Today our water heater stopped functioning.
I became extremely angry.
You might too if you smelled bad... felt dirty and greasy... had somewhere to go in a few hours... and were looking forward to a nice warm long bath.
I filled the tub
got naked
and climbed in
only to scream at the top of my lungs
upsetting my mother tremendously.

I trudged downstairs
took a look at the thing
but I am not one of those kind of men
so I immediately called my brother in law
who couldn't really help me on the phone.
I found a number for the company we bought it from on it
called them
and received a bullshit story
about how they could do nothing
until we told them if there was a "volt" reading
(for which we would have to hire an electrician"
I almost lied and said
We tried. There is no volt reading....
instead I hung up (still angry)
I told my mom how angry I was

she began to cry
why? what is it?

she said
Your father would have known what to do"

i felt so small
so ridiculous
i cried too

why do i get so angry?

I went back down stairs
unscrewed some screws
looked under some plastic
and found a wire which had been burned to a crisp
it was just a pile of dust
where a wire used to be
like whats left after a Dialek exterminates a person

I called the company back
got a new cool guy with a British accent
told him what I'd discovered
he said
"jolly smart looking under there. It saved you paying for an electrician"

turns out we have a lifetime warranty on the heater
so we paid nothing
we are getting the new part tomorrow


and Ill immediately call my brother in law to install it!

but it was nice to know that I can figure stuff out too

big ?

The big question is
should I leave this blog open
should I continue to write?

I am afraid Ive been lazy in the past few days
I think I shut down for a while

Everything feels so complicated.

My father

Kenneth Calvin Smith was born April 10th 1935.
He had 3 brothers, two sisters
His oldest sister Alice, 20 years older than him, took more of a mothering role in his life
he had many dogs and horses
ate corn directly from the stalk
became a champion yoyo-er
and lived an epic life passionately

His existence would span an era
He was born at his farmhouse
with only a midwife to aid his mother in the birth
they had a telephone with a crank (the kind where you spoke to the town operator and said something like... "Jane? Hi, it's Elizabeth. Can you ring Harold Owens for me?")
He attended dances in barns
swing your partner dosey do kinda stuff

the first family on their street to install plumbing
the first to have a television
before the TV my father would listen to the radio for entertainment

He had dyslexia
never learned how to read his entire life
children would ridicule him at school
he was sent to his Aunt's house everyday
she taught at school and tutored my father
to no avail
it felt like jail to him

He got a job in a rubber company
met the magic gardener
learned how to garden
while listening to Shakespeare

He would ask one girl's hand in marriage
she'd accept
the next day he'd find that her father would not allow the engagement
she never spoke to him again

his first car was black and had fins

a pushy neighbor across the street
would turn out to have a pretty sister in law
who he'd use to entice my father into a date
my father would accept
and the two would go ice skating
well she would stand on the ice
fearful of falling
and he'd skate around her
tell her jokes
make her smile
her fear would leave her
but she'd refused to do any skating

3 months later they were engaged

He had red flaming hair
new morning blue eyes
a smile so long you could ride it
an arc so deep the momentum would send you flying off the other side

he developed the ability to talk to anyone about anything
he had a daughter
who he'd bond with in a way he'd never thought possible with a girl
they'd understand each other in the same mysterious way
an understanding surpassing words
no need for them
only an undertaking together
focused on a singular passion
horses and riding

he had a son
who'd be more of a puzzle to him
he'd struggle to understand this kid
be proud of him in a removed way
feel a little jealous of the boys relationship with his mother

He'd have a feeling of uselessness
he'd look around him and see no hope
he'd take too many prescription drugs
almost die one night
be sent to a clinic
be gone for 3 months

