foto pherret word = hot

this sure was a freakishly hot hike we took. Photo taken 9/19/05.


I discovered today a photo meme website called foto pherret, which gives out a word each week and you're then invited to hunt around your photo collection to match it. The word this week is "hot."

I'll tell you what's hot in this photo (besides my husband. padump-bump). What he's looking at is the start of a trek across a volcano crater. That's right, friends, strangers, and countrymen -- we actually hiked across a collapsed crater with plumes of steam still coming out of it one blazingly hot morning last year. It was so hot that the walk across Kilauea Iki crater felt like a walk across Venus. It was so hot that I did not expect that *not* wearing sunscreen on my brown skin would affect me, but it did. It was so hot that a few days after this hike I had to go to the emergency room because I was so sun poisoned that my skin turned into a mottled mass of swollen lumps and rashes. (Now that made me look hot.)

Iki in Hawaiian means "a little one" or "a little bit." Kilauea Iki thus means "little Kilauea," for it sits not far from the main Kilauea caldera that everyone oohs and aahs about when they get to Volcano National Park in the Big Island. In November 1959, when all the signs were pointing to an imminent major eruption, all these volcanologists and geologists set up equipment by the main Kilauea crater. Then ka-boom! It turned out the show was somewhere else. They looked up to see a previously-ignored section of the park shooting lava more than 1,900 feet into the air. The eruption was so huge that people in the town of Hilo thirty miles away could see it with the naked eye. There are more details of that eruption here, but some of what I've written were told to us by a local Hawaiian ranger.

The best guide-book writers ever showed us how to find this hike, where to descend 450 feet to get from the top of the crater walls to the bottom, and then inch your way across. I still remember that incredulous feeling -- all the while we were enclosed inside a real, still-active volcano, with the open sky gaping above us, we knew while crossing the crater that this was probably one of the most special hikes we will ever take in our lifetime.

my goodness, he's alive

Araw ng Patay (Day of the Dead) in the Philippines. It is held on November 2, the day after All Saints Day. I think the belief is first came the saints, then came the souls. Or, to be more accurate, first came evil (Halloween), then came the saints to overcome it, then came the souls. But I could be making that up. Anyway, how the Filipinos celebrate All Souls Day goes something like this: They get to the cemetery at dawn, they pitch tents over the tombstones of their loved ones (the tents are to keep out the blazing sun), then they lay out not just flowers and candles but also their mahjong tables, decks of cards, poker chips, guitars, ice coolers laden with Pinoy food and drinks. They sit around all day hanging out, praying, gossiping, and gambling while keeping their dead company until past sunset. It's a day where a person can say the rosary with 14 relatives and then fifteen minutes later be winning 500 pesos from an all-up paningit. All kinds of vendors selling chicharon (pork rinds), barbecue, bananas, ice cream, halo-halo, and who knows what else make a killing. Pun intended? Most probably. Photo taken 11/2/05 in Manila.


This entry is dedicated to Blue, my old Pinoy friend from high school, who's back among the living after being incommunicado for two years. (Before that, he was gone for more than five years.) Have no clue how he tracked me down this time.

Naku Blue, good to know na buhay ka pa rin. LOL. Some things just don't change...

the road is winding again

After the rain at Overpeck Park, Teaneck. Photo taken 4/23/06.


I am hearing the distant call to end this photoblog stint. Anyone who works on a creative project knows when it's time to wind things down and work on something else. In my case, my attention seems to be focused these days on longer works of fiction and nonfiction that are for print readers.

So here are the possibilities:

Option 1 - I keep posting photos on this site, a la photo album style. Just photos and caption.

Option 2 - I keep it as it is now, random photos with random crazy thoughts, both serious and non-serious, and just change the thematic format again. After all, this thing I've been feeling to let go could be just a mood.

Option 3 - I start another blog altogether which has nothing to do with photos. Right now the idea of a prose poetry/meditation blog appeals to me. If I do start this it will not be for public viewing. Readership will only be upon request.

Option 4 - leave the blogging world altogether and make my dear Ate very sad....


We'll see where the road takes me next. I've no doubt the Universe will tell me where to go.

Love and light to you all who have been such faithful visitors to this wonderful, amusing project.

my two favorite people

Kayla and her Uncle Lorin. Photo taken 4/1/06, on Kayla's 2nd birthday.


The bittersweet Will & Grace series finale made me feel so sad that I feel like posting a light-fare pix to up my mood.

Btw, I saw that darn kid today during the first half of the show. (They happened to be in Teaneck tonight.) Kayla almost knocked me unconscious by pounding one of those small Chinatown silver balls that weigh a ton right at my chest (you know, the kind that come in a pair and you twirl them around one hand, thus exercising your fingers, and the chimes they make as you move them are supposed to relax you). Lorin had left them lying around, and today Kayla grabbed the pair and started banging them together. When she noticed that I kept watching TV she leaned forward and tried to get my attention by lunging one of the balls right at me. With the way I was sitting her arm went straight for my chest. That one ball knocked me so hard she might as well have used a battering ram.

"Kayla, that hurt!" I yelled. She laughed and kept clanging the balls together, enjoying the sounds of the chimes inside. "I like this!" she yelped. "Two balls. One, two. I like two balls." The kid is super articulate for her age, which makes me so proud, but today I could have wrung her neck for it.

When I hid those evil things during commercials she went, "Where are my balls, Auntie?" She looked so small and innocent poking around the sofa cushions. Where are my balls. Who is she kidding.

"Time, time, time / See what's become of me..."

Dusk at Port Authority. The clock is part of the Time + Money sculpture grouping by the great Tom Otterness. It's located at the back entrance of the Hilton on West 41st St.


