kt’s blog

Now that I’m back in the Bay Area, I need to find a new banner for my blog.  Not that I wouldn’t like to keep the lovely rainbow/mountain shot I was fortunate enough to grab on that lucky day in Hawaii.  But now I have to go to higher ground, instead of a fourteen story building, to try to get a good shot of the San Francisco skyline. (As you can see, I've changed the banner to the appropriate location--thanks, Cammie!)

 

In order to do that, I decided to drive up to the Sunset View Cemetery, where Karen’s ashes are buried.  It’s way up the hill in El Cerrito and offers a good panorama of the bay. So, this morning I did just that.  It was a clear, brilliant day, and the air was clean.  For a change, with not much fog or haze, visibility was quite good.

 

This was my second visit to the cemetery since the ash ceremony on January 4^th, when we interred Karen’s ashes in her plot next to her daughter Gita’s grave.  The first time I visited, on February 18^th, to observe the seventh month after her passing, I couldn’t find her headstone.  I remembered the approximate location, but even though I walked all over the upper reaches of the grounds. with my eyes focused on every bit of grass, I couldn’t locate it.  After an hour of wandering, sadly, I left, disappointed.  Later that day, after asking for directions from Karen’s daughter, Nahjeen, I was able to find it, and I was able to spend a little time in quiet contemplation, wishing there was a way to talk to her. That was a sad experience for me.  Today’s visit was easier.  I had no trouble finding the marker, and when I did, I gazed down at Karen’s photograph, the one that was taken when we saw Gladys Knight at the Flamingo Hotel in Las Vegas.  It’s the lovely picture she wanted used in her obituary, and the photo I put on the program for her farewell party.  In the picture, she looks happy and vibrant, even though it was taken after she had been diagnosed with ALS. 

As I gazed at her picture, I heard laughter coming from an area opposite where I was standing.  Gathered around a single tombstone, one of the many upright tombstones in an area apparently inhabited by people of Chinese descent, were a number of people having a picnic.  Some were sitting and some were standing around a blanket covered with platters of food and drink, and they were laughing and talking boisterously.  It seemed like a happy celebration, even though it was taking place in a cemetery.  At first I resented that they were having such a good time when I was standing there in tears as I contemplated my loss.  However, as I thought about it, it occurred to me that this was probably what that relative who had gone one would have wanted them to do—have a good time enjoying each others’ company as they had when the person was alive.  I can’t say that it made me want to laugh and celebrate, but it made me appreciate and respect

what they were doing.  Maybe this was the way to do it—to make the best of a bad situation.  I decided to think about it some more and try to feel a tinge of joy, even though my heart is still heavy. 

 

Last Sunday, I went to the Pt. Isabel dog park in Richmond, hoping to get a clear shot of the San Francisco skyline.  It wasn’t such a clear day, but I thought it would be nice to walk by the bay and watch the people with their dogs.  I was not disappointed.  As it was brilliantly sunny, and relatively warm, there were hundreds of people walking or sitting around while their canine friends were frolicking on the grassy knolls or diving into the bay to retrieve tennis balls.  Karen and I had taken Sierra, her Golden Retriever, to this place many times, and always, Sierra would run immediately to the rocky bolders by the bay and dive in.  As I was walking along, taking in how familiar the whole scene seemed to me, I heard a woman call, “Sierra!  Sierra, come here!”   I turned around to see which dog she was summoning and expected to see our Sierra running around, and sure enough, it was a Golden, but one much younger, as her face was still the dark red of a

younger Golden, much younger than OUR Sierra, who would be gray in the face, but still dripping with murky  old
bay-water.  So, it wasn’t OUR Sierra, but someone else’s.  Seeing people with their dogs or with their partners and their dogs triggered some tears and feelings of loneliness. 

