So I just got back from a little sojourn with my church youth to Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota, the second largest (and poorest) reservation in the United States

The bloke on the right is the fifth generation grandson of Red Cloud, the leader of the Sioux nation, who’s image is emblazoned on the sign behind us. The bloke who’s acting like I have small pox, ran guns at the tender age of 16, during Wounded Knee II ( when the American Indian Movement took over the gravesite in an 80 day seige with the FBI) .

Cont:
It was a brilliant time. I’d been having a lot of emotional stuff go on and it was just nice to leave town with a bunch of carefree kids and sit on a hill in a pretty desolate state (geographically speaking). I had time to write and just think. On top of that, I was able to help people a little. Re-Member is one of many non-profits that attempt to help ‘disadvantaged’ communities across the world, so I traveled there expecting yet another bunch of bleeding hearts that were having little effect. They going to have us make bunk-beds for frig’s sake.

Quelle surprise, I was wrong. Like I wrote before, second largest, and the poorest. It took me five seconds inside one of the dirt-ridden decrepit houses to realise “So, you’ll be needing free, efficient bedding then?”

For a little taster, check out the slide-show I made for the Mission Trip expo at the church:

Quicktime

It was the last thing I did for Morningside UCC before I left in October. It was sad to go, it was definitely the less taxing job, I just didn’t have enough hours there. Still, it was a nice way to leave and they gave me a good send off.

…. my da’s arse that is.

So very strange; a colleague read out an article in the Star Trib today, about yesterday’s shootings. I was suddenly back in Poleglass working on plans to be out of the city on this illustrious date. How easy it is to forget.

I was brought back to the states with a bang when John (or ‘The Moose’, as I like to call him) mentioned the “Sin Feen” party in his nasal whine.

Happy independence dayblahblahwhogivesacrap.

So I come home two days ago from a night out and fall promptly asleep. I wake up, having sleep-walked presumably (I’m not kidding), outside my door. My locked door.

Unlike once before when I locked myself out of this apartment, I do not have my cell phone on me. It takes me about 5 minutes to realize that I can’t kick the door in, (tried it last time*) and that I have to break a window. I have no way to contact anybody or to drive anywhere, all the windows are closed and despite my best efforts I obviously can’t open them from the outside. So, I pick up the lamp in the lobby and move around to the front of the building. I’m guessing it’s about 4am by the light, so with bated breath I bring the metal monstrosity behind my head and take a swing, hoping that i don’t make too much noise.

Miraculously, I’m not strong enough to break the sucker, but it just pops open. It’s one of those little handle-opening dealies but I huff and I puff and some splintered wood and bent metal later, I’m lying in my bed, wondering why I got out in the first place.

The best bit is that I did all this in my boxers. I swear on my (never met her) grandmother’s grave, I wasn’t drunk.

* I have actually kicked in the door of a drunk woman on the Springfield road once. Lisa can testify to it, In case you think I’ve watched too many movies.