Miss Your Ex? Date a clone...and other Seattle weirdness

Lately, several of my male friends have been in relationships that have ended. Unlike my female friends, who go through the grieving process...lots of chocolate, long walks around greenlake, and angry/sad girl time...then after a few months find someone new, my guy friends are dating again within weeks. Ready or not. I guess being in a city where there are lots of amazing single women, that isn't a shocker, but what is kind of weird and creepy is who they date. I don't even know how they do it, but many of these guys are going out with total doppelgangers of their ex-girlfriends...I mean like if you see them walking from behind, you could easy mistake their identities.

What is that? Is that their way of saying they miss their girlfriend? What are the benefits? Do they just have a very specific type or is it that guy's way of having a do over with a look alike with a clean slate...the same girl without the same baggage of every mistake already made in the relationship. I guess it just seems like a foreign concept to me. When I'm through, I'm through. If you put all my exes in a police line up, you would have a rainbow spectrum of all different heights, weights, nationalities, ethnicities, accents, and etc. Or is that weird, that I would want someone who doesn't remind me of the last failed relationship? I don't know.

Dating in Seattle is weird anyway. In Wisconsin (not that I'm trying to go back) if you are interested in somebody or they are interested in you, there is this thing called communication that happens. That's right, people who don't already know each other talk to one another and they don't have to be drunk off their asses to do it. Here there is a lot of staring. I'll be out and about with friends and see a guy and he will just stare at me, hard, but never say a thing. So then I'm wondering if I've had a wardrobe malfunction. Is my boob hanging out? Is there snot on my nose? Why are you staring at me like that? I want to just say to him, Dude, this would be much less awkward for both of us if you just say something like "Hi, My name is...". I won't bite. I won't propose. We can just chat like normal people. Or, like last weekend, I'll get walk by compliments, where the guy will literally kind of lob a compliment at me and keep moving, quickly. What is that?

What I am discovering is that there is this weird Northwest culture in which social awkwardness is the norm. I don't know how I didn't notice this during college. Maybe it's just different at that age because almost everyone you are meeting is going to school, there is immediate common ground for a conversation. Now, if I meet someone and they are friendly enough to chat, I am shocked if they are actually from Seattle. In fact, the majority of my tight friends are Seattle transplants from the Midwest or the east coast. I didn't plan it that way, but the longer I am here, the more it makes sense. The northwest has such a passive aggressive culture, that it is refreshing to be able to speak to someone who is direct.

Last night I went out salsa dancing with my friend whose spirit name would be Dancesallthetime and her Turkish friend with a very cool name that means diving into water or being immersed in water. It was good to move. The music was good and I actually danced with several really amazing dancers, which is rare in Seattle, but once again I was rarely asked to dance. Dancesallthetime of course knows everyone by now, so it was no surprise that she would be dancing all the time, but Water, who is much less into dancing than I am (and has much less rhythm) kept getting asked to dance. It was annoying to me...not that she got asked to dance a lot, but that I didn't. This didn't stop me. I danced all night, with people who asked me, with people I asked, with my friends, by myself...whatever, my dancing need was well met, but I feel like my dancing life mimics my dating life here.

I'm beginning to think that I am a scary woman. Actually, I had a guy at a party recently tell me that because I come off as very confident that it is kind of intimidating to talk to me. I kind of laughed at him. I mean I always find confidence attractive. I'm not really interested in dating anyone who doesn't have a good sense of self, so why would guys be looking for someone shy or with low self esteem? I always find shy people less approachable, like they're scared I'm going to attack them, but here in the weird northwest, maybe I'm in the minority.

Meanwhile in the past two days both dancesallthetime and my other friend Sporty C, who I went to happy hour with on Friday told me(independently one another)...in a very backhanded complimentary way... that I would be the perfect man. As such they think it will be very hard for me to find a man that is "as good as me". That was a very irritating diagnoses. If I'm that damn fabulous, men should be falling over themselves to get to me, right? But then around 3am this morning Water said something to me that made me feel better. She says that it is great that I am who I am and that in order to find the perfect person for me I need do little more than grow into myself. She says the perfect man for me is someone who will be drawn to me as is and appreciate all the attributes that make me who I am. No one ever says that. Sometimes I feel like everyone is trying to fix me...maybe if I do this or don't mention that...then some scared little man will have the temerity to ask me to dance...well that sucks. Maybe who I am and what I'm looking for limits my dating pool a bit, but I've always been more quality over quantity anyway and I'm tired of people trying to make me feel like I'm the weird one. I'm over it. I like who I am and who I am becoming. There have been and will be more men who will love me. And they won't be so frickin' weird. Seattle boys...get it together and grow a pair.

Dyme Def and Grandma

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Hula Hooping

On Sunday I learned how to hula hoop. This is a big deal for me. When I was a kid I could just never figure it out, but there in the aisle at K-Mart with the help of Mz. Blu, I began to get it. So I bought a purple sparkly hoop filled with water and I took it home where I have been hooping at regular intervals. It's really working my abs, but I'm getting much better. I can bump it back up to my waist when it starts to slide and get it to go faster if the pace starts to lag.

