Where Everyone Knows Your Name

Oh, my goodness! Has it been that long since I've posted here? Where has the time gone?  

Well, let me begin with a conversation I had with my youngest son, this week.  He's the lucky duck who gets to go home to the reserve more than the rest of us do.   

After we got finished talking, he said, "Mom, why don't you write about that on your blog?" That, my son, I will do.
I know it's been awhile since I've posted.  With the holidays upon us, it's been crazy.  Speaking of the holidays, I swiped this photo from my sister's Facebook page.

She was searching for just the right tree topper and came up with this.  It's a traditional Seneca head dress.  What a conversation piece, huh?  Thought you'd like it.  I did.


Listening for Grandma

realworldracingphotog / Foter / CC BY-NC-ND
My clan grandmother lived behind our house until she passed away.  She helped to raise my mother as a child, and in return my mother promised to take care of Grandma in her later years.  So, when my mother married,  my dad agreed to build her a little place she could call home.

Her visits were usually few.  She either came to use the phone, or ask my mother to take her to town. Occasionally, she would come to watch television for a few minutes, then leave without a word.

Grandma Ida spoke very little English. "Lie die, dog,"  was about the only phrase she knew.  It always made us  chuckle.

One summer afternoon, my mother had just taken the clothes off the line and brought them inside to fold.  She, my two younger nieces, and myself were in the living room helping her, while watching television.  We could hear the squeak of the back screen door, followed by slow footsteps.

"Dud-zoh" Mom called to her.  "Come on in." One by one, the three of us joined suit.

"Hi, Grandma!  We're in here. C'mon in, Grandma."