Azcarmen Contemporary American Indian Art

THE GIFT OF FEAR

2010-04-08T10:09:00.000-07:00

Several weeks ago I received a call from a friend. She was attending a conference in Eugene and wanted to invite my husband and me to dinner. Never ones to pass on a free meal, we quickly agreed and arranged to meet the next evening for good food, conversation, and trading NDN (Indian) thoughts on politics and life. We had a lovely time and when everyone else had wandered off to check out the desserts, my friend’s lovely granddaughter and I were left at the table. It was then that she disclosed to me that she had been abused by a young man she was seeing. I became immediately upset. A beautiful and strong young Indian woman, just past her teens, was being hurt by someone she was casually dating.
As she shared her story with me, she did so with the eternal optimism of youth and told me that she wasn’t afraid and that she “could handle it”. I was very quiet for a moment and replied, “You are going to die”. She, like many Indian people had been taught to not show fear and when she started to cry, I understood that she had shared her story with me because she actually did know the relationship was toxic and dangerous to her.
I realized at that moment why my friend had brought her granddaughter with her to the conference. It was to to save her from being stalked and abused. The entire family had taken all of the appropriate steps of working with both the Tribal police and with the local authorities to ensure Granddaughter’s safety, however, the fear remained.
As an older Indian woman, I am often given the opportunity to listen to and hear stories told by young folks. This was not the first time I had heard the cry of an abused young person who thought s/he could “handle the situation” so I did not let a moment pass before I shifted into advocacy mode. I told her of a book I had read many years ago. It is titled, The Gift of Fear, and was written by a retired police officer who when he was on the force saw too many instances when people are abused because they don’t see fear as a gift that could save their lives. I suggested that I would deliver the book to her that evening at the hotel where they were staying. I figured that my friend would be the one to read the book but wasn’t sure if Granddaughter would do so.
A month passed and I received another phone call. This time the call was from Granddaughter, she was crying and she had called to thank me for the gift of the book because she felt it had saved her from further abuse. It seems that the young man had continued to stalk her and had attacked and attempted to strangle her as she left her place of employment. I was so relieved to hear that by simply reading the book she learned enough survival techniques that she was able to save herself.
Through reading the book Granddaughter had learned to remain calm and think her way through the situation. She learned that rather than argue, she should agree with her abuser and to run away and scream for help if she was being struck. Unfortunately, the young man was an astute observer of ethnic prejudice and as Granddaughter ran screaming through a parking lot, he ran after her and yelled, “Don’t worry, she’s just a drunken Indian. I am trying to calm her down”. People who were there simply turned and ignored what was happening. Fortunately she was able to get to a friend’s home before the abuser could catch up with her.
My reason for posting this story is that understanding fear as a gift can alert you to dangerous situations long before physical abuse is evident. Even if you live in the most peaceful rural community in rural Oregon, you may know of someone, or are someone, who is in an abusive relationship. There is help for you! Take the time to visit websites that offer services for folks who are suffering abuse in their domestic relationships. Read books like: The Gift Of Fear and Codependent No More. By simply speaking to someone about your situation you may just save a life. It could be yours.

Do I Sell My Work?

2010-04-06T08:27:00.001-07:00

Several folks have asked if I sell my art work. OF COURSE! If you are interested in purchasing artwork from me please send me an email at azcarmenindianart@gmail.com.
Thanks for the interest and I hope to hear from you soon!

National Indian Child Welfare Act Conference and Art Sale

2010-04-06T08:20:00.000-07:00

April 11-14th is the NICWA Conference and Art Show. My work will be displayed at the event all four days. If you are in Portland, Oregon on those dates please come visit all of the great artists at the:
Doubletree Hotel Portland
1000 NE Multnomah Street
Portland, OR 97232
Phone: 503-331-4910

It would be great to see you there!

NDN Issues On RIPPLENW.org

2010-01-04T18:47:00.000-08:00

I have been asked by the folks at the RIPPLENW site to blog about issues in Indian country. My first blog post received some fairly interesting responses. I wrote the first post to share how Indian Nations are back buying lost land to preserve their traditions and culture.

The second post is in regard to the 2010 Census. I am concerned about under reporting and the subsequent loss of financial support for Indian programs by the federal government. Make a difference be counted!

If you get a chance check out www.ripplenw.org. I will continue to write on my personal blog, so if you stop back by I would love to hear from you.

Should Non-Indians Write About the Indian Boarding School Experience?

2009-11-27T23:00:00.000-08:00

Today is National Indian Heritage Day and ironically, I was contacted by a non-Indian woman who wanted to interview me re: Indian Boarding Schools and the legacy left to the progeny of the attendees. Her seeming assumption that Indian people's families are inheirently flawed due to their mother's and father's incarceration in the residential schools irked me. What frustrated me even more was that her thesis appeared to be designed to cure the ills of indigenous families that have resulted from the experiences of the Indian Boarding Schools. I couldn't help but wonder if she thought she could cure us with an academic attempt at reporting out our problems? Or could she make it all better with a finger stroke on a keyboard?

Clearly, there are problems relating to the after effects of the imprisonment of our family members that remain in our families today. However, a question that I wondered at is; would an Indian person writing a book on the same topic assume that our families are elementally flawed or more acurately assert, that we are heroic survivors who face generational challenges that are not of our own creation? As I continued to try and understand my negative response to the woman's request I became concerned that I have not read one report where a writer has thought to interpret the majority population's historic attempt to imprison, dehumanize, and torture small indigenous children as what it will always be---demonic acts of depravity against the most vulnerable segment of humanity. Children.

