almost November 2014

28 10 2014

october 28th

Home now and it is the rainy season, Cold, dark , windy and wet.  I am feeling stronger in my core and alchohol has not re entered our lives to this date. I spent a few days at Darrell’s place, yup , he went after a coffee table because it was in his way and totally demolished it, i knew i was home . . but having taken out some frustration on the coffee table he has been good to me, and generally jolly.  We had fun the past few days. I am glad to see him making his doctors appointments and getting some dental work done. they are going to pull some teeth, fix, cap and clean the rest and make some dentures for him.  i think his health will be better, no one realizes how much bad teeth can affect the health of the rest of the body and mood untill those toxins are removed. I have  a set of goals for myself next month.  I want to pick out some classes from the community college today and learn something  now that my mind is unclouded and Darrell is well settled in his home,  i need to engage in something.  I need to get  hopping on setting up some counseling, much as I distrust and despair of it,  so i can proceed with vocational rehab before they pull the plug on my S.S.A . . .which will eventually come under review so i need to have a paper trail that will support the case for its continuance. I am predicting a conservative shift in 2016 and that may very well cut back this s.s.a . . so its best to be prepared. Get some schooling while i can, aquire some upgraded voacational skills.  i am working on my health, working out regularly so i can withstand what ever demands life may throw at me.  i may at some point have to go back to work full time.  There is always Trident . . .or i could always take on more at Parker Corp since my standing with them is generally good.

So life goes on. it did not seem like it could, but it does. We are talking about making tee shirts again.  Darrell has not done art for about a year and a half now.  he says he is ‘retired’.  I try to remind him how unique his work is ,of our partnership . . how he used to draw up his pictures at ‘the nest’ , our secret, forbidden lair far away from the eyes of the town. He would make me breakfast in the mornings and i would work hard hours sometimes, bring home treats . he forked over his food stamps in return and we ate well.   . .when he was finished with a work, i would have it digitalized, make some ‘two ups’ to print off cards, a pdf file for larger prints and we would go into team work from there . . .I would have vista print or a local shop  print make up some tee shirts with the design and they were much coveted by his fans. Or cups and calenders.  Mostly however, it was prints for $ 10 to 20 dollars or cards.  he was the salesman, the personality that infused the persona of Darrell SpottedHorse, Lakota artist.  He was out in the parks, on the street corners selling his art the way he had for decades . . as a sort of hustle that relyed a great deal on his gregarious people-person personality and ability to be liked and likable to the commen person. He was a populist artist. His art was for the poor, those on the reservations, those who sought him out and appreciated him, the students , the overlooked , the working poor. Never the Elite.

The art hustle kept him popular, busy, it gave him value and a certian status in the community and it payed for his weed, his binges and what ever else he did once he left my place, like a a boy going off to kindegarten with his supplies under his arm, in clean clothes, all rested up, wearing new clothes and one of my hats.  and he would come back trashed.  i mean trashed.  i would get a call at 3 or 4 in the morning from the Horse shoe cafe . . .come get me.  Then began the slow process of extracting him from the throng of kids hanging out with him and guiding him, inch by inch back home  up the back stairs . Everytime i got him back I felt like a battle had been won.  We were safe.  We did it once more.  Then began the task of getting some food in his system and putting him to bed, peeling off soiled clothes.  i remember one time he was in a swivel desk chair and i could not budge him so i wheeled the thing into the bedroom and dumped it uncerimoniously over on the bed.  He would be quiet for a few days, not feeling too good, and he would sleep.  That gave me a chanch to do whatever i needed to do around the house, cook, watch my history shows, crochett.  And the cycle  would begin again . . . he would draw up a new one and two weeks later emerge, the kindegartener with his satchel under his arm, ready to do his thing.

i thought at the time that the wear and tear of this , which i sometimes called babysitting, put me in an strained and unfair position. I only had my place to myself when he was out.  I did not generally participate in his social world, except to bring food and check on him . . it remained a seperate reality.  he lived a dual life. Now I look back with nostalgia . . .and wonder how we got away with this for so long, up untill the bug hysteria when my fellow tenents and others ganged up on me in a big way. The five year long targeting and demonization by the media had a negative affect too on our inner sanctum. it affected me.  and that affected my relationship with Darrell, it affected Darrell as a secondary result and eventually caused a breakdown.  i of course was blamed, I was being awfull to him at home he said, and because no one really knew the truth about our private life, anything could be believed, and was. Before this partnership ended at my apartment I managed to put together for him his web pages on Behance, Linkedin, facebook, so he could sell on line.  I also began to do some vending myself and always had his art work alongside my own arts and crafts.  His drinking was getting the better of him, his diabetes had advanced, his legs had become partly paralized, it was harded and harder to extract him from his binges and get him up the stairs, i could not get him to go to the doctors appointments and it seemed like a hopeless dead end with no solution in sight, a painfull time . . .at that point i forced him into seeking help from the path program and Linda and others took the reigns and step by step brought him up, got him his social security, a place, medical attention . . things i could not do. I found myself marginalized then and it has been a body blow after all that we used to do to be made to feel like the bad one, the one he needed to be rescued from. I had to be ‘put in my place’ so the town said. I thought i was somebody.  I had to be disempowered.

I am in the process now of getting all the drawings that remain in the ‘SpottedHorse Gallery” framed and matted.  On the first i will pick up one that dates back to the death of his father, called goast wolf.  Many memories of that time period.  i know the story behind every art work. Each one  of them, like every scar on his body has a intense tale behind it.

it is only recently that we have begun to talk about doing up tee shirts together again. I miss being the other half of all that. The legend.  I wonder if that ‘legend’ will reutrn when the conservatives come into power in 2016. I suppose they too have their reasons for demonizing us , perhaps even more so than the liberals who insisted on defining me ( never Darrell) , putting themselves at the helm, in charge , and destroying me.  Will they ever be held account for what they did?? For the agony it created, the misrepresentation?  I suspect the conservatives will see any Lakota superstarring as a threat to the moral values they wish to promote. The Christian work ethic and so on . . it remains to be seen.

If not, then we accpet that life changes.  Our priorities change.  For everything there is a season. perhaps this is the autumn season, the late autumn season of our lives. We think alot of the people we have lost, and we are losing.  and so it goes.


Coming down with a chest cold. Eating lots of garlic.  Garlic is an excellent anti bacterial . . good when you have bladder infections and stuff, will knock it right out if you take every 4 hours or so. A tea of Mullein and nettles too.

