like water on a rock or off a duck’s butt…

I am moving.  again.  for the 50+ time in my 50 years of living this particular life.  and when I say moving, I don’t mean to my own beat (although I have been known to do that most of my adult life) nor do I mean moving along my path (although that could be extrapolated from the major move).  No, I mean moving as in where I live, as in moving from the current Attic apartment. 

The SO and I decided that we will store our belongings for the summer and that includes my car, Harvey.  We will then find another rental in September after spending the summer in Alaska.  That is our plan.  We are currently at the front end of that plan.  The sorting and sifting stage.  letting go.  passing on.  throwing out of stuff.  tenderly wrapping precious treasures. 

Seeings how I moved into the Attic space almost five years ago with two big suitcases and a blowup bed, the act of sorting and packing probably isn’t such a big task.  Right?  Loud buzzer or gong sound.  Wrong.  The SO and I are both garage sale (aka “GS”) lovers.  We have also been quite busy and lucky in the spying and retrieving of “set out free for the taking” sidewalk stuff.  Quick conclusion, we have a bunch of stuff crammed into the Attic. 

For me, sorting through belongings and paperwork and photographs and memorabilia is never a two step process.  I seem to have a built in emotional upheaval and processing of my feelings stage that is predictable in its occurence but unpredictable in its length or intensity.  As a result, sorting takes an inordinate amount of time and I have yet to really dig into the piles and boxes and heaps. 

Did I mention that we need to have vacated our Attic in three weeks? 

Yikes.

is it this hot in hell?  Renovated or not, my Attic abode is holy hot!  It was 80 degrees in the Big City this morning at 9 AM and hotter in Berkeley by then.  I know.  I know.  There are places where it’s hotter than this, all the time.  and the point would be?!  My point right now, is that it’s Hot here in the City tonight. 

Good thing I have a Vornado fan trained on my head while I type this post.  Not really.  A good thing that is.  I do, indeed, have the fan blasting away directed at my head that’s trying to dry the rivulets of sweat that are dripping down my forehead.  I know.  Eeeew.  TMI.  Sorry. 

Hey, I lived in Alaska for many years.  I am not used to 90+ degree temps! 

One of the revolving topics I write about here is public transportation.  Specifically, how I get from City to Big City (aka ‘BC’), how I get around while I am in the BC, and my return trip to my Attic apartment in the City.  I am a BART’er (Bay Area Rapid Transit’er) and a muni bus’ser, typically three days per week.  On an average (whatever that really means) day, there is never a dull moment on these modes of transit.  There may be filthy seats and floors, fetid and really odiferous air non-quality, a full spectrum of commuters occupied in anything from really interesting behaviors to totally gross or ‘no, you’re not going to…’ behaviors ~ but after almost two years of this thrice weekly commute, I can honestly say there has not been a dull moment. 

Well, I think things are going to get livelied up even more here very quickly.  Today is slated to be in the 80’s in the BC, tomorrow even hotter.  When the ambient temp rises so do the human angers.  Short fuses burn up fast and go caboom.  We human folk tend to be a messy, sweaty, loud lot come summer time. 

So I’m holding onto my briefcase/tote bag/purse extra tight as I head down those subway stairs.  When I surface (and I will, right?) I’ll have stories to tell.  Of that I am sure. 

Since I am quickly (if you call almost five years, one day at a time, quick) approaching the finish line of my educational journey and if all goes as hoped, I will be conferred my doctorate in clinical psychology in less than one month (which translates to less than 28 days), my thoughts are interrupted by ways in which to reward myself for my hard and diligent work.  Mind you, I have already rewarded myself here and there this past month with little semi-precious stone trinkets, visits from beloved familia members, a side trip to Reno (where believe you me I did not just sit in my hotel room not spending any dough), a side trip to Point Reyes, and some danged good meals cooked by someone else(s) and served up in some pretty settings.  But hey, this is a pretty doggone big accomplishment, right? 

And so I daydream and spin possible scenarios in my noggin with my creative paintbrush or since I am spinning these creations, would it be my creative spinning wheel…  For this post, the implement of creation does not really matter as much as the wish list in my dreams ~

• a week in a beautiful luxury condo on or near my favorita Alaskan beach shared with familia and friends that would include, but not be limited to, numerous walks along the water’s edge, adding to my rather impressive seashell and rock collection, several bonfires over which various meats would be roasted (apologies to the sacrificial animals), lots of board games with my grandkiddos, and some big wins at the poker table.
• a brand new digital SLR camera with personalized lessons and unlimited time and focus with which to hone my craft.
• a glass blowing class that includes an aptitude (on my part) and patience (on the teacher’s part) to develop a new creative outlet.
• time (guilt free) to hang out (translated into visiting, eating, and laughing) with friends.
• the guarantee of passing the EPPP national exam after diligent summer studying.
• or hell as long as I’m wishing, the guarantee of passing the national exam without one whit of study.

So there are some of my wishes.  Oh and one more ~

• the ability to skip a stone at least 10 skips.  No, make that 15.

I have yet to see one

wave.

A wave seems to come in numbers

even more than pairs.

heat   wave

ocean    wave

waves of   despair.

@junemoon 2008 

While I have been away from my blog, I have filled my time with things other than writing and for that matter, now that I think about it, I also took a hiatus from anything that smacked of creativity.  In the big scheme of living, the time off/away was short and one’s creative juices are not always flowing like a veritable river anyway. 