The actions taken against our families were nothing less than war crimes perpetrated against the most innocent. Beatings, rapes, brutilization, isolation, and outright hatred of an innocent child for no other reason than who she or he is, has to be defined as a crime against nature. Perhaps a book should be written recreating a reality that is more truthful, one where these horrific educational insitutions of physical and emotional torture would be described as what they really were, charnel houses purposefully designed to strip Indian youth of identity, family, humanity, and ultimately life.

Destruction and maiming of young children for no other purpose than land aquisition should not be seen as an admirable and patriotic act of an emerging nation. If the real story of heartbreak and sorrow were to be written of the Indian children forced into residential schools, would non-NDNZ be angry? Would they be frustrated? Would their hearts break when they read of the little boys and girls broken, bruised, and buried in forgotten secret graves without tradition in fields surrounding the schools? Would they feel shame? Would they weep for the broken hearts of the mothers, the fathers, the grandmothers, the grandfatheres, the brothers, the sisters, the aunties, the uncles, the brothers, the sisters, those who loved and remembered them?

As a community, a country, a world, we are only as honorable as the way in which we treat the most vulnerable segments of our population. What can be said of a country that built its honor, its political philosphy, and its memories of history on the burial ground of chilhood lost?

Love is...

2009-10-06T20:02:00.000-07:00

Love is beautiful, love is kind, love is like an earwig burrowing in my mind.

Hot! Hot! Hot!

2009-07-31T06:09:00.000-07:00

Oregon in the summer is always an opportunity to discover what Mother Nature will give to us. For two days it was above 110 in our front yard. Yesterday cooled down a bit and it is strange to think 95 degrees doesn't feel so hot when compared to the record of 115 at the Eugene Airport from a few days ago! I long for a kiddie pool to submerge myself.

I never thought I would say that I miss the rain, but there it is. When we first moved here we noticed that folks would walk around with shorts and t-tops the first time the sun would break through the clouds-even if it was the middle of February! It is easier to understand now.

Inspite of the heat it is back to painting for the weekend. But first I am doing some intensive rewrites to the Native American Leadership curriculum that I am writing. Good and honorable work.

Native American Twins Win Gates Scholarship

2009-07-17T18:40:00.000-07:00

Twin granddaughters of a friend of mine were awarded the Gates Scholarship. Go to this site to read the story: www.ripplenw.org

Native American Leadership

2009-07-13T07:41:00.000-07:00

If you show up are you a leader? If you disengage are you a leader? Yes? No?

Thunder and Lightning

2009-07-12T20:42:00.000-07:00

The clouds opened up and the rain fell down. Torrents of rain! Street was flooded and the water ran down the hill three inches deep. Then the thunder started. The air electric and thick. Came inside and took a nap so I wouldn't be afraid.

New Piece of Artwork

2009-06-23T20:10:00.000-07:00

Painted this picture for NICWA. Hope they like it.

Musings On A Cloudy Morning

2009-06-06T08:15:00.000-07:00

It rained a few hours ago and things are still damp. There is an unnatural stillness in the air and I wonder if we will have lightening strikes again today. Going into the studio is what I should do. Turn the lights up all the way, bedamn Al Gore and his environmental suggestions about saving the planet, and get to painting.

What happens when you paint? When I paint I lose myself in the moment. My feelings of the good and bad of life disappear and from those few hours that I am lost, I emerge from the studio renewed and full of hope.

How Crazy Was This Morning? Pretty Crazy!

2009-05-04T13:18:00.000-07:00

Received a call this morning at 8:45am. The call went directly to the answering machine cause I couldn't get to it in time. Tripped over the ottoman and fell across the dining table and still missed the call by the fourth ring.

Grabbing the handset and punching buttons, I hear an eerie electronic voice announcing, "This is Carolyn (not her real name), I need help!" What a way to start the morning. The thought flashed through my mind that although I do know a Carolyn, her voice is less robotic and more NDN like. So perhaps it was a wrong number? Please let it be a wrong number. I am too old and tired for real stress this early in the morning.

My mind immediately goes to that place where paranoia reigns and I began thinking...is this a joke, is it sun spots, is it a conspiracy? I couldn't figure it out so I dialed *69 and received another mechanical message telling me the number that called is not functioning. Now I am really worried. So I call 911. Very polite police type person answers and assures me that if Carolyn is in trouble he will help to track her down. Whew, now I can relax, the Mounties are on the job!

Ten minutes later, Carolyn connects by strong arming the 76 gas station owner into letting her use his phone. Picture a small NDN woman, barefoot, wrapped in a polyester blanket coated with green fuzzy pills and she has had her car impounded. It happened at 2:00am and she slept under a bridge. Man, why didn't she call? I was awake at that time! Good thing the 76 station owner is a nice guy and I am sure they are grateful for the non-NDN guy who befriended them under the bridge. But he sure scared me.

