Terrorists, Earthquakes and Impeachment

Where were you were on 9-11? Do you remember what you were doing when you saw the planes hitting the towers? Of course you do. Events like that are few in a lifetime for most of us. They have a way of permanently imprinting on our minds.

My friend Greg and I had just returned from traveling through Hong Kong and Thailand. We landed in Narita, caught a train, hustled through Tokyo Station then caught another train to Mishima and finally Izu Hakone line down the peninsula before walking the dark, quiet road back to my apartment in Kannami. I turned on the TV as we unpacked only to see footage of airplanes hitting the Twin Towers. It was late so another crazy bad B movie on Japanese TV I thought. I changed the channel. Same scene. I flipped again. Same scene. Holy shit this is real!
Heart races. Fear.

Fast Forward ten years. March 11, 2011 I'm teaching a class of kids in Ohito, Japan. The room I'm teaching in starts moving up and down, swaying side to side. "Casey sensei jishin!" (earthquake) a mom watching the class shouts.  We herd the kids outside to the parking lot away from the three story building. I watch as the building sways; as the ground heaves up and down. My body raises and lowers along with the car I grab onto to keep my balance. It seemed to last forever. Once it ended we went back inside and huddled around a TV set in a small downstairs office. Complete silence as we watched live footage of the sea consuming thousands of lives in Northern Japan. OMG my kids! I tell the lady I was teaching the class for that I must get home. No cars on 414 as I race northward on the seaside road to check on my family.  Everyone's okay. Prayer of thanks.

The next few days ranged from unsettling to downright frightening to say the least. Shelves quickly emptied of batteries, bread and rice, bottled water (bottled anything!) canned goods and dry foods. Gas stations quickly emptied of gas. Tremors hit daily. One 6.4 only a few miles away shook the house so violently things flew from shelves. Even with as far south as we were from the epicenter the fear was palpable with thoughts of how near we were to both the sea (50 meters from the beach) and Hamaoka Nuclear Power plant as more footage aired of the tsunami laying havoc to everything in its path and news of the nuclear meltdown in Fukushima came out.

I was grateful with the rapid response I received upon contacting the US Embassy after the Tohoku Mega quake hit. Thank God for the US State Department! I was given direction on how to get myself, my two American citizen sons and even my Japanese citizen wife, flown safely out of the country if needed. Indeed we could've been flown out even if I didn't have the money for airfare. I had it but remember that well. Of course I'd have been billed but still, that's a nice benefit of  being an American, I thought. We opted to travel south and stay with a friend in Kyoto until things calmed down a bit instead, but I can't begin to tell you the peace of mind that came with learning the US State Department was there to help American expats like myself. As bad as 9-11 was, since the ground under my feet wasn't shaking--since the disaster was so far away and it was only me (no wife and kids to look out for yet) I wasn't as concerned for my safety. That said, like with the earthquake I contacted the US Embassy then too.  I was grateful to receive information and email updates before flying back to the States a few weeks after the terrorist attack.

There is an estimated 9 million Americans are living abroad worldwide. While Americans living in the US may come into contact with a wide range of US government agencies the number that expats encounter is obviously far lower. Over nearly 18 years of living as a US expat in Japan, save for absentee ballots from country clerk and trips to the DMV when back in California to renew my license, the IRS and the State Department (US Embassy) are the only government agencies I've interacted with. Much like visiting US Military bases in Japan, I'm always impressed with the professionalism of Department of State workers I come into contact with at the US Embassy in Tokyo. I recall well the proud feeling of standing there at the window while holding a boy, then another boy, and then a girl, in my left arm and my right hand raised to say the required oath for each of them after turning in papers for them to become recognized as US citizens.

So my need to contact the US Government isn't all that frequent, but chances are if I do need to then the agency I will call on will be the US the Department of State. Now I'm sure there are assholes working for the State Department. We human types have a fair percentage of assholes in every race and religion, in every trade and type of employment. That's a given. But good people outnumber the assholes ten to one easily I'd say, and I bet it's even closer to 100 to one for US workers overseas since it takes a special kind of person to live and work abroad. (I recognize my bias on the latter there).

I couldn't help but think of that--the smile on the foreign service officer's face as he congratulated my chunky little boy on becoming a US citizen years ago--when I read these opening statements of US State Department employees--of people who've devoted their lives to looking out for America's and Americans' best interest abroad. In nearly all of them I read that the person has served both Republican and Democratic administrations alike. By and large they all appear to be good people doing a damned important job for my country. For our country (for those of you who're proud Americans like me). Thus when I read of their take on Trump's dealings with Ukraine, of them being trashed talked and forced out of their jobs, red flags go up everywhere and I get an uneasy feeling in my stomach. Good experienced people in the State Department are important dang it. Reports of them down and out and fleeing leaves an uneasy feeling in my stomach.

I like to get my news from the source. For whatever reason I'm a bit skeptical and thus prone to fact checking and seeking firsthand information as much as and whenever possible. For that reason, a couple of weeks ago, I decided to save links to State Department employees' (and others) statements about their work and events that have led to the House of Representatives opening an Impeachment Inquiry into the POS. Sorry I mean POTS. Not sorry. (more bias duly noted) Then this morning I got to thinking maybe someone else might like to see them all in one place too, so now that I've tapped out my little intro above here it is--a bit of a who's who who's testified thus far along with links to some of the opening statements.

