Stream of Conscious

My mind is hard at work much of the time, reliving the past, often with regrets and sadness, or planning for the future.  (Overall, my mind spends more the future than in the past.)  Our meditation teacher, Diana Winston, says wouldn't it be interesting if we had loudspeakers mounted on our foreheads, that broadcast all the thoughts going thru our minds. It would be chaotic to be in a group of people like that.  Here is a little of my stream of consciousness from this morning.

Nadine came out while I was having breakfast and reading the paper.  Because Nadine was born in Pittsburgh, I told her that Pittsburgh had won the Stanley Cup.  She thought it was given to an individual.  I explained it was given to the team that won the NHL title.  Pittsburgh has now won two years in a row.

Later, at the SOVA food pantry, I was telling this to a co-volunteer, Walter.  Walter told me that his ex-wife was from Pittsburgh.  Of course, from the Squirrel Hill neighborhood; that's were all the Jews lived then, and many still do.  I asked if they ever went back to Pittsburgh; they did not.

Nadine and I went back to Pittsburgh once, when our cousin Morgan graduated from Carnegie-Mellon.  It was the only time she ever went back; her family left Pittsburgh when Nadine was about five, shortly after WWII.  (Walter is about my age; he said that his ex-wife also left Pittsburgh when she was a little girl.)

While we were in Pittsburgh, we visited cousins on both sides of Nadine's family.  We went to dinner with some of her father's, Charlie's, family.  I sat next to Charlie's younger brother, Max, who was then in his eighties.  Max didn't look a lot like Charlie, but I remember that there was something very familiar feeling, as though Charlie was sitting there, in Max's seat.  Maybe Charlie and Max had some of the same aura about them; maybe it was the same old Pittsburgh accent; maybe something else.  There is so much of my experiences that is not thought, but just felt.  We know a lot, but much is hidden from the "knowing" part of our minds.

Parking Is Risky

My friend Alan is in his 70's, and in a long-term committed straight relationship.  Recently, he drove to pick up a male friend.  Alan found a parking place at the curb across the street from his friend's building, and waited for his friend to come out.

Someone opened the rear door on the driver's side of his car, got in, and sat down.  The lady was young and quite attractive.  She asked if it was  "OK" for her to bring her dog, "Princess",  a small white dog which she held in her arms.

Alan deduced quickly what just happened, and said "I'm sorry, but I'm not your Uber car."

The young woman apologized, and started to step out of the car.

Just then, Alan's friend showed up, to see the attractive young thing exiting Alan's car.  Alan had some explaining to do.

What is a "Four-Door"?

When I was a adolescent (early 1950s), a "four-door" was an automobile, a sedan.

Now (2017), it's a refrigerator.  See below, recent ad for "4-door refrigerators" starting at $1,111, and new refrigerator at friends who just remodeled their kitchen.  Actually, this is a 2-door and 2-drawer model.

Interestingly, the prices are about the same.  A Ford sedan in 1950 cost about $1,700, and I guess the refrigerator below was about the same.

Radiation Waiting Room

Over the past six weeks, I have spent a lot of time in the Radiation waiting area at the Cedars-Sinai Medical Center.  (This is my first prolonged exposure to cancer treatment in my life.  My paternal grandmother, Anna Park Colla, died of cancer, but I was only about ten at that time, and barely aware that she was ill.  She lived in Connecticut; we were in Philadelphia).

Patients come to the Radiation Center, usually for an extended series of treatments.  In Nadine’s’ case, it was every weekday for six weeks.  Some come alone, but many come escorted by family members or friends, who wait with them, and then wait alone while the patient has his or her treatment.  It usually takes about 25 minutes from the time the patient goes into one of the radiation treatment rooms, until they come back out.  Often they are on schedule, but sometimes late, so we can end up in the waiting area for an hour or more.  Some just sit, others read, and others are using their smart phones.  Some strike up conversations with others.

Most of the patients are on a regular daily schedule.  In our case, it was 10:30AM, every weekday.  So, I often got to see the same patients and the same escorts on many days.  I was struck by the variety of people who are undergoing radiation for cancer: old mostly, but young too; one little girl is seven.  Rich and middle class and poor.  Tall and short, heavy and skinny.  Male and female. White, black, Hispanic, and Asian.  Some come with canes or walkers or wheelchairs, or in gurneys.  The one thing they all have in common is radiation treatments for cancer.

One older man was getting extra “VIP" attention.  There is a Cedars employee whose job it to see that these patients get whatever they need.  When I joked if it was OK that he flirted with the nurse, he explained that “his wife was on the Board”.  

Another older man, Boris, was born in Kiev; his family fled to Kyrgyzstan during WWII, then came back.  Boris speaks very limited English, mostly just single words.  We found out we could have a conversation, of sorts, using the Translate app on my iPhone.  It translates spoken speech in both directions, spitting out the spoken sentence in the other language.  The various patient information posters on the walls are often in English, Spanish, Russian and Farsi.

