Really?

I received a very hard message tonight from someone I thought was a friend, but I don't think she really is, because I don't think she would have passed on from her husband what she did pass on. That because I depend on help from the government to receive help, that I should have no say in voting. At all. "You have too much at stake." That hurt like you wouldn't know. I have too much at stake? Take a look in the mirror, honey. I don't have a house. You do. I don't have a car. You do. I don't have my own business that I rely on for my livelihood. You do! I have too much at stake. That is a great joke. So take away my meds. I'll have seizures; a lot. Take away my education that I rely on the government for because my family is poor too. I'll just keep sucking up those dshs dollars, which they won't let me suck up for a whole lot more, I don't think. And it's all because I advocated an initiative for income tax for people that make more than $200k. Maybe I sound naive, but that income tax is for education and healthcare. Maybe for other people like me. I believe when they say it's for rich people. If you make more than $200k a year, I consider you at least wealthy if not just plain rich. You don't have to worry about education costs or healthcare costs, unless you live beyond your means. A woman actually said that she wanted to keep her money because then she "could put it back into the economy." Isn't that what taxes are for??? In general, I think that we like schools. We like teachers that teach in schools; many of which have been laid off. We like police officers when we need them. We also like firefighters when we need them too. We also like to have paved streets, which some cities are turning to dirt road cuz they can't afford paved streets. So, you, the rich bitch, will put your money to more good use than that? But I see the other side. So many people in high positions use that money to line their pockets. Or they use that money to line someone else's pockets, who will line their pockets, in one way or another. So why should the lowly good-to-do citizen pay more? Maybe because we have good people on our side. Because I believe, I like to believe, that these people won't let scoundrels get away with that extra tax money. I believe that they will do what they say they will do. Patty Murray has been pretty good to Wa. So has Maria Cantwell. It saddens me more than anything - I don't have a right to vote?

Stupid Is as Stupid Does

I was watching Smoking Gun's Dumbest Criminals the other day (I highly recommend it if you want a good laugh - better than America's Funniest Videos, and yes, this guy was on it), and I've wondered for a long time why are so many criminals so dumb, and so few smart people criminals? How does having an education change that, theorizing that it does? In my psychology class, my teacher said that generally criminals have a lower IQ than the general public. Also, criminals rarely have a degree, if any college education. I'm talking about the lowly burglar who robs the 7-11 or holds up a small bank. The higher the degree, the lower the percentage of those degree holders commit crimes. So does a college education make people more moral, and if so, how? This applies not only to criminals, but people in general. Look at Glenn Beck, who I don't see as possessing high morals, who dropped out of two colleges that I know of, and Rachel Maddow, who I see as a very moral person, who became a Rhodes scholar when she was 21, and earned her doctorate. People with less education tend to be more racist, sexist, homophobic, religious, narrow-minded, bigoted in general, and (hrrmph) republican, than people with a higher education. Now, of course, I'm talking in general from what I have seen. I stuck religion in there, because, well, it's true. More people with a higher education, from what I've observed, don't believe in a god than people with a lower education. Or if they do believe in god, they realize that they have no hard evidence that one exists; that it's blind faith.

I thought of morals being taught in the home. So do all people with low morals come from bad homes, or the product of parents with low morals? For the most part, it's probably true, but I think there are many criminals that came from good homes. It also works vice-versa. There are lots of good people that come from less-than-desirable homes.

My mother fell asleep with the tv on earlier, and this religious show was on. This woman yelled out to a massive audience that she was almost 61 years old and she felt like she was 25, "and that is God's work," and the crowd roared! Yay!!! Do they really believe that crap? My grandparents believed in God, and they died from cancer. Was it because they didn't believe as hard as she does? Could it be that she takes care of herself? That she has good genes (which she would also consider the work of God)? That she is just plain lying, so that her supporters, especially ill ones, will send her money hoping that God will make them feel like 25? And you know, 25 wasn't especially great for me. But that must be because I'm a non-believer. I also didn't take very good care of myself. And there's the whole seizure thing.

