What I'm Thankful For

I don't know about you but every time I drive by and see a line of men standing along the side of the road waiting to be picked up for day labor -- I have to stop for a minute and offer a silent prayer for them.  I also go through a list of blessings I have in my life and am quickly humbled.  I have no cause to complain...

Whether I drive by Berkeley or Oakland, there they are -- a row of men, sometimes standing solitary, sometimes huddled in twos or threes -- all having the same expectant look.  I think about how they felt at the end of the day when they don't get picked for a job, having to go return home with nothing to show...empty pockets, empty stomachs.

 
I wonder even if they have a home...or family?  When my own family and I vacationed in Mexico visiting the Yucatan and Quintana Roo regions -- my husband and I were struck by the fact that the people we met there seemed fairly content and well cared for... But that, as I said, was our perception.  We wondered about the many hundreds of people crossing the border "to get a better life" here in the North.  Is life here really any better?

As I was taking photographs, one man approached me and asked if I worked for the paper.  I explained that I was writing a blog.  He revealed that life was tough -- that there were no jobs to be had...I could only agree with him sympathetically … I wish I could tell him differently; that I had the answer on how to create jobs and end poverty.

 

  Teach the people how to fish – instead of giving them the fish…

Learning Spanish

Any kind of studying requires discipline.  I have a natural curiosity about the world and the many wonders it contains.  I had home-schooled our oldest son and loved the fact that as he was learning, I was RE-learning. Unfortunately, my curiosity and passion for acquiring knowledge is specific to things only I am interested in at the moment.

 "Como esta indo su Espagnol?"  My husband would occasionally check up on me.  He and I were supposed to practice Spanish for an hour every week.  We would schedule an hour to sit somewhere and begin our conversation class...I found that although I spoke more than one language, I was not a willing participant in engaging conversation in an new language...after a while, my head would ache from the strain of thinking too much in Spanish and would say so to my husband; he would patiently sigh and tell me, "Es muy importante de practicarlo"...Yes, yes, I know...

"You have an ear for languages, yet you are lazy to use it", he would add as encouragement of sorts...once again I countered that speaking Spanish required too much mental effort on my part. I observed that there are two types of language learners, the first -- unencumbered by the fear of uttering a mistake when speaking, just takes the dive and goes for it.  And then there is the second type, the category of language learners who 'though armed with the knowledge of proper conjugations, grammatical sentence structures and vocabulary words are hesitant to take the leap...I have membership in the second group.

It seems odd, but I somehow find it easier to practice speaking in places where that language is the dominantly spoken language...this is what I loved about being in Mexico and other Spanish speaking countries.  Surround-sound Spanish and maybe a smidgen of English and other "foreign" tongues is all there is.  But given that I am in a country where English is mostly spoken, I continue to search for ways to enhance my language acquisition and comprehension.

Pundits for self-improvement advise to "turn your car into a classroom" -- not a wasted moment in this society, every minute turned into an opportunity.  Chauffeuring my kids to school or a trip to the grocery finds me listening to "Living Language" CD..."Lesson 11":

"Yo soy
Tu eres
El  es
Nosotros somos
Vosotros sois
Ellos son"

"De donde es usted?"  ... So I repeat like a dutiful child...Rosetta Stone in Spanish, I also have.

Sometimes, I would just opt to listen to Spanish radio while driving short spurts around town.   Rapid fire Spanish would assault my ears like bullets.  Hit and miss.  I'm happy to say I understand probably 70% of what I hear.  My kids get subjected to listening as well, as they would be captive audiences in my car.  "Mom, can we change the station?"

At home, I would watch the tele-novella series of "DESTINOS" on the internet.  I was quickly captivated by this program.  A brilliantly orchestrated way to teach Spanish by following the adventures of a certain woman investigator named Raquel.  Hers was the quest to find the missing son of a dying rich patriarch; her search leading her to the many different Spanish speaking countries around the world, The story line also manages to weave romance and drama into the picture.  Each episode takes the viewer to different vocabulary or grammar focus while engaging them in its labyrinthian plot.  The viewer gets a glimpse of Argentina, Spain, Puerto Rico, Mexico, Unites States etc., receiving well-rounded exposure to certain idiomatic differences in the language and culture.

So you might ask...with all these resources at my fingertips you would think I would be roaring to go right?  Si, Si...claro que si.

Marriage and Friendship

MARRIAGE

Then Almitra spoke again and said, "And what of Marriage, master?"

And he answered saying:

You were born together, and together you shall be

forevermore

You shall be together when white wings of death scatter

your days.

Aye, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.

But let there be spaces in your togetherness,

And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.

Love one another but make not a bond of love:

Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.

Fill each other's cups but drink not from one cup.

Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.

Sing and dance together and be joyous,

but let each one of you be alone,

Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver

with the same music.

Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.

For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.

