1. If you are a Ojibwa woman living on the rez, you are required to own a cotton onsie housedress with two square pockets in the front that can be just right above the knee or right below the knee (For your safety: Do not refer to this as a tent dress in front of an Ojibwa woman).
2. You can wear your onsie anytime while at home, sometimes ...in the yard, and sometimes to walk to the mailbox if you are brave enough (Depends on the time of day)!
3. There are two pockets in the front. One is for your kleenix. The other is to keep your tightly clenched fist hidden and in a locked position so you do not haul off and hit someone. They are not for storing your dollars that is for the Indian purse that we will be talking about later in the course.
4. You cannot wear the onsie anywhere outside of the yard without explicit permission from your end point contact. To do this, you must get on the party line, phone, facebook, and/or email and send them a message saying, "I have my onsie on, is that alright?" If the other party confirms that it is ok, you can go over for coffee. However, there is an exception, if you are mad at the other party and are not going to give them any notice, I will always defer to the Angry Ojibwa Woman.
5. Finally, your onsie must be kept in a special place in the house, a place of honor, and a reminder of all the Angry Ojibway Women that have lived before you and given you the great memories and laughter. It is our veteran uniform!

Note: The next class will be on the Indian Purse to be held on Friday, May 11, 2012. Please sign up now.

Betsy McDougall
 

1. The Angry Ojibway Woman only has two hands. Count them, one on the left and one on the right.

2. In the right hand, we are most likely holding onto a toddler or carrying an infant in a car seat.

3. In the left hand, we are holding onto a toddler or carrying an infant in a car seat.
Yes, it is true we can multitask!
... 
4. We then use our teeth to hold car keys.

5. This is a point where most people need to use one of their five senses and understand that the Angry Ojibway Woman has most likely not even left the yard yet and she is 30 minutes late for wherever she is going. Do you offer to help knowing that she cannot use her lips or hands to motion for assistance? This is a question that the Angry Ojibway Woman will often reply to upon her return when her hands are not full! But this is all going to be covered in Understanding Social Cues from the Angry Ojibway Woman in Lesson Three of the course.

5. Now, understanding that the Angry Ojbway Woman's hands are full, where do we keep our money and cellphone? For those of you who don't know, all Angry Ojibway Women have an Indian Purse. You can't see it, but just know that it is there. Most Ojibway men will look away when it is being accessed or be exposed to more then what they would have liked as a result.

6. The Indian Purse is sold at most Walmarts, Kmarts, and garage sales. You usually, when trying to figure out how big of a purse you need, go once size up than usual. For example, if you wear a D you will need to get a DD. 

7. The rule of thumb is that you need enough room to fit your fist on either side, but not so big that your cellphone or dollar bills fall out. Some are lucky enought to not have change fall through the cracks, but that is not always the case so we try to spend our dollars so there is not change which is always good for the retail market.

8. The Indian Purse is one of the safest places to keep money. It is not advertised on any TV specials, but it is widely known and embraced in the Indian community. Most of the time, if you pick up an Indian Purse at a garage sale, it cost less than $1. It usually does not have rhinestones. It is always white. If you are snagging however, it might be black, but then you might not want to keep valuables in the purse during this time because it might be accessed by someone other than you. For most Angry Ojibway Women, her purse is safer than Fort Knox and everyone knows it.

9. Finally, like Annie Oakley, the Angry Ojibway Woman is quick on the draw. She can whip out her cellphone from the Indian Purse on the first ring , flip it open, and close it back up putting it back into the holtster without anyone even knowing. If standing at the checkout counter at Walmart, she will reach in her purse flip open the stack of bills, pay, and be over withit before the cashier has a change to gasp. 

10. Moral of the story: Indian Woman get by with little or nothing. They have for centuries. They are extremely innovative. They don't need rhinestones! And lastly, they have the ability to laugh at themselves and can give you the old stink eye at the same time if you even think about laughing at her. But that is another story!

Have a great day,
Betsy McDougall
 

Surviving the Angry Ojibwe Woman Stink Eye is the highest education degree we will ever possess. Learning the ‘degree’ of the Stink Eye and the corresponding body language and how to respond are the most vital maneuvers we will ever learn.