Going back to education and morals, teachers/professors don't necessarily teach morals. Yet, education seems to impact them. Perhaps it's because more education can make people more open-minded. They meet people from different backgrounds and cultures whose views differ from theirs, and learn things out of their scope. It forces one to question their beliefs and analyze what they think - not just positions they always held, but also issues they didn't give much thought to before. It also happens (or should happen) in a non-threatening manner. If you tell someone their beliefs are wrong, then they'll dig their heels in deeper. If you can get them to truly question their beliefs, to explain themselves, then it makes the person more open-minded to alternatives. "Huh. Maybe that doesn't make as much sense as I thought, now that I think about it." Like duct-taping your face to use as a disguise.

We're Only Human

 What does it mean to say, "We're only human."? It's human to display inquisitive behavior. It's human to lust. It's human to have weaknesses. In colonial times and the slavery era (much of one in the same), EuroAmerican people didn't consider Africans or Native Americans as humans. They were primitive, savages, animals, that didn't belong in proper society. To admit that they were human would mean to admit that they deserved to be treated with some amount of respect and decency, and they were entitled to rights. It's much more convenient to write them off as nonhuman, don't you think? Look at how so many humans still treat animals. That reminds me of a similarity I haven't thought of before. We know what Michael Vick did to dogs. Priests at a boarding school for little Native children did something similar. They disciplined a child by making other children, their schoolmates, beat him, or they would suffer a beating themselves. The two situations differ not all that much, unfortunately. So it seems human to rule over something that can be controlled - whether it be animals, the environment, money, or other humans. Cohabitation doesn't exist. Reservations prove that. Animals lose more and more of their home as humans drive them back to make room for their homes. Cohabiting with the animals, that I believe have as much right to be here as any human does, is farcical. What if the big bad bear ate little Timmy? Well, that's only nature ( ;. Other animals face that same fear. As I tend to do, I strayed from my initial question. 

What is it to be human? Does it mean to have fingers and toes and opposable thumbs? Monkeys have those things, and not all humans do. Does it mean to have a more developed brain? That we can reach a higher level of thinking than any other species? Then why do we act so stupid? Why do we kill each other, impose our morals on others, make war with each other, destroy each other and the earth in which we need to live? Why can't we cohabit with other animals as all other animals seem to be able to do quite nicely, except when they're hungry? Native Americans did. They lived right along the deer, bears, wolves, buffalo, and all other animals. So did (and still do) all indigenous peoples. Or is it our ability to communicate? We created languages and the written word. Whales have their own language(s), as most other animals. And I've seen an elephant paint. I actually think I've seen a chimpanzee draw letters much like a kindergartener. So are they human, too? If a woman lives in a cave, eats squirrels and berries, and doesn't talk, does that make her less human than me? Less of a woman than me? Isn't "Nell" about something like that? Never did watch it, obviously. Actually, she sounds like someone out of "Deliverance." How about the human's ability to build grand edifices and mansions to live and work in? Ants and bees build abodes that most humans can barely fathom. So what makes us so much better than them?

Witchy Woman

  I just looked at a note to remind me of the conversation of two women I overheard talking. They were two white women in their 50's or 60's talking about Muslim women and their burkas. They felt that they shouldn't be allowed to wear their burka in the United States, because, "you just don't know who could be under there." Really, people? Really? Whatever happened to the land of the free? Not that everyone has ever been really free here - the reservations the Natives were segregated to and all the rights taken away, the slaves that were imported from Africa, internment camps for the Japanese, and now the sex slave industry. I just watched a new Law & Order: SVU episode about poor children sent to work on farms and being sold into slavery. As the immigration of illegal immigrants decreases, farmers need to find cheap work somewhere. But I digress. It was hard to keep my mouth shut as I listened to these ignorant women feeling it appropriate for them, the government, to intervene with religious rights that brings no harm to anyone else, but I highly doubt it would've mattered if I said anything or not. As if one of "those people" could be Osama bin Laden hiding under a blanket right in plain view. That brings up another point, this ideology of "us" vs. "them." I thought Obama exclaimed quite eloquently and passionately that there is no "us and them," there is only "us." It's only too obvious to state that as long as the "us and them" ideology persists, then we can't come together to banish the "them" part. Unfortunately, a "them" has always existed. "Us" are scared of the "them" because of real differences, and differences they perceive. Muslim women wear burkas. Christian women don't. That is a difference you can see, but they're both religious women. People have all different colors of skin, but the DNA is almost the same - we're all the same underneath. I think of "Imagine," the best song ever written (in my humble opinion): "Imagine there's no countries. It isn't hard to do. Nothing to kill or die for, and no religion too. Imagine all the people living life in peace."