Seems she and three other guys, met up with some folks at Biggs on the river and gave them a ride clear down here for the cost of gas. As they were leaving Eugene, they were followed up on the freeway by one of Eugene's finest and stopped for DUI. Car impounded, them stranded on I-5. No shoes, no coats, no money. Walking, walking, walking until they found an exit and a bridge. Three to a blanket for warmth. The other guy busted and detained for an outstanding warrant was the fourth. Their biggest crime drinking. Their second biggest crime being brown.

We find money and bail the car out and buy the certification from the cops. $265.00 later the young, Good Samaratans pile into the van and head for home. I will pray for their safety. I caution them to change their lifestyle and wave good bye. They listen politely and wave back. I am still praying for their safety. Bye.

Native American Art Show, Fry Bread, NDN Talk Radio, and Twitter, Oh My!

2009-04-24T21:28:00.000-07:00

May 22nd is the first day of Chinook Winds Casino's 2nd All Indian Art Show. Four days of Indian artists trading their wares. All of the folks who will be selling their work are "real Indian" artists! As a painter, doll maker, and writer I look forward to opportunities where large groups of talented NDN peoples gather. Like goin home. Pow Wows are always fun but I work most weekends so miss out on a lot of them. Am ready to publish a book of Fry Bread recipes and will have the new book at Chinook Winds.

Been thinking about starting an Internet Indian Talk-Radio Program. Wouldn't that be a trip? Will keep folks entertained with interviews of NDN folks and random indigenous musings. Am now so social networking tied in that I have acquired a follower or three. Think of what can happen when Indians speak their truth!

Thought for the day... love those you can and bless and release those you can't.

Been Working So Hard Haven't Been Able to Blog

2009-03-17T20:26:00.000-07:00

Life is funny. When I was doing organizational development consulting, or practicing at being moderately unemployed as it were, there always seemed to be enough time to write on a blog. However, when I got a full time job, the extra moments just seemed to slip away and I forget to do all of the things that make my life fun. It is for this reason that I am revisiting my blog and will tell you, dear readers a new story.

This year I will be old enough, and then some, to qualify for the senior discount at all retail establishments including restaurants and, on Tuesday, at every Ross store in the US. To mess with folks, I tell a small white lie and declare that I am five to ten years older than I am. People who don't know me will turn and with a shocked expression exclaim, " I can't believe you are 70 years old!" It is sick but I always feel better after being told I look so good for my age. Trust me compliments are more and more difficult to come by after you reach the tender age of 50 so store them up in your heart, like a little squirrel storing nuts for the winter. It will pay off untold benefits as you sit in your rocker and bring to mind your glory days.

As a means of staving off the ravages of age, I am using a very expensive, for me, brand of makeup that has a product called, The LIFT. It is fabulous. It pulls up every part of the sagging under eye area that shows up on older than 25 year old women and makes you look like you have just rubbed on a quart of Preparation H onto your face with exceptional tightening results. It is great stuff and I do not share this miracle product with anyone except for my darling husband.

And here is the rub... He is using my "LIFT" and being accosted in the Bi-Mart Store by old and skanky women who think he is just so cute and young looking! I will tell you that I am not amused. It appears that he was in line checking out with a bag of something and an old woman, probably my age but he swears she was really, really, old, started to talk to him and ask him what he was going to do for the weekend.

Now darling husband is not so unaware that he does not know when a woman is trying to make time with him but he was polite and answered her by saying, " I don't know. My wife and I haven't decided as yet. " Where upon, the skanky witch offered him her card and said, " Well if you decide you need some company...give ME a call'!

Well, after he told me the story of his escape from the clutches of the old woman in Bi-Mart, I decided to take action. No I did not stake out the store and lie in wait for to accost and bruise her. If he had taken her card, I might have thought about calling her and divorcing him but I decided to take defensive action non, the less. I took another bottle of the "LIFT" and watered down the contents. It has been fun to see him pour the stuff on his face and to know that it is not working as well as it used to for him. I defy the old heifer roaming the aisles of Bi-Mart to try it on him again.

Just imagine the way my mind works; she recognizes him from the back as she stands in line at the Bi-Mart and touches him gently on the shoulder to get his attention. Whereupon he turns slowly and with a face that only Dorian Gray's mother could love greets her smile with a wrinkly faced grin. Gotcha you old woman.

I love my man and I don't want to share. Next week he can use the undiluted LIFT again as I do appreciate a man with looks. Plus he promised me that he will no longer frequent the Bi-Mart store on River Road ever again. We shall see...

One Of The Perks OF Being An Elder

2008-08-02T09:36:00.000-07:00

It is time for another story…last week I went to Value Village. VV is one of those national chains that sell donated goods to value seeking garage sale addicts who can’t find a garage sale fix between Monday and Thursday. The prices are not so good at VV except on Monday because Monday is 40% off for people over 55!

Sadly, as I now qualify for the discount…I confess to my own regular ritualistic visit to VV on the first workday of every week. I have learned to go early and to not be shocked at the hordes of folks who have even more white hair than me. Their unnatural ambulatory prowess at pushing a cart while simultaneously snatching things off the shelves is absolutely amazing. Withered hands snake through the air like the tongue of a frog snatching up a tasty fly morsel.

This past Monday, I arrived at VV with great anticipation. Shoes are a thing for me and Imelda probably had more shoes than me but I am sure that she didn’t enjoy buying Born shoes for $2.99. Such a discount and if they smell clean and are almost new, I figure they are just like shoes that are tried on by someone at a shoe store who didn’t wear one of those annoying little Peds. For the uninitiated, a Ped is a sort of badly made half sock that if your feet are larger than a size 5 will not fit over any part of your foot except the front half-thus leaving the last part of your foot exposed to any shoe you may put on your tootsies! So much for health and hygiene.

