Spile (a poem)

Spile (a poem)


Silence

your reward and punishment

for my kindness, for my love

Your silence

spreads, acid creeping through my veins

quells the muse

binds my tongue

turns my words to ash



Your spile dug deep into my wood

honeyed spirit drained in great golden drops

spilled to the cold ground

wasted

like the blood of a too-young soldier

branches pale, leeched of life

Silence

grows like vines

webbing around me, a metal tomb

and I trapped within

my love for you

the melody

that plays on and on

drowning out your

silence

Advertisements

Walmartians, Meet Targetians (aka: Subculture Expectations)

Marco!

*Tries again*

MARCO!

Now if my hunch is correct, every single one of you who grew up here in the United States just mentally responded to that call with one unified voice. POLO! The rest of you are scratching your heads, wondering why the heck we’re going on about an explorer.

Okay now, let’s play a game of hide-and-seek. Ready? One-two-three…

NOT IT!

Most of you fellow Americans, if I were to ask you to describe a 4th of July picnic, you’d probably spit back a list that included foods like watermelon, potato salad, barbecue chicken, and hot dogs. And a scoop or two of Aunt Millie’s homemade strawberry ice cream, for the hard core folk. We all know the words to the Happy Birthday Song. We know that we place a right hand over our hearts to salute the flag. And we know that if a group of 4ft. tall monsters knock on our door and say the magic words, “Trick or Treat!” We’d better drop a piece of candy in their bags. This is our shared culture.

Every nation has its own sets of standards and nuances shared by pretty much everyone else within that mainstream culture. They recite the lines and lyrics from their own pop media, observe holidays and traditions, and share group ideals and values that mark them as a people. In that way, we belong to our fellow citizens, streaks of gold running along the same vein.

But somewhere along the way, that straight track of homogeneity starts to branch off in multiple directions. These subculture tracks can be due to a lot of common factors — ethnicity, religion, socioeconomic status, region. In fact, just yesterday, I took a little day trip to the beach, which is what most Californians do when they want to get away, or relax, or think, or seek inspiration, or chase seagulls for a few hours. And afterwards, I ate the most Californian dinner possible — spicy fish tacos. With mangos. Not quite mainstream American culture, but as common here as opioid addiction is in the middle states. (Too much?)

Being immersed in a subculture that is not your own can be a very uncomfortable thing. You can be the most skilled classical ballet dancer in your studio. But when you venture into the world of hip hop dancers, your pointe shoes and pirouettes won’t help you to fit in.

The other day, I locked my comfort zone in the car and boldly entered a place that is like another planet to me. Walmart. Yes, the good-ol’ All-American retail store. I was in search of some inexpensive household items, and that is the store to save money on such things. However, it was with great trepidation that I wandered inside. Before you count me out as a middle-class snob, let me share a little history. Once, years ago, when I was minding my own business in a Walmart, I happened to catch a fellow shopper glaring at me. I mean, throwing sharp daggers with her eyes. I was taken aback. Clearly, I had committed some unknown faux-pas while strolling behind my shopping cart. I gave the woman an uncomfortable half-smile, then quickly got out of there.

Now, if that had been an isolated incident, I could have tolerated it just fine. A misinterpretation. Or maybe she was having a bad day. Who knows? But a few months later, the same thing occurred. A couple of women in a different Walmart gave me the stink eye. I was mystified. Was I pushing my cart too fast or slow? Had I inadvertently snagged the last box of Cheerios before they could get it? Were they somehow offended by my mom jeans and plain t-shirt? Clearly, there must be some rules or customs, some unspoken alien language shared among the Walmartian people which I don’t know. I felt like Elle Woods, dressed as a Playboy bunny at a conservative non-costume party. Or maybe it was the other way around.

