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 |  Nothing like a fortune cookie to make a year intriguing. |
  Many thanks to kiyasama for the lovely image gracing this blog! A huge thank you to GabriellaR45  for the shiny yellow awardicon to bring the new year!It was a simple crack of an ancient fortune cookie that sparked the courage to keep writing on the eve of the new year. This is a test to see what a tiny slip of white paper can do for someone who was ready to hand in the towel, allowing every self-doubt and negative thought to take control. May this mark a beginning; a fresh start for the potential of something messy, dented around the edges, and absolutely all mine. Here's to blogging in 2011 (and 2012).   |
"30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS"  Day 2: Star Connections Ponder the spectre of yourself as one human being in the over six billion people on Earth. We are so minute as to be nonexistent. And yet, we have the power to visualize, to imagine the entirety of the cosmos. The first thought that came to my mind when reading today's prompt was Philip K. Dick. One of the things I love about his writing is his ability to master this concept - we are small in the world, yet we affect infinite change. I think, as writers, we do this all the time. The key to our storytelling is our ability to focus on a person or persons that will impact the cosmos as a whole; even if it's only a family, or a neighborhood, or a kingdom, or a school, or a ship (pick an environment and roll with it). I'm taking this into a weird place, but what the hell, right? I read a blog called Pub Rants every once-in-a-while to see what the publishing world doing. The published was talking about the cultural zeigeist, and how writer will submit similar ideas at the same time, about a subject that was barely covered before. How do we explain this kind of phenomenon? This type of collective thought among writers that have nothing to do with each other. Back to Philip K. Dick. When you look past the vast amounts of paranoia, there is a great sense of genius underneath. The short story "Adjustment Team", which became the basis for the "The Adjustment Bureau" movie, deals with "destiny" and how we as individuals can become the world to others. I think the question should be - are we as small as we perceive ourselves? Are we really nonexistent? Or do we keep ourselves minute in order to understand the cosmos? This sounds kind of contrived but what is the cosmos without us? Does "it" need us as much as we need "it? Philosophical hour is over. Rambling done.  |
"30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" Day 1: Glory Days We are now in the mid year of 2011. Look back from the start of this year to present and share your glory days. I have to say that this was a tough topic as the first six months of 2011 haven't been the best of years. There has been great upheavals of change since the beginning of the year. So, like with many other things in my life, I decided to get technical with it. The definition of glory is a thing that is beautiful or distinctive; a special cause for pride, respect, or delight. This immediately made me think of my grandfather. My grandfather passed in late May after months of sickness. He was a man of quiet strength and confidence. There was something about being around him that made everyone else at ease. He taught his family to strive for greatness and to never let anything get in the way of what you want most in life. Nothing is impossible. For his memorial and burial, I had the honor of collecting pictures and putting together a montage of his life. This was hours of scanning them into an semi-ancient computer, trying to enhance faded photos from the forties and fifties, and putting them together in chronicle hour. With each picture I found out more and more information about the man I thought I knew. The infectious smile of a young man named Henry. The time spent with his soon-to-be wife, Fran. Medical school and life in the army. Building the King/Drew medical school. Playing tennis. Time with his grandchildren. I got through those two weeks in my grandparents house because I got to spend time my grandfather through those pictures. It helped me mourn and remember him for who he was; a man I only knew as grandfather, but had lived a life that was so much more. Those were special days even though there was sadness. My family came together and pulled off something extraordinary. We mourned; we laughed. We remembered him the way he would have wanted to be remembered. Surrounded by family, we talked about our favorite moments with him. At times, it felt like he was there with us. A special cause for pride, respect, or delight - I definitely think those moments count for he was both beautiful and distinctive. Glory days, indeed. |
