Esoteric Bowl

Years ago, I adopted the local tradition of eating noodles prior to the New Year. It’s considered to be a food that will bring about good luck throughout the coming year. I’m unsure of it’s ability to bring good luck, but I really like eating noodles, so the tradition at least provides a reason to eat and share noodles with others.

Looking back on this year, I can’t really say that 2002 was a particularly great or significantly bad year. It all flew by so quickly. I had a great amount of optimism when the year began, wanting to believe that the balance in the number 2002 would translate into a little more balance for us all. Instead, it often felt like the world couldn’t get any more unbalanced.

Looking ahead to 2003, I don’t forsee that desired balance coming any time soon, at least not on a global level. Far too much talk of war. Far too much conflict and the pointing of fingers at each other, rather than working together to find answers. I’m still holding out for positive dialog and peaceful solutions.

On a local level, there does seem to be a light breeze of optimism in the air. Hawaii’s first woman governor was recently elected, and she has some fresh ideas on how to turn this ship around. I hope she will be given the chance to make the necessary changes.

On a personal level, I’m gonna take 2003 one day at a time. I know it’s a bit of a cliche, but it seems to work for me. Today, I’m looking forward to noodles.

Thank you all for visiting the site this past year, and a special thanks to those of you that have taken the time to share your thoughts. Without you, this journal wouldn’t be as fun. Happy New Year to you all.

For Millie.

I recently had to make an unexpected visit to the VA hospital. Since I didn’t have a scheduled appointment, it meant that I would have to wait a while to be seen by a doctor. It’s not so bad waiting, as I can usually keep myself occupied.

On this particular day, I had to wait over five hours before I got to see a doctor. In the meantime, I read my book, watched some television, took a Cosmo magazine test to determine if I was a giving lover, tried the various cologne samples in the fashion magazines by rubbing the pages on myself, and took a catnap.

Once I did see the doctor, she spent no more than 15 minutes with me. In that time, she had determined that it would be necessary for me to be seen by specialist at a later date. I asked when it would be that I would see this specialist. She told me the appointment would be “in about a month”, and that I would recieve a letter in the mail as to when the appointment would be. I then asked when it would be that I would receive this letter. She told me, “in about a month.”

Out of curiosity, I asked her, if her child or husband had the same problem that I was having, would she suggest to them that they wait a month or longer before being seen by a speacialist? She paused. Her brief silence didn’t provide the reassurance that I was seeking. She then responded with an unconvincing, “It should be alright.”

I’m happy. Not happy-happy, but more like content. Well, not content-content, but it’s more of a calm. But the calm doesn’t hold a spiritual radiance of knowing, rather it offers a feeling that is more of a quiet silence. Yeah that’s it, a feeling of silence. It’s like a prolonged moment of respectful silence one would give for something that has died.

Although this silence has qualities of being hollow, it is not an empty silence. Nor is it a dark silence, the kind that exists in the bowels of depression. But still, there is an unexplainable degree of sadness to it. A vague sadness that never seems to be completely erased. Always present, and often concealed, it rests in its own silence behind a thin wall of building tears.

When I was child, I would walk to elementary school. Each day I would pass a vacant lot where cars had been abandoned and where discarded people lived. Back then, we didn’t refer to these individuals as “homeless” or as “the unfortunate”, but rather as “winos”. I never actually witnessed any of them drinking wine or any other alcoholic beverage, but wino was the label they were given.

As I passed by the area, I couldn’t help but look at these men and women and their surroundings. I felt an unexplainable draw to them, and would often wonder why and how it was that they were in the circumstance that they were in. I wondered about the dreams that they must have once had for themselves. And more than anything else, I wondered what events had taken place in their lives for them to find themselves in the situation they were in.

Years later, I would find myself in a similar situation as theirs on more than one occasion. Sometimes it was out of choice as I traveled from state to state. Other times it was due to circumstance, the drawbacks of living from paycheck to paycheck coupled with the trapdoor of sudden unemployment.

When one becomes homeless, one quickly learns the value of perspective. This perspective is helpful in meeting the daily needs that we all require. There was a time when I was living in Alaska, where I was homeless for a short while. I was cold, tired, and hungry, but had heard from a friend that there was a church that served breakfast for those that came. We happily walked in the snow and slush to this church, and stood in line with the other men, women, and children.

As the church doors opened, we were told that we must sit through a brief sermon before the food would be served. There weren’t any complaints. My friend and I sat in the pew and quickly noticed that everyone else was sitting in the last two rows. We would learn soon enough that the food was served in the back of the room, and those sitting in the last rows would be the first in line. There would be enough food for all, but for those few that finished eating first, there was a good possibility of getting seconds.