So now, whenever I must mingle among the Walmartians, I am very, very careful. I make no eye contact. If an aisle is crowded, I go around the long way. I make my purchase quickly and get out of there. Now maybe that isn’t quite the right way to handle it. Maybe the best way to understand a subculture group is to spend some time among them. Study their ways. Learn their rules. Maybe I could learn the correct expression to wear on my face to ward off the stink-eye of the Walmartian women. Maybe I could invite a Walmartian into my Targetian world as a cultural exchange. We could browse the latest in home decor and kitchen accessories while sipping pumpkin spice chai lattes from the Target Starbucks.

Or maybe the answer doesn’t neccessarily lie in either immersing oneself in the subcultures of others, or by expecting others to adapt to our own. Maybe the thing that merges the tracks is to focus on our similarities. When we all show up at the same 4th of July picnic together, no one is thinking about whether you’re wearing Walmart jeans or a Target sundress. We just show up, and eat watermelon and ice cream. We come from different regions. We may have different accents, or different religious customs, or different cultural expectations for behavior. But if someone calls out, “MARCO!” We’re all going to answer back in the same voice.

POLO!

Wild and Precious…and Lukewarm (aka: Goal-Setting)

One Wild and Precious Life

For some reason, I thought it would be a good idea to revisit the 5-yr. life plan I wrote several years ago. Because you know, sometimes it’s good to give your life a check-up, to see how you’re doing on achieving your goals, and to adjust them as needed. Three years into my (very sparse) plan, here’s what I’ve managed to accomplish:

Career: I graduated from college, adding two very useful Computer Information Science Degrees to my useless B.A. degree. Check! I obtained a great job doing something I actually love, which has a great salary and benefits. Check!

Future career goals: I just happen to be really good at my job, and continuing to climb the ladder is inevitable, as long as I keep learning, staying ahead of the curve, and adding value to the agency I work for. Within five years, I hope to still be doing what I love, but perhaps in the private sector, where I can make more money, travel for work, and work remotely. I’d also like to see at least one of my novels published.

Financial: I like to keep these goals private. But my plans are positive and practical.

Social: Still nada. With the exception of the wonderful man I dated just over a year ago, I have been without any friends for more than seven years.

Future social goals: I’ve given up on the idea of my anemic social life changing, and decided to just embrace the “only” life. It can be lonely, having no one to call and chat with, or invite out places, or share joys or sorrows. But this has been my life for so long now, that I figure I can survive it indefinitely. Once in a great while, I go out to a Meetup with groups of strangers, to chat in a restaurant or go for a hike, just to pretend like I have some sort of social life. Sometimes, this is even fun.

Family: Five years from now, I will officially be a single empty nester. One kid is already a young adult, with his own life. One is a high school senior, on her way to university next fall. And the youngest has begun high school. So I guess my goal is to just keep loving and supporting them until they’re on their way. After that — who knows?

Future family goals: Well, I guess five years from now, I will be my own family. I would like to have a dog, if my lifestyle allows for it then. I would also like to continue supporting my grown children from a distance, as they start their own independent lives. I can totally see myself living somewhere far away from here, too, since I will have nothing left to keep me here. Seattle, maybe? San Francisco? London? Maybe a new location every year, if my work enables that kind of mobility. But these are all desperate ideas, since I’m honestly clueless about how to plan my future family/self goals. I guess I don’t really know what I should want.

Heading somewhere maybe who knows?

Health: I’m still doing what I should. I exercise daily (running a lot, going to the gym, and occasional tennis Meetups). I eat a mostly plant-based flexitarian diet. My weight is still in the ideal range, and my clothes fit well. I sleep regularly, see the doc regularly, my iron levels are finally within normal range, so my hair is growing again. Yay! I focus on self-care. I don’t have any bad habits to break. I feel good, and content, and just happy enough, most of the time.

Future health goals: I guess I just want more of the same.

Relationship: Last year, I had a wonderful, fulfilling, far-too-short relationship with the man who was perfect for me in every possible way. I pictured a future with him. I pictured an amazing future with him.

Future relationship goals: There will never be anyone who can take his place. I have zero interest in even trying. I do not plan to ever be in any kind of romantic relationship or date anyone else ever again, so I can cross this one off for the rest of my life.

