It’s morning in Honolulu in this difficult world. My cardinal neighbor acknowledged it with a song. When I stepped out into the quiet I gave thanks for this embrace of peace. The Pacific is rolling in, from here looks like sloppy two feet waves. Still, I’d like to go out and paddle into what my spirit knows there. I breathe it in. Breathe out the worries, overwhelming sadness. Elections are being held in Iraq that aren’t true elections. Let people decide for themselves. They aren’t; the conquerors are deciding all this because they believe that the oil and resources are theirs by divine right. There’s no ruse anymore. The lies are sheer, transparent. It’s been happening here, on this island, in this country for years. We forget.
Now, who do I talk on behalf of my poet friend who starts back at a job in the East where she is denigrated and unappreciated? Despite the bad treatment she’s set up one of the best reading series in the country and runs a writing center. This is a full time job. Then they added a class for her to teach, then another and another. It wasn’t in her contract but they require it because they can, because somebody will do it if she doesn’t because these jobs are hard to come by. And to whom do I report a relative who will continue on this journey today less part of a leg and an injury inflicted by a faulty surgical procedure for which he’ll most likely receive no compensation because, ironically, he doesn’t have money to pursue a wrong doing? And a cousin knocked down by a stroke who is standing up again, leaning at the kitchen sink making breakfast for herself this morning, trying to make it alone in a little house far from the Oklahoma she fled as a champion barrel racer? Her daughter is nearby, but dragged far, far away into a drug oblivion. Where is her circle of family? And who will take the hands of my beloved sister crippled by rheumatoid arthritis and ease out the knots of rage, of pain?
What poet will come along and sing beautifully and dangerously?
Of all this, all this.
The Chinese New Year’s parade was cancelled on Saturday due to heavy rains, storms. I was disappointed. I looked forward to pushing my friend’s wheelchair through the festivities. The island was flooded with rain. So much rain that the sewers overflowed in the bay where we paddle. Yesterday was our first day out of off-season paddling, after it was suspended because of our New Year’s Eve incident. It was a beautiful morning after the rain as we gathered there. But the water was turgid and brown with sewage here in beautiful Hawaii. We humans are destroying this place. We paddled out with a heaviness, a sadness.
I delighted seeing lightning, hearing thunder. Lightning doesn’t visit here very frequently.
Soon I will be in their realm, as I fly from Honolulu to Los Angeles. It's important to acknowlege the beings of that realm.
1/31/05
1/29/05
What does it mean to be a musician on a Saturday morning in Honolulu?
It means getting up, calling my sister in Oklahoma who’s turning fifty to sing happy birthday and talking plans, figuring out horn practice time for the morning: not too early but early enough to be ready to head out for errands and obligations. I’m going to the gym, to a paddling club meeting on the other side of the island, and to gather for the Chinese New Year parade where I’m meeting up with the Intertribal society of Honolulu to march in the parade. I’ve been given the honored position of pushing the wheelchair of the beloved leader of the club, my relative Bill Tiger. In the midst of all this, I am working on a song, or should I say, it’s working on me? This one is a stream of momentum that came forth a month ago around a couple of guitar chords. It has breath already, a shimmer, a direction. The words aren’t there yet. I will just have to follow it. I gather parts of it along the way, while traveling along the horizon of this earth, from Honolulu to LA to Park City and back. Faith and belief and an absolute love of dancing feeds it.
1/28/05
A few notes on a Friday night in Honolulu:
An African Proverb:
"The King Fears Only The Poets."
News this week:
Giant squids beached in Newport, California.
A sixty-five-year old woman gives birth.
A 19-pound baby is born to a woman in Brazil.
And voters in Iraq don’t know the names of the candidates, nor where they are to vote.
Now, what’s the real story here?
_____________________________________________________________________
And be sure and vote for me at www.nammys.com. The voting ends this week.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Other news: My music is now available for easy download on iTunes! Check it out!
_________________________________________________________________________________
A Thousand Roads is getting good reviews at Sundance.
Here’s one by Peter Hanson at Film Threat:
http://www.filmthreat.com/Reviews.asp?Id=7029
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Tomorrow I’ll be in the Chinese New Year Parade, accompanying my relative Bill Tiger and other members of the local native community who’ve been invited to be part of the new year’s festivities.
