Filed under: Musings, Political, desert life | Tags: Arizona, Barack, Candidate, Democracy, Obama, Phoenix, Politics, Presidential Campaign, Rally
30 January 2008
I really wasn’t sure what to expect tonight. It was my first political rally since the 2004 presidential elections, when I lived across the street from Town Hall in Seattle, WA and was fortunate to see all those in the running speak at one time or another. But easily said: Phoenix is no Seattle. Here, where we war in furniture parking lots about immigration, expand our cement horizons into the ever-dusty wild west, and rank at the bottom of the national education polls, it is easy to say that the political climate is no sister to what goes on up in the Evergreen State. So – I had no idea what to expect tonight as we headed onto the Phoenix Fair Grounds; the Veteran’s Coliseum, to listen to Obama speak.
The line zigzagged across the parking lot despite our decent arrival time and even after snaking our way through the line and into the building, past full restrooms and concession stand lines, we waited still longer. Excitement ebbed and flowed through the crowd – quite literally, sometimes in the form of “the wave” as chants for “O-BA-MA!” would rally from time to time.
It has been almost a year to the day since I last saw Obama: 27 January 2007 in New Orleans, Louisiana at a Senate Hearing. It was my first time to meet him and I remember being impressed with the way he put the pressure on to dig out answers from would-be weaslers who tried desperately to avoid responding to the inquiries. When no one else was, he was strong and clear, insistent, about needing concise answers for the record when they sought to story-tell their way out of trouble. After the hearing, we had the opportunity to shake hands and talk briefly in the quiet of the courtroom before the press conference. Afterward, my friend and I traveled with him and the press as we toured various Katrina-impacted locales.
I thought back on that day today, as we were sent to a “porthole” and the second level seating area where we’d be lucky to find a seat. Separated from Obama this time by hundreds of people, throngs of press, bright lights, a high school marching band, intense energy, and loud campaign music. What a different world.
It was gratifying to see so much energy; to be around people who Care. I’m not talking about people who care specifically about Obama – (I myself didn’t walk into that room with any decisions or firm convictions about my candidate of choice) – but rather about their Democracy. Democracy – “the free and equal right of every person to participate in a system of government….” (-encarta dictionary) By definition, clearly it’s our own Responsibility to find the answers to our questions, to shape our country, to actively Participate. Yet, so many of us don’t, even while unhappy with the status quo. Truly: It’s exciting to toss complacency aside, isn’t it? As Barack would later say during his speech, “It’s easy to be against something. But you are all here, because you want to be FOR something.”
When Caroline Kennedy appeared the crowd went wild, and again when at last, Obama appeared – the crowd roared and was on its feet, denying the wait had ever bored any of us.
(aside: Amidst all the hyper-frenetic energy, I couldn’t help but imagine Barack as the common man. What would it be like, seeing your name on thousands of posters… media, Everywhere. Hearing the throngs CHANTING your name, the World watching…. What would that be like? No, not for him. What if it were You?)
Barack’s energy was full-bore, giving no indication of having been in Colorado just hours earlier — or of nearly a year of campaigning, for that matter. He covered a wide range of topics in a short time, from education to the environment, immigration to war, healthcare to Hope. He spoke about giving our kids their college education and having them return the contribution in the form of community service. About healthcare for all. He spoke about the nonsensical truth that many hard-working Americans are still struggling to get by. And he gave his rebuttal to the critics who suggest that he is too young or lacks experience, saying that “the argument is that we need to stew him and season him a little more. We need to boil all the hope out of him. And then maybe he’ll be ready sometime when he talks and acts just like us. I have to say the American people don’t seem to be buying this argument. And the reason is because they understand that the biggest gamble would be to have the same ole’ cast of characters doing the same ole’ things, with the same ole’ results over and over and over again. That’s a gamble we cannot afford. That is a risk we cannot take. We need to step forward. We need to turn the page….”
It’s true, his message is most definitely one of Change and Hope. The excitement was palpable in the air and I could feel the beginnings of it stirring within – the desire to believe in the dream, to hope the biggest Hope for our country. Perhaps it sounds cheesy, but perhaps that in itself is the problem. Rather than striving for the high ideals that we were founded upon, those kinds of dreams are not common-language, now sounding so outlandish in a country headed well-down another direction.
This is our choice; our Democracy. Time to stand up. Seek out the answers. Take responsibility for your freedom. Toss ambivalence and complacency aside. Vote, Vote, Vote. As Gandhi famously encouraged:
“Be the Change you wish to see in the world.”
Filed under: Musings, desert life, seasons | Tags: family, food, happy new year, Japan, new chapters, Philippines, tradition
Akemashita Omedetou*
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I reached out to cling to some old, ancient traditions – spanning across time and the oceans to my ancestors – from here: the Arizona desert.
Here I stand with an entire open slate of possibility before me marked by open calendar days and pages of journals yet unscribed. Looking forward while still grounding myself with pieces of our old, ancient past. Remembering having stood at these chapter markers of my past. Jumping up and down at midnight to grow tall. With grapes for bounty, noodles for long life. Omochi, Sake, Natto, Kobumaki, Kuromame, Kazunoko, Kurikinton… all kinds of osechi. Full salt and rice containers in the house. Japanese flute music in the morning, and sometimes kimonos. This has been our story. The story of generations. For my family growing up, Japan’s traditions combined with those of the Philippines.
