Shiva's Temple Rishikesh, India - March 2006

Shiva’s Temple

“Okay, so today Shiva’s Temple?”
“Yes, today is Monday, Shiva’s favorite day. A very
good day to go. I think we should go at sunset too.
Paula I want you to ask Shiva for whatever you want in
life.” says Rajee with a big smile, “Anything!”
“Okay”, I surrendered.
We walked down the narrow winding streets down to the
river’s foot crossing bridge, crossed and turned left
past the blaring music vendors. Past the towering
Ashram built in 1972, past scruffy miniature Brahma
bulls pausing in their strolls, past bangle vendors
and sugar cane juice until we came upon the taxi
stand.
Rajee spoke for some time with the cabbies and came
back to me with, well we can take a jeep and pay 40
rupees per person but the driver won’t leave until the
jeep is filled up. Or we can take a cab for 400
rupees.
I don’t mind a cab.
Yes I think its better.
We boarded the cartoonish Ambassador and accented the
45 kilometers to Shiva’s Temple. This was an
uneventful journey although my silent prayers that it
be a safe one accompanied it. I have a thing about
traveling along narrow windy ill kept roads that are
terraced along a steep gorge edged with travelers on
foot carrying large stacks of wood on their heads.
They scare me a little bit. Especially when the driver
finds it necessary to pass jeeps loaded down with
their fare. But as I had already notified God as to
these cautions there was little left to do but enjoy
the view.
Terraced hillsides from top to bottom. So thorough
they looked a part of the natural geography. Women and
children ascending on narrow footpaths back up to
hidden domiciles with plastic tanks of water balanced
on shoulders or head.
Men and women building the road, breaking stones for
the pavement, carrying bricks for building.
We rounded a bend to find the road planted with street
lamps. Here? They looked like Fisher price toys in
this setting. It reminded me of the roads my brother
and I used to carve out of the side of the creek wall
in the hard packed clay. One was toppled over and hung
over the ravine as if the giant child that had placed
it there has upset its position by arising to his
mothers call.
We were here during the slow season. During the busy
season this little road would carry up to 40,000
pilgrims a day.
We arrived amidst the hawkers of offerings, their
tables inches from our parked car. (Parking was tight)
Rajee got out and purchased two plates of offerings
and handed one to me. A metal plate that held a
marigold, some leafy sprigs, two sticks of incense in
a package, a package of white sugar balls, a plastic
sealed cup of Ganges water, a length of gold trim and
a fat chunk of incense.
“These are all his favorite things”, said Rajee, “He
love Ganges water and this plant and this is his
favorite kind of incense.”
I had to wonder about this. How did anyone know what
this mythical man with the blue skin liked. I wasn’t
aware of any favorites of Jesus’.
We passed more hawkers of offerings representative of
higher incomes. These had the addition of small-framed
illustrations and baby coconuts and altogether bigger
plates.
We wound through the narrow pathways and soon came
upon the temple; ordinary to me in its typical ornate
appearance populated with entwined deities all busy
portraying their storied character. Of which I knew
absolutely nothing. Nothing. I know the name Ramayana,
but I couldn’t tell you the first thing about the
story. I know there is something about the world being
made from a great sea of churning milk and Shiva had
something to do with this. Perhaps was created from
the churning milk. Snakes or monkeys were doing the
churning. My ignorance seemed monumental. Here were
all these great buildings founded on these stories and
people from all walks of life making this journey to
simply pray in the shelter of this temple. I imagined
a foreigner coming upon an ornate nativity scene in
front of a church in an American city and wondering
what the story going on here was.
I shadowed Rajee and did as she instructed. Give the
priest (monk? Usher? ) your cup of water. He took it
and made some sign and tore off the plastic seal for
me and handed me back the cup all in one quick move.
I kneeled in front of the altar with the stone statue
of…I can’t even remember what it was. Probably a
lingam. I did my best to look reverential and like I
had some idea of what I was doing and offered the
flower and sprigs. Where to place them? All of them?
Where does one dump the water? Does one sprinkle the
water or pour the water? As I rose up from my kneel,
I realized I hadn’t even thought about the prayer
part. “Oh, Can you look in on my brother? I think he
could use some help. And my cousin too”.
I felt like I was making a wish after I had already
blown out all the candles. Got all the way up here and
blew the prayer by saying it after my whole offering
thing. Like talking to at a phone after you have hung
up.
I can’t say I blended in. Being the only foreigner in
sight, but no one was paying any attention to my
actions. No one stood up and said, “This woman is a
fake! She disrespectfully placed Shiva’s favorite
flower at the left of the altar and did so before the
water sprinkling part.”
We went along to the other statues and distributed
more of the offerings.
But all I could think of was 40,000 people a day and
40,000 plastic cups a day and 40,000 incense wrappers
a day, etc. where do they go? Looking down the edge of
an embankment I saw where some of it went.
We wandered a bit through the market stalls and made
our way back to the Ambassador. Easily 300 flies arose
from the interior of the car when we climbed in. We
drove off with about 50 stragglers to keep us company.

