Morning Clutter

The minute I woke up this morning my eyes were jolted open and all I thought was 'what time is it'?

I used to lay there for a moment or two and review my sleep journey. An event in itself that helped lift off the day with thoughtfulness. I don't remember what I have dreamed. I haven't remembered in a long time or taken the time to let the worlds slowly transform. Now, I sit with a slight confusion and jump into the day. There is a good side to that and a bad side. I just haven't figured it all out yet.

Getting up in the morning is a difficult task for alot of people. I think of teenagers. Specifically, my teenagers. They have made me so proud. They dream. They have tested 'the line' society has drawn for them. They realize they need to do the work to celebrate the results. And yet, the most beautiful time of the day is the most difficult for them to face. I have always made a point of making the morning the best before they face the world. I would ensure the breakfast was one that sent an aroma throughtout the house. Even those mornings, and there were many, when the cupboards and fridge had nothing I was always able to create a breakfast they ate with smiles. I think their favorite was buttered biscuits and oatmeal. I was never a eggs and bacon breakfast eater. I grew up in a family where those breakfasts were saved for the adults. And they only occurred on weeks when the social benefits were out. Its amazing how, when you have nothing, family makes the day worth facing and fighting for.
Now just to figure out how to get these teens to make their first class in the morning.

As for me I have an appointment this morning. I don't like the idea I had to resort to social benefits to survive in this time of my life. I had dreamed, imagined, planned, crawled to ensure my life would be different. Yet, here I am. I search for employment and send resumes every morning. The other day, the city council rejected a hiring policy that would acknowledge the fact that racism exists and prevents equal opportunity for "qualified Aboriginal" people. Well that is a whole other issue yet is connected to why I need my teenagers to take as many hours in the day to hone their skills.

In our language, Umbe Washte, its a good day, i said everyday. No matter what struggles they are all seen as good. Our only responsibility is to live a good life. That can be a long list of 'to dos'. So life never should be boring. Now to go shake up teenage sleep.

Eat Pray Love

A night with my daughter led to diving into the movie Eat, Pray, Love starring Julia Roberts. I have been waiting to see this movie - attracted mainly by the title itself and ofcourse knowing Roberts will always deliver a worth seeing performance.

Verdict? It was enjoyable with a couple thought provoking moments. Honestly, I waited for "the moment" to happen. I felt a glimpse of what it would be like to be in Italy, the architecture, the food, the language, and the people. A travelogue with a few intimate flings to spice up the "find myself" journey. My favorite part is just the dreaming of being on the trip she was taking. Maybe that was the point. From the point of being numb and unexcited about life to exploring and expanding personal limitations to spark the life back into the day. I can understand that. I can appreciate that. But honestly, I expected more. Will watch it again. Just because I did expect more and feel jilted.

So, as for my life. I am confident with the day if I have faced it with a hint of passion. The days that scare me is when I see the end and all the in between is just that "grey filler" that means nothing because it will end when I end.

I went to the library yesterday and browsed the poetry anthologies for something that would jump out and awaken something in me. Taking out aged hard covered Elliot, crisp Atwood, and colorful names I had never heard of. Then, there she was, Anne Sexton Complete Poems. I had heard the name and wanted to explore more women authors. How did they handle their crazy. I continued the evening being a taxi and waiting in my little black bucket of bolts reading the introduction to Sexton's work. A history of a troubled sucidal woman who dared to spill her confessionals during a time when women's secrets were just that - secret. A natural flowing string of words devulging her love affair with death - specifically her own death. The scary realization is I relate to so much of her life and why she writes. She wrote to survive, to live, to stop from wanting to kill herself. I don't relate to the woman who walked with a barbie doll presence or the middle class view on the world. I relate to the loneliness and death that seemed to consume her days and led to her eventual suicide. I have walked with this cloud over me and survived with scars from my own attempts to escape my chaotic mind. But I did come out from that storm. I struggle each day to keep from drowning in my own mind. So I write.

Eat, Pray, Love....I guess that is a good start. I like the title. A morning cup of coffee, a plate of breakfast 'something', and cigarette while being an observer from my kitchen window. I may not have Paris today but I smiled. I smiled because I still feed. I still crave for candy apples and flavored coffee. I still yearn for the knowing only spiritual awareness can provide. I still can shed a 'real' tear when a child cries. I can still dream of being loved and sharing love. Yes. That's a good start for the day.
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And I Write

I now have 44 pages of 'poetry' or strings of words that vary in stream and rhyme. Must not sabotage this move forward.

