There and Back Again

I went to see Coldplay at Shoreline Amphitheater tonight. Had a marvelous time with my sisters Merced and Myra, and my office mate Chet. It was hectic getting to the venue but we made it nonetheless and all is well that ends well. The air was crisp and warm, the mood was happy and it rained butterflies - light, colorful butterflies. My heart was a-flutter during the drive home.

Pondering: I think miracles exist in part as gifts and in part as clues that there is something beyond the flat world we see. (Peggy Noonan)

Everything I have seen during this trip reminds me of how small I am in the grand scheme of things. The vast ocean, the endless snow-capped mountains, the age-old glaciers, the dark night sky, the animals that lurk in the forest and fly above the tree line, the endless waterfalls that sprout from nowhere and the rain that washes away the sins of the day – they all are far much bigger than me and my worries and my concerns. I am but a dot in this big picture of life.

I sit here in the balcony of my cabin watching the slowly setting sun in the horizon. For the last six days the constant view from my balcony have been the mountains with patches of white snow, the rippling ocean waves, the occasional island far away with the lighthouse beam flashing every now and then. It is so peaceful and also so intimidating. I feel so far away from the world I know. I am in the middle of nowhere, sailing on this endless body of water. The quietness overwhelms me and makes my thoughts race through my head faster than I can absorb them or put them into writing.

Pondering: When I admire the wonders of a sunset or the beauty of the moon, my soul expands in the worship of the creator. (Mohandas Gandhi)

Today didn’t start out right at all.

It started last night, really when we got news that there had been a landslide early in the day and so therefore the White Pass trail has been rendered un-passable! A major blow to our vacation because this was to be the highlight of the trip. My sister and I were devastated. We went down to get information on alternate excursions only to find the Atrium filled with people trying to do the exact same thing. It was 8:30 p.m. and along with the frustration, we were getting hungry and tired. A crewmember saved us from the misery when he informed us that if we were canceling our excursion, we need not lineup as our accounts will automatically be reimbursed. Myra and I decided to forego the excursion and retired to a lackluster buffet dinner.

This morning, we both wake up wondering what we are going to do in Skagway if we were not going on an excursion. Mind you, we were going to be docked in Skagway until 9 PM – the longest stop of this trip. The view from our balcony didn’t give us a sense that there was a world in Skagway apart from the White Pass Rail. So I rushed to the Shore Excursion Desk hoping to salvage the day and was told to book excursions directly with the booking agents outside. I rushed back to the room – it was 7:30 AM – and noticed an envelope posted on our door. Inside were tickets to our revised on-shore excursion. It departs at 8:20 AM.

My sister and I got showered and dressed immediately, leaving our stateroom at 8:20 AM and hoping the busses would still be there. We got there in time only to learn that the cruise ship has overbooked the revised Yukon Territory trip and after much confusion, got seats to a bus that was reserved, I think, for German passengers. Instantly, our tour guide had to narrate the tour in both German and English.

We were driving around Skagway and the town looked really charming. Since we have until 9PM in Skagway, we promised ourselves that we would make time to walk around town when we return from the excursion. The tour continued and pretty soon we were climbing up the White Pass summit. The tour guide promised us plenty of photo-worthy stops along the way and that on our way to the Yukon Territory, we will have driven past a rainforest (Tongass National Forest), the alps (White Pass), the arctic (Fraser, BC) and then the desert (Yukon Territory). I was excited despite the disappointment that I was on a bus instead of the famous White Pass train.

That’s when my sister kindly informed me that my camera had no batteries. The night before I remember charging the batteries but indeed, I had no recollection of putting the battery into the camera. Shit! I was disappointed all over again so that the on-again, off-again German translations began to annoy me. To make matters worse, I was hungry and it didn’t look like our photo-worthy stops included visits to a coffee shop. Double shit!

But as it is with all bad news and bad days, they pass and things get better. In the end, all was well. The views were spectacular and the weather cooperated. Lake Bennett was jaw-dropping beautiful. The Yukon Territory was truly a blast from the past. It was like the set of Little House on the Prairie. I got to see the sleigh dogs (Huskies) though missed the opportunity to play with the puppies.