Horse and Carriage

Lake Quinault, one of my favorite places

From the encouragement of a friend, I decided to finally start writing in my blog again. I took such a long sabbatical on account of school, and other pressing matters, but mostly school. I've been writing a theory paper for what seems like a year for a women's studies class. I picked the subject of the impact of Eurocentric capitalist patriarchy on the Native American woman. Interesting, yes. Theoretical, not so much. But I was too stubborn to pick another topic (a taurus thru and thru), and wanted to write on a topic close to my heart. I liked it because it is challenging, and a topic I doubted other students would write about. At least in my class. Even as I attempt to free-write now, I come to an impasse about what specifically my theory is, which was rather stupid of me to try to write a theory paper without knowing what my theory is; just a vague subject. My teacher tried to warn me more than once, but I obviously didn't heed them; determined to write about this matter - that I could do it.

Over these last months, I reflected on my conceptions of marriage and motherhood in relation to the patriarchal ideologies of these matters. I decided that I don't want to marry anyone (except maybe myself) or have children (of my own at least). Maybe I stated this in a previous post. I even want to sell my eggs if i can. That brings in quite a few bucks. Yes, I think the world is overpopulated as it is, but if there's a woman out there that really wants a baby and she's infertile, and I can help, it would make me happy to make that dream a reality for her. And also for the money. Marriage is only to support patriarchy. Or was I should say. I think many marriages enjoy an egalitarian relationship. However, it was instituted in the name of patriarchy, that women must be taken care of. It ensured her a future of domesticity while the man went out to earn the money and had other opportunities. He had a sense of the world. That made her totally dependent on him. I feel like I would be doing what I'm supposed to do, which the rebellious side of me pushes back against. I wouldn't be opposed to marriage if I fell in love with someone and wanted to commit myself to that person for the rest of my life. But again, I have my convictions of marriage. I'm more happy to hear about divorces than marriages. I know far more many that haven't worked out than had. However, I don't hold any contempt for people who do get married or want to get married. Right now, I don't feel that I need it to show, or prove, my love with a marriage to anyone. It just seems that not long ago I wanted what many young women want, a heterosexual marriage and children. Not anymore. When I said I didn't want children of my own, it's because I may want to be a foster parent, if I have the strength, conviction, and money (and energy). I wish I could start with children in my own family. Little Sarah, Stephen, Fransheila, and Frances - Allien's kids. My worthless cousin in Alaska whose own mother told my family that she's a drug addict, and I think she sells as well. She's been to jail a few times. Stephen's father has custody of him, but my uncle thinks that he hits him and neglects him, such as not feeding him enough, or at all. If I had the means, then I know those babies would get a good education, good healthcare, love, attention, support, and encouragement with me. Sarah (9) and Stephen (7 or 8) aren't exactly babies, but they still are. Fransheila is only 18 mos. and Frances is a little baby. From the brief time I spent with Sarah, she's shown much more maturity, sense of responsibility, compassion, and thoughtfulness that would never dawn on her mother. And she knows her mother, how she is. She's also smart as a whip. I don't know why a whip is smart, but that's how the saying goes. She's always excelled in school. I want her to realize her full potential and have opportunities. I also want her away from her mother, in fear that in a few years she will start down that path, as Allien went down her mother's path. I don't need to have my own children when so many out there need a compassionate loving guardian who's not afraid to show tough love. That's what scares me about being a foster parent. I want to work with teenagers; the ones who need the most help. The ones that have been shipped from home to home with no sense of security and trust. The jaded ones. I want to be that person they can learn to trust and have a permanent home with me. That I'll be there for them when they do stupid shit, which is almost inevitable, and not ship them away again. But then I can't trust them myself. At least not in the beginning. I'd be afraid of them stealing my grandmother's wedding ring to pawn for drugs. My older cousin, Stephen, was in numerous foster homes where he was abused until he was 12 and landed himself in juvie, and hadn't really been out since. He's about 30 now. I haven't seen him in years. I keep promising myself that I will find him, a promise so far I've failed to keep. I always have so much to do. That's an excuse, not a reason. I want him to know that not all of his family gave up on him. Fred, his step-father who adopted him, my mother's brother, died 5 yrs ago, and that's all Steve had. Fred had nothing to do with him being in foster homes, and horrors his mother put him through. Fred loved him.

