Musings from the Last Decade

At this point in my life, I can barely remember what I did last week let alone ten years ago. So, to Facebook I went to review my timeline from 2010 until now. I noticed a few things. I posted A LOT back then. Maybe I felt I had to update everyone, several times a week, about what was going on in my life. Like what I was cooking that day, people who got on my nerves, hints about things happening to me. The last few years, I have chosen to embrace the quiet. Does this mean I've become more of a social media stalker? Probably. But many of my thoughts I have saved for myself, or I've added them to my stories. Wow. Ten years has flown by and so many things have happened. There were definitely some very difficult times that tested my patience, my marriage, my sanity. We had three high school graduations that resulted in three daughters currently in college. One daughter going on a church mission for eighteen months in New York City. Watching my dad fight ALS and losing him in 2017. Beginning a new career in higher education towards the end of 2010 and still going strong. One of the best decisions of my life. Self publishing five books, three available on Amazon. This year I turn 50 years old. And I've decided to celebrate the entire year. Because I can. I will be half a century old. And I'm okay with it. There are plans for physical improvement, including more exercising and better eating choices. Communication is slowly improving with my husband and I'm excited to see how this will flourish. We are not the same people we were when we got married, but we're becoming better. That's how marriages work. I'm taking a community leadership course starting in January. Now that my girls are older, and help out a lot more around the house, I have time to participate in community work. I want to start and end the year with a bang with a whole lot of fireworks in between! So, get ready folks! I'll be updating everyone throughout this year, taking you on this journey of mine. Be prepared for more blog posts and some big things happening in 2020! Happy New Year, ya'll!

Emerging Pasifika Writers (and crushed future dreams)

Emerging Pasifika Writer's Residency 2020

Apply now!

A fellow author posted this position on Facebook and I thought, "You know, I could totally do this. Maybe not this year, but in a few years. When my youngest finishes high school. Five years to be exact." Excitedly, I started to think about the possibilities, how I would take