And stand together, yet not too near together:

For the pillars of the temple stand apart,

And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's

shadow.

(Kahlil Gibran: The Prophet)

In the Arc of Your Mallet - (RUMI) -

Do not go anywhere without me.
Let nothing happen in the sky apart from me,
Or on the ground, in this world or that world,
Without my being in its happening.

Vision, see nothing I don't see.
Language, say nothing.  The way the night
Knows itself with the moon, be that with me.
Be the rose nearest to the thorn that I am
I want to feel myself in you when you taste food,
In the arc of your mallet when you work.
When you visit friends,
When you go up on the roof by yourself at night.

There is nothing worse
Than to walk out along the street without you.
I don't know where I'm going.
You are the road and the knower of roads,
More than maps, more than love.

Two differing thoughts about the same thing -- you know...both equally true.

************************

Morsel for Thought and Taste: Silk Road Tour 11 - Urumqi - Abigail Washburn & The Village by AbigailWashburn

In Urumqi in western China we watch a Uyghur orchestra perform a personal concert for us. Then go to a magical dinner at the Grand Bazaar where we jam with some talented Uyghur musicians around a table filled with the finest Uyghur dishes. It was truly one of the highlights among many on this whirlwind tour across the Silk Road.

‪http://abigailwashburn.com‬

Full Silk Road Tour Playlist:
‪http://www.youtube.com/user/AbigailWashburn#grid/user/8A4BE13075AAFBDF‬

A Room of One's Own

Writing has always been one of my passions, a kind of release -- akin to a spiritual experience when lost in the heights of words and its rhythm; images crowding and crashing asking to be unleashed in a blank piece of paper -- a canvas.  Ever since my college days in Berkeley, I fancied myself as a writer; traveling distant lands and collecting untold stories and adventures, a female version of Mark Twain.  Reporting impressions with dry wit and humor, but in the context of much love for the humanity behind all frailties. 

Coming from a "no nonsense" first generation immigrant household, writing equates to not having a goal in life -- NOT key to a successful career, therefore, not even something one should consider seriously but only dream about.  In the words of Virginia Woolf, in her essay "A Room of One's Own":  "A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write...".  Well, certainly that ruled me out!!!

But some dreams are meant to live on and fester like a sore...and so I always carried that seed of wanting -- wanting and needing to express, to let "it" out -- and so here you find me.  Several years ago, I took a writing class at our local Adult Education.  It was taught by a gifted young woman, she was a published poet and at that time editor of the city-owned and run paper.  She opened up with a writing exercise that would enable us, her students to give ourselves permission to be writers...in essence, breaking down all EXCUSES to why we are not writing or why we couldn't, shouldn't write.  To this day, I have that index card prominently displayed on my desk, a challenge if you will to myself to get on with it.  This is what I had written:

I WOULD RATHER BE A WRITER AND WRITE,
THAN FEAR THE CONSEQUENCES OF THIS ACTION

Because of that class, I was able to submit a poem I wrote which was then accepted and published in a collection of poetry by Muslim women...since then, however I had allowed "my ink to get dry"...Several birthdays ago, I decided to change all that -- 

I prefer writing at home, or in quiet secluded space...I often hear other writers talk about their routine for creativity -- often, it involves sitting in a nearby cafe, abuzz with activitiy -- from people sitting and chatting with their companions, to baristas cheery announcements to waiting customers, to the sound of background music and the clatter of coffee cups agains the table...

Each to his or her own creative space...

*************

Morsel for thought or taste: 

TEDtalks:  Eat Pray Love writer – Elizabeth Gilber on “Nurturing Creativitiy”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xvPwqkmmGJs&feature=youtube_gdata_player

Favorite Island Spots

“O that awful deepdown torrent O and the sea and the sea crimson sometimes

like fire and the glorious sunsets and the figtrees in the Alameda gardens yes

and all the queer little streets and the pink and the blue and yellow houses and

the rosegardens and the Jessamine and geraniums and cactuses…”

                       James Joyce “Ulysses” Ch.18 – Penelope

“The Spanish word…refers to a street lined with trees.  Other references tell us that ..Spanish for paseo con arboles (street with trees), is borrowed directly from the Arabic al-muwatta, which means ‘the well-trodden path’ or the ‘clear path.      (From: Connecting Past and Present in Northeast Portland’s Historic Homes)

Today, I just wanted to walk around and take pictures...not much for talk. 

I love the fact that most everyone are outdoors -- walking, biking.  Lots of families.  Close to everything, yet an island to itself...

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Morsel for thought or taste:  (Book) "Wild" by Cheryl Strayed

Afghan Wedding

"Mom where r u?" texted my daughter as I sit through yet another committee meeting. Who said building a community was an easy thing? Over 14 years established, ours is a work in progress.