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Bill Taylor: Top US diplomat in Ukraine, graduated top 1% in his class at West Point, Vietnam War Veteran, served in Iraq and Afghanistan; appointed Afghanistan Coordinator at the US Department of State by Secretary of State Colin Powell in 2003. Like others who testified Taylor served under both Republican and Democratic Presidents.
Click here to read Bill Taylor's opening statement 

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Marie Yovanovitch: American diplomat and member of the senior ranks of the United States Foreign Service. To call her record of service to the US exemplary would be an understatement. It includes multiple ambassadorships and high ranking positions in the State Department--33 years of service over six presidential administrations Republican and Democrat alike. Be sure to read what she says about the Oath of Office that foreign service officers take. Indeed, if you read only one of the opening statements then make it hers.
Click here to read Marie Yovanovitch's Opening Statement

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Lt. Col. Alexander S. Vindman is Director for European Affairs for the US National Security Council. He's a highly decorated US Army combat veteran who received a Purple Heart for being wounded while fighting for America in Iraq.
Click here to read Lt. Col. Vindman's Opening Statement
Like Yovanovitch and Hill, Vindman is true blue American who was foreign born to hard working immigrant parents. Chances are you, like I, can't even begin to imagine the hard work, let alone the horrors of war, that he experienced while proving himself as an American patriot.  The former US Army Colonel Mike Jason's take on the right wing attacks on Vindman is spot on IMNSHO. More opinion here but really, people who've never fought for our country trying to smear an American patriot of Vindman's caliber is about as chickenshit as you can get.

- - - - - - -

Fiona Hill is a foreign affairs specialist and national security official specializing in the former Soviet Union and Russian and European affairs. She served in three presidential administrations. Like others she chose to follow the rule of law and honor the subpoena rather than the White House's orders to not testify.
Click here for more on Fiona Hill testifying

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Tim Morrison, an Arms Control Expert, was the top US presidential advisor on Russia and Europe. He is a Republican. He served as senior director for countering weapons of mass destruction on the National Security Council. He abruptly resigned his post in the Trump administration before testifying on impeachment.
Click here to read Tim Morrison's opening Statement 

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Kurt Volker joined the Department of State as a Foreign Service Officer in 1988. He served in many foreign service posts including the US Embassy in Budapest and was acting director for European and Eurasian Affairs for the National Security Council. More recently he is, make that was, a US special representative to Ukraine. Like countless others in the Trump administration he abruptly resigned.
Click here to read Kurt Volker's opening statement 

- - - - - - -

Laura Cooper is the top Pentagon official overseeing US policy on Ukraine. She too opted to follow the rule of law by defying orders to not testify.  Apparently Republicans really don't want us to know what she knows.

- - - - - - -

Gordon Sondland was a big bucks donor to Trump's campaign. He was founder and chairman of Provenance Hotels before becoming Trump's pick as the US Ambassador to the EU. Sondland was directed to work with Trump's personal lawyer Rudy Giuliani in his efforts to force the new Ukrainian president to investigate "corruption" (i.e. Joe Biden's son). Although a Trump appointee who never worked for any other administrations, Sondland opted to break with Trump and testify.

A word about Rudy Giuliani.  Since when does a US president's personal lawyer get so involved in foreign policy? 1798 maybe? In any event since it did happen recently it should be noted who was helping Giuliani. Lev Parnas and Igor Fruman. Click here for their mugshots.  Trump says he doesn't know them. Watch news footage here for pictures of them posing with Trump and his family.  In the video you'll see footage of Giuliani saying he'd love to testify to congress about Ukraine. I'm guessing he'll get his chance soon. Also in the footage is Trump saying the inquiry is unfair because Republicans are not allowed to ask questions. Not true. There are Republicans on the committees hearing all of the witnesses above testify and as anyone will see they will be allowed to have lawyers present and ask questions in upcoming open door hearings as well.

And now after a couple weeks or so of keeping track I find a far more extensive account of everyone involved has been put together but professional journalists. High praise for journalists! But since I've got a good few hours into this will leave it here just the same.

Hi-Ho!

Benefit of speaking a second language

Or make that a third language actually. Even if it's only poquito

My cell phone rang while driving between second to the last class of the day and picking up little girl child at kindergarten. It was a number I didn’t recognize, no caller ID who can that be? I was listening to a podcast; had an earphone in one ear so touch the screen
“Moshi-moshi (hello on phone in Japanese) Hello”  

She started with “Hello sir” and went right into her sales pitch.  

Good grief a telemarketer on my cell phone in Japan? Are you kidding me?

There was a period of time a couple of years ago when I got quite a few calls like that but nothing since. Thus I remember it well because it was so rare for me here. Indeed that was the first time. I remember the Chinese accent then, but this time it was Indian. She continued on with her script until I interrupted
“How did you get my number?”

“It’s in our database” was her reply.  

Strong Indian accent but clearly fluent in English and I’m guessing Japanese too since surely she knows where she’s calling so what to do?

Quick, wake the high school Spanish class brain cells!

“Como te llamo por favor?”

Silence. Hey maybe it’s working. How about 

“Se habla español?” 

More silence.

Gosh I'm almost out of Spanish save for dirty words quick think boy think.  

Oh yeah

“Mi no habla ingles. Mi ingles muy poquito.  

Okay it's wrong but she clearly doesn't know.  Just start saying words.

"Tu pero es en mi zapatos"

I'm pretty sure that's "Your dog is in my slippers"

 Gotta love the things I remember from 9th grade! 

“Excuse me sir, what country are you from?” 

Gomen nasai (Japanese for I’m sorry. Oops!) No comprende. 

“Sir...?” 

She started saying something else so I just kept repeating

"No comprende. Se habla español?” 

and then...

CLICK!

HAA! It worked! 

