A Visit From a Friend

Photo copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved.

It snowed for 32 hours straight.

It ceased for about three hours, then resumed for a while; stopped again, and now a light and feathery dusting is again falling from the sky.

It's been a strange two days here: a deep quiet, not quite a void of sound, but a sense that all noise has been enveloped so thoroughly that its voice can simply no longer be heard.

The horses and dogs have loved it, alternating between episodes of running through the drifts for the sheer joy of it and resting silently, as though unwilling to disturb the earth's mute watch.

The birds are a bit less enamored of it, the chickens mostly content to stay in their free-range coop, the wild birds simply grateful for the contents of the feeder.

One, however, paid us a visit, albeit from a distance: Gegek, Hawk. In this case, a Red-Tail; from appearances, the female of our pair, who is the larger of the two. Their nest seems to be in the stand of trees across the road, near where she sits in the photo above, but they do spend time here on our land, hunting prey among the chamisa and sage. One of them flew overhead a few days ago, harried by ravens protecting their nest on our side of the highway.

She sat there watching me, mucking out the horses' pens in a near-foot of snow. I went to get the camera, hoping she wouldn't decide to leave. I needn't have worried; she stayed in place for me to get a dozen shots, then remained while I finished my work.

Still. Immovable. 

As though she sat her own vigil atop the outstretched arms of the ancient wooden guardian, beneath a gray and lowering sky.

In some cultures, they are escorts.

Here, she's a friend.

All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.

The Spirit of the Horse, Captured In Stone

Photo copyright Aji, 2015;
all rights reserved.

Today at The NDN Silver Blog, it's wild horses in wearable form: three types, three stones, all beautiful. For horse people like us, it's a spirit-filled art form. Of course, the elk antler and amber versions remind me of Ice and Miskwaki, respectively. [And, yes, both rescued boys are doing very, very well.]

We have about a foot of snow so far, and a lot to get done today (including, I hope, making a sale or two, which is sorely needed right now). So for now, I'll just ask folks to share the post itself, and especially Wings's main page, with thanks in advance.





All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.

Spirit Sentries

Photo copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved.

The snow began at half-past midnight
It's ebbed and flowed, sped and slowed
But it has not stopped since that dark hour

Half a foot by afternoon
More, much more
Than predicted, than expected
More yet now
Surprise, blessing undisguised

Silence reigns
It has all night, all day, all night again
A layer, a cushion, 
Muffling sound beneath a pearlescent blanket
Pure cold, yet oddly warm

All day, the trees have watched,
Allowed the feathery white to rest upon their limbs,
Waited 

They fade into the darkness now
No longer visible, yet still they stand
Sentries, 
Watchers,
Landmarks by which the wingéd escorts chart their flight

Still they will stand upon the morrow
And the one after that
As long as needed
Eternity

Watching, waiting 
Reaching out their arms, 
Aided by the snowy blanket
To enfold a spirit in their embrace

To hold it from that brief moment
Before those with wings arrive to lift it
To carry it onto the snowy currents
To keep it aloft until it finds its own wings

Until the spirit flies under the strength of its own joy
As it will.







All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.

Missing Earrings, Missing Souls. #NoMore #MMIW

Photo copyright Wings & Aji, 2015; all rights reserved.

Today's Friday Feature at The NDN Silver Blog is something very different: It's not a feature in the usual sense at all; there's nothing for sale in the post, although there is an image of Wings's work. The subject is earrings, missing ones — and the missing and murdered indigenous women who wore them.

Today's post is long, and difficult, and very, very personal. Those of you who know me know that this an issue that has been close to my heart my whole life, for too many reasons to discuss here. I've written about it at length, too many times. I'm going to ask you read it again. All of it. And then I'm going to ask for your help. It's all in the post.

And that photo? Yes, that's me. It didn't feel right to use a photo of one of the [recorded thus far] 1,181 of my sisters who are among the #MMIW, the missing and murdered indigenous women. So I took a photo that some of you have seen before, of a person you know, and I altered it to show what would happen if that person you know so well were to be stolen, to disappear — one of my sacred water birds gone from my ear, face blurred by time and societal dismissiveness, fading into invisibility both actual and complete. It took Wings aback; I hope it does the same for you. I can't even look at it, knowing what it represents for more than 1,100 women and their loved ones.

