Let's Find Joy In Our Lives

 "May you live in interesting times" is a phrase usually uttered as a curse or put down. Regardless of the origin and meaning, society uses it to mean "fuck you and die" - basically. Well we are certainly living in interesting times: the rise of White Supremacy, the destruction of Middle Eastern lives, the rise of despots in many countries, the fish, the bees and bears are disappearing.  People went toad licking crazy over toilet paper for a period of time. The King of the Universe, Mr. trump still wants to boink his daughter; the rodent looking one and not the pie face one. It's weird eh?  To add to the interesting times we have a flu which likes to kill in many different ways. The bees are under pressure from assassin bees, called Murder Bees. Ellen Degeneres who closes hers TV Show with signature "Be Kind", turns out she is a creepy unkind arsehole. With all this madness going on we really need to find some joy before we go into full metal jacket melt down. It is quite weird because we used to worry about the Post Office worker going all Brenda Spencer on people, now it is the everyday White guy we should be wary of. The world is full of things, people and events which suck the joy right of living. 

In my community, Sagkeeng First Nation, the meth monster has taken hold and is living comfortably there. Young people to middle age adults are prey to the meth monster. Material goods of any kind are disappearing from the yards, the cars and the homes of Sagkeeng residents as well as the neighbour communities. The rise of thefts, increased assaults are due to the need of individuals to feed their meth monster. Other First Nations communities are not immune to the ferocious appetite of the meth monster.  Meth monster just eating away joy from First Nation communities and main stream community as well. The meth monster is just another ill in the Indigenous community to compound the joyless existence.  First Nations are continuously being bombarded with society's racism. In Nova Scotia for example, the fishing industry comprising of white men are physically attacking the Mi'kmaq community, burning their gear, and killing their fish stock. The Mi'kmaq make up a minuscule amount of the annual fishing harvest. Still it is too much for the white fishing industry. No joy being experienced there.  As an Indian, an Indigenous person, an Anishinabe, I am outraged, angry and feeling like going on a shooting spree of White people. However, I have White friends and don't feel it would be good for my soul if I were to go killing random White people. It may be satisfying but after the gun smoke and ringing in the ears have subsided, the dead bodies laying around at the legislative building may damper the whole event. I mean who wants to be standing around dead bodies? That wouldn't be joyful, I don't think, but I have never experienced a mass murdering killing before so what do I know. 

Can we bring joy into our lives without bringing misery into the lives of others? Getting back to having White friends, I think this is why there is so much hate and racism out there. White people should have more friends who are not White. Maybe then they won't be so inclined to carry hate for being White. As for bringing joy into our lives, there are a lot of ways we can think of without shitting down someones neck. My friend is in the hospital and has been there for more than five weeks. He is most likely my oldest living friend. I can remember us on the swing when we were about 8 years old at the Fort Alexander Indian Residential School. He was transferred to another boarding school when he was about 10. He is really sick and the way I deal with it, is to tease him relentlessly when I go visit. It brings joy, but sometimes it is too much for him and he tells me "don't be mean." So joy is not joy if it hurts someone. 

Of course there are the families, the kids, the spouses which bring us joy, but there are other things which can bring us joy as well. The sight of an old white guy walking into a pole as he is swearing at people protesting police brutality. Now that brings me joy; him not so much. The dog rolling around in the grass brings me some joy. The laughter of little kids, especially little Brown kids, they are so damn cute. Young couples enjoying themselves, this makes me happy. For me I think young people should be enjoying their youth, lot of time to become grumpy old buggers. A Nazi getting punched and knocked out brings me joy. A smile from a stranger will bring me joy. A good looking dog with a tail wagging and no growling brings me joy. The sight of Mr trump (small T on purpose) getting his hand slapped away from his woman brought me laughter as well as him walking up the Air Force One with toilet paper on his shoe. Not sure if laughter, happiness and joy are the same thing? The sight of an Eagle flying around brings me joy. The smell of sage and juniper brings me some joy. Having a good bowel movement with no remnants hanging around the anus is always joyful. Having a good cup of Earl Grey tea, reading a book on the deck when it is warm, sunny and you have tunes going, brings joy. 

