Stories Behind the Hair

I'm anti-Valentine today.  And it's Lent.  I won't say what I decided to give up for 40 days, but it's not an easy thing to give up.  Couple these circumstances of no Valentine and what I gave up for Lent, and I start to get depressed.  So I've tried to distract myself.  Work is endless, and I can immerse myself into that right now, but I'll blog instead on something random - my hair!

I've been trying to decide if I should get my hair cut or not.  It's about that time when I donate it.  It certainly has lost some of its luster because of my age.  The funny thing though is that I hardly have any gray hair, but I'm sure I will end up coloring my hair within the next few years to start hiding the gray.

My hair has history and stories behind it.  I've donated my hair before.   It's hard to maintain as it gets longer.  At some point too, I always end up sweeping out of the way so that I can eat or brush my teeth or whatever.

Sometimes my hair attracts people to come and touch it against their own volition. I'm serious!

One of my New York City memories involves my hair.  I was walking to the subway station that was a few blocks from my apartment.  On my way there, two men were working on the sidewalk.  One exclaimed, "Oh my god!  Is your hair real?"  "Yes." I replied.  He then asked, "Can I touch it?"  I said, "Sure."  That's when I discovered that New Yorkers are really friendly.  He was in awe or in shock; I'm not sure.  I think he was more in shock because he could not believe that my hair was real.  He thanked me afterward, and I went on my merry way.  This was about a 30-second interaction.  I never saw them again thank goodness.

Another memorable time was when I was at JFK Airport, and I found myself involved in the JetBlue snafu that happened about 6 years ago.  This made headlines all over the world.  It was on or around Valentine's Day.  I was catching a flight to California for a board meeting or a wedding.  It was so cold that day, and JetBlue had trouble with flights.  There was a plane full of passengers on the Tarmac, but it could not take off because of ice.  The passengers were left on the plane waiting, with little food, water, warmth.  That did not go over well, and a new law resulted from that snafu.  The new law prohibits airlines from leaving passengers on the Tarmac for a certain length of time.   These passengers were there for hours.

Oh I was not on that plane.  I was at the gates waiting with many other passengers, and all these flights were delayed with no updates.  I remember at the gate, there weren't enough seats, and so many of us sat on the floor.  Someone started to stroke my hair, and I turned, a little startled but not panicked.  This woman smiled at me and said, "You have beautiful hair."  I said, "Thank you."  It wasn't her that was stroking my hair.  It was one of her young children.  That was a little strange, but it eased the tension of waiting.  They finally canceled the flights and rescheduled us.  I had to go back to Manhattan to sleep and catch the flight early the next day.  Going back to Manhattan didn't bother me because I was in a good mood.  Someone had complimented me for my hair.  I'm so easy.

Other times, I've been cursed at for the exceeding length of my hair.  "Yolanda, your hair is in your food!"

I was at San Jose Airport to catch a flight to somewhere.  I can't remember where to.  I was a little rattled when I went to the bathroom and had to drag my luggage with me.  So that meant I was traveling alone.  When I was in the bathroom stall, I heard a woman in the stall next to me.  It sounded like this woman was mumbling to herself.  When I reached for the toilet paper, she saw my movement because my hair was so long that she could see it almost touching the floor.  She actually thought that I was bending low on purpose, and that my hair almost touched the floor.  She screamed at me and said, "Stop looking in here."  I didn't realize she was talking to me.  Then she said it again.  I asked her if she was talking to me, and she said, "Yes."  I told her I wasn't peeking.  She said she could see my hair.  I got mad and I told her my hair was really long.  I asked her if she wanted to see it when we were out.  She then just murmured.  I was angry.

When I finished, she was still in the stall.  I walked out of the bathroom but decided to keep the bathroom within view so that I could see who walked out.  We were the only 2 in there.  When the woman walked out, I discovered she was an old, gray-haired lady with a slight stoop.  She was mumbling to herself.  I tried to get her attention by waving my hair.  But she was oblivious, not just to my hair, but also to everything else.  "Sigh."

My hair - should I cut it or not?  The reaction I get?  "Beautiful.  Love It!"

But I know that the moment I get it cut, I will miss it.  And I will miss the possibility that a complete stranger will stroke my hair against his/her own volition.

