Today we lost Brinkley for an hour and a half. It was incredibly scary. It seriously shocked me how much I love that little pup. I was late picking up Sam and I took off in the car, completely forgetting my precious puppy. I usually take him with and if I don't, he chases me until I stop unless I've blocked the doggy door or put him in his kennel.
So it wasn't until after I got Sam I realized Brink may have followed me down to the school! We looked for him on our way home and he wasn't at home when we got there so we headed back to the school, got the other guys and several friends and went on a search. We called and looked all over several neighborhoods. We drove up and down our street several times and stopped at home to see if he had returned.
I was starting to worry that someone could have stolen him. Olivia reassured me that Billings people don't do that. I was so worried not only for my precious pup, but also for the loss the boys would feel. Sam and I were sobbing until he thought of saying a prayer.
I sent the boys searching with a several friends and I took my SD card in to office depot to make some flyers with Brinkley's picture on it. The office depot people couldn't figure out how to download my card and I realized I had forgotten my wallet. I rushed home to grab it. When I walked in the door I called for Brink. I walked through the house calling his name and opening doors, thinking maybe he got shut behind a bathroom door or something. Then I turned around and there he was!!!
I picked him up and kissed his furry little face and rushed out to the car. I didn't want to waste a moment to let the boys know he was okay. I called my friend who had them with her and she and her five children were very relieved. Sam was thrilled. He hopped in the car and I transferred Brinkley to his lap. We picked up the other two boys... and then Sam saw the blood on Brinkley.
His leg and stomach were bruised and there was a deep scratch and puncture wound on one side. I was sick that perhaps I had hit him with the car. I called Olivia again and she gave me directions to the Vet. He assured me it looked like Brink had difficulty getting over a fence or brush or something.
We got some antibiotics and were told to put aloe vera on the scratches. Aloe vera is the best thing because it disinfects without hurting a doggy's system when he ingests it by licking it off. Which of course every doggy will.
Since I don't speak Doggese, I'll never know the details of Brinkle butt's adventure.
But my pup is home, safe and sound.
phee-you.
Aunt Lollie and baby Jake
I can't wait to be a Grandma!!!
Friday, October 30, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Believing
I believe in Christ. The problem is, I don't always believe in myself. That's okay, because Christ believes in me.
I Believe in Christ
Who are you? Are you discovering new things about yourself? You have a gentle way of impacting the lives of people around you. If you are careful with the power that is within you, you will make a difference in the lives of people you deal with every day.
There will be times when you are surrounded by others who give into fear. You do not need to be afraid. You have a gift of faith.
I am having the most interesting experience in my Ethnic Diversity class. One of my classmates expressed disgust at the Christian attitude of converting the world to their idea of "correct" behavior. From her perspective, Christtians arrogantly push their ideas on others. The idea of truth and light blessing the world is foreign to many of my classmates. They seem to see Christianity as a wrong culture that is forced on others.
I see it differently. I see my own culture being torn down much the same way Native American's culture was torn from them. I'm told I am wrong to believe in my childhood teachings. The irony of it all is I am attending a University that is run by 7th Day Adventists.
Christians.
I know they don't all feel that way. I wish a few more believers had the guts to speak up so I wasn't so completely alone.
There will be times when you are surrounded by others who give into fear. You do not need to be afraid. You have a gift of faith.
I am having the most interesting experience in my Ethnic Diversity class. One of my classmates expressed disgust at the Christian attitude of converting the world to their idea of "correct" behavior. From her perspective, Christtians arrogantly push their ideas on others. The idea of truth and light blessing the world is foreign to many of my classmates. They seem to see Christianity as a wrong culture that is forced on others.
I see it differently. I see my own culture being torn down much the same way Native American's culture was torn from them. I'm told I am wrong to believe in my childhood teachings. The irony of it all is I am attending a University that is run by 7th Day Adventists.
Christians.
I know they don't all feel that way. I wish a few more believers had the guts to speak up so I wasn't so completely alone.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Day 60 of no TV and More About LouElla Jones Bronson and Lilac Holman
305 days left. Today I am going to the Dentist and the Gym.
(later, same day)
My Aunt Ethel told me about Grandma Bronson watching soaps when she was folding those mounds of laundry in her home in Salt Lake. I know the soaps back then were very different then in our time. (Weren't they originally called 'soap operas' because they attracted all the housewives doing laundry?
I've been reading the articles Grandma Bronson wrote for the paper in Junction Valley. She had an amazing mind. I know how much I go nuts if I have to do boring tasks without SOMETHING for the right side of my brain. I came by this attribute honestly!!! I'm proud of figuring out a way to overcome the mundaneness of things but still get them done.Thanks Grandma!!! In a small way, she made it okay. I remember Lilac's rocks. She collected them and created a 'rock garden'. I always wondered about her lovely name. She was labeled a beautiful, sweet smelling flower. I was named after an all-day sucker.
hmmm
I AM rather sweet. he he he
Speaking of which...
I remember Lilac's licorice cupboard. Long shoelace licorice. Candy in the cupboard seems so amazing to me. At my house, candy was kept hidden on the shelf in your closet and only lasted a few days after Christmas or Halloween.
I LOVED milk in tin cups. It was so good and cold and seemed to chill even more in the tin. I also loved going out to milk the cow with Lilac's son, Ladd, later to be the wrestling coach who I was secretly in love with from back in the days when I sat in a corner as a four-year-old and he squirted warm milk straight from the cow across the barn into my open mouth.
I loved the order and the love in Lilac's home. When I visited her in the nursing home in Delta a few months before she died, she told me how she came about doing foster care. She was the foster mom of one of my dear friends. Lori often spoke fondly of Lilac. I know what a difference Lilac made in the life of many young people who had no where else to go. One social worker in Delta told me that when they couldn't place a kid anywhere else, they sent him or her to Lilac and she had them straightened up within a few months. Lilac simply expected us to be wonderful, so we were.
I know that Dad paid her to care for us, but as a child, I just knew that we were loved when we were with Lilac. I remember swimming with her and watching her float on her back and just enjoy the water. She wasn't the least bit self conscious about her elderly body and visibly enjoyed being physically active and swimming. She taught me how to float.
