Happy Birthday, Mike

Cloudy this morning. Seems fitting for you today. Its your birthday and I want to let you know you are remembered. Only met you once and there was a sadness about it. The look on your face and I remember. Looking back I didn’t really notice then, but I do now. Hard to keep a straight face with all the emotions inside. I know.

You look like Kevin.  He’s an athlete like you. Football player. Spoke to one your mates. He said at half time you would change uniforms to perform during the band. The Arvin alumni band has your photos stream on. Your girlfriend, I assume, is a blond. Reminds me of Amanda. Similar tastes, I guess. Most of my friends were blonds, too.

Don’t know what you had to go through as you were growing up. From the awards I have of you, you were something. Wrestler, football player, drum major. I can see your Honor roll letters. Outstanding Student. Academic Honor Roll 1982. You danced too. You were truly an Alpha.

Spoke to one your mates. He said that if you someone got out of line, you were not afraid to get in their faces. Reminds me of Kevin. Kevin would have the Ultimate Warrior painted on his face when he competed. Not knowing you personally, I can see that. Kevin and I aren’t as musical as you are.  Kevin can dance. Dad was one dancer, too. When I was at Sig Ep parties, I would do my thing.

You probably know this already, but I visited you. A few days before your Halloween. Left some candy for you and one of your neighbors. Sorry it took so long. It took some time to find you. Had to walk up and down each plaque to find you. There was no directory available. Found you I did. I promise to be back before the month is up. Wanted to go today on your birthday, but just wasn’t in the stars. Supposed to snow and rain something fierce today. News has been reporting it. Its cloudy and the weather reporters may be right this time.

Called the school and the counselor remembers you. You must have made quite impression to foster a memory like that. I’m not surprised though. 

Last time I remember speaking about you was when I was AVC Student Body President.  Went to a get together and somehow a lady mentioned your name. She knew of you. Don’t know how or in what context, but it was you. Guess, I wasn’t  ready. Sorry. 

That accident. . .I don’t know how, but I can hear Dad saying, “Why? Why? Why?” He was in the hospital hallway. I know this, but I've never been there. Never went to funeral. Never went to you at the hospital. I was in junior high then and we barely knew each other. Sorry. Wasn't invited. I would have gone. I swear.

The trucker turned in and the rest. . .I’m sorry it happened. I would liked to have known you.

I remember that LA Express T Shirt you gave me. Wore it a few times. USFL, Steve Young. Thank you by the way.

It was a surprise to learn you have half-brother. I am graduating Sage Jr High and then to discover that I have an older brother. Can’t say that I was too happy. Maybe it was the time. Moving from Joshua Hills to a tougher part of the city. Maybe it was Rochelle passing. Maybe it was because I was mad at Dad. I was. Blamed him for many things. Some deserved. Some not. Maybe it was just puberty. Whatever it was, it was no excuse.

Took some pictures of the high school. Also went by the field you played on. Arvin is not a big town. It is farming land. Tiny main street. Not much for big box retail stores. It is a true farm city from what I gathered.  I can still see the statue of the Little Caesar on the building. This was much different city than Los Angeles. Don’t know how Dad got up here, but I will have to ask him when I get the chance. 

Finally saw his funeral. Had it for years and finally watched it. Saw some of our relatives. Minnie and Larry. A few others. There were guards and a procession. I was planning in on taking it to the cemetery and watching it with you.

There was a lady there. Not sure who she is. Don’t really want to know. I am betting it was Dad’s lady friend at the time. Last time I saw Dad, it was at the house before we moved. It was tough. He left and I remember I didn’t want him to go. It would be the last time I would see him. He sent me a text when I was at Garden Grove. It was after a close out. He wanted something and I couldn’t and would send it. It was minor thing and I was hurt and angry and just ready to close the door on things.

I was stupid. He tried and well, it is over now. I was troubled by things that Dad did. Won’t get into it, but I was angry. I have forgiven. Wish I did sooner. People make mistakes and try to fix things. Sometimes these windows close sooner than we expected. My stuff with Em is that way. 

