musician, and political activist John Trudell wrote this in one of my favorite songs, “Look At Us:”

Look at us, look at us, we are of Earth and Water
Look at them, it is the same
Look at us, we are suffering all these years
Look at them, they are connected.
Look at us, we are in pain
Look at them, surprised at our anger
Look at us, we are struggling to survive
Look at them, expecting sorrow be benign
Look at us, we were the ones called pagan
Look at them, on their arrival
Look at us, we are called subversive
Look at them, descending from name callers
Look at us, we wept sadly in the long dark
Look at them, hiding in tech no logic light
Look at us, we buried the generations
Look at them, inventing the body count
Look at us, we are older than America
Look at them, chasing a fountain of youth
Look at us, we are embracing Earth
Look at them, clutching today
Look at us, we are living in the generations
Look at them, existing in jobs and debts
Look at us, we have escaped many times
Look at them, they cannot remember
Look at us, we are healing
Look at them, their medicine is patented
Look at us, we are trying
Look at them, what are they doing
Look at us, we are children of Earth
Look at them, who are they?

Just as there is no limit on love, there is no limit on inclusion.  I promise you no Europeans would have survived in what we now call America without Native Americans.  And American Indian culture, language, religious views, traditions, beliefs, and artistry are still VERY much alive.  They are alive despite centuries of annihilation, assimilation, and intimidation by the United States government.  Look at the innumerable broken treaties; look at the concept of “Manifest Destiny” and realize that meant the “God-given” right to steal native lands:  look at “The Long Walk,” “The Trail of Tears,” and “Indian Residential Schools.”  I am not saying for YOU to personally accept responsibility, but please know that by including EVERYONE at the table we ALL work to undo the injustices of the past.  I know people who are reading this who despise Democrats and, therefore, will not keep an open mind.  (By the way that street runs both ways.)  President Joe Biden has chosen Representative Deb Haaland (Laguna Pueblo, and a Democrat from New Mexico) to serve as the first Native American Cabinet Secretary and Head of the Interior Department, a historic pick that marks a turning point for the United States’ government’s relationship with this nation’s Indigenous peoples.  Along with Sharice Davids, she is one of the first two Native American woman elected to the United States Congress.  Allowing someone else’s star to shine does not diminish your own.  Look at us.

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Colored

Posted by Jan 17, 2021 Family 4 Comments


Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. day is tomorrow.  Now that our little girl is nine, I am going to start sharing more stories with her about how I was reared.  I was in the fourth grade when they introduced busing, and I remember my homeroom teacher Mrs. Williams emphatically saying, “I AM BLACK!”  She did not like the term “colored” because she said it brought to her mind stripes and polka dots.  Teddy Roosevelt was far ahead of his time when he said, “There is no room in this country for hyphenated Americanism.”  He went on to say that “it is a matter of the spirit and of the soul.”  Hence, why I have never cared for the term “African-American.”  I had the opportunity to speak with a lovely man recently.  Our fireplace screen has always been flimsy and not closed, and after fourteen years we were able to splurge and get it replaced.  This man has been in the business of doing wonderful custom iron work for over 40 years.  We got to talking and I told him my father was bi-racial.  I saw the disbelief in his eyes.  I do not believe he had any intention of being rude … he was just looking at my strawberry blonde hair and green eyes with doubt.  This incredibly smart, talented, humble man reminded me of my father and I found myself shadowing him like a puppy.  We got around to segregation (he is black) and he mentioned that in Dallas desegregation did not happen until 1967, I believe.  My half Choctaw father was born in 1934 and as a young child he grew up in a small Texas town with a sign that prominently boasted, “The blackest land and the whitest people.”  As a little boy, he had a fishing buddy who was an elderly black man.  Daddy told me when they came home one night there were crosses burning on the old man’s lawn; he said it was the most frightening thing he’d ever seen.  My father fought for the United States in Korea, serving two terms, which is eight years.  My gently bred white mother waited for him, despite pressure to marry “well,” aided by her family’s connections.  I did not know until my father’s funeral when I was 28 and men showed up from all over the country how respected and revered he was.  They said he never lost a man on night patrol, crediting him with saving many of their lives.  My father received a full military burial, as was his right, but in the middle of his 21-gun salute, a hawk circled slowly overhead three times.  I remember the black and white pallbearers all being shocked, but our American Indian friends just stood unmoving, quietly allowing tears to stream down the sides of their cheeks.  When I was a little girl in the 1970’s I would accompany Daddy on Saturdays when he worked painting houses.  I do not exaggerate when I say we got pulled over EVERY SINGLE TIME.  I believe this was in part due to economics (our station wagon was old, had no air-conditioning, and there were paint ladders on the top) and in part due to race (my father had very dark red skin.)  Once a cop thought I might have been kidnapped and I was terrified of being taken away.  Daddy was a staunch Republican, and I am often reticent to try and speak for him when my husband asks a question about how my father might have felt about something.  If I had to liken him to someone, I would say my father was similar to the late Senator John McCain.  Both of them were captured in war, both were Republicans, and both of them clung to certain ideals of what this country should be.  America needs an immediate return to civil discourse as well as actually LISTENING to each another.  I believe our very democracy depends upon it.  We have all been influenced by how we have been viewed and by how we have been treated by others.  My father never let those things define him.  The more I think about it, the more I believe America’s complex, diverse history makes us ALL “colored.”

