Link to Novels

Tuesday, December 10, 2024

Nightbird

 


When I saw Nightbird on Americas Got Talent I lost it. 

Why? I've got two Cancer diagnosis and get what she was going through. 

Amazing acceptance as conveyed in her song.

Here is the link to her AGT audition.


Lyrics

I moved to California in the summer time
I changed my name thinking that it would change my mind
I thought that all my problems they would stay behind
I was a stick of dynamite and it was just a matter of time, yeah
Oh dang, oh my, now I can't hide
Said I knew myself but I guess I lied
It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay
If you're lost, we're all a little lost and it's alright
It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay
If you're lost, we're all a little lost and it's alright
It's alright, it's alright, it's alright, it's alright
I wrote a hundred pages but I burned them all
(Yeah, I burned them all)
I drove through yellow lights and don't look back at all
I don't look back at all
Yeah, you can call me reckless, I'm a cannonball (uh, I'm a cannonball)
Don't know why I take the tightrope and cry when I fall
Oh dang, oh my, now I can't hide
Said I knew what I wanted but I guess I lied
It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay
If you're lost, we're all a little lost and it's alright
It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay
If you're lost, we're all a little lost and it's alright
It's alright, it's alright, it's alright, it's alright
It's alright, it's alright, it's alright, it's alright
Oh-oh-oh-oh, it's alright
Oh-oh-oh-oh, it's alright
Oh-oh-oh-oh, it's alright
Oh-oh-oh-oh, it's alright
To be lost sometimes
It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay
If you're lost, we're all a little lost and it's alright
It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay
If you're lost, we're all a little lost and it's alright
It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay
If you're lost, we're all a little lost and it's alright
It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay
If you're lost, we're all a little lost and it's alright
It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay
If you're lost, we're all a little lost and it's alright

Friday, December 6, 2024

All the Sharps


 Mary Pan - Creative Nonfiction - True Stories - Well Told

“I sit on my bathroom floor, listening as my husband tries to make an appointment with his doctor, any doctor, for tomorrow. The charcoal tile, cool beneath me, marches between us in perfect lines. I remember picking out the tile slabs during our home remodel half a decade ago. All those decisions, the endless choices of kitchen drawer pulls, nursery paint color, tint of the hardwood floor stain—they make up this home.

He reluctantly describes his symptoms and history to the consulting nurse: severe depression, hospitalized for suicidality two months ago, not sure the meds are working, paranoia, thoughts that he would be better off dead. He is simultaneously annoyed by and apathetic about the nurse’s questions.

My bottom aches, sore from sitting so long on a firm surface. My stomach rumbles but I don’t feel hungry. I have spent the better half of this Sunday trying to convince my husband to get help and consider readmittance to the psychiatric hospital. His back is leaned up against our bathtub. I sit between him and our master bathroom door.

The nurse goes through the PHQ-9 and GAD-7 questionnaires, commonly used tools for measuring a person’s level of depression and anxiety. He’s answered the questionnaires dozens of times by now, daily yardsticks when hospitalized in a psychiatric ward. How often in the last two weeks have you been feeling down, depressed, or hopeless? Poor appetite or overeating? Feeling afraid, as if something awful might happen? As a primary care physician myself, I’ve administered these questionnaires to hundreds of patients; I have them memorized. Even though I can’t hear which question she asks, he glances in my direction with each inquiry. He uses the standard 0–3 scale to respond. “Uh, two. Three. One. Three, I guess.” He is weary in the answering. As if he were swatting at a fly that won’t leave him alone.

Realizing he does have active suicidal ideation, she screens for safety: Do you have a gun in the home? A plan for self-harm? Have you bought or collected anything to help you carry out this plan? I think of all the things he’s thrown himself into over the years: bamboo furniture, landscaping, marathons. He qualified for a duathlon world championship with Team USA years ago, before we had children. We both flew to Australia so he could compete. He marched in a parade with the other athletes, lined up behind their respective national flags. He ran and cycled and ran some more through the Newcastle streets, a road that wound alongside a tan, jagged rock face. I barely caught a glimpse of him as he sped by on his sleek bike, hugging the sheer cliffs.

