Come on in, I have some nice oranges, some egg nog, some whiskey. I'm sure we can also rustle up some kind of meaty thing as well. Come on in and enjoy the festive spirits.
Another semester done. Was a tough one, sickness, death, all kinds of distractions. Got through it though. Was a feat of itself and I've still got a high enough average to apply for honours. Yah me.
And of course, it is that time of year. Christmas. I've said it before, not a fan, but whatev. I wish all of you out there in the ether a fine holiday and joyous spirits to celebrate with friends and family. And of course fight with them. No holiday is complete without a family fight or two. It's the beauty of the season. Enjoy!
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
That Crazy Coyote
Come on in, and enjoy the fire, watch the smoke again... maybe you can see the story it tells...
I like Coyote. Coyote likes me too. That crazy Coyote loves to tell a story and boy sometimes Coyote loves to really trip me up. I should tell you a story Coyote told me and you can see how that crazy critter messed things up and put them straight. Coyote loves to listen to this story too, sitting there in the shadows with that giggling grin. It is a fantastic story, one that makes me feel like I should bleed it out rather than write it but it ends happy so that is good. The question is: How dark does it get before Coyote uncovers your eyes?
There was this boy, you see, and he was very unhappy. From the moment his mother let him fall to the earth he had nothing but problems. He was too curious, so curious Coyote felt a bit jealous. So Coyote laid traps, big ones, the kind of traps that could kill a moose! The boy walked into every one of them too! That Coyote got a good laugh out of them, grinning his giggling grin and barking his bouncing bark. “That boy is nothing next to me, watch him, he falls all the time, nothing makes him better!”
You see these traps held so many dark corners and spaces that the boy felt he was always in the dark. And when you are in the dark nothing can be done but to grope around for anything you can find. You see this boy had a father, powerful man, a man so strong the world was molded by his very touch. But he didn’t want to be powerful, he told that world, “You can’t make me yours!” He found holes to crawl into, bad places, dark like the boy’s. Places filled with poison and bad spirits. Until one day he did an Awful Thing. He knew his time of fighting the world was over and he walked out, poof. Gone and gone but never let go. He spent so much time fighting the world that he did not realize that it swallowed him up, just like Coyote when it catches a mouse. This was the first trap Coyote left for the boy.
The boy did not understand how such a powerful man, a giant really, could leave so soon and not leave any of the love he needed. He wept so hard that blood fell from his eyes and pooled at his feet. It made the dark slippery and even harder to navigate, so he clung to the things that were dark and bad, he relished those traps. He learned to change the shape of the world around him so no one would recognize what he did. This upset Coyote as well, for the boy never changed but could change the world with a touch. Coyote got jealous again and laid more traps.
The boy’s mother was also strong, but she never understood why the boy acted as he did when he had such marvelous powers. She would scold, and admonish the boy, but because she was so far away she had to do it so loud that it hurt the boy, cut him more so that the blood around his feet grew thicker still. No matter what the mother tried the boy still did not learn, instead he seemed to run right into Coyote’s traps, jumping in head first and suffering the most horrible consequences.
That the boy kept going started to really upset Coyote, so much so he left the biggest trap of all. He taught the boy about the worst things human beings could do to each other and left it there where the boy could think of nothing else. Coyote knew this would finally stop the boy because the people around the boy would surely kill him for such awful things.
And so the boy did it. He did the most Awful Thing. He did not hide it either by changing the world so no one would know. He fell into the trap so completely that he was sure to die.
Fortunately for the boy, Owl watched. For dark things are of Owl and Owl did not like Coyote touching Its things. He watched as the world closed around the boy, waiting to swallow him like his father was. Before the final darkness could be laid over the boy, Owl swooped down and plucked him out, setting him down in a place where No One Could Be Hurt. As the two flew to this place Owl told the boy he was Very Bad, but that Very Bad was just a part of the Whole. Sometimes Very Bad Things had to happen so we all knew what was Very Good. Like the blood.
The boy cried to the Owl, let me go, let me leave this place. It does not want me and I do not want it, but Owl said, “No. You are one of my Very Bad Things now and you must let the world see that.” The boy asked for his wounds to be healed at the very least, for he knew he was to suffer even more, for he saw that he could make no changes in the place where No One Could Be Hurt, and this would hurt him despite the name. Owl said, “No. You have to learn to do that yourself. Watch Coyote.”
“But it is so dark, I never see him or his traps!” The boy wailed to Owl to let him see in the dark at least, and Owl finally said yes.
“You may see in the dark boy but that means you will see the worst there is. Seeing in the dark will not help you heal and will only make you know that what you are is what I am.” Owl dropped the boy and flew off, but kept watch, for Owl did not want Coyote to play with Its things again.
Coyote was furious and growls and snarled for quite a while that his trap did not work. Coyote was mad at Owl because Coyote felt the boy was his to play with and not Owls. “He is both of ours Coyote,” Owl coo’d, “For you gave him something of Mine and now we must share.” Coyote was not good at sharing.
Coyote watched the boy from outside the place where No One Could Get Hurt, waiting for the boy to be let free. Coyote could not get to the boy inside that place so Coyote got to thinking, “What if the boy were all mine? Then I could really get him good.” At this Coyote came up with a plan and it was a very good one.
You see once the boy got out he was sent to a new school, a place where they let you do all kinds of things. Unfortunately, because the boy was of Owl now, the Very Awful Thing he did followed him so he was never really safe. The people who wanted to kill him were still around but the boy thought, “If I must die, I will do so without giving up.” It seems the boy learned something after all.
Now Coyote’s plan was to become someone who could teach the boy. Since Coyote could never come across as a real teacher, instead became a large gruff man who would teach the boy how to fight on grass. This involved a lot of heavy things, helmets and such, and Coyote knew it would interest the boy.
Coyote set his final trap here, knowing that the boy would fall for anything. Coyote arranged that the boy would never know true success and would instead become only a Mite-uv. A Mite-uv is a horrible creature that talks of what he could have been and knew that it would be the worst thing he could make out of the boy.
What Coyote did not know was that the boy could see in the dark and he had watched Coyote change. While watching him change it gave the boy an idea. “What if instead of changing the world outside me, I changed it inside me?” Being able to see the huge trap off in the distance now because of Owl, the boy started to mimic Coyote.
