Sealing the deal ...
I'm going to be an uncle again.
My sister-in-law is due in September and is five months along now and everyone in the family knows about her pregnancy except the entire Wadsworth clan. Go fig.
Okay, I've known this for about a month and a half or so, but I'm really superstitious and paranoid about announcing fairly major things, even if it's on my LiveJournal. But tonight, my mom and I got to planning. It harkened back to the days when the first three kids were coming. So much planning and preparation!
My mom has already ordered a beaded cradleboard and is working on a star quilt.
As for me, I have the following tasks in front of me:
* Bead a pair of moccasins, soles included.
* Crochet a white, cotton scarf. It doesn't have anything to do with anything except my own Judeo-Christian craziness being inflicted upon my family.
* Find a name for the kid. While my brother's already said, much to Kerry's disapproval, that he's going to name it either Jacqueline Danielle or James Beamus [Jack Daniels and Jim Beam influence, alcoholic], the child's Indian name is an important one.
I won't presuppose that I am the one who will be charged with finding his or her name, but I want to be prepared, just in case. Most likely, it will be my father's responsibility to ask for a name, but lately, I've seen a lot of deer.
Which, leads me to a Native American/spiritual side-story about myself, naturally ...
When I was about 13 or so, my mom took me on a conference in Pipestone, Minnesota. While there, we went to the actual quarry where pipestone was cut. I remember that there was this little grotto near the visitor's center that I wandered off into. I was minding my own business when I came upon a grazing fawn. The two of us kind of froze for an instant. Something happened, but I'm not sure what. When I rushed back to tell my mom what I'd seen and returned, the deer had gone, naturally.
But ever since then, I've always noticed deer, wherever they may be.
My brother caught onto this and took me hunting one fall, hoping that I'd be like a beacon; sadly, it worked and we fried venison for a whole month.
Down here, there's no huge herds of anything to see really, but when I was told Kerry was expecting, I started to see deer in the hills near Sutcliffe. I don't know if it's the seasonal thing or a whole lot of happenstance, but according to the local Paiutes, it's very rare to see a deer out in the open as often as I have.
So maybe it's something, maybe it isn't. But things like this happen in our family.
When my mother was in utero, her grandfather, Arnold Allen Iron Shell, dreamed there was knock on his cabin door. When he opened it, birds of all kinds flew in and lined the top of his cabin, where the roof began. When that happened, her named her "Zintka Oyate Win" or "Bird Nation Woman."
When my brother was coming, my dad said he foresaw a great many problems in his life, but that he'd overcome them, with a nod to an ancestor whose resurrection was somewhat famed my dad's family, he named my brother "Okte Sica" or "Hard to Kill."
When I came, it was said that being of the Seventh Generation, I would be a part of the movement that brought back the old ways and prosperity for my nation, believing this, my father gave up his name to me, "Hoyeki Yapi" or "Calls for Him."
And when my oldest nephew was preparing for corporeal incarnation, a wounded coyote was found in our yard. My ex-sister-in-law, the fearless would-be veternarian, cleaned the wild animal up and named her Pepper. Pepper stuck around during the entire pregnancy and when A.J. was about a year old, she vanished just as quick as she'd appeared. With this in mind, my father named my nephew "Sungmanitu Luta" or "Red Coyote" after the blood on Pepper's leg.
While these are all good, faithful lines of tradition, it makes me wonder if we're undergoing a spiritual devolution. During my grandfather's generation, visions were given out like free candy; in my mother's generation, dreams were attained; in my generation, hopes were invested; and now, in my soon-to-be niece or nephew's generation, are we just observing the obvious?
In any case, I'm glad there will be another little Walking Bull running around the house, stirring up trouble and devoting herself or himself to the Walking Bull clan while willfully surrendering all ties to the less-than-worthy in-laws.
But seriously, Jacqueline Danielle or James Beamus?
We're having a chat.