[Critique Group 1] Leonard's comments on DeAnna's piece for oct.

[tuchyner5 at aol.com]

lDeAna’s ’s sub oct

This tells so much about the Ojibway way of honoring thepassing of a loved one. 

It was very informative. 

It told of the painstaking attention to the details of thepreparations. 

It also tells a lot of your family, and the way theyinteracted and loved each other.  

It was beautiful the way you did that.  

I  made a few commentsbelow  where I had questions. 

But all in all, it was a beautiful trigbute  and description.

1,018 words

Dust in the Wind

By DeAnna Quietwater Noriega

 

When my uncle, Larry Fisher died as the result of a caraccident, he was 60 years-old. I was 55. Throughout our lives, he acted as mybig brother. His older brother John and he taught me how to walk when I was atoddler. Over the years, Larry taught me many other things, sharing hisfavorite books with me, painting my image often as he studied to become anartist. He was my magic mirror, always reflecting back a positive image. 

When he was a child, Larry’s Ojibwa name was Storyteller. Hewas a natural raconteur. He was also given the name Young Thunder, which is thename he used for his art. He was the seventh child of Elijah and LouellaFisher. His eldest sister Naomi was my mother. She was the first child tosurvive of my grandmother’s ten children. Mother’s oldest brother and thebrother born after her had died as infants. Her youngest brother had drowned ina Lake Michigan fishing accident. Mother felt that since both Elijah andLouella were deceased that she was the head of the family. She droppedeverything to fly to Michigan to take charge and see that all the details ofclosing up his apartment, the distribution of his possessions--making sure thateveryone had some small token of remembrance.  and organizing the funeralwere properly handled.

Elijah Fisher was the eldest of ten children. Larry hadnever married, but his siblings had. Each of them had produced one to fiveoffspring.  This made the people who felt some connection to theflamboyant Larry numerous. 

 

The logistics of preparing food and hosting a four-day wakefor everyone who wished to pay respects was an exhausting proposition. Iaccompanied my mother along with my guide dog Griffin to see that all washandled in a manner that would acknowledge who my uncle was.

 

Larry considered himself to be an assimilatedtraditionalist. The Ojibwa traditionally believed that the spirit of thedeceased found it difficult to begin the journey onward. After a suddenunexpected death, this was especially likely. The spirit might feel there werethings left undone. A sacred fire was built and kept burning for four days. Mymother knew someone who had done this task for his own father. He agreed toprovide this service for Larry. Family and friends came to sit around the fireand quietly share memories. 

None of the churches in the area were comfortable with theidea of holding what they considered a Pagan series of rituals on their premises.

The location where the final ceremonies were held needed tohave both an eastern and western door. Sometimes, a pavilion in a park canwork, since entry and egress were easily managed. However, Mother was able tosecure a community center for the final day of ceremonies. Her cousin and hisson had trained to perform the necessary rituals of purification and properpresentation of the body. He was brought into the large meeting area throughthe eastern door and placed in the center of the room. I assisted my mother inbraiding his long hair and placing his moccasins on his feet for the journey.Many female relatives gathered in the adjacent kitchen to prepare and servefood. One of the items I did was to hull and slice strawberries 

How do you hull strawberries.

in half. The Ojibwa call the wild strawberry heart-berry.Because of its sweetness, they believe it grows along the trail the spiritwalks when leaving this life. It is often served plain so that those who gatherto let a loved one know that they can leave on that journey can eat a berry aspart of saying goodbye.

The above sentence is very confusing.   

 

People took turns coming to lay small offerings in thecasket. My mother and I used our belt knives to cut-off a portion of our braidsto place with him as a sign of our deep sorrow. I then told him how much he hadgiven me and that his tasks were completed. he could go, I would be alright.Finally, the body was sent to be cremated, carried out the western door. By thetime my mother was ready to return to Colorado, she was exhausted. She acceptedthe urn provided by the funeral home and wondered what she should do with it.

Back in her comfortable home, she opened the urn. She wentthrough her craft room and found a length of colorful fabric. She carefullymeasured a couple of tablespoons worth of the ashes and tied them into squaresof the cloth. As each of the people who had not been able to attend the funeralcame by to pay a condolence call, she handed them a bundle instructing them totake them to a place they thought was of special importance to Larry to scatterthe ashes.

 

Robert, my oldest brother, scattered the ashes in his bundlein the casino where our uncle loved to lose money. Whenever he could coax hisbig sister to take him there, mom won jackpots playing the slot machines and heborrowed what she got and promptly lost it. Rob was sure Uncle Larry wouldappreciate the joke.

Did Robert or Larry need your mother to drive him to thecassino. Didn’t he drive.

 

I scattered my share beneath the limbs of a black ash tree,knowing how my uncle made extra cash splitting ash logs and weaving traditionalstrawberry baskets from the splits.

Ruben, our younger brother scattered his on a hill which iscrowned by a large cross, overlooking Palm Desert. In spring, if there had beensufficient rain, the desert was spread with wild flowers. Ruben remembered thepaintings his uncle had painted with their abstract vivid colors.

The bundles of Larry’s ashes scattered across the landmingling with desert sands, drifted onto mountain slopes in the Rockies anddrifted down on the sweet grass of marshy wooded places in Michigan. When Ihear the roll of distant thunder, I smile, because it brings to mind the lowregister of his voice, making sardonic comments on what is going on across thiswide land he loved.  

 
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