I have refrained from ranting about the public and Hollywood reactions to Roman Polanski's arrest, mainly because I've been covering it on facebook, but now I need a place to do a long, elaborate, angry rant. And LJ, you serve that purpose well. 
Let's get something very clear here: If this were about Roman Polanski being guilty or not, some slack would be allowed. After all, it is fairly easy on the flip side for celebrities of a high profile to be tangled up in such scandals. But there is no question of Polanski's guilt. He pleaded guilty. He was scheduled to have his sentence be nothing more than a slap on the wrist, 43 days. Including the time he would be spending in a psychiatric hospital. Compared to what Roman Taxi Driver would get for drugging and raping a 13 year old, this was pathetically easy. But Polanski didn't serve his time ( I wonder if there was such a term as flight risk back then, today he would have been remanded without bail) choosing instead to take advantage of his money and connections to flee to Europe with his tail between his legs. So not only did he not serve his time in jail, he was also free to rape more girls. Someone who rapes once without facing repercussions for their actions will rape again, and Polanski was infamous for using his status as a high demand Hollywood director to make young women undress for him. 
Now that he has been taken into custody, there has been an absolute uproar from the so called liberals of Hollywood, among them some of my favourite directors and actors: Woody Allen, Guillermo Del Toro, Penelope Cruz, Pedro Almodovar, Natalie Portman, Alfonso Cuaron, David Lynch, Terry Gilliam, Martin Scorcese, Jeremy Irons, Wes Anderson, Monica Belluci... The list goes on and on. And I will never watch a movie made by or starring one of these people ever again, now that I know where their loyalties lie. If it wouldn't get me arrested, I would also illegally download all of their movies just to spite them. But I won't. I will say this though. 
If you defend Roman Polanski, you are also defending the idea that if someone is rich enough, powerful enough, influential enough, talented enough, then the law does not apply to them. If you defend Polanski because you like his films and think he is talented, then there is something else not being said when you defend him in that fashion: That his victim and all other victims of rape (if their rapists were in any way talented) are disposable. If you defend Polanski, you are most of all defending the rape culture that permeates our society. The rape culture that means that 60% of rapes are not reported, partially because these victims fear the backlash that came to Polanski's victim, being labelled a slut, told she was "asking for it", justifying her rape by saying that she was overly ambitious or that her mother was a shrew. Factoring in the chances of arrest, prosecution, trial, and jail time with all this, we live in a world where 15 out of 16 rapists walk free. If you support Roman Polanski, make him one of those fifteen who walk free, then I have no respect for you, because you are a pillar holding up this repulsive rape culture. And people like me who want to see Polanski rot in jail will also be the ones to see to it that you and those other pillars come crashing down along with the rape culture. 

I just got my flu shot today. It's absolutely essential that I get one this year, as this will be my first full on winter without once retreating to my tropical hidey house. I wonder if I'll learn to hibernate? 
Anyways, while I was relating the story of my flu shot to Alissa, I meant to tell her about my fear of blood. But instead I said, "I have a hard time with flu shots, as I'm extremely homophobic."
Blast the Greek language. 

Well, after a too-short, wonderful, dream-fulfilling, illustrious trip to Japan, I am now facing the usual problems that you tend not to think about while enjoying yourself abroad. Namely, the question of tuition. Mercifully, the financial aid this year has been unusually generous, so I only owe the university about $1,000.
But that $1,000 has to come from somewhere, and I racked up quite a bit of debt while in Japan, overly eager to buy gifts, figuring that I would not get another chance like this for quite a long time. But that has left me broke and searching for a job, as a way to pay not only the tuition, but maybe spare some leftovers for a few nice dinners out when James is here. Thankfully, my plane ticket to Missoula has been bought and paid for, whether or not I will come home for winter is ambiguous. If I do get a job, it is likely that I will come home. If I am left jobless, then I will likely spend my Winter in Winnipeg, experiencing the warm and loving embrace of my darling, or using him as a human windshield against the horrifyingly bitter cold I am sure awaits Winnipeg in the winter. I'll be happy either way, but the Winnipeg option warms my heart in a way that Hawaii never could.
If my good fortune never comes, here's to whatever comes! *l'chai-im* 