I’ve clearly forgotten nearly all the Spanish I learned (save for the dirty words embedded in my mind for all eternity--words learned during nearly ten years of working construction with some great Spanish speaking amigos) but luckily I retained enough to have some fun with an unlucky telemarketer today.  I felt kinda bad afterwards. I mean after all she’s just doing her job, but still I about laughed myself silly and was kinda proud too. 

I made a telemarketer hang up on me.  Top that! 

Godspeed Yuki. Sometimes parenting ain't easy

Yuki and Kumori circa earlier this year
Godspeed Yuki. You were a good pig! 

The boys came in to see when my wife arrived home with the kids. I texted her to let her know what to expect after I came in and found what I didn’t want to find, but had a feeling I would. I’d sensed it was coming soon.  And so it came. 

Yuki had stopped drinking days ago and her happy “guwee guwee guwee” cries for fresh veggies when she heard the refrigerator door had grown fainter and fainter till finally stopping completely.  Then today when I brought her in from her outside time in the pen on the lawn she barely moved at all.  I held her for a while then locked the cat out of the room so I could let her best friend, Kumori the little yellow bird, come see her one last time. 

I somehow knew it was going to be the last time.  Kumori flew around the room a few times when I opened his cage then I put him down on the carpet to nibble on Yuki’s hair like he’s done a thousand times before. They loved to eat lettuce together. Yuki eating lettuce and Kumori nibbling both the lettuce and Yuki until Yuki would pop straight up in the air and Kumori would fly off. Soon after first getting a guinea pig I read up on them only to learn they’re herd animals. They need a friend. A fellow guinea pig friend but… “No way! You see how much this thing poops?” I said. No second pig! But as luck would have it the bird and the pig bonded like long lost friends. And so I just had to let them be together one last time. No doubt the little yellow bird is as sad as the rest of us now that Yuki is gone.

So the boys came in to see. I'd already dug the hole outside near the place we’d set up the pen for Yuki to nibble the grass in the yard. I’d already made a few quick changes to her little tunnel-like house; it was now a guinea pig coffin. I gently placed her in there and cut a lily from the plant outside to set on top of her. I’d lit a candle and some incense. 

More than a few times I’ve been to homes to view the body of a friend or relative on my wife’s side of the family who’s passed in this land. The body usually stays in the home for a day or two after the spirit has left it. And so I tried to copy the local ritual as much as possible for our little friend Yuki—to let her lie inside at least long enough for the kids to say goodbye to her when they got in from my in-laws.  

The boys both stopped and knelt down to stroke her white hair one last time. The little girl peered in then went back to sit on the entryway step and play with the drill. I explained to the oldest boy—now a junior high kid—that he could help me put the top on the little box and bury Yuki out in the yard. He’s the boy who brought home Yuki when he was just a little elementary school kid. Yuki was his pet. I was sure to tell him how proud I was of him for stepping up and taking care of Yuki the past year or so.  He’d promised to take care of her “I promise I’ll do everything!” when he first got her, but of course all the pig care responsibilities went to me. But when he became a junior high kid he really did start taking care of her. I still did much of it too, but he started cleaning her cage and giving her water and food and brining her in from her outside playtime more and more as he got older. I pointed this out to him and told how proud I was for him doing it.  About the time I was doing that I noticed the little girl still sitting there playing with the cordless drill in the entryway. Then suddenly she burst into tears. 

My wife had spoken with the kids about it on the way home to brace them of course. The boys are old enough to understand but it didn’t sink in for the little girl until she saw the lifeless body. Still she held it in for as long as she could, distracting herself with the cordless drill, but finally the dam broke and the tears flowed and flowed. I wasn’t about to try to explain it to her. Heck I couldn’t explain it even if I wanted. I don’t know what happened to Yuki anymore than she does. Where did Yuki go? Her energy went somewhere. Science tells us that much. But that’s nothing to try to explain to a grief stricken little five year old, so I just held her for the longest time and said “Daddy’s sad too”.  Her mom took her and said some magic mommy words to slow the tears a bit, then all of us stroked Yuki’s soft white fur one last time before I removed the box from her cage.

The oldest boy came to help without a single word of complaint. I placed the top on the box and put in the first couple of screws then asked him to hold the cordless as I lined up the next. With him leaning over the top of me I felt the splash of a tear hitting the box as he drove in the final two screws.  We're all sad. 

Snugly resting in her box on a bundle of grass with her last portion of lettuce and the lily from our garden in there with her, I carried the little coffin out to the yard to the hole I’d dug earlier, put her down in it and covered it with dirt.  The boys were silent. The little girl started sobbing again so I picked her up and pointed to the sky.  

Her mom has shown her Andy’s star (Andy was her mom’s golden retriever) a thousand times so I told her Jake (my ol brown dog best friend) is a star up there too to keep in synch with the pet afterlife family myth, and so tonight we started searching for a new star in the sky since, duh! Yuki is definitely now a star up there somewhere too. As luck would have it there were a lot of stars out tonight so we found a few candidates. 

Once inside Shizuka and I did another round of hugs on the kids then hugged each other.  Sometimes parenting just ain’t easy. I thanked the oldest boy again for how good he took care of Yuki and for helping me put her in her final resting place. He’s still a boy yet on his way to manhood. For the younger two kids the best next thing to do was breaking out the book I was gifted years ago when I had to say goodbye to Jake the wonder dog. 

I got out my copy of Dog Heaven and we read it together on our bed. Ironically enough I’d just recommended it to a friend earlier after she messaged me on Facebook about her dog passing today. The book is about dogs of course, but I explained that it’s true of all pets. Reading it gave me an idea though, so once downstairs I tapped out a quick rough draft of “Where do guinea pigs go?” — I wrote a first draft of my own pet heaven kids book. 

