March 21, 1994
“One of the few things I know about writing is this: spend it all, shoot it, play it, lose it, all, right away, every time. Do not hoard what seems good for a later place in the book, or for another book; give it, give it all, give it now. The impulse to save something good for another place later is the signal to spend it now. Something more will arise for later, something better. These things fill from behind, from beneath, like well water. Similarly, the impulse to keep to yourself what you have learned is not only shameful, it is destructive. Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. You open your safe and find ashes. – Annie Dillard, The Writing Life.
Dear Coyote,
Pursuant to your instructions, I am willing – indeed, happy – to arrive “at least three days” before your departure, although that seems a tad premature to me right now. I understand fully your need to have a housesitter securely seated before your departure. And I too miss our bullshit sessions. Cosmic strategerizing.
For purposes of my planning, let’s just assume I’ll need a spot at your place to lay early my bones. Perhaps I’ll stay somewhere else. Perhaps not. There’s a fine line between homelessness and travel, and it’s a roof reservation.
My concern is such an arrival date, by plane, for example, requires a weekend departure from Florida. Weekends usually defined as any day that’s not Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday. Let’s not worry about it.
I’m there. I’ll investigate travel arrangements as soon as possible and let you know similarly, i.e., also ASAP, about my specific arrival time.
Thank you for offering extra days at the end of my stay. This is particularly important, since I noticed you did not specify your return date. When will you be coming back to your house?
I am sure I am smart enough to feed your checks and write your cat and do whatever other duties you specify.
Regarding your conversation on the porch with a wonderful curly-haired woman we both appreciate….
Wampum shortage is not the problem, it’s the excuse. As the late Ms. Rosanadanna was so fond of saying, “it’s always something.”
“Enthusiastic support” with continual qualification is simply not enthusiastic support.
Don’t get me started.
Throughout the millennia, when a brave in a relationship had wampum, the squaw had wampum, the relationship had wampum. In my tribe that was true and continues to be true. Since the cultural upheaval known as the Free Squaw Movement or Women’s Liberation, now that women have wampum, the rules have changed. Suddenly, it’s not the couple’s wampum, it’s the squaw’s wampum.
It’s hers.
Throughout the millennia, the brave went off every day to battle the Long Knives, take scalps, kill bison, count coup, the usual, while the squaw tidied the teepee, chewed skins and looked after the kids, Toddling Bull and his sister, Little Beaver. Everybody’s fat & happy.
Then times change, call it Manifest Destiny, the cavalry charged, crew cuts are in, the buffalo are gone, coup don’t count anymore. Suddenly the squaw gets wampum, maybe the Chief died and left her a herd of ponies.
Whatever.
Hell, the brave, honest injun, would even become a cowboy, spend all his time taking care of those ponies. But nooooooooooo, bare-back breath, those are HER ponies.
Go get your own ponies, she tells him.
In the old days, back when the brave was bringing home the buffalo, the squaw didn’t mind eating his steaks.
No, those were our steaks.
The squaw traditionally contributed in many other ways. A relationship didn’t hinge simply on who had the wampum, so long as somebody had enough to go the trading post and come home with the bear grease.
My previous brave took all my ponies, the squaw says, and I swore I’d never let another brave treat me like bad jerky.
Now, don’t get me wrong, the whole tribe is as happy as a buzzard after a wagon train massacre that a squaw can have her own wampum. The enlightened brave understands the squaw is quite capable of earning her own wampum, she doesn’t need the Chief to die and leave her his ponies.
She doesn’t need ANY brave to take care of her.
She’s a liberated squaw.
What does that mean to the brave?
Especially since he never treated her like she was bad jerky.
Especially since when the brave does have wampum, the squaw isn’t happy then either.
That’s not “enthusiastic support.”
It’s always something.
Perhaps if you’d walked the last three years in my moccasins, you’d understand.
Woof!!!! Don’t get me started.
Looking forward to seeing you all.
Wild Dog
P.s. Twenty-five percent of all burglaries are committed while the victims are on vacation.
p.p.s. “Getting old turns out to have less to do with calendars than with fear; less to do with wrinkles than with the truth; and less to do with death itself than with the deepest dimensions of life.” – Mark Gerzon
p.p.p.s. One day, a little Indian boy inquired of his father how his people got their names.
“When the baby is born, the head of the teepee looks outside and the first thing he sees is what the child shall be called,” the father replied.
“Why do you ask, Two-Dogs-Fucking?”