06.11.2007 Greetings,
MK 42 is up with an audio tribute to Bev, a teacher who passed this week.
As they say, "One door closes and one door opens but the hallways can be a bitch."
Pick the lock and stroll through your secret garden. It extends forever.
Peace.
06.6.2007 Greetings,
It's been a tough week for the foreign teachers, staff and students. Bev, a Business English teacher from Australia, mid-50's, passed on Monday.
She suffered severe head injuries in a motor-bike accident on campus last Thursday when she apparently lost control and hit a wall while negotiating a turn. Tragic. They got her to the hospital and into ICU on life support.
Teachers and staff stayed with her. They did what they could. Her condition deteriorated over the weekend. Her son arrived from Perth, her daughter from London.
Bev was the light of the staff; always available, always participating in activities - dance, basketball, ping-pong, extra tutoring - with a super friendly highly engaged ebullient personality.
People gathered yesterday at the site 24 hours after her passing. Flowers, incense, and prayers. The area is now a memorial garden filled with flowers in her favorite colors, Bonsai, palms, Liliacs, Rhododendrons, Roses and Flying Bird.
Her children took her home to Adelaide.
Peace.
06.4.2007 Greetings,
Here is a fine audio clip featuring wonderful violin music performed by Andrea Mosconi,75, who plays the Amatis, Guarneris and Stradivarius daily at the Cremona Violin Museum in northern Italy to keep them in tune.
“A great instrument should get great music and also a great performer,” he said. A multimillion-dollar violin in hand, he paused for a moment to ponder his own place. “Not that I am a great performer,” he said. “But I do my work.”
Peace.
06.2.2007 Greetings,
Today is Children's Day. Everyday is children's day. Let's take the day off and be creative.
Peace.
05.31.2007 Greetings,
mid-day is the least busy Time
frisked down by some guys at security -
they may have been from Ghana or Somalia or Ethiopia
but I suspect Congo or Zaire as their dialect was different enough
they are young and laughing at the never ending task
waving detector wands over people
and the one doing me is young & angry & exasperated at having to do anything
so far removed from his land, his place, his family, his brothers and sisters carrying water
on their heads in cracked plastic pails from deep distant wells
drying in the heat of perpetual summer’s drought
his tie is askew and his white shirt
against his thin black neck
is frayed and his blue blazer looks severely uncomfortable on his frame
and the Asian woman says the other woman screening bags doesn’t know
what a harmonica is so I pull it out of the small pocket in the key of D
ask if she would like me to play her something
she says yes so I play a few blues riffles on automatic pilot
she laughs as passengers flow around
mothers manage baby carriages - three tired tiered birthday cakes with burning candles
their long lonely joyful responsibilities
and then the music stops
I put the harmonica back in the bag and take the escalator down
to the train watching Hispanic woman mop the floor as
women in furs and designer jewelry wait impatiently
for the train to Concourse ABC...
the train zooms through tunnels as through amusement parks rides
free with silver spinning windmills in cement walls whirling the wind tunnels
people get off and on
a White woman with her Black husband holds her child
his black curly hair all ringed around small ears
husband looks bored and she is not sure in her heart
if she made the right decision
they are flying east to see her folks
he never smiles and they share no words
Peace