In my jaunts around the Honolulu area, I see more and more of these men and women living on the streets. I also see families with small children. Their faces become familiar, as they usually can be found in the same places. Sometimes I will interact with them, looking into their eyes and wondering where they are. And sometimes they will look at me with the same wondering eyes, wondering where I am coming from.

Every family has their own way of doing things, their own traditions that are practiced which make Christmas uniquely special. When I was a child, there would be many gifts appearing underneath the tree in the days leading up to Christmas. But as was often the case, my parents would hide many presents somewhere in the house or trunk of the car, only for them to appear on Christmas morning.

Unlike the kids on television that woke up Christmas morning and ran to open presents or those that jumped on their parents bed in excitement, my brothers and I were to remain in our bedrooms until we were told we could come out. I remember one year, where a rope was used to tie the doorknobs together to ensure we would stay put. But there was a logic behind it all. Oftentimes Dad would spend the early morning hours puting the new racecar set together or the new bike so that it could be enjoyed without us having to wait. It also prevented my brothers and I from throwing away the directions before something was built, a Christmas tradition we unintentionally practiced.

When we finally came out of our bedrooms, the site of the amount of presents was always breathtaking. There were always so many gifts that there wasn’t enough room for them all to fit underneath the tree. One of us boys would begin to pass out all the presents. While we ripped and tore through the colorful paper towards the gifts that Mom had wrapped, my parents sat together on the couch and watched. I wouldn’t understand until later how they could hold back from opening their own presents, but the gift for them on Christmas morning was watching their boys.

The sounds of Christmas morning are still so familiar. The shredding of paper. The tearing of boxes. The shouts of “Alright!” or “Wow” from my brothers and I. Mom asking, “Do you like that?”, even though knowing that we did. And the occasional reminder of “Don’t throw away the directions!”, from Dad.

Merry Christmas.

I have been watching the Trent Lott “Apology Tour” with some interest. I have nothing against apologizing for something, but seldom does increasing the number of apologies improve the likelihood of being forgiven. There will be those that will forgive and there will be those that wont forgive, but multiple apologies rarely increases the number of the forgiving.

When Lott suggested that we “wouldn’t have had all these problems over all these years,” if Strom Thurmond would have been elected President instead of Harry Truman, there were many that took his words personally, and perhaps rightly so. Considering that Thurmond was strongly against Truman’s policies of desegrating the armed services and banning racial discrimination in the civil service, it is easy to understand why there are so many people upset with Lott’s suggestion.

Obviously, Thurmond was wrong then and Lott is wrong now. The nation as a whole is better for these policies, and we as a people are stronger because of them. But despite my disagreement with Lott’s suggestion, I strongly feel he has a right to voice his opinion. In an age where technology and media allows us to have access to many speeches and soundbites throughout the day, it is rare that someone wont say something disagreeable which may be viewed as offensive by one group or another. But in a time when many of our most sacred rights appear to be in jeopardy, the right of free speech is a treasure that we must hold dear and protect for everyone.

There are those that have suggested that Lott should step down from the Senate because of his remarks. There are those that have politicized the issue, with the talking heads drawing their opinions from their political association. But far greater than a Senator’s opinion on a historical event is the right of free speech. If one political party wants to crucify Lott, or another wants to dump him to save face, let it be because of the content of his actions and record, not because of his words or the number of apologies he offers.

When I woke this morning, I layed in bed for a moment and stared at the ceiling above me. Crawling out of bed, I walked upon the carpet and passed through the kitchen and entered the bathroom. I used the toilet and then flushed. I washed my face and hands with warm soapy water. Brushed my teeth and ran a comb across my hair. Walked into the kitchen and heated a cup of coffee in the microwave. With cup in hand, I went into the livingroom and turned on the computer.

I admit that this is not an adventurous beginning to a morning. However, on most days, this is the way things unfold for me. Change a few variables, and I am sure that many others begin their day in a similar fashion.

Although the beginnings to my typical morning may seem to be quite typical, for many people of the world, these few first steps of my day are beyond their imagination. There are those that wake each day with no roof over their head and without a bed to crawl out of. There isn’t any carpet under foot, nor kitchen to pass through, nor any bathroom to use, and certainly no coffee to microwave or computer to turn on.

According to the U.S. Census Bureau, the world population is approximately 6 billion people. That’s an impressive number to consider. What is even more stagering is that there are currently more people living today than the entire combined total of those that have lived and died in the history of humankind.

While the increase in world population has somewhat slowed in the past few decades, it continues to grow at a rapid pace. According to Census Bureau projections, world population will increase to a level of nearly 8 billion in approximately twenty years, and will reach 9.3 billion by 2050.

I don’t forsee myself living to the time of 2050. However, there are many people living today that will live to see that half-way point of this century. As the world population continues to grow, and the disparity between the rich and poor increases, I can’t help but wonder how the typical morning will unfold for those in the future.