He'd return
refuse to talk about it
make some silent decision
everything would change then
and never go back

one day he'd realize
the son was so much like him
when he'd get angry at the boy
it'd be like he was angry at himself
after that
he had nothing but love for his two kids
he'd follow them, at a distance
being involved in everything they'd let him be involved in

he'd garden like mad
build castles with plants
whole other alien worlds
fantastical landscapes
ever changing
never neglected

years would pass
he'd watch it all unfurl
always be amazed by it
always try to understand it better
he'd anticipate two grand daughters
he'd count so many joys
his red hair would fade to silver
very few sorrows
there were some regrets mixed in
his was not a perfect life
but they were small and powerless

then his mind changed
grew pock-marked
difficult to navigate
frustration led to anger
anger became puzzlement
soon all the amazing things he'd done and seen
smelled and felt
lived through
would mix together and become something else
he'd loose abilities
no more gardens
no more horses
no more dancing

for a time he'd still be able to keep people entertained
to tell stories like a master
to talk about anything

but that would fade to
and so would his thoughts
his walking
his ability to eat
his ability to move
his ability to breath

and then there'd be nothing left to amaze him
nothing left to enthrall
so he'd let go
separate
become an essence

The man taught me how to live
so much of what I've become I owe to him
so much of what I am proud of
are only shadows of him
I have the shadow of his smile as well
n my life
whenever I made a decision
which to most would seem bizarre
or at least
out of the ordinary (and I made many of those)
He'd throw his arms up in the air
scrunch up his face in a sort of "isn't it obvious?" kind of way
and say
"You have to do what you want"
and I have
I continue to
my life has been blessed by it, and by knowing him
4 simple words
do what you want

I turn to him in my mind
i turn to his tomb
i turn to his empty room
to his photo on my wall

thank you thank you thank you

have I finished?

By 2AM eastern time I have to submit this essay
if you have any suggestions please get them in quick!

The Essence of Native American Storytelling
Kevin Smith
ENG/301
January 10, 2011
Professor April Rivers