                                                                 

This was the grief that I have been feeling more since I’ve been back in the Bay Area.  Just seeing certain things can trigger these feelings, suddenly and sometimes with no reason.  I can drive by a store in North Berkeley, and that will trigger them.  Shopping at Andronico’s triggers it sometimes, or walking by Barney’s.  I won’t go into what memories come up, or what particular object or place triggers the feelings, but it’s not as if I can avoid going places or doing things, and somehow the ideas happen, somewhere in my brain, and here come the feelings, here come the tears.  I am told that this is normal and healthy, so I just let it happen.  So, there are good days and bad days.  People tell me it’ll get better with time.  So, I’m trying to be patient.  It is some consolation knowing that I’m not alone, but most of the time, of course, I feel like no one could possibly understand—just as I knew that no one could understand what our life was like when Karen was sick, and our life together became so strange and stressful. 

 

I do find a lot to laugh about, just as Karen and I did when things got really tough. Kitten watching, for example, can be quite entertaining!  But music is the best solace, and I’m busy writing songs.  I’ve been noticing flowers, too.  Nature’s eye candy.  Driving to work, I notice the hillsides covered with mustard flowers, and poppies are swarming around the highways.  Noticing beauty is one way for me to celebrate life, as Karen, I’m sure would want me to do.

 

Sorry for these somber ruminations.  Thanks for listening!

 

Mahalo!

Last Friday, I was talking to someone on the phone about cats.  At the time, Gracie was lounging on my lap.  I was caressing her luxurious gray fur as she slept, running my fingers along that little ridge on the top of her head, then around her ears, and she nuzzled deeper into my lap.  Wisps of gray fur floated up from her, landing on my keyboard.  This was a cat-lover’s moment, and I was blessing her for all the wonderful years she’s given me—almost 20, in fact.  She appeared in our Pleasant Hill household when Carmel and Carla were still living at home.  She was the replacement cat after Carla’s ill-fated cat was killed in our busy street.  So, we’ve had quite a long and happy life together.  However, the woman I was talking to, when she heard about Gracie and her present age, suggested, a little timidly that perhaps I would want to, uh, maybe look into getting another kitty to keep Gracie company and to have, sort of ‘in reserve.’  This was something I hadn’t thought of.  In fact, Gracie hasn’t seemed all that lonely to me.  But something about having a cat ‘in reserve’ did strike a certain note for me. 

 

Five minutes later, I was on craigslist, looking at rescue cats, and sure enough, there was one named ‘Amy’ , the spitting image of Spooky, RIP, my previous cat who went on to her next life a year and a half ago.  I’m a sucker for black cats, and this one was just what I wanted.  I was a little concerned about her being a ‘kitten,’ but since the age was 7 months, I figured, how wild could she be at that age?  When I contacted Amy’s rescue person, she emailed me a two page form that I was to fill out and send back to her before she would let me see the cat.  Needless to say, I was on it, answering questions I had never considered, one of which was: How much do you expect to spend per year on your pet?  I had never thought about that.  What would I put?  What would YOU put?  So, I took a wild guess and said $1,000.  I also had to explain how I knew I would be able to care for the cat and whether I knew what to expect with kittens.  I wondered whether saying the wrong thing on this form would keep me from adopting the cat.  One thing the ad said was “She needs to be adopted, as black cats are hard to find homes for.” 

 

A couple of hours later, we had a date for me to go see Amy on Sunday.  I went back and forth in my mind about whether, indeed, I would come home with a cat—a kitten, that is.  Gracie could not give me her feedback, but if I had asked her, I wouldn’t have wanted to know her feelings.  Besides, I found out later what her answer would have been.  But all I could think was how much fun it would be for us to have a new kitty in the house.  On Sunday, put the cat carrier in the car and drove to Rockridge in Oakland.  A nice neighborhood, I thought.  The kitty has been living in luxury, no doubt!

 

Well, from the moment I arrived at the house, I began to learn the meaning of ‘rescue.’  From the curb, the house looked like any other house on the block, an older, shingled two story with a kept up paint job on the trim and porch.  But there was something about the litter of cardboard boxes resting by the door and the several discarded cartons of Budweiser empties.  The welcome mat showed kittens at play.  I rang the bell.

 

“Just a minute!  Get away, Whiskers.”

