Thursday, December 16, 2004
On Being Indian...
Link is right.
The similarities he listed of being Indian and being multiple are:
Everything can change in a blink.
Always be ready to move.
Never become soft and complacent. But there’s another one we struggle with everyday:
There’s never enough money. It’s especially evident at this time of year when stores glitter with provocative stuff. We get caught up in wanting to give stuff to people we love. Last year we looked at TVs with Eyvonne. This year we looked again. We still can’t afford either a new TV or satellite service. No cable company comes near us. Our old antenna no longer captures a signal because stations don’t boost them anymore. We’re in a dead zone. It’s all about satellite and cable. It's all about money.
I don’t know why not having TV is such a potent symbol of our poverty except that it used to be free and now it costs $39.99 a month so we can’t have it. For the last few weeks we endured gasoline versus food choices nearly every day, but we don’t talk about that. We talk about not having TV because it’s a socially acceptable level of poverty. Not being able to afford food is real poverty and somehow shameful.
el serves on the county emergency shelter board. At the last meeting he talked about not qualifying for medical assistance anymore and how that has made things much harder due to our current circumstances with a tooth gone bad.
The director of the county assistance board was there too. He said the decision could have been appealed, but benefits were probably denied because we have so many assets. He suggested selling our car.
“And I would get to work how?” el snapped.
Sometimes I’m not sure why we’re on that board except to serve as a wake-up call to people from agencies that are supposed to help people in need. Some of them really do try to help. Others are so deadened by people who work the system they believe everyone who approaches their agency is just looking for ways to not work.
It’s easy to see why so many people get depressed this time of year. The disparity between those who have enough and those who don’t has grown vast, but no one wants to talk about that. Christmas is surreal in a country where buying things is a civic duty.
Eventually there will only be ten people in the whole country who can afford new wall-sized flat screen high definition TVs or the bloated SUVs that are so popular beyond all understanding in the face of the world’s rapidly dwindling oil supply. What are they going to do with those vehicles they paid more for than my home is worth when the oil runs out in six or seven, or if we’re lucky, twenty years?
I guess before then the whole country will suffer economic meltdown anyway. Or is that happening now?
It doesn’t matter when you really understand that everything can change in a blink.
We Indians will still be here. We’ll endure. We’ll still be burning wood for heat and planting gardens. I’ll miss the computer when the-world-as-we-know-it ends, but I’m sure I’ll still be writing, or at least telling, stories.
Some of those stories will be ones brought forward from the beginning of time, like how Skywoman fell to earth, her fall cushioned by geese.
Others will be about our family. And about me, Lillie, el, Link, Taya and all of us Qs. How we came to be and how we live.
In the long run I think stories are way more important than oil, or how rich some people are.
Maybe its time to return to a more rewarding culture where people are valued just because they are people and where every gift is important. I think that’s the best thing about being Indian. We give each other stuff like feathers and rocks and those are our most treasured possessions.
Sure, we’ll have a Christmas tree this year. We're infected that far by the dominant culture.
But we'll celebrate winter solstice too, no matter how cold or inclement the weather, we'll be out in the labyrinth singing and giving thanks. This year we'll be erecting a lodgepole in the center, painted with our tribal, clan and family colors and the colors of the four directions. It will sport thirteen sets of feathers and tobacco ties. Anyone who comes by can read in it who we are. Some friends will join us as we place our lodgepole on the shortest day of the year. Each day afterward the pole that touches the sky will call more light.
The Christmas tree we’ll cut on a farm nearby where every tree is $7.50. Last year we cut a three-foot tree off our own property because we didn’t have $7.50. We didn't have money for a ham or turkey either, friends brought us a ham. This year we'll cook a ham and a duckling. Despite my depression, things are obviously looking up.
We’ll proudly do our civic duty and boost the local economy by buying a tree. The farmer can sure use the money. I just hope Walmart wasn't counting on us to buy lots of glistzy stuff.
Still, there will be a few gifts under our tree. We’ll cook big food and hopefully lots of our friends will be around to share it.
But Owl put things in perspective for me. He said the best gift he ever got for Christmas was a letter we wrote to him a few years ago. He couldn’t name any of the toys he’d received over the years growing up, but he still has that letter.
Things of value endure. Love endures.
