Vendredi

Here's how I'm spending my Friday night:

I remember snow

Mission had a decent snowfall today, the heaviest since my arrival. We were only supposed to receive a couple inches, but there's at least half a foot on the ground. (I think the same meteorologists who forecast the weather in Juneau moonlight down here.) And boy is it cold out there. It's currently 1 degree and the skies are clearing, making for a chilly night ahead.

But it's pretty out. And even though it's cold, there isn't much wind. My fingers are just now regaining warmth and feeling.

Double rainbow at sunset:

The church:

Osni:

Going to the other side

I had one of those experiences today that confirmed I have completely turned aside my East Coast upbringing for a rural-based mentality. Not a bad thing, of course, but still startling.

Today feels like winter again. It was 68 degrees on Tuesday, which this time of year means bad weather is on its way. It indeed arrived last night. Today, the temperature has been in the teens with a below-zero wind chill and some flurries. It's been worse for sure, so there was no question I'd be walking into town for, as opposed to driving to, the lunchtime Chamber of Commerce meeting.

Walking over to the post office afterward, I wiped out while on the slick roads. (I should've had my Yaktrax on; however, I had spring fever and wasn't thinking sensibly.) I dusted the snow of from my pants, dropped off my mail, and began to head back to work.

This guy then asked, "Do you want a ride?"

I had no idea who this person was. Plus, he was in the driver's seat of a huge van, the kind kidnappers always seem to employ in the movies. I don't know if it was because I had just slipped on the ice or if I was anxious to get out of the cold, but I didn't even think before I answered, "Sure!" Ten years ago, I would have said, "Oh, I'm fine, but no thanks," flashed a smile, and continued on my way. Now I'm accepting rides from strangers in scary vehicles.

As it turned out, I was never in harm's way. He was just a kid who's about to leave for his Mormon mission. So, it wasn't even the most menacing situation I've been in today. I just wonder what's next though. Offering to help find some creepy guy's lost puppy or kitty at the park?

Who needs sleep?

I somehow dragged myself out of bed this morning at 5:30 to go for a run. Here's a shot taken at about 6:15 along the Dump Road, looking south back toward Mission:

As is usually the case with my morning runs, I was fine once I was outside. It was such a great morning to be out too: cool, no cars, and no wind. My breath just hung in the air. And it's neat to stand at the top of the ridge and look down onto the lights of town.

Why I live here

Beautiful day here in Mission today. It was close to 70 degrees. I donned short sleeves and sunglasses for my lunchtime walk into town.

Clouds began to move in toward sunset, creating some awesome light. Of course, I ran outside to watch.

I wish I had had my camera with me during my drive down to Valentine this evening. The sun looked like a fireball.

Then, on my way home from volleyball, there were a couple flashes of lightning in the northern sky. I was thinking about it, and I think it was the first time I'd seen lightning in about six years.

Reality returns this time tomorrow, as two to four inches of snow are expected. But if today was any indication, spring is going to be awesome. The sun feels so good!

Leg braces, chicken pox, and my enemies

25 things, continued...

3. Most people know I had braces (among assorted orthodontia) when I was a kid. Most don't know I had braces on my legs for a time in junior high.

If you've ever seen me run, you know I'm mostly up on my toes. I can't help it; it's just what's comfortable for me. When I was a kid, I evidently walked that way too. I say "evidently" because when my mom would tell me to put my heels down, I sincerely didn't know what she was talking about.

So, she made an appointment for me at the "Institute." The doctor put casts on both of my feet and calves to make molds of them. When I started crying, he gave me some M&Ms in an attempt to cheer me up. I can't remember if I cried because the casts freaked me out, or if it was the realization I was a freak myself.

We went back to the Institute when the braces were ready. They were made of a white plastic. I put them on by slipping my foot and leg into the front of each one, then tightening the thick Velcro straps. Luckily, no one would notice I was wearing them because the bottom portion fit into my shoes, and the parts that covered my calves were hidden by my pants. It was only when my pant legs crept upward, like when I was sitting down, that they could be seen. I remember a few comments from other kids, but I never received any shit because of wearing them.

I didn't have those things very long. Maybe a year? I don't know. And I'm not sure they did anything to "correct" my walking. I do know my mom no longer told me to put my heels down after the braces were shelved.

4. I had chicken pox in the third grade. That's when I officially had them anyway. My parents thought I had them when I was younger. I was kept home from school for a week. The only problem was they wouldn't scab over. Well, as it turned out, they were only mosquito bites.

Fast forward to Easter Break 1986. My family was in the Wilmington train station waiting to depart for Atlanta to visit my aunt and uncle. I felt three bumps on the back of my neck. I walked over to my mom, asking her what they were. Oh, she knew. But the trip would continue.

