What follows is a disclaimer for the ads that appear on the right upper corner of this blog... or at least the ads that were there when this entry was posted... they change from moment to moment.
What happens when you join the capitalist machine is you get ads for denigrating sexist schlock items like the (goddess help us) "Hillary Nutcracker". I put Google ads on my site, just to experiment with how it works. I don't expect that either Google or I will make any money from these ads...like, my visitor numbers are in the low hundreds, not thousands. I've mostly been amused to see what their search engine yenta matches up with my writing topics: ads for Hawaii vacations, attorneys, life insurance, college loans, even drug rehab programs. But the moment I posted something about Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton, I got two Hillary ads, one for her official website and the other, which we shall not dignify by menioning again (said in one's best Katherine Hepburn quaver). Sheesh, guess I've sold out and gone to join the circus.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Monday, February 4, 2008
Hillary
Because I greatly admire Hillary, and because you cannot watch this town hall meeting without being impressed by her discussion of the issues and solutions...check out this video replaying right now on her site...
http://townhall.hillaryclinton.com/
(cut and paste this into yr browser till I figure out how to make the link live...)
And then, as a reminder of the deep sexism that Hillary's candidacy elicits, read Robin Morgan's essay Goodbye To All That (#2) - February 2, 2008
http://www.womensmediacenter.com/
(same as above...)
http://townhall.hillaryclinton.com/
(cut and paste this into yr browser till I figure out how to make the link live...)
And then, as a reminder of the deep sexism that Hillary's candidacy elicits, read Robin Morgan's essay Goodbye To All That (#2) - February 2, 2008
http://www.womensmediacenter.com/
(same as above...)
Sunday, February 3, 2008
'Yes We Can' Barack Obama Music Video
Do we dare to hope once again for real progressive change, an enlightened leader, and a winner...in Barack Obama?
Beautifully done YouTube video reportedly made independently of the campaign—by Bob Dylan's son, director Jesse Dylan, and musician will.i.am of the Black Eyed Peas.
Yes,We Can!
Beautifully done YouTube video reportedly made independently of the campaign—by Bob Dylan's son, director Jesse Dylan, and musician will.i.am of the Black Eyed Peas.
Yes,We Can!
Sunday, January 27, 2008
weather report
"Hey Ma, guess what?". It's Sunday morning, post-yoga class and I'm sitting in Coffee Talk when my cell phone rings and Kalei's name appears on the screen. "What?" I respond bravely, thinking, "oh, God, what next?". "It's snowing!" she replies. "I was doing homework and when I looked out my window I noticed it wasn't raining properly. Then I heard people saying, "It's snowing!", and now everyone's outside in it. Oh, I see Ana out there...ok, Mom, I just wanted to tell you that. Bye!". It's the first time this girl has seen snow fall from the sky, and she called to share the moment with me. How very cool. The excitment was contagious: perhaps my voice rose, because I saw a few folks nearby in the this Hawaii coffee shop smiling, perhaps recalling a lovely snowfall in their past, or one they hoped to experience in the future.
There is nothing like seeing your first snowfall, and to those who grow up in the tropics, the experience can be magical, miraculous, and fearsome. Many years ago I traveled to the East Coast with a co-worker and friend from Wai'anae, and I'll never forget the amazement in her face as she watched snow sift from the sky, lining the lawns and coating the gray tree branches. She was afraid to venture out into it, preferring to sit bundled up inside toasty and warm at the window, watching it fall for hours. More recently I was in Washington DC with a delegation of people from the Marshall Islands when a surprise springtime snowstorm hit. Some of the visitors simply stayed in their hotel, even passing up visits to the Congressional representatives. Others, notably the younger ones, simply had to "go out and explore the astonishment of living", as one of their wise and poetic elders put it. And when I got back home, the college parent's email network was a-buzz with the news of calls from kids about the snowfall--apparently an unusual occurance in this part of Northern California. Expected or unexpected, perhaps it is the job of the young, to help us elders see our truly astonishing world afresh.