I pulled out my fiddle last night. I really enjoy playing but do so infrequently . . I never have the right energy, the right combination of relaxation and ease and enthusiasm. But I set aside some time . . you cant put a time limit on making music, like art , you have to leave the space wide open until . . when ever, the feeling peters out . . I was a little rusty, my vibrato was a little sloppy , my fourth finger was weak and hesitant and I was a little uncertain in my positions . . but it came back surprisingly fast.  Ill never play the way I used to in the late 80’s. I had a stroke in Oregon just before I came to Minneapolis in 1990 and it really slowed me down in certain things. For a while I couldn’t read very well . . I couldn’t focus and concentrate , and I didn’t do music after that ( or much cartooning)  . . until I moved to Bellingham in 2001. I found an old violin in a pawn shop on the way to Lummi . . I had been listening to Swi Kanim and Anna Shad from this region a lot and so it seemed like a sign post that it was ment to be so I bought the violin, fixed it up and started playing again.  about 5 or 6 years later that violin ended up in a pawn shop and wasn’t retrieved.  I got a real bargain on this fiddle . . a guy sold it to me for only 100 bucks, it had belonged to his son who had moved on to other things. its not bad.

I’d like to get back into practicing regularly . . just for fun. Just as a discipline. Start doing some scale studies to become more fluid and confident in my positions, some Kayser and Krietzer studies and then on to some Vivaldi, maybe a little Bach . . there’s the Hungarian dances and an old solo piece from highschool that I played in my freshman year called ‘Son of the Putza” by keller Bella (sp?) that will be my reward if I get back into playing agin, Ill tackle son of the Putza.

That stroke I had was a sad game changer for me.  Just as Darrell has his stories surrounding his art, his owies and his scars so do I.

My battle scars ar internal.  That stroke was one of them.  Karen’s violin story is quite unbelievable but I am too ailing to tell it this morning. And I don’t like to remember some of it.

There are some sad melodies I pull out when I play, tunes I memorized long ago. Scottish, Irish, Appalachian tunes . . . O’carolin, Jacobite tunes, ballads . . . from a different time, a different self, a different mind.  I can’t drink and play music they way I used to . . . . good god, I could pickle myself, then get out and run 6 miles, do a little yoga the next day and play in an orchestra concert that evening.  Not any more. My brain farts in the middle of some music . . .stroke related I suspect, little farts, hardly noticeable, brain poots maybe . . but playing in a group is no longer an option.  Only for fun.

halloween night.

Tired tonight. Just got off work.

it looks like Darrell’s brother Curtis is going to be coming out to live with Darrell . . at least for awhile.. Darrell’s brother Pete just went to prison ( child molestation charges) and lost his house so Curtis has no where to stay. it’s to be noted that Curtis is the one brother who has not had problems with child molestation . And LeRoy .  Dallas is on the run as far as I know for that kind of stuff and has a long criminal history that put him in prison years ago over it .  Darrell wont recieve him at his house. But that’s another story.

I guess this is what is called a real game changer.  Just when i was beginning to think of Darrell’s house as my second home. Beginning to feel genuinly safe.   There is a lot i could write about . . I have a lot to think about . . but this is not the place for it.  it would be dangerous . . . and would only lead me into my usual sarcasm about media spin . . as if they ever knew anything.  I will simply try to make the best of things and what will be will be.

November 2

Just bought myself some new lace curtians and a bedspread online.  got a deal. Also picked up the artwork i had framed and matted . . . looks nice, but it cost me my life savings.

I am distressed this morning by a program i watched last night about ‘vile vortexes’. I so hope that this program is a hoax, it was so distressing to see case presented about areas, like the bemuda triangle that have unusual magnetic energy due to some kind of aluminum isotope and how this disrupts the magnetic feild and creates a drag on planet rotation  that may very well destroy life on earth in the future .the magnetic feild is what protects us from losing our atmosphere.   . in as little as 20 years.  i have to look into this more, i was sleepy when iwatched it .   According to this program HARP is actually trying to combat this effect . . they are, in actuality, the good guys. very distressing  . . . if its true, not a hoax.

had a good day yesterday.  Treated Darrell to some spareribs from Cascade pizza that were out of this world.  did the market, but didn’t sell much. some hand warmers. Time to get the day started.

November 3

It seems the vile vortex thing is a hoax, the same guys that did the mermaid thing are behind this documentary too.

I kind of suspected that but I was disturbed anyway by the possibility that it might all be true.

Big farmer’s breakfast this morning . . hash browns, hamburger gravy, yummy corn bread.

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Darrell has begun a new cartoon drawing . . at last, and I like it. it’s the ‘fuuny guy’ logo updated .Fuuny guy looks a little older, a little more tired, but still the same charecter. Need to buy some good drawing paper.0f15c0d6-f2c2-4847-b3cf-4a21c6356feb PB030080

There was a crowd gathered downtown on Saturday displayign fundamendalist Christian messages . . . images of hell fire and captions that varied from “You are going to Hell”  to softer messges about Jesus being the salvation.

A lot of the people in this crowd were young, regular looking kids . . , not exactly down and out . . . and they wer getting a lot of honks from motorists the way the activists who protest on Fridays used to during the Bush years.

Im left wondering; what has changed? Why are there so many young people out hoofing it for fire and brimstone Christianity all of a sudden?? What has been so missing in their lives? Has Salt on the Street ministries been concentrating on the lost youth now that public policy about the street people has moved a lot of the alchoholics and homeless adults that once flocked downtown and the park into housing?  The important question i think is what has been missing in the lives of these young people gravitating to what i saw on Sauturday.  They of course would say simple: jesus.  Jesus was missing.  The idea of redemption by love, the message of compassion for the marganalized.

perhaps they are marganalized.

Nov 7

Spent the day washing all the bedding at Darrell’s house, his and mine. Tried out the electric blanket last night and i note that Darrell is sleeping very soundly and has not been wakened even once by his awfull leg cramps.  I also bought him a nice flannel shirt for the chilly weather and boy is it gusty out.  Squash and cornbread in the oven right now.  Beans in the crock pot.

We are expecting Curtis to arrive at any time now. He was supposed to be here already but got delayed in Bismark and his bus ticket may have been stolden. I guess he may be in the hospital for drinking complications.

I am distressed to discover that my S.S.A has been reduced by 100 dollars . . that money is automatically taken out to pay on my medicare. Wow. That’s a big percentage.  And medicare doesn’t even cover things like dental, which is about the only thing i need insurance for.

