When I was in college I was asked to anchor the news for a tiny local cable broadcast station in Austin.  The show was called “First Nations of Turtle Island.”  I jumped at the chance because it married both of my loves:  journalism/writing and Native culture.  I wanted to be behind the camera because of my looks (white) but the guys didn’t want to do it and they really needed someone.  So I reluctantly but happily agreed.  In those days cell phones were not prevalent and I remember my Daddy would give me two quarters — one to call when I got there and one to let him know I was on my way home.  Our crew was interesting and took me right in.  There was “Parts Is Parts”, Karankawa, who had a penchant for fishing the dead turtles out of the UT campus’ ponds and turning them into rattles, a Navajo getting his masters in library sciences with a dream of linking all the tribal nations together electronically, and a couple more great guys whom I wish so badly I could remember.  During my time there I had the privilege of interviewing an elder who was a member of the elite and little known to non-natives Zuni Eagle Catching Society.  I also interviewed a man named Homer Buffalo who was a member of the honored Kiowa Black Leggings Society.  He made tipis for a living and I thought about him with renewed respect as I put together my little one’s small pink tipi.  As incongruous as it may seem, it is perfect for us, since it reflects on my side our distant descent from French Royals as well as our Choctaw heritage (despite the fact that they never lived in tipis.)  I think I will teach her The Lord’s Prayer in Choctaw in there and maybe it will be our special place to speak French together as well.  Interestingly, the French and the Choctaw have long been allies, dating back to before the American Revolution.  It was a French missionary who first wrote the Choctaw language on paper after it had been orally passed down for centuries.  The great American animation pioneer Walt Disney once said:

“Our heritage and ideals, our code and standards – the things we live by and teach our children – are preserved or diminished by how freely we exchange ideas and feelings.”

I want my little one to know and embrace all of her heritage — and to stand proud in it.  Even in a pink tipi with the Eiffel Tower on it.  Achukma Hoke.

My father was born in 1932 but reared by his maternal grandparents in the remote Texas country.  He did not have running water or electricity until he was about ten!  My father told me about one room school houses and out houses and things that hearkened back to a much earlier time like something on my favorite TV show “Little House on the Prairie”.  In his youth he witnessed incredible, almost unbelievable things like crosses burning on lawns, bootleggers, and the preacher’s wife fighting with his grandmother at the feed store over the last sack of flour.  It was not because they needed the flour; it was that the companies printed designs on them and women made Sunday dresses out of them.  Apparently there was only one of this particular design left and both women were in a tug-of-war over it.  He said his grandmother wanted/needed it to make a bonnet.  As a kid I’d listen to his stories with an incredulous sort of disbelief but knowing they were true.  It was like he’d grown up a century earlier than my mother who was reared in Dallas.  A couple of years ago a hardware store opened up close to us and urban farmers were thrilled.  They carried organic, were “mom and pop” and even had chickens.  Pictured here is George.  George is a prize winning rooster who is very vain and KNOWS he’s good looking.  He has sired as many offspring as he has won awards.  I love patronizing small businesses, as I have one myself, and the little one and I always enjoy it when we can hear George and watch him strut his stuff in all his glory.  I promise every time I tell him how handsome he is he puffs his chest out out even more.  When we go inside I cannot help but be reminded of my father.  Things do not seem so different, with feed sacks and chickens and fertilizer.  Every Native person knows time is cyclical; for me there is a comfort in that.  So when I take my father’s only grandchild into the store I am reminded of his childhood and hope I am imparting the best of it to her.  American boxer Muhammad Ali once said,

“A rooster crows only when it sees the light.  Put him in the dark and he’ll never crow.  I have seen the light and I’m crowing.”

He sort of reminds me of George; what he lacks in humility he makes up for in braggadocio.  My Daddy was a humble man and taught me to be the same.  I want that for my girl as well.  One should never consider themselves “better than” … unless of course they’re George.

The ancient Greek philosopher Aristotle once said, “The secret to humor is surprise.”  I bought my husband this pair of glow in the dark socks trying to get a jump on our little one’s birthday.  Feeling good that I had ONE thing off my mountainous list, I noticed my friend’s eyes widen in shock as I showed them to her.  Then she started to sort of sputter and cough.  Furrowing my brow, I asked if she was OK.  “Um, you see this?” she asked as she traced her finger over the faint lines barely visible on the socks.  Upon closer inspection I noted they seemed to be forming some type of pattern.  So I leaned in closer, squinted, and discovered just what those barely discernible shapes were.  I felt my own eyes bulge out of their sockets with a sort of disbelief.  Printed indelibly all over the darn socks were marijuana leaves.  THAT was what glowed in the dark.  A vision flashed before me of tons of little five year olds jumping up and down under a black light pointing and hollering, “What’s that?!” with their folks thinking we were some type of pot heads.  Covert chortling gave way to outright laughter from my friend.  At first I was too stunned to do anything but stare at them slightly slack-jawed.  And here I had been so proud of myself for finding it.  Then I realized I should thank my lucky stars it was discovered before he went up and down in them at our child’s birthday party.  I guess I wasn’t hip enough at first — but now that I know I’m in a huff.

