Sunday, September 18, 2005
Deleted Comments
Comments removed were simply promos for other websites and had no bearing on my posts. "Real" comments will always be left....comments that seek to only attack this blog for commercial purposes will always be swiftly removed. Such comments are clearly automated and so the latest frontier of the capitalist hacking juggernaut. They are an attack on Free Speech, if anyone still cares about this. Their perpitrators ought to be identified and prosecuted. Individual speech is fabulous, but having my speech blindly co-opted for the purpose of commerce is not OK. randuwa
What I'm Reading Periodically #1
The Gay & Lesbian Review from Harvard University is a treasure to the progressive world. This issue, no exception. The top articles include a response to the question "Are there elements of your gay identity that you especially value as a writer, elements that might contribute to your ability to have a distinctive voice?" which 10 of the most interesting Gay poets take a stab at answering. Among my favorites in the group or Henri Cole and David Trinidad. I own books by 9 of them: with a cartoon of Oscar Wilde on the cover and another excellent article on the fall of this quintessential gay icon from power to death for the love of ego and love.
There is also an homage/retrospective to the late poet, Thom Gunn (1929-2004). And a wonderful piece that traces the lineage between the works of Whitman -- Ginzberg -- Monette. Yes, it's a Poetry Issue.
And there is SO much more to give one pause to think about.... and desire to respond to. There is an essay on the difficulty of being both gay and Asian and 'wanting to/yet not' feeling at home in either community. And many interesting reviews; Not the least of which is C. Capozzola's take on "Eakins Revealed: The Secret Life of an American Artist" by Henry Adams.
It is one of the most reasonable rags devoted to "fags" in all our permutations and gender-ations on the market from the flag ship institution of Higher Learning in America. I think everyone should read it, but then, I still have an open-mind.
There is also an homage/retrospective to the late poet, Thom Gunn (1929-2004). And a wonderful piece that traces the lineage between the works of Whitman -- Ginzberg -- Monette. Yes, it's a Poetry Issue.
And there is SO much more to give one pause to think about.... and desire to respond to. There is an essay on the difficulty of being both gay and Asian and 'wanting to/yet not' feeling at home in either community. And many interesting reviews; Not the least of which is C. Capozzola's take on "Eakins Revealed: The Secret Life of an American Artist" by Henry Adams.
It is one of the most reasonable rags devoted to "fags" in all our permutations and gender-ations on the market from the flag ship institution of Higher Learning in America. I think everyone should read it, but then, I still have an open-mind.
Saturday, September 17, 2005
Random Quote #24
Eskimo: "If I did not know about God and sin, would I go to hell?"
Priest: "No, not if you did not know."
Eskimo: "Then why did you tell me?"
~ Annie Dillard, 1945 -
Priest: "No, not if you did not know."
Eskimo: "Then why did you tell me?"
~ Annie Dillard, 1945 -
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
My Ludite Tendencies
I rarely watch TV. My little set is about the size of a postage stamp! and obscurely tucked away on a shelf where it is dwarfed by volumes from Art Exhibitions at major museums. The only shows that even briefly catch my attention these days are "The Weather Channel," "Judge Judy" (What a pack of idiots....they don't even get 15 minutes of fame; not that they deserve even one!), and "The Simpsons" -- The best window on progressive culture in the history of the medium, and it's funny, too!
Yet, I have not wasted electricity on the medium for 5 days now, and often go without it for weeks on end. My abstinence really took off this past summer. Just too many other things to focus on.
I also don't read a newspaper, and am very selective in my magazine choices. I read "The New Yorker," "Art in America," and "Poetry" with religious zeal. I also subscribe to "The Gay & Lesbian Review" from Harvard University, and "American Patchwork and Quilting" -- what Gay Quilter doesn't!?
So today when my progressive colleague at school shared with me the results of the most recent Washington Post survey which found that 44% of Americans thought Bush-the-Lesser has done a good job regaurding the Katrina relief response, I thought:
"Wow. I had no idea that that many Americans either didn't own a TV or are blatant Racists!" Go figure.....
Yet, I have not wasted electricity on the medium for 5 days now, and often go without it for weeks on end. My abstinence really took off this past summer. Just too many other things to focus on.
I also don't read a newspaper, and am very selective in my magazine choices. I read "The New Yorker," "Art in America," and "Poetry" with religious zeal. I also subscribe to "The Gay & Lesbian Review" from Harvard University, and "American Patchwork and Quilting" -- what Gay Quilter doesn't!?
So today when my progressive colleague at school shared with me the results of the most recent Washington Post survey which found that 44% of Americans thought Bush-the-Lesser has done a good job regaurding the Katrina relief response, I thought:
"Wow. I had no idea that that many Americans either didn't own a TV or are blatant Racists!" Go figure.....
Cosa Rican Memoir #7
Here I sit in the restaurant of the Hotel Miami in Limón, Costa Rica in 1984 on the eve of our Tortuguero adventure. We are about to recieve a simple and lavish feast of "gallo pinto" rice and beans! It sounds plain, but left to the Costa Ricans it's an incredibly delicious dish.
How much simplier life seemed back then. Young and adventerous (as opposed to mature and adventurous!) the trip to get to this place and moment involved a tenuous bus ride and a magnificent train ride from the capital of San José on a holiday wekend when every mode of transportation was both over booked and taxed to it's legal and physical limits! So this photo depicts an event of great respite. The next phase of this strand can be found at (Costa Rican Memoir #2, parts 1-4 in June's archive).
How much simplier life seemed back then. Young and adventerous (as opposed to mature and adventurous!) the trip to get to this place and moment involved a tenuous bus ride and a magnificent train ride from the capital of San José on a holiday wekend when every mode of transportation was both over booked and taxed to it's legal and physical limits! So this photo depicts an event of great respite. The next phase of this strand can be found at (Costa Rican Memoir #2, parts 1-4 in June's archive).
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Zimbabwe Memoire #6
I am reminded of an evening in Harare as my mind considers the pure evil that is racism, and how it permeates peoples who live in far flung places and whose means are far from the lavish wealth of our grace laden nation.
You may recall that I alluded to trouble regarding the lunches offered to me and my traveling companions while touring Lake Kariba (Zimbabwe Memoir #3 ~ August 3, 2005). In fact, my friends became ill with some intestinally based bug that lasted for the majority of our brief stay in Harare, while I remained healthy and free to roam. In Harare we stayed in the home of a friend of one of my traveling companions, Mr. O, a friend who was not in the country at the time; therefore, it was a little like a B & B with a few servants to make the stay effortless. The main man was a black Zimbabwean named Mr. I, who also resided in a little cottage on the grounds of the home. The owner was a successful Dentist of European heritage. It was our last leg of our tour of the country and actually a very nice way to end the visit (for me).
There, I was the ultimate stranger. I was only welcome via my relationship to Mr. O, and I not only didn't know the absentee host...I didn't know anyone! On the first evening of our stay, the brother of a member of my friend's church in Claremont, South Africa rang to invite us all over to his place, but only I was in any condition to accept. So bored with hanging around the place, I accepted to his enthusiastic "Grand!" Within minutes he pulled up in a mostly open jeep and looking every bit the twin of the English character actor, Terry Thomas (right down to the gap between his front teeth and the bushy moustache), he shook my hand as I climbed aboard and off we sped.
He lived in the home of his family. His parents had left for life back in England amid the deteriorating state of things in Zimbabwe, and his sister immigrated to South Africa after marrying. His home was nice, but not nearly as nice at the Dentist's, where I was staying. The main house (a sort of bungalow design) fit the lot snuggly and then in the rear there was a modest courtyard with a few simple single rooms detached from the main edifice lining the back of the property. Most of the "yard" was tiled like a patio.
Immediately upon my arrival he called out to the three Zimbabweans with whom he lived. Each resided in a separate one of the detached units in the back, and all shared the living, cooking, and toilet spaces in the main house. Two were beautiful young men, both students at the University, and the third was an older woman who also maintained the cleaning, cooking, and laundry in the home for room and board and a modest salary. In spite of the fact that it was well after dark, hot tea was offered and accepted, and the woman went to fetch it. I was introduced to all and the young men spoke of their studies and hopes for the future. When the tea arrived, one of the young men was dispatched to bring a telescope into the courtyard where we were gathered and amidst the fellowship and hospitality we took turns looking at the surface of the moon and Mars.
Interior lights and candles created an ambient glow similar to that of being at a campfire, and as the conversation took center stage again, the woman coyly asked me a question. "Do you think I am beautiful?" It quite took me be surprise, as vanity was just not something I had any experience of in Africa to that moment. I remember registering the question with a slight jerk -- the way you respond to anything that you find hard to believe, and I said, "Of course you're beautiful." She smiled like a shy school girl (a grown woman of I would assume at least 50 at the time), and responded, "Oh, No, good sir; I am too dark. I am not like the pretty women of Cape Town." My heart was pierced with sorrow; I will never forget that moment.
Today I live in a very diverse community just outside of Washington, D.C. People with whom I come in daily contact are from every conceivable corner of the world. I am often the only white in the store; and when others are present, we are rarely the majority. I have come to see people as simply beautiful. And that night in the golden glow of the flame, looking into the impossibly deep eyes of those three black Zimbabweans, I was so beguiled and blessed by their open hearts, their generosity of time and presence, their patience with me as I attempted to see what they could see in the lens of the telescope.... it was a magical moment by all accounts. And yet, there reared the evil presence of racism.
I do not remember what I told her. No doubt because whatever it might have been, I ought to have remained silent and simply wept. It was a comment that words could not fix, and so the companionship of tears would have been the only "voice" worth hearing.
I've been crying a lot lately.
You may recall that I alluded to trouble regarding the lunches offered to me and my traveling companions while touring Lake Kariba (Zimbabwe Memoir #3 ~ August 3, 2005). In fact, my friends became ill with some intestinally based bug that lasted for the majority of our brief stay in Harare, while I remained healthy and free to roam. In Harare we stayed in the home of a friend of one of my traveling companions, Mr. O, a friend who was not in the country at the time; therefore, it was a little like a B & B with a few servants to make the stay effortless. The main man was a black Zimbabwean named Mr. I, who also resided in a little cottage on the grounds of the home. The owner was a successful Dentist of European heritage. It was our last leg of our tour of the country and actually a very nice way to end the visit (for me).
There, I was the ultimate stranger. I was only welcome via my relationship to Mr. O, and I not only didn't know the absentee host...I didn't know anyone! On the first evening of our stay, the brother of a member of my friend's church in Claremont, South Africa rang to invite us all over to his place, but only I was in any condition to accept. So bored with hanging around the place, I accepted to his enthusiastic "Grand!" Within minutes he pulled up in a mostly open jeep and looking every bit the twin of the English character actor, Terry Thomas (right down to the gap between his front teeth and the bushy moustache), he shook my hand as I climbed aboard and off we sped.
He lived in the home of his family. His parents had left for life back in England amid the deteriorating state of things in Zimbabwe, and his sister immigrated to South Africa after marrying. His home was nice, but not nearly as nice at the Dentist's, where I was staying. The main house (a sort of bungalow design) fit the lot snuggly and then in the rear there was a modest courtyard with a few simple single rooms detached from the main edifice lining the back of the property. Most of the "yard" was tiled like a patio.
Immediately upon my arrival he called out to the three Zimbabweans with whom he lived. Each resided in a separate one of the detached units in the back, and all shared the living, cooking, and toilet spaces in the main house. Two were beautiful young men, both students at the University, and the third was an older woman who also maintained the cleaning, cooking, and laundry in the home for room and board and a modest salary. In spite of the fact that it was well after dark, hot tea was offered and accepted, and the woman went to fetch it. I was introduced to all and the young men spoke of their studies and hopes for the future. When the tea arrived, one of the young men was dispatched to bring a telescope into the courtyard where we were gathered and amidst the fellowship and hospitality we took turns looking at the surface of the moon and Mars.
Interior lights and candles created an ambient glow similar to that of being at a campfire, and as the conversation took center stage again, the woman coyly asked me a question. "Do you think I am beautiful?" It quite took me be surprise, as vanity was just not something I had any experience of in Africa to that moment. I remember registering the question with a slight jerk -- the way you respond to anything that you find hard to believe, and I said, "Of course you're beautiful." She smiled like a shy school girl (a grown woman of I would assume at least 50 at the time), and responded, "Oh, No, good sir; I am too dark. I am not like the pretty women of Cape Town." My heart was pierced with sorrow; I will never forget that moment.
Today I live in a very diverse community just outside of Washington, D.C. People with whom I come in daily contact are from every conceivable corner of the world. I am often the only white in the store; and when others are present, we are rarely the majority. I have come to see people as simply beautiful. And that night in the golden glow of the flame, looking into the impossibly deep eyes of those three black Zimbabweans, I was so beguiled and blessed by their open hearts, their generosity of time and presence, their patience with me as I attempted to see what they could see in the lens of the telescope.... it was a magical moment by all accounts. And yet, there reared the evil presence of racism.
I do not remember what I told her. No doubt because whatever it might have been, I ought to have remained silent and simply wept. It was a comment that words could not fix, and so the companionship of tears would have been the only "voice" worth hearing.
I've been crying a lot lately.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
America's Endemic Racism
A friend sent these images to me.
"Loot" or "Find". What's the difference?
Can you tell?
Three among many who gathered food which was destine to mold and rot in order to preserve their lives in a situation that every federal official has called unprecedented, and in which NO Federal response was forth coming for days.... So why is one man "looting" while another couple is merely "finding"? Click the image and read the text included with the photos....
SHAME on us! Shame on us for electing racist leaders, and SHAME on us for not rising up and demanding better!
"Loot" or "Find". What's the difference?
Can you tell?
Three among many who gathered food which was destine to mold and rot in order to preserve their lives in a situation that every federal official has called unprecedented, and in which NO Federal response was forth coming for days.... So why is one man "looting" while another couple is merely "finding"? Click the image and read the text included with the photos....
