I am still alive, but in introspective mode. Partly concerning the state of the world including the pandemic and the Black Lives Matter movement. Partly concerning my own mental health, and prospects for my future employment and living situation. Partly concerning my piano teaching business and my piano playing skills. Partly concerning my loved ones, including the health and safety of my aging parents. And of course, partly concerning my physical health - exercise, Qi Gong practice, and eating habits.
A lot to digest!
So instead of bore you with my rambling streams of consciousness, I thought I would post an excerpt from my blog post on January 16, 2019, entitled "Even the White People", which is relevant today more than ever.
I hope to get back on track soon. But in the meantime, be safe, healthy and peaceful!
Love,
Zita
Excerpt from my blog post on January 16, 2019, entitled "Even the White People"
In a very alarming way.
I woke up early this morning. I dressed in layers. It was bitter cold. Even Honey Dog, hesitated before heading outside for her morning constitutional.
I walked through the park with my bat light. The sun was just beginning to come up. Streaks of magenta illumined the eastern sky.
It reminded me that I have been trying to start the day with prayer. Before the sun comes up. Before my daughter and granddaughter wake up.
I did this morning. And it felt right.
I walked briskly. To keep my mind off of the cold and to insure that I made all of my bus connections. The express buses do not run on the weekends, so it is a long trip to Portland.
I made good time this morning. Did not have to wait longer than 5 minutes for each connection. In fact, when I arrived at the Delta Park Max Station, the train was just pulling in. I ran across the tracks with a group of people and boarded. just as the doors closed. I went to the front of the train. I sat one row back from the door separating the passengers from the driver. I like facing forward. I usually knit hats on the train, and facing backwards or sideways tends to bring on motion sickness.
I got comfortable, and took out my loom and yarn. At the next stop, a man and woman got on. They stomped down the aisle and plopped into the seats directly in front of me. The man leaned against the window. When the woman sat down, he flinched when her shoulder touched him. She snarled.
I stared at the back of their heads. Palpable tension seemed to rise from them like steam. They started arguing and fussing at each other. With each accusation, their voices got louder. I sighed. So much for a relaxing, peaceful ride.
My started to tighten as I heard the couple argue. My throat itched. I coughed a dry cough.
The woman turned to me and yelled, "Cover your mouth!"
Calmly and sweetly, I replied, "I did. Perhaps you didn't see me."
"I FELT it!" she bellowed.
"Sorry", I said as I kept knitting. "I have asthma. I am not sick. I just cough. I use an inhaler".
I kept my tone calm and even so as not to anger her further.
Her companion turned to me. He had a tear drop tattoed under his left eye. But he had kind, deep brown eyes.
"Excuse her, Miss", he said in a soft voice. "She hates everybody today'.
I smiled and kept knitting.
They continued to argue. The woman was agitated and fidgity. Much foul language spewed from her mouth, which contained very little teeth.
Suddenly the train stopped. The door to the driver's compartment flew open. The driver stood in the doorway.
"Is there a problem?" She demanded. Her hands were clenched at her hips.
The woman in front of me eloquently explained that her boyfriend was a "retarded mother-f*cker".
The driver glared at her. "Excuse me?!"
The foul mouth woman laughed.
The young man behind me piped up in a Southern drawl, "It's ok ma'am. That's just the way THEY talk".
Foul mouth woman jumped and spun around. "What did you say?!"
Southern guy said, "No. I mean, that's just the way you two are talking. No harm!"
Foul mouth grunted. She mumbled something about "racist mother f*ckers".
The door to the driver's compartment closed. But the train didn't move. We sat there. All of the passengers looked around at each other.
An older couple across the aisle started talking with foul mouth woman. They joked about language and how white people can't say n*gga, but it's ok for black people. They older man said it was Richard Pryor who first started joking about it.
Foul mouth woman laughed.
The atmosphere lightened. We were a train of many races: Black, white, Hispanic, and Texan. O.K. Texan is not a race. But the man with the Southern accent did say he was from Texas.
People started mumbling about why the train was not moving.
Suddenly a young woman in a security guard uniform boarded.
"Is everyone ok here?" she asked with a concerned tone of voice. "I heard there was violence".
Simultaneously, we all shook our heads and said no.
Tex said, "Can we just go? I'm late to work!"
The security guard scanned our faces and deboarded the train. She stood outside with her walkie talkie to her mouth. The train door remained open.
We all gasped when we heard what she said next:
"It's ok. Train can leave. EVEN THE WHITE PEOPLE SAID EVERYTHING IS OK"
We all looked at each other, eyebrows raised.
"That's not right", I said.
Foul mouth woman turned around and said, "Shake my hand, sister".
She asked for people's phone numbers. I told her I would call Tri-Met and report it.
Tex apologized to her.
She turned around with sad eyes. "It ain't never going to change", she said.
I for one was shocked. I have heard angry words on public transportation. I have seen drunks, drug addicts, homeless, mentally ill and just plain mean, jerks.
But in all my years riding the bus in Portland, I have never heard such a blatantly racist comment.
I did call Tri-Met later. The woman on the phone spoke with me for several minutes. She agreed it was a horrible thing for someone to say. But she said it was not a Tri-Met employee. It took place at the MODA center stop where they contract with a private security company. She asked if the young woman was wearing a Tri-Met uniform. I told her she was not. Just a yellow vest over some kind of security uniform.
Still, the Tri-Met customer service operator said she would report it. She took my name and phone number in case her supervisor wanted to talk to me.
They never called back.
But I know there are at least a dozen people that will never forget that incident.
And I for one am glad I was part of that group.
Talk to you soon.
Zita
P.S. If you enjoy reading my blog, please consider sending me love in the form of a cup of coffee (or tea)!
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