The wedding invitation said 5pm...it was nearing 7...I really didn't want to be on time -- usually that translates to being EARLY as I have experienced through the many weddings I have sat through.  My daughter has been ready since 5 and I was taking my time.  I deliberately wanted to be "fashionably late".

I Google-mapped the directions to the banquet hall and off we went; the wedding party was well under way.  We walked into a roomful of women of all ages, swathed in outfits so colorful -- it as if we walked amongst vibrant rainbows swirling to the sound of DJ music -- Afghan music!

"Darn, I didn't know I had to come dressed in Afghan clothes!" I joked...I felt at odds in my western clothes -- my ' tween' daughter saying underneath her breath, "Mom, I feel so underdressed!"... No worries, we are here for the bride.

Not knowing what to expect, I was immediately put at ease with the welcoming warmth of the womenfolk who embraced and double-cheeked kiss me and asked the usual questions of "How is your husband?  Your children?". The rules of pleasantries requiring I ask the same questions back -- I originally suspected I would not know anyone at this gathering, save for the bride and her family but as it turned out -- almost half of the guests in the wedding party knew me as either having taught them 10 years or so ago, or mothers of those students long past.

The beautiful bride dressed in deep green with white or silver, was sitting erect -- the Princess of the hour --center stage on a raised platform, serenely looking out into the crowd, a permanent smile etched on her face.  Various members of the wedding party would come up and pose with her, a rotating photo-op with cameras, videos, I-phones all pointed in one direction.

I TOTALLY LOVED the ambience -- women, young and old sitting around tables ladened with flasks of green tea, crystal platters of sugar-covered almonds, fried spicy noodles, candies and chocolates.  A group of young Afghan women taking turns on the dance floor, making billowy patterns of silk with matching long scarves trailing from around their necks or clipped behind their carefully coiffed hair... silver or gold jewelry adorning the tops of their heads, their necks, wrists and fingers.  "How can they dance on such high heels?" my daughter asked me...didn't have an answer for that but I did notice one of the young ladies slip off her tall black heels.

 After a while some of the other ladies came to the dance floor followed by a handful of children of about 3 or 4 years of age; the older women had discarded their shoes, preferring to dance without them.  The young children were mimicking the beginnings of the traditional Afghan dances --shoulder, hands and feet moving in rhythm, surprisingly keeping with the beat and intently serious in following the adults.

At the adjoining hall was the men's side of the wedding party.  A roomful of eyes would look up towards the partitioned doors, expecting to see the bridegroom emerge at various times during the evening; at some point, I snuck off towards their area, wanting to listen if the other half of the equation were also having a blast -- what I heard was in sharp contrast to the noisy celebrations of the women.  Somber tones of the Qur'an was being recited...there was the quiet hush of reverent listening...the sound of a solitary male voice dominating.

Traditional Afghan Food -- rice, kabob, chicken, spinach etc. was served buffet style: a table for the main dishes, another full of delicate sweets and colorful fresh fruits.  Once again, my host made sure that I was well taken care of, the sister-in-law, then the bride's mother and then two others came and urged me to be the first one to get a plate..."Let me know if you need anything, okay?" or "Can I get you anything?" to "You must get yourself some more food, do you want me to get it for you?".  Next to the bride, I felt like I was the most honored guest.

My daughter and I were sitting with a group of young women ... This is what I often do at weddings because I find young people to be livelier and more entertaining than the sober faces and conversations of the matriarchs...ha, ha...even at my age!  I knew that tradition dictated the wedding party to go on all hours of the night -- unwilling to pry myself from the scene and wanting to get a glimpse of the bridegroom, I waited as long as I can...Late into the evening, I had to respectfully bow out -- unable to 'hang' like an Afghan...

The following day, I logged onto FaceBook and saw a photo of the bride and the bridegroom as I pictured them ...  Sitting together, face to face on crimson velvet chairs with bouquets of white roses and tulips laid gracefully in front of them...newly weds looking forward to a bright future, of a  life shared together...

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Food for thought or taste:  (You Tube):  Tarastiles' “Morning Yoga Stretch for Flexibility"

                  My sister-in-law's scrumptiously,mouth-watering Carrot Cake

Everyday Holds a Miracle

I wonder how much Starbuck's and Peet's coffees or teas are consumed in a given day by people all over the United States...no doubt a staggering amount.  Not to mention the independent coffee shops, locally owned trying to make it amidst tight competition from the big name brand coffee places.

Since after Ramadan, I had vowed to myself to be a more "conscious" consumer of anything -- from water dripping out of leaking faucets to food bought at the grocery store, opting to eat out of my garden if I can, or support local growers by doing the Tuesday and Saturday Farmer's market.