The nurse tells him there are no appointments with psychiatrists until later this week. I feel a swell of rage at the nurse, at my husband’s psychosis, at a medical system—which I am a part of—that would drug him up, spit him out, and create the paranoid stranger sitting before me on our bathroom floor.

I grab the phone from his hand. “He needs an appointment tomorrow, with anyone. They can consult the psychiatrist on call.” I know how the system works, that any clinician can consult the psychiatrist about medical management or plan of care. I don’t know if the nurse knows that I know this, but something in the tenor of my voice must convey my desperation. “Okay, let me see what I can do.” 

He won’t meet my eyes, my husband. He won’t say a word to me as we wait. He has been convinced to seek help when all he wants is for it to end, to all be over. 

They find him an appointment for tomorrow. I let out a breath, just a sliver of a sigh. It escapes into the air between us, dissipating into a rift. He takes the phone, listens to the instructions. “Okay.” He replies as if he couldn’t be less all right with the plan, with the fact that he is still breathing, cornered by his wife, who stands between him and his exit from his bathroom, from his house, from his life.

He hands me the phone. “This is Ann,” she says, “one of the social workers. Your husband agrees not to harm himself tonight. I suggest you get everything sharp out of the house, anything he could use to hurt himself.” I can hear the apology in her voice, a bow of intonation I have become increasingly familiar with since my husband’s descent into severe depression.

“Okay. Yes. I’ll get them all out.” My mind races. Our whole house. The kitchen knives I use to cut the kids’ fruit in the morning. The razors I use to shave my legs. The blades to his power saw in the basement, the one he used to fashion a backyard swing from a two-by-four. Those tiny scissors I use to trim my eyebrows. The ones I’ve just caught him tracing along his forearm, sharp tip angled toward a pulsing artery, as I walked back into the bathroom after nursing our eight-month-old baby downstairs. “What are you doing?” I asked him, my pitch high. “Nothing,” he said, and shoved the scissors back into the cabinet drawer alongside my lip balm, my mascara.

I look at my husband. His gaze is down, his jaw defiant. “How can I . . . ?” My voice trails off, but the social worker interprets my question. “Just do the best you can. Get all the razors and the knives and the pills. You can only do the best you can.” She repeats it, and the mantra rolls over in my mind, through my empty gut.

I hang up the phone and he brushes by me, doesn’t look up. “I’m going to the appointment tomorrow alone.” He disappears out of our bathroom, leaving a weight in his wake. I say nothing. I find a bag and begin gathering all the razors, all the pills, all the sharps to hide away.”


Mary Pan is a writer and physician with a background in global health and narrative medicine. Her work has appeared in McSweeney’s, Intima, and elsewhere. A Tin House Nonfiction Winter Workshop and Harvard Media & Medicine alum, she was runner-up for AWP’s 2020 Kurt Brown Prize for Creative Nonfiction.


HAYV KAHRAMAN: LOOK ME IN THE EYES


 I visited the Frye Museum today, 5 December, 2024. 
A wonderful, challenging, insightful show that explores the artists various views of her personal history and perspectives.


From The Seattle Times 

"Hayv Kahraman: Look Me in the Eyes interrogates conditions of migration and immigration in the West. In her largest museum solo presentation to date, Kahraman (born 1981, Baghdad) draws upon her longstanding motif of heavily browed, lidded eyes to expose the simultaneous surveillance and erasure of othered bodies. The exhibition features all new work encompassing paintings, large-scale sculptures, and a deeply personal audio installation.

Kahraman’s artwork balances autobiographical and collective experiences informed by her upbringing as an Iraqi/Kurdish refugee in Sweden. These aspects coalesce within female figures that appear throughout the exhibition—near, but not quite, self-portraits. At times, blank, white eyes offset their faces, speaking to government tracking through iris recognition technology. Meanwhile, disembodied eyes appear among plants highlighting how Western systems of botanical classification support racist hierarchies. Kahraman visually unites these disparate elements through marbling, a centuries-old technique that forces her to relinquish artistic control. The patterns that emerge render each work unique—a potent metaphor for resisting assimilation and its insistence on sameness."

 



Thursday, December 5, 2024

Incredible Opportunity For Men With Cancer

On the Methow River

Retreats for men with Cancer

I will guess you know a man or someone they know who has cancer. Reel Recovery is an amazing organization that offers respite from the day-to-day worries and routine of dealing with Cancer.