After many years, Coyote knew it was time to spring the trap. Coyote had not noticed that the boy had been watching and copying Coyote. Coyote thought himself far too clever, especially in man-skin, for the boy to ever outwit Coyote. As the fated time came Coyote failed to see that the boy was luring Coyote ever closer to the trap as well, and when it was finally sprung, the boy leaped clear away from it and instead shoved Coyote in! Once Coyote was trapped, the boy said, “I make one last change on the world,” and forced Coyote out of the man-skin. Coyote was very mad, and very upset, but the boy was no longer cruel.
It was true what Owl had said; seeing in the dark let the boy see all the awful things of the world and understand them better than he had ever wanted to. Because of that compassion and caring grew in him and he recognized now that while Coyote may have left the traps, it was the boy who always jumped in head first. “Coyote, you are not mean, you are just you, and I am sorry I have made you angry. I will let you out, even if it means you will forever be trying to trap me.”
Once out, Coyote was overjoyed! He bounced and barked, and grinned and giggled. “Boy,” Coyote said, “I think I love you.”
That Coyote eh? You never can tell when Coyote grins. Coyote teaches, but never like you want. And the boy? Oh yes Coyote still traps him from time to time, but usually they both end up in it. Luckily Owl still watches.
I like Coyote. Coyote likes me too. That crazy Coyote loves to tell a story and boy sometimes Coyote loves to really trip me up. I should tell you a story Coyote told me and you can see how that crazy critter messed things up and put them straight. Coyote loves to listen to this story too, sitting there in the shadows with that giggling grin. It is a fantastic story, one that makes me feel like I should bleed it out rather than write it but it ends happy so that is good. The question is: How dark does it get before Coyote uncovers your eyes?
There was this boy, you see, and he was very unhappy. From the moment his mother let him fall to the earth he had nothing but problems. He was too curious, so curious Coyote felt a bit jealous. So Coyote laid traps, big ones, the kind of traps that could kill a moose! The boy walked into every one of them too! That Coyote got a good laugh out of them, grinning his giggling grin and barking his bouncing bark. “That boy is nothing next to me, watch him, he falls all the time, nothing makes him better!”
You see these traps held so many dark corners and spaces that the boy felt he was always in the dark. And when you are in the dark nothing can be done but to grope around for anything you can find. You see this boy had a father, powerful man, a man so strong the world was molded by his very touch. But he didn’t want to be powerful, he told that world, “You can’t make me yours!” He found holes to crawl into, bad places, dark like the boy’s. Places filled with poison and bad spirits. Until one day he did an Awful Thing. He knew his time of fighting the world was over and he walked out, poof. Gone and gone but never let go. He spent so much time fighting the world that he did not realize that it swallowed him up, just like Coyote when it catches a mouse. This was the first trap Coyote left for the boy.
The boy did not understand how such a powerful man, a giant really, could leave so soon and not leave any of the love he needed. He wept so hard that blood fell from his eyes and pooled at his feet. It made the dark slippery and even harder to navigate, so he clung to the things that were dark and bad, he relished those traps. He learned to change the shape of the world around him so no one would recognize what he did. This upset Coyote as well, for the boy never changed but could change the world with a touch. Coyote got jealous again and laid more traps.
The boy’s mother was also strong, but she never understood why the boy acted as he did when he had such marvelous powers. She would scold, and admonish the boy, but because she was so far away she had to do it so loud that it hurt the boy, cut him more so that the blood around his feet grew thicker still. No matter what the mother tried the boy still did not learn, instead he seemed to run right into Coyote’s traps, jumping in head first and suffering the most horrible consequences.
That the boy kept going started to really upset Coyote, so much so he left the biggest trap of all. He taught the boy about the worst things human beings could do to each other and left it there where the boy could think of nothing else. Coyote knew this would finally stop the boy because the people around the boy would surely kill him for such awful things.
And so the boy did it. He did the most Awful Thing. He did not hide it either by changing the world so no one would know. He fell into the trap so completely that he was sure to die.
Fortunately for the boy, Owl watched. For dark things are of Owl and Owl did not like Coyote touching Its things. He watched as the world closed around the boy, waiting to swallow him like his father was. Before the final darkness could be laid over the boy, Owl swooped down and plucked him out, setting him down in a place where No One Could Be Hurt. As the two flew to this place Owl told the boy he was Very Bad, but that Very Bad was just a part of the Whole. Sometimes Very Bad Things had to happen so we all knew what was Very Good. Like the blood.
The boy cried to the Owl, let me go, let me leave this place. It does not want me and I do not want it, but Owl said, “No. You are one of my Very Bad Things now and you must let the world see that.” The boy asked for his wounds to be healed at the very least, for he knew he was to suffer even more, for he saw that he could make no changes in the place where No One Could Be Hurt, and this would hurt him despite the name. Owl said, “No. You have to learn to do that yourself. Watch Coyote.”
“But it is so dark, I never see him or his traps!” The boy wailed to Owl to let him see in the dark at least, and Owl finally said yes.
“You may see in the dark boy but that means you will see the worst there is. Seeing in the dark will not help you heal and will only make you know that what you are is what I am.” Owl dropped the boy and flew off, but kept watch, for Owl did not want Coyote to play with Its things again.
Coyote was furious and growls and snarled for quite a while that his trap did not work. Coyote was mad at Owl because Coyote felt the boy was his to play with and not Owls. “He is both of ours Coyote,” Owl coo’d, “For you gave him something of Mine and now we must share.” Coyote was not good at sharing.
Coyote watched the boy from outside the place where No One Could Get Hurt, waiting for the boy to be let free. Coyote could not get to the boy inside that place so Coyote got to thinking, “What if the boy were all mine? Then I could really get him good.” At this Coyote came up with a plan and it was a very good one.
You see once the boy got out he was sent to a new school, a place where they let you do all kinds of things. Unfortunately, because the boy was of Owl now, the Very Awful Thing he did followed him so he was never really safe. The people who wanted to kill him were still around but the boy thought, “If I must die, I will do so without giving up.” It seems the boy learned something after all.