When I was growing up I loved the mythological Greek Pegasus.  Regular horses and the fabled unicorn were fantastic, but to be able to take flight on a great winged stallion was the stuff of which dreams were made.  My little one recently went to an indoor play place.  In order to keep kiddos from melting down when they close they offer (bribe them with) a mini cupcake.  When my little one asked if they were gluten free the girl looked surprised and said they were not.  Dropping her head in disappointment, my Baby Doll began to leave.  I was about to say something consoling when the girl exclaimed, “WAIT!” and turned around with a little bin full of plastic toys.  She told me I had a very well behaved little girl who offered to help her clean up and for that she deserved a special prize.  As the girl was holding out the bin, I think my little one and I must have seen it at the same time — this beautiful, sparkly mare who stood out like a beacon in the middle of those other toys.  I felt like I had chosen it myself when she picked her out.  All my childhood joy came rushing back and, to my surprise, I discovered she was a Pegasus!  Showing my little one her prize had wings, she squealed with delight and promptly announced she would call her Amaya.  I actually looked that up wondering if it had any significance and apparently in Arabic it means “Night Rain”.  I have no idea where she got that but I think it is a great name.  So instead of a fleeting treat she got to have this lasting childhood treasure and I pointed out how being gluten intolerant can be a blessing.  One of my favorite American actresses, Melissa Gilbert, said, “Don’t like small talk, love rainy days.”  That is what I want for my little one; not to seek the exchange of banal pleasantries (horsefeathers), but rather to let her imagination be free to take flight and soar like her Pegasus.  Everyone knows something good always comes from night rain.

This year I wanted to dress my little one patriotically as I always do for the 4th of July.  When I came across this outfit I thought it was the most clever thing I had ever seen.  Her little blue top had white sea stars and her red shorts had horizontal stripes.  I thought it was a perfect and fitting take on the “stars and stripes” for my little star of the sea; the meaning of her name in Latin.  It was a happy family time.  And she certainly has it different than when I was a kid.  There was music, face painting, a buffet, snow cones, bounce houses and glow sticks for when the sun set before the private fireworks began on the lawn.  I think my husband used to take the festivities for granted, having grown up with them all his life.  I am so thankful my little one has the privilege but I do NOT want her having the false sense of entitlement that too often accompanies such luxuries.  It’s a bit like living in America in general I think.  One simply EXPECTS clean, running water and electricity.  Now Americans seem to expect a TV in every room and food available wherever they may be — whether it’s a grocery store or a hardware store.  I do not want want to become complacent about any of it:  having a car, readily available medical treatment or AIR CONDITIONING!  Anyone able to read this is blessed simply by having access to a computer.  America may not be perfect but I still believe she affords all a chance at life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.  As the song “America the Beautiful” says:

“O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!
America! America! God shed His grace on thee,
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!

I have probably previously confessed I have never been a doll person.  Frankly I find them creepy, like clowns.  I always loved plush animals as a kid and eschewed any baby Mama ever bought me.  But when I saw this soft, floppy doll I knew I wanted my Baby Doll to have her.  Legend has it she came to life when her very last stitch was sewn from a princess’ dress and, of course, she is my little one’s favorite beloved pink.  She didn’t take to the doll right at first so I figured she just didn’t like her.  I could not very well fault her when I never cared for dolls myself.  And then one day I noticed Jewel Sparkles had been retrieved from a pink basket in the corner where she resided, having been forgotten and not played with.  She reminded me of the sweet little doll in the Island of Misfit Toys from the old “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” claymation.  The next thing I know Jewel began accompanying us everywhere:  from restaurants, to the grocery store, to church.  She has been hugged, whispered to, invited to tea, and loved just as I’d hoped she would be.  I snapped this picture of Jewel at the country club; my little one didn’t want her getting hurt in the bounce house.  The British idealist philosopher F. H. Bradley once wrote:

“We say that a girl with her doll anticipates the mother.  It is more true, perhaps, that most mothers are still but children with playthings.”

I may have never loved pretend dolls in the past but I sure do love the real life Baby Doll I am blessed with now.  She has huge brown eyes fringed with thick, black lashes, a head full of reddish ringlets, the fullest lips, a pert nose, and the softest skin.  Best of all, I can hug her, whisper to her, have tea with her, and love her just as I’d always hoped.