SHAME on us! Shame on us for electing racist leaders, and SHAME on us for not rising up and demanding better!
Saturday, September 03, 2005
What I'm Listening to #4
I ordered this CD before Katrina made her mark. It arrived on the Monday. I have been listening to it every since. I just made the connection!
Rosie represents the new face of Zydeco. Her music is a seemingly effortless fusion between traditional Zydeco and a broader range of contemporary sounds. She, no doubt, makes Zydeco more accessible to the average listener. I hope her work will find that audience, and that in so doing broaden the musical tastes of the uninitiated.
Bonne Écoute!
Rosie represents the new face of Zydeco. Her music is a seemingly effortless fusion between traditional Zydeco and a broader range of contemporary sounds. She, no doubt, makes Zydeco more accessible to the average listener. I hope her work will find that audience, and that in so doing broaden the musical tastes of the uninitiated.
Bonne Écoute!
Random Quote #23
"Love is like infinity: You can’t have more or less infinity, and you can’t compare two things to see if they’re “equally infinite.” Infinity just is, and that’s the way love is, too."
~ Fred “Mr.” Rogers, 1929 - 2003
~ Fred “Mr.” Rogers, 1929 - 2003
Friday, September 02, 2005
$3.49 A Gallon
.....for regular gas in Washington, DC. I live just north and east of the District, and coming home stations were running out of gas and lines were snarling traffic everywhere. (While the Republican governor of Maryland was telling us that there wasn't any shortage....does anyone believe in reality, anymore?) While I waited to reach the pump, one of the attendants began changing the prices by removing the dollar markers first! I know it's worse in other places...I imagine we are all in for a time of uncertainty and anxiety.
And yet, how blessed we are by comparison.
FACTS
A greater percentage of people in New York City own private cars than did in New Orleans.
The poverty rate in New Orleans was one of the highest in the nation at 38%.
Nearly 70% of the population was African American, and well over half of that population subsisted below the poverty level.
New Orleans is only the largest community in the devastated path of Katrina, and the demographics were basically the same for the region.
The region supported a population 6 times greater than the city of New Orleans.
When you tell people who have no means and no ability that they must evacuate, and do not provide them with a way to comply....what are you telling them?
Prepare to die? So much for compassionate conservatism.....
And yet, how blessed we are by comparison.
FACTS
A greater percentage of people in New York City own private cars than did in New Orleans.
The poverty rate in New Orleans was one of the highest in the nation at 38%.
Nearly 70% of the population was African American, and well over half of that population subsisted below the poverty level.
New Orleans is only the largest community in the devastated path of Katrina, and the demographics were basically the same for the region.
The region supported a population 6 times greater than the city of New Orleans.
When you tell people who have no means and no ability that they must evacuate, and do not provide them with a way to comply....what are you telling them?
Prepare to die? So much for compassionate conservatism.....
Thursday, September 01, 2005
Katrina Got Personal
My heart is torn; and as lame as it is to say, my prayers and thoughts are drawn toward the victims of hurricane Katrina. For everyone affected in New Orleans; 3 or 4 or 10 times as many people are also impacted by this tragedy across Louisiana, Mississippi and southern Alabama.
It's all just too much to grasp. So I grasp at what I know. I know friends, Mr. & Mrs. A., who moved to New Orleans from Washington, DC last summer to work at Tulane. Settling into the community, they purchased their first home there this summer. I have this email from Mr. A:
"Dear Friends,
As emails come in, I was trying to answer them all individually, but have been unable to keep up. For those who don't know, [we] moved to New Orleans a year ago and just bought a house before hurricane Katrina recently hit. We left the city, are fine, staying with [Mrs. A's] aunt and uncle near Houston, TX. We are not sure, but are assuming from the footage and where we lived near the Industrial Canal that our house is a total loss. We were able to pack the computer, some clothes, and our two dogs. It will probably be easiest to reach us via email over the coming weeks.
Hope that all is well with all of you, things with us are not so good, but always have to remember that they could be much worse and we are fortunate compared to many in the city."
Not much else to say. But here's a final thought: we are so acclamated to the idea of "control". And we imagine that our control is among other things a guarantee for our comfort. Katrina profoundly demonstrates that the consistent and comfortable status of our lives is far more tenuous than we probably think.
It's all just too much to grasp. So I grasp at what I know. I know friends, Mr. & Mrs. A., who moved to New Orleans from Washington, DC last summer to work at Tulane. Settling into the community, they purchased their first home there this summer. I have this email from Mr. A:
"Dear Friends,
As emails come in, I was trying to answer them all individually, but have been unable to keep up. For those who don't know, [we] moved to New Orleans a year ago and just bought a house before hurricane Katrina recently hit. We left the city, are fine, staying with [Mrs. A's] aunt and uncle near Houston, TX. We are not sure, but are assuming from the footage and where we lived near the Industrial Canal that our house is a total loss. We were able to pack the computer, some clothes, and our two dogs. It will probably be easiest to reach us via email over the coming weeks.
Hope that all is well with all of you, things with us are not so good, but always have to remember that they could be much worse and we are fortunate compared to many in the city."
Not much else to say. But here's a final thought: we are so acclamated to the idea of "control". And we imagine that our control is among other things a guarantee for our comfort. Katrina profoundly demonstrates that the consistent and comfortable status of our lives is far more tenuous than we probably think.
Monday, August 29, 2005
A New School Year Begins
Again, I have just embarked on the 22nd year of my career as a teacher! I have 22 4th graders to start with on this present adventure. Today, we developed our "Ground Rules".
I have to share the first one with you.
#1 - HOW DO I BEHAVE WITH OTHER STUDENTS?
• I keep my hands and feet to myself
• I treat others in the same way that I want to be treated
• I don’t use unkind words when speaking to or about others
The future is still bright, even as clouds and hurricanes shroud our present......
I have to share the first one with you.
#1 - HOW DO I BEHAVE WITH OTHER STUDENTS?
• I keep my hands and feet to myself
• I treat others in the same way that I want to be treated
• I don’t use unkind words when speaking to or about others
The future is still bright, even as clouds and hurricanes shroud our present......
What I'm Listening To: #3
Great Album.
Soraya is an Argentinian singer who performs in Spanish. She is also a cancer survivor, which is part of her persona.
Her voice is amazing. And this album showcases this more than any other. She is a little "Sarah-MacLaughlin-esque"
And well worth the dime/peso.
Soraya is an Argentinian singer who performs in Spanish. She is also a cancer survivor, which is part of her persona.
Her voice is amazing. And this album showcases this more than any other. She is a little "Sarah-MacLaughlin-esque"
And well worth the dime/peso.
Friday, August 26, 2005
School Begins On Monday
Here I am with my dear colleagues, Ms. E and Ms. D. All of us are grade 4 teachers at my school. We have just completed a week of pre-school activities and preparations. The show opens on Monday. My 22nd season (Yes, I started at age 2!).
I work in a great school, with amazing people. Our kids do well on standard assessments, our parents are involved and very caring. You hear so much negative stuff about education in America. And like any crisis, bad news gets attention.
Bless teachers who have the courage to teach the truth and trust their students to think for themselves.
I work in a great school, with amazing people. Our kids do well on standard assessments, our parents are involved and very caring. You hear so much negative stuff about education in America. And like any crisis, bad news gets attention.
Bless teachers who have the courage to teach the truth and trust their students to think for themselves.
Random Quotes #20 thru #22
"Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter."
"Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."
"Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree."
~ The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., 1929 - 1968
"Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."
"Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree."
~ The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., 1929 - 1968
Monday, August 22, 2005
Zimbabwe Memoire #5
The first place that I visited in Zimbabwe was the southern city of Bulawayo. At the time the second largest city in the country after the capital of Hirare. Perhaps owing to the timing of the end of the dry season, it presented itself as a rather beige and dusty place.
I had the privilege of staying in the home of a retired British couple, who knew no end to the concept of hospitality. On our first full day there, they took us to Matopas National Park just south of Bulawayo. There we toured in their jeep and eventually hiked around.
The fame of Matopas is based on its natural rock formations. Huge stones found perched upon other bolders. Many have names, like the one in the top photo -- "Horse-rider". It was the place were I saw my first rhinocerous in the wild.
As we penetrated the park, we eventually reached a unique grave and monument. The final resting place of Sir Cecil Rhodes. The namesake of both colonies of Northern (Zambia) and Southern (Zimbabwe) Rhodesia. The basis and namesake of the Rhode's Scholars. Historically, an important person. Yet his grave was hewn into a piece of granet in the middle of nowhere....
What will future generations make of this? What should they? Explorer, Oppressor, Imperialist, Adventurer.... How do we judge a man against the backdrop of his age?
How do we judge ourselves?
I had the privilege of staying in the home of a retired British couple, who knew no end to the concept of hospitality. On our first full day there, they took us to Matopas National Park just south of Bulawayo. There we toured in their jeep and eventually hiked around.
The fame of Matopas is based on its natural rock formations. Huge stones found perched upon other bolders. Many have names, like the one in the top photo -- "Horse-rider". It was the place were I saw my first rhinocerous in the wild.
As we penetrated the park, we eventually reached a unique grave and monument. The final resting place of Sir Cecil Rhodes. The namesake of both colonies of Northern (Zambia) and Southern (Zimbabwe) Rhodesia. The basis and namesake of the Rhode's Scholars. Historically, an important person. Yet his grave was hewn into a piece of granet in the middle of nowhere....
What will future generations make of this? What should they? Explorer, Oppressor, Imperialist, Adventurer.... How do we judge a man against the backdrop of his age?
How do we judge ourselves?
Saturday, August 20, 2005
I Am A Quilter
Not necessarily something a man does. But I have always been creative and have chosen various mediums of expression over the years. At one point I was deeply into watercolor painting, for example. But since around 1990, I have been quilting.
This is one of my latest creations. A piece of what I hope will become something larger as I play with it. I used batiks for the most part and so it's really not unlike watercolor painting in that you get the general color you expected, but the particulars remain on some level random.
Closest thing to a definition of "control" in this life that I can think of.
This is one of my latest creations. A piece of what I hope will become something larger as I play with it. I used batiks for the most part and so it's really not unlike watercolor painting in that you get the general color you expected, but the particulars remain on some level random.
Closest thing to a definition of "control" in this life that I can think of.
Friday, August 19, 2005
Kudus to the AVAM in Balitmore
I had the chance this last week to take in the American Visionary Art Museum's current show on the theme of water. And it was again, an utterly amazing experience. Ending on September 4th, I was happy to catch it on its tail end.
On display were paintings and sculptures; some relatively small like this one by "Mr. Imagination". Themes included Haitian Voudoo chambers, carefully carved mechanized wooden scultures, and images created by an NYC recluse out of hundreds of clipped up postage stamps, to attempt to describe but a few.
And this is the genius of the AVAM: attempts to describe what you've seen always fall short. The visions are to be experienced and shared with those with whom you experience the art, but others will never get it. The vision is just too intimate.
On display were paintings and sculptures; some relatively small like this one by "Mr. Imagination". Themes included Haitian Voudoo chambers, carefully carved mechanized wooden scultures, and images created by an NYC recluse out of hundreds of clipped up postage stamps, to attempt to describe but a few.
And this is the genius of the AVAM: attempts to describe what you've seen always fall short. The visions are to be experienced and shared with those with whom you experience the art, but others will never get it. The vision is just too intimate.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Random Quote #19
"Ships at a distance have every man's wish on board."
~ Zora Neale Hurston, 1891 - 1960
~ Zora Neale Hurston, 1891 - 1960
Monday, August 15, 2005
Haiku #2
SUMMER MOON
It’s not like anything
they compare it to—
the summer moon.
~ Basho
1644 - 1694
It’s not like anything
they compare it to—
the summer moon.
~ Basho
1644 - 1694
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Random Quote #18
"There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle."
~ Albert Einstein, 1879-1955
~ Albert Einstein, 1879-1955
In Praise Of Sunflowers!
I love many flowers. I am not a one note gardener. And I love them for a variety of reasons: Bee Baum for its “punk-ish hair-do” splash of color, and its tangy aromatic oils; milkweed for its gift to the Monarch butterflies (if any of them are still alive....I have not seen a single one this season); Black-Eyed Susans and Coneflowers for the same gift that they afford the Golden Finches who still manage to feast upon their tightly packed seeds and flit away in a stab of yellow at the slightest provocation (survivor's instinct, to be sure). And I love Sunflowers! Mine have just entered into the zeniths of their blooming. They are so majestic and evocative -- they really have personality.
The poet, Mary Oliver, sees this distinction, too. She writes in her poem "Sun Flowers":
"Come with me
to visit the sunflowers,
they are shy
but want to be friends"
And indeed, they are wonderful friends. To the bees, they are the mother load! No matter when I approach mine, there is always at least one bloated bumble bee obsessed with discovering every ounce of pollen that the gigantic yellow disc of the sunflower has to offer. And later, as the pollen is whiped off, and the seeds mature into zebra-stripped pods, the birds will take up where the insects have left off. Too daunting for the golden finches, the advance will be lead by the Cardinals, who have exhausted the nutrition in the dangling pods of the hosta in the garden, and the various berries beyond. And they will be followed and joined by everyone from the Sparrows to the Crows.
After delighting me with their luscious golden gleaming orbs, the sunflowers will selflessly spend all their capital for the sake of my aviary friends. .
They may indeed be shy, but "No greater love hath any thing..."
The poet, Mary Oliver, sees this distinction, too. She writes in her poem "Sun Flowers":
"Come with me
to visit the sunflowers,
they are shy
but want to be friends"
And indeed, they are wonderful friends. To the bees, they are the mother load! No matter when I approach mine, there is always at least one bloated bumble bee obsessed with discovering every ounce of pollen that the gigantic yellow disc of the sunflower has to offer. And later, as the pollen is whiped off, and the seeds mature into zebra-stripped pods, the birds will take up where the insects have left off. Too daunting for the golden finches, the advance will be lead by the Cardinals, who have exhausted the nutrition in the dangling pods of the hosta in the garden, and the various berries beyond. And they will be followed and joined by everyone from the Sparrows to the Crows.
