Day of (Almost In)Action

Who knew it would be so difficult to find an opportunity to do some good?

Saturday, September 27, 2008 was the national Day of Action. It is a day to highlight community service and volunteerism as change agents in our nation (legislatively as well as on the community level). A friend mentioned that his church helps paint over graffiti in the Kalihi area. I thought this would be a great project for a few friends – get together in the morning and paint over graffiti.

Well, we arrive somewhat bright-eyed and quasi bushy-tailed, ready to paint our little hearts out. But what do we find? Actually it is what we did not find that was the problem. No graffiti! It would have taken longer to open the paint than to cover the small patch of graffiti. Now please, do not get me wrong. It is wonderful that there was very little graffiti there. It’s just that now we had to think of something else to do.

As we stood around and forced our brains to find another idea, it was suggested that we go deep into Kalihi Valley (Kokua Kalihi Valley) where they plant and care for native species. We drove up there and I must say, I had an attack of the girly-girl attitude and winced at the ankle-deep mud and plethora of thirsty mosquitoes that were immediately attracted to me. My friend looked at me, one eyebrow raised in silent question. I wrinkled my nose and answered, “I think they have enough people to help here. Let’s do something else.”

But what would that something else be?

Then, two other friends unexpectedly join us and we prove that four brains are better than one as we finally decide to pick up rubbish at a nearby park. We drive there only to find a bustling Farmer’s Market, no parking and a clean park. At this point, I am beginning to feel a bit thwarted and my earlier enthusiasm begins to flag after facing no graffiti, mud, mosquitoes and a clean park. My friend half-jokingly suggests we shop at the Farmer’s market to support our local growers. I think that’s a great idea, but we determinedly trudge on (as well as one can “determinedly trudge” while in a car) to find another park that may need our services.

We drive to Lanakila Park . . . and there is a softball game being played. I am about to cry to the Heavens when my friend says there is a park above the softball field and a school. The four of us grab our industrial-sized trash bags and set off in search of unsightly garbage. At first there is very little garbage, which gives us an opportunity to talk and catch up with one another. Then, as we get to the elementary school, there is a fence. The stopper and catcher of all blowing garbage. At last, some real work to be done!

As we fill our trash bags, I tell myself that I should have brought some gloves (because rubbish can be icky) and I definitely should have tied my hair back, as it kept blowing in my face, impeding my ability to spot more garbage as well as holes in the ground I tried to avoid stepping in. I begin to notice how the gentle warmth of the sun has slowly become a laser beam of intense heat as my brow literally sweats. I am a bit ashamed to realize that I would not have survived a generation ago in the plantation fields, as the repetitive bending to pick up rubbish causes some twinges in my back. I am a weak, soft product of the couch potato generation. Yet, my compatriots seem fine and I realize that it is just me who is having difficulty.

We cross the street to the Lanakila Health Center where free TB tests and other services are provided by the Department of Health. The parking lot and surrounding area is a cornucopia of garbage. Our trash bags runneth over. Well, not quite. But they did get quite heavy.

There is immediate satisfaction in picking up rubbish. An area that looked disheveled, messy and neglected is suddenly “clean” and free of debris. Just looking at the expanse of grass or parking lot clear of garbage lets you know that you accomplished something.

In addition, a nice woman walking by thanked us for picking up rubbish in her neighborhood. She said that sometimes the area looks terrible and that she appreciated our efforts. I looked up, wiped the sweat falling into my eyes, and smiled at her in thanks. We did not do this for acknowledgement, but it was nice just the same.

So, was it really so difficult to find something good to do? Not really. If we actively look for opportunities, they will “suddenly appear.” If we pay attention to the needs around us…the needs of our environment, the needs of our family and friends, the needs of our neighbors…there are so many opportunities for us to serve. In small ways and large ways and in-between ways. We just need to open our eyes and see with our hearts. I realize I am channeling a little Dr. Seuss here, but who better to illustrate that child-like wonder and experience those warm, fuzzy feelings?

Day of Action. I like that. Not only realizing that there is a need and that we may have the resources to address (at least a part) of that need, but taking the next step. Action. To recognize a need is insufficient in itself. It’s a first step, and first steps are important. But we need to go beyond that. To act. In love, in humility and wholeheartedly. I have a modest proposal: how about a Life of Action? How truly transforming and wonderful that would be!

“Of course, this means I would have to start with me,” she thought warily and not without some apprehension. *Sigh* “I guess my couch potato days are numbered.”