Now Coyote’s plan was to become someone who could teach the boy. Since Coyote could never come across as a real teacher, instead became a large gruff man who would teach the boy how to fight on grass. This involved a lot of heavy things, helmets and such, and Coyote knew it would interest the boy.
Coyote set his final trap here, knowing that the boy would fall for anything. Coyote arranged that the boy would never know true success and would instead become only a Mite-uv. A Mite-uv is a horrible creature that talks of what he could have been and knew that it would be the worst thing he could make out of the boy.
What Coyote did not know was that the boy could see in the dark and he had watched Coyote change. While watching him change it gave the boy an idea. “What if instead of changing the world outside me, I changed it inside me?” Being able to see the huge trap off in the distance now because of Owl, the boy started to mimic Coyote.
After many years, Coyote knew it was time to spring the trap. Coyote had not noticed that the boy had been watching and copying Coyote. Coyote thought himself far too clever, especially in man-skin, for the boy to ever outwit Coyote. As the fated time came Coyote failed to see that the boy was luring Coyote ever closer to the trap as well, and when it was finally sprung, the boy leaped clear away from it and instead shoved Coyote in! Once Coyote was trapped, the boy said, “I make one last change on the world,” and forced Coyote out of the man-skin. Coyote was very mad, and very upset, but the boy was no longer cruel.
It was true what Owl had said; seeing in the dark let the boy see all the awful things of the world and understand them better than he had ever wanted to. Because of that compassion and caring grew in him and he recognized now that while Coyote may have left the traps, it was the boy who always jumped in head first. “Coyote, you are not mean, you are just you, and I am sorry I have made you angry. I will let you out, even if it means you will forever be trying to trap me.”
Once out, Coyote was overjoyed! He bounced and barked, and grinned and giggled. “Boy,” Coyote said, “I think I love you.”
That Coyote eh? You never can tell when Coyote grins. Coyote teaches, but never like you want. And the boy? Oh yes Coyote still traps him from time to time, but usually they both end up in it. Luckily Owl still watches.
Friday, December 4, 2009
A Loving Goodbye
Come on in, and enjoy the fire, still a bit low. Life is certainly different now. Here are the words I chose to speak at my Grandmother's memorial. A huge thank you to Cenobyte for her careful editting, I owe you so much friend, thanks.
Thank you for coming to share your grief at the passing of my Grandmother, Phyllis Mathews, and to celebrate her life. She was a remarkable woman who led a remarkable life; we will miss her and cherish the memories we have of her. I would like for each of you to think of a memory or two you have of Phyllis that gives you joy and reflect on it. There will be a short quiz when I am finished. While you're reminiscing, I'd like to offer this prayer from the Book of Common Prayer.
O HEAVENLY Father, help us to trust our loved ones to thy care. When sorrow darkens our lives, help us to look up to thee, remembering the cloud of witnesses by which we are compassed about. And grant that we on earth, rejoicing ever in thy presence, may share with them the rest and peace which thy presence gives; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
Thank you Grandma for the time you spent with us; thank you Phyllis for the love and caring you have shown us. You will be forever missed, cherished, and celebrated for a life that has had such an amazing impact on the world around you. Once bound to us in flesh you now are free and flow through us in spirit. With joy I stand here and speak of the beauty and grace you demonstrated and embraced. The impact you have had on this world has not diminished, nor will it. Instead, your spirit will continue to grow through the love you have shown us and that we in turn offer to others. You have made of us mirrors of your own indomitable spirit. Through fortitude and patience you showed time and again that you would seize from life what you wanted, never complaining that you did not get what you deserved, instead rejoicing in what you had.
I would like to recite a poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins called “The Caged Skylark,” that speaks to the freedom of the spirit after death.
AS a dare-gale skylark scanted in a dull cage
Man’s mounting spirit in his bone-house, mean house, dwells—
That bird beyond the remembering his free fells;
This in drudgery, day-labouring-out life’s age.
Though aloft on turf or perch or poor low stage,
Both sing sometímes the sweetest, sweetest spells,
Yet both droop deadly sómetimes in their cells
Or wring their barriers in bursts of fear or rage.
Not that the sweet-fowl, song-fowl, needs no rest—
Why, hear him, hear him babble and drop down to his nest,
But his own nest, wild nest, no prison.
Man’s spirit will be flesh-bound when found at best,
But uncumbered: meadow-down is not distressed
For a rainbow footing it nor he for his bónes rísen.
Thank you Grandma, I love you.
Death is never easy, and each of you feel and live your grief in your own way. The experience of grieving is universal: all things die, but it is inside that experience we find a place where we all share our sorrow. Right alongside our grief is the hope of eternal life.
I cannot speak with enough skill to concepts of the afterlife; like death it is a universal concept that is expressed individually. What I can speak to is the immortality that we each gain through love. Each of you carries memories of Phyllis that nurtures you, guides you, and comforts you. Through her actions, her love for each of you, she has created a space that will carry forward who she was and what she represented.
This is not just an act of remembrance; the essential truth is that we are, in part, who we love. There is no action or inaction that does not represent who we are and those we love. It is a never ending cycle that enriches our lives and gives us the room for growth we all need and desire.
I would like to come back to those memories of Phyllis that I asked you to recall, and think of them again during this prayer, also from the Book of Common Prayer.
O LORD, support us all the day long of this troublous life, until the shadows lengthen and the evening comes, the busy world is hushed, the fever of life is over, and our work is done. Then, Lord, in thy mercy, grant us safe lodging, a holy rest, and peace at the last; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
Those memories we rejoice in are the eternal life I spoke of earlier. Each of those instances is moments when the things that defined Phyllis came out and we took notice. In that moment we saw the truth that was her and loved it, made it a part of us and we continue to do so.
And so in that spirit I wish to share a couple of my favorite memories of my grandma with you. When I’m done I want to invite each of you to do the same, to come up here and share with the rest of us the memory you most cherish of Phyllis and help enrich the world with her presence. Just remember this is an invitation, feel free to keep your memories private, because as I’ve said we each embrace our grief in our own ways.
