Esoteric Bowl

March 2005 has been a very strange month. From Michael Jackson wearing pajamas as he reported to court in his child molestation case, to Robert Blake being found not guilty for the murder of his wife. From President Bush nominating Paul Wolfowitz to head the World Bank, to Major League Baseball testifying before congress about steroid use.

But all of these stories as well as any stories about the Iraq war or the Indonesia earthquake have all played second fiddle to the one story that has dominated the national news; the Terri Schiavo case.

The condition that Terri Schiavo is in is truly unfortunate. And the circumstances facing her family and her husband are also unfortunate. Because I don’t know all the details of the case, I’ve put my trust in the court’s decision and kept my opinions to myself. But lacking details has not stopped many others from feeling a need to add their two cents.

While I have no interest in following the 24/7 news coverage of the Terri Schiavo case, I do find the response of others quite interesting. First there is the national media, which has embedded reporters in Florida to provide viewers with the mood of the protesting crowd. The national media has given far more attention to these protesters than any group of anti-war protesters ever received. And while all of this is going on, Martha Stewart is wondering where all the media has gone.

Then there’s the politicians, who have used the tragedy to gain air-time and to further their own agenda. Congress pushed through an emergency bill to allow the Terri Schiavo case to be reviewed by federal courts, and President Bush cut his vacation short to return to Washington to sign the bill. Many of the politicians have since backed off from the issue since learning that an overwhelming majority disapprove of their meddling into the case.

And finally there’s the protesters. They have come out of the woodwork in Florida. Even though the case is none of their business, it hasn’t stopped them from protesting, getting arrested, and attempting to malign the reputation of Ms Schiavo’s husband by suggesting he tried to kill Terri. During Easter weekend, some protesters carried crosses with Terri’s image on it, suggesting she is some kind of martyr or savior to their cause. I don’t know what it is about Florida, but whether it’s voter fraud or Save Elian Gonzalez, they always seem to have an unquenched thirst to be in the national spotlight.

When Mom cooked during the holidays she would almost always prepare her macaroni salad. Macaroni salad is one of those versatile dishes, so it goes together with just about any meal. After boiling the macaroni, Mom would drain it and pour it all into a big bowl.

Many times in this process, Mom would pour some of the cooked macaroni into a small dish, mix it with a little butter and salt and pepper, and give it to me as a snack to tide me over until dinner. It was always a nice surprise whenever Mom made this for me, as I loved the yummy and simple taste of the macaroni dish.

My tastes haven’t changed too much during the years. I still get a craving every now and then for the macaroni with butter and salt and pepper. However, as much as I have tried, I can never make it the way Mom did. Throughout the years I’ve experimented with the cooking time, added less and then more butter, played with the blend of salt and pepper, and still I can’t get the macaroni to turn out the way I remember it from my childhood.

Last night I prepared the macaroni dish. I added the butter and salt and pepper, and thought about Mom as I always do whenever preparing the dish. It tasted good, but once again it didn’t tastes like I remember. I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ll never get it to turn out like Mom’s; her secret ingredient was love.

After yesterday’s heavy dose of anger, I thought now would be an appropriate time to share a joy-inducing entry.

The joy technique comes from a teaching that I learned long ago. While I can’t exactly explain the physiology or psychology of this technique, I can assure you of its powerful effects.

Two things are required in this practice; your own silence and people. Oftentimes I’ll practice this technique when I’m sitting on campus or when I’m walking around the mall. As each stranger passes, I will momentarily look at them, and in that moment I’ll silently wish something for them. The wish might be, I wish you joy or I wish you happiness or some other wish of a positive nature that comes to mind.

In a miraculous and wonderful way, the joy and happiness that is wished for others will soon fill your own heart. The joy is somewhat euphoric, oftentimes it feels as if my heart will overflow. Because the teaching emphasizes the power of giving, it’s important to focus on the giving end and not on the joy that will result from it.

While the technique may sound strange to some, it does allow for one to fill their own heart with joy without substances or spending of money. After practicing the joy technique for a while, the practice of silent giving can become second nature whenever out in public.

I hope everyone will give the technique a try. If you do, I would love to hear about your experience. I wish you joy~

Lately I haven’t been feeling like writing. I also haven’t felt a desire to visit the blog world or roam around taking photographs or admiring the night sky. Frankly, I haven’t felt like doing much of anything. Instead, I’ve been carrying around a funk that has me pissed off at the world.

I’m angry at the world and disgusted by the hypocrisy. I’m angry that children are dying from such things as diarrhea and dehydration, all the while the medicines remain out of their reach.

I’m angry that guns flood our streets and take so many innocent lives every single day.

I’m angry at the governments who quibble over the rhetoric of what to call the killings in Sudan, all the while the slaughter continues.

I’m mad that more people live in abject poverty in the U.S. than any industrialized nation.

I’m angry that people can’t feel safe walking the streets or feel secure in their own homes.

I’m mad at the religious zealots who are quick to use scripture as a political tool, yet are unable to understand context or content and thus are blind to the messages of compassion and tolerance.

