Jelly

I think it's taboo to gossip about one's own family - especially in Asian culture. But I'm just so irritated with them. I'm sad to say that jelly has caused a rift in my family's relations.

My grandmother is convinced she is going to die very soon. Because of her imminent death, she spends a marathon weekend cooking up her "last" batch of strawberry preserves. She gives numerous jars to my mother with specific instructions on how to dole these out to us kids. She then grows increasingly concerned that her grandchildren, me in particular, will liberally give them away. She may have forgotten to mention that they need to be preserved-in-the-family preserves. I think she struggles with this and in the end tells herself one thing and my mom another. She is upset to find that my mom did not give me enough of the allocation. My mom (also a severe diabetic), is a jelly thief and can no longer be trusted. Mean words are exchanged and two weeks have passed without a word between them.

Aging may be a major factor in this type of behavior. But I am mostly just irritated that this is how far we (the people that share my DNA) can take such a trivial matter. Really, the jelly meant NO HARM! But when something really disturbs you, wise people say you have to look in the mirror. I am mostly upset at myself for allowing temporary "things" carry the burden of my feelings.

ooh la la

I'm finally getting off my ass to write again and I have had to travel 7000 miles away from home to do it. We are in the romantic city of Paris. I have been cheating on my American pancakes for a 2 week tryst with croissants and beignets. In fact, I'm starting to resemble a buttery pastry ... plus a scarf.

Contrary to popular belief, I have found the French to be gracious and pleasant. There was one exception our first night at a certain "Cafe de Coupe" on Rue St. Honore, just across the street from our hotel. Our waiter, Monsieur Stinky, knew just enough English to be intimidating and not enough English to act equally ignorant. So what if we got charged 20 euros (roughly 28 bucks) for two flat spritzers with lemon? I knew just barely enough French to thank him and sought my revenge in the greater arena of the world wide web (1 star for you garcon).

Firsts...

I don't have children of my own, but I have heard it said over and over again that the best part of being around a baby or a toddler is seeing them experience things for the first time. Ahhhh....the merriment of soap bubbles, the surprise of discovering a small orifice in the center of your belly (or perhaps an out-y if you have one of those), the wonder of your own hands -- this is LIFE unfolding people! Soak it up! Drink it in!

That is why I feel so lucky to have been part of our nephew's first trip to an outhouse this weekend .

Do I really need to say anymore than this? The input variables looks something like this:

1 inexperienced baby-sitter (moi)
1 2-year-old little boy (just potty trained)
1 Saturday morning soccer game for 5-year old niece
Many soccer fields of other 5-year olds and flocks of families
1 port-a-potty (yes, only one)
1 playground at far end of of soccer fields (opposite from aforementioned port-a-potty)
90 degree day
1 adult with an aversion to any port-a-potty because of possible dry heaving (also moi)***

The output is this:

Picture me running with a toddler from the playground to the far end of the fields, sweat gushing out of my pores, only to enter one steamy port-a-potty for an immediate number-2. Something maternal stirred inside of me just then - as I held one desperate toddler hovering over the lid that opened up into who-knows-what-vastness below, I was able to quell the gagging rising up in my throat. A little voice told me he was done and we both staggered out into fresh air (after the necessary wiping part in case you were concerned).

What made it all worthwhile was when he said to me "I love you Susan." But I still believe a strongly worded letter is required to the Rocklin Parks District to allow access to flush toilets.


***
There are several reasons I avoid port-a-potties:
1. They're gross
2. When I was child visiting family friends near the sea port town of Pusan, South Korea, we only had access to outhouses - next to a cemetery no less. There were stories of children falling into these pits and drowning so some morbid person concocted a story of a ghostly woman whose long mane of hair would stream out of the hole. If a child went into an outhouse without knocking and stepped on her hair, they would be pulled into the hole. Nice.
3. 2000 Austin Marathon - port a potties at mile marker 5. I won't describe it but apparently everyone had to go within the first five miles and were all in a hurry. I threw up.

Kicking the Bucket

I've been working on my Bucket List. There are about 60 items (so far) and I'm averaging about 2-3 of them per year. Most recently, I checked off item #23 which was to see a blue whale. We spotted one on a whale watching trip off the Monterey Coast. I have some oddball ones like this - and to be honest I didn't really believe I would see a blue whale in this lifetime. But the power of intention is alive and strong, and it gave me a swift kick in the butt again. Now I'm getting excited about item #25: See Earth from Space.

Half Dome

I just had my third visit to Half Dome - reacquainting myself with my monolith of a friend. It's quite an interesting relationship as I am always slightly intimidated in the beginning expecting some pain and judgment but always leaving quite filled and satisfied. I was able to gain a slightly different perspective on this visit hiking up in the darkness and making a lonely summit up the cables by the light of a full moon. On my two previous trips there were throng of hikers so distracting that you couldn't even hear nature anymore. However, on this journey it seemed my breathing was the only thing taking up space.