One of the things I’ve always marveled at about my grandmother was her toughness. I often referred to her as the toughest person ever. I think on the multitude of injuries and afflictions she lived through with little to no complaint. The most significant was when I visited her the day after her first hip replacement. First I find out that she did it with only a local anesthetic, and was aware and speaking with the surgeon the whole time, but the most she took for pain killers after the surgery was Tylenol 3. I’m not going to go into the gory details of hip replacement but I cannot imagine anyone going through that procedure with so little anesthetic to dull the extreme trauma that was done to her body. That fortitude always amazed me and is something I too try to emulate to this day.
Coupled with that toughness was her thirst for life. Her ability to go out and enjoy what she wanted to enjoy, and seize life, sometimes literally, for all it was worth. Specifically I’m reminded of a time I had a friend over and we were playing cards and discussing heading to our local watering hole. My grandmother was also in town for the week and she and my mother had gone out for supper and returned around 9. When they entered my mother greeted my friend and commented that my grandmother had never met him and I waved her over, while imploring my friend to stand up. Normally not something I’d mention but my friend is 7 feet tall. So grandma went over to say hi and stare up at him, throwing her arm around his waist, or so I thought, as she talked with him.
My friend looked over at me and said rather quickly “We should go soon,” with a somewhat surprised look on his face. I said “ok,” and said my good byes, and grandma kept chatting up my rather tall friend until we left. Once we got in the car he told me why he wanted to leave so soon. Apparently grandma did not have her hand around my friend’s waist; instead she was doing a very good job of groping his butt. Yep, to this day we still tease said friend about the day my grandma got a piece of his ass.
There are so many memories I could share, we could be here all day. Instead I want to hear yours. I want to, for today, revel in who she was and what she meant to each of us. To rejoice in the things that were essentially the true Phyllis Mathews and laugh and cry and smile and live. So please come on up, and no matter the story, how long or short, although under an hour per story would be good, and share with us the Phyllis you knew and loved.
If you out in this virtual space have a memory of my grandmother you'd like to share, please feel free. Thanks.
Thank you for coming to share your grief at the passing of my Grandmother, Phyllis Mathews, and to celebrate her life. She was a remarkable woman who led a remarkable life; we will miss her and cherish the memories we have of her. I would like for each of you to think of a memory or two you have of Phyllis that gives you joy and reflect on it. There will be a short quiz when I am finished. While you're reminiscing, I'd like to offer this prayer from the Book of Common Prayer.
O HEAVENLY Father, help us to trust our loved ones to thy care. When sorrow darkens our lives, help us to look up to thee, remembering the cloud of witnesses by which we are compassed about. And grant that we on earth, rejoicing ever in thy presence, may share with them the rest and peace which thy presence gives; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
Thank you Grandma for the time you spent with us; thank you Phyllis for the love and caring you have shown us. You will be forever missed, cherished, and celebrated for a life that has had such an amazing impact on the world around you. Once bound to us in flesh you now are free and flow through us in spirit. With joy I stand here and speak of the beauty and grace you demonstrated and embraced. The impact you have had on this world has not diminished, nor will it. Instead, your spirit will continue to grow through the love you have shown us and that we in turn offer to others. You have made of us mirrors of your own indomitable spirit. Through fortitude and patience you showed time and again that you would seize from life what you wanted, never complaining that you did not get what you deserved, instead rejoicing in what you had.
I would like to recite a poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins called “The Caged Skylark,” that speaks to the freedom of the spirit after death.
AS a dare-gale skylark scanted in a dull cage
Man’s mounting spirit in his bone-house, mean house, dwells—
That bird beyond the remembering his free fells;
This in drudgery, day-labouring-out life’s age.
Though aloft on turf or perch or poor low stage,
Both sing sometímes the sweetest, sweetest spells,
Yet both droop deadly sómetimes in their cells
Or wring their barriers in bursts of fear or rage.
Not that the sweet-fowl, song-fowl, needs no rest—
Why, hear him, hear him babble and drop down to his nest,
But his own nest, wild nest, no prison.
Man’s spirit will be flesh-bound when found at best,
But uncumbered: meadow-down is not distressed
For a rainbow footing it nor he for his bónes rísen.
Thank you Grandma, I love you.
Death is never easy, and each of you feel and live your grief in your own way. The experience of grieving is universal: all things die, but it is inside that experience we find a place where we all share our sorrow. Right alongside our grief is the hope of eternal life.
I cannot speak with enough skill to concepts of the afterlife; like death it is a universal concept that is expressed individually. What I can speak to is the immortality that we each gain through love. Each of you carries memories of Phyllis that nurtures you, guides you, and comforts you. Through her actions, her love for each of you, she has created a space that will carry forward who she was and what she represented.
This is not just an act of remembrance; the essential truth is that we are, in part, who we love. There is no action or inaction that does not represent who we are and those we love. It is a never ending cycle that enriches our lives and gives us the room for growth we all need and desire.
I would like to come back to those memories of Phyllis that I asked you to recall, and think of them again during this prayer, also from the Book of Common Prayer.
O LORD, support us all the day long of this troublous life, until the shadows lengthen and the evening comes, the busy world is hushed, the fever of life is over, and our work is done. Then, Lord, in thy mercy, grant us safe lodging, a holy rest, and peace at the last; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
Those memories we rejoice in are the eternal life I spoke of earlier. Each of those instances is moments when the things that defined Phyllis came out and we took notice. In that moment we saw the truth that was her and loved it, made it a part of us and we continue to do so.
And so in that spirit I wish to share a couple of my favorite memories of my grandma with you. When I’m done I want to invite each of you to do the same, to come up here and share with the rest of us the memory you most cherish of Phyllis and help enrich the world with her presence. Just remember this is an invitation, feel free to keep your memories private, because as I’ve said we each embrace our grief in our own ways.
One of the things I’ve always marveled at about my grandmother was her toughness. I often referred to her as the toughest person ever. I think on the multitude of injuries and afflictions she lived through with little to no complaint. The most significant was when I visited her the day after her first hip replacement. First I find out that she did it with only a local anesthetic, and was aware and speaking with the surgeon the whole time, but the most she took for pain killers after the surgery was Tylenol 3. I’m not going to go into the gory details of hip replacement but I cannot imagine anyone going through that procedure with so little anesthetic to dull the extreme trauma that was done to her body. That fortitude always amazed me and is something I too try to emulate to this day.
