Middle and youngest have woken up 6:44AM on the dot the last three days. We’re professionals though, so we roll with it. I fried up some sausage potatoes and onions. Mom handled the eggs, with the help of oldest Chay. He’s ambitious about the kitchen help. Big developments in the sour-dough starter world. We are off and running. Starter is smelling like a tasty beer, nice and bubbly. Its amazing how fermented stuff talks to you through smell. That just through eating, you have got an education in what the food should smell like, and how that information guides you to the end result. You smell you’re way to good bread, kraut, beer, whatever.
I finished Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee last night. It’s just crushing. Have to use stoic heart to fight back enveloping depression. Remember the Ghost Dance. Time will tell. I could say a hundred things, rant about good and evil, but I think I will try to hold my tongue, so that it doesn’t betray me or disgrace others.
One of the major conclusions I will note, is the similarity between how the US treated natives here and what Nazi-Eugenics type ideology did in WW2. This scientific form of human oppression/torture has a long history of development, which I was well aware of, but was horribly reinforced by Dee Brown’s first rate book. What’s truly frightening is making the connections to our currently existing eugenics program. The US policy towards Indians was to put them in ghettos (reservations), make them dependent on government supplies (welfare), use political and social divide and conquer strategies to undermine internal and existing leadership and culture(BLM, COINTELPRO, CIA) and ultimately provoke the people into a confrontation to then initiate more harassment and regulations. All that sounds pretty familiar if you pay attention to current events.
From reddit, read about this heroic Iraqi guy Najih Shaker Al-Baldawi who hugged an ISIS suicide bomber right as he blew up, killing them both, but saving many others. I read the headline to Britney. “Why” She asked.
“Courage,” I said, with more gravel then probably needed. I read the end of the headline again, “Saving the targeted shrine and countless lives.”
“Right,” Britney said.
“Yeah, that’s like asking why do fire-fighters go rushing into burning buildings, why do cops do what they do, why nurses, like you, do what you do.” She got my point. I can sense the early morning, domestic malaise has us all a little slow. I can feel negativity creeping up on the borders, wondering if there’s room to play here.
There’s not. There’s really not. We enjoy our breakfast. Talk some more. Recognize the need for personal responsibility. We debate one of my personal beliefs, that before asking someone else if they know where a particular item is, that the person should have made a decent effort to discover it on their own. As usual, Brit resists at first. I don’t mind though. It’s a well worn groove. I present her case for her, offer my rebuttal as well, it’s the old rapport-report dichotomy, we realize both views are necessary, look yourself, but if you know where something is and see the other person looking, or they happen to ask after and while they make their good efforts, then why not help them out.
Now it’s 9:12AM. I’m in the writing lab. Coffee is hot. Belly is full. It is time to edit. I think I’m going back to Arms in Ankeny. A short story I paid to have edited and have almost done. Time to get it done for real! Time to make my book Stories From My Basement, a reality!!! Hope you Artist-Parent-Warriors are transcending the day. Salute.