Travel: Luckily, my kids and I have been able to do a bit of fun traveling within our state within the past several years. Yosemite, Disneyland, lots of beaches, and plenty of great day trips and camping trips. I also got to travel vicariously when my daughter went to China for ten days.

Future travel goals: I hope to travel out of the country at last within the next five years. I just have to figure out how we’re paying for kids’ colleges first. I’d also like to return to New York City for a visit, hopefully with my kids. I’m also considering doing a RunDisney 1/2 marathon one day with my daughter, mostly because running in costume is more fun than no costume.

Somewhere in between the big goals, I sometimes throw in a small, short-term goal or two. But to be honest, I don’t have any tangible small goals right now. Sometimes, I feel like I’m running out of ideas. I already have plenty of hobbies — reading, hobbies, watching sports and movies, music, handicrafts…What should I do next when nothing else seems particularly interesting or fun or useful? It seems so lukewarm to me, to plan to do something just for the sake of saying, “I’ve done that.” Where is the joy or meaning in that? Is it just to make conversations more interesting for you people who have friends? Is it meaningful because you work toward these goals with people you’re close to?

04ca3a40-f7de-4b16-b50f-426338858658-9126-00000c3a4ee5360b

I guess I could plan to do new things just to have something to blog about, to make my blog posts more meaningful. But shouldn’t it be the other way around? Shouldn’t I blog about the goal I’ve accomplished which had great meaning to me somehow? I would love to hear your thoughts, suggestions, etc.

The Rewatcher (aka: Again and Again and Again)

Since Twitter told me that today is #NationalBookLoversDay, I totally thought I would write a post about books. That makes sense, especially since I’ve read about five books per day since I was three years old. I could pretty much write your ears off about books.

But then I started thinking about how much I enjoy it when a book I’ve loved has been turned into a movie or TV series. It is a kind of magic to see the artistic interpretation of a beloved story, to watch it all unfold on the screen. Sometimes, the story becomes unrecognizable (*ahem* Ella Enchanted/A Little Princess/The Stepford Wives *ahem*). But sometimes, the result is just as wonderful — and occasionally better — than the book (The Lord of the Rings / Harry Potter 1-4 / Game of Thrones).

Then my thoughts took yet another twist. As I contemplated favorite titles of books and movies and TV shows, something important occurred to me. Here we are, living in the age of endless movies and TV shows at our fingertips. Just press a few keys, and you can stream one of thousands of titles. You never have to watch the same show twice! It is rather fitting for today’s disposable culture. Watched that series already? Move onto the next one. Tired of your stuff? Replace it all. Tired of your family, your friends? Toss them out, get new ones.

It is quite possibly my least favorite thing about modern American culture.

I am not fond of the disposable lifestyle, preferring, instead, to own few quality possessions, which I try to take care of. I rarely choose to dispose of friends or family, either, unless their presence in my life is harmful. People are too precious to be thrown away or forgotten.

My fondness for permanence spills over into my film and TV show selections, as well. Though I occasionally enjoy finding new series to binge on, or fun new movies to watch, I am, and have always been, a rewatcher. What’s a rewatcher? Someone who watches the same films and movies again and again and again, because she adores them and can’t get enough.

I have watched every episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer at least twice. Every episode of Friends at least three times. Every episode of Alias, The Office, Smallville at least twice. I latch onto the characters, await familiar scenes with anticipation, laugh yet again at their antics and cringe at their follies. And films? I can recite every line of The Goonies and Back to the Future. I have fallen in love with Noah and Allie’s romance again and again. I have memorized the charades of Will and Viola in Shakespeare in Love. And my favorite film of all time? I have watched Pride and Prejudice once every single year since it was released in 2005.

One might think that rewatching might lead to boredom. But not for me. Each time I watch, I learn something new about my favorite characters. I see a gleam in his eye that wasn’t there before, or hear a tone in her voice that changes the meaning of that scene. I find new things to appreciate — the camera angles, and how they added to the tension. The way the sunlight cast the perfect light and shadows to add to the mood. The timing. The costumes. The way the score consisted of the same song, played over and over, and yet, it works beautifully.