I'm also going to ask you to share the post (not this one, but the one at this link), even if you never have shared and never will share another. This one matters.

#NoMore #MMIW 





All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.

Vigil

Photo copyright Wings, 2015; all rights reserved.

Waiting
Awaiting the snow
A silence so complete that it speaks aloud

Stillness
Air heavy and yet so light
It touches the skin but weights the body not

Life sits in abeyance
Breath bated
Waiting, waiting

All keep silence
Breathing barely to be dared
No audible sound, no spoken word

Outside, the clouds hang low in the night
Pregnant with a strange anticipation,
With emotion dammed, with possibility

Amid the fullness of the dark
One solitary snowflake drifts
Falls . . . .






All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.

Butterfly Wings

Photo copyright Wings, 2015; all rights reserved.

My sister was Butterfly Woman

The mourning cloak

Red wings darker than the blood we share, limned with dove white

Drifting gently around my face each summer

A reminder that her spirit yet lives

It soars on the currents and dances on the rays of the sun

Another spirit is about to take flight

Her cloak not red, but brightest orange flame

Like her namesake, a spirit rare and endangered 

She spent her life spreading light, and joy, and passion

Like the monarch spreads pollen

Fertilizing, feeding, nourishing

Causes, people, life itself

Her wings have slowed in this world

For now

But her spirit animates them still

For now, that spirit plans its journey

Consults its map

Plots its path to a new garden

Filled with flowers that hold a new pollen

One that nourishes the spirit of this world she loves so much

And so, soon,

She will gather her wings

And she will take flight

And when summer comes

And you feel that gentle touch on your face

But cannot see the wings themselves

You will know that it is she

Nourishing your soul

We love you, Cedwyn.

All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.

#TBT: Visit From a Young Spirit

Photo copyright Wings, 2015; all rights reserved.

It's #ThrowbackThursday at The NDN Silver Blog, and although we're not going very far back in time, we do encounter a spirit from an ancient clan. It's a very personal story, one Wings and I and our animals shared with a visitor from the wild late last year. It also features a piece that had come to us only scant days previously, one that for me now embodies the spirit of the encounter related here.

Shares of the post itself, and especially of Wings's main page, are of course much needed and welcomed with our thanks.

All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.

Erasure

Photo copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved.

Erasure
Is so easy

A trick of the light
Of the mind
A sleight of hand and blink of eye

And then I am invisible

To you

But it's the invisibility of artifice
Of what you have created of whole cloth
Of smoke and mirrors
Of the hobgoblins of your own mind

Why does my existence bedevil you so?

Your discomfort is palpable
A living, breathing, pulsating thing
It stands between you and the world as it is
And it is your discomfort that necessitates my erasure

You are not accustomed to it
You are accustomed to being able to mold
The world into a shape that is pleasing to your sight
One that discomfits you not at all
Nor disturbs your rest
Nor your self-satisfied and self-congratulatory existence

But my existence does not depend on what you wish to see

Yes, you can draw a veil over me
Like fog, like snow, a wisp of smoke
A pencil wielded by god itself
The eraser end scrubbing out your view of me
Rendering your worldview comfortable again

And yet, I remain

As the fog hides the mountains
As the snow covers the earth
You can see neither, yet both are there
And will be there long after we are gone

Like them,

I live
I breathe
I work
I write
I love

I am here

I am

Despite your best efforts.





All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.

Warrior Women of Earth and Sky

Photo copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved.

All new at The NDN Silver Blog, it's the newest entry in Wings's premier signature series, and it's fabulous. Slightly more expensive than its peers, but those stones are amazing.

Shares of the post itself, and of Wings's main page, are of course much needed and welcomed with thanks.




All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.

Breaking

Photo copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved.

This pain is breaking me.