I guess i will have to marry Darrell if I want some dental work done.  Darrell says no way, all the people back home would be mad. What he means is that Im not worthy of the family name.

I joked that he could divorce me after I got my teeth worked on.

Have an appointment next week to do some counseling services, lay down some paperwork so i can proceed with vocational rehab. I wont take any anti depressents and I am not going to let them focus only on alchohol issues, since that is not currently an issue . . it’s too easy, too formula, a catch all and rationalization for everything if the therapist is lazy . . no, Im going to make them work. I am going to request a lie detector test be given at some point and the results made public.

Funny energy around town yesterday.


All my hats got ripped off at the flea market, where I stopped and parked my cart on the way home from the market.  I wasn’t watching it carefully. I’ve had a lot of things stolden from me lately and it feels like such a shock, a violation.

I sold a good number of things yesterday and had lots of chatty wish list shoppers stop  at my table. people were all being very friendly and my spirits were high.  Loren, the artist , was there and I traded for a window decoration.

It was stopping at the flea market on the way home that broke the enchanted spell .  they were having a close out sell, half off so I parked my cart right outside the door and went in to check it out. I ended up picking up two large framed photographs for whopping 10 bucks onlyt o find that all my hats were gone when I returned to my cart.

I try not to feel upset, think of it as karma for all times I used to do 5 finger discounts . . but good lord, never on that scale! a can of tuna here, cat food there, maybe some second hand yarns . . .  but a whole cart!! I try to think of it like . . . there are some poor people who will have warm caps this week, for the greater good  . . . I try to think of it as some one finding what I do of enough value  to really want it, . . . it’s been my good camera, my good bikes, now my hats that get ripped off.  one thing about valuing art , and books . . . people generally don’t try to steal them.  all through out my life I have never invested in furniture, expensive electronics, cars and things that other people want.  My previous camera was an exception . . and that was what I used to make visual and share online  the creations of Darrell and Karen a few years ago.  I felt really, really violated  when one of Darrel’s house guests ripped it off.  As if they had cut off all my creativity.  My bike got taken about two weeks ago and it was firmly chained at his house. Stolden bikes don’t really get me in my heart though . . it’s just a spendy annoyance to get another one.  But my hats . . . that’s going to put me out of business for a bit, during the busy season . . just when I was really selling and getting lots of requests for next week.

it seems there was some bad energy about the Flea market . . The pics I bought there  don’t seem like they belong in my home, don’t fit . . . so Im just going to donate them to other tenents. One is of Day break over a Mesa . . very lovely . . but it has no personal meaning for me, I’ve never been there. what the hell got into me that I lost my focus . . .was I tired? too trusting because I was on a pink cloud of positive community reciprocity that I  . . . forgot? Forgot what? the malovence that waits for an opportunity to assert itself?

Well, then, Ill look at it as a day when forces balanced themselves  . . good, then bad. Like I said before, the closer you get to a good life force the more the darker forces will try to take it away.  Darrell sort of said the same thing to me when I set off yesterday morning;

” Think positive thoughts. Be positive.  Be nice to everyone and don’t let anything anyone says or does get to you.”

I said “Yeah, I know . . create your own energy field.”

Now he says: “How could you be so stupid. How many times have I told you . . . don’t leave anything unattended for a minute . . blah, blah blah.”

Oh well. Just have to start again.

I stayed home last night. I was too depressed for company and I couldn’t take any scolding . . I was afraid I might react and its important right now not to react.

November tends to be a malovent month.  those forces always seem to be strongest during this season of long hours of darkness.  I noticed that many years ago out here. November is a bad month in general. It’s the ‘we’re going to fuck you up” month.  the trick is to find those spots where the energy sustains life . . my apartment is one such spot right now, I’m thinking that going out for coffee at some place like old town café in the mornings might be a good thing.  clasp to one’s heart the people that genuinely love you, and sustain you even though they may not know it . . .

Anyway.  I just have to get busy again.


I was in the check out line at grocery outhouse . . .outlet, and I remarked that I always managed to get in the line where someone checking out was having a problem, fiddling fo change or something.  I wasn’t annoyed, and it was said in humor and she replied;

:YOUR to blame. always to blame. . . oh well, I guess we all have t0 be famous for something.”

And I was thinking . . that’s kind of a shitty remark . . and it brings up all that ‘the truth’ about Karen business.  I try to focus on positive stuff rather than re hashing all that , ive given up fighting it . .  . if women are getting some kind of satisfaction in deciding I am to blame for everything and that I must have been a very bad person who deserves “punishment”, after so many years then there’s not much I can do about it at this point. the people who ran the smear won . . it’s considered a ‘good job’. Darrell get’s thanked for ‘exposing’ her . . . how an you fight something so persistant and so big??  I haven’t done anything I need to be ashamed of out here, but it seems I am still being held accountable to ridicule over some incidents that happen a long, long time ago.  I guess I will have to go into it again . . .

I started seeing a woman at Sea mar and so far I am pleased to find that she is courteous  and smart and non wounding or judgemental.  Sea mar is more humanist in its approach rather than the heavy duty behaviorist conditioning Ive had trouble with in the past.  This might turn out to be a good thing.


Some woman was trying to shoot me. It was supposed to be something that wasn’t mentioned. almost a secret.  I told some people in Lummi.  then i was at home looking through a paper and I saw a picture of this woman.  apparently she was the heiress of

‘Namaste’ pizza.

A Namaste’ Pizza heiress??  Good lord.  What ever made me dream that.

*     *     *     *     *     *

“In the planned society, no one rises above the mass, except those men who run and operate and propagandize the mass.

In order to affect the illusion of individual success, as a kind of safety valve for the yearnings of millions of people, the cult of celebrity emerged. But even there, extraordinary tales of rise and then precipitous fall, glory and then humiliation, were and are presented as cautionary melodramas.

