Tag Archives: fun

Lest I Digress

10 Jul
I am going to segue from the present course of my mourning to share a bit of comedic error as experienced by me, while in Japan.  If you are a long time reader of my writing, you already know that I find those things connected to our natural bodily functions to be quite comical.  If you are new, brace yourself! 😉
I like Japan!  Of course, I knew in advance it would be an easier trip than Europe due to the non-stop flight and the fact the Japanese do not go on strike!  And even though our schedule was packed and fully coordinated, the travel and hotel situation ran smoothly.  I also think the language barrier was a nice respite for me as it allowed many opportunities for me to be silent (which my soul appreciates right now).  But onward to the fun of the day…

The toilets.

What is not to love?  You sit down and the seat is heated.  There are so many buttons to push, and me being a sworn-in button-pushingaholic, must push each and every one.  Now this approach can be quite surprising and depending on where the water pressure adjustment has been set, can also be quite alarming—think drugstore enema (Fleet I believe).  But oh how fun, they even have a button which makes an artificial flushing sound, just in case you want to have a noise louder than your bodily functions.  I especially like this button as it is identified by a music symbol…I am now “in the know” that the sound of a flushing toilet is considered music!

Japanese Bidet

“Action Jackson”
Hotel room bidet button panel

I have had a bit of trouble twice (well if I am honest, I had a bit of trouble often–everything is written in Japanese, of which I know zilch).  The first time was when we visited a national shrine.  The toilet situation was more ‘traditional’, I guess you could say.  A porcelain hole in the ground.  It looks quite like a male urinal and I had to go outside to “verify” I was in fact in the ladies restroom.  Turns out I was but I still didn’t know how to maneuver the apparatus–the porcelain one and my own.  I’ll enclose a photo (of the toilet only!).
Japanese toilet

Skip to the loo my darlin’

I came across another one of these toilets at a ‘location photo shoot’ which happened to be in a Japanese hot-rod shop.  Now I wasn’t too worried when I had to urinate because, unlike the States, all toilet facilities, up to that point, had been very clean.  And the hot-rod shop, Pumkin Sally (http://pumpkinsally.blogspot.jp/), was no different.  But the porcelain hole, instead of being on the ground, was on a step up with two metal plates along each side of it.  …consider me clueless!  I was hoping not to spray the walls, or the floor for that matter, as my anatomy isn’t exactly a “straight shot!”

Well yesterday evening, while conversing with the wife of our host and the head buyer for men’s clothing for the Freak’s Stores, I had the opportunity to share my photos with them.  As we were looking through the batch, the toilet from the shrine came up.  I explained I had no clue how to use it, and thankfully my new male friend took it upon himself (while fully clothed mind you), to show me the proper “squat” method—turns out my “point and shoot” was all wrong!

My most favorite toilet experience came from a most ironic location.  Our friend and tour guide took us to lunch at an American style cafe.  It was there I received the warmest of welcomes.  The toilet option for the restaurant was a single stall, one for males and one for females.  You know, the kind with the sink and toilet in one little room, and one person at a time (ideally).  Well when I went in to use the bathroom, I opened the door and stepped a foot over the threshold when all of a sudden the toilet seat sprung up, as if to say, “Welcome, Rivka, to Japan!” I thought it the coolest thing ever and found myself torn between needing to empty a certain organ-like sac, and wanting to run back to my table and have everyone come and check it out.  …my bladder won.  But my table mates were given an enthusiastic description of the event upon my return. 🙂

I must say, Tokyo is a beautiful city–day or night.  And I will take their public restroom over any in America–hands, feet, and squatter down!

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Living with “No”

20 Sep

It wasn’t too long ago that my husband and I were living with, “Yes.”  And with, Yes, came some fun opportunities.  Hollywood parties, cavorting with celebrities.  Travel possibilities.  In fact, Yes is quite fun to be around.  She is very pleasing on the eyes.  Her scent is fresh throughout the day.  Yes is never tired, she is never boring.  She is a grand adventure!  The morning was exciting to wake up to, while she made our life her home.  But then slowly, one packed suitcase at a time, she began her move away from our world.  Oh she was kind about her departure.  Never once did she utter an unkind word.  She left no abrasive lesions upon us, and even her scent lingered for a while–long after her goodbye was said.  I miss her as our house guest.  Her presence brought sunshine when the sky provided none.  She, was a friend I like to have.  “Yes” is good company.

…now we are living with “No.”

No, is not so bad.  He, too, is not unkind.  Nor is he selfish.  But No, is blase.  He bears no scent.  He shines no light.  Being with him provides no adventure.  And travel does not seem to be to his liking.  And while he is a part of our life, our chores seem more abundant.  The spring in our step not so springy.  The gray of the day permeates, and sleep does not bring sufficient rest.  Though I would prefer to exchange his presence for his predecessor, it seems the good Lord has it in His will for us to entertain the present house guest a while longer (another aspect to No is the end of his stay is occluded, thus leaving us in the dark as to when he departs).

I honestly wouldn’t mind his living with us so much, but while having him here I have picked up certain habits that I’m not too fond of.  For instance, while living with Yes, I was motivated to care for myself and invest in activities that provoked excitement.  Waking up to No every day, I am struggling to even remember what those things were that used to motivate me.  Funny thing is, No doesn’t take up too much space but his stature hovers over much of our life.  So much so that I find myself pulling in ear marks of Yes, such as in my clothing, to help offset the drudgery of No.  For instance, I have resurrected my 1970’s floral print pants and am wearing them in circumstances of monotony (such as to the Long Beach VA).  Vintage Floral Pants

I have also taken to wearing a dress while walking the dogs.  Who needs exercise clothing when one can sweat in style!  I admit, the Nike’s are not the best accessory to my Leon Max creations, nor my Brian Bent’s for that matter.  But I am finding a glimmer of joy within the sheer absurdity of how I look as I ambulate, perspire, and shine while ‘Mutt and Jeff’ tag along on leash. 🙂

Fashion by Brian Bent

A Brian Bent original

I even thought I would fool my freeloading boarder by deciding to grow out my hair.  That’s right, my hair grows whether No wants it to or not.  However,  yesterday as I was readying myself to leave the house my daughter shyly asked, “Do you like your hair like that?”  To which I answered, “NO.”  With a sigh of relief she said, “Oh good.”  ‘Oh good’ was all she gave me…obviously the influence of Yes had worn off of even her.

