Esoteric Bowl

In 1973, my father was the same age that I am now. At this age, he had already seen much of the world, fought in two wars, retired from his principle occupation, and was knee-deep in the next. At the same time, my mother had already given birth to my two brothers and I. She was now working outside the home, establishing herself in the business world and quickly making her way towards positions previously held only by men.

I look back at their lives during that time and wonder about all the things that they knew then that I still don’t. In comparison to their life, my life is like another world completely. Their life had so much structure and a strong foundation, while my life is often like a boat without an anchor.

I try to picture what they would have thought of someone like me, and would the three of us get along at that time. My dad and I certainly would have conversed. He standing behind his bar and I seated on a stool listening to his many stories, marveling at
how he could remember and tell so many funny jokes. I think he and I would have been able to talk about any subject without conflict, so long as we stayed away from politics.

It would have been interesting to talk with my mom. I remember back at that time where so many people had told her how she had inspired or touched their lives, and from a strangers standpoint, I would have liked to have seen how she was able to touch those people so
deeply.

Being that our worlds are so very different, I imagine that they wouldn’t know someone like me, nor would I know them. But if we did come into contact in some way, I’m sure that we would have gotten along. On the other hand, their three bratty kids would have gotten on my nerves.

I walked over to the university. As expected, the campus was virtually empty. I made my way to the Japanese garden, and sat upon the soft green grass. I never tire of being in this place. The garden itself is beautiful. The entire area is meticulously maintained. Every plant, every rock, each individual stone, all seem to be in the right place.

But more beauty exists in this garden than meets the eye. Each time I come here, there is a gift of some form waiting for me. It may be a gift of thought or a gift of inspiration, or a memory long since forgotten will present itself. Sometimes the gift is silence, a soothing silence unlike the silence I often find at home or elsewhere.

I watched the koi glide through the water, their magnificent colors shining and fading into the light and shade. Though the pond is vast, they move as one in a particular space. They gracefully intermingle, their individual colors seem to bleed into one another as they greet with a soft kiss, then move towards the next to repeat the dance.

I see a lone fish towards the right of me, and become transfixed on his movement. This koi is a lovely blend of red and white, and though it is not the most beautifully decorated fish in the water, nor is it the biggest, I am filled with a sense that it is different. As I watch him in the far end of the pond, I can’t help but feel a connection to him. I understand his need to be alone. Still, I wonder if this moment for him is filled with a silent longing or is it a quiet contentment.

Six stories/topics the media insists I know, but I care nothing about:

Michael Jackson holding his kid over a balcony. Let’s just accept that this guy is weird and move on.

The marriage of Jennifer Lopez & Ben Affleck. What will last longer, the publicity for the marriage or the marriage itself?

The ongoing saga of the British Royal Family. Other than the British, who cares what Prince Charles does?

Winona Ryder shoplifting. It says something about the skill of an actor when the most publicity ever received is for shoplifting.

The sales receipts for movies. Other than those connected with the movies, does anyone care how much Harry Potter or James Bond grossed over the weekend?

The fascination with reality television. Let’s face it, the herd doesn’t need to be led to water, they will drink anything.
——

While I am on the topic of the media, I must say that it’s appalling at how the mass-media is romanticizing the war on Iraq for the obvious purpose of ratings. Yes, I do want to be informed and know what is going on with the potential conflict, but does the media have to salivate while reporting it? Much of the media is looking upon the possibility of war as some form of game, and they are milking it with self-promotion and countdown specials. What has happened to our mainstream media? It’s as if it has been kidnapped.

So I’m standing in the checkout line at Star Supermarket. The line is somewhat long and moving at a turtles pace, so my eyes browse the familiar impulse-items of assorted candies and magazines. I notice from the corner of my eye, a little someone standing alongside of me.

I look down and see a cute little asian girl, no more than three years old, staring up at me with bright shiny eyes. I offer her a soft smile, but she continues to stare. I glance back to see who she belongs to, and see her mother busy with pen and checkbook.

The line moves forward two steps, with the little girl moving as well and continuing her stare. Then I hear the voice from the little girl. “Mommy. Mommy. Kwis Kwingle, Mommy. Kwis Kwingle.” I look in her direction to see what she is looking at, and it is me.

“Jen, that’s not Kris Kringle. Come over here,” the mother tells her. I look back towards the mom to give a reasuring look that it’s alright. The woman smiles and apologizes, explaining that they have recently been watching the Santa Claus Is Coming To Town video at home. I told her it was no problem, and smiled towards the girl.