This could happen to you. You would be exposed. You would suffer the consequences. Let others take the fall. Keep your mind blank. Do nothing unusual. Shorten your attention span. Disable your own mental machinery. Then you’ll never be tempted to stand out from the mass.”  John Rappaport

John Rappaport is always so right on. cuts to the bone  and articulates so well what I have been seeing and thinking about. Except vacines.  don’t think about vacines too much. I predict that his star will soon rise.  perhaps a documentary . . I think we are redy for it.  years ago . . . during the Bush years, even the far left took an interest in the research of Alex Jones into government black ops, black flags . . . . especially after 9-11.  His star has fallen now to the level of tabloid journalism, partly because interest in conspiracy has waned and partly because his site lost cred after it was saturated with trolls posing as supremisist kooks and haters.  Not to say that there weren’t some of those posting  on  his site, but all the really insightfull stuff got buried .  jesse Ventura was another Matrix -breaker  for a while.  Stuff that was inconceivable not so long ago, like the extent of our surveillance state, is now accepted.  I think we are ready for John Rappaport.

I feel like our democracy, America as we know it,  is already over.  I felt that it was happening way back in the bush years.  I bemoaned the intrusiveness and the psychological war fare and propanda techniques, the melding of tourture research with popular culture long before the dems became disenchanted with Obama.  what’s ahead?  its worse than can be spoken of. The brutal truth. Darrell talks about it  but if I were to . . . no,not if you kno what’s good for you.   better to be like the people John Rappaport speaks of in his vision of the planned society. keep your head down and your mouth shut and pretend you don’t know.

I am feeling less depressed today.  last week was one of the worst  weeks of deep, deep, incapacitating depression I have had in a long , long time.  I could not snap out of it. Couldn’t stop the crying fits, sorrunded by a cloud of numb, blank, automatom despair. small cruelties got under my skin and became over whelming, triggering p.t.s.d. Rather than shoring me up Darrell tears me down when im in that space. it is tourture to visit him . . the meaness just doesn’t stop.

But I am home today. the whole day is mine. I took a sissors to my hair and repaired the ghastly butchery that passed as a haircut I got last week.  It helps to look a bit better.

I have decided to rent out a storage locker. it’s the first step in what ever is ahead.  if I stay, then I need a place to put all my extra junk.  if I leave, I can rent a u haul and save the stuff I want to store in a jiffy without wasting time.  I can always just head off somewhere and let the chips fall as they might.  I have had it with all the sadism I experience here.  Darrell is in good hands, especially when his brother comes out.  Andrea is a good person for him .  ive come to respect her.  she’s interesting and actively engaged in living to the fullest and she comes from a Quaker tradition with interesting roots in anthropology and world culture. She is also a traveler who brings back good stories, most recently from Bolivia. She brings out the best in Darrell.    it’s time to go.  I don’t have to lose those lace curtains and framed pictures.  just store them and go off on a journey to restore myself.


‘for safe smearing “simply assume that anything you say can and will be used against you” . . . Peggy Drexler of Cornel university. Huffington post. Safe smearing?? this was on Red eye on the 18th. so they are giving advice on safe smearing at Cornel??  And publishing it in Huffington post??

I read too the other day how universities were receiving money from, I believe it was the C.I.A but I have to check my facts, for . . torture research. and they said MK Ultra was dead.

Watched taming of the shrew with Burton and Taylor yesterday  and was appalled at the application of breaking a woman in as comedy.  Some techniques never change over the centuries I guess . . . this kind of knowledge base is researched now huh? perfected in University think tanks?  Applied as entertainment . . and as John Rappaport describes, and then advice  on ‘safe smearing’  . . my oh my.

Made a bowl of tauboli and a chicken and ate it all. it is stormy out this morning. My plans are to swim and then do an a.a. meeting and head over to worksource to make an appointment for vocational rehab.


Did all the things on my list and cooked up thanksgiving dinner as well. I spent some  days away from Darrell, had some things to think over. I enjoyed just being home.but when I finished up dinner and called up Chief he was in a snit and slammed down the phone after angry, sleazy accusations.  i thought about giving away the damn dinner . . i was siezed by the noble vision of bringing it over to house bound tenents but no one I spoke to knew of any. I knocked on a few doors and found a recipient for pumkin pie,but everyone one i could think of either had plans of their own or were . . well, assholes who didn’t deserve it. So next, i thought of friends I’d lost touch with and messaged a couple.  No immediate reply.  I thought next about going out and giving it to the people on the streets . . and that seemed like the best idea by far except that it would provide fuel for Darrel’s accusations .  Finally I made up a box, bought some tobacco and weed and decided to bring it over to Darrell’s place and he could do with it as he pleased, eat it, thow it off the balcony what ever . . . as it turned out, the direction of his mood ( which i call Minneapolis Ghetto style) changed to gladness and he let me in. i did up the dishes quick and then we laid down and listened to Mary YoungeBlood for a while scratching each other’s backs. The Minneapolis Ghetto style white girlfriend tourture and abuse session now ended.  I still plan to leave.  But there is no point in being confrontational about it.  he’ll figure it out.  he probably already has  . . meticulously planned . . and already knows the outcome.

Now my friends i lost touch with message me . . . turkey? heck yeah? too  late.   Turkey days are almost over.


Managed to get in a lot of exercise the past few days and I feel stream lined,intensely alert and energetic. My orientation for Voc. Rehab starts today.  I may stick around town.

There was a lot of things distressing me, after my hats got ripped off . . and some of them I can’t really write about.  Only to say that I have been through a lot.  A lot. and sometimes it all comes back to me . . especially when I have moved into a different , more satisfying and peacefull state of being . . and then things happen to make me feel persecuted by evil, or smaller than I really am, or wrong in some way,  and all the psychological agony that comes with that.

Oh the things I could write about!!

I pestered Darrell, just for the fun of it, about marrying me  so I could get my teeth attended to and it really got him going. A small pay back. I think it’s the least you could do, I argued, for my years of service. it wouldn’t change anything . . .it just means I can get my gun disease attended to before my teeth fall out.  if my teeth fall out Ill be ugly and you won’t  want to be seen with me.

I decided never to get married again he argued.  I don’t want to go through all that divorce stuff again . . .you’ll just take off again and then what.

He looked around; I don’t want to have to do all this shit for myself. ( We are so romantic in our discussion of this. ) Besides we are already married, the Indian way.

Abnd as your commen law wife that entitles me in this State , legally to half of your possesions . . . that amounts to half a doobie and a shoe. and I can’t get my teeth fixed.  nothing would change . . .we would just carry on as we are . . .I don’t give a shit about your s.s.a when you die, or your lands . . . we can sign a paper willing it to your kids, I just want the dental.

it would change, he insisted. You don’t know what that would mean . . being married to a Sioux Indian. Your obligations  would change . . you could never go against the family . . . there would be no turning back.  why are hitting me with this all of a sudden . . Geez.