Tomorrow being Teaneck T's Great Day of Gratitude, I dedicate today's Friday Five to the power of wishes.

Birthday Wishes (a Friday Five Collection)

Impossible?
1. Go back in time and undo the mistakes I made and the hurts I caused.
2. Travel the world through spontaneous transpondence.
3. Win the lotto. (It might help if I actually buy a ticket...)
4. Have what I can only call SuperReader powers: The ability to read a novel/short story/article/what have you, and immediately know the structure, sentence to sentence, paragraph to paragraph, on how and why the piece came to be.
5. Cure poverty in all its forms.

Probably possible:
1. No more cyst(s). No more debilitating pain from cyst(s). No more hormonal imbalance that is causing the cyst(s). No more, no more, no more.
2. Prolific writing. Produce a body of work every two months. (Wow!)
3. Possess superior internal energy flow expressed through tai-chi, chi-gung, and Reiki.
4. Become a published author with readership that extends beyond personal acquaintances. (I refuse to put this under the "Impossible?" category...)
5. Be an excellent driver. Can drive anywhere I please.

Possible:
1. 6-8 cupcakes from Billy's Bakery, all with yellow cake and chocolate frosting.
2. Eat at one of the best Cuban restaurants in Union City (ahem. Ate, I asked you about this months ago...)
3. Go on a Rick Steve's tour of Southern France.
4. Be a backup acoustic guitarist for a band or choir.
5. Indefinitely continue the lifestyle of writing at home more days than working for an employer.

the rarest of friends (a Friday Five)

Pax at her belly dancing class in New Mexico. Photo taken 7/26/05 by a classmate.


How can I not post a Friday Five on a Cinco de Mayo that falls on a Friday? That would be sacrilege! The photoblog gods would be offended.

So here's today's Friday Five. Tomorrow is the birthday of my dearest friend Pax. In honor of her and the happiness she has given me for 20 years -- das right, we started hanging out 20 years ago during our freshman year at the high school we had to take a ferry to get to -- I dedicate today's Friday Five to the mighty Googie.

Top Five Qualities That Astound Me About Pax the Friend: (not to be confused with things that astound me about Pax the Mom, or Pax the Artist, or Pax the Wife, or Pax the Math Genius, or Pax the Family Problem Solver, or Pax the Philosopher, etc. etc.)

1. True ability to love. Genuine connection with it as an emotion, as an energy, and as a life force.

2. INCREDIBLE--maybe the word is even UNLIMITED--patience with my bizarre moods. Knowledge that whatever it is I'm going through must be pretty bad for me to be so odd.

3. Not using me solely for emotional garbage can/let-me-unload purposes. (And all the while knowing that it is okay to do so.) Not allowing me to do the same to her.

4. Not messing with things I find sacred. Knowledge of what these sacred things are.

5. Always choosing, somehow, to be happy, to be honest, and to be brave. Not necessarily always succeeding in being these, but the conscious choice is always there.


You are the greatest, my wonderful Paxmeister! I love you forever. Hope you have a wonderful birthday tomorrow.

the sacred answer

Cherry blossoms across the road. Photo taken 4/20/06.


Andrea's May 1 blog entry is quite inspiring. In it she describes a game she plays in which she meditates on a question about something which she really needs divine guidance on, and then she opens a dictionary for the answer. It's a takeoff on something people for centuries have done with the Bible. In this wonderful entry Andrea explains how this very method led her to work for the famous and eternally delightful Sark. (Who, btw, is NOT the blond bloke in Alias.)

So I said why not. It's 6:29 in the evening. I can either try this or watch a Will and Grace rerun.

Here was my question to the dictionary: "What am I supposed to do with my writing, Mother God?" (Mother God being my personal name for the Divinity. I refuse to acknowledge the Lord as just male.)

With my eyes closed, I touched the cover of my Webster's 10th edition (aka the definitive source for all copy editors and proofreaders). I thanked the book for whatever answer it was about to give me. Do I publish or perish? Was it a total waste that I quit my job for it? Do I have any talent? What am I supposed to do with all that I've produced, most of which have never seen the light of day? What am I supposed to do with all this intention, this impractical dedication, this belief in something I can't fully justify?

With eyes still closed I opened the book. I felt around for what my intuition was telling me. Go to the left page or the right page? My instinct said right. Go to the inner edge or the outer edge of the page? Inner edge, said the feeling. Somewhere in the middle of the page.

My forefinger landed on an area. I opened my eyes.

The word was "railroad." My heart sank. My immediate thought was its negative usage: To railroad somebody. "My manager railroaded me," "If you want to get rid of that employee, you should just railroad them," etc. I thought, what was I supposed to do, railroad my writing? (i.e., junk it, trash it. Obliterate it.)

Then I thought, maybe I'm supposed to put the pieces together, like locomotive cars. So I began reading, envisioning my writing to be like a road. You know, a railroad.

And that was when the Angel smacked me upside the head. Stubborn, stubborn child, someone seemed to be saying. Look. Look at the page.

For my finger was pointing at railroad as a verb, not the noun. The verb railroad has 3 varying definitions. And where my fingernail was pointing, in fact even underlining, was this definition: "1 b: to push through hastily or without due consideration."

An earthquake could have happened right then and there, with thunder rolling, the skies darkening, and I wouldn't be one bit surprised.

For that was when I understood. Don't mess around anymore, the Universe said. Stop doubting. Stop f--ing around. Do it, get it done. This is your job. It is not your place to bog things down with worry.

Just push your writing through hastily, and without due consideration.