Can you pass the national spelling bee?

Here are the words spelled by the last three contestants in tonight's national spelling bee. If you had to, would you be able to spell it?

aptyalism

opificer

nacarat

hyphaeresis

kulturkampf

taleggio

prosopopoeia

guerdon (winning word)

Germany, Cancun, or Hong Kong?

This summer, while I'm contemplating which city to visit first, Grand Rapids or St. Louis, three of my friends are traveling abroad. Europe, China, or Mexico. Imagine it, will you? Because that is all that I am able to do: imagine what it must be like to travel abroad for vacation (and some business, just to be fair to them).

And then Mendacious is planning and plotting for her trip. I also vaguely remember Duck over in the Pinewoods saying that he and Growler (who's left the Speakeasy ages ago) are out of country, too... is that right? Are they still? Anyone know?

I wish to plot and plan and promise, too... On my list so far:

GREAT WALL OF CHINA!!!

VENICE!!

CHILE!! (Here in Chile, I supposedly can buy Neruda poetry books out of vending machines. Vending machines!! Why do I not live in a country that feeds on poetry as much as coca-cola? I mean, here in the U.S., I have not heard or seen of any vending machines that dispense poetry. Anyone else seen anything similar? See? That is why I wish to go to Cheelay, yay!)

S.O.S.

Contrary to what we would normally believe about the beginning of Ordinary Time, this is the Summer of Shifts. There is very little that is ordinary about summer 2008. We are all shifting from one place to another, juggling between jobs, shuffling between houses/apts/condos, or schlepping boxes from state to state. We are Shifting Our Stuff. We are Stuffing Our Selves into neat little boxes to travel from old place to new place, from one place to different place.

My parents are selling our stuff that we used to store in the garage in the TX house so that they can move to MI this July. My siblings are moving away from CA as well. New jobs, new houses, new communities, new responsibilities. We anticipated something happening, but not so suddenly and not all this at once.

I'm the one remaining behind in little, ol' Berkeley. I'll be moving into a new place, but it's not the same kind of "shifting" -- moving one block over is not quite the same as shifting into the midwest.

I begin to think about how we are responding to this summer of shifting. My parents -- especially my mother -- have begun talking with greater urgency, dropping less and less implicit hints that I should move away from CA. My sister is ever the diplomatic one who always precedes every suggestion of moving to St. Louis with the comment "it's up to you, but it wouldn't be a bad idea..." My brother? He's high-tailing out of Berk as fast as the job market will let him into Gr Rapids. My boss? He's making sure I've acquired enough friends in the Bay Area to secure my presence here -- at least until he retires (then I can go anywhere I wish, he says. Gee, thanks, D!).

I am conflicted. And I worry. I worry about the state of the sister living by her lonesome self. I worry about the brother getting a new job. I worry about the parents taking up a large church again. I worry that I won't know what to do with my own apartment again. I worry that I will become too comfortable. I worry that I will go batty with the silence and isolation. I worry that I will be distracted out of seriousness. I worry about being undisciplined. I worry about too much partying. I worry about having too much fun. I worry about worrying too much.

Excitement builds up and I can't wait for all of us to take up our new locations, try on our new selves in these new areas. Regardless of how we've managed in years past, these are all new phases in our lives. This is the summer that we start out fresh.

Then, anxiety and sadness set in. The Tran Clan disperses once more into the three regions. We once again have to juggle who is visiting whom and when will calendars match or conflict. We will now rely on the phone and email to stay in touch -- and probably more so now that we'll be living apart.

This is the summer of change. Shifts. Transformations. Let it be a blessed summer.

Let the wild rumpus start!!!

If only designating "ordinary time" could help distinguish for us the sacred mystery

From the UMC Worship site, by Daniel Benedict

The term "Ordinary Time" is one of the optional terms The United Methodist Book of Worship (see page 224) gives to two periods of the Christian Year. Following the great festal seasons of Christmas and Easter is a period called "Season after . . . ."

The term "Ordinary Time" does not mean boring, nothing new, or featureless. Laurence Hull Stookey in Calendar: Christ's Time for the Church (Abingdon, 1996) explains that the term "ordinary" as used in the Christian calendar comes from the way the Sundays outside Advent-Christmas and Lent-Easter are numbered with ordinal numbers (first, second, third) instead of cardinal numbers (one, two, three). In Ordinary Time, the Sundays are designated as First Sunday after Pentecost, Second . . ., Third . . .and so on.

Worship Planning Helps, Copyright 2008, The General Board of Discipleship of The United Methodist Church, PO Box 340003, Nashville TN 37203-0003.

The Wiki version of Ordinary Time:

Ordinary Time is a season of the Christian (especially the Catholic) liturgical calendar. The name corresponds to the Latin term Tempus per annum (literally "time through the year"). Ordinary Time comprises the two periods — one following Epiphany, the other following Pentecost — which do not fall under the "strong seasons" of Advent, Christmas, Lent, or Easter.

The term Ordinary does not mean common or plain, but is derived from the term ordinal or "numbered." The weeks in ordinary time are numbered, although several Sundays are named for the feast they commemorate, such as Trinity Sunday (first Sunday after Pentecost) and the Feast of Christ the King (last Sunday in OT), and for American Catholics, the Feast of Corpus Christi (second Sunday after Pentecost).

