Feb 19, 2011 | Honoring Others, Tlingit Culture Accentuated, Uncategorized |
Della Cheney explains the Ravenstail robe design she created and wove as a ceremonial gift for her daughter who graduated from law school - the design includes the ANS letters in the top border
Born and raised in Kake, Alaska, Della Cheney has been residing in Juneau for the past couple of years. Last Thursday of last week, February 10th, she gave a presentation at the University of Alaska Southeast in Juneau on cedar bark, spruce root and Ravenstail weaving. She is the first of 6 artist presentations sponsored by the UAS this Spring. (Pardon me for being late with this entry; I would have posted this blog entry earlier, but for some reason my “WordPress” program had been acting up for a week until today.)
UAS students, staff, faculty and the general public attended the presentation
Two years ago in July 2009, I had the privilege of learning how to weave a cedar bark hat when Della was teaching a class at the Teslin Cultural Center (Yukon Territory, Canada) during part of their Celebration 2009 activities. I happened to be there because I was teaching a Chilkat/Ravenstail class. During the first day of the class, while everyone was first experiencing the texture of cedar bark (for some the very first time), Della spoke of the spiritual connection between humans and the world about them including the bark of trees. She spoke of the spirituality and attitude of the Native people when we harvest our materials and supplies for creating the functional things that were common in our every days lives many years ago, and how these things went by the wayside when we were adjusting to the Western ways of doing things and trying to integrate the two separate values which often times clashed. Della spoke of things that had nothing to do with the technique of cedar bark weaving, but had everything to do with the lifeways, spirituality and attitude which all goes into creation. I listened intently. In all the native art classes I had ever taken over the years, whether taught by Native or non-Native, I had not come across anyone who spoke in a language that I understood; I could relate. This resonated with me. And when I looked about the room at the fellow students, I could see they were truly listening and were reminded of our innate spirituality born within each of us. So from then on, I knew that anytime Della would be doing a presentation of any kind, I would do my best to be in her audience as here at UAS. I want to hear more about the art of spirituality in the spirituality of creation.
Della explains the Alaska Native Sisterhood (ANS) design on the traditional "Koogeina" (sash) also reflected in the cedar bark hat (in her left hand) being woven by her student Eileen Wagner
The ANS Koogeina and hat amongst bundles of split spruce roots and maidenhair fern prepared for weaving baskets
After the presentation, Della Cheney and her student of basket weaving, Eileen Wagner, explain weaving patterns to audience members
Cedar bark roses, small and large are amongst the traditional cedar bark baskets and bundles of prepared split cedar
I am almost done with my hat that I started in her class.. I spent about three 10-hour days weaving the hat. It has been on my wooden hat form for almost two years. I haven’t touched it since the class. However, Della hosts a weekly Sunday afternoon artists’ gathering for folks who want company while they are weaving cedar, spruce roots, Ravenstail or Chilkat; or they are bead working or sewing. I am going to learn how to end the hat and I am excited. Stay tuned; once I complete the hat, I will post it as an entry on this blog.
A couple of wooden hat forms show signs of being well-used. The hat form in the foreground was hand carved of one piece of red cedar by Della's brother and well-known artist, the late Norman L. Jackson, Sr. from Keex Kwaan ( Kake, Alaska). Eileen Wagner talks art with Ernestine Hayes, organizer of the UAS "Art of Place" artist presentations
The “Art of Place” presentations sponsored by the UAS, are held at the Juneau campus in the Glacier View room. (Where’s the Glacier View room? It is in the building that has the library, however, the Glacier View room is kitty corner from the library; it is at the top floor right hand side. When entering the building from the parking lot, the room is to the far right – once in the building, ask for directions.)
All presentations are open to the public; they are all held on Thursdays and begin at 10am to noon followed with potluck desserts to provide audience members to schmooze with the artist!
Here’s the list of artists:
* Della Cheney (with Eileen Wagner) started the series off last week with her presentation on Ravenstail and basket weaving.