I returned last night, ( September 2023 ) from three days of a stay at Sun Mountain Lodge, Washington, organized by Reel Recovery. 
The hotel, meals, and guides were/are all complementary. 
I had a beautiful room looking west towards the mountains. The facilitators told us they had never stayed at such a deluxe facility that had table service. ( only two people in Reel Recovery are paid – everyone else is a volunteer – the retreat facilitator gets travel expenses, lodging and a small daily stipend. 
We had seven river guides that were volunteers. The usual rate for a guide for a day runs from US$300.00 – US$500.00 ) 
Usually, Reel Recovery stays at quality places with buffet or family-style meals. 
 My experience was excellent and I plan on volunteering and passing the word as much as possible. 
 These retreats are for men. ( Similar retreats for women can be found on the Reeling & Healing and other websites. )

 This link is to the opening web page and the still available retreats across the states and the ones for Australians and New Zealanders. There will likely be another one in Washington next year ( 2024 ). 
Only four of us had a fly-fishing experience, which doesn’t matter as all the others had a great time in the river and enjoyed learning this style of fishing. It’s about getting involved in nature and learning the tranquility of being absent from worries. 

 “…The mission of Reel Recovery is to help men in the cancer recovery process by introducing them to the healing powers of the sport of fly-fishing, while providing a safe, supportive environment to explore their personal experiences of cancer with others who share their stories. 
 Our purpose is to address the growing demand for and limited supply of support services specifically tailored for men with cancer. Our overarching goal is to improve the lives of the men we serve. We seek to give these courageous men a respite from their day-to-day concerns so that they might gain a fresh outlook on their fight with cancer; we facilitate discussions that give them strength, encouragement and a new network of friends and support; we provide cancer information and resources to enable better management of their disease; and we provide them new skills to bring joy, enthusiasm and renewed hope as they confront the challenges of their cancer survivorship…” 

Tuesday, December 3, 2024

Tribal Leaders Intrigued by Talk of Immigrant Mass Deportations

 



By

 The Needling, Seattle's Only Real Fake News

"Despite wide criticism of President-elect Donald Trump’s plans, leaders of Native American tribes across the nation say they’re intrigued by his bold vision for deporting the massive boatloads of immigrants who’ve been terrorizing this land for centuries.  

“For more than 500 years now, these immigrants have not only been taking our jobs, but our land, our lives and our culture, so we’re more than deeply interested in how Trump is courageously planning to Make America Great Again by booting people like his family back to Scotland, Germany, and Slovenia,” said Duwamish Tribal Councilmember Sahale Brown. “We’re honestly pretty excited that there’s an American president who finally sees how much better this country would be if millions of European immigrants just got on a boat back to where they came from, preferably of the same size, structural integrity and trajectory as the Titanic.” 

Chumash elder Simi Alulquoy said they couldn’t agree more. 

“It would no doubt be a huge undertaking, but we’re willing to hear how this would work and however we might be able to help,” said Alulquoy. “We assume that the mass deportations wouldn’t include anyone brought here involuntarily by immigrants or anyone of Mexican descent since most of them have more DNA indigenous to this continent than a rosacea-faced Steve Bannon could ever hope for.”

At press time, tribal leaders said they might be open to immigrants staying if they decide to open up reservations."

Sunday, December 1, 2024

Rare footprints suggest two of our prehistoric ancestors may have met

 

Around 1.5 million years ago, four walkers traversed the muddy shore of a lake, leaving footprints. If they did not cross paths, they would have missed each other narrowly — probably by hours if not minutes.

What makes the discovery of these footprints so remarkable is the identity of those who left them.

Using innovative technology, researchers have analyzed the prints in detail, concluding that the footprints were made by two distinct species of hominins — our prehistoric relatives — at around the same time.

While one set of tracks belonged to an ancient primate, Paranthropus boisei, the other footprints were left behind by three Homo erectus individuals, an archaic human species, researchers believe. Their findings were published in the journal Science on Thursday.

Scientists say that the footprints, unearthed in present-day Kenya, are thefirst clear evidence that these two species lived alongside each other in a shared habitat — a finding that raises questions about how they interacted. The answer, not yet known, could further our understanding of how our ancestors evolved.