The ChurchYear.Net version:

Basically, Ordinary Time encompasses that part of the Christian year that does not fall within the seasons of Advent, Christmas, Lent, or Easter. The Catholic Church celebrates two periods of the year as Ordinary Time. In the United States, the first period begins after the Masses have been said on the evening of the day of the Feast of the Baptism of The Lord (the Sunday after The Epiphany), meaning that the feast itself falls within Christmastide, but the whole day does not. The Sunday Masses fall within Christmastide, but Evening Prayer that night is in Ordinary Time. The next Sunday is still reckoned "The Second Sunday in Ordinary Time," because it is the Sunday of the second week in Ordinary Time. The reckoning can be confusing, and has many asking "what happened to the first Sunday in Ordinary Time?" This first period of Ordinary Time runs until the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday. The Second period of Ordinary Time runs from the Monday after Pentecost until Evening Prayer is said the night before Advent begins. This includes Christ the King Sunday, the final Sunday of Ordinary Time. In some denominations, the Sundays of the second period of Ordinary Time are numbered "Sundays After Pentecost."

Ordinary time does not need to be "ordinary," and is not meant to mean that somehow we get a break from the Liturgical Year. The opposite is true: Ordinary Time celebrates "the mystery of Christ in all its aspects." Many important liturgical celebrations fall during Ordinary Time, including, Trinity, Corpus Christi, All Saints, the Assumption of Mary, and Christ the King. In addition, the Church continues to celebrate Saints days and other events such as The Octave of Christian Unity. The major feasts, when occurring on a Sunday, trump the regular Ordinary Time Sunday lessons and liturgy. In the American Catholic Church, Corpus Christi is usually transferred to a Sunday, so often there are fewer than the 33 or 34 Sundays labeled "Sundays of Ordinary Time," although these Sundays still fall within Ordinary Time. We also may remember and celebrate the parts of Jesus' life that were ordinary, much like our own lives. The color of green is appropriate because it is the most ordinary color in our natural environment.

Prayer by Marie Howe

Every day I want to speak with you. And every day something more important /
calls for my attention -- the drugstore, the beauty products, the luggage /

I need to buy for the trip. /
Even now I can hardly sit here /

among the falling piles of paper and clothing, the garbage trucks outside /
already screeching and banging. /

The mystics say you are as close as my own breath. /
Why do I flee from you? /

My days and nights pour through me like complaints /
and become a story I forgot to tell. /

Help me. Even as I write these words I am planning /
to rise from the chair as soon as I finish this sentence.


- Marie Howe, The Kingdom of Ordinary Time, W.W. Norton & Co.

An anticipated new volume from Marie Howe whose “poetry is luminous, intense, eloquent, rooted in abundant inner life” (Stanley Kunitz).

Hurrying through errands, attending a dying mother, helping her own child down the playground slide, the speaker in these poems wonders: what is the difference between the self and the soul? The secular and the sacred? Where is the kingdom of heaven? And how does one live in Ordinary Time—during those periods that are not apparently miraculous?

If you were the object of these Three Greatest Looks

Perhaps it only happens in fiction. Perhaps it only appears when we don't expect it to. Perhaps it is The Look only because only we -- and no one else -- know the mystery behind the person looking at us through our deficiencies and still loving us. Here is a compilation of the Three Greatest Looks that have taken my breath away...

1) The Train Station: This. This is the Richard Armitage Look. How could any woman resist? This is the slow, patient look that says he has already discovered and understood and welcomed the realization that You are leaving the station and coming home with him. He has known and accepted what you may have been too nervous and reserved to recognize. This is the look that makes you bumble and mumble gibberish. This is the look that wipes your mind blank because you've been locked into his eyes as the one person in the world, despite all your imperfections. With this look, if you'll have him or not, he chooses you. (Check it out at 1:30 on the youtube clip. Fiction/Film: North & South)



2) The Lendler: The look that Christopher Plummer (Captain Von Trapp) gives to Maria after they dance the Lendler is the look that every woman wants to see on a man's face. This is the look of a man whose strict expectations, traditions, and formalities are unraveled all at once. The look in which he realizes that he cannot make a choice, that he is not the one who chooses, that it is not his doing. The look of a man seeing for the first time that his heart has been stirred, mostly without his knowing. (On this youtube clip, The Look appears first at 3:12. Movie: The Sound of Music.)



3) The Wentworth: Notice how the light of his face changes as it dawns on him that he has not lost all hope, that in fact there is still reason, cause, for him to aspire to You. Watch how he looks back into your eyes, unflinching, but with slowly ebbing caution. See the beginnings of excitement, still curbed, but growing, building. This is the look that says you've taken away his obstacle, removed his pain, and he can once again, without reservation, hope. (On youtube clip, start at 6:52. Fiction/Film: Persuasion by Jane Austen, BBC version.)

Awaiting Memorial Day

Haiku People

As a huge "thank you" gift for the weeks and weeks of planning and hard work (ahem!) in preparation for our heinous Trustees/Commencement week, my boss and his wife gave me a wonderful little book called Haiku People, published by Weatherhill (now an imprint of Shambhala Publications).