Of course the scale of joy is all different. Still any amount of joy is good for us. There are so much things in the world which are putting us in distress, bringing us hurt, uncertainty and grief so let us find some joy in our lives. The search for joy should be interesting. I will keep my eyes open for some joy and hope you do as well. 

We Love Music Don't We

 When I was a kid, my parents had one of those big cabinet stereos. My Dad had a collection of albums which consisted of Jimmy Rogers, Hank Williams, Charlie Rich, Charley Pride, Johnny Cash and others. The collection wasn't huge. But if records weren't playing on the weekend, there was the radio, AM radio. Music was part of the home. My Dad could play the guitar but I never seen one in our home and only saw him playing one time at his  cousin's house.  He did have Mouth Harps in the home that we fooled around with as kids. It was strange the music stopped playing at my parents home but I am not sure exactly when or why. When I say the music stopped, it was they stopped playing records. The radio still had its place in the house but just as background noise in the kitchen. 

When my kids were small there was music playing in our home as well.  The stereo was always on and a cd or a tape cassette was on. It is funny, we never learned to play an instrument in our home. Noozhis is starting to fool around with a guitar now.  I am hopeful my grandson will take a liking to the guitar and continue to play and learn. I have two guitars in the house. I have never learned to play. I love music but I guess I am too lazy to learn how to play, so I am content with singing along to songs in the off key. I wonder why it is, not everyone can sing? I mean everyone can try sing but to actually sing with a good melody, why that is not the case? 

As a young kid, the Drum was not heard around the community. The Residential School, the Church and the government laws ensured the Drum disappeared from Indigenous life. Our community had almost lost their connection to their ancestral ways. There were some Elder's and families which still followed the Traditional Ways, but it was quietly done. The Church ruled the community and their music did not include the Drum. This has changed in our Reserve, the Drum has even entered the Church. I wonder what my deceased Granny would think of that? Lot of Old People embraced the Teachings of the Church and saw Traditional Teachings of the Anishinabe as "Witch Craft, Bad Medicine." The Drum has come back to our community, the larger Indigenous community and people are loving the music.  Still the old country gospel is still fondly listened to by the Indian community. A small town radio station in Manitoba  (Portage CFRY) has a Sunday two hour segment of song dedications, much of the request are for gospel songs. The majority of requests are from the surrounding Indigenous communities. 

Music, all types of music can touch our emotions. I think this is why we love music. For Indigenous people the Drum reminds them of the Heartbeat. Can you see it? Look at how far modern medicine has come today. The practice is to have a new born baby lay on the bare chest of their mother. This is the Heartbeat of the Nation. 

Can you see it? The love of music, the hearing of a Heartbeat is good medicine, even now used by modern medicine experts. 

We sure love music, don't we? We sure like to share music as well. We want others to experience the same joy, the same memory, the same sorrow we have with a song.  When I listen to music it almost always brings up some feeling, some memory and it takes me some where. Enjoy your music. 

Trolling For A Fight?

I have to admit I do like the debate, the civilized debate. A good discussion of point, counter point and a mutual respect of opinions. Ah, who I am kidding, I sometimes like to be a no-damn good troll. Of course not on a professional level, or even a good troll, but more like a wood tick type. The kind of troll who tries to make jokes but the jokes don't land well.  Either the jokes and teasing I try are lame, easy to dismiss, ignored or misunderstood. So the reaction to my jokes or teases is not always what I expect. Some people will actually get upset at my point. I have to admit when it comes to trolling, I am no good at it. I imagine a troll is like a wolverine. A wolverine is the subject of many fables about its savagery, its tenaciousness, its brutality and its strength. This is how I see the troll, I am non of that. I will engage but I will think about the interaction over and over and over. It sometimes plays in my head and makes my head feel soft like marshmallow (marshmello). So why do I do it? Why do troll for a fight?

It is just who I am I guess. I am that fella who will ask you a whole bunch of questions in a row. I will also say something which upsets you. Like I met this guy one time who was a casual acquaintance of someone I kind of knew. As we were sitting in a coffee shop, I looked at him, he was pretty good looking Indian guy with long hair (not Indian from India, but Canada and US's favourite image Indian), and I says, "are you a good person?" He looked at me and before he answered I said, "I want to make sure you are a good guy before I put effort into getting to know you." Anyways, that's me. 