“This is the first time that we know they were living alongside each other,” said Kevin Hatala, a paleoanthropologist at Chatham University who helped excavate the footprints and analyze them using 3D documentation, in a phone interview. “They probably would have been aware of one another’s existence, living in such close proximity to one another. That raises some interesting questions about competition and coexistence.”

A crew of paleontologists and excavators unearthed the footprints in 2021 near Lake Turkana, in northern Kenya, where they were buried beneath layers of sand and volcanic rock deposited around 1.5 million years ago.

By analyzing the shape of the feet that left the imprints, the study’s authors found that the sets of tracks belonged to individuals from different hominin species. “They appear to be walking in slightly different fashions. They’re both bipeds. They’re both moving adeptly. But there are still subtle differences in how they walk,” Hatala said.

The analysis suggested that the bipeds — meaning they walked upright on two legs — were probably adults. One of them, the ancient primate Paranthropus boisei, was walking at around 4 mph, a modestly fast pace, according to an analysis of their stride length.

Within a few hundred thousand years of the encounter, the Paranthropus boisei would be extinct for reasons that are still unknown. By contrast, the Homo erectus species persisted for another million years — most likely becoming a predecessor of the modern human being. Both species are hominins, members of the same human lineage that split from apes’ ancestors more than 6 million years ago.

Craig Feibel, a geologist at Rutgers University who was a co-author on the study and helped date the findings, said the walkers left sharply defined footprints on a moist surface that was gently buried by a layer of sand soon after, before the surface had time to dry out and crack. That immediate burial allowed scientists to estimate that the tracks were left within hours of each other.

Unlike bones, fossil footprints cannot be transported by water, predators or scavengers — meaning scientists can confidently pinpoint them to a precise location.

There was already evidence that the two species overlapped in time, but no scientist has ever presented such direct proof that they also shared the same habitat, the scientists behind the study say. Reexamining similar footprints found in the same region using the same techniques revealed other sites at which different species of hominin also crossed paths, the authors said.

Thursday’s findings also raises a question: How did these two distinct species of prehistoric human relatives interact?

The answer, which scientists do not know, could one day shed light on the evolutionary path taken by humanity’s ancestors.

The study authors hypothesize that, for much of the time that the species coexisted, they consumed different diets. While the primate was well adapted to chewing vegetables, the Homo erectus was more of a hunter-gatherer. That offers a clue — but not much more — that they may not have been in fierce competition for resources at the time.

Feibel said the lake shore traversed by these two individuals would have been hot and seasonally rainy, similar in climate to the modern Serengeti in Africa. It was a plentiful environment, full of fauna and flowing with water, which the walkers would have shared with a diverse plethora of prehistoric creatures, including pigs, antelopes, saber-tooth cats and giant giraffes. Other tracks found on the same surface were made by bird, bovid or equid creatures, the study said. The bird tracks were “unusually large,” with the largest exceeding 10 inches wide.

It’s possible that subsequent changes in the climate pitted the Paranthropus boisei and the Homo erectus species into stronger competition as depleting resources forced our ancestors to adapt toward riskier, higher-reward food acquisition strategies, the study authors said, referencing existing research into the evolution of throwing, endurance running and changing diets in our prehistoric relatives.

Hatala said it was “definitely possible” that interactions between the two species “would have had some influence on the evolution of Homo erectus.”

Fred Spoor, a professor of paleontology at London’s Natural History Museum who was not involved in the research, said the study presented a good working hypothesis that two species coexisted at this lakeside.

“That is not to say that they were there to congregate and shake hands,” he said in a phone interview. Observing how chimpanzees and gorillas interact in Central Africa might be a good point of reference for imagining an encounter between these two hominin species, he added.

Ultimately, the scope and nature of any interaction between Paranthropus boisei and Homo erectus is unknown at this stage. However, Thursday’s findings align with our understanding that early human evolution was a messy and uneven process — with several species of hominins overlapping chronologically to form a family tree with multiple offshoots rather than a single evolutionary chain.

