Joyeux Anniversaire

Tonight it is raining and tomorrow is our 41st anniversary. I ask myself how many times has it rained since we met?  Possibly one thousand, maybe ten thousand or somewhere in between.  Regardless,  I love the rain immensely and mark my life by it's falling. Yet the rain pales in comparison to you; therefore I am unsure of when it rains.  

I thirst for your coming
sitting alone as if anticipating
a lover to call upon me
not knowing when or where
 
Waiting for you to wash away
the dust that has settled upon my skin
since we last parted
so long ago

When you come
let me be awake to welcome
your arrival
and bathe in your presence

Immerse me in your love
Saturate me in your element
Delight me with your company
Let it rain

A half century later I still feel the same. The same young man, although 50 years older that nervously asked for your hand...maybe a few more scars, a few more broken bones, but still the same man.  You, you are still the same sweet, perfect woman that my soul yearned for.

joyeux anniversaire mon amour.

A Small Part Of A Huge Universe

Something or someone was pulling at me to awaken before dawn this morning.  It happens rarely, but when it does I heed the call and try to answer what or who it is that encourages me to give up that extra couple hours of sleep.  I heard the voice inside my head "Wake up!  Something is happening!"  So despite my body telling me otherwise, I rolled out of bed.   Funny how the word 'rolled' is used as you get older.  Is it because as we age we roll easier?  As a youngster I used to 'jump' out of bed, and now I just 'roll'.
This morning was made for French press coffee.  Not the push button prepackaged pod for me.  I needed a strong brew and knew how to make one.  A worthy coffee that would rival the best.  Starbucks would be envious as I tasted the first of the cup.  The strength of the coffee may help me decipher why I'm walking around the house attempting to decode the enigma of my wakefulness I thought.
Taking my cup outside onto the porch into the pre-dawn darkness and chill of the morning air was the beginning of my answer to why I was awake.  Pajamas and all I stepped outside hoping I wouldn't be seen, then I suddenly realized why I was awake.  The dark sky was lit up like the fourth of July with stars.  I literally shouted "Oh my God!" and suddenly thought to myself I probably awakened the next door neighbors.  This universe I live in is so amazing!  The constellation Orion was brilliant this morning, and as I followed the belt of Orion I could vividly see Pleiades. I have not seen the seven sisters of Pleiades in years due to my not looking for it, or the dilution of the sky from city lights.  It pleased me to recall them. 
I came back inside after a few minutes with my coffee, lit 2 incense sticks my daughter gifted me from Kyoto, then said a prayer of thanks to the Almighty for allowing me to solve my morning enigma.
I wish it is always this easy.  Epecially for those I love and call friends.

Nan's Papaya

Nan’s Papaya

My Mother who was pregnant with me fled North Vietnam by boat on a bitter cold December night in 1968. She left from the port of Hai Phong located along the Red river. The only belongings she took with her were stuffed inside a pillow case, except for the gold Buddhist medallion that she wore around her neck. Everyday life was difficult for Ma in the north. Ma was an orphan until the age of nine. At that time she was adopted by a family who worked a rice field. She suffered much abuse from her adoptive family. Her story of being beaten and having her head shoved into boiling rice water while cooking in the field was testament to her abuse. My Ma’s only happiness came when she met and fell in love with a soldier from Hanoi. Of the few times they met privately, I was conceived. He soon left her and she never saw him again. She said he was killed in the war, but I think that is just her way of making him a hero in a story she tells me to this day. That young North Vietnamese soldier was my Father who I never met. Upon stepping onto the boat at the dock of the Red river, my mother never looked back. She was leaving the country of her birth, but there was no sadness. She knew she must find a new life for the both of us if we were to survive. My Ma arrived in South Vietnam with me insider her belly in January 1969. Even before I was born I knew she did it for me. So, on a cool February night in the Province of Ba Xuyen, South Vietnam, I was born. The story goes that I was born upon a full moon, an omen of beauty and independence. Omens are strong medicine in Vietnam, so I became what I was intended to be. My name is Nan and I grew into a beautiful and headstrong young girl.

My first memory of life with Ma was when I was around three or four years of age. I recall living in a small white cinder block home located on the second floor of a retail building. Later I would learn that the first floor sold fine silks to the ladies of the town. The silk would be sewn into beautiful Ao Dais, the traditional dress worn by the fine women of Vietnam. My Ma would pay our rent by sewing these dresses for our landlord’s customers. My Ma was a wonderful seamstress. Although she could not afford the silk, she made her own Ao Dai out of cotton, and I recall the delicate beauty and lightness of Ma’s Ao Dai as we walked to the market on the weekend. Even with the loud noises and the strong smells of the market, I felt special as I walked along side of this beautiful and proud woman. In my mind, I wanted to grow up and be just like her.