And best of all, the mother of all wonderful experiences, one that truly wiped out memories of the awful morning and the missed opportunity to go on board the White Pass Rail, the highlight of this entire trip, believe it or not – were the bears, big, beautiful, powerful bears! There were four of them, Mama Bear was the biggest one and then there were three cubs, one of which is what they call a spirit bear, AKA Kermode Bear – cream colored due to a recessive gene trait and very rarely sighted. Its color gives it a ghostlike appearance, which is why they play an important role in Native American/Canadian Indian folklore. Black, brown, big or small they are beautiful creatures, bears. My heart jumped at the site and I couldn’t take my eyes off of them.

I couldn’t have asked for a better way to end the long drive and the Alaskan trip in general. I have memories and images of beauty to last me a lifetime. Trips like this make me realize what a wonderful world it truly is!

Pondering: To be happy, we must be true to nature and carry our age along with us. (William Hazlitt)

Day 2 of our cruise. I woke up early, around 430 p.m. to find two things that brought a smile to my face: first, the vessel was slowly approaching the port of Ketchikan, in the southeastern part of Alaska. Second, my iPhone was showing ATT’s four bars, signaling cell phone service in the area. I am not totally unreachable anymore. Though no one is going to call me during this trip – I’m not that important – but just thought of being in the middle of the big ocean, with no way to call out or in (other than the ship phones that are ghastly expensive!) was a little frightening. I never thought getting a phone signal on my cell phone would bring such a sigh of relief from me.

Today, we had our first excursion offshore. We cruised the inside passage all the way to the Misty Fjords National Monument. What an amazing display of nature’s wonder and beauty. It was cold as hell on board the catamaran but I wouldn’t have wanted the tour any differently. The Misty Fjords were truly misty and thereby eerie, peaceful and intimidating.

We caught a glimpse of a number of wildlife on the ride to and from Rudyerd Bay. We saw a family of orcas, bald eagles perched on top of trees, a bald eagle’s nest the size of a water rafter, seals that were, as I was told, warming themselves while growing hair and hundreds of purple starfish growing on the side of giant rocks in Punchbowl Bay. For a moment there, I thought I was finally going to see a real live bear but the thing got shy and disappeared before the Captain could point him out to us.

My sister Myra was busy taking pictures of the scenery, and so was I, though for a while, I was busy just trying to stay awake. Alas, I haven’t been sleeping real well during this trip. I always somehow find myself awake at 3AM, unable to go back to sleep no matter how many ships I count. So on board the catamaran this morning, I felt like lying my head against the window sill and dozing off. I fought against it because that would have been a waste of freaking money.

Now were back on the big ship. In a few minutes, we’ll be sailing away again. Our next stop will be Juneau, Alaska. Who knows what awaits us there - another wet and rainy morning for sure and a host of many more beautiful scenery. I can’t wait to get there…

Pondering: Nothing is more memorable than a smell. One scent can be unexpected, momentary and fleeting, yet conjure up a childhood summer beside a lake in the mountains. (Diane Ackerman)

For the first time in my adult life, I had a massage. Not a back rub or the occasional neck massage my sister gives me but a full body, hot stone massage. I still don’t know what the big deal is about massages, that some people find it the most ultimate way to relax. It’s not that relaxing for me – in fact it’s stressful because it hurts and I have low tolerance for pain. Nonetheless, I had a good time on that massage table. The feel of hot stone against my skin was relaxing and soothing; more so than the muscle manipulations.

My massage therapist’s name was Jean. She is from the same country as me. She’s a nice girl; very polite, very quiet which is what I want my massage therapists to be – or pedicure specialist or hairdresser, etc., as I’m awkward with small talks and chitchats.

Anyway, as Jean was massaging away all the tension in my back, I had a flash of my childhood. I was sickly when I was a child. I always had respiratory problems, bronchitis being my number one ailment. For some reason, every time someone in the family was sick with cough, my mother would always call the local manghihilot - a.k.a. masseur or masseuse (usually the former than the later). We don’t consider them as massage therapists in the traditional sense, but rather as quack doctors. I can’t remember his name anymore, but I remember him being really old and wrinkly and his hands were huge and rough. He would show up to the house with a bottle of very green menthol oil and I would be quivering with fear at the sight of him because I associated him with pain. (Remember, I have low tolerance for pain.) At times, I thought he was chanting while rubbing my back with the cool oil, but that was probably just my imagination. You know how when you are young, all old people you don’t know have a potential for being a witch when the moon is full? I thought he was a witch with healing powers because he always, always made me feel better afterwards, despite the fear.