Recently there has been a lot of flap swirling around public toilets and just who should go where.  I remember once when we were first married I SCANDALIZED some people at a bar because I couldn’t wait and I did not want to go by myself.  So I dragged my very embarrassed new husband in there with me.  The next thing I heard was, “Wait!  I have to go, too!”  And so for me nine years ago is when I realized a “one-holer” (as they say in Texas) with a lock and a sink is the way to go.  What on earth is the crime with married couples going in together?  And of course once you have a child sometimes fathers must take little girls past men using urinals.  I find that far more traumatic.  Then as a woman you have the perverted almost-teenage boys in the ladies’ room that try to peek at you through the stall.  That’s just disgusting and a total invasion of privacy.  Family restrooms starting coming around several years ago and it seemed to make it more OK to all go in together.  Then it didn’t matter who changed the baby where (since a changing table is provided) and everyone got to tinkle and wash their hands in safety and privacy.  This is an especially big deal for us in airports; in fact it has been a lifesaver.  We all stay together and our luggage is safe.  I have noticed the newest trend is to have two unisex “one-holers” in restaurants and I am all for them.  If it’s occupied, the door is closed.  If it’s not, the door is open.  How simple is that??  No more endless waiting in line, particularly if you’re a woman.  And parents can take their children to the restroom if they need to go without the horrifying choice of what they might be exposed to or see.  I just don’t get what the problem is.  In fact, I don’t know why no one did this 50 years ago.  Meanwhile, the term “first world problem” comes to mind.  Former United States Secretary of Health and Human Services Sylvia Mathews Burwell said:

“No innovation in the past 200 years has done more to save lives and improve health than the sanitation revolution triggered by invention of the toilet.  But it did not go far enough.  It only reached one-third of the world.”

So while we in the U.S. and other parts of the world are flipping over proverbial sausages and eggs, let us remember those who do not have the luxury of choosing even basic sanitation … much less which toilet to use.

When I was a kid I remember going to this swanky indoor mall area that held various doctors’ offices.  It had live plants everywhere and indoor fountains which sprang up and trickled down through a series of pools lined by rocks.  In the center of the court were two sweeping white marble open spiral staircases.  I remember it vividly although I am not quite sure how many times I went or even why.  After my child was born I found myself having to return.  It was like time stood still; absolutely nothing had changed.  Memories at once intense and ephemeral I cannot quite explain came flooding back:  space and time seemed frozen.  I have to go now every six months to have my skin looked at after having a couple of “suspicious mole” scares and surgeries.  About once a year my little one comes with me.  I remember the last time she went she was afraid of the big turtle who has lived inside the mall forever.  Actually wasn’t scared of it; rather she was reticent to climb it.  She was so tiny then and it had seemed so huge.  This year as we wound our way up the familiar marble staircase holding hands she shrieked, “HEY!  I REMEMBER this place!!!”  (She would have been three the last time she visited.)  Then she asked if she could go see the turtle after my doctor’s visit.  Thankfully there was no cutting this time and I left in one piece.  The next thing I know my little one had scrambled without hesitation up the same turtle I had played on so many years ago.  So this picture is special to me.  The cycle of life repeated on Mother Turtle’s back: she is the symbol of longevity.  American chemist James Bryant Conant once said, “Behold the turtle.  He makes progress only when he sticks his neck out.”  My little one stuck her neck out and conquered the turtle just as I remember finally doing when I was a kid.  As we get older I think we tend to stay in our own shell more and more.  It seems safer, familiar, and comfortable.  I believe I shall endeavor to make progress in my life and stick my neck out more often.  Who knows what I might discover.

When I first moved out on on my own, I remember being devastated after my first wolf hybrid destroyed something I loved.  I recall my gentle mother, so quiet and so full of wisdom, saying to me I had to love my animals more than my things.  It is something I have never forgotten.  I can have an immaculate house that is never messed up or I can share it with creatures who have thoughts and minds of their own.  Sometimes they get sick; sometimes they get nervous; sometimes they get bored; sometimes they get rambunctious.  But it made me realize, would I really want to come home to NO one greeting me with affection and unconditional love versus having a perfect house?  No way!  Our house is a home and not a cold, sterile environment.  It is lived in; it is loved.  If someone is uncomfortable with that by all means please do not come over.  But if if I had to choose between the love and loyalty of a four-legged versus a two I think you know which way I would go.  If something has broken and has had to be glued I decree (thanks to my mother) it has “character.”  I would take a home full of character to a house full of sterility ANYday.  My husband has labeled any scratching or shredding in our home “interior decorating” by the cats.  He has been extremely convivial about it despite my abject despondency over our shredded/decimated sheer ‘privacy curtains” by our Bengal cat Elgin (pictured unrepentantly here.)  The French poet, journalist, and novelist Anatole France once said, “Until one has loved an animal a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.”  I absolutely believe that to be true.  And, as much as I value my things, I value my furry family more.

Today was my husband’s birthday.  It just so happened to have fallen on a Sunday.  In our church, we pray for those who have birthdays in the coming week and ask that they stand so they can be recognized.  I daresay ANY Episcopalian would rather be stabbed than have to stand, but parishioners manage to do so every week.  I think my husband is no different, but he stood to receive his blessing nonetheless.  Our little girl was so proud and happy it was his birthday.  A four year old does not realize one views the anniversary of their birth differently than a 43 year old.  I have always loved the words of Dr. Seuss:

“Today you are you!  That is truer than true!  There is no one alive who is you-er than you!”

So simple, yet such an apt sentiment.  God created us all unique and individual.  No one else can be you.  So be the best you you can possibly be!  Birthday or no, realize no one can compare or compete with the special, one of a kind, person God created you to be.  Be the best you for God, for yourself, for your family, and for the world.