© 2004 M. S. Eliot
The similarities he listed of being Indian and being multiple are:
Everything can change in a blink.
Always be ready to move.
Never become soft and complacent. But there’s another one we struggle with everyday:
There’s never enough money. It’s especially evident at this time of year when stores glitter with provocative stuff. We get caught up in wanting to give stuff to people we love. Last year we looked at TVs with Eyvonne. This year we looked again. We still can’t afford either a new TV or satellite service. No cable company comes near us. Our old antenna no longer captures a signal because stations don’t boost them anymore. We’re in a dead zone. It’s all about satellite and cable. It's all about money.
I don’t know why not having TV is such a potent symbol of our poverty except that it used to be free and now it costs $39.99 a month so we can’t have it. For the last few weeks we endured gasoline versus food choices nearly every day, but we don’t talk about that. We talk about not having TV because it’s a socially acceptable level of poverty. Not being able to afford food is real poverty and somehow shameful.
el serves on the county emergency shelter board. At the last meeting he talked about not qualifying for medical assistance anymore and how that has made things much harder due to our current circumstances with a tooth gone bad.
The director of the county assistance board was there too. He said the decision could have been appealed, but benefits were probably denied because we have so many assets. He suggested selling our car.
“And I would get to work how?” el snapped.
Sometimes I’m not sure why we’re on that board except to serve as a wake-up call to people from agencies that are supposed to help people in need. Some of them really do try to help. Others are so deadened by people who work the system they believe everyone who approaches their agency is just looking for ways to not work.
It’s easy to see why so many people get depressed this time of year. The disparity between those who have enough and those who don’t has grown vast, but no one wants to talk about that. Christmas is surreal in a country where buying things is a civic duty.
Eventually there will only be ten people in the whole country who can afford new wall-sized flat screen high definition TVs or the bloated SUVs that are so popular beyond all understanding in the face of the world’s rapidly dwindling oil supply. What are they going to do with those vehicles they paid more for than my home is worth when the oil runs out in six or seven, or if we’re lucky, twenty years?
I guess before then the whole country will suffer economic meltdown anyway. Or is that happening now?
It doesn’t matter when you really understand that everything can change in a blink.
We Indians will still be here. We’ll endure. We’ll still be burning wood for heat and planting gardens. I’ll miss the computer when the-world-as-we-know-it ends, but I’m sure I’ll still be writing, or at least telling, stories.
Some of those stories will be ones brought forward from the beginning of time, like how Skywoman fell to earth, her fall cushioned by geese.
Others will be about our family. And about me, Lillie, el, Link, Taya and all of us Qs. How we came to be and how we live.
In the long run I think stories are way more important than oil, or how rich some people are.
Maybe its time to return to a more rewarding culture where people are valued just because they are people and where every gift is important. I think that’s the best thing about being Indian. We give each other stuff like feathers and rocks and those are our most treasured possessions.
Sure, we’ll have a Christmas tree this year. We're infected that far by the dominant culture.
But we'll celebrate winter solstice too, no matter how cold or inclement the weather, we'll be out in the labyrinth singing and giving thanks. This year we'll be erecting a lodgepole in the center, painted with our tribal, clan and family colors and the colors of the four directions. It will sport thirteen sets of feathers and tobacco ties. Anyone who comes by can read in it who we are. Some friends will join us as we place our lodgepole on the shortest day of the year. Each day afterward the pole that touches the sky will call more light.
The Christmas tree we’ll cut on a farm nearby where every tree is $7.50. Last year we cut a three-foot tree off our own property because we didn’t have $7.50. We didn't have money for a ham or turkey either, friends brought us a ham. This year we'll cook a ham and a duckling. Despite my depression, things are obviously looking up.
We’ll proudly do our civic duty and boost the local economy by buying a tree. The farmer can sure use the money. I just hope Walmart wasn't counting on us to buy lots of glistzy stuff.
Still, there will be a few gifts under our tree. We’ll cook big food and hopefully lots of our friends will be around to share it.
But Owl put things in perspective for me. He said the best gift he ever got for Christmas was a letter we wrote to him a few years ago. He couldn’t name any of the toys he’d received over the years growing up, but he still has that letter.
Things of value endure. Love endures.
© 2004 M. S. Eliot