Inside are over 100 haikus written by haiku masters like Buson, Basho, and Issa. The bilingual edition includes beautifully rendered woodblock prints of 17th to 20th century Japanese artists. I love these images and haikus because they reveal glimpses of the external life of the Japanese during these centuries, and they also reveal the inner lives, emotions, psyches, and states of being of humanity. The major sections reveal images of childhood, maturity and old age -- each with its own mysteries, earthy/human beauty, and humor.

I just received it today, and am happily browsing through one haiku or one woodblock print at a time. After each one, I want to rush to share with someone -- perhaps find someone who would also giggle over these images of Japanese "beauties" bathing naked.

Today was also the final day of our academic year, and the day of Commencement services. Everyone was dressed in their finest garb, milling about sharing and talking with each other, congratulating graduates and honorees on a job well done; acknowledging fine work by staff and faculty alike.

The bright colors of flowers, and fabrics; the swish of crispy leaves being blown by cold wind; the fragrance of incense from the altar; the sound of restless children crying; the sweet taste of eucharistic bread and wine; the bodies moving in coordination and rhythmic fashion through the courtyard and Refectory... This and all that makes up Commencement. Graduation. Celebrations.

I thought the following haiku was most apropriate to share with you now:

Men, women
and their shadows--
dancing

- Santoka

Keep on keeping on

This week is a particularly heinous week in our academic year. We have alumni council meeting on campus. And we have board of trustees meeting on campus. Then we have the 10 different events happening for Commencement, including rehearsals, receptions, services, etc, which all feel like 10 gazillion things that have to happen in orderly fashion. In some offices, we're focusing on finishing the Annual Fund. Other offices are trying to finalize admissions. We're also trying to beautify the campus to welcome our guests. And there are certainly a lot of them traipsing through our grounds -- All kinds of guests are coming on campus from students' family members to alumni/ae, to trustees, to other guests in our conf. center. The traffic increases exponentially, causing our regular routine, which isn't really very routine at all, to become much more... interesting. Interruptions become the norm because, well, they are the norm. I've found it more and more desirous to retreat into my office and complete the work that need to be done. But then I'm also a bit bi-polar. I want to be out mingling and talking and chatting with guests, not stuck inside a hot, stuffy office. Whatever we want to do, we have to stick to the tasks. We are committed to graduating students who will begin other journeys in their ministry. We are committed to keeping the seminary's mission and vision alive. We are committed to building community. We are committed to doing theological education. And to that end, I will deal with gowns and hoods and bishops and faculty and students and meetings and receptions and honorary degrees and whatever that comes our way.

Updates on Chengdu earthquake

I received this from one of my church members. It is a few days old, since the letter was dated Saturday, May 17th.

Dear Friends and Family:

Today is Saturday in China, the fifth day following the massive quake in the mountains roughly 100 miles north of Chengdu, China. Life here in Chengdu, where we are staying, is a much different than it was when we arrived. Thousands are still camped out in makeshift tents, mostly out of fear that the aftershocks will cause their crack-riddled homes to collapse. Hundreds are camped out on open grassy areas at Sichuan University; many others have simply pitched their makeshift tents on the sidewalks throughout this city of 8 million people. Some people have actually dragged their beds into some of the larger makeshift tents. My sense is that this fear is a bit irrational; however, the fear that this people have is quite easy to relate to.

We continue to feel strong aftershocks. Last night we felt a 5.9 aftershock lasting about 30 seconds. As we are staying in a newly built high-rise building, we feel fairly safe. However, students of Sichuan University told me that they do not want to return to their old brick-built dormitories because the cracks in the walls and ceilings seems to pose a threat. Having seen these dilapidated three-story dorms, I can't blame them.

Other things in Chengdu have changed as well. A significant minority of the little ma & pa shops is closed. The restaurants that are still open have few customers. I suspect that many people have gone to the affected regions to volunteer in the relief efforts….. or simply to care for relatives. The news reports said that 1,200 Chengdu taxi drivers have gone to one major city, Du Jiang Yan, to help with transportation of people and supplies. Another 5,600 taxi drivers have volunteered and are on standby. Even the food supply here is being impacted. There is a shortage of fresh food, and the food that is available is much more expensive than it was last week.

News coverage of the Quake is ubiquitous…. Every channel is providing round-the-clock coverage. Shopkeepers and the locals are watching incessantly. Huge outdoor screens in the shopping districts broadcast news of the relief efforts as well.

Today, we visited an outdoor shopping mall where we saw a group of ten students, each of whom were wearing white t-shirts bearing the words, "save the earthquake victims." They were all chanting words of encouragement to the volunteers who were helping in the affected regions. As we approached, we realized they were asking for contributions for the quake victims. People did not hesitate to give donations.. As we walked more, we discovered there were donation tables set up everywhere with enthusiastic volunteers soliciting donations.

