Change of Identity

Shadow of myself by Kim Artman

Part one

     He is coming to get me and I know he has memorized my features.  The features that strike as the most obvious is that I am only five feet two inches and weigh over one hundred and fifty pounds.  In order for him not to recognize me I need to grow so I need to go out and buy high heels.  I am not comfortable in high heels as I have very wide feet.  I am going to have to have custom shoes made.  I am going to have to learn how to walk like a lady.  I will also need etiquette lessons.  I have always been a tomboy so I don’t own many dresses.  The ones I do own are denim or cotton and are very comfortable.  I am going to have to pick brighter colors as well.  I mostly own a numerous amount of natural colors like light brown, pale green, and dusty rose all of which are oversized and soft.

     In addition to my clothing and shoes I will need to die my hair black.  I have had my hair every color under sun…. blonde, golden brown, dark brown and even purple.  Don’t ask about the last color, it wasn’t done on purpose.  I have had it all shades of blonde and brown but never jet black.  I will also cut it in a style that requires some attention.  I may put gel in it and curl it in tight ringlets.  I currently keep my hair in a ponytail and rarely have it curled. 

     He knows my talents in arts, with children, in dentistry, in teaching, and my love of New Mexico.  I think I may have to travel to a state that is very green and has numerous people.  I will try my hand at being a hard working secretary.  I have always been high up in the chain of command so being a janitor or a shoe saleswoman would be excellent cover.  All the hard work and sweat will help my oversized frame.

     I think I will call myself Esparanza or Sophia as my real name Kimberly is too gringo.  Maybe this is a bit too much.  I can call myself Nicole.  Yeah, Nicole sounds good.

Part two

     The mountains in the upper part of New York City have brilliant colors this time of year.  I bought a home that is expensive and small.  I would usually pick an inexpensive farmhouse located in five to ten acres and fill it to the brim with horses.  Now, the houses are so close I can shake hands with the neighbor from my window.  I moved here to be close to nature yet within the city limits as I don’t want to commute a long time to and from work. 

     I work at Hastings in the music department.  I am usually attracted to quieter surroundings but the rock brings back memories of growing up in the eighties.  I have to be careful though as I have memorized many of the lyrics and this gives away my age.  I have taken up caring for my skin, wearing hip clothes, wearing expensive makeup, and styling my hair daily.  This makes me look younger and I often wear six inch heels along with a tight, bright pink top.  The skinny jeans help me fit in with the younger crowd as well.

     I no longer eat fast food as I am trying to lose as much weight as possible.  I take a salad and small bottle of low fat dressing with me in my cooler that plugs into the cars cigarette lighter.  I also have a variety of protein bars as I still have a sweet tooth and this curves my appetite as well.  I drink mostly water now as the diet cokes made me gain weight rapidly.  I also walk after work with a group of women who complain constantly that they can’t get the best designer purse as it was sold out at Dillards.  I just remember the days of caring around my fake leather oversized bag stuffed with calendars, candy and books.  Now I carry a black pocketbook with the words Gucchi engraved on the lower left hand corner.  We finish our walk and meet for cocktails at The Gin Mill.  Our conversation turns to our divorces and the new ballet school down the road we want to enroll our girls in.  I suddenly hear several women shout “NICOLE!” and I remember that they are talking to me.

Part three

     I just woke up…. The room is pitch black. I start to scream and remember that no one can save me as I live alone.  I cry and tremble when I recall my dream.  I am watching many children of all races; blacks, Hispanics, Anglos, Chinese, and African children.  I am trying to quiet them all as I know he is outside waiting for any sound coming from the house.  I hide with the children under the table.  I huddle them close together like a mother hen.  The children see my anxiety and their whimpers turn to wails.  I start crying as well as say “its okay sweetheart… momma is here….I will protect you.”

     One of the children started to pee on the floor and points at the window above the kitchen sink.  I know it is him and look up to see his face pressed hard on the window; so hard that it left an eerie white silhouette.  His eyes are black as his pupils are dilated as the drugs are now controlling his actions.  He taps on the window with his ax….. aahhh!

     I don’t know if I can go to sleep with the lights off now.  I will turn on the lights in the bathroom.  I might as well go pee and take a Tylenol PM.  I know it will take awhile for it to take effect so I will turn on the TV to some bad infomercial or old movie.  That will put me to sleep faster than the Tylenol and I can wait till morning to relieve myself.  CLICK

Part four

     It has been years since I have seen Kimberly.  She was teaching art at an elementary school in the southwest.  I don’t know much about art but the paintings she does are beautiful.  They have a deeper meaning than I can figure but the colors are powerful.  She did one of us when we were little.  We both had brown hair and green eyes.  We were holding on to each other so close it looked as we were Siamese twins.  As we grew older, our appearances separated us.