After delighting me with their luscious golden gleaming orbs, the sunflowers will selflessly spend all their capital for the sake of my aviary friends. .
They may indeed be shy, but "No greater love hath any thing..."
Random Quote #17
"Life has taught us that love does not consist in gazing at each other but in looking outward together in the same direction."
~ Antoine de Saint Exupéry, 1900 - 1944
~ Antoine de Saint Exupéry, 1900 - 1944
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Costa Rican Memoir #6
As I have mentioned before, I am a Christian by choice of my spiritual path. Obviously, NOT a Christian in any orthodox or fundamentalist mode...a Christian more like Jesus!
And while I lived in Costa Rica, my faith found several outlets. One of the most significant was my association with the missionary organization "Latin American Mission" (LAM, for short). I met such wonderful people through them. People from many denominations who were not trapped by their traditions. People with physical limitations that would have defied the "faith" of other organizations, but whose lives and missions were embraced my LAM. I have no idea what they're like these days, so this is NOT an endorsement, just a memoir.
As an available soul, I was invited to participate in a couple of their programs, the most elaborate of which was an extended weekend youth camp. It was held in a very remote valley in which LAM was constructing a retreat center. The main building was being built around an enormous protruding bolder--You know, "upon this rock...." stuff. Yet it was amazing.
There are 3 things that I remember from this experience most vividly:
#1) meeting this incredibly gentle and insightful young man from Cuba (Top Left). Up until then I had many preconceptions about Cuba, Castro, the Revolution, etc. And he taught me to question my understandings of the world and the authority that provided such views to me.
#2) A killer game of capture the flag during which I took a phenomenal fall off of a fallen log, which crossed the rock-strewn stream bisecting the valley. It was nothing short of a miracle that ALL I ended up being was embarrassed and wet!
And #3) the trek out on the afternoon after the camp ended. The vehicles that could drive us down to the site where not able to transport us back out of the steep and treacherous slopes. So we were informed on the morning of the last day that we would be hiking out with all of our equipment. My God, it was one hell of a HOT hike! And foolish me didn't think to cover my head -- my scalp was severely burned by the tropical sun's more intense rays.
This last lesson has led me to be much more committed to hats!
And while I lived in Costa Rica, my faith found several outlets. One of the most significant was my association with the missionary organization "Latin American Mission" (LAM, for short). I met such wonderful people through them. People from many denominations who were not trapped by their traditions. People with physical limitations that would have defied the "faith" of other organizations, but whose lives and missions were embraced my LAM. I have no idea what they're like these days, so this is NOT an endorsement, just a memoir.
As an available soul, I was invited to participate in a couple of their programs, the most elaborate of which was an extended weekend youth camp. It was held in a very remote valley in which LAM was constructing a retreat center. The main building was being built around an enormous protruding bolder--You know, "upon this rock...." stuff. Yet it was amazing.
There are 3 things that I remember from this experience most vividly:
#1) meeting this incredibly gentle and insightful young man from Cuba (Top Left). Up until then I had many preconceptions about Cuba, Castro, the Revolution, etc. And he taught me to question my understandings of the world and the authority that provided such views to me.
#2) A killer game of capture the flag during which I took a phenomenal fall off of a fallen log, which crossed the rock-strewn stream bisecting the valley. It was nothing short of a miracle that ALL I ended up being was embarrassed and wet!
And #3) the trek out on the afternoon after the camp ended. The vehicles that could drive us down to the site where not able to transport us back out of the steep and treacherous slopes. So we were informed on the morning of the last day that we would be hiking out with all of our equipment. My God, it was one hell of a HOT hike! And foolish me didn't think to cover my head -- my scalp was severely burned by the tropical sun's more intense rays.
This last lesson has led me to be much more committed to hats!
Monday, August 08, 2005
Holy H2O: Fluid Universe
In this world there is nothing softer
or thinner than water
But to compel the hard and unyielding,
It has no equal.
That the weak overcomes the strong,
That the hard gives way to the gentle -
This everyone knows,
Yet no one acts accordingly.
--Lao Tzu 6th c. B.C.
One of the MOST amazing and thought provoking museums in the world is in Baltimore. It's call the American Visionary Art Museum, and anyone visiting "Balmer" must make this stop a priority. You'll see contemporary art like you've never seen it before.
The above quote from Daoist Master Lao Tzu is part of their current show. And you have until Labor Day to experience it. I can also commend to you the top floor restaurant. The museum sits on the harbor just below Fort McHenry and on a temperate day, a gourmet lunch on the deck is a treat all unto itself.
or thinner than water
But to compel the hard and unyielding,
It has no equal.
That the weak overcomes the strong,
That the hard gives way to the gentle -
This everyone knows,
Yet no one acts accordingly.
--Lao Tzu 6th c. B.C.
One of the MOST amazing and thought provoking museums in the world is in Baltimore. It's call the American Visionary Art Museum, and anyone visiting "Balmer" must make this stop a priority. You'll see contemporary art like you've never seen it before.
The above quote from Daoist Master Lao Tzu is part of their current show. And you have until Labor Day to experience it. I can also commend to you the top floor restaurant. The museum sits on the harbor just below Fort McHenry and on a temperate day, a gourmet lunch on the deck is a treat all unto itself.
Homage to My Little Girl
It was a hot and oppressive afternoon in late June in 1990. I was taking my routine afternoon walk from one end to the other of Haggin Lane (2.1 miles) when she entered my life. Strutting past the old antebellum mansion on the left and my friend's horse farm on the right, I suddenly was confronted by a Siamese-esque kitten whose plaintiff cries demanded my attention.
What could I do? I knelt briefly to comfort this little urchin and then continued my regemine of exercise on to my home. And she followed me....of course! So I gave her a little bowl of milk out of dumb compassion.
And that was it. We were lovers.
And you can do worse! Trust me.
She soon took up with my two dogs, a Doberman and a Beagle (Both real whimps in their own right). And both realized early on that she was in charge, thus the monicre "Buster". Many's the time that a vet assumed "her" to be a "him" based on her name.
I cannot begin, in this post, to do our relationship justice. So I won't even try. Therefore, let's fast forward to the spring of 2003 and her diagnosis of feline diabetes. It really surprised me at the time...I had never fed her anything but manufactured cat food and mostly the dry kind. Yet, I then became her doctor, and we bagan a regime of twice daily injections of insuline. It was a routine that she never balked at. It was something that she actually participated in with a typically faithful heart that made it easier on me.
Her life took a couple of downward turns in the autumn/winter of 2004/2005 and she finally died in my arms on the Monday after Easter in 2005. I buried her in my backyard and placed a statuary of a cat over her grave as a marker. I also planted an Easter lily there, which bloomed and then died back. And then, about three weeks ago, it sent up another shoot, and this past week offered two new glorious blooms.
Gifts that flourish. Life continues to bless.
What could I do? I knelt briefly to comfort this little urchin and then continued my regemine of exercise on to my home. And she followed me....of course! So I gave her a little bowl of milk out of dumb compassion.
And that was it. We were lovers.
And you can do worse! Trust me.
She soon took up with my two dogs, a Doberman and a Beagle (Both real whimps in their own right). And both realized early on that she was in charge, thus the monicre "Buster". Many's the time that a vet assumed "her" to be a "him" based on her name.
I cannot begin, in this post, to do our relationship justice. So I won't even try. Therefore, let's fast forward to the spring of 2003 and her diagnosis of feline diabetes. It really surprised me at the time...I had never fed her anything but manufactured cat food and mostly the dry kind. Yet, I then became her doctor, and we bagan a regime of twice daily injections of insuline. It was a routine that she never balked at. It was something that she actually participated in with a typically faithful heart that made it easier on me.
Her life took a couple of downward turns in the autumn/winter of 2004/2005 and she finally died in my arms on the Monday after Easter in 2005. I buried her in my backyard and placed a statuary of a cat over her grave as a marker. I also planted an Easter lily there, which bloomed and then died back. And then, about three weeks ago, it sent up another shoot, and this past week offered two new glorious blooms.
Gifts that flourish. Life continues to bless.
Sunday, August 07, 2005
Since I Have A Hammer.......
There's a Russian proverb that equates manhood with three acts: The planting of a tree, the fathering of a child, the building of a house. Well, I've planted more trees that I can count. I have never fathered anything, but I have contributed significantly to the raising or more children than I can likewise count. (In a confluence of these acts: When my mother died, my students planted a tree in her honor!)
So what's left? -- A house! Ain't likely that I will ever be in a position to build one. But I have with some gusto redesigned a few in my life. My latest project is the finishing of the "unfinished" half of my basement.
My home was built in the early 1940's, and it's really a wonderful building. The aspects that most attracted me to it were it's hardwood floors, slate roof, fireplace, sun porch, brick exterior, and enclosed yard. The pluses were the large deck off of the back, it's location near to a wonderful park that snakes along both sides of Sligo Creek just north of Washington, DC. It's also in an established and diverse neighborhood. But one thing that has long nagged at me is the condiiton of the unfinished half of the basement.
So I have recently taken to renovating it. The first phase involves constructing walls to enclose the unfinished framework that divides the paneled portion from the unfinished half. The pics are from this work. (A) & (C) are of the area around the underside of the stairs. I only have the trim to complete and then paint. (B) shows a wall portion at the cusp of the rear door entrance. It's done and painted. I used a tongue and groove pine paneling to build the walls on frames of 2x3's. It was relatively easy to construct and the final product has a solid and crafted appearance.
Hope this encourages you to go for it. Home Depot is a wonderful place for supplies and advice, as long as you're patient and gracious. Happy hammering!
So what's left? -- A house! Ain't likely that I will ever be in a position to build one. But I have with some gusto redesigned a few in my life. My latest project is the finishing of the "unfinished" half of my basement.
My home was built in the early 1940's, and it's really a wonderful building. The aspects that most attracted me to it were it's hardwood floors, slate roof, fireplace, sun porch, brick exterior, and enclosed yard. The pluses were the large deck off of the back, it's location near to a wonderful park that snakes along both sides of Sligo Creek just north of Washington, DC. It's also in an established and diverse neighborhood. But one thing that has long nagged at me is the condiiton of the unfinished half of the basement.
So I have recently taken to renovating it. The first phase involves constructing walls to enclose the unfinished framework that divides the paneled portion from the unfinished half. The pics are from this work. (A) & (C) are of the area around the underside of the stairs. I only have the trim to complete and then paint. (B) shows a wall portion at the cusp of the rear door entrance. It's done and painted. I used a tongue and groove pine paneling to build the walls on frames of 2x3's. It was relatively easy to construct and the final product has a solid and crafted appearance.
Hope this encourages you to go for it. Home Depot is a wonderful place for supplies and advice, as long as you're patient and gracious. Happy hammering!
Saturday, August 06, 2005
Zimbabwe Memoir #4
As long as my thoughts are near to my time on the shores of Lake Kariba in Zimbabwe, let me share this photo. I took it in the morning as the sun was rising over the lake.
Random Quote #16
"Human history becomes more and more a race between education and catastrophe."
~ H. G. Wells, (1866-1946)
~ H. G. Wells, (1866-1946)
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Zimbabwe Memoire #3
The fourth leg of my tour of Zimbabwe was a day spent on Lake Kariba. It's the largest man-made body of fresh water south of the Sahara, and second on the continent to only Aswan in Egypt. The day consisted of a boat trip across the lake with a brief visit to one of the islands that the dam created called Zebra Island -- where we only saw these awesome storks, and some comorants.
On the return journey, we were given box lunches by our hosts. Now I must say that Lake Kariba was hands down the most oppressively HOT place I visited in Africa. The lunches contained hard boiled eggs, an orange and a ham sandwich dressed with mayo. Now I'm no rocket scientist, but the only thing I ate was the orange. My companions chose a more trusting posture and devoured it all. That was a mistake on their part.
Afterward, we settled into our motel. All I could think of was taking a swim in the pool to cool off. The pool was very alluring, unfortunately it was also lined with black volcanic-appearing rock. When I dove into it seeking respite from the heat and found myself in a steamy bath, I don't know which was more acute; my surprise or my disappointment.
Appearances really can be deceiving!
On the return journey, we were given box lunches by our hosts. Now I must say that Lake Kariba was hands down the most oppressively HOT place I visited in Africa. The lunches contained hard boiled eggs, an orange and a ham sandwich dressed with mayo. Now I'm no rocket scientist, but the only thing I ate was the orange. My companions chose a more trusting posture and devoured it all. That was a mistake on their part.
Afterward, we settled into our motel. All I could think of was taking a swim in the pool to cool off. The pool was very alluring, unfortunately it was also lined with black volcanic-appearing rock. When I dove into it seeking respite from the heat and found myself in a steamy bath, I don't know which was more acute; my surprise or my disappointment.
Appearances really can be deceiving!
Saturday, July 30, 2005
Back to the Basics
Shopping for underwear?
www.Skivies.com has a summer sale under way. But don't get your "hopes" up. This ad from the gay fluff magazine "Instinct" offers more incentive to buy than anything on the Skivies' website!
And speaking of "Instinct;" this is a "Vogue"ish/GQ/Advocate periodical that I have mysteriously been receiving for nearly 3 years now. Never subscribed to it. Never paid a cent for it. So who am I that I should get in on the ground floor of anything gratis?
www.Skivies.com has a summer sale under way. But don't get your "hopes" up. This ad from the gay fluff magazine "Instinct" offers more incentive to buy than anything on the Skivies' website!