The door opened slightly, and the woman stood at the screen door. “ Hold on, I’ve just got to keep Whiskers away from the door.  He’ll run right out…”  A few seconds later, she returned and opened the screen door and showed me into the house.  From the moment I entered, my senses were assaulted.  First, the smell was so strong it went right through me.  My nose and eyes were on fire.  Mostly, the house was dark in the middle of the day, but I could see that every inch of the place was piled with trash or boxes of trash, or what looked like trash.  Also, everywhere I looked, there was either a cat or a cat box or a cat feeder.  The woman escorted me into the kitchen.  In the only empty space available, she placed two chairs and had me sit down while she went to get Amy.  I looked around and noticed an array of food containers and dirty dishes covering every inch of the counter, and even more cat feeders sitting around.  I heard her go into the other room and what sounded like a cage being opened.  “How many cats do you have?” I asked. 

            “Oh, six of my own.”

            “And how many rescue cats?” I asked.

            She hesitated, “A few.”

 

As I looked around, I wondered how much food a FEW rescue cats plus her own six cats could possibly eat that would require so many feeders and so many cat boxes.

 

            She came back into the room with little Amy in her arms. Her yellow eyes sparkled with excitement, and she squirmed in the woman’s arms.  It was then I noticed her tail.  It was short.

            “Oh, well, she’s got an interesting tail.  Don’t know if she was born that way or if she got it caught in something….I got the cat from a kill shelter up in Lake County.  She wasn’t feral, but who knows.”

 

            Something about having a cat with a ‘defect’ made me feel uncomfortable for a minute, but when I took her away from the woman and put her on my lap, her soft kitten fur felt fine and normal, and I decided that her special tail would make her that much more of a character.  Besides, there was no way I was going to let her stay in this place with too many cats and a woman of questionable sanity.  At that moment I wished I could adopt the other cats, of unknown quantity, running around the place.  But I needed to get out of there.  My eyes were burning even more from the stench, and I was starting to feel a little queasy.  After giving her a check to cover her spaying, I retrieved the carrier and returned ready to rescue Amy. 

 

            Driving home, it occurred to me that as bad as the place was, the woman no doubt thought she was doing the right thing by rescuing all her cats from certain death, but I wondered what kind of life they were living there in so much filth and some in cages.  Of course, there’s no way to know just how many cats she had there.  She even said that many of the cats she rescues come from ‘cat horders.’ 

 

 

           So, little Amy, whose name I immediately changed because it doesn’t suit her, first of all, and because ‘Amy’ was the name of a care-giver who ended up being abusive to Karen.  I’m trying to call her Spooky the Sequel, but that might not last.  She’s already coming when I call her that, but now I’m thinking that Molly might be a good name.  I’m open to suggestions if anyone has a good name for such a cute little kitty.

 

 

           One thing I learned once Amy/Spooky was set free from the carrier when we arrived home was that Gracie was not going to be happy to have her in our household.  For the first 24 hours, the new kitty pretty much disappeared.  At one time, she installed herself under my bed.  A little later, she ran and hid behind the water heater on the back porch, possibly after Gracie appeared and hissed and growled at her.  Now, almost a week later, the new kitty spends a lot more time in plain sight, but usually she appears as a little black hyphen-in-motion scampering across the white carpet.  One minute, she’s skittery and running away from me.  The next minute she’s butting her head against my calf, mewing and rolling around letting me pet her stomach.  At first, I thought I would have a problem with Gracie being too nervous around her when I noticed the whiskers on one side of her face twitching.  But now she seems resigned to the kitty’s presence and is  able to ignore all the scampering and mewing and climbing activities of the young’un.  And now the kitty knows better than to jump up on the chair where Gracie is sleeping. 

 

So, things are a lot more exciting here on Elm Street.  No nightmares, yet.

Mahalo for coming here! 

The Season for Reasons & Sneezin’

 

I’m calling this my penultimate blog because I have every intention of writing one more from Hawaii before I leave.  Of course, I have had every intention of writing a blog before now, too, but that just didn’t happen.  A few people have reminded me that I have not written a blog entry in a while, and that is true, but I have been very, very busy with school work and distractions.  In addition, I was overtaken, a couple of weeks ago, by an odd allergic reaction to something in bloom, here, in Honolulu.  Since I have hardly ever suffered from allergies, I inquired of Esther as to what might be causing this, as she is an inveterate allergy sufferer.  She immediately told me that it was probably ‘mock orange,’ which is presently, or presently at that time (Thanksgiving and thereafter) in bloom.  Once she told me the offending, evil plant (she has one in her yard), I began to notice them everywhere and realized why I was feeling so crummy.  One day, as I was traipsing across campus, I noticed one that I could access and snapped a picture of it, still in flower.  So, now I know that I am allergic to mock orange, and if I don’t want to have a continual sore throat and sore, itchy eyes and runny nose, I will try to avoid it.  Anyway, my allergy to mock orange could be why.