"We all have hometown appetites. Every other person is a bundle of longing for the simplicities of good taste once enjoyed on the farm or in the hometown left behind." ~Clementine Paddleford Currently listening to: "How My Heart Behaves" - Feist Currently reading: Nada I write this on fast train heading south, back home after spending a few days in Bakersfield. It's funny but I've come to realize that Bakersfield is probably the closest thing I'll ever have to having a hometown. I've never really lived any place long enough to feel a firm attachment to anywhere in particular. There was always a move to look forward to and boxes to pack. Now that I'm planning on leaving California to live in Washington, I've been taking stock of all the stops I've made along the way. Bakersfield being my hometown came after a night reflecting that above all the other cities I've lived in, Bakersfield has the most memories - good and bad. It is the place that forced me to grow up. It is where I lost my family fell apart, my grades excelled, and my health plummeted. I lost a brother there, and gained another soon after. It is the one place so far in my life where I can here the mention of its name and a bittersweet taste fills my mouth. In a very fucked up way, I believe I'll miss it once I'm gone. I won't miss the blustering heat in the summer and the serenade of crickets when the sun goes down. I won't miss the smell of cow shit as I drive over the pass into Kern territory or the smog from the cities that fill the valleys to brim. I won't the allergies or pneumonia or the pain on being in the place where I almost didn't make it out. But will miss the clear nights with no street lights, laying in the grass fields, counting the stars. I'll miss my brothers and sisters, especially watching Z-man grow up. I'll miss the cafe downtown that serves coffee just the way I like, the local hockey games, and the hotel I've stayed in so much visiting that the staff knows me by name. It's the little things... I'll be back in California often enough. My family is here. Most of my friends are here. It is the one place I know like the back of hand. The suburban hills, the country roads, the cityscapes, and the sands of the beaches. However, when I come back it'll be that of a visitor. After twenty-years of expecting this period in my life, it is a funny thing to swallow. I do not hesitate to move forward though, which says something. So, I'm eating a bulgogi roll I purchased at Union Station, typing away as the train shakes violently back and forth, trying to remember everything just like this. A mental picture for later for when I look back and wonder what the hell I was thinking do this or saying that. Remembering in case I ever experience doubt I made the wrong decision. The buyer's remorse of moving your life states away from what you know. Maybe I'll even laugh about it. |
"A left-handed compliment from the woman you love is like a shiv between the third and fourth ribs that just misses your heart." ~ "Stanton Infeld" (Malcolm McDowell), Franklin & Bash Currently listening to: "Paloma Negra" - Chavela Vargas Currently reading: "The Anansi Boys" - Neil Gaiman Checked my account early this morning, and found a wonderful surprise in my inbox. It seems that I've won Second Place in the "Seven Deadly Sins Contest - CLOSED!!" ! What a nice win, especially for a piece over three years old. I tweaked it a couple of weeks ago, adjusting some of the writing to make a better fit. It been slimmed and tweaked and sliced time and again. And finally, it won!Here the piece with its new, shiny red ribbon:
A huge thank you to Culraven for running a great contest! Definitely check it out if you can. Who says greed can't get you anywhere.  |
"For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul." ~ Judy Garland Currently listening to: "Somebody Like You" - Adele Currently reading: "Smoke and Mirrors" - Neil Gaiman Three bees walk into a bar...except the bar is my kitchen. It was an intriguing conclusion to a day of running errands, all filled with the birds and the bees...probably start at the beginning. There are a family of sparrows living on the light in the stair hallway separating the doorsteps of my apartment and my neighbors. The babies hatched recently, and the father bird has been given the duty to guard said nest. Since this is a high-traffic area, it is a strategically bad place to put their young. Doors open all the time. People coming up and down the stairs. To the sparrows credit, they dive-bomb everyone they feel is too close. Nearly gave a delivery man a heart attack when Papa Sparrow went for some beak/skull action. The stairway is full of little birds tweeting (not necessarily on Twitter) and bird excrement. Nice touch to the Christmas after-party paint it currently is now. Unfortunately, we can't move the birds because this particular breed is an endangered species. We're neighbors until one of us moves on in August. Somehow, I think the sparrows will win. With all the bird frenzy, the bees were in stealth when they came into the apartment. I saw the first one on the sill of the window, above the kitchen sink. While trying to set a sting (pun not intended) to capture the first one, I inadvertently found the second one chilling on top of the hand soup dispenser. Being allergic to bees, I had a girly scream moment that I am definitely not proud of. While disposing to those two, a third semi-drunk was on the neighboring sill to the first. They went out quick, halfway dead when I found them. For a moment, while I was giving them an at-sea burial in the toilet, I wonder if they were experiencing a "Hangover" moment. Picture it: Three bees, out for a night of fun, wake up in an unknown kitchen with no recollection on how they got there... Hey, it could happen. In fact, it could be good. And my life is filled with the birds and the bees. Weirdness abounds. Tuesday...what can you do? |
