a bit of confession, a bit of a rant

we women are a controlling bunch. there, i said it.

it's something i've always known about myself (as much as i'd like to deny, justify, hide it) and something i've come to notice more and more in others of my kind.

in coordinating a few different events lately, i've noticed how often other women will double-check, triple-check, quadruple-check on different details by asking multiple questions or sending me emails to "kindly" remind me of various obvious things.

now here's the tricky part. it's one thing to be conscientious, especially in terms of your job or given responsibilities. it's one thing to be detail-oriented, thorough, meticulous to the point of mad when you want to accomplish an assigned task at hand that affects other people. but it's another thing to be overly attentive with details that do not concern you, with someone else's task, with telling another person how to do their job. ok, there i go with the ranting.....

why do we do this??? i know it's something that drives men crazy. i can just picture adam in the garden, rolling his eyes and succumbing to eating the fruit just to quiet eve's insistence.

i know why i do it: lack of trust. not trusting other people or even the Almighty to do their job...correctly. somehow in my pathetic arrogance, believing that i am more capable of getting the job done than others. yech.

the older i get, the more i think life is more enjoyable when you live in a constant state of surrender. letting things slide off your back and walking around with two hands wide open.

maybe i need to grease up my back.


cups of coffee: 1

mood: playful

sunny days...

three women in zhongshan park

three little old chinese women

lolling about in the branches of two low trees

languid and laughing, backs stretched

over slightly arching limbs

hammock-style, squinting up into the blue canopy sky.

one catches my eye

and smiles a toothless grin

while she sways side-to-side

scratching her back

like some docile bear.

cups of coffee: 2

mood: yay! spring is here

what inspires

along this present theme of inspiration, g asked a good question at our last community arts group gathering: "who and what inspire you in your work?"

hmmmmm. off the top of my head:

1) melancholy folksy type music tinged with hope and strewn with thoughtful lyrics. namely, groups like the weepies. i also discovered david mead recently and absolutely love him. there's something comforting about his music.... my favorite song of his is "little boats."

2) john donne. i discovered him in high school and have been in love with his poetry ever since. his holy sonnets are absolutely beautiful. my favorite is "batter my heart, three-person'd God":

Batter my heart, three-person'd God ; for you
As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend ;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy ;
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

man. i want to write and speak and pray like that.

3) speaking of dead guys i'm into, saint augstine! if i could have a dead saint boyfriend (ok, i know that's weird on many levels), it would be augustine hands-down! i read from a collection of prayers from his 'confessions' daily and each reading is like a new breath that infuses passion into my own prayer life. wow.

i'm pretty sure if augustine were alive today, we'd be friends. :)

4) old people, in general. i love, love, love seeing an elderly couple shuffling down the street holding hands. gets me every time. something so poignant, enduring yet fragile about the image. a whole lifetime of joys and sorrows, victories and regrets, wisdom and experience framed in those two frail bodies. i love looking into their faces as well, peering through the lines and creases to catch the light in their eyes.

5) the cello. if i could have a do-over, i would have learned cello instead of violin. the sound is so rich and full, i actually feel my ribs and heart expanding when i hear a cello being played. and especially when the instrument is in the hands of a virtuoso such as yo-yo ma--man, that's heaven. i suppose i love the cello because the range and sound is so close to a human's voice. and the music that comes out of a cello articulates for me what i find inadequate with words.

so.
what inspires you?

cups of coffee: 1

mood: warm and cozy

inspired

just returned a few days ago from a(nother) whirlwind trip to the states. this time, the main purpose was to attend the IAM encounter, but of course squeezed in as many meals and late nights with friends as possible. :)

swung by boston first and then a stay in nyc that was extended by a snowstorm (i did not complain).

a few memorable moments from the trip....

reunion of china friends in boston


catching up with mindy and carrie


massive reunion of china friends in nyc

we love red mango!!!

i've been feeling inspired lately--i suppose a combination of attending the IAM encounter, reading more poetry, and being held accountable by our community arts group to be creative and creating. the inspiration has found an outlet mainly in poetry, and writing and reading more poetry has been both relaxing and nourishing. it's also enabling me to process more and to give shape and some clarity to the jumble of feelings and thoughts often bumbling around inside me.

here's a poem i wrote today about an incident that happened this morning:


Street Scene - Shanghai

On my way to the bus stop this morning,
I saw a woman attack a man with a stool.
She hurled the wooden block with such fierce fury,
so much rage for a middle-aged Chinese lady.

He was a young man,
sitting in a newspaper kiosk,
shielded behind a wall of magazines,
pearly smiles that could not
protect him from a fearsome blow.

What had he done to ignite her anger?
Did he insult her, offend her, ignore her,
cause some kind of irreparable hurt
that would result in her picking up that lonely stool--
three slabs of wood hewn with little regard--
and catapult it towards his head
with unforgiving accuracy?

And what of the curses that rained from her curled lips,
the stool landing with a THUD on the pavement,
the crowds watching, silent, motionless,
and the young man,
who woke up this morning
and all he wanted to do
was sell newspapers
and go home.


cups of coffee: 3

mood: excited!