I was in college at Bellevue (then) Community College during the 1978-79 school year and had many Iranian classmates. It was amazing to watch the news at night and talk to them during the day as the Iranian Revolution unfolded. Technology in the form of the cassette tape fueled the Revolution as Khomeini’s sermons had been smuggled into Iran from France. Everyone had high hopes that when the Shah left Iran it was the end of an era of greed and savagery. Thirty years later we know that the story took on new characters, but largely the same story.
Iran suffered a brain drain as many “Westernized” and Western Educated Iranians fled for the United States and Europe. Many who were here stayed anyway they could. Some died in the attempt to get here. Not long after the Revolution one Iranian ex-pat went to Iran to marry his sweetheart. When they could not get a visa for her to the United States they hatched an ill-conceived plan to smuggle her into the country in a suitcase on his return flight. When he picked up the case at baggage claim he discovered that she had succumbed during the flight. Leaving the suitcase behind he drove to his university where he shot himself once in the head. People were literally dying to get out of Iran back in the 1980s.
This week it has been exciting to watch the Iranian people to once again demand a voice in their government. Once again, technology, in the form of email, blogs, and twitter, is fueling the protests. I am holding my breath because how the West reacts can influence the power of the clerics. If the opposition is seen as some sort of tool for the United States their chances of success will be materially damaged as will our chances of meaningful negotiations with the present government.
If you are interested here is a blog from Iran. You can see what is happening and leave a message of support if you want.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Friday, June 12, 2009
A Letter From the Past
I received a letter from my dad yesterday. It was bitter sweet because he died almost exactly seven years ago.
My step-sister Stephanie Ann was going through some of my step-mother’s things when she discovered some negatives and a photograph of a painting my father painted for my grandmother’s 65th birthday. Folded around the photo was a letter from my father explaining the genesis of the painting. Stephanie Ann knew I would want these things.
The painting, which now hangs in my dining room, was of a mental snapshot my father had of a Spring morning in the Missouri Ozarks when he was fifteen. On that day he’d stood in the red dirt road in front of his grandfather’s house and store in Bona and drawn a sketch of the scene. I have the sketch, too. He wanted to capture the scene because after a year living with his grandparents he was leaving to join his parents, brothers and sister in Vancouver, Washington. His words add to the picture greatly.
My father traveled a lot throughout my childhood which in a way prepared me for his ultimate departure. Sometimes it seems that he's just gone on another trip. I have stacks of letters and postcards from him as he was good about writing whether he was away in the Pacific testing the atomic bomb or in the Middle East or Europe hobnobbing with kings and airline company presidents. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to get this late letter, especially so close to the anniversary of his leaving. First I’m going to make copies of the letter and photo for my children and then I’m going to put it in a plastic sleeve and tape it to the back of the painting.
My step-sister Stephanie Ann was going through some of my step-mother’s things when she discovered some negatives and a photograph of a painting my father painted for my grandmother’s 65th birthday. Folded around the photo was a letter from my father explaining the genesis of the painting. Stephanie Ann knew I would want these things.
The painting, which now hangs in my dining room, was of a mental snapshot my father had of a Spring morning in the Missouri Ozarks when he was fifteen. On that day he’d stood in the red dirt road in front of his grandfather’s house and store in Bona and drawn a sketch of the scene. I have the sketch, too. He wanted to capture the scene because after a year living with his grandparents he was leaving to join his parents, brothers and sister in Vancouver, Washington. His words add to the picture greatly.
My father traveled a lot throughout my childhood which in a way prepared me for his ultimate departure. Sometimes it seems that he's just gone on another trip. I have stacks of letters and postcards from him as he was good about writing whether he was away in the Pacific testing the atomic bomb or in the Middle East or Europe hobnobbing with kings and airline company presidents. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to get this late letter, especially so close to the anniversary of his leaving. First I’m going to make copies of the letter and photo for my children and then I’m going to put it in a plastic sleeve and tape it to the back of the painting.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Snapshots in Time
In the blink of an eye a smell or a sound or a touch can transport you to some other occasion in the past. The smell of old fashioned school paste can take me back to Phantom Lake Elementary School. I can see the little pink and beige desks and tell you which kids ate paste.
When I was six I got a huge new baby doll. The plastic she was made from had a particular smell and if I ever happen to smell something like that I can feel her in my arms to this day.
The other day my friend’s husband found her sitting in the sun room at dusk and lost in thought. “What are you doing?” he asked her.