The Essence of Native American Storytelling
Native American culture has existed as a unique entity for thousands of years. Amongst several other factors, native language, customs, and way of life distinguish the Native American race from all other civilizations in the world. Native American literature also expresses its own individuality. Vital to that individuality is storytelling. In the words of Tom Arviso Jr., “it is through the telling of stories that the history, legends, myths and customs of Indian people have been preserved and passed on through the centuries” (Arviso, 2002, para. 1). This culture of storytelling yields rituals, myths, chance and tricksters, themes of struggle and identity, effective uses of language, and reactions to the events occurring around it.
A tradition of ritual runs deep in Native American culture and is reflected in Native American literature. In Scott Momaday’s The Rise of the Song, the character of Abel enacts a death ceremony; “He drew the old man’s head erect and laid water to the hair. He fashioned the long white hair in a queue and wound it around with yarn. He dressed the body in bright ceremonial colors” (Momaday, 1995, p. 139). Here, Momaday’s attention to detail in his rendition of this ritual paints an effective picture, and offers instructions for this particular rite. The lengthy description of Abel’s actions, mirror the long and slow death of the grandfather. Written in the late 60s, the Viet Nam war may have influenced Momaday to focus on death and death ritual.
Myths form a large portion of the Native American canon. Myths often help to explain acts of nature or traumatic events. In Call That Story Back, Leslie Marmon Silko creates a myth to account for the coming of the white man to North America. In this myth a witch offers a story to a group of magicians and says, “as I tell the story/it will begin to happen” (Silko, 1995, p. 185). The story describes the arrival of Europeans to the continent, and the negative effects they have on nature and native people (Silko, 1995). Silko formats her story in a poetic style lending credence to its mythic makeup. The words the witch uses to tell this tale give the illusion that a spell is being cast. The modern age has seen destruction of environment. Silko’s story not only predicts what has happened to nature, but what is to come, if man refuses to call the story back.
Chance is a convention often utilized in Native American life and literature. In John Rogers’ biography Return to White Earth, a chance meeting with a porcupine is equivalent to a message from the Great Spirit (Rogers, 1995). In mother’s recounting of a hunting story she explains how she met a porcupine and “knew that meeting a porcupine at night was not a good omen” (Rogers, 1995, p. 56). Later when they narrowly escaped a charging moose father exclaimed, “No wonder we met the porcupine” because “surely the Great Spirit was watching over us” (Rogers, 1995, p. 57). Rogers’ characters speak using simple language, giving the reader the feeling this story was being told by the young boy who witnessed it. Rogers published his biography late in his life. During this time a new generation of Native Americans were slowly losing touch with their cultural past. By writing these stories from his life, Rogers attempted to instill a sense of wonder and pride for Native heritage into the minds of Native peoples.
Tales of tricksters inhabit many Native American works. Tricksters traditionally take on various roles in Native American stories. In Gerald Vizenor’s Measuring My Blood, Vizenor’s father is described as, “ a compassionate trickster who did not heed the sinister stories about stolen souls and the evil gambler” (Vizenor, 1995, p. 69). Vizenor’s life seems filled with “tricksterness”. He wrote that as a baby his grandmother “would hide my bottle to wean me in the trickster manner” (Vizenor, 1995, p. 74). Vizenor’s words create a lonely and lost world. This reflects the state of the Native American still struggling to survive culturally in a modern era.
Struggle exemplifies a common theme in much Native American literature. From the moment Europeans set foot on the North American continent, Native American culture has struggled to survive. William Apess faced obstacles and conflict throughout his early 19th century childhood. In his biography A Son in the Forest, he described his unfounded fear for his own race and posits, “the whites did not tell me that they were in a great majority of instances the aggressors – that they had imbrued their hands in the lifeblood of my brethren, driven them from their once peaceful and happy homes – that they introduced among them the fatal and exterminating diseases of civilized life (Apess, 1995, p.27). Apess wrote in a gentle voice. He knew he wrote for a largely white audience and had no desire to insult or threaten them. During his life, Native Americans were being persecuted and pushed further westward. His biography is an attempt to show that Native Americans can live within white culture. In a more modern poem Sherman Alexie retells the battle of Little Bighorn as a dream. In the dream the character of Crazy Horse says, “survive survive survive” (Alexie, 1995, p. 293). These three words not only reflect the turbulent history of Native America, but also to all people who exist today and consider themselves Native American.
Married to the theme of struggle is the search for self-identity. The Native American culture, once hated by the majority, then ignored by them, struggled to define itself. Children were being born with mixed-race parents. Sometimes these children fought to understand who they were. In Neon Scars, a biography, Wendy Rose wrote “How many almost comic photographs do I have of the sharp faced blond and delicate lady who sits before the long-faced mustached Englishman and, between them, holds the chubby little girl with the dark round face, that little Indian baby” (Rose, 1995, p. 98). Rose’s ability to make fun of herself and her situation opens reader’s hearts and allows them to listen more deeply to her words. The Native American search for identity also produced optimistic summations. When describing her own mixed blood Linda Hogan wrote, “I am a tree, grafted branches/bearing two kinds of fruit” (Hogan, L., 1995, p. 264). In more modern times the Native American has become a respected part of the history and community of the United States. The positive outlook of white America may have strengthened Hogan’s more positive expression of her own race.
The Native American culture has survived countless war, manifest destiny, genocide attempts, reservation life, ridicule, ignorance and an overwhelming drive to assimilate itself into white society. In a culture, which began writing its literature down so recently in its long existence it is overwhelming that so much of that culture survives today. Native Americans have been assimilated into American society and yet they retain much of what it is to be “Indian”. This nation of strong and resilient people resembles its literature, which has survived despite centuries of oppression. Native American storytelling will not only continue to survive but it will continue to flourish as well.