The hoop is kind of my symbol for this staycation. I want to try new things or get better at old things I never had the patience for. I want to go para sailing and drink wine in the rose garden. I want to wear beautiful dresses and learn how to do a jumping wheel kick. I want to go to the spa and get a sea salt scrub.

In the meantime, the staycation continues to go well. On Sunday I caught a hip hop show that I have been debating about writing about. It was entertaining, but I remembered why I hate Nectar and try to avoid it whenever possible. On Monday I had a deep tissue massage and tested for my blue belt. Tuesday I ran some errands, watched movies and painted. Yesterday I finished doing touch ups on my painting for the show, then treated myself to a lovely shopping trip downtown. I checked out the rack and drooled over shoes at Fluvog, then I had snacks and a great glass of wine at the happy hour in the little French Cafe near the market. Today I am doing laundry and getting a pedicure before meeting up with some friends. Why can't life always be this chill?

Sitting with my sanga and getting a blue belt

Today was my blue belt test in Tae Kwon Do. I didn't feel very good and this is beginning to be a bit of a re-occurring theme. Last test I vomited 5 minutes before. This time I managed to contain myself, but I just felt lame. One of Tina Blu's favorite sayings is "fake it 'til you make it" and that's what I did. I went through the motions. I greeted my classmates and made small talk, then we warmed up, which was kind of insane considering that the majority of the people in my school were testing. There was barely space on the floor to turn and the locker rooms were crowded and stinky.

As Grand Master K, founder of my school was in attendance, nothing went as usual. We started by having a seminar on crescent kick and twisting kick, two kicks I rarely ever do. This got me moving and the repetition made me feel a little better. There is something about that kind of focus that settles me. We finished after an hour and then bowed out. Higher ranks (myself included) had to put on our sparring gear- pads for elbows, knees, shins, and forearms. We didn't wear chest protectors, which is unusual and we lined up by rank and height with out gloves and headgear tucked beneath our left arm. As I stood shoulder to shoulder with my classmates, I didn't feel nervous, I felt ready and proud.

We bowed in, then sat by rank to the side where there was barely enough room for all of us. We had to make rows, something we've never had to do before in a test. Though Grand Master K had a special seat of honor at his own table just beneath the flags, Mrs. P called the test. The way it works is that she calls your name and you jump up and say "yes Ma'am". You line up with all the other people of your same belt rank and then she asks you to perform some basic kicks, blocks, and punches that you should know. After that you demonstrate your form. Your form is a routine of kicks, blocks, and punches done to an imaginary opponent to display you skill. Each belt has a form and a set of one steps, which is a call and response demonstrations of fighting. One person "attacks" and you respond with a combinations of moves. Both your form and your one steps get progressively difficult as you achieve higher ranks and as a black belt, you will be responsible for knowing all the previous forms, so it's not something you can just forget after each test. You really have to learn it and then practice each form.

My form is called Jun-gun and it focuses a lot on stances and hand techniques. Almost every other move you have to shift from front stance to back stance. It requires a lot of balance. My one steps are: 1) step back with the right foot, jumping side kick. 2) step back with the left foot, hopping hook kick, turning side kick 3)with the right foot, crescent foot block, wheel kick. 4)slide and block to the left in riding stance, round house kick, spinning back fist, reverse punch, round house kick, punch (my favorite). 5)step back with the right foot, round house kick, wheel kick. The wheel kick is my new favorite kick now that I've figured out how to get my leg up high enough to properly kick someone in the face.

My test went okay. I made a few mistakes, but nothing as bad as during my last test. What was very different about this test though, besides the fact that it was on a Monday when every other test has been on a Saturday and of course the sheer volume of people, was that directly after the test, each and everyone of us was awarded our belt. Usually there is a waiting period. You test on Saturday. The results are posted on Monday. Belts are awarded on Thursday. And when you get your belt, Mrs. P takes the time to talk to you about the belt and what it means. Then she talks to you individually as she's tying on your new belt. Sometimes she talks loud enough for everyone to hear, sometimes she kind of speaks softly to you. She tells you things you need to work on, but also she tells you what you have accomplished.

Grand Master K, was much less imposing than I imagined. He is a thin, older Korean man with excellent balance and a uniform that says TAEKWONDO in big black letters on the back. He presented us with our belts directly. To the white belts, he congratulated them and talked about how difficult it can be to take your first steps. To the yellow stripes he simply said that they did well for their rank. He didn't say much to the yellow belts. To the green stripes he mentioned that this was the time when they should be getting crisp with their movements. I have no idea what he said to the green belts because I was mentally preparing for my test. Then I was testing. Then I was lined up and holding my green belt with it's blue stripe in my left hand and receiving my blue belt. Grand Master Kim says blue belt is when you begin to mature as a martial artist. You begin to become more self critical because it begins to sink in....what you're really supposed to be doing. He says it's normal to feel like you looked better last week, but that it's all part of the process.