It's been a long time since I updated, eh? Between the insanity of school, the insanity of work, and the insanity of doodling about on the internet not doing much else.... I have neglected poor LJ. But I'm back to remind myself that in less than 72 hours, I will be in Winnipeg. Jolly! That's reason for celebration if there ever was.

I have a blog now. Go look! Praise, corrections, suggestions, please, all welcome.

http://bluestockingbutterfly.blogspot.com/

A lot of people have been asking me why I've been so down lately. People have noticed I've been more morose, sad, and downright miserable. Others think I'm aggressive and nasty. Some have chalked it up to sickness, but I'm going to lay down the truth here. The reason for my morose and sad nature as of late has to do with this month being the 6 year anniversary of my dear father's death. March 23 specifically holds a rather sad place in my heart. So I tend to try and avoid the company of people who don't handle my misanthropic and hateful side well, as it comes out full throttle upon this day.
This note isn't an apology for that though. If you were in my shoes, you would feel the same way, so I make no apologies for not hiding my feelings.
But this is sort of a memorial corner to my father, after this rambling preface.
For those of you who knew him (Friends from before high school) You'll remember my dad. Even though his somewhat gruff and no-nonsense nature sometimes overshadowed it, he had a generous heart and a laugh which could fill the whole room with a sense of happiness and togetherness. What I remember most about him though, was his zeal for knowledge and learning. There were many books in the house when I was a child, and many have passed onto my hands since his passing. Everything from books on cultural heritage, to astronomy, languages, architecture, and art. On most of them, there was a little treasure added, a note from a friend who gave him the book. "To Roger, whose heart is as great as Mt. Haleakala", "To my friend Roger, may this enrich your great love of learning and your curious mind." "To Roger, with all the love and thanks you have shown me over the years."
These are the words of very fortunate people, to get to know dad in such a way. Reading them now makes me feel a sense of kinship with these people I may or may have not met, we share a common knowledge of my father's genuine spirit that can never be forgotten.
This love of knowledge he instilled in me came also with a reminder to also not forget the world outside of books. Dad experienced many things in his life, he always had a story or bit of condensed wisdom to share, in his own special, rather direct yet mysterious way. As odd as they sounded to a young girl's ears, now I take them to heart, using his words in my daily life, like a mantra, whenever life doesn't go my way, I feel like I can still depend on his words, though he himself is no longer here to assess the situation and offer his fragments of charming words.
When he died, my sister, mother and I were devastated beyond all belief. Even though I was only 13 and perhaps biased by my blood connection, I could tell that dad had been a special man, very rich inside, who had touched many people's lives in a way that was unparalleled by many. But as a friend reminded our grieving hearts, his passing did not leave a hole in the world. Whatever happened to his physical body, I believe his zeal for life and spirit lives on in me and my sister, and so long as we keep love for him, his words, and the life he shared with us, alive in our hearts. I'm sure many of you will find this corny, but the fact that I'm crying now, after 6 years of not having heard his voice or felt his hugs, says a lot to me.
I love you dad. You can't read this, but I feel it still. No matter what.

Oh, my pa-pa, to me he was so wonderful
Oh, my pa-pa, to me he was so good
No one could be, so gentle and so lovable
Oh, my pa-pa, he always understood.

Gone are the days when he could take me on his knee
And with a smile he'd change my tears to laughter

Oh, my pa-pa, so funny, so adorable
Always the clown so funny in his way
Oh, my pa-pa, to me he was so wonderful
Deep in my heart I miss him so today.