She told me that she started doing foster care because the county people came to her and asked her to do it. Her husband didn't want her to initially but she insisted because they could use the money. I wonder if it was hard for him to share her with needy kids. Yet I always think of Brother Holman, sitting in the background, taking in all her activity and being like a solid Grandpa for us.
Good ole' Earl. What an amazing man to be the solid rock for an amazing woman.
Thanks again, God, for Lilac.
And thanks for Earl too.
(later, same day)
My Aunt Ethel told me about Grandma Bronson watching soaps when she was folding those mounds of laundry in her home in Salt Lake. I know the soaps back then were very different then in our time. (Weren't they originally called 'soap operas' because they attracted all the housewives doing laundry?
I've been reading the articles Grandma Bronson wrote for the paper in Junction Valley. She had an amazing mind. I know how much I go nuts if I have to do boring tasks without SOMETHING for the right side of my brain. I came by this attribute honestly!!! I'm proud of figuring out a way to overcome the mundaneness of things but still get them done.Thanks Grandma!!! In a small way, she made it okay. I remember Lilac's rocks. She collected them and created a 'rock garden'. I always wondered about her lovely name. She was labeled a beautiful, sweet smelling flower. I was named after an all-day sucker.
hmmm
I AM rather sweet. he he he
Speaking of which...
I remember Lilac's licorice cupboard. Long shoelace licorice. Candy in the cupboard seems so amazing to me. At my house, candy was kept hidden on the shelf in your closet and only lasted a few days after Christmas or Halloween.
I LOVED milk in tin cups. It was so good and cold and seemed to chill even more in the tin. I also loved going out to milk the cow with Lilac's son, Ladd, later to be the wrestling coach who I was secretly in love with from back in the days when I sat in a corner as a four-year-old and he squirted warm milk straight from the cow across the barn into my open mouth.
I loved the order and the love in Lilac's home. When I visited her in the nursing home in Delta a few months before she died, she told me how she came about doing foster care. She was the foster mom of one of my dear friends. Lori often spoke fondly of Lilac. I know what a difference Lilac made in the life of many young people who had no where else to go. One social worker in Delta told me that when they couldn't place a kid anywhere else, they sent him or her to Lilac and she had them straightened up within a few months. Lilac simply expected us to be wonderful, so we were.
I know that Dad paid her to care for us, but as a child, I just knew that we were loved when we were with Lilac. I remember swimming with her and watching her float on her back and just enjoy the water. She wasn't the least bit self conscious about her elderly body and visibly enjoyed being physically active and swimming. She taught me how to float.
She told me that she started doing foster care because the county people came to her and asked her to do it. Her husband didn't want her to initially but she insisted because they could use the money. I wonder if it was hard for him to share her with needy kids. Yet I always think of Brother Holman, sitting in the background, taking in all her activity and being like a solid Grandpa for us.
Good ole' Earl. What an amazing man to be the solid rock for an amazing woman.
Thanks again, God, for Lilac.
And thanks for Earl too.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
How Can You Be a Change Maker?
Mother Teresa said, "Spread love everywhere you go. Let no one leave your presense unless they are happier than when they came."
Okay, so that's kind of a paraphrase.
I want to change things for the better, which sounds like I want to be considered important. Dang. I didn't mean that. I just want to do good. To make a difference in the world.
"Everyone thinks about changing the world, no one thinks about changing herself." Leo Tolstoy
I learned today. I learned about myself. I learned that kindness can be a powerful force. Love can be given through simple little words.
Not great big ones.
I don't know if I will ever change the world, or even my neighborhood. But I've changed lots of diapers. That made a difference.
"We can do no great things, only small things with great love." More Mother Teresa.
I have seven children. That was a lot of diapers. I wonder if that is why they call me the Lolly-Mama.
Okay, so that's kind of a paraphrase.
I want to change things for the better, which sounds like I want to be considered important. Dang. I didn't mean that. I just want to do good. To make a difference in the world.
"Everyone thinks about changing the world, no one thinks about changing herself." Leo Tolstoy
I learned today. I learned about myself. I learned that kindness can be a powerful force. Love can be given through simple little words.
Not great big ones.
I don't know if I will ever change the world, or even my neighborhood. But I've changed lots of diapers. That made a difference.
"We can do no great things, only small things with great love." More Mother Teresa.
I have seven children. That was a lot of diapers. I wonder if that is why they call me the Lolly-Mama.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Grandmothers, Lilac Holman and Prayers
I have to write a 5 to 10 page paper for one of my classes. I'd rather blog.
Hello bleaders. How are you out there in cyberspace? Here in Montana, life is good. I had my nails done today by a curious little man who asked me what I was working on as I was making notes in my textbook. I told him I was writing a paper about white privilege. He asked me what kind of privileges I had. He really made me think about them.
I think he was a Sociology professor in another life. Or maybe he was just pleased a pampered white lady was taking a better look at her lucky life and considering the plight of others. I guess I don't really feel pampered, but I am. After all, I can afford to get my nails done...
...and they look great, too!
I am so shallow.
I remember when pretty nails were a luxury.
Hush little luxury, don't you cry
You'll be a necessity by and by
Love that poem.
As far as tv-lessness, I had a great workout today. Got caught up in a movie on TBS. It was 28 Days with Sandra Bullock. Great flick for a social worker. Drugs. Alcohol. Cutting. They didn't do a great job of editing out the R-rated stuff. I know, because I watched an edited version of it that I rented from Clean Flicks a few years ago.
So I moved that belt around a few bazillion times on the treadmill. Well, 45 minutes worth. Which is good for me.
Who knows, perhaps by the end of my year without cable I will be svelte and lean and mean and running marathons with Dougie!!!
and then I woke up.
I have to teach Gospel Doctrine tomorrow. Yes. I have a new calling. I'm thrilled. No, really. The lesson is on doing your family history.
Genealogy.
So I talked to Joseph about his Gran Lyman. I told him what a great lady she was, that she is where he got his big brown eyes from, and love of puppies, and musical talent. I realized that as I know without a doubt that Drew's Gran loves him, perhaps my Grandmothers love me. I never got to know either of them. Yet I feel a connection to them both.