In hindsight, I realize that this time out has been richly filled with learning moments, some ah-ha’s (not always of the positive nature), and commonsensical sorts of stuff.  Here’s just a smattering of what I talk of:

• when attempting to suck the biggest black spider one has ever set eyes on, that happens to be esconsed in its incredibly strong spider woven cocoon, into an already too full electric floor sweeper, screaming vulgar language does not seem helpful.  Instead, saying repeatedly “get in there, please oh please oh please oh please, get in there” provides more assistance.
• when traveling to Nevada’s Biggest Little City, Reno, for two nights and almost three days, it would be best to take more than a pair of olive drab cotton capris pants, one pair of rolled up blue jeans (non-designer brand), a faded orangey tie-dyed t-shirt, and a 15 year-old short sleeved v-neck black cotton top.  Cuz golly gee whiz almighty, one might actually want to meet the dress codes of the nightly entertainment spots.  Just maybe. 
• even when underdressed (a true understatement - no pun originally intended), when in the Biggest Little Sin City, shrug off any embarrassment and party like a rock star anyway.
• it is possible to cram three full grown adults into one tiny photo button booth.
• it is not really that possible to obtain a photo of all three full grown big human faces;
• but an awful lot of belly laughs can be purchased for that $3 bucks of fun.

Mother’s Day brings out a longing in my soul that seems to have migrated to my bones this year and more arthritic crystals are being formed I am sure of it.  I can feel them forming, building, increasing, and hurting.  Apropos I guess.  Longing morphing into pain-full pockets tired of floating loose and unconnected through the cosmos or through the soul or for that matter through my body.  The longing needed a home.  A base at least from which to continue to inform me of my loss-es. 

Heavy.

Painful.

Yes.

on a day meant to observe and recognize the special caregiver in our lives - good old mom. 

sorry about that.  not really. 

My longing.  My pain-full pockets of arthritic emotions. 

Real stuff.

One realizes the length of absence from blogging when one’s password has to be pondered for more than a minute or two.  So what exactly has been occupying my energies, focus, and life of late?  Wow.  Okay, that may be too big a bite to chew on so let me break it down into a more managable soundbite.  While my blog has fallen silent, my life has been full to overflowing.  Some of the events and happenings have been filled with fun and laughter.  Some other experiences far from fun.  A few tears have been shed and tempers have flared.  Overall, a life ~ my life, has been brimming with vim and vigor, grief and depression, negotiations and transitions, accomplishments and new beginnings. 

This morning, my thoughts have been filled with the words and written history of Asian Americans as I am engrossed in Helen Zia’s Asian American Dreams: The Emergence of an American People published in 2000.  Once again, I find the need to downsize my reading bouts, in order to manage the flood of emotions that surge through my psyche as I take in new information or am reminded of what I already know but have forgotten by choice or by accident. 

As a bisexual woman, I was happy to read in Zia’s Acknowledgements her thank you to her female life partner.  I am hoping that she will write about her relationship in this book.  I do not personally know many Asian American Queer women and want to meet more of my kind.  I am also hoping that she speaks to, or at the very least, gives a nod to my Other Kind, Korean adoptees as we are, indeed, part of the Asian American peoples. 

As to the return to my blog, I think I am back onboard and am looking forward to the ride.  Now, whether the seas prove to be choppy or smooth as glass is yet to be seen. 

neglect, as defined by others than this author ~

lack of attention and due care;

the state of something that has been unused and neglected;

willful lack of care and attention.

while I am not sure that all three definitions match my little blog’s lack of posts, of late, I will admit to feeling guilty for the lack of attention sent its way.  And the guilt thing is somethig I do not want to carry about my blog.  That was not its original birthing purpose and guilt, in this case, serves no one.  so, be gone guilt. 

On network television, there is a snippet or a teaser or a trailer or an advertisement (I don’t really know the proper TV Land term) for a show called the Biggest Loser.  This short segment shows a mother and her at least adolescent/grown son sitting side-by-side and the mother starts to cry as she says something to the effect of I would give up everything, all of my dreams and aspirations, to see him [son] succeed.  The first time I saw this snippet, I was half-listening but recall mentally putting my finger to chin ~ tap, tap ~ and the marinading on this woman’s statement began.  Since then, I have seen the trailer multiple times (in between watching educational only TV, mind you) and each time I find myself pausing and swirling the idea around a little more.

This concept of giving up all of one’s own aspirations and dreams in favor of someone else’s success is a tough one to get my arms around.  Would I be willing to give up my dreams and goals for my daughter?  for my SO?  for my grandkiddos?  my sister?  for anyone? 

My internal answer has been No.  and then, of course, I build a case to justify my decision, my choice to not selflessly give away my dreams in order that someone else’s could be achieved.  Not healthy.  Not realistic.  Not a good role model.  Massively co-dependent.  These and additional reasoning thoughts form over time.  But at the back of my mind and the periphery of my heart, a curiousity popcorns up and down, a question ~ if one truly loves another, would one not be willing to do whatever it took to ensure the loved one’s goals?  Is that what is meant when we speak of unconditional love?  does unconditional love exist in the human heart? 

Who needs so much reality?  If I wanted existential questions flung at me, I’d flip back to PBS and ask myself such important questions as what is the origin of the submarine sandwich?