A few years ago, maybe three or four, I commented on this young Native guy's social media page and I called him a gangster. I was teasing. I think I commented on a picture of his with another Native guy. I guess it may not have sit well with him. There are quite a few Native gangs where we live, so I imagine being labeled a gangster is not a good thing. I again commented on a social media page of his friend, there was picture of three young Natives in a car. I throw in some comment about watching out for the cops because a gangster in there. Little did I know I had pushed a dull screwdriver into a festering puss boil and popped it. The comments from the Native guy and his friend came quick and came angry. I countered but not with an all apology but with some soft lobs of explanation. The guy didn't seem to be having any of it. He said I most have a sad life and rather don't like my life. The friend of the guy, a young Native activist, was equally upset. She was rather strong in her support of the Native fellow. We bantered back and forth with me trying to weasel out of the jam without admitting I did anything really wrong. In the end I caved and apologized for my wrong doing. She took the moment to tell me to learn from what I did and go forward in life. This really bugged the shit out of me, a young Woman who had no clue as to my experience, my knowledge and my intent with the posts. So I pouted about this for a long while. That is why I am not a good troll. A Wolverine would just attack, go for the kill and piss on the remains so no other creature of the forest could feast on the spoils. This savagery is only that of the mighty wolverine, the master troll. Something I am not. 

It has been a few years and I still think of this trolling for a fight. I know it was with no ill intent but it caused a bit of a fracas. If I was a wolverine I would responded not with lame lobs of a soft marshmallow but with a ferocious savagery filled with venom and poison. I would have mauled them and left only a bloody carcass. Left only is the insalubrious mutilated warm bodies of a couple of pompous young Indians.  But I didn't maul them. Instead I am forced to use the passive aggressive almost cowardly story like this blog story. You see I am a teaser and a bad one. I was speaking at my Dad's funeral and thanked the staff for his care while in the Old Folk's Home. I went on to say "everyone worked so hard at the Home, even the fat ones." There is a notion (not held by me, which is why I mentioned them) that over weight people have a difficult time working steady. 

What I am trying to say is, I didn't attack the fellow on purpose. Throughout my life, gangster has been used by me on many people, even the one year old daughter of my neighbours. I called my deceased friend gangster many times over the years. He was a well respected Traditional Teacher and friend to many. To my kids, when ever we saw other kids riding bikes, I would say "gangsters." It was running gag that I still do with my adult children and now my grandchildren. Anyone who is wearing dark sunglasses I will say "gangster."  I say more outrageous things than gangster and even at inappropriate times. When my Mom was laying in the hospital bed having her stomach drained from fluid as her cancer was quickly killing her, the community Priest can to visit. I called him into my Mom's room and told him "my Mom wants you to do that holy roller stuff" as I made a cross gesture in the air. I even told him "I'm good me, Me and God are like that" as I crossed my fingers. The Priest said "I'll ask him." So he just rode with jokes. So it is my nature to just say things, and much of the time (not all) it is without malice. Perhaps sometimes it is a little mean spirited to slam and I should expect the reaction to be not pleasant. I guess the "super Indian, the more Indian than you," has always been my aunties heal (or some Greek story like that). My point is I say outrageous things that are many times more harsh than calling some entitled Indian a gangster.  

I think I am still upset over these two (bastards, the one, their Granny wanted out of Rez by marrying White, and the other one wouldn't know a jeet from a kit-ten). The over the top reaction and the pious, better Indian than you attitude still rubs me raw. Which actually means they own me. They most likely don't even remember the exchange. It is like the mosquito who bit you on the nose three years ago, gone. I have to get over it. It is something I have a hard time doing, letting something go. I was ripped off a number of times and it still festers, like a diabetic sore which won't heal, has turned to gangrene and is now at the bone. This is not good. The rot will only get deeper. I suppose the best way to avoid the festering, the seething, of deep feelings which turn into a cancer must be avoided in the first place. Funny because I have exchanges with racists, rednecks on the internet and it never bothers me at the time or later, weird. I have to stop being me, stop teasing if I can not handle over the top cry baby super Indians questioning my life (am I still pouting?).  There you have it, no more trolling for a fight.  But if an opening happens to arise for a pun, a poke, or a story, a tease well I am not sure what will happen.  I might have to get into another "debate" which the end result will be me pouting for years, again. 

