Come to the Table

On Sunday, August 28^th the Martin Luther King Jr. National Memorial in Washington D.C. was supposed to have been dedicated.  Though Hurricane Irene has delayed the event until sometime in September, this commercial’s invitation to, “Come to the table of brotherhood,” had been taken literally by my daughter Anna.  She requested our family come to the table together and that our conversation take on this ceremony and celebration.  So we gathered on that Sunday for a delicious dinner of pizza, fruit-salad, and peach crumble, all made by my son, on this late summer evening.

We enjoyed a wonderful conversation between two generations who had lived in New York, tasting the full flavour of a delicious American melting pot.  I raised my children, now adults, not to, “…judge by the colour of anyone’s skin, but by the content of their character,” after I was raised in a home of prejudice and assumed righteous order.  But it is never a matter of simple choice made, no further work necessary.

Silence is the biggest perpetrator of prejudice, so we must vow to keep this conversation going, with our selves and each other.  After my last post (the Japanese-American Exclusion Memorial Wall on Bainbridge) someone opined that the wartime incarceration of Japanese-Americans was for their protection.  Anna and I knew better and, because of conversations we were fortunate enough to be a part of, we could carry the conversation forward. 

When I asked someone to refrain from prejudicial jokes, I was informed it was certainly NOT prejudice…as long as that ethnicity was NOT in the room at the time.  Yeah…I’d laugh at the backwards logic (and assumption of anyone’s purely Caucasian family tree) but it’s chilling in its implication of NOT being invited to the table, and it’s sad to see the conversation broken down to righteous, chilled…silence.  Women of every ethnicity understand the slap of dismissal. 

All relationships require ongoing awareness, for growth, and we must realize prejudice is so subliminally stuck, for lack of conversations.  We separate by unnecessary ethnic description, by complicit silence at slurs and jokes.  We separate by not respectfully asking about each other’s lives, cultures and beliefs, by not listening to each other’s stories for the common thread of humanity.  We separate by not believing that everyone’s different story is what makes this country.

Dr. King, we’ve made some marvelous strides, with a lot of work, since you were taken from us.  There’s many a mile in this journey yet, but if we all gather at the table, Sir, we will give each other the nourishment to see your dream become America.

 

The Debt... A Study In Human Interaction

I enjoyed going to the Narrows Theatre and seeing "The Debt" Saturday afternoon.

I've decided (thank the good Lord, to get out more and see and feel and
enjoy life. For me, it's time to clown!!!

(If anyone knows where I can go and catch some live jazz in Tacoma, without a large cover charge, please let me know... I'm missing the music and the jazz loving folks a lot.)

The star in the film, Helen Mirren took me on a very important journey in this family. This was no either/or film... bad girls and good girls. No she choose to lead a violent life because she and her companions believed that, in the name of justice, they had to kidnap a medical doctor who had killed thousands of people in a prison camp during World War II...kidnap and conver up what they had done for years.

The questions I came home with is could I choose to live a life based on lies for a month, a year, many years and would I be willing to live with the consequences of telling the truth about my fears and failures.

The Debt is a beautifully put together film that, I am sure, will get you thinking. Anybody who has seen Debt, what do you think?

“Nidoto Nai Yoni” Let It Not Happen Again

Saturday, Aug. 6^th, it was my privilege to attend the dedication ceremony for Bainbridge Island’s Japanese-American Exclusion Memorial Wall. This tribute, a satellite of Minidoka Internment National Monument in Jerome Idaho, has been built on the site where 276 Americans of Japanese descent were forced to leave their homes and island lives on Bainbridge during WWII. Boarding a ferry, March 30^th 1942, escorted by soldiers with bayonets attached to their rifles, ultimately, these Nikkei were bound for internment camps within their own country. Executive Order #9066, signed by their own president, put law-abiding Americans into prison camps behind barbed-wire fences for duration of the war to end all wars.

It was fellow IYN blogger, Mizu Sugimura, who began my real education on this unsteady chapter in American history, with her passion for truth to be heard and wounds healed, so that America can move forward. Mizu’s personal essays, right here in our TNT cyber-neighbourhood, touched me to the core and made me want to learn how to, “Nidoto nai yoni.” Key Pen neighbour and friend, Jan Buday, shared more stories, increasing my understanding. Both strong women are open with their families’ history; both vibrant artists are invested in healing their country.

Jan told me last year about the Memorial Wall being built. Her husband, John Buday, a designer specializing in Timber-Framing, became Project Manager. He designed the gates and pavilion on the grounds of the memorial, as well as timber frame design of the interpretive center, meeting room and wooden upper-half of the wall. I believe it was a labour of love, love for his family, for his craft and for healing in his country.

The air was festive Saturday, with many old friends reuniting for the completed wall’s dedication. In front of a small stage by the entrance, were rows of reserved seats for attending survivors of the 276. Brightly coloured Origami cranes hung down each metal post, either side of the stage, more of them available on strings of three, for people to hang them next to names on the wall. Jan herself folded over a thousand cranes…close, it was estimated, to the number of people who were in attendance.