* I will be doing my presentation next week on Thursday, February 24th.
* Ed Kunz is scheduled to demonstrate silver carving on Thursday, March 17th.
* Doug Chilton woodcarving on Thursday, March 24th.
* Florence Sheakley beading and blankets on Thursday, April 7th
* Helen Watkins gathering and preserving foods on Thursday, April 21st
I will be demonstrating Chilkat weaving on my latest robe – which hopefully will be 2/3 completed by then.
I will also be giving a power point presentation on some of my robes and paintings.
Also including a bit of storytelling as well.
If you have time, come on out and support our local artists.
Feb 13, 2011 | Honoring Others, Latest Art Projects, Tlingit Culture Accentuated |
Patrick Gilbert Mills
It is one of those unexpected passings; our cousin Pat Mills passed away a couple of weeks ago. I’ve been thinking of his free spirit, a kind of happiness that I call “happy boy” that showed up especially in his Native dancing or while fishing on the Mary Joanne. I got to thinking about the vessel with a lifetime of history quietly incubating at the dock in Hoonah. I remembered the first and last time I was on the boat: August 1979 on the West side of Glacier Bay called Dundas Bay. My Aunt Katherine Mills, Aunt Sue Belarde, mother Irene Lampe and all the cousins went aboard three vessels from Hoonah to Dundas Bay – it was a rare and glorious sunny day.
Dundas Bay is a part of Glacier Bay National Park which still legally belongs to the four clans in Hoonah who have claimed Glacier Bay as part of their homeland. The four clans are the Wooshkeetaan (Shark), the Kaagwaantaan (Wolf), the Chookaneidee (Bear) and the T’akdeintaan (Black-legged Kittywake; that’s our clan). Auntie Katherine Mills, who was the eldest of my aunts and uncles with my mother as the youngest of her siblings, said that every year her mom and dad, aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters and cousins would set up camp and gather subsistence foods of the land and sea in Dundas Bay. (Of course, this included gathering wild strawberries and the unique nagoon berry!) She reminded us that Grandma Sarabia’s maiden name was Wilson who had several brothers including Shorty and Mike Wilson. All grandma’s brothers were avid hunters and fisherman. (Mike Wilson also enjoyed gardening. My father and I too!)
As Pat anchored the Mary JoAnne in the bay, Aunt Katherine pointed to two peaks of the Eastern mountain range and explained they were the landmarks for the right place for the nagoon berry patch and where the family used to camp. She said we will go through the trees in the direction between the two peaks and when we come out of the trees there would be a big meadow in a big valley. We took small skiffs to the steep shoreline. I remember how quickly the water moved past even while waiting on board the MaryJoanne; it just proved how swift and strong the river was flowing into the sea even though we could not see the mouth of the river. The place smelled clean and fresh and there was a feeling of true wilderness; the land was brand new.
Surrounded by dark-gray mountains, we indeed came out of the treeline to the berry patch in a valley about 3 to 5 miles long and a mile wide. Imagine a berry patch being THAT big! We spent the entire late morning into the late afternoon picking the best nagoon berries ever! At the end of the day, most of us had picked two 5-gallon buckets – and these berries were about as far away from mankind as you could get so the plants were not just the 8″-high plant we find around the Juneau area; they were 18″ high, like up to my knee, I kid you not! The berries were as big as a man’s thumb! I have thought about that berry patch every year since. If digital cameras were invented then, there’d be lots of photos smeared all over Facebook. Alas, this was almost 32 years ago; we didn’t even have an inkling of digital stuff back then!
Anyway, let’s get back to Pat. What about the Chilkat robe image?
A couple of days ago, as I was thinking about Pat, his wife Karen, the FV Mary Joanne, the berry-picking trip, my aunties and all those from our family who have passed away, I suddenly got this image in my mind: A Chilkat robe in honor of Pat Mills. I want to design a robe that incorporates our T’akDeinTaan clan emblem the Black-legged Kittywake flying around the FV Mary Joanne. When am I going to weave the robe? I don’t know. I am just in the stages of designing and sketching it. Maybe I’ll do a painting of the robe?
