Bittersweet

I feel sick to my stomach. During my ten minute break at work I had to send another set of flowers. This is my fourth set this week. All have been for funerals. Four people dying within a week. In Africa or Iraq or many Third World Countries this would be nothing new. But I feel like someone's sitting on my chest.

Yesterday, I found out that one of the youth I used to work with (I was a Youth Leader for 3 years for those who don't know) died in a car accident on Sunset Boulevard. He was a passenger, he was 20 years old, and he was the Pastor's son.

The other three deaths consisted of 2 fathers of friends and one younger brother. Only one was expected.

I wish I had something wise and wonderful to say right now but truly nothing seems appropriate. The standard response I get from people, "It just makes you realize you should tell people how much you love and appreciate them while you have time because you never know..." although true, it just doesn't seem to do justice to the magnitude of the lives lost and the answer seems to be too pat.

All I can do is to take in the shock, continue to try to move on, and take solace from the responses of the friends who have lost their loved ones.

Pete said they expected 200 people at his younger brother's funeral and over 500 showed up. The outpouring of love from his brother's community of friends and family was wonderful and gave a lot of comfort.

Sandy said that she got to meet family members that she'd never gotten to meet before and it was good.

There's a lot to be said for bittersweet.

Bittersweet, although never fun, tends to make up a majority of the little bits life we remember and cherish the most.

If there has to be bitter...let there be some sweet to go with it.

Dogs, Turkey, and the Best Invention Ever

"Happy Stay!"

I close the door on the dog's face, walk a few steps, and open the another door that leads to the kitchen.

"Okay Moxie!"

A short little energetic dog wobbles inside wagging his tail furiously.

This has been my week. The dogs have been at each other's necks...literally. Happy took a clamp on Moxie's neck on Monday and he's wounded. So now my week consists of keeping them separate and trying my best to keep house time even between them. It's definitely a balancing act.

I'm dog-sitting two dogs for a week at my friend's home and have been away from blogging because my new apartment doesn't have electricity yet. But, all of my stuff except for kitchen stuff and shoes have already been moved over. (I'm working on an old IBM. I mean ooold, so if I cut off you'll know why.)

I wasn't sure whether or not I had set up my electricity to start on August 1st or the 15th but just before this, I learned that it was indeed the 1st so right after my week of dogsitting I can actually work into the night organizing my new place instead of trying to work by crankshaft flashlight and getting tired of trying and going back to my old place. And most of all, the best invention ever! Air Conditioning!

My mind has been churning. As I peel away the plastic from the Turkey Ham deli meat, I remind myself that Turkey is only 2 weeks away. I've not packed. I'm not even ready in any shape, way or form other than my Malaria medication and my Visa.

Organize my home.
Pack for Turkey.
Scramble like crazy to get to the airport.

I think that's what my week will be. What am I doing? Where is all my time going?!? Panic ensues!

Remember to breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Okay. Moving is nothing new. In the 12 years between high school through after University I'd moved 13 times. It's just a bit different now. It's been awhile.

The computer's flashing funny errors at me. And..

Turkey, Harry Potter, Transition or Bust

We have funeral processions every once in awhile downtown near where I work. The thing that strikes me most about them is the sense of nobleness that is projected. I don't know if it is the truth about these men and women who die in the line of duty because I don't know the details of their deaths...but every time one occurs it reminds me to reflect on transitions and on both the value and the lack of value we put on life. To look past the traffic to the person who's being mourned and celebrated.

Why do we wait until someone dies to celebrate their life? Or do we wait? Maybe that's what birthdays and weddings and anniversaries and bon voyages are for.

How do we keep our heads above water when big transitions happen? I'm trying to figure that out. I'm thinking it's the little things but what a spry and perfect sounding answer with no backing! Anyone have an answer?

I'm looking forward to Turkey. The trip begins on August 19th (just 2 days before the Grand Prix -- as my sister and I found out yesterday as we tried to book our flight.)

In my head I have this list:
0. Get excited about getting the new Harry Potter book.
1. Move apartments
2. Host Book Club (and read the book of course.)
3. Pack for Turkey

If I think about anything above and beyond these three things I get overwhelmed and paralyzed and then nothing gets done. Then I remind myself that my life is not about checked off lists. In fact, I hope no-one's life is about checked off lists. That would be disappointing wouldn't it?

I'll take my moments with God, family, friends, silence alone, any time traveling, and those warm moments curled up watching Hikaru No Go or reading a book. *hee hee*

Roger That

I have a confession. I've been eavesdropping on total strangers conversations. I couldn't help it. It was mesmerizing.

 I'd just purchased a pair of 10 mile range walkie talkies for my sister's camping trip. But, she purchased her own. So last night I went through the instructions to figure out how they worked. I hit the scanner button and came across a bunch of guys talking on channel 18. And I listened.

It reminded me of a time when I was 4 and my sister was 5 and we were with the neighbor boys at their house playing. David, 6, had a CB walkie talkie and my sister started talking to all the truckers pretending she was a grown up. Looking back, they could probably tell she was a kid by her high squeaky voice. But in my mind it was forbidden and dangerous because at any moment I expected an adult to come in and find out what we were doing and yell at us.

