present passion

I am writing my annual blog post in attempt to avoid, if for but a moment, that I don’t understand life & culture the way I have lived it. I am supposed to have a passion. Fun fact, writing is not one of them. Frankly, I am only passionate for anything as long as it is attainable with minimal effort. I think that’s why I like to draw. No matter how it turns out I can plead the case of artistic expression. Then boom, it’s a success.

But I digress. And in those three words lays the problem. I look at most of my life as various rabbit-trails that played out in real time. And then what? I am still left with the present. That seems to be the scariest of all. There are so much of my past-presents that involve nothing. My mind leaps from this thought to the future, full of mute-presents.

And so I continue to waste the present I am in. But not right now, because I am being super productive writing this blog post.

monster

who is the enemy?

who is the monster?

Where does my discretion lay?

where does my discretion lie?

what happens if they are people?

who does that make me?

what does that make me?

 

to whom am I the enemy?

to whom am I the monster?

where does their discretion lay?

where does their discretion lie?

what happens if I am a person?

who does that make them?

what does that make them?

 

what is the monster?

rose-colored tile

Often as a child she had walked into a bathroom and always concluded that if she must be confined to one room, this was by far the superior choice. In the year of Saturn return, abruptly but not surprisingly, she found that this matter-of-fact had never wavered; and so robustly burst into her mind.

A tub obviously shifted into a bed, add a slab of wood and she had a dinning room. A toilet was a night-stand waiting to happen, and the sink would be the perfect place to rinse off freshly picked tomatoes. Cooking hadn’t been part of the consistent observation; unless it was boiled in the shower after a toilet had been flushed. Luckily going raw would be cool by the time she was 25, so unforeseen challenges easily dissipated.

Many truths had turned to mysteries, many lines in the sand had been crossed, but this had never needed to be contested. So the childish conclusion presented itself  while she looked at the rose-pink tiles that presently encased her. She smiled. Later she would realize that in its innocence, this memorial obscurity was a reminder of an unemotional & good moment in her childhood.

She deeply enjoyed her life and couldn’t imagine, let alone believe, what anything other than it could be. Not that she wanted to live forever; just that she would so dearly miss what had made her and sustained her, but at the last moment would leave her without thought or regret. Its consistency made it easy for her to love it more than anything she had ever known.

Not merely did her life matter to her, but all the living had importance and vivacity which astounded her. What was the source of all this energy? What was the motivation of all things living to perpetuate? It was incredible that a life so tangible to her was unrecognizable from the mere distance of the moon, let alone any matter in the surrounding galaxies. Life was so grand, but so small; so important, but so trivial; so phenomenal, but so common and therefore generally non-respected. with the view of a distant horizon of success, the intricate and grand monotony of mere survival and presence was virtually invisible.

But, if opulence could be obsolete in the sight of the ordinarily, life as a whole earthly unit might be able to last a little longer. She didn’t have specific reasons to see life progress; it was difficult and cumbersome. But the smell of pines, an afternoon breeze, waking up to the song of a Finch; she just found them so nice. And anything naturally capable of delighting her also forced her into moments of contentment. She wanted it to last so that everything else could find its moments.

The only way she saw humanity joining her in these respects would be through an overpowering shift. Most likely some degree of apocalypse. Call her too optimistic for her own good, but big dreams can happen. And if scarce shelter had to be parceled, she would easily still be at home. She had been staking out claw-foots for decades.

an india recap

Rock climbing. Rickshaw racing. Old City shopping. Picture Drawing. Waterfalls. Hindu temples.

If that sounds like the intro to a fantastical read, then please, let me guide you though an adventure of a lifetime. It is moderately plausible that you will not be disappointed.

In my dreams of India I must have thought I was going to be walking into an emerald jungle. There would be a machete on my hip and a monkey named Phillip that I had tamed in a two hour time-frame on my shoulder. I would split my time between riding rickshaws through the cities and exploring the jungle with locals. My diet would consist of coconut water and curried rice. A reasonable imagination and moderate expectations are key. Believing that I would meet Indians is one of the only things I actually got correct. I also drank out of a coconut in a rickshaw, but used a straw, so it only half counts.