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Wonder

Posted by Jan 10, 2021 Nature 4 Comments

The dictionary defines “wonder” as a feeling of surprise mingled with admiration, caused by something beautiful, unexpected, unfamiliar, or inexplicable.  I snapped this pic of my little one on the fly and I was struck by the look of wonder in her eyes, radiating even through her beautiful little face.  The above definition aptly captures all I felt in her when I saw this picture.  In Dallas, snow is a rarity; therefore I submit it is a cause for joy — no matter what your age.  I understand people who live where there is pervasive snow may view it as a nuisance.  But for those of us down south and to the west; I think it is almost always viewed as a wondrous thing.  For over two hours we watched huge Charlie Brown-type snowflakes continuously come down.  You could actually catch them on your tongue, which we did.  It did not stick because we did not get below freezing … but what a delight it was to watch them softly fall, bringing with it a sense of hope.  After all the ugliness and hardship of this past year it seemed like a gift from God — quietness and purity to blanket things in peace.  I think we may have had as much as three inches if it had actually stuck.  I realize that is nothing to Northerners.  As I have gotten to travel as an adult, I decided never to be reserved about my sense of wonder.  For instance, several years ago we went to a beach in South Carolina and I absolutely fell in love with this gorgeous yellow land crab!  So much so that the picture I took of her is framed in our guest bathroom.  I had no IDEA there were land crabs; I thought they only lived in the ocean.  The locals looked at me with equal degrees of shock, humor, and a non-judgmental form of knowingness as I shrieked and followed her movements.  Something ordinary for them was extraordinary for me.  The American journalist and author Susan Orlean said, “A snow day literally and figuratively falls from the sky, unbidden, and seems like a thing of wonder.”  The older I get, the more I learn — but, most importantly, the more I am graced with a sense of wonder.

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Outwardly Change

Posted by Jan 3, 2021 Faith 2 Comments


The American aphorist Mason Cooley once said, “Procrastination makes easy things hard, hard things harder.”  In this third day of the new year I have tried to get a jump-start by not putting off my New Year’s Resolutions until day one.  Instead of closing 2020 with my vices I tried to think of starting this new year with more virtues.  I read something a friend posted on Facebook that really resonated with me.  It was about choosing your hard.  Since then I’ve been thinking about this; I tend not to like the idea that life is hard.  I try to see it for all its potential.  I also try and think positively and admitting that things can be hard seems negative.  But things ARE hard; its how we choose to deal with them that turns this optimistically for me.  Losing weight is hard.  Being overweight is hard.  Chose your hard.  For years we had paid a woman to help clean our home once a week.  It really wasn’t clean (never dusted; never thoroughly wiped down) but she was nice and I did not want to make waves.  I KNEW our floors were not clean because our feet would get dirty, which was a great embarrassment to me.  However, living with two wolf hybrids is not exactly conducive to having pristine floors.  She had no vacuum cleaner but I think she was saving up for it.  Then one day she said she was sick and didn’t show up for work.  Naturally I was glad she chose to isolate herself if she had Covid but I sent numerous queries as to how she was and/or if I could help but she did not respond.  I began to wonder if she would even return.  Then a dear friend brought a movie over and he said my cleaning lady was deplorable; that there was dust everywhere.  I cannot explain it, but somehow he managed to convey this without me dissolving into tears.  I knew he wasn’t judging ME; rather the job that was supposed to be done.  And so I looked online in search of a housekeeper.  I know I have mentioned before I am not the most adept with change.  Some people change houses like others change toothbrushes.  I confess I do not actively seek change unless it is essentially thrust upon me.  I realize that without change things would eventually stagnate; I just cannot seem to change for change’s sake.  I think it was by the grace of God that I found this woman and her employee.  My word, EVERY part of my house is clean … from the ceiling fans (which hadn’t been dusted in years) to the baseboards which were cleaned by hand.  I have walked through our house and have marveled at the shiny floors and immaculate windows which I suppose most moneyed people (inadvertently) take for granted.  For years I had chosen my hard, and it proved only to be hard on me.  Look at this silly picture of our bathroom from our new housekeeper!  (His name is now Mr. Flushy.)  It absolutely MADE my day and was such an unexpected delight.  Changing can be hard; but staying can be even harder.  If there is something you are not happy with in your life this is the beginning of a new year!  I encourage you:  don’t inwardly complain; outwardly change.

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