I was really good about giving up the medium cup of Peet's soy chai latte' for one whole month -- did not miss it much, but as soon as that month was up -- well, let's just say some habits are hard to kick!
As most everyone, I had done mental calculations on how much I could save if I just refrain from indulging myself with that ONE CUP...what I could buy instead, if I don't do it -- how much I could help the environment by not consuming so much paper products from disposable cups...on and on.

I was up early today, shopping for my food contribution to the monthly public feedings our community does to less fortunate individuals in neighboring cities.  Having a mental conversation with myself about do I really need to get another Peet's chai today?  I rationalized that I was already doing a good deed by feeding the needy, why not reward myself with something that I like?  Shopping cart in tow, I circulated around the grocery store biding time really -- until I can come up with a decision -- should I?  Shouldn't I?

My inner desire won out and I strode up to the counter and did my usual exchange of pleasantries with the baristas..."Oh by the way," she said "we are doing away with these free cup of coffee punch cards -- you will no longer be able to use them.  We are converting to a new system, directly linking your purchases if you log and register with our store's website".  She quickly tore my free coffee punch card in half, handed me back my money and said' "we'll give you a FREE cup today...so you might as well order a LARGE soy chai latte' instead of your usual"... Miracles come in all forms, we just have to be open to receive them...and be humble and greatful.  I most certainly was!

... Later that morning, I stopped by Farmer's market to make my weekly fresh flower and fruit purchases.  I noticed a woman dressed in black -- she was intently looking at me and our eyes held each other for a minute.  Hmm...does she need some money?  She wasn't really talking to anyone, just standing there and walking ever so slowly with her walker...one side of her body stooped towards the left.  I did my rounds -- blood red chrysanthemums, red onions, green and purple plums and nectarines...I was walking out the same way I walked in to the market and there she was again...still looking at me.  I passed and stopped...something told me to turn around and speak to her...I am glad I did...

She recognized me, more than I did her...she said she knew me from the college...that my two children attended day care there, a boy and a girl...it turned out she was one of the young mothers I knew at the college...at least 10 years ago.  Her son who was younger than mines also went to the same childcare center and yes, I remember vividly how he looked -- and how she looked.  WOW!

"I had a blood disease and had a stroke...but I am glad I am still alive" she stoically said.  "Your son must be grown now" as I looked into her eyes -- "Yes, he is in *** attending school...You know boys, they are just into doing their thing...".  I asked her is she needed help.  She said she was waiting for
the Paratransit bus...that she lived in one of the houses by Farmer's market and that it was inconvenient for the street to be closed off to traffic on days she needed to get transport"... "I have been waiting for awhile now...".  I said good-bye to her knowing that I will probably run into her again now that I know who she is...

I walked away deep in thought ... Life is so full of blessings, do we even take the time to look?

Helicopter Mom and the Back to School Night - mare

Sigh...the beginning of YET another school year!  We all know what that means...after shopping for school clothes and standing in interminable lines to buy school supplies at Office Depot, which everybody in the Island seem to do, we have yet to face another hurdle into the experience of parenting school children.

The School Open house(s).  How many of these have I attended over the years?  How many more will I have to attend?  I calculate that I have six -- count it SIX MORE YEARS of the same thing... It was simpler in Elementary school.  You didn't have to make too much of an effort.  Just show up in your child's classroom -- (they usually only have one) and you're set for the whole evening...just sit there and feign interest and make sure you poke around the books, look at classroom displays and shake the teacher's hand, thanking them for their bravery.

Now come middle school and high school -- THAT requires a little bit more work.  Whoever came up with the idea of having parents attend a mock up version of their child's daily school schedule of classes must've known what they were doing.  I get it -- pay back time for having us parents send our kids to give teachers a bad time...for one night at least, we the parents get tortured.

A friendly, chipper voice comes over the loudspeaker, "Good evening parents.  Welcome  to your child's school.  You have 10 minutes to visit each of your child's class.  The first bell will ring, signaling time for you to get to class.  The second bell signaling time for 'your' class to begin".  As if ushering the start of a marathon race, the bell promptly rings and the race is off.

Serious-faced parents intent on their mission, clutch their child's schedule like a protective shield.  Docilely filling the hallways in search of the right room number...

My dilemma:  two kids -- two different schools -- two different schedules -- a total of 15 teachers...in one hour.  I looked at the two pieces of paper in each hand, trying to figure out a game plan...Easy.  Veteran school Mom like me should be able to figure this out.  I sat through the first class period at my daughter's school.  Two minutes into the teacher's presentation, I realized I cannot possibly sit through 10 minutes times 15...Breaking school rules, I walked out before class ended, rapidly scanning the list of classes and teachers...

Prioritize...Visit the core classes, e-mail the rest of the teachers on School Loop with an apology and introduction.  I did my daughter's school in half an hour and drove quickly to the high school -- just as the first bell was ringing.  More labyrinth-like hallways.  Room 200-something is NOT on the 2nd floor. How logical is that? Whatever..."How is *** doing in your class?"  "Wonderful student...good kid!"