I am struggling with the process today. It could be I am just having a not so great day, but sometimes I wake up and wonder at how I roped myself into all these obligations. When did Tae Kwon Do go from being something I couldn't wait to do, to something I have to do? And why is this such and alarming trend in my life? I'm beginning to think I'm afraid of commitment. I'm good at follow-through, especially if it has to do with something where other people are depending on me. I won't leave them hanging...but when it comes to my own stuff...well, it's different. I was just talking to Shoshana about how we are always the ones to drop our personal stuff first in order to prioritize work or school or whatever seems more important or time sensitive at the time.

At worship yesterday, our spiritual leader was celebrating her 20th anniversary with the church. There was a BBQ and everyone had on cowboy hats (I am unclear as to what the whole western theme was about, but it was kind of cool). During the sermon she admitted to freaking out around her 10th anniversary with the church, because she signed a commitment to be a part of the community for another 10 years. She said that though she loved the organization and had grown so much through it and didn't have any plans to leave, it felt so binding to know that she had to be there...that she was contractually obligated to stick it out in this community through all the weirdness and what not. Well after 10 years, she is able to say that it has been worth it. Not everyday has been perfect, but she has deepened her roots in what she refers to as the sanga.

A sanga is a community, which is defined as more than just a gathering of people, but specifically as a gathering of people who are committed to a common purpose or goal. This got me thinking about how many sangas I belong to and how much they have enriched my life. Including my taekwondo sanga. It isn't always easy. Some days...especially if I hurt myself or make stupid mistakes in front of the instructors...I get frustrated and tired, but I have made a commitment to see this through. There are 8 black belts in Tae Kwon Do and I'm at least going to get my first. I am three belts and a lot of hard work away, but in the meantime I will sit in my sanga and allow them to help me through this. Congrats to all of us on our new belts. We earned them.

Tacoma: Where cupcakes are $1 cheaper

Week one of my staycation has been pretty frickin fabulous even with a cold. On Monday, I did nothing and it was everything I thought it could be, calming, relaxing...I thoroughly enjoyed it. Tuesday I got more ambitious though and started running errands and what not. I also had to go to Tae Kwon Do, as my belt ceremony is getting closer. It kind of sucked being sick and doing Tae Kwon Do. It was kind of like doing water ballet because I was seriously moving in slow motion, but my technique was good. On Wednesday my computer was unhappy (she needs to go to the Dr) so I had to pay a sneaky visit to my old office, but I wasn't there long enough to feel icky. I caught a bus straight to Tacoma to visit my lovely friend Greta and her beautiful daughter.

I always forget about Tacoma. I mean, I know it's there and easily accessible, but it never occurs to me to go there just because...not like Vancouver or Portland, but I think I have been corrupted by snobby Seattlelites cause it was actually really fabulous. There is a glass museum and parasailing, a little rocky beach and a nice park by the water...all of which I think I need to check into more thoroughly. I wonder if Tacoma has a poetry slam.

Greta scooped me up from the bus stop and took me for a decadent lunch at Indochine...which had a gorgeous interior design scheme....it's very Japanese feeling...simple lines, elegant carved wooded benches, accented with peach sheer curtains. In the center is a lovely pond tiled in iridescent multi-colored tiles. And the food was on point. After catching up and the main course, she took me to a little cupcake place very similar to the one across from my Tae Kwon Do dojang and I was shocked to see that cupcakes literally are $1 cheaper in Tacoma. Who knew?! Then we went for a walk and I was reminded once more about how timeless some friendships can be.

This has been a great week of reflection for me, a time to take stock in all the things that have manifested for me and to chill out with my everyday people and the people who, while not everyday, are always there for me. I am truly blessed with some very amazing people in my life. Thanks community, you rock!

My letter to Essence

Essence is allegedly a magazine where “black women come first”. My Grandmother gave me a subscription for Christmas and I have been reading you cover to cover since then. While for the most part I respect what you have to offer, I find myself uncomfortable with the contradictions in your messaging. I’ll read an article in one issue that talks about finding joy or being healthy and happy at any size or embracing your blackness, just to turn the page and see an ad for relaxer or diet pills. How can you be happy just as you are while simultaneously reaching for the miracle drug to make you thinner or the lye to make your hair lay down like a white woman’s hair does naturally?

I realize that a magazine is a business and that you have to sell ads, but I just find it inconsistent. For example, how is it possible in 2008 for me to check out 100 + sexy hairstyles for black women and see almost no natural hairdos. I don’t count the bleached and dyed red dreadlocks or pretend afros that have clearly been texturized. What are you saying? Does a black woman have to have straightened hair and a perfectly made up face to be beautiful? I am not Beyonce. I am not a chocolate Barbie doll and have no desire to undermine the beauty God gave me to emulate white standards.

Essence, I am challenging you to push your boundaries and really think about what you’re selling. I checked out the swimsuit section with plus sized models and thought it was very size positive and forward thinking. I would like to see a continuation of that line of thought on hair, where reality is valued and represented. I want to see some glamorous natural beauty. Thanks

Blue Sky Belt

A blue belt in Tae Kwon Do represents the sky. I began with a white belt, a blank slate. As I began to build my foundation as a martial artist I moved through my yellow belts (the first bit of color), then through my green(symbolizing a tree or your growth)and next Monday I will be testing for my blue belt. In order to do so I had to write a short essay. The following is what I wrote, plus a re-print of something I published on my other blog in January...