And speaking of "Instinct;" this is a "Vogue"ish/GQ/Advocate periodical that I have mysteriously been receiving for nearly 3 years now. Never subscribed to it. Never paid a cent for it. So who am I that I should get in on the ground floor of anything gratis?
Friday, July 29, 2005
What I'm Listening To #3
I told you that my tastes were ecclectic.... So tonight's it a Scottish folk artist: Dougie MacLean.
A longtime favorite, I actually had the privilege of hearing him perform live in the ballroom of a hotel in Lexington, Kentucky back in 1987. He's a terrific performer.
If you like melodic tunes with singable words on inspirational topics, buy any of his CDs. The concerts are better than the studio discs -- the cover paintings on the latter are the works of his artist, wife: Credit for which appears no where on any of the album covers...so it must be a fact that I remember from that concert many years ago now....
A longtime favorite, I actually had the privilege of hearing him perform live in the ballroom of a hotel in Lexington, Kentucky back in 1987. He's a terrific performer.
If you like melodic tunes with singable words on inspirational topics, buy any of his CDs. The concerts are better than the studio discs -- the cover paintings on the latter are the works of his artist, wife: Credit for which appears no where on any of the album covers...so it must be a fact that I remember from that concert many years ago now....
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Canada Memoir #1
I need to share something more positve after this spate of reactions and despair reguarding the execution of the boys in Iran.
So where better to turn than Canada?
I grew up in a little town in southeastern Michigan only a few miles away from Canada. With my parents, I explored, as a youth, the sights and attractions of southwestern Ontario on occasion -- most notably a place called "Jack Miner's Bird Farm".
So it was that in 1990 I persuaded my dearest friend in the whole world to take a trip to Canada with me. The Canadian leg of our vacation took place after spending a week on the Cape in Massachusetts. The entire journey was about 3 weeks long and all together we visited and stayed in places in Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Vermont, Ontario, Quebec, New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, and Maine along the way. This memoir happened on our first day in Canada in the little town of Hudson, Ontario on the provincial border with Quebec.
We arrived in mid-afternoon and set up camp and then took our bikes and rode into the little Hamlet of Hudson in search of food. It was Saturday evening and unbeknownst to us, the eve of the Feast of St. John the Baptist (a major holiday in and around Quebec). As we enetered the town we approached a small market only to discover that it was closing even as we tried to enter it. Frustrated, we looked around and noticed a women tending her gardens across the street from the store. So we rode over to where she was, introduced ourselves, and inquired about a market where we might obtain some victuals.
She was simply delighted to engage us in conversation. As our discussion unfolded we discovered that she had a son about our age and was preparing to leave for a week long visit with him in Connecticut where he was attending college. She then asked us if we had a place to stay. We said, "Yes," but she persisted to offer us her home for the week. WHAT?! We were dumbstruck by this. And she reiterated the offer saying that she felt much safer knowing that her home was occupied in her absence versus empty. (Are you getting this? A single women has offered her home to two strangers...NO, foreigners -- men from another country after only a brief and cursory introduction.)
You can't imagine our incredulity at this invitation. Needless to say, we declined it. Our itinerary was not geared to a prolonged stay in Hudson, Ontario, but I have NEVER forgotten this moment. Who could? Such blind faith and trust in strangers (me!) is a gift that no one can expect. And nothing likely to ever happen in this nation....."O Canada!..."
So where better to turn than Canada?
I grew up in a little town in southeastern Michigan only a few miles away from Canada. With my parents, I explored, as a youth, the sights and attractions of southwestern Ontario on occasion -- most notably a place called "Jack Miner's Bird Farm".
So it was that in 1990 I persuaded my dearest friend in the whole world to take a trip to Canada with me. The Canadian leg of our vacation took place after spending a week on the Cape in Massachusetts. The entire journey was about 3 weeks long and all together we visited and stayed in places in Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Vermont, Ontario, Quebec, New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, and Maine along the way. This memoir happened on our first day in Canada in the little town of Hudson, Ontario on the provincial border with Quebec.
We arrived in mid-afternoon and set up camp and then took our bikes and rode into the little Hamlet of Hudson in search of food. It was Saturday evening and unbeknownst to us, the eve of the Feast of St. John the Baptist (a major holiday in and around Quebec). As we enetered the town we approached a small market only to discover that it was closing even as we tried to enter it. Frustrated, we looked around and noticed a women tending her gardens across the street from the store. So we rode over to where she was, introduced ourselves, and inquired about a market where we might obtain some victuals.
She was simply delighted to engage us in conversation. As our discussion unfolded we discovered that she had a son about our age and was preparing to leave for a week long visit with him in Connecticut where he was attending college. She then asked us if we had a place to stay. We said, "Yes," but she persisted to offer us her home for the week. WHAT?! We were dumbstruck by this. And she reiterated the offer saying that she felt much safer knowing that her home was occupied in her absence versus empty. (Are you getting this? A single women has offered her home to two strangers...NO, foreigners -- men from another country after only a brief and cursory introduction.)
You can't imagine our incredulity at this invitation. Needless to say, we declined it. Our itinerary was not geared to a prolonged stay in Hudson, Ontario, but I have NEVER forgotten this moment. Who could? Such blind faith and trust in strangers (me!) is a gift that no one can expect. And nothing likely to ever happen in this nation....."O Canada!..."
Monday, July 25, 2005
The Myth of Security
As the evil murders of the two adolescent boys in Iran continues to percolate in my mind and dominate my thoughts, I am reminded of this essential reality: while every human being on this planet seeks security and safety, neither will ever be guaranteed. Such grace is not an aspect of reality (e.g. What would pass as a youthful indiscretion, or a consensual sexual act protected by the rule of law in one place, is your death sentence in another). And it really doesn’t matter who you are. Tomorrow your world could be ripped away from you. As a friend recently said, "Freedom of religion no longer exists in the U.S. Conservative Christianity is quickly becoming the religion of statehood, and we are all being forced to live under its tenets. I keep thinking things will change. And then they do--for the worse."
And still, I’m thinking in the broadest possible context here. When, for example, a natural disaster redefines our world, we are shocked, but we know that such things are (usually) within the realm of possibility. And while the regime that oppresses the people of Iran could well be argued to be even more trustworthy in this particular tragedy than ANY natural disaster, the basic premise is the same: inspite of our faith in history or institutions, our individual security is a myth.
A mere seven years ago, who (no matter which side of the political spectrum where upon you stand) in this nation could have honestly imagined the present reality of this precipice of history on which we now teeter? Rights most Americans have taken for granted for nearly a generation are now back in question – and rather than advancing and expanding our freedoms, the present regime is “heaven” bent on limiting and molding rights into the narrow box of their theological world.
There was a time when the thought of pure democracy in some societies was not tenable because the majority of citizens beliefs and desires would clearly oppress the minority. In such countries, this desire to create an idealized society based upon the majority’s well-defined and exclusionary doctrines was labeled in more “civilized” nations as Fascism.
The world witnessed these ideological social experiments in places like Italy, Kampuchea, PDR China, and the Soviet Union, and opposed them. Eventually, the very citizens of these nations rebelled against their oppressors. And more often than not, looked to our nation as an inspiration.
So imagine my surprise, as I now I realize fully how the United States is becoming the very thing it has long stood against? We are being driven toward a theocratic state that is actually hell bent on reversing and denying personal freedoms. The state is assuming authority in our lives based upon a singular understanding of who and what God is. An understanding that logically demands of it’s adherents either the conversion of the infidel, or their annihilation. I am not speaking hyperbolically. And I am not a citizen of Iran....or North Korea, or Burma, or the Sudan -- or any another Facist nation.
Wake up, America! Those of us who still want, for ourselves and for others, a nation based upon hope and FREEDOM are not yet in the minority here. We must rise to this moment and make our voices heard. We must oppose the forces that seek to impose their cultural paradigms upon us. While those who feel that our present direction is the right direction must be allowed to live in a nation where they may experience this in the privacy of their own homes and social circles; every other citizen of the United States must ALSO be free to expect nothing less.
"One nation....with liberty and justice....for ALL."
And still, I’m thinking in the broadest possible context here. When, for example, a natural disaster redefines our world, we are shocked, but we know that such things are (usually) within the realm of possibility. And while the regime that oppresses the people of Iran could well be argued to be even more trustworthy in this particular tragedy than ANY natural disaster, the basic premise is the same: inspite of our faith in history or institutions, our individual security is a myth.
A mere seven years ago, who (no matter which side of the political spectrum where upon you stand) in this nation could have honestly imagined the present reality of this precipice of history on which we now teeter? Rights most Americans have taken for granted for nearly a generation are now back in question – and rather than advancing and expanding our freedoms, the present regime is “heaven” bent on limiting and molding rights into the narrow box of their theological world.
There was a time when the thought of pure democracy in some societies was not tenable because the majority of citizens beliefs and desires would clearly oppress the minority. In such countries, this desire to create an idealized society based upon the majority’s well-defined and exclusionary doctrines was labeled in more “civilized” nations as Fascism.
The world witnessed these ideological social experiments in places like Italy, Kampuchea, PDR China, and the Soviet Union, and opposed them. Eventually, the very citizens of these nations rebelled against their oppressors. And more often than not, looked to our nation as an inspiration.
So imagine my surprise, as I now I realize fully how the United States is becoming the very thing it has long stood against? We are being driven toward a theocratic state that is actually hell bent on reversing and denying personal freedoms. The state is assuming authority in our lives based upon a singular understanding of who and what God is. An understanding that logically demands of it’s adherents either the conversion of the infidel, or their annihilation. I am not speaking hyperbolically. And I am not a citizen of Iran....or North Korea, or Burma, or the Sudan -- or any another Facist nation.
Wake up, America! Those of us who still want, for ourselves and for others, a nation based upon hope and FREEDOM are not yet in the minority here. We must rise to this moment and make our voices heard. We must oppose the forces that seek to impose their cultural paradigms upon us. While those who feel that our present direction is the right direction must be allowed to live in a nation where they may experience this in the privacy of their own homes and social circles; every other citizen of the United States must ALSO be free to expect nothing less.
"One nation....with liberty and justice....for ALL."
Random Quote #15
"Those who Deny freedom to others Deserve it not for Themselves."
~ Abraham Lincoln, (1809 - 1865)
~ Abraham Lincoln, (1809 - 1865)
Random Quote #14
"They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety."
~ Benjamin Franklin, (1706 - 1790)
~ Benjamin Franklin, (1706 - 1790)
Sunday, July 24, 2005
Pray for the Martyrs of Iran
I have really kept my post very personal, and not really very tied to the present political culture. I have done this intentionally as I want this space to be a place of my personal reflections and memoirs. Yet, there are moments that demand a response. Incidents that haunt the soul profoundly -- and what on earth is more personal than that?
You see two young men in this photo moments before they were murdered. Over 14 months before this moment, they were taken into custody and held in a jail in Iran after being accused of committing homosexual acts with one another. At the time of this incident, they were both younger that 18. There is no hint of force in this action, i.e. both were aware of their actions and engaged in them of their own free wills.
In the last 14 months of their lives they were not only tortured, interrogated, convicted of this "crime", but they were daily flogged for weeks upon end.
When I learned of this, my heart clinched within my breast. I know that the men responsible for their fate believed that they were about God's work. And this is simply abominable in the presence of the God that I know. What strange evil grips the minds of people who kill children? Can you tell me? And how is any consensual act of intimacy so threatening that its appropriate response is torture and murder? Can you tell me?
In my 21 years as an elementary school teacher, I have enjoyed meeting thousands of parents and students. I have taught and created relationships with people of every major religion and cult in the world and from all continents and countless nations. One group that stands out as the most generous and supportive of education and me are the people of Iran. I have told friends this for years now. So how does such a civilized and generous people create a system of justice that allows for such barbarism?
I guess when I ask this, I ought to keep the mirrors close at hand for anyone from the U.S. willing to consider my plea.
A link that I commend to you is: http://www.ncr-iran.org/content/view/222/69/
You see two young men in this photo moments before they were murdered. Over 14 months before this moment, they were taken into custody and held in a jail in Iran after being accused of committing homosexual acts with one another. At the time of this incident, they were both younger that 18. There is no hint of force in this action, i.e. both were aware of their actions and engaged in them of their own free wills.
In the last 14 months of their lives they were not only tortured, interrogated, convicted of this "crime", but they were daily flogged for weeks upon end.
When I learned of this, my heart clinched within my breast. I know that the men responsible for their fate believed that they were about God's work. And this is simply abominable in the presence of the God that I know. What strange evil grips the minds of people who kill children? Can you tell me? And how is any consensual act of intimacy so threatening that its appropriate response is torture and murder? Can you tell me?
In my 21 years as an elementary school teacher, I have enjoyed meeting thousands of parents and students. I have taught and created relationships with people of every major religion and cult in the world and from all continents and countless nations. One group that stands out as the most generous and supportive of education and me are the people of Iran. I have told friends this for years now. So how does such a civilized and generous people create a system of justice that allows for such barbarism?
I guess when I ask this, I ought to keep the mirrors close at hand for anyone from the U.S. willing to consider my plea.
A link that I commend to you is: http://www.ncr-iran.org/content/view/222/69/
Random Quote #13
"An evil deed is not redeemed by an evil deed of retaliation.
Justice is never advanced in the taking of a human life.
Morality is never upheld by legalized murder."
- Corretta Scott King, (1929 - )
Justice is never advanced in the taking of a human life.
Morality is never upheld by legalized murder."
- Corretta Scott King, (1929 - )
Saturday, July 23, 2005
Kentucky Memoir #2
During the last year that I attended college in Kentucky, I also worked on a horse farm: Cold Springs Farm, near Keene, Kentucky. I obtained this job via my relationship with other students at Asbury College who also worked there -- my first lesson in the reality that it's not nearly as much WHAT you know as WHO you know that provides opportunities in this life.
