It ain’t easy being indian

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Last month I had to run for my life from a burning building carrying two hefty cats in their carriers in my bare feet on cold gravelly pavement. Later that same day I was grooving to the legendary B.B King who worked his magic with Lucille at the Disco Duck Danceteria at the Risky Raccoon Kasino & Hotel. I know! A friend got me hooked up with backstage passes; in this case bus passes to meet B.B himself. Bonus! I may have a new dad!

I know! Say, just hypothetically that one moment you are me, salivating at the rich, sweet smell of ribs cooking while watching the football game at your Mom’s apartment. Half-time comes and your Mom goes to check on her laundry. She comes hurtling back in yelling “Fire! Get the cats!” So I did. I tackled Ringo and Sirus, po’ things! I don’t remember grabbing my jacket or purse, I did, but not my shoes. It’s cold where I live too! I will never forget the sight of thick black smoke thundering down the hallway. My pup Mitzi led the way out. Smart dog.

The parking lot was full of the residents’ cars, the owners of which

were milling around nervous and traumatized, in shock as to what was

happening and checking on each other. A relative asked me for a cig,

which I shakily handed over and asked if I had a light? We both looked

toward the blazing building. Yikes.

The good part of the story is that all the Rezberry Elders plus three

cats and two dogs made it out safley and are being cared for. The sad

part is that they were forced out of their homes by no fault of their

own. Hypothetically the cause of the fire is known and being

investigated.

Later my Mom and me tried to get cleaned up at the hotel for the B.B

King concert. It wasn’t easy let me tell ya! Even though both of us got

dressed up all fierce we still smelled like smoke and soot, and people

noticed. They did! Well, by that time me ‘n Omz didn’t care much.

We now have the “dubious distiction” as my Unk Vern says, “of running

out of a burning building” and so do many other innocents. I can cross

that one off my unintentional bucket list. Whoa. Talk about things you

never want to experience!

After the B.B. concert my Mom and me got to meet him on his bus. You

know, it’s one of those long-distance traveling busses and B.B. King

greeted fans whilst he sat comfortably in his nest. Dude is 84 now! We

hung out for like 3 1/2 minutes with B.B. and then got bustled out of

there so he could meet more fans. I got off the bus but there was no

Omi following me! Well she stayed on the bus and totally snagged up one

of B.B.’s personal attendants/bodyguard. He gave her more gifts, and

requested a picture along with letters to his home in Vegas. (And

people wonder where I get it, purr!) I will publish the upcoming

nuptials when I know more. Yay!

There were so many heroes at the fire that day. Lives were saved due to

their efforts, so thank you, more than yooz will ever know. We take

care of our own. And this was all in one day! Sheez.

To put things into proper perspective my Ant allowed me to share this

story with you. She told her intelligent, beautiful five-year old

granddaughter about the fire, and why she, the Gramma could not now

live there because of it. The little girl listened carefully, absorbing

every word. A moment passed. Then the grandbaby said, “did you take my

potty chair?” And she doesn’t even need it anymore, she just likes to

read there.

When my Ant told me this story I laughed so long and so deeply that I

started to choke. Yeppers! In our world, when it comes down to it we

love our comforts, ay? From the mouth of innocents we are forced to

face our own selves blemished and uncensored.

Oprah has a job I know, no one does it better. My request to yooz is to

take a fraction of a moment to ask yourselves if you appreciate what

you have. I strive for that every day.

What’s funny is that it could literally come down to a bologna

sandwich, which me Mumz is hankering for despite the cornucopia of

decadent food she can eat now that she has no home. Ah, the age old

question, which is better? A homely sandwich made from questionable

smushed meats at home or prime rib that you sit eating while not in

your house? ‘Sup to you.

It ain’t easy being a homeless Indian. The dominant culture is still

tryna push us all out of the way and removed us from being of any

powerful significance in our homeland.