Tae Kwon Do is a commitment. When I signed up for my trial membership over a year and several belts ago, I didn’t really know what I was getting into. It felt awkward. Every stance, block, punch, and kick seemed complicated. Then I would look at the upper belts and think “I can’t do that. I’ll never be able to do that.” My commitment to TKD has meant having to unlearn limitations. I have learned that if I practice and practice that I can do so much more than I ever thought possible.

I have also had to learn discipline. During my first few belts, I was so excited to go to every class. Now, while I am still committed and proud of what I have been able to accomplish, sometimes it is hard to make it to class. Life happens. Meetings run late at work, or my other life commitments interfere. I get tired or just don’t feel like taking two buses to get to the Dojang only to get bruised up in sparring or frustrated that I am still over rotating when I do my turning side kicks. It isn’t always easy, but when I get beyond time constraints and low energy and make it into the dojang anyway, I always feel good about it. I never feel like I am wasting my time. I always feel like there is something new for me to learn or some way to improve upon what I’ve already learned.

I have also found an unlikely and very cool community in the people at my school. Last year, when I couldn’t afford sparring gear, one of the women in my class gave me a job babysitting her kids and within a few days I was able to spar. When I was having trouble getting the timing down on my form, another person took time before and after class to help me get it right. Now as I approach my test for blue belt, I find the newer members of my school asking me for help. It is a great responsibility and an honor to feel like I am contributing member of my school and that I have something to offer.

I have found strength in TKD. Not only am I physically stronger and more comfortable knowing that I can defend myself at need be, but I have learned discipline, self control, and how to engage in and provide support to my school community. I look forward to my blue belt and know I will prove myself worthy.

Breaking Boards
(As published on my other blog in January of 2008)

Mrs. P. is my Tae Kwon Do (TKD) instructor. She looks like an Amazon. She’s tall and thick with muscles from years of being a professional rower. Her hair is always slicked back in an efficient pony tail and her uniform is impeccably white. She is pushy. I remember the first time I walked into the Dojang a little over a year ago. It was like walking through the markets in Senegal and accidentally making eye contact. She latched onto me and she wasn’t going to let me leave without making a commitment to try TKD, so I did and after the first month I was hooked.

It’s never easy. Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes I get frustrated because I’m practicing all the time and it doesn’t feel like I’m getting better, even though I know I am. When I first started I had to unlearn the stances and style of punching I’d practiced during my brief stint as a boxer. Since then, I’ve leaned how to stand, block, punch, and kick. I’ve earned my Green belt, which is exactly in the middle between being a white belt who doesn’t even know what things are called and a black belt who can practically levitate while kicking and spinning at the same time. More than the basic techniques and sparring, I’ve learned a lot about self discipline, control, and faith. There have been moments when Mrs. P has looked at me and asked me to do things I either didn’t know how to do or was absolutely convinced that I would never be able to do. I felt that way the first time I did a hook kick, but I also knew that if she asked me to do it, I didn’t really have much choice but to comply.

So on Thursday when I showed up to class and Mrs. P said we’d be breaking boards, I knew I had to do it, moreover I had spent the whole day excited and looking forward to it…..but suddenly I realized that as cool as it sounded, I really didn’t want to do it. I felt this intense rush of fear course through me. Who was I kidding? I was about to break my hand. Yes, I am strong, but I am still so sloppy sometimes. I over rotate through my turning side kick, my fingers are never close enough together when I knife hand strike. Even when we were doing warm up punches, I accidentally left my thumb sticking out too high on my fist so that I smashed it against the target, something I have never done before. I was mortified. This is stuff I work on everyday, but I’m not done working on it yet, so it occurred to me that I shouldn’t really be trying anything like board breaking.

Like I said, if Mrs. P. asks you to do something, you do it. Sometimes when she looks at me, I feel like she has these special BS goggles that see straight through my facade into my insecurities, which is why I wasn’t surprised that she picked me to go first. We had to do two hand techniques and two kicking techniques. I chose hammer fist and back fist. A hammer fist, as you can imagine, is when you use all your body weight and come down from above.

The Dojang got really quiet. One of my classmates held the board and Mrs. P explained what I was supposed to do, then everyone got really quiet again and I stared at the board. I took a deep breath and made a conscious decision to have faith in myself. My fist came down at the precise right angle and the board snapped in half. Everyone clapped. The second time I tried back fist. My fist hit the board and made a loud noise, but didn’t break. Thankfully neither did my hand. I came in at the wrong angle and didn’t follow through. It was embarrassing and kind of painful, but Mrs. P gave me that look and told me to do it again, so I did and this time I shattered it into three pieces that flew across the floor. It hurt, but I was okay. I broke two more boards, one with an axe kick and one with a side kick, both on the first time. When we had finished Mrs. P took the opportunity to dispel a myth. She said the reason we break boards isn’t about conquering a piece of wood, but rather it’s a very practical test of our ability to endure the impact of striking a solid object without padding. It’s seen as a type of conditioning. It made me think about all the other tests I’ve had in my life. Often I think about these challenges as something to conquer, when maybe it’s enough to be able to withstand their impact and get through them unscathed and with a little more faith in my own ability

Spokane Day 2

I am still nursing a cold, so instead of staying out late and mingling, I quarantined myself to my fabulous hotel room for a night of room service and TV watching. I woke up to a beautiful Saturday. Seems like Spokane is where Seattle’s summer has been hiding. I walked slowly, cutting through the back of the hotel, past the pool I never ended up swimming in and over the bridge to the Convention center.

