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| Photo copyright Aji, 2019; all rights reserved. |
Across the highway. Yes, there's a lot of green there, but the orange is very early. And as cold as it was this morning, it's an indicator that we might not get much time for fiery foliage this year before real winter moves in for good. In a way, winter will be a relief, because this has been, by any measure, a terrible summer.
After noon already, and I've accomplished virtually nothing, because early this morning, Chinook apparently went after a scent and caught both hind legs on barbed wire. [The other night, just before full dark, she somehow found a 3-ring hoop of it that had come loose from what it was covering (more likely, pulled loose by the dogs, digging), and got herself halfway through it; fortunately, she was smart enough to stay where she was and not move until we got to her and got her free, none the worse for wear.] Today, she has a puncture wound on the inside of her right hind, halfway between hip and knee, that was bleeding fairly freely because she tore herself loose (and the skin with it). That's now packed with traditional medicine and wrapped securely. She has another on the outside of her left thigh, and this one is not as bad superficially, but hurts worse because it hit the muscle. That's also packed with medicine, and she's been baby-aspirined and antibioticked, and she's indoors with me now. And hopefully she's learned a lesson. But it's been a rough morning.
This post is going to be a bit different today, although it'll end up with the usual cut-and-paste. I will also bump Ona's post above this as soon as I get this distributed. But I am exhausted this morning, and I need to write some of this out.
The parade of horrors began on June 1, when two of Wings's cousins were murdered. Because of who the victims are and where it occurred, it's the feds involved. Supposedly they've known for months who did it, but there's been less than zero movement on the case. Until yesterday, when they finally announced a reward for information leading to the arrest, yadda, yadda, yadda. And, of course, the local paper has no interest in following up or putting pressure on a colonial LE community with whom they work hand in glove.
Maybe they thought they needed to look like they gave a tiny shit about Indigenous lives, given that LE pulled out all the fucking stops the last two weeks to arrest the killer of a well-off white male transplant. [The accused is allegedly Native, too, and it's a guy who, years ago, was part of a group of guys who worked here getting the hay in and so forth, and it's a horrible feeling to realize that someone close to us brought this person here. But the irony is not at all lost on us that a thought-to-be-Native (we think he may not be, actually) accused perp of a wealthy white man gets got immediately, while the reportedly outsider killer of two Native traditional men is still roaming free, and no one in this colonial culture has given a single fuck.] Oh, and that "reward?" A lousy $5K. How do you put a price on the lives of two Native men, one an elder? To the federal government, this is how, apparently.
Meanwhile, the day we returned the sander to the Questa lumberyard a couple of weeks ago? That night, the same highway, a little north, was the scene of a horrifying tragedy (and a completely unnecessary one). A country singer on her way down here from Colorado for Hearne's annual "Big Barn Dance" was driving in excess of 100 mph (LE hints that alcohol was involved, too, and there are reports of her filming IG videos while driving), went to pass another vehicle, clipped its bumper, went airborne, and smashed head-on, from above, into a car driven by 16-year-old girl from the area. What was worse? The deputy fire chief was on duty and was first on the scene . . . and found his 16-year-old daughter dead behind the wheel. What was also bad? Hearne's people issued a fucking statement mourning the loss of the white country singer, with not a word for the innocent Hispanic girl who was her victim. And it took the local newspaper about 4 days (with something like 4 separate articles in this weekly rag at one time) to show a headline or photo of the victim, rather than a sexy publicity still of the singer who killed her.
Meanwhile, a week or two ago, down in Española, a beautiful five-year-old Santa Clara girl was apparently abducted from her front yard in town. Her little body was found a day or two later, floating in the Rio Grande along the Pueblo boundaries. No word on any progress there, either, but another beautiful indigenous child is gone, entirely unnecessarily.
This has been the background music of our summer here. Add into that a host of other incidents, some of them deaths, and it's been . . . grim, to say the least. Also very much a reminder of how little this colonial world values us.
And against all of that, we've been battling our own constant, constant physical pain. until two weeks ago, I was in the throes of some of the worst full-body pain of my life, and that's saying something, because after a lifetime of this shit, i've got a fairly high tolerance, and I've been through some really, really bad episodes over the years. And I still have to worry about all the rest: What are all these tumors in my body? Are they going to be wrong? Will it turn out to be thyroid cancer after all (and we've now lost two full years of possible treatment)? What about the breathing and heart issues? have they missed something? Why do I now need to worry about kidney function? Are the tumors on my liver something bad after all? Have they missed others?
This is the percussion that accompanies my every waking moment, and it's part of why I don't sleep much (well, that and the pain). And there's the pain Wings is enduring with his knees, and the requirements for surgery, and all the stresses for him that go with that. And with his nephew so ill, there are new pressures added to all of that.
So this is the daily grind here, and everything else — the need to get the work done before winter, which we now can't do; the medical stuff for me that I keep postponing and canceling — occurs against this. Sometimes, the stories aren't mine to tell, or at least not when they're happening. It doesn't mean they're not happening, or that it doesn't affect us in profound and damaging ways. And sometimes, I just need to write it out, because otherwise, it will eat me alive. And I am tired.
Now to the usual.
For those wondering about my own health issues, see here; with regard to the work being done, some of the details are here. We still have to get the plumber in to finish up, and I regard that as a bigger priority right now in practical terms, so whatever we take in sales-wise will have to go to that. This is all complicated by the fact that, for August, a record number/amount of my Patreon patrons' cards were declined, too, so that income is lower than usual (no, I don't know who and haven't checked; I'm not going to contact anyone who probably is already scrambling to juggle their own stuff, too).
Anyway. Back to the grind; so I need help to get all this done. Folks can help in several ways, and we really need the help now:
On the wishlist, now the cold is here at night, the flies are not quite so bad, but the fly traps are still a priority. The other top priorities are the dish drainer, because we're going to need to take care of some cabinet-top stuff when the guys are here next week, or whenever we get them back out here; and the candles, to deal with the residual mildew odor in the utility room, which I hope the plumber will be here to finish next week (the utility room work, not the mildew). But the costs on all of this are . . . killing us right now.
And as I said, sales are ideal, of course; one or two of Wings's bigger pieces would cover the whole shot for this round of work. Patreon subscriptions are good, too. Either way, it's a trade for value. But I'm already feeling panicked at what we thought would be our schedule being so suddenly and thoroughly upended, and we'll take it however it comes at this point.
Please share everything, because I'm suddenly back behind the eight-ball on a whole additional front, and yeah, I'm scared about covering everything and surviving, too. Thanks.
All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2019; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.
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