Descending the hill I felt relieved to be going back.
Actually, I was in the midst of an awful cold. I felt
submerged in sinus land.
I looked to Rajee to see if she was feeling an after
glow from her visit with Shiva. She looked unchanged.
What was I expecting?
The driver was going to stop at the waterfall on the
way down in consolation as to not being able to drive
further up to Parvati’s temple. This sounded good to
me.
I concentrated on getting pictures of the landscape
moving before us.
We soon slowed to a jeep in front of us.
Two girls on the verge of womanhood were leaning out
of the back open window. Their long bangled arms were
clutching the frame of the jeep to steady their bodies
in this awkward position. They were dressed in the
happy bright colors of India, fuchsia pink and orange
sun fire silks. Their hair was coiffed back and each
one clutched their chests and held expressions of
misery as large chunky snakes of yellow daal issued
forth from both of their mouths.
I imagined Rajee explaining the deity I saw before me,
“This is Barfashi. She has two heads and four arms and
loves pink and orange. The yellow snakes come out
every Monday evening to hunt for marigolds on the
temples roads”.
Wow! , I said, what are the chances of two people
being sick completely simultaneously. They obviously
ate the exact same thing.” I craned my neck forward
for a better look and unconsciously began to search
for my camera. Look! Their gags are totally in sync
with each other’s. That’s amazing! They’re even
barfing the same amounts!
The driver had had enough of this vista and decided
with a quick jerk to pass them on the edge side of the
road. When I realized what his plan was, I began to
emit squeaks of horror. No! No! No! They came out as
strangled little dream screams. My voice was barely
there from my head cold.
Rajee threw her head back and laughed while we cleared
the jeep, inches from the outside roads edge.
Finally, safely passed I offered a weak chuckle and
collapsed back in my seat. I just missed one of the
rarest photo opts in the world.
We came upon the waterfall and pulled in to witness
the emerald green waters cascading from maiden fern
covered boulders. To the right the twin headed snake
goddess drove by eyes aglow in a fresh heave of
misery. I watched the chariot get smaller and smaller
as I fumbled once more for my camera.