Finally, as with so many other life experiences, I decided to tell it all to my journal. And now that I have I think I’ll post it in my blog.  It's a long one but who knows, maybe another parent out there can relate? Maybe one will even read it! 

 Either way, it’s good therapy of sorts for me to type this tale of events as another day of being “dad” draws to a close.  It’s not always easy but I wouldn’t change it for the world. It’ll be a sad memory but likely one they’ll all remember to varying degrees.  At least I believe as much since some of my earliest memories are sad ones.  And what will they remember? They’ll remember that their mom and I were there for them. We don’t have all the answers, but we are there to hug and talk to in tough times. It’s what parents do. 

There’s so much I feel like I’ve botched since becoming a dad—so much I thought I’d do better than I have—but I think it's fair to say I’ve tried like hell to do it right, whatever that is. I’ve tried to be there as much as possible. I've loved them and I've tried to show it through action as much as possible.  But once more, that's what parents do.  

Right? 

One Step Closer

I'd compiled some inspirational quotes by famous authors and made copies to go over with a small group of advanced ESL adult students the other day.  Before handing out the copies I wrote a favorite Thoreau quote on the board and explained that many Americans will frame a famous or favorite quote like this and hang it in their home or office. 

 I asked if any of them had seen anything like that in Japan or if anyone has a quote or poem or the like displayed in their home or at their desk.  Many Japanese display beautiful calligraphy in their homes so I didn't think it an odd question.  A long minute or so passed until finally Mr. M- broke the silence.

 "When I was a child my father had a quote hanging in our bathroom" He said.

"Really, what was it?" 

"Mo Ippo Mae" 

  "Mo Ippo Mae?"  "One step forward?" 

"Yes." He replied smiling.

Okay.  Close enough! 

Luke 16:19-31 America circa 2019 version

The Rich man and Oscar Alberto Martinez

19 “There was a rich man who was dressed in expensive suits and lived in luxury every day. 20 At his country’s border washed up the body of a refugee named Oscar Alberto Martinez and his 24-month-old daughter Angie Valeria  21 He had been longing to eat what fell from tables in the rich man's country. 

22 “The time came when the poor immigrant drowned while trying to get near one of those tables so he could feed is hungry little girl, and the angels carried them to Abraham’s side. The rich man also died and was buried. 23 In Hades, where he was in torment, he looked up and saw Abraham far away, with Oscar Alberto Martinez and his little girl Angie by his side. 24 So he called to him, ‘Father Abraham, have pity on me and send Oscar to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, because I am in agony in this fire.’

25 “But Abraham replied, ‘Son, remember that in your lifetime you received your good things, while Oscar received bad things, but now he is comforted here and you are in agony. 26 And besides all this, between us and you a Great chasm. You know, it's like a "Wall". It has been set in place, so that those who want to go from here to you cannot, nor can anyone cross over from there to us.’

27 “He answered, ‘Then I beg you, father, send Oscar to my family 28 For I have many children from three different wives. Let Oscar warn them and let him warn my supporters too, so that they will not condone my contempt for poor immigrants and refugees.

29 “Abraham replied, ‘They have Moses and the Prophets; let them listen to them.’

30 “‘No, father Abraham,’ he said, ‘but if someone from the dead goes to them, they will repent.’

31 “He said to him, ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’”

Addendum

I can't unsee that picture. It's been two days now and still it burns in my mind. As both a father and teacher for little foreign kids (in fairness I'm the foreigner) I just can't not imagine myself or people who've given me joy in the same situation. Such a way of thinking has been both a blessing and a curse of sorts that for whatever reason I've been saddled with in this life. Trying to ignore or suppress it only leads to inner turmoil so I've found letting it run its course the only way forward.  

When was the last time Oscar's little girl had something to eat? How terrified must she have been to go wading into the river with her father? How terrified must he have been? How bad did things have to get for him to risk their lives like that? What if it was me and my little girl?  How should I view such a situation?

Like not being unable to unsee the picture, I'm equally unable to ignore values my parents taught me and lessons I learned in Sunday school as a child. What if Christ meant what he said? What did he say? Did he address women's reproductive health issues? Did he rail about abortion or gays and lesbians? Did he promote accumulating earthly riches or using weapons to protect ourselves and our private property? No. Not a word of the former, yet both were present in his day and age.  As for the latter his message was crystal clear. It was the exact opposite. Indeed, in his recorded word it’s second most mentioned only to the Kingdom.  

Impossibly perfect ideals of rejecting our precious egos (e.g. “yes, even [hate] your own life”); of helping and caring for “the least of these”. The fact that his primary message is all but invisible in many of his most vocal self-proclaimed America circa 2019 followers isn’t the least bit surprising though.  Impossibly perfect! What do you do with that? 

Change the message! Eternal bliss after a relatively safe life on this earth with full bellies. Just say you believe. But dare not allow his teaching to affect hard-hearted personal ideology in the here and now. That's far easier. Lazy and purely self-centered sure, yet such a human thing to do. 

For whatever reason I got to a point in life where I just couldn’t do it.  A blessing and a curse. Such is me.  And so it was with such a mindset that I sat with that picture burning in my mind; that I felt compassion for Oscar and his little girl. It was with that mindset that I recalled Martin Luther King Jr.’s Paul’s letter to American Christians, which led to wondering what the Carpenter would say about Oscar and his little girl—who would he exalt and who would he condemn if here as a guest on an MSM news panel?  

Call me crazy but I think his message would be the same now as it was then. 