References

Alexie, S. (1995) Crazy horse speaks. In G. Vizenor, Native American literature a brief introduction and anthology (p. 293). New York, NY: Addison Wesley Educational Publishers, Inc.
Apess, W. (1995) A son of the forest. In G. Vizenor, Native American literature a brief introduction and anthology (p. 27). New York, NY: Addison Wesley Educational Publishers, Inc.
Arviso, T. (2002) Native journalism keeps with tradition. Quill 90(1). 34 (para. 1). Retrieved from the University of Phoenix eBook Collection database: http://web.ebscohost.com/ehost/detail?hid=112&sid=1b874386-3d64-4251-aa83-a95c8eb683c7%40sessionmgr104&vid=1&bdata=JnNpdGU9ZWhvc3QtbGl2ZQ%3d%3d#db=f5h&AN=6106084
Hogan, L. (1995) The truth is. In G. Vizenor, Native American literature a brief introduction and anthology (p. 264). New York, NY: Addison Wesley Educational Publishers, Inc.
Momady, S. (1995) The rise of the song. In G. Vizenor, Native American literature a brief introduction and anthology (pp. 130-141). New York, NY: Addison Wesley Educational Publishers, Inc.
Rogers, J. (1995) Return to white earth. In G. Vizenor, Native American literature a brief introduction and anthology (pp. 46-57). New York, NY: Addison Wesley Educational Publishers, Inc.
Rose, W. (1995) Neon scars. In G. Vizenor, Native American literature a brief introduction and anthology (p. 98). New York, NY: Addison Wesley Educational Publishers, Inc.
Silko, L. (1995) Call that story back. In G. Vizenor, Native American literature a brief introduction and anthology (p. 185). New York, NY: Addison Wesley Educational Publishers, Inc.
Vizenor, G. (1995) Measuring my blood. In G. Vizenor, Native American literature a brief introduction and anthology (pp. 69-74). New York, NY: Addison Wesley Educational Publishers, Inc.

drugs

Sorry I wasn't able to post yesterday
yesterday many people arrived to "view" my father

we (my sister and her family, my mom and I) arrived at the funeral home about 3:45
we had chosen many photos and photo albums to bring with us
the photos got arranged around the room
my sister mother and I approached the casket
this maybe was the most difficult moment for my Mom all day
there were several flowers
some ordered by us
and others purchased by family members and friends
my favorite of these
was a garland of white roses
which... sort of... drapes along the coffin beside my fathers body

In these situations I don't...
Ive decided that this body is not my father
It doesn't really look like him (do they ever?)
It certainly doesn't act like him
it isn't him
he is gone

The pictures were cool. so many
from toddler years to just a few months ago

Later I'l write about the service today
tomorrow Ill write a little about my father one last time
then... maybe... Ill stop writing
I don't know how I feel about that
this blog has been a real outlet
like a drug

I am so angry right now
i CANT write my paper
I have been sitting here for 10 hours
I have written 6 different versions of the introduction
each of which I despise more than the other
I read
reread
rereread
the assignment ASSignment
it is meaningless to me.
I really do not believe this has anything to do with my father's death.
I am either not ready to write essays like this essay
or
the professor just wrote a bunch of stuff down without thinking much about it...

Ill show it to you although I don't think that'll help:

• Write a 1,050 to 1,400-word paper on how Native American literature is rooted in storytelling culture. Consider the following questions, using specific passages from the readings to support your responses:

o How was storytelling used in Native American culture?
o What literary conventions are consistent with Native American storytelling traditions? How do those conventions serve a purpose in the story?
o How does social identity play a role in Native American literature and storytelling?
o How do the characters in the texts relate to their cultural context? Why is this important to the story?
o How does the language the authors use contribute to the story’s effectiveness?
o What were the historical, socio-political, and cultural events that influenced each of the texts you selected? Why are they important to the story?

How do you make a thesis statement out of that?! There is so much to cover and yet... almost no way I can think of to tie it all together. For example... NA literature uses conventions like Trickster characters and creation myths
so I find ... say 3 works to cite tricksters.... fine that is easy... but while I am citing the tricksters do I add the language effectiveness... the historical events... do I do it to all three works cited? Ill end up having this enormous paragraph which is only 1 paragraph describing 1 convention... there are at least 4 others... I feel like the whole paper is going to be a hodge podge of information... made meaningless by its disconnection.

Does anyone have any ideas? how do I cover all this?

My Dad's viewing will be at Saul's funeral home in Hamilton Square NJ
Sunday 6-9pm
his funeral is on Monday at 9am
mass at St Vincent De Paul in Yardville NJ at 10AM
an a lunch at Tessaros on 33 in Hamilton at 12 noon

I am having yet another block writing this weeks paper

I am so tired right now
Im going to buy new pants and a shirt


Ill write more later