Then as Jean finished the therapy, she dimmed the lights even more and told me to relax for a few minutes while she fetched me hot tea and a host of products I knew she was going to try and sell me. Anyway, I lay there on that table, my eyes covered with warm towel, my whole body just melting away from the state of relaxation. I struggled not to doze off in fear that I might snore – how embarrassing! But I did doze off briefly and as I doze off I had a dream.

I dreamt I was coming home and greeting me at the airport were my brothers and sisters and my nieces and nephews. In this homecoming dream, everyone was still very young, especially the nieces and nephews. I haven’t seen them all for almost fourteen years. They are smiling and waving at me and I wave back. We all hug and the hug seemed so real. I hold on to them for a long time. They slipped through my arms just as I hear Jean quietly sneaking back in the room, the smell of chamomile tea wafting in the air. The images of my family disappear, the dream is over, and I am back where I was before the dream.

I guess the point of this entry is to say that memories from my childhood and my old home are moments that can never be again, and because they are nothing but a thought that you can’t hold in the palm of your hands or relive and revive like an old stage play, I don’t like thinking about them. Yet they always sneak up behind me at the most inopportune moment and they always leave me pondering and then longing.

Pondering: A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. (Robert Frost)

It has been ages since I’ve written anything.  This is worrying because it’s either I haven’t had the time, in a long time to write, and/or nothing’s happened to me in a long time that’s worth writing about.  Worst, I may have lost my imagination and what little creative side I have.  A sad thought.  When I was young, I always seemed to find the time to write about anyone or anything.  I could look at something and have the drive to jot a few words to describe that something – to capture it and memorialize the moment.

I am not a good writer, mind you, nor was I born with the wildest imagination. But when I write, I express myself in ways I can’t verbally.  That’s why I’m happy when I have written something, even though no one will ever read it or find meaning from it other than myself.  My written mumblings are extensions of myself, or my mind.

I’m afraid, as I get older, that I am beginning to not pay attention to things around me.  That I am so caught up with life’s tasks, of getting them done and moving on to the next task just to get it all over with.  I’ve stopped experiencing the moments in between or learning from the experiences.  Like most people, I am just living and breathing and existing.

I know that I have because I sit here in my cramped airplane seat, on my way to Vancouver, British Columbia, unable to remember the past few days, the last few months and what I have done in those in-between times.  I can’t remember the last time I was excited, or the last time I was truly, truly happy or truly, truly sad so that I could write about it.  All I remember is that I survived each week.  And what little memory I have of things I’ve done this week and the week before all start and end the same way.  I’m no longer making memories – I’m merely doing the same thing over and over again.

Pondering: Beauty and sadness always go together.Nature thought beauty too rich to go forth upon the earth without a meet alloy. (George MacDonald)

Some pictures or images invoke a feeling of sadness and happiness. These ones I found while perusing Google Images brings a melancholy for moments that happened before my time.

The Kennedys

Charlie Chaplin

The Beatles

Brian Jones (The Rolling Stones)

The great Albert Einstein

The original Rolling Stones

Pondering: It’s all right letting yourself go as long as you can let yourself back. (Mick Jagger)

I saw this question at some random website, can’t remember anymore which one: if you were a songwriter, what songs do you wish you composed? If I were a songwriter, these are the songs I wish I wrote (in no particular order):

• Eleanor Rigby (John Lennon/Paul McCartney)
• Real Love (John Lennon)
• Get Off Of My Cloud (Mick Jagger/Keith Richards)
• Enjoy the Silence (Martin L. Gore)
• Baby, I Love Your Way (Peter Frampton)
• Hey There, Delilah (Tom Higgenson)
• Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright (Bob Dylan)
• Fearless (Richard Wright/David Gilmour)
• All Through the Night (Jules Shear)
• The Frog Prince (Tim Rice-Oxley et. al.)
• River (Joni Mitchell)
• Don’t Panic (Chris Martin, et. al.)
• If You Could Read My Mind (Gordon Lightfoot)
• She’s Got You (Hank Cochran)
• Yesterday (Lennon/McCartney)

Pondering: Sailing on summer breeze and skipping over the ocean like a stone. (Harry Nilson, Everybody’s Talking)

Pondering: Mediocrity knows nothing higher than itself, but talent instantly recognizes genius. (Sir Arthur Conan Doyle)

I am overjoyed when I read what my dear nephew Mike August (now fondly called Mique) is up to nowadays. Last time I saw him, he was only a baby - five years old, I think. Now he’s in the brink of achieving all that his heart desires. There’s no going back now, he’s headed for great-dom, no matter what happens.