Learned of a funny connection between her and I. Let’s just say, ‘It’s a Small World and God has a plan.”

I digress. I spoke to the counselor and she said she would have stuff ready for me. I can look at yearbooks at the school. Hope to get this done before the New Year gets here. I plan to hit the library there. Maybe get a traffic report on the accident. I would like to see if there were any articles of you in the newspaper. This will take a couple of visits. Perhaps go to the hospital where you stayed. I would really like to get to know you.

Any ways, you are remembered, Happy Birthday, Brother. I love you.

All Good Things . . .(Part 2 of 2)

Continue. . .All Good Things (1 of 2)

I was slow to warm up there and was fixing to leave. Something said, "Stay." Paid $10 bucks for parking and to leave after fifteen minutes would seem to be a waste. No teepees were around and I honestly didn’t get a feel of a Pow Wow. So I walked around again and looked at the wares the vendors were selling. Almost bought a bow and arrow. Wanted to shoot the mini crossbow. Its a bucket list thing.

There was one incident at one of the vendors that struck me. A medium height, brown haired man wearing a Boston Red Sox jacket was holding a buffalo horn he was about to buy. Then he said, “Would you trade for it? This is an Indian store. You people trade things, right?”

Didn’t know why I didn’t say anything. It shocked me I guess that someone would be so blatant—so racist—so ignorant. The vendor, Native American, was obviously taken aback. His response, “Yes, . . .er. . .I will trade it for money.”

It reminded me of a time when I was going to get in a grade school fight. One kid said, “You better not, he might know Karate.” This Boston Red Sox jacket guy was trying to make a funny, but it just got me fuming. This ass reminded me of time when people believed that the Chinese men were good at washing clothes. Domestic labor, i.e., washing clothes was held in the lowest for Chinese men during the building of the railroads. An an old Laundry Soap Television commercial had the tagline “Ancient Chinese secret.” It’s like all athletes and rappers are African American. Forget Pau Gasol, Yao Ming, Manu Ginobli, Matisyahu and Eminem.  

This exchange reminded me to be ever present to the moment. Should have lit this guy up. Moment passed and it made me think of my own ignorance, biases, and prejudices when I first walked in. Decided to stay longer and take it in. Figured that was the Universe telling to shut up and stay. Got an Indian taco and sat. Listened to music and watched more dancing.

Slowly, imperceptibly, I started feeling calmer. Started noticing little things. The singers were three and four in the group. Their songs I never understood. Couldn’t feel it though. Sensed anger. Sensed sadness. Felt Spirit. Yes, it had much Spirit.

When the drummers played, they would sing for ten and fifteen minute stints.  That is tiring. One would lose his voice and the other would pick up. They aided each other to continue. It wasn’t something understood intellectually. The words were foreign. It was touching something basic. Something, Primal. Don’t want to say it was tribal. It would be cliché. There was a Deepness in their songs.

Watching the dancers, their ages ranged. There would be a line of four by two. At first, they were women, young and old. It didn’t seem like they were dancing at all. Just tapping their feet slowly. Up and down.  It was like someone having to go to the bathroom, but with all the stalls occupied.

However, as the drummers increased the speed, the dancers' movements became more dramatic. It was slow measured at first. Then, a couple of ladies with arms straight out and the knees bent as if sitting, would circle left. Then right, and back again.It was like a slow geisha dance.

Overall, the dances reminded me of a junior high dance. At first, the ones on the dance floor can feel every eye on them so there is a much reservation. Then people from outside the arena would join slowly then quick. As the crowds grew, inhibitions would be lost in the crowd. As more people joined, it animated the dancers more. More and more people entered the Arena for all those to visitors to see. A few danced as if they were fighting. The dance would be a battle against one’s fear and personal inhibitions. It was the fighting was against some demons, personal gremlins. Drummers beat would speed and all the inhibitions would fall. The dance remained dignified, passionate.