“It was a much more complicated, bushy affair, with multiple branches,” Spoor said. For most of the last 6 million years, different species of hominin overlapped, he added, with the last Neanderthals dying out just 38,000 years ago — a blink in prehistoric time. “The situation that we as humans are in, that we are alone at the moment, is rather unusual.”


Friday, November 29, 2024

Buffalo Bill's Irma Hotel


Down memory lane. 

When I wandered around Wyoming a few years back I stayed in the hotel Buffalo Bill built in Cody - "The Irma" named after his youngest daughter. 

The back of the bar was a gift from Queen Victoria. 

I had a buffalo steak - apparently they don't serve that anymore. 

I moved from there to his home owned, and refurbished,  by a retired Phoenix  copper. 

Great walkabout.



After Five Generations, a Family Gave Back the Treasures in Its Closet

 

The descendants of a 19th-century federal official decided to return a prized collection of heirlooms to a descendant of a Lakota leader, Chief Spotted Tail.
( Photos Below )

By Julia Jacobs - NY Times 29 November

"The beaten-up suitcase had been in the Newell family for more than a century, passed from dusty closet to dusty closet and pulled out every now and then for guests.

They would unlatch the metal clasps and take out a fringed shirt adorned with careful beadwork, a weathered pair of moccasins and an elaborate headdress that trailed eagle feathers down to the floor.

Passed along with the suitcase was the story told by their 19th-century ancestor, Major Cicero Newell, who said he had received the clothing from the well-known Lakota leader, Chief Spotted Tail, during his stint as an agent for the federal government’s Indian affairs office beginning in the late 1870s in what is now South Dakota.

The suitcase had been passed down five generations, ending up in the guest room closet of Newell’s great-great-grandson, James, a retired salesman living in a small town in Washington State.

But when it came time for James Newell to think about passing it along again, the sixth generation had a different idea.

“‘Well, Dad, why don’t we try giving it back?’” James Newell, 77, recalled his son, Eric, asking when the topic came up several years ago at the dinner table.

The older Newell thought about it. There was the issue of whom they would give it back to, but that could be worked out.

“It felt right,” James Newell said.

The Newells’s suitcase is part of an untold number of Native artifacts kept in attics and closets across America, their origin stories often clouded by decades-long games of intergenerational telephone.

A 1990 federal law set up a protocol for museums and other institutions to repatriate Native human remains, funerary objects and other cultural items in consultation with tribes and descendants. But that law doesn’t cover the artifacts found in your grandfather’s basement or your aunt’s cupboard.

As younger generations inherit these possessions, they’re more likely to have an impulse toward giving them back, repatriation experts say. Some are motivated by a sense of ethical responsibility, some by practical considerations, and some because they have less interest in the “cabinet of curiosities” traditions of earlier times.

“Priority No. 1 was to get it into the hands of somebody who is going to take care of it and maintain it,” said Eric Newell, 46, who noted that it had been his “great-great-great-grandfather” who had the original connection to it.

So his father started doing research on the old suitcase in the closet, starting with the man who had asked that it be passed down to the firstborn son of each generation. (It had gone to James Newell, a second son, because his older brother had been wary of keeping the heirlooms in his trailer in the mountains, where he had worked as a logger.)

As with many family stories, the exact circumstances of how Cicero Newell came into possession of the heirlooms are somewhat ambiguous, so the Newells relied on what they had been told by previous generations and what they could find online.

A Civil War veteran from Michigan, Cicero Newell was appointed what was then termed a U.S. Indian agent — an employee tasked with communicating between the federal government and tribes. He was stationed in what is now reservation land of the Rosebud Sioux Tribe.

It was a tumultuous time in the region: The U.S. government had recently seized the Black Hills, flouting the treaty that had promised tribes control over the vast Great Sioux Reservation.

Newell, who later wrote extensively about his time on the reservation, described how he came to admire the Lakota leaders he met. His tenure at times drew criticism; some newspaper accounts accused him of acting as a pawn for Lakota officials such as Chief Spotted Tail. One article criticized him in harsh personal terms for helping spread the word about a Sun Dance ceremonyput on by the chief.

In his writings, Newell expressed a particular affection for Chief Spotted Tail, a storied tribal spokesman and negotiator who was shot and killed in 1881 by a member of his tribe. Newell wrote that when he passed on to the afterlife, “I hope that one of the first persons I may meet there will be my dear old friend Spotted Tail.”