This earthquake has unified the spirit of the Chinese people to a degree that has not been seen for some time. The response of the Chinese people to this epic catastrophic has really moved me. The needs of the victims are matched by the people's "need" to help out. Being so close to the calamity, the people of Chengdu cannot just sit back and watch. In my observation, there is an innate need take some kind of action. Indeed, once we realized that we were safe, we began to discuss ways in which we could help. Two days ago, we decided to rent an 18 ft long truck with cases of food and water to deliver to the earthquake victims. We visited the townships of Shi Fang City (Luo Shui and Yin Hua), a two-hour drive from Chengdu (it would have taken one hour had the roads been paved).

Along the way, we saw hundreds of "civilians" driving into the affected region. Some caravanned in large groups; others came in single cars and trucks. All vehicles had banners to indicate what company or organization they were representing. As I understand it, the municipal government sent many workers to the regions. My sense of it, however, was that most people were going as true volunteers.

When we arrived in Luo Shui Township, we were "assigned" a volunteer to show us around. I think we were given better access than others because of the amount of food we were donating. We were told we had to wear masks over our faces because of the stench of the bodies. We needed the masks. This was utterly different from watching quake coverage on TV. It was almost too real. As we walked beside the crumbled buildings, I sort of withdrew into myself, not wanting to talk at all.

It is hard to appreciate the magnitude of the damage unless you drive through it. We weren't witnessing one major catastrophe, but thousands of individual ones. Our senses, and emotions, were utterly overwhelmed. In addition to the casualties suffered by the locals and their property, the earth suffered damage as well. Landslides were everywhere, making roads impassible. Many tree-covered mountains had experienced huge landslides. We saw one smaller mountain that looked like half dome after one side had crumbled.

We got as far as the township of Yin Hua before the roads became impassible. Yin Hua, a mountainous town of 14,000 people, was probably 5 miles from the epicenter. We spoke to the person in charge of the relief efforts about the casualties. He was very reluctant to give out any information out of fear that we were American reporters. We did learn that about 70% of the buildings were damaged. In the outer-lying regions, where the farmers live, there were no buildings or homes that were spared. There are currently 92 villages that have not been reached at all due to the road conditions.

The locals in the effected region have no running water or electricity. While they do have food and water that is being brought in with huge tanker trucks, the people desperately need medicine, blankets, tents and toilet paper. The huge homeless population will be in serious danger when the weather gets warmer. Now it is only in the mid 70s.

We visited Yin Hua before there was new coverage of this area, probably because there are too many regions to cover, and the western media does not have access. My sense is that the Chinese are very concerned about granting western media unfettered access to the area. We shall see as time goes on.

This calamity has many, many dimensions, which I am sure will unfold over time. The one thing that appears clear at this point is that the Chinese government and Chinese people are doing everything in their power to help the victims of this unprecedented earthquake. Events such as these bring out the best in people.

I don't hear voices, only music

For the past few weeks, I've been waking up with songs in my head. Even before I could say a word to anyone -- even before getting out of bed -- I would hear the melody (melody first, then lyrics) playing consistently, as if I had been singing them along with the artist. The songs change each day, mostly, and I often don't remember these songs throughout the day. But, a large portion of my getting-ready routine is punctuated with me blurting out random phrases from these melodies playing through my mind. A few days ago, I kept waking up to the sound of Avalon's "Testify to Love."

I don't know what this means, because I certainly don't fall asleep listening to these songs. There must be a trigger hidden somewhere deep, and when I sleep, these melodies are called to the front of my mind. These haunting melodies are shifting through my gray matter, firing through my synapses, pulsating in different beats and notes, ever-ready to spring out of my mouth when my eyes open. Some mornings, I wake up and walk to the bathroom and already I was hearing Aguilera's "Hurt" playing in my head.

This recent development makes me wonder if I'm getting enough rest. Obviously my brain is at work more than usual if I'm waking up to the chorus of a Nickelback song vibrating in my head. What does this mean, then? Am I getting relaxed enough and is my body resting enough to get recharged? Is it abnormal to wake up with an automatic radio in your head? I'm not likely to believe that it's a cheery disposition that allows me to sing in my head like a crazy lunatic (or aspiring American Idol contestant). Does anyone have any suggestions? Dream interpreters, any advice? Freud? What say you...?

What a Half-Moon Day!

We had brunch at Main Street Cafe. Delicious cranberry pancakes with 3-egg omelettes with spinach, mushrooms, and artichokes. Then we browsed the shops along Main Street before we visited the historic UMC Chapel built in 1872. The stain glass windows (designed and created by Robert Fitzpatrick) are worth the drive. They are gorgeous and they flank the sides of the quaint little chapel in colorful reverence.

We then headed to Cowell Beach. Cowell Beach is about 15 minutes south of Half Moon Bay. We strolled along a gravel road that trailed along a patch of artichoke plants. We stopped at the edge of the cliff and saw gray ocean waves capped by white crests. We walked down a winding stairway and saw a beach curving in the shape of half a moon. The photo shows the half-moon bay on a clear day, but when we went on Saturday, it was foggy and cloudy. The salt air, the cool breezes, the warm sand beneath our bare feet, the smell of ocean filling our nostrils. I haven't had so much silence and quiet in such a long time.