"Now that the truth is just a rule that you can bend. You crack the whip, shape shift and trick the past again." ~Metric Currently listening to: "Black Sheep" - The Clash at Demonhead Currently reading: "Stardust" - Neil Gaiman So I've taken a different approach to mourning - I'm trying to attempt something as close to normal as possible. I took the train up to Los Angeles (something that keeps persisting over the past few months) and met my dad before heading over to my grandparents house. It was weird stepping in the door again after only being gone a week. In truth, I kept looking for my grandfather to arrive. That feeling is still somewhat with me. My grandmother hasn't been eating much. She has a very small of frame now, and we're trying to get her back up past the hundred pound mark. When my dad suggested food, she said she wanted a hamburger. This was met with glee and we hurried out before she might change her mind. There was a parade this past weekend, which we only found out about when we couldn't take Santa Monica Blvd. and Sunset was traffic hell. In the end it was kind of funny. An "only in LA" kind of moment. My grandmother ate her burger - 3/4 of it - it was a good afternoon. To continue on this theme, I bought two tickets to see Neil Gaiman speak at the Saban Theater on the 28th. A little birthday present to myself. A small fear I have is that I will become some kind of fangirl, go completely speechless between high-pitch giggles, and somehow sneak a sign under my coat that declares my love and devotion. That would be bad...right? Also watched Game 6 of the Stanley Cup Finals. Oh dear Gods, I thought I was going to have a heart attack. Boston scored four goals in five minutes in the first period. I keep questioning if Vancouver was distracted by something shiny on the ice or had they mentally already won the game and didn't feel the need to should up. I screamed at the television and freaked out my neighbors. I would apologize if I didn't think it would happen again, but somehow I really doubt that. Game 7 is the make it or break it game. There will be shouting. Attempts at being normal...an odd experience indeed. |
"Memory is a way to hold on to the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose." ~Kevin Arnold Currently listening to: "As" - Stevie Wonder Currently reading: Nothing at the moment... The process of mourning is a complicated one. It is an experience I kind of suck at. Whether upbringing, genetics, or the sheer quirks of my personality, I can't allow myself to cry...even if I want to. Ever since I received the news of my grandfather's death, I have felt a vast hole in my heart, and yet I can't bring myself to let the tears fall. It just builds and builds and builds until one of these days when the well will overflow... I went up the day after I heard he had passed with a change of clothes. The family came in cars and planes within days. The structure of the family house is more long than tall, shaped like a wide "U". The colors are black, brown, and ivory; black is dominant, even on the carpets. Nothing has really changed in the past thirty years. In odd moments a passerby might feel it is a tomb while those more frequent visitors feel it is a staple in time. It sure is something...grand might be fitting. No matter the issues I have with it, I ended up staying almost two weeks with a small abbreviation back home for some new clothes and technology I had left at home. Being who we are, the family got to work right away. The burial and memorial were things of beauty pulled together by the daughters-in-law, helped by the sons. I worked for my aunts that their catch-all, including putting together a photo montage of my grandfather to play at both ceremonies. There was a lot of pomp-and-circumstance for my grandmother, but not too much that my grandfather would have wholly disapproved of. It was tasteful, fun, and took a lot of work to throw together in a week. However, more than the work we accomplished, it was the conversations between music choices and where roses should be placed that really made the experience. I haven't felt more close to my father's side of the family since I was very little girl. This past time was like little windows into the lives of the giants I saw my aunts and uncles as. My cousins, pushed into the folding programs trenches - all 500 of them, came out with a little more sympathy, a few more smiles, and understanding to the people we are now. Granddad would have loved that. We don't mourn as a family, as a rule. We share words, a rare some times we share our emotions, but we do not grieve together or in the house where he died. That, as my grandmother put it, is done on our own time. I'm not sure I'll ever find that time. The tears have been held in for so long that I'm not sure that I wouldn't drowned if they escaped. I can only hope he knows that I miss him every day and hope he'll save me a spot when that day comes to see each other again. Really have to work on this mourning thing... |