________________________________________________________________
Seeking submissions for an anthology with the working title:
“Mesas and Towers: Stories from the Southwest”
Salina Bookshelf, Inc. is seeking original written work by American Indian writers located in the Southwest (Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, Utah, Oklahoma, Southern California, Nevada) region of the United States.
The goal of this anthology is to collect fiction, creative non-fiction, and autobiographies focused on the Southwest experience from the American Indian point of view. Ideally, contributing writers would submit two stories: one that takes place before 1940, and another after 1940. Single submissions are acceptable. We would like a balance of “traditional”/older (before 1940) stories mixed with more contemporary (after 1940) experiences.
Manuscripts considered for publication need to meet the following:
• Genres: fiction, creative non-fiction, autobiography, poetry.
• Submissions cannot exceed 25 pages (6500) words – length of the story is up to the writer, but both stories combined cannot exceed 25 pages.
• Unpublished, original work is preferred; should a previously published or excerpts from a previously published work require a reprint fee, the fee payment is the responsibility of the author.
• Each manuscript should contain a cover sheet with the author’s name, mailing address, email address, and phone number, along with a biographical statement.
• Manuscripts should be typed, double-spaced, on one side only of 8-1/2 x 11 write paper; if sent via email, send using Microsoft Word document.
• Send also a disk or CD-ROM formatted for Microsoft document with hardcopy. Do not send the only copy of your manuscript; make sure you have an original copy of your work. Salina Bookshelf, Inc. is not responsible for any lost manuscripts.
• Please include a self-addressed, stamped envelope with sufficient postage if you wish to have your work returned.
• Submission deadline: May 15, 2005
Send submissions to: DeLyssa K. Begay
P.O. Box 3080
Chinle, Arizona 86503
Email: delyssabegay@salinabookshelf.com
"The King Fears Only The Poets."
News this week:
Giant squids beached in Newport, California.
A sixty-five-year old woman gives birth.
A 19-pound baby is born to a woman in Brazil.
And voters in Iraq don’t know the names of the candidates, nor where they are to vote.
Now, what’s the real story here?
_____________________________________________________________________
And be sure and vote for me at www.nammys.com. The voting ends this week.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Other news: My music is now available for easy download on iTunes! Check it out!
_________________________________________________________________________________
A Thousand Roads is getting good reviews at Sundance.
Here’s one by Peter Hanson at Film Threat:
http://www.filmthreat.com/Reviews.asp?Id=7029
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Tomorrow I’ll be in the Chinese New Year Parade, accompanying my relative Bill Tiger and other members of the local native community who’ve been invited to be part of the new year’s festivities.
________________________________________________________________
Seeking submissions for an anthology with the working title:
“Mesas and Towers: Stories from the Southwest”
Salina Bookshelf, Inc. is seeking original written work by American Indian writers located in the Southwest (Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, Utah, Oklahoma, Southern California, Nevada) region of the United States.
The goal of this anthology is to collect fiction, creative non-fiction, and autobiographies focused on the Southwest experience from the American Indian point of view. Ideally, contributing writers would submit two stories: one that takes place before 1940, and another after 1940. Single submissions are acceptable. We would like a balance of “traditional”/older (before 1940) stories mixed with more contemporary (after 1940) experiences.
Manuscripts considered for publication need to meet the following:
• Genres: fiction, creative non-fiction, autobiography, poetry.
• Submissions cannot exceed 25 pages (6500) words – length of the story is up to the writer, but both stories combined cannot exceed 25 pages.
• Unpublished, original work is preferred; should a previously published or excerpts from a previously published work require a reprint fee, the fee payment is the responsibility of the author.
• Each manuscript should contain a cover sheet with the author’s name, mailing address, email address, and phone number, along with a biographical statement.
• Manuscripts should be typed, double-spaced, on one side only of 8-1/2 x 11 write paper; if sent via email, send using Microsoft Word document.
• Send also a disk or CD-ROM formatted for Microsoft document with hardcopy. Do not send the only copy of your manuscript; make sure you have an original copy of your work. Salina Bookshelf, Inc. is not responsible for any lost manuscripts.
• Please include a self-addressed, stamped envelope with sufficient postage if you wish to have your work returned.
