Meandering through the Writings of Others as Lament Practice: The Summer of Bitter and Sweet

“Campfire Ready for Later” Phone Photo by DS

Here are my explorations:

Ferguson, Jen. The Summer of Bitter and Sweet. 2022

993 words

*** This book is about an ice-cream shack, yes, but it’s also about real traumas teens face. *** Indigenous and Black teens *** Indigenous women, girls, and two-spirit people *** If you’re not ready that’s okay *** find healing in Lou’s story *** RED: Winter isn’t colorless . . . impossible buds on trees *** We’re a sight. Three pickup trucks traveling down the highway, each with one of the Creamery’s picnic tables overhanging the tailgate. And me, in the lead . . . my best friend Florence laughing . . . we’re tough enough. *** We’re giggling over the song lyrics *** No one asks where Wyatt, my boyfriend, is this morning. *** Florence wipes paint from my face carefully. *** Survival is always in the back of our minds. *** We kissed forty-six times. *** You don’t have to like giving BJs for you to … just pretend. *** Sometimes, life gets super clear. *** These days I hate lying to my family. *** Mom walks toward the fridge, but she stops to run her hand through my hair. *** A crow in one of the trees caws down at us. *** Like he didn’t call me his Native girlfriend . . . Why do you have to point out he’s Black? *** Wyatt, he shrugs. *** Why can’t he just be a man of mystery? *** It doesn’t bother me, King says staring at me, Black isn’t a bad word, Lou. *** Our customers, mostly teens, begin to dance. *** Calgary has a grad program I like though. *** It was always easier talking to people like this man when I was pretending to be white. *** ORANGE: The least popular flavor of ice cream, but one of the most popular sorbets. *** Today I unbraid my hair to wash it. *** I’m going to have to learn to swim in these new waters. *** It’s for the best, her being gone. *** Blue ink bleeds across the page like a wound. *** YELLOW: Dandelion wine or golden currant . . . All life exists on a spectrum, after all. *** Keesha kee taen *** I’m pushing to free myself of the mess *** He’s not himself, swimming in rough waters – in shock. *** By the time the tear at my hairline is stitched, I am all woozy. King helps me *** Sweat gathers on my upper lip. *** But secrets can burn down friendships too. *** What was he driving, do you remember? *** I can’t stop thinking about the fire and what will happen when he learns I caused him that pain too. *** GREEN: typically oregano. It’s spicy, for people who like things both hot and cold. *** We own a lot of people a lot of money. *** A firefly picks up outside. We watch it buzz and glow *** This part of me works but every time I try to imagine doing it with someone – with King – I tense up. *** Her long red hair is in a high ponytail *** BLUE: usually wild blueberries. It’s rarity that makes true blues special. *** It’s quiet in this house. My mom’s off-key singing to pop songs is missing. *** Today’s tee is bubble-gum pink and says, There is no Planet B. *** Lou, look. I asked you out and you basically ran. I get it. *** In this town I’m too Black – hell, on the prairies I’m too Black – but in my ma’s hood, at Westview in my classes, in my friends’ eyes, I’m not always Black enough. *** When I moved to Toronto, I had to learn to live in a place that is not all white space. *** BLUE: Borage flowers and honey make a delicious sorbet. *** Dear Daughter, Eighteen years of patience is something you cannot fully understand. I am not a patient man any longer – not after my time in the cage. *** The choice is yours – be my fierce warrior girl. *** When I make it back to the barn, to read the letter again, to memorize it, maybe do exactly what Florence suggested and burn it – the letter is gone. *** INDIGO: Saskatoon berries should be on every commercial ice-cream company’s rotation. To start a Michif/Metis Indigo, first you’ll make a classic jam . . . so it forms ribbons of flavor. As always, trust yourself. Try things. See what works. *** The tornado has me all out of sorts. *** She was drunk, Lou. *** He’s teaching me Toronto slang. I’m teaching him Dublin slang. *** Ty, I tried the tough-Native-chick thing with you for almost a year. It didn’t fit. *** The flies would prefer to land on or warm bodies, their little legs tickling us. Off in the trees, a crow watches us with interest. *** I take a break to scroll my mom’s Instagram. *** Text her. *** I’m more worried about you than if it was a bougie art museum like MOMA. *** Intrusive thoughts *** VIOLET: Fresh chokecherries are poisonous. Use this newfound power at your discretion. *** My mind stalls here, betraying me. *** We’re moving slowly, like goldfish in a tiny tank. *** I tongue the roof of my mouth and even that small pain doesn’t hurt as much as it feels exactly like living. *** VIOLET: At the far spectrum of the rainbow, we expect the most saturation. If you’re violet, you’re a violet. *** I turn my phone off. Something I never do. *** Clothing, deodorant, a few books, the braid of sweetgrass I was gifted at graduation, and with my bag hung over my shoulder, and my tent tucked under my other arm, I leave this house. *** Canola is in the air. *** Hand to G-O-D, he nods, then whispers, one day, Lou, I want you to read all my stories. *** She’s outside my tent. *** THE YELLOWS: Like a good dandelion wine, friends are sunshine. *** 