| My grandfather passed this past weekend. In memoriam to his memory I'm posting the obituary running in the Los Angeles Times, written by the family. We had the burial for the family, and today is the memorial for family friends, former colleagues, and others. While this covers his many achievements in life, it doesn't convey all the love and wisdom he gave to so many. He will be missed and forever in my thoughts. Dr. Henry Stratton Williams August 26, 1929 - May 21, 2011 Henry ("Hank") Stratton Williams, M.D., a beloved husband, father and brother, and a pioneer in the Los Angeles medical community, passed away in his home in Beverly Hills on May 21 after a long battle with leukemia. Those who knew Hank will remember him for his kindness, gentle humor, generosity, wisdom, determination, patience, and deep and abiding love for his family, friends and community. He will be profoundly missed. Hank Williams was born in the Bronx, New York on August 26, 1929, the son of Hiram Justice Williams and Margaret Stratton Williams. Hank attended P.S. 23 and DeWitt Clinton High School in the Bronx. He graduated from the City College of New York in 1950 and enrolled at Howard University Medical School. After Hank's first year he moved to Los Angeles to recuperate from an illness. While there he met Frances Spurlock, a UCLA student, who would become the love of his life. Hank returned to his studies at Howard University, he and Fran married in 1953, and Hank graduated from Howard in 1955. Dr. Williams completed his internship at Brooke Army Hospital in San Antonio, Texas, and received his residency training in Radiology at Letterman Army Hospital in San Francisco. He continued his military tour, achieving the rank of major while serving as Chief of Radiology at the United States Army base located in Orleans, France, from 1960 to 1962. After his military tour ended, Hank, Fran and their three young boys returned to Los Angeles, where Dr. Williams started a private practice in the Central City area. In the aftermath of the Watts riots in 1965, Dr. Williams was one of the founders of the Charles R. Drew University of Medicine and Science in the Watts Willowbrook area, dedicated to bringing medical training and care to undeserved communities. He served on the Drew Board of Trustees for many years, and as Interim President of the University from 1989 to 1991. Hank was truly a Renaissance man: an extraordinarily successful investor, an accomplished tennis player, a lifelong learner, an avid sports fan and an expert swimmer. Henry Williams is survived by his wife of 57 years, Frances Beatrice Spurlock Williams, his three sons Mark (Grace), Paul (Laura) and Bart (Nadine), and his six grandchildren: Scott, Ryan, Samantha, Zachary, Adam and Justin. He is also survived by his older brother, Hiram J. Williams II (Rae). In the words of his beautiful and beloved bride Fran, "He was a good man." |
This isn't a blog entry so much as a song that has made my weekend. For the writer in me: a step-by-step to writing a popular love song. For the funny in me: a hilarious literal translation. Enjoy!  |
"Doh!" ~Homer Simpson Currently listening to: "Little Earthquakes" - Tori Amos Currently reading: "American Gods" - Neil Gaiman Okay, really quick notice, I’m completely phoning in this blog post. I’m not even sure anyone read this thing, but I figured I would let those couple people who might that this will be more rambling than usual. Fair warning… That being said, here are a few observations I have made throughout the day: ~I have a theory that I might be turning into a zombie. Constant headache, restless moments, feel as if my skin is falling off. Sign of the times. I’m not too worried though. End of the world starts in ten days. Win-Win. ~Speaking dead things, I was knee-deep in dirt and human bones today. Our mock excavation out behind the baseball field (fondly known as “The Pit”) had me making a very crude sketch of the a few bones, flints, and other artifacts. Figured out it was a man eaten by something. At least, I hope. Otherwise my report on the subject will be extremely awkward…oddly enough, not for my psychology professors. ~For the first time, since I was nine-years old, I have sunburn. Craziest thing. I’m pretty brown, so the thought of a couple of hours out in moderate sun didn’t even make me think to throw on some sunblock. Not a smooth move. It looks like I’ve been rubbing the inside of my arms on a cat post. ~My grandmother is crazy. I’ve been saying this for weeks. Today, after a cell phone call from my mother in the middle of the afternoon, I believe the rest of the family has come around. Unfortunately, I think she’ll still be whistling at my grandfather like a dog tomorrow. ~It is a funny thing to stare a failure for an hour. It did it for several today. Not a fun feeling, and yet I still can’t find myself caring. ~I spilled soap on myself twice. For a few moments today, my little brother was more coordinated than I was. ~Is it a bad thing to crave an overabundance of nachos covered in dark chocolate with a side of Matzo soup? And no, I’m not pregnant. ~For my upcoming birthday, for which I will a full day of class (can I get a hoorah?), that following weekend I will be purchasing a month of Hulu Plus, where I will watch every episode of X-Files. It has been a dream of mine for years. It is now the time to make it real. ~If Detroit wins over Nashville, I will have a mild heart attack and angrily will throw my laptop across the room. This will be unfortunate because I will owe my mom $10 for another year in a row. Freakin’ Detroit…bane of my existence. That’s it. I’ve got nothing else. Will be back at some point, probably while I procrastinate on studying for my finals. May your little earthquakes be just as fun. |
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