Random Thoughts

I don't really have anything to blog about.  So many things happened today that were just routine.  My dull life reared its ugly head.  Even bowling tonight was so so.

I thought about March Madness and that I need to start becoming educated now on the schools and players.  I love playing the March Madness brackets.  I've picked the champion 2 years in a row!  I hope to do it again.

I am not sure why I am already looking forward to March.  February is not even halfway over.  There is an exciting weekend coming, and that's this weekend.  The last weekend in February will also be fun.  Why am I thinking about March already?

It could be my natural state of mind to think ahead.  Today is Fat Tuesday.  Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday.  It's time to give up a vice.  Maybe that's what I'm looking forward to - 40 days of discipline.

What should I give up?  That might take quite a bit of thinking between now and tomorrow.  Hmmm, perhaps I will blog about it.

Dear Pope Benedict: It's None of Your Business!

I heard about Pope Benedict's resignation early Monday morning.  I'm sure most Catholics view this with incredulity because a resignation has not happened in about 700 years.  That is an interesting fact, but I feel indifference.  I was baptized Catholic, I grew up Catholic, and I still feel Catholic, but why do I feel as if the Catholic Church has abandoned me?

It's no secret that Catholicism frowns on divorce.  If you are divorced, you are not allowed to take communion.  That's saying you are not allowed to participate in sacred rites, which means to me that I might as well not go to Sunday mass.  I wasn't going to Sunday mass anyway, but when Pope Benedict firmly re-stated the Catholic Church's view on divorce, I threw my hands up in the air and did not pay attention to Pope Benedict again.  Until now.

It's funny how I still feel allegiance to the Catholic Church even though I view religion more academically.  I believe in the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.  It's all part of my upbringing.  I never once thought of converting to any other religion such as Islam or Judaism, or another form of Christianity.  My son was  baptized Lutheran, but that didn't mean I would become one.

I don't go to Sunday mass.  I only go to church for baptisms, funerals, weddings, and confirmations.  To me, religion is a very private matter, and my relationship with God and Jesus Christ is a very private matter.  I don't impose my religious beliefs on anyone, including my son.

So if I don't go to church regularly, does it mean I don't believe in God or that I am an evil person?  One of my close friends once accused me of that.  He questioned my relationship with God just because I did not step into a house of worship regularly, whether it was Sunday or Wednesday or any other day.  It sounds absolutely ridiculous, doesn't it?  I am not evil, and I believe in God.

Also, just because I am divorced doesn't mean I am evil or any less of  a person than someone who is married.   As a matter of fact, the circumstances around how my marital status changed to "divorced" is really none of the Catholic Church's business.  It is nobody's business but my own, for that matter.  I gave it my all, and the situation would have been worse if I had stayed married.  But why do I even need to explain that to anyone?

So why should I be punished as a divorcee?  Why should I be labeled and frowned upon?

Pope Benedict will retire in a little more than two weeks.  This is not much time, but I will pray that he will at least indicate a change in the Catholic Church's conservative view of divorce.

Nature vs. Nurture: Reflecting on Music

I am watching the Grammys, and it's almost over.  I tend to blog on random things, but events during the day trigger ideas for me.  Right now, it's music.

I envy those people who have natural abilities in music, whether it's singing melodies or harmonizing or being able to write music and sight read music sheets.  I don't have all these abilities.  I studied music theory and can read sheet music.  I can sing and do karaoke all day long if I had the time.  But don't ask me to play any rendition of anything on the piano even though I took piano lessons briefly when I was a kid.  I might be able to play Chopsticks though.

Seriously, have you been to jam sessions?  It's amazing to me when a group of musicians who do not know each other can come together for the first time and play music.  A basic makup of a band is a guitarist, a keyboardist, and a drummer.   I think a band with a horn section can be fabulous.  Earth Wind & Fire is an example.  The trumpet is my favorite instrument to listen to, especially as part of a jazz ensemble.  I remember going to jam sessions in NYC and becoming an immediate fan of these unknown artists.

Jam sessions here in the South Bay/East Bay/Peninsula are okay to go to but music is usually limited to just blues and jazz.  It's still fascinating to watch though.

I wonder if it takes a lot of practice to become really good, just like with anything.  But there are phenomenal musicians that seem so accomplished and young, you have to attribute their abilities to nature.  They were born with the talent. They were predisposed.  They were destined.