No shoes this week. So I leaned on my cart for support and gingerly ambled my way over to the racks that held the larger girl clothes and proceeded to flip through the blouses that were too pink, too puce (green), too blue, and too old except to use as a dust rag. And low and behold, my search yielded two dresses for church and a few blouses that I can use for work. A good day for the hunter and gatherer.

Pushing my cart through the sea of other shopping dowagers I arrive at the try-on cubicles. They are great little inventions and I seem to remember when I shopped new stores that they had locking doors. At VV, the doors do not lock and as a professional courtesy, I must warn you to be aware that the narrow claustrophobic inducing try-on cubbys might have been used for alternative purposes.

ADVICE TO THE VV NEWBIE: Never, Never, Never put your purse on the floor while trying on clothing! Try to remember which day of the week you are shopping and if it is Monday, the cubicle might have been mistaken for a bathroom by a small child or an incontinent valued customer. It has happened to me and I can tell you that my purse was tossed into the trash can, outside the building, along with a few muttered curses aimed at the varmint who pissed in the corner of the try-on room. (After reading what I just wrote, I realized that it might sound like I peed in the corner of the cubby but it is too early in the morning for me to figure out how to rewrite this paragraph. Rest assured that even though I am “Of Age”, I can still distinguish between the little male/female icons on the bathroom door and the “Try On” room sign.)

Back to the story, blouses clutched in hand, I head into the doorway of the cubby with more than the three articles of clothing that the sign warns me not to try and take into the try-on room. Finally inside and holding my purse between my legs to keep it dry, I reach for the upper most button of the top I am wearing while leaning forward to hang the other 19 pieces of clothing on the smallish hook that is attached to the side wall. I bang into the mirror and nearly loose my balance but the walls are so close that I really can’t fall too far and I regain my balance quickly. The door is slightly ajar and I briefly worry that someone might see my ta-tas as I change and then figure that if they get a view of my weary and sagging naked girls they are getting only what they deserve for being such a perv.

Two of the blouses are great and I look forward to trying on the silk blouse with the long sleeves. I envision myself as a power professional enveloped in soft yellow making the sale of the century. As I squeeze my man-sized hands into the cuff of the blouse, I think, hmm-a somewhat tight fit. Oh well, next time I put it on I will unbutton the cuffs…

I am stuck, I have just pulled the shirt off of my shoulders and my arms are blouse bound behind me with my hands snuggly snared in the shirt cuff. I can’t get out!!! I now know what Peter Rabbit felt like in the cabbage patch wearing Mr. McGregors too tight clothes. I am already suffering a world class case of claustrophobia due to the size of the cubby, and with both my arms caught backward in the sleeves of the blouse, I can only jump around and try to pull my way to freedom. Sweating profusely, I try valiantly to maintain a dangerous and precarious act of balance in order to keep my purse dry. I realize that if this goes on any longer my weary bladder may let fly and I may wet myself, as well as, the floor of the cubby. Now I understand where the puddle of urine that destroyed my good purse came from.

Finally I am free. My assailant is on the floor. And I am considering peeing on the yellow silk number just for vindication. Yes, I have combined my power with that of the blouse and the blouse has more power than it started with but I am so angry that it got the better of me that the thought of a little urine between good enemies does not go unconsidered.

On a calmer note, Value Village is a great place to shop, however, their prices are a little to high except if you are over 55 and it is Monday. But let the buyer be ware!

Reverence For The Columbia River And Its People By A Desert Dweller

2008-07-18T07:35:00.000-07:00

Life is good. Met with some wonderful folks yesterday. Ate Salmon and Fry Bread. Holy food. Heard stories about the time before technology invaded our world and was given the chance to see the Columbia River from the perspective of one of the Columbia River Elders who was raised on its banks and had fished its waters all of his life. He was a wonderful man. He wore his cell phone strapped to his belt like a weapon, a soft cotton cowboy shirt with pearlized snaps on the pockets, and a good pair of baggy bottom Levi's held up by a tight leather belt. His hands, so much like my grandmother's, were soft yet impossibly worn by work and age.

I miss family most of all and sometimes, like yesterday, I am blessed with a glimpse of what used to be. I will forever more reverence Creator and the river.

Cody A Wonderful Grandchild

2008-07-07T21:55:00.000-07:00

Happy Day.

Happy Life.

Grateful Day.

Grateful Life.

Blessings to All.

American Indian Market at Chinook Winds

2008-05-27T09:57:00.000-07:00

Wow! What a great weekend. We spent two days in Lincoln City, Oregon at the Chinook Winds Casino. The casino hosted the first annual Native American Market and was it wonderful! We were one of the vendors and we thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Great people, great artwork, and great atmosphere.

Mirabele, the incredible musician, artist, and political commentator gave a free ninety minute concert and it was a rockin time in Indian Country! Ed Edmo was there and told stories so funny that we laughed until we cried. There were drums and singers and lots of wonderful artwork made by Native American artisans. It was good to be indigenous!