We then drove to the Miramontes for drinks at the Ritz-Carlton. What to order with your drinks? Dessert, of course! Apple tart with caramel ice cream. Creme Brulee. Fritto Misto. Delicious!

We drove home in a blissful whirlwind.

Photo courtesy of Ron Karpel.

To the courts, to the courts!

Some of you may have heard. The California State Supreme Court has made history today: marriage of same sex couples is officially legal. Celebrations continue throughout various parts of California, and especially Castro district in the Bay Area. It has been a long and hard battle. And many, many other states and districts throughout the U.S. will be toiling equally long and hard to win back these rights that have been stripped away from them.

I can understand that the religious conservatives will find difficulty accepting this decision. But I understand the grounds on which their arguments are founded. What I find perplexing is why non-religious groups have any issue with legalizing same-sex marriage. This is also a fundamental civil right, is it not? Our religious views aside -- for they are complex and diverse indeed -- what right do we have to limit marriage to heterosexuals?

As an ally, I have been a poor one. As long as I can remember, I have not done enough; have not spoken out or taken a firm stand enough -- choosing instead to relinquish this responsibility to others, those for whom same-sex marriage is an important, and formerly denied, right. I have been distracted, busied, plied with other issues that affect me much more immediately. Forgetting the fact that I have many, many friends who are in committed same-sex relationships, I am appalled at my apparent indifference to their plights. Thank you to the Supreme Court for saying yes. Thank you to the Justices for saying what I have not said before in support of my friends.

5 TITLOH

Since this is the month of May, and since I have so many news to share and so little time for blogging, I've decided to quickly give you 5 THINGS IN THE LIFE OF HAT. Or, 5 TITLOH. So, here goes:

1) My parents are moving to Grand Rapids. Mom has given notice with the Tarrant Country WIC office, and Dad's resigned his position as head chaplain at Valley Hope Center. The current congregation has accepted the fact, but is still reeling from the news. Where this all come from, we all wonder. When did this begin? One call from the Chair of the Vietnamese National Caucus. Two visits to the 200+ member congregation. One smashing interview with the DS of the UMC conference in GR. Two major decisions. They are moving. One mortgage in TX. One major garage sale. One more house in GR. Two airplane tickets to Michigan. Three very perplexed kids.

2) My sister is moving to St. Louis, MO. She's got a fantastic new job on the faculty at the seminary. Tenurable. Plus we've never visited MO before, which means there's an entire region of the country that we can explore. My brother is also moving -- not immediately, but soon -- to Michigan. Bummer that the sibs won't be around. This will bring us back to the days of three-way calling and maxing out our phone lines. That's what family phone plans are for, oui?

3) I'll be teaching a poetry class ONLINE for the first time this July!! Women writers have been trying for centuries to articulate the Sacred. Sometimes words say it all, sometimes words say nothing. The poems are our human expressions of the divine. What better way to explore our own sense of the holy than to read, breathe, and absorb the Sacred in poetic form?!

4) Our poetry project, soon to be introduced to nothing but HAT's, has officially been accepted and slated for exhibition at three different locations this fall, beginning in September through December. We've also received great news about possibly getting funding from an arts/religion/education center. More to come...

5) I'm moving!!! The new place isn't far -- in fact, it's the deanery of the seminary that employs me. It's a great location b/c I can still walk to work. Yay! It's a great spot to live in, and if the back yard is cleaned up, I'll have a fantastic view of the bay. Unfortunately, I don't know when I get to move in this summer; plus there has been talk about maintenance issues. Nevertheless, I'm grateful for the opportunity and the space. The rent's not so bad, either. So many changes this summer...

Buy 5 TITLOHs and get an extra free! This is a photo taken at Mrs. Robinson's wedding. Go, Mrs. Robinson!

Pray for China in the earthquake aftermath

The last I heard, the 7.9 magnitude earthquake in China has killed approx. 10,000 people.

O God, lead us in this great hour of need. Help us find those who are buried by rubble and debris. Heal those who are wounded or dying. Let us swiftly bring medical aid, healing hands. Give us compassionate hearts, clear heads, calm presence as we help those suffering because of this disaster. Guide the international community as we find multiple ways to respond quickly and effectively. We pray for those who have died, for those who are dying, for those victims who are yet to be found, for those who bring aid, for everyone affected by the earthquake.

Curse of the Starving Class

This evening, I was fortunate enough to join a few friends and my sister in attending the play Curse of the Starving Class, performed at the American Conservatory Theater in SF. The performance was stunning. Actors were brilliant. After the play, I couldn't help but wonder, is this what our lives are about? Does everything fall apart again? Not necessarily...

A dark satire by Pulitzer Prize winner and Academy Award nominee Sam Shepard, Curse of the Starving Class is at once hilarious and profound, frighteningly true, and delightfully surreal. In a newly revised staging by bold, young American director Peter DuBois, the new artistic director of Boston's Huntington Theatre Company, A.C.T. follows a malnourished and rather bizarre family searching for freedom, security, and their piece of the American pie. As their delusions of a better life fall apart around them, so does their farmhouse and the myth of America it embodies.

The permanence of departures

After my Bolinao 52 hatpost, I'm guessing a few of you (ok, maybe 1) may be wondering, "How did HAT's family get to the U.S.?"

