Token of Time

(I write this as I sit plopped in front of my Dad's grave...the late morning sun bathing me with it's warm embrace and the gentle whisper of the breeze through my ears.  The faint smell of lavender and thyme adding to the sweetness; I love mornings like this!)

  

For the past several weeks when I go to Mom's I would pull out the old family albums and share them with my children.  Since my Dad's passing, my Mom's life has been centered around these memories -- housed in volumes of tattering albums, elicited through fading black and white photos and colored snapshots of years gone by...Mom would leave several of these albums scattered throughout the many rooms of the house, keeping alive distant past and claiming it for the present.  This is the world that she chooses to live in now...

Funny how a bunch of photographs freezes time,  jogging memories of family gatherings...the youthfulness in everyone a stark reminder that the years do take their toll.  Last time we were all together, I looked around the table at my siblings, all of us in varying stages of aging... grey hairs and body parts succumbing to persistent gravitational pulling -- I would compare photos of my parent's in their 50's and look at some taken of me as I am -- now, also in my 50's; my own children in their early teens to mid 20's...

I listen quietly to my older kids, the one that is now working for a living, the other recently graduated from college or another who has just begun it -- so full of life's promise and excitement, ready to conquer the world, travel to distant lands.and leave their mark. I would be reminded of how I was thirty years back with the same bravado and confidence...then I smile secretly to myself.  I look at my Mom and see her fragility as she nears her 80th year -- everyone says I look like her.  So then, I always think to myself, yes -- in a few more years, I would be her...

"If I could save time in a bottle, the first thing that I'd like to do

Is to save every day 'til eternity passes away..."

(Jim Croce)



English Class

Never say "Never!"  --  I have always been short of patience and swore that I would NEVER be a teacher to anyone or anything.  This, I use to say out loud to my younger siblings as I helped them with their homework when they were in elementary school.  Because I grew up in a school system where neatness, legibility of writing and exact, complete work is an ABSOLUTE must...it took me awhile to understand abbreviated answers, dangling sentences and homework papers riddled with erasure marks.

"Why," I would say to my siblings then, and now to my children as well --"our teachers would whack our hands with a ruler" were we to do the above...much less, forget to do an assignment -- that was totally unheard of!!! So what happened to me?

I have been an educator for almost two decades...poetic justice in action, perhaps.  Despite my degree in English, among other things -- I remembered that my goal was to be a nomadic traveler, roaming the world in search of people and stories.  Romantic idealism of what a writer should be doing ... it seemed like a doable plan except for one thing...I started a family and then began working as a community organizer, so that was that!

Building a community is not an over night thing -- neither is it something that one can readily walk away from. So here I am, having played many roles and continuing to wear many hats...

I teach an English class for non-English speakers in our community.  As design would have it, my class is ALL women, ranging from 16 to 60 something.  As diverse in age, my students are just as diverse in culture: from the Middle East, Indo-Pakistan to the continent of  Africa, I have come to appreciate what my students have to teach me -- while I , in turn teach them to read, write and speak in a language that is so foreign to their ears, lips and hands.  Some of our lessons verge on absolute comedy -- laughter being the medium of connection that binds all of us as comrades and family.

  Theories are one thing, practice is another.  I can honestly appreciate the tools I learned from the TEFL (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) certification program I took; implementation is, however another can of worms...I love the freedom to be creative and playful with the exercises I use to have my students "practice speaking English."

I am amazed at the level of commitment, hard-work and determination that ALL the women have in learning a new language.  A couple of the older students were illiterate -- not having gone to school in their countries of origin; speaking their language but not being able to read and write...so here they are: Beginning Beginning English class.  Learning the alphabet and learning the English words for say: hat, chicken, sundry body parts, days of the week, months and counting to 100.  They are learning how to form letters and hold a pencil. Our second year finds us spelling letter by letter learned vocabulary words.

Those that are at a higher functioning level are becoming experts at conjugating irregular verbs and writing descriptively up to a paragraph...engaging each other in animated conversation complete  with hand gestures and facial expressions on subjects such as:  describe how you make "chapati" or what is your recipe for "chicken biryani"?