 

Another reason is my fetish with trying to get my work done for the semester before I fly out of here on December 15^th—less than a week from now.  It’s not that I have a dissertation looming, or master’s orals, or anything that big—just three papers and a couple of finals.  Now, the papers, are ridiculously short to be freaking out about, and the finals are not that big a deal, but given my distraction with settling my affairs here and going home to a whole new life,  I’ve found it hard to concentrate on getting things done.  And, yes, I am a procrastinator.  For one thing, two of the papers are either 8 or 10 pages long, and one is just a collection of paragraphs on Buddhist philosophers.  For anyone who cares, the topics of my other papers are, for the Buddhist class, Transformations of the Sangha in Chinese Buddhism, and something like Confucian and Taoist Concepts of Education Meet John Dewey for the Chinese philosophy course.  So, just ruminating on the scope and content of these has taken some brain space but up until now, not much actual time.  Today, however, I am happy to report that I have finished my Buddhism paper and emailed it off to my professor and am about to begin the other paper, with a little studying, on the side, for my environmental philosophy class. 

 

One distraction I have NOT had for the past week is the possibility of going to the beach.  The weather, though I know I shouldn’t complain, has not been ideal.  Wednesday morning, we had such a storm, that I thought we were in the middle of a hurricane when I woke up at 3:30 a.m. with huge winds blowing through the highrise.  It made me wonder if they had surprise hurricanes here.  Looking out the window, I could see the palm trees bent over like the ones you see in footage from Florida, and the rain, as thick as I’d ever seen it.  Since then, it’s been pretty rainy every day, though yesterday and today, we’re having a bit of a clear spell. 

 

 

 

A Taste of Maui

 

It rained, too, last weekend, when Esther and I went to Maui.  Nevertheless, I thought we had a lovely trip, and even though the clouds covered the mountains and the sky, for the most part, it was beautiful enough to make me want to go back some day, though spending an hour or to in Lahaina was enough to make me want to explore the less touristy places next time.  Our hotel in Kihei, though, which was right on the water, took me back to my days of living in Hermosa Beach, where I was born and grew up, listening to the ocean as I went to sleep.  Counting waves instead of sheep, hearing the waves come in, take a breath, and then go back slowed my pulse and put me in touch with something very deep.  I want more of that!

 

Es and I also got to watch the final game of the season for our beloved University of Hawaii Warriors who were the only college team to have suffered no losses.  The game was exciting to the end, and I was proud to be wearing my Hawaii football t-shirt as we cheered the team on at the local Lulu’s sports bar in Kihei.  I was thinking, this morning, that the team seems to have become a lot better since they changed their mascot from ‘the ‘Bows’ (short for ‘Rainbows) to ‘Warriors.’  They are a much more imposing team, now.  Of course, having one of the best quarterbacks in college football doesn’t hurt.  Colt Brennan was one of four finalists for the Heisman trophy this year, and they say that our defensive line is one of the biggest ever.  Something I really like about the team is their ‘haka’ ritual that they perform before every game.  It’s pretty amazing to see.  Unfortunately, I’ve never seen it in person, but you can see it on YouTube, if you’re interested.  It’s apparently so intimidating to some opponents that UH got a personal foul for performing it this year before (not during!) a game. (Here’s a link to the YouTube video:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NDrKPwBIjNo     As a result of winning their last gaime (against Washington), they will be going to the Sugar Bowl.  I’ll be rootin’ for ‘em.  Go Warriors!

 

Another high point of our trip to Maui was visiting the little town of Makawao, a lovely little artists’ colony near the highway to Mt. Haleakala (which we had intended to visit but couldn’t get to because of the weather).  We watched some glass blowing while we were there and just walked  around peering into galleries and very nice curio shops.