Later that evening I struggled to make sense of the
day with Rajee.
I don’t know…I guess I have a hard time getting past
what happens to all those cups. Rajee handed back yet
another beatific smile.
“Paula, what do you want in this life? What does
anyone want in this life but a little peace? A little
peace and some happiness. That’s all I want. I want…to
be a flower at my Lords feet. If I could be that, I
know I would be so happy. That is all I want in this
life.”
Rajee has a firm grip on passion. She welds it with a
certain expertise that mystifies me. I myself can’t
muster a spec of excitement about the prospect of
being a flower at my Lords feet.
“But what does happen to all those cups?”
“Paula!”
“Okay, I mean…I don’t know, I guess I felt like I was
missing out on a feeling. I even felt like a bit of a
fake. But I don’t even know these stories”….. I
thought some more and Rajee shook her head.
“I mean…a lot of those people though, they looked like
they were just going through the motions. They came
all that way and they look like they were running
through the whole blessing thing. They looked vacant
and like they were hurrying through. But …. I
thought, well, okay, okay, I found something to wrap
my mind around, “I mean, we have communion. It’s a
ritual and people sometimes look like they are half
asleep during it. Some of the men look as though they
are already thinking about Sunday football. “
Rajee continued to shake her head.
“ And yet they came all that way to… ‘What? You don’t
agree? Why are you shaking your head?
“Oh, I’m sorry it’s a bad habit, I’m sorry. I’m not
saying no. I’m agreeing with you.”
“Oh. You always do that? Then you must get this all
the time.”
“What?”
“People asking why you’re shaking your head no, when
you mean yes.”
“No.”
No? No one says anything?”
“No, no one ever has.”
“...Am I the only one who ever said anything about
it.”
“Yes.”
“…. Well, then why would you say it was a bad habit?”
“Paula! Please, forget this! Go back to what we were
talking about!”
“Well! Oh okay, so, anyway, I get it. It gives them
peace. How long does this peace last?”
What?
Well, church meets once a week so you get communion
once a week. So every week your sins are forgiven. I
don’t know, maybe God figured people need a once a
week cleaning. . Or people did.
Rajee continued to shake her head and I began to think
that this shake meant, No more, please no more! The
direction of my desperately groping mind was making me
wince.
“I don’t know this communion thing your talking about
and I don’t know how often people go up to visit
Shiva. Sometimes once a year, sometimes not at all.
Its up to their heart and their relationship with
Shiva. You know Paula, that old baba we saw on the
side of the road building the brick altar.”
I nodded. We had stopped to ask him directions. He
looked to be easily in his 80’s emaciated, wearing
nothing but a loincloth and raggedy turban. He was
slowly building up a small wall with brick and mortar
along the side of the road on the gorge’s edge.
“That old man, loves his goddess so much. Think of it.
She must be all he thinks about. He has no money. He
can’t afford a rickshaw to get him up to that site.
(It was about 15 kms up from town). He hand carries
each one of those bricks and the sack of mortar and
water for mixing it, all by him. How many bricks can
he carry each day? All of his money that he manages to
come by goes to buying the bricks. He does all of
this, for the love of his goddess. He loves her sooo
much. (Rajee says “Sooooo”, like she is doing the
shivers.)
And he didn’t ask me for rupees. (He had actually
given us each some of the sugar candy from the altar)
He didn’t ask me for anything. And you know, I could
easily give him a thousand rupees but I wouldn’t. You
saw me give him some rupees but he didn’t ask for
them. I gave him 10 and you know, I wouldn’t give him
more than 20. This task that he is on is to show his
love for the goddess. He loves all of it. If I gave
him a thousand he could finish the job in one day. No,
I wouldn’t give him more than 20 rupees.

Hmm. Ever so slowly India was beginning to make a
little sense to me.
So the dirt, the grime, the flies, the trash, the long
journey, the labor, none of it matters. Just the
devotion.

Rajee told me about a shrine down in the southern area
of India. This shrine attracts 1.2 million visitors a
day. “A day Paula, a day!”
“I don’t believe it”, I said.
“Its true.”
“Well… I don’t believe it.”
Rajee threw me another beatific smile.
I tried not to think of all the cups and smiled back.

Last mothers day letter to Mom. She says its private but i'm sharing it ...with the world.

Dear Mom,

Happy Mother’s day. (every day is mother’s day right?)
How was your day? Mine was pretty good. I spent it in a hotel not doing much. I worked for 2 hours and then watched some tv and then went to the gym.
I thought about you after my gym time as I flexed my new little muscular arms. I realized my goal was to have arms like yours. One day, long ago, we were all gathered in the family room of the white house in Portland. Some familiy friend or acquaintance commented on how you must have some muscles for all the kids you hauled around. You flexed and all of us little ones dropped our jaws and emitted squeals of pride and wonder.
I doubt though, that an hour in the gym every other day will ever catch up to 7 children arms.
Mothering takes strength.