Breath

"When you can't breath nothing else matters"

~Ralph Brooks

Save for a few minutes emailing earlier I haven't been online all day. I wasn't online much of yesterday or the day before either come to think of it. Lots going on lately so save for some quick checks of the email, skimming news headlines a couple times or a few minutes glancing at Facebook I've been unplugged from it all. It's pushing midnight now I finally gave up trying to find that thing that I know is here somewhere. I dug through all the boxes in the closet. Good gosh the things I keep! I didn't find it but I came across some old letters from Ralph and saw the above.

He told me that, or wrote it to me rather, quite a bit. I never met Ralph but we got to know each other pretty well over the four or five years that we corresponded snail mail then email. Yeah snail mail. I'm that old! He was a mentor of sorts for me shortly after I first moved to Nippon in '98. Too long of a story to tell how we connected; I'll just say I'm damned grateful we did. It's been over 15 years now since he passed away. I still remember feeling the loss upon opening an email from him only to read his wife's words that he'd moved on. He'd been confined to his NY apartment with COPD for some years, thus he knew well the things that matter when you can't breath. He assured me they amounted to nothing. 

He was a retired newspaper reporter who'd been around the world enough and experienced enough more with his eyes open to truth to have gained a keen life perspective. One of the few times we spoke on the phone was shortly after 9/11. I remembered him writing that he lived just a couple miles from the World Trade Center so I called to see how he was doing. I was worried about him after reading of all the dust and pollution in the air around ground zero. As always he said he was fine and shifted the focus from himself to me. He advised not to get caught up in the panic. This too shall pass he said. He had a lot of great advice like that. Most of it borrowed just as I catch myself borrowing from him all these years later. He's one of the best guys I never met.

Anyhow, I know that thing I'm looking for has gotta be here somewhere dang it! It's even closer to midnight now so I'll put off digging through the other boxes till tomorrow. For now I'll head off to the futon with the reminder fresh in my mind...

If I couldn't breath nothing else would matter.

Everything's not going to be okay.

Everything is not going to be okay.

Everything is okay.

I heard a speaker close a talk with that line once and it's stuck with me ever since.

Home from teaching morning classes, eating leftover lunch of rice, veggies, seaweed wrapped chicken and kimuchi while checking news on the iPad I clicked on a Lady Gaga headline and got to thinking that.  
"It's okay!" 
Lady Gaga. Don't ya just love her! 
Compassionate. Positive. Hope instilling. Sincere. Spiritual and Strong and my God talk about talent! There was a clip of one of her recent performances in the story.  It was this. 

Watching it got me to thinking of a recent piece I read about Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez  by one of my favorite political writers, Matt Taibbi. Politics is a different line of work of course, but like Lady Gaga, AOC too is Powerful. Compassionate. Hope instilling. Intelligent. Strong. She has a knack for making crusty old farts who attack her look like the out of touch ignorant relics they are to boot.  

On the drive home earlier I was listening to Racheal Maddow. It's tough listening to news of the GOP bending over for Trump and Trump bending over for Putin. Hearing about his racist monument wall, little brown kids torn away from their families at the border as millions ignore the plights of these poor refugee “least of these”, as they reject virtues they once held dear under the piss-poor nonsensical excuse "God chose Trump”, it all just leaves me dumbfounded and sad. Meanwhile Trump throws gas on the fires that are destroying the world my kids are to inherit as GOP wusses remain complicit in his dismantling of American democracy. It's infuriating. It's depressing. But then I think of Lady Gaga, AOC and so many younger than I heroes of resistance fighting from their respective corners of society and think:

It’s not going to be okay. It is okay!

Statistics comparing the average Trump/GOP voter with those who helped bring about the biggest Democratic victory since Watergate bare this out. Compare the numbers. Look at the average ages. The long arc of the Universe is indeed bending towards Justice just as Dr. MLK jr. said. The scared old racist, bigoted and nationalistic views are slowly giving way to inclusiveness, a desire to even the playing field (i.e. economic justice), and live on a life-sustaining planet.

That's not the case for your average Trump supporter. The changes terrify them. Thus the older, bitter and weak bemoaning the younger, bold and strong. The latter clearly holds the future. 

It's not just in the States either. I see it here in Japan and read of it in other countries as well.  The trend for younger generations around the globe leans progressive. They get it. What's more is this move towards more inclusion and social progress is nothing new. It's merely another leg of that long bend towards justice.

My own marriage is an apt example.  Not all that long ago interracial marriage was far from accepted. Indeed, anti miscegenation laws were still in place in many American States until Loving vs. Virginia overturned them the year after I was born--1967. Opponents of interracial marriage cited Old Testament verses for why the races must not intermix. Thus my Japanese wife of Buddhist heritage wouldn't have been very welcome in the Protestant lady's bridge club just a couple generations ago; my bi-racial kids would've had to know their place on the playground as well but now it's like "meh, no big deal". 

Times change. 

Attitudes change. 

Cultures change.

Backlash always accompanies change. MAGA hats are donned by many longing for the return of leaded gasoline, VHS tapes and the right to discriminate against the marginalized again. They're met by the Lady Gagas and AOCs of the world, who empower people to Resist and thus have become beacons in the brighter future that our world is headed in. 

It often sounds bleak nowadays. The news. My god it ranges from heartbreaking to hit the panic button terrifying at times. But that's okay. What we're living through is the last gasp a dying animal lashing out. The record number of women elected to congress in the 2018 midterms included openly gay, minorities, Muslims and even a MMA fighter lesbian Native American. The latter in Kansas of all places. How's that for change! Two years prior over three million more voted for Clinton than Trump. These aren't outliers. This is the norm. Lies, hate and voter suppression can only hold it back for so long. 