Where I  found myself was more like a Californian dessert mixed with Florida’s humidity. Homesickness quickly sunk in. I was living the opportunity to be in India with family I hadn’t seen in a long time, not having to go to work, meeting friendly folks, relaxing, reading books, indulging in naps and still taking the time to feel sorry for myself.

I find the best remedy for an unreasonable mindset is exploring something new. The first attempt to quench my pseudo woes came in the form of rock boulders. They looked very unassuming; a quick little jaunt to the top seemed reasonable. Once informed that poisonous creatures were waiting to fearfully strike me, romping through foliage betwixt these large rocks seemed a bit less of an option. The farther up we walked the larger the natural monoliths became. We were climbing and jumping from one solid mass to the next.

There is no photographic evidence to contradict me, so I will relate that I looked like a celestial gazelle. Did I almost face-plant into a rock as a result of a three-foot jump? Or stop climbing up because I didn’t know how I would get back down? Crab-walk/slide down a six-foot bolder only after my brother promised to help me down? It’s hard to say. What I can confirm is that my brother kept yelling ” Eat your heart out, Bear Grylls!” after pulling himself up a stone with a rope made of twisted vines. We later caught an episode of ‘Man vs Wild’ and realized we may have slightly  over-indulged our imaginations in the severity of our feats.

A couple days later we headed down to Old City Hyderabad to shop and see some of the architecture such as Charminar. Looking for a Sari was a bit stressful as there were so many vendors with so many options to choose from. I was about to talk myself out of purchasing one altogether. When would I use it again once I was back home? Luckily I was with people who so rightly pointed out that I was abroad, and that is the perfect time to purchase a garment that would most likely only be worn once in public. That was enough for me. I found one that was purple and green with gold trim. It is currently residing at a local tailor being fit to size in time for my nephew’s birthday.

I am sure you are wondering, where ever will the celebration be? Well, at the same place we went on Valentine’s day, Cheers! It is a home that is open to children who need a safe place to stay. This visit really changed my attitude about my stay. The kids were a joy to be around, I truly did not want to leave. Part of the reason may have been because I was able to teach art, something that I did as a Preschool Teacher and really enjoy. They were so proud of their teddy bears and rocket ships and even more excited when given individual boxes of chocolate afterwards!

We got a tour of the the building that is being renovated to make room for more kids.People taking care of each other stirs something in my heart, I really believe that is what God created us to do. “Cheers” is a live example of what opening your heart and home can do for others. Reluctantly we had to head home, but I am really looking forward to next weekend to see all their friendly faces again.

Saturday brought a three hour drive to Ethipothella Falls. Besides the gated barrier that stopped us from falling over a rocky cliff, it was a day that my little Dora the Explorer heart  had been hoping for. There were crocodiles in the water, green trees, monkeys with thievery in their hearts, and parrots flying. There was even a flash monsoon! We headed down a little path that lead us to a Hindu temple. The bright colors of the building and peoples clothing in contrast to the natural brown and greens surrounding gave the feeling of tranquil flowers in bloom. It was a delightful end to the versatile experiences unexpectedly encountered through this week.

 

india: first you have to get there

I had not left my country of origin for 5 years. As a general rule for pilgrimages I tend to gravitate to locations that promise a degree of financial asylum.  My brother and his family had moved to Southern India, well, the North of South India to be more precise. So off I went to the wild blue yonder for good company and a free place to stay for a few weeks.

LA to London, 7 hours of layover, London to Mumbai.