The job was a 6 hour a day commitment over 7 days, and paid some piddily amount ($2.50 -- $3.00 an hour? I forget now). I worked one week from 6 PM to Midnight, and the next week it was Midnight to 6 AM; and my co-worker was a really sweat guy, Mr. D. -- also a student at Asbury College. The farm boarded a total of 61 horses housed in 4 barns during the night. The barn pictured here is the "Foaling Barn" where mares who were most close to foaling were housed. There was also a barn for general horses, one for mares who had already delivered or were not pregnant, and one for yearlings. You can imagine that I learned a hell of a lot working here.
And working is really not that fair of a word for it. I mostly just hung around. When things were happening, I was very busy, but 95% of the time, I sat in a tack room doing my homework, reading, listening to the radio...
And most of the time was spent there in the dark of the night. As this photo attests, the night was a magical time to be there. Usually, I would drive my pick-up into the barn, and it would be sitting in the middle of this crosshatch of light.
On one particular night, I did so. Then retreated to the tack room to read "Treasure Island" for my Children's Literature class. Suddenly I heard a commotion, and emerged from the little office to discover a mare and her foal loose in the barn. She was very agitated (whinying and rearing to bat at the air, and her foal was frightened and very confused, and I thought, "Oh My God, what if she kicks my truck? I'll kill her!"
But I suppressed that emotion and quickly realized that above all else, both animals were afraid of the dark. I went to the nearest end of the barn and closed the doors. Then I walked slowly along the side of the barn opposite their stall and shut off all of the lights, one by one, until I reached the other end of the barn and was able to secure those doors.
The time it took me to do this left both horses a little more calm, and as I walk toward their stall, I reached into each stall before it and gently switched off the lights. Soon only their stall and the office gave off any glow. With the office door closed, the foal then chose to returm to his stall and his mother soon followed. I then quickly secured the stall's door.
My truck (and myself) safe and sound, I gave a little prayer of thanks and then restored the lights in the other stalls in the barn.
Another lesson in the powers of light and darkness. Why not?
The job was a 6 hour a day commitment over 7 days, and paid some piddily amount ($2.50 -- $3.00 an hour? I forget now). I worked one week from 6 PM to Midnight, and the next week it was Midnight to 6 AM; and my co-worker was a really sweat guy, Mr. D. -- also a student at Asbury College. The farm boarded a total of 61 horses housed in 4 barns during the night. The barn pictured here is the "Foaling Barn" where mares who were most close to foaling were housed. There was also a barn for general horses, one for mares who had already delivered or were not pregnant, and one for yearlings. You can imagine that I learned a hell of a lot working here.
And working is really not that fair of a word for it. I mostly just hung around. When things were happening, I was very busy, but 95% of the time, I sat in a tack room doing my homework, reading, listening to the radio...
And most of the time was spent there in the dark of the night. As this photo attests, the night was a magical time to be there. Usually, I would drive my pick-up into the barn, and it would be sitting in the middle of this crosshatch of light.
On one particular night, I did so. Then retreated to the tack room to read "Treasure Island" for my Children's Literature class. Suddenly I heard a commotion, and emerged from the little office to discover a mare and her foal loose in the barn. She was very agitated (whinying and rearing to bat at the air, and her foal was frightened and very confused, and I thought, "Oh My God, what if she kicks my truck? I'll kill her!"
But I suppressed that emotion and quickly realized that above all else, both animals were afraid of the dark. I went to the nearest end of the barn and closed the doors. Then I walked slowly along the side of the barn opposite their stall and shut off all of the lights, one by one, until I reached the other end of the barn and was able to secure those doors.
The time it took me to do this left both horses a little more calm, and as I walk toward their stall, I reached into each stall before it and gently switched off the lights. Soon only their stall and the office gave off any glow. With the office door closed, the foal then chose to returm to his stall and his mother soon followed. I then quickly secured the stall's door.
My truck (and myself) safe and sound, I gave a little prayer of thanks and then restored the lights in the other stalls in the barn.
Another lesson in the powers of light and darkness. Why not?
Haiku #1
THE HEAVEN DWELLERS
A hazy day —
even the gods
must feel listless.
~ Issa (Kobayashi), 1763 - 1827
A hazy day —
even the gods
must feel listless.
~ Issa (Kobayashi), 1763 - 1827
Thursday, July 21, 2005
My Name Is -------. and I Am Addicted
To Poetry!
I read it voraciously, daily, widely. For many years now I have sent poems out on post cards from art museums to a wide range of friends and acquaintences, and even a relative stranger or two. I trace this habit back to my ex- Mr. J., and my profound desire to make real the call to commit "random acts of kindness" in this world. My ex- used to do this as well, and I don't know if he still does. I hope he does. I hope that reading this will inspire you to take up the practice, too.
Over this past Christmas I visited the ministry of a friend of mine. He has established a center of education and worship in the barrio of Monsenor Les Cano in Managua, Nicaragua. For years now I have sent him such poetry post cards. Imagine my delight at finding them lamenated and used as bookmarks in his library! My heart was deeply touched, and my passion encouraged greatly. I will tell you about and share some of my favorite poems/poets with you in the future. Just another strain in this ever expanding online journal.
But let me leave you with this poem by Keats. Feel free to copy it (it's in the public domain) and share it with those you love. It clearly speaks to a philosophy of life that I embrace.
LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY
The fountains mingle with the river,
And the rivers with the Ocean,
The winds of Heaven mix forever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle.
Why not I with thine? —
See the mountains kiss high Heaven
And the waves clasp one another,
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother,
And the sunlight clasps the earth
And the moonbeams kiss the sea:
What is all this sweet work worth
If thou kiss not me?
>~ Percy Bysshe Shelley, (1792-1822)
I read it voraciously, daily, widely. For many years now I have sent poems out on post cards from art museums to a wide range of friends and acquaintences, and even a relative stranger or two. I trace this habit back to my ex- Mr. J., and my profound desire to make real the call to commit "random acts of kindness" in this world. My ex- used to do this as well, and I don't know if he still does. I hope he does. I hope that reading this will inspire you to take up the practice, too.
Over this past Christmas I visited the ministry of a friend of mine. He has established a center of education and worship in the barrio of Monsenor Les Cano in Managua, Nicaragua. For years now I have sent him such poetry post cards. Imagine my delight at finding them lamenated and used as bookmarks in his library! My heart was deeply touched, and my passion encouraged greatly. I will tell you about and share some of my favorite poems/poets with you in the future. Just another strain in this ever expanding online journal.
But let me leave you with this poem by Keats. Feel free to copy it (it's in the public domain) and share it with those you love. It clearly speaks to a philosophy of life that I embrace.
LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY
The fountains mingle with the river,
And the rivers with the Ocean,
The winds of Heaven mix forever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle.
Why not I with thine? —
See the mountains kiss high Heaven
And the waves clasp one another,
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother,
And the sunlight clasps the earth
And the moonbeams kiss the sea:
What is all this sweet work worth
If thou kiss not me?
>~ Percy Bysshe Shelley, (1792-1822)
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Costa Rican Memoir #5
Education as a career for me was really an afterthought -- or perhaps an accident based on incidents (random Quote #11). I originally studied to work in the church. And then I actually worked in a church! Oucha Magoucha, the experience did not affirm my beliefs or my talents at the time.
So I switched majors and rushed an elementary education degree as a second major...I may hold the record for hours of courses completed at Asbury College, but I eventually finished with 2 majors and one minor (and a foreign language! -- parle vous française? Neither do I! But I digress....)
And then, in an accidental way, I obtained my first teaching job at Colegio Metodista in Costa Rica. An acquaintance on campus, who had once worked there, heard about my desire to teach overseas, and then suggested that I contact Colegio Metodista to see if there were any openings. I called and was hired over the phone on a Tuesday. I notified my parents about this on the Thursday, and to the amazement of everyone concerned, was bound for Central America on an Eastern Airline flight a little over two weeks later!
As the plane descended toward the airport in Alejuela (entering the magnificent cavity of the central valley out of which most the people in Costa Rica live), I peered down upon a land dulled by drought (a seasonal thing), and stepped off of the flight on February 6, 1984 to the utterly expansive beauty of Costa Rica. At the school, my position included 3 units of 9th grade geography, 9th grade honors English, and 11th grade honors English Literature, (and later, a section of 10th grade regular English was added).
My students were mostly Costa Rican, but included a couple of "Estados Unidensiens", Chinese (from Hong Kong mostly), Canadians, and at least one kid from Nicaragua, El Salvador, and Panama. They were quite fascinated by their young American teacher, and didn't always know what to do with me. At times they rallied around me, and at others they tried to use me for their adolescent sport.
One of the "sportive" moments I remember most vividly was the old "thumb tack on the chair" gag. A class of my 9th graders placed a couple of thumbtacks on my chair in the hopes of solicited an injured and thus hilarious response from me. But as it turned out, I wore my only pair of corduroy jeans to school that day. And after presenting my initial lesson and their writing assignment, I pulled out my chair to sit in it. The action of pulling the chair out vibrated the tacks into the central concave hollow of the seat. And so, when I sat upon them, they all embedded themselves into the triple fold of my jean's central back seam and the hollow of my ass crack. Therefore, I felt nothing.
Well, not exactly "nothing". I soon felt the awed and confused stares of my students and noticed the recriminating glances of conspirators whose perfect plan of attack has ended in inexplicable failure. What could they have been thinking? Does their teacher possessed an iron butt!? (I only wish!)--able to bend steel tacks with a single sit!?
I remember looking up and saying, "What." To which many shoulders shrugged and all resumed their attention upon their assignments. After class the son of a Canadian missionary (and no doubt the master-mind of this nefarious plot) approached me and tried to asked about the general health of my "behind". A line of questioning that quickly led to a complete confession.
Dieu d'éloge pour le velours côtelé
So I switched majors and rushed an elementary education degree as a second major...I may hold the record for hours of courses completed at Asbury College, but I eventually finished with 2 majors and one minor (and a foreign language! -- parle vous française? Neither do I! But I digress....)
And then, in an accidental way, I obtained my first teaching job at Colegio Metodista in Costa Rica. An acquaintance on campus, who had once worked there, heard about my desire to teach overseas, and then suggested that I contact Colegio Metodista to see if there were any openings. I called and was hired over the phone on a Tuesday. I notified my parents about this on the Thursday, and to the amazement of everyone concerned, was bound for Central America on an Eastern Airline flight a little over two weeks later!
As the plane descended toward the airport in Alejuela (entering the magnificent cavity of the central valley out of which most the people in Costa Rica live), I peered down upon a land dulled by drought (a seasonal thing), and stepped off of the flight on February 6, 1984 to the utterly expansive beauty of Costa Rica. At the school, my position included 3 units of 9th grade geography, 9th grade honors English, and 11th grade honors English Literature, (and later, a section of 10th grade regular English was added).
My students were mostly Costa Rican, but included a couple of "Estados Unidensiens", Chinese (from Hong Kong mostly), Canadians, and at least one kid from Nicaragua, El Salvador, and Panama. They were quite fascinated by their young American teacher, and didn't always know what to do with me. At times they rallied around me, and at others they tried to use me for their adolescent sport.
One of the "sportive" moments I remember most vividly was the old "thumb tack on the chair" gag. A class of my 9th graders placed a couple of thumbtacks on my chair in the hopes of solicited an injured and thus hilarious response from me. But as it turned out, I wore my only pair of corduroy jeans to school that day. And after presenting my initial lesson and their writing assignment, I pulled out my chair to sit in it. The action of pulling the chair out vibrated the tacks into the central concave hollow of the seat. And so, when I sat upon them, they all embedded themselves into the triple fold of my jean's central back seam and the hollow of my ass crack. Therefore, I felt nothing.
Well, not exactly "nothing". I soon felt the awed and confused stares of my students and noticed the recriminating glances of conspirators whose perfect plan of attack has ended in inexplicable failure. What could they have been thinking? Does their teacher possessed an iron butt!? (I only wish!)--able to bend steel tacks with a single sit!?
I remember looking up and saying, "What." To which many shoulders shrugged and all resumed their attention upon their assignments. After class the son of a Canadian missionary (and no doubt the master-mind of this nefarious plot) approached me and tried to asked about the general health of my "behind". A line of questioning that quickly led to a complete confession.
Dieu d'éloge pour le velours côtelé
Taiwan Memoir #3
I was born in 1961 and grew up in a little town in extreme southeastern Michigan called Flat Rock. We had this local joke that we were originally called "Level Pebble," but we grew! Needless to say, life in this little berg was rather insular when it came to other cultures.
And so, my first experience at a Chinese Restaurant was actually in Taiwan! No shit.
Not too far from the English Academy where I taught was a particular little dive that we affectionately called "The Shack". It was run by a talented and unpretentious proprietress (note the picture), and set in an open store front -- it was more like a dank little side walk cafe into which you could also find a table. The entire operation was there for anyone to witness. Her woks were well burnished with the varnished oils and residues of countless meals. And like some masthead leading this ship of culinary conquest, her infant child resided in a locked, iron, playpen on the sidewalk in front of her establishment. So we always fawned over the child as we arrived.
It was here that I experienced my first taste of To Fu, but did not warm to it until much later! I preferred her stir-fried shrimp-based creations; and her sweat-and-sour pork. The latter of which I was told was a Chinese creation meant specifically to satisfy "western" appetites, but not something that the indigenous population ever considered eating.
Now, today, I enjoy a rather intimate relationship with a particular local Chinese Restaurant -- which is to say that I have been a customer there for a little more than a decade. In fact, after touring the Hiroshige exhibit at the Phillips Collection for the second time, this time with my ex- Mr. J., he invited me to his new apartment for lunch -- a meal "catered" by this very take out place. How far have my experiences and tastes taken me from the days of "The Shack".... Yet, you may rest assured, that everyone else has been judged by her culinary expertise.