I had full-fledged chicken pox the entire time I was down there. It really didn't stop us, so I'm sure I infected many folks up and down the Eastern seaboard. While in Georgia, I took Aveeno baths in between our day trips, like climbing Stone Mountain. I was such a little trooper. I must not have had many pox on my face because I don't remember my parents mentioning any negative reaction to my intermingling with the pox-free children.

5. I like to say everyone loves me. I'm kidding, of course. But is it really so far from the truth? It was during my freshman year of college.

My year at Georgia Tech was the only one I spent living in a dorm. It's probably a good thing too, because my Lone Ranger mentality would have cemented permanently, prevented me from opening up to anyone, and required regular visits to a therapist.

Everyone on my floor in the dorm hated me. Okay, "hate" is a strong word. Some disliked me, others were indifferent, but a few hated me. One guy, Arnie (I think that was his name. We haven't exactly kept in touch.), started banging on my door at 5:00 a.m. one morning screaming, "I hate you so much Brian!!!" Thanks for sharing! I was pretty sure he was drunk, but one would think the booze just lessened his inhibitions.

I did have friends at Tech though. Plus, I was off of campus enough exploring Atlanta as far as MARTA would take me, which allowed for minimal contact with my floormates, even with the close quarters. And I had my job at Cub, which truly was a fun place to work, even if I had to deal with Shokoni's advances.

I think part of the reason I wasn't liked was because I wanted nothing to do with any of them. So, I probably came across as standoffish. But these guys were lame and boring. And don't even get me started on my roommate. Holy smokes.

The tax man cometh

I attended the Mission City Council meeting Wednesday night. I was there for work purposes, needing to garner council support for a loan for which we're applying. I had been meaning to check out a council meeting anyway, so I hung around even when my agenda item was passed.

And am I glad I did! I certainly learned a thing or two. (Just a warning here. I found everything that follows to be absolutely fascinating. You may not.)

It all started with the sales tax. The statewide portion in South Dakota is 4 percent, and municipalities may levy up to an additional 2 percent. It gets a bit complicated here on the Rosebud. From what I've read, the state and tribes split sales taxes collected on the reservations. In the city of Mission, an additional 1.75 percent is collected, bringing the total sales tax to 5.75 percent.

So, here's what I learned: Unlike Juneau, for example, the Mission City Council has the power to increase the local portion of the sales tax through two readings of a new ordinance. If it passes both readings, it becomes effective the next time the state updates its rates (either January or July). There's no public vote.

I spoke with the city finance officer after the meeting to clarify what I had heard. I thought the system Juneau had in place worked well. Portions of Juneau's 5 percent sales tax (3 percent and 1 percent) come up for a reauthorization vote when the set collection period nears expiration. The remaining 1 percent is permanent. Residents should have a say in not only how they're taxed, but the planned use for those funds as well. It's not like that here.

So, taxes may be raised here without any public input. Don't get me wrong; some of the onus is on the residents, for sure. Sandy and I were the only non-city employees and -council members at Wednesday's meeting. Sadly, it sounds like that's the norm. Plus, the meeting minutes are published in the newspaper. Technically, there's no reason why the public shouldn't know what's happening in city government.

But part of me still thinks this is pretty sneaky. The newspaper never reports on the events of the twice-monthly council meetings (save for the minutes, which are not an adequate substitute for actual reporting). Overall media coverage on the reservation is poor. Occasionally, I'll come across an article regarding area news in the Sioux Falls and Rapid City newspapers; however, these reports are mostly on local crime, like last weekend's stabbing.

News here, instead, is spread by word of mouth (or rumor, depending on one's level of cynicism). For folks like me who are new to the area, that makes it very hard to learn the issues and become an educated voter. And the internet is not a media outlet here. Period.

I also learned there isn't much interest in serving on the council. There have been only two city elections in the last six years. I would certainly see about getting myself elected to the council if I knew I was to remain in Mission indefinitely. That's when I learned I actually live outside the city limits. Argh! Why am I just now figuring this stuff out? What else do I not know?

Which brings me back to the sales tax issue. Even if the proposed quarter-cent increase were to become a ballot measure, I'd still have no say in the matter. But I certainly make purchases within the city. So, I'm thinking about speaking as a "concerned citizen" at the next meeting. That's really all I can do.

I'm not saying I'm flat-out against the increase. I first need to know how the proceeds are to be used before deciding where I stand. And after listening to the preliminary discussions, I got the impression there wasn't anything specific in mind yet. That's not good government folks. Just because the rules say you can do something (e.g. increase the sales tax to the maximum allowed without a public vote) doesn't make it right.