At times, the Pow Wow leaders would have an “Honorary” Not sure of the meaning and significance, but think reception line at a military ball. Those honored would stand in the Arena. Then people would come up and shake their hand. They had an Honorary for the elders. Another for the singers. Another for a family.

Couple of times, there were calling of gifts. A ceremonial blanket would be placed and people would come up and leave a monetary token. A dollar here and there. Reminds one of collection basket in church.

It was joy that I stayed. After the ceremonial dances were over, there was the Grand Entrance to the Arena. All the people outside the arena, sitting in the canopied tents, came out in their cultural dress and walked/ danced in the Arena. It was something to see. Watching made me really glad I didn’t leave earlier.

Everyone dressed in their colorful outfits was something to see. If you ever been to the New Years parade in Pasadena, you would feel the excitement of the Grand Entry. Well, maybe, not as extravagant as the Parade floats, but it was fun nonetheless.

Not sure I will ever understand the plight of the 500 Nations have faced, but there is certain strength in spirituality that can be felt. Attending these celebrations, these festivals, these Pow Wows, one gains an understanding a respect. One realizes one’s own ignorance and prejudices. This year has been eye opening. Attended Chinese New Year, rode in CicLAvia, Whale watched at the Dana Point, Bet on horses at Santa Anita’s closing day. Drank beer at Oktoberfest. Visited a number of missions. There is so much richness out there.

We pass by all too often thinking what we get from the boob tube is enough. A glance in the newspaper, or click on the internet, can have opening new possibilities. The stuff one read in books and magazines is nice, but this only person interpretation. It is valid, but it can never replace experiencing life one self.

At times, the places we visit does not seem to hold much promise at first. We can get up and leave, but  real treasures can be missed. We need to listen to that voice in all of us and let events unfold. Don’t withdraw too quickly. Something wonderful maybe erupting and you would have missed something life changing.

Life changes happen in every minute, in every second. Slowly, the subtle beats of life quicken and we start realizing we are dancing unabashedly in the Arena. If we can only remember to live life this way, we won’t feel like we missed a thing. In the end, I believe we all would like to feel this way.

All Good Things. . .

All these nations beating as one. Their movements were slow. Reserved, at first. A light tap of the foot here and there. It was as if on the lowest setting on a stair stepper. The beat of the rhythm sped. Grew louder. Upped, the dancers’ movement became more demonstrative, more animated.

 


One man, an older white haired man, had a metal rattle. His arm movements were short, slow, measured. However, as the beat grew stronger his body became more involved. It was violent, there was anger in his movements. 

 

Heard a musician say, “After a concert, he would be exhausted.” After watching this older man, this tribal elder, dance I can see why. There was passion in his dance. Must have been in his 70’s, but his energy would match any twenty year old at a rave. You can pick him out of the crowd. He wasn’t wearing the ceremonial garb as the others. His was the more traditional “White Man” dress. He wore black slacks, leather belt, and a sweater. However, from his movements his Indian heritage was strong. White haired, with a face that would rival any Marine drill sergeant. One could not not watch him dance.

Walking in to the Pow Wow, I wasn’t really impressed. They had the obligatory vendors selling their wares like many—too many—festivals. Fox skins, buffalo horns, and hollowed tortoise shells. There were bead bracelets, bone necklaces, and wooden bows and arrows. Music CDs of Native American were on display. DVDs and books also filled up the racks.

Didn’t think much at first of the whole festival. Wasn’t really large.  It was much like one poor Renaissance Fair I attended. No teepees. Nothing of the traditional Native Indian American decoration I had expected. My mind was expecting something from the Autry Museum. Tents that people used were canopies one buys at Costco, Sam’s Club, and Big Five.

Many attendees wore jeans and heavy metal t-shirts. Young teenage kids dressed in Chollo garb. If I didn’t know otherwise, I would have thought many were from Hispanic descent. Even saw one vendor dressed up in South American Indian attire. I was ignorant and had stereotypes in mind. 