Later that day I went out and bought some make up. I took it back to the bathroom and checked it out. Again , there is this archetypal model of beauty that I look to attain. It comes from watching you put on your make-up in your bathroom. It seemed the pinnacle of feminimity to me , watching you do that. Unwittingly you created magic for me.
Mothering shows us the beauty of being a woman.

Wittingly you told magical stories. Pistol pete, Calamity Jane, Perilous Pauline, Tinkerbell. The suspense, the plot, the amazing happy endings. I thought you were so imaginative and funny and brilliant to come up with these stories. I felt so bungling when I tried to tell Elijah stories. How could they compare? But they did. I think that he thought they were just as good as I thought yours were.
Mothering is the spirit of delivering a story. No matter how scant the plot.

One night you were rushing us all along to make it out the door to a school event. You told me to go put on the red jumper that Grandma had sewn for me. I protested. You told me firmly not to argue and go put it on. I went up to my closet and had the brainchild that if the dress was damaged, I would not have to wear it. So I did some damage and tore the neck open. I then presented the mysteriously damaged dress to you. "I can’t wear this Mommy."
You gave me this look that is embedded in my psyche. It said, “I am too exasperated with you to punish you for this dress that you have just spitefully torn so I am going to let you punish yourself with the realization that I know exactly what you did.” Then you said, “Go put on the other dress”. I burst into tears.
Good mothering can say it all in one look.

Every night you would say, “Check the bed before you go upstairs” All of our laundry was folded in neat individual stacks that covered half a king size bed.
Every Saturday night you would say,
"Go get your shoes and polish them."
" Get in the tub with your sisters and wash your hair." You would pull each one of us to the faucet and rinse our reluctant heads. Rachel cried every time.
You would line us up to cut our bangs. “Stay still.”
You patiently schooled us in the art of setting a table and resisted futility in the face of learning us some good table manners.
“Go get some milk from Hugh’s.”
2 gallons of milk every day. 1 to 2 cups daily factored in to be spilt on the dinner table.
"Go with your brother and help him carry in the bread." Two big bags of bread from the bread store once a week.
"Go out to the garage and bring in 15 potatoes and scrub them.” Every night dinner for nine at 6:00 sharp.
Daily notes on the counter delegating small jobs that earned big complaints.
"Did you vacuum the stairs yet?"
"Not until you finish your homework."
"This floor doesn’t look like it has been mopped yet."
"When’s the last time you brushed your teeth?"
"Turn off the TV and get to bed….NOW."
Vacations spent boiling spaghetti in old army pots on sooty grills, coaxing heat out of charcoal under a rain dripping tarpaulin. “Go help your father with the tent”
On the two day journey home, I sat on the edge of the motel bed and could hear you crying in the bathroom while the regular chaos ensued all around. "Is Mom crying?" Dad said, "Let your mother be." "But why is she crying? Whats wrong?"
Mothering is hard work.

"Good morning Good morning Good morning to you!"
"Woo hoooo. Dinners ready."
Mothering is a song you sing every day.

You took us shopping for school clothes. I was going into junior high. I wanted this hot pant set that was made out of a purple and black knit print with white trim. The top had giant puffed sleeves with a wide white cuff and huge white lapels and a V-neck . It was a button down dress top that barely covered the hot pants. Truly 1972. You bit your tongue and bought if for me. I wore it for one self conscious day.
Mothering sometimes comes before your personal opinions.

There was that time when I was 16 and asked your permission to go to San Francisco for the weekend to spend some time with a 40 year old lawyer who wanted to take fashion photographs of me. You said, Ha! Absolutely not!”…. I was really mad at you and thought you were really insensitive. …but I get it now.
Mothering is time released.