I never know when the moment will arrive. In that moment I write and even I don't believe it came from me.

Not much the hand wants to type today in generalities. I want to edit and write more strings.

Key: Write. Write. And write some more. No thought to the direction but once the direction arrives flow into it with no restriction. No editing. No correcting or deflowering the freedom of the unfolding journey of writing.

What do you see?

What do you see when I walk by you? No designer bags or leased SUVs. If I got a haircut it was done in front of my mirror and usually with a dull scissors from my sewing kit. The shoes I am wearing I bought in a second hand store for a dollar and that was three years ago. Looked new then and still passes for 'okay'. The other night I attended a book reading. I was a bit out of place but I always am. It's funny how on those nights when "I" do a reading the down and out fits the attraction, but when I attend the reading (or places like it) the experience is worth observing. I stepped out of the old renovated building from the stuffiness of suits and academic ego rubs. I had to have a cigarette. My daughter was with me and we looked down the the quiet street and went over how nice a city it was Just as we said these words a couple came around a corner. They must have been in their late twenties or so. The man was walking his bike with a woman on his side. They were laughing and conversing until they seen us standing in front of the building. I smiled. He pulled her closer. My daughter smiled and the woman's eyes darted. She looked terrified and he looked angry. Wow. It's sad actually. I was more sad for them than offended. I bet they would have thought the woman would have been safe with the Cnl Williams than with someone like me. I have lived my life promoting peace and humankindness in my family, community, and where ever I go. Yet, this man, who was given the trust of political leaders and royality was the one lurking in the dark terrorizing innocent people. Yet the man with the bike would place his trust in who "looks" like someone he could trust rather than someone that 'looks' like me. I was out in the night. He was out in the night. Our commonality. My only fear is my children will have to live in a world that is dictated by their fear. That fear is based on what? The color of my skin? The second hand clothes? Their supper conversation? Religous beliefs? News broadcasts? History Books? Its all out there. Food to feed the fear. Sad.

"What man does not understand he fears. What he fears he kills." chief Dan George

This Moment Is Mine

There are days like these. Too many to count. I still have dreams and passions. Yet, society has put me on the shelf. I fulfilled the academic expectation to my best ability. I flew into the workforce wanting to be part of the solution. I raised my family to be independent and knowledgable. I kicked the crutches of alcohol and drugs. I forgave the monsters and hugged my enemies. I don't have a criminal record. I embrace my imperfections and use them to strengthen my passions. Yet...yet...I am still here the same way I was ten or twenty years ago. Still asking the same questions. Still hearing the same answers.

Every morning appears to be a new opportunity provided to me. I can make a change in a direction that will be different from yesterday. Then I am flooded with the reality of how much work it will take to achieve my dream or reach a goal. I don't want to be bitter. I don't want to be judgemental. I don't want to blame the white man, my mother, a politician, my children, my neighbor, the rich, the poor, the racist, or me. I just want to make my life mean something. I want my children to look back and be proud to say that was my mother. I want my grandchildren to walk with honor knowing I gave what I could to ensure they could carry on strength in knowing who they are.

The world will not know my name. My nieces and nephews won't even say my name. When the years pass that is all that matters. "Who will remember?"

There isn't much I can say about his day that is different from any other day. I can say I am giving it another try. I know my blessings. I am aware of the escape I have perfected. I live with smiles, love, and passion.

This moment is mine.

Being a Grandmother

I now have grandchildren. I was sixteen when I had my first child and was thirty three when I had my first grandchild. At both times I was afraid. I had a childhood with little adult direction. Most adults back then were lost and in pain. The children were like a gang family on the street at night when the parents passed out from the weekday party. I remember sitting on a step with some girls around my age, 7 or 8, and their siblings. We sat watching the falling stars and enjoyed the stillness - quiet - of the night. We laughed and held our little sisters and brothers while they slept. The sun would come up and uncover the reality of our world.

There is no bitterness or hate toward the adults back then. I did carry alot of shame for what I could not prevent and protection I could not provide for my siblings or even my mother. All I knew was it would be different and the pain would stop with me.

Becoming a mother changed something in me. My mind would revisit the city condemned white house I lived in as a child. I wanted the world to be different for my daughter. I knew enough to realize I had to be different. In some cases I see now I might have been a bit over protective and could have been more selective with my friends. Yet, it is that world that kept me safe when I needed. I stepped away and it wasn't easy. I left behind my friends and the life that sheltered all our pain. As semi-adults we now had families and had to grow up. I had to face the world without the crutch of drugs or alcohol. The bits of memory that had been locked away slowly began to seep into my day. Being a mother wasn't the challenge. Learning to be human with emotion was.