I'll be back tomorrow. I always am; I have to be.

But tonight, I'm just done.

All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.

Native Silversmithing: Playing With Fire

Photo copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved.

All new at The NDN Silver Blog, it's the latest and last regular entry in our month-long miniseries introducing readers to Native silversmithing. Today's edition is about playing with fire, and the role that heat plays in silverwork.

Shares of the post itself, and of Wings's main page, are needed and welcomed with our thanks.




All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.

Adjusting to "Normal"

Photo copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved.

Most of the snow is gone now, replaced by mud two to three inches deep. The water pools and puddles on the surface, nowhere to go.

Of course, they say we have an 80% of more on Friday, measured in inches. Hard to believe when it was 54 today and I was outside in a T-shirt in jeans.

The light lasts longer now, measurably so. Oddly, that doesn't feel like a good thing, since we should be getting January's weather instead of May's, but the calendar and the mercury don't seem to be on speaking terms anymore.

The dogs have been shedding their winter coats since Thanksgiving; the horses are following suit. The chickens are laying, on average, 6 or 7 eggs a day right now, despite their raggedy molt garb. Normally, we'd go four or five months without fresh eggs. Some of them are normal-sized, too, but at least a couple of the girls are dropping eggs of monstrous proportions; they won't even fit in the cartons. They're wonderful, but I have to wonder whether this is normal — or if, like me (and like the very climate itself), this is their "new normal." 

I have no "normal" anymore; I think I've finally surrendered to that realization. Part of it is the sure and certain knowledge that climate (and with it, weather) upheaval will only increase, and autoimmune diseases are notoriously weather-affected. Part of it is that it's clear that something is changing, fundamentally, and weather it shows up in bloodwork and whatever other tests modern medicine devises or not, it's there, and I have to find a way to adjust.

I haven't yet.  

One day, I feel almost like myself — I mean, the "new" me, the post-diagnosis me, which of course has been "me" for decades now. I suppose it's like looking in the mirror; no matter what the glass says, your brain insists on reading the image as yourself at 20.

Then there are the days like these, when I don't even recognize the person in the reflection. I've always known that AI disease is a constant stream of ups and downs, but the peaks and troughs used to be relatively predictable in appearance. These days, it's mostly one very long trough. It brings to mind grade-school geography and the Marianas Trench.

We're at 7,500 feet here, so that's a hell of a drop.

There's one other problem with the trough: It requires slogging through cubic feet of heavy water and mud. That slows me down. A lot. So posts will be late a lot. Responses will be late. I'll space things, because when I'm this deep in the trough, the brain fog isn't fog anymore; it's a form of mental drowning, and my memory of my to-do list is the first to get swamped. If I say I'll do something and forget, it's just that: I've forgotten. Not intentionally; it's just the way my brain is right now. 

So bear with me. We've all got a lot of adjusting ahead of us, some of us more than others. 

In the meantime, I'm swimming — or at least treading water — as fast as I can. 

All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.

Monday Photo Meditation: Touching the Blue

Photo copyright Wings, 2015; all rights reserved.

Today's post at The NDN Silver Blog may be late, but it's all new, with imagery befitting midwinter. In keeping with this month's series, the focus is on Wings's photography, and images are of course available for purchase: full-sized, matted, and framed; or signed 8X10 prints with no matting or frame. Inquire via the Contact form on the site.

Shares of the post itself, and of Wings's main page, are needed and of course welcomed with thanks.



All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.

Four Corners

Some days, two worlds is one too many.

Eagle Feathers: An Earned and Sacred Trust

Photo copyright Aji, 2014; all rights reserved.

Today at The NDN Silver Blog, it's a continuation of sorts of yesterday's post, with a featured item by the same artist. The feature, though, is pretty nominal. Sure, we'd love to sell it, but the real point of the post is further down, so please read on. There's a petition link at the bottom, one that still needs signatories.

Another hugely busy day ahead, and I'm dragging today. This past week has wiped me out. But no rest for the wicked or otherwise, so I need to get on it; don't expect to see me unless you see me, so to speak. In the meantime, shares of the post itself, and of Wings's main page, are as always much needed and welcomed with thanks.  