Next topic, I said I'd marry myself. Of course I want my dream wedding. But it would be my wedding with my friends where I want to have it (Lake Quinault). No wonder women so much look forward to their wedding day. A big party for you (and the person you're marrying), with a new dress, new jewelry (not from the street fair), and a nice trip afterwards! One on hand, marrying myself is still marrying, even though it isn't the conventional marriage. On the other hand, I see it as committing to yourself what you commit to your partner - to always be there for yourself, through sickness and in health. As I said before, you are the only person you can really count on when it comes to it. You can't count on other people, no matter how much you love them and think they love you. Christina, my "best friend," married earlier this month. Her cousin married the month before. This past Sunday I visited my friend in the hospital who was preparing for the birth of her 2nd child. I, being the only non-mother, sat for a few hours in the room listening to her, her sister-in-law, mother-in-law, her aunt, and her mother talk about pregnancy, labor, delivery, and the first precious few years of motherhood. But of course, they were awaiting the arrival of the newest family member. One on hand, I wished I had something to share, but none were my experiences. I did briefly talk about my own birth, from what I've been told. At times like these I wonder if I'm missing out. Or is it upbringing and society that enforces this ideal of motherhood that women fall into? I think it's a choice to marry more than it ever has been, however I think it's still encouraged by media and society itself. I also think that it is natural - apart from societal influence - to want a baby. Instinct maybe? To want to procreate, when you get down to our animalistic attributes. The females in any species I know of share that same goal, for the survival of their species, whether this enters into a woman's mind or not. I've actually contemplated having a child with a full blood Native to do my part in raising the Native population. But that would be the only reason. S/he would at least be 3/4 Native. Did you know that in 2008, Natives represented 1.5% of the total population in the US? I'd like to help with that. I also think it's natural for people to not want children. Actually, that also happens in the wild kingdom, or the zoo kingdom - of mothers abandoning their young. So, obviously, we're not all different from them.

Whine, whine. Bitch, bitch.

It's midnight and I don't feel much like sleeping or much like studying. Two things I need to do. All these thoughts keep racing through my head. I have conversations in my head. I tried reading this article and kept reading the first two lines over and over, until I gave up and just let my mind wander. Sometimes I think I have ADD. I try to refrain from writing in my blog until I feel I don't have anything more important or pressing to do, but when you're in school, that never happens. I'm already behind in my reading for sociology and women studies, and it's only the second week. Maybe I'm just not cut out for school. I told my teacher that if I can't get enough money from scholarships to live on my own, I will probably quit school and get a job. I really don't want to, but I can't live here anymore. Carmen drives me batty. Why doesn't she get anything done? Probably the same reasons why I don't get some things done. I make it a bigger deal than it is, I don't want to do it, so I resort to doing nothing but obsess about it. Or I get so busy with other things that need to be taken care of now, that I don't get to it in a more timely manner. But I actually am pretty good about getting stuff done. She never seems to get anything done. It took her 4 or 5 days to do the bills; something that shouldn't take more than half an hour. Then she ended up having to spend 4 times the amount of time doing them because she had to call all the places she was sending bills to to tell them their check would be late, spending lord knows how much time on hold with each call. And then there's the den. WTF? It's been a fucking disaster area with the same shit for over a year since I moved in, and god knows how long before that. And the cats shit in the corners that we can't reach because there's too much shit in the way. I realized the other day that I would be so fucked if she were to get hit by a train tomorrow. I know I've talked about this before with all the shit in the house, but then there's all the stuff that comes with death. I don't know if she has a living will, which I highly doubt she does. I'd think she'd tell me about it. She doesn't have a will period. I know that. Her paperwork is in such a mess (despite the countless hours she spends on it), that I wouldn't know where to begin to call credit cards and whatnot. I don't know what will happen to the house when she dies since it's on a reverse mortgage. I don't think the lender automatically takes it like they used to, but I'm not sure if I can stay in it (if I were still living here), what my dad would do, what I will have to do. Do I have to sell right away? Assuming I can still sell? And what will happen to the money from the sale? I know these are questions I need to ask my mother or the loan officer, but I never feel like I can ask her because she's either doing paperwork, running errands, or she's sick. There are always other things that have to be taken care of right now. Like her goddamn cats. Again, WTF? She knew for months they needed to be fixed at the end of January. It's now the beginning of April, and do you think they're fixed yet? She retaliated that she wasn't able to do anything for a few weeks because of her mother's death, but Gramma died 3 weeks after they should've been fixed! Pearl is finally starting to settle down after being in heat for over a week. Good god! Have you ever been around a cat in heat? It's torture for her and you. I would tell mom to make a to do list, but she'd lose it (the list, not her temper; well maybe her temper too). It's like living with a little child. She and dad started drinking a lot, but I noticed the past couple days that I don't think they've had anything, which makes me feel better. I know it's only two days, but at least it's not constant now. For a while it seemed like every time I saw my mother, she had a glass of wine in her hand. Then she really acts like a child. Whines, throws temper tantrums, pouts, slams doors. And my dad was drinking a lot. I just hope they don't get back into that. Why have children when I have parents?