Then again I could go with the standard come back, "F you and the arse you road on." 

Brain Battle

 On my walk this morning I saw a dime on the street. I don't usually walk in the morning but I had to because dropped off my daughter's car for windshield repair. I had to be back home to pick up my Noozhis for lunch from school. The school wants kids to go home for lunch rather than stay. I guess it's the spread of disease scare, makes sense. So I left the repair shop which is 5.5 kilometers away from our house. I put on my Beasts white headphones and turned on my Ipod Touch. These were gifts to me by my baby girl. The baby I gave my wife a very hard time over when she got pregnant. The baby who came into the world and just owned me from her very first breath. So the walk was on and the morning just gorgeous, the Sun bright and me with no sunglasses, having to squint for most of the five point five K walk.  

My Ipod has about 1500 songs and counting. 

 In the mix of course is a lot of old timing music, like the Stones, Pink Floyd, Cranberries, Lovett, Prine, Commodores, and of course Hank. I do have a host of pop songs as well. When I was in the middle of the street, Dido was playing, don't ask me how it got in there, but there it was - "my tea's gone cold, I wondering why I got out of be at all..." There I was strolling and grooving with my head trying to comprehend the story of Dido's Thank you, when there it was. A crack and a little bit of whole in the asphalt. The dime seemed to just fit perfectly in the broken road. I was in mid-step when it came to me, I will pick up the dime. There it was waiting just for me. The problem was I was in the middle of the street, with cars lined up to go. I didn't know if time was on my side. The seconds in this situation are crucial. Do I stop, bend down and pick up the dime and perhaps be caught in the green light of traffic? Would I be that person, the one who feels like they own the road and have no regard for the next person. Perhaps the person is in a critical situation where they are on the way to the hospital, their Grandma on ventilation machine with only a few breathes left in this world. Her family trying to rush, to rush safely to her bedside. Would they make it in time? Or would they be judged the rotten neglectful family who let their dear Grandma die with no one to hold her hand as she tries to say her last words, "where are you?" I didn't stop, but my brain kept saying to me, "what is wrong with you, why didn't you pick up the dime? Are you so rich you can't use a dime? You too proud to pick up the dime?" 

I still had about a kilometer left to get to my house. All the time I was walking the Ipod was playing the brain was hammering me with a barrage of doubt and scorn. "You too rich to pick up a dime. The Universe will show you. You will be broke and just wishing for that dime." 

I got to house and immediately sat down on the gold velvet couch.  My feet resting on the grey round hand woven wool ivory pouf ottoman from Wayfair. My eyes need to rest from all the squinting from the Sun beating in my face. My soul felt like it was throat punched. Felt like I was one of those damn nazi's who get punched for being jerks. The image of the dime was fresh in my mind. How could I not stop and pick it up? Will it be picked up in the future? Would anyone notice it? Will I "rue the day" I was too proud to stop, bend down and pick up the dime?  

My brain seems to have won this battle but I will be back. 

Doomed, We are So Doomed

 The world is fucked. No if's but's or maybe's about it. The world is going to be like a dog, it will shake and shake to get rid of its fleas. Despite what the climate is showing; flooding, devastating heat waves, enormous fires, droughts, glacier melting, murder bees, the attitudes of people, governments and especially rich folk just don't give a fuck. The average person is putting their plastic pop bottles into their collective Blue Boxes, with no real affect on the whole world turning into a garbage pit. Man, we are doomed. 

Not only is the world trash because of the Rich folk, corrupt governments and the "resource" sector, but the hate filled Savage is taking over the world. People are just garbage. Not all of course, There are streams full of good people. The problem with Good People is that they are good. They don't think or act like the Savage. So what happens, of course the Savage is going to be on top. The Good Person is going to bend over and take it all the while saying, "Let's talk about this." The nature of the Good Person is to be reasonable. The reasonable part of the world is compassionate, cooperative, mindful, mostly polite, and naive. The Savage part of the world is loud, uncompromising, begrudging, selfish, angry, greedy and blind. They are dooming us. 