I donated one of my paintings to the casino for a drawing. The picture of the man who won the painting is to the right of this posting. He seemed to like the piece and I was even asked to sign an autograph. So I guess I sort of know what a rock star feels like? NOT! But I am glad he liked the picture, as I would hate to think he regifted it or donated it to the GoodWill. Yes, I am insecure.

Am very grateful to Chinook Winds Casino and in particular to Ravelle Lewis. She is a wonderful person and has a strong desire to make more options available to Indian folks through creating a venue where we can sell authentic Native American arts and crafts. Good woman.

What Happens When Daughters Become Their Mother's Mothers

2008-05-16T01:27:00.000-07:00

A Fairy Tale Of Momentous Import

Once upon a time there was a country bumpkin who went to the city. When she arrived she gawked at the tall buildings that seemed to touch the sky and the high bridges that spanned the wide rivers. She was amazed at the Bart and marveled at the tram. She was so excited that she couldn’t contain herself. She burbled and squeaked her way through the day and generally annoyed the daughter who agreed to take her shopping. But most wondrous of all was the moment she hit the first floor of IKEA! Cue the harp music and turn up the lights, we are about to ascend to Nirvana.

Yes, dear ones I have learned that there is a place where all good housewives go when they seek their final reward and it is linens, dishware, and all things bright and shiny. It is back in the corner and around the large wall where only the most informed shoppers know to look for the best of all that the code of shopping has to offer the hunters and gatherers of today’s society. The second floor of the palace of all things do-it-yourself, is a wealth of ideas tapped by the home and garden shows but the first floor, ahhhhh, now that is heaven.

For example, have you ever wanted to find those short little curtain rods that turn on a hinge and look so cool with a narrow panel of curtain falling to the floor in puddles. Well IKEA has them! Yes, and they are not expensive. I was hyperventilating as my eyes took in all of the ways in which I could drape my newly painted living room in fabric supported by polished nickel hardware. Such dreams…such hopes…such good prices!

I was so excited I flitted like a butterfly down aisle after aisle with my giggling daughter trying to keep me contained. Our mother and daughter roles had suddenly reversed and my daughter/mother was trying to keep me from smearing glass ware with my sticky fingers and slobbering all over the flooring material that was only 69 cents a square foot. At one point she insisted I sit down because I was embarrassing her. I was embarrassing her?! But she was right, I needed to pace myself. I needed to regroup and make plans.

As I sat waiting for my mother/daughter to look in another direction, I pretended to act as if I had calmed down and was ready to be rewarded by being released from my time out. Just when she thought it was safe to remove her hand from my head and her eyes shifted away from mine, I was up and running for the thermal blankets, pillow, and shams. She couldn’t catch me. I was full of the joy of middle aged acquisition. My children are all out of the house and on their own and I no longer need to shop for countless pairs of socks and underwear for one of my little darlings. “I am free to shop for meeeeeeee”, was my heart felt song of glee. I wax poetic.

Finally, when I became too weak and dehydrated to run any longer, my daughter caught up with me and led me to the check out stand. I groused about how mean she was to take me away from the toy store of the big girls and under her breath she cursed me for those hours I spent on the mini-trampoline building up my physical stamina with which to face middle age. She slammed her credit card into the machine, paid for her purchases and as she made her way to the store exit, I trudged down heartedly behind her as she pushed the cart.

It was then I made my final IKEA discovery: YELLOW BAGS are not to be taken out of the store. Although IKEA gives you plastic tape measures and tiny pencils with little scraps of paper to take you through your shopping experience and back to your car, the best thing about the entire shopping experience was the YELLLOW BAG. It was made from Tyvec, the stuff builders use to wrap around buildings before siding is nailed up. Tyvec is tougher than anything and has the tensile strength of a space suit. The bags are bound with blue handles and I wanted the one I used for my first IKEA shopping experience. It was precious and I wanted to hang it on my wall right next to the puddling draperies.

I swear, the snippy chick who guards the exit to make sure that no one takes a bag out of the building must have read my mind! She swooped in on me, pointed at our cart with her long boney finger, and like some demon from Hades shouted, “These are only for use in the store”. I was crushed, mortified, broken, and annoyed.

But I will return. And I will shop without my daughter. I will take my grandchildren with me and I will feed them sugar and give them lots of the cinnamon roles that are sold at IKEA. They will create a distraction and I will get a YELLOW BAG. OOOOOHHHHAAAA! Turn down the lights Clyde the party is over... for now.

My "Authentic Self"

2008-05-02T01:24:00.000-07:00

Lately I have been trying to improve my life through applying concepts from a book written by a television talk-show hypnotherapist. I should tell you that I bought the book on the 25 cent table at the Good Will, and although I wasn’t expecting a whole lot from the experience I did think a change in my world view might be a pleasant departure from the norm.

The book starts out asking you to lie down, get comfortable and visualize your “authentic self”. It explains that the authenticity I would need to conjure up would be most important to me as I read along from chapter to chapter. I tried so hard to visualize me authentically. I squeezed the lids of my eyes really tight, for a really long time, and all I could see were little black and red dots. For a while I feared my "auth-self" had the measles and in the darkness behind my shuttered lids I began worrying about my eyes bursting from squeezing my face up so tightly and for such an extended period of time. So much for lesson one.