At home, the refrigerator door looking like a tactical chart with pieces of paper here and there -- prayer schedule for the month,  basketball practice schedule, dentist or doctor appointments, school papers to be signed but not yet to be turned in, upcoming school events, two separate school year schedules -- oh, and not to forget the Family Day Weekend up at the university which my other son attends...I put ALL these papers up where I can see them so I can be reminded and NOT miss anything...oh sure....uh,huh...right!

NEXT DAY:  My son does not belong in Algebra class.  "Mom, can you please talk to school counselor and get my class changed?  Just make sure I get second period Geometry, okay?"

Helicopter Mom on a mission.  Armed with last year's report card, my son's current class schedule and a copy of his CST scores, I drive first thing to his school.   8 am...I am looking at the school secretary, asking her what the procedure was for a class change.  She directed me to a wall that had two intake boxes -- requests for an appointment either for the Principal or the School Counselor.  "Have your student fill out the form and turn in to the box on the right".  She then proceeded to tell me that it was a process "that takes time.."

Well, given that information, I sat down and completed the form myself...writing in big bold letters that I -- the parent am requesting the change; I cited all supporting documentations.  The secretary, an affable Mom-like figure saw me hovering and hesitating over the in-box, wondering whether I should put in the completed  form -- "The counselor is in her office right now"... Was that permission for me to go inside and see her?

Yes, she is my son's academic school counselor.  She double-checked his CST scores for Algebra and re-affirmed his eligibility for the higher math class -- Geometry.  Class changed, 2nd period.  Mission accomplished!  Printed NEW schedule in hand, I head home with my prized trophy.

Next move?  Mulling things over in my head...three weeks into the semester, how much had he missed?  Does he need a tutor? When to arrange? Where?... Helicopter Mom moving on to the next agenda.

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Morsel for thought or taste:   (Movies) "Searching for Sugar Man"
                                                  "The Most Exotic Marigold Hotel"

                                               September is National Yoga Month

 

Of Faiths and other matter

Once a week, I make the hour's drive North to spend time with my 78 year old mother.  For the past two years, I have made it a tradition to do this as she adamantly refuse to leave the home she had shared with my Dad for the past 30 years or so.  He died two years ago of cancer.  Every week, after a day's end of work, it is always a struggle for me -- to pull away from what seems like an endless litany of "to-do's" at home -- meetings, children and husband on and on...

I tell myself that my one visit every week is the only outlet my Mom has to connect with the outside world; her decision to isolate herself and "retire" is purely of her own choosing, and no matter how much my siblings and I encourage, cajole and bully her into visiting and staying with one of us -- even for a day or two -- the answer is always an emphatic "NO, I am happy where I am at...where your Dad left me, that is where I want to be and this is where I will depart from."  Sigh...

Yesterday, my daughter and I decided to take Mom to a "new" restaurant -- outside of her city.  Despite already driving the hour in deep commuter traffic, I thought a change of venue is in order and that, just maybe -- Mom would actually eat the food, instead of picking at it.  So I drove farther North, my Mom sitting happily looking out the car window and reminiscing about the times when she drove to work on the same highway.

As it was the middle of the week, the restaurant was not crowded at all -- save for a few booths and tables occupied by what seemed like a retirement community's convention; the sea of faces seeming to be a clone of one another, quite different from the diversity of the Bay Area.  As we were walking in, I quickly noticed the stares and forks frozen in mid-air...my antennae picking up on the curiousity that we must have inspired...three generation of women.  An bespectacled aging matriach armed with black cane, my daughter wearing a black scarf (her signature piece) and myself sporting a brown and white scarf over a conservative business jacket and skirt.

We sat and looked at the menu and ordered.  I was pleased to see that my Mom actually ATE her food, murmuring that it was good -- particularly the sweet potato fries. (Yikes, for her blood sugar!)  Mid-way through our meal, an elderly gentleman approached our table and said, "Excuse, I just want to know.  Are you guys nuns?"  I watched my Mom's expression as this was a first for her, whereas I am a veteran recipient of ALL types of questions.  Pause.  I calmly looked up at the gentleman and smiled sweetly and replied, "No, I am actually a MUSLIM."  He didn't know how to respond to that -- but I knew he was sincerely curious.  My Mom on the other hand, quickly looked up to him by way of explanation added, "Me, I am Catholic -- raised a Catholic..."  The man, as if in sympathy with her just gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder. 

I am glad this incidents happened...more for my Mom's sake.  Not to put her in discomfort, but to show her that I, her daughter is no different than anybody else because of my beliefs and that actually, I have grown more as a person because of it.  I have no fear in approaching people -- strangers, young, old -- even making it a point to engage everyone I meet in conversation or at the least, a heartfelt smile and connection with the eyes.