All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.

Rockin' Mocs

Photo copyright Wings, 2015; all rights reserved.

One year when things were pretty rough, I made myself write down, every single day, a gift I received. It was usually an intangible, like a sunset, or maybe kicking out a piece of writing that needed to be done. Rarely was it a thing, something you could touch and hold in your hands (or wear on your feet, as the case may be).

Today, though, it's an actual thing — or, rather, a pair of things.

And they were an honest-to-god gift. I've known they were coming; it's been in the works for a while. But today was the day I actually received them. And I feel really blessed right now.

My old moccasins were thoroughly worn out. Oh, I could still use them in an absolute emergency, but for ordinary wear? Forget about it. And they were very utilitarian ones, albeit extremely lightweight.

These? These are exactly what I wanted. They're utilitarian, too — moosehide, extremely heavy and warm. The man who made them, a real traditional Native man, an expert in leatherwork who knows his way around moccasins of all kinds, told me he broke several needles on them. It's the kind of hide our people used for steady and/or winter wear.

They beadwork is in exactly the colors I wanted. People who know me will know why, if they put it together. These are the real McCoy, as Wings would say — and I'll rock 'em until they fall off my feet, years down the road.

All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.

Eagle Feathers: Gifts of the Spirits

Photo copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved.

This weekend at The NDN Silver Blog, the focus is on eagle feathers. Today, it's a pair of nearly-matched pendants, and a bit about what eagle feathers mean. Tomorrow, it'll be another item by (in keeping with our current weekend series this month) the same artist, and with a bit on the role that eagle feathers are playing in a current controversy involving Native grads.

As always, shares of the post itself, and especially of Wings's main page, are much needed and are welcomed with our thanks.



All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.

Dream Bird

Photo copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved.

Apparently on those rare occasions when I do 1) sleep, and 2) manage to hit REM, the new thing is wild-creature dreams. 

I mean, it's one thing to dream about our animals here; god knows we have enough of 'em. Current count: four horses (down from a high of six); three dogs (down from a high of six); thirteen chickens (down from a high of seventeen, thanks to Coyote, the little fucker); and assorted wild birds and other creatures, including the occasional yearling elk. But to dream about wholly new wild ones, especially with actual, tangible interaction, is a new one on me.

A week or so ago, it was a wild cat (as in large wild beast, not feral domestic cat). Last Saturday night (or, more accurately, Sunday morning), it was a wild bird. As with the cat, seemingly a hybrid of actual creatures, but a combination that does not, so far as I know, exist in the real world.

This is what 12 Monkeys gets me.

For some reason, Wings and I were in Philadelphia. [Yeah, 12 Monkeys, I know, I know . . . .] Like the movie and series, it was apparently the Philly of some frightening future, although our immediate surroundings were nominally pleasant enough, I suppose.

Now, I haven't been to Philly in . . . what? I think the last time was maybe a dozen years ago? I've think I've been there on five separate occasions (not counting driving through the outskirts to miss the Jersey Pike). We have absolutely no reason to go to Philadelphia, and certainly none to meet a group of people to go digging for something in a very old, very ornate sort of state library. Multi-level; top-level mezzanine kind of thing with a sort of cubbyholed area above where the staff would sit, had there been any staff. The lights were on, but no one was home. We clearly were not supposed to be there, and we were looking for something while hoping to avoid being caught. Like I said, 12 Monkeys.

Anyway, big place. Did I mention ornate? All white with gilded trim, utterly baroque, a very Louis Quinze ambience. Well lit, but dead silent but for us. "Us" consisted of myself, Wings, my L'il Bro from Philly, and some three or four other people who I couldn't name in real life if my life depended on it, but who we all knew, at least casually, in my dream. People from an online community that we share with L'il Bro. And while we're hunting furiously through stacks of books at one of the tables, there's a sudden flurry from the cubbyhole above the staff desks on the mezzanine.