Because, I said, it’s fun. I’m just fucking with you.

After some time he grumbled. “Well . . . I’ll think about it.  You would have to . . . improve.”

“I’ll wear my glasses when I cook from now on. You know I’m legally blind . . maybe that’s why I’m sloppy. I could make food at my place and just bring it over so there’s fewer dishes.”


” I don’t give a shit about them.” he grumbled to himself later.  and when it comes to the bottom line. That is exactly how it is.

Friday A.M

I have been busy making up some new hats and still have to finish up to day if Im going back out to the market on Saturday.

My Thanksgiving day began at 4 a.m. at the clinic. I went in to do my janitorial stuff . I was supposed to do it the night before but because they were closed I didn’t see the harm  in doing it in the morning instead. The first thing I did was set off the alarm accidentally.  Then, I could not get it off.  Busted, I thought, now they will alert the police and my supervisor and that’s the end of this job. I called security and reported a false alrm and it cleared but it took forever to finally get that alrm to shut off.  I must have been punching in the code wrong. A police man did show up to check it out. He asked me if I was Karen. Im Karen, the janitor I answered.  Are you Karen the owner of the car out there?  No, Im not.  There’s a car out there registered to a Karen.

One of those weird co incidences. I set off an alarm,am in a state of paranoia that the police will show up and call my supervisor on Thanksgiving morning and the police do show up . . .to check on a car outside belonging to a different Karen than the one desperately trying to shush up the damn alarm. Then, as I began my rounds I found a homeless girl wrapped in a blanket in front of the front door.  it was raining like hell out.  I poked my head out and asked her if she wanted a cup of coffee.  I brought her a cup and and she pleaded to use the bathroom, she had had an accident.  I was still in full paranoia about my supervisor stopping in to find out why the alrm had gone off at 4 in the morning and I hesitated . . . I could loose my job, but it was in humane to leave some one so miserable out in the cold and wet on Thanksgiving day, or any day. So I let her in.  I fished around and found a can of juice and some crackers and gave them to her when she came out.  Then she asked me if I had any clean clothes.

“This is a clinic, There’s no clothes here.” I said, then decided I could run home real quick and fetch something but she looked like a size 1 or 2, tiny and skinny in a lost, underfed  waif sort of way and I was a hefty woman of 58.  so off I went to fetch her some clothes. Then the battle between self interest and generosity set in . . do I give her some good clothes or my old ones?I had just gotten some new clothes and I prized them .  I wanted to hoard them, for me, me , me, mine.  I decided on a mix of new clothes and old sweats that were too small.   I picked up a backpack and and hoodie that was a little too small for me, some new flannel shirts and sweat shirts and some stretch pans, socks and undies and some Thanksgiving day Turkey with gravey as well.

So she changed her clothes, which hung on her as iff they were on a skeleton and I made another choice that could have cost me my job. I told her she could sit in the lobby while I worked.  She didn’t eat, but sat instead working a crossword puzzle until the sun started coming up.  by that time I was finishing up my vacuuming.  I took her to the phone so she could call some one but she said she had no one, she didn’t know what she was going to do.  I tried calling Darrell, knowing that he would let her hang out and sleep on the couch if I talked to him  . . but he wasn’t answering his phone so early .  I could have sent  her over to my place but there was no way I could keep an eye on it, I had no guarantee that she wouldn’t rip me off. She took off before her own clothes came out of the dryer and then I felt bad, thinking of anyone wandering around out in the rain on Thanksgiving day. I hadn’t thought to bring a rain parka.

So, that was how my Thanksgiving day began. With a moral decision that could have cost me my job, alarms going off all over, police showing up and a homeless girl out there to test me.  Something that made me evaluate my comfort and blessings in an immediate way.   No reminders of pilgrims thanks for bounty, the parable of sharing.  This is Thanksgiving in America today. The reality.


