The last few weeks have been hectic, to say the least, as I began preparations to wind down my stay in LA with my daughter and granddaughter and move up North to Washington State to finally find a small space to retire to so I can gaze at the stars (when its not raining) or putter around in a small garden (if I could find a place with a backyard) or read or write or any number of things retired people look forward to. But just the move, leaving my daughter and granddaughter behind, packing my small worldly possessions, getting the car reading for the three-day roadtrip (as my brother, who was flying down to LA, and I, were going to drive back to Vancouver), loading the car, and booking various hotels on the way and so forth totally consumed me and left me exhausted emotionally, mentally, and physically for a few days or more. However, it felt like something was happening, that something that one is supposed to look forward to after retirement, particularly on the roadtrip when we made some stops for sightseeing-- like a movement, a moving forward. We were on our way to Big Sur from LA and took the 1 highway, but near San Luis Obispo, I made an error and instead of staying on 1 I took the 101 and drove for almost three to four hours through green farmlands and dry brown landscape and when we eventually reached Selinas, I felt like we were closer to San Francisco then to Big Sur or Monterrey (where we were spending the night), so we finally looked at Google Maps (we were too busy gabbing to pay close attention to the maps, as I was quite certain I knew my way to Big Sur, having done it a few times) and realized we will have to take a longer route to Big Sur, which we did, adding a few hours to our journey. Big Sur was all that I remembered it to be from my two trips from before—years ago--awe-inspiring and beautiful. After stopping for a while, taking in the breathtaking sights, driving on curvy and dangerous roads, taking a few fun photos, we continued on to Monterrey to a historic hotel in the heart of downtown which, although interesting, turned out to be old and musty, so we moved to the Ramada for the night. We opened a bottle of pinot noir—Meiomi— from CA which was delicious—smooth and fragrant— and then we went out for some delicious Thai food in town. So, the first day was somewhat eventful and fun. We were in high spirits, my brother and I, catching up, sharing stories, telling tales of Burma and our childhood, planning trips for the future when Covid will ease up . . . The second day, we left early to go to San Fran, see the Golden Gate bridge, eat some amazing food at China Town, see the celebrated red woods on the way and make it to Redding by early evening for a leisurely dinner, but as in most cases, time got away from us, so we were able to see the Golden Gate Bridge, first during misty conditions as it slowly appeared in the filtering sunlight, and then in the morning sunlight, which was aweinspriing, as always. My brother couldn’t get over the marvel of the suspension bridge and I couldn’t get over the sun hitting the bridge and revealing it slowly to our gaze. We decided to skip China Town, as we didn't want to head into the busy city. Instead, as we were headed to the Muir Woods National Monument, we took a detour to Sausalito—oh, the view from above!!--and had delicious seafood by the harbor, but the true existential event was visiting the Muir Woods National Monument and seeing ancient grove of redwood trees (Sequoia sempervirens) and feeling the sacredness of being in the presence of ancestors who have been around for generations--which was overwhelming! My brother and I spent more time with the trees than we realized, meditating and breathing deeply, touching our foreheads to the wood, so when we finally left, it was late afternoon. As we reached Redding around 8:00 pm, we picked up some Chinese food and made our way to the hotel and saw smoke rising in the horizon. The sunset was fiery. The next morning, as we were re-loading our car (we were unloading and reloading our car every evening and morning, as my brother’s car had been broken into at a parking garage when they stopped for lunch and robbed when he was moving his daughter to Seattle to attend the university there), we saw a number of people with pillows and blankets in their arms leaving the hotel. One of them asked us if we were being evacuated. She then told us that they had to leave their home in a hurry last night and stayed at the hotel, but now they are unable to go back to their homes due to the fires. It was heartbreaking. As we drove out of town, we saw the mountains surrounding us in flames and dense smoke rising to the skies. There were roadblocks. It was scary and sad driving around the area, as the landscape was devastated and blistered due to the fires. I can never get over the feeling of being in an apocalypse at the sight—which, as we all know, we are currently in in more ways than one. We drove to Shasta Lake on our way home and saw that the water level at the dam was really low. Mount Shasta was without its shawl of snow, apparently the first time ever. I remember it from years ago, driving to LA from Oregon with my daughter when we moved to live in Santa Monica in 1998. I was going to