There is nothing like seeing your first snowfall, and to those who grow up in the tropics, the experience can be magical, miraculous, and fearsome. Many years ago I traveled to the East Coast with a co-worker and friend from Wai'anae, and I'll never forget the amazement in her face as she watched snow sift from the sky, lining the lawns and coating the gray tree branches. She was afraid to venture out into it, preferring to sit bundled up inside toasty and warm at the window, watching it fall for hours. More recently I was in Washington DC with a delegation of people from the Marshall Islands when a surprise springtime snowstorm hit. Some of the visitors simply stayed in their hotel, even passing up visits to the Congressional representatives. Others, notably the younger ones, simply had to "go out and explore the astonishment of living", as one of their wise and poetic elders put it. And when I got back home, the college parent's email network was a-buzz with the news of calls from kids about the snowfall--apparently an unusual occurance in this part of Northern California. Expected or unexpected, perhaps it is the job of the young, to help us elders see our truly astonishing world afresh.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
the illusion of order
ok, I'm back!
Kalei left yesterday early in the morning to return to her California college. We dropped her off at the airport running a low fever and toting 2 large duffle bags, the one she brought home, plus another holding a long skateboard from Jonah and large futon quilt from Grandma. Today, mercifully, is Saturday, and I found myself cleaning up Kalei's room, putting clothes back into boxes in our 3rd small bedroom, aka the storage room. In the process, I decided to empty out and store in one box Kalei's many bags, totes and knapsacks, her personal artistic creations over the past several years, some of which she pulled out and used while at home over the holidays. Some are unique and beautiful, others ratty and worn, and all were full of small treasures, rubbish, toiletries, pens and the occassional contraband item. I salvaged the disposable contacts lenses, coins and anything that looked like a treasure---as we have a specific request not to throw out any found metal objects. These discoveries revealed no new informations to me, and yet I still felt small shock waves hit my body when I came upon items she would not have wanted me to find. Yet, for the first time, I felt this strange calm knowing that there is nothing more I can or need to do about this now. She is a young adult, making some poor choices to be sure, but they are hers to make. We've delivered our messages, and she knows full well what we think and value and fear. I know for sure that we are a powerful voice inside her head,and try to have faith that in time it will become something she doesn't have to run from. Recalling how I would have responded only a year ago, I felt relieved to be here at this point in time, and not back in the midst of those struggles. Overall, this girl is doing well, still a rebel and renegade, still making mistakes and suffering some consequences, but more successful in school and happier than ever with herself, her friends, and yes, even with us. She stayed around the house quite a bit and we spent an unprecendented percentage of harmonious time together this holiday season. I am sad she is gone, and have trouble imagining not seeing her till the end of May. Yet, as all the books predict, it is good to have the home back, to be sitting in a puddle of peace and reflection, to be back to bloging. So, on this day after her departure, I found myself sitting amidst boxes and debris, weaving a weird kind of closure ritual, re-ordering our home by organizing her things, working within my limited parental sphere of influence, and thus creating some small illusion that perhaps I can bring a bit of order to her brave and chaotic young life.
Kalei left yesterday early in the morning to return to her California college. We dropped her off at the airport running a low fever and toting 2 large duffle bags, the one she brought home, plus another holding a long skateboard from Jonah and large futon quilt from Grandma. Today, mercifully, is Saturday, and I found myself cleaning up Kalei's room, putting clothes back into boxes in our 3rd small bedroom, aka the storage room. In the process, I decided to empty out and store in one box Kalei's many bags, totes and knapsacks, her personal artistic creations over the past several years, some of which she pulled out and used while at home over the holidays. Some are unique and beautiful, others ratty and worn, and all were full of small treasures, rubbish, toiletries, pens and the occassional contraband item. I salvaged the disposable contacts lenses, coins and anything that looked like a treasure---as we have a specific request not to throw out any found metal objects. These discoveries revealed no new informations to me, and yet I still felt small shock waves hit my body when I came upon items she would not have wanted me to find. Yet, for the first time, I felt this strange calm knowing that there is nothing more I can or need to do about this now. She is a young adult, making some poor choices to be sure, but they are hers to make. We've delivered our messages, and she knows full well what we think and value and fear. I know for sure that we are a powerful voice inside her head,and try to have faith that in time it will become something she doesn't have to run from. Recalling how I would have responded only a year ago, I felt relieved to be here at this point in time, and not back in the midst of those struggles. Overall, this girl is doing well, still a rebel and renegade, still making mistakes and suffering some consequences, but more successful in school and happier than ever with herself, her friends, and yes, even with us. She stayed around the house quite a bit and we spent an unprecendented percentage of harmonious time together this holiday season. I am sad she is gone, and have trouble imagining not seeing her till the end of May. Yet, as all the books predict, it is good to have the home back, to be sitting in a puddle of peace and reflection, to be back to bloging. So, on this day after her departure, I found myself sitting amidst boxes and debris, weaving a weird kind of closure ritual, re-ordering our home by organizing her things, working within my limited parental sphere of influence, and thus creating some small illusion that perhaps I can bring a bit of order to her brave and chaotic young life.