…

Meandering Through the Writings of Others as a Lament Practice, A Yellow Raft in Blue Water

“Lions Gate Bridge with Orange Buoys”

Phone Photo DS

Here are my explorations:

Dorris, Michael. A Yellow Raft in Blue Water. 1987.

678 Words

Rayona *** Indigenous *** metaphor TV, skin colour *** plot, anti-plot *** setting, sense of place *** character *** dark humour *** cultural, social commentary *** portrayal of hope *** simile *** folk wisdom, participation in social norms *** pathos, foreshadowing, tension/conflict *** loyalty, friendship, etiquette, humour *** good citizenship, love, craftiness, deniability, foreboding *** preparing her daughter *** metaphor *** Her words rinse through my thoughts . . . *** phronesis (practical wisdom) *** applied for relocation *** wow, abandonment or loving care? *** sink into the basket of her arms *** narrator gives insight *** profound re: identity *** vacuum cleaner eyes *** pop culture *** God Squad failed intro *** dark humour *** show don’t tell *** tension, foreshadowing *** turning point *** moment of truth *** I wake up lost. *** self-care, self-talk *** foreshadowing *** facts or feelings? *** yes *** actions reveals heart *** such care, the letter *** beautiful narrating of inner thoughts *** I no longer feel I am in their way. *** poetic *** I have no idea what just happened! *** yellow raft *** magnets connected by the stream of my words *** That’s the kind to find yourself someday. *** turning point *** wow, horse, surprise *** observant, caring *** Christine (her mother) *** Everything about me was all wrong . . . *** gossip at church *** Indians discovered Columbus *** To hear him talk, Indians were the center of the world. *** The edge that ran between us sprouted broken glass and barbed wire. *** So I decided to put myself in a more likely spotlight. *** I asked him not to leave me. *** I paused for a turquoise moment . . . *** I was a fish reeled on a steady line. *** I too will be brought away from the general grieving. *** mercy *** She entered wary as a cat. *** I never wished she was anybody else but who she was. *** You had to have lived my life to understand it. *** There was no undoing her. She was in her own world. *** accompaniment *** Don’t tell anyone where I’ve gone. *** buffalo *** Nothing, nothing, was worth her witnessing me made low. *** I didn’t expect to recognize his music., but I did *** It was the smell of the first page of a school notebook . . . *** I was sent. I was the only photograph still breathing. *** The pain was different . . .  *** author weaves and retrieves *** contribute to their life together ***In the middle of them, riding high and steady as a lighted island, was my own reflection looking back at me. *** Ida *** teetering between sickness and the hope for improvement *** foreshadowing *** I missed easy talk. *** Relief filled me like air. *** I didn’t calculate what my presence had added or subtracted to that house in the past, but in my absence . . .  *** deep injustice *** It was as if she was breaking, a part at a time. *** her witness *** She’s asleep . . . but she’ll want to wake for me. *** parallel, event and memories, unity *** I . . . touched his heaving shoulder. *** device, story told backward *** She would relocate to a city where she was unknown where no one would speak behind her back. *** I plotted the changes I would someday make. ***  This hill would be our refuge. *** It’s not too late for you to have your own life. *** She might just get the man she always wanted after he became disabled. *** I laid my life on the table . . .  I put myself in his broken hands. *** but she had not influence over me *** not smart in betrayal *** the eyes that didn’t see me *** She took my news as a serious matter. *** the practice of braiding *** The music poured into the dark house like water from a faucet. ***