Death Becomes Her

Gramma died over two weeks ago on February 17th. A nurse from Richmond Beach Rehab called on the 14th to tell us that she could hardly breathe and she sounded very frightened. She was trying to contact the doctor on call, who, of course, was unreachable. Mom told her to call the paramedics and we left to see Gramma. When we walked in the door, a fire medic had her leaning forward as she was gasping for air. Her eyes were wide and vacant. They stabilized her the best they could while we waited for an actual ambulance to take her to Northwest Hospital. After about half an hour after he saw Gramma, the doctor said flat out, "I don't expect her to make it through the night." It looked like I was going to lose another grandparent around (or in this case, on) a holiday. She had acute pneumonia. The doctor (or the nurse) said there was no reason why she should've gotten so sick, and the hospital was going to submit a complaint about Richmond Beach. I called my cousin and my mom's best friend who came down. The ER doctor admitted her into Comfort Care. We stayed with her for about 4-5 hours until 12:30 am when we decided to go home to try to get some sleep. They said they'd call if she became worse.

We were back at the hospital around 4:30 am. Luckily the 15th was a holiday so I didn't have class. We just stayed with her and watched. My cousin and mom's friend came by Monday. My mother had to decide what to do with the body when Gramma did die. Normally social workers help with that, but they don't work on holidays. I was mad at her because I thought this is something you were supposed to have planned out ahead of time - what you're going to do with the body. But, maybe most people don't know what crematory they're going to send their loved one's body to, or where you want to send it if the body will be embalmed. My mother went with Neptune. That's probably where I'll send her. I went home by myself Monday afternoon after my cousin arrived and stayed home for about 12 hours. I didn't realize I was gone so long.

I returned to the hospital around 5:30 Tuesday morning. There was a cot and a recliner in the room. The night nurse brought them in for my parents to rest on. A chaplain, or a bereavement counselor, came by later in the morning. Before, mom said that Gramma wanted to start going to church again, and that she did a few times go to this church in Richmond Beach. Maybe they take religious folk there. I was surprised. Gramma was never the religious type. But I suppose when you know you're not far from death and maybe afraid of the unknown, you want to reach out to something to comfort you. Mom told this to the chaplain who thought that we should all put a hand on Gramma and recite the lord's prayer. At this time I was writing Gramma's obituary. Is it wrong to write someone's obituary before they're dead, but you know they will be soon? Like in a matter of hours? I didn't partake in this event. It weirded me out and I wished I had my pentacle to rebel against their Christian religion. Even though much of Christianity is based on Paganism. The chaplain kept trying to get me to open up, but I denied her. I didn't want to talk to some stranger who doesn't know me or my grandmother from Adam. She was wearing a Tree of Life pendant with the branches in a Celtic knot, which I appreciated. She said it was more open to people than if she wore a cross. I can't think of any people I know who would be against the Tree of Life, or hold it in contempt. I said something about the Tree of Life being Pagan, which she stared at me blankly, and then I said something about the Celtic knot, which she immediately jumped on, "Yes! Celtic!" God forbid she wore a Pagan symbol (pun intended).