So we've got Trump hellbent on destroying the environment for financial gain and cowering behind a medieval wall along with the thirty some odd percent of predominantly older white Americans who still support him.  And then we've got AOC leading us in the other direction. The vision that she and the vast majority of the younger generation have is one that includes coexisting with others on a life sustaining planet and economic justice. Trump may have a self-proclaimed "really big brain" but her side has a detailed plan.  As a teacher to kids, a father to kids, a keen watcher of the direction kids and the younger generation are moving in, I'll bet dollars to doughnuts the trend towards the majority of them wanting policies like those that AOC and Lady Gaga are calling for only grows. But I won't argue it. Time will tell and sooner rather than later. 

So just wait and watch. 

RESIST! 

And know it's not going to be okay.  

It is okay.

Flu Recovery 101

My wife disagrees with me on this one, and in fairness I wouldn't make a habit of taking medical advice from a martial artists, not even the father of modern day karate--Gichen Funakoshi. I do on this one though. I can't recall the first time I tried it, only that I've been doing it for quite some years. The "it" is working out till breaking a good sweat to hasten recovery. This always includes doing karate kata, which was Funakoshi's advice.  And so I drug myself up off the futon to go run up Mt. Daisen this afternoon, citing Funakoshi in my defense as my wife voiced her disapproval.

I'd been cooped up in my little office since early Friday morning. Leaving this room results in nasty looks. I fear leaving it without a medical mask on would result in certain painful death. They take the flu seriously and then some in Japan. Any room I step foot in ends up getting all of its windows opened. "Change the air" she says. She really hates my germs. The thing is I don't think I'm all that contagious anymore.  Even though the doc said I'm not clear till Tuesday and I have no scientific evidence to base it on, still I have this reason-based hunch.

I think it makes sense though. Up until Thursday there was no fever, just a mild cough, nose running like a sieve and intermittent sneezing fits. Now if I were a flu virus that needed to spread to survive then I'd make sure I was most contagious when my host was unaware of my presence yet snotting and sneezing all over the place, thus spreading my little flu virus babies far and wide to reach as many ill-fated hosts as possible.  That's not me today. No more snotty-snots and no more sneezing, but boy howdy was that me on Thursday! I thought it an early onset of bad allergies that hit every spring, or maybe a cold. Thus I taught all my usual classes and got in a good 45 minute workout at the town gym, where I felt good enough to keep adding plates till benching 105kg even. Usually I'll stop around 90 to 100 but I was feeling strong that day so flu? No way!  

If only. I woke shivering in the wee hours of Friday, got the thermometer and damn! 37.5 C. (99.5F) I acted accordingly by donning a mask and dragging my futon out of the bedroom and into my little office.  A little more sleep and one big ibuprophen gelcap later I'm feeling good enough to teach my 8:00 a.m. class but think it best to call Jim just in case. It's his company, L3, that I teach the morning business English class for. Good guy he is, I think it only apt he knows my condition so 6:30 a.m. call, he suggests I stay home. Fair enough. The fever returned so good call that was. My oldest boy stayed home from school Friday as well. No fever just cough and headache so we both went to Sakura clinic to get checked out.  A long cutip snaked up my nose into the backside of my cerebrum later and hey, I got flu type A! 

With universal health care in this land of course we can go to the hospital or clinic of our choice. Sakura clinic is the nearest one that offers the new flu drug so we went there. That and zero wait time there usually. The doctor is about 147 years old, wild white hair and repeats himself but all the better for a patient like me who doesn't always catch Japanese medical talk on the first run through. I guess these new flu meds have made it to the States now too. If you have the flu I can happily say from personal feeling like shit to feeling much better experience, the stuff works!

Once home I took the one dose cures all and went upstairs to lie down. The effect isn't instantaneous unfortunately.  I woke to a fever nearing 39 (102F) with all three layers of clothes so soaked in sweat I had to change everything I had on. Just before and for a few hours after that the flu monsters (hallucination-like dreams with ogres, two headed angry pink tigers, flampavomers, etc.) visited me, but all was well by dawn.  Peaceful sleep ensued for much of the day. Still not allowed downstairs or anywhere out of my quarantine facility, by afternoon I was feeling well enough to have early onset of stir craziness. 

Which brings us back to me citing Gichen Funakoshi as I headed out the door for a run, much to my wife's disapproval. But she can't blame this one on some crazy thing only Americans do.  Nope, not this one honey. I got this one from Japan! Gichen Funakoshi. 100% Japanese baby! There it is highlighted and dog eared right there on page XIV.  Haa!

"If a man who runs a temperature practices karate until sweat begins to pour from his body, he will soon find that his temperature has dropped to normal and that his illness has been cured."


Now again, I wouldn't make it a habit of taking medical advice from martial artists, but there's really no harm in doing so on this one I don't think.  I mean for one thing she'll cut me off, like smooches and everything! if I don't follow her sick bay rules, so I can't get too close to the kids, but dang it I'll go bonkers if I have to sit in this little room all day.  And while he doesn't say it I believe getting out in nature is great treatment for any ailment, and so out the door I went.  I'd broken a good sweat by the time I got to the base of Mt. Daisen. By the time I got to a flat opening near the summit I'd already reached "until sweat begins to pour from his body" stage but still had to follow the good karate master's advice so did a few kata before going on to the summit where I sat and absorbed a bit more of nature's energy before making my descent.  

cycling app for runs is better than having to add another app ;) 

So there you have it. If you get the flu be sure to try the new fangled flu meds from Japan.  Here it is again. Try this. 

And for even quicker recovery break a sweat I say! Run up a mountain. Do karate kata. Jump on one foot. Just move!

 My legs are feeling it now but the stir craziness is long gone.  My attitude is brighter as well, and for those of us who tend to fall into depression ditches this method is good defense from that too I've found.