Standing at the side of the stage, I was delighted to be joined by Lucy Ota. I recognized her beautiful crane pin, made only for the exclusion survivors. She whispered, in the middle of the last speech, that she didn’t think she could have made it through such a crowd, to her reserved seat. Meaningful memories of heartfelt speeches, standing with Lucy, joining several hundred people in singing America The Beautiful; how did I get so lucky, to be present at the healing, honouring end of a near-seventy-year local wound in this country’s history? I felt quite overwhelmed by emotion.

Those of us covering Saturday’s dedication were allowed to make our way down to the wall first, splaying ourselves just beyond entry to photograph the survivors as they came through. Everyone applauded the procession as they made their way down the gravel path to the memorial. Red, white and blue ribbons tied across the archway waited to be cut by one hundred year-old, Fumiko Hayashida who, dressed in stylish forties garb, was subject of an iconic photograph from the exclusion, carrying her baby girl. Daughter Kayo held the ribbons up for her mother.

Silver-haired Elders laughed, sharing their stories and lives, “As kids we always had fun with our friends,” said Sally, who was nine years old when taken, “Lucy and I would fight like cats and dogs,” she said, giggling and poking at Lucy’s arm. Another woman approached, excited to show us all her gift of wood and granite, pieces from the wall’s construction made into a tactile memory to take home.

I must compliment those who had the vision of this wall’s design…for it worked as perfectly as you dreamed it! When the ribbons fell back, Bainbridge Island American survivors of exclusion and families began pouring through the archway, spilling gently like water down their wall towards the harbour. I sat on a big stone at top of the hill, watching a healing flow, feeling the complicated journey of America. Smiles spread across faces and laughter began bubbling its way back up the curved waves of this graceful wood and granite memorial. Hands touched names, plaques and pictures along the wall’s course, like a living river reaches to touch its guiding banks in passing, a story in every bend, a healing in every story heard.

For more on the Bainbridge Island Japanese-American Exclusion Memorial Wall, click on these link below.

http://www.bijac.org/index.php?p=MEMORIALIntroduction

http://www.bijac.org/index.php?p=MEMORIALDesignElements

Beyond the Borders: August 6th., Longbranch

Ah, those lazy, hazy, crazy days of Summer…yes folks they have come, albeit limping, into our neighbourhoods, up and down the Sound. At the beginning of August, the world begins to bring its balance back towards the Equinox. Of course this means it’s time, on the Key Peninsula, to groove with the world in music, peace and love…with two great local organizations. That’s right friends, this Saturday, August 6^th. comes another “Beyond the Borders” music and art festival, brought to you by the Longbranch Improvement Club and Two Waters Arts Alliance.

This festival is the jewel of Summer on the Key, and this year promises to sparkle. There will be Steel Drums to take you to the Islands, Latin Jazz to get your hips moving, and so much more (you can check the Key Peninsula News, online, for exact line-up and schedule) in this noon-to-six music program. It would not be Longbranch without a great Drum Circle, wonderful food, and a relaxed beer and wine garden. TWAA will have a show of works to satiate your eyes and everywhere you stroll, whether it be inside our beautiful hall or outside on the grounds, you will feel a committed community that welcomes a world-journey, and keeps young by celebrating the Arts!

Beyond the Borders was created by Longbranch neighbour, Mark Runions, so I asked him to tell me its story. Turning it over to Mark….

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In answer to your questions about the germination of Beyond the Borders: it was as much a slip of the tongue as anything else. A few Two Waters folks and I were sitting around after participating at a re-creation of Pioneer Days at the Civic Center about 6 years ago. Two Waters had funded live music for the event, and I wasn’t too thrilled with the music – one rock band after another – and I think I threw out the idea of bringing in some more interesting live music to the Key Peninsula. I remember suggesting zydeco and klezmer. People seemed to like the idea. On the spot, I said we could put on a sort of festival, maybe combined with an art show, and food, maybe with an international flavor, maybe call it “Beyond the Borders” or something. Bingo!

At that time, I was the only person involved in both TWAA and the LIC, so I approached the LIC about helping put on such an event, and donating the use of their grounds. Again, I received a positive response. It fit well with their “mission statement.” Carolyn Wiley in particular supported the idea, and really helped rally the LIC troops. TWAA committed to fund the music component and to organize an art show.

I became the coordinator in part because I had opened my big mouth.

There’s more to the story of course. But all along I have wanted Beyond the Borders to be a welcoming, open and friendly, and somewhat low-key event, with the hope that the local folks could enjoy a special event in their own back yard while experiencing the sights and sounds and tastes of other cultures. I did not want to see corporate banners flying and did not want to re-create the atmosphere of a county fair, with vendors and hawkers competing for your attention and dollars.