This was just a bunch of guys talking about appropriate radio etiquette. "No, your call sign is only for announcing yourself at the end of a conversation. Some guys do it at the beginning and the end of a conversation, but I just think that's a waste of time." "So, if my family gets on the radio with me, do they use my call sign? or should they get their own?" and so on, and so on, and so on. It was really nothing that should be interesting, but like some people who get caught up in their front hallway monitors to see who goes in and out I was caught up wondering if these guys realized they were being listened to. And what would happen if I just started talking? Would they get mad?

 I hit a few buttons on my walkie talkie to see if it would make any noise and they would catch on but nothing happened and I didn't have the guts to actually say something. So I just listened. In a way it's like reading blogs isn't it? Your audience may be specific, but you open yourself to other people reading what you write. Anyone from anywhere.

I remember someone telling me as a child that I was too curious. Sometimes I wonder if that is a compliment or a condemnation. All I can say in response right now is, "Roger that."

The Absence of Movement

I am literally staring at a postcard of London posted on the backboard of my cubicle at work. It has an image of Big Ben with a double-decker bus in the foreground, a Royal guardsman, and a bridge along the Thames.

I was driving up from San Diego to pick up my Dad at LAX when I heard about the bombings on the morning of the 14th.

Later in the morning after being a little snippy towards my family my father mentions in Taiwanese that I'm not in a good mood.

Me: "No, I'm not. The news this morning about London upset me."

Dad: "Why did it upset you?"

Me: "It just did."

But in my head I'm thinking... Why does it NOT upset you? Shouldn't the horror of what happened upset everyone? Isn't that what it is to be human?
Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe being human means coping by numbing yourself to anything that doesn't have to do with your immediate physical world within a span of a few miles. I hope not. But we humans are an odd bunch aren't we? All types. That's what makes us adaptable as a species.

For my friends in London I can only say that I'm speechless and enormously sad that the world has come to this. My heart goes out to you and your community. And I'm sure those who have seen horrors...those in Rwanda,other parts of Africa, Iraq, Jerusalem, Palestine, New York, North Korea, Ireland, China, Sarajevo...all sympathize with you.

In the midst of everything we move forward.

"We remember most the moments of abrupt stillness. Where the world seems to stop. For a second, a minute, or an hour. This is what draws our attention. Because we are a people of movement. It is not the movement that defines our lives. It is in the absence of movement where it is defined."

That's a paraphrase of a thought taught in during actor training. I'll leave this posting with that thought and let you make your own comments.

Getting the Red Out

I feel better. This weekend after walking through sawdust and trying to avoid hundreds of people eating corn on the cob and greasy foods at the Del Mar County Fair I walked into an air conditioned, quiet exhibit of Art and Photography.

I like art, but I especially like GOOD photography (bad photography doesn't do anything for me. I see bad photography every time I look at my own photos) because of the stories they tell, the emotions they evoke, the point of view and the beauty of the world they can show. I find myself staring of photos going..."Wow, I've never looked at that thing that way before"; or "That's beautiful, I didn't know it could be that beautiful"; or "I want to know more about that story."

Contests are great because there's a hodge podge of all kinds of photography. You get photojournalism but you also get pictures of flowers or architecture. It was great looking at the blue ribbons all the way down to the honorable mentions and also a few that didn't win any prizes.

It has renewed my sense of the beauty of the world and the beauty within humanity. Both God made and man made. Because how can you create and see such great, interesting, and aesthetically pleasing work unless there's beauty within you too right?

A great website is www.photo.net. It used to be my home page but blogger took its spot.

Now, if only I could figure out how to take the red out of the retinas on most of my own photos. *sigh*

A Little Hope Goes A Long Way

When did we get so screwed up? I can't fathom why the world we have developed as a society is so outrageously inhumane. It seems as if this past month I learn about some new horror every week. I'm not talking about serial murders or crimes committed in the cities. Although, they are horrible. I'm talking about genocide and gross inhumanities.

I just finished watching Hotel Rwanda this afternoon. My heart broke. Between Rwanda, Iraq, and North Korea and then the history of humankind having event after event of this kind over and over again. It's a wonder we're still here.

I daydream about being able to save more, or even being able to talk sense into those who are killing: the suicide bombers, the extremeists from the wars, the soldiers of North Korea who don't know any better.

I daydream about being able to break the tedium with something surprising: Bunches of Sunflowers and Lavendar colored flowers admist green foliage for those men and women in the desert who are used to the color of dust and clay and sand. Booming explosives that don't end in destruction and death but instead, harmless yet brilliant sparks of celebration that fill the sky with beauty and awe and a reminder of the Fourth of July. Freedom and Independence.

I daydream about Rainforests and Icecaps that aren't disappering into nothingness while people either don't care; care but don't know what to do; or care and yet their cries fall upon deaf ears, blind eyes, and minds that are swirling with all the problems and troubles of their own lives that they choose not to take in one more thing. One more thing they feel they cannot control.

I daydream about not being one of these people and yet I know I am. It pains me to know this and pains me worse to accept it.

The idealist within me sees a future where there's hope. There's change. The realist within me knows that people hate change. We adapt but not without crying, whining, making it more painful than it should be, or fighting it with our last breath. And to make the change that's needed to become a world where this rant isn't pertinent or valid would be inconvenient to the lives of most and thus it won't come.

I don't know which will win. I hope it's the first. A little hope goes a long way.