october 2014

1 10 2014

October 1st We are being tested in our committment to being alchohol free. It is pay day and we quarrelled, sort of, again, last night. Just as some people have a problem with road rage, i believe Darrell has a problem with kitchen rage . . and that’s usually been the the source of problems between us domestically that lead to quarrell both when he was staying with me and continuing on when I am visiting at his place. it usually amounts to his hovering over me when I am cooking, criticizing and some times taking over and’doing things my self’. often dishes get broken because his rage gets  out of hand. The way i can’t do things right.   Last night he went into a frenzy of cleaning up the dishes and so on during and after our meal. id made pot roast, home made chicken soup for later.   it left me tense, wary, quiet, ready to sprint .  My blood pressure goes up and of course, i do not feel able to relax even when the episode is ended. So i simply said , when it was over that I was going on home so that we could both be relaxed and at peace. of course he turned it into his usual ‘get out and take all your clothes” . .which amounted to one bra in a bottom drawer. So even though I did the correct thing in simply leaving without confrontation and protecting my own needs my evening was made sad and distressed.  Darrell said that he was struggling because he was afraid he would drink again . . . but does that mean its O.K> to take it out on another??  Sometimes creating a conflict when things have been going well is a way of setting oneself up with a rational to drink again. If i decide to not go back then he will drink . . feel abandoned, victimized, full of hate which will radiate outward in the community. But can i continually put myself at the mercies of erratic moods and rages in my attempts to maintain our relationship and his well being at his apartment?? Deep down, i think I have turned a corner.  I really want to end the situation, but the issues of Darrell’s neediness remian as unchanged as they were years ago, despite all the things his counselors have done. That is because they have not addressed the core issues. And i believe that that has to do with Darrell’s addiction to rage and keeping me in the loop in some way that he controlls by some means . . keeping me serving his needs, while he puts me down, blames me . . it is classic domestic abuse, even though the actuall physical abuse ended years ago. This is not unusual.  But what has made this unusall is that it is a case where a cycle of domestic abuse has been reinforced by community abuse, even national abuse.For political and social reasons that have much to do with power and controll of public for whatever agenda.    The sense that the cruelties i have ex[perienced at the hands of the dominant culture, the rug pullings the hostilities and misrepresentation, the evils to call it out out bluntly . . .are worse and therefore there is no better alternative, is what has kept me in this.  The feeling that despite this problems with rage addiction focused on karen’s kitchen and habits that Darrell is my one friend, that at least we understand each other, that it is all balenced by times of humor and affection and understanding. But has he been a friend?? do friends make you feel the way he makes me feel / don’t friends try to support you and boost you up . . don’t they try to bolster your best qualities by positive recognition, say nice things about your strenghths?? I asked Darrell not long ago if he could say one thing about me that he admired . . admit to just one strenghth and he said “You have tough teeth”.  I have tough teeth. That’s it. I know that this pay day I am going to stay on the path.  I am being tested right now . . . a sudden bout of depression when i was feeling good, feeling stressed and confused when i was feeling that things were again in balence.  I ought not to be writing about Darrell but it is my one way of working through these things. the people in his world may not care if he is using me for his own ends, I am not important to them.  They don’t care about karen’s needs . Only Darrells.  he is considered the valuable one.  Oh . . there are many women who will give lip service to my ‘taking care of myself’ but mostly they just consider my laments, when i (rarely) reach out for some kind of cousel as ‘bullshit’.  don’t take any of her bullshit.  Or they deny the validity of my ‘reality’ . . . always insisting that I am wrong in my perceptions and feelings about things and that they have the better understanding, the ‘truth’. so its like they are polite and let me speak but kind of turn a deaf ear. Their solution is always to encourage me to stay seperate from Darrell, they would have themselves in controll . . and me, not just diminished but non existant. accepting a life where I am dissconnected, disempowered and ‘despised’ . . . the enemy, who must be defeated, ‘shamed’ into submission . But i guess i have tough teeth.  MY strenghth.. i don’t make it easy.  I stubbornly hold on to the idea that I have worth, the right to live a decent life on my own terms, to think as an individual. I think the psycholgy I have been battling,  in the dominant culture is own rooted in Post Traumatic stress disorder in a big collective way. it is sad to think that there are so many people in the United States who cannot work through so muc traumatic stress disorder . . that it developes into a madness . . a thirst for power and controll, absolutism of ideation despite our professions of being a nation that tolerates freedom of thought and expression. Active persecution , an obssesion with killing, inflicting punishemnt.  .  It takes a strong person to recognize this and say to one’s self . . I really am all right, Im O.K. . . ,. it’s just my nation working through something, unfortunetly using me to do this but Im O.K> . . . without becoming evil and hatefull one’s self.  Bitter and cynical.. I have developed bitterness . . but i still believe that seeking a path og the spirit will make a sustainable life wrht living, and that one just does it . . wether or not it is understood or recognized  and that is my challenge . . to keep myself on the right path, to recognize the demons of destructive emotions that can lead to unclarity, self desteructiveness, hjealousy, resentment . . to learn how to proscess the hurts in life, the disapointments in peoples own emotional failings.  that’s all i need to do.  kepp the ship of karen afloat.  and then, the ship of Karen and Darrell as long as it is ment to sail . . and too, to know when it is time to dock. So i need to figure this out myself.


Thursday october 1 The ‘right path’ lead me to a deeply satisfying gelato yesterday afternoon .  I treated myself to a trip to the chocolate shop and had a bilberry gelato that was pure pleasure. We teamed up to pay bills  and Yea though we passed through the valley of stress we did not fear.  We passed the test.  New clothes for fall making me feel all snug and warm and O.K. I have a dr.appointment tommarow regarding a unhealed lesion on my arm that has been tentatively identified as skin cancer. Not worried.  Very, very tired tonight. Ebola has arrived on American shores. finished my book; 1423 . . wow. That was the most interesting read I have gotten engaged in  a long time.  I am way too tired for a book review, or thoughts on the history it disclosed about the Chinese discoveries in America and elsewhere before the europeans. I am too exhausted to even think this evening, but i felt i had to write something about that gelato, still singing in my veins.  Isnt a Billberry Gelato in a stylish shop a better way to enjoy an afternoon than moping  and drinking?


Still doin fine.  Had my arm checked out.  Dr.   Sarvosy is such a nice person.  I have to go to Mt. Vernon to see  a dermatologist.  Got my round trip ticket to Minnesota too. Coming up soon.

There has been a homo phobic drama over at Darrell’s building recently with some odd twists.  I guess Darrell made friends with one of the tenents that was gay, I don’t remember his name so I will call him George . . no . . Willy. I Guess they started smoking pot together a lot and at some point willy was on the phone with a friend and mentioned his friendship with Darrell adding . . I think it’s going to be more than a friendship. Well you can bet Darrell’s hyper Lakota masculinity took affront and he kept chewing on,fretting,  going on about it . . that guy is a stone cold Winktea  and so on. They had a mini quarrel when Darrell was drunk and got pushy at Willys house and so they stopped hanging out.  Neighbors of Darrell and Willy ( bald , hardened guys)  overheard Darrell’s observations about willy being a stone cold Winktea and spoke to him about their plans to harass Willy into leaving.  Apparently they had seen him ‘doing something’ when they passed by his window.  They wanted to bring Darrell into their secret plan.

Darrell and I talked about this.  I reminded him that that what they were proposing was hate crime.  Did he want to be a part of that? Did he like it when it happened to him? No, he replied he did not.  I reminded him that just because you don’t like some one doesn’t mean you have to persecute them.  If you don’t like some one or if they make you uncomfortable you simply ignore them or leave them alone. I reminded him of the suffering we went through at Lincoln square because of this attitude of trying to push out  ‘the ones we don’t like’, the ones that threaten us. He agreed that he would tell his neighbors to leave him out of what ever they were up to.

apparently , what ever it was, it was effective because Willy put in his notice shortly after that. Then Yose entered the picture.

Yose is the Gay, Mexican Religious Jew that used to live at Lincoln square when the bug persecutions of Karen was  at it’s  height.  He , to his credit, defended me against the irrationality of the blame.  I always liked Yose.  He was hysterically funny.

He too, had had enough of this fear based  ganging up behavior so prevalent up here in Bellingham ( pockets of Bellingham)  and moved out.  Not before he threw a big barbeque at his own expense for everyone . . he was a great cook and made the best  salsas I have every had.

Well Jose came back to town to get his stuff in storage and was staying with Willy while all this was going on.. small world isn’t it.  Willy, Jose, Darrell and Karen all in the same strange tale.  all together again at Elm St.

Willy and Yose brought us a bunch of stuff before they left, a lot of food, some packaged, some open jars and condiments. Darrell suggested to Willy that just before he took off that he ought to dance naked in front of the Nazi’s windows. I suggested to Darrell that Yose should pick out the music.  I could just imagine it.  Mariachi blasting from the car ,lights going on,  a couple of nude guys dancing briefly, one with a Yamika before they peel out.