If you're one of those people who got to know Roger Grantham when he was alive, you witnessed a man larger than life, and should be happy. Those of you who only know him through my words, I hope I'm doing him justice.

http://judithvictorious.blogspot.com/

Judith Victorious. I found her blog through feministing's community, and her post on feminism and skepticism completely won me over. I'm going to be reading regularly, her writing style and intellect pleases me greatly.

If you post:
1. I'll respond with something random I like about you.
2. I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.
3. I'll name something we should do together.
4. I'll say something that only makes sense to you and me (or just me).
5. I'll tell you my first/clearest memory of you.
6. I'll leave you a quote that is somehow appropriate to you.
7. I'll ask you something that I've always wondered about you.
8. If I do this for you, you must post this on your journal so you can do the same for other people. Nah. Only do it if you have a burning urge.

So in my daily internet diddling, I came across this awesome website of Star Wars characters redesigned into an antiquated Victorian, or... Steampunk style. I was a little skeptical of the idea, but looking at these action figures, I'm thinking now "What an idea!" 
The figurines for Return of the Jedi are particularly cool.

http://www.sillof.com/C-Steampunk-SW.htm

I swear, my father's bookshelf is like magic sometimes. I can always go over there, and no matter how many times I've previously combed it, a new book will catch my eye and entice me into reading it, and the book is always a treasure.
In this case, I picked up two books by Beryl Markham. I read the introduction to the first one, The Splendid Outcast, and immediately decided to go over to google her. Beryl Markham was apparently quite the exceptional woman. A beautiful, radiant, eccentric, independent being, who became Kenya's first certified horse trainer, had many adventures and stories to tell, piloted many planes, and had a number of tumultuous love affairs, including one with Antoine Saint-Exupery, one of my favorite authors. What can I say? I haven't even cracked open the stories she's written yet, and I already like her! She reminds me a bit of one of my other great sources of adoration and admiration, Isabella  Bird, who was also an exceptional lady who traveled and wrote about many places she visited with nothing more than her wits on her side. Bird was a sickly woman though, who didn't seem to have the firey spirits Ms. Markham seemed to have earned her fame for. I'm bringing Splendid Outcast to work with me today, to read during my break. I'm looking forward to it, like a birthday or unwrapping a particularly delicious sweet. Discovering new travel writers, especially the more adventurous kind who can actually write, is always a joy.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. So rather than write to you about how beautiful Hana is, I'll simply show you, as a tribute to how lazy I am about typing. Here's Hana:



This concludes the Hana Trip portion of my vacation home from college. Enjoy!













Thank you and good night. This concludes the "Hawaii is so beautiful" portion of this livejournal. ;)

Today marked my biggest payday so far- technically I get paid on Fridays, but I didn't pick up my paycheck until today. I parted with a sizable chunk of it up front, to pay a cleaning service to give this house a thorough deep cleaning as a surprise early birthday gift to mom. She came home today giddy to have a clean house, and gave me a big hug, saying it was the nicest thing anyone's ever done for her, which really flattered me, and made that money all worth it, just seeing her ecstatic like that.
Before coming home to the big house purge though, we went shopping for a baby gift for my old high school teachers. Mr. Granillo and Miss G (Not married in case you were wondering, we always just called her Miss G) had a baby girl a month ago, and since the two of them were my favorite teachers in high school, I decided to give a baby gift. I browsed through a Cost Less Import store, being sorely tempted by all the goodies in there, such as Indian Elephant bells, a beautiful secondhand miniature of the famous Eros and Psyche sculpture, and various other trinkets, I held true to my mission and got baby G a sweet little Chinese silk gown, for a very cheap price, comfy and perfect for her to grow into. The lady who runs Cost Less is Japanese, and I was having a very nice chat with her, much to mom's confusion as she tried to keep up with our rapid Japanese. I was just so happy to have someone to tell jokes to, talk about university, and converse with, and the dear lady turned out to be a delightful conversationalist. Next time I'm on the other side, I'll go in again to chat with her. We then proceeded to a Natural baby store, much like the ones they have in Missoula, which delighted me, and I ended up buying the baby a soft cuddly stocking cap that had a cute banana on top. This is a sort of private joke, Mr. Granillo wears stocking caps all the time, and I figure a daughter should match her daddy as far as hats are concerned. The Banana part of it made me smile too, I'm buying a card for the baby, and writing "Welcome to the Monkey house" inside (Kurt Vonnegut is one of their favorite authors) as another little joke.
My problem with this is that I don't know their address or phone number, and school doesn't start until late July, so I have no way of getting this gift to them... Or I didn't until mom gave me a bit of a happy excuse to solve two problems at once; she suggested that I look up their phone number, give them a call, and then stop by their house if they want to drop off the gift and visit with them. I haven't seen them in months, and I would like to catch up with them very much so, talk about how things have been at LHS, swap stories and book recommendations. I've been in desperate need of friends of a younger generation, as the youngest person here I can call a friend is my mother, who is 50. Not to mention, having political discussions that don't have the words "commie" "muslim in disguise" and "commie" (added for that zesty red sauce flavor) thrown at me like poison darts. I'll call them sometime, or maybe they'll show up at Barnes & Noble!