Coupled with that toughness was her thirst for life. Her ability to go out and enjoy what she wanted to enjoy, and seize life, sometimes literally, for all it was worth. Specifically I’m reminded of a time I had a friend over and we were playing cards and discussing heading to our local watering hole. My grandmother was also in town for the week and she and my mother had gone out for supper and returned around 9. When they entered my mother greeted my friend and commented that my grandmother had never met him and I waved her over, while imploring my friend to stand up. Normally not something I’d mention but my friend is 7 feet tall. So grandma went over to say hi and stare up at him, throwing her arm around his waist, or so I thought, as she talked with him.
My friend looked over at me and said rather quickly “We should go soon,” with a somewhat surprised look on his face. I said “ok,” and said my good byes, and grandma kept chatting up my rather tall friend until we left. Once we got in the car he told me why he wanted to leave so soon. Apparently grandma did not have her hand around my friend’s waist; instead she was doing a very good job of groping his butt. Yep, to this day we still tease said friend about the day my grandma got a piece of his ass.
There are so many memories I could share, we could be here all day. Instead I want to hear yours. I want to, for today, revel in who she was and what she meant to each of us. To rejoice in the things that were essentially the true Phyllis Mathews and laugh and cry and smile and live. So please come on up, and no matter the story, how long or short, although under an hour per story would be good, and share with us the Phyllis you knew and loved.
If you out in this virtual space have a memory of my grandmother you'd like to share, please feel free. Thanks.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
In Loving Memory
Come on in and enjoy the low fire. Excuse the extra ghosts, but they're the memories of a special person.
This morning my grandmother passed away. She was a remarkable person, and, in my mind, the toughest person who lived. There is so much I wish to say about her and so much I want to share that it is too much right now. Eventually I will share them but for now let me say this. Immortality does not occur through what we do but who we love. And Grandma was well loved. For that she will live forever through those of us still here.
Goodbye Grandma. Love you.
This morning my grandmother passed away. She was a remarkable person, and, in my mind, the toughest person who lived. There is so much I wish to say about her and so much I want to share that it is too much right now. Eventually I will share them but for now let me say this. Immortality does not occur through what we do but who we love. And Grandma was well loved. For that she will live forever through those of us still here.
Goodbye Grandma. Love you.
Monday, November 23, 2009
A sports filled weekend
Come on into the den, grab a seat, and yeah ... the fire is green. Neat huh?
So this weekend was filled with all kinds of sports. And all kinds of friends. And good food. The Ringbearer is one fantastic hostess. Let me just repeat that. The Ringbearer is one fantastic hostess. I'm still thinking about that apple pie. Damn that was good.
So anyways we start on Saturday night. UFC PPV, main event Tito 'The Huntington Beach Ball Head' Ortiz vs Forrest Griffen. Overall was a fairly decent card. Some really great undercard fights, and main card fights, with the exception of the co-main event between Josh 'A Whole Bag of Cocks' Koscheck and Anthony 'Rumble' Johnson. After watching Koscheck play up an eye injury from an admittedly illegal blow that didn't come anywhere near the 'injured' eye, and then to watch him TWICE purposefully poke Johnson in the eye makes me just pissed.
Now my favorite fight of the night was Amir Sodallah vs. Phil Baroni. Damn, Amir just picked apart Phil, it was a surgical dissection of one human being by another. Phil came out banging, and seemed to hurt Amir early on, but after that it was all Amir, knees, elbows, punches from the clinch, was just incredible to watch. And that Baroni kept fighting through a complete destruction was incredible. He kept swinging and banging and trying to keep Amir off his neck.
Of course, for some reason the UFC saw fit to award the Koscheck/Johnson fight the Fight of the Night awards. What a fucking joke. So a fight that was a decisive win and incredible to watch gets shafted and that punk ass bitch Koscheck gets FotN? I'm kind of glad he did win, because like the Ringmaster says 'Give him hope...' because once GSP gets ahold of Koscheck he's gonna serve his ass up on a platter. GSP outwrestled and outgunned Koscheck last time, it can happen again.
So onto Sunday. The Eastern and Western CFL finals. I loved that Montreal BC game. Because Buono made the face. I love it when he makes that face. I love watching his lips go through those bitey, pouty, twisty motions. It's the confused/whiny look of a grade schooler who can't find a bathroom. I will now, for the benefit of all those without TV Telepathy, rebroadcast Wally's thoughts: "Why are we loooOOOoooosing! Aw, c'mon, I'm the winningest coach EVAR! These guys suck!! Why don't they do what I sa-ay! If they just went out and did that we'd win!" Beautiful.
So onto the Main Event! 'Riders vs. Stamps! The chants of HEEEN-REEEEE can be heard all the way out to Pilot Butte. TYG is humping the TV, the Youngest Clown is doing the only cool handshake white guys can do repeatedly, The Ringmaster is handing out pounds like Richard Branson. The Ringbearer is acting like an immigrant mother with chants of 'Eat eat!' and the game was spectacular.
Most spectacular being that we won the game in the THIRD QUARTER!! What the hell?! To quote TYG 'We just outscored ourselves in the third quarter in this game as compared to the entire season!' And of course there is Ken Miller, wandering the sidelines with this open mouth confused look. Even he wasn't sure what was going on. Fantastic! GO RIDERS GO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
So overall great sports weekend. I would have pity for the BC fans except they act like such douche's when they win it's hard to feel any sort of sympathy. And after hearing from everyone all season long how the 'Riders shouldn't even make the playoffs, to end up First and also go to the Grey Cup is just too sweet. Great stuff.
So this weekend was filled with all kinds of sports. And all kinds of friends. And good food. The Ringbearer is one fantastic hostess. Let me just repeat that. The Ringbearer is one fantastic hostess. I'm still thinking about that apple pie. Damn that was good.
So anyways we start on Saturday night. UFC PPV, main event Tito 'The Huntington Beach Ball Head' Ortiz vs Forrest Griffen. Overall was a fairly decent card. Some really great undercard fights, and main card fights, with the exception of the co-main event between Josh 'A Whole Bag of Cocks' Koscheck and Anthony 'Rumble' Johnson. After watching Koscheck play up an eye injury from an admittedly illegal blow that didn't come anywhere near the 'injured' eye, and then to watch him TWICE purposefully poke Johnson in the eye makes me just pissed.
