shokufeh is…home

Must stop soon. Eyes falling out. Perhaps due to makeup? Stress? Staring at computer too long? Will resume after rest and kiss from husband.

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Must stop soon. Eyes falling out. Perhaps due to makeup? Stress? Staring at computer too long? Will resume after rest and kiss from husband.

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… and then a three day weekend is mine. Weehee!
It looks like today’s workday will be well over 12 hours. I started at 5:45 with a live interview for a TV news station. (Which meant getting up early enough to apply a bit of makeup, something I virtually never do, which means it takes me forever to do it.) I think it went reasonably well – I got my messages out to the public. And now, I’m still at work, working on a progress report that’s due tomorrow. Ack. I’ve just got a few more meetings and presentations this week, and then….

Like I said, I’m on the verge.

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These days, the best way to describe me is “on the verge.” I used to use that phrase a lot, when I was in a different job, and unsure if I was on the verge of finding satisfaction in my then-job or finding a new job, unsure if things were on the verge of good or bad. I think these days I’m on the verge of getting a bunch of stuff together, or losing my mind. Or maybe both at the same time.

Last week was busy, busy, busy. Made great strides, but the relief/elation was soon followed by the anxiety over all that remains to be done. We also found out that we probably need to get a new car, so much of the energy and emotions of the weekend were devoted to starting our search. I had hoped to get a jump start on all that needs to be done this week, but that just didn’t happen. I guess that’s good, because sometimes you have to take a break, even if your brain doesn’t.

Positive highlights of the weekend include Sunday’s breakfast at a restaurant we hadn’t been to before, and a wire weaving class.

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Yesterday, on NPR, I heard about Luna – an orca swimming off the west coast of Canada. He was separated from the rest of his pod three years ago, and now two groups are trying to woo him.

One group is the wildlife agency of the government, which has built special pens in which to capture him, and plan to drive him down the coast to reunite him with his pod. Their experts say that Luna calls out for his family members every hour or two, and retains the language of his pod.

The other group is members of a local tribe, who have successfully used their songs to attract Luna further north. They believe Luna to be the reincarnation of their last chief, who, before he died alluded to his return as an Orca. And soon after his death, Luna appeared.

The battle for Luna is very interesting to me. While I don’t believe in reincarnation, it seems that the methods of the tribe members are admirable. And show a greater respect for the creature than penning him and driving him down the highway. (Driving! A marine mammal!)

I don’t doubt that Luna wants to be reunited with his pod, but I am often frustrated by people’s attempts to control nature, rather than working with it.

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Today I got an email from someone in France with the subject:
arabic:~”WA:n,NA,. bb¤±~ b;i:g~ one?

No matter where you live or what language you speak, or what sex you are, you are offered bigger body parts.

Strange.

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Plans abound! I’m looking forward to trips to places I’ve never been before:

Seattle: I just got the word that I’ll attend a training there the first week in August. I think the course will be good. And I suspect I’ll enjoy the city, as my brief time in the airport there (and the quick drive through, on my way to Vancouver) a few years ago, made a good impression on me. I’m also hoping to see a few people I haven’t seen in a while.

San Francisco: While the airport didn’t make a good impression on me, I’m stoked to visit this city of which I’ve heard good (and hip) things, and to attend the wedding of two of my friends in Carmel Labor Day weekend. Sweetening the trip will be bonding with Meisa, who happened to choose the same weekend for her first trip to San Francisco.

Any you-must-experience… advice?

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This weekend, I:

Only five days to go until next weekend. And only ten days of work between me and a three-day weekend.

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Last Friday, June 11, was Kamehameha Day. Last year, I was just happy to get a day off of work. This year made a deeper impression on me. I was moved by the scene at the statue depicting this first king to unite the island under one rule. A crowd was gathered, watching firefighters in their cherry picker placing lei on the statue. Even though I wasn’t too close, I could smell the flowers of the lei – there were so many of them.

I’m constantly impressed by the respect shown for history here – whenever I pass the statue of Queen Liliuokalani, the last monarch of Hawaii, there are flowers at her feet or in her hand, sometimes in a lei around her neck or head. Sometimes there is food placed at her feet. I see flowers at the base of the Kamehameha statue year-round. There are always lei around the neck of the statue of Duke Kahanamoku, the father of modern surfing and an Olympic swimmer.

I was trying to think of other states that celebrate the start of their entity – the entity that preceded their membership in the Union. That celebrate it as a state holiday. Thousands of flowers were strung and hung on a statue, and instead of striking me as a strange act of worshipping a statue, I recognized it as paying respect. A means of thanking those who came before and contributed to what we have today.

Sometimes I get scared by the attachment I’m developing to my life here. Add it to the list of places my heart is scattered.

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This morning, Sam killed a spider on my behalf. I felt bad about it, since spiders are generally such helpful creatures. This particular one may be responsible for the disappearance of a mosquito that fed on me last week. Unfortunately, it also may be responsible for a welt I’ve had for five days. It would be worth it if it gave me mutant powers, but that doesn’t seem to be so. Unless surreptitiously scratching my left breast qualifies as a mutant power.

The itching started last Friday, causing me to go to the bathroom to check if a splinter had made its way into my bra. Nope. For two days, I searched for an apparent breach in the skin, to no avail. Searching the red area, I finally found a tiny site releasing puss. I tried antifungal ointment, antibacterial ointment. Once it was decided, by the lack of rash, that it was not antifungal, I moved to the hydrocortisone ointment. I’ve acclimated to the gentle itching, as there’s only so many times you can scratch your breast in public.

Speaking of breasts, I’m reminded of an incident about ten years ago, when I was living in New York. At Baha’i Children’s classes, a boy who had recently been introduced to the Faith and its prayers, wanted to say a prayer. Because he couldn’t read that well, another teacher was whispering parts of the prayer to him and then he was saying it aloud:

O God! Rear this little babe in the bosom of Thy love, and give it milk from the breast of Thy Providence. Cultivate this fresh plant in the rose garden of Thy love and aid it to grow through the showers of Thy bounty. Make it a child of the kingdom, and lead it to Thy heavenly realm. Thou art powerful and kind, and Thou art the Bestower, the Generous, the Lord of surpassing bounty.
- `Abdu’l-Bahá

We got through bosom okay. I guess because he didn’t know what it meant. Then we got to breast.
Teacher: (whispering) Breast
Boy: (whispering) What?
Teacher: (whispering) Breast
Boy: (whispering) What?
Teacher: (whispering) Breast
Boy: (shouting) I can’t say that!

Needless to say, the prayerful atmosphere transformed into a giggling one.

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