I find new reasons why this film, this character, became my favorite.

Books are the same way. I guess you might also call me an avid re-reader, too. Brave New World. The Harry Potter books. To Kill a Mockingbird. The Hunger Games. There will always be room for more books in my repertoire, and more films or TV shows on my screen. But every so often, the newness gets old. And I must return time and time again to the arms of the stories I treasure most.

Anne with an E (and Other Imaginary Friends)

Many years ago, I had the pleasure of traveling to a small, charming town in Prince Edward Island, Canada. I met a number of fascinating people, but one who stood out in particular. She was a girl with hair as bright orange as a carrot, a face spattered with freckles, a smile like the sunrise, and an uncanny knack for getting into trouble.

“Call me Anne,” she said. “With an E.”

Okay fine. I didn’t actually travel to Avonlea. Or even Canada. But I felt as though I had, thanks to L.M. Mongomery’s rich and elegant writing. I didn’t just read Anne of Green Gables. I read every single sequel in the series. Twice. And don’t get me started on how many times I watched the 1985 Anne of Green Gables TV miniseries, starring Megan Follows. I was enamored with Anne, and her dramatic flights of ecstasy over the simple pleasures of life.

I recently traveled again to Avonlea, thanks to the new Netflix series, Anne with an E. Last weekend, when my imaginary friends were busy, and I had way too much time on my hands, I binge-watched most of the first two seasons of the show. I’d been hesitant to give it a whirl, thanks to a surprising slew of negative reviews. But I don’t know what the reviewers’ problem is. Anne with an E was marvelous! Enchanting! Stupendous!

Amybeth McNulty is a wonderful young actress, and much more talented than Megan Follows, in my opinion. Her portrayal of Anne is very much how I imagined her character in the storybooks. The bubbly, talkative Anne with an affinity for large words, with an imagination wider and deeper than the sea. The Anne with a heart of gold who only wanted to love and be loved in return, but was met again and again with rejection as people misunderstood her eccentric ways. The Anne who flung herself into living and loving, always with the best of intentions, but not always with positive outcomes. The Anne who was my childhood kindred spirit, who instilled in me a deep, perhaps unattainable hope that even a girl who others see as different can just keep on being herself, loving herself and others, and that eventually, the rest of the world will accept her and love her back.

I love everything about this new Anne series, from the picturesque setting to the period costumes. I especially love the way the story digs into the lives of the supporting characters, sharing snippets of their histories, and helping us to understand them, and by extension, understand Anne more deeply. The acting is superb — much better than the 1985 miniseries, and anyone who has watched that must know what I’m talking about.

Now if you haven’t watched the show yet, I must warn you — it is quite the tearjerker. I found myself in the depths of despair and had to wash my salt-streaked cheeks a few times during my binge-watch session. But I also laughed quite a bit at Anne’s ridiculous antics, and was filled with warmth at the way she responded to life with poetry, with optimism, and with headlong joy.

I look forward to my next visit to Prince Edward Island, even if it is only in my imagination. I will twirl in my dress with puffed sleeves and skip around Green Gables, reunited with my bosom friend, Anne “Princess Cordelia” Shirley Cuthbert.

Reverse Karma (a poem)

 

Karma, people say

is the great Equalizer.

That you get what you give

That the universe gives what you deserve

measured in spoonfuls

Good for good

Bad for bad.

 

But here is the truth

(I offer it to you with no shiny bow

no pretty package):

 

No of it matters.

 

You can choose to be cruel

walk the wide path through a valley of vice

build your throne on the hearts of others

reflect your self-hatred

scorn what is good

and life will reward you

with glory, with riches

with honor

with love.

 

You can sow seeds of kindness

cascade with self-love

pour it into others

reflect inner peace

like sunshine

strive to always do good

give generously

and end up alone

always so alone

always unloved

in return.

 

There is no Karma.