And so, my first experience at a Chinese Restaurant was actually in Taiwan! No shit.
Not too far from the English Academy where I taught was a particular little dive that we affectionately called "The Shack". It was run by a talented and unpretentious proprietress (note the picture), and set in an open store front -- it was more like a dank little side walk cafe into which you could also find a table. The entire operation was there for anyone to witness. Her woks were well burnished with the varnished oils and residues of countless meals. And like some masthead leading this ship of culinary conquest, her infant child resided in a locked, iron, playpen on the sidewalk in front of her establishment. So we always fawned over the child as we arrived.
It was here that I experienced my first taste of To Fu, but did not warm to it until much later! I preferred her stir-fried shrimp-based creations; and her sweat-and-sour pork. The latter of which I was told was a Chinese creation meant specifically to satisfy "western" appetites, but not something that the indigenous population ever considered eating.
Now, today, I enjoy a rather intimate relationship with a particular local Chinese Restaurant -- which is to say that I have been a customer there for a little more than a decade. In fact, after touring the Hiroshige exhibit at the Phillips Collection for the second time, this time with my ex- Mr. J., he invited me to his new apartment for lunch -- a meal "catered" by this very take out place. How far have my experiences and tastes taken me from the days of "The Shack".... Yet, you may rest assured, that everyone else has been judged by her culinary expertise.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Zimbabwe Memoir #2
Zimbabwe is an utterly beautiful nation. And this image is only one example of this exquisite palate.
The third stop on my stay in Zimbabwe was Victoria Falls National Park. On the evening of our second (and last) day there, we (that is Mr. and Mrs. O and I) took an evening boat trip on the Zambezi River below the falls. The main purpose of the event was to see Hippos in their natural environment -- which we did. But a clearly unexpected gift was this cloud formation against the setting sun.
I remember thinking that this was one of the truly magical moments in my life, and sharing this photo with you only reiterates this conclusion.
The third stop on my stay in Zimbabwe was Victoria Falls National Park. On the evening of our second (and last) day there, we (that is Mr. and Mrs. O and I) took an evening boat trip on the Zambezi River below the falls. The main purpose of the event was to see Hippos in their natural environment -- which we did. But a clearly unexpected gift was this cloud formation against the setting sun.
I remember thinking that this was one of the truly magical moments in my life, and sharing this photo with you only reiterates this conclusion.
Monday, July 18, 2005
I Love Coleus
Okay, by now I have firmly established my love of my gardens. Notice I carefully chose my words here; as the act of actually gardening is something that I engage in occasionally, but far prefer the fruits to the labors! And that is one reason why I LOVE Coleus. Coleus, the psychedelic leafy wonder from south central Asia, is an amazing addition to any garden.
Unlike most flowers, it's always "in bloom". And it comes in such a wonderful variety of colors from brown to purple to scarlet to rust, and on into various greens right up to yellow and cream. Like most varieties of plants (azaleas, iris, geraniums...) there are major serious growers and cultivators of this species; but hey, just look at what I found at the local Home Depot?
The Photos were taken on a recent morning in the midst of several days of tropical rain and humidity (felt more like Viet Nam or Venezuela than Washington, DC). These coleus are all in containers (just another reason to love them...they flourish in the wild and in captivity equally well.) The top photo has the varieties "Chartreuse" on the left and "Royalty" on the right, and the bottom picture shows "Va Va Voom" in the back (top) and "Hurricane Louise" in the main/foreground. The latter is now also blooming with delicate little lavender blossoms. For all the images of Coleus that anyone could want, visit: http://www.glasshouseworks.com/gallery2.html
Take a tour of their 24 galleries, and, like me, imagine the possibilities.
Unlike most flowers, it's always "in bloom". And it comes in such a wonderful variety of colors from brown to purple to scarlet to rust, and on into various greens right up to yellow and cream. Like most varieties of plants (azaleas, iris, geraniums...) there are major serious growers and cultivators of this species; but hey, just look at what I found at the local Home Depot?
The Photos were taken on a recent morning in the midst of several days of tropical rain and humidity (felt more like Viet Nam or Venezuela than Washington, DC). These coleus are all in containers (just another reason to love them...they flourish in the wild and in captivity equally well.) The top photo has the varieties "Chartreuse" on the left and "Royalty" on the right, and the bottom picture shows "Va Va Voom" in the back (top) and "Hurricane Louise" in the main/foreground. The latter is now also blooming with delicate little lavender blossoms. For all the images of Coleus that anyone could want, visit: http://www.glasshouseworks.com/gallery2.html
Take a tour of their 24 galleries, and, like me, imagine the possibilities.
“Money, Money, Money, Money........Money!”
......Thus sang the O’Jay’s way back when. And I realize that what I am about to propose is blasphemy in the eyes of our present paradigm -- so when is it better to be a radical? Yet, ironically, I really don’t think that this is as radical as it is obvious. It’s time to rethink our money....or, more accurately the portraits found upon the bills and coins of our currency. And given the recent flexibility in this realm (both mental and real), why not? We’ve seen the Sacajawea dollar coin (an EXCELLENT beginning); the state quarters, the Louisiana Purchase nickels. Even the conservative Republicans have proposed replacing FDR on the dime with RWR.
And have you seen the Euros? Or the Brazilian coranados? Or the South Africa rand? They all attempt to portray people from a variety of disciplines within their cultures -- people who have made a difference.
So this is what I would love to see.
Money with portraits on one side, and images that reflect the greatness of our nation on the other (no more old buildings). Now granted, there are some patriots who deserve to be remembered. So to this end, I would want to keep Washington, Jefferson, and Franklin around; and Lincoln is safe, too. Let the $1 bill still show a portrait of Washington, and on the flip side a scene from the Revolutionary War featuring Sybil Ludington or Molly Pritchard. The $5 bill retains Lincoln with a reverse image of African Americans standing proud and the phrase “...and justice for all” clearly legible.
As to the ten and twenty, hmmm: Hamilton and Jackson have to go!
For the $10 bill, I propose Frederick Douglass, and on the back an image depicting a free press -- (imagine that, again!). On the $20 (something even more radical), I want to see the image of Rachel Carson; and on the back a Robin in the branches of a Maple tree with the phrase, “a sense of wonder preserved.” On the $50 bill let’s kiss Grant’s sorry ass good-bye and replace his portrait with that of Sequoia, and on the back an image of a plains American Indians’ pow wow (or something indicative of Native American culture and values). Keeping Franklin on side A, on the back of the $100 let's have a picture of the space shuttle with the phrase, “A free people make sacrifices to invent the future.”
As to coins; let’s stop the redundancy of human portraits -- AND return to images of animals (just 'cause I like animals!). The Penny can show an eagle on side A and a portrait of Harriet Tubman on side B. The Nickel can have a pair of white tailed deer on side A and portraits of John and Abigail Adams on Side B. The Dime can show a Coho Salmon leaping against a water fall on side A and portraits of Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt on side B. The Quarter can show a Grizzly Bear on side A and a portrait of Nancy and Ronald Reagan on side B. (Shocked? Don’t be. I really believe in justice for all. Now, of course, Nancy has to die before this can happen--so not something I expect to happen soon--, but won’t the astrologers be happy?) On the Fifty-cent piece let’s put an Otter on the A side, and Emily Dickinson on the B side. On the Dollar coin, let’s put the grey squirrel on side A and retain Sacagawea on side B.
This is just meant as a place to start this discussion. What do you think?
And have you seen the Euros? Or the Brazilian coranados? Or the South Africa rand? They all attempt to portray people from a variety of disciplines within their cultures -- people who have made a difference.
So this is what I would love to see.
Money with portraits on one side, and images that reflect the greatness of our nation on the other (no more old buildings). Now granted, there are some patriots who deserve to be remembered. So to this end, I would want to keep Washington, Jefferson, and Franklin around; and Lincoln is safe, too. Let the $1 bill still show a portrait of Washington, and on the flip side a scene from the Revolutionary War featuring Sybil Ludington or Molly Pritchard. The $5 bill retains Lincoln with a reverse image of African Americans standing proud and the phrase “...and justice for all” clearly legible.
As to the ten and twenty, hmmm: Hamilton and Jackson have to go!
For the $10 bill, I propose Frederick Douglass, and on the back an image depicting a free press -- (imagine that, again!). On the $20 (something even more radical), I want to see the image of Rachel Carson; and on the back a Robin in the branches of a Maple tree with the phrase, “a sense of wonder preserved.” On the $50 bill let’s kiss Grant’s sorry ass good-bye and replace his portrait with that of Sequoia, and on the back an image of a plains American Indians’ pow wow (or something indicative of Native American culture and values). Keeping Franklin on side A, on the back of the $100 let's have a picture of the space shuttle with the phrase, “A free people make sacrifices to invent the future.”
As to coins; let’s stop the redundancy of human portraits -- AND return to images of animals (just 'cause I like animals!). The Penny can show an eagle on side A and a portrait of Harriet Tubman on side B. The Nickel can have a pair of white tailed deer on side A and portraits of John and Abigail Adams on Side B. The Dime can show a Coho Salmon leaping against a water fall on side A and portraits of Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt on side B. The Quarter can show a Grizzly Bear on side A and a portrait of Nancy and Ronald Reagan on side B. (Shocked? Don’t be. I really believe in justice for all. Now, of course, Nancy has to die before this can happen--so not something I expect to happen soon--, but won’t the astrologers be happy?) On the Fifty-cent piece let’s put an Otter on the A side, and Emily Dickinson on the B side. On the Dollar coin, let’s put the grey squirrel on side A and retain Sacagawea on side B.
This is just meant as a place to start this discussion. What do you think?
Random Quote #12
"You must not measure a man by the heights he has reached, but from the depths he has come."
~ Federick Douglas, (1817 - 1895)
~ Federick Douglas, (1817 - 1895)
Sunday, July 17, 2005
Random Quote #11
“Accidents and inspiration lead you to your destination”
~ Mary Chapin Carpenter, (1956 - )
And with this quote a little story.
While living in Kentucky back in the mid-80's I ran with a friend, Ms. M. For a brief time in my life, Ms. M. and I were nearly inseparable. One day she told me about a time that she spent at a cloister on Long Island and the wisdom that a nun had shared with her there. The sister told her that some people are our companions in our journey through life, and others are merely signposts.
Figuring out the difference and accepting the results seems like an awesome act of faith to me. And I have spent years doing just that.
~ Mary Chapin Carpenter, (1956 - )
And with this quote a little story.
While living in Kentucky back in the mid-80's I ran with a friend, Ms. M. For a brief time in my life, Ms. M. and I were nearly inseparable. One day she told me about a time that she spent at a cloister on Long Island and the wisdom that a nun had shared with her there. The sister told her that some people are our companions in our journey through life, and others are merely signposts.
Figuring out the difference and accepting the results seems like an awesome act of faith to me. And I have spent years doing just that.
Saturday, July 16, 2005
Kentucky Memoir #1
I lived in Kentucky from September of 1979 until July of 1994 (with the exception of the year that I spent in Costa Rica -- 1984). In the autumn of 1979, I arrived in the queer little hamlet of Wilmore to attend college at Asbury College. It is a small, private, liberal arts institution founded in 1890 with a definite perspective toward evangelical, fundamentalist Christianity. Not as wacko as Oral Roberts, Bob Jones, or Regents, but clearly peculiar in the eyes of the secular world. How I ended up there is a story for another time, suffice it to say that that's the reason that found me living in Kentucky. It's a state that I thoroughly love.
This is testified to by the fact that after graduation I chose to make it my home for so many years. After returning from Costa Rica, I obtained employment with the Jessamine County School District. For eight years I taught the 6th grade there, and then was invited to join the Kentucky Department of Education where I worked to develop the state's assessments.
At the risk of being redundant, I love Kentucky. I am so grateful for my time there. It is the place where I met my best and most faithful friends. I look forward to posting stories from my years there.
This is testified to by the fact that after graduation I chose to make it my home for so many years. After returning from Costa Rica, I obtained employment with the Jessamine County School District. For eight years I taught the 6th grade there, and then was invited to join the Kentucky Department of Education where I worked to develop the state's assessments.
At the risk of being redundant, I love Kentucky. I am so grateful for my time there. It is the place where I met my best and most faithful friends. I look forward to posting stories from my years there.
Costa Rican Memoir #4: "House of Light"
I lived in a distant suburb of the capital, San José, called Curridabat. At the time, it was about as far to the west of San José as one could go without leaving the continguous urban sprall. And yet it was also fairly convenient vis a vis the ubiquitious and amazing public bus system.
At some point in my stay, and I honestly don't recall how, I made the acquaintance of a really wonderful young man, Mr. S. Mr. S. was, I guess, about my age (23), and he was well spoken in his English. We would spend time together just enjoying each other's company. It was a purely platonic friendship, and one that have come to realize is all too rare in this life.
Mr. S.'s father headed up an NGO that distributed funds to organizations that offered care to children with special needs. And it was through this that Mr. S. introduced me to the work of a little Carmelite mission, Hogar Luz. Further up the mountain, and further west of even Curridabat, the mission was tucked away off of the main road in a little compound that consisted of living quarters for about half a dozen sisters, and, at the time, ten children. Ranging from age 12 down to infants, these children were among the most severely handicapped, and I can not put too fine a point on this, most fortunate in the country.
We often hear stories about the abysmal state of special education in this nation, but friends, you have no idea how this segment of our human family is treated in nations where resources are scant and understanding scarce. The children of Hogar Luz were living in a virtual Eden.
