Annerisms

WINTER What does winter mean to me? A season of cold and long dark nights. But also a season of stories. As a Navajo, stories are all I have. Winter has become a season of the imagination for me. A season of reflection, where I am asked to face the ghosts of the past. And, in facing them, I must treat them calmly and civilly before the snows melt and the cycles of the seasons can begin once more. This week the emotion of anger boiled up between the ribs and shoulder blades. Ice packs weren't doing the trick, either. I'm not going to sugar coat this, I loathe fear tactics and folks who use them are on my less-than-desirable list of those I want to hang with. I was raised in an environment where I was scared into believing that Jesus died for my sins and that gave God license to always watch me to make sure I did the right thing. I mentioned before that that parenting maneuver wreaked havoc on my twenties. Instead of being carefree and independent, my twenties were fraught with i