I saw an old acquaintance (I hesitate to say "friend") from Catholic school today. Which was awkward, but at least tossed up some memories from the bottom of my brains, like old leaves tossed up in the wind. Believe it or not, during Catholic school, between the ages of 12-14, in spite of myself not believing in God (Let alone being Catholic!) I wanted to be a nun. Leah the nun, Sister Leah? It doesn't even make much sense to me! I do remember my reasoning though. I wasn't at all a believer, but I was reading up on the lives of nuns, and the lifestyle appealed to me. I pictured a cloistered life, away from the cruelty of classmates and strangers, to spend my days illustrating bibles, translating ancient prayer books from Hebrew, Greek, and Latin, reading up on the saints, and feeding poor children in soup kitchens, traveling the world to help those in need in poor countries. On a more gloomy side to that wish, I also perceived myself as a social leper and unfit for regular jobs, I believed my career options were too limited, and that the lifestyle of a nun would be the only one to suit me. When I left Catholic school though, I realized I had many other options, and could stop fretting and feeling that I had to remove myself from mainstream society in a monastery.
    When I was a kid, I had many similar little career ambitions. I remember being little, being asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, and answering "fruit picker". I thought that I would make a living just picking (and eating) pineapples, pears, and starfruit all day. After reading some Tommie DePaola books in kindergarten, I wanted to become an artist. This passion consumed me for much of my childhood, I grew up surrounded by art, my dad being acquainted with many internationally famous Maui artists, including Dario Campanile, Christian Reese Lassen, and many others. My dad was something of an artist himself, being a sculptor and painter before I was born (He gave it up to start a family, and I regret to this day that he didn't keep it up. I blame myself somewhat for it.) so it was running through my mind, all the way through elementary school, and into Catholic school (I used to illustrate biblical scenes, my illustration of the nativity was on the cover of the school Christmas program) In retrospect, I don't have the talent to go into artistry professionally, and I'm perfectly happy that I discovered my love of Japanese, but I still secretly long sometimes to do some type of artistic career, even though I could never make it professionally. It's just as stirred up inside me as those old memories.