Enslaved by Blackberry (with apologies to Bob Tarte)

I just finished a great book by freelance writer and author Bob Tarte. “Enslaved by Ducks” documents Tarte’s adventurous journey into pet ownership, which winds up in his pets owning him. He was a city dude. Footloose and fancy-free. No pets. Then he got married and moved to the country. And what seminal event caused him to begin down this astonishingly slippery slope? Binky the bunny.

My downfall began similarly with Blackberry, the bunny of my co-worker’s daughter. You see, I once was Queen of my Universe…Mistress of all I surveyed. My apartment was my personal queendom and my sanctuary. I lived my life beholden to no one and I liked it. Then one day, one I would look back upon as dark and ominous although I had no idea at the time, somehow, through some kind of Jedi mind trick on my co-worker’s part combined with my own naiveté, she convinced me that a bunny would be a wonderful addition to my household.

That was the day my life changed…forever.

I have this half-baked theory about people generally being comfortable with animals or comfortable with babies. Since my siblings are sooooooo much older than I, I did a lot of free babysitting of my nieces and nephews growing up. Holding a newborn, changing dirty diapers, getting thrown-up or peed upon are all par for the course as far as I am concerned. But picking up and holding an animal? How does one do that? Correction: how does one do that without getting bitten? Or without hurting the animal. At least babies wear diapers and they don’t have teeth…the worst they could do to you is try to “gum” you to death. They won’t break skin and make you bleed. They won’t scratch you and leave huge welts on your tender skin.

Anyway, if it is not already obvious, I am much more comfortable around babies than animals, because I did not really grow up amongst animals (a dog I was too young to take care of and fish when I was older do not really count). And as mentioned above, I, much like the intrepid author, “fell into” pet ownership…with a bunny.

It always starts with the bunny. Cherchez le lapin.

A cute, adorable, furry, continuously pooping, ever digging and chewer-without-ceasing-of-everything-you-do-not-want-him-to-chew bunny. What those people (and by those people I mean the ones that encourage the unsuspecting to become bunny owners) fail to tell you is that bunnies are more like Bugs Bunny…sly, naughty and destructive.

Even in my novice fog, I knew it was important to set the tone early. I am the owner. I’m the human. I’m in charge. One way bunnies “mark” their territory is by rubbing their chins on things (males also spray, which is that funny scent you smell when you enter my apartment). Apparently there is some kind of gland there that leaves a scent, declaring: “Property of Blackberry the Bunny.” So what do I do? In order to establish my dominance in this relationship, I rub my gland-less chin on him, look deeply into his eyes and seriously and authoritatively intone, “I am the alpha bunny. I am the alpha bunny. I AM the alpha bunny!”

This has made as much difference as a lone raindrop in the Pacific, which is to say none. Blackberry still has run of the apartment, and if I do not pay attention he will: chew electrical cords down to the copper wire, hop onto my dining room table and eat whatever is on there or knock it off the table (one particularly bad incident starred a vase of flowers and some stagnant water I kept forgetting to freshen), or will dig and chew his way through my carpet or through the couch. When I use the preposition “through” I mean it literally. Blackberry can run in one end of my couch and out the other due to his toothy biting and incomparable scratching.

All this being said (as well as being true), I cannot imagine my life without the little bugger. I love him. Even though when he deigns to let me pet and quasi-cuddle him on the floor (he hates to be picked up and will start kicking and wiggling to leave the warm comfort of my hug), he will ruin the almost-tender moment by running away into a corner and grooming himself. I try to console myself that he just has OCD, but he always seems to suspiciously be licking only the places where I touched him. As if I had cooties or something. Very disheartening.

This is the mystery of pet ownership. Even when the animal shows little or no affection (and sometimes aggression…I’m only sticking my hand in your precious cage to get your bowl out to feed you. So stop growling and charging and pawing me with those wicked nails that I’ve let grow overlong because I am too scared of cutting them and hurting you and because you won’t sit still long enough for me to cut them anyway…oops, sorry, just a tiny tangential rant).

What was I saying? Something about the joys of pet ownership?

Seriously, though, even when the animal shows little or no affection for you, the provider of food, shelter and unrequited love, there is some (one-way) bond there. Those weird quirks like running away from you become endearing. The chewed up books on the bookcase are marks of affection. I think owning a pet does something mushy to your brain. It’s the only way I can explain an intelligent, independent individual who did not want to be a pet owner in the first place (me, in case it was not already obvious), continuing to make loving overtures to an arrogant, naughty, disdainful, rebuffing bunny.

