Esoteric Bowl

Knew a little beaver quite furry,
She wanted a log in a hurry;
When she got all of the hardwood
that she physically could,
She danced up and down with a flurry.

Today is the 34th anniversary of Woodstock. Although I was a rock-n-roll baby, I didn’t attend the Woodstock concert. However, I did make it to three Diamond Head Crater festivals, which were concerts held inside of the Diamond Head Crater.

The crowds that gathered at each of these festivals were enormous. A sea of people sitting on blankets, mats and lawn chairs, grooving to a variety of musical sounds from rock-n-roll to folk to the local music of the islands. Fleetwood Mac, the Grateful Dead, Santana, and the Little River Band are just a few of the bands that came to play. The Rolling Stones played at three of the festivals as well.

But the Crater Festivals were much more than just music. There were craft booths that sold everything from tie-dye clothing to roach clips, vegetarian food booths that prepared avacado with tofu and alfalfa sprout sandwiches, and booths that provided literature on the activist issues of the time. Beer was also sold, but no one seemed to mind if you brought your own cooler.

It was not unusual to see naked people walking around the crater, or to see someone smoking a joint or tripping out on something else. Everyone did their own thing and no one seemed to mind. It was a very different time.

* The first Diamond Head Crater festival was held on New Year’s Day 1969. The last of these festivals was held in 1979 after a state-appointed citizen’s task force demanded that the state ban the event.

A woman recently went to Wal Mart to pick up a few things. While there, she saw a young woman loading numerous school supplies into a cart. Curious, she asked the young woman if she was a teacher, and the young woman smiled and said, yes. The woman then asked if it were true that teachers often buy school supplies for their classroom out of their own pockets because of decreases in school funding. The young woman told her that it is true, and that the situation makes it extremely difficult on teachers.

The two continued to talk, and in the discussion the woman learned that the young teacher taught kindergarten, so it was understood that a great deal of craft items were needed. The woman then explained that in her spare time she does quite a bit of crafting, and that she had boxes and boxes of spare craft items such as stickers, felt, glitter, glue, paste, wrapping paper, feathers, styrofoam, chenille pipe stems, beads, sequins, paint, markers, ribbons, lace, etc., etc., and that the teacher could have it all if she wanted. The young teacher was stunned by the generous offer. Before going their seperate ways, the teacher gave the woman her home phone number.

That night, the woman went through her assortment of crafts and filled eight boxes and six bags full of craft items that little children could use. The following morning the woman phoned the teacher and invited her to come over to her home. The young woman told her that she thought she would never hear from her.

Later that afternoon the teacher arrived at the woman’s home. She was so surprised by the sight of all the craft items being given to her. The young woman’s eyes filled with tears as she hugged the woman for all of her kindness. The woman was glad to know that the craft items would be put to good use, and the teacher’s sincere appreciation made the exchange all the more special.

It always does my heart good when I hear about such generous acts of selfless giving from one stranger to another. In this particular case, it means even more to me because the kind woman is none other than my Mom.

Happy Birthday, Mom! I love you.

For years I had watched as my brothers went to school, and I wished for the day when I too could go. I vaguely remember attending the Head Start program, but it didn’t matter because as one brother pointed out to me, it was just for babies anyway. But now I was older, so I could go to school with all the big kids.

I was excited in the days leading up to my first day of kindergarten. My parents had taken us shopping, and with checklists in hand, we bought all the required school supplies. Brand new crayons, new pencils, my very own eraser, a blue apron to paint in, and a denim sleeping-bag to take naps in. For me, all for me! Oh, I couldn’t wait for my very first day of school.

The day had finally come. One brother showed me where my class was and then he quickly left for his own class. Suddenly, I was alone. My excitement and joy turned to fright. With my school supplies tucked under one arm, and my prized Gingerbread Man record album that I had brought for show-and-tell in hand, I remained outside the classroom and leaned against the big sink. All the rooms designated for kindergarten classes had big sinks next to their doors. Little ones tend to require more handwashing then the bigger kids, what with all the finger painting and bad habits yet to be broken.

A pretty teacher came outside of the classroom and asked what my name was. She then told me her name and asked if I wanted to share the Gingerbread Man album with the rest of the class. I panicked under the immense pressure that she was putting me under, and I responded with a resounding Noooooooo. I then turned and ran down the hall as fast as my feet could go. I ran up the stairs and left the school, deciding right there and then that I didn’t want to go to school after all.

When I arrived home, Mom was having a cup of coffee with Hilda, the woman from across the street. I tried to explain to them that this school thing was highly overrated, but neither of them were listening. They took me back to school that very morning. Later that evening, Dad gave me a spanking for cutting class.

In my own dreams,
I see her sleeping
on a bed of material roses;
Pillowed petals yearn
for the softness of her lips
and fade beside the hue within her cheek;
Patterned stems thorn in envy
at her long and gentle lashes;
As a tear of dew
blossoms upon her lid
that only I can see,
I wonder if she dreams of me.

I was four years old, sitting alone on the concrete stoop outside the backdoor of my home. It was mid-morning, yet the heat of the summer day was quickly filling the air. I brushed the cool blades of grass with my bare feet as the sun shined warmly on my face. I rubbed my cheek against my shoulder and suddenly marveled at the softness of this sensation. I then wondered, was it my cheek or shoulder that was providing the smoothness to this feeling.