Walked a couple of times around the circle. Sat at different open places trying to get a different feel of the place.  Some wore outfits with Eagle feathers and Native American dress. A few ladies wore proudly Turquoise rings and necklaces.

Tents were arranged in a circle. They called it .  . .the  Arena. Didn’t understand at first, but the circle has great significance. It is held in esteem. It is a sacred place. In time, I learned why it was called the Arena.

Continued. . .All Good Things (2 of 2)

March. . .Again

Last year where were you? In Garden Grove at the Fish Market for me. Five minutes from another life. It was my home for a couple of years. Fish tacos, rice, and an Iced tea. Home was some local hotel. Got comped when I didn't feel like driving home. That more often than not. Attended one of Kaprece’s meets when I stopped by the Grove. San Diego meet,I think.  Last Saturday, I was at the Blue Pyramid of Cal State Long Beach for another. In many ways, I hope it never ends. Going to meets. If an when she stops going, it will mean she is growing up. 

Time flies so fast. We think we have more time, but we don't. Two more days and we would have completed a quarter of the year. Ninety days gone. Gone never to come back. Like holding onto sand at the beach.

Been keeping a journal for some time now. Easier some days, harder others. Remembering what happened during. . . Recalling past events, planning future ones. There tends to be certain monotony, a malaise to these days. We do things over and over again, in hopes of accomplishing some task, reaching some goal. Discovering some truth we already know.

Are you happy where you are now? Why do I ask? Because its going to end. It is no longer to be the way you had wished it. Events change. Your feelings will change about certain tasks. Or events around it will cause the events you are doing obsolete. Jobs, locations, schools, workplaces will no longer hold the same wonderment as before. In time, a new love be discovered. It won't be like your first. It will never will. It shouldn't be. Its just different.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t hate it. I welcome it. Our empties, but it is refilled.  It forces us to realize the importance of right now. Time demands to us pay attention to her. To cherish what is in front of us. It forces to let us leave the baggage of long ago. It hardens feelings and it makes us realize some things needs to be let go.  We can hold on tight, but the sands of just slips away and forces us to grow and die at the same time.

Every day a new dawn begins. Every day the sunsets. Whether we accepts us this or not, it is hard to learn some things are true whether believe them or not. 

Last year, where was I? Posted a few pics, March of last year. Giving a high school friend a ride to the airport. Having lunch at Farmers Market, her first time. Taking a trail in the desert that used to be a grade school oasis. Climbing rocks and finding an Easter surprise.  Attaining a level of Reiki-dom, touching the fabled SR-71, doing Zuma, and walking in middle of Hollywood Blvd for the Marathon.  Joined a book club and had lunch with Dana. These were the things I did last year at this time.

I no longer do some things with regularity. I am paying the price for that now.(Loving it) Other activities have taken over. Others things are more important. Others have faded. Going to God’s house strong since last year. It's become important to me. I’ve found solace. I found silence. I have found purpose and meaning here.  There is certain fullness I feel when visiting a Mission or attending St Mary Mass. There is a certain-ness. There is a knowing a revealing, a continuity.

Not sure where all this came from, but is as if hearing music sings for the very first time. It is the rhythm. It slows enough for the message to be heard and understood. Where sound of music fill in places that are lacking.  Can’t say that visit to Mission or churches will have the same effect as it does me. It is listening to the radio. 

Changing the station. Shuffling through some static. No Satellite, Nothing pre-programmed. Just adjusting to the frequency of the universe until it says this is the station I should listen to. We grow up with a certain sound. We enjoy rock, hip hop, country. We listen to what feels like home. Then we change. We hear techno, house, blues, acid, speed rock, reggae. We discover that there is so much more. We discover. Where have you been all my life? Its that first kiss. We get to a rhythm, and a at times, we discover we are in cacophony of noises. It changes subtlety. A wondrous harmony transforms to something strange, unfamiliar, dulling. Then some how, another changes the station for us. Maybe its the Big Smile, maybe its a newborn. Maybe it renewed, a rediscovered love that gets us in tune again.