There is something about really big buildings, like standing beneath the Montana sky, that awes me a bit and makes me feel small. The Convention hall was massively big, with huge ceilings and people, people, and more people and paraphernalia. I didn’t even make it into the hall before I’d been papered with stickers. End the war now, Support the Young Democrats, etc. Each issue, committee, and or politician had a table and several volunteers to proselytize. It was very overwhelming. It took me a minute to find the people from my district, but then I saw my Precinct Officer. We all sat together. The convention was structured much like every other part of the caucus I’ve been to this far, only on a much bigger scale. We sat by district facing a huge stage with a red, white, and blue back drop. There were four microphones set up behind the first seating section just as two had been in the gym at the last meeting, but this was no gym and there were so many people and so many signs and cameras and so much energy all focused in one direction.

Some Spokane naval officers presented the flag, during which time we all stood. Then Julia Keefe in her perfectly pure alto sang the star spangled banner…and I caught myself feeling very patriotic. I didn’t say the pledge, but I held my hand over my heart and I thought about it. I thought about what it would be like to say the pledge and mean it, to feel that way about my country. And I wanted to for the first time in a long time.

It reminded me of what my Dad said about going to the Episcopal Church for the first time. He grew up in the segregated south, so when he went to that church, it was the first time he’d even been allowed to sit in the same place with white people and drink from the same cup. He said he knew that what they were doing was illegal and that everything he’d been taught told him he was wrong to be there, but he wanted to be a part of it. And that’s kind of how I felt. Who could believe that so many white people would actually support a black man for president?

It was one thing to see it on TV when Barack Obama won Iowa, but entirely another to be in a astro-dome sized space, surrounded by people, the majority of them old and white, who were practically feverish in their delight to support Barack Obama. I felt like I was witnessing history happening in real time, because people are going to look back at this election and say it marked a new era in America. A shift in consciousness is occurring. Now, recognizing this shift doesn’t mean that I think our work here is done...on the contrary, I feel like now we might finally be at the beginning of something. I felt a connection to other Americans that I haven’t felt or wanted to feel in a long time.

It was a friendly gathering. Every single black person I passed stopped to say hello. Many of them wanted to know where I was from and what I was about. We chatted and exchanged cards. Anyone else wearing Barack paraphernalia would look down and see my delegate credentials and smile or say hello. Though I came as an alternate, I was officially seated as a delegate. This was, of course, a process. After the formalities, we did a quick credentials report that revealed over 1000 delegates were present and seated and that all the alternates present would be seated as there were many absent delegates.

This kind of pissed me off. Looking back at that long day we spent in the gym of some high school in North Seattle, there were about 220 women alone, not to mention 240 something men who gave 30 second speeches asking to be delegates. Of those only 41 (20 women and 21 men) were chosen to be delegates and there were 10 alternates. I was alternate # 3 and I went to everything. Those people who were chosen to be delegates broke their commitment to the process...but I couldn’t be too pissed, cause after all, I did get seated, which meant I got to vote. I do love voting. But first there were speeches. We heard from Chris Gregoire who has really impressed me with her accomplishments as Governor in terms of finance and in terms of providing health care for children. We also heard from Brad Owen, the Lt Governor who ran the meeting, George Fearing, Jim McIntire,Chris Marr, Kristine Reeves, and several others.

Our keynote speaker was supposed to be John Kerry, but he had to attend the funeral of yet another soldier who had been killed in Iraq, so we had Jr. Senator Amy Klobuchar from Minnesota. She had that Midwestern charm and accent. I liked her honesty. It make me think about what it would be like to be in politics. Lots of meetings I suppose. I used to think it would be great, but bureaucracy frustrates me and for the life of me I’ll never understand how, if the Democrats have been having these conventions for years and years, it could possibly be so poorly organized.

The speeches were good, though kind of repetitive. The main theme was UNITY. We must unite behind Barack Obama. We must come together as democrats to create the space for change. There was barely any mention of Hillary except for late in the afternoon when a Hillary delegate got on the mic and as a point of personal privilege gave a diatribe on how he didn't like the way Clinton was being characterized in the convention. At this point we were all kind of looking at each other in confusion because no one had really said anything about her, and what had been said was complimentary. Then he went on to say that Hillary could still be the nominee and he was going to support her to the very end. Live in denial much?