There are some people who are not willing to bend over anymore. They are trying to stand up to the bully, the selfish and the hate filled population. They are fighting a losing battle, we are so doomed. The Rich, the Ugly have it all. And the Ugly ones who still have nothing, they still hate. These folks are donkey whipped stupid. They really think the Rich will pee on them when they are on fire. The Savage, the ugly have one thing in common, they begrudge others. Simple as that. There is no share the wealth, no do on to others as you would wish to be treated, no loss of appetite. It is gorge at the trough until they have to purge their guts just to eat some more. They are so consumed with only me, they would rather kill this world just to get more and more. What does a person who has everything want? They want more. It is even more ridiculous a whole bunch of people want them to have more. They want the Rich to have more but not their neighbour. This is so fucked up way to be. Sure the Good Folk will say "well that's good for them they earned it", when speaking of the Rich. The Good Folk will say "Oh we don't agree so we can go and vote for change." How rich is that (pun not intended but apropos)? The voting game is so rigged, and we are doomed. Even when the Good People's choice gets in, their choice just bends over and takes it as well. I laugh and cringe at the same time when the first Black President of the United States, bent over to have a beer with a racist cop. Now that is some bend over and take it to the ball bending over shit (too much?). With Good People willing to compromise, to be reasonable, to try talk about it, we are doomed. 

The time for compromise has long past. The time for being reasonable has long past. The time for slapping the other cheek is here. The Rich, the corrupt governments, the resource ghouls, the hate filled donkey whipped haters have to be challenged. Have to be challenged hard. The Ugly are so begrudging to others, they would sink their own boat if a child from Syria was on the boat with them. Heck there are loads of disgusting acts being committed by the Ugly right now: Kids in cages, ICE police, illegal hysterectomies, profit jails, Cops killing civilians, Rise of White Supremacists, an election of a rapist to Office of President, Billionaires, anti-immigration, denial of proper health services, murder of journalists, reality shows, and those Stupid fucking industry pop singing groups and singers. We are dooming ourselves with the Rich, the Governments and the powerful leading the way. 

So reasonable people, what next. For me, think I will make a cup of Earl Grey tea, hot and black while listening to Disturb sing the Sounds of Silence. I am not going to be doomed without at least having a moment for myself. 

"Fools, " said I, "You do not know
Silence, like a cancer, grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you"
But my words, like silent raindrops fell
And echoed in the wells, of silence

Child & Family Did Me Alright

 Child & Family Services(CFS) in Manitoba and Canada in general does not have a good reputation. Without diving head first into the a rock hiding beneath the water surface, CFS has not been acting in a good way towards Indigenous families in Canada. A small but fierce Gitxan Warrior named Cindy Blackstock battled for fairness and really wounded the giant CFS-Canada. Canada did some bad stuff to Blackstock.  She was speaking for the Indian kids across Canada and the government didn't like that, because they knew they were being cruel: ripping new born babies out of the arms of Moms at the hospital bed with the Cops as the big scary henchmen. Underfunding the services for Indigenous agencies. Quick to seize kids without benefit of doubt to parents and families. CFS follows provincial laws and each is different. The agencies follow the regulations which many see as a determent to the health of the family and child. 

You will find the general feeling towards CFS is not a good one. It is like finding a wood tick on your baby. You are surprised, shocked, and even angry because your baby is only one and half years old and how in the heck did she get a bug that thrives mostly in the bush. I bet it was the neighbours dog who passed it on to her, that little annoying Pekingese pug faced noisy mongrel. So people feel like that towards CFS; an annoying yappy mongrel who has no business bothering their kids. Does CFS deserve such a reputation? In some cases, yes. The issues stem from strict adherence to the regulations. Many of the regulations are at odds with the reality of a home life. The single room guideline is one example. Many homes in the community, the reserve, and the poorer areas of a City do not have the room. The children share rooms in some cases. There are many situations and regulations where things just don't fit; legislative, structural and systemic. There is also the individual bias which occurs when people have no real clue as to the life style, the synergism in a family. The result is an industry which is bullish, heavy-handed and operating with blinders on, and of course hands-tied because of regulation and legislation, the law. 