The following is an introductory guide to the Stink Eye. Description of what the Stink Eye looks like is unnecessary, Ojibwe have this knowledge in their DNA, all others will know it because your blood will run cold.

Upon entering into the territory of an unknown Angry Ojibwe Woman, you will automatically get the Stink Eye. Proper etiquette is to approach the woman immediately but slowly, eyes down, showing the proper respect of your intent. To approach any other way could cause severe bodily harm from any number of brothers, sons, grandchildren, nephews, friends, dogs, or even more powerful protectors of the Angry Ojibwe Woman. This automatic Stink Eye comes from the need to know who you are and what your intentions are in her territory. 

Every Angry Ojibwe Woman has her own Stink Eye Level of Tolerance, with an infinite number of reasons to give you the Eye. It is best to take cues from the Husband, children and/or others whom are close to her on how to respond. The rule of thumb is, if you have gotten the Eye twice from her and you are able to leave, do so quickly and quietly. Do not kid yourself, you know why you got it. It does not matter if you agree with it or not. If you return without adjusting your behavior, you are on your own. With out a sound the area will clear of all living things and you will be left to learn whatever lesson she's got in store for you.

From time to time you may receive what may seem like an unwarranted Stink Eye. This may be true. The Angry Ojibwe Woman may be upset with the world and you just happen to be in her line of fire. If you can time travel or have an Invisible Cloak, now would be the time to use them.

The Angry Ojibwe Woman may seem like the meanest person you have ever known. Remember this, she cares deeply about you and the community. It is the best education we will ever receive.
 

Etiquette Rule: If you are in the Angry Ojibwa Woman's house there are some strict etiquette rules that you must be aware of or be subjected to the Old Stink Eye or a slap behind the head with a piece of raw dough!

1. Do not say that your Mom's frybread is "the best" versus the Angry Ojibwa Woman's frybread, unless of course, she is your mother. Every Angry Ojibwa Woman has her own frybread recipe. Do not say, "Youse mom uses baking powder in her frybread!" You will be hit with the well-known Angry Ojibwa Woman's "EyeSnap" which we all know is a vicious traumatizing assault on a person - so be warned. You also hear, from the Angry Ojibwa Woman herself, that her recipe is a long held family recipe that she will NOT reveal to anyone. Most likely she adds both baking powder and yeast and often dried commodity milk, eggs, and potato flakes! But I never told you that! I also have witnessed an Angry Ojibwa Woman going to the local baker and having them sell her dough in big batches and for years no one knew (This is a smart intelligent Angry Ojibwa Woman who we all need to learn from in understanding that what The FryBread Consumer doesn't know will never hurt them!) Lastly, the rule of thumb is that the Angry Ojibwa Woman has to experience failed dough at least 50 times in her life in order to be recognized as a Frybread Expert!

2. Do not stand behind the Angry Ojibwa Woman while she is cooking hoping to grab a piece of frybread! Number one, because you are by hot oil. Number two, she will crack you really hard with her fist which is full of flour and maybe a large utensil. Both of these are hard learned lessons and if you go back for a second attempt...who are we to tell you anything different!

3. The Angry Ojibwa Woman will use anything in her reach to flatten out the frybread including lifting her Onsie and using her thigh! Do not be drinking hot coffee while observing this for obvious reasons!

4. If you attempt to touch the dough thinking you are helping the Angry Ojibwa Woman because she looks overwhelmed...get the hell out of the way! She will tell you to not play with it because it will get hard and then crack you with her fist that is full of flour or a large utensil. By the way, when she refers to "it", she means the dough!

5. Most Angry Ojibwa Woman are required to make frybread early in their lives. It is not something that they "love" to do! In fact, as soon as someone looks like they are old enough to take over the job, they will be taught to make it whether they like it or not. This includes men and they sometimes are better at it then the Angry Ojibwa Woman, unless of course, we are talking about your mother. It is always assumed that standing over bread dough making tedious small round sections to fry in hot oil on a hot day is something an Angry Ojibwa Woman "loves to do"! Wrong! Snap out of it!

