I've been feeling sort of lonely lately. Lonely for my internet friends. It seems all my friend in digital space are trying to conceive and I am sort of uncomfortable visiting with them now. We're very lucky, sweets and I, to have such a blessing as a healthy baby who came even before schedule. We didn't have to work very hard to get pregnant, and although the actual pregnancy was a big drag, I have a healthy, happy boy to show for it. But my favorite internet bloggers (not the boy gay kind) are all trying to conceive and they aren't as lucky as we were. And I am not about to lord it over them since I was pretty sure we'd be in the same boat as they. But I miss them.

Meanwhile, the boy is almost six months old now. Last year at this time I was still pretty nauseous, but getting ready to cook a major thanksgiving feast for my dad and our friend vincent. Then my sisters came to visit, and our apartment was packed to the gills with girl energy. And my dad and sweets and baby fetus lentil. This year we're going to providence to let other people do the work while we enjoy our boy.

I love thanksgiving.

What I don't love is the way people around here think about indians. For the second year in a row I was asked to speak at a local grade school about being indian. I'm a real novelty in these parts. I resent the fact that I'm only asked to speak during the month of November, usually close to thanksgiving. Yesterday I spoke at a first grade. most of the kids were more interested in my being from mexico. Oh, but wait! I'm not from Mexico. I'm from New Mexico. The kids were fixated on mexico so the teacher got out a globe to show the kids where new mexico is. But she didn't really know herself. It was embarrassing for her. Not for me. i know where the fuck New Mexico is.

I took Mahko's cradleboard to show the kids. There's this thing where people want to call it a papoose, which is so politically incorrect it makes the hairs on my neck stand up in protest. On my way out of the school, still dressed in my traditional regalia, a woman with a little girl stopped me. She wanted to show her daughter the papoose, where the indians used to put their babies. I corrected her- no, we still do, and that CRADLEBOARD belongs to my son. And I need to go right now because he needs it to take his nap, excuse me. I hate being thought of as a historical blip. a novelty. Apparently right before I arrived at the grade school the kids were abuzz because they were about to have a visit from a "real" indian.

Usually I try not to have a chip on my shoulder. But sometimes the ignorance really bothers me. My friend, who's son attends the school at which I spoke, was very wierd about the whole thing. When I got dressed she made a comment about how it really brought out the indian-ness in my features. Like it was a sweater that made my eyes especially brown. She warned me that I will probably be doing this sort of presentation a lot when the lentil is in grade school. No, I corrected her, I probably won't. Because we will be in New Mexico then, and being indian won't be a novelty. (If his experience is anything like mine was, it will be more of a liability.. but that's another story.) She has done her share of these presentations because she's jewish, she said. Because she's noticed that most of the jewish kids go to private school and she sends her kids to public school, so there aren't very many jews in her kids' classes. I appreciate the sentiment and the need to connect with me, but I just find it hard to believe that everyone in the connecticut public school system worships jesus. I mean, we live in a city that has its own kosher section in the supermarket! That's one big private school.

It's not the ignorance from the kids that bothers me. They are authentic, and inquisitive. It's the ignorance from the adults. Not only do they not think about the things they say, but they don't understand why I would be ticked off by some of the things they say and do. I should care a little less about this crap. But, whatever.

What matters right now is that I get a big meal on the one holiday that celebrates the presence of America's first people. yay! it'll be a feast.