Many are quiet and stoic, reading their papers or looking at their smart phone screens.

Some are optimistic and cheerful.  One man was is finishing his treatments during our last week there, and retiring the same day, and is looking forward to moving to San Diego County with his wife.  

Some are annoying and self-centered.  Cell phones are the instrument to exhibit their problems to us all.  One man was having a long and loud conversation on his cell phone: “She is trying to get me to marry her, and she is after my money”.  The rest of us began to smile at each other, as he was disturbing us all.  I finally turned to him and putting my forefinger to my lips, and uttered a “Shhh”.  He barked out at me: “I’m deaf”, pointing to his ear.  Finally the waiting room attendant came and asked him to move to a remote corner of the area.  A middle-aged lady argued on her cell phone with a retailer.  “I have been a good customer for years, and I will not be treated this way.”  Again, this was a very loud conversation that we all could hear.

The seven-year-old girl was a breath of fresh air, talking and running around and trying to engage with the adults, most of whom are quiet, often looking at their cell phones or tablets.

The one thing they all have in common is radiation treatments for cancer.

Tina's Daughter

It was around the year 2000, because that year the Chinese movie "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" was released. I was working in the IT organization at an aerospace company in the San Fernando Valley; Tina was a programmer there. We worked in different groups, but often met at the coffee machine.  Tina and I had several conversations about Chinese movies during that period.

Tina's background was interesting. Her family was Chinese. During what we called the Vietnam War, her family was living in Saigon when it became clear that the Communists were going to take over the country. Her father was a gem broker who dealt in precious stones. Her family fled Vietnam on a refugee boat with the clothes on their back.  I think her father carried a sack full of diamonds. 

Tina arrived in the United States at the age of ten or eleven, and was thrust into public school knowing very little English. Of course, she graduated, got educated, learned computer programming, married a Caucasian-American, and had a family.

During that time, Nadine and I had seen several Chinese movies, sometimes with the beautiful actress Gong Li. I first befriended Tina over our common interest in Chinese movies. She explained some of the nuances in the movies that I did not understand, knowing very little about the Chinese language and culture. 

Eventually Tina told me a little bit about her family. At that time her son was about twelve years old, was in public middle school, and was struggling somewhat academically. Tina and her husband were sending him to a Chinese language and cultural school on Saturdays so we could learn about that part of his heritage. A public school teacher told Tina that she thought that this separate academic activity was causing him some of the confusion and problems that he was experiencing. I told Tina that I strongly disagreed with this and hoped they would keep up his Chinese education. 

Sometime later, one day I was walking down the hall, and I saw Tina up ahead talking with another friend, Stacy who also worked in IT. As I approached, Tina beckoned to me and said "Coleman, come and see my daughter". Immediately, a soft warning bell went off in my head; Tina and I had talked at some length about Tina's son, but she had never mentioned to me that she had a daughter. I came up to them, and Tina showed me a picture cute 6-year-old Chinese girl. I looked at the picture, and then looked at Tina.  Despite the soft warning, I blurted out "Tina, she is very pretty and looks just like you"!

Off to the side, I heard Stacy giggle. Next, Stacy and Tina both broke out into laughter. Then Tina told me the story; she and her husband had decided to adopt a girl from a Chinese orphanage.  They had already made one trip to China and met a candidate child, and they were going back the next week to formally adopt the girl and bring her to the United States. 

I apologized for my faux-pas. Tina wasn't offended, and thought it was more humorous than anything else. 

About six months went by, when I ran into Tina again in the hall. I asked her how her daughter was doing, learning English and so forth. She told me that her English was very proficient, that she was a gang leader in her first grade class, and was sassing back to Tina now in very proficient Valley-Girl English.  I said it was too bad that she had not retained more of the traditional Chinese culture of respect for her parents.

More about Chinese female immigrants at another time.

Where I was born, and first lived

Going thru some family papers.  Have to get birth certificates so Nadine and I can apply for new passport books, so we can immigrate to Canada (or at least visit Adam and family there).  Our old passport books have expired, and the passport cards we got in 2013 to drive with Stan and Judi to Quebec are not valid for air travel to Vancouver.

Came across an envelope (January 1936; 3 cent stamp), which was used by the hospital to mail my birth certificate to my mother.

Pretty amazing; if you use Google Maps, you can find pictures of both these places: 

• Episcopal Hospital where I was born: First Street and Lehigh Avenue, Philadelphia
• Stonehurst Court where my family first lived: Upper Darby, PA

Facebook

I tried Facebook about two years ago.  I made some posts which I thought were clever or funny or meaningful or whatever.

Then I would check back in a day or two, to find out how many people "liked" my posts.  I would feel good if there were a few or a lot of likes, and bad if there were none.

I got bored searching thru all the posts of my "friends",  most of which were about people I did not know, or activities in which I had no real interest.  It became a real time killer for me.

Then I realized that the undertaking was mostly my ego trip, and I stopped.