That is only something we offer each other

to make us feel better

to offer sparks of hope

when there really is no hope.

 

The truth is, no one knows how to explain

why God so often

blesses those who choose to do wrong

and punishes those who choose to do right.

 

 

 

Oh No! Overdues! (aka: Public Libraries)

overduestamp1

Overdues! Auugghh!

I’m kicking myself. I mean honestly, I have no excuse. Our family lives within walking distance of the public library. Kind of a long walk, but still. The library even has these convenient drive-up book drops for lazy peeps who can’t be bothered to park and walk a few hundred feet to return their books.

No excuse. And yet…

There is just something about libraries. Returning my checked-out materials on time has been a lifelong struggle. No exaggerating. Somewhere on one of our family’s packed bookshelves, I’m pretty sure there are a couple of books that were due to the El Sobrante Public Library in 1985.

I can’t begin to imagine how high those fines must be by now. *Shudders*

Other than the overdues issue, the public library has been one of the richest parts of my life. When I was a kid, I used to spend long, leisurely summer days in the children’s room, nose glued to a book. Or making sock puppets in the craft room. Or watching family movies on the little projection screen. Or any other special events they had on the schedule. I adored the summer reading program and took great pride in filling up my bingo grid with all the books I’d read while other kids were busy watching TV or playing with friends.

library books

With the public library, there was nothing I couldn’t obsess over. When I was obsessed with learning foreign languages in 4th grade, I checked out every existing library book for learning Spanish, Italian, German, French, and Japanese. (It’s very hard to learn Japanese from a book, by the way). When I was obsessed with learning how to cook, I discovered a world of colorful cookbooks. Same goes for crafts. Same goes for obsessions with sci-fi, supernatural stories, and books about kids getting kidnapped or hooked on drugs or sent off to summer camp. I even went through a phase of checking out record albums, so I could learn a zillion new folk songs to drive my family crazy.

Finiculi-finicula, Finiculi-finiculaaaaaa!

overdue fines Charlie Brown

But as easy as it was to check out materials, as simple as it was to flip through the card catalogue to find the right Dewey Decimal code, it was really, really hard to return my checked-out books on time. I blamed it on my lack of consistent transportation to the library in those days, which required a long bike ride, or a trip on the back of my stepdad’s motorcycle. In later years, I attributed my constant string of overdues to the books themselves, and their pesky tendency to hide among the hundreds of books in our family’s library, or in dark, hard-to-reach places, like deep under the bed, among spare socks and loose coins.

But I know the truth.

The reason why it is so challenging to turn in library books on time, and why it’s so easy to lose them, is because they do not belong to us.

Think about it. You spend a portion of your hard-earned money to purchase your own shiny new Thing. Then you are far more likely to take care of that Thing. To nurture it. To look after it. To keep it in a safe place, so that it won’t get lost or destroyed. Why? Because it’s yours. You value the things that you feel a sense of ownership for. Or at least, you should. But library books? Those are just worn-out things that belong to everyone and no one. And so, we become careless. We fold down the pages instead of using bookmarks. We read them in the bath, not fearing water damage. We use them as makeshift coasters, or frisbees. (Okay, maybe not frisbees).

Because they don’t belong to us, we don’t cherish them.

Isn’t it kind of the same with people? We tend not to cherish the people who are outside of the little circles we build. We tend not to value the opinions of others. We tend to forget about the feelings of other people. We absorb what we want from people, then we carelessly turn away, leaving them worse than they were when we found them.

Lucky for me, I managed to scrape together my overdue library books and turn them in with a less-than-$10 late fine. Only a small fraction of some of my prior overdue fines. I paid the fees, and get to start again with a clean slate, because that’s how it works with books. People are a lot more complicated. Our carelessness can do irreparable damage. No late fee can mend the human spirit. Only love can do that.

kindness

Like library books, we don’t have ownership of other human beings. We only get to check them out — sometimes for a lifetime, and sometimes for just a little while. But while they are in our care, we can treat them with all the care of our most valuable treasures. There is no one who is worthy of less than that.