Bruddah died today on the bus stop bench where he lived. Cindy called my cell phone today to tell me the news. The bus driver reported he was sitting up on his bench at 10 in the morning, but Josie said by afternoon he was dead. The three of us passed by him each day. As recent hires, we got the newbie parking in the Methodist Church's dark, dank, stuffy basement, trekking the 15 minutes to and from work through heat and rain past the Art Academy and the bus stop bench that Bruddah occupied day and night.
During the 7 months I held this job, I passed him almost every day, dragging my little vintage bag-lady wheeled cart filled with files, books, lunch, coffee thermos, water, work shoes, etc. As my teenage bus-riding daughter often reminded me, those of us who spend lots of time in cars have no idea what city streets are really like. These commuter walks refreshed my memory. The world has a grittier look and feel to habitual pedestrians and those who rely on bus transport. You learn to close your eyes when a bus or truck passes by, spewing jets of hot particle laden air in your face; if one wants to avoid bodily injury, one dare not step off a curb on a green light before making eye contact with right turning drivers and waiting to see if they actually stop. My little cart made me temporarily semi-handicapped, and I came to deeply resent the fact that some curbs are inexplicably not accessible, requiring either dangerous or long detours.
Often, a small dark cloud hung over my head during these walks, a cumulus of job stress, adjustment anxiety, the indignities of finding myself at age 55 “on probation” with no paid sick leave, vacation, or retirement benefits and a parking situation that made the logistics of going into “the community” complex.
Bruddah lived in his own little bubble too. He sat or slept all day on one bench at the bus stop, surrounded by bus riders who made do with the other bench, or stood as far away from him as possible. He appeared totally out of it, never acknowledging or talking to others; mentally ill one assumed, though he didn’t talk to himself either, aside from occasional muttering. One day I offered him a small bottle of water from my cart, and he accepted it with a simple and socially appropriate “Thanks”. After several days where I noticed him turning red-faced under the hot summer sun, I gave him an umbrella. Several snacks and water bottles later, we were on waving terms. If I had something to share, I offered it. If not, I just waved and called out “Hi, Bruddah”. Though he habitually sat with eyes downcast, he would look up at me from under bushy eyebrows and give a dainty little kid wave. Sometimes I wondered whether he might be disappointed by a wave alone, but saw no sign of it. If I brought something he always thanked me. Bruddah never asked me, or anyone else as far as I know, for anything.
He gained weight and grew enormous over those few months. At some point, he acquired a walker, but movement of any kind became increasingly difficult for him. I figured he had diabetes, and tried to bring mostly healthy things. The only thing he ever refused was star fruit…that is, until the last day.
It was the end of a long day-- my last one at this job. I felt fortunate to have found an interesting new job, but with no time for transition, I was due there early the next morning. The sky was growing dark, and I donned the mantle of heightened alertness women bear when walking alone at night. As I wheeled my overflowing cart past Bruddah’s bench, I offered some food I’d snagged for him from the workplace snack table. To my surprise, he declined, adding intently “I’m really thirsty—do you know where I could get some water? I can’t move.” Anxious and self-absorbed, I replied that I had no water—then blurted out “I have a new job, and I may not pass this way or see you anymore” to which he responded, “I want water”. Feeling foolish, I stammered an apology, and moved on, worrying about the dark and deserted church basement that lay ahead. Not my proudest moment. A few steps later, I took in his words and realized, hey, I can do that. Wheeling my last-day load to the car, I drove a block to a gas station mini-mart, bought two big water bottles, walked back to Bruddah’s bench, and handed him the water and a $5 bill. “You answered my dreams!” said he when he saw the water. I demurred that it wasn’t much, and wished him well. Returning to the car, my steps were light and fearless, as nighttime enfolded us both in her timeless and loving embrace. It is my hope we were both reborn that night. I know I was.
What if God was one of us
just a slob like one of us
just a stranger on the bus
trying to make his way home
back up to heaven all alone
like a holy rolling stone…?
-Joan Osborne
PS: my spell check keeps trying to change Bruddah’s name to Buddha. Mahalo and aloha ‘oe Bruddah Buddha
PPS: "the last day" was many moons ago...but the writing completed itself only last week.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Reading List
I sent out a request for reading recommendations to a short list of friends and received back a rich treasure trove of literature-- such fun! I had expected more overlap, but only one book was mentioned by two people: "The History Of Love" by Nicole Krauss. You must be an eclectic bunch of readers. If you want add more recommendations, you can do so by posting a Comment.