So here I am, living with No.  He is a tough guy to be around.  And to help offset the heaviness of his presence, I am learning how to use new tools.  You know, the ones in the toolbox that are there but one hopes to not have to use.  One such tool is the “art of redirecting.”  That is right, I am redirecting my thoughts to the time of Yes, when I am faced with another No answer.  Another such tool is the “reminder wrench.”  The reminder wrench is used when thoughts of abandonment try to ease their way into my soul.  I take the wrench and use it to remember the word of encouragement from the Holy Word that says, “I shall never leave you nor forsake you” (Deut 31:6).  And, from the 55th chapter of the book of Isaiah:

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways,”
declares the Lord.
9 “As the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts.
10 As the rain and the snow
come down from heaven,
and do not return to it
without watering the earth
and making it bud and flourish,
so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater,
11 so is my word that goes out from my mouth:
It will not return to me empty,
but will accomplish what I desire
and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.
12 You will go out in joy
and be led forth in peace;
the mountains and hills
will burst into song before you,
and all the trees of the field
will clap their hands.
13 Instead of the thornbush will grow the juniper,
and instead of briers the myrtle will grow.
This will be for the Lord’s renown,
for an everlasting sign,
that will endure forever.”

The ‘reminder wrench’…a good tool!  I know there are other tools still in the box, untouched.  It could be that I will have to peruse the contents and learn, yet another, instrument of peace, motivation, excitement, and elation before the year is through.  But for now, the ‘redirector’ and the ‘reminder wrench’ are doing the trick.  I have even borrowed a necessary item from my neighbor…the tire pump.  Yep, the tire pump is a good tool to have on hand for when No takes a nap.  Oh the places to go with just a few pumps of air.  More on that next time…

Raleigh bicycle

My Raleigh and Me

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Risk Of

23 Jun

The other day, when I accompanied Cole (my disabled son) to the airport to fly to Oregon for a white water kayaking experience, I had the daunting task of taking my hands off his care and entrusting his well being to himself.  …Please take a moment to pause at this sentence and consider that I am a mother, who loves her son.  Period.

Pause, pause, pause, pause.

I was standing next to Cole at the Jet Blue gate, while he was sitting in a wheelchair holding his USMC backpack and his cane.  He was awaiting the escort who would take him to the taxiing jet.  When the escort arrived, Cole was juggling his boarding pass along with the other two items mentioned.  I found myself ready and eager to assist with suggestions for a more efficient and safe ride to the plane EXCEPT, the USMC emblem on the pack reminded me of who my son is and who he isn’t.

He is a capable and experienced human being.  He is not a feeble unaware teenaged child.  He is a burgeoning man who has several travel experiences, without his mommy and daddy, under his belt.  He is not without knowledge of how to hold a ticket, backpack, and cane while being escorted via wheelchair through corridors–after all, he traveled to Nicaragua in January just after having had an eye surgery!  He is his own being.  He is not mine.

As I caught myself and halted my intrusive actions, I waved goodbye and watched him pass through the door with himself as his advocate and a stranger for an escort.  I turned toward the exit and coaxed myself through the door with the above reminders guiding my every step back to the parked car.  Had Cole been underage, I would have stayed until the airplane lifted off the ground.  But again, he is not that little boy any more, so I kept walking.  In my journey to the roof top of the parking structure I reminisced about the last email sent to us from the camp Cole was off to (www.firstdescents.org).  It was an email with a waiver attached that was mandatory he sign in order to attend.  It was a “Risk Of…” waiver.  Essentially, as you can fathom with a white water kayak camp, the waiver covered any and all possible risks of injury, illness, and potential death.  He had to sign his life away in order to live.  OK, that was a bit of a dramatic statement, but it works so I’ll leave it be.

Now at my car, I sat a moment in the silence ever so present due to the vacancy of the passenger seat.  And the idea of “risk of..” kept rolling over and over within my mind.  At that moment I wanted to express a profound prayer on my son’s behalf, but “risk of, risk of, risk of…” kept me from being able to land on continual thoughts which could possibly formulate into a petition to The Father to benefit my son.  And then I finally realized, “Yes, there is a ‘risk of’.  But that is a risk we all have to take, every day of our lives.  And Cole, fully aware, was interested in experiencing life despite the known perils.”  With the calm now present within my soul which came from the acceptance of the statement, I was ready to formulate a prayer.

“Lord, I pray Cole will have a good time.  And Lord, if he dies, I pray he dies happy…amen.”

I then turned on the car, drove out of the structure, and left the area before the plane took off.  Knowing full well the risks of the day, the hour, the moment, and the future.  Risks I’m willing to take and be a part of.  It is just plain old living.  Nothing new, no epiphany, just plain ‘ol livin’.

Cole called this morning.  He hasn’t yet been on the white water or in the kayak.  He has been sick to his stomach and very aware he is the only camper who is challenged physically, to the degree he is.  I handed the phone to my loving husband and walked away.  His dad gave him a pep talk over the phone and I am giving myself one still…

“Risk of, Rivka.  …risk of!”

 

 

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