• Submission deadline: May 15, 2005
Send submissions to: DeLyssa K. Begay
P.O. Box 3080
Chinle, Arizona 86503
Email: delyssabegay@salinabookshelf.com
1/26/05
On the Road and iTunes
Tonight the blur of lack of sleep. Started Saturday with early flight from LA to Salt Lake City for the Sundance Film Festival. A Thousand Roads, the Signature film for the National Museum of the American Indian, entered in the "Special" Category (not feature or short) premiered Saturday afternoon at Sundance Village. Chris Eyre directed. Scott Garen and I co-wrote it. A warm response. Dinners, interviews and photos for the next few days. Sundance is dense with attitude, like having LA packed into a few square miles...Then back to LA Monday night, then UCLA early on Tuesday to teach two three-hour classes. Then to Honolulu this morning. So my spirit is still traveling...And a song is urgent for birth...Now, sleep.
PLEASE NOTE: You can now download my Native Joy for Real songs on Apple's iTunes!!!!
PLEASE NOTE: You can now download my Native Joy for Real songs on Apple's iTunes!!!!
1/20/05
What Marks a Warrior?
Consider these shining words in light of the inauguration speech of the so-called leader of this country:
“In Navajo, a warrior is the one who can use words so everyone knows they are part of the same family. In Navajo, a warrior says what is in the people’s hearts. Talks about what the land means to them. Brings them together to fight for it.”
Tiana Bighorse
“In Navajo, a warrior is the one who can use words so everyone knows they are part of the same family. In Navajo, a warrior says what is in the people’s hearts. Talks about what the land means to them. Brings them together to fight for it.”
Tiana Bighorse
Learning How to Be Human
I return to the betrayal. It’s a self-betrayal first, or a betrayal of spirit. Isn’t that how betrayal works? There’s some kind of inner warning and it may be subtle and difficult to perceive with the television going or music made to sell you false dreams spinning in your ears. I felt the tug of my spirit. I watched others go out into the etheric ocean and when they veered into a danger this protection came to them. I tested it with another female. We coasted and flew and I sent out a signal to that one to come and see us back safely. There was no response at all. I regret to say that my response wasn’t satisfactory. I wilted briefly into the feel-sorry stance, then when we returned from our adventure I found the spirit and challenged him for his failure to come to us. Maybe I was asking in the wrong direction, or from the wrong mind. The one who is to direct will be there, or will watch from a distance to see how you respond on your own, to see if you are worthy of what they have to teach you. Each day brings opportunities to test yourself against yourself.
This morning I uncurl from knowing in a dark, cool room in my cousin’s duplex in West Hollywood. I can’t even see whether it’s light or dark out. It’s just me and my spirit and the shaking of the world as it starts into the weekday mind. I am fresh from being out in the stars, flying as I used to so consciously as a child, until I was thought to think too much, and put away my dreams. That was one of the earliest betrayals. “It’s just your imagination”, was my mother’s refrain to my traveling stories. I know and knew different, even knew better than to ask her but I wanted a companion made by the sharing of a story.
Sometimes you have to be alone and protection won’t come when you ask for it. Then how will you act? Will you act with dignity? Or slam things around? Or curse? Or turn on the television, have another beer or piece of bread? And what does this have to do with your music or your poetry? Everything. You follow your spirit into the poem or music. There’s an inner space there, much as dream space, and while you are there you are exchanging gifts of knowing, of being, as your human spirit assists in birthing another small world into existence.
This morning I uncurl from knowing in a dark, cool room in my cousin’s duplex in West Hollywood. I can’t even see whether it’s light or dark out. It’s just me and my spirit and the shaking of the world as it starts into the weekday mind. I am fresh from being out in the stars, flying as I used to so consciously as a child, until I was thought to think too much, and put away my dreams. That was one of the earliest betrayals. “It’s just your imagination”, was my mother’s refrain to my traveling stories. I know and knew different, even knew better than to ask her but I wanted a companion made by the sharing of a story.
Sometimes you have to be alone and protection won’t come when you ask for it. Then how will you act? Will you act with dignity? Or slam things around? Or curse? Or turn on the television, have another beer or piece of bread? And what does this have to do with your music or your poetry? Everything. You follow your spirit into the poem or music. There’s an inner space there, much as dream space, and while you are there you are exchanging gifts of knowing, of being, as your human spirit assists in birthing another small world into existence.