We look up to see a bird. A BIG fucking bird. In a nest, with several young bobbing up and down around her, clamoring to be fed. She's the size of a very large raptor, the largest of the female hawks, or more likely, an eagle — but her large head is rounded, like a pigeon's. She and her offspring are gold and white, a match to the library's decor.

We discuss, in hushed tones, the fact that we need to hurry; the racket might draw unwanted attention from officials (whoever they are), and we're not supposed to be in here. Suddenly, a little white woven mesh square comes flying through the air to land on the floor at Wings's feet.

Startled, we all look up to see Mother Bird scolding everyone in the room in a rapid-fire version of her particular avian tongue, us and the younger feathered generation alike. L'il Bro asks aloud, of no one in particular, what she wants. I reach down and pick up the bag, because that's what it is: white fabric, with a white mesh covering, a little like a laundry bag, square and pillowed, and not much bigger than the palm of my hand. [In my dream I can't identify it, but upon waking, I realize it was an empty suet bag, oddly shaped.]

Don't ask me how, but I know the message she's trying to send. "She's hungry," I say. "Her kids are hungry. She wants food."

"We have food," Wings says. And we do, although not much, and we know that it's mostly old already and we have to make it last. Nevertheless, everyone nods agreement that we should feed them. He passes me the bag of food across the table; I root around in it and come up with some old pieces of frybread, dry and stale and shaped a little like turnovers. I hold one up; Wings nods at me, and everyone else agrees. I turn to my left, looking up to the nest on the mezz, and heave as hard as I can.

It's a perfect shot; the frybread lands squarely in the nest, and the little ones begin bobbing ever more furiously with glee. Mother Bird settles them down a bit, raises her white-and-golden head, looks down directly at me . . . 

And says, with perfect diction in perfectly clear English that everyone with us understands: "Thank you."

She turns to feed her offspring, the library is suddenly gone, and I awaken next to Wings in the yellow-gray silence of early dawn.

Yeah, 12 Monkeys. I know. But what does it mean?





All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.

Friday Feature: A Cedar In Snow

Photo copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved.

Today's Friday Feature at The NDN Silver Blog is an especially seasonal piece that spent years in Wings's private collection. Hand-carved by his cousin, it's an elder rendered in cedar on alabaster, like the trunk of the tree itself arising naturally from the snow.

For its quality (and its age), it's exceptionally modestly priced, and simply beautiful. It needs to find its home. Shares of the post itself, and especially of Wings's main page, are very much needed and are of course welcomed with our thanks.

All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.

There are days . . . .

Photo copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved.

There are days . . . .

This is one of them.

It's all dried sticks and barbed wire, dead blooms on a broken fencepost.

Hope is a dead thing, too.

It'll come back; it always does. Eventually.

But there are days when the pain and the pressures are just too much to pretend anymore.

No comments; no questions; no substance tonight.







All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.

#TBT: Native Flutes

Photo copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved.

All new at The NDN Silver Blog, it's a post that was difficult to write. Today's featured item is a beautiful piece from Wings's private collection, one that he's had for two decades or more. The hard part was finding out, when I looked up the artist to find out what his work looks today, that he apparently walked on four years ago, at far too young an age. He's left the world a beautiful legacy, visual, auditory, even tactile. 

Shares of the post itself, and of Wings's main page, are of course very much needed and welcomed with thanks.




All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.

First Grade; First Lesson

Photo copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved.

Her name rhymed with that of a genocidal European dictator, but in 1929, the world hadn't yet heard of him; even his own people didn't know his name. He was still struggling to acquire a political audience, but within four short years he'd be well on his way to launching his campaign of extermination.

But in 1929 in the U.S., a different sort of extermination campaign had already been under way for well over 400 years. She was a willing, even eager cog in that campaign's machine, one who had honed and polished her hate so perfectly that it was a tangible thing, dipped in acid and glistening poisonously.

She was, of course, in the perfect position to execute her own role: a teacher of first graders, one responsible for shaping the minds and characters and spirits of the area's youngest generation when those minds and characters and spirits were at the most impressionable.