Who’s Pat Mills? Here’s his obituary – written by several nieces and nephews with the assistance of his wife, Karen:
“Patrick Gilbert Mills was born May 6, 1947 at the Mill’s home (“down the house’) in Hoonah, Alaska to Gilbert and Katherine Mills. He was a life-long resident of Hoonah. He died January 24 at the Alaska native Medical Center in Anchorage with Karen, his wife of 34 years at his side and surrounded by family and friends.
Pat was a devoted member of the Russian Orthodox Church along with the rest of his siblings. All being competitive, the boys were always challenging each other to be the best alter boy. Needless to say, Pat usually won.
He is a member of the TakDeinTaan Clan and represented the clan at many ceremonies throughout SE Alaska. Pat was the house leader for the Kaa Shaayi hit, head house and is also from Tax’Hit, Snail House. His Tlingit name is Yiskeiwdusa. He loved to dance and was a lively participant at memorial parties and Celebration. Pat is Wooshkeetaan Yadi and Kaagwaantaan dachxan.
Pat was a member of the second graduating class in Hoonah in 1965. He was voted the Most Outstanding Player of the first Hoonah Braves basketball team in 1964. His love of basketball extended to many Gold Medal Tournaments. He was a strong supporter of many Hoonah City Schools sports events. He served in the U.S. Army from 1966-68. As a member of the Signal Corps, he was stationed in Germany. After his discharge, Pat returned to college, earning his Associates from the University of Alaska Fairbanks.
He married the love of his life, Karen Singleton, in a beautiful ceremony outside his grandparent’s cabin in Excursion Inlet on July 31, 1976. A wonderful time was had by all. Each year Pat and Karen always made time for each other to celebrate their wedding anniversary even though it was in the middle of fishing season. Pat and Karen, Karen and Pat — the names just go together after all these years.
Pat lived the fisherman’s dream from birth. He first fished with his father and then progressed through the ranks starting as bull cook up to Captain. He fished everything before everything went limited entry. Pat fished for other Captains including Jacob Pratt Sr., Richard Bean Sr., Warren Sheakley Sr., Dan Sharclane, Sr., Richard McKinley, and Bobby Duncan. Later, he operated the F/V Alberta before buying the F/V Mary Joanne. Pat seine fished, crabbed, long-lined, and trolled. In the past few years he and Karen enjoyed their new skiff and took many family members for rides and fishing trips.
He strongly believed in the traditional and cultural values of the Tlingit Nation, from the gathering and harvesting foods from our land to the roles played by uncles and elders. He took the time to teach and share with others our culture and history. He had such interesting stories about what Grandma Mary Sarabia and Grandpa Juan Sarabia said and did in daily interactions with others. He said, “We could tell who was an important visitor by which snacks we had to set out.” He and Karen have been very proud supporters of the annual “School Ku.eex.” They donated time and foods harvested by their hands. Pat spent a lot of his time fishing and hunting and was generous, sharing his bounty with elders and other family members. He loved kahaakw and often made jars of it to share with others.
He was intensely interested in preserving the family’s Tlingit history. He worked to preserve old tapes and videos of songs, stories and dances and shared them with other family members. Pat was concerned about Tlingit land rights. He wrote many letters to his legislators, Sealaska, Huna Totem and the Juneau Empire. He was not shy about letting people know what he thought and why.
Along with his grandparents, parents, siblings and many cousins, Pat spent his summers, and some winters in Excursion Inlet. Later, he and Karen built a cabin on their land at Excursion Inlet. They called it ‘the nest’ because you had to climb 56 steps to reach it.