After my initial visit with my friend, Mr. S., I began making regular treks to Hogar Luz on my own. My Spanish absolutely sucked, but because I was a guest of Mr. S. the sisters permitted me access to their charges. And what ever was going on when I arrived, I just joined right in. Sometimes this meant assisting with feeding the children, sometimes it meant changing diapers. It really didn't matter to me; and frankly, I think that fascinated the nuns. The picture is of me holding one of the most able of all of the children, and it was taken by Mr. S. on a day when we visited together. I recall that we had just spent time with the 2 or 3 older children who were ambulatory playing tag in the little yard. Most of the children were confined to wheel chairs or beds. Of this little boy, I recall that he was often aggressive with the sisters, but really responded well to Mr. S. and me. After spending time in some physical activity, he would become docile and patient. Many of the children bore the physical scars of having been abused by parents and previous care-givers who simply could not accept their disabilities. And given their unique mental abilities, there was just no way to know what psychological scars they carried. It is difficult to remember this...it still makes me cry.
At some point in my stay, and I honestly don't recall how, I made the acquaintance of a really wonderful young man, Mr. S. Mr. S. was, I guess, about my age (23), and he was well spoken in his English. We would spend time together just enjoying each other's company. It was a purely platonic friendship, and one that have come to realize is all too rare in this life.
Mr. S.'s father headed up an NGO that distributed funds to organizations that offered care to children with special needs. And it was through this that Mr. S. introduced me to the work of a little Carmelite mission, Hogar Luz. Further up the mountain, and further west of even Curridabat, the mission was tucked away off of the main road in a little compound that consisted of living quarters for about half a dozen sisters, and, at the time, ten children. Ranging from age 12 down to infants, these children were among the most severely handicapped, and I can not put too fine a point on this, most fortunate in the country.
We often hear stories about the abysmal state of special education in this nation, but friends, you have no idea how this segment of our human family is treated in nations where resources are scant and understanding scarce. The children of Hogar Luz were living in a virtual Eden.
After my initial visit with my friend, Mr. S., I began making regular treks to Hogar Luz on my own. My Spanish absolutely sucked, but because I was a guest of Mr. S. the sisters permitted me access to their charges. And what ever was going on when I arrived, I just joined right in. Sometimes this meant assisting with feeding the children, sometimes it meant changing diapers. It really didn't matter to me; and frankly, I think that fascinated the nuns. The picture is of me holding one of the most able of all of the children, and it was taken by Mr. S. on a day when we visited together. I recall that we had just spent time with the 2 or 3 older children who were ambulatory playing tag in the little yard. Most of the children were confined to wheel chairs or beds. Of this little boy, I recall that he was often aggressive with the sisters, but really responded well to Mr. S. and me. After spending time in some physical activity, he would become docile and patient. Many of the children bore the physical scars of having been abused by parents and previous care-givers who simply could not accept their disabilities. And given their unique mental abilities, there was just no way to know what psychological scars they carried. It is difficult to remember this...it still makes me cry.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
Music I'm Listening to....#2
Another confession: I'm a total "diva" magnet. I love the sultry voice of a talented woman. In fact, it's my belief that when I step off of the boat onto the shores of Heaven, the "manifestation of God" that will greet me will be a flashy, little, old Black woman in a leopard skin jacket, skirt, and pill box hat (a la Diann Arbus' photograph)...none other than Ella Fitzgerald.
Outrageous? Have you honestly considered the claims of present day belief systems lately? But I digress...
So may I commend to your consideration the works of Patty Griffin? An utterly amazing vocalist, her country/bluesy songs will leave you whipped...in a good way. The best friend you can have on a cloudy, dismal day: be that a day of unwelcome weather, or a day of internal sadness.
Promise.
Outrageous? Have you honestly considered the claims of present day belief systems lately? But I digress...
So may I commend to your consideration the works of Patty Griffin? An utterly amazing vocalist, her country/bluesy songs will leave you whipped...in a good way. The best friend you can have on a cloudy, dismal day: be that a day of unwelcome weather, or a day of internal sadness.
Promise.
Hiroshige@PhillipsCollection.DC
While in the midst of a multi-year rennovation/expansion, the Phillips Collection continues to host interesting and modest shows. The Hiroshige wood prints is a delightful example. The show features the 55 prints from Ando Hiroshige's first major series: Tokaido, scenes from the highway between Edo and Kyoto -- the Hoeido edition. The images cover the movements of travelers and pilgrims in all seasons and all forms of weather. Hiroshige's trademark depictions of rain, snow, and fog all present in the series. As is a lively mix of majestic rural and bustling urban moments along this road.
These carefully crafted images with their subtle coloration and stylized, assymetrical compositions are thoughtfully juxtaposed next to works from the Phillips Collection. Works by a variety of artists, mostly in oils, with some gauche, watercolor, and a lone print by Whistler. As lovely as the Hiroshige prints are, I will confess that some of these other works, rarely displayed (many of which I had never seen before except in print) where the gems of the show.
There were two of the PC's 5 Charles Burchfield watercolors: one a nocturne and the other a rural landscape, both repleat with his trademark egnimatic symbolism. There was a lovely intimate Paris street scene by Pierre Bonnard, several Twachtman's, a couple of atypical and gently beautiful works by Augustus Vincent Tack, two stunning guaches by Herald Weston, and a simply exquisite Gaugan entitled "Bathers and Fishermen".
A great way to spend a hot, humid afternoon. Unfortunately, there was not a catelogue, but you can find all 55 images of Ando Hiroshige at:
www.hiroshige.org.uk/hiroshige/
From there you want "The Fifty-Three Stations of the Tokaido Road," and then the top link "Hoeido Edition (1831-4)" will take you to the ones on display at the Phillips Collection. This is a great website for all of his work...easy to get lost there, too.
These carefully crafted images with their subtle coloration and stylized, assymetrical compositions are thoughtfully juxtaposed next to works from the Phillips Collection. Works by a variety of artists, mostly in oils, with some gauche, watercolor, and a lone print by Whistler. As lovely as the Hiroshige prints are, I will confess that some of these other works, rarely displayed (many of which I had never seen before except in print) where the gems of the show.
There were two of the PC's 5 Charles Burchfield watercolors: one a nocturne and the other a rural landscape, both repleat with his trademark egnimatic symbolism. There was a lovely intimate Paris street scene by Pierre Bonnard, several Twachtman's, a couple of atypical and gently beautiful works by Augustus Vincent Tack, two stunning guaches by Herald Weston, and a simply exquisite Gaugan entitled "Bathers and Fishermen".
A great way to spend a hot, humid afternoon. Unfortunately, there was not a catelogue, but you can find all 55 images of Ando Hiroshige at:
www.hiroshige.org.uk/hiroshige/
From there you want "The Fifty-Three Stations of the Tokaido Road," and then the top link "Hoeido Edition (1831-4)" will take you to the ones on display at the Phillips Collection. This is a great website for all of his work...easy to get lost there, too.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Random Quote #10
"Look how the lilies of the field grow; they neither toil nor spin, and yet, I tell you, even Solomon in all his grandeur was never robed like one of them."
~ the Good News from St. Matthew, Chapter 6, verses 28b & 29
~ the Good News from St. Matthew, Chapter 6, verses 28b & 29
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Speaking of Light
Isn't the light on my deck wonderful? I really enjoy this space, and my gardens continue to amaze me. Wish you were here...sincerely.
I Love Light
Light is an amazing thing. Bright or subtle, it doesn't matter to me. The way it illumines, the way it exposes, the way it creates shadows: Light is the best.
And there are three times in the day when the light draws my attention without fail. 1) The Pre-Dusk: in the later hours of the day. This is most true in Summer and Fall in particular. These fotos are of my backyard in late September with this special light turning autumn leaves into reflected flames of glorious color. 2) Early morning light. The light shortly after dawn that turns anything exposed to the east into gilded treasures. 3) Full moon reflected light. Have you ever run naked across a grassy field, dancing with arms outstreatched under the silvery glow of our moon on a July evening? I have. It's really a wonderful thing to do, but only if you are a true lover of light.
And there are three times in the day when the light draws my attention without fail. 1) The Pre-Dusk: in the later hours of the day. This is most true in Summer and Fall in particular. These fotos are of my backyard in late September with this special light turning autumn leaves into reflected flames of glorious color. 2) Early morning light. The light shortly after dawn that turns anything exposed to the east into gilded treasures. 3) Full moon reflected light. Have you ever run naked across a grassy field, dancing with arms outstreatched under the silvery glow of our moon on a July evening? I have. It's really a wonderful thing to do, but only if you are a true lover of light.
Sunday, July 10, 2005
Zimbabwe Memoir #1
Told you that I have been to many places! My trip to Zimbabwe was in December of 1990. It was part of a more extended visit to South Africa. In ten days, I got to see many parts of this beautiful nation.
Everywhere I went, I experienced such kindness and generosity. I traveled with my college friends, Mr. and Mrs. O. Our first stop was in the southern city of Bulawayo, where we stayed at the gracious invitation of an elderly Britisher couple -- the parents of a woman who attended the same church as Mr. and Mrs. O, in South Africa.
They were amazing people, having lived in Zimbabwe for over 30 years, and following its transition from the British colony of Southern Rhodesia, to it's then indigineously controlled nation of Zimbabwe.
At one point, we lamented our circumstances, which denied us a visit to the "Great Zimbabwe ruins" at "The Great Zimbabwe National Monument," and our male host decried, "The great Zimbabwe ruins? Just look around you!" And this seemed very accurate as we experienced both power and water outages, and drove past the carcasses of abandoned and "stripped" vehicles/busses along the dusty roadsides.
So they took us to the lesser known "Khami ruins" at the Matobo National Park. There I walked around similar circular and ancient structures and met my first rhinocerous in the wild. Also many baboons who inhabited the abandoned ruins.
And that was 15 years ago! I mourn Zimbabwe...a nation under the control of a despot leader. God, deliver the people of Zimbabwe ~ now that's a prayer worth repeating!
Everywhere I went, I experienced such kindness and generosity. I traveled with my college friends, Mr. and Mrs. O. Our first stop was in the southern city of Bulawayo, where we stayed at the gracious invitation of an elderly Britisher couple -- the parents of a woman who attended the same church as Mr. and Mrs. O, in South Africa.
They were amazing people, having lived in Zimbabwe for over 30 years, and following its transition from the British colony of Southern Rhodesia, to it's then indigineously controlled nation of Zimbabwe.
At one point, we lamented our circumstances, which denied us a visit to the "Great Zimbabwe ruins" at "The Great Zimbabwe National Monument," and our male host decried, "The great Zimbabwe ruins? Just look around you!" And this seemed very accurate as we experienced both power and water outages, and drove past the carcasses of abandoned and "stripped" vehicles/busses along the dusty roadsides.
So they took us to the lesser known "Khami ruins" at the Matobo National Park. There I walked around similar circular and ancient structures and met my first rhinocerous in the wild. Also many baboons who inhabited the abandoned ruins.
And that was 15 years ago! I mourn Zimbabwe...a nation under the control of a despot leader. God, deliver the people of Zimbabwe ~ now that's a prayer worth repeating!
Random Quote #9
"The greatest gift you ever give is your honest self."
~ "Mr." Fred Rogers (1928 - 2003)
~ "Mr." Fred Rogers (1928 - 2003)
Saturday, July 09, 2005
Taiwan Memoir #2
The summer I spent in Taiwan as an English teacher, at the tender age of 20, was really wonderful. I met many beautiful people. Their glow, their genuine natures, helped to form the foundation of my own philosophy of honesty.
But in 1981, I was anything but comfortable with "honesty": Still struggling with my sexuality -- (I'm gay, you remember that, right?) -- Still dabbling in the world of evangelical Christianity for answers.
So, well within the closet, and pretending to be straight: I participated in the English Camp of my host, the "Chung-T'ai Academy," in T'aichung, Taiwan. The camp was a chance for locals to get away from the grind of their lives and spend a long weekend practicing their English, and just enjoying themselves. To this end, we would engage in sports in the afternoons -- things like volleyball and ping-pong.
After one particularly heated volleyball game I retreated to a bench on the sidelines. Soon Mr. S. joined me. He was a young man whom I found very attractive and sweet. He sat down next to me and pressed his bare leg against mine, gazed into my eyes and declared, "We have something in common." My heart STOPPED! A confluence of hopes, desires, fears, and subterfuges ALL collided in my mind.
I remember responding with a very lame, "What?"
"We have something in common," he repeated with the delight of conspiracy in his voice, and then he grasped my thigh with his sweaty hand (proximity for Taiwanese is considerable less than for us frigid Americans!). And to my frozen expression, he said, "We both have hairy legs."
Exhaling a muted sigh of relief, I glanced at his smooth and muscular legs, and sure enough, there were at least 5 little wiry, black hairs protruding from his otherwise porcelain smooth flesh.
So, Mr. S., we do have one thing in common, and I have long wondered whether or not we might have another....
But in 1981, I was anything but comfortable with "honesty": Still struggling with my sexuality -- (I'm gay, you remember that, right?) -- Still dabbling in the world of evangelical Christianity for answers.
So, well within the closet, and pretending to be straight: I participated in the English Camp of my host, the "Chung-T'ai Academy," in T'aichung, Taiwan. The camp was a chance for locals to get away from the grind of their lives and spend a long weekend practicing their English, and just enjoying themselves. To this end, we would engage in sports in the afternoons -- things like volleyball and ping-pong.
After one particularly heated volleyball game I retreated to a bench on the sidelines. Soon Mr. S. joined me. He was a young man whom I found very attractive and sweet. He sat down next to me and pressed his bare leg against mine, gazed into my eyes and declared, "We have something in common." My heart STOPPED! A confluence of hopes, desires, fears, and subterfuges ALL collided in my mind.
I remember responding with a very lame, "What?"
"We have something in common," he repeated with the delight of conspiracy in his voice, and then he grasped my thigh with his sweaty hand (proximity for Taiwanese is considerable less than for us frigid Americans!). And to my frozen expression, he said, "We both have hairy legs."
Exhaling a muted sigh of relief, I glanced at his smooth and muscular legs, and sure enough, there were at least 5 little wiry, black hairs protruding from his otherwise porcelain smooth flesh.