6. As we get older, we the Angry Ojibwa Woman will usually get diabetes or high cholesterol! This is almost always a fact! Due to her "love" of cooking high cholesterol frybread for her loved ones, she will eventually get sick. She is then told by the ones that she is cooking for, that she can not have the frybread or even real butter! As you tell her that she can have one slice of multigrain whole wheat bread with a teaspoon of Smart Balance and that you would be willing to get that for her there is a general rule of caution: Smiling at the Angry Ojibwa Woman during this statement is not safe!.

Moral of the Story: The Angry Ojibwa Woman has to live by a set of societal rules that are not always "loved" as you think. She does however love the ones that she is cooking for and sees the happiness that the smell and taste of frybread brings to her loved ones. Her great grandmother and her grandmas before that have passed love through frybread for generations and she will continue to do the same to her children and grandchildren. That is why they put a hole in the middle of the frybread to assure that it has a future! If you are lucky enough to become a frybread student, you will have to bear the responsibility of teaching the next generation so take it seriously. Finally, give the Angry Ojibwa Woman a piece of frybread with real butter no matter what her age and see her smile!

Have a great weekend,

Betsy McDougall
 

Hanging Cloud (Ojibwa name Ah-shah-way-gee-she-go-qua (Aazhawigiizhigokwe in the contemporary spelling), meaning "Goes Across the Sky Woman") was an Ojibwa woman who was a full warrior (ogichidaakwe in Ojibwe) among her people, and claimed by the Wisconsin Historical Society as the only woman to ever become one. 

She was the daughter of Chief Nenaa'angebi (Beautifying Bird) and his wife Niigi'o. Aazhawigiizhigokwe was of the Niibinaabe-doodem (Merman Clan), of the Prairie Rice Lake Band of Lake Superior Chippewa. Her Band became part of the Lac Courte Oreilles Band of Lake Superior Chippewa Indians after the 1854 Treaty of La Pointe.

According to Morse, Aazhawigiizhigokwe wore war paint, carried full weapons, and took part in battles, raids and hunting parties. She was a full member of the war council, performed war dances, and participated in all warrior ceremonies. 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hanging_Cloud 
 

The Angry Ojibwe Woman has a side to her that their partners love, but others run when the subject comes up...except for Fellow Angry Ojibwe Women. Talking Dirty is a fundamental need for Angry Ojibwe Women.

When two or more Angry Ojibwe Women gather together, Talking Dirty is a given. Here is an example conversation:

Angry Ojibwe Woman 1: Pim brought me a new book with pictures and directions, asked if we could spice things up a bit...

Angry Ojibwe Woman 2: Howah! Pawk grabbed his pole and started dancing last night...

Angry Ojibwe Woman 3: Po knows what I like, he came at me with a gleam in his eye and whip cream in his hands...

The men had already cleared the area, any dawdling teenagers left with gagging sounds in their throat. Anyone not smart enough to grab the little ones on their way out usually comes back with earphones turned up high or they are singing loudly...with the area finally clear of all other “ears”....

...The Angry Ojibwe Women are then free to continue their conversation:

Angry Ojibwe Woman 1: ...he wanted to try out a new pemmican recipe.

Angry Ojibwe Woman 2:...it was a late night getting the rice finished up, we could of used some of that pemmican. We were starved but too tired to cook!

Angry Ojibwe Woman 3:..and a bowl full of strawberries. He knows how happy I get when I see already picked strawberries. Here, help yourselves!

The above may or may not be how the conversation continued. The important issue is that The Angry Ojibwe Women are able to sit down and have adult conversation without children or men. The men appreciate it too because NOW the children want to stay clear of ANY adults.

WARNING: Anyone not following these social cues are liable to receive not one, but simultaneous Stink Eye. 

A.Nana Mus
 

They used to hang out on the line like an American flag. Proud for all the neighbors to see. They had to rise above the hips and go past the middle of the thigh. Always white unless your were unfortunate to have rusty water then they were a beautiful creamy tan. To get them back to being white, you would scrub them on an old washboard with homemade lye soap. Your knuckles red and raw. People knew you meant business.