Every night you would kneel by my bed and say prayers with me. Fold your hands. God bless Mother and Father, God bless Rock., God bless Mike, God bless Scott, God bless Kris. God bless Peter, God bless Rachel and God bless you.
Mothering is spiritual.

Each night you ended the prayer with:
I love you Paula.
I know that Mommy.
You know that?
Yeah, of course, you’re my mom.

Mothering is love.

starts of collections...

Can you beleive it! Now as soon as i check in to a hotel i go straight to the bathroom to see how they interpret the slippery floor warning. I just need like 3 more and i've got a collection...i guess 5 makes a collection. What quantity officially makes a collection? What about a series? How many images are required to make a coffee table book?

Maybe I could make a coffee book out of starts of collections.

Another collection I am working on.:
Toothpaste names that make you say Hmmmm.
Random pictures on the walls in Chinese restaurants.


Stay tuned.

"Welcome People From All Over The World, Lets Make Our Glorious Fortune Together

That was what i read on the gigantic billboard i saw this morning about an hour outside of Shanghai. It was in front of the tolls. I mean...i think i was outside of Shanghai. Its a big ass city. Yesterday i was trying to buy a ticket, from where ever I was, to get back to Saigon. I had to call because there are so many airlines in Asia that don't have e-ticketing. Or maybe they just have selective e-ticketing. They said that if i take the express flight to Hong Kong before 12:00 I could get the econo rate. I could pay for it over the phone but I would have to pick up the ticket from the office , not at the airport.
Okay...how far is the office from the Airport?
About 3 hours.
3 hours?? And its still in Shanghai?!
Yes.
And that is your nearest office to the Airport?
Yes. But you can buy your ticket for a later flight and get it from the airport ...but it is the full price.
What??.........%#@.......okaythanksbye. ( I talk fast like this before i hang up on someone or walk away. i talk fast in a disgusted, exasperated, hopeless and pissed kinda way)
Can that be true, i ask the assistant that had been assigned to me.
Yes. Shanghai is very big.
3 hours??
It is very big.
Hmmm.
I was getting pissed because one of the guys in this office took over buying my ticket and went ahead and purchased it without really listening to me . I was still working out what i wanted. I wanted cheap and late in the day. My connecting flight wouldnt be leaving from Hong Kong until 8 that night so no need to rush to Hong Kong. But as i was thinking this out loud he had decided that he knew just what i needed and took charge of the situation. I had decided that the more expensive flight was going to be okay because then i could sleep in. "You know, i 'll just fly with Dragon" I kept saying but he was already handling things. I kept asking him, what time is this flight? but he was so busy being impressively fast that he ignored me and i began to mutter.
I mutter things like, "Of course your not answering me because your not listening to me...fuckhead..fuckhead, fuckhead fuckhead." but i only mouthed the "fuckhead" part. Everything else i say quietly outloud in a little bitter song. "fuckhead" is the lip sync chorus.

okay hold on...theres a woman in the airport lounge here right now with her older mother and her son who is confined in a big kid stroller. He looks like he is about 6 or 7. He is being fed directly into his stomach through a sort of giant syringe iv line going into his belly. He makes movements like a newborn. I want to go up and talk to them but she is so busy. Her mother is also so old that she also needs to get around by wheelchair. The mother has just run off and the grandma is cooing to her grandson with such love and tenderness i want to cry. In fact i am tearing up a bit. He is their glorious fortune.

but back to my whiney story.

