Training

Mens sana in corpore sano, said the Romans: A healthy mind in a healthy body. I decided to work on that. Whenever I am in my desert retreat I walk more: at least half an hour a day, three four days a week a hike of about an hour and occasional guided hikes by the local Trail Association. Now the challenge has been upped. I am not a spring chicken, yet I want for the first time in my life to learn to run. I have been given a schedule to get to 15 minutes in 8 weeks. That to me is daunting. But I have seen one other person do it. The first priority is to learn to practice without getting injured. Shoes are needed. Have you ever looked at the array of running/walking shoes: some have inbuilt air pumps, others have fluids, the designs are kind of wild. I choose a conservative white, gray, orange high tech supporting, shock-absorbing shoe on sale. ☺ Believe me, they are comfortable yet weird looking. Before starting on one’s 15 minutes run/walk, one has to warm up, loosen the shoulders, the legs, do a kind of belly dance, and then you are off for the first run: 1 minute running, 2 minutes fast walking and this 5 times, followed by a cool down period and some stretching. This schedule you follow three times during the first week. Are you laughing at me? OK! I don’t mind. But let me tell you the third and fourth minute run was hard. Really. That is why I need to do this. The added challenge was that the dirt road I had chosen for my exploit seemed flat enough for fast walking, but having to run uphill – even just slightly - made the ordeal even harder and of course it didn't look pretty and some neighbors asked, ‘What where you doing running around?” “Are you alright?” “Where were you going?” To Rome, to Rome where the soundest thinking was done by fit gymnasts… I guess I am getting fitter in order to give a better spectacle when thrown to the lions.

Stereotyping

A small town; some serious shit was pulled; the comment: ‘It must have been that drunken Indian.’ Friends split a meal and drink from the same ice tea, there are two straws, so why not, the joke is about one coke and six straws for Dutch people and they are not Dutch, so they can do that. ‘I thought he was a cranky old man, but once in a while his Irish charms shows.’ 'That is Mexican parking,' You drive like a cowboy'… All these sayings are prejudices that will reinforce the perception others have of that particular group, it reinforces stereotypes and stereotypes hurt souls and hearts. These offhand comments diminish a group's dignity and lower each individual's self esteem. It is hard to break the habit of stereotyping. I hear people speak of rag heads, money wise Jews, or dirty fagots, arrogant French, Bohemian artists and loud Americans… How does one stop these skewed perceptions of the world? How does one, when on a daily basis this kind of talk abounds, defend everybody’s human rights? By framing our perception of groups, inventing words like illegal aliens, undocumented aliens, calling Africa the dark continent where hope cannot live, by preferring one religion to another and certainly over secular humanism, our vision becomes blurred. The risk is that we forget it is not 'them' and 'us' but 'we' and that we don’t see, don’t remember that all people are born equal and have an unalienable right to dignity whatever color, sexual preference, religion or gender. Also all people deserve the same protection under the law. Some good advice:
Choose your friends by their character and your socks by their color. Choosing your socks by their character makes no sense and choosing your friends by their color is unthinkable.—Anonymous

Footprints

A friend decided one day no longer to partake in the dollar economy, to be non-violent and responsible and trying to leave as small a footprint as possible. He is a primitive skills teacher, lives not as a hermit, but as little as possible money based. He barters, teaches, gathers materials in dumps, even food; road kill hides are tanned and turned into clothing; old motorbike tires become sandals.
When a Hummer passes in the street, or one or another large gas-guzzler, I think of him and wonder what we all can do to live more responsible lives. Solutions people have chosen, can consist of advocacy in nature conservancy if it only where to protect or enlarge a local wilderness area where they like to hike with a group of like minded, leaving footprints in the sand of Pine Canyon, Antelope Canyon, clean up of trails, bake sales, you name it. Others insulate their house, use energy saving bulbs, drive small ecological more responsible cars or save up for a hybrid car. Some get rid of their car altogether and in a drastic move start using public transport and taxis…
We, in the industrialized countries need all to be aware of the size of our footprint. Taking care of one's shelter, food and clothing and not shopping in shopping malls, requires a lot of time, planning and thought. It is a full time job actually. If we do hold a job and are part of Babylon, we should at least be active citizens who will protect forests, defend wildlife, respect human rights, stop polluting or pay to clean up the C02 we produce, be non-violent and pacifists. We should also not disrupt the regional economies of developing countries and tell our governments what we want them to do for us, question authority and think independently and see to it that all decisions are taken at the lowest possible level. You decide for you, and from there up slowly in larger circles we'll be deciding together for the world.

Catch 22

Trying to keep the car insured – in some of the states they will impound your car if caught without insurance – a drivers license must be current. Mine is near its expiration date. No sweat, up to the local Department of Motor Vehicles. Fill out a form, show your current license, sit and wait and study the variations of humanity, contemplate whether one’s worn body still has pickings enough to be an organ donor, do a perfunctory eye test. The number comes up, all goes well until they realize the file number on the current card is no social security number. There are explanations about inland security, post 9/11, the threat of terrorism, recent changes in policy: to get a drivers license you need that number, whatever other numbers you might be defined by. No singing the national anthem wont help. Thinking it over, ones best option seems to be the toll free number statewide of the social security service. One lady ‘manning’ the telephone suggested lying since they cannot give one a social security number unless you are working or intend to work in the country… Hmm. Let’s try a higher up person, lying not seeming a viable option. No, without working people can’t get a social security number anymore: inland security, too many people applying for a social security numbers. Makes undocumented aliens look legal and what would the minutemen say about that. Terrorists could slip through the maze. Without working, a citizen cannot get a social security number, thus no insurance? Well the intention to work might help… but only if an employer applies for you or vouches for your willingness to work. I have no intention at all to start gainful employment here. This here is my refuge, my getting away from society and hassle place, where – unfortunately - I do need a car. OK. Let’s try a different approach: the statewide Department of Motor Vehicles' toll free number. To the level one response person, the machine tells me, one should not divulge personal information, ask for a second level response person who has the authority to receive such information. Obvious in trying to explain the predicament I find myself in I have to divulge the sordid, salty details of my life and am transferred to an authorized person qualified to hear and handle them. So for the n’th time in two days my file gets pulled with the number they adamantly don’t want anymore and the lady says, oh but we are just extending the current drivers license for an other five years, so we will mail you a duplicate for four dollars with the extension on it. You should have it within seven days. Thank you, thank you. This gives me ample time to figure out how to solve the Catch 22 without having to apply as an April fool dancing on the first of April on the Wal-mart parking lot, a job they may not give me since there is no social security number. Maybe a small bar would employ me as a scullery maid… I keep my fingers crossed.