Mt. Daisen -- Flu recovery dojo 

Later. I was allowed to poke my head in the door to say goodnight to three kids, one wife, and a cat just now. Dad's in quarantine so it's a big sleepover for everyone else I guess. I'm still a day or two away from those hugs and smooches but she's forgiven me for being me so I'll get'm again in time. No doubt she'd have been upset if I'd have died or worse on Mt. Daisen, but I didn't so all is well.  Funakoshi's advice is still golden for speeding up recovery. Sweat it out! 

My インフルエンザ（influenza) printout from the doc's office. Contagious diseases are serious business in densely populated Japan. Classrooms close, hand sanitizer alcohol spray bottles and mask wearing citizens abound. All of the kindergartens I teach at have had "beware of flu" signs posted for weeks now. I'd hoped to dodge the flu bullet this year but nope, it nailed me! 

Slanted House (Part III, Illegal immigrant issue)

I'm glad my wife wasn't home to see me track muck from the crawl space door under the stairs to the shower.  If so she'd not have been very happy about it at all. I was under the floor for a good few hours. Japanese houses aren't built on a slab like ones in California are. Walls sit on concrete stem walls about 18" high in these parts. I was down under my in-law's floor when rebuilding their kitchen floor last summer. Their home's much older'n this'n were in, it was dust as fine as flour down there I entered sweating like a race horse and emerged covered in guck.  Here there's rough concrete between the stem walls but the guys who built this house left a lot of wood shavings which has since mixed with a lot of dust down there. Out of sight out of mind isn't just a California carpenter thing apparently. I'm okay with it though so under the floor I went with my saw, hammer and nails and took my wife's new vacuum cleaner in a feeble attempt to make a clean, dust free path to the underside of the living room floor.

Towards the end of Slanted House Part II I wrote of the new fangled adjustable metal posts they replaced the original cypress ones with after getting our house all up to level. I didn't like them then and I like them even less now. Thus my feeling all the better after cutting, rebuilding and re-bracing  the original cypress posts alongside the new cheesy adjustable metal ones. It'll take a helluva quake to buckle that floor now! I figured they got the floor all level; no more need to adjust but man those metal ones looked cheap I just hadta beef it up for earthquakes.

August 2018 - from top to bottom; before, during and after rebuilding and bracing subfloor posts

What a bloody mess I was when I exited that crawlspace door after a few hours under that floor though. It wasn't as bad as that time under my in-laws' floor but still, I was soaked in sweat and caked with dust and sawdust. Funny thing about being like that though is I don't mind it a bit. Kind of like it even. It feeds into some primitive part of my nature.  I liked too how being in that condition got me to thinking of how I'd often return home from work in such a condition back in my ol California framing days. Thinking that got me to thinking about Alfonso, and the human mind being what it is--one thought leading to myriad others-- led to me thinking about immigration then. Immigration of the do it yourself variety to be more exact. Stay with me now you'll see where this is going.

After my first few years of framing houses, say five or six or so I guess, I settled in with one contractor and stayed with that guy till the end of my framing days. Azevedo Construction it was. Hell of a guy ol Lou.  He was a good dude to work for, an immigrant to the States himself with, like most California framing crews, more'n a few Mexicans of varying immigration status on the crew at any given time. One of them was the guy who I ended up partnering with more often'n not. That was Alfonso.

"Dirty Mexicans"
You ever hear someone say that? I'm guessing the answer is yes if you grew up white in central California like I did. Hell I used to say it when growing up. It was a white kid thing to say after all, at least when talking with other white kids, or friends, or relatives. "Dirty Ni##ers". "Dirty Mexicans!" I don't much remember berating "illegals" back then but seems they're topping the pariah charts now based on what I see online from where I sit here in Japan. It never used to bother me--saying racial slurs or putting down people based on stereotypes. I never gave it much thought, at least not till my world started expanding. I don't know if it's due to learning the history of immigration to the US, if it's seeing it from afar, more life experience, a bit more moral maturity, increased compassion or what, but something's got me to seeing it in a different light nowadays.  So when I see or read anything putting down "illegals" or just hard hearted memes about immigration to the US now it makes me wish the people spouting it could spend a day with Alfonso.

It's been years since I've seen him. His immigration status was already legal by the time we'd me but his pre-legal status was still fresh enough in his mind to tell tales of what life was like before he became a US citizen. My god how riveting those tales he'd tell as we sat on our ice chests eating lunch together were. I always sat with the Mexican crew because, duh! they had the best food! And Tapitio. Man that's good stuff! Goes great on everything from burritos to the white guy's ham sandwich.  But man the tales those guys would tell! Running like hell in the dead of night, hiding behind something in a field  while still in earshot of "la migra". "They had fuk'n dogs Casey!".  My heartbeat would speed up as they talked. I was right there with them in one sense and in another still couldn't even imagine.  The talk was mostly in Spanish save for Alfonso or Ray or a few others who'd try to speak English. When all Spanish I'd just sit and eat picking up a word or phrase here or there till they all started laughing, then I'd ask Alfonsno "What'd they say", to which he'd always reply "Dey're talk'n bout your mother Casey".  More laughter and me cussing them. Good times.
Sometimes a laborer would stop coming to work. Sometimes for a month, other times never to return again. I never met a one of them I didn't like or who didn't work his ass off.

Although still voting Republican at the time I was no more a Fox viewer then than I am now. Actually that was in the pre-Fox help ya hate undocumented workers from Mexico propaganda era I think. I'm glad for that. I never thought the lesser of him or any of those guys for having snuck into the US to find better paying work. If anything I empathized enough even back then to imagine I'd do the same if in their shoes. Their reasons for doing it were the same. Most common was to help support family. I can respect that. Hell I admired  Alfonso for how he'd send a big chunk of his weekly paycheck to help family in Mexico, all the while I was spending a good part of mine on beer. Or worse.