I had brought along a copy of HALAL CONSUMER to the restaurant.  My Mom had picked it up earlier in the evening and was cursorily leafing through its pages.  She was surprised to see that "there (were) so many ways to cover your head" -- this while looking at photos of women in hijab.  Later on she asked me if there were halal restaurants in town, anywhere...I found only one. A butcher who possibly offered sandwiches or such things at the same city where she actually lived.

Driving back home, she passed her hands over the white prayer beads hanging on my rear view mirror.  "So how many beads are here?"  I explained and we talked about the difference between Islamic prayer beads and the Catholic ones.  She went back to the subject of head covering -- after a silence, she commented, "You know, women back home used to cover their head just like you."  "How do you mean, Mom?"  "Well, I remember Aunty Iling's (her eldest sister) mother-in-law...she's from Batangas.  The old ladies from the country-side used to wear it like you..."  This lead to more stories and more memories of days past and almost forgotten..."Do you remember?..."

Back at her house, Mom repeatedly thanked me for a wonderful dinner...she was grateful for the time -- and me -- I was equally thankful to have a shared moment...breaking down barriers and connecting through true understanding and tolerance.

**************************
MORSEL for thought or taste:  "O mankind, We have created you from a single (pair) of male and female, and made you into Nations and tribes, that Ye may know each other ..." Ch.49:13
                            "The Holy Qur'an" English translation by Yusuf Ali

Heirlooms Take-over

This year marks the year of accomplishments for me...I have always dreamt about doing a garden in the backyard, would be envious of seeing others proudly showing off their toils and spoils but always came up with one reason or the other why "it just wasn't the right time yet!"

Thanks to my oldest son who is a farmer-gardener, he one day started what I only talked about doing.  He bought the soil, the compost, started weeding, digging and prepping the soil.  He even made a box outside for the vegetables crops that would be our first.

Being "green" to the notion of organic gardening, I viewed this whole experience as an experiment.  Kale, chard, corn, tomato plant -- all went into that box.  What started out as a few sprig of growth here and there, eventually turned into VERY cramped and crowded quarters.  The corn definitely was not a happy camper.  There were other challenges to contend with -- snails and slugs and other bugs.  Pesticides, a definite NO!  Google searches and trips to the local nursery, asking here and there.  I was so looking forward to my kale but these green caterpillar-like creatures apparently loved kale more than I did...they ate to their hearts' content, lounging serenely while I looked at the miserly remnants of the dark green and purple stubs that were to be the contents of my morning green smoothie.

I also read that marigolds were wonderful deterrents to unwanted garden visitors...so well then, I added a couple of those to the vegetable box as well.  Outside the box, I had mint and other herbs growing on containers or pots...a surprise crop of red potatoes from the compost corner.  Was not too hopeful about my watermelon, asking myself why I even thought about planting those...my reward, a solitary fruit the size of a miniature bowling ball; the vine curiously yellowing -- looking exhausted, but with bright yellow flowers here and there as if defiant to the end.

Delightful visits from bees, ladybugs and a hummingbird...these and oh, the joy of the first harvest:  corn, chard, potatoes and heirloom tomatoes.  Hmmm...what next?  I would so LOVE to have some chickens clucking around back...

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Morsel for thought or taste:  www.alamedabackyardgrowers.org
                                              www.alamedabackyardchickens

Aging gracefully...and the zest for life!

I remember quite vividly, the warm sultry tropical afternoons at my Lola's (grandmother).  Not much to do but sit out in the veranda and catch what little breeze there might be -- if any.  Heart-shaped fan in hand and looking out into the gigantic santol tree.  Often, as I sat by her feet, she would tell me stories about her youth.  How her family, the Belen's were one of the wealthiest coconut plantation owners in Laguna and that in the early 20's their family was the only one with an automobile...and that they had a private chapel inside their home -- equipped with life-sized figures of  Christian deities.  The region primarily consisted of haciendas and farmers who worked for the family.  Living in their property, toiling the land.

She would also describe to me the mansion where she grew up, painting a picture of grandeur and excess; but by the time I came into being -- the only remnant of the glorious home is the stone staircase that became a part of another house adjoining ours.  During the lapses of quiet I would softly take my forefinger and thumb, gently pinching the loose skin of her hand...and watched how the skin would just stay pinched for a spell, the turgor gone.  Time and age had taken over.  I would often think of my Lola's hand as an ancient tree with gnarly roots of veins coursing through the expanse of her hand and up to below her wrists.  I loved the lack of firmness in her hands -- to me, it told of countless stories and treasures of ancient wisdom -- that ONLY grandparents have.  Whenever Lola or Lolo wove their tales, we their grandchildren would listen transfixed through the duration of the stories, wide-eyed and thirsty for the lesson to be learned, or the thing to watch out for next time...so we don't follow the same fate as the protagonist.