Darrell said; “Just shake that Ozeke”  willy smiled and shook his head,

“I don’t know about you SpottedHorse.”  Then the homophobic drama about what to do with the food they had left us began . . Darrell did not trust it. They could have a revenge motive . They might have aids.  You don’t have to spell it out I replied.  So he kept the sealed stuff.  so it ends.  Life can be funny.  Even the worst stuff can be hysterically ridiculous and funny.


not on the rudenesses of others,
not on what they’ve done
or left undone,
but on what you
have & haven’t done

–Dhammapada verse 50

This is the season . pre Halloween, set aside for recognizing fears. Set aside in a playfully dark festival of fantasy and one of the more interesting American phenomena. So rather than focus, as I have been lately on the wrongs i feel done to me I should set aside a exploration of what it is that I fear.


Thursday October 9


I was on a reservation, perhaps Lummi, but it was unclear.  some guy was on trial. it was a private court with different rules than the usual justice system in the U.S.  i don’t know what the crime was but everyone was awaiting the outcome of this.  Everyone seemed to want justice to be administered to this man.  it was a closed court, presided over by tribal leaders and others.  Finally we heard the verdict. He was to be imediately executed. People were happy, cheering.   He was executed in some fashion and the body was carried out, by the scruff of the neck , without a coffin and dumped in a train. he looked to be Asian.


I related the dream to Darrell.  He kind of thought to himself  and remarked'”Yeah . . . that stuff can be deadly.” that’s all.

Getting ready to hit the road soon. Did a good cleaning at my place.  Tying up some loose ends.

Trying to get in some excersize too.  Darrell is boozing again . . perhaps afraid of being on his own.  he seems vulnerable rather than belligerent so i am staying at his place today and looking after him, cooking . . and finishing up my own slipper projects. Watched ‘ The life of Pi” . . a great movie.



I went to visit my parents in MN.  I was also staying at some kind of healing center or ashram.

I had some money so i went out to buy all kinds of tools and usefull things for the ashram . for everyones use.  I had been   taking a taxi while I shopped and it seemed like the ride had taken  a long time and the drivers kept changing.  They did not look like taxi drivers.  One guy had whitish hair, seemed British.

At the ashram I noticed that one guy, a chicano guy was hoarding a lot of the stuff I had brought over for everyone so i spoke up about it.  At this ashram there seemed to be many different rooms, many different kinds of spiritual healing offered.  There were also many different kinds of people and they seemed very glad that I was there.  I went first to a native American healer who prayed with me, and over me, used sage and other herbs to smudge me.  Then some one offered me a panther cub.  it was so cute and soooo fiesty.  I petted it but did not adopt it.  Then I moved on and explored a little more.  In one room they were having a.a. recovery meetings and aa lot of people were there.  A woman came up to me and asked me about the taxi drivers.  They suspected government spies.  They wanted to know how many taxi drivers had been driving me around and when i finished describing them they (mostly native people, but some other people too) told me that I had been indeed kidnapped and spied on by government agencies with some motive of their own. They were keeping an eye on me while i was in MN.

Then they brought me a leopard cub.  This leopard cub was fiesty too but seemed to sooth down when i held it and took to me. We bonded.

The cub seemed more needy than dangerous so i talked to the cub and decided to adopt it as my pet.

Notes: This dream reflects themes gleaned from waching the Life of Pi. I think the leopard (spotted) is Darrell SpottedHorse.  The chicano guy that hoards the tools may also be an aspect of Darrell.

As for the government spies . . . this reflects what was really happening to me over the years. I was under surveillance. They guy with the white hair could be Dan but didnt look or act  like him in the dream. he reminded me of an acto whose name I cannot remember right now.  The way his hair was combed suggested Jon Stewert but his mannerisms were different.



Too rainy to do the market I think, although it is not coming down at the moment. I sure could use the extra cash . . but if its ishy out there may not be many people there.  Darrell is drinking a lot and Im worried about leaving him like that.  Stocked his fridge with stuff . . .he can always call some one to help out, keep him company.  he acts as if I am leaving permanently . . geez it’s only a short visit.  Im hardly going to relocate to St. Cloud MN of all places. Certinaly not with winter on its way.  Oh . . my Minneapolis memories weren’t all bad . . . I used to go to the theaters a lot. But I was poor and my attempts to ‘pull myself up by my bootstraps’ left me with a story that alientated a lot of Minnesotians in the telling  nd threatened many political strategists  . . but I don’t want to go into all that . I some times wish I could turn back the clock to pre Darrell Minneapolis and avoid certain situations that messed me up and just enjoy the city again. . . I was certainly not ‘hated’ in any kind of big way then , there were a few people who persued it by word of mouth to the extreme, but most people didn’t even think about me much, they were busy with their own lives.  I was known as ‘sweety’ to most people in Darrell’s world in Franklin Avenue.  I cettainly was not seen as either a bigot or racist or ‘hater’ . . .I was just a city girl,I got along good with black people although i didn’t hang with them, had several women friends,I was  kind of a loner and a survivor, and not that dumb either, just drank too much at times, and went through pathetic character changes when I did, with some bad consequences. I did a lot of stuff right too.I worked all the time.  That was one thing remarked on; “I don’t know why he says all those things about her . . all she ever does is work.”

But I can’t turn back the clock.  No, Im not going to relocate in MN. Unless of course, my folks ask me to because of my mother’s failing health.  But I doubt that will happen.



A few hours to go before i depart.  it is Columbus day. The day of epic voyages.  Columbus wasn’t a very nice guy, and he didn’t know where he was going. Nor did he recognize his misconceptions in his lifetime.  I hope that at the end of my voyages people will not say that of me.   The city of Seattle recently changed columbus day to indigenous people’s day.  There were some happy people.  This was the day after I had the dream about the trial and execution of some unknown guy on a reservation.  I might have had had a little esp about the Columbus day ruling.  The dream might have had to do with Columbus. Then again the man on trial could have been me . . or was it perhaps my relationship.