I do have to watch myself though. As a VISTA, I need to remain politically neutral. I see this more as an advocacy role, however. And I need to think about my future professional dealings with the council too. At the very least, I want to get the newspaper to send a reporter over to these meetings. This is a small town; I don't think this is asking much.

I will say part of my frustration is just because I've only been here since November. I spent five and a half years in Alaska and knew a lot of the ins and outs of local and state government. With the high level of media coverage up there relative to the population, one would have to make an effort to not know what's going on.

I think it's safe to say I haven't been to my last City Council meeting. I don't have TV, so attending was practically like watching the 6:00 news. And it's participatory to boot!

Maybe 25 random things about me eventually

Everyone and the mother has listed 25 random things about themselves on their Facebook profiles. I haven't, but I have been keeping a running list of things folks may not know about me. Yes, it would have been easier to rattle off 25 things y'all already know about me, like how much I love cereal, or how I wear women's underwear on the weekends. But how much fun is that?

You've probably figured out already I can't tell a story succinctly and also tend to ramble. So, I'll start you out with just the first five so we're not up all night. How many of these did you already know?

1. Between 4th and 8th grades, I participated in Math League. When I tell people I was a big dork when I was a kid, this is just one example. If I remember the details, here's how it worked: Schools sent teams of five to complete against other schools in the area. Questions were passed out one by one on small slips of paper. We were allotted a certain amount of time to answer each one before passing the slips forward. Scores were tracked on the blackboard.

In 8th grade, I tied for first place individually in the state of Delaware. (Yes, it's a small state, but still!) The kid with whom I tied ended up at the same high school as me. He graduated as the class valedictorian and eventually went to Harvard, followed by medical school. I believe he's now a doctor in Manhattan. To say our paths diverged after 8th grade Math League is an understatement.

Besides Math League, I took part in calculator competitions. I'm sure they had an official name, but I have no clue what it was. I think this was a bigger deal than Math League because on at least one occasion, we (my parents, me, and I think my great-grandmother) went down to Delaware State in Dover on a Saturday morning for the event. The calculators were those fancy ones that performed computations using fractions (even answering in fractions!). I must have done well, evinced by the trophy I received toward the end of the school year.

Also in 8th grade, I was in Fast Math. I took Algebra II classes once a week at a local high school. Four or five of us kids would carpool, each one's mother taking a turn to drive. During the regular school day's math period, a classmate and I would sit in what was little more than a closet off of the main classroom. That was fun, being able to goof off while all of the other kids were in Algebra. Then again, they weren't spending three hours every Wednesday night at Dickinson High School.

(See, not succinct! But the memories are flooding back...)

2. Effeminate black men love me. No joke. I learned this during my freshman year at Georgia Tech. I worked part time at Cub Foods, a grocery store, in Buckhead. One of my first days there, Shokoni made his move. He was only the first, but the most memorable. I was sitting outside during my break when he joined me at the picnic table. He flat out asked me if I was gay (so rude). I lied and said no. (Quick aside: I'm not one to lie about my sexuality, but I had no choice with this piece of work. Anyway...)

He was quite a persistent fellow. He told me he wanted to have me over to his house. He would cook steaks for dinner. I politely declined. Then he said, "What if while we were sitting on my bed, I put my hand on your leg and made you hard?" Holy shit, dude. Thankfully, a co-worker joined us at the table, derailing his line of questioning. I forget who it was, but Shokoni told them, "I just offered to cook Brian a steak dinner and he turned me down." I was already in shock from his last comment; I certainly had no rebuttal. My suburban upbringing hadn't adequately prepared me for a situation like this. But I knew I wanted nothing to do with his "steak dinner."

Shokoni quit Cub Foods a few months later. The last time I saw him, he was standing up at the customer service counter wearing a canary yellow sweat suit. He gave me a dirty look when I said hello.

Besides Shokoni, there were others, just not as bold. This one guy asked one of the cashiers about me. He wanted to spend the day with me at Piedmont Park. And then there was the guy from the candy store at the mall who happened to show up on campus one day. Kind of freaky.

When I was in New Orleans last April, a fellow volunteer, a black woman from Long Island I had befriended, told me I was "crossover material." I had no idea what she was talking about, so she explained: She usually dated only black men, but she would have "crossed over" for me. Damn.

I have no idea why black men were so enthralled by me. It's not like the white boys were falling over themselves in Atlanta to get with me. Then again, I'm so oblivious when it comes to romantic overtures that I only recognize them when they're overt and borderline predatory. (Actually, in hindsight, I had my chances. I was such a clueless kid.) Sadly, since leaving Atlanta, the places I've called home have been short of black folks. I wonder if I still have that certain je ne sais quoi...