When my first grandchild was born I cried. It was amazing to watch as my baby brought to the world a little human. They both struggled for so long to meet each other. My world would forever be changed in this next season of my life journey. He had the right ammount of fingers and toes. His cry awakened something I couldn't recognize but it felt right. My daughter with her beautiful and forgiving heart was still scrambliing in her life to find her place. Her decisions were not based on her role as a mother but as a teenager. In my heart I believed it was my responsibility to step in where where the mother could not be. We battled back and forth fighting for who could care for him better. He cried and watched as we battled. Finally one day, a woman told me the story about the two women who fought over a baby and a king said to them he would solve it by cutting the baby in two so they could share. One woman said the other could have the baby because she did not want to see the baby hurt. The king gave her the baby. I understood. I stepped back with an aching heart and let my daughter keep my son in the chaos she was living. Within weeks she called and committed to letting me keep her son, my grandson. He has been with me since. I am close with my daughter and she has three more children.

In our traditional beliefs the grandmother plays an important role in the lives of the children. My children rarely had their grandmother in their lives. Just like I rarely had her in mine. So it was new to me but natural for them. I am a mother, grandmother, and woman. What a life I have been given. A clump of coal to diamonds story.

Bargain Hunting

The sky is pink...or is it light purple or maybe a bit orange. No matter, the sky is beautiful this evening. I spent the day searching affordable options to deal with some immediate concerns. I now have a vehicle, paid $500 for it, and it isn't the prettiest, quietest, or newest but its paid for and it gets me where I need to go. Today, I found a backyard mechanic to fix the brake pads. The little metal beast was squealing all over the city for the last two days. I called the shops and found this man on a local forum site. So it all worked out. Now to take care of the dryer. I took the back off but stop there when I seen there was a few more screws and backs that would need removing. A task for someone without a clue. I found another deal for a queen size mattress - $30 delivered. It is practically new but when i tried getting it to the upstairs bedroom I realized there is no way the bed is going to fit! So now I have a mattress and box spring sitting in my hallway. It will be going to my daughter. So it will be used. My other deal was a printer. I needed a printer for my daughters music sheets and my grandsons homework (homeschooling). So what do I find a free printer and she is willing to drop it off! I thank the lady and carry the little machine into the house and smile at the girls because of my little find. When i go to set it up....it is so old the connector is only for the computer towers and will not fit the laptop. So I have a printer. I have to be more specific with the wish list I send out into the air....a printer that I can use with my computer. Oh well, free leaves not much for complaining.

What would I do with my time if all these everyday adventures were erased with the sudden change of circumstance....like winning a lottery or inheriting some strange uncles pot of gold?

Being Alive!

The mornings are my favorite time of day. I love the feeling of coolness and quiet in the kitchen. The scent of brewing of coffee and sweetgrass smoke triggering childhood memories - those good memories.

This morning, I lay with eyes closed attempting to convince myself of the reasons why I should get up. No job. Goals lined in failed attempts. Broken dryer. Piles of laundry. Plans replayed and never realized. Promises made and not kept. Teenagers in drugs. Teenagers dropping out of school. Teenagers dropping back into school. My son calls me a hypocrite. My grandson tells me he hates me. My daughter isn't speaking to me. My other daughter is pregnant 'again'. Where did my son get that money last night? Were the police watching the house? He hates that I think that of him. My bed is broken. I am sleeping on the couch again - where my grandson wet in his sleep. I am gaining my weight back. I am afraid to exercise. I am afraid to take risks. I have many good intentions. I do more in my head than in my physical reality. I am still struggling to make ends meet. I dye my hair. I can't look in the mirror. My grandson barely knows how to read. The world will never know me. I will never know the world. How is my mother? My brother sent me sixty dollars. Will I lie to get money? Will I drink like that again? The closet needs cleaning. The window needs fixing. The door needs repairing. The screens need replacing. Can't avoid looking poor. The city is filled with racists with a voice. I don't have a job. I can smell the coffee. I can smell the sweetgrass. I can hear ...... the mornings are so beautiful. I am here. And no matter what I still care, want, need, plan, love, smile, and face the morning. I am grateful for all of it. That's what being alive means.