So it's nature versus nurture.  Are you good at something because it is your natural ability, or did you get good at something because you practiced a lot, your surroundings were conducive to your expertise, and you had supportive people around you?  I think it could be both, but some need more nurturing than others.  This can be with anything, not just music, like athletics.

I'm not sure what the point is that I'm trying to make.  Perhaps I was trying to reveal that I have a natural ability to sing, not the greatest ability, but if I had taken voice lessons and practiced, I might be singing professionally today.  I might even have a Grammy.  Hey I can dream, can't I?

We Should Have Been Divorced

I've been divorced for over 15 years, and a fact I learned when my ex-husband and I started the process still stuns me today.

Our divorce was no less than amicable.  No attorneys were involved, and we drew up our own court papers.  We agreed on everything, including custody of our son CJ.  I moved to another city an hour and a half away.  CJ would live with his dad so that he could finish out middle school and not have to move.  We agreed that I would pay child support during that time.  It was only fair.

When CJ graduated from middle school, he came to live with me.  My ex-husband agreed to pay me child support and did so until CJ turned 18.

What was the surprising fact that I learned during our divorce proceedings?  The judge questioned our arrangement, which I thought was strange.  His concern?  He wanted to make sure that I would be okay financially.  What?  Really?

We had laid out all the facts in the paperwork.  I made more money than my ex-husband, and I could more than afford to pay for child support.  Hmmmm.  So why was the judge concerned about me and not my ex-husband?  I decided to look into this concern.

It turns out that the poverty level for women is higher than men, at least in California.  Usually, after a divorce, the woman finds herself worse off financially.  So the judge automatically thought I would end up that way.  The courts are biased toward women in that sense.  What I experienced then still surprises me today.

What if the courts weren't biased?  What if couples with irreconcilable differences divorced amicably the way my ex-husband and I did?  There would be so much money saved on fees paid to lawyers and the family court system.  Additionally, children are not as adversely affected.  Ex-couples would get along, and court-ordered child support wage garnishments wouldn't exist.  Nasty divorces would be history.

I have had a couple of male friends go through difficult divorces, with their version painting the soon to be ex-wife unreasonable regarding finances and/or child custody.  I would joke with them that "we should have been divorced," because our divorce would have been friendly.  There is no way that I would ever want to be dependent on any man for his money, especially for alimony or child support.  And I think the custody arrangement should never be an issue because it should benefit the child, not the parents.  Divorcing me is easy.

Seamless Generations with Your Progeny

I had lunch with my favorite son today.  Okay, I am kidding.  Carleton James Schiller (CJ) is my only son and my only child for that matter.  I really did have lunch with him, and it sparked this blog topic.

Sometimes we compare our generation with our parents' generation and our children's generation.  Photographs and archives show different styles and tastes in clothing, shoes, home decor, cars, and pastimes.  Technology transcends.  Attitudes, beliefs, rules, and laws change.

During my parents' generation, interracial marriage was not allowed.  Divorce was frowned upon.  The LGBT community didn't exist.  In my generation, interracial marriage is commonplace, divorce is accepted, and the LGBT community formed.  Having children out of wedlock also became acceptable, getting married and starting a family in your early to mid-20s was normal, and being a pregnant teenager was definitely a no-no.

In CJ's generation, the LGBT community has a voice and an impact.  Getting married and starting a family is more normal in your late 20s to early 30s.  Being a pregnant teenager is acceptable.  In my son's generation, there are television shows, reality shows, and movies about this.  Really? What?

Let me pretend for a bit that CJ is a girl, is a teenager, and is pregnant. What would I say to her? I have given this a lot of thought.  First, I went back to my parents' generation.

What did our parents say to us?   The most common label on a pregnant teenager was "promiscuity."  I remember that I heard this among my aunts, and I really wanted to defend the girl they were gossiping about.  But who was I to say anything?  I was just a kid, barely a teenager.  Did that mean my generation was tolerant of teenage pregnancy?  Let me save that answer until the end of my blog. With CJ's generation, it's accepted.  It's not a big deal.

So what would I say to my pregnant teenager?  Would I be angry?  Would I scold her?

I think you have to think beyond the circumstances and think about the human side, the emotions, the feelings.  Most importantly, think also of how it affects the future.