***

Okay, how about I just stop at two for now? More to come...

Sunsets never get old

The clouds and flurries that hung around all day cleared out just in time for sunset. So, I got bundled up and ran outside to watch it.

Open space + solitude + setting sun = Bliss.

Grocery shopping isn't always black and white

Yes, I shop at Wal-Mart. There I said it. Now get over it.

I was on the phone with a friend last night who gasped when I told him in passing I had shopped at Wal-Mart. Generally, I don’t like the idea of purchasing my food and underwear under the same roof. Plus, I spent four years working in a grocery store during high school and college and I still enjoy walking the aisles of a traditional supermarket to do my food shopping.

Overall, the cost of living is much, much lower in South Dakota compared to Alaska. But here on the rez, food is particularly expensive. (The same reason is given here as in Juneau as to why that’s the case: shipping costs.) And the two small grocery stores in town do not offer the same selection as your local Safeway.

Thus, when I’m out of town, I make sure I have a list with me of items I need to stock up on. For example, I spent $100 at the Wal-Mart in Rapid two Saturdays ago when I was in town for the Stock Show. That trip would have cost me double in Mission, assuming I would have been able to find everything I needed.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m a big fan of frequenting stores owned by locals. I love going down to Valentine to do just that. My routine is to grab a tea, look around Young’s, and head over to the bookstore. If a Wal-Mart were to ever locate in Valentine, some businesses in town would surely close. It wouldn’t be farfetched for establishments here in Mission to also suffer, as folks from Todd County would regularly make the quick, half-hour drive down 83 to shop there.

One could argue, however, that some of those businesses to be hypothetically impacted by a Wal-Mart opening in Anytown, USA, maybe weren’t that strong to begin with. Or Main Street was long dead way before Wally World even appeared on the outskirts of town along the highway.

An alternative is that I can go on food stamps. My VISTA stipend equals poverty wages, so I would certainly qualify. Would it be more honorable of me to apply for welfare from the state and get my food for free from the local grocery store, just to say I don’t shop at Wal-Mart?

Wal-Mart is not the evil, be-all and end-all scapegoat for everything that is wrong with this country. I’m willing to bet a few of their workers actually like their jobs and receive health benefits, just like there are others who have been taken advantage of. And the same dynamic most definitely rings true for other large retailers as well.

So, where exactly do I stand? Wal-Mart is not an adequate economic development strategy to cure the ills of rural America. Personally, I’ll continue to take my green bag, walk up to the grocery store, and buy locally whenever possible. But the next time I’m in Pierre or Rapid or Vermillion, I’m going to stop at the local Wal-Mart and buy the Clif Bars I can’t find in Mission and the celery LaCosta likes. And I’m going to sleep just fine at night.

Just like Mom used to make

Well, except for the fact my cookie dough came from an 18-pound tub that expired in September. But they may still be called "homemade," I think.

A Juneau kind of day

It's a gray and rainy day in Mission. It's actually the first significant rain we've received since my arrival in November. It has been quite a dramatic, and welcome, change from the typical weather pattern in Juneau. In fact, I pulled out my waterproof jacket for the first time at lunch today. There's a little bit of wind out there too, enough to pelt the windows with raindrops. (Ah, memories...) The dirt road leading up to the Habitat property is muddy, the potholes filled with water. I'm sure the unpaved roads across the reservation are sloppy, including the Dump Road, my usual running route.

Of course, this isn't the first precipitation we've had this winter. There have been several snowfalls, plus a sleet event on Super Bowl Sunday that was accompanied with dark skies and summer-like shafts of moisture. And then there was the brutal blizzard which swept through in early November. (The snowbank out front from that storm has almost melted.) My sunny disposition toward this winter would certainly be different if I had been here to experience that.

For me, looking back at my first winter in the Dakotas will include thoughts of howling winds, frozen pipes, and blasts of arctic cold. There's still a ways to go before spring is here for good. And significant snow is possible into April and May. But just knowing that a real summer is on its way is enough to get me through. Bring on the heat - and the farmer's tan!

Me and Kellogg's, a wholesome match made in heaven

Close to 1,200 people have joined the Facebook group "Boycott Kellogg's for Dumping Michael Phelps." Kellogg's won't be renewing Phelps' contract since being caught smoking pot from a pipe.

It can be argued Phelps is seen as a hero to some. The feats he has attained in the swimming pool are astonishing. He's an amazing athlete. It's no wonder Kellogg's would want to use him to endorse their products after his performance in Beijing last August.