Our body, our soul. Our hearts beat with a different rhythm filling us with much needed sustenance. Oxgyenating our muscles, removing toxins, attuning us in ways that brings back to our beat. We need that turning point. we need that drama, that resolution. we need that first kiss again. And again.And again.

Alas, this song must end. Time for a new one to come in. Its calling and I am drawn.

Gueca Solo

How it started, my first post 

Less than a year ago, I came home to vacuum. At the time,  called it an energy suck. Andre, my neighbor’s son had been in a terrible car accident. It was late at night. Cars were parked up and down the street. Thought at the time, it was another party. However, knew something was not right. No music was playing.

Last night, it was different. Music played loudly from my neighbor’s house. Walking passed I could see my neighbor’s dancing. They have a large mirror in their front room and I could see them work on their dance routine. Could feel the smiles from the outside. It brought happiness to my heart knowing that after all this time, they can still dance. Met Andre at the side of a road Post

Energy is not the same as before when their son and brother was there. Yet, they still move. They still dance. From what I hear, the family will be moving soon. No more wild parties. No more dancing in the windows. No more cars parked up and down the street. For this will be sad. No more children playing in pool. No more laughter and smiles from my next door. No more dancing in the windows.

This is what will be missed. Yet, they will move on. The spirit of their lost son will be. . .I don’t know. Here, I guess. His passing was difficult one. However, this family will be alright.

A song kept coming to mind last night. It is an older song, Gueca Solo.  It is beautiful song of sorrow and sadness. It is a song of defiant protest. It is a song of love and memory. It is a song that reminds me of my neighbors. The theme of the song by Sting partially fits my neighbors' plight. 

Why are there women here dancing on their own? Why is there this sadness in their eyes?
Why are the soldiers here Their faces fixed like stone?
I can't see what it is that they despise They're dancing with the missing
They're dancing with the dead They dance with the invisible ones
Their anguish is unsaid They're dancing with their fathers
They're dancing with their sons They're dancing with their husbands
They dance alone They dance alone

There move is inevitable. They no longer water their lawn. Dirt and dust remains as their lawn these days. No longer rich and green, the damage unseen. It is the path they chose leaving. The ocean of sadness has caused them to migrate to green pastures.

However, they will be alright. They will survive. The women no longer dance alone. No longer are their faces fixed as stone. They still dance with dance with the missing. They still dance with dead and invisible ones. Anguish has been said. Women no longer dance alone.  They dance with each other, they with the living.

Read in a Facebook post that my cousin’s friend will be saying his last goodbyes to his mother tonight. She is holed up in Cedar-Sinai. Words were simple and matter of fact. This basic of message said much to me. Knowing one’s passing is inevitable and welcome. It made me think of the hardship and tragedies one faces. Betrayal, anger, doubt, hurt, pain. This right here is the stuff that hardens us. Sometimes it breaks us. Sometimes it makes us feels lost and disconnected.

Yet, still. We need these moments.

Seven fat cows. Seven skinny ones--A dream from one of the Bible characters. This meant there would be seven years of feast and seven of famine. People are made of sterner stuff. These moments of joys is our emotional savings account. It is built on family parties and trips to the beach. It is the moments of standing on the podium arms raised up in gymnastic success. It is times being at the Bee and scoring 600 out of 600 on State Math test. It is swimming without a floatie for the first time. These are the moments of the Fat Cow. 

When we face the seven lean years, we can remember to dance.  We can remember that we do not have to dance alone. We can remember that it is okay to leave our homes and move on. It is time to let Mother Earth, Gaea, reclaim our borrowed bodies. At times, we need to let our lawns return back to its original desert state.

Life is a form of protest in the entropy. It is the rebuild, it is the creation. It is the Re-Creation. Life is the tool we use to battle the betrayal, the anger and doubt. Living and moving on are what we need to wash away the hurt and pain. Living is not for the weak. It is for the strong of heart, strong in spirit, and strong in character.

So this I say, Gueca Solo. We will dance alone. Yet, there will be a time when you will not Dance Alone.