“I’m thinking about being twelve this time of year at this time of day and playing kick-the-can. It even smells right this evening. God it was fun,” she said.
“You played in the dark?”
“Sure. It made it better for hiding.”
“You going to sit here long?”
“Until I’m done enjoying remembering.”
Do soft summer evenings or something else evoke a sense memory for you? I have a snap shot in my mind of that sort of evening in 1976. Barely more than children ourselves, my husband and I were enjoying letting our children play long past their bedtimes. It was so warm and light out that the time just got away from us. I dressed my oldest son in a romper that had belonged to my mother’s older brother. Barefoot, my preschooler padded down the dusty dirt alley behind our Kirkland house, looking like he was from another time, his thick, long blond hair a silky halo around his head as he ran ahead. And then it struck me as he ran that he was beginning his journey away from babyhood and away from me. ‘Though I would enjoy several more years watching him run, I’ve kept that snapshot in my mind and pull it out on warm summer evenings and relive the magic.
When I was six I got a huge new baby doll. The plastic she was made from had a particular smell and if I ever happen to smell something like that I can feel her in my arms to this day.
The other day my friend’s husband found her sitting in the sun room at dusk and lost in thought. “What are you doing?” he asked her.
“I’m thinking about being twelve this time of year at this time of day and playing kick-the-can. It even smells right this evening. God it was fun,” she said.
“You played in the dark?”
“Sure. It made it better for hiding.”
“You going to sit here long?”
“Until I’m done enjoying remembering.”
Do soft summer evenings or something else evoke a sense memory for you? I have a snap shot in my mind of that sort of evening in 1976. Barely more than children ourselves, my husband and I were enjoying letting our children play long past their bedtimes. It was so warm and light out that the time just got away from us. I dressed my oldest son in a romper that had belonged to my mother’s older brother. Barefoot, my preschooler padded down the dusty dirt alley behind our Kirkland house, looking like he was from another time, his thick, long blond hair a silky halo around his head as he ran ahead. And then it struck me as he ran that he was beginning his journey away from babyhood and away from me. ‘Though I would enjoy several more years watching him run, I’ve kept that snapshot in my mind and pull it out on warm summer evenings and relive the magic.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
More Making Do in Hard Times
Six months after beginning a program of keeping track of every penny that passes through my fingers based on the tenants in Your Money or Your Life I am happy to say that I’m still with the program. Each night I log in my ledger my expenditures and credit my deposits. It not only reflects what is in the bank, but what checks have been written and what is in my purse. Each month’s receipts are marked and filed in a file box. Should the IRS question our expenditures on my disabled daughter I have the proof of them close at hand. If something needs to be returned for once I know where the receipt is.
My husband is impressed. Several years ago he began the year by writing down everything he spent, but soon gave it up as too tedious. He is much more organized than I so to impress him is really something. I have modified the book’s suggested record keeping to make it simple for me, for if a thing becomes too tedious I will give it up as well. For the most part expenditures are divided into food and non-food with another category for family expenditures such as my mother’s security system and my grandson’s music lessons.
I believe that my efforts have infected the children a bit. All of them are doing better at watching their pennies and not wasting anything. We all are growing gardens and shopping smart. I’ve even managed to put a little aside toward my daughter’s 40th birthday two years hence. I hope to have enough to take us to Las Vegas or Disneyland (her pick) and maybe even enough to take my father’s ashes to Pearl Harbor. My fantasy is for all of us to go which probably won’t happen, but it is fun to dream, even in the midst of a recession. Today I have to decide if I want to spend money on a new toaster or continue turning the bread around to get both sides toasted in the one we've got…
My husband is impressed. Several years ago he began the year by writing down everything he spent, but soon gave it up as too tedious. He is much more organized than I so to impress him is really something. I have modified the book’s suggested record keeping to make it simple for me, for if a thing becomes too tedious I will give it up as well. For the most part expenditures are divided into food and non-food with another category for family expenditures such as my mother’s security system and my grandson’s music lessons.
I believe that my efforts have infected the children a bit. All of them are doing better at watching their pennies and not wasting anything. We all are growing gardens and shopping smart. I’ve even managed to put a little aside toward my daughter’s 40th birthday two years hence. I hope to have enough to take us to Las Vegas or Disneyland (her pick) and maybe even enough to take my father’s ashes to Pearl Harbor. My fantasy is for all of us to go which probably won’t happen, but it is fun to dream, even in the midst of a recession. Today I have to decide if I want to spend money on a new toaster or continue turning the bread around to get both sides toasted in the one we've got…
Friday, June 5, 2009
What's Happened to the History Channel?