I think Agnes was the original supermom/homemaker. That is what I like to think of her. Aunt Mary and Aunt Eleanor must have gotten their skill from her, so she had to be. When I think of Agnes I think of the house Daddy was born and raised in that he, Paula, Mary and Luke lived in for a while. It was a charming old place. Hardwood floors. Screened-in back porch. You could almost picture the old crank wash tub on it.
When I think of Agnes I think of hard work. I also think of her being taller than Edward Leo. That makes me laugh. Serves him right for marrying a 17 year old. She gave him tall sons too. I wonder how they felt about their heights. Did I mention how shallow I am?
Oh. You noticed.
Just checking.
When I think of Louella I think of a very physical, thinking woman who never sat still. A woman who loved to use her mind and watched soap operas while she did other people's laundry. I'm a lot like her. Why do some brain-dead activity when you can be entertained at the same time?
I wonder if part of my longing to become a Grandmother myself has to do with the fact that I never got to experience that relationship in this life. Except for with Lilac Holman.
Thank God for Lilac Holman.
Dear Heavenly Father,
Please say "hello" to Lilac for me. Tell her what a wonderful woman she was and thank her for being a part of my life. I love her so much. Say "hi" to my Grandmothers too. I'm sure they peek in on me now and then. I know I don't always make them proud, but I will keep trying. Give them my love. Okay, I will give them my love too by trying harder to be the granddaughter they deserve.
In the name of Jesus, Amen.
I forgot to ask Liz about the poem. Hang in there, my word is good.
Hello bleaders. How are you out there in cyberspace? Here in Montana, life is good. I had my nails done today by a curious little man who asked me what I was working on as I was making notes in my textbook. I told him I was writing a paper about white privilege. He asked me what kind of privileges I had. He really made me think about them.
I think he was a Sociology professor in another life. Or maybe he was just pleased a pampered white lady was taking a better look at her lucky life and considering the plight of others. I guess I don't really feel pampered, but I am. After all, I can afford to get my nails done...
...and they look great, too!
I am so shallow.
I remember when pretty nails were a luxury.
Hush little luxury, don't you cry
You'll be a necessity by and by
Love that poem.
As far as tv-lessness, I had a great workout today. Got caught up in a movie on TBS. It was 28 Days with Sandra Bullock. Great flick for a social worker. Drugs. Alcohol. Cutting. They didn't do a great job of editing out the R-rated stuff. I know, because I watched an edited version of it that I rented from Clean Flicks a few years ago.
So I moved that belt around a few bazillion times on the treadmill. Well, 45 minutes worth. Which is good for me.
Who knows, perhaps by the end of my year without cable I will be svelte and lean and mean and running marathons with Dougie!!!
and then I woke up.
I have to teach Gospel Doctrine tomorrow. Yes. I have a new calling. I'm thrilled. No, really. The lesson is on doing your family history.
Genealogy.
So I talked to Joseph about his Gran Lyman. I told him what a great lady she was, that she is where he got his big brown eyes from, and love of puppies, and musical talent. I realized that as I know without a doubt that Drew's Gran loves him, perhaps my Grandmothers love me. I never got to know either of them. Yet I feel a connection to them both.
I think Agnes was the original supermom/homemaker. That is what I like to think of her. Aunt Mary and Aunt Eleanor must have gotten their skill from her, so she had to be. When I think of Agnes I think of the house Daddy was born and raised in that he, Paula, Mary and Luke lived in for a while. It was a charming old place. Hardwood floors. Screened-in back porch. You could almost picture the old crank wash tub on it.
When I think of Agnes I think of hard work. I also think of her being taller than Edward Leo. That makes me laugh. Serves him right for marrying a 17 year old. She gave him tall sons too. I wonder how they felt about their heights. Did I mention how shallow I am?
Oh. You noticed.
Just checking.
When I think of Louella I think of a very physical, thinking woman who never sat still. A woman who loved to use her mind and watched soap operas while she did other people's laundry. I'm a lot like her. Why do some brain-dead activity when you can be entertained at the same time?
I wonder if part of my longing to become a Grandmother myself has to do with the fact that I never got to experience that relationship in this life. Except for with Lilac Holman.
Thank God for Lilac Holman.
Dear Heavenly Father,
Please say "hello" to Lilac for me. Tell her what a wonderful woman she was and thank her for being a part of my life. I love her so much. Say "hi" to my Grandmothers too. I'm sure they peek in on me now and then. I know I don't always make them proud, but I will keep trying. Give them my love. Okay, I will give them my love too by trying harder to be the granddaughter they deserve.
In the name of Jesus, Amen.
I forgot to ask Liz about the poem. Hang in there, my word is good.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Fighting Flu, Perfectionism and Chocolate Cravings.
Sorry.
I know. Its been a while. I've been preoccupied with what felt like swine flu. Of course, the reason I think it's called that is I had the most intense craving of anything chocolate I could find. I ate cookies, granola bars, chocolate chips and more cookies.
Hey, I was carb loading. I had to build up my energy for all the sleeping I did in the last few days. I had some crazy dreams too. I'm analyzing them. I've been reading Freud's dream analysis stuff and thought it may be a beneficial activity for a hopeful therapist.
Christian has finished writing one novel and is on chapter 10 of the other. This is the latest noticed improvement in his eight-year-old life which I believe is the direct result of no television.
I wonder how much more creative we all were if we weren't waiting to see what creative thing was on TV. But I don't necessarily think no television is good for everyone.
I went to the gym 3 times this week...sick or not. NOT because I have the incredible willpower it takes to workout every day. I figured out the best way to get in some television without having it in my home is joining a gym.
I have a free membership for two weeks because I'm a newbee to Billings.
In reference to my decision to give up TV, One of my friends said not to give up oxygen.
As if.
Honestly, I appreciate his concern. I am a bit of a perfectionist...which is never good. the problem with being a perfectionist is that you not only have unrealistic expectations of yourself, you have unrealistic expectations of yourself.
Liz told me she came across an amazing quote about perfectionism. One of her genius twins wrote it...
...I just called both of her phones to get it and she isn't answering either.
Something to look forward to for next time!!!
I know. Its been a while. I've been preoccupied with what felt like swine flu. Of course, the reason I think it's called that is I had the most intense craving of anything chocolate I could find. I ate cookies, granola bars, chocolate chips and more cookies.