I’m angry how every issue must be politicized, and how many have allowed their allegiance to a political party to become their compass rather than listening to their own conscience.

I’m mad at the pettiness and selfishness of those who are more than willing to turn a blind eye to the pain and suffering of others as long as they aren’t inconvenienced.

I’m angry at those on Wall Street who flood the public with a constant stream of advertisements, who use the earth as their personal ashtray, and look upon such terms as responsibility and public good as frivolous.

The list could go on and on, but the drift is that I’m angry. I could have cleared my mind from the anger some time ago, but in truth, I suppose I wanted to hold on to it. It has become far too easy for me to see the silver lining, to find the beauty in the ugliness while often looking towards the bright side of things before ever tasting the anger.

The truth is, the world is a very ugly place. Without question, beauty and joy can be found, but for many it’s becoming increasingly harder to find. Daily life have become so difficult for so many, while others have already lost themselves in their delusions. It’s no longer a question of whether another child will shoot up a school or if another child will be discovered raped and murdered, but rather a question of when? It’s no longer a wonder if there are homeless people living in the community, but rather how many?

I still want to hold on to the belief that goodness and compassion are in the hearts of the majority. Granted, some of the problems listed can never be changed, but there are solutions available for many of these problems. It just seems that the world has long since lost its way and has forgotten its priorities. It’s enough to make a person angry or apathetic.

I was clicking through the television this weekend, trying to find something to watch. Although weekend television is rather lame, every now and then a classic movie that can be found. For some odd reason, the weekend always seems to have at least one movie with Schwarzenegger, Stallone, Jean Claude Van Damn, or Steven Seagal. I suppose some people like their movies.

It’s virtually impossible to find news on the weekend. There are a number news shows, but very little reporting of news. It’s like the news takes the weekends off, as if nothing newsworthy ever happens during the weekends. The “news channels” are content with showing National Geographic reruns of hyenas in the wild or regurgitating biographies of fascinating people like Whitney Houston , Donald Trump, and O.J. Simpson.

It’s strange what television has become. Real news events are purposely turned into soap operas with drama and false urgency, while staged soap operas are added a hint of realism and then sold off as reality television. And the events that have the greatest impact on our daily lives are briefly mentioned or passed over entirely.

When Steffen was born, he was healthy and responsive and he had ten toes and ten fingers. Our prayers had been answered and we felt blessed that our boy was such a beautiful child.

Soon after we had brought Steffen home, Julie started bringing up the subject of traveling home to Peru to introduce Steffen to her family. Julie also wanted to bring her daughter back to Hawai’i, a daughter that had been raised by Julie’s parents. Although I thought Steffen was too little to be traveling, I eventually agreed to Julie’s plans. Quickly they both got their passports and vaccinations and they were on their way.

As one might imagine, there are no direct flights from Hawai’i to Peru. Julie and Steffen had a number of stop-overs in the States and in a couple of other countries in between. They were gone for several weeks and when they returned, they brought Julie’s daughter with them.

They were all tired. It had been a long trip. While Julie and the girl rebounded in a few days, Steffen never did. He wasn’t as responsive as he had once been, and at times I wondered if he was the same baby. Something was wrong, but we couldn’t put our finger on it. The doctors assured us that in time he would be fine.

As Steffen got older, the problems remained. He was an active little boy and just as cute as could be, but he wasn’t speaking. Again, doctors assured us that some children are late in speaking. We were frustrated and knew something was wrong. I often wondered what had gone on during that trip, perhaps Steffen was hurt and Julie didn’t want to say so. At the same time, there were whispers wondering if all that marijuana that I had smoked in my youth had somehow damaged a gene.

In time, Steffen would be diagnosed as mildly autistic. It was a crushing blow. I felt helpless as it was like someone had stolen my son. It was undoubtedly the most painful experience that I’ve ever gone through, and even now the hurt remains. He was my boy, and I had so much hope for him. For years I blamed myself. Whether I was at fault or not, I knew my dream of having several children was over.

Recently on the Don Imus show on MSNBC, Imus has been speaking about the subject of autism and how more and more university studies are finding a connection to autism and thimerosal (mercury) vaccinations. It has been eye-opening information. After researching Amazon, there are a number of must-read books on the subject of children’s vaccinations. If you have small children, plan to have children, or know someone with a small child, I encourage you to look into the subject. I suppose I’ll never know what the cause is for Steffen’s autism, and I’ll probably go to my grave wondering if it was all due to a vaccination.

When I travel up and down the isles of my nearby grocery store, the isle that I always spend the most time in is the cereal isle. When I see all those boxes of cereal, I become somewhat of a kid again. I’ll pace back and forth looking at the many varieties of cereals, trying to decide which cereal to buy.

On occasion I’ll try a new cereal, but generally I remain faithful to a select group. My tastes tend to bounce between adult cereals and kiddie cereals, although I stay away from the high-fiber and the heavily sugared.

Few foods are as versatile as cereal. Cereal is an accepted meal, yet it borders on being a treat. Cereal is a great snack and it has a way of tasting good any time of the day or night. Instead of offering a list of my favorites, I’ll ask you; What’s your favorite cereal?