  She liked the sun and lake and subsequently ending up with blond hair which she kept in a ponytail most of the time.  I on the other hand always kept my hair styled with the latest cut and wear designer clothes.  Will our vast differences in appearances make it hard to find her as she gets off the plane in New York?  Will she judge me on my apartment or Ralph Lauren fitted shirt?  What if I wore my tennis shoes instead of these designers heals…. Maybe I can run home.   “Flight 151 from New Mexico arriving at gate 7”.  Too late.

     It seems many people are coming at me like a tidal wave.  I look for blonde hair and a ponytail with so much anxiety I am about to burst.  I see a short woman but not with a ponytail or blonde hair.  I fix my gaze on her and we lock eyes.  Her green eyes wrinkle as she smiles brightly.  Nothing can change the love we have for each other… not even our hair color or style of shoes.

ancient ones

What 2-3 components of Anasazi and traditional Pueblo culture do you find most fascinating? Describe these.

One of the things I find amazing from the ancient Indian cultures is that they built their homes in a variety of styles.  One tribe might camp near a river in order to have fresh water and their homes would be constructed out of portable materials as they had to move during the hunting season.  The home would consist of animal hides and large pine poles. 

Another fascinating aspect of the early Native American Indians is their use of the land to protect them from the elements of nature and enemy tribes.  Some of the largest cliff dwellings are located in New Mexico and Colorado.  The Gila Cliff Dwellings in the Black Range Forrest in Southwestern New Mexico housed the Anasazi tribe up in the high canyon walls.  The rooms would be connected together through small holes in which they crawled through. 

·       In what ways did Pueblo culture differ from that of their European colonizers?

Pueblo people lived within the same homes through different generations.  Children would care for their elders and the tribe as a whole would work together to raise their young.  The European colonies would house individual families.  Children would move out of the family home when they were old enough to marry. 

Clothing would also differ in materials due to the elements of nature.  Indians would use fur from animals that they would kill for a thick layer of protection.  In the summers they would wear very little clothes so they would be agile when hunting or riding horses.  The Europeans housing was much more efficient as it was well insulated.  Their clothing was worn based on the comfort of the material used and the specific social economical class.

     The materials used in the making clay pots for the Mississippian and Anasazi tribes were found in the natural elements all around them.  The Mississippian culture used a wooden paddle carved with intricate geometric designs to embed the image in the soft clay.  The Anasazi did not engrave their pots as the Mississippian culture did.  They made a dye out of plant materials that were painted on the surface of the pot.  Colors varied as to the plants and berries in the surrounding area.

memories and georgia

What does “New Mexico” mean to you? What basic images, for good or bad, does the mere mention of the state conjure for you?

I have lived in New Mexico all my life.  I was born in Presbyterian hospital in Albuquerque and so were all my children.  I grew up on the reservation and enjoyed the wide open spaces (see the song by Dixie Chicks).  I learned how to drive a tractor at 10 years old and throw hay bales into a flatbed trailer.  When my dad had no eager volunteers, he would call on me to drive the old ford truck up and down the beds of alfalfa while he stacked hay in a criss cross pattern.  I would sometimes hit the water ruts, much like speed bumps on steroids in the city, and my grandfather would be seen flying in the air in my rear view mirror.  I would be dismissed of my duties and then I would grab my quarter horse by a lead rope and jump over the mini grass mountains.  I love New Mexico and the images I have instilled in my mind during the 40 years I have been here. 

Do you have a favorite New Mexican author? If so, who and why?

Okay professor, this may be a far reach but hear me out.  I like the writings of Georgia O’Keeffe as she adds words to the images she paints.  She has a book compiled of notes between her and her assistant.  It talks of Georgia when she was living in New York with Stieglitz and her travels back and forth to New Mexico.  She loved the land.  She found beauty in everything… cow skulls, red hills, chamisa bushes, clouds, and of course her big images of irises and lilies.  She talks about waking up early to see the light come over the hills as well as laying on top the roof and looking at the stars.  One of the most amazing things she has said when asked why she paints flowers so big she responded “When you take a flower in your hand and really look at it, it's your world for the moment. I want to give that world to someone else. Most people in the city rush around so, they have no time to look at a flower. I want them to see it whether they want to or not.”  It makes me laugh to think that she has to force someone to enjoy nature.  It is like she is saying “You don’t want to take the time…. well I do…..nature is beautiful and I will show it to you up close and personal!”