I read a good book recently called 1421 about the great Chinese fleets of exploration in the Ming dynasty. They explored every continent, even Antartica. They had colonies in California, the caribean, Florida, even Massachusetts. They were the first to round the horn of Africa and discovered the straits of Magellian. They visited Mexico and Peru. they left a trail of asian chickens, porcelian, silks, laquer ware, shipwrecks and markers. They made carefull maps . those maps and all records of this voyage of exploration were erased from chinese history after lightening struck the magnificent forbidden city and burned it. china closed its doors to the outside world. r a few map makers on this voyage whose maps made their way into the secret collections of european powers, like venice and portugal , paved the way for european voyages later.  The portugese were in Cuba, using these maps, before Columbus.

i find myself wondering how different the world might have been if that lightening had not ignited the forbidden city, at the height of its power, while these Chinese explorations were happening all over the world.  How strange it is that fate  . . like this chanch lightening, can change the course of the world so dramatically.

We do not know about these fleets of discovery because  the chinese detroyed all records of it and closed their doors to the outside world following the fire.  What if that fire had never happened? The Chinese had not set out for conquest, at least not bloody conquest, but for trade. they dug around for minerals and things here and there but didn’t brutalize the native people they encountered.  No . . .it was at the height of the Spanish inquisition that america was ‘discovered’ by Christopher columbus , bringing that mentality with it.

How many speculative conversations have we had about these things over breakfasts at Darrells . . . funny conversations, full of humor, piss and vinigar.  Nothing in the world can replace the place those breakfasts hold in my heart.  Far from an empire  not as far from Inquisition mentality as they think.

So it is columbus day. In Seattle, at least it is Indigenous people’s day. I will be on a slow train following the coastline down to Seattle in a few hours and then i will browse around at the Pike Street market in  a few hours  untill i catch a train called . . ‘the empire builder’ headed East.  Then breakfasts with my Mom and Dad, chatting about a static world of people i don’t even know and don’t wish to know me. But that’s O.K>

I am already missing my funny friend.

Octboer 16th

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At my parents now. Both of them have aged a lot and are glad to have me drive.  The weather coming out was sunny and the fall colors were beginning their peak, highlighting the usually monotonous Montana.  I got a chanch to see the cascades but we went through the Rockies during the night and were all most out of West Glacier by the time that pokey sun finally rose.  I spent my train ride crochetting hand warmers and reading ” eat, Pray,Love.” I brought along as reading material “Drink” the intimate relationship between women and alchohol by Ann Johnston which is more interesting than it sounds, and ” the Far Corner”  Northwestern views on land, life and literature by John Daneiel of Oregon. He writes like an oregonian, I can hear the chainsaws and see the the mossy trees. Mostly however, I watching the ever changing face of the land in all it’s largeness. I thought about the largeness of things. The brief smallness of I and how after my bried hour apon the stage, all fret

and fury it ends in the death of the ego. My Ego has had a long time dying, and it still has a few gasps left, a few valient attempts to not go silently into that good night, to rage, rage against the dying of the night . . .but mostly it looks quietly on its own quests , like a flower than furls back up at night fall, and wonders what was it all for? What was i seeking? What did i hope to be, to find, and what was worth fighting against?

the more I felt the divinity,  all about me the more i felt myself blocked by a voice that insisted on remembering all the things that had caused me so much pain. That voice was inside my head too the last day i spent at Darrell’s.When he sought to express love all i could think was . . your drunk, what a pain in the ass . . yes, yes, i love you too . . . but your really drunk . . . .all the stuff you did to me, ruined it for me out here . . .that voice causes me pain . . . .it caused me more pain in Seattle, the seat of much of my P.T.S.D, no matter how much i try to enjoy Pike market treats, I think that voice is blocking the free inhale and exhale of just life, just serenty in being, just loving, just feeling happy because it is losing its hold on me.  And its been in charge for a long, long time.  I think its always been at war with the part of me willing to throw itself, forget onesself in the joyous expansion of just living.

Even when i was at themost depressed, despairing, felt annilated by media the life force still found it’s joy . . . in making things for the market, in the connections to people all over the world on Facebook.  Facebook kept this alive, breathed life back into connections with people and their insights and experience that gave me delight.

Now I am back in St. cloud.  the town of my birth. it’s not such a bad place . . . why, i wonder did I reject it so much in my young adulthood in favor of the pacific Northwest which caused me so much alienation?  The bakeries here in St. Cloud have the best cookies, and lots of them. The bakery breads surpass that dry crap that passes for bakery bread in many Bellingham shops.  There’s not a fresh vegetable or herb that cannot be found here. The library is huge.  The people are well educated, well behaved, (except for working class rowdiness and such) down to earth, hard working, they have manners, commen sense, a sense of humor and they look good too despite the prevalence of obesity. They are . . chunkier than Washingtons as a whole, perhaps because of all those bakery cookies.

but they look better. healthier. There’s no scruffy black sweatshirts, with deaths heads and such around.  ive spotted few over pierced kids flocking the streets and hanging out all night scoring .  Family life remains as central as it was when i grew up. Catholisism lends itself to prosperous families.

So what was so indimadating about St. cloud? That it becomes, in places like Seattle an icon of ethnocentricity (not THAT much) the focus of furious liberal and far left hatred and malice.  the ‘sheep’,  under the grip of focused establishment propaganda,

trained materialism, conformism, reinforced by ‘shaming’ , ridicule of the ones who dont buckle down and find their niche, their way of up holding the status quo.

And to think of how i bought into all that when i was young, thought the bohemian , the counter culture was where it was at. And they damn near destoyed what was best in me.  bit by bit and threw me back a confused wreck in my 30s.

But we learn from all our experiences, they lead us to the next place . . the next stage of figuring it all out. perhaps the closer we get . . the more furious the demonic forces

become that would keep us from knowing our souls, from acting from the soul and keep us thinking about THEM.  The would be gods,full of sound a fury. There is more to be found, in the end in breakfast with a friend with all their fualts, all the griefs they have put one through, and breakfast with family that has nourished one’s life over the years,with all their faults and all the vast array of mountains  and prairies and skys full fo colors between than in any system of thought or belief. the journey from one breakfast table to another is under the same sky. We seek what is right here all along and that is love.faults and all.

October 17th

Made up gallons of chicken noodle soup and portioned it out into single servings for freezig. Helped Dad pick up the car and went shopping with Mom.  it was a rare girls afternoon out for her. She terribly house bound these days. Today lasagna making!!and a swim.

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October 19th, Minot  N.D

In Minot N.D today.  The sun rises over the vast stubble of sheared wheat like a great blond Hieni haircut on turtle America.  Geese are migrating here and there. There is a clear sky and I am feeling happy, as if my Karen batteries had been re charged by my stay with Mom and Dad. That painfull voice, that tape that kept running is stilled.  Gone.  Not running now.

october 20th