I was thrilled when the History Channel went on the air. History is one of my great loves and to have an entire television channel devoted to history was divine. Unfortunately, I believe that the History Channel and its parent company A&E have lost their rudder. They used to have great programs and now a lot of it is schlock.
In poking around the Internet I discovered that I am not the only person who is unhappy with the History Channel’s current programming. I am far from the first to decide to post a blog about it. One person titled their post “Histerical Channel.” I like that and wish I would have thought of it.
My husband says that reality programming is cheap and seems to be what the public wants. What in the heck is wrong with the American public? But to get back to the History Channel, I was appalled when for Memorial Weekend, with all the programs they have achieved from the days when they actually were a history channel; they chose to have a “Monster Quest” marathon. A part from the fact that I would argue that a program devoted to the mythology of monsters in various cultures hardly qualifies as history in the first place, I cannot imagine why the History Channel would devote three days to showing it 24/7 for something like Memorial Weekend.
I would also argue that “Axe Men,” a program about present day loggers, and “Ice Road Truckers,” about truck drivers who drive big rigs over arctic ice for a living, is not history. A little of it is interesting, but it is not history. Their new “African Expedition” is also interesting, but only a half-step up from “Survivor” and “The Great Race,” two more programs I do not watch. The only reality programming I found engaging had a beginning, middle and end. Those were some BBC and PBS series that set volunteers into situation meant to recreate various periods of history and follow how they dealt with it. Watching people have to build dwellings from scratch on the American plains or deal with the class structure of Victorian England was compelling to me, but it didn’t drag on forever.
The anniversary of D-Day is tomorrow. I’ve checked and the History Channel has some little programming devoted to it. Maybe the email I sent then on Memorial Day had an effect. I may actually turn on the History Channel this weekend, but judging by their line up, I won’t be going back to being a regular viewer any time soon. Thank goodness for books!
If you are unhappy with the History Channel's current offerings, click here and tell them so.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
The Saturday Market
Yesterday my daughter and I headed out of the 80 degree weather in the Greater Tacoma area for the coast. By the time we’d had dinner with an aunt & uncle in Shelton and stopped to get groceries in Raymond it was nearly full dark when we arrived in Ilwaco on the Long Beach Peninsula. Fog had rolled in off the beach as it so frequently does when it is hot in either Seattle or Portland and we shivered in an ocean breeze as we hurried to the house.
This morning it was still foggy, but it had lifted some. The grass was too damp to mow right away so I puttered around the house until it was time for the Saturday Market on the Ilwaco Port Dock. As if by magic the market opened at the same time the fog burned away to reveal a beautiful day at the beach. I grabbed my shopping bag and wallet and strolled the two blocks from our house to the waterfront. Now I’d made sure to get some cash from the grocery store so I’d have it when I went to the Saturday Market, but I didn’t get but $20. There was a method to my madness. I didn’t want to have too much with me and I purposely left the plastic at home.
I made my way down the entire length of the waterfront, peering at each stall to see what they had. There was salmon chowder which sounded good, but not tempting at 10 AM and right after breakfast. Neither were the hot dogs or the fry bread tacos. I love fry bread, but tacos at ten didn’t strike a note. It was a good thing that I hadn’t brought more money. One stall was nothing but bags and there was a black one with lilacs on it that did tempt me, but since it was $20 which would have not left me with enough for that which I’d come for I sighed and moved on.
There were handmade toys, jewelry and rag rugs. The rag rugs made me sigh, too. They are dangerous because they can slip all over the place so even though they had pretty ones in colors I like I wasn’t tempted there either. It made me think of the one rag rug I have. It was given to me by my grandmother when I was in my 20s and was made by my great-grandmother. I haven’t had it on the floor in years because I don’t want it to fall apart any more than I can help and some of the stitching is coming loose. I seldom consign an article of clothing to the rag bag without thinking of my grandmother and her mother who made quilts and rugs out of the scraps of their sewing, worn out clothing, and flour sacking. Those women knew how to use it up, wear it out, and make do. Wistfully I moved on.
There were stalls with handcrafted soap which I love, but I have an enamel bowl full of soap in the bathroom now and really couldn’t justify buying more even if I have been washing the skin off my hand since this whole swine flu thing started. The fragrances coming from those stalls were alluring, but I plugged my nose and went on.