Here's the funny thing about "Dirty Mexicans" though. Here's the image that comes to my mind every time I see something about "illegals" nowadays. At the end of an eight hour day of framing, no matter if we were plating, stacking roof, hanging facia, building a coffered ceiling, doing pick up or up in the attic of an older home doing some kind of remodel, no matter what kind of work we'd done I'd be a bloody mess just like I was after coming out from three hours under my living room floor.  Then there was Alfonso, clean as he was when we were rolling out cords at 6:00 .a.m.  I shit you not. The guy did not get dirty.  Me filthy. Sawdust everywhere. Crusty dusty snot caked boogers in my nose, dirty legs began where dirty shorts ended and just a wretched mess. I'd ask him time and time again "Dude, how do you stay so clean?" To which he'd reply
(cue hard Spanish accent)
"I work widt my hans Casey, not my body."
We'd go back and forth me saying it's impossible to stay that clean and work hard, throwing in  "lazy Mexican" at times (jokingly of course) and him laughing and saying I'm a dirty guero or something to that effect.
No offense was ever taken on either of our parts.
Mere weeks into our years of framing together we'd gone from coworkers to friends.

So what if he was "illegal" once?  (Personally I don't believe a person can be "illegal". Their immigration status yes, but you can't be an illegal person.) The term is all jacked up and racist. That and the fact that, for reasons maybe I'll go into another day, I myself have lived in a foreign land with illegal immigration status. True story. It went on for way longer than expected. It gave rise to a lot of fear. It was all my fault--none to blame but me. Is stayed honest through it all which, along with winning the birth lottery--born American, white, middle class, and most of all being married to a Japanese citizen who I just happened to have impregnated by the time Japanese immigration knew of my expired visa status--all of that helped bring it to a favorable conclusion for me. Oh yeah, and I've remained sober since the event that led to me putting myself in that position. That's helped too! It was what it was though, so if there's such a thing as "illegals" then due to that experience I've gotta be counted among their ranks.

My aversion to people demonizing their fellow earthly travelers--poor people trying to enter the USA--must at least in part be a result of these experiences. Seeing people all be cast in the same lot, all defined with a single derogatory term "illegals", just rubs me the wrong way.  It's ignorant and it's lazy. It's putting a black and white filter on a complicated multicolored issue that could never be solved with something as simple as building a wall or deporting everyone. And even if it was; Where's the compassion?  I don't know if it was my Christian upbringing or these life experiences or what, but whenever I see images or read stories of people fleeing a war torn or dangerous or impoverished country and trying to enter a safer one I can't help but wonder what I'd do if in the same situation. If I couldn't feed my kids or felt they were in danger would I flee the country and enter another one illegally? Would I risk it if I thought doing so would give my kids a better shot at life? You're damned right I would. And if honest with yourself I bet you would too.

There's that and I can't for the life of me imagine Jesus saying "Yeah people have gotta enter countries legally; my "whatever you did for the least of these" doesn't apply to the ones who don't.   Nah, if anything I think their "illegal" status puts them a little closer to last, which in Christ's book makes them that much closer to first last time I checked. It puts them far nearer to his Kingdom than you or I as we sit in our heated homes with extra clothes to wear and extra food in the cupboards.

You get my point.
Compassion.
The memes and cold hearted shit I see on Facebook and elsewhere are utterly lacking in it.

Anyhow, back to my subfloor.  A good chunk of the girders under the floor are now supported by both new adjustable metal posts and the old cypress ones. It's all braced together--a good 7' by 7' square, a 3 post by three post area of nine posts total. In time I'll make my way back down there to put in a few more, and when I do I'll probably return to surface covered in dust. Then as now as before I'll smile as I imagine Alfonso's voice in my mind; "I work wit my hands Casey, not my body." The dude was a helluva carpenter, hard ass worker and then some, good son to his family back in Mexico for sure and by far the cleanest dude I ever framed with--definitely not the kind of guy Fox would allow on their so-called news to demonize brown people who entered the US from Mexico.

I'm still here in Japan, legally, like I suspect Alfonsno is still in California, legally.
Funny too if not ironic that we, two guys who crossed paths and shared more than a few moments in this life--two guys now living in nations other than the ones we were born into, are now both small business owners as well. Me a small English school in Japan, him a Mexican meat market in California. Or at least he still was the last time I heard.  Both of us paying taxes, adding to the economy, helping neighbors, and on and on. I think we're more the rule than the exception, guys like him and me. People don't go to all the trouble of moving or migrating or even sneaking into a foreign country to steal your hubcaps or murder your cat or worse. The vast majority of humans are just looking for a better life just like your and my ancestors did. Just like people have done and will continue doing for as long as the earth remains peopled.

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January 2019 addendum:  I first wrote this last summer and just came back to it. All the FB posts and stories online about the US government being shut down over a wall that Trump promised Mexico would pay for got me to thinking about it again so returned to it to whittle it down a bit (it still needs so much more editing that time just doesn't allow). But oh well here it is. It's a story of my subfloor, my old framing days, some immigrants I know or knew and even a teaser into how I was once an "illegal" myself.  But we're all earthlings, and in one to 3 thousand years from now if our species has found a way to stick around with the rats and crows and cockroaches then I think that'll be the main thing.

So I guess all of the above was just somewhat of a roundabout plea for compassion from Team Earthling!
 It's so utterly lacking in much of the quick fix wall em off immigration memes it seems.
What if that was me and my kids? What if it was you and yours?

What if it was...

Compassion