By Ricey Wild

A thought to share with yooz. By this time in my middle age I thought that I would ‘get it’ by now, whatever that state of being is. Truth is I don’t ‘get it’ and by that I mean life in general as opposed to what I think it’s supposed to be. Geddit? No? Exactly.

That said, it is now another year of a lot of what nobody knows or can predict. All I know for sure is that the current squatter in the White House will be gone from public housing. IT needs to pull itself up by its bootstraps and immigrate to Russia where IT and family will have the best quarters living in the Gulag. Me not being a hater, I just want them all gone. I am in therapy trying to help myself and I know many others are, too. What a nightmare shared by all.

I had a lot of awful things happen to me in the recent past but I know I don’t have ‘Rona (as yet). Last July while in the hospital, after I shattered my left ankle, they gave me two tests by shoving a three-foot Qtip up my nose to test me for Covid. They seemed to enjoy my discomfort. Most recently I woke up all miserable and creaky having a sore throat and aches-n-pains.

I called the Indian clinic and they advised I have a ‘Rona test done. I explained that I could not go there so they sent out a nurse; a big, beefy guy who came in my house dressed in PPE and asked whether I had blown my nose? I always blow my nose, it’s one of my most endearing qualities, anyway he meant boogers.

I braced myself for the rude intrusion sitting in my wheelchair as he approached. He just did a little, very gentle swirl in each nostril and was done. All that self-imposed drama for naught! Best news is I do not have it, and that I need to stop watching so much news. Well, error on the side of caution, ennit?

There are now over 360,000 unnecessary deaths of loved ones in the U.S. and millions globally. It is easy to wear a mask for protection for oneself and for others. Plz, I entreat you.

I’m excited for January 20 when the world laughs out the old Orange Guy and greets the new old white guy as POTUS. There is a big difference. Biden has a young, Jamaican, India Indian woman as vice president who was born in Oakland, CA. So drop the rhetoric about her.

I cried when it was announced that Sen. Kamala Harris would be in office. Just as with Michelle, as I call her, she will be the new, brown face topping every pasty pale one we’ve had so far. Let’s hear it for the Sistahs!!!

Not only that but Rep. Deb Haaland will be Secretary of the Interior. What?! IKR? I cried then, too. Lot’sa crying going on this year but all was not bad. When I was a child, I wanted to be Maria TallChief, Buffy St.Marie, and any of the many authors of books by Indigenous women. Now our daughters and granddaughters can aspire to create change in mainstream culture and politics (aka colonial rules).

Hey! We are now what I call modern Indians in that we live within the dominant culture but still have ours from the time the Star Beings put us here. From those ancestors we get our strength and resilience – dream on that. We were not supposed to still be here as a reminder of a failed genocide.

My New Year’s vows include learning to make frybread but I’m not gonna tell anyone how it goes. I will dance again without a cane even if it’s just in a chair. The light at the end of the Tunnel of Misery is just around the corner, I can see it glimmering.

I shall love again and freely, with no projections as to the outcome. I’ve missed you all soo much! Just know that I am ba-ack and happy to be here. And, even though I’m not a Christian I got gifts and cards from loved ones who celebrate this season. I celebrate the Solstice. Same thing really, with all the pagan customs disguised as Christianity.

My hugs will be weird, long ones when I can finally hold you in my arms and close to my heart, just know yooz have it coming. I’m saving them all up in prayers that I get to see you or meet you again. Cheers to a new day! A day that it is good to be kind to others, and also take care of oneself. We’re all we’ve got.