But why is it surprising Kellogg's has decided to cut him loose after what it has learned about Phelps' extracurricular activities? Maybe I'm a bit old fashioned, but a drug user wouldn't be my first choice to serve as the face of a product I'm trying to sell. In that, it's a business decision.

Frankly, his being caught smoking pot isn't even the bottom line with me. After 2004's Sydney Olympics, he was arrested for and pleaded guilty to driving under the influence. Drinking and driving is one of the most disgusting, irresponsible acts I can fathom. Drink yourself into oblivion, I don't care. But when one drinks then gets behind the wheel of an automobile, the drunk has placed others' (including my own) lives at risk.

The funny thing is I hadn't really done much reading about this story until seeing the Facebook group this evening. So he decided to smoke marijuana. Okay, fine. He wasn't hurting anyone. I just don't think pot smoking should be glamorized, which is what would have happened without any societal reaction. Whether he likes it or not, he is a role model. Fair or unfair, that raises the expectations for how he should conduct himself, both in public and private. But just like any of the rest of us, there are consequences for our actions.

It made me think of what the reaction may have been if he had been photographed smoking nicotine cigarettes or placing a big nasty wad of chewing tobacco into his cheek instead. Would it have been the same?

I guess I should conclude with the disclaimer that I've never smoked pot. I've had no desire to try it. It's just not an option. And call me a square or judgmental, but I think I'm above drug use.

Hmmm... I suddenly have the urge to treat myself to a bowl of Frosted Mini-Wheats. Cheers!

Flyover country

I think it's safe to say I live in what's disparagingly referred to as flyover country. Negative connotation aside, it's an apt description. The closest commercial airport is up in Pierre, 100 miles to the north. And that airport is smaller than Juneau's, to provide a bit of comparison.

While taking photos of the sunset one evening soon after arriving in Mission, I saw two planes high in the sky. I hoped the fleeting sun would last long enough for me to see their contrails intersect. And it did.

Death

Death is palpable here on the reservation.

Some of the reasons are, I think, unique to the Rosebud. Rates of teenage suicide are astronomical, with another one occurring recently. Alcohol-related traffic accidents are marked by diamond-shaped signs on the highways. They read 'Think!" on one side, "Why die?" on the other. No matter which direction I drive leaving Mission, I see them everywhere. Sometimes, there's only a single sign; however, seeing clusters of two, three, or four is not uncommon.

Another reason is just the fact I live in a very small town. Families have lived on the reservation for generations. The same surnames come up in conversation, are heard in the daily birthday announcements on KINI, and appear in the weekly paper. A woman passed away from cancer earlier this week after being given three to five days to live after only receiving her original diagnosis a month ago. Her name has come up in numerous conversations this week, in situations ranging from a Super Bowl party to a legislative social gathering.

I attended a powwow last Friday night as part of Sinte Gleska University's Founders' Week activities. Before the wacipi, there was a Wiping of Tears ceremony, a way to remember those who passed away in the last year. Family members who had lost loved ones sat at the front of the gymnasium. Prayers in Lakota and English were said as sage was lit. The loved ones let the smoke envelop them, using their hands to guide it over themselves.

After the prayers, all in attendance were welcomed to the floor to offer condolences. Those who knew the departed and their family lingered, providing hugs and words of support. Others, like me, offered a simple handshake. All in all, it was an intense, emotional experience for everyone involved.

There was a horrible traffic accident just south of town Saturday afternoon. I knew something bad must had happened because the fire alarms here in town would not quit. The alarm mostly sounds for the daily noontime test. But even when the call is for an actual emergency, it's usually one and done. Not this time though. The ambulances headed south down 83 toward the state line.

Rumors starting flying almost immediately. I was at the grocery store a bit after the accident. The woman behind me at the checkout asked the cashier if she had heard about what had happened. She said, "There were bodies all over the road." Over the coming days, I would hear similar versions of the story (a car pulled out in front of a tractor trailer), but the details remained fuzzy.

And in what reflects, in my opinion, the frequency of and the numbness toward these types of wrecks, it will remain that way. The same four-paragraph Associated Press blurb that was reported in the state's largest newspapers on Monday, two days after the accident, is all that appeared in yesterday's Todd County Tribune. Short and spare, it provided the location, the names of the deceased (two locals and two from Minneapolis), and a statement that the truck driver had been admitted and released from the hospital. That's it.

For me, death's presence on the Rosebud is striking considering my overall happiness here and the genuinely good people I've met. Moving from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other is tough enough; the rapidity with which it occurs here is downright jarring.