1/10/05
The Nammys/ PLEASE VOTE
The finalists for the Native American Music Awards have been announced, and I'm happy to say I've been nominated in three categories:
Best blues/jazz album
Best female performer
and Best songwriter
Please log into www.nammys.com and log in and vote. Everyone's eligible to vote. There are many excellent candidates and other categories. And pass the word along. It will be a fast and furious contest as the awards are held February 10th in Florida.
Thanks for your vote on behalf of native music!
Best blues/jazz album
Best female performer
and Best songwriter
Please log into www.nammys.com and log in and vote. Everyone's eligible to vote. There are many excellent candidates and other categories. And pass the word along. It will be a fast and furious contest as the awards are held February 10th in Florida.
Thanks for your vote on behalf of native music!
The Canoe Story Delete and Chocolate Chip Cookies
I deleted the canoe story of new year’s eve because the events that day are still quite a sensitive issue. We’ve had to rethink procedures and decisions as a part of the canoe club. It’s interesting how a story shifts in shape as you hear other tellings of the same event. For some it was a life-threatening event, others shrugged it off as nothing, or nearly nothing. But no one has taken the event or the loss of the canoe lightly. It was devastating to leave Maunalua behind, and it’s the first time in the nearly one hundred years of the club that a canoe has been lost. Ever. The canoe too has a life, though, a spirit and has transported us between the water and the sky. It is either hiding out there in the bay (we haven’t found her yet) or is on the way to Kauai. That spirit will need to be formally acknowledged before this is over.
Last Thursday I took a load of mailings to the local Kapalama Post Office. Most people don’t know me here in Honolulu and I don’t particularly look local,: not Chinese, Japanese, Filipino, Portuguese, Hawaiian, Samoan, Micronesian, or some blend of the above, though I’ve noticed that in the six years I’ve been here I blend in more and more. Some of the staff at the post office recognize me because I’m a regular customer and usually come dragging in with a stack of large envelopes, boxes and letters. I didn’t know the clerk who waited on me Thursday morning. I recognized her. She’s one of the youngest and newest and probably some mix of Hawaiian, Chinese and haole (white). She greets me warmly. All the staff here is like that: friendly. They are also very exacting in each of their transactions. Nothing gets by them and I’m certain that anything I send from here will make it to where it needs to be with the exact amount of postage and care.
I overheard her tell the customer before me, as she handed him one of the new sheets of stamps for the new year, a set of Chinese new year stamps, something about the numbers and good and bad luck. So while I placed my stack on the counter she reiterated that the numbers of the stamps on one side add up to 444, which for the Chinese is a bad luck number, so they put stamps on both sides and now the numbers add up to 888, a good luck number.
She scanned the label of my first package with her eyes, then casually announced, as if we were in the middle of coffee: “I was talking with A___ A____ the other night.
(Hmm, how does she know A.A.? A.A. used to work with L. And how does she know I know her?)
She continued: “She said you made the best chocolate chip cookies.” We then talked about A.A. for a bit, her gifts and talents. Then I paid up and was on to my next errand in the whirlwind before leaving to start the quarter at UCLA.
That transaction reminds me that in Honolulu I am known first as one of the canoe paddling crowd, who at canoe party jams plays a mean sax, and secondly, as the one who makes those killer chocolate chip cookies. It’s only in the last year that the word is getting out about my other life. That could work for or against me.
Signing out on a rainy rainy Sunday afternoon in LA.
Last Thursday I took a load of mailings to the local Kapalama Post Office. Most people don’t know me here in Honolulu and I don’t particularly look local,: not Chinese, Japanese, Filipino, Portuguese, Hawaiian, Samoan, Micronesian, or some blend of the above, though I’ve noticed that in the six years I’ve been here I blend in more and more. Some of the staff at the post office recognize me because I’m a regular customer and usually come dragging in with a stack of large envelopes, boxes and letters. I didn’t know the clerk who waited on me Thursday morning. I recognized her. She’s one of the youngest and newest and probably some mix of Hawaiian, Chinese and haole (white). She greets me warmly. All the staff here is like that: friendly. They are also very exacting in each of their transactions. Nothing gets by them and I’m certain that anything I send from here will make it to where it needs to be with the exact amount of postage and care.