"The History Of Love" by Nicole Krauss beautiful writing and one you can't let go, lots of Jewish content, amazing book :)
Liora
A Fine Balance
The Long Walk
Cloud of Sparrows
What’s the What – Dave Eggers
Beasts of no Nation – Uzodinma Iweala
History of Love – Nicole Strauss
Madonnas of Leningrad – Debra Dean
The Inheritance of Loss – Kiran Desai
The Reluctant Fundamentalist – Moshin Hamid
Jo Ann
Somebody's Heart is Burning, A
Woman Wanderer in Africa by Tanya Shaffer.
Just finished The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, by Junot Diaz and loved it ... set in Panama and NJ Panamanian community ... you learn more about Trujillo than you can bear ... an unusual remarkable prize-winning book. Now reading East of Eden which I can't put down.
Carol
I have read everything by Haruki Murakami...Start with Dance Dance Dance or Kafka on the Shore and if you like his style, just keep reading. I also like Paul Auster a lot.
Max
If you want some fairly light reading, I love Jodi Picoult novels. She's a really good writer and typically writes about very controversial/difficult issues in an interesting and complex way. (By light, I don't mean light on subject matter but rather easy reading.) My favorite one of hers is "Second Glance" ...but...I really like most of them.
Another easy-to-read novel is Sweetwater Creek, which is a coming of age novel about an adolescent girl and her love of dogs. Author is Anne rivers Siddons, who also wrote another interesting one called Home Place, about a woman who goes back to her southern hometown.
I don't think she's published anything recently, but Josephine Humphreys remains one of my favorite novelists -- Rich in Love is my favorite book of hers.
Louise
just read HONOLULU by Alan Brennert - it was a brirthday gift from my korean cousin - it was interesting and fun - an historical novel about Korean Picture brides and the period of 1920-1950's or so - the facts seem to be right and I was actually facinated as my grandmother was a picture bride - also interesting the way the women helped each other even if they didnt always like each other - loved that - my grandmother had no friends that way - but I DO!! yay! also read "Three Dog Life" by Abigail Thomas - loved that one - sadly - relevant to me - we're all hangin in there - aloha no –Val
Doris, did you see the film The Reader? It’s an amazing version of the novel, which I loved. The writing is beautiful & economical, the novel isn’t a huge long one. And if you’ve not seen the film, there is a turn in it that I didn’t anticipate, that makes sense of a lot of things within the story. But not everything, because it’s about the Holocaust and making sense of that isn’t possible. Cheers, Kathie
The Memory Keeper's Daughter; The Known World; Life of Pi -- placed in my hands by Linda
Am finally getting around to responding to your query. I loved Brooks' "Year of Wonders," so I'd like to know what you thought of her recent book.I am reading a lot of Canadian authors. When I move somewhere, I like to read the local literature to get a feeling for the place and the mode of expression. I did that in Hawaii and it enriched my appreciation of the place and the people. (If you want any Hawaii rec's, can do.) Some Canadians: Douglas Coupland - who coined the term "Generation X." He's funny and irreverent, and many of his books are set in Vancouver. What's not to like? Some I liked: Shampoo Planet, Eleanor Rigby, The Gum Thief, jPod (this one a bit gimmicky, but I thought it was hysterical)You can't go wrong with Margaret Atwood
I also think Jane Urquhart is great - try Away, A Map of Glass, The Stone Carvers
Joseph Boyden has written 2 emotionally breathtaking tomes that incorporate indigenous people and their clash with the current world - Through Black Spruce and Three Day Road; And a few non-Canadian picks:2 from India: Aravind Adiga - The White Tiger; Paul Theroux - The Elephanta Suite (helped me to realize how little tourists to India really know what's going on); Sebastian Barry- The Secret Scripture (not about religion, stunning). I want to read more of his stuff; Plus, I have read a number of mysteries set in Scandinavia - let me know if you want to know about those.
I am pretty much an addictive reader and am always on the lookout for more - so please let me know what other hot tips you receive, and also, if you try any of these, what you think. Carolyn
"The History Of Love" by Nicole Krauss beautiful writing and one you can't let go, lots of Jewish content, amazing book :)
Liora
A Fine Balance
The Long Walk
Cloud of Sparrows
What’s the What – Dave Eggers
Beasts of no Nation – Uzodinma Iweala
History of Love – Nicole Strauss
Madonnas of Leningrad – Debra Dean
The Inheritance of Loss – Kiran Desai
The Reluctant Fundamentalist – Moshin Hamid
Jo Ann
Somebody's Heart is Burning, A
Woman Wanderer in Africa by Tanya Shaffer.
Just finished The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, by Junot Diaz and loved it ... set in Panama and NJ Panamanian community ... you learn more about Trujillo than you can bear ... an unusual remarkable prize-winning book. Now reading East of Eden which I can't put down.
