The Historically Voiceless

I love to read a good history book. My favorite characters in history are often ones whose names I can't even remember. Everyone knows that the winners write history so there are many people in history who don't have a voice.

Now if I were to say that white people going to the American southwest were not the first there you would automatically assume that I meant the Apaches were there first. Well, they were but there were others. Namely, black people who had escaped slavery. Many of them found their way into places where there were no white people. Some lived in Apacheria.

So little is known about these people that no one can tell you if they lived in groups or as loners wandering around. They probably lived by hunting, perhaps trading with the Mexicans and Apaches. Whatever happened to them is also not told.

All through American history you will find black individuals who escaped and were accepted by natives. One group of whites went to treat with a Sioux tribe and found themselves face to face with a black man in full Native dress. There was no taking him back to slavery, the whole tribe backed him.

Some blacks even became Chiefs and fought with distinction.

Another group of the voiceless were women. Again, the American west was the place where they stepped out of their roles and became themselves. One women took to dressing in animals skins, showing quite a bit of leg, mind you and rode like a man. Riding her horse by one general, I think Sherman, he remarked, "What was that?" So unlike a woman of the times was she.

Her name I can't remember but I would surely like to know what she thought about and how she came to live the way she did. She fought with men when she felt like it.

Not just white women were voiceless parts of history. An Apache tribe had a woman leader, a very wise woman, by all accounts, who kept them peaceful and non-combatant and counseled them how to get along with the whites and how to  make good. I have never read what became of this tribe. Whether they veered from that path after she died and now live the terrible life of a modern Apache, or whether they became productive people, at home with the system.

The last person I will mention is an Englishman, again in Apacheria. He went to the USA and found native life congenial, so one could find him living with a tribe and wearing native dress, happily hunting and doing whatever his tribe was up to. Six months later, one could find him in Tombstone, Arizona with his best white person clothes on, dining in a saloon and living 'American'. He went back and forth, however his fancy took him.

Someday I'm going to write about one of these people. At least I promise myself I will. They are fascinating, the thing that keeps me going back to history books. Humans are so interesting but for me, these faceless, nameless men and women make history a living thing.

The Parrot

I love to visit my friends. They live outside of Ottawa and have a huge house and a pool. There's also three dogs plus one bird. The dogs are great, the bird, not so. It's a parrot and it attacks when it's not being paid enough attention. And when it's left alone upstairs when everyone's downstairs, it makes a sound like a child crying.

So one day we're all downstairs. The bird's crying and it so happens someone has backed into my friend's car and a cop is taking a report. Suddenly, he looks up. What's wrong with that child?

No, it's a bird. There's no child in the house.

He's not convinced and because he's worried that a child is being abused, he has probable cause. They let him in. He checks the whole downstairs. No child. He starts up the stairs.

Well, the bird cries because it's lonely. When it hears a whole troop of people, it stops. The cop sees the bird.

It's not making any noise.

They try to explain. Anyway, half an hour later, he's finally convinced there's no abused kid in the house, that the bird is a brat and he leaves. My friend is philosophical, Just doing his job, she says.

Anyone who owns a parrot knows about the quirky behavior of these birds. Wouldn't it be better to leave them in their jungle home?

Gaston

I'd almost like to start this blog post with a psuedo-Yogism, It doesn't pay to buy. Well, Yogi didn't say that, I did. I think it every time I think of Gaston.

I decided one day, to visit the Rideau Center. It's a big shopping center of about 250 stores. It is on one side of Rideau Street and is connected to The Hudson's Bay Company by an overhead walkway. THBC is on the other side of the street, of course. The walkway is enclosed.

In the walkway, there are vendors. Some sell hats and scarfs, usually cashmire and wallets. Anyway, I was walking from THBC when a man stepped out from one of the stalls. He introduced himself as Gaston.

Now I had made a pledge not to buy anything and I knew Gaston was a salesman. I should have kept walking but he was so nice and amiable. I decided to stop but not buy.

What a personality. Well, Gaston convinced me to buy not one, but two kits I didn't need. Eighty dollars. I walked away regretting it immediately and worried what David, my room mate would say.

I walked home.

"What's that?" He asked.

"Some stuff I bought."

"How much did you spend."

Gulp. "Eighty dollars. And it's stuff I don't use."

"Take it back."

"But, you see, Gaston...he is such a good salesman."

"You have a weakness for those people. Give it to me. I'm taking it back."

He left and I felt some relief. An hour later he was back. He still had the bag which he put in front of me. Now there were three kits in it.

"Since when do you buy beauty products?" I asked

"Gaston...he's..."

"A really good salesman? He can make you like him so that you buy things you wouldn't normally?"

"He actually is a good guy."

Right. So now I have three nail kits just waiting  to be used. I tried one, it was nice...sort of. Pretty good for something I don't use.

On the good side, I stopped feeling bad that exact day about my weakness for salesmen. Especially ones like Gaston who make you like them even when they're pushing you to buy something you don't want. He's a supersalesman. But I look for him whenever I'm at the Rideau Center just so I don't end up with more stuff. I turn and walk the other way.

Hopefull Fashions For Spring

I think it's here. Spring, in all springly glory is melting the snow from several snowstorms. Trees are beginning to have buds. I am going out more for walks and best of all, stores trying to rid themselves of their winter stock are having sales.

I went to a shopping mall called Carlingwood the other day and a coat store was selling $200.00 coats for $37.00. I got two good quality winter coats for next year. The only think is, I'm on my diet and have lost about twenty pounds, so they might not fit. Well, one will fit because it has strings you can pull to make it fit better. I'm keeping them both, even if I do lose more weight, though, because they're a deal. They'll just be a bit big. Find with me.