 

I wish we could have spent more time on Maui, but it’s probably a good thing that we came home when we did.  The storm that did a lot of damage here on O’ahu did some devastating damage on Maui, with massive road closures, flooding, and mud slides, right where we had been.  So, next time, I go wid betta wetha.

 

Christmas in Hawaii

 

Despite the ‘winter’ weather we’re having here, I can’t believe it’s almost Christmas.  Even though it can be cloudy and rainy, the day time temperatures are still in the low 80’s and high 70’s.  It’s still sandals, t-shirts, and shorts.  This, I know I will miss, immediately upon my return to the mainland.  However, as I gaze about town these days, I am struck by the irony of Christmas decorations everywhere.  And, Christmas is VERY big here.  Could be because anything that happens here is VERY big here (notably, just open up a huge, new Safeway and see what happens, or even a Walgreens), so Christmas is no exception.  Even before Thanksgiving, decorations were up and the Ala Moana mall had a broadway-style Christmas extravaganza with dancers and singers, and the retro-rock station I listen to when I have a car, KPOI, was already playing really sappy Christmas music.  Now, don’t get me wrong:  Christmas music is okay with me, as long as I only have to listen to it on Christmas eve or the next morning, but otherwise, I don’t want it to interfere with my Led Zeppelin or even Hall & Oats.  Anyway, I have noticed some apt ironies of Christmas trees and lights grouped with palm trees, and some very complex and multi-faceted neon creations (unfortunately the latter hasn’t worked since the big storm) that are particularly island-oriented.  I’m including here a slightly out of focus shot I took the other night on Kalakaua in Waikiki. 

 

 

Good-bye to Classes

 

Finally, while my final blog will be my ‘good-by to…’ blog, last week I had to say goodbye to my classes, and sentimental person that I am, it was very hard to do that.  I snapped a picture of my two classmates from Dr. J’s class.  They are Hiromu and Noah.  All semester, whenever we had to talk in groups, the three of us would huddle over our notes and share our ideas, and when our ideas ran out, we would talk about our weekend plans or video games, or whatever came up.  Experiencing group work as a student gave me a new perspective on the gestalt of group work.  And, as I already knew, and had a great deal of joy to experience , if the teacher gives you too much time for small group discussion, the discussion will eventually end up being something totally off topic and banal.  Not that I would ever subvert our discussions in this way, but once we had covered the topic, there we were, discussing the merits of X-Box over PS3, and some movie everyone was raving about at Halloween.  Was it ‘Saw 5’?  On the other hand, I experienced the frustration of not having enough time for each of us to share when not enough time was given. So, taking this back with me in my mental memory of pedagogy might be worth whole trip.  However, it was also sad to say goodbye to Dr. J himself, from whom I felt respect as a colleague and whom I respect as a wonderful human being and consummate educator.   I certainly hope he and I will some day cross paths again.

 

 

So, that’s it for this week, and as I mentioned earlier, I will do one more blog from here, even if I write it while at the airport before I take off.  I might continue blogging from the mainland, but we’ll see.

 

Meanwhile, have a great week, and mahalo for coming!

 

 

 

 

 Thoughts About Thanksgiving......

Well, here it is, almost Thanksgiving, and I’m thinking I need to write a Thanksgiving blog.  Yes, they do celebrate this holiday in Hawai’i.  Turkeys are on sale at all the supermarkets, and I was able to find yams and cranberries so I won’t be showing up at Esther’s house empty-handed.  Esther has invited me and a couple of her friends to partake at her and Paul’s house, and I’m very grateful to have been invited.  I’m also looking forward to making the yams and the cranberry sauce, as I have done for past dinners.  But this time, I feel VERY grateful not to be cooking the turkey, as I have done for the past many years.  Of course, I’m sorry not to be spending the holiday with my family or, of course, with Karen, as I have done for the past several years—though the past few years have not been so joyous. 