So remember, in my last entry, how I was wondering exactly what excuse I could use to blow some money on some children's books, and open the nostalgia floodgates? Well, today, my mother gave me such a solution. She and I were driving in the car today, and she mentioned casually that I might like to make some extra money on my days off by babysitting. The hotels around Lahaina apparently have a babysitting agency going, and I could babysit the children of tourists while Mom and Dad sightsee around Lahaina. I'm certified in CPR, I know the heimlich, and I've got enough experience to probably pass the interview. If I do end up taking up this chance, I'll head over to Barnes & Noble, and buy all my childhood favorites, some fun costumes, and a few things for kids between the ages of 0-13. To make it especially enticing, Mom mentioned that not only is the pay handsome, but you get tips as well. I love my B&N job, it pays very well, but I need some extra cash flow to save up for my planned venture to Japan.
So, friends, here's what I have in mind for the children's books:
The Very Hungry Caterpillar
Goodnight Moon
Ha-Ha, Baby
Go Dog, Go
Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs
SkippyJon Jones
When I'm Quiet on Maui
Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
The Stowaway Fairy in Hawaii
Eloise
Puff The Magic Dragon
Harold and the Purple Crayon
The Giving Tree

As well as a few art books of my own, a few kid-friendly DVDs such as My Neighbor Totoro, fairy tales, and some fun "anti coloring" books, which are alternatives to just coloring in the lines, and challenge kids to use their imagination. I missed out on a lot of fun stuff when I was a kid.

Kevin and I are now back together, which is a breath of fresh relief. I thought being single would be great, offer me the chance to grow as a person. Instead, it made me extremely bitter.
To get off that, and onto more serious matters, work. Work has been quite fun for me, I love working in the children's section. The only problem is, we're not allowed to read books while in the bookstore working, and spotting all my favorite titles from childhood has made this extremely difficult. Particularly tempting is the display of Eric Carle children's books, which were my absolute favorites, such as The Very Hungry Caterpillar, and The Very Lonely Firefly. I've also wanted to start reading the new ones that look appealing, such as Skippyjon Jones, which appears to be about a Siamese cat that thinks it's a chihuahua, and Pout Pout Fish, which looks really humorous. I'll save it for later though, maybe pick up a few of them, then offer to babysit, and read to the children. That would be a convenient way to both introduce the youngers to some fun reading material, and take a trip down memory lane for me.

This morning I had to wake up before everyone else did, to get ready for my first official visit to Temple, where Sensei's Sunday service was being conducted. Bearing in mind that I had never before been to a Buddhist religious service, I had no idea what to expect, I was somewhat filled with apprehension. But as soon as I climbed the stairs to the temple, and saw all the faces of the people I knew from last Tuesday smiling at me, my fear evaporated.
The temple is located on a large foundation, and you have to climb a series of steps to reach it. Before climbing up, there's a small stone sink besides the temple, and you must wash your hands in it. I entered, and the first thing that caught my eye was the dazzling Butsudan, or altar, that was directly at the front. It was dark wood, very elaborate, yet minimalist, and there was a large stone urn, resembling a lantern at the front, with incense burning inside.
The music that Sensei was playing on the organ, the incense, and the beautiful Butsudan made my senses tingle, so I sat down next to Phyllis, whom I'd met on Tuesday. She thanked me for coming to the service, and began to explain to me all the rituals and mores of the temple. I was intrigued especially by the urn, she informed me that with beads to bind their hands in prayer, they went up to the urn, and put in a stick of incense, while bowing to honor the Buddha, and to reflect for a moment in their hearts. In a flashback, I was reminded of the penance we had to take when I was going to mass in Catholic school, and silently compared them in my head, right down to the common ritual of using beads. Phyllis said this ritual wasn't about penance or redemption though, it was merely a way to honor, and to remind yourself to always be as bright and brilliant a light in this world as Amida Buddha. Then service began, and Sensei herself welcomed me in her sermon, which made me somewhat pleased and embarrassed, I was glad I had made her so happy. The sermon she gave was on the Dharma, and what it means to be a Buddhist. Sensei drew a parable to the old Western philosophy of "everything I need to know I learned in Kindergarten" which I considered a rather unorthodox choice at first, but I was quickly drawn into her enthusiasm, and humble, down-to-earth explanations, peppered with funny sayings here and there. Then the chanting came, and I mouthed the chants, forming the words slowly as I read them (In Hiragana, so it was good practice, and I recognized a few kanji!) out of the prayer book. Though I couldn't understand the words, I felt a tingling in my throat as I said them, and they came so naturally, there was something so deep and almost primal about them, that made my whole body feel at ease with the long, deep, resonating sounds coming from within my own throat. Then, much like a Christian church, Sensei sat down at the piano, and we sang a hymn, about Buddha's birth.
 I can't read music, and my singing would make Apollo and St. Cecilia cringe with horror, but I loved following along with everyone else, my quavering voice  holding onto Sensei's clear, sweet soprano like a drowning girl holding onto the slippery rocks for dear life. But the finale, where we read from the Praises of Buddha, was my favorite part of the ceremony. The passage was known as "Amida Buddha's Golden Chain of Love" and it goes like this:

We are a link in Amida’s golden chain
of love that stretches around the world.
We will keep our link bright and strong.
We will be kind and gentle to every living thing and protect all who are weaker than ourselves.
We will think pure and beautiful thoughts,
say pure and beautiful words, and do pure
and beautiful deeds.
May every link in Amida's chain of love be bright and strong, and may we all attain perfect peace.
Namu Amida Butsu 

 

Something about saying that aloud, like a promise, filled me with a pleasant, endearing energy, like there was a sun within me, rising up. Sensei's concluding words were, "Flowers do not open up from the outside, they open from within. Let us, with our own hearts and love, open from within as well."

I was so moved and happy, I went up after the ceremony to greet her and compliment her on the sermon. She seemed pleased, and was really happy that I came. I loved that I had managed to make her smile like that, it felt so satisfying. If we are the flowers, then other people like Sensei must be the sun, they warm up the flowers, and help encourage them to bloom. I then ran into a friendly woman from the service, who greeted me, and we chatted a bit about Sensei's sermon, the upcoming lychee season, and my college. She said that she was glad I came, and asked what my family denomination was. I sheepishly admitted my family had never really belonged to any religious community, and that I hadn't stepped into a place of worship routinely since I was in middle school. She said quite simply, "Nah, the best holy place of worship is right here." indicating her heart. That was such a simple, yet interesting statement, I found myself thinking about it all the way home, bouncing with the happiness of Sensei's message, the community, and the world around me, determined to be a sun, just like Sensei, and open a few flowers of happiness.

It was a little harder to keep that jovial spirit at work, since I was sleepy from waking up so early, and my stepbrother yelled at me for eating his breakfast on accident. But I got a lift from an interesting customer! A handsome couple, a man and a woman from Moscow, came in looking for Japanese wood-block print books.

The other workers who had to assist them hastily pointed them in my direction apparently, with cries of "Leah knows Japanese stuff, you can ask her!" So they came up to the counter, and kindly asked for a book on Japanese woodblock printing, "Not the early stuff, but would you find something a little more modern, 20th century?" and I asked "So no Ukiyo-e printings then, would you like something from the post-Meiji era more?" Their reactions were amazing, their mouths hung open a bit, then they said, with a note of happiness, "Ah, so you know about Japan?" and I answered, "Hai, Nihon no Bungaku wa Omoshiroi desu yo!" (Yes, Japanese culture studies are interesting) But I had stepped over the line, foolish me, they didn't speak Japanese. So I instead looked for the books, and could find nothing to match their intentions. I recommended them to a more independent, specialized bookstore, admitting that as a retail book store, Barns & Noble isn't likely to carry such rare art books. They kindly asked me to show them books on Japanese architecture instead. As I was picking out books for them, we chatted a bit, and I found out they were from Russia, but had lived in the U.S for years. We got to talking about Russian literature, and I mentioned reading The Idiot, which really seemed to please the wife in particular. She and I had a wonderful talk about Russian literature, and its representation of women, the ideals of selflessness and personal choice, and what love and sacrifice mean. I enjoyed their company so much! Unfortunately, it couldn't last forever,  I had to get back to customer service, and I'm glad I didn't get fired for idling with them. So we said Do svidanija, and I returned to my desk jubilant for the fun, interesting company.