(Alamat: Philippine Myths Legend Folktales -- http:/folktales.webmanila.com)

So here I sit, forty some odd years after being transplanted from the old country.  I would often find myself gazing at my own weathered hands; testament to countless tasks working with them --

I remember when I was in my early twenties, admiring the same two hands and thinking to myself how strong, firm and beautiful they were...subjects of photographs, hung in galleries for public viewing and now this...

I would pinch my own skin, as I was wont to do my grandmother's many, many moon's ago...seeing for myself how the elastic firmness of my hands are no longer... a signal of the passing of the years and the many wisdom and stories I have collected...one day to be shared with my grandchildren who will do the same to me -- who when the time comes, will also call me Lola.

Stomping back in the old 'hood

"Let's get away for the weekend!" -- not really having a plan, but that usually works best.  Point the car in some random direction and drive.  "You decide".  Baba decides San Francisco -- close enough to get to the kids if we need, just a stone throw away from the bridge.

"Remember the Stanyan Hotel by our old neighborhood?". Great!  How many times have we driven by this old Victorian hotel, sitting in the periphery of Golden Gate Park? -- nestled amidst the Cole Valley neighborhood, across the street from McDonalds and entry almost to the famed Haight-Ashbury district.  NO VACANCY sign prominently displayed.  We had to ask anyway.  Nothing left for missed chances..."We may never go this way again!"

Despite the hotel receptionist's initial reticence -- we were shown room #301.  WOW!  A two -bedroom suite equipped with living room (with fold-away bed), bathroom, shower and functioning kitchen....a whole flat really.  It would be awesome to bring the whole family and just kick it in the city overnight...BUT definitely too much room for just the two of us!  "Are you sure you cannot arrange for us to have a smaller room?". This question posed to the receptionist after we overheard him turning away some people.  "Let me see what I can do...".   Ahh, the magic of personality and "presence".

How long has it been since we walked the same sidewalks?  1994.  Tamba the baby then --  Eighteen years!  Working as nurse, commuting to Hayward with a 7 year old  Yasin (he was my BFF then) in tow.  Old address:  1107 Stanyan -- still there, minus the old entry door.  "Remember how *** tried to chop down the door?"....some memories ARE funny now!   Walking up and down the city slopes -- concrete hills lined with aging Victorians almost if not, a century old.  Baba and I agreeing that our old flat had old souls living in it -- ghosts, jinns -- whatever -- they occupied the same living space we did. Visiting the corner stores, transformed through time -- the family-owned market across the street now a Walgreen's and the hip flower shop next door, a dimmer shadow of its former self.  The parking lot still there...I remember coming home late at night with a sleeping child slung across my shoulders, a days end from dance classes.

Haight-Ashbury at night.  Lined with street people wafting human smells and tangled hair and clothes
equally in disarray.  Strong smell of alchohol and the enebriated sounds welling from their throats. Baba constantly spitting.  This a signal to me that he finds the whole scene distasteful.  Head back to the safety haven of pristine lobby and hotel room.

Late night dinner of left over Indian food and Whole Foods create-your-own green salad.  Picnic on the floor.  Priceless.  Dessert:  peanut-butter brownie.  Netflix movie night:  Bollywood!

"Baabul" -- a MUST see if you are a sap for romance and happy endings!!!

You Plan, God Laughs

So here I sit.  Peet's on Lakeshore.  My sister from Tahoe recommended I try Arizmendi -- a cooperative of bakers with AWESOME pastries and bread.  I had my whole day planned but I know that I am not in control because nothing is going "according to schedule" -- which translates really to "MY" schedule.

I was going to take Mimi to school.  Take my cellphone back after three days of just being purchased, then head on to Spin class...then work.  1pm drive to SF airport to pick up the niece coming back from Senegal, work some more, go to Madrassa -- settle the new teacher, go to committee meeting and then FINALLY, drive the one hour to Sonoma for my Mom...which I estimate would be around 9 or 9:30 pm.  Visit with her, sleep and then turn around for home and deposit my daughter back in school the next day.

But no...instead, I am sitting here watching other morning coffee(tea) sippers watch other people.  The AT&T phone place not opening until 10 am...I am in Oakland and my Spin class starts at 10:30 in Alameda...I still have to get changed to my work-out clothes...and on and on...

Yesterday was the same...literally, drove myself to an absolute tizzy with my trying to keep "on track" -- husband looking at me like I'm a crazed maniac let loose on the streets.  Is it hormones?

Ibz made a funny observation the other day...he said it seemed the people whom he knew that practice YOGA are the ones MOST stressed...then, he went on to enumerate them...which included yours truly.  "Ha, ha...not funny!", I said.

A good thing that came from all that -- the kids were forced to cook dinner at 9 last night.  They actually did a good job with the meatballs..."Sorry," I said, "I really don't like to eat meat anymore."