When I turned five years of age, Mr. Nguyen, our landlord offered Ma a small plot of his backyard to plant flowers and herbs. He made it very clear this was not to be for anything but flowers and herbs. No vegetables, no trees, nothing else. He did not want any plant that spread their vines to the sky crowding out the precious sunlight in his garden. My Ma agreed enthusiastically, and then all the more emphatically Mr. Nguyen repeated, “No vegetables, no trees!” That night I took pencil and paper and drew out a garden diagram with a papaya tree. One little papaya tree couldn’t hurt. I was so delighted! I would find the right spot, plant the seeds, and from my account I would enjoy the taste of green papaya salad by next year. When Ma would make the papaya salad, she would top it off with boiled shrimp, peanuts, chili peppers, and mint. I thought about the taste of it as I gave Ma the garden diagram that night. I made her sign it saying “I promise to plant my daughter Nan a papaya tree in the garden, love Ma.” I took the promissory note, neatly folded it up and put it away with all that was valuable to me. I wanted that papaya tree and Ma’s promise would make it so.

1974 was a turbulent time in South Vietnam. The American soldiers had left, and the Regular South Vietnamese Army didn’t want to fight the ever advancing Viet Minh army from the North. I didn’t understand all of this as a young five year old, but I could tell things were different in our province. I could hear the sound of shells exploding in the night. I could see the worry on the faces of Mr. Nguyen’s customers. Ma’s backlog in work began to dry up and an air of gloom filled the eyes of those that Ma did business with. The garden went unplanted that year, with promises to plant the best garden ever next spring, complete with a papaya tree whether Mr. Nguyen liked it or not.

For the remainder of the year we lived meagerly on rice, a vegetable dish, and occasionally a piece of fish, or a piece of fruit. Soon it was 1975 and time for Tet celebration, which is our Vietnamese lunar new year. It is the most important festival in Vietnam. Ma surprised me with a beautiful Ao Dai that she had made from scraps of silk from the past year. It was a pair of white silk pants, with a blue tunic. I didn’t have shoes to wear with it so I found my best pair of rubber soled sandals and put them on. As I modeled it for Ma I felt like a butterfly princess. As I fell asleep in Ma’s arms that night, I felt loved. She carried me to bed and tucked me in still wearing my new outfit. The next morning I delighted in knowing this wasn’t just a dream, and I was still a beautiful princess.

Mr. Nguyen invited us that New Year’s Day to come to his home early to visit and pay respects. Mr. Nguyen greeted us at the front door and presented me with lucky money stuffed inside a red envelope. I gave him a traditional greeting my Ma taught me. I practiced it many times to make sure I would get it correct. “I hope you live for one hundred years Mr. Nguyen.” With that greeting all the pleasantries were complete. Now we could eat all the special foods that were placed on the table by the Nguyen family. We were the guests today and it was Mr. Nguyen who was the host and servant. I saw a side of Mr. Nguyen that I had never seen before. I saw him smile, and heard his laugh for the first time in my life. I wish I would have known that this was going to be the last time I would see him. I would have told him thank you for allowing us to live above his store for the past few years. He had offered us a home. Something he didn't have to do. I think he was a good man at heart and I still think about him and his family to this day. I was told that Mr. Nguyen was taken from his home by the insurgent North Vietnamese army that week. He was never to be seen again by his family. His wife continued to run the store until April of that year.

April 29, 1975 was my last day in South Vietnam. The North Vietnamese army rolled in to our province that morning with their tanks, each one sporting a flag with a large yellow star upon a red background. It was the flag of the Viet Minh. That morning Ma gathered all she could in a pillowcase, and we both left our home not looking back. Ma cried on our journey down to the Saigon River harbor. Ma's gold buddhist medallion was the price she paid for our passage on a small overcrowded shrimp boat, a boat that would ultimately take us out into the South China Sea. As we both sat on the deck of that tiny boat Ma looked at me and told me how sorry she was, and apologized to me for how difficult our life was. She cried and said she missed her sewing machine. I told her something that she still remembers to this day, and we both laugh about it still. I told her I knew we would be fine. When she asked me how I knew this, I pulled out the small folded diagram of our garden that she had signed with her promise. I held it close to her weary face in the dimming light of the evening. “Ma, remember you told me you would plant me a papaya tree? You promised ma, and I’m going to make you keep that promise."

After being rescued by a United States Navy ship a few days later we were given sandwiches and a cold glass of milk. I still remember how good the milk tasted, and I still to this day think of milk as a luxury. That was thirty three years ago. And yes, Ma did plant me that tree. Only it was in Florida. A promise is a promise.