So, Mr. S., we do have one thing in common, and I have long wondered whether or not we might have another....
Music I'm Listening to...#1
My taste in music is very ecclectic. I used to say that I would listen to anything BUT heavy metal and Rap. And then I connected with Latino Rap! Very seductive. So my taste is all over the place. And my heart is open.
This evening I have been in a pensive mood, so Rolando Villazón's "Italian Arias" have been my background music. On this CD, this Mexican tenor has given us some really wonderful operatic "standards". And yet, his first selection is both a bold and amazing rendition of "Lamento: É la solita storia" by Francesco Cilea (1866-1950) that will leave you utterly undone.
Of the music that I listen to, opera is a minor chord, yet this CD continues to play a major role.
This evening I have been in a pensive mood, so Rolando Villazón's "Italian Arias" have been my background music. On this CD, this Mexican tenor has given us some really wonderful operatic "standards". And yet, his first selection is both a bold and amazing rendition of "Lamento: É la solita storia" by Francesco Cilea (1866-1950) that will leave you utterly undone.
Of the music that I listen to, opera is a minor chord, yet this CD continues to play a major role.
Friday, July 08, 2005
Random Quote #8
“Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born”
~ Anais Nin, 1903 ~ 1977
~ Anais Nin, 1903 ~ 1977
Thursday, July 07, 2005
R. O. C. (Taiwan) Memoir #1
As I said earlier, I've been very blessed to have had the opportunity to travel and live in various places. I spent my summer in 1981 in Taiwan. It was an interesting time to be there. The United States was just removing it's ties to the Republic of China militarily, in favor of a better relationship with the People's Republic of China -- an initiative begun under Nixon and then receiving greater impetus under Reagan.
So I spent the summer teaching ESOL (English as a Second Language) at an Chung Tai Academy in T'aichung. T'aichung was the third city at the time, behind T'aipei and Koahsuing. The population was about 350,000. I taught four classes that ranged from a group of girls from the city's premier girl's high school, to adults with a fair ability with English, to beginners (adults with very little exposure to the language).
The experience was awesome, and formed the basis for my choice to become a teacher. I will share more from this time, over time.
So I spent the summer teaching ESOL (English as a Second Language) at an Chung Tai Academy in T'aichung. T'aichung was the third city at the time, behind T'aipei and Koahsuing. The population was about 350,000. I taught four classes that ranged from a group of girls from the city's premier girl's high school, to adults with a fair ability with English, to beginners (adults with very little exposure to the language).
The experience was awesome, and formed the basis for my choice to become a teacher. I will share more from this time, over time.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Costa Rican Memoir #3
My position at Colegio Metodista was my first full time teaching job. Trained in elementary/middle school, I was hired there to teach high school (grades 9-11, geography/English), which was a really great experience.
It taught me that it's not the subject or the age that matters, but the people. Information can be found in books, on websites, from many sources. It does not transform individuals as powerfully or as completely as a personal witness -- a caring relationship.
We each hold the potential to rock the worlds of those around us, simply by demonstrating love for one another. This is NOT a religious thing. Anyone can care; and everyone needs to feel cared for.
I recently found a card from my nineth grade geography students which they gave to me on the occasion of "Father's Day" in 1984. Mind you, I was scarcely old enough to be any of their older brothers, and certainly NOT any of their fathers. Here are a couple of the quotes:
"Thank you. You're like a 2nd father to me" ~ S. Jimenez
"Thank you for being such a special friend and a great "Daddy"..." ~ S. Kravitz
"A very happy and special day to you 'Daddy'!" ~ D. Gonzalez
It taught me that it's not the subject or the age that matters, but the people. Information can be found in books, on websites, from many sources. It does not transform individuals as powerfully or as completely as a personal witness -- a caring relationship.
We each hold the potential to rock the worlds of those around us, simply by demonstrating love for one another. This is NOT a religious thing. Anyone can care; and everyone needs to feel cared for.
I recently found a card from my nineth grade geography students which they gave to me on the occasion of "Father's Day" in 1984. Mind you, I was scarcely old enough to be any of their older brothers, and certainly NOT any of their fathers. Here are a couple of the quotes:
"Thank you. You're like a 2nd father to me" ~ S. Jimenez
"Thank you for being such a special friend and a great "Daddy"..." ~ S. Kravitz
"A very happy and special day to you 'Daddy'!" ~ D. Gonzalez
Something Scary This Way Goeth
Driving to the market today, I happened to find myself behind a car from South Carolina which bore this type of license plate. And my stomach turned within me.
Whatever happened to the separation of church and state?
Whatever happened to the separation of church and state?
Monday, July 04, 2005
Random Quote #7
“We find rest in those we love, and we provide a resting place in ourselves for those who love us.”
~ St. Bernard de Clairvaux, 1090 ~ 1153
~ St. Bernard de Clairvaux, 1090 ~ 1153
Saturday, July 02, 2005
...with Liberty and Justice for ALL.
This is a phrase from our pledge of allegiance to our flag. It's something I have recited a little over 6,000 times in my life. Researchers tell us that it takes about 15 repetitions of something to commit it to memory. So 400 times that would seem to commit it to the soul. It is something that I profoundly believe in. It is something profoundly lacking in the current leadership of our nation. So much has been written about this moral abyss, that I don't plan to add anything new or insightful to it. It just saddens me deeply.
Yet being a citizen of this amazing nation does not sadden me in the least. It is an unwarranted fact, based upon the accident of my birth, that I give thanks for every single day. Because though the clouds of jingoism and neo-fascism cast their shadows upon the shining principles that founded this nation, they will not endure the test of time. We are a greater people than our current leadership realizes.
But enough of this...the founding of our nation is a day to remember and celebrate. On the cusp of July 4th, (as nearly 1,800 Americans have given their lives in a dubious conflict that only lies would justify -- okay, one last jab!), I want to remember my uncle Bobby -- Robert Lee by birth. He joined the army while the ink on his high school diploma was still drying, against the will of his mother (my grandmother), so compelling was the cause: to stop the spread of Fascism and the Nazi juggernaut. He trained in Mississippi and was sent to England. On December 24, his ship left the port of Dover on its way to the conflict in Europe. But it never arrived. The USS Leopoldville was torpedoed by a Nazi submarine shortly before 6 PM on Christmas Eve. In letters from the men who survived that horrific experience, his friends testify to Bobby's sacrificial actions. A Staff Sergeant, Bobby removed his life jacket and gave it to another man, and eventually dove into the icy waters of the English Channel in hopes of a miracle...but it was to be his grave.
So, I never knew my uncle Bobby. He died almost 17 years to the day before I was born. Growing up, I heard many stories about his happy-go-lucky personality, his generous nature, his impish side, (something my family has deeply embedded in our genes!) I have a copy of a report he wrote back in 1942 as a Junior in high school. It's titled, “Me, Myself, and I”. It's written in his own hand, and is the only record of his life in the first person that exists. You can imagine how I cherish it. When my grandmother succumbed to the dementia of Alzheimer's she began to refer to me as Bobby, whenever I would visit her in the nursing home. And while this drove my father crazy, I was really happy to be “Bobby” for her. Like Lazarus from the grave, she saw me, and the dead was resurrected. She would tell me things about Bobby in these moments simply by interrogating me as if I was him. He must have been a good man.
So I remember this good man I never knew on this Independence Day. And I trust that his sacrifice, like all of the sacrifice made in the name of this nation, was made in the full hope and faith that the United States would exemplified the credo: “One nation, with liberty and justice for all.”
Yet being a citizen of this amazing nation does not sadden me in the least. It is an unwarranted fact, based upon the accident of my birth, that I give thanks for every single day. Because though the clouds of jingoism and neo-fascism cast their shadows upon the shining principles that founded this nation, they will not endure the test of time. We are a greater people than our current leadership realizes.
But enough of this...the founding of our nation is a day to remember and celebrate. On the cusp of July 4th, (as nearly 1,800 Americans have given their lives in a dubious conflict that only lies would justify -- okay, one last jab!), I want to remember my uncle Bobby -- Robert Lee by birth. He joined the army while the ink on his high school diploma was still drying, against the will of his mother (my grandmother), so compelling was the cause: to stop the spread of Fascism and the Nazi juggernaut. He trained in Mississippi and was sent to England. On December 24, his ship left the port of Dover on its way to the conflict in Europe. But it never arrived. The USS Leopoldville was torpedoed by a Nazi submarine shortly before 6 PM on Christmas Eve. In letters from the men who survived that horrific experience, his friends testify to Bobby's sacrificial actions. A Staff Sergeant, Bobby removed his life jacket and gave it to another man, and eventually dove into the icy waters of the English Channel in hopes of a miracle...but it was to be his grave.
So, I never knew my uncle Bobby. He died almost 17 years to the day before I was born. Growing up, I heard many stories about his happy-go-lucky personality, his generous nature, his impish side, (something my family has deeply embedded in our genes!) I have a copy of a report he wrote back in 1942 as a Junior in high school. It's titled, “Me, Myself, and I”. It's written in his own hand, and is the only record of his life in the first person that exists. You can imagine how I cherish it. When my grandmother succumbed to the dementia of Alzheimer's she began to refer to me as Bobby, whenever I would visit her in the nursing home. And while this drove my father crazy, I was really happy to be “Bobby” for her. Like Lazarus from the grave, she saw me, and the dead was resurrected. She would tell me things about Bobby in these moments simply by interrogating me as if I was him. He must have been a good man.
So I remember this good man I never knew on this Independence Day. And I trust that his sacrifice, like all of the sacrifice made in the name of this nation, was made in the full hope and faith that the United States would exemplified the credo: “One nation, with liberty and justice for all.”
My Love Affair with Words: My Favorite Novel
Okay, true confessions: While I have been a teacher of reading for over two decades, I was not a kid who liked to read. In fact, I spent more energy in elementary school cheating on reading assessments than I ever did on actually trying to read anything. Reading was just too tedious. And what was the point, I mean, it was more fun faking it than doing it!
And yet a review of my old report cards reveals teacher after teacher who praised my reading skills! You can imagine how my students delight in this irony! And how keen I am to catch the fakers!
So I am a definite Johnny-come-lately to the world of literature. And since entering it, I am no veloceraptor in my consumption of books. The books I read are few, and more often than not discarded before finished. Yet the ones that resonate with me.... those I savor! I devour them purposefully, and I enter into their worlds with a passion that borders on mania. The characters become my intimates, and I feel all of their emotions, their every action with a presence of one inextricably connected to them.
My first experience of this intimate participation happened while reading “Anna Karenina” by Leo Tolstoy. There's a scene where the protagonist recognizes Anna in a carriage and in his unbridled joy he runs along side of her buggy. It's a really pedestrian moment in the entire scope of the novel, and yet I suddenly burst into tears! I felt myself running there, the muscles of my legs staining to keep up, my lungs heaving with exertion, my heart full of the presence of my “beloved”. I swear to you, I cried so hard that I choked! And I was utterly amazed by the power of those century old words to grip my heart and squeeze it so!
And then I understood. I understood the allure of the written word. How like some drug, it could actually alter someone's state of consciousness. How words can command our emotions, delivering us to new worlds and new understandings of the world we inhabit.
My favorite novel is James Baldwin's “Go Tell It on the Mountain”. The first time I read it, was right out of college, and I can't remember for the life of me, why I picked it up. I have read it probably half a dozen times since then.
It's the semi-autobiographical story of a young black man growing up in Harlem in the shadows of his mother, stepfather, and aunt. Written as a triptych, each third tells the story of how each of these adults came to be where they are in life. My favorite scene is when the stepfather, Gabriel, is returning home after a night with a young woman, and on a lonely mist shrouded lane, he encounters God. It's just an utterly insightful and amazing moment in the novel. I have read everything that James Baldwin has written, and none of it reaches the virtuosity of this first novel. Not even the gay themed “Giovanni's Room”. This is his tour de force, and an oft-ignored American classic.
And yet a review of my old report cards reveals teacher after teacher who praised my reading skills! You can imagine how my students delight in this irony! And how keen I am to catch the fakers!
So I am a definite Johnny-come-lately to the world of literature. And since entering it, I am no veloceraptor in my consumption of books. The books I read are few, and more often than not discarded before finished. Yet the ones that resonate with me.... those I savor! I devour them purposefully, and I enter into their worlds with a passion that borders on mania. The characters become my intimates, and I feel all of their emotions, their every action with a presence of one inextricably connected to them.
My first experience of this intimate participation happened while reading “Anna Karenina” by Leo Tolstoy. There's a scene where the protagonist recognizes Anna in a carriage and in his unbridled joy he runs along side of her buggy. It's a really pedestrian moment in the entire scope of the novel, and yet I suddenly burst into tears! I felt myself running there, the muscles of my legs staining to keep up, my lungs heaving with exertion, my heart full of the presence of my “beloved”. I swear to you, I cried so hard that I choked! And I was utterly amazed by the power of those century old words to grip my heart and squeeze it so!
And then I understood. I understood the allure of the written word. How like some drug, it could actually alter someone's state of consciousness. How words can command our emotions, delivering us to new worlds and new understandings of the world we inhabit.
My favorite novel is James Baldwin's “Go Tell It on the Mountain”. The first time I read it, was right out of college, and I can't remember for the life of me, why I picked it up. I have read it probably half a dozen times since then.
It's the semi-autobiographical story of a young black man growing up in Harlem in the shadows of his mother, stepfather, and aunt. Written as a triptych, each third tells the story of how each of these adults came to be where they are in life. My favorite scene is when the stepfather, Gabriel, is returning home after a night with a young woman, and on a lonely mist shrouded lane, he encounters God. It's just an utterly insightful and amazing moment in the novel. I have read everything that James Baldwin has written, and none of it reaches the virtuosity of this first novel. Not even the gay themed “Giovanni's Room”. This is his tour de force, and an oft-ignored American classic.
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