 

I do recall the several years of our gathering together with her children, Nahjeen and Neevon, and before that, of course, Gita, and whatever friends of her children and my children happened to come.  It was always a great feast and a wonderful time of fellowship.  I remember usually being the one to ask the question—What are you thankful for?  And it was always heart-warming to hear what everyone said, especially the children, whose words were usually the most moving.  So, tonight, just a couple of days before T-giving, I’m thinking about being grateful and just what I am grateful for.  Although it’s been a very hard year, there have times when I was extremely grateful to have friends and caregivers and healthcare professionals, hospice people,  and family members around me and Karen to help with our difficult life.  I don’t know if I ever thanked them enough for all that they did for us, or for me, but right now I’d like everyone to know that however folks reached out and came forward for us was, and still is, greatly appreciated.  My heart will be full of thanks to them on Thursday when the question gets to me. 

The word thankful comes to mind, too, when I think of Karen.  I think she was thankful to be loved and to have her wishes respected all along.  In fact, three days after her passing, I had a very strong ‘message’ from her that I should be thankful, or else that she was feeling thankful, for everything—her coming and going, her living and dying.  And knowing Karen, she was telling me to be thankful for her decision, as much as for all the time we had together, though it was relatively short.  So, yes, I’m thankful for all of that, yet sad that I am missing her very much, especially now.

And I’m extremely thankful that I have been able to come to Hawai’i and put my brain to work and have this time of peaceful reflection, at times, not to mention sweet weather and lovely surroundings.   To go further, I’m also grateful to wake up every morning in good health and joy.

Finally, I'm extremely thankful (and relieved) that I have managed to line up a place to live when I get back to Bay Area in December.  Thanks to my friend John, who acted in my stead, I will be renting a cute little house in El Cerrito. With all my belongings jammed into a storage space in Richmond, I have been worrying about getting back home and not having one to move into.  But this little place will be just right--two bedrooms and space for my many instruments--even my drums!  And, the land-people are Persian and love kitties.  So, no more checking craigslist every five minutes, and hello Ikea!

 

So, what are YOU thankful for?  Think about it now so you’ll be able to voice what you are thoughtful for when at the table on Thursday, and if you feel like writing to tell me, I’d love to hear it.  I’m sure we all have something to be thankful for, even in the face of whatever difficulties are befalling us.  I’m feeling thankful, too, that you’re reading this blog today!

 

 

Rock Show Review….

 

Saturday night I decided I needed to get out and hear some live music, once again, and there just happened to be a band in town that I thought I’d check out.  I had been hearing about them on the local classic rock station (KPOI).  Their name is Ladysmith (not the cool, Ladysmith Black Mambazo), the all female Aerosmith tribute band.  People in Hawai’i were disappointed, to say the least, last month, when Aerosmith, the real band,  cancelled their scheduled appearance in Maui so that they could do a private corporate concert on the UH campus here on Oahu.  Locals who had planned to go to Maui to see them, as well as other Island rockers, were furious when the gig was cancelled.  Perhaps wishing to satisfy their  longing for the songs of Aerosmith, fans filled the Hard Rock Café in Honolulu the other night, and the tension and expectations were palpable as I walked into the bar just as they were supposed to start playing.  After laying down my $15, though, I noticed there were some long-haired, grungy looking guys on stage tuning up and getting their levels.  A banner at the front of the makeshift state said “Cheesus.”  Concerned, I asked the money-takers at the door what was up, and they said there would be an opening band.  Even though it was already 10 p.m., I figured I could take it, as long as it didn’t go on too long.  At about 10:15, they started up with a not-too-bad rendition of Blue Oyster Cult’s ‘Don’t Fear the Reaper’, a song I had to learn the drum parts for last spring, so I appreciated how they got through the difficult instrumental bridge part, and I was counting and playing air drums from the get-go.  The rest of their set showed they were well practiced.  The lead singer came out in leathers from head to toe and ended up shirtless, but, after all, it was pretty warm in the house.  All in all, they did a good job of getting the crowd ready for the headliners.  When their set was done, there was at least a half hour wait for Ladysmith, and the crowd swelled with every passing minute.  I found a place to stand near the stage and waited with everyone else to see how this band of women from L.A. would carry it off.  Watching them get ready, I was reminded of my days as a rocker with Placenta, though we never took that long to get going, and their drum kit was already set up.  Nevertheless, I remembered the excitement of making sure the drums were set just right, that there was a bottle of water handy, that I had my stick bag handy in case a stick would fly out of my hand, that there was a towel at the ready, and that my throne wasn’t going to fall between the stage and the wall.  But on this night, I was the audience watching the preparations, as the Steven Tyler wannabe tied the fake leopard boa to the microphone.