Pat is survived by his wife, Karen S. Mills, sisters, Eleanor Moritz, Rosemary (Tom) Jimboy, Judy Mills, Kathy (John Marvin, first cousins, considered and raised as sisters due to the loss of their father when they were very young, Linda Belarde, Edna (Sam) Lamebull, and Daphne (Frank) Wright, brothers, Tony, George, tom, Mike, Chris, Stuart, and Jeff, adopted daughters, Margaret and Carol Haube, numerous nieces nephews cousins, and many others who called him “Uncle Pat” and “Grandpa”, aunts Irene Lampe, Helen Sarabia, Marie Shodda, and Theresa Howard and uncle John Howard. He was preceded in death by his grandparents, Mary Wilson Brown Sarabia, Paul Brown and Juan Sarabia, Albert and Emma Mills, his parents, Katherine (Brown) and Gilbert Mills, brother Gilbert “Butch” Mills, sister Phyllis Mills Bean, aunts Sue Belarde and Margaret McKinley and uncles Ed and Bobby Sarabia, Bill Lampe and James McKinley, and his beloved Salt and Pepper.
Services were held at the Tlingit and Haida Community Center in Juneau on Friday, January 28th and a service in Hoonah at the school on Saturday, January 29.”
Young relatives created a Facebook page in honor of Pat, click here to view continuing contributions of photo images and read: “We Love Pat Mills”
Jan 17, 2011 | Honoring Others |
Scraping down to the clean bone with no trace of hair or meat
I had no idea we’d have a head-hunter in our family. Just goes to show ya never know what kind of in-laws you’re gonna get. Heads come to him by way of ancient road kill, hiking trails, friends and family who drop them by the door or ship them to him, or he orders heads off the World Wide Web. When I first met him a few years ago, I thought he was just the lead singer in the band, Knucka and a house-painter on the sideline. Then last year when I visited my daughter and he, I saw sculptures on the walls I wasn’t sure about – I’d never seen anything like them; where were these from? who made them and how?
What's cooking out there in 20 degree weather?
It’s a New Year. Chris Haas was itching to get to work on another new sculpture, but there were no clean heads available. However, he had a few heads sitting out back that needed to be cleaned, so he fired up his black cauldron. So what if it’s 20 degrees out there? You gotta do what you gotta do!
Very, very old left overs
He boiled the heads for a few hours until the hardened skin became workable. Every piece of hair, skin and left over meat must be scraped clean. Using a sharp, strong knife, he wears thick leather gloves and stands up wind from the steaming cauldron. Kids, don’t do this without supervision.
Kind of smells like something's stewing but don't want any, thank you
Hold on now, just about done - just gotta clean behind the ears
Enlightened heads bask in setting sun
Want to see what these heads will look like once Chris is done with them? You must check out Christopher Haas’ new website at Haastyle Art. In fact, if you come across any heads you’d like to see put to creative use and supports a young family, Chris is a fair headhunter and accepts donations or will pay a fair price.
Jan 5, 2011 | Honoring Others, Tlingit Culture Accentuated |
Elder Cyril George presents at the Native American Month "lunch-box" presentations on the Tlingit at the Sealaska Corporation's board room
Back in 1972, Gilbert Lucero began an Alaska Native teen center called the “Totem Center.” He coordinated various events pertaining to the arts and cultural life ways of the Tlingit, introducing many of us young ones to things we were not even aware of like: being Native – what does this mean? Back then, there was very little awareness of even having Native blood, let alone doing “Native” ways of living. Gilbert’s Totem Center instigated classes in Tlingit language and culture with elders such as A.P. Johnson (Sitka), Cy Peck, Sr (Angoon)., Ed Kunz, Sr. (Juneau) and Harry K. Bremner, Sr.(Yakutat). Gilbert also coordinated overnight field trips to the smaller communities like Sitka, Haines and Angoon. Gilbert knew many of us had never been exposed to any other towns much less other ways of living. Gilbert escorted a group of us teens on a flight to Angoon (“the last stronghold of Tlingit culture…”) It was during one of these cultural trips where I first met the graciousness of Cyril and Judy George.