If you were like my first ESL teacher, you would have stood in the middle of the classroom, flapped your arms like a plane-but-more-like-a-chicken, asking if we came by plane or by boat. (I've written about this in an essay while in grad school - and I know at least 1 person, Mrs. Oja, remembers this particular piece of prose - but it hasn't seen the light of day since then.)

If you were me back then, barely 7 and knowing only a smidgen of English, you'd have the same thought as I did -- namely, the teacher is crazy if she thinks we took the boat from Viet Nam to San Rafael, CA. But, never mind. I was little, very little, ok? I didn't think about geography too clearly. All I knew was that the distance was far, and we stayed in Bataan for several months before reaching the U.S. I naturally thought it was a stupid idea to ask if we came by boat or by plane.

Our stories are not unlike those of many other families. Our family narratives are as complex as they are long. But there are many stories that are similar to the narratives of the larger Viet diaspora.

Ong ba ngoai (mother's parents) had siblings who worked in the church (either Lutheran or Presbyterian, I can't recall). After April 30, 1975, when the northern Vietnamese Communist army invaded (they use the verb liberate) Saigon, the siblings were lifted and were taken to the U.S. Grandparents were eventually sponsored and settled in the U.S.

My dad's youngest brother, chu Trung, and his wife at that time, co Dung, managed to climb on some raft at the harbor and were picked up by US ships. No papers, no belongings, and she was pregnant with their firstborn. They eventually settled in Florida.

The years between 75 when my uncle left, and 86 when my immediately family came to the US, Chu Trung and my father prepared the paperwork to sponsor our immediate family. Many years of papers and interviews, questionnaires and money, back and forth. Proof of relations. Proof of blood relations. Proof of financial stability. Proof of economic, religious, political hardships. Proof. It was not to be until the mid 90's when I found the evidence: black and white photographs of my father and uncle, each of their images marked by my father with a red X to indicate they were brothers living in the same household and raised by the same parents. Red ink, so unlike the blood that tied them together.

We passed physicals and interviews and gave money and more money and eventually were issued visas. In November 1985, we left Saigon. That was one of the saddest days of my life -- I'm sure of it. I have photos to prove it. But I have so little memories of it.

We arrived in Bataan's refugee camp and promptly got stuck. We'd applied for entry to the U.S. but my uncle suddenly declared financial instability and couldn't go through with the sponsorship. I was blissfully ignorant of everything; I went to ESL class; I swam in the ponds; I worshipped in the small chapel. My parents, on the other hand, were frantic with finding a sponsor. I never knew how perilously close we were to being returned to Vietnam or, worse yet, having to stay at the refugee camp indefinitely. My mother's parents eventually sponsored us to California. We arrived in Bataan in November; we left in April of '86.

I have forgotten a large portion of that day's events. I remember the bus that took us from the refugee camp. I remember being sad. I don't remember at all the photos that were taken of us -- but those moments were captured on film and years later those photos were miraculously brought to us.

The day we left Bataan was another one of those saddest days of my life. At that age, at that time, departures of any kind felt permanent. That kind of leaving, even at my age, I understood.

It was a big plane. We arrived at SFO. We went through customs. I understood little. I remember nothing. My arrival in the U.S. didn't feel as memorable as my leaving Viet Nam and Bataan.

Now, it seems I've descended into memories and it's hard to pull back... I'll have to end this here until the next HATpost.

Try spelling it backwards while eating marble sized jawbreakers

During my last visit with my hair stylist, we talked about the significance of names. I call him my angel not just b/c he has magic hands that scissor my limp hair into voluminous pizzazz; his name IS actually ANGEL. (Whenever I have a bad hair day, it is just a tad more fun to say I'm seeing my Angel...)

When he was born, his parents saw an angel (or something resembling an angelic figure), and they decided to name their child, a boy, Angel. You won't be surprised to hear that he endured all kinds of trauma and entered into countless numbers of scrapes to defend his honor, to defend his sense of identity -- cursed as he was, in his mind, with such a beautiful, unmasculine name for a boy. After turning 18, Angel even thought about changing his name to Andy Lau -- after THE Andy Lau, mind you. Good thing you didn't do it, though. (Not that anyone could BE Andy Lau, that amazing, dashing, rugged, witty, utterly unhandsome Chinese actor, ahem, superstar. No one can be Andy Lau, Angel, but you knew that.)

Now, looking at the accomplished artist standing behind my chair doing miracles with my follicles and graying hair, I know that Angel has come that much closer to accepting his name. Even though he was born and raised in the good ol' US of A, Angel has learned some Chinese, and once in a while tries his hand at swirling the diacritics on his tongue. The sounds get a bit lost, but I couldn't help but detect a note of pride in his voice. He is Chinese, he emphasized.

When I was younger, I was given, and took up for myself, several interesting names. My middle school band director, Mr. R., used to call me Choo Choo Tran. Funny, no? A sixth-grade classmate thought it hilarious to call me Hong Kong. I still don't know how Hong Kong could ever be a clever derivative of HAT. (I still suspect it was less to do with how I was called than how I looked. Yeah, could you tell I loved middle school?) In high school and early years of college, I pronounced my name Juan-Ann (as in Don Juan and Anne). I still shudder when I hear that pronunciation -- I've tried blocking it out, but there are still very dear friends who call me that. Perhaps for a good reason -- as a reminder of a long period in my life when I tried to accommodate other people's deficient language skills. Perhaps as a reminder that I was willing to give and take...