Friday, January 4, 2008
Sunday, November 18, 2007
sweeping out the bird poop
Rather by accident last weekend, we began small but significant upgrades in our home. Somewhere around 21 years ago, shortly after we moved into and furnished this small 3-bedroom town house with our 18-month old son, we began collecting stuff and stopped any conscious or creative nest building, focusing on raising the kids, working the jobs, tracking the craziness in the wider world, and maintaining a modicum of personal sanity. Household renovation was low down on the priority pole, and changes were mostly made to accomodate the kids and their evolving needs. This led to exponential accumulation of items both precious and junk, to decreasing personal space for the parents, and to the primacy of function over aesthetics. As the young child of a neighbor once asked me, "Kalei's Mom? why is Kalei's house always so messy?" As it turned out, the family of this bright but impertinent child had bigger fish to fry, namely a father who used and dealt ice. Even so, I'd be dishonest if I said the words did not find a soft spot somewhere in my psyche (gee, maybe if I smoked crytal meth, I too could have a neat house).
Anyway, it seems that over the years, anytime Mark and I talk about ideas for better use of our limited space, we would run up against our differing ways of going about things, and I would get overwhelmed by the magnitude of it. This time, after kicking a few ideas around, I proposed a first step that I felt motivated to attempt, which Mark immediately deemed "brilliant". Bolstered by such positive reinforcement, we proceeded for the first time, working as a team. Much dust was raised and removed, a goodly number of books culled, an old desk removed, workspaces consolidated, and more light and white space created. Art pieces were dusted off and places found for some, so the "livingroom" became a place for the eyes to rest upon lovely, interesting and/ or meaningful artwork.
I was reminded of the the suddern desire to re-create the home that happens during pregnancy, often during the energetic 2nd trimester, and remarked to Mark that perhpas we were expeiencing empty nester nesting behavior. "Or, more like sweeping out the bird poop" said he. Whatever we name it, I'd call it satisfying, nay, liberating, to find we are capable of accomplishing a few small steps along the Martha Stewart continuum.
Anyway, it seems that over the years, anytime Mark and I talk about ideas for better use of our limited space, we would run up against our differing ways of going about things, and I would get overwhelmed by the magnitude of it. This time, after kicking a few ideas around, I proposed a first step that I felt motivated to attempt, which Mark immediately deemed "brilliant". Bolstered by such positive reinforcement, we proceeded for the first time, working as a team. Much dust was raised and removed, a goodly number of books culled, an old desk removed, workspaces consolidated, and more light and white space created. Art pieces were dusted off and places found for some, so the "livingroom" became a place for the eyes to rest upon lovely, interesting and/ or meaningful artwork.
I was reminded of the the suddern desire to re-create the home that happens during pregnancy, often during the energetic 2nd trimester, and remarked to Mark that perhpas we were expeiencing empty nester nesting behavior. "Or, more like sweeping out the bird poop" said he. Whatever we name it, I'd call it satisfying, nay, liberating, to find we are capable of accomplishing a few small steps along the Martha Stewart continuum.
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