… 

The 215 Children at Kamloops

“Orange Knee Praying” DS

You know I try to come to grips with human nature and how we can survive the murderous evil among us; in us.  I read snatches of poetry, essays, newspapers.  An author (Mordecai Richler) speaks of hating Germans until he read “All Quiet on the Western Front” only because it was delivered from the library as he was sick in bed and bored, and he began to read it.  So, I began to muse about the amount of forgiveness that has begun to happen among people.  Here is my short random list:

Allies need to forgive Germans, and Italians

Italians (in the news this week), and Japanese, and Chinese, need to forgive Canadians

Indigenous peoples need to forgive other Canadians

Canadians need to forgive Americans (they are always the southern neighbour with big shoulders so easy to blame for societal ills here)

Americans, I wonder who they need to forgive, oh yes, terrorists, like of 9/11

A lot of people it seems need to forgive Americans and the British (thankfully the Scots are hardly to blame), so people from Africa, Asia, South America, the Middle East, just to name a few

Jews need to forgive Christians; Israelis need to forgive Palestinians and vice versa

Christians need to forgive Muslims and vice versa too

Japanese need to forgive Americans and Koreans need to forgive them

Chinese need to forgive North Americans and maybe Russians

Russians need to forgive (my meager knowledge or world affairs comes up short here)

This musing started with a memorial service this morning.  I had no intention of attending.  I felt I was already experiencing burnout just from my own life.  I was nudged early in the morning to get up and get ready for the 9:00am offering of grief (I thought).  I felt defensive as the descendent of Scots settlers who could not be to blame as they had befriended First Nations as they could identify with them so strongly because of the Highland Clearances.

I find forgiving others excruciatingly difficult; myself as well, so I try to consider what I do.  I also, as the oldest child in my family of origin, like to place blame.  In that way, I can focus a solution.  I am also usually quick to ask for forgiveness when I know I have crossed a line.  But this time?  I cannot face any blame for killing 215 innocent children, I just can’t.  Or can I?

Can one father be blamed for the action of all abusive fathers?  Yes, as many blame the Father in that way.  Only when we have our own children can we really forgive the foibles and inadequacies of our own parents.  Do we have to experience our own guilt in order to accept responsibility for hurting others?  There are sins of commission and sins of omission.  I have not killed anyone, so I am off the hook for the first one (but I have been quite angry at times).  For omission, what could I have done?  I did not even know about it.  I doubt if my Church of Scotland ancestors did either.

So I consider individual guilt and the guilt of a people.  Can I feel guilt on behalf of my race?  I have never really been faced with this before.  Of course, as a woman, I can certainly get into male-bashing (but not much anymore: love cured much).  That is one half of my race (and every other race too).

I read of the unspeakable damage.  I read of the injustices.  I read of the betrayals.  I read of the pain and it touches me.  I am stained with this.  In some sense this was my own race that perpetuates these injustices.  I only dabble in helping, just to be kind.

As I start to grow up (later in life), I realize the blood of the children is somehow on my hands too and I need to find out more.  In the online Memorial for the 215 Indigenous children found buried at a residential school in Kamloops B.C., they say, we are all one.  Have they forgiven?  Can I face my vicarious guilt and sins of omission?  This morning they give me courage.  As a settler, I felt too much grief at the news.  I felt sick.  I do not want to be sobbing on Zoom.  But it is not about me.  

The memorial service, rather than being filled with people wailing and crying (as they have already done in private, this being the fourth day since the news) I see they are already in the mode of offering healing, of offering forgiveness.  It is the love that draws me in to look and to awaken.

The amount of forgiveness needed is staggering all over the world and in our part of the world too.  It is overwhelming but I think of two sayings, Rome was not built in a day, and a journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step.  The first steps of Alcoholics Anonymous state that we admitted we were powerless and that a power greater than ourselves could return us to sanity.  May it be so.  The news is staggering.  The grief for families is encompassing.  The road ahead is daunting.  The victims, the bullies and the bystanders all need the Creator’s help.  I contemplate what it means to be a witness, to be an ally, to be a friend; to be forgiven.