Then there was Wonton. Some of you may still remember the Wonton. I don't know how it happened. I don't believe this person ever even knew that Wonton came out instead of whatever pronunciation it could be. Folks, what does that mean? Wonton?

Also, Wonn-ah? What do those sounds mean? Are they supposed to be iterations or derivatives? I'm not quite sure how to respond. I'm flabbergasted, in fact. (If only it could render me speechless, right? I know, I know...)

Some folks who hear me ramble on and on about "oh, my name, my name, boo hoo, blah blah blah" -- well, they either ignore me or simply graciously nod their heads. They excuse the rest of the world as unskilled English speakers who don't know better. And they suggest I change to something "more manageable."

Angel had no opinions about which name I needed to change to, like say, Rosemary or Juliet or Mary or Anna, etc. But he did wonder why I chose to keep my Vietnamese name. Did I ever want to find something easier?

Easier for whom? I asked.

Here's my confession: Within the past ten years, I've found perverse joy in hearing people attempt to pronounce my name. A part of me wishes to relieve them of the anxiety, to help them spell it phonetically, to break the name down into distinct, unrecognizable syllables that they can manage. Another part of me -- I don't have to dig so deep to find that part -- perhaps 74% of me thinks "If I can teach myself "Angelina" then you can surely learn two syllables?"

It's complicated, you say. That's true. We each have our own challenges. Me, I think Japanese, German, Baha'i, or Rwandan may be difficult. The language of the Bushmen tribe in Africa is difficult -- all that clicking! English is difficult. Try spelling English words that you don't know. Nye impossible, isn't it? Me, give me anything in Vietnamese and whether or not I understand the meaning of the word (not to mention use it in a sentence), I'll know how to spell it. The problem is... if only I'll try harder!

Angel, of course, is still trying to pronounce my name. I wish I could help him out by offering something simpler, with less rounded sounds, fewer inflections, definitely no diacritics. If I could persuade my parents to name me something different, I might have saved us the trouble. If my parents weren't so interested "special names" for their kids, I could have been, oh I dunno, Bob. Unfortunately for my hair guy, my parents didn't see heavenly figures. And, no one calls me angel.

Doesn't this make you salivate?

Holy/Wholly Poetry: Articulating the Sacred in Poetic Form

This summer, I'll be teaching an online poetry class through the CALL program at CDSP. Online poetry class, you ask? Yup. It'll be focused on reading and discussing spiritual poetry written by women throughout the ages. Equal parts reading & analysis and writing. The course is only a few weeks, from July 7th to August 24th. As with an online class, you'll have the flexibility of joining the virtual class on your own time, when you want. It's a good exercise AND you get Continuing Education credit for taking the class! To register, click here.

Instructor: Hoang-Anh Tran
Registration Deadline: July 1, 2008
Class Session: July 7 - August 24, 2008

No matter how well-crafted nor how beautiful, poetry can never completely nor accurately describe what is holy or what is sacred. Poetry can only gesture towards something greater than our understanding and experience. Given human artistic limitations, how does one evaluate a poem’s adequacy or success in describing the indescribable? In this course, we will not attempt to define what is or is not holy or spiritual, but will consider how poetry effectively expresses our understanding of what we consider is sacred.

This course will examine how different poetic forms and techniques have been used by women throughout the centuries to articulate the Sacred. Participants will read, analyze, and discuss poetry written by women in various parts of the world. Participants will also craft their own poetry in response to the poets read, and to engage in active discussion of one another’s written forms.

Hoang-Anh Tran, M.F.A. in poetry, University of North Carolina, Wilmington. Fulbright recipient and published poet. Currently on staff at Church Divinity School of the Pacific.

Bolinao 52

Last Thursday, we went to see the documentary film Bolinao 52. This is what I remember:

They were a group 110. They were picked up by the captain, and the boat left Ben Tre, south Viet Nam, heading out to the South China Sea. A storm took over. The boat engine died. They drifted away from land.

Boats came and left, never picking up a single passenger. A ship flying a Japanese ship was seen in the distance, but left. People started to jump off the boat in different waves. Some clung to rafts and drifted away. Some were beat back to the sides of hte boat. Strong men swam to the ships and got lost in the blue sea.

The children thirsted for sweet water. Little brothers chewed on big brother's arms.

On Day 19, the USS Duboque approached. The captain refused to pick up any survivors. Several men from the Viet boat swam to the carrier. Sailors brushed them off the monkey line. Life preservers were given, with instructions to go back to the damned boat. Some swimmers too weak to return to the boat drowned. Photos were taken by sailors on the Duboque. Men with gaunt faces and bony arms flailing in the water, clinging to life rings.

Two days' supply of food was given to the little boat. The carrier left. Resolute, unbending human will. Impassiveness in response to human suffering, death. No compassion for human life.