So then they inform me that this means that the driver will pick me up tomorrow morning at 7:00 am. My face clouds and they explain that it is important not to be late. ....so yeah, i shouldn't be because that gives me 5 hours to get on my flight.
You can go to bed early tonight they say like they are my fuckin mom.
I know that I will not go to bed early. I never go to bed early. I hate getting up early. It is a 2 hour drive to the airport but htat still gives me 3 airport hours before boarding.
I am driven back to my hotel room . I am thankful that they are not insisting on taking me out to dinner. I really don't like the meal situation with my work .
In fact it is probably the hardest part of my job. They always ask what i would like to eat like this, "You like Chinese traditional food?! Yes?! They are nodding their heads yes to que me in on the correct answer.
Yeah , okay, its fine.
Then everyone comes along. It is a treat for them. I am the free meal ticket because it is a business lunch. So everyone in the upper management i guess gets to go. They enjoy these meals and it always takes a good 10 to 15 minutes deliberating with the waitress just to order the food. There is always at least 7 to 12 dishes ordered. There is always lots of talk - none in english. There is always everyone filling up my rice bowl without my asking for more. ...i hate that. Yesterday I touched my hand to my mouth and the assistant sprang into action ripping open a towelette and profering it to me in record time. She did this with the same speed you might expect a mom to do if her child was had just implied projectile vomiting was about to take place. "Oh thank you." I faked, accepting the wipe like a gift and dabbed again at my mouth to show her what a life saver she was.
This place was shabby but i guess the food must have been good.
Drunken men were hollering at one another In the next "private" dining room. It seems there is always a group of drunken men hollering at a table close by during every lunch I've been to in asia. Its my idea of the chinese ambiance. As was the framed dirty movie ad for Patch Adams in the stairway at this place , I thought to myself. Once again i thought about an idea for another coffee table book- this one would be titled, "Pictures hung on the walls in Chinese cafes" The rest of the framed pictures in this restaurant were random black and white nature shots. Really random. This is something else i have noticed about these nature shots i see in restaurants and hotels. Its like someone went to the empty lot on the street and took snaps of weeds and a tree because they needed to use up their film. Or perhaps the owner of these places took a photography class so that they could meet girls or their wives told them they weren't creative and one of the assignments was, go outside and take some pictures of "nature". ...really, i know i sound like a snob or like i probably just don't see what these photographers are seeing but ...look, I'll take some photos of these photos and post them within the month so , you tell me when you see them. Whenever i see these pictures i'm dying to know the story of where they came from. Maybe they gave their nephew a new camera for his 13th birthday and asked him to take some photos. maybe this kid was a favorite and so they told him that they would honor him by framing all his photos and putting one in each room of the gigantic hotel. Maybe the 13 year old nephew actually couldn't stand his uncle so he decided to make a mockery of the project. Maybe his wife took them and cried when her husband didn't notice them so he placated her by putting them in the hotel or restaurant.

So I am in my hotel and doing the email thing and think that i will eat around 7 or 8 when my appetite returns. In China it is impolite not to at least sample each dish. Plus, there is nothing else for me to do during these lunches but eat as there is no english spoken.
There is no room service menu. I go down to the restaurant and ask if i can order room service from the menu.
No comprendo. No english spoken here. They all answer me in rapid mandarin.
there is a pause.
okaynevermindthanks.
I go to the next floor. Ah, "the Victoria" western food. Inside the Victoria is the buffet spread. I don't want to sit down here in this place and do the buffet. i just want a tuna sandwich with fries. There's always a tuna sandwich and fries. I again ask for a menu to order room service from. But no one speaks english here either. Not even a little bit.
I go to the only english speaker in this whole place - the girl at the front desk - and ask if they have room service.
I have to repeat it several times. Roooom Service. Room Service. ...I want to eat in my room. I want to eat food.
Food!
Yes!
Upstairs.
No I want to order from a menu and have it brought to my room.
I don't get it. This is a 4 star hotel. I am on the 21st floor. There are 3 restaurants, a gym, an indoor pool , bowling, a night club, shops, the whole shebang. I don't get why room service is such a foreign idea. I'm sure it isn't if I would just say the words in a different order i guess. I think about the" Slip Carefully" plaque next to the bathtub in my room.
Oh oh yes, food in your room . You can have chinese food brought to your room ....but not western food .
I sigh and grip my teeth.
okaynevermindthanks.
I mutter back to my room and eat an apple from the fruit bowl.
I could have ventured out to the cafes out side but , man...sometimes i'm just not up to the communcation challenge. And here, they all act like you know mandarin. the shop keepers come over and give me their sales pitches, even the people i worked with the other day would walk in and start explaining away about something. Its a strange feeling. I just look at them blankly and don't even speak because I'm thinking , whats the point. we obviously don't speak the same language. Or with the shop keepers i usually end up rudely ignoring them. I usually don't even realize they are talking to me even when i am the only other person in the store because I have learned to tune it out to effectively ...The Chinese are like Americans in this respect I suppose. I mean we always expect everyone to know english if they are in our country. ...anyway..