Wanna snuggle, Blackberry?

Gen X: Dare to Do Urban Acupuncture

I recently read “X Saves the World: How Generation X Got the Shaft but Can Still Keep Everything from Sucking,” by Jeff Gordinier.

This is not a book for everyone, and obviously it will probably help if you are an Xer, as I am. We are a bit of a niche market in that according to Gordinier, the Baby Boomers and Generation Y "both swell past the 70 million mark, whereas Generation X is usually pegged at around 46 million." We are the forgotten step-child of the generations by marketers as well as historians. We're cynical, ironic and fringe. Slackers, low-key and the opposite of whatever self-aggrandizement may be. Gordinier created what he calls the GXAT (Generation X Aptitude Test) to determine if you belong to Generation X.

Question #1: Do you want to change the world?
A. Yes, and I'm proud to say we did it, man. We changed the world. Just look around you.
B. Yes, absolutely, and I promise I will get back to doing that just as soon as interest rates return to where they're supposed to be.
C. Omigod, omigod, changing the world and helping people is, like totally important to me! I worked in a soup kitchen once and it was so sad but the poor people there had so much dignity!
D. The way you phrase that question is so f***ing cheesy and absurd that I am not even sure I want to continue with this pointless exercise.

Question #1 is the only question on the GXAT. Guess which answer means you're the Xer?

Things coalesced for me reading this book. Snippets and scraps that were floating around in my head arranged themselves and formed a quilt. Something with a shape and purpose. A-ha! That’s me!

While reading this book I saw some old episodes of MadTV. They had a sketch called X News. It was like Gordinier wrote those scenes – same language, flavor and attitude. Not unlike The Daily Show with Jon Stewart and The Colbert Report. When interviewed, both Stewart and Stephen Colbert insist they are comedians, not subversive leaders daring to undermine the repressive social-political environment suffocating free thought. They do fake news. This is Generation X. No illusions of grandeur.

Gordinier discusses how Barak Obama is one of the first Generation Xers to break-out in the political arena. It is one of the reasons Obama seems so free of the old political discord of Republican vs. Democrat, feminist vs. traditionalist, white vs. black, etc. And so it is believable when he talks about change. His language, his perspective is different from the Boomers who have been running the country these past decades. Gordinier writes, “Scan his [Obama’s] first book, Dreams from My Father, and you’ll see that Obama’s way of thinking developed amid the backwash of skepticism that followed the grand march of the sixties and seventies. He’s allergic to anything that smacks of movementism.”

One of the things I liked most about this book is that Gordinier shares what Xers are doing around the planet...and it is amazing. Majora Carter organized Sustainable South Bronx in order to lobby and fight to “green the ghetto.” There is Fritz Haeg teaching others how to create edible gardens and opening his home to conversation and the sharing of ideas. Dave Eggers opened a non-profit writing center for students housed in a pirate supply store (and similar centers have opened around the country). Cameron Sinclair and Kate Stohr created “Architecture for Humanity” an organization that creates homes and buildings of beauty and function for those who may have lost theirs in a natural disaster, or where a building is needed. One of their projects is building an HIV/AIDS clinic in Mozambique. Their philosophy is that if you create something beautiful, people will take care and value it.

Sinclair calls it “urban acupuncture.” A small-batch solution that can be spread around like a virus (a la You Tube style), hopefully creating a ripple effect beyond the small act itself. Where the underlying belief is that there are a hundred million solutions, not one solution to the problems we face. This is one of the cores of the Xer mentality. No grandiose “greatest generation,” no worshipping of consumerism or emo ego-centrism and no rose-colored glasses…even when viewing our own reflection. Feeling that uniformity is toxic and that just doing a small thing…your thing is enough. Change comes from the fringe; we are in the margins, so who better than us to instigate such change? We have always been on the outside looking in.

It is not unlike what Kanu Hawaii is trying to do. When I think about it, it is very Generation X. Not surprising, since it is a bunch of Xers who created it. Embrace tradition without being sappy or idealistic about it, but look forward in a dynamic way. Not searching for THE answer (in fact not even believing there is only one answer), but utilizing community to discover the many answers. “Join” groups if you wish, but maintain your individual ideas, ideals and commitments.

The last chapter of the book is entitled “I Will Dare.” This is the way Generation X will keep everything from sucking…we dare. Dare to dream, dare to fail, dare to do.