Barbara Cadiente Nelson introduces Cyril with a long life-time list of his accomplishments
As I thought about writing this blog on Cyril, I calculated how old Cyril was back in 1972. If he is 88 years old in 2010, he was born in 1922. In 1972 he was only 50 years old (that’s younger than I). I remember the solid, graceful, unassuming disposition of the man with his equally-matched wife sitting together against the window that looked across the street towards another row of homes along the beachfront. Listening to Cyril speak during this presentation, I still experience the power of his soul and personality now as even then. Of course, there are a few more aging lines, some weight to his shoulders and his speaking abilities have slown down a bit, yet he continues to begin his presentation, as usual, with a “funny” – something to chuckle about as we settle in to what he is about to lead us into.
A "Wolf" Chilkat robe woven by the late Jennie Thlunaut, watches over audience members Irene Cadiente, Ronalda Cadiente, Ethel Lund, Selina Everson, Nora and Dick Dauenhauer
Cyril presented historical accounts and clan stories of the bombardment of Angoon over 150 years ago. He mentioned there was a documentary film created about this event. I looked about the room and wondered how many of us could understand and feel the grief carried through generations to the present day. I believe none of us in the room could truly relate to an entire village being destroyed because we haven’t experienced anything personally to that magnitude in our lifetime…(yet!)
Many scholars, students, artists and locals - just enough room for everyone to have a seat - except for Clay Good!
The Juneau Empire ran a story about Cyril’s presentation. Apparently, there were many responses to the article on line whereby a few readers were irritated at the “old history” that needed to be “gotten over.” This lead to folks becoming offended. You may read at: http://www.juneauempire.com/stories/121410/loc_756389469.shtml
SHI's Videographer Kathy Dye has been taping all the Native American Heritage Month's lectures sponsored by Sealaska Heritage Institute - you may visit SHI's website for more info.
Tlingit writer/performer Ishmael Hope wrote an excellent personal bio on Cyril George. Ishmael is always worth reading. Ishmael says things the way that I didn’t know I could say them but wanted to say it that way too. I encourage you to read his blog entry on Cyril at: http://alaskanativestoryteller.com/blog/
Dec 24, 2010 | Honoring Others |
Mendenhall Glacier River Walk - December 2010
REMEMBERING TO REMAIN THANKFUL DURING THIS HOLIDAY SEASON AND ALWAYS!
Dec 24, 2010 | Honoring Others, North Tide |
There's a Christmas tree near the top of Thunder Mountain
(Where’s Thunder Mountain? It’s the mountain that separates the Mendenhall Glacier River Valley and the Lemon Creek River valley in Juneau, Alaska.)
See that slightly dark indentation to the left of the two humps at the top of this mountain? Just to the left of that indentation, my father said there was (going to be) a Christmas tree up there. This is pretty much the view from the living room window of his house where he lay on the couch two years ago in October 2008. He was “on his way out” with colon cancer. Once a week he would repeat: “…lots of snow,…wow, lots of snow…we’re going to have lots of snow this year…” Sure enough by mid-December 2008, right about the time of his passing, the Western States and the Northwest Coast had record-breaking snowfalls. I remember spending an entire month shoveling snow every day keeping the walkway, driveway, rooftops and vehicles free of snow. Many of us were literally snowed in.
So when my father said there (would be) a Christmas tree near the top of Thunder Mountain, I want to believe him. I cannot see it from where I stand, yet I betcha if I squint hard enough, small colorful lights will appear on one of them trees!
Dec 20, 2010 | Honoring Others |
JoAnn’s younger sister, Rhonda Mann, has been a good friend of mine for almost 30 years. For those of you who hadn’t gotten a chance to attend JoAnn Mann’s memorial service in November, I have included it here:
JoAnn Mann died November 1, 2010 in Seattle Washington. She was 53.
