Younger the Conqueror

 About four years ago, right about now, we were deep into prepping Elder for his first job interview.

A year previously, it was all about getting him a volunteer gig; no less prepping went into that.  We wrote and re-wrote lots of scripts; did dry runs; I recruited every professional adult I knew to help drill him on how to give good interview.

(He's a master now; so many turns on the cupcake have made him a pro)

The reason I bring this up: Younger began making noises recently about needing a job. I happened to note that a local pizzeria was hiring. I mentioned it to him. He dressed up in a dress shirt, slacks, and dress shoes and walked over to check it out. He told me he left his number and they'd call him.

I told him that's good, and inwardly shrugged.  Another local pizzeria had said the same thing to his brother, and he never heard from them again. 

Imagine my surprise when they called him. And imagine my surprise that it turned into a regular gig. He doesn't have many hours (yet), but he comes home each shift in a very good mood. 

He did it himself. 

And they took a chance on him. 

I'm pretty psyched. 

Unpacking

 In the wee small hours this morning, I found myself five years ago on our trip West. We drove out as far as Wyoming; we unexpectedly fell in love with Minnesota; and we were spellbound by South Dakota.

The Badlands, moonscapes at night, will haunt me for a long time. 

But something else will haunt me longer.

We made it a point to hit all the National Parks in the state; as it happened, when we were in South Dakota overlapped with the 100th birthday of the National Park system, so we were lucky enough to have free admission wherever we went. (We didn't plan it that way; we're not that smart.)

As we prepared to head south towards Estes Park, we stopped at a visitor center in Wall. The young girl behind the counter kept solicitously asking us if we needed help as we pored over the map.  I looked up. "There doesn't seem to be anything at Wounded Knee. Am I missing something?"

A cloud passed over her features. "No, there's really nothing there."

I simply stared at her. It wasn't that I didn't believe her, it was more like I couldn't believe IT.  I can't imagine what my expression was, only that she hurriedly added, "I mean, there's a sign there, and a burial ground, but here..." She pulled one of the complimentary maps over and started making marks, "You want to stop here, because there's more to see," marking Oglala Lakota College in Kyle, directly south as the crow flies, but no straight way to get there. "This is a good place for you to visit."

I wondered at the weird vibe, but no one else seemed to notice. We piled into the van and headed south. Pretty soon the state roads gave way to BIA roads.

At the time, I flashed back to an earlier time; visiting hubby's uncle and aunt in South Carolina for the first time, the second year we were together.  Zio took us for a drive through Cherokee.  Hubby sat up front, and I sat in the back with aunt and her dog.

"They get to live here and pay no taxes," she sniffed.  I looked around me and was--no other word for this--ashamed at what I saw. This was my first encounter with the first nation, and it made me more than a little sick to my stomach--this. The poverty. The want. It wasn't the first time I was ashamed to be white, since being a city kid introduced me to a whole other level of privations based on skin color and descent.

Driving to Kyle jolted this memory loose;  suddenly I understood the young ranger's mood. The boys were deep in some discussion in the backseat. I glanced over at hubby, who was lost in his own thoughts. 

The thing about being a stranger in an insular community is that your presence is telegraphed quickly.

We stopped off at the College, where elder quickly surmised there were no elevators.  There was a library, and a small museum, and an artist in residence.

But when we came out, there was a local man waiting for us, telling us he had eggs for sale. We told him we were passing through and didn't have a way to cook them. He smiled, and wished us a good day, but I could feel the undercurrent of...I don't know what it was. All I know is that it was dark. Not in a malevolent way--not at all. It was more a low hum of quiet desperation and sadness.

We wended southwest to Wounded Knee.  There was a large sign, and an old woman making and selling jewelry. I saw two young couples and over heard one talking about the movie "Dreamcatcher." I misunderstood what I saw, I would realize a few minutes later.

The old woman talked about the dead in the present tense, including herself in the narrative, never looking up, never missing a beat with her beading. She told us to beware. There were people who meant us harm. She would never harm anything no matter what happened in the past, no matter whose ancestors did what to her people. She waved at the cemetery on the hill and said this was all that was left--this and the two big red signs that described the massacre.

We opted to drive up to the cemetery. There was a young boy on a bike, looking out over the parking lot we had just left below, sort of a sentry. I gave him our last dollar.  He scoffed and rode off. And suddenly, I had a chill.

It was an insanely hot day, and the sun shone brightly. My chill had nothing to do with the temperature. The boys felt it, too. "Mom? Can we go?" I glanced over at my younger guy, who was looking at the parking lot. I followed his gaze.  The boy on the bike met up with the two guys I had thought were with the girls in the parking lot below.  And the three of them were headed our way. 

"Hon?" I glanced over at hubby, whose back was to the lot, taking pictures of the vista stretching out before him. "We need to leave."

"Uh, huh," he said absently. By now the older guy picked up on the younger guy's  unease. "I think we should go, " he said. He, too, was looking at the trio headed toward us. 

"Hon? We need to leave now. Boys, get in the car. Now."

