w
Years of bones piled up. Cattle–calves, yearlings, the old–heaped 100 yards
northeast of the ranch house, upwind from the summer, southwest prevailing
winds. Mostly black baldies, a few Charolais. Old bones bleached white,
disintegrated. Some new bloated bodies rotting, nauseating. Others just sundried
hide stretched over skeletons. Drug here by tractor, the dead. Shipping fever, parasites,
drought, extreme weather.
A ranch’s history written in bones.
The bone is big, more than eighteen inches long. Isabella–
wolf, German shepherd, blue heeler, 80 pounds, lies in cool,
emerald, native grass, gnawing. What kind is it? From where?
Half hour hiking cross canyon, through junipers, tall grass, searching.
Nothing.
One week later, while driving through the gate, I see the neighbor’s
black lab gnawing on identical bone. Surprised, puzzled, I wonder
if it’s the same bone. After running the eighth mile back to my house,
I find the old bone, three pieces scattered in the grass. Not the same.
Neighbor tells me he hiked, searched.
Nothing.
no dead animal smell
meat scraps stuck to bone
we will never know
Here in the USA I hear so much complaining even about trivia and so little gratitude. I have also come to realize that gender still defines so much, limits what girls in particular think they can accomplish; girls still try to, as this essay notes, “make nice”, often failing to accomplish all they can be. It remains remarkable and a puzzle, as this essay notes, how some people can rise above negative circumstances while it destroys others.
I’ve been in the midst of moving for almost a year, yet am still not finished with that onerous task. My youngest son and family recently moved into the place I’ve called home since 1980. I bought a small house in the vicinity and have just settled in after spending four months painting, cleaning, and hauling box after box to my new dwelling. At the same time, I’ve been traveling back and forth to New Mexico busy with painting, cleaning, and remodeling my “retirement house.”
I’m tired. Am also experiencing emotions that I thought I was impervious to. I never perceived myself as somebody having an attachment to place, but a month or so before moving out of my old home, I began to feel nostalgic. There was so much I didn’t want to leave behind–the woods, birds nesting in bushes around the property as well as on top of…
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Very thought provoking. I definitely will look for the pamphlet by Abdullah Ocalan.
A few days ago I watched the movie An Unfinished Life starring Morgan Freeman, Robert Redford, and Jennifer Lopez. Though it was recommended as a sensitive psychological drama, and though on the surface level it criticizes (male) violence against women and animals, on a deeper level, it confirms the association of masculinity with violence, suggesting that violence is the way men resolve their problems with each other.
At the beginning of the film, Robert Redford, who lives on a ranch in Montana, picks up his rifle with the intention of shooting a bear who mauled his friend Morgan Freeman. This act of violence is stopped by local authorities who arrive to capture the bear. However, the bear is not removed to a more remote area, but rather is given to a local make-shift zoo where it is kept in a small cage. At the end of the movie, Redford frees…
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To honor the death of a best friend’s father, I did as she asked, made a Kiva loan. After looking through dozens of potential individuals and groups, I loaned 100 dollars to a group of women in the Democratic Republic of Congo to help fund their poultry raising operation. Even though it has been less than six months, they have paid back more than half, paid on time regularly.
Some loan opportunities require even less money. People often think their efforts don’t count, they are too small to make a difference. Everything each person does makes a difference for better or worse. Make a difference, act, speak out, contribute however you can to make our world a better place for all of us.
A delightful, grown-up retelling of the old story.
Today, I came up with a less patriarchal Garden of Eden story:
Endelyn (age 7): “When I think of my soul, in my name “fire-soul,” I think of a powerful wind.”
Me: “That makes sense, since one of the names in the Bible for God/ess is Ruach, which means “breath” or “wind”, but we call it the Holy Spirit. God/ess is also symbolized by the other elements: fire, air, and earth – like when she shaped Eve and Adam out of clay.”
Endelyn, “What? I don’t remember that story.”
Me: “Oh, ok, I’ll tell you.” ……
Here’s the part where I froze momentarily, thinking “how can I tell my children that misogynist failed mentor story? how? how?” <deep breath>
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swinging in the wind
temple bells
sing songs of joy
listen to birdsong
walk to barn
feed Rosie
photograph flowers
desert birds of paradise
lavender, catmint, Mexican hats, feather grass
early summer Joy
This just about says it all. Everything I could think of and more. Anyone who thinks it only happens in Latin America, Africa, other places, not in the USA, has not been following the news here.
A 16 year old girl was drugged and then gang raped by 33 men in Brazil. The police arrested the boyfriend as a suspect. A 30-second video recording the suffering of the girl was uploaded to social networks, as a display of the “omnipotent” power of patriarchy on women’s bodies; a power that not only destroys wombs or bladders but also unbearably wounds the soul.
A woman was attacked in Chile by her ex-husband. Her name is Nabila. He raped her and then ripped out her eyes, in a jealous rage, because she attended a party. Months after they broke up, she dared to have fun without him.
Each day the body of a murdered woman appears somewhere in Latin America. They appear in the middle of the road, in garbage dumps, wrapped in plastic bags, among the woods or on the shore, cut into pieces, impaled with…
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