Jo-Ann was Eagle-Thunderbird, Shangukeidi from the House Lowered from the Sun, of Klukwaan, Alaska. Her Tlingit name is Kaaxaati.
JoAnn was graced with beauty, love, strength, compassion, exceptional intelligence and independence. She passed away while sleeping, of natural cause. She exceeded life expectancy by nearly 30 years. One of her favorite books and one she recommend to all her family was The Power of your Sub Conscious Mind, by Joseph Murphy, Ph.D.,DD. Her most recent favorite song was Beautiful sung by Christina Aguilera.
JoAnn was born in Juneau, Alaska June 25, 1957.
She graduated from JD High School in 1976 then moved to Seattle, where she made her home in the city. She also attended the Ann Carson Crippled Children’s school in Jamestown, North Dakota, from 1970 to 1972, where she learned how to handle and adjust to her condition of cerebral palsy.
Seattle offered her ease of access for her everyday living, combined with concerts, fairs, and events of all kinds including the Blue Angles air show, which she so much enjoyed. Her family were the very most important people to her, alongside her partner Lane Culver, whom she loved and lived with for more than 25 years.
The family is forever grateful to Lane, and also to Dr. Moss, who regularly drove Jo to school. The family also recognizes Mike Keen, who was a friend of Jo’s in High School and who proudly held her arm and walked with Jo to receive her High School Diploma.
JoAnn studied various languages which included Spanish and Russian. She was a member of the Baha’i faith, and also learned that language. She had an astounding memory – you only needed to tell her something once, and she would never forget it.
Absolutely nothing held her down or kept her from doing what she set out to do or going where she wanted to go, she was unstoppable, and her electric wheel chair became an extension and form of expression of her mobility, determination and independent personal strength. If a family member was ever in “need” she was there, and would give and share all that she could. She was filled with life and vigor, love and laughter, wisdom and emotions without shame or embarrassment. She understood and embraced all of what is important in one’s life, and especially the very special love, support, strength and compassion of her family.
JoAnn taught everyone the ability to empathize, to remain strong and independent.
Jo will live on forever in the hearts and minds of all who were blessed to have been touched by her pure love and energy. She is with us all in all ways, shapes, and forms, and she always will be.
Dec 20, 2010 | Honoring Others |
The Juneau Rotary Club's 2011 calendar features Arnie Weimer's wall mural on West 2nd Street
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To celebrate the 75th anniversary of Rotary Club of Juneau, Alaska, club members commissioned artist Arnie Weimer to create a mural overlooking the parking lot at Second and Franklin Streets. This calendar presents images from the mural. Proceeds from the calendar go to the rotary projects.
Rotary is an organization of business and professional leaders who provide humanitarian service, encourage high ethical standards, and help build good will, international friendships and peace. Rotary’s motto is “Service above self.”
Juneau rotary service projects have included restoration of several totem poles and St. Michael’s Cathedral in Sitka, soap box derbies, a book bot to villages, swimming pool, library, teen center, hospital , playgrounds and parks, as well as sending wheelchairs to Mexico, ShelterBoxes to sites around the world, and supporting the Khabarovsk Orphanage in Russia.
Calendar images
Dec 17, 2010 | Honoring Others, Uncategorized |
A Working Man's Hands
At the request of my aging parents, I left my sweet “empty nest” home in Colorado and returned to Juneau in 2007. I know I made the right decision; no doubt about it. My parents never asked me to come home before until then, so I knew they were feeling their age, their vulnerability to getting real old. I’ve had an innate knowing that significant others may come and go but not your parents, and nor your children. I am glad I made this time to spend with my mother and father. My parents were 78 and 83 years old then; my father was still gardening and my mother was still walking 3 miles a day.