Hey, I was carb loading. I had to build up my energy for all the sleeping I did in the last few days. I had some crazy dreams too. I'm analyzing them. I've been reading Freud's dream analysis stuff and thought it may be a beneficial activity for a hopeful therapist.
Christian has finished writing one novel and is on chapter 10 of the other. This is the latest noticed improvement in his eight-year-old life which I believe is the direct result of no television.
I wonder how much more creative we all were if we weren't waiting to see what creative thing was on TV. But I don't necessarily think no television is good for everyone.
I went to the gym 3 times this week...sick or not. NOT because I have the incredible willpower it takes to workout every day. I figured out the best way to get in some television without having it in my home is joining a gym.
I have a free membership for two weeks because I'm a newbee to Billings.
In reference to my decision to give up TV, One of my friends said not to give up oxygen.
As if.
Honestly, I appreciate his concern. I am a bit of a perfectionist...which is never good. the problem with being a perfectionist is that you not only have unrealistic expectations of yourself, you have unrealistic expectations of yourself.
Liz told me she came across an amazing quote about perfectionism. One of her genius twins wrote it...
...I just called both of her phones to get it and she isn't answering either.
Something to look forward to for next time!!!
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Friday, October 16, 2009
Day 49 I'm Losing It
Blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Gone With the Idiot Secretary
I just logged on to my class schedule and saw that the classes I thought were dropped, (because of a review board marking the stamp of approval from previous graduate work) were not and the two I have been attending were.
In a nutshell, because of an incompetant secretary, I am three weeks behind in two classes. In a regular program that meets three times a week, (rather than a concentrated one that meets for three hours one day a week), I would be looking at nine absences. I don't think it would be humanly possible to make up the work.
I looked at that schedule and my stomach dropped and I almost barfed all over the computer.
Both professors likely think I am a complete numb-skull and I don't think either of them would even bat an I to giving me a break and letting me make up the work.
On the bright side, I may only be taking two classes rather than four. Six credits as apposed to 12.
More doable, I know, but I was SO enjoying those other two classes and reading like nuts and writing papers like crazy.
Oh, the injustices of life.
If I was a swearing woman, what wouldn't I say???!!!
dang.
In a nutshell, because of an incompetant secretary, I am three weeks behind in two classes. In a regular program that meets three times a week, (rather than a concentrated one that meets for three hours one day a week), I would be looking at nine absences. I don't think it would be humanly possible to make up the work.
I looked at that schedule and my stomach dropped and I almost barfed all over the computer.
Both professors likely think I am a complete numb-skull and I don't think either of them would even bat an I to giving me a break and letting me make up the work.
On the bright side, I may only be taking two classes rather than four. Six credits as apposed to 12.
More doable, I know, but I was SO enjoying those other two classes and reading like nuts and writing papers like crazy.
Oh, the injustices of life.
If I was a swearing woman, what wouldn't I say???!!!
dang.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Day 48 Winter in Montana
I'm losing my tan. Keturah's genes helped out with my cheekbones and I tan easily but it is fading. I think I need a week in Hawaii.
This morning Doug Junior had his appendix removed. The highlight of the day was watching cable television in the hospital room.
We woke up at 5 A.M.
I need a nap.
This morning Doug Junior had his appendix removed. The highlight of the day was watching cable television in the hospital room.
We woke up at 5 A.M.
I need a nap.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Keturah Button - My Amazing Great Great Grandmother
In the tradition of Native American verbal tradition, I want to pass along this story of my wonderful ancestor. I don't remember where I heard it or even if it is for sure true or not but I couldn't find it anywhere on the internet and it is a great memory of a wonderful person...
Legend holds that Keturah joined the Mormon Church, married a white man, crossed the plains with the Mormons, and was rejected by both the white people and the Native Americans in Utah. Being Iroquois, the Ute, Shoshone and Navaho wanted little to do with her. But they appreciated her cooking. She always kept a pot of beans boiling in her yard and any traveler, white or Indian, was welcome to partake of her generosity. One day, the natives were on their way to massacre the Mormons. They stopped at Katurah’s home for food and while they ate, she talked them out of their killing spree.
Many individuals in my family tree were spared that day. My white Mormon ancestors were from Wales, England, Germany, Scotland and Denmark. Included in the mix was a brave Native American. All I have to do is look in the mirror and I see evidence of Keturah’s strong genetic blueprint. Unlike my adopted Ute brother, I was not fed whiskey in a bottle, yet I share my both my forefathers (and mothers) pain of being both victims and perpetrators of prejudice.
How can I make the world a better place? I strongly feel the need to pass on the legacy of this wonderful woman who did so much good just by doing her thing.
Boiling beans.
Have I mentioned I don't really cook all that well? I made carrot soup the other day for a church thing.
Nobody ate it.
So I took it to school to share with my classmates.
I ate two bowlfuls.
Nobody else touched a drop.
I don't think cooking is my thing. But that's okay.
I love to give. I think that came from Keturah, down the lines through my mother. I remember complimenting Mom on her shoes once and she slipped them off her feet and gave them to me.
How very Native American of her.
Of course, she was also an alcoholic. I'm so proud of you Mom. You took both the bad and good in your genetic make-up and lived an incredible life.
I hope I can follow in all the strong footsteps of my foremothers.
Legend holds that Keturah joined the Mormon Church, married a white man, crossed the plains with the Mormons, and was rejected by both the white people and the Native Americans in Utah. Being Iroquois, the Ute, Shoshone and Navaho wanted little to do with her. But they appreciated her cooking. She always kept a pot of beans boiling in her yard and any traveler, white or Indian, was welcome to partake of her generosity. One day, the natives were on their way to massacre the Mormons. They stopped at Katurah’s home for food and while they ate, she talked them out of their killing spree.
Many individuals in my family tree were spared that day. My white Mormon ancestors were from Wales, England, Germany, Scotland and Denmark. Included in the mix was a brave Native American. All I have to do is look in the mirror and I see evidence of Keturah’s strong genetic blueprint. Unlike my adopted Ute brother, I was not fed whiskey in a bottle, yet I share my both my forefathers (and mothers) pain of being both victims and perpetrators of prejudice.
How can I make the world a better place? I strongly feel the need to pass on the legacy of this wonderful woman who did so much good just by doing her thing.