And now, from the desert, we add American football. Ode to merging the old with the new….. It’s a beautiful journey.
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Cheers to New Beginnings. To endless Possibility, Potential, Hope, and Inspiration.
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Happy New Year Everyone!
Ahhhhh…. Beautiful fall in the Pacific Northwest. A breath of fresh air.
Crisp.
Inspiring as spring for naming new Crayola colors. Elaborate swatches of spent life. Wobbling, dancing on the wind.
Oh that we could all live, grow vibrant with age, and let go with such grace….
Filed under: Musings | Tags: bulldog, curiosity, dogs, explore, fall, seeking
There’s something fantastic about the simplicity of dog days.
For a week in Portland, I got to hang out with Oden. A bulldog. On our late-morning walks, Oden would invariably find sudden interest in that which I would otherwise pass by without a second thought. What caught him ~ a smell, a shape, movement… I can’t say. But suddenly there would be a tug on his end and he would be sniffing, prodding, sometimes tasting…. No matter how many times we would pass along the same route, there would always be so much new, giving further reason to explore and seek out what others might have left undiscovered. He was reminding me to explore-the-already-explored. I wondered on how to employ such a continuous drive-to-seek in my everyday, on the paths both known and unknown.
In the most abstract way, I would think of him later, when I listened to the biography of Einstein along my drive. Einstein simply employed Curiosity, which he deemed the greatest of his traits – to wonder upon that which everyone else simply accepted as unmarvelous and As-Is. Staring at a compass as a child changed Einstein’s life forever; wondering on the unseen forces that forced the northward pointing arrow. What other unseen forces might there be, guiding and shaping this world? He decided that it must all be explored and grappled with.
And so it was, to go for a walk with Oden. Perking our ears at the crunching leaves underfoot and the distant birdsong, pushing past the limits of leashes to give notice to the easily unnotable; to remember and sniff out the details.
Later, comfortable in being cared-for and loved-on (another beautiful quailty), Oden would tiredly snore away the afternoon, spent with the day’s investigations.
Filed under: Musings
San Diego International Airport Musings
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Gaping confusion is absolutely contagious to stare at, I noticed, watching the large shouldered woman spin in circles around herself. Palms open question marks at the end of her stalky arms, her mouth the hanging “o” of the unknown. I looked around her as she did, both to see what she might be seeking (as though I could find it for her), as well as to note how many others were also pulled magnet-like into her confusion. Spin, Spin. It might have been her luggage lost, her plane left, a loved one misplaced, I mused in those seconds.
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There, within feet of her, a bearded man claimed her with just a simple nod of not having missed her absence nor noted her confusion whatsoever, “The flight is delayed,” he said blankly. She moved toward him, her question marks turning to exclamations, “I have been looking for you.” Syllables of accusations, as though it were he that had moved from the spot by the pillar. No notable change in expression shifted his beard, but his mouth moved in reply and my eyes moved on. A full round room.
*
What a place this is, the airport. Pieces of life and culture, time and the world sifting around within a special gathering place meant to move us about further into far flung corners of earth that are no longer mysterious nor unimagined. I wonder on how that fades the color of places. The known-ness of them. Like a quilt in the constant sunshine. A place in the spotlight.
Stones worn smooth by the passing of many pilgrims.
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Or perhaps that makes them all the more vibrant. These glimpses garnered from the worldly among us. Shared through glossy pages and explained as though we ourselves join the adventure alongside the National Geographic magazine travelers. Lucky adventure-travel journalists.
Ode to be one. Yet, as many other things, I must not want it that badly – since clearly, I am not one.
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Or at least, I am not by my standards, though others might name me so. Or rather, they have thus named me, with words like, “You’re crazy.” Or “I never know where in the world I will find you.”
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But I suppose by adventure travel, I mean things like climbing Mount Everest then Mount Kilimanjaro, or learning to wrestle alligators, or eating the brains of some unnamed creature, roasted over fire in the jungle. In the desert. In the abyss of the arctic. THAT’S Adventure Travel.
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So, from here – I can see one woman learning about how to become a millionaire, three men deeply gone into their laptop computers, a woman anxiously sipping her cocktail, – her calm demeanor undone by her frenetic eyes sifting through the room. Two men becoming loud with drink leaning against the bar. A sister and brother hungrily devouring boxed pizza, remnants of Disneyland scattered in bags at their feet…. Another guy, bandana-ed, sunglassed, impervious.
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My flight is delayed. I look to the pillar and see the bearded man still there. Hands in his pockets, the wondering woman again gone from sight. I wonder if we three are delayed together to be carried back to the Arizona desert. Curious if shortly the woman will appear again, spinning slowly, lost down my row. Looking for that which she left behind. Again. Like deja’vu. Or a glitch in the matrix.
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They are announcing a flight to Boston.
Is anyone else ever greatly tempted at the airport – to board and jump in an unexpected direction?
To the other side of the country or ocean. To make the very old ground beneath your feet be brand spanking new, even if only to you. To awaken every sense with all-things-new. Air your lungs have never known. Colors combined in new patterns. Fill your ears with the sound of communication that sounds like a mish-mash of sounds that doesn’t make sense only to you. Taste that sends brand new information, images to your brain. Textures for your tongue, your fingertips that you didn’t even know how to imagine before. Music from instruments that strum and pulse through you like no mp3 player has.
Flight 2328, service to Anywhere….
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Anyone else?
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