They felt too old to travel alone like they used to every Summer. So, I took them on a couple of trips, a drive to Whitehorse, Yukon Territory and the other to Hoonah (my mother’s hometown, and my father said he hadn’t been there since the passing of his mother-in-law, my grandmother, who passed away in 1976). At least twice a week I took my parents on walks and picnics around Juneau: Lena Loop, Eagle Beach and Sandy Beach. I was surprised to discover that my father hadn’t ever been on many of the trails: Treadwell Mine, Mendenhall River walk, Basin Road’s flume, Perseverance Trail, Twin Lakes. I felt privileged to introduce him to these new experiences.
William B. Lampe in his (what he called, Big Bear) mutton fur parka - Winter 2007
My father’s passing two years ago December 18th was the beginning of many major tumultuous turns in my life.. I am currently temporarily settled down; enough to finally mourn his passing. Outside of doing my art and being with a friend now and then, and hanging out with my grand-daughter or mother, I’ve been experiencing melancholia. I am not at all motivated to put up any Christmas decorations whatsoever. I haven’t even bought any Christmas lights; this is the first time in my entire life I have not put up not even a strand of lights, and if it hasn’t happened now, it ain’t gonna happen. Thank goodness my brother Rick is setting up the tree. He does these tasks not for himself, but for our Mother. Out of the back shed, he’s also pulled out the big container of lights and…the famous Bill Lampe globe lamps.
My father was an avid Christmas decorator. By Thanksgiving, his 30 ft. trees in the front yard were heavily adorned with lights. He trimmed all the windows AND the ceiling trim with fake evergreen – and this was throughout the entire house. As if he didn’t have enough lights, he roamed Fred Meyer’s aisles for sport…”Let’s see,…now where are those Italian lights, they are the best…” Now I know where I get this behavior, this focus, this intensity. Gawd. Ask my kids, they’ll tell you. However, I was never this extravagant.
Once he created his first globe lamp, what 10 years ago(?), he was a fanatic - he spent many nights creating just one lamp. He gave most away - even McDonald's in downtown Juneau had one smack dab in the center of it's ceiling when you walked in the front doors...!
The past couple of weeks, while driving through some Juneau neighborhoods, we have noticed a few homes displaying his plastic cup globe lamps hanging outside just above their front doorway. It’s a comforting thought to see a part of our father in each one of these lamps being shared with folks who were probably friends of his.
I have many photos to share, yet do not have time right now to post them – will do later – stay tuned!
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Dec 16, 2010 | For Crying Out Loud, Health and Wellness, Honoring Others |
Grandpa Bill and Grand-daughter Ursala share a moment of laughter and dance - May 2005
In 2005, I experienced the “empty nest syndrome” – Something that most Americans experience. Indigenous cultures around the world do not experience this unnatural thing because of several factors, one being economics, another being cultural values and the other being that there really is no where else to truly be except where your parents or relatives live. (Yes, you can sure see that I am opinionated as I use the word “unnatural” in this context.) But who am I to talk? I left my hometown of Juneau 17 years ago. I yearned for a drier climate; I wanted a break from the hustle-bustle of our crazy lifestyle. I wanted out of Juneau since I graduated from high school but never made it out until 1993. And although I returned every year to be with my parents, I moved away until recently. I had no idea I would be away for so long.
Ursala at 5 years old....
When my last child left home, even though I had always established my art business career and I had a “separate” identity, I still felt the empty nest; on the outside I seemed normal and okay – on the inside, there was a silent struggle groping in the darkness of aloneness. I always had the purpose of care-taking as one of my job descriptions. I was one of those mothers that really didn’t want her kids to leave home. I knew there was a wide, blue world out there and they were ready to experience it, and I wasn’t about to keep them from it. Yet, I had hoped they would someday return home (especially once they had children of their own). The following is an essay my youngest, Ursala, had written for her Senior year’s English class…on the eve of her flying the coop. Most every detail is ever true. Her essay is titled: “Solid Blonde Oak”
“The mother smiles to herself as she wipes the crumbs from her antique oak table. She thinks back to the night she brought the table home as her family gift, finally paying the $1200 layaway charge. Of course, she hardly expected a spectacular dinner that night, long ago; the food stamps barely awarded them with brown rice and beans, and her husband annoyingly ranted about the cost of the table the entire meal. Nonetheless satisfaction at her extravagant acquisition had overwhelmed her. She sensed, even then, that the table would bring her happiness.