 

When the band finally started to play, the audience was in a fever of expectation.  But, I was not so excited, only a little tired from standing for so long.  When they finally did start, however, I am sorry to say that although they had the moves right, they didn’t sound very good.  It probably wasn’t all their fault.  I’m sure they could play and sing just as well as Aerosmith, but they seemed to be having a problem with controlling their volumes.  It seemed as if each one had her instrument cranked up to 10.  How could they hear each others’ vocals?  How did they know where they were in the songs? 

And although I was standing right in front of the stage, with the speakers only feet from my tender, and increasingly abused, ears, I could not hear the lead guitar player at all.  I saw her fingers busily plucking the strings and her left hand venturing deftly up and down the neck, but where was the sound?  What I heard, mostly, were bass and drums, and an occasional screech from the singers.  Although I’m fairly familiar with Aerosmith songs, it was truly hard to identify which songs they were  performing, and I wondered how the crowd could identify the songs they seemed to be singing along on.  After about four songs, I left my spot and moved to the back of the house to see if the sound was any better, but even from a place yards away, the sound was not only bad, but painful.  Finally, feeling the urge, I went to the restroom, where having walls between me and the band made all the difference, and it wasn’t half bad from there.  But by then, one side of my head felt like it had been kicked in, and I couldn’t take it any more.  Now, I’m not an old lady about rock and roll.  I’m used to listening, full tilt, but at least, normally, there is something to hear.  Saturday night, that was questionable.  So, I walked out the door with the strains (literally) of Aerosmith behind me, and felt the amazing warm, balmy night air around me.  Even though it was midnight, I decided to enjoy the beauty of the night air and walk back through Waikiki to my apartment, with a dull throb in my right ear.

I had already gone to Ladysmith’s website (www.ladysmithrocks.com) and listened to some of their recordings, so I know they can play and sing, but they really needed someone to tweak their knobs the other night. 

 

Esther and I will be seeing Richard Thompson perform next Saturday.  I’ll give a full report….

 

That’s my blog for this week.  I’m wishing you all a happy Thanksgiving, whatever you choose to do, and wherever you are  on that day.  And mahalo for coming!

Aloha!

Sorry it’s been a while since my last blog.  The exigencies of taking 12 units, and then the fun of having Carla, my youngest daughter come over for a visit, have taken priority over my blog.  Mea culpa, but hold the phone!  Or, as they say in Hawai’I, “Try wait!”  Just to prove that Carla’s visit was fun and kept me, happily, from writing my blog—here’s a picture or two of her visit.

                  

                                                            Tool Kit and Inquiry

Meanwhile, though, I have promised my many colleagues and friends some more about the Good Thinker’s Tool Kit and Philosophy for Children.  A couple of weeks ago, I visited Kailua High School and had the opportunity to observe three classes using the same, effective method of inquiry Dr. J. uses in or Philosophy 100 class at UH.  Then, just last week, I was delighted to observe a fourth grade class using the same toolkit and having a wonderfully insightful discussion.  So, first, something about the Toolkit, and then my observations of the classes.

 

The Good Thinkers’ Toolkit was devised by Dr. J.  (Dr. Thomas Jackson).  Here it is, with some explanations.  Each letter below stands for a word that is part of effective philosophical inquiry.  By this is meant investigation, if you will, of a topic—any topic—with some awareness of the kinds of thinking a good thinker would use to think about the topic and go deeper into its complexity.  Here’s the toolkit (I’m taking this from an article by Dr. J.

entitled “The Art and Craft of ‘Gently Socratic’ Inquiry’ which appeared in Developing Minds:  A Resource Book for Teaching Thinking, edited by Arthur L. Costa.)  It can also be referred to as 'WRAITEC'. 