I overheard her tell the customer before me, as she handed him one of the new sheets of stamps for the new year, a set of Chinese new year stamps, something about the numbers and good and bad luck. So while I placed my stack on the counter she reiterated that the numbers of the stamps on one side add up to 444, which for the Chinese is a bad luck number, so they put stamps on both sides and now the numbers add up to 888, a good luck number.
She scanned the label of my first package with her eyes, then casually announced, as if we were in the middle of coffee: “I was talking with A___ A____ the other night.
(Hmm, how does she know A.A.? A.A. used to work with L. And how does she know I know her?)
She continued: “She said you made the best chocolate chip cookies.” We then talked about A.A. for a bit, her gifts and talents. Then I paid up and was on to my next errand in the whirlwind before leaving to start the quarter at UCLA.
That transaction reminds me that in Honolulu I am known first as one of the canoe paddling crowd, who at canoe party jams plays a mean sax, and secondly, as the one who makes those killer chocolate chip cookies. It’s only in the last year that the word is getting out about my other life. That could work for or against me.
Signing out on a rainy rainy Sunday afternoon in LA.
12/30/04
List of Agencies for Tsunami Relief
I've been inundated with emails giving names of organizations that are providing relief from the tsunami devestation. This list, sent by a friend, is from NPR.org and so far is the most comprehensive, so I'm passing it onto you.
Tsunami Relief: Where to Give
From NPR.org, December 29, 2004
Below is a list of aid agencies collecting donations
for the victims of the deadly tsunami that struck
southern Asia:
Network for Good
Donate to multiple organizations online.
www.networkforgood.org
Action Against Hunger
247 West 37th Street, Suite 1201
New York, N.Y. 10018
212-967-7800 x108
www.actionagainsthunger.org
AJJDC
American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee
South Asia Tsunami Relief
Box 321
847A Second Avenue
New York, N.Y. 10017
212-687-6200 ext. 851
www.jdc.org
AmeriCares
88 Hamilton Ave
Stamford, CT 06902
800-486-4357
www.americares.org
American Jewish World Service
45 West 36th Street, 10th Floor
New York, N.Y. 10018
800-889-7146
www.ajws.org
AFSC Crisis Fund
American Friends Service Committee Crisis Fund
1501 Cherry Street
Philadelphia, Pa. 19102
1-888-588-2372, ext. 1
www.afsc.org
American Red Cross
International Response Fund
P.O. Box 37243
Washington, D.C. 20013
800-HELP NOW
www.redcross.org
CARE USA
CARE -- Asia Quake Disaster
151 Ellis Street NE
Atlanta, GA 30303-2440
1-800-521-CARE ext. 999
Outside the U.S., call 404-681-2552
CARE USA Home Page
CARE Asian Quake Disaster Donation Page
Catholic Relief Services
Tsunami Emergency
P.O. Box 17090
Baltimore, Md. 21203-7090
800-736-3467
www.catholicrelief.org
Direct Relief International
27 South La Patera Lane
Santa Barbara, Calif. 93117
805-964-4767
www.directrelief.org
Doctors Without Borders
P.O. Box 1856
Merrifield, Va. 22116-8056
888-392-0392
www.doctorswithoutborders.org
Food for the Hungry, Inc.
Food for the Hungry
Asia Quake Relief
1224 E. Washington St.
Phoenix, AZ 85034
800-2-HUNGERS
www.fh.org
International Medical Corps
Earthquake/Tsunami Relief
1919 Santa Monica Boulevard, Suite 300
Santa Monica, Calif. 90404
800-481-4462
www.imcworldwide.org
Islamic Relief USA
Southeast Asia Earthquake Emergency
P.O. Box 6098
Burbank, Calif. 91510
888-479-4968
www.irw.org/asiaquak
Lutheran World Relief
South Asia Tsunami
PO Box 17061
Baltimore, MD 21298-9832
800-LWR-LWR-2 (800-597-5972)
