Skeleton 227

They found her buried in the Steppes of Russia, a tall woman, leg bones bowed, probably from spending a lot a time on a horse. She was buried with her earrings and other gold adornments. And a mass of arrowheads. A Warrior Princess who lived 2500 years ago.

They had found other skeletons too, in other places. Tall women, with bowed legs, some positioned in the historically ancient pose of the warrior — one leg bent at the knee. Buried with arrowheads and swords. The DNA from one of these skeletons has been found in a young teenager currently living in a nomadic tribe in Mongolia.

The most famous Amazon warrior Penthesilia, Herodotus wrote, died at the hands of the greatest warrior of Greece, Achilles. Many think that the Amazons were a myth, but evidence is showing that such women probably did exist in various parts of Europe and Asia.

Archeologists are finding that there were others of these strong warrior women who, for generations, taught themselves and their daughters to hold their own in a world controlled by male aggression.
These women were as ruthless as the multitudes of men they fought and killed or enslaved.

There is something empowering to know that we can be as ruthless as the most ruthless men. There is something even more empowering to believe that we have the moral courage to choose not to.

I watch the new television series Commander-in-Chief and an reminded that there are many ways to be a strong leader — some more ruthless than others.

Bush is a failure as a leader. (Type in “failure” in a Google search and then click on “I’m Feeling Lucky.” Heh.)

A woman wouldn’t necessarily be a better leader. After all, there was the woman who is now Skeleton 227.

But there have to be individuals who could lead this nation with true commitment to all of its people, to the spirit of its Constitution, and to its responsibility to demonstrate how to make decisions based on ethics as well as necessity. I hope they’re watching Commander-in-Chief for some tips.

tired and uninspired

I’m tired of the rain. I’m tired of struggling to figure out how to organize my stuff in this space. I’m tired of the sameness of the days; the rain that keeps me from getting outside and beginning to clear some land so that I can make a pleasant space to sit outside next summer.
The hummingbirds and other birds have left half-full feeders behind. Chipmunks scurry around with cheeks full of their winter supplies. No one has heard anything of the bear in a while.
……….
you find yourself spending more and more time sitting with her watching american movie classics. you begin knitting an afghan for your daughter for christmas. you’ve never learned to just sit and watch television. you have to be doing something constructive at the same time. even though she gets disoriented and sometimes forgets where she is, she seems to know that she is in a safe place. except for the time in her teens when she had to quit school and go to work in a carpet factory, all she’s ever done is cook, clean, and try to control her kids. she’s forgotten how to cook; her cleaning results in objects being misplaced and assumed, by her, to be stolen. but she can’t stop being a mother, even though you don’t need her kind of mothering any more. you and your brother work each day to make physical accommodations to the living spaces. your work styles are so different that working with him is stressful for you. gives you a headache. sends you both into shouting matches that neither can win. the work will be done soon. it had better be.
……………..
I have this urge to hibernate. Sleep all day.
I have this urge to stay up all night. Dance.
Once a week or so, I drive out the the pizza place and get pizza for dinner for all three of us. The guy who spins the pizza dough has begun to recognize me and waves as he spins. He looks a little like Cheech Marin — you know, from Cheech and Chong. He looks Hispanic. After I picked up pizzas the other day, I wondered about asking him if he knows anything about the Latin dances on Friday night at the dance club up the road. I want to ask “Do you do the Salsa? Meringue? Do you ever go up to the Friday dances?” Of course, I won’t. I’ve lost my edge.
Or maybe what I am is stranded on some other edge. Tired and uninspired.