It Ain't Easy Being Indian
It Aint Easy
Thursday, October 14 2010
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“It’s a sign!” Indians will and do joke with each other about the most innocuous and naturally occurring daily happenstances as being a (gasp!) “sign.” According to the dominant culture’s verbal and literary reports we Indians of the Americas are way more in touch with Nature. I agree with that for the most part. No Indian I heard of ever had the blind arrogance to think we, because we are human and have opposable thumbs, were given the dominion over the beasts, birds, land…that saying from some old biblical passage, yanno?
But back on topic. Signs. Like if you drop something you consider significant (a rabbits foot, a ciggy butt, your kid) or you see some wolves doing something unusual like blowing down pigs’ houses, or your newly washed four-cornered pony (a car , Mum, dah!) got messed up by some disrespectful aerial scoundrels (a.k.a poopy birds). Anything and everything can be interpreted as a sign by an Indian; a portent of imminent events, expectations and so forth.
You get it? So imagine my surprise when I actually saw a sign by the side of the road printed out on cardboard informing Blueberrians and Rezberrians that there was a sale that stated “everything must go!” That My Dears is literal, metaphorical, and so much more. Imagine the main sources of your misery selling off all their ill-gotten goods and finally leaving you, your family, life and town; then imagine the happy, wondrous, ecstatic rush of emotions that would engulf you!
That is me at this moment in time. I don’t know why one has to experience sorrow and pain, except that only then do we understand and truly appreciate joy and contentment. Other than that, good riddance; what took so long?
On another track I’m tired of fake Indians! Keep in mind that it was not our Native ancestors who required a minimum blood quantum to be considered Indian, it was the United States of the American Empire. There are those who….sheez! My bad! This is a much repeated rant of mine and I do not apologize for it at all. I do want to point out how non-Indians are still stealing from us real Indians to our collective detriment in arts, science, culture and religious beliefs.
For instance this past July I joined the Native American Journalists Association conference in St. Paul, Minnesota. Amongst the tribally enrolled, worthy, talented, venerable and upcoming Native journalists there is a very strange fraud who “won“ some awards. I give this over to the working journalists to uncover, that’s all I’ll say for now, except for one clue: Rezberry. Not me though, I have a card and the life experience.
So at the end of last month I was basking in Big City sun rays and I also enjoyed a ferocious summer storm at midnight. I ate at a few of my favorite restaurants but the best meal was served up by my friend, Eggs Benedict ala Rachel. I stayed with her and Danial, my precious, dear friends I left in the Big City over 10 years ago.
I thought that so much about my former home would be different, unfamiliar and foreign to my rez-dusty eyes. I was right, a lot of things were. What did not change at all was my dear friends and their loving hospitality. Except for Danial’s graying hair and Rachel’s gorgeous kids Tristan and Trinity, everything was the same.
It felt so good to walk in my old ‘hood, to smell the concrete after a brutal, hot rain and see the city skyline outlined in hard, sweet, summer blue. I heard many sirens, I saw really strange people who talked funny and I woke to new, exciting days which were mostly spent on the porch watching the rest of the world go by. In other words, “It was cool” (musical quote from George Clinton and Funkadelic circa 1970‘s). You kids google the Godfather of Funk, write me an essay about the difference between R&B Funk and the gag-worthy age of Lady Gaga.
The thing I got from this trip was I can be from the Big City and Rezberry both. I loved coming back to my little home with its purry, furry, needy occupants and my four-legged daughter The Famous Mitz. She was initially pissed and ignored me upon my return but she ultimately forgave my transgression for leaving her for so long.
I think humans can learn much more from the other occupants of this Earth whom are our dear, near neighbors. I also think the non-humans are much better mannered, they don’t lie and only consume each other because they have to, not for power, wealth, greed or just plain nastiness.
A lot of things have happened lately but one thing never changes, my love and appreciation for you. Yes, I mean you!
Ricey Wild
Saturday, December 19 2009
Written by Ricey Wild,
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Ah! December! I like to reflect upon significant events in my life this past year. I also puzzle over insignificant and meaningless happenings, just for the fun of it. Like the time I...well, there is only so much space in my column to share.

If you are sorta interested to know, I have a FaceBook page. I do post occasionally but have not yet mastered the art of posting things about me and my life that any of my  “FRIENDS” care about. I try hard to be witty but all anyone cares about is Farmville, Mafia Wars and other goofy games that make no sense to me.


It ain’t easy being indian
Sunday, December 06 2009
Written by Ricey Wild,
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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.

It ain't easy being Indian
Thursday, October 29 2009
Written by Ricey Wild,
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Way back in the olden days when I was but a wee girl I watched a Dracula movie starring Bela Lugosi. I was traumatized, totally. That night and many years of nights thereafter I bunched my blankets up around my neck before being able to sleep so a vampire would have a pretty tough time trying to suck up my blood. It must have worked since I haven’t melted in direct sunlight ...yet.

The reason I bring that story up is at a recent Rezberry Open Meeting people were calling for blood, and lots of it. A whole lot of enrolled Rezberrians’ blood was illegally drained from them and they want it back.
CinderCat is a killer Cat!
Tuesday, August 25 2009
Written by Ricey Wild,
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CinderCat is a Killer cat. Fortunately for my household, aka my wigwam’s inhabitants, our food caches are not yet empty (thank you USDA).

Despite that, CinderCat, whom I accidentally adopted six years ago, proudly dragged home some game meat in his fangs. In this case it was a scrawny little chipmunk. Apparently he thinks all we need is more nutritious rodential diversity to achieve a healthy, balanced diet. His current available cuisine is either too dry and crunchy which is unsatisfying, and the canned stuff, though delicious, is ‘processed beyond recognition as actual acceptable consumable nutrition’, his words.

Yet, Cinder unrepentantly loves his ‘dollops’, which is milk-ishy half and half, but "hey"! Everyone has their weakness. Mine is buckets of Popeye’s red beans and rice. And then there’s...well I have only so much space. 

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