The blooms always were a center for breakfast, lunch, and dinnertime discussions with the boys. The boys would sure talk about how "perty" those blooms were hanging out on that line! Making their moms and grams blush with delight. It was shameful the way those boys talked, shameful. The Angry Ojibwa Woman would have to pray for them that night.

What they didn't know is that those Blooms were a touching memory of days gone past. They were a symbol of when she found the man of her dreams, the one she knew she would marry. You see, all her life she had to wash all their clothes. She would have to carry the water from the well. Make the fire to heat the water. Heat the water on the stove. Carry it out to put in the steel washtub. And then use the lye soap she had to also make to wash their clothes to a point where her knuckles would bleed. Until, one day, a man, not a young man, but a man never the less, came to her door asking for directions.

She was just going out the door with a tub of hot water. He grabbed the tub and helped her out to the yard. She gave him directions to where he wanted to go, but he stayed there talking to her and helping her as she continued to carry and heat water. She got him coffee and some bannock with homemade jam for helping her. The day swept by like a breeze. He watched her as she lovingly washed those blooms. He helped her carry the heavy wet clothes to the line. He then went on his way.

The next day, she was sitting at her kitchen window having coffee and playing solitaire listening to Canadian radio and fiddle music. She though about the stranger and how wonderful it was to have a man help her with the chores. There was a knock on the door. 

Years later, she would open the underwear drawer and see that he had lovingly folded her blooms into triangles just like the American flag. He put them side by side in a pattern that resembled nothing but beautiful pure love.

Moral of the Story: It is spring, get the Angry Ojibwa Woman in your life some blooms! Tease her about her blooms. Remember that the most loving act can be the simple act of helping the Angry Ojibwa Woman as she performs the ugly tasks in life.

Please share and have a great week,

Betsy McDougall
 

On our reservation, we called our grandfathers, Mishom. The grandmothers were called, Kookum. Mishom was always happy and loved to be around the grandkids. He could tell a good story just as easy to a young person as he could to an older person. He didn't differ himself from someone who was poor or someone who was rich. He was just Mishom.

He would help Kookum during the day and be with her while she went to visit her friends. He would sit there smoking his pipe while she talked in circles sipping tea. When she struggled with the chores and tasks of daily life, he was always there helping to lend her a hand and laugh with her about stuff that would happen to them during the day. At night, he would lock all the doors and shut all the lights.

He built a one room house out of wood from a house that was torn down. He got some black tarpaper from a neighbor for her roof. The windows were found by his son-in-law, they weren’t much, but Kookum could see the church from one window and sunset from another. She would sit there each day playing solitaire as he sat by her smoking his pipe waiting for her to make their next move.

As the children and grandchildren came into their lives, he would add rooms onto the one room cabin until it resembled a maze. As they left, each room still had to stay in place and held together a loving frame of memories for them as they grew older.

It is not often the Angry Ojibwa Woman finds two people like this Mishom and Kookum in her life; a man and a woman that live as if they were one. Watching a couple that was perfectly paired in every step was a blessing for her.

As an Angry Ojibwa Woman, you knew finding the right friend or partner always took caution and care. You always knew when you have someone you could trust, laugh with, and cry with in an instant of meeting them. As a spiritual partner, that person is someone who leaned on you and you were able to lean on them. You were able to say a prayer and in the corner of your eye, see them praying just as hard with you and for you.

Your Kookum and Mishom told you the secret of happiness was to find someone that lived by the seven teachings: wisdom, love, respect, bravery, honesty, humility, and truth. That all had to be present before you knew that person was the right one.

That in finding true love, the Angry Ojibwa Woman finally understood why eagles mate for life. She understood the importance of courting and why it is important to truly understand every good and bad habit of your mate. Why, once you choose that mate, you will soar until you cannot see them in the sky and fall towards the earth with them in a locking embrace not letting them go until the very end.

She understood that building the nest large enough to hold everyone you love is only another example of how big your love will be and that the nest needs to be constantly rebuilt to strengthen it throughout the years. She also began to understand that the nest would become so heavy that it would weigh down any structure; the perfect balance of understanding and care must be taken to ensure it remains stable. And that, during her lifetime, the nest might be destroyed, and if so, they will rebuild it in the same location.

