Happiest Place on Earth

We love Disneyland.

It is true that you don’t see many smiling faces at the happiest place on earth (I did pay attention this time, GPA, and your observation was accurate.) It is true that it’s a bit silly to stand in the line for 40 minutes for a two-minute ride. It is true that the over-priced bottled water, corn dogs and churros would cause indigestion for some and it happens before they take a bite. It is also true that the establishment reeks of the stink of big corporation; and is a showcase of how money can create images and how propagandas can be done so discreetly and beautifully.

But we face truth with dignity and preparations; and the fact that Mr. D has been working hard to make sure this trip is possible helps, too. It is not difficult to conquer truth with experiences and with courage to say “no” to your children when they want everything in the gift shop(s). Along the way you discover that you are actually enjoying being in a crowd; being within the earshot of other parents’ frustrated command: “Dorothy, get over here!”; of children’s high pitched exclamations: “Loooook! Mickey Mouse!!”; of the screaming coming from the rides and the laughing and giggling of the young and the old. You are not really yourself when you are in Disneyland - you are a princess or a pirate; a time traveler or a story teller; a mouse or a bear; a magician or a monster - and whatever it is, it suits you perfectly.

We don’t always find happiness in truth though we do in Disneyland. I was convinced the moment I saw Henry running through the made-believe redwood “forest” and bouncing on the suspension bridge, smiling big at his own bravery. Ethan enthusiastically swing or flying across an area where it’s cushioned with rubbery debris. My heart found indescribable joy when I saw the brothers holding hands walking through the bridges made of ropes. Hanging onto each other, they will take care of each other when one day their parents disappear with the dust.

And there are more to be posted because the memories and the smiles are still fresh and the dreamer is still dreaming.

In Remembrance - D. C. adventure

It was a somber day and how could it not be when you are in Arlington Cemetery? The rows and rows of white marble tomb stones; each craved with a different name, years of birth and death - simple and ordinary - James E. Smith, 1909 - 1949. I couldn't help but wonder how many stories were shorten abruptly; how many lives had taken a different turn and how much memories have faded over the years and how many hair have turned gray in the longing for the dead? We walked around the beautiful landscape in reverence; watched the military practice in front of the Eternal Flame where J. F. K. was laid to rest; found the tomb of the unknown soldier and watched this Marine walked 12 steps over the right side of the tomb, stood still for 15 seconds and walked another 12 steps back to the left.

The hill was peaceful, the grass green and lush and the sky was bright and blue with the promise of another sunny day with heat and humidity. We hiked up to General Lee's mansion (it was his wife's property really - she was the granddaughter of Martha Cutis Washington.) and the view from the hilltop was breathtaking. It is not difficult to recognize the landmarks of the city, the capitol of the nation. A nation "...under G-d, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all." What a grand and admirable concept; and what a tremendous sacrifice goes with it.

I found my steps heavy with melancholy and my heart ladened with sadness remembering the War memorials that we visited yesterday: the WWII memorial, the Korean War memorial, the Vietnam War memorial. LCG was able to find the name of her father's childhood friend who died in Vietnam and KG found the tribute sign for the Battle of the Bulge where her late father was a part of at the WWII memorial. The stories did not end with the departed; their family, children, friends, carried on - life goes on - and these memorials were built because the living need to be reassured that the death was not in vain; the war was necessary and that the dead die heroes. Or is it?

At the WWWII memorial, I lingered at the Pacific side. Remembering the story of my maternal grandfather who was drafted by the Japanese government and fought for the Japanese army and ended up missing (and presumed dead) in the Philippines. Remembering my dad's experience of being kidnapped at age 12, becoming boy-soilder carrying a gun and fighting a war which he had no concept nor understanding of. His father had no idea where he was and what had become of him. The last sentence my paternal grandfather uttered was "Is Xaio-Jung-Ze home?" These people of mine, some of them had never touched a gun or igniting a bomb, went through the torment and horrid of the war. War is an ugly thing and sometimes I think the death is the easier part of it. The aftermath of the ones who have survived war is the bitter fruit to swallow. How it altered one's mind/thoughts/life is something no research or study could put it to certain terms.  These revenants of the wars are living among us and no memorials grand enough to bring them back to life.

These are my thoughts.