After exiting the store and walking through the parking lot, I looked back to see if the girl and her mom had also left the store. I saw the woman placing bags into her car, and the little one standing alongside of her. I continued to walk, and just for fun, I bellowed out my best HO HO HO.

I’ve never been mistaken for Kris Kringle before, but I suppose if a small child is going to see me that way, it’s better to look like Santa in his younger years prior to the big belly and long white beard.

I watched the two-part series of Jimmy Carter’s life on PBS. I know there are those that look upon his time in the White House with contempt, but I always thought he did well considering the tumultuous times that he served as president. Perhaps historians will see the larger picture of his term and put it in a proper context.

No matter what one thinks of his presidency, there can be no questioning the work he has done following his exit from the White House. Since his presidency, he and Rosalynn have traveled to more than 120 countries, participated with Habitat for Humanity in building homes for people from New York City to South Africa, has been an observer in numerous elections to ensure the democratic process was followed, assisted in teaching farming skills to the poor, has helped implement peaceful resolutions for nations in conflict, and has ensured that the Carter Center will continue such work for many years to come.

In a time where it is fashionable for polititicians to retire to a life of privilege with book-tours, countless speaking engagements, and lofty positions within political action groups and corporations, I find it refreshing that a former president continues to do so very much for those less fortunate than himself. Certainly his actions speak volumes about the quality of his character. Perhaps Carter’s greatest long-term accomplishments are those that he achieved after leaving the White House. I wonder how many former presidents that can be said about.

PAUH! That was the sound I heard this morning as I flipped the switch to the kitchen light. The life of the bulb had ended. Standing in the darkness, I was faced with the question of whether to first change the bulb or make a pot of coffee. The voice of caffeine spoke, so I began spooning the grounds into the filter of Mr. Coffee.

The basic thing to remember when making a pot of coffee is the number of scoops one has already placed into the filter. Sounds easy enough. But for some reason, I tend to get lost in the counting. I ask myself whether the count began with the scooping of grounds or the pouring of grounds into the filter. Suddenly I have lost all count, and I am left to my ability to judge by sight the approximate scoop number I may actually be at.

Maybe I should have changed the bulb first.

I can’t see how much coffee I have put into the filter. So I open the refrigerator door and use the light coming from it to gauge my coffee level. I continue putting grounds into the filter until it looks about right, then add one more scoop just for luck. I leave the refrigerator door open so I can see how much water I am pouring and to make sure I don’t pour it all over the kitchen counter. Click on the Mr. Coffee, and I’m all set.

I turn around and walk right into the refrigerator door, knocking bottles of condiments and jars of jams and jellies to the floor. Fortunately, nothing is broken, but the box of baking soda has spilled its contents all over floor. I place the bottles and jars back into the door of the refrigerator, then grab the broom and sweep up the baking soda.

The coffee drips far too slowly.

I stand on my tip-toes to unscrew the light fixture. It’s an old glass fixture with three screws at the base. As I turn each screw, I can feel the blood draining down the veins of my arms. After the fixture has been removed, I walk over to feel the light switch to ensure it is in the off position. Considering how the morning has unfolded thus far, electrocution not only seems possible, but probable.

I remove the old bulb, which was 60 watts, and put in the new bulb, which is 100 watts. Wow, big difference. The kitchen is BRIGHT. I never realized how dark the kitchen was before. I might actually be able to see what my food looks like now.

Coffee is done. Ahhhhh, ready to start the day.

As far back as I can remember, the democratic party has ruled every level of Hawaii politics. For so very long, we have had nothing close to a two-party system. While the democratic machine continually won election after election, the republican party was always seen as the little engine that couldn’t.

Now, after more than 40 years, Hawaii has a governor from the republican party. Somewhere along the way, the democratic party in Hawaii had become the status quo, and Hawaii’s republican party became a voice for change and fresh ideas. And while I have always leaned towards the left when it has come to local politics, I am glad to see the change.

It is a bittersweet change.

I had hoped and prayed the democratic leadership would find solutions to our problems. Instead, they got fat and lazy. Their rhetoric became the same each election year, while the same problems would continue. They have also had a bad habit of forever leaning upon the ghosts from the party, relying on the voting majority to remain loyal to those ghosts, and to support whoever had a (D) in front of their name.

Now we have a republican governor; Hawaii’s first woman governor. An historic election in many ways. In the short-term, only time will tell if a republican governor can bring about postive change in the islands. In the long run, I hope politics resembling a two-party system will invigorate the political system in the islands. I hope the democratic leadership has learned something from all of this.