When I got to India I had a little over an hour to catch a connecting flight to Hyderabad.  There was a slight problem however: I needed to fill out an entrance form but had not written down the address of my destination. It was in a facebook message; but as I  had no internet reception to retrieve the information you might as well have called me vinegar. That’s right friends, I was in a pickle.  So I decided to use the only thing i knew to compensate for my lack of preparedness at the international security desk: confidence. That was rewarded with a guided tour to Indian  Immigration Security.

I told myself not to cry just because I was tired, frustrated, and trying to figure out where I was going to sleep in this small holding room until I was deported.  But I did cry. I. did. cry. Someone finally gave me their cell phone to use and I got the address I was looking for from my brother, and gave him an update on the situation.

At this point I had about 30 minutes to get back in line for International entry approval, beg a few people to cut in line, run to baggage claim, find out I was at the wrong baggage claim, run to the second baggage claim at the other side of the building, grab my bag, take it through security, have a man cut in front of me and start putting his bags through security, me strictly explaining to him that I had 20 minutes to get to my plane, proceed to put my bags through security without waiting for a rebuttal from him, run through a few more security points, have my bag checked, begging to be let through to get on the bus for the the departing terminal as there was about 8 minutes left to get on my plane, and then being told the flight to Hyderabad had been delayed.

I calmed the heck down and got on a bus that zig-zagged, swirled, and twisted leisurely back and forth on the tarmac. This made a 15 minute ride out of what could have been about a third of the time. But I wasn’t going to miss my flight, so who was I to complain? Instead I labeled it as an observation.

Jet-lag seems to have bypassed me and I am thankful for it. These last few days have been laid-back and delightful. I’m hanging out with my niece,  getting beat-up by my nephew, illustrating a book, watching cartoons, learning about minimalist camping and laughing  with my brother and sister-in-law.

I’ll take it.

raw

Yep. Raw. for the month of September, 2011. Me. How did this happen? Why was this my mind’s idea of a good time? Let’s…take a look.

I think that my desire to have new experiences, wanting to be healthy, and liking of short-term challenges are at play here.  It is also possible that I am willingly succumbing to the brainwashing of this city I now call home. Either way, I have made a commitment, as well as having others commit (well, 1 1/2 others) to consume only that which is cooked (wait, I mean dehydrated) under 108-115 degrees Fahrenheit. It really hasn’t been bad, though on day number 2 I found myself eating rolled oats out of the quaker box, but I think that was an adjustment low. I’m fine now. really.

I am planning my day at the Greek Festival and celebratory BBQ the first weekend of October. This may not be respecting the spirit of the challenge, but give me a break, I’m obviously getting a little off my rocker.

In other news, I am looking for new glasses, as mine broke in half after falling on my bed comferter….yeah.

phantom ponytails

Most times I like to take a half-inch off my hair. This time I switched it up and kept a half-inch. I’ve been talking about shaving my head since High School and figured a decade was a long-enough period of time to decide.

So here I am, filling my life with new experiences. Soaking my head in sunblock during the day, wearing hats in the grocery store so that I don’t lose too much body heat, and the unanticipated phantom ponytail. If I haven’t seen my reflection for a while I forget that I have no hair, and get the sensation that my hair is in a tight rubber-band. Then I go to play with it and am stunned back into reality as I find just one big, fuzzy patch on my head.

In other news, I bought fancy olive oil and cherry balsamic vinaigrette. One of the first places I went downtown in moving to this city was a little shop on SW 9th called Benessere. They sell olive oil and balsamic. That’s it. and some salt. but mostly oil and balsamic. So cool, right? I finally made it back today, so good.

karaoke might make me feel better

last Wednesday I bicycled into a parked car, leaving me with a black bruise in a location that I cannot show as proof to anyone that I have a high pain tolerance. I lost my cell-phone charger on Monday and today I went to bike home until I realized my back tire was flat. Again.

Oh that’s right, again. As in, this happens all the time. I am fairly used to having to walk my bike home 40 minutes to my house, and usually enjoy the slower pace of a stroll home. But, given the circumstances of the last seven days, I was a bit agitated.