After that, we elected electors (I ran, but didn't win) and then we worked on ratifying the platform and selecting people to nominate for all the big offices. This process took a very, very long time. I was astounded that at this level we would have the same confusion and disorganization. We have to do better in the future. That's all there is to it. There has to be a better way of doing things. I appreciate that everyone is given a voice. I appreciate that anyone can make suggestions or motions, but there has to be a system that allows us to actually accomplish things in a timely manner. We were there forever and didn't even get to the matter of selecting the at large delegates.

After the meeting was adjourned, there was an additional meeting of the Black Democratic Caucus, an organization I didn't know existed until 5 minutes before the end of the meeting. This was actually really interesting. We met in a small room off of the registration area. There was no microphone and we were all standing or seated around a table where several elders had gathered. I looked around and was kind of surprised. Despite the powerful presence of the Young Democrats at the convention (they were there to pass a resolution allowing them a greater voice...which we never got to given the disorganization), not to mention the fact that Barack Obama's campaign has been very successful in reaching new voters and youth of all races, as I was looking around the room, I could count on my hands the number of under 30 black folk. Mostly the room was filled with older black people, many of whom were sporting "Grandmama for Obama shirts". They were in wheel chairs or on canes. It was actually very cool to be in the presence of veteran democrats. They gave us all an interesting perspective on the process and a breadth of history.



Perhaps most impressive was the appearance of Rosa Franklin, first and only black woman senator in the state of Washington. You had to strain to hear her with no microphone, but it was worth the effort. She is amazing! And I felt honored to hear her talk about what it has been like to be an active democrat for this long. She talked about wanting more youth involvement and more unity among black democrats. She pointed out that of all the speakers we saw and all the candidates running, none were black. She also pointed out that there is not a single black person on the platform committee. I have to admit it, I got inspired. I felt compelled to act, so I signed my name to the email list. Hopefully they will follow through and contact me, but I refrained from volunteering for the planning committee because I already feel over extended, but I do want to be more active, especially with amazing people willing and ready to mentor me. Maybe I will volunteer to be on the platform committee next time.

Spokane Day 1

Today I said goodbye to my graduating 5th graders while frantically completely my portion of pre-summer program cleaning, which meant sifting through and organizing tubs full of paint, corks, felt scraps, pipe cleaners, beads, buttons, paper doilies, glitter, and God only knows what else. Just like that my first year of being a defacto elementary school educator was over and I was hopping on the bus to the airport to go to Spokane for the Democratic State Convention.

Usually nothing puts me in a worse mood than going to the airport. To me it is a tangible symbol of the erosion of our civil liberties...but surprisingly I didn't get searched, puffed, or detained. Something interesting happened on the plane though. Just before take off, after the i-pod Nazi came around and yelled at me for keeping my headphones on during the pre-departure instructions, the captain came on the intercom and told us that our flight would be hosting a fallen soldier and that another soldier (Colonel somebody) was on board to escort him. I had seen a man in full uniform sitting in first class, but hadn't thought much of it. The pilot said he wanted to dedicate the flight to that soldier. In my mind I thought it was just a guy who had been wounded. It wasn't until we landed in Spokane and I saw the full guard of men in military dress uniform standing next to an open hearse that it fully registered to me what he had meant by fallen. I don't even know his name. I asked the flight attendant on the way out, but she couldn't remember.

It really got me thinking about the war. I am not an avid news person. I hate reading the paper, I don't own a TV and I only listen to NPR for the first twenty minutes of my day before I head out to see the kids. I listen enough to know vaguely what's going on, but not enough to get too depressed or irritated. Lately every morning begins with an update on the election, but you barely hear about the war anymore. How many people have died in this war? And I mean total...not just the Americans? When is it going to end? I got a visit from my slightly less crazy neighbor yesterday, supposedly to borrow a bobby pin, but really he just wanted to ask me about Barack, as I have some big signs up on my window. He says he's thinking about voting for Barack, but wanted to hear more about him. I did my duty and repped his stats, playing up his experience as a community organizer as well as his smarts, being a Harvard grad and a world traveler and all...but what it came down to for my neighbor was the war. He asked me if Barack would be able to end it. I know that he voted against the war and I know he would work to put together an exit strategy, but I felt like I couldn't give the right answer. I couldn't say emphatically "Yes, he's gonna end the war three days after he takes office", and that got me thinking.

Barack is just one man, but we are many. What can I be doing to make a difference? And here I am in Spokane. The convention is even bigger than I thought it would be. The hotel is fabulous. I registered and tomorrow I will be in meetings all day, but suddenly it just doesn't feel like enough. Supporting someone else who promises to change the future is easy. Being that person, making a daily commitment to do the Ghandi and be the change you want to see in the world, is more than a notion.

GOODBYE Sucky Job with great benefits, Hello Awesome Job with great benefits

If I wasn't catching a cold, my body's way of saying "you aren't sleeping enough and stop getting on planes", I would be turning cartwheels. I am internally indulging in a jubilant display of acrobatics. Then end is here. Today is my un-official last day at the job that sucks my soul. :). I have one meeting, a letter to write to make sure my assistant gets a pay raise and a promotion (my last act), and a little desk cleaning and I will be home and painting by 3:00pm!