My parents would leave for a little while to have a cigarette or get something to eat, or get coffee. One of these times when I was with Gramma alone I told her to have a good trip, and to say hi to everyone for me. I started naming the people I know who have passed away, and it seemed like so many. Later, I wrote down the names of all the people who died, and I wrote down 37 names. I told G if she sees Janis Joplin, to tell her I said she rocks. I don't really believe in heaven, or hell. At least the fiery wasteland where all the bad souls are banished to for eternity to rot in torture and pain. Hell on Earth I believe. As day turned into night, I stayed up and read (not very much) and watched. My parents slept for a long time. They had only been home for barely over three hours since we arrived at the hospital about 7:30 Sunday evening. It was now Tuesday night. My dad did go home long enough to shower and change while my mom slept.

I slept for a little while. Well, rested my eyes more like. As long as I could hear Gramma breathing I let my heavy eyelids rest. As soon as I couldn't hear her breathing anymore, I'd look over at her to see if I could see her chest move up and down. I wasn't even aware I was still awake until I couldn't hear her breathe. Carmen slept heavy. She could only sleep if I was there because she knew I'd be watching. She'd be too afraid that Dad would fall into a heavy sleep. Before Gramma went into a home three years ago, I stayed the night one time and stayed up all night with her. Mom wouldn't sleep for 4-5 days at that time because Gramma kept her up all hours of the night. But that night, while Gramma was calling for me all night, my mom slept soundly where normally she'd wake with start at hearing Gramma's voice.

It's really fascinating, and haunting, to watch someone go through that dying process where they transform from their regular self into a phantom of who they were. In the wee hours of Wednesday morning I sat and watched Gramma slowly breathe. She was kept on a nice dosage of morphine the entire time to keep her comfortable; hence "comfort care." I don't know if dying is painful, or if it was her sciatica, but she was in pain. We could hear her moaning sometimes, and the nurse would give her more morphine. As she got closer to death, she started having sleep apnea. By this time I was used to her not breathing for even five minutes. I noticed that in her last few hours, she actually smelled like death. I never smelled it before. It wasn't pungent. It just sort of loomed in the room. At around 4:30 am she stopped breathing again. My parents were both asleep. I looked at her; looked for any signs of life. I waited for about ten minutes. I tried to quietly stand up, but the chair creaked a lot, which woke mom up. She looked at me with wide eyes out of her sleep. I told her I thought Gramma passed away. We looked at her for another couple minutes. I went and got Lynn, the nurse. She listened to Gramma's heart for a few minutes, then looked at us and shook her head. Mom let out a burst of grief and cradled Gramma's head. Dad and I just stood and watched. The three of us went out for a cigarette while they cleaned Gramma up. When we walked back in, mom asked if I wanted a few minutes alone with her, which I acquiesced to. I wanted to see if she smelled like death. I know it's weird. I just didn't want to forget it. They used some sort of cleanser on her so she smelled sweet and clean. I don't quite remember what death smells like anymore. There's nothing to compare it too. It's not like walking by roadkill, that smells rotten. But it is a smell of rot, and musty. A different kind of rot.

Death isn't like anything you see in the movies or on tv. She didn't look peaceful. She looked dead. There was no shudder or sound when her last breath escaped her lips, which only I saw. She just stopped. I didn't see Death lurk nearby, or see some sort of unexplainable shadow in the room. An unexplainable breeze didn't blow through the room. A glowing orb didn't leave her body. People have to concoct such things to make them feel better. Death seems so...finite. You don't want to believe it's the end. That that's all there is. I asked a friend, "Why do people always turn to religion when it comes to death?" Without missing a beat she responded, "Because they're scared shitless." When I looked at Gramma's corpse, there was nothing left. Her eyes were half open and her mouth slightly gaping. Just an empty vessel. Do I really believe that her soul went on, or anyone's soul, to a better place? To a heaven? No. I believe in ghosts though, which seems contradictory. But that's beside the point. If believing in heaven, or something of the sort, makes you feel better, then by all means believe away. I won't refute you. Doesn't hurt anyone. Just don't count on it when death becomes you.