Now my favorite fight of the night was Amir Sodallah vs. Phil Baroni. Damn, Amir just picked apart Phil, it was a surgical dissection of one human being by another. Phil came out banging, and seemed to hurt Amir early on, but after that it was all Amir, knees, elbows, punches from the clinch, was just incredible to watch. And that Baroni kept fighting through a complete destruction was incredible. He kept swinging and banging and trying to keep Amir off his neck.
Of course, for some reason the UFC saw fit to award the Koscheck/Johnson fight the Fight of the Night awards. What a fucking joke. So a fight that was a decisive win and incredible to watch gets shafted and that punk ass bitch Koscheck gets FotN? I'm kind of glad he did win, because like the Ringmaster says 'Give him hope...' because once GSP gets ahold of Koscheck he's gonna serve his ass up on a platter. GSP outwrestled and outgunned Koscheck last time, it can happen again.
So onto Sunday. The Eastern and Western CFL finals. I loved that Montreal BC game. Because Buono made the face. I love it when he makes that face. I love watching his lips go through those bitey, pouty, twisty motions. It's the confused/whiny look of a grade schooler who can't find a bathroom. I will now, for the benefit of all those without TV Telepathy, rebroadcast Wally's thoughts: "Why are we loooOOOoooosing! Aw, c'mon, I'm the winningest coach EVAR! These guys suck!! Why don't they do what I sa-ay! If they just went out and did that we'd win!" Beautiful.
So onto the Main Event! 'Riders vs. Stamps! The chants of HEEEN-REEEEE can be heard all the way out to Pilot Butte. TYG is humping the TV, the Youngest Clown is doing the only cool handshake white guys can do repeatedly, The Ringmaster is handing out pounds like Richard Branson. The Ringbearer is acting like an immigrant mother with chants of 'Eat eat!' and the game was spectacular.
Most spectacular being that we won the game in the THIRD QUARTER!! What the hell?! To quote TYG 'We just outscored ourselves in the third quarter in this game as compared to the entire season!' And of course there is Ken Miller, wandering the sidelines with this open mouth confused look. Even he wasn't sure what was going on. Fantastic! GO RIDERS GO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
So overall great sports weekend. I would have pity for the BC fans except they act like such douche's when they win it's hard to feel any sort of sympathy. And after hearing from everyone all season long how the 'Riders shouldn't even make the playoffs, to end up First and also go to the Grey Cup is just too sweet. Great stuff.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
The Big O
Come on in, I'm still glowing from the wonderful performance of my baby bear, which of course can be viewed here. Don't have much to snack on, I've had a lot of teenagers in my house lately. They're like freakin' locusts. Time to hit the grocery story.
So the big O is leavin' her show. I heard this in passing and I had a sudden moment of worry. 'Oh no, what will the American people do without Oprah to tell them what to do?! What will they think/eat/read without the Big O telling them!! The masses will be lost.' Folks you want to worry about a zombie apocalypse, I'd say Oprah cancelling her show is right up there.
And then someone says 'Oh she's not stopping doing TV she's just creating her own cable channel and doing her stuff there now.' And again I say 'Ooooh fuck. Now there really will be a zombie apocalypse.' 24 hours a day of Oprah with people slavishly following her every word and direction?! I'ma go head for the hills soon people, I suggest you join me. We'll load up on guns and bring our friends, that Cobain musta seen this comin' cuz he's lookin' like a prophet to me!
Ok calm down, it can't be that bad, right? People won't constantly tune into Oprah's cavalcade of mind warping programming right? Right?!
Fuck we're all doomed.
So the big O is leavin' her show. I heard this in passing and I had a sudden moment of worry. 'Oh no, what will the American people do without Oprah to tell them what to do?! What will they think/eat/read without the Big O telling them!! The masses will be lost.' Folks you want to worry about a zombie apocalypse, I'd say Oprah cancelling her show is right up there.
And then someone says 'Oh she's not stopping doing TV she's just creating her own cable channel and doing her stuff there now.' And again I say 'Ooooh fuck. Now there really will be a zombie apocalypse.' 24 hours a day of Oprah with people slavishly following her every word and direction?! I'ma go head for the hills soon people, I suggest you join me. We'll load up on guns and bring our friends, that Cobain musta seen this comin' cuz he's lookin' like a prophet to me!
Ok calm down, it can't be that bad, right? People won't constantly tune into Oprah's cavalcade of mind warping programming right? Right?!
Fuck we're all doomed.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Word Warriors
This is the latest in my shots at Dale Turner, so feel free to grab some yogurt, it has saskatoon berries in it, and enjoy the fire and some light reading.
Dale Turner’s book This is not a Peace Pipe contains a very interesting concept in a type of indigenous academic called a word warrior. While the intention is very admirable and there are some very interesting aspects to the role the author envisions for word warriors Turner fails to create a philosophical argument for both the restrictions and validity of who can be a word warrior. On top of that he completely ignores indigenous spirituality to create this concept and despite his desire to have his philosophy seen as being outside Eurocentric ideals that he pigeon holes who may or may not be a word warrior and what knowledge they may share outside of indigenous culture shows that despite his claim Turner is still heavily affected by post-colonial thought and attitudes. Turner may be attempting to create a new way for First Nations to engage the dominant culture and refute what he refers to as White Paper philosophy through out the book but instead all he has done is create new ways to segregate First Nations from the rest of Canada as well as show a complete lack of understanding of the values that unite First Nations culture as a whole.
The concept of a word warrior is a fantastic idea. An individual who is knowledgeable in
both First Nations history and philosophy, as well as trained in European styled academics who is responsible for both defending and asserting First Nations rights and national sovereignty is an admirable and important job. To recognize that for First Nations to engage the dominant culture they must do so both in their own way but on the battlefields of law and academia is not necessarily a new concept but to lay out a plan that may encourage people to take up verbal arms is. Turner recognizes that both forms are important for the overall success of future negotiations. It is the implementation of this plan that requires a great deal more work as well as fully recognizing the importance of traditional values.