The next morning i get up and make the driver wait a half hour. I am not going to rush so I can wait at an airport for 3 hours i growl to myself. But at least I will have time to eat. Once i get to the airport i am bumped into an earlier flight as the 12:00 has been cancelled. . so no time for a meal now. But then i see that there is a crowd at the gate and the english speakers say that the flight is being delayed.

okay, then i can eat after all. There is a cafe that serves french fries nearby.
i go back to the deli and order a vegetable sandwich- tomatoe and cucumber on white bread - and french fries. i make the order to the waitress who also collects my money at the same time. She walks away . Crap, i just spent $10.oo for that stuff. and then i see that my flight is actually boarding after all. i go tell the waitress to cancel my order. She does and then i look at her , like okay, now this is where you give me back my money. She says, "Take a seat and wait please." I don't take a seat , i stand in a place that is in the way and wait. I give up and start to walk to my gate and then i decide to come back. she is at the cashiers now. She gives me my change from the money i had given her in the first place. ( i had 2$ yen coming back.) I say "I want all my money back" and she says, "can not cancel" and she walks away. I growl and give up. I walk toward my gate and then , no dammit, i come back again. I push myself into her face and say, I saw you cancel the order, so you can give me my money back.
Can not cancel.
I saw you cancel. Give me money back!
Can not cancel! can not cancel!!
Isawyoucancel!.... Bitch. I said and walked away muttering.

Okay the woman has come back in lounge now . Airport attendants are helping her with everything. Her mother is in the wheel chair. They are ready to go but she is upset because she has just realized that she has left her ...teeth...on the last flight. ...3 of them. She is clutching her mouth now as if she is suddenly naked . The airport attendants are asking if they can help her close her luggage. "No, the zipper broke when it was being searched", says the 3 teeth missing mother wearily. The seven year old is fussing like a tiny baby waving his stunted fists around and knocking at his face. Now the mother is putting on deoderant in a completely unselfconscious way. i love her. I want to tell her this as they all wheel away.
but i don't.
because i'm busy whining!

Back to the whining!

Oh,so I guess thats it really. I mean for the day. I am waiting in Hong kong for my flight back to Saigon. It has been delayed by an hour and a half so lets see that gives me ....6 hours or i should say gave me 6 hours. I just used 2 and a half to whine about my glorious fortune.

