The shout heard round the country

I rarely speak out on politics. But I wonder if anyone in the American media industry has ever watched Parliament in the UK or Australia take each other on? Or the recent brawls in Korea or Taiwan?

The recent "shout that was heard around the world" in the US Congress was a whimper compared to their antics. I think that it was improper to interrupt the President in the middle of a speech; but I don't think that it's worth the time and money being spent by lawmakers to cover their backsides. They are playing around, admonishing each other and pretending we are all civilized, when we all know the very human side of our politicians.

I think there are really big things on which you could be spending my taxpayer's money. Health. Banking. Energy reform. But not this nonsense.

So I say to Congress: Get to work or go home.
And to the news media: Get a life.

Stone whispers

I visited the art museum on Sunday
and wandered through the detritus
of Cairo and Athens
to the classical hall,
where stone carvings - marble statues
stand motionless in the crowd.

The sun streaked through windows
that hung safely out of reach.
Warm light and red brick walls
countered the cool expressions
of those stone smiles.

As I stood there,
they whispered secrets of the ages,
telling tales of battles fought and won,
of forgotten sculptors.

They listened casually
as I told them of my quiet desires;
they never compromised my secrets.
I have misplaced their names…
but their faces live in my memory
like friends who have long since moved away.

Half life?

I turned 50 in November 2008. Half a century! Earlier that year, I had been told by the faculty of a well-known southern "Ivy-league" university that I was "too old" to get a PhD. That's the same thing as saying that I am too old to
expect
dream
wish
hope
change
learn
wander
believe

I began to think about the criteria by which we evaluate age. If 45 to 50 is a mid-life crisis, then are we expected to live until 100? I really hope not. It's been a pretty good ride so far, but I can't imagine another 50 years of this. :)

But seriously - when are we too old? My colleague is still working and he is 80 years old. My Dad just bought a new computer for himself, and he is 85. Mom is a healthy 81 years. Yet my sister, who is 57, is struggling with oral cancer. Several of my friends have already died from accident or illness. If each of these people had known the time of their death, would they have made different choices? I'd like to think that we all live life to its fullest every day, but the reality is that we tend to coast along until we are shaken into some sort of awareness that our time draws nigh.

Despite the urgings of that southern icon, I have decided to go back for my PhD in 2009. I am prepared to work hard, but plan to enjoy the process of learning - now that I have some idea of what I want to do when I grow up. Some of my fellow students are older than I am. I'm hoping that no one told them that they were too old to reach for their dreams.

When does anyone have the right to tell you that you are you old to do anything - based simply upon a chronological event? If our ability is individual and circumstantial, then what, exactly, is the half life... of life?

The young traveler

At the tender age of 6, I learned that my father was going to be sent to Vietnam, and that my mother, sister and I would live in Bangkok. It was 1965, the war was gearing up. It was a remarkably stressful time for my parents, but of course, to a six-year-old, it only meant that the next grand adventure was fully underway. We moved from our suburban outpost to a townhouse in Greenbelt - a town which I later learned was the Washington DC location for one of Roosevelt's New Deal experiments.

In Greenbelt, there were many firsts. I started school there. I learned to ride a bike in the courtyards of Springhill Lake Apartments, experienced the chickenpox, got my first smallpox vaccine. Shortly before time for us to transfer overseas, we moved to the Frances Scott Key Hotel. For the next few weeks, we made frequent appointments for shots and more shots.... vaccines against diseases I couldn't pronounce much less spell.

The day finally arrived - we were on our way. We flew from DC to LAX, had an 8 hr layover. I remember drinking "Shirley Temples" in the rotating restaurant there. We flew from LA to Honolulu, where I can remember smelling the orchids when we deplaned...it was exquisite. From Hawaii it was on to Tokyo, then Hong Kong and finally Bangkok, where we would spend the next two years.

I know now that these were some of the hardest years my family faced. But for me - and I suspect for my father - they were the most exquisite. It was exotic... the world was filled with snake charmers and spirit houses and gated compounds. Despite attempts to keep me protected, I managed to sneak out the back gate of our Embassy housing to explore the world at large. The gardener across the street became a friend - we had a ready supply of fresh coconut thanks to his ability to shimmy up the trees and cut down fresh nuts. The street vendors knew me by sight, since I was always willing to try their offerings - fresh green mango, fruit slushies, and Halls cough drops, to name a few delicacies.

I should note that these excursions were often without the knowledge or sanction of the adults in my life. My mother would NEVER have condoned letting a 7 year old girl roam free in the streets of Bangkok. But then, she didn't know until it was too late. I was often playing with the neighborhood kids - none of whom spoke English - and exploring the intricacies of middle class life in downtown Bangkok. I learned about leechee nuts from my neighbor's grandmother, and I taught the neighbor boys about snow, which they had never seen. My Thai and their English improved, but mostly we spoke in that tongue known to children everywhere.

Intermingled with the joys of childhood were hard lessons. I saw animals beaten to death on the road in front of our house. When we traveled, we saw children starving; encountered the putrid smell of klongs, and the lack of sanitation in the floating markets. Everywhere was death and light, starvation and opulence - all part of this world. Perhaps it was the richness of life in Bangkok that allowed us to tolerate its horrors. It has been 44 years since we lived in Bangkok, and there are parts of it I still remember clearly. Too often, they are the very parts I would like to forget.

Confessions of a veteran wanderer

Some of us were meant to roam. As a kid, I was always wandering off and getting into all sorts of trouble - climbing over fences, dangling from balconies. At the tender age of 3, I can remember toddling out to the end of the driveway and sticking my thumb out at passing cars. I am sure that the neighbors who saw me thought it cute and a bit ambitious. But I am here to tell you that I knew EXACTLY what I was doing. I wanted out - there was a huge world to see, and by golly I was gonna get there.

On one or two occasions, I actually made it to the main road - to the horror of my mother, who tried hard to keep me reigned in. But the minute her back was turned, I'd be out the door and down the street, engaged in another adventure. We lived in Damascus, Maryland at that time. It was an outlying suburb of DC, on the commuter rail line - a perfect location for the civil servants with jobs inside the Beltway. While that part of the state was not exactly "developed," in the 1960s, it was certainly not the safest place for a 2-3 year old to be hitch-hiking. I suspect that I am lucky to have survived the experience. I must also admit that it may have been a bit harrowing for my mother who, despite her best efforts, could not keep up. She will tell you quite frankly that I never outgrew that little trait.