The moral of the story is to take your time in finding the right partner. Your Kookum and Mishom built a strong stable nest and they told you how to find the right mate. Once you find that right mate, stay with him or her throughout your life. Your love will bring you to the greatest heights and the deepest lows but together you can rebuild anything that comes at you.

This story is told in honor of one of the greatest couples I have had the pleasure of meeting in my life, Andy and Mary Favorite. That Andy was a perfect partner for Mary. Their love shows us how to live a good life, the one that Gitchemanitou gave us to live.

All the best,

Betsy McDougall

Every Angry Ojibwa Woman has one true love. She is taught from early on what it should look like, how it should feel, and when to throw it away. Her grandmothers, mother and aunts told her what it takes to meet their strict standards. The said, “Don’t play with it because it will get hard!” Also, that if you do it right, it will be fluffy, moist, and hard on the outside. Hard enough, they said, so when you tap on the outside it sounds hollow. Then you will know.

The Angry Ojibwe Women in your life told you over and over that, “You will fall in love early and often!” I knew the very moment I fell in love. Grandma would pull the bread pan off the wall. She would get the flour out and her apron on while talking to me about life. She would add baking powder, salt, and sugar to the flour and mix it all up. My brown little face would be resting my chin on the white enamel kitchen table. I knew, if I stayed there long enough, love was coming my way.

She would make a well with the flour. Showing me how it has to be done; never veering from the process. She would pour her milk, add her eggs, and then warm lard into the well. Taking a fork, she would mix the wet ingredients and then slowly but certainly mix it into the flour. I knew it would only be a matter of minutes until it was time and I would fall in love again.

She always sang the same song while making her bread:

Oh, I wish I had someone to love me, Someone to call me their own.
Oh, I wish I had someone to live with, 'Cause I'm tired of living alone.
Oh, meet me tonight in the moonlight, Please meet me tonight all alone.
For I have a sad story to tell you, It's a story that's never been told.

I'll be carried to the new jail tomorrow, Leaving my poor darling alone.
With the cold prison bars all around me, And my head on a pillow of stone.

Now I have a grand ship on the ocean, All mounted with silver and gold.
And before my poor darling would suffer, Oh, that ship would be anchored and sold.

Now, if I had the wings of an angel, Over these prison walls I would fly.
And I'd fly to the arms of my darling, And there I'd be willing to die.

(The Prisoner’s Song, Dalhart, 1925)

I always thought it was a sad song, even when I was a kid. What was her life like to make her so sad? She would look at me and smile as she formed the dough into a perfect ball. I thought, “Why is she saying she was in a prison and how come she wanted to be an angel?” She would take a knife and cut markings into the bread and place the bread in the wood oven. I knew it was only a matter of minutes before I would be happier than I would ever be in my life.

She would sit with me by the kitchen table playing solitaire looking out the kitchen window. What was she looking at out that window? Who was she looking for so longingly? She would play another game. 

As she grew older; we would have less and less times like that together. Her cards were dusty sitting on a shelf in the kitchen. The wood stove was replaced with an electric one. Commodities were being stockpiled in the pantry waiting for them to be sung into a magical moment of love which seemed to never return. 

One day, my brother made a batch of love. She was sitting in the kitchen rocking in her chair. She had a big quilt wrapped around her. Mad, mad as hell. He said she could only have one slice of love. Her sugar was high and he was trying to control it. Meals on Wheels only gave her one slice of wheat bread with one pat of butter! Yes, she was mad as hell. He went into the living room and watched her. She watched him. I watched them.

Thinking she could make a break for it, she ran to the breadbox, grabbed the love and ran out the door yelling to the neighbors, “Help, I am being held prisoner!” My brother rushed out to the yard to grab her and the love fell on the ground. 

Now, if I had the wings of an angel,
Over these prison walls I would fly.
And I'd fly to the arms of my darling,
And there I'd be willing to die.

The moral of the story is, you never know what people mourn for in life or whom or what they really love. That sadness can be carried a lifetime and played out daily through a deck of cards. Life sometimes holds us as prisoners through our memories. As we grow older, our memories grow weaker, but our love never wavers.
This story is written in honor of my Grandma Betsy Allard Wilkie Davis who gave me a lifetime of love.