I didn't know I would find any sales this year as Zellars went out of business in February. I was getting deals galore in the weeks leading up to their closing but they're gone now and so are the deals.

So I've been a bit worried about where I'll get my pants. Tops I can get anywhere but not as cheap as Zellars but that's okay, they're better made. But pants. Pants are so expensive if you're not at a discount store. Some brands are $100.00 a pop. Even $40.00 is more than I'm used to paying. What to do?

It has me thinking that maybe I'll go through with a plan I had in the ninties of last millenium. Making my own clothes. Back then, I came up with this plan because the fashions of the day were so horrible.

It began in the eighties with everyone wearing unisex army clothes. Battle jackets and boots. Some people even got married in combat boots. I never went along with that particular style but stuck to t-shirt and pants. I wish now I'd have dressed better when I was young but then, remember leg-warmers? Even dressing up back then made you look like an idiot.

So I thought when the nineties came around and there was no improvement to fashion, that I might learn how to design my own clothes. Just simple things. I bought a lot of fabric but never could afford the fees for the classes.

Then fashions got better. Now you see young girls wearing knee socks and looking good because of the type of skirts they wear. They're so cute and the fashions for older women are good, too. Heck, even men's fashions are improving, especially the shirts.

But now I'm losing weight and thinking I might be better off learning how to design pants so I can make some I can take in when I need to

Spring makes me so hopeful.

Dancing Queen

I'm not much of a dancer. I  never dreamed of being a ballerina or tap dancer. Never asked for lessons at all.

One day, in grade four, my class went to gym class expecting another boring day of volleyball or other such exercises. Surprise, surprise. We were having a dance lesson for the next few classes.

Folk dancing. We had to practice our routine of the Hora, which I think is a Jewish dance and then there was the Dance Of The Seven Veils. The Hora went well and I found that I actually enjoyed dancing. I loved going around in a circle holding hands with all the other girls and kicking out our legs.

The Dance Of The Seven Veils was a bit of a challenge emotionally. The boys gym class got a hold of what we were doing, which was taking off seven veils one by one. I'm assuming that this is a middle eastern dance and it's incredibly sexy done by an adult.

It was traumatizing to have rows of boys cheering whenever we took a veil, really a scarf, out of our sweaty gym shorts. We protested. But back then it was boys will be boys and they got to stay and torment us. We adjusted after the teacher told us to ignore them.

It was all so silly. To think it threatening to have boy looking at us in our gym clothes. But I guess kids can be silly so it's okay.

Back to the point, if they had kept dancing classes in the physical education system, I might have learned how to dance. But these two dances were the end of teaching us 'culture'. I suppose I have a bunch of obstreperous boys to thank for my two left feet. I'm glad I enjoy walking.

Dog Swim

Well, for now, the snow has stopped falling. The temperatures are rising. I'm hopeful that this time, unlike last time, spring will finally peek it's head up from the ground and lay claim to the land.

I've felt a bit sorry for dog walkers in the downtown. It must have been awful to have to dress up to take the dog out to look after the calls of nature. Trying to make one's way through 24 centimeters of the white stuff doesn't sound fun. Now the sidewalks are clear, it's looking like the dog-walking is becoming friendly. And of course, no more stuff that melts the snow of sidewalks but reacts harshly to dog's paws.

I used to take my dog, Cindy, to the beach when I was a girl. I still remember those as good times. When I see dogs out, I feel a bit sorry that there's no water park for dogs so they can swim. A lot of dogs love to swim.

Everybody has something they would do if they had a lot of money, with me, it's putting up a dog water park. I know, what about people? But people love their dogs and I think would love a park where their dogs can get wet and have a good time. I would have a pool and just a splashing area for the dogs.

Of course, it's all just a pipe dream. I would have to get permission from the city and then there's the sanitary stuff. It really is too bad that Ottawa is landlocked and has no ocean. Although, I have seen people at the beaches letting their dogs swim downstream of where the people swim. I don't see a problem with that.

Well, it'll have to stay a fond dream for the moment. I don't expect to be making lots of money soon. Cheers.

A Journey To Belief

Religion can be a touchy subject. Many feel that it has been misused and I suppose that's true, but whether God exists or not has nothing to do with organized religion. I say this because I've met many atheists who point to discrepancies in the Bible as their reason for not believing in God.

As very young children, my family lived in eastern Canada, Quebec to be specific. There, under the influence of my father's relatives, we went to Catholic Church. Later, when we made the move to White Rock, BC, church was dropped, my mother and grandparents being atheists.

I don't know my grandfather's reason but my grandmother said that she didn't like religion as a child because they didn't like dancing. She loved dancing and when she got older, she would sneak out her window to go to gypsy camps and dance. This was in England around 1900.

Then WWI came and my grandmother used to meet the soldiers coming home all injured. She would give them coffee or write to their loved ones for them. She didn't see why God would let something like WWI happen at all. Any remaining faith disappeared from her heart.

That was my influence and for years I wasn't too thrilled with the idea of God. But when I got out to Ontario, I started to re-think it. There were studies of people sick in the hospital who, when prayed for, got better. Imagine. And then there's the thought that all that we see is just chance. Well, maybe. But it does seem to me that there's intelligent design somewhere in the mix.

But I don't go to organized church. One thing I took away from my mother was the ability to think things through myself. Jesus was born a man, right? Why? So I thought about it and decided that if Jesus had been known as a God people would have treated him well and not given him any problems.

So he was born a man so he could go through all the trials and tribulations that we do, but since he is born of God, he can tell us the most spiritual way to deal with those troubles. So it seems to me.

My belief in God came after lots of thoughts but I find it more satisfying than atheism which can't really do anything for the heart, because if we're not supposed to work on being good and spiritual to each other, than it's going to be a very dreary world to live in.

Amen.