Undaunted, I again attempted to visualize “auth-me”. After several more sweat producing and agonizing moments of concentration, I finally saw a blurry image of me sort of floating out there on the horizon. Wonder of wonders, I appeared tall and thin and blonde-my first husband’s dream girl! I was feeling pretty good about the me on the back of my eyelids when… Drat, I realized one of my eyes was cracked open a tiny fraction of an inch and I was focused on the TV image of a model with wings on her back and a pink sparkly bra across her chest. For just a moment, due to muscle tensing induced face freeze, I had “seen” myself as an angel in heaven modeling for Victoria and sharing her secrets. Sadly, the real reason for the vision was that my left eyelid had numbed from so much pursing that it had opened up without any neurological engagement on the part of my brain stem. And I still have a cramp in my forehead!

Fast forward, after extended hours of reading and visualizing, I can now see auth-self. She is thinner and has an air of composure and poise that I have worked to imbue her with as she floats out there in the ether. She is me and I am her and as I go throughout the days following this incredible breakthrough, I am happy. However, I slowly began to notice not only a difference in my world view but a different world altogether. The old me is now trapped somewhere in a corner of my mind and has become a disembodied voyeur watching “auth-self”wreck devastation wherever she goes with her truth spewing ways.

As proof of the change that has taken place consider this, at a recent luncheon, my poor friend who asked if her dress was too low in the front was rewarded with, “Not if you are a hooker”. Where did that come from? Oh no, my authentic self is a snarky wench! I try to improve my life and what happens? Here is a desperate thought, maybe the new me is like a pendulum that swings wide and bold at the very beginning and then winds down to a smoother rhythm as time goes by. Please slow down.

I am not sure if I can fully embrace the new me. She is so sure of herself and often frighteningly direct when responding to questions regarding truths. I guess I will have to be patient and see where Authentic Self takes me. But in the meantime, I remember when I was at the Good Will there was a book that outlined seven steps to achieveing a nicer you. That might work, I have another quarter.

From The Book of Stupid Things People Do

2008-04-17T16:42:00.000-07:00

A Story I Wrote a While Ago

Wonderful Husband and I have been feeling our age lately so we have taken time to be together more and do some silly things that we haven't thought of doing in a long while. We got the idea because one of our friends and her husband started taking square dancing lessons (or as she calls it American Folk Dancing) and another of our friends is blowing glass beads. Because both of these endeavors entail lots of breath control we decided that we could take the "road less traveled" and have little excursions in our car. (Not sex, as we are at an age when creature comforts really do count.)

One of our adventures is on Saturdays, when construction has stopped, we go around the barracades on a local street and drive on the unpainted section of this street that is under construction. We have giggled and grinned about how daring we are and wondered why the road has not opened as yet because it is certainly driveable.

Well, Monday night we found another road, much closer to home, that had barracades up and we thought we would see what was happening. So we drove around the barracades in the dark and headed toward the railroad track, when boom, boom, boom. Our tires and shocks felt like we had run over a chasm where the tracks should be. The tracks were still there but they were now 12 inches tall and there was a concrete abutment where the road should be.

As Husband floored the van to get out of what he perceived to be the sink hole from hell, we heard, and felt, the rims hit the tracks and we both knew we were in trouble. It appears that when a van traveling 25 mph hits 12 inch railroad tracks that the minimum damage to the vehicle is two blown out front tires and a dented oil pan. And, although the car used to pull a little to the left it now only pulls a little to the right and we believe that this is correctable.

We drove as fast as we could up the hill to get on even ground before the tires went completely flat. We tried to control our breathing but hyperventilation had already set in so we could hardly hear the air woosh out of the two front tires as they slowly sank into the gravel.

Of course it could have been worse; we might not have paid the AAA account and had to pay out of pocket to be towed, we could have bent the rims more than we did, the Big B Tire guy could have charged us more than $60.00 to replace the tires, and the towing guy could have gotten lost twice instead of just the one time when he came to tow us. We could have been sucked into a sink hole and drowned and the list could just go on and on. As it was, we just walked up our 7 degree grade hill and drove the car back to the van. We were cold for the two hours it took for the tow guy to find us but I personally have never been more grateful for the warmth of the slow burn that always comes when interacting with a mucho macho tow guy on a dark and stormy night.

Now here is my suggestion to those of you who might be feeling your age and want a little excitement in life, As "elder outlaws" do not break the cardinal rule of chance taking...when you are feeling old-go square dancing...do not break traffic laws or endanger yourself by trying to do the advanced position in the yoga class!

Indian Health Services A Watchdog Website

2008-04-14T11:15:00.000-07:00

Memories of Indian Health Services

And A Website to Keep an Eye on Indian Health Issues

Musings: following the birth of my third child at the Phoenix Indian Medical Center, I contracted a yeast infection. This is a common problem experienced by many post-partum women and although it is not life threatening it can be uncomfortable. When I saw the doctor at PIMC he wrote a script for suppositories and I promptly sat myself down outside of the pharmacy to await the filling of the prescription.

After the usual wait, I was called to the window of the pharmacy where a well dressed man in military uniform (Back in the day, the docs and pharmacists wore their military garb as a matter of course. It was only later that Indian hospitals and clinics encouraged military health care providers to wear civvies.) greeted me with the prescribed box of suppositories in his hand and a disinterested look on his face. He explained in a fairly loud voice that the medicine was for a, “VAGINAL YEAST INFECTION”, and that the medicine should be inserted into the “VAGINA” twice a day. But, and this is the most important thing he told me that day, “Before inserting the suppository, you must first take off the foil packaging!”