on beauty

This is me. Currently. I'm in a state of perpetual change.
a long time ago i saw an old wedding picture in someones house. i think it was the lady i cleaned for. wow. i remember staring at that photo for a long time. I would look at the woman now and then at her then and think about my impression of who she was from one picture to the other as if i were looking at them without knowing they were the same person. I would have assigned them different personalities. I realized I thought that the woman in the younger picture looked like a happier woman. Simply because she was younger and prettier. But really, this is balderdash. Pure poppycock.
i'm always assigning personalities to people. Beauty factors in heavily. today in the immigration line at the HOng Kong airport i took stock. There were a line of women, sisters i assumed. Their mother and father were in line as well. The father was a toadish man with a gangster toad face and a retired wrestlers body. His face was like a rough hewn cube. Blockish. Not attractive in the sense of beauty but attractive in the way that i really wanted to stare at him and think about him as a new father- what would he be like just picking up his new born daughter for the first time? EAsy to imagine him in a rage but what about in a state of unguarded love.
He had about 4 daughters.Not one of them would be considered beautiful. One was probably a boy at the beginning but she was an ugly woman now. She had a blockish glowering head with a mane of prized tresses. Work with what you got. I checked for the adam's apple. But I couldn't look at her long at all because she was on the lookout for eyes that were serepticiously checking her out. You could tell she was a pro at catching the ones that were trying to grab a glance on the sly. Like me. So I panned the people slowly to the right to prove to her that i was just as interested in looking at everyone else . yes, they were all just as equally interesting as you so don't think your special.
This works for me. i have employed it several times.
Anyway. She didn't look happy and i assumed it was because she thought everyone was staring at her and judging her (like me). I thought she was unhappy because she would never, no matter how trendy her clothes were , how perfect her hair was , how well she applied her makeup, she would always look like a block headed gangster tranny toad. And yes I thought, man, if i looked like that as a guy , the last thing i would want to attempt would be to look like a girl. what a crazy challenge.
Later in the day i walked into the Body Shop and tried some body firming lotion. i rubbed it on one hand and one arm and then left the store. i walked in the next store where there was better light and held up my hands. Was there a difference? Kinda. Yeah Kinda. But a $23.65 difference?!
Then i walked into In and Out. cheap trendy clothing. There was a woman shopping who was I think about 3 years older than me. I decided i would follow her and watch her to see what she dared to buy here in this trendy young women's shop. Was she older than me? Yes, she had to be. But maybe just a little bit older. ...maybe even the same age as me. Is it possible that I look like her shopping here? Its okay right? See, she shops here so I can too. My mind makes me crazy with this crap.
I walked out.
Blah blah blog.
I had a dream on my birthday last year. I was fighting with a vicious peacock. It was pecking me hard with a very sharp beak. I was having to fight it back. You would think it wasn't that dangerous. its just a bird after all. But it was kicking my ass.

In the past couple of years this is what i get told a lot :
You must have been a very beautiful woman when you were young.
You are so beautiful in this old picture. I didn't even recognize it was you! ...this was said by my boyfriend.
You just insulted me, I told him.
I did?
I sigh and roll my eyes. Yep.
Baby, I 'm sorry, you know you have to forgive me , I don't know how to say things right sometimes.

I am no longer photogenic. For sure i was and it was just a little over a year ago. I know this because my friend Sway and I were discussing this and we were trying to figure out when it happened. when did we lose our angle. When did we lose our photogenicity? I think it was about January. Even October of last year. Because in June it was totally there still. See, I said, pointing to a photo of us in a photo from that month , I wasn't even aware. I was at peace with the camera.
So for a while i have been on a hunt for my angle. I started taking photos of myself all the time. With out my clothes on in stark hotel rooms. Sway and i looked at these and laughed hard. None were salvageable. Kinda Diane Arbus looking though. I'm not ready to be that though. I am working on accepting all these miraculous changes. This woman that owns this populare cosmetics company was featured in an article in some magazine i bought in Singapore.( it was a magazine for people over 50. It was a bargain. Only $2.00. I got it because it had an article about presbyopia-. I made a point of not trying to hide the fact that i was buying this magazine. You know sometimes you have to buy things that you don't really want people to know you are buying. Things like: tampax, hemerroid cream, Rid lice and crab killer, flea bombs, flavored condoms,. I try to buy all my stuff without shame and give all articles equal counter space and time as they are checked out. ) I don't know much about this woman's cosmetics but she owns the company and she is 50 and she says, Don't try to look young. Try to look the best you can. Pretty obvious stuff but as you can see, i am repeating it so, I think its ..deep.
good lord. I got so tore up by that rediculous peacock. I don't have to fight a bird. I can just walk away. The bird is just defending its territory. Simply get out of its territory. Its not rocket science , sheesh. Is it really so important to win a battle with a vain egotistical bird?
oh gosh.
okay okay. yeah yeah.
I want to be strong and graceful and timelessly beautiful. I do have those moments. Like the toad man holding his new baby daughter.
For the most part,I try to care about more interesting things but you know what. I'm looking at my hands right now and ...I think there is a $23.65 difference.

Queen P

Queen P,

Your audience is waiting!