Since it's my last day, and it never hurts to be thankful for what you had, I would like to express a little gratitude. Thank you crappy job for my health insurance....it is fabulous. Thank you for my dental insurance. I got my many cavities filled last month. Thank you for quality chiropractic care with low co-pays. Thank you for my bus pass and good internet access. Thank you for the opportunities I've had to meet and interact with cool people. Thank you and GOODBYE!

Unanswered Questions- rejj ©

Am I manifesting destiny
or is destiny made manifest in me?
She holds the mirror to me
and tells me
I am God,
but how can I be God
when Jesus,
looks like Mel Gibson?
If I am God,
if God is me,
then God is a black feminist
who does taekwondo
and hates my boss as much as I do,
God is fragile
and crooked,
with toes that overlap,
God cheats at cards
and never wins the lottery.
Where is perfection?
I’m no omniscent power
and this world
couldn’t possible be my creation
with cowboy presidents
and war among nations,
but she holds the mirror to me
and tells me God is in me
like the seed of a mango
nestled deep in the folds
of my flesh and fused bone,
God is beneath my breastplate,
the spark of spirit,
the solid gold flecks in my soul,
the conscious of my higher self,
the part of me
that loves me
even when I’m looking in the mirror and seeing
everything but God.
Every complicated flaw
that makes me who I am,
but who is God
to nest in me?
Who is God
and what does she want with me?
Is this like reality TV,
another shot at humanity,
this time without all the fanfare
or being nailed to a tree.
Does she want to know me?
What it’s like to be me?
Or does she want me to know her,
or at least that she’s there with me,
in me,
when I am blinded
by the mess we live in
on the daily,
the gap between who we are
and who we were born to be.
If God is freedom,
why don’t I feel free,
except in the quiet moments
of unexplained joy,
the stirring within,
like the seed of her
taking root in the heart of me,
an unsettling grip of peace,
a lightening flicker
illuminating life beyond
the boundaries of me,
but then I’m back to normal
and still wondering about God
and why she would stick me with these crooked teeth.

Desert Flowers

This weekend I've been hanging out with my mom and aunt in Arizona. I love Seattle, but this June is rediculous. It's cold, rainy and just like October all over again. We didn't really have Spring, which sucked, but I cannot be denied a slice of summer. It's getting dire. This trip came up just in time. It's my aunt's first time seeing my mom's place and her first time in AZ. Even having been here before, I still feel the weight of the heat. It's hard on the body. I have to temper my urge to stand out in the sun soaking up the vitamin D with the knowledge that if I don't stay hydrated I'll get sun sick again...not a fun experience.

For the last two mornings, my aunt and I have gone out on walks. Neither of us are really early risers, but we've gotten up early enough to walk before it gets too hot. Anytime after 10:00am and going outside becomes like opening the oven door. But if you get out around 7:00am or 8:00am at the latest, it's just medium hot.

When my mom first moved here, I had just finished leading my second trip to Japan. I arrived the day before her furniture and spent a grueling August unpacking her house. It took me the month to get aclimatized in between the jet lag, moving, and the unbareable heat, but once I got used to the weather, I would wake up early and ride my bike or walk around the neighborhood. Arizona is kind of what I imagine mars to be like once the rich white people have colonized it, red brown and deserted save for shiny cars (that don't rust as quickly without the salt and snow of winter), the occasional patch of well watered grass, and adobe houses. The birds are mostly brown. There are rock colored lizards, gigantic cacti that make creepy shadows at night, and lots of pink rocks. It's beautiful in it's way, but so foreign from the midwestern landscape I grew up with or even the lush year round green of Seattle.

Where my mom lives, almost every house is surrounded by white walls or wooden and wrought iron fences of some kind. They look like compounds or Mexican villas. Lot of places have pools. Hardly any house has a basement or even a second floor, though it can be hard to tell because the houses are so hidden. It was fun to walk around with my aunt. I took her past some of my favorite houses, the one with a second floor sun porch and the one with the big half circle windows that reminds me of a Mexican restaurant. I also took her past a few of my favorite gardens. I love looking at the desert gardens. They are so textured.

Later this evening we went to the Desert Botanical gardens. I saw plants I'd never seen before, different kinds of cacti and aloe. I saw long earred jack rabbits, tiny hummingbirds, roadrunners, quail and wrens. There were these really cool Dr. Suess like trees sprouting from low growing, long leaved patches, as well as a variety of geraniums with different scents like rose and nutmeg. There was an herb garden with chile peppers, purple sage, several different types of lavender and other sweet smelling plants. It was really nice to spent that time with my family and also to commune with the desert. There is something that awes me about the desert. I'm not quite sure what it is, but I feel a deep sense of wonder at this unfamilar part of the world. Oddly enough I find myself thinking about Chile again and wishing I had made it north to Iquique and San Pedro de Atacama. I want to see the Desert bloom. Just the fact that in such a rocky, prickly place, that once a year flowers bloom fills me with hope...or maybe faith, that miracles do happen, that life finds away to flower even in the most unlikely places. That's my happy thought for today, that even with all the prickers, cacti blossom.