Post Script: My Ma passed away two weeks after I wrote this. Ma never got to hear me read this story to her. She went to sleep and never awoke. Now she can finally get the rest she so deserves. We had a beautiful Buddhist ceremony in Houston, Texas last month at the temple in her honor. Afterwards all the children gathered to remember Ma. We celebrated her life as she would have wanted us to. That night I prepared green papaya salad for my family and wept.

Singing Despite Adversity

A Ligustrum grows near the side of my home, and like most of the scrubs this time of year, it's flush with flowers and dark green foliage.  It provides the perfect environment for a bird to build their nest and start a new family.  So it has been for the past few years.  Several generations of Mockingbirds have built nests in this shrub, laid eggs, hatched a new generation and eventually seen their new hatchlings off into the world.   This year is no exception to the new brood that occupies my attention.
This morning while sitting on the front porch listening to the Mother Mockingbird I was struck with such a feeling of love for where I live, thankful for what I have, and felt a bit guilty for some of the complaints I voice within my inner-self occasionally.  This Mother Mockingbird was singing as if all was well in the world, yet I knew she had lost a baby just the day before when our cat had grabbed one of her babies that fell out of it's nest. The cat acting on instinct instantly sank his teeth into the back of the baby bird and ended it's life, yet here this Mother was singing and bringing happiness into my life.  It gave me pause to contemplate where her happiness originated, and my own life.
What if people were more like this Mother bird shaking off the sadness that will come to everyone's life eventually.  What if we could turn our thoughts away from negativity, and instead be thankful for the blessing of life?  In our own way, what if we cold sing in the face of adversity and inspire others without condition?  I was given the gift of an epiphany this morning.  No one can guarantee life is fair, but life has been granted to us regardless, and it can be beautiful.    

Sunday Ramblings

I love my wife, my family, friends, babies, and photography.  Kind words are lasting, as are harsh words. As I age, I like to remember kindness more than not.  If listening to a grown man talk about flowers is perceived as weakness on his part, then you don't know me.
My second life began when I discovered Okinawa in 1990.  I don't know why it took so long to find. I had spent 35 years of my life not knowing my true North.  Life seems to have become simpler and easier since finding home.  
My future is secure. My children and grandchildren are likely to inherit from me some of the qualities and pleasures of travel, flowers, speaking kind words, and love of family.  I don't worry they will stray too far from this path.  I have not walked this path by chance. I am certain the path was already laid by my Mother and Father. I found pleasure in the beauty of fresh cut flowers from the yard.  My Mother always had an arrangement of seasonal flowers on the dining table.  I still remember lying outside on the hood of our old Studebaker looking into the still, dark Mississippi night trying to find the Big Dipper and the North Star with a pair of binoculars while my Daddy would coach me along. I miss the hood of that old Studebaker, the silence of the night, and my Daddy's presence.
Wisdom often comes in whispers, so listen to your heart, speak to God, whomever that might be, and if your muse comes calling, answer without haste.
These are a few Sunday morning thoughts from the heart.

Midnight Marsupial Munchies

Our cat, Bubs, lives outdoors most of the time. He's got a nice setup really. A heated pet bed on the front porch, always fresh water, and of course a bowl of food standing at the ready. I try to bring in the bowl each night before I go to bed to discourage other animals coming up in the night and eating from Bub's bowl.  Last night I forgot until late in the night.  When I went outside to retrieve the bowl, I could see tiny animal footprints around the bowl that wasn't a cat's footprint.  It was a slender footprint, with long toes.  Being raised in the South and being around animals all my life, I recognized the footprints as an Opossum footprint.  Anyway, I brought the bowl in and went to bed.
This morning upon awakening I went outside to say hello to Bubs and bring him breakfast.  That's when I noticed a dead Opossum in our front yard.  I quickly disposed of the body in the woods in front of the house by the lake.  Bubs takes his food seriously I guess.  Being 24 pounds of all male cat (well OK, he was neutered as a young cat) he had no problem in handling the likes of a freeloading Opossum.  I felt bad for the little guy, but in nature the strong survive.  I don't worry too much about Bub's, he has proven over the years that he can take care of himself.

Broken Seraph

I know an angel who's on my mind
with a heart of gold and oh so kind
a lovely smile and a pair of wings
to me she's more than anything

But now she's broken and cries at night       
and if she'll let me I think I might
teach her how to laugh and sing
so I'll lift her up and mend her wings

Time will pass and heal her wounds
and she'll be singing and flying soon
sometimes bad things happen, but this will pass
so smile little angel or I'll kick your ass