St. Augustine church in Isleta NM

Week 3 Discussion Questions:
3. What is Cather’s attitude toward the land itself? Explain.
Cather brilliantly takes the reader back into time.  She describes the landscape and the old buildings so wonderfully.  She takes the words that we see but cannot say due to our lack of descriptive detail.  She described the Isleta reservation in such a way that I saw a new perspective on an old site I had seem many of times before.  I lived on the reservation for 10 years and always adored the Saint Augustine church.  I knew it was one of the oldest churches in the United States and that it was built in 1613.  I also knew that the mission church was one that the Spaniards used to convert the Indians to organized religion; be it Catholicism as it remains to this day.  My memory of the church was much like the newer picture and when I read Cather’s description I took in a whole new perspective.  I felt I was back with him 4 or 5 centuries before.
When Cather was describing the approach to the old church I saw in the eyes of a tired priest coming home to rest in the safety of the white cross.
              When he approached this pueblo of Isleta, gleaming white across a low plain of grey sand, Father Latour’s spirits rose.  It was beautiful, that warm, rich whiteness of the church and the clustered town, shaded by a few bright acacia trees, with their intense blue green like the color of old paper window blinds.  That tree always awakened pleasant memories, recalling a garden in the south of France where he used to visit young cousins.  (p. 42)

    

     Each time I pass an old tree by the entrance to my parents’ house in Isleta, I am taken back to a time I would rest, with my old quarter horse, in its large shadow.  The cottonwood tree must have been hundreds of year old and it still remains there today.  Will it be there for my grandchildren to see when they come by?  The Indians talk about a coffin made from a large tree.  I remember the story about a man that was buried under the church in Isleta.  His body is said to rise to the surface each year.  The coffin was made out of a large cottonwood tree that was hallowed out to fit Juan de Padilla’s body so it must have been large…. As large as the tree I see now in front of me.

New Mexico Life and Literature class

2. Focus on a specific legend, anecdote, or tale that Cather narrates in this novel. What does it reveal about her sense of New Mexico?
     I was first taken back to memory of my visit to Chimayo after reading the story of Juan Diego   (p 25).  The story in the book was similar to a legend of an old church I had seen as a child.  I remember walking around, looking at the trees and following my family into a small adobe church called “El Sanctuario de Chimayo”.  We followed a line of people and passed through many small rooms.  Each of the rooms contained a bright painting or a sculpture made of wood of a famous saint.  I remember my mother calling me to stop looking at the artwork and to come and get some dirt.  Puzzled I went to her and asked if I heard right.  She said yes that the people of Chimayo believed that the dirt had healing properties.  I bent down and scooped up the dirt not knowing I was feeling the rough grain of a great historical site until I became older and knew of its significance. 
     This was the same feeling I got after I entered college and learned about the Sistine Chapel and Michelangelo’s work.  I did a quick look when I was 13 and should have savored the moment just a little longer.  I would love to go back to Italy but it seems that Chimayo is more obtainable to me at this point in time.  Cather’s vivid description allows me to visit there in my thoughts as I read through the pages of the places I have visited in New Mexico.  I feel as if I am sitting with her looking at the same historic setting and smiling as I am sure she probably was as well.

Life and Literature class

2. Focus on a specific legend, anecdote, or tale that Cather narrates in this novel. What does it reveal about her sense of New Mexico?
     I was first taken back to memory of my visit to Chimayo after reading the story of Juan Diego   (p 25).  The story in the book was similar to a legend of an old church I had seen as a child.  I remember walking around, looking at the trees and following my family into a small adobe church called “El Sanctuario de Chimayo”.  We followed a line of people and passed through many small rooms.  Each of the rooms contained a bright painting or a sculpture made of wood of a famous saint.  I remember my mother calling me to stop looking at the artwork and to come and get some dirt.  Puzzled I went to her and asked if I heard right.  She said yes that the people of Chimayo believed that the dirt had healing properties.  I bent down and scooped up the dirt not knowing I was feeling the rough grain of a great historical site until I became older and knew of its significance. 
     This was the same feeling I got after I entered college and learned about the Sistine Chapel and Michelangelo’s work.  I did a quick look when I was 13 and should have savored the moment just a little longer.  I would love to go back to Italy but it seems that Chimayo is more obtainable to me at this point in time.  Cather’s vivid description allows me to visit there in my thoughts as I read through the pages of the places I have visited in New Mexico.  I feel as if I am sitting with her looking at the same historic setting and smiling as I am sure she probably was as well.