be at the James S. Coleman African Studies Center on a post doc at the Institute for the Study of Gender in Africa, UCLA, and Gina was going to attend school at Layola Marymount. That time, there was tons of snow on Mount Shasta. A few years later, when I went on a roadtrip with Gina, Gautam and my cousin, Kaki to Yosemite, Lake Tahoe, San Fran and LA, there was snow on the top of Shasta. When Nikki, my friend, and I drove past it on our roadtrip to Yellow Stone Park, there was tons of snow on it. But now, many of the trees were brown and the mountain was bald—leaving an ache inside me. I have been in Vancouver for a few days now. We, my brother and his wife, drove to a couple of waterfalls, Lucia and Sunset, for a picnic, and where I swam in a waterhole, the water freezing, but I felt renewed. We had Burmese food last night—chicken noodles soup—and had pumpkin cheesecake baked by my niece Shireen. Before he left for his rotations, my nephew, Sahil, who is studying to be a DO (Doctor of Osteopathy) cracked my back and settled some of my bones, so I slept peacefully last night. After two days of brilliant sunshine and amazing weather, I woke up today to rain. I reminds me of the days when I first moved to Oregon in 1990 from North Carolina. I used to look outside the window every morning to see if I should hand umbrellas to my children--son Gautam and my daughter Gina-- who were on their way to school, one to elementary and one to middle, respectively, but it never stopped raining, so then, the next year, I simply handed them one every morning. It feels nostalgic, somehow. I have been reading Minor Feelings by Cathy Park Hong and I highly recommend it. The reading is inspiring me to someday write my “minor feelings” of being a South Asian Indian in the US and feeling the “dissonance” of being a minority in the US, but for now, I am concentrating on my poems. I wrote one a couple of days ago and added it to my manuscript, which, I am happy to say, has been turned in to the publishers. Here are a few photos of the trip. I hope you enjoy the reading and the photos. Thank you, dear readers, for your time!
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Temperatures are cooling, but it is still beach time in Cali . . . Some days, it feels like fall must be imminent, particularly on cooler Marina Del Rey nights, but for the most part, particularly in Cali, days are warm enough for beach days and for jumping in the cool waters of the Pacific. It was so on Labor Day. I rolled around a bit in the huge Venice beach waves, and it was super warm, but my granddaughter Karina, who used to love the water, seems now more like a typical Cali girl who mostly play on the beach, building sandcastles and making friends. I have not been able to write much, as I am wrapping up my life in Cali with my daughter Gina to go find a place I can call my own to retire. Or, even a town. Or, even a state. And for how long? For the next five to ten years? Longer? So many questions at the turn of my life’s journey. I have not asked many questions the last year or so about this part of my life; I had simply retired from a job I loved, sold my house by Lake Superior, said goodbye or until we meet again to my dear friends, got rid of my worldly possession as best I could, packed up a few boxes and had moved from the Midwest to the West to be with Gina and Karina. To spend time with family. To survive Covid. But while surviving, one must continue to live, to dream, to plan, to ask questions. What a paradox! And so, yes, I am going to drive, along with my baby brother, in my trusted old Camry, from LA to Vancouver, Washington. I have another ten or so small boxes. A few suitcases. A couple of small carry bags. My computer. Keyboard. Backpack. We will drive through Big Sur. Stop a night in Monterrey. Then, by the shadows of Mount Shasta for another night. Just going to take it slow. I will stay in Vancouver with my brother and his family for a few months while looking for a place for me to stay for a year or so. To be near my son. To stay. To stop. To think. On the way to somewhere else. I finished reading Ocean Vuong’s On Earth We’ve Briefly Gorgeous last week and it brought back all the memories of being from Burma, being in India as stateless citizens, being in Iraq, and being new immigrants in the US. It is so beautifully written. It hurts so wonderfully. It writes about love and loss and pain—beyond the mundane everyday experiences of surviving but also about discovering oneself and about desire and about maternal love and so much more—on this earth where we are “briefly gorgeous.” Now I’ve just begun Honoree Jeffers’ The Love Songs of W.E.B. Du Bois and am already having another wonderfully immersive experience—the poetic prose slows one down in a delicious way. Both the books are written by poets, so reading their poetic expressions about everyday experiences of just living, loving, and surviving becomes transcendental moments in my life. Here are a few photos of the past week or two around LA with my daughter and granddaughter. Thanks for taking time to read. For being present in my life. Next time you read, I will be elsewhere. I hope you'll come along . . . |
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