I'll write more about an interesting talk I had with them about the internet and international relationships later, it's time for bed. 

I've been  busy lately, with work, Dharma school, and whatnot, and neglected livejournal. So now I'm going to do my best to get the thoughts down, before they flit off, and I'm left only with their exoskeletons.
My new job at Barnes & Noble is turning out better than I expected. I work predominantly in the children's section, which is very pleasant, as it allows me to make recommendations, help customers, and I don't have to handle money (I've been trained as a cashier, but my low confidence in my math skills and working around machinery have made me afraid to undertake it) So it is indeed, very convenient. Today, I helped out a few little children who liked dragons, I picked out Puff the Magic Dragon, and a Tomie DePaola book on a knight whose never fought a dragon before. I remembered reading DePaola's books as a child myself, and the happy memory of drinking in those books swelled in my chest as I handed it to the kids.
 And since it was Saturday, it was a storytime, and they read aloud from The Giving Tree, which was another childhood favorite. So work is basically a trip down memory lane for me, in many ways. The only downside is working in music and movies, because I get the feeling the manager there doesn't trust me, whenever he sees me working, he monitors me closely, reshuffling the CDs I've so carefully arranged, checking around to make sure I did the job, and always double-checking the sections that I just finished with. But that's small potatoes, as I rarely work in music anyways.
As for Buddhism and Dharma school, I am actually now even considering joining the temple, and becoming a Buddhist. I may not be a religious, but the guidelines laid out are a far cry from the type of religion I am used to. Sensei said it is fine if I don't believe in God or the Pure Land, but that I hold the teachings in my heart. I'll give it more thought.
More onto that later. I just had a glance at the clock. It's 1:00 am, I've got an 8 hour shift at work tomorrow, and I have temple at 9:00. Sayonara!

I got the job at Barnes and Noble, my orientation begins on Friday, and I find out my schedule. I've had a talk with my sister, who already works there, and the work, pay, and employee discount she's describing are already making me smile. My only slight snag is that I now cannot work Tuesdays, even though I put myself up free 24/7 on my resume. The reason for this is a volunteer service I have undertaken, at the nearby Shingon Buddhist temple. I was offered the job of a handywoman, since the ladies who meet at the temple are all old, and in need of a pair of strong hands and a young back. In exchange for doing the chores, I'll be given lessons in Buddhism, Japanese etiquette, and can chat with the priestess and the ladies in Japanese, to practice my already rusting linguistic skills. It's very similar to an apprenticeship almost, for a Geisha, a swordsman, a monk, or any profession in more feudal Japan, doing chores, learning about the path through observance, obedience, and servitude. I'm humbled for the opportunity.
Speaking of, I don't know whether the book is sold outside of Hawaii, but E.P Shaffer wrote a wonderful book of poetry through the eyes of a Chinese apprentice, Shih-Te, who wrote humorous observations about enlightenment, humanity, and monk life. It's a must-read for any appreciators of irreverent humor, Buddhism, or Asian culture in general. I'm reading it myself, to keep me grounded while I go down the working girl path.

