Bones. Marrow. Rigid and porous. Flexibility. Adaptability. DNA. The well of marrow springs up to form each unique self. White. Greyish yellow. Soft like an antler being born. Deer. Mule deer. I love the way they walk or saunter… there were four mule deer that sauntered with confidence and ease across the dirt parking lot last night while I was on the phone with my mother. I do love her, but.. no, not but.. yet – I do love her, yet she is always in a fight with someone about some thing. I am staying at her time-share in Osoyoos and she is constantly using her legal training to battle someone, some entity… she doesn’t understand why other people don’t want to take down ‘the man’ on their holidays. Why don’t the snowbirds read their contracts? Why doesn’t the OIB defend themselves? Why does no one else seem to be as agitated about this as I am?
As I drive passed the Nk’mip Cultural Center, I’m reminded of the comments that she made about how the ‘exhibit’ is never changing – how she, as an owner, who comes back repeatedly would like to see something different, something new. I can’t imagine how the poor soul at the desk dealt with these comments and suggestions from the old white woman who is bored by their creation story. Ugh.
She’s like a clumsy vigilante – fighting for the people while also placing herself on a higher footing – some would say a ‘saviour’ complex.
Her behaviour makes me think about intentionality, and ‘pure intentions’. This term was shared with me while I was working for a local First Nation on Vancouver Island. My mother always seems to need to get something out of the transaction for herself… “I brought them a blanket,” she told me (likely with the intention of trying to convince someone of her opinion),
“We don’t trade blankets here”, they said, “It’s not in our culture”.
where rivers are born 