Four years later Seya demanded the table be put into her ’65 Ford truck, to be taken down to the Land of Enchantment with her other possessions. A new baby would sit with a bare bottom on the smooth, varnished wood, and feel the coolness radiating into her chubby fingers. She would smear her drool into the cracks with her palms, innocently inconsiderate of the others who would eat there later that night. This baby felt the power of the blonde, wooden life beneath her. Seya marveled at her daughter silently from across the room; a sense of fulfillment overwhelmed her in knowing that her baby, too, understood the importance of this treasure. This new baby gave her the answer to complete the mystery. Every night from then on, Seya would force her husband and three children to eat together, around her table, to keep her family strong and wise.
In the earliest days of her completed family the eldest children would sit politely as they downed their vegetarian food and listened to their parents converse, correcting false accusations when needed. The youngest would sneer at her vegetables, then escape under the table to slightly drown out the conversations she didn’t understand. Seya demanded her husband and children’s presence at every dinner, no matter how whiney and obnoxious they became. The dinner table provided a nightly unity.
Friends would come frequently to enjoy the connections provided by a dinner with the Hudson’s, in the dim light of candles. Extra leaves were needed to lengthen the table, to fit the numerous plates and utensils, or perhaps the musical instruments. The nights’ inspiration brought songs of the strong friendship the family could offer, and a pre-meal “yum hum” soon became a tradition brought from a traveling friend. Soon every guest knew to “yum” the food for the Hudson blessing. Yelling and laughter would shake the wood beneath their plates as many acquaintances were gained and lost. Friends brought other friends, and other friends brought more friends, making it rare for a night of a pure family time. Even so, the family met together each night no matter how many guests, and their bond continued to strengthen day by day.
The table bound them together, a kiva, a place of gathering. No outside source would interrupt—no phone, no reading during the meal, no background music—dinner meant a time to enjoy one another around the table. The five of them talked of life and of death, of science and of fiction, of love and of hate. Learning became a part of eating; the sharing of each other’s individual lives helped one another grow independently. Seya didn’t know that self-sufficiency grew inside each family member from the tight connection she demanded of them.
The eldest child grew into a teenager. Against his mother’s authority, he began to give up dinner with his family to spend late nights out with friends. Seya began to feel his absence with an ache in her heart, and on the nights when he chose to ditch out, she’d make her husband and the remaining two daughters feel the void too, with silence and empty eyes. Although she began to face the facts that her son would soon leave the household, many harsh words escaped from her mouth towards him in attempt to keep him home during the family meal. He refused to give in to her guilt trips and bribes. Soon he left home to gain an education, away from his family and their nightly tradition.
Before long, the distressed mother felt it an endless battle to force perfect attendance upon the remaining family members. The middle child grew up too, and rarely joined them for dinner. Her husband often skipped out to work late at the office, and soon she began to fear that even the youngest child would find excuses to eat elsewhere. She felt the family tradition crumble beneath her, and cried as she worked by herself in her cold, quiet studio. In the dark of the kitchen the wood of her treasure aged alone in the night, abandoned by a family tradition.
Wrinkles now highlight her smiling eyes, the bun in her hair now limp and dense with grey hairs. She places a clean, yellow cloth onto the old, creaky table, and rubs it smooth with fingers which now seem to endlessly ache. Her family of five will unite again tonight for the first time in four years, and she knows that each of them, too, often feel the yearning to gather once more. Many nights they spend dinners with quiet families, in lonely homes, and it is time to be home. Again they will share laughter and sighs, teaching and learning, friendship and family. The worn wood will rattle and the legs will creak from the weight of five, and it will give all it can to this reunited family, merely to make Mamma happy.”
Copyright – Ursala Hudson – August 2005