Carol
I have read everything by Haruki Murakami...Start with Dance Dance Dance or Kafka on the Shore and if you like his style, just keep reading. I also like Paul Auster a lot.
Max
If you want some fairly light reading, I love Jodi Picoult novels. She's a really good writer and typically writes about very controversial/difficult issues in an interesting and complex way. (By light, I don't mean light on subject matter but rather easy reading.) My favorite one of hers is "Second Glance" ...but...I really like most of them.
Another easy-to-read novel is Sweetwater Creek, which is a coming of age novel about an adolescent girl and her love of dogs. Author is Anne rivers Siddons, who also wrote another interesting one called Home Place, about a woman who goes back to her southern hometown.
I don't think she's published anything recently, but Josephine Humphreys remains one of my favorite novelists -- Rich in Love is my favorite book of hers.
Louise
just read HONOLULU by Alan Brennert - it was a brirthday gift from my korean cousin - it was interesting and fun - an historical novel about Korean Picture brides and the period of 1920-1950's or so - the facts seem to be right and I was actually facinated as my grandmother was a picture bride - also interesting the way the women helped each other even if they didnt always like each other - loved that - my grandmother had no friends that way - but I DO!! yay! also read "Three Dog Life" by Abigail Thomas - loved that one - sadly - relevant to me - we're all hangin in there - aloha no –Val
Doris, did you see the film The Reader? It’s an amazing version of the novel, which I loved. The writing is beautiful & economical, the novel isn’t a huge long one. And if you’ve not seen the film, there is a turn in it that I didn’t anticipate, that makes sense of a lot of things within the story. But not everything, because it’s about the Holocaust and making sense of that isn’t possible. Cheers, Kathie
The Memory Keeper's Daughter; The Known World; Life of Pi -- placed in my hands by Linda
Am finally getting around to responding to your query. I loved Brooks' "Year of Wonders," so I'd like to know what you thought of her recent book.I am reading a lot of Canadian authors. When I move somewhere, I like to read the local literature to get a feeling for the place and the mode of expression. I did that in Hawaii and it enriched my appreciation of the place and the people. (If you want any Hawaii rec's, can do.) Some Canadians: Douglas Coupland - who coined the term "Generation X." He's funny and irreverent, and many of his books are set in Vancouver. What's not to like? Some I liked: Shampoo Planet, Eleanor Rigby, The Gum Thief, jPod (this one a bit gimmicky, but I thought it was hysterical)You can't go wrong with Margaret Atwood
I also think Jane Urquhart is great - try Away, A Map of Glass, The Stone Carvers
Joseph Boyden has written 2 emotionally breathtaking tomes that incorporate indigenous people and their clash with the current world - Through Black Spruce and Three Day Road; And a few non-Canadian picks:2 from India: Aravind Adiga - The White Tiger; Paul Theroux - The Elephanta Suite (helped me to realize how little tourists to India really know what's going on); Sebastian Barry- The Secret Scripture (not about religion, stunning). I want to read more of his stuff; Plus, I have read a number of mysteries set in Scandinavia - let me know if you want to know about those.
I am pretty much an addictive reader and am always on the lookout for more - so please let me know what other hot tips you receive, and also, if you try any of these, what you think. Carolyn
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Sunday, February 15, 2009
The trail beckons
Creaks and groans accompany us along Aiea Loop trail on this bright and windy winter Sunday afternoon. No, it is not our middle aged bones, but the strawberry guava, eucalyptus, koa, and ironwood trees rubbing against each other in the wind as we walk. I am so deeply happy to be here again, in our seldom visited backyard park along the pali, where so many memories reside, where nature brings us back time and again to our precious present.
We pass the place in the trail where years ago Mark and the kids took Mahina-the-cat's remains, and we are comforted to know her bones lie there still. We pass the spot Mark calls "Hi, doo-doo" for the surprisingly sassy greeting a tiny and usually polite Kalei gave a puzzled stranger as he hiked past. At the end of our short hike, Mark as always heads for the bathroom, and I announce "I'll be over here making a mouse-house". The words conjure another Aiea Loop ghost, an end-of-hiking ritual our children insisted upon: building a rodent-sized house of gathered stones, scraps of wood, crunchy brown leaves, needles of thick pine and fine ironwood.
These memories return, not sadly or heavy with regret, but light and easy to carry like my small back pack; they soften and slow our steps a bit, but do not trip us up any more than do the prolific tree roots. Only conscious attention to the present, and a good guava walking stick, is required to navigate the trail gracefully and in harmony with mud, roots, and memories.