So I'm finally home. I'm laying in bed, with my laptop across my knees, massaging my sore feet. I have a job interview on Saturday for Barnes & Noble, I have The Idiot laying on my bedstand, crying to be opened, and the strong urge to get into the bathtub. But allow me first to spin the tale of how I ended up here, what I'll be doing here, and how it's been so far.
About 8:00 on Saturday, I woke up and made an absolute cleansweep of my dorm. Everything that would go home with me went into the suitcase, and everything else I managed to fit in an old Harvard gym bag, some garbage sacks, and some hemp grocery bags from the Good Food Store. I also used an excess of baby wipes and clorox wipes to clean up all the dust, dirt, and filth I possibly could, but when the RA came around, I was informed that I was going to be charged $15 because the room didn't meet the cleaning standard. At this point though, my aunt was late for work, and we had to get going. As soon as we piled out of her car to the hospital where she works, she led me upstairs into an old loftspace, so I could entertain myself. I ended up drawing a load of Japanese courtesans, how's that for entertainment? Then, we went home to my gradnparents, after a fun night at a Mexican restaraunt, where I tried salsa for the first time, and loved it!
So, after three days of playing with the dogs and reading Moomin comics, I set off on a grand journey, starting at Missoula Airport. I took a flight to Salt Lake City, and after three hours of studying Japanese and reading a Portuguese children's book, I was headed off to Los Angeles, where I took all my bags over to the Sheraton Gateway and stayed for the night, then woke up at 5:00 to get all my luggage going off to Maui. After two days of traveling in the same set of smelly clothing, I breathed a sweet sigh of relief getting my feet into Maui soil. First thing I did was go over to the Starbucks and order a tazo tea. On a semi related note, the lady behind the counter asked me where I was from, and when I told her I was coming HOME for the summer, she started cracking up, admitting that she thought I was from the mainland because of my accent. I still don't know what to think of this, except maybe that someone should hang a sign around me saying "local, not JOJ (Just off the jet)!" thank you very much!
I met my parents at the baggage claim, they gave me hugs and welcome homes, and a lovely tuberose lei, which came in handy, at this point, I was terribly sweaty and in two-day worn clothing. I theorize they did this not just to make me feel welcome, but to make the car ride home more pleasant. It was pleasant to get home though, and see my family, especially my pets. My dog, Keo, is completely blind now, and limps on his back leg for some reason, so I was really heartbroken to see him so battered, and low in energy. He normally has enough energy to power an electric generator with his wagging tail, but now, he's a rusty motor. But I still love him, and still patted him on the back, massaging his underarms and scratching him behind the ears. My cats were as full of sparkling energy and mischief as ever. Tony was eager to get his back-pats again, and Romeo mostly hid, until he had smelled me enough to know I wasn't an enemy. Their warmth was the best welcome home for the summer present I could ask for, really.
But there was another pretty decent present waiting for me, actually! After dinner, my stepdad took me out to see my sister at her job at Barnes and Noble, and I picked up The Idiot, and several other books, dirt cheap at the bargain rack. I'm hoping, in the future, to use an employee discount for such a feat of shopping!
Even though I stayed up late reading, I woke up early the next day, still on Montana time, so I took an early morning jog. It was pleasant seeing springtime in full glory, but the unpleasant side of Maui came to life when 11 (yes, I counted) different guys in trucks/cars/motorbikes started honking at me, wolf whistling, and blowing kisses. I miss the lack of "flirting" Missoula offered, but I'm going to get used to it once again. I'm home now, I have excellent books to read, and potential employment with perks. What more can I ask from life? Mahalo Nui Loa!

The Living isn't easy, the exams are jumping down my throat, and my daddy ain't rich (though my momma is pretty good looking, not to brag or anything)
But Summertime brings with it an end to my first year of college, and hopefully, a fresh start. Starting with cleaning out my dorm room, and cleaning out my livejournal entries of past. Reading through these old ones makes me cringe, and I think it would be best to have a completely clean slate. I'm also going to start keeping a real-life journal, for three reasons: number one being to improve my handwriting, number two being to work on my poetry, and number three to work out issues that are too tender for me to put on the internet. That'll be nice. I'll still write in this one of course, but I'm revising the way I approach it. This obviously isn't a private diary, so I'm going to be treating it more like a letter. I'll be Lafcadio Hearn writing a lengthly, flowery letter to Mr. Chamberlain. That's good enough to satisfy me. I tend to be crude in my writings too. I'll try to tone that down. I'm an 18 year old girl, not Charles Bukowski. I'll try to rectify this to the best of my ability.