So here I am, blogging about things that in-and-of-themselves don’t really matter that much. But when their powers combine, instead of creating a recycling superhero, grumbles ensue.

Sure, I can see the big picture, perspective as it were; but I would appreciate a little pick-me-up. Karaoke. A dance-off. Boxing. Puddle jumping. A bike ride (with titanium wheels).

Or a hug.

Welp, I have a tube to patch. peace.

 

french country music

I generally enjoy Pandora radio. I get to hear the music I like, get introduced to new artists, etc, etc. But every once-in-awhile I find myself with a station I don’t remember creating. Such is “I’m not to blame Radio”.  All I can figure is some Canadians from opposite sides of the cultural tracks got together with nothing better to do than make a confusing listening experience. I can’t hear the station for more than an accidentally clicked minute and the hearty french twang leaves me in a state of philosophical bewilderment. Am I in reality or have I transported to a mutated possible world? I can’t get rid of it however, because it makes me chuckle uncomfortably every time I remember what it stands for.

Thinking about Grad school. Why? Do I REALLY want to teach Historical Theology? Strangely, I think so. More so than work with people through art therapy? I don’t know. The only thing I do know  is that I don’t want to paying off debts for the rest of my life. Unless something changes I think that might be what my final decision comes down to. So yes, I am looking into different programs in and out of Portland. I don’t want to leave this land of rain, front-yard farming, be a yokel buy local bumper-stickers, anti-epi-culture sub-culture. I really love it here. So to think of leaving this delightful place with the people who make it up brings a huge sense of dislike to my heart. I am torn in many different directions for a life change I haven’t yet applied for, let alone been excepted into. Welcome to my 10-steps-ahead brain.

So how am I going to correlate these thoughts and tie them together? As this is not being graded I will tell you honestly that there really is nothing other than my own mind. But as I would like you as the visual audience to feel at peace at the end of this reading experience, I will quickly try to pull something out of my boo-tay-tay.

You see, just like Pandora, life full of options that shoot from our personal tastes and then influence our future experience, auditory or otherwise. Which station are you on?

Pow.

the night i realized i was not titus mischke…

Last night I found myself trying to lift up my friend’s car. In this moment of absurdity my mind groped towards reality and asking the rational query, “why would you think this was an option?”

The answer brought me bach to the VPC   church parking lot in Southern California.  A sign that set aside that car space for some esteemed individual had been knocked down by the wind, and so I had parked in front of this sign laying on the concrete ground. Later, having forgotten about the breeze-slain guidepost and having the opposing parking space open, I decided to drive forward instead of my usual reversal from that spot. I quickly stopped however upon hearing from the bottom of my car a sound which one may have concluded that the vehicle was being ripped in half. It was not. I had driven over the sign. I could not reverse or go forward without the sound of competing metals scrapping each other. And there was no way of pulling the sign from under the car, it was tightly wedged.

This is where my buddy Titus comes in. I think most men would have thought to get a jack, raise the car, pull out the sign, un-jack the car, and drive off. But not him. No no no, he had me put my car in reverse while he lifted my car, with his hands, and walked with me as a drove out of the snare of that metal poster. Easy-peasy.

I seemed to have saved this memory for ‘such a time as this’ as I found myself in Amy’s car  last night.  Having unsuccessfully tried to tell her that she was about to drive off the sidewalk surrounding the parking lot, the front of the car was on Burnside, the rest on the sidewalk. It was time for me to think on my feet! First I had her put the car in neutral and tried to push it back into the parking lot. No luck. So I got out of the car, told Amy to reverse and started to lift the car off the ground. I got it off the ground about a quarter-inch before Amy turned the engine off. Because what was happening was ridiculous.

Then I realized  we should do what any other normal human being would have thought of in this situation, even Titus: Drive the rest of the car off the sidewalk since the street was where we were going anyway. “Genius” or “hero” might be running through your mind right now. But I’m just a normal lady living in a way  that at times is just purely unbelievable.