What, exactly, Chief Spotted Tail thought of Newell is less clear from the historical record. Newell wrote that during his time as a U.S. Indian agent, he had successfully convinced Spotted Tail and other Lakota parents to send their children to a new federal boarding school out east.

In recent years, research into Native American boarding schools has more fully revealed the neglect and abuse that many children endured in them, as well as their targeted efforts to erase Indigenous students’ cultures to achieve assimilation.

In 1880, the year before he died, Chief Spotted Tail traveled to the school in Carlisle, Pa. Newspaper articles from around that time and letters kept in government archives indicate that he had been unhappy with the school’s approach to punishment and grew distraught over the sickness and deaths of schoolchildren.

For James Newell, an idea of what to do with the suitcase began to take shape in 2020.

Newell, who had been researching for more than a year, was looking on the website of the Rosebud Sioux Tribe when he came upon a familiar name: John Spotted Tail, chief of staff to the tribal president. He reached him over the phone and told him what was inside his family’s closet.

“At first I kind of thought it was a crank call,” John Spotted Tail, 69, recalled.

But as he listened to Newell’s story — after explaining to him that he was five generations removed from Chief Spotted Tail — he began to grow interested.

Newell was eager to give the contents of the suitcase to a descendant of the Lakota chief but wary of driving it across the country. Federal law prohibits the possession of eagle feathers without special dispensation, but the government allows exceptions for Native Americans because of their religious and cultural significance. Newell was worried that if he were to be stopped on the road, his possession of the headdress could land him in jail.

John Spotted Tail’s curiosity was piqued by Newell’s story. When he came home from work, he asked his wife if they had enough money to travel to Washington.

They got in the car the next morning, supplied with lunch meat and bread, and began a 1,400-mile drive to the home of a complete stranger.

“We’re halfway there and I look at John and I said, ‘What if these people aren’t real?” said Spotted Tail’s wife, Tamara Stands and Looks Back-Spotted Tail.

But as soon as the couple arrived in La Center, Wash., the Newells opened the suitcase for them. In addition to the clothing, it contained a bison horn and braided hair that could have belonged to a horse or a person.

“We looked at each other and we said, ‘Is this real? 144 years?’” she said. “We were just kind of in awe.”

After spending three days with the Newells, the Spotted Tails drove back to the Rosebud Reservation with the suitcase in the trunk of their Volkswagen Passat.

There was a tribal protocol they needed to follow to determine where the belongings would end up. They consulted Lakota spiritual leaders and cultural experts, participated in a ceremony surrounding the clothing and consulted other Spotted Tail relatives.

Some were skeptical about the story from the Newells; others wanted to see the items kept with the family. John Spotted Tail favored putting it in a museum, where visitors could learn about the Lakota leader.

For several years, he kept the suitcase in his home, but the responsibility began to weigh on him. “It was hard to even leave home or go anywhere because they were here,” John Spotted Tail said.

He and his wife called the South Dakota State Historical Society in Pierre, where curators wanted to feature the century-and-a-half old heirlooms prominently and assured them that they would be well preserved. And the museum was less than a two-hour drive from the reservation, making it accessible to local relatives who wanted to visit.

The suitcase, and the story of how it got here, was a historical society director’s dream.

The director, Ben Jones, looked through old photographs and read Newell’s writings to try to find evidence indicating that the Lakota chief had given the one-time Indian agent such a significant gift.

None surfaced, but it was clear that the two men had crossed paths, living in the same area for a couple of years and navigating the conflict around the U.S. government’s westward expansion.

In May, the Spotted Tails formally transferred the suitcase and its contents to the historical society at a ceremony involving Lakota prayers at a middle school in Pierre. The museum is hoping to put the heirlooms on display late next year.

“They became colleagues, and then friends,” Jones said of Newell and Chief Spotted Tail, “and five generations later, their families were wondering what to do with these artifacts.”

John Spotted Tail, center, and his wife, Tamara Stands and Looks Back-Spotted Tail, left, examine the suitcase passed down through the family of Eric Newell, right.Credit...






A portrait of Chief Spotted Tail, circa 1880.Cicero Newell, circa the 1860s.Credit...
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