Bittersweet

When I was a senior in high school, Hillary Clinton spoke at my school. I was still active in politics then and cherished ambitions to one day be the first black woman president. Seeing Clinton speak, I was filled with hope and excitement. I wondered if she would ever run for president, and I just knew that I would vote for her.

Fast forward a little over a decade to this year's election where my hope had finally been realized, but as usual not the way that I had envisioned. I couldn't vote for Hillary Clinton. I used to look up to her. I still admire her guts, but she has changed. Over the course of this campaign she has really pissed me off. She has been tacky. Her behavior and campaign have delved into cheap and gimmicky stunts. She has lied and made really divisive comments. She has taken advantage of all her white privilege, while simultaneously pointing the finger at Obama for playing the "race card". This is not the Hillary Clinton I remember.

When I read Dreams from my Father, it moved something in me. Due to a combination of work and school and later work and traveling, I had lost my connection to the political world. I had stopped working on the campaigns of local politician. I still voted...I believe in voting, but I felt an extreme disconnect between me and my government. Reading Obama's book (I'm still only half way through the Audacity of Hope) made me want to get off my ass and participate again, because after way too many years of the Bush dynasty, I finally felt like I had found someone I could believe in. I know Barack Obama is not perfect. We disagree on certain issues, but I find his sincerity refreshing.

Today I watched Hillary Clinton's exit speech and was surprised to feel so sad.I have to say, she gave a really beautiful speech, one that reminded me of the woman I saw speak 10 years ago. She was strong and articulate and graceful. I just wished that she had run her campaign as well. As you know, I voted and caucused for Obama because I believe in what he can do for this country and I really do think we need a bigger change than Clinton would have provided. I don't regret my decision at all, but I do have this strange feeling of sadness as I wonder how much longer we'll have to wait for the next woman to come along with enough power and courage to be a viable presidential candidate.Clinton says that by coming this far she has shattered the glass ceiling and made history and I hope she is right.

This has been a hard election season for me...exciting and restorative in some ways, but hard still to see how slow change actually is. We've come a long way, but there is so much left to be done. And just like the 20s, when women's suffrage and the right of blacks to vote was the issue of the day, my country again asks me to choose between being black or being a woman. And it is just as ludicrous now as it was then. I am both,I will always be both. And it is with my whole self that I feel sad to know that time for a woman president is not quite here yet, just as I feel empowered to know the time for a black president is upon us. If we can do this one thing, if we can make history, by making a choice we've never made before, what will this mean for our future. I feel fortunate to be alive, fortunate to be a part of something amazing. Next weekend I go to Spokane for the WA democratic state convention where I will be repping Obama as a delegate.

Memorial Day -rejj ©

I don’t want to remember,
don’t want to wear yellow ribbons,
won’t sing a word,
can’t pledge my allegiance to a flag
for which so many are murdered.
The silence is fraught with them,
thick with the ghosts of boots marching
down the path to infinite.
Soldiers assuming their position
in graves evenly spaced and tight
marked with miles of white crosses
like rows of teeth in a mouth
that will never wake to speak.
So we stand in the silence,
the void of joyless peace
and remember
what can’t be relegated
to six inches of newsprint
or a CNN special,
a color photo, a flag, a grave,
a color photo, a flag, a grave,
a color photo, a flag, a grave,
another moment of silence
to mask the unspoken truth,
that we won’t remember,
that we never remember,
that the repetition is our only memory
and our wars continue
like a TV blaring in the next room,
but no one is watching.
And we are silent.

Almost Done

I figure now that the rough draft and the cover art are done, that if I put it on my blog, it'd be more incentive to actually finish it. That and I seem to be able to manifest well with this whole visualization thing. So this is what I am envisioning right now...my finished Chapbook. :) I am on the one and a half week count down to my six week staycation. YEAH!

Painting

My first night in Tokyo, I was placed in a hotel room with two other teachers, one of whom was originally from Madison. Although we had lived in the same small city for an overlap of nine years, had mutual aquaintences, and at times even attended the same school, we never met until Japan. After that weekend, we were sent out to our host communities and we landed in small towns about an hour away from one another.

We became friends. Once I got over my Osaka craze of needing to spend almost every weekend in the city, we would spend weekends at each other's house. An's house became a refuge for me. It was new and clean. The only furniture was a beautiful stained glass lamp and 2 tibetan prayer mats, but her walls were covered in art, pics from magazines, sketches, painting, etc. She lived simply, but colorfully.

It was at An's house that I first started to make collages and later to paint. I never thought I had much of knack for art. I wasn't particularly encouraged or discouraged in school. In college I thought I might take a beginning course in painting, but I was told that due to the limited space, only art majors could take those painting classes. So I never took a class, but even after Japan, I continued to paint.

There is something soothing about sitting in front of a blank canvass and adding different colors until it feels right. I've discovered I love creating beautiful things. This year, for the first time, I've decided to share my work outside of my circle of friends. I'll be showing my paitings at the Wallingford 1st Wednesday Art Walk on the first Wednesday in July from 6-9 at Alliance Chiropractic on 45th.