Like all good fanatics, she took her work seriously.

Guess What's Back In Stock?

Photo copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved.

Remember the earrings in this photo? Wings made them at the end of October, and they sold the very first day. I got a ton of inquiries about them at the time, but one friend was quicker than everyone else. And at the time, unfortunately, he had no more of those stones in his inventory.

Well, he now has four new pairs of heart-shaped red agate cabochons. The color is slightly lighter then these in the photo above — more in the dark peach to coral shades than blood red. And beautifully glossy and translucent, just like these.

We're also three short weeks from Valentine's Day. So if you were looking for these for a loved one as a romantic gift, now's your chance to commission your very own custom-tailored pair. But you'll have to do it soon: Effectively, there are only about two weeks available for smithing and shipping. E-mail here.




All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.

A Little Jar of . . . Snow

Photo copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved.

Today at The NDN Silver Blog, it's another entry in our current Wednesday series featuring Wings's silverwork. It's also a meditation on the weather (and the recent lack thereof); on history, tradition, and the skills that went with an earlier time; and on what our future holds the skills that we'll need to navigate it.

I did warn people last night that I'd be asking for shares rather insistently again. Business is down all over the region, badly so; it's not just the usual post-holiday slump, either. We need sales, and need them badly. So please, share today's post, and Wings's main page while you're at it, via the widgets at the bottom of the linked pages if you can, by copying and pasting the URLs if you can't. 

Thanks.





All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.

Doing Good While Eating Well, Again.

Logo copyright Jambo Cafe; all rights reserved.

Home again. And absolutely beat.

We had some business to take care of in Santa Fe, in addition to picking up some supplies. We had to go today, because snow is due tonight, and we're supposed to pick up several inches of the stuff tomorrow. But no matter how early we go, it always seems to take longer than planned.

The one good thing about the trip is that it gave us a chance to have lunch out, which is rare. And when we go to Santa Fe, we nearly always go to the same place: Jambo Café. I've written about it here before: It's owned and run by Ahmed Obo, from Lamu Island off the coast of Kenya. He serves real African food, and like most indigenous foods I've had in my life, it's the very best kind: much more home-style than haute cuisine, and unbelievably good. Also modestly priced, with extremely generous portions; my lunch leftovers will be dinner in a little while. That would be island-spiced chicken peanut stew with rice and roti (traditional flatbread), and it is serious comfort food. Wings has the lamb stew and a couple of beef kebabs waiting, along with his own order of roti. 

Mr. Obo has also opened Jambo Imports, two doors down from the restaurant in the strip mall where both are located. Dangerous place. Beautiful African-made art, craft items, textiles, spices . . . in other words, kind of our idea of heaven. Again, everything is modestly priced, but also clearly very well made. And I now have a place to get pomegranate molasses and roasted coconut milk. [Yes, I do cook, believe it or not.]

But there's another, very important aspect to Mr. Obo's businesses, and it's why, aside from the quality, we like being able to give our own small amount of business to him. I wrote about it last year, so I won't go into detail again. Suffice to say that he has used a healthy chunk of the profits from his restaurant (and now import shop, too) to set up child and maternal health clinics back home on Lamu Island. 

Mr. Obo has set up the Jambo Kids Foundation, and all monies donated go straight to programming work; he picks up the overhead costs. You can read more about his work here. So if you have a few bucks that you don't know what to do with, consider making a tax-deductible donation to this effort; it's important. And, of course, if you live in the area (or are traveling here), don't miss out on the food, too.

Except as otherwise indicated, all content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.

Native Silversmithing: Cutting and Stamping

Photo copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved.

Today at The NDN Silver Blog, it's the next entry in our series on native silversmithing, covering cutwork and stampwork. It's just a quick and dirty overview, but it defines some of the terms of the trade that you'll frequently see and hear. It also contains images of Wings's work that exemplifies various techniques.

I have a very full schedule today, so I'm unlikely to be online again until late. In the meantime, shares of the post itself, and especially of Wings's main page, are welcomed with our thanks.

All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.