It is so good to be here as the afternoon light glistens and sparkles through the complex network of branches, highlights the patchwork of yellows, whites and greens in the valley below, and coats the vista of ridges near and far in pastels petticoats of quickly passing sheets of delicate raindrops.
Life has been in such continuous transition that I can't recall the last time we swam in the ocean or walked in the mountains of our home island. Waiting for life to return to normal, I secretly wondered if we ever would. Yet today, something called me to our neighborhood wilderness, whispering that that life cannot be put on hold, but must be lived starting now...starting here...in your own backyard. Carpe diem! The trail beckoned, and the path while winding, windy and ocasionally wet, was easygoing, and with our guava sticks we walked lightly, carefully, and gently on the earth, putting life back on track one step at a time.
We pass the place in the trail where years ago Mark and the kids took Mahina-the-cat's remains, and we are comforted to know her bones lie there still. We pass the spot Mark calls "Hi, doo-doo" for the surprisingly sassy greeting a tiny and usually polite Kalei gave a puzzled stranger as he hiked past. At the end of our short hike, Mark as always heads for the bathroom, and I announce "I'll be over here making a mouse-house". The words conjure another Aiea Loop ghost, an end-of-hiking ritual our children insisted upon: building a rodent-sized house of gathered stones, scraps of wood, crunchy brown leaves, needles of thick pine and fine ironwood.
These memories return, not sadly or heavy with regret, but light and easy to carry like my small back pack; they soften and slow our steps a bit, but do not trip us up any more than do the prolific tree roots. Only conscious attention to the present, and a good guava walking stick, is required to navigate the trail gracefully and in harmony with mud, roots, and memories.
It is so good to be here as the afternoon light glistens and sparkles through the complex network of branches, highlights the patchwork of yellows, whites and greens in the valley below, and coats the vista of ridges near and far in pastels petticoats of quickly passing sheets of delicate raindrops.
Life has been in such continuous transition that I can't recall the last time we swam in the ocean or walked in the mountains of our home island. Waiting for life to return to normal, I secretly wondered if we ever would. Yet today, something called me to our neighborhood wilderness, whispering that that life cannot be put on hold, but must be lived starting now...starting here...in your own backyard. Carpe diem! The trail beckoned, and the path while winding, windy and ocasionally wet, was easygoing, and with our guava sticks we walked lightly, carefully, and gently on the earth, putting life back on track one step at a time.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Milo's gone
Last night Mark received a text message from our son Jonah on the Big Island. "Milo was hit by a car. He's dead". Since the day Jonah adopted this pug-faced poi dog from the Humane Society, everyone has loved Milo. Kalei cried out "No!" when she called this morning, and I told her the news. She said "Jonah needs that dog".
Jonah and Mark exchanged a couple one-line emails, and Jonah said to "give him a few days". At such times, he doesn't want to talk.
It is hard to believe that Milo is gone. Though this is hardest for Jonah, Mark and I are surprised how much grief we feel -- for our son, and because we loved our "grand-dog" who brought so much delight to our family.
Living with the sorrow today, I found myself reading Thich Nhat Hanh's "Peace is Every Step". He offers some simple words to say with the breath:
Breathing in, I calm myself
Breathing out, I smile
Dwelling in the present moment,
I know this is a wonderful moment!
How can such a fucking terrible day be a wonderful moment?! I yelled in my head. It is so dark and painful to know that my son is suffering.
Because we have been through other losses these past few years, our family has been bound together by our grief. Jonah and Kalei's sorrow is ours as well. In the midst of this sadness, I cannot help but feel grateful that my son is such a deeply loyal and caring man who does not love lightly. This assures there will be more love and sorrow and joy in the years to come.
Jonah and Mark exchanged a couple one-line emails, and Jonah said to "give him a few days". At such times, he doesn't want to talk.
It is hard to believe that Milo is gone. Though this is hardest for Jonah, Mark and I are surprised how much grief we feel -- for our son, and because we loved our "grand-dog" who brought so much delight to our family.
Living with the sorrow today, I found myself reading Thich Nhat Hanh's "Peace is Every Step". He offers some simple words to say with the breath:
Breathing in, I calm myself
Breathing out, I smile
Dwelling in the present moment,
I know this is a wonderful moment!
How can such a fucking terrible day be a wonderful moment?! I yelled in my head. It is so dark and painful to know that my son is suffering.
Because we have been through other losses these past few years, our family has been bound together by our grief. Jonah and Kalei's sorrow is ours as well. In the midst of this sadness, I cannot help but feel grateful that my son is such a deeply loyal and caring man who does not love lightly. This assures there will be more love and sorrow and joy in the years to come.
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