The trio picked up speed as they headed toward us. Hubby finally got it, "Right, okay, calm down everybody." He quickly stowed his camera and handed everything to me. I had already unlocked the car, and the kids were strapped in and ready to go." As we were pulling away, the trio raced up to the car and banged on his window. He smiled politely, waved, and we pulled away. 

And we all sat with this a moment. I looked at the trio receding behind us, then disappearing as we rounded a curve.

We didn't say a word until we reached Nebraska.

Five years later, I'm still unpacking all this. 

Into the Woods

 Warmer weather means more mobility!

I am recovering from an inflamed Achilles tendon; fortunately I already had PT engaged because shoulders (because original parts are wearing down, see tendon), so this situation didn't get as ugly as it could have. Nevertheless, it took *forever* (two months) to get myself back to walking/working order. Yesterday found me in some woods I haven't been in years.  I flushed a couple of wood duck in my travels and vowed to get a closer look. 

This morning, back at the same place, saw mergansers (2 female, 1 male), a pair of wood duck, and grackles, absent yesterday, chattered full force in the trees (welcome back, fellas).  A couple hawk flyovers completed my day. 

Things feel good. Not perfect, but good. 

(Super)heroes and Villains

 I hadn't expected to get sucked into the Marvel Comics Universe. Honest.

It started innocently enough; a friend wanted her son and my son to get together to go see Guardians of the Galaxy a few years ago.  Never mind we didn't see the first movie (this isn't brain surgery, after all); it was an opportunity to get our boys together.

Surprise!  G and I like it enough to go back to see the first one.  And by bits and pieces we worked backwards to see a chunk (but not all) of the universe we missed. So by the time Infinity War and later End Game came out, we were both invested.  Safe to say that G came out of the latter without any further burning desire for resolution, so he went on with his life.

I meanwhile went back and checked out a few more installments leading up to the end.  

So many questions. 

So when WandaVision dropped in January, it went without saying that I needed to watch it. I don't have anything meaningful to add, since I never read the comics and needed to wikipedia all the things to make it all make sense. As a standalone, it would have been just fine for anyone walking in here for the first time, although all the MCU diehard fans did an awesome job of flagging meaning for us newbies and uninitiated.

But what I do have to add is that I feel a really weird kinship to Wanda, and I think by extension G finds this universe relatable because it's all about being different in a world where sameness is safe and whatever looks in any way OTHER is suspect.

I tend to read art as a personal invitation to challenge the way I see the world and the way I see myself in it. I'm connecting this somehow to my previous blog about awareness, responsibility, acting, visibility--what all these things mean, how they impact my roll/role, weighing my thoughts and actions before I speak and act, considering the implications of what I cast into the universe and how the universe will reflect my doings....it's really a hell of a rabbit hole. 

One of my last thoughts in the early morning hours was that I need to weigh where I want to be, and how I want to get there. I closed up my work week last week with a few big question marks; over the weekend, they resolved, in part of over my discretionary second life as an advocate/warrior mom (great clinic done in the comfort of my home and in my pjs, no less), elder's role in that same conference (he had two presentations last week, so that put us in a little closer space to normal/preCOVD life).

The long and the short of this is that I'm not upending anything. Yet. 

I don't have superpowers. Just love.

And that kind of directs itself. 

Clearing away the debris

 A lot of the harder work is done, unbraiding perception from reality.  And prying myself out of that rut exposes all the rot underneath to clear out. 

The rot=all my anxieties, insecurities, prejudices that were all predicated upon my adhering to someone else's narrative.  Two years and change ago, I (knowingly) stepped into a situation that I thought would expose me for what I am...or who I thought I was.  I knew the outcome would not be good. But I knew the outcome was important enough to take the risk in the first place.

What actually happened is that I didn't change, but my perception of who I was did. And subsequent events threw a lot of light in a lot of dark and dirty corners. And it meant I needed to strip myself out of a few different opposing narratives to resolve my own. 

I think the hardest lesson for me to learn is that I am always going to be the bad guy in some one else's story, regardless of whether or not I earned or deserved it.  Who wants to be anybody's bad guy? I think once you let go of that, and resolve in your own head that what other people think of you isn't any of your business, it's a lot easier to let go and go about the business of doing what God put you here for. 

But old habits are hard to break. Despite my faith in my own abilities, I always seem to diminish my capacity by saying "It may sound stupid, but..." or "It really wasn't that big a deal..." or "No problem." I spent a lot of time and energy minimizing my space, trying to be invisible, and otherwise hiding.  And every freaking time, God yanks me into the light and says, "No. You are doing this where people can see you." Ugh. I doth not protest too much; the only light I like to be in is the sunlight outside. 

But the glory of God in me cannot shine forth in the shadows. He knows that. I'm finally figuring that out. 

This doesn't mean I am giving myself leave to be an asshole. But it does mean that I will not be silent. I will speak my truth even if my voice shakes. I will be heard. I will be understood. 

And this assumes that people will mishear and misunderstand me. 

I can live with that.