So, after 5 years, it’s still a pretty seat-of-the-pants operation to get Beyond the Borders off the ground. I think it has strengthened the ties of communication and friendship between the LIC and TWAA specifically, and the South KP with the rest of the Key in general. It takes a lot of time and energy to organize, and especially now, to keep costs down. And it takes the help of many volunteers to make it happen, and that’s good because we’ve seen that it’s actually sort of fun to work together towards a common goal, especially in the mad rush of Saturday morning when people join in to create a festival site in 3 hours flat!

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Thank you Mark!

So neighbours, bring your worldly appetites and those dancing feet…or hearts, jump on westbound hwy.16 to the Purdy Exit, hang a left at the first lights you see and head down the Key Peninsula Highway to Longbranch…World Central on the first Saturday of August.

Local Women Returns a Warrior Despite Mud, Rain, and Obstacles

On Sunday, July 17th, this writer participated in the Warrior Dash in North Bend, a muddy romp of sports madness. To read all about the misadventures good times, click HERE to see it on Gritty City Woman!

Button, Button

When I was a child my mother kept a jar of buttons. I thought it was fascinating. The buttons were all sizes, colors and textures. Mother had saved them from clothing that had worn out and could tell you about the pieces the salvaged buttons had come from. They told stories of clothing my parent had owned before I was born in much the same way my grandmother’s quilts did of an even earlier time. If a button was lost from one of my father’s white shirts that he wore to work at the Boeing Company, out came the buttons for the search for another. My parents were raised during the Great Depression and didn’t throw away much.

I don’t think buttons have ever been inexpensive. Go to Joann Fabrics and price buttons now and you won’t want to pay $5 for a card of four buttons just to replace one on a cuff or front placket. Even now it’s good to have a jar of buttons on hands. I save several. Besides saving them from our family’s worn-out clothing I’ve purchased them, but not on expensive cards at a retail store. Obviously my mother and I are not the only old ladies with jars of buttons. Other old women pass away and their families don’t realize the treasure they’ve been left in those jars and the jars end up at barn sales and thrift stores.

My most recent acquisitions came from my ex-mother-in-law. When Mom C passed away and Dad C went to live in assisted living my children and grandchildren were invited to come to the house and take whatever they wanted. My then six-year-old grandson Gabriel wanted his Great-Grandma’s buttons. They sat untouched in his room for a year until his mother decided that space being at a premium, the buttons would have to make way for action figures and puzzles. Because Gabriel was saving money for a personal DVD player I offered to buy them from him and he readily accepted.
Mom C’s collection of buttons was huge and fascinating. And too good to keep to myself. While sorting through the vast collection, sorting them by color, I found some so unusual that I knew that there was a future for them beyond the possibility of my children sending them to the thrift store sometime in the future. I have a friend whom I’ve known since high school who is an artist. Marlys sews what she terms wearable art from fabric she finds in thrift stores and since many pieces are shirts running the gamut from mid-century pop to the exotically beautiful. Some of the buttons were so small I could not see how they could be anything but decoration and I knew that Marlys would know what to do with them as well as some sets of unusual buttons that were just screaming her name. I popped them into the mail for what Marlys declared was Christmas in July.

My buttons don’t just sit on a closet shelf waiting for some clothing malfunction. To me they are art. The jar with the red and green ones comes out at Christmas to nestle amongst vintage ornaments on the breakfront in my kitchen. The purple ones sit in a jar with my amethyst glassware in an antique kitchen cupboard. I have oranges and yellows for fall and jars of white, blue, black and pink. I know that people sell vintage buttons in shops and on eBay and since I will be getting a pay cut come fall, I might try my hand at it.

Equines Subject of Annual Art Show at Auburn's Emerald Downs

For years the popular track at Emerald Downs in Auburn has provided a fitting backdrop for an annual summer juried show of art specifically devoted to all things equine.

The Equine Art Show was originally envisioned by hosts as a vehicle to introduce and hopefully to successfully sell the merits of the then brand new and beautiful facility for audiences unfamiliar or heretofore disinterested or indifferent to the venue.

It is sponsored by the Washington Thoroughbred Foundation, Washington Thoroughbred Breeders Association and Emerald Downs and is celebrating its twelveth consecutive year at the facility. Since those very early days not only was the primary goal soundly met - but the competition has on its own built a delightfully strong and loyal following of its own.

Above: Equine Art Show attendee Mary Ehlis admires this superlative carved horse head.

Viewers of all ages enjoyed last night the opportunity to examine work in a bevy of artistic styles, techniques and perspectives including equines depicted through such diverse mediums as: oil, watercolor, pen, pencil, acrylic, charcoal and pastel. Entrants employed skills from the worlds of collage, sculpture, woodcarving, metalwork, black/white and digital color photography, quilting and papier mache. This year $5,000 in prize money was awarded. And children and teen entrants shared a pot totaling $750.00.

Above: This detailed work sprung brilliantly forth via the visionary mind and busy hands of a veteran quilter.

Above: Pieces ranged from pocket sized jewelry to life-sized models. Photos copyright 2011 by Mizu Sugimura.