While First Nations have become more panistic it is important to recognize that even though there may be significant language and value system differences there are still recognizable and verifiable similarities that identify First Nations thought and philosophy. The most recognizable being that of the interconnectedness and inclusion of all things. While this may be represented by some philosophies as the Sacred Circle it is important to remember that this is merely a representation and not an entirely accurate one at that. It is helpful for ritual and symbolism but does not describe this concept as well as it might. The best analogy that I can think if that actually encompasses this philosophy would better be described as a globule of liquid in zero gravity. While it may mostly retain a circular shape it by no means is entirely spherical, nor does it have a particular point of power or importance. The whole is important, not any one facet. So to translate this to the world view of First Nations it means things such as spirituality are not a separate or ignorable part of existence. The spirit world is not a separate one from this, but in fact an active and vital part.
Turner does not address spirituality, and his reasons for avoiding it until just a few pages before the conclusion. His reason behind this is somehow privileging the spiritual knowledge yet for First Nations all acts are spiritual acts. Spirituality is not the sole province of a select few but the very ways in which an individual must live. Turner explains on page 115, “I am indigenous, yet I am not an indigenous philosopher; and therefore I ought not to place myself in the privileged position of explaining the meaning of indigenous spirituality.” This statement itself shows Turner’s lack of understanding that even without being an indigenous philosopher, that if he is engaging the role of creating a coherent and lasting Indigenous Philosophy then he is partaking of that spirituality as well.
To explain this let’s turn to Jordan Paper’s book Native North American Religious Traditions. In the introduction he speaks of many things that may be seen as general components of these practices but the one line that is most profound in this introduction is this from page 4: “These are religions of doing, of spontaneity, of taking active responsibility for one’s spiritual life and of encountering the spirits with one’s entire being.” Simply put, if you are to engage in Native philosophy you must also engage it from a spiritual, a holistic, point of view. To fail to do this will ultimately cause the entire theory to fail as it is not dealing with the entire issue. Turner fails to do this and offers up the excuse that since he does not have the specialized knowledge he cannot explain it. While there is specialized knowledge in certain aspects of ritual and knowledge, spiritual actions are not in of themselves limited to these specific times. On this principle Turner fails to recognize the importance of this central tenant of First Nations ideology.
To compound this error Turner then goes on to place qualifiers that eliminate a great many individuals from the role of a word warrior. The first qualifier is that “Aboriginal intellectuals must develop a community of practitioners within the existing dominant legal and political intellectual communities, while remaining an essential part of a thriving indigenous intellectual community.” (Turner 90) Essentially the claim is that to be a word warrior there has to be an outward representation of being wholly “Indian.” I use this term because the claim is one that does not resonate with the central tenant of a holistic approach. Many intellectuals who are from urban communities, from mixed race, or European descent are fully capable of the task of understanding and embracing a First Nations philosophy as well as creating an intellectual community without being purely indigenous. By eliminating these forms of discourse Turner is doing a disservice to those both inside and outside of indigenous communities who are attempting to forward the goals of First Nation sovereignty and rights.
This stance is doubled by Turner’s claim that certain types of knowledge must be privileged and held to only indigenous communities. He suggests that only by protecting and keeping traditional values from European culture can they retain their purity. This again flies in the face of the central tenant of inclusion. By creating a separation that does not invite equal participation how can an indigenous philosophy grounded in ideals from both societies ever be understood without the application of both dialogues. If word warriors are to be the bridge between worlds then it requires that they share the knowledge of their own culture so that it can be understood. While there will be difficulties in translation between both world views it is impossible to create a space of negotiation without at least finding a common ground from which to work.
In answer to these failures by Turner I would instead suggest merely two qualifiers for word warriors and how these would implement best in Turner’s goal of creating a new indigenous philosophy. First is the knowledge of both worlds. Here I agree with Turner; the only way in which First Nations will be able to address the dominant culture is by understanding both it and how First Nations world views can be used within these frame works. Already this is being accomplished as many First Nation professionals inhabit areas where these two worlds are at play. Specific examples would include professors, lawyers, and creative writers. While art may not hold the key to an exact problem the creation of art that focuses on indigenous issues still allows the beginning and the sustainability of fruitful dialogues.
The second qualifier has more to do with intent than anything else. A respectful and complete understanding of First Nation goals and ideals and the willingness to participate in those same ideals as both an individual and a member of the community. This can be anything from fully living in an indigenous community to participating in those ceremonies that would engender a feeling of community between various parties. The reason for this lack of strict definition yet still having this component has more to do with the nature of First Nations interaction than any exacting need for word warriors to be held to a certain ideal.
The name of Turner’s book alludes to the practice of initial Europeans using the pipes they were given as carte blanche means to invade and manipulate First Nation people and customs. This practice came about both from misunderstanding of the importance of those pipes but also a need to gain an advantage over the First Nations. By dispelling the myths and misunderstandings First Nations culture may eventually be able to overcome the prejudices and cultural means through which they are dominated. Recognition of the ideals and world views that are apparent in the dominant culture by sharing the ritual and spiritual knowledge may help to overcome a great deal of the adverse situations that currently afflict both the First Nations people and the continued negotiation and settlement of treaty claims and rights.
Turner’s definition of word warriors is flawed and dangerous to the overall health of First Nations culture and its relationship to the dominant culture. When he ignores the spiritual aspect he undermines the central tenant of the First Nation world view and devalues the culture. By allowing the definition of word warriors to be expanded beyond Turner’s flawed view and disseminating a world view that would encompass more than what is currently viewed would greatly increase the chance for a renewed and rewarding relationship between First Nations and the dominant culture.
Dale Turner’s book This is not a Peace Pipe contains a very interesting concept in a type of indigenous academic called a word warrior. While the intention is very admirable and there are some very interesting aspects to the role the author envisions for word warriors Turner fails to create a philosophical argument for both the restrictions and validity of who can be a word warrior. On top of that he completely ignores indigenous spirituality to create this concept and despite his desire to have his philosophy seen as being outside Eurocentric ideals that he pigeon holes who may or may not be a word warrior and what knowledge they may share outside of indigenous culture shows that despite his claim Turner is still heavily affected by post-colonial thought and attitudes. Turner may be attempting to create a new way for First Nations to engage the dominant culture and refute what he refers to as White Paper philosophy through out the book but instead all he has done is create new ways to segregate First Nations from the rest of Canada as well as show a complete lack of understanding of the values that unite First Nations culture as a whole.