1912

Yesterday was a busy, people, malls and gambling day. The names of the slot machines where: Lucky Lobster, Rich Girl, Poker Princess, Mega Money, Big Bucks, Wishing Well, Drunk Dragon…
If you stick your nose out of the door things will happen, says a friend. And thus on the road again I wonder whether it is Tumbleweed season. They roll over parking lots; tumble over the road where they get crushed to smithereens in head on collisions. It kind of hurts my feelings as I gaze sympathetically at the Tumbleweeds huddling together in valleys, momentarily safe. I am looking for a kind place, out of the wind, away from Drunk Dragons but with a cup of coffee and so stumble upon ‘The Temperance Saloon’ walking back in time, right into 1912. Old green walls, tin ceiling, nice old or homemade furniture, crisp and clean and the people waiting on you in period. If you like the old west style, you can walk around and discover the different adjacent rooms with riding skirts, vests, cotton shirts and blouses. Some of the items are still made by the same factories producing them more than 100 years ago. The underwear section is cute, bloomers that are almost pornographic, notwithstanding the yards of materials, having strategic openings so that skirts do not have to be lifted. Long Johns with flaps have nothing to do with undoing the buttons and then the flap falling down at the risk of being soiled in the process. That would be totally impractical; these open sideways so that the essential parts can stick out and everything is kept fresh… Did you ever contemplate these practicalities of pioneer life? Well here you can learn a lot. And the temperance? Yes this saloon is strictly no alcohol, no smoke, but with a lot charm. I guess I forgot to ask whether they have Wifi.
The old town with pawnshops, the salvation Army, a pretty old Hotel, two museums and some antique shops is fairly intact; still a place to walk, to sit in a park on warmer days, and to find deliverance from the Wal-mart cities which spring up all over the country; the new parts of towns too often build without rhyme or reason, without an eye for beauty. Cheap, practical, catering to big cars and greed that is their main characteristic and I wonder how can one create or find a sense of community in such places, how can one pursue a dream? Maybe here dreaming of the past is the only way forward into better futures.

Impermanence

Translating poetry is building bridges between languages, transferring Pain and Joy from one culture to another. Humor, irony, dead seriousness, geography, distance, time, and physical surroundings are all elements that have to be taken into account.
In large areas of the US, electricity travels through live wires strung over mountains, along highways, through deserts. A totally different situation - and thus the possibility of different story - exists where the cables are buried in the ground. “Electricity is just lightning pretending to be permanent,” says Simon a character in Sherman Alexie’s short story ‘Special Delivery’. Of course also in big cities there can be electricity cuts. Yet it feels different when on a cold winter night, listening to the New Years Concert transmission from Vienna on PBS while the storm rages outside, the music comes and goes, the image on TV is unclear, grey noise rules. Yet it is in the fading and stuttering of the music and the unclarity and uncertainty of the screen that I could feel the magic beauty of that impermanence of electricity. I take my precautions though, I keep the laptop charged… and read poetry by candlelight. So the physical experience gave me a chance to really understand Alexie's line. That all is part of translating poetry.

Black eyed peas

Black eyed peas with or without some ham, are a southern traditional dish in the USA on January first. One rolls in the new year at midnight with a sip of Champaign and mandatory, the first warm meal should be black eyed peas with cornbread. That is for luck and protection. Maybe the dish is basic enough, to rinse away the excesses of the night before.
Superstitions are part of one’s culture and often it involves food. Sometimes by acting in line with popular superstitions you make a statement. In certain parts of the world for instance one shouldn’t give objects like knives because ‘it cuts the friendship’. One way around this one is selling the knife for some loose change. Handkerchiefs are taboo as a gift, since they bring tears and the pin of a brooch will stick the receiver… thus those too need to be sold. Pearls should not be given unless a mother gives it to her daughter. One should never buy fire opals for oneself…. Black cats, spilling salt, walking under a ladder all foretell doom. There also exist sometimes rituals one can perform to ward of evil. In Italy ou could throw a bit of salt over your shoulder to undo the spilling of salt. Real and imagined threads surround us it seems, yet there is reason for optimism, there is hope. A large group of scientist has been asked "What are you optimistic about and why" for 2007. One answer was that superstition and religion would loose its importance, that people would become more scientific or rational… This might be a good thing and could indeed prevent a few wars. Yet when I walk with a friend and an obstacle comes between us, I’ll say or whisper, in the Gypsy way “bread and butter”, just to voice my intention that the friendship remains intact, using the superstition as a strange way to show I care. So I'll rename todays dish 'black eyed peace', after January the first is the international day of peace. Happy birthday to all the peace kids.