My perfectionism is my worst enemy!  I should be more like Katniss, the Yoga cat...she knows how to live life!!!

Women Talk

I was looking at some random travel photos and came across these two here.  It was more like love at first sight...the lobby of the Cancun hotel where we stayed had several of these sculptures on display.  I love the earthiness of the women.  Reminds me so much of women back home -- relaxed and in their elements.  Talking heart to heart...I wrote the name of the artist in my journal -- hoping one day that I would be able to obtain one of these beautiful pieces...

I remember that I would always pass by the hotel lobby and gravitate towards the sculptures...loving the round, softness of the subjects.  I felt completely mesmerized by them...

I saw the women in my family...I saw ME in them!

Time heals old wounds...or not?

    

It only changes a person....

J I H A D -- by:  Aiesha Balde'

"Marry women of your choice, twoor three, or four..."

Surah An-Nisaa 4:3

The pain is raw, gaping wide

A missing limb, almost.

A woman's jihad.  Be patient.

Be constant.   Have faith.

To love for another

As you have yourself.

There it is.  Here it is.

Hide the pain, the mask on.

Alhamdullilah.  A mujahideen.

Soldier of Allah...evoking strength.

The cause first, the personal last.

My sister to you I give.

For me, a jeweled wound.

To gape at and wonder...

(From: "Voices of Resistance: Muslim Women on

War, Faith & Sexuality": Seal Press2006.

Edited by Sarah Husain)

Family Togetherness

A perfect day.  Drove to Marin and headed for Tennessee Valley and Stinson Beach.  It appeared everyone else had the same idea.  Sitting in line on a one lane highway to "get away from it all".  We didn't quite know where the trail started, had to stop and ask at some cars parked alongside the road.

Haven't done a 3 mile hike in a while but armed with a jug of water,  we set off like explorers to uncharted territories...city folks communing with nature!!! The kids trudging along bravely -- the hike was pretty easy.  Saw part of the Pacific Coastal Trail and a sign that said 500 more miles to Oregon.

Thought about the book "Wild" and how I imagined myself to be the heroine making the trek alone.  Today, it seemed EVERYONE was out.  The morning fog was stubbornly hanging on, and the battle for the blue sky to emerge went on for the duration of the hike.  I was glad it was not hot...

Slithering green snakes, black beetles, dragon flies and discussion about poison oak -- which we imagined to be at every growth the side of the trail. The veritable question:  do I use this outhouse or not?  My daughters puckered nose..."What are you going to do when you travel to other countries?" her brother asked.  "Bring my own toilet!"

We were rewarded with a gorgeous view of the ocean.  Sat and people-watched for a while.  Listening to the sound of the waves and voices floating over the moist air. Not wanting to get our shoes wet with the clinging sand...we were voyeurs to the scenery before us.  The hike back to the car was motivated by our hunger and the need to rest hot and tired feet.

I watched 3 and 4 year olds trudging along, stopping and poking at this and that.  Their adult companions patiently explaining away...a dad pushing a stroller briskly walking at speed.  I love seeing fathers spending time with their children.

Peet's break.  Pumpkin Soy Chai latte' was my reward.  Next stop: the city of Tiburon for lunch.  San Francisco landscape peeking from the white heavy grasp of Bay Area fog. We looked at some of the clothing stores around and menu-shopped.  Finally settling on this small eatery with a British flag waving from the outdoor waterfront patio.

My Caesar  Salad was a simple fare of Romaine lettuce and slivers of Parmesan cheese -- $11.00.  Really?  My daughter ordered clam chowder.  We made sure to ask (twice -- even) if the soup was cooked with meat (bacon) and was reassured that it was not..horrors of horrors, she fished out the meat that was not supposed to be there...Despite that incident, the fish and chips my son ordered were actually pretty decent!

Time spent well.  We all felt good and connected.

The Lesson

So I have been sitting since early morning, enjoying the quiet -- reading and meditating. 

I also ran into these notes I have made from somewhere..."Dream a new dream...ask yourself if you are really living today...Or are you just existing?"

"...always move towards places that warm your spirit, and move away from those that leave you cold.  Move to a place that feels right to you, and await your blessings there..."

I wait.

Hummingbird and dolmas

It was truly an incredible sight.  A green hummingbird fluttering from one flowering plant to another.  I stood mesmerized as it did this 3 minute dance performance from the jasmine to the morning glory and then the marigold...it even stopped and perched on the jasmine for a brief second or two.  I felt the same delight as a 5 year old seeing a magic show or fireworks for the first time...AWESOME!!!  I love having my garden.

Sitting around an outdoor cafe' with a group of women -- an afternoon tea party.  They served us with a gorgeous platter of dolmas and hummus. The afternoon sun smiling warmly at our group.  Warm tea, good food, good company.