 

W= What do you/me mean by…?  W highlights the importance of being sensitive to possible multiplicity of meanings and ambiguity; hence, a readiness to seek clarification when needed.

 

R= Reasons.  R reflects that in inquiry one should expect that it is not enough to simply offer an opinion.  Whenever possible, group members should support their opinions with reasons.

 

A= Assumptions.  A represents the importance of making explicit, whenever appropriate, the assumptions that underlie the discussion during inquiry.

 

I = Inferences; If…then’s;  Implications.  I highlights the centrol role of inferences we might make, of possible implications of what someone has said, and of hypothetical statements suc as, “If what Jody said is true, then ‘real’ can’t just be things we can see or touch.”

 

T=True?.  T indicates that a major concern in our inquiry is the question of whether or not what someone has stated is in fact true, and how we might go about finding out.

E= Examples.  Evidence.   E points out the importance of giving examples

to illustrate or clarify what someone is saying and of providing evidence to support a claim.

 

C= Counterexamples.  C represents an important check on assertions or claims that possibly cast too wide a net.  For example, “always” or “never” frequently occurs in conversations, such as, “The boys always get to go first,” or “We never get to stay up late.”  The search for counterexamples is a way of checking the truth of such a claim.  For example, “You get to stay up late if it’s a holiday” is a counterexample. 

 

While the above ideas are certainly not new to critical thinking or thinking in
general, to have a ‘tool kit’ of terms with which the students are familiar when beginning an inquiry, or at the beginning of the class, there is a point of

reference for everyone, including the teacher, to you. In the elementary grades, large representations of the letters are taken out during a discussion, and when a student or the teacher wants to know, for example, the some evidence for  why someone makes a claim, the ‘E’ is held up, or, in the case of the 4^th grade class I observed, the teacher tossed the letter into the circle.  Such a dramatic use of a physical letter is not necessary in a college level class, but it’s quite useful in lower grades.  Also, while a teacher hopes that all the letters of the toolkit will be used, and that students will be aware of them as they speak, to use them militaristically is not recommended. 

 

In addition to the toolkit, which I noticed was prominently contained in signs in two of the classrooms I visited, there is also a statement of ‘intellectual safety’, which is a cornerstone in the development of the classroom community, and which is a kind of ethical code that not only makes it more comfortable for students to discuss whatever comes up in the classroom, but  is a way of reminding students that they not only participate politely but listen politely as well.  I witnessed several instances in which ‘intellectual safety’ was invoked by instructors for different reasons.  For example, one student made a statement that was racially stereotyped, and the students seemed upset by it, and the teacher pointed out that it was not ‘intellectually safe’ to talk that way.  In another class, the teacher reminded the students who were talking out of turn that it was not intellectually safe for the person who had the floor, if someone else was talking.  As I mentioned in a previous

blog, the person who has the floor is the person who is holding the ‘community ball’ which is made of yarn.  Different teachers use the ball differently, but generally, after a student is finished talking, he or she passes (or more often, throws) the ball to another student whose hand is up, or to the teacher. 

 

So, in a classroom with intellectual safety, students feel they can say anything they want, as long as it doesn’t put others down, or devalue what others say, or is disrespectful.  There is trust, as well, that whatever is said in the classroom does not leave the classroom.  In this kind of atmosphere, students are not afraid of giving the ‘wrong’ answer or being corrected for ‘wrong’ information.  Granted, their answer might be wrong, but if the tool kit is being used, and the student is not able to present evidence or reasons for what they say, the idea will not be accepted as valid.  But the point is not to convince the group of one’s being right.  Rather, the purpose is to listen to

what others are saying and offer what one is thinking.  As everyone participates and a diversity of possibilities is raised, students are thinking about the topic in an open-ended way which one hopes will lead to more wonder and more questions.  Intellectual safety, by the way, also allows students to ‘pass’ if they don’t want to participate when the community ball gets passed to them. 

 

In most cases, discussions are begun by asking students to suggest topics.  I have observed several ways of doing this.  To get a discussion going on a topic related to a reading, for example, a method called ‘Plain Vanilla” is practiced.  This means that after a passage has been read by the st