Then there are those special moments when we actually get to demonstrate and act out vocabulary words -- say for example, the verb "sing" -- I had each student choose any song from their country.  With each one's turn,  faces glowed with  remembrance  -- each song reflecting memories of their homes or their childhood.  For a brief moment, we are carried along the landscapes of Syria, the mountains of Afghanistan and Yemen, the fertile forests of Bissau and even the flowing rivers of Bangladesh...

I marvel at the richness of each person's stories and unique personalities.  For two hours -- twice a week, we become immersed in a discovery of newly found words -- exciting, tedious and frustrating at times, but just as beautiful in creating and building bridges to understanding -- no matter where we are from.

Disaster Preparedness

In light of the recent destruction to many communities in the East Coast, many conversations have been tossed around as to how prepared we ALL are in terms of natural calamities, and perhaps the not-so-natural calamities, that could potentially befall ANY of us at any given time.  Imagine 7 days of no electricity, wet everywhere and falling temperatures, with a looming threat of yet another storm on the horizon...long waiting lines for food and gasoline.  Many describing their homes as ravaged as in a war torn country, access to necessities as almost non-existent, save for neighbors and locals getting together to help one another.

So what about us?  Are we ready?  In this city, we are fortunate to have community volunteers being trained by the Fire Department under the CERT (Community Emergency Response Teams) Program.  I am a certified CERT volunteer and am encouraging others to sign up.

Google:  CERT: Community Emergency Response Teams (www.citizencorps.gov/cert/) or
                CERT - The City of Alameda (www.cityof alamedaca.gov/City-Hall/CERT)

Despite having gone through CERT training and several Red Cross workshops on "Disaster Preparedness", I would be the first to admit that I am far from being prepared.  Short of telling my family that we are to meet at a designated spot in case of a disaster and giving each of them a relative's out-of-state phone number, I guess I can honestly say, I have a jug of water, random flashlights around the house with batteries stored in tin cans (which haven't been tested for several years), and last I looked -- maybe two cans of food...pitiful, hey?

I grew up in the Philippines were typhoons and flooding were almost a part of life -- not to mention earthquakes.  So in every sense of the word, I am a veteran -- but does one really get used to any kind of devastation?

Here in California, I have experienced the Loma Prieta earthquake, I believe in 1989. I was living and working as a nurse in Santa Cruz -- the epicenter of the quake. I remember that afternoon as clearly as if it was yesterday.  Working on the second floor of a pediatric clinic, I was getting ready to put a patient in a room to be seen by the doctor when all of a sudden, I heard the rumbling noise BEFORE I felt the shaking.  It was as if the floor had tilted and I was standing lopsided.  My oldest was about two years old and my thoughts were only of him and whether or not he was in a safe place. Although the earthquake only lasted a fraction of a moment -- it felt like time stretched in slow motion, until it became quiet again -- both the noise and the shaking.  In it's wake, was a roomful of files and stuff on the floor and a great number of people groaning in shock.  I quickly grabbed my purse and hurriedly told the doctor I was working with that I had to go home.  Didn't even asked if that was fine with him -- I didn't care!

I headed home to find dishes, stereo, books all in piles on the floor.  My toilet was sitting askew and my stove moved about half a foot away from the wall.  My son was with his father and they were fine.  Didn't really know what to do at that point, but to clear the mess and see what was what.  No electricity, no running water, no food in the house, no flashlight -- I remember having matches -- that's it!!!  My terrified two year old and I went to the only store that was opened and stood in line for three hours to get basic necessity of water, candles, batteries, flashlight and canned food.  We slept in the car that night, anticipating the aftershock that could be much stronger than the quake; I hugged my son against me -- did not really sleep much.

The next day, we went downtown Santa Cruz and saw many of the retail businesses owned by locals, some of whom were our friends, just completely demolished...as if a huge demolition ball went through each of the buildings and leveled them down to the ground.  So this is how a place would look like if it was bombed, I remembered thinking...Wow!!! Disbelief and definitely a humbling experience.  That was over twenty years ago...and now I am in the Bay Area.  The same thing can happen again.  Time to wake up!!!