The concept of a word warrior is a fantastic idea. An individual who is knowledgeable in
both First Nations history and philosophy, as well as trained in European styled academics who is responsible for both defending and asserting First Nations rights and national sovereignty is an admirable and important job. To recognize that for First Nations to engage the dominant culture they must do so both in their own way but on the battlefields of law and academia is not necessarily a new concept but to lay out a plan that may encourage people to take up verbal arms is. Turner recognizes that both forms are important for the overall success of future negotiations. It is the implementation of this plan that requires a great deal more work as well as fully recognizing the importance of traditional values.
While First Nations have become more panistic it is important to recognize that even though there may be significant language and value system differences there are still recognizable and verifiable similarities that identify First Nations thought and philosophy. The most recognizable being that of the interconnectedness and inclusion of all things. While this may be represented by some philosophies as the Sacred Circle it is important to remember that this is merely a representation and not an entirely accurate one at that. It is helpful for ritual and symbolism but does not describe this concept as well as it might. The best analogy that I can think if that actually encompasses this philosophy would better be described as a globule of liquid in zero gravity. While it may mostly retain a circular shape it by no means is entirely spherical, nor does it have a particular point of power or importance. The whole is important, not any one facet. So to translate this to the world view of First Nations it means things such as spirituality are not a separate or ignorable part of existence. The spirit world is not a separate one from this, but in fact an active and vital part.
Turner does not address spirituality, and his reasons for avoiding it until just a few pages before the conclusion. His reason behind this is somehow privileging the spiritual knowledge yet for First Nations all acts are spiritual acts. Spirituality is not the sole province of a select few but the very ways in which an individual must live. Turner explains on page 115, “I am indigenous, yet I am not an indigenous philosopher; and therefore I ought not to place myself in the privileged position of explaining the meaning of indigenous spirituality.” This statement itself shows Turner’s lack of understanding that even without being an indigenous philosopher, that if he is engaging the role of creating a coherent and lasting Indigenous Philosophy then he is partaking of that spirituality as well.
To explain this let’s turn to Jordan Paper’s book Native North American Religious Traditions. In the introduction he speaks of many things that may be seen as general components of these practices but the one line that is most profound in this introduction is this from page 4: “These are religions of doing, of spontaneity, of taking active responsibility for one’s spiritual life and of encountering the spirits with one’s entire being.” Simply put, if you are to engage in Native philosophy you must also engage it from a spiritual, a holistic, point of view. To fail to do this will ultimately cause the entire theory to fail as it is not dealing with the entire issue. Turner fails to do this and offers up the excuse that since he does not have the specialized knowledge he cannot explain it. While there is specialized knowledge in certain aspects of ritual and knowledge, spiritual actions are not in of themselves limited to these specific times. On this principle Turner fails to recognize the importance of this central tenant of First Nations ideology.
To compound this error Turner then goes on to place qualifiers that eliminate a great many individuals from the role of a word warrior. The first qualifier is that “Aboriginal intellectuals must develop a community of practitioners within the existing dominant legal and political intellectual communities, while remaining an essential part of a thriving indigenous intellectual community.” (Turner 90) Essentially the claim is that to be a word warrior there has to be an outward representation of being wholly “Indian.” I use this term because the claim is one that does not resonate with the central tenant of a holistic approach. Many intellectuals who are from urban communities, from mixed race, or European descent are fully capable of the task of understanding and embracing a First Nations philosophy as well as creating an intellectual community without being purely indigenous. By eliminating these forms of discourse Turner is doing a disservice to those both inside and outside of indigenous communities who are attempting to forward the goals of First Nation sovereignty and rights.
This stance is doubled by Turner’s claim that certain types of knowledge must be privileged and held to only indigenous communities. He suggests that only by protecting and keeping traditional values from European culture can they retain their purity. This again flies in the face of the central tenant of inclusion. By creating a separation that does not invite equal participation how can an indigenous philosophy grounded in ideals from both societies ever be understood without the application of both dialogues. If word warriors are to be the bridge between worlds then it requires that they share the knowledge of their own culture so that it can be understood. While there will be difficulties in translation between both world views it is impossible to create a space of negotiation without at least finding a common ground from which to work.
In answer to these failures by Turner I would instead suggest merely two qualifiers for word warriors and how these would implement best in Turner’s goal of creating a new indigenous philosophy. First is the knowledge of both worlds. Here I agree with Turner; the only way in which First Nations will be able to address the dominant culture is by understanding both it and how First Nations world views can be used within these frame works. Already this is being accomplished as many First Nation professionals inhabit areas where these two worlds are at play. Specific examples would include professors, lawyers, and creative writers. While art may not hold the key to an exact problem the creation of art that focuses on indigenous issues still allows the beginning and the sustainability of fruitful dialogues.
The second qualifier has more to do with intent than anything else. A respectful and complete understanding of First Nation goals and ideals and the willingness to participate in those same ideals as both an individual and a member of the community. This can be anything from fully living in an indigenous community to participating in those ceremonies that would engender a feeling of community between various parties. The reason for this lack of strict definition yet still having this component has more to do with the nature of First Nations interaction than any exacting need for word warriors to be held to a certain ideal.
The name of Turner’s book alludes to the practice of initial Europeans using the pipes they were given as carte blanche means to invade and manipulate First Nation people and customs. This practice came about both from misunderstanding of the importance of those pipes but also a need to gain an advantage over the First Nations. By dispelling the myths and misunderstandings First Nations culture may eventually be able to overcome the prejudices and cultural means through which they are dominated. Recognition of the ideals and world views that are apparent in the dominant culture by sharing the ritual and spiritual knowledge may help to overcome a great deal of the adverse situations that currently afflict both the First Nations people and the continued negotiation and settlement of treaty claims and rights.
Turner’s definition of word warriors is flawed and dangerous to the overall health of First Nations culture and its relationship to the dominant culture. When he ignores the spiritual aspect he undermines the central tenant of the First Nation world view and devalues the culture. By allowing the definition of word warriors to be expanded beyond Turner’s flawed view and disseminating a world view that would encompass more than what is currently viewed would greatly increase the chance for a renewed and rewarding relationship between First Nations and the dominant culture.
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