I remember I had a friend whose daughter decided to get married when she just started college.   My friend was angry because she wanted her daughter to finish college first and get a career going.  She retaliated by not attending her daughter's wedding.  For years to come, I remember how much my friend regretted this.  Can you imagine that as a mother, you miss your only daughter's most important day of her life?  It took a brief amount of anger for her to miss out.  It was detrimental to her relationship with her daughter and new son-in-law.  It was also something that could not be undone.  It adversely affected her future.

I remember another friend whose parents disowned her when she decided to marry out of her race.  Again, in our parents' generation, interracial marriage was not allowed.  She did not see or speak with her parents for years.  She and her out-of-race husband had their first child about 5 years after being married.  Can you imagine that as parents, you miss out on grandchildren?  Apparently, her parents could not imagine this because they suddenly showed up soon after her first child was born.  I asked my friend what happened, and she said her parents just acted as if nothing happened and that the years of not speaking to each other did not exist.  Fortunately, my friend was a forgiving person.  She probably saw that getting angry at her parents was pointless and would have robbed her children of more love.

What is my point?  I think getting angry or scolding your children or your parents on certain things would be pointless.  You could be risking the future.  You could be living with regrets.

Instead you should be supportive.  Let's implore the human side, keep the generations seamless, and not cause any generational gaps when it comes to these real human issues.  After all, your pregnant teenager still has her whole life ahead of her.  She needs to be mentally healthy to take care of your parents' progeny, your progeny, and so on.  She will flourish and thrive.  How do I know this?  I was a pregnant teenager with supportive parents.

Are You Pretentious or Are You Ambitious?

I thought about Santana Row today because I saw a photo of the movie theater there.  I have not been in that theater, but when it comes to relaxing, the Yardhouse at the other end of Santana Row is one of my favorite places to grab a beer or two.

Santana Row in general is not my favorite place.  I don't like shopping malls, and while Santana Row is more than that, I don't feel like I belong there.  Sure I have frequented places like Blowfish, Hotel Valencia, Consuelo's, Yardhouse, Maggiano's, Rosie McCann's, Left Bank, Straits, Sino's and so on.  I've been there with friends and family, with successful, wealthy people.  I have done breakfast, lunch, dinner, and the wee hours there.  I've run into millionaire friends and closed business deals at the aforementioned restaurants.  Affluence abounds.

Why don't I just dress up as usual and pretend that I belong there?  Why can't I accept Santana Row for the cosmopolitan place that it really is?  I used to like going there, but perhaps my view of it was shattered because I am certain there are pretentious people who go there.  Perhaps I am speaking about homeless people who live in their cars but can don nice clothing and blend in with the Santana Row clientele.  Could I be confusing their pretentiousness with ambition?  Maybe.

I once went to a real estate seminar during the real estate boom because I was curious.  The speaker was a well-known, very successful real estate broker.  She boasted of her possessions, including her precious Bentley.  What made her successful?  What was her secret?  According to her, she imagined the life she felt she deserved - first class plane tickets, 5-star restaurants, expensive cars.  She imagined it, and then it came true.  Her imagination became reality.

Hmmmm.  I think she needed a reality check.  If everyone imagined these things, and they came true, wouldn't we be living in utopia?  Who could or would not imagine the good life?  Could it be that easy?  Of course not.  There is this thing called "hard work" that needs to be thrown in.  That is the difference between being pretentious and being ambitious.  She was ambitious, but I am sure that there were some members of her audience who were pretentious.

Just like I know there are some people at Santana Row who are pretentious.  They are part of the crowd, drink their tea with their pinky up, window shop, laugh loudly, mingle and pretend.  When they are done, they get in their car and live in it, or hop on a bus and head home to an apartment or house that they share with 20 other people.  And if I am wrong about their pretentiousness, then they must be ambitious, like the successful real estate broker, imagining that Santana Row is within their reach and that some day they will live there.

The life that I imagine I deserve does not include Santana Row.  It's somewhere on the East Coast, in Asia, or in the Eastern Bloc.  It's spending half my retirement in Hawaii and the other half in Daly City.  This is what I imagine.  I also finally imagine that my ashes will be spread along the Mediterranean Sea, one of my favorite parts of the world.

But first, there is this thing called "hard work."  Yes, I am ambitious.