I was stunned but after a life time of being rebuffed because I happened to be an Indian making use of Indian health services, I quickly replied, “So that explains why it didn’t work last time!!" Bad Indian woman. NOT!!!!!

The website I have highlighted is one where you can see what is happening in Indian Country and the impact the US congress, and the President, has on the health of Indian people. Step one: click on http://action.fcnl.org/addressbook/ ; step two, click on left hand side border where it reads NATIVE AMERICANS (the border is blue); step three, read and inform yourself. Remember many American Indians work at full time jobs, pay taxes, and raise kids and still do not have access to health insurance or are underinsured to the point where they cannot access adequate health care.

And in parting dear ones, always remember to take the foil off…

INDIAN HEALTH POLICY AND THE IMPACT ON FAMILY

2008-03-27T17:07:00.000-07:00

Good day. Spoke with Steven M. Sachs Ph.D. today. He publishes a non-juried journal entitled "Indigenous Policy", http://www.indigenouspolicy.org/ . Interesting reading. Because of our conversation, I am thinking I might submit a small article about Oklahoma Indian families and their migration to Phoenix, Arizona in the 1940's.

Why you ask, well my own little Chickasaw family left the Sulpher area around that time and my grandmother, a lucky (?) Indian woman, found employment as a laundress at the Indian TB Sanitarium, in Phoenix. Because she had little education, granma was given the job of boiling soiled linens that bore sputum and blood stains from the lungs of TB infected patients in large pots on 110 degree days. It wasn't a perfect job but it was the only one she could find that provided both room and board for grandma and mom. They lived on the campus of the hospital and because there was no room for families my grandfather, and mom's older siblings, were forced to live elsewhere. Granma's paycheck supported them all. The impact on our family is representative of what was happening to other Indian families who left Oklahoma as a means of surviving the times. The family groups were fractured and irretrivably broken after only a few short years.

The question I have always wondered about is this, did the Indian health mangement policies of the time lead to the break down of our family or was it at an earlier time in Oklahoma with the loss of the land allotment that broke our family? Hmmmmm. Policy and indigenous folks... Genocide, granma tested positive for the scratch TB test for the rest of her life, and assimilation. Are they one and the same?

American Indian Inclusion Manual written by Martin Reinhardt, Ph.D.

2008-03-19T15:12:00.000-07:00

Blogging is such a wonderful way of connecting with folks. After the previous post, regarding the American Indian Inclusion Manual, I received an email from the author, Dr. Martin Reinhardt. The following is a snipit of the message he sent to me regarding the manual, "I am glad to see it being used. You can use the info below for attribution if you like. I am Anishinaabe Ojibway, a citizen of the Sault Ste. Marie Tribe of Chippewa Indians".

Dr. Reinhardt's contact information:
Martin Reinhardt, Ph.D.
Research Associate
Interwest Equity Assistance Center
Colorado State University
410 Seventeenth Street, Suite 1419
Denver, Colorado 80202
(303) 623-5531
Cell: (720) 209-5190
Fax: (303) 623-9023
martinr@cahs.colostate.edu
http://www.colostate.edu/programs/EAC/

American Indian Inclusion Manual

2008-03-19T15:08:00.000-07:00

The American Indian Inclusion Manual was created as a guide for both Indian and non-Indian educators seeking to include the Native American perspective in subjects across the curriculum.(http://edoptions.com/indianed/American_Indian_Inclusion_Manual.pdf)
*The manual is a great way to learn how to include American Indian concepts and issues across all subjects
* It will also help to expand cultural understanding and how to apply these concepts beyond the standard Native studies curriculum
* Great educational strategies for both Native and non-Native educators
* This information can be downloaded at: http://www.edoptions.com/indianed/

Great Quote By American Indian Artist

2008-03-04T21:56:00.000-08:00

There are three kinds of people: first, the "dreamers and doers" who get things done; second, the people who "step in and try to take over" after something is finished; and third, the "yapping dogs" who sit on the sidelines...
-Janelle Romero, American Indian Actor, Producer

AZCARMEN INDIANPRENUER FOR MARCH INDIGENOUS INTERNET CHAMBER OF COMMERCE

2008-03-02T11:29:00.000-08:00

Az Carmen has been chosen as the Indianprenuer for March 2008, by the Indigenous Internet Chamber of Commerce. Her interview and more of her paintings can be seen at: http://www.iicoc.com/entrepreneur_march_2008

The Indigenous Internet Chamber of Commerce is a great site and the owner, Larry Knudtsen, is a man who is serious about encouraging American Indian artists to market their artwork. I recently found the IIOCC site through NATIVE BIZ; an American Indian internet publication. Be sure and connect with Larry after going to his site, http://www.iiocc.com/

Native Artists Making a Difference, Portland State University Art Show

2008-02-29T13:25:00.000-08:00

“Native Artists Making a Difference”

Hosted By UISHE
Includes Live Art and Exhibits
Thursday March 6th, 2008
4pm-8pm

FEATURING

Bunky Echo-Hawk - Pawnee/Yakama
Bunkyecho-hawk.com

Natalie Ball - Modoc/Klamath
http://nball.otherpeoplespixels.com

Az Carmen – Chickasaw
Azcarmenindianart.theblogspot.com

Toma Villa - Yakama
http:www.myspace/9007127

For more Information:
Nicole Charley
503.725.5671
ncharley@pdx.edu
Location:
NASCC
710 SW Jackson St
Portland OR 97201

Teach Your Children To Be Afraid

2008-02-25T11:47:00.000-08:00

Good Morning,
You may not know this about me but I am a grandmother of 16 grandchildren. They are all unique and fun to be with and I love them with all of my heart. Both my husband and I pray about their safety and their well being on a daily basis. This week something happened that allowed me to understand more fully the importance of prayer. Because of this I thought I would tell you what happened with a chance email and how it may have protected the lives of a family living in Bolivia.