www.lwr.org
Mercy Corps
Southeast Asia Earthquake Response
Dept. W
P.O. Box 2669
Portland, Ore. 97208
800-852-2100
www.mercycorps.org
Operation USA
8320 Melrose Avenue, Suite 200 Los Angles, Calif.
90069
800-678-7255
www.opusa.org
Oxfam America
Asian Earthquake Fund
PO Box 1211
Albert Lea, MN 56007-1211
800-77-OXFAM
www.oxfamamerica.org
Save The Children
Asia Earthquake/Tidal Wave Relief Fund
54 Wilton Road
Westport, Conn. 06880
800-728-3843
www.savethechildren.org
US Fund for UNICEF
General Emergency Fund
333 E. 38th Street
New York, NY 10016
800-4-UNICEF
www.unicefusa.org
Stop Hunger Now
SE Asia crisis
2501 Clark Ave, Suite 200
Raleigh, NC 27607
888-501-8440
www.stophungernow.org
World Vision
P.O. Box 70288
Tacoma, WA 98481-0288
888-56-CHILD
www.worldvision.org
World Concern
Asia Earthquake and Tsunami
19303 Fremont Avenue North
Seattle, WA 98133
800-755-5022
www.worldconcern.org
World Emergency Relief
2270-D Camino Vida Roble
Carlsbad, CA 92009
760-930-8001
www.worldemergencyrelief.org
12/29/04
Catching Waves
December 29, 2004 Wednesday night
The lights of Honolulu are especially poignant tonight. The dark sky and the dark Pacific meet somewhere out there. I can already smell gunpowder from fireworks. Sales have tripled since last year when permits were required. The election put an evil network back into power and the economy is suffering. Here, the blast from the fireworks clears the air of beasts, demons, and bad accumulated thoughts, hence the loading up to dispel the evil. And I keep thinking of the tsunami and the thousands killed, suddenly and unexpectedly, especially as we paddled out tonight past the blinker buoy. The waters had a mild churn and roil because there’s a storm that’s still a few days out. I kept hearing a whale out not too far from where we were in the bay. She stayed out. The ocean reacts to every small and large thought and movement. She is never the same, and will change immediately according to a change in wind, atmosphere, a distant storm or from some other cumulative force. We’ve paddled out in relative calm, and fought our way back through a blocked channel. It’s not always that dramatic. Many times I’ve paddled out or flown over or walked along the shore of this beloved Pacific. Each year there’s more trash and less clear blue. This ocean is the blood of the earth, and the emotional field. Something has to give eventually from the weight of disrespect. When we went out on Sunday the water was jamming perfectly. We had an exhilarating paddle. It was the first time that I felt like I was dancing, that my spirit was coordinated and in time with the ocean, sky and other human travelers, from my belly all the way out. Tonight as we turned in our boat caught a wave and flew for a little while between heaven and earth. This same water that carried us in safely to shore could also destroy us, the city, and bury the island in just a few seconds. It has that much power. Something to think about…so next time you visit her, acknowledge her, sing to her, respect her.
The lights of Honolulu are especially poignant tonight. The dark sky and the dark Pacific meet somewhere out there. I can already smell gunpowder from fireworks. Sales have tripled since last year when permits were required. The election put an evil network back into power and the economy is suffering. Here, the blast from the fireworks clears the air of beasts, demons, and bad accumulated thoughts, hence the loading up to dispel the evil. And I keep thinking of the tsunami and the thousands killed, suddenly and unexpectedly, especially as we paddled out tonight past the blinker buoy. The waters had a mild churn and roil because there’s a storm that’s still a few days out. I kept hearing a whale out not too far from where we were in the bay. She stayed out. The ocean reacts to every small and large thought and movement. She is never the same, and will change immediately according to a change in wind, atmosphere, a distant storm or from some other cumulative force. We’ve paddled out in relative calm, and fought our way back through a blocked channel. It’s not always that dramatic. Many times I’ve paddled out or flown over or walked along the shore of this beloved Pacific. Each year there’s more trash and less clear blue. This ocean is the blood of the earth, and the emotional field. Something has to give eventually from the weight of disrespect. When we went out on Sunday the water was jamming perfectly. We had an exhilarating paddle. It was the first time that I felt like I was dancing, that my spirit was coordinated and in time with the ocean, sky and other human travelers, from my belly all the way out. Tonight as we turned in our boat caught a wave and flew for a little while between heaven and earth. This same water that carried us in safely to shore could also destroy us, the city, and bury the island in just a few seconds. It has that much power. Something to think about…so next time you visit her, acknowledge her, sing to her, respect her.
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