The Front-Line worker and management take the most criticism of CFS operations. There is no doubt there are issues within the Child Family industry, especially when it comes to Indigenous relationships. The CFS system is filled with Indigenous children. The Indigenous community suffers much and our kids need to be protected. Still the system needs to have more compassion and understanding of the family dynamics, the history context and the current family situation. Lot of factors to consider when you literally are dealing with lives. No one wants a child to die because of an ugly home situation or a monstrous foster parent situation. There are very kind, very conscientious, very thoughtful and accommodating workers in the system as well. I know some of them. 

My Mom was not a fan of CFS getting involved in family affairs in the Reserve. But she was of the generation where families stepped up and looked after the children. Many a Kookum (Granny), an Auntie took on the role of raising a child which needed a home. There is still this practice but the CFS system didn't really work with the Indigenous community in this manner. There are some changes now to recognize the extended family connections in the Indigenous community. Still a lot of work has to be done; you know the legislation thing. Getting back to Mom, she was a Granny, a Kookum and she had no issue with looking after her Grandchildren, Noozhisag. 

Child and Family did alright by me. Our oldest daughter had issues. The rotten monster addiction grabbed her and didn't let go. Lot of worry, lot of fear, lot of anxiety, lot of anger in our lives when the monster enters your home. No need to tell you how ugly drugs are, they spread harm, they steal happiness and joy,  they ruin lives and they kill. My daughter got pregnant and was still using drugs. We hoped a child would bring joy, stability into her life. Wishful thinking on our part. It was difficult for our daughter trying to fight the addiction monster. Things came to a crisis after one month of the birth, we took the baby. We had no intention of being our Granbaby's parents. We thought our oldest girl would be able to combat the monster after realizing her loss. Didn't happen. Our daughter tried but the monster of addiction is a difficult beast to defeat. Addiction doesn't care if you are a good person or not. 

In the past the Grandchild, the nephew, niece, cousin would just become part of the family. Today the laws make it more difficult. We went for a Traditional Anishinaabe adoption of our grandchild. We have witnesses and a group of Elders and relatives conduct the Adoption Ceremony. Our oldest girl was at the ceremony because it was not an adversarial process, but rather inclusive event. It was our intent and our hope this Indigenous adoption would be recognized by the community and the larger world. We found out there is no recognition of Ancestral Indigenous practices. 

There has to be paper. Paper to prove you are the guardian, the parent of the child. Without paper you are not recognized as the parent. You cannot make medical decisions for the child without paper. You can not register for school. Can not put them on your health insurance and so on. Paper is the rule of the land. The thing is paper costs money. Many people just do not have money to buy paper. So in order to get paper, there is the choice of having CFS involved. This process to get paper by way of CFS is very intrusive. for us it has to be done. The financial burden of hiring a professional to complete a home assessment is costly. Even with CFS involvement it costs money to get paper, like guardian papers or adoption papers. 

For us, CFS did us right. They recommended and provide the professional to do the background check, the assessment of us. I contacted the Adoption regulators and they recommended a lawyer needed for the court process in order to get our papers. With the good work of the CFS recommended assessment worker and the good work of the lawyer, we were successful in getting the Paper for our grandchild. The lawyer was reasonable priced and a very compassionate and kind. This makes the process less intimidating and scary. We didn't want to get CFS involved but we did not know the system.  It was not a choice we wanted but we made it. Lucky for us, the Director of the agency in our Reserve is a great guy and my cousin. Although the Director took a hands-off approach with our CFS file, just knowing him made it easier for us to involve CFS and it turned out good for us. 

Our grandchild should have been able to just become part of our family because that is how it has always been done in our community.  Traditional Adoption Ceremony should be recognized, but the current law doesn't allow for this. In the community Children are family and family looks after them. This is what Child Family should really be, family looking after family. 

Adoption Ceremony 

Comment (*)itches comment!

It's quiet... too quiet.  

You know what I like, the Horn Section. The Lyle Lovett Big Band and others.  

But we are not here for that. We want noise and lots of it!

To scream at the top of our necks. To screech so loud no one can ignore it. 

The World is being grabbed by the pussy. The World is being made to bend over and take it quick, dry and smelly. The ugly, the hate filled, the selfish are being loud and in your face. We need to counter this by being louder. No time for being quiet, for being on the fence, for turning the other cheek, no time for condoms, no time for being reasonable. 

It's quiet ... too fucking quiet. 

Leave your loud voice in the comment section.