Archive for the ‘The Everday’ Category
October 1st, 2009
My car dealership was the last place I expected to be kept entertained. While there for a tiny car blunder, I came across a woman in her early 70s. I first noticed her at the service counter wondering whether to pay now or after her car had been serviced.
After being told it would take an hour to inspect my car, I sat outside about to start on some work and the woman sits next to me asking if someone could smoke here. I pointed to the large cement receptacle and figured it an oversized ashtray. I nodded.
After a few minutes, she asked what was wrong with my car. From there, the conversation veered towards her 30 year stay in Ojai, her 15 year stay in New York City at the height of the civil rights movement of the 60s, her musician son, and her love affair with a New Yorker from India.
This woman was fascinating. She talked about how much she missed New York and called it “the cultural center of the world.” She smoked 3 cigarettes while talking about “happenings” and “be-ins” at Central Park.
After an hour, we exchanged phone numbers, and I got two more things I didn’t expect: a possible client lead and a new, fascinating friend. Sara (“Sawra”) is a fascinating woman.
It doesn’t surprise me that I got along well with her. I tend to get along better with older people – I find that they’re less concerned with silly bullshit (and who wouldn’t get along better with them!) and more concerned with living their lives – I find they’re better equipped to handle things.
Its not uncommon for me to be good friends with folks whom are much older than I. I have more in common with them. Similar experiences and similar outlook on life..
I hate waiting, especially at places like this.
But I’m definitely happy I waited today.
August 21st, 2008
Coming back from breakfast, I noticed there is an area a minute from my street called Dry Bean Cove. I’m madly trying to find the history of that – it seems like such a funny thing to call a cult-de-sac. I don’t even know if that’s the appropriate name for it but with a name like dry bean cove, I’m not really expecting anything to sound serious.
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January 29th, 2005
After two weeks of mind-numbing training, negotiating a day off before returning to work, and chatting with new friends and frequent comsumption of red wine (and the introduction of XBOX Live – I’m a girl of many loves), I’m finally back home in the city of subdued excitement: Bellingham.
After being away from work for a while, I’m a little afraid of returning and having to, in a sense, start fresh. I’ll be employing a few new “tricks of the trade”, looking at what has changed, and catching up with my workmates. When I arrived home, the whole training experience solidified my desire to never work for a massive company. On the smaller, more individual level, things seem to be forgotten. District managers forget to do certain things after constant requests, things get lost, messages inevitably never get through, and so many little inconveniences that blow up into huge deals.
As I was checking in to my first hotel after a horribly long day at training, all I wanted to do was take a long bath, have some tea, read a book, snuggle, and fall asleep sprawled out on a big bed. Not so. I discovered I had no reservation making this day the beginning of a horrible week. I got to stay in the room I was supposed to have, however, I would have to move into a small, stinky hotel room in a different area for the rest of the week as no other hotels near the training site were vacant.
The second week was better even though I, again, started the week having no place to stay. In the end, I was able to stay at a much better hotel with a big bed, a full refrigerator, a stove top, and a deep tub. I finished each evening with small crackers, a bit of French cheese, and a glass of the loveliest French merlot I’ve had in a long while (either that or the week was just kicking my arse and anything tasted divine).
Needless to say, I was happy to be home when I opened the door last night. Everything was as I remembered. The kitties purred and greeted me, a gentle pitter-patter of rain was audible, and my Merlot was waiting for me with dinner.
This morning, I awoke with the lovely sensation of not having to go anywhere. I sat in my comfortable lounge chair, popped in a few dvds, ate breakfast, and pampered myself with Lush goodies.
I swear, the crappiest days can be made better by the smallest things.
December 8th, 2003
Insane.
That’s the word I would use to describe my life.
Lately, it seems as though I’ve been bombarded with a small collection of very huge projects that straddle both professional and personal spheres. Every morning, I find it a somewhat daunting task to begin shaping them into something tangible – something others can not only read and see online but also visualize in their heads. This is my ultimate goal as a writer and artist – to use my craft in such a way that imagination, colour, and life run around rampant and free in people’s mind in a very touchable, identifiable way.
As crazy as life may be at the moment, just about everyone has a routine, a constant of sorts, that they execute at some point during the day. Whether its kissing your child goodbye before work, eating a bowl of oatmeal in the morning, going out for a run, or simply petting a cat, there’s something that most people do in order to husher in a new day for themselves. Each morning at around 8am, I open my eyes (my internal alarm clock is often not as precise). I pet a cat or two that, most likely, is purring near my head. I stretch in the morning followed by traditional yoga poses while a french press readies itself to brew my favourite tea.
During the winter months, I grab a soft, warm coat and head out to meet the morning light on my patio with a fresh, hot cup of tea in hand. I sit outside at the bottom of my staircase, both hands cupping my tea and I look out towards the horizon.
It isn’t much but its my routine. Its my morning start – my energizer – my constant ritual. To others, it seems trite and ordinary but without doing it, I feel about as naked as a Sphynx cat. This routine is my way of feeling whole and strong enough to greet what will most likely be a busy morning of running errands, organizing the apartment, working on projects, and of course, obligatory play time (and tons of it).
I know it seems odd – to feel so much for something so little. But its my constant. Its what I do not necessarily as a writer or as an artist. But as a person. I think we all need these little somethings somewhere in our days to remind us that we’re human which makes us prone to mistakes; some bad, some good, some awfully scary. But these things we do, as little as they may seem to others, are a huge part in helping us deal with surprises Life throws upon us. And really, it reminds us that these little mistakes? Well, they’re just fine to make from time to time.
What do you do?
November 8th, 2003
When I was a young child living in South Korea, we had a small television set that rested in a tiered entertainment system. One day, I discovered that the entertainment system could be climbed. In my undies, undershirt, and bare feet, I crawled my way up to the top of the television, opened my mouth, and let out a scream. I made myself and my parents laugh that day and it is the earliest memory that I have of myself laughing.
My parents seemed to always make it a point to tell others how much I loved to smile and laugh – sometimes during inappropriate times just for the sake of laughing. I constantly laughed and smiled with ear-to-ear grins wide enough to make the Grand Canyon blush. My laughter, I think, was a sign for others that I could indeed find something to brighten a world that was often rendered in black and white for myself and my family.
A few weeks ago, I laughed out loud with a friend and was told I was being disruptive and loud. Since then, I found myself behaving as if there was a crate full of eggs underneath my feet. I walked quietly and I spoke in a quieter voice than usual. For the first time in a long time, I even hushed my laughter. I realized right then that this was not who I was. I was never known to hush when I was told. I was never known to be submissive under someone’s else’s command. This simply was not who I was. All the while, people were telling me how “free” they thought I was as an artist. I couldn’t help but feel a little caged.
For the weeks after, I slowly relearned how to laugh. I let others here me approaching when I walked. I let out boisterous laughs when I felt something needed to be lightened. I talked in a voice that people could hear and understand that I, indeed, am here.
Sometimes, its easy to feel like we’re being a burden to someone close to us. Sometimes, its easy to rush back into ourselves and forget who we are. It even seems easy to begin to please others and, all the while, forget about ourselves and that, we too, exist. I am certainly one of those who sees the needs of others before my own. This is just the way I am. However, I think its very important that we not forget about ourselves – that we take a little time each day to remember who we are and to reflect on that…to make sure that we are living our lives in absolute colour.