Earlier in the week, a person I have known for several years, but who seldom sends me emails, sent me an email with an attachment that included pictures of a highway in Bolivia built on the side of an enormously tall mountain range. The series of pictures showed a dirt road that was so narrow that two small trucks would have difficulty passing one another without one of the trucks falling into the 1,000 foot canyon below. There were about 10 picturesque images of the mountain range and the tunnels that were carved out of the mountains. They were beautiful and terrifying all at the same time. The pictures showed in detail the extremely treacherous nature of the highway. The one that made me sickest was the one with small buses filled with people being crowded to the edge of the abyss by trucks loaded with goods. It was scarey to look at on the computer and I decided to never again travel across any Oregon coastal bridges without closing my eyes. I forwarded the email to my daughter, as a curiosity, and promptly pushed the scarey images to the back of my mind.

Later in the day, my daughter, sent me an email telling me that she had forwarded the email to a friend of hers who is teaching in Bolivia and made the comment in the subject line, 'Your Commute to Work'. The comment in the subject line caught the attention of her friend and she opened it immediately. It appears that the friends in Bolivia had actually been planning a trip along the same highway for the next week! They had planned a weekend adventure on the basis of viewing one picture of the road and thought how fun it would be for them to travel over one of the world's most narrow and steep highways. When they viewed the attached email pictures they realized that they might be getting invovled with an adventure that could potentially be life threatening. They began to ask questions of friends and acquantainces about the road and found out that not only is it extremely dangerous but the highway is also frequented by bandits! They immediately decided to cancel their planned highway adventure and asked my daughter to forward thanks to the woman who originally sent the email.

The lessons I have learned from this experience are two fold. The first is that God does work in mysterious ways and the second is that prayers are often answered quickly and in the most miraculous ways. I am so grateful for this.

As an addendum, I relearned the importance of teaching your children to be violently afraid of heights, snakes, and things that go bump in the night!

Take care,
Az

Az Carmen featured as ONABEN's Indianpreneur for January

2008-02-06T18:38:00.000-08:00

Painting: Man with Eagle, acryllic on canvas, 2007.

(This article was originally published on the ONABEN website, January 2008. For more information on Indianprenuership, see www.onaben.org)

Indianpreneur of January!

Dr. Az Carmen

The Indianprenuer for January is Dr. Az Carmen, an artist who paints and draws on canvas, leather, and things that have been left around the house for "too long." Her three-dimensional work includes dolls made from either cornhusks or cloth, including a new series called "Boarding School Dolls," and rawhide masks her Grandma taught her to make. In the future she would like to explore painting murals. In the following interview, Az describes the unique challenges of selling Native American artwork and her overnight transformation into a painter ten years ago.

Dr. Carmen has always been creative, but never took on art as a business full-time until two years ago when she finished her doctorate.

What inspired going out on a limb and starting your own business?

Really, I don't think of myself as a business person but as an artist who sells her work. I earned a doctorate and found along the way that there was something missing; even though I was successful in my professional life, I always wanted to try and see if I could make a living through selling my art. I have found it is tough to be an artist without a supportive spouse. I really identify with the joke that goes: What does an artist need? A husband with a good paying job! I am blessed to have a wonderfully supportive man in my life who understands how important what I am doing is to me.

What's most challenging for you as a business owner?

The most challenging part of business for me is that to get into really good shows you are asked for a bio and resume that clearly indicates your work has been legitimized as acceptable by "fine art" galleries. I find this to be really problematic and in discussion with other Indian artists find that they too see this as a problem as well. Sometimes our work verges on what some galleries would identify as craft or even work by "outsiders". Funny, I never felt like an outsider until I was told I was one. Now I work with Indian-friendly galleries and sell at shows where the expectation is to view and perhaps buy legitimate Native American art work.

What are your plans for the future? How would you like to grow?

My plans for the future are to continue to create more work and see who I am becoming as an artist. I would like to sell at the open show for Indian Arts and Crafts Association, of which I am a member, and get into several more galleries . . . I would like to have my own work accepted and appreciated as art by an indigenous person.

What's special about your business?

My business is based on the gift of a talent that I received when I was very ill and was told by the doctor not to expect to recover my full health and energy. On one very bad day I woke up and thought, "I can draw." The next day I woke up and thought, "I can paint." Oddly enough, I had never painted before and my claim to being able to draw anything was limited to five sided stars and strangely articulated stick figures! As a result, I thank God everyday for my abilities and know that because they are a gift I have to approach the artwork in a reverent manner. The "specialness" about my business is that everything I create is blessed by a miracle.

I also paint upside down and with two hands! No kidding!