And now:Ish <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> writes:

>X-Originating-IP: [208.198.144.133]
>From: "Becky S" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
>To: [EMAIL PROTECTED]
>Subject: Dead Pawn
>Date: Fri, 15 Jan 1999 23:35:25 CST
>
>Hi there!  I thought you might be interested in a bit of prose that was 
>passed my way.
>
>Many Blessings,
>-BeckyS "Gentle Breeze (Udanvti Unole)"
>
>
>
>Subject: Dead Pawn
>          
>
>Dead Pawn
>
>      What is the price of caring for your children, this came to me
>when I returned home. There was mom sitting at the table drinking
>coffee with a far away look in her eyes.. It was Saturday, town day,
>for those on the Rez, the time you get up early and get on your good
>clothes, the sheep are fed out of the closely guarded bales of hay
>saved for days like this. They will be penned for the day.  Grandma is
>dressed, long skirt and velveteen blouse, the truck is checked, all are
>fed. The old couple get in the front. the rest of us crawl in the back
>in the bed and settle in for the ride.  We see many others on the road,
>there is food to buy, car parts needed, twine, rope, animal medicine
>and goodies for the kids, a chance to eat out, maybe a movie and to see
>old friends.  
>
>      It was a good day.  We travelled on to town, there was a stop at
>the Navajo Shopping Center, the old folks like this place it is like
>old time trading posts. My mother gets up and crawls out of the back of
>the pickup, she has been quiet during our ride.  I follow her into the
>store, she looks at the many colored Pendleton shawls, and stops at the
>counter to get a money order. We wander around and slowly there is the
>back of the store.  Many are here, it is crowded.  This is where our
>people pawn our hard goods, silver jewelry, turquoise, jaclo, concho
>belts. It is accepted as a way of life to do this, every family has
>hard goods, they are hidden away like money in a bank. The family
>heirlooms, the treasure of each family. A question, are you going to
>pawn something, it is not necessary there is enough money for today.
>She walks away looking at all the dead pawn in the cases there.  
>
>      Looking, there is a bracelet made many years ago at a time when I
>was young, I had worked in a curios shop in Tucson, I was able to find
>some Morenci, a brilliant blue turquoise, hard and choice, it was good
>stone. I had thought for a long time about a design, using what is
>called No. 1 triangle wire, sterling silver, it became a large heavy
>bracelet favored by the old people. It was not an ordinary one for sale
>to tourists but made for my children and their children. I had brought
>it home and showed my father, he put it on and wore it around the house
>all day.  Let me take care of it for you son, when you want it back
>just tell me it will be yours. So it was left, when he passed away it
>remained at home. 
>
>      There it was in the case.  There were many there, those dead
>pawn.  Where is the counter person, an old man comes. That bracelet, is
>it really dead?  Oh yes, it is, do you want to look at it.  My hands
>held it, there is the mark, my initials, the scratch from dropping it
>while polished, the edges softened by my father wearing it on town day

>for many years.  Can this be redeemed, the old man changed his smile,
>no, it's too late, but you can buy it back.  Turning it over, there it
>is a price more that can be afforded.  The price is too high, it goes
>back in the case.  
>
>      After a while when we got home that evening after a long day, I
>asked my mother, why.  She looked at me and said while you were away,
>things have been tough, your brother needed help. I gave it to him to
>get money, it seems that there was never enough to pay the interest, so
>now it is gone.  What about him, I asked, she told me he was having
>trouble with a job, but the party life and drinking in Albuquerque at
>the Midnight Rodeo had taken it's toll.  She said, what am I to do, if
>you need help I must try.  What about the rest of the hard goods, she
>wouldn't look at me. She quietly said, they are gone too.  
>
>      Somewhere they are, in some store, in some closet, in some
>drawer, these things that are no longer ours. They have been sold, but
>the value is not in the material, but at the cost of a mother caring
>for a lost child. I wanted to get angry, to shout, to yell,  but there
>was nothing to say.  I told her it will be o.k. I am a silversmith,
>Mom, I can make more.  
>   Oh, the price of caring and  foolish children. 
>--
>Surf Usenet at home, on the road, and by email -- always at Talkway.
>http://www.talkway.com
>
>
>
>
>
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