About half-way up on the hike I panicked. It wasn't because it was dark or that I didn't feel strong enough to make the journey. In spite of having two companions, I felt very lonely, or more specifically, I felt insignificant. Here I was plodding along, step after step, where thousands have walked before. It seemed my small party was the only thing transient in that moment - just passing through this landscape of gushing waterfalls, granite walls, and giant trees. They were there before us and will survive long after we have passed. What shook me out of that very tiny mortal feeling was awe and gratitude. Here I was along for an extraordinary ride, the rhythms of my body commanded by the setting and rising of a moon or sun.

That's when the door opened and I felt amazed by everything. Just above the treeline we paused to watch a massive lightning storm off to the East. More intimately, I peed behind a tree, but took the opportunity to face opposite the trunk in order to view the Southern ranges - relieving AND breathtaking! I watched a trail of headlamps inching up the cables to the summit ahead of us. The last headlamp fell behind and hesitated much too long at each post. The first headlamp turned around at the top, and made his way back down the cables to help his friend finish the climb. I dozed off on the summit and woke up disoriented only to pleasantly realize I was napping on half dome! I saw the shadows across the valley fade into light and the chill leave my bones as the sun peeked out over the horizon. I could go on but I keep thinking about the bathroom experience I just mentioned. Why didn't I ever realize before to turn around?

80 oz of water, 1 gatorade, two GU's, one plum, trail mix, PB&J, one pair of stripped gloves, and multiple doses of Advil later, I am still feeling a little sore. I keep saying this is my last trip to half dome. But I don't quite believe myself.

Heading South...

I haven't written in a while. The longer I stop posting the more critical and insecure I get of myself when I sit down to write. I don't have anything to write about in particular, so this is purely for the experience of it.

My suitcase is packed and I managed to fit everything into a carry-on. Now I don't usually pack ahead, but for once I wanted to enjoy a quiet evening rather than the mad frenzy I usually find myself in. For those of you interested in my itinerary I am heading to Portland to pick up my 10 year old nephew and accompanying him to Space Camp in Huntsville, Alabama. Isaac, my nephew, doesn't seem particularly excited about camp so either he is quietly reserved, he's scared, or he has no interest in it at all. Perhaps a little bit of all three. I couldn't be MORE excited for him, but I also realize I may be living out some childhood fantasy through him. Still, I hold out hope he will get something positive out of it.

I am a little worried about traveling down South with a child. I'm only there a few days doing the drop off/pick up and flying to Denver a few days in between, but when I spoke to D--- at the A--- cab company to arrange transportation, his drawl was bigger than his reservation skills. I know this is the 21st century but in the deep recesses of my mind, I still harbor some concern about how many Asians they have seen in Alabama? Perhaps all the Asians that are down in Huntsville are the ones that attend space camp? I guess we will see what happens when we arrive there at midnight. I just hope nobody asks me "Are YOU VIET-MA-NESE?"
By the way, no offense meant to those who live down in AL.

By the way, I've been thinking a lot about tar balls. Perhaps because they keep referring to it in the news when speaking about the BP oil leak. Huntsville is pretty far from the coast, but whatever they are, I hope I don't have to see one. Just in case though I will pack a little 3oz bottle of DAWN in my carry on.

The Tempo of Creativity

There is a speed to all the things that we have squeezed into our space-time continuum. In my case, the creative process is no exception. When my postings are read out loud, I discovered that I convey some excessive amount of urgency into the way I write. Maybe I am not alone in this as we hurl into an even faster society. So even without this intention, I am reaching into my brain to choose those words that send you on a speedy journey.

I like to read classics, however, as with with all classics, I say you have to stick with it for a 100 pages to really get into the rhythm of it. Nowadays, who does this unless it is required school reading? Have you ever tried to speed read "Wuthering Heights" or "Anna Karenina?" It is virtually impossible, and even if some understanding is derived from setting a speed record, the experience is severely curtailed. Language has certainly evolved, but as much as it is attributed to a melding of cultures and classes, it is also a product of our ever quickening lifestyle.

So what does this all mean? We may not all read classics, but I am certain that most of us email. I'm going to try and practice reading my emails aloud (work included) before sending them into cyberspace. I don't want anyone, especially clients, to junk my emails, but I can certainly be mindful of the tempo in which I frame my words.

Poetry is also helping me to return to my quieter roots. Because I am a product of this RIGHT NOW generation, I tend to have to read a poem a zillion times. The first time is my speed read. The second time is my speed read. The third time is also probably a speed read. It is around the fourth time that I allow myself to absorb each word. It is around the fifth or sixth time that some long buried synapses begin to stir and fire. I wonder if something that slows us down and inspires us with revelation could possibly produce more activity in the brain?

I recently practiced such an experience with the following poem

"The Anniversary of My Death" by W.S. Merwin

Every year without knowing it I have passed the day
When the last fires will wave to me
And the silence will set out
Tireless traveler
Like the beam of a lightless star

Then I will no longer
Find myself in life as in a strange garment
Surprised at the earth
And the love of one woman
And the shamelessness of men
As today writing after three days of rain
Hearing the wren sing and the falling cease
and bowing not knowing to what