Well, my teacher is a language teacher, but I can’t say that is anything limiting, because what he has taught me is how to exist, how to really exist. Because the language is everything. It has the spirit in it. Each word is kept by a spirit, which means that when people begin to learn the language they are beginning to pray, to become part of a community. When people learn the language, they are on a path. They don’t know it at first but the more of the language they learn, the more of the Ojibwe worldview they take in, and the more they begin to treat the world with the respect and kindness of the old Ojibwe. Learning the language is a way of becoming Ojibwe. It sneaks up on you though. My whole family loves to get together and tell stories, and humor is always part of it. You can’t just talk about serious subjects all the time. You have to laugh at yourself. Part of loving people is being able to let them poke fun at you and telling funny stories about things that have happened. That’s really what keeps people sane. The people I’ve met who have been through the worst, who have suffered and endured injustices, are always funny. They have this ability to find the absurd in the world and enjoy it—a way of enjoying the uncertainty. If you didn’t have a sense of humor in an airport, you would fall down on the tile floor and cry. It’s easier, though, if you have a seven-year-old daughter like I do. She’s hilarious. Having her along on this part of my tour has been great because she reminds me that instead of just staring off blankly and becoming moody, which I tend to do, I could be playing the way she is. She plays with everything. If she’s eating something, she makes it into a joke or a story. I think she has that basic sense of story that is in all of us. She always wants to know more and see more and think more. I drink a lot of tea. (Laughs) No, I’m serious. So am I—some great Tazo tea. Tea really does it for me. I make sure I don’t try to clean the house. If I’d started cleaning, I would never have become a writer. It’s a female choice—you can either have a clean house or you can be a writer (laughs). If you’re cleaning your house, stop. I leave my house very messy. I don’t manage it. I have a daughter who works there. She knows all about selling now. Bookselling is going to change drastically. We’re looking at a time in which the medium of the book—the physical presence of the book—is changing, and the way people buy books is changing. But I really believe that it is important to have a bookstore that is a visible presence, a place where people can go and connect over books. Buying and reading books on-line is good and interesting, but I think we need both the virtual and the tangible. That’s why I have the bookstore. I also have it because it’s a place for distributing and selling Native language materials. It’s very important to have people learning Native languages to try to keep them alive. Yes, that’s what makes us special compared to other bookstores. But we’re also a general bookstore because we serve a wide clientele in our neighborhood—anybody who wants to come in to find a book. So we’re careful about choosing our books. We have a great children’s selection and we also sell Native American jewelry and art. Yes, we’ve published one memoir in Ojibwe and we have the rights to several other books with our Birchbark Press. We’re going to continue publishing works in Ojibwe.