My purpose for perusing farmer’s markets is for the produce and I wanted fresh vegetables for dinner. With my money still intact I arrived at the Asis Farm stall. This family comes from Wapato to sell its produce and you take what’s in season. None of this 1,000 petrol miles produce. I bought a pound of sugar snap peas, a bunch of baby asparagus, and a fat beet to put in the crock pot with a chicken and headed home. There was just enough time to get the crockpot going so there’d be a dinner waiting for me when I got done working in the yard.
The Sixth Ave. Farmer’s Market begins Tuesday afternoon and I plan to be there with my granddaughter. I also love the Proctor’s Market, the Tacoma Thursday Market and the Gig Harbor Farmer’s Market. Farmer’s markets are the reason I love this time of year. For a listing of farmer’s Markets in Washington State click here.
This morning it was still foggy, but it had lifted some. The grass was too damp to mow right away so I puttered around the house until it was time for the Saturday Market on the Ilwaco Port Dock. As if by magic the market opened at the same time the fog burned away to reveal a beautiful day at the beach. I grabbed my shopping bag and wallet and strolled the two blocks from our house to the waterfront. Now I’d made sure to get some cash from the grocery store so I’d have it when I went to the Saturday Market, but I didn’t get but $20. There was a method to my madness. I didn’t want to have too much with me and I purposely left the plastic at home.
I made my way down the entire length of the waterfront, peering at each stall to see what they had. There was salmon chowder which sounded good, but not tempting at 10 AM and right after breakfast. Neither were the hot dogs or the fry bread tacos. I love fry bread, but tacos at ten didn’t strike a note. It was a good thing that I hadn’t brought more money. One stall was nothing but bags and there was a black one with lilacs on it that did tempt me, but since it was $20 which would have not left me with enough for that which I’d come for I sighed and moved on.
There were handmade toys, jewelry and rag rugs. The rag rugs made me sigh, too. They are dangerous because they can slip all over the place so even though they had pretty ones in colors I like I wasn’t tempted there either. It made me think of the one rag rug I have. It was given to me by my grandmother when I was in my 20s and was made by my great-grandmother. I haven’t had it on the floor in years because I don’t want it to fall apart any more than I can help and some of the stitching is coming loose. I seldom consign an article of clothing to the rag bag without thinking of my grandmother and her mother who made quilts and rugs out of the scraps of their sewing, worn out clothing, and flour sacking. Those women knew how to use it up, wear it out, and make do. Wistfully I moved on.
There were stalls with handcrafted soap which I love, but I have an enamel bowl full of soap in the bathroom now and really couldn’t justify buying more even if I have been washing the skin off my hand since this whole swine flu thing started. The fragrances coming from those stalls were alluring, but I plugged my nose and went on.
My purpose for perusing farmer’s markets is for the produce and I wanted fresh vegetables for dinner. With my money still intact I arrived at the Asis Farm stall. This family comes from Wapato to sell its produce and you take what’s in season. None of this 1,000 petrol miles produce. I bought a pound of sugar snap peas, a bunch of baby asparagus, and a fat beet to put in the crock pot with a chicken and headed home. There was just enough time to get the crockpot going so there’d be a dinner waiting for me when I got done working in the yard.
The Sixth Ave. Farmer’s Market begins Tuesday afternoon and I plan to be there with my granddaughter. I also love the Proctor’s Market, the Tacoma Thursday Market and the Gig Harbor Farmer’s Market. Farmer’s markets are the reason I love this time of year. For a listing of farmer’s Markets in Washington State click here.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
The Meaning of Memorial Day
Memorial Day is special to me because I was raised before it got turned into a retailer’s holiday. We got it off, whatever the day of the week, and it was about honoring those who served our nation and gave their lives for our country. It wasn’t about buying mattresses. Moving it to make a long weekend was a mistake.
I was happy this week when my son, a teacher at Clover Park High School in Lakewood, called us from school and told us to be sure to watch King5 news that night. The station was at the school covering the second year of the students making a memorial on the front lawn to those who have died in Iraq and Afghanistan. A white stick with the name of each fallen soldier was carefully placed to replicate Arlington Cemetery. Members of the public have stopped by and left remembrances. At least I know that those students have some understanding of Memorial Day and a visual representation of what our current wars have cost.
Thank you students of Clover Park High School, for acknowledging the true meaning of Memorial Day.
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