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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.
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.

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