Day 20-something. No more food, no more water. Cannibalism. Human flesh cut from the bones. Unwilling survivors are forced fed to stay alive. The taste of human flesh. Bitter anger over inhumanity in the face of suffering and death.

Day 37. Philippino fishing boats pass by. Carlos the fisherman stops to check out the lonely boat in the water. See the survivors who've chewed their clothes and eaten their fellow passengers, and are awaiting death.

Carlos brings back 6 or 7 fishing boats. 52 survivors are taken to the island of Bolinao of the Philippines. Refugee camps, everyone of them.

Their story is only beginning to unravel.

Five things to do for this summer...

Teaching an online poetry class for the Center for Anglican Learning and Leadership this summer. First time teaching poetry online! Must write syllabus. Must recruit more students.

Exhibition at Central UMC, plus poetry and art workshops, in September, in Stockton.

Exhibition at Bade Gallery, Pacific School of Religion, from October to December 2008.

Starting a writer's group with J., with all seriousness.

Apartment hunting -- to move out in June! Woe is me, the rent rates are too much to take! I might just live under the Golden Gate bridge.

Kayaking first-timer

Two Sundays ago, a group of us went kayaking at Lake Merritt in Oakland. I have not had so much fun in a long, long time! As Becky and I headed out to the middle of the lake, I was simultaneously excited and panicky b/c of the sensation of being so close to the water surface. Despite the fact that I was wearing a life-jacket, it still felt like I was about to fall head first to the bottom of the (artificially shallow) lake. Breezy weather, cool waters, and a certain restrained abandon made kayaking absolutely thrilling... Note: I did not tip over the kayak (though we were perilously close to it several times, thanks to Nene and TA bring to hook their kayak up to ours!). I did not scare Becky too much, either!

Yowza!

Three shocking numbers...

I recently came across three different numbers that have truly tested not only arithmetic skills but also skills in logic and analytical reasoning. Down to the penny, they say volumes about what life is like in the Bay Area in these times...

$4.15
For one gallon of gas!! Am I glad I don't own a hummer? Yes. Am I glad I share a car with my siblings? Yes! Yes! Am I glad I can walk to work? YEEESSSSS!!!

$36.99
For a 50 lbs. bag of jasmine rice! And this is at Ranch 99 where everything is affordable. This is not so significant, you say? Well, in Arlington, my parents are paying approx. $20 for 25 lbs.

$650,000.00
For a 2-bedroom, 900+ sq. ft. townhome! This is dismal, to say the least. I've been looking at apartments, and in all seriousness, I despair at the rent rates. $2200 for a 2-bedroom apartment? Shocking!

May Day, May Day

This, from National Day of Prayer:

Holy Father, in a world where so many are hungry,
You have given us food in abundance;

In a world where so many are hurting,
You offer to bind up our wounds;

In a world where so many are lonely,
You offer friendship to every heart;

In a world longing for peace,
You offer hope.

Yet, we are so stubborn and resistant.
Have mercy upon us, Lord.

Our nation is at a crossroads this year;
we look to you to be our strength and shield.

Please give us the guidance to elect one who will honor you
and to respond to the wisdom from above
so that our hope may be renewed and our blessings be treasured.

In God's holy name.

This, from SF Bay Area Independent Media Center:

Organizers in cities and towns around the U.S. are hoping to bring back the historical significance of May 1st in international labor and workers' struggles, and to reignite the labor movement by integrating recent undocumented workers' struggle for amnesty. Marches, rallies, and other gatherings on that date will focus on issues such as federal agencies and ending harassment by local police, raids, and the separation of families in immigrant communities; stopping the use of "no-match" letters to intimidate worker organizing efforts; holding elected officials accountable to supporting immigrant rights; funding human needs and services instead of militarism and war; and amnesty for those who do not have current documents.

Under the broad theme of Workers Uniting Without Borders –Amnesty for All, protesters will gather in San Francisco on Thursday, May 1st for a 2:00pm rally in Dolores Park, a 3:30pm march to Civic Center, and a 5:00pm rally and musical performance. The final planning meeting will take place on April 24th at 7pm at 522 Valencia St., near 16th St. BART.

In Santa Cruz, march participants will wear green in solidarity with campus workers. There will be a 12pm rally in Quarry Plaza, followed by a march to a 4pm celebration in San Lorenzo Park. A march, rally, outdoor film screening, and other activities will take place in Watsonville starting at 4pm in the Plaza.

An Immigrant Rights May Day March in Oakland will gather at 3 pm at Fruitvale BART Plaza for a march down International Blvd. to a 6pm rally at Oakland City Hall (14th & Broadway).

In San Jose, an Immigrants Being Active Participants in Change march will gather at 4pm in the Mi Pueblo Foods parking lot (Story and King Roads) and will head down King Road and Santa Clara Street to San José City Hall (Santa Clara and 5th Streets).

In Fresno, a March for Immigrant Rights will gather at 3pm in the Fulton Mall Free Speech Area, with plans for a 5pm march (imc_video.gifVideo).

In San Diego, the community will gather at City College, march down Broadway to Pantoja Park, and then the day's events will continue with a public assembly at Memorial Park at Oceanview and 30th.