2909.1

It's all just a big blur. Flowery motel soap and rough white towels. Why does every little bar of soap break in half the first time I use it? Rest stops and gas stations and regional restaurant chains. I cannot believe that they would allow a fuel depot to call itself Kum & Go. If they had spelled it correctly, it would only be dirty to people like me who hear innuendo in everything. But, no. They had to be all "hip" and "edgy." I guess when you think about it, the very nature of gassing up you car is sexual: You put the nozzle in, squeeze some fuel into the tank, take it back out. Maybe the people at Kum & Go just decided to drop all pretenses.

I've been driving a lot, trying to get to Chicagoland to visit my cousin and his wonderful family. I feel the need to be near people I love right now. I've had a few melancholy moments these past few days. I keep thinking about my mom. It's difficult to learn how to live without someone who was such a large part of my life. I get sad that I can't call her to chat as I drive. I want to tell her about Kum & Go- she'd get a kick out of it. Where do you think I got my dirty mind? I miss my mother, but mostly I just want to have my friend back.

My mom and aunt Helen took a one-way road trip a couple of years ago. They were delivering the car of a friend who had moved back east. They had a blast. When they weren't fighting like, well, sisters. One of my goals for this journey that I'm on is to visit some of the places that they went to. I want to see what she saw and try to imagine how she felt about it. Although she had no desire to be in nature, she could appreciate the beauty of it from the car. We are different in that way. I wouldn't mind living in a log cabin in the woods. There are certain places of undeniable beauty and power. My mom spoke highly of Crazy Horse. It was something that had moved her. Thus, it was something that I had to see for myself.

Visiting the Crazy Horse monument in South Dakota's Black Hills was a very powerful experience. I didn't quite know what to expect, other than a giant sculpture. The unfinished likeness of Crazy Horse is only a small part of the experience, though. The land that the monument occupies is considered sacred by the Native Americans. I felt the holiness of that place deep in my soul. It was a good thing that I was wearing sunglasses, because the entire time I was there, I had tears in my eyes.

Walking through the cultural center, I felt a lot of white guilt. At the same time, I felt like it was wrong of me to be so affected. Wasn't I a beneficiary of the colonial spirit that seized the land from its original inhabitants? Didn't I enjoy my American life?It seems that everywhere the white man goes, destruction and death follow. All in the name of civilization. Later in the day, I couldn't even bring myself to stop at Mt. Rushmore. The two monuments are only a few miles apart, but I had no desire to celebrate those four white men. Sure, they played a significant role in our history. They are considered great men by many. In some ways, they were. But their faces have no place in those sacred hills. Hills that they stole from the native people because someone found shiny golden rocks in it. It is appropriate, then, that the monument to Crazy Horse, which is really a monument to all Native Americans, dwarfs Mt. Rushmore in size and scope.

The story is that a white man once asked "Crazy Horse, where are your lands?" The finished monument will immortalize his response forever: "My lands," he tells the man, pointing toward the horizon, "are where my dead lie buried." I strongly encourage everyone to visit this place. Take some time to reflect on the bloody history that lead us to where we are now.

We cannot change the past. The only hope is to learn from our mistakes so that we will not make them again in the future.