Boiling beans.
Have I mentioned I don't really cook all that well? I made carrot soup the other day for a church thing.
Nobody ate it.
So I took it to school to share with my classmates.
I ate two bowlfuls.
Nobody else touched a drop.
I don't think cooking is my thing. But that's okay.
I love to give. I think that came from Keturah, down the lines through my mother. I remember complimenting Mom on her shoes once and she slipped them off her feet and gave them to me.
How very Native American of her.
Of course, she was also an alcoholic. I'm so proud of you Mom. You took both the bad and good in your genetic make-up and lived an incredible life.
I hope I can follow in all the strong footsteps of my foremothers.
Days 45 - 47 School Days are Rockin'
October 10
Today is my brother Ren's birthday. I wish I was there to give him a hug, and a swift kick in the pants.
But enough about that.
I'm loving school. Who knew how much fun graduate school could be? What a breath of fresh air from my hum-drum life.
I learned more from the reading about myself. It was interesting to learn about the mission, purposes and ethics of Social Work. In self-reflection, I recognize that I have a very strong set of values and some of them are likely to change over the course of the next two years. Hepworth et al define values as strongly held beliefs about how the world should be. I definitely have those. They seem to be so much a part of me that I wonder at my ability to be a good social worker when it comes to dealing with people who have different values than I do. I feel like my respect for individuals can help me overcome attitudes of prejudice I may have for others.
I wonder about developing a global perspective. How does a global perspective help a social worker who is dealing with micro-level problems in rural Montana? I’m sure I will figure this out as we progress into the class.
It seems to me that in our reading and class discussions we have this wonderful sense of idealism about how the world should be, then we step out into the world into the reality of practicing social work and the problems are so huge, they seem almost impossible to overcome.
I feel overwhelmed by the thoughts of not being the kind of social worker my clients may need. I am comforted by telling myself, “at least you are doing something”. I feel like the guy on the beach tossing back starfish into the surf one at a time or the lady who plants tulip bulbs one at a time. Point being, I can only do what I can do and can’t get caught up in not being able to change the world.
What I am learning about the code of ethics and basic attitudes of regard for individual worth and dignity are already making a difference in my life. I guess in a way I am learning a more global perspective and how it can apply even in this small community. I had an experience this week in which the readings I’ve been doing for several classes helped me understand a situation and take a good look at my own set of personal ethics.
I was driving in the morning on one of the first icy days of the season. I slid out of control in front of another driver, (who was going too fast for the conditions) and he ended up slamming into a parked car. I admit, I was tempted to keep going, but the whole ‘ethics’ issues we have been discussing in class and I’ve been reading about seemed to be RINGING in my ears!!! I pulled over to make sure he was okay. He called the police while I knocked on the door of the tiny house the car was parked in front of. A man came to the door wearing nothing but a beard, (that reached his obtuse belly), and a pair of jeans, (which he was zipping up). He was swearing up a storm and screaming something about my irresponsible driving. I explained that the roads are slick and accidents happen. I didn’t wait around to be verbally abused but told him the police are on their way. The most disturbing thing about the whole experience was the scared little native American gal who cowered in the background. She seemed to be trying to appear busy but kept her head down. The guy referred to her as his “woman”. My heart went out to her.
According to all of our reading this woman seemed to me to be the epitome of bottom-of-the-totum-pole in a social sense. I wanted to do something to help her. I wanted to know her story. How did she get to be the live-in “woman” of such a horrible man. Not that he is as horrid as he seemed, (it WAS a rude awakening…to have your car slammed into as it is parked in front of your house).
October 12, 2009
In class we sit in a circle and take turns being the therapist and client in the two hot seats in the middle. We call it 'round robin'.
In our round robin the ‘therapist’ assumed the guy she was counseling was married to a woman. In this day and age, I don’t think that would always work. I think a more appropriate way of asking the question would not have been, “what does your wife think?”, but “what does your partner think?”
Mike made a comment that really intruiged me. When he was in the hot seat as the client, he was talking about how difficult it was to not have an arm for 21 years of his life. He said to the ‘therapist’, “Try not using your dominant arm for one day and then times that by 21 years and see how you feel.”
I thought about it. 21 x 365 = 7665. That is 7665 days without an arm. When I got home I spent a few minutes trying to do things without my right arm. It would be even more interesting to go without my arm for a day…or a week.
I have told Mike that his handicap is an obvious one but most of us have handicaps that aren’t visible. I hope I didn’t come across as flippant.
Today is my brother Ren's birthday. I wish I was there to give him a hug, and a swift kick in the pants.
But enough about that.
I'm loving school. Who knew how much fun graduate school could be? What a breath of fresh air from my hum-drum life.
I learned more from the reading about myself. It was interesting to learn about the mission, purposes and ethics of Social Work. In self-reflection, I recognize that I have a very strong set of values and some of them are likely to change over the course of the next two years. Hepworth et al define values as strongly held beliefs about how the world should be. I definitely have those. They seem to be so much a part of me that I wonder at my ability to be a good social worker when it comes to dealing with people who have different values than I do. I feel like my respect for individuals can help me overcome attitudes of prejudice I may have for others.
I wonder about developing a global perspective. How does a global perspective help a social worker who is dealing with micro-level problems in rural Montana? I’m sure I will figure this out as we progress into the class.
It seems to me that in our reading and class discussions we have this wonderful sense of idealism about how the world should be, then we step out into the world into the reality of practicing social work and the problems are so huge, they seem almost impossible to overcome.
I feel overwhelmed by the thoughts of not being the kind of social worker my clients may need. I am comforted by telling myself, “at least you are doing something”. I feel like the guy on the beach tossing back starfish into the surf one at a time or the lady who plants tulip bulbs one at a time. Point being, I can only do what I can do and can’t get caught up in not being able to change the world.
What I am learning about the code of ethics and basic attitudes of regard for individual worth and dignity are already making a difference in my life. I guess in a way I am learning a more global perspective and how it can apply even in this small community. I had an experience this week in which the readings I’ve been doing for several classes helped me understand a situation and take a good look at my own set of personal ethics.
I was driving in the morning on one of the first icy days of the season. I slid out of control in front of another driver, (who was going too fast for the conditions) and he ended up slamming into a parked car. I admit, I was tempted to keep going, but the whole ‘ethics’ issues we have been discussing in class and I’ve been reading about seemed to be RINGING in my ears!!! I pulled over to make sure he was okay. He called the police while I knocked on the door of the tiny house the car was parked in front of. A man came to the door wearing nothing but a beard, (that reached his obtuse belly), and a pair of jeans, (which he was zipping up). He was swearing up a storm and screaming something about my irresponsible driving. I explained that the roads are slick and accidents happen. I didn’t wait around to be verbally abused but told him the police are on their way. The most disturbing thing about the whole experience was the scared little native American gal who cowered in the background. She seemed to be trying to appear busy but kept her head down. The guy referred to her as his “woman”. My heart went out to her.
According to all of our reading this woman seemed to me to be the epitome of bottom-of-the-totum-pole in a social sense. I wanted to do something to help her. I wanted to know her story. How did she get to be the live-in “woman” of such a horrible man. Not that he is as horrid as he seemed, (it WAS a rude awakening…to have your car slammed into as it is parked in front of your house).
October 12, 2009
In class we sit in a circle and take turns being the therapist and client in the two hot seats in the middle. We call it 'round robin'.
In our round robin the ‘therapist’ assumed the guy she was counseling was married to a woman. In this day and age, I don’t think that would always work. I think a more appropriate way of asking the question would not have been, “what does your wife think?”, but “what does your partner think?”
Mike made a comment that really intruiged me. When he was in the hot seat as the client, he was talking about how difficult it was to not have an arm for 21 years of his life. He said to the ‘therapist’, “Try not using your dominant arm for one day and then times that by 21 years and see how you feel.”
I thought about it. 21 x 365 = 7665. That is 7665 days without an arm. When I got home I spent a few minutes trying to do things without my right arm. It would be even more interesting to go without my arm for a day…or a week.
I have told Mike that his handicap is an obvious one but most of us have handicaps that aren’t visible. I hope I didn’t come across as flippant.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Day 43 and 44 Without Television
I read the coolest sentence in a textbook..."I do not know anyone who has done more people more good with less noise than Miz Wakefield."
Isn't that a great sentence? I think of the people in my life who are the Miz Wakefields. They go about doing not because they expect any great reward but because they just love. The Miz Wakefields I know look forward to the next life. They make other lives better by simply doing their thing.
I have to write about my evolution as an individual...culturally. Here is what I have so far:
The cultural evolution of me
I am a member of a dominant group. I am white, with only enough Native American blood to make me look Italian. But I’m not. I share the privilege and the guilt of being a member of the dominant race. I also was the daughter of a doctor. I didn’t realize we were wealthy when I was growing up. Both of my parents were raised during the great depression. We lived on a farm near an isolated small town. Our home was about a mile away from town on the reservoir. Our family had a boat that we puttered around on. I learned to water-ski at the age of 12. I didn’t recognize this as privilege. I actually thought we were poor because my Dad complained about money so much and was very controlling with my mother. We ate lots of oatmeal and other kinds of cooked cereal. We always had a big garden and ate what we grew. Cold cereal, convenience food and going out to dinner were luxuries that were unheard of in our home. It was difficult to get either of my parents to buy clothing. Having been raised during the Great Depression, clothing was rarely purchased. I often wore my older brother’s hand-me-downs while children of families with less money dressed better than I did.
My family was made up of ten children. My mother gave birth to eight of us and adopted two brothers. Both of my parents were misogynistic. My mother came from a family with five daughters. She had been the tomboy of the bunch and was treated like a boy by her father. She told me once that every time she had a baby and it was a girl, she was disappointed. She was delighted when I asked her to cut my doll’s hair so that it could be a boy.
So when children were adopted, they had to be boys. Of my two adopted brothers, one was Ute and the other was Shoshone. My mother didn’t call them “Indians”. She used the term, “Lamanites”. Being of the Mormon faith, I was taught that my Native American brothers were not only part of our family because we had been sealed to them in the Temple but they were of the tribe of Joseph of the Old Testament. In Mormon doctrine Native Americans descended from a family who crossed the ocean from Jerusalem and were a remnant of the 12 tribes of Israel through Joseph. It was with a sense of pride that my parents adopted sons of Lamanite blood. The Mormon faith also taught that we “gentiles” were responsible to teach the gospel to the Lamanite people.
There were several families in our community who adopted or took in children through the foster care program. They were mostly Navaho and one of my best friends was Julie Bullcreek.
My Ute brother was 10 years older than me. He had dark brown skin and thick, silky black hair that shimmered in the light. Whenever Eddie was mean to me my mother reminded me that as an infant he was fed whiskey in his bottle. There was less expected of him because of his background, likely his race as well.
My Shoshone brother was three years younger than I and had fair skin but the same silky hair. I adored Ren. I never thought of him as Native American except when my parents spoke of it. He was ashamed to be native. Eddie used it against him and made Ren miserable. When I was six years old my mother brought home a three-year-old African American boy. Our local clergyman asked my parents to take him in. My mother doted on him and refused to believe he was a Negro. She said Randy was Polynesian. Eddie hated Randy. When Mom and Dad weren’t home and Eddie came in, my sister and I would hide Randy in the closet to keep him safe from Eddie’s wrath.
The townspeople were horrible to Randy. Ironically, the clergyman was one of the worst. We only had Randy for a year and we had to give him up. My mother cried but said it would be better for him to live in a community where he could be accepted. I assumed he went to live on Sesame Street because that was the only place I had ever seen black children.
My parents had an interesting perspective of other races. They had strong feelings against Japanese because of the experiences friends of theirs had during the war. I didn’t realize until I was an adult that there had been a prisoner of war camp just outside my home town that hundreds of Japanese from San Francisco were sent to live in. My parents detested racism in others and my mother verbalized how sad it was that a German acquaintance could not understand the horror of Hitler’s murder of Jews.
My father was a philanthropist and spent hundreds of hours of his time and thousands of dollars on a project in Guatemala bringing medical care to the indigenous Mayan people. My mother learned Spanish and kiche and interpreted for him in his clinic. In spite of adopting Native American children and bringing health care to thousands, I recognize that my parent’s racism was embedded deep within them. I didn’t realize that I had Native American Ancestors until I was almost thirty years old. Genealogy is a huge part of my cultural background. My parents researched our family tree with vigor and enthusiasm. Our family vacations were often spent traveling to places previous generations lived. My father wrote several books about his father and father’s father and so on. I can name the male ancestors that carry the family name back four generations.
The women were seldom spoken of. After my mother died in my twenties, I was watching a PBS program documentary on photography of Native Americans. Every portrait looked so much like my mother I was spooked. I spoke to my older sister and she told me of my Great Grandmother who had been a full blood Iroquois. I was amazed! I remembered how mother spoke of her mother who had thick, long dark hair that was silky and reached her knees. I realized she had spoken of her mother as Welsh but when I put together my family history I realized my grandmother Luella was Welsh and Iroquois! I have made it my quest to attempt to make up for the travesties of the past by not only acknowledging Keturah Button, but putting her up as an example.
Isn't that a great sentence? I think of the people in my life who are the Miz Wakefields. They go about doing not because they expect any great reward but because they just love. The Miz Wakefields I know look forward to the next life. They make other lives better by simply doing their thing.
I have to write about my evolution as an individual...culturally. Here is what I have so far:
The cultural evolution of me
I am a member of a dominant group. I am white, with only enough Native American blood to make me look Italian. But I’m not. I share the privilege and the guilt of being a member of the dominant race. I also was the daughter of a doctor. I didn’t realize we were wealthy when I was growing up. Both of my parents were raised during the great depression. We lived on a farm near an isolated small town. Our home was about a mile away from town on the reservoir. Our family had a boat that we puttered around on. I learned to water-ski at the age of 12. I didn’t recognize this as privilege. I actually thought we were poor because my Dad complained about money so much and was very controlling with my mother. We ate lots of oatmeal and other kinds of cooked cereal. We always had a big garden and ate what we grew. Cold cereal, convenience food and going out to dinner were luxuries that were unheard of in our home. It was difficult to get either of my parents to buy clothing. Having been raised during the Great Depression, clothing was rarely purchased. I often wore my older brother’s hand-me-downs while children of families with less money dressed better than I did.
My family was made up of ten children. My mother gave birth to eight of us and adopted two brothers. Both of my parents were misogynistic. My mother came from a family with five daughters. She had been the tomboy of the bunch and was treated like a boy by her father. She told me once that every time she had a baby and it was a girl, she was disappointed. She was delighted when I asked her to cut my doll’s hair so that it could be a boy.
So when children were adopted, they had to be boys. Of my two adopted brothers, one was Ute and the other was Shoshone. My mother didn’t call them “Indians”. She used the term, “Lamanites”. Being of the Mormon faith, I was taught that my Native American brothers were not only part of our family because we had been sealed to them in the Temple but they were of the tribe of Joseph of the Old Testament. In Mormon doctrine Native Americans descended from a family who crossed the ocean from Jerusalem and were a remnant of the 12 tribes of Israel through Joseph. It was with a sense of pride that my parents adopted sons of Lamanite blood. The Mormon faith also taught that we “gentiles” were responsible to teach the gospel to the Lamanite people.
There were several families in our community who adopted or took in children through the foster care program. They were mostly Navaho and one of my best friends was Julie Bullcreek.
My Ute brother was 10 years older than me. He had dark brown skin and thick, silky black hair that shimmered in the light. Whenever Eddie was mean to me my mother reminded me that as an infant he was fed whiskey in his bottle. There was less expected of him because of his background, likely his race as well.
My Shoshone brother was three years younger than I and had fair skin but the same silky hair. I adored Ren. I never thought of him as Native American except when my parents spoke of it. He was ashamed to be native. Eddie used it against him and made Ren miserable. When I was six years old my mother brought home a three-year-old African American boy. Our local clergyman asked my parents to take him in. My mother doted on him and refused to believe he was a Negro. She said Randy was Polynesian. Eddie hated Randy. When Mom and Dad weren’t home and Eddie came in, my sister and I would hide Randy in the closet to keep him safe from Eddie’s wrath.
The townspeople were horrible to Randy. Ironically, the clergyman was one of the worst. We only had Randy for a year and we had to give him up. My mother cried but said it would be better for him to live in a community where he could be accepted. I assumed he went to live on Sesame Street because that was the only place I had ever seen black children.
My parents had an interesting perspective of other races. They had strong feelings against Japanese because of the experiences friends of theirs had during the war. I didn’t realize until I was an adult that there had been a prisoner of war camp just outside my home town that hundreds of Japanese from San Francisco were sent to live in. My parents detested racism in others and my mother verbalized how sad it was that a German acquaintance could not understand the horror of Hitler’s murder of Jews.
My father was a philanthropist and spent hundreds of hours of his time and thousands of dollars on a project in Guatemala bringing medical care to the indigenous Mayan people. My mother learned Spanish and kiche and interpreted for him in his clinic. In spite of adopting Native American children and bringing health care to thousands, I recognize that my parent’s racism was embedded deep within them. I didn’t realize that I had Native American Ancestors until I was almost thirty years old. Genealogy is a huge part of my cultural background. My parents researched our family tree with vigor and enthusiasm. Our family vacations were often spent traveling to places previous generations lived. My father wrote several books about his father and father’s father and so on. I can name the male ancestors that carry the family name back four generations.
The women were seldom spoken of. After my mother died in my twenties, I was watching a PBS program documentary on photography of Native Americans. Every portrait looked so much like my mother I was spooked. I spoke to my older sister and she told me of my Great Grandmother who had been a full blood Iroquois. I was amazed! I remembered how mother spoke of her mother who had thick, long dark hair that was silky and reached her knees. I realized she had spoken of her mother as Welsh but when I put together my family history I realized my grandmother Luella was Welsh and Iroquois! I have made it my quest to attempt to make up for the travesties of the past by not only acknowledging Keturah Button, but putting her up as an example.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Day 42 you can do it Lol
You knew it wouldn't be easy. Nothing worth doing is. Don't lose heart. Get up, dress up, show up. You can do it girl.
Yay me!!!
This is NOT how I really feel. I feel overwhelmed, overloaded and over-extended. I need a clone and I need her now.
Yay me!!!
This is NOT how I really feel. I feel overwhelmed, overloaded and over-extended. I need a clone and I need her now.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Day 41 Priorities and Delegating
Read out loud to myself for a few hours today. I got TWO different phone calls from friends with family problems who asked for counseling. I'm not sure I'm up to this. I like mental health care when you read about it in books. Not when you actually counsel people.
'Specially people I love.
I also worked for several hours at the school. I get more done there than when I'm home. I get so distracted here. Facebook, dishes, chicken to cook, boys to talk to.
But I've committed myself to be here for the boys. If they are home, Mom is. I can do intense stuff during the day at the school and be here for them from 2 to bedtime.
I'm delegating the reading out loud to Doug, though. I think it will be great for all of them. Christian asked Daddy when we are getting cable TV. Dad said, "We're not."
I don't think Christian was too disappointed. He worked on his book today. The one he is writing. The last thing a creative mind like his needs is Spongebob weighing it down!!!
'Specially people I love.
I also worked for several hours at the school. I get more done there than when I'm home. I get so distracted here. Facebook, dishes, chicken to cook, boys to talk to.
But I've committed myself to be here for the boys. If they are home, Mom is. I can do intense stuff during the day at the school and be here for them from 2 to bedtime.
I'm delegating the reading out loud to Doug, though. I think it will be great for all of them. Christian asked Daddy when we are getting cable TV. Dad said, "We're not."
I don't think Christian was too disappointed. He worked on his book today. The one he is writing. The last thing a creative mind like his needs is Spongebob weighing it down!!!
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Day 39 - 40
We made it back to Billings in one piece. Well, technically, several pieces as my children are not technically attached anymore. Physically that is. I love that quote, "Having children is like having your internal organs walking around on the outside of your body." For me, it is really how it is. I ache when they do. It isn't any easier as they age and move out. I bawled my eyes out when we dropped Brianne off at Rexburg. Doug and the boys patiently endured my tears and didn't even tease me...much.
I got on the phone today and invited one of my nieces to move in with us.
Doug found out he was 25 seconds over the time to qualify for the Boston Marathon. He was so cute about getting such a great time. He shaved 20 minutes off his best time!!! What a man.
I had class all day yesterday. One of my courses is on Cultural Diversity. I learned that people should be able to access information in order to feel like they are part of a culture and it should be the rights of all minorities and others who struggle under the poverty line to have the same information as the wealthy. So here I am CHOOSING to be without television. It is freeing though. I may be without one of the ways people have of accessing information and yes, I don't always feel like I fit in with people in my culture but ya know, there are parts of this culture I just don't want to fit in with.
I've had more profound thoughts, but for now, I have to go study. If it wasn't for this television dearth, not sure I would even be doing the grad school thing.
I got on the phone today and invited one of my nieces to move in with us.
Doug found out he was 25 seconds over the time to qualify for the Boston Marathon. He was so cute about getting such a great time. He shaved 20 minutes off his best time!!! What a man.
I had class all day yesterday. One of my courses is on Cultural Diversity. I learned that people should be able to access information in order to feel like they are part of a culture and it should be the rights of all minorities and others who struggle under the poverty line to have the same information as the wealthy. So here I am CHOOSING to be without television. It is freeing though. I may be without one of the ways people have of accessing information and yes, I don't always feel like I fit in with people in my culture but ya know, there are parts of this culture I just don't want to fit in with.
I've had more profound thoughts, but for now, I have to go study. If it wasn't for this television dearth, not sure I would even be doing the grad school thing.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Day 36 - 38 Spousal Support and Dangerous Tree Trunks
I traveled with Doug to Utah to support him and Rachael in their latest marathon run. Go peeps!!! Toenails are for wimps!! While they were running it, I got a pedicure. In honor of them losing toenails, I thought I would make mine pretty.
I also took five of my sister's kids and five of mine and one of their boyfriends to the play, Into the Woods. It was wonderful. Except for the fact that Little Red Riding Hood broke her leg in the first act. At first we thought the blood-curdling scream was part of the play, then Grandma and Cinderella's Spirit Mother came out on stage. Spirit-Mom called for her dad and asked if there was a doctor in the house. The guy sitting next to me went down to the stage. Thirty minutes later he returned and told me that the giant moving tree had moved one way while Red's ankle moved another and her ankle/leg is very likely broken.
We were all very concerned for the little gal. We also had a great time finding humor in the situation. Like the fact that she had just been eaten by the wolf and then cut out of him and did her song and dance about living to tell the tale. I joked that the whole ambulance, doctor-in-the-house thing was because she had been partially digested and was in pain over the whole thing still. You know, it hurts to be digested. Not that I know this from personal experience. You would have to ask Jonah or Gippetto to know for sure. Pinocchio was wood. He wouldn't know.
So one of the stepsisters moved into the role and as they say, the show must go on!!!
I've been reading and trying to keep up with grad school. It is fascinating!!! I'm learning all kinds of stuff I didn't know I wanted to understand. It is storming outside and we have to drive 10 hours today back to Billings.
I also took five of my sister's kids and five of mine and one of their boyfriends to the play, Into the Woods. It was wonderful. Except for the fact that Little Red Riding Hood broke her leg in the first act. At first we thought the blood-curdling scream was part of the play, then Grandma and Cinderella's Spirit Mother came out on stage. Spirit-Mom called for her dad and asked if there was a doctor in the house. The guy sitting next to me went down to the stage. Thirty minutes later he returned and told me that the giant moving tree had moved one way while Red's ankle moved another and her ankle/leg is very likely broken.
We were all very concerned for the little gal. We also had a great time finding humor in the situation. Like the fact that she had just been eaten by the wolf and then cut out of him and did her song and dance about living to tell the tale. I joked that the whole ambulance, doctor-in-the-house thing was because she had been partially digested and was in pain over the whole thing still. You know, it hurts to be digested. Not that I know this from personal experience. You would have to ask Jonah or Gippetto to know for sure. Pinocchio was wood. He wouldn't know.
So one of the stepsisters moved into the role and as they say, the show must go on!!!
I've been reading and trying to keep up with grad school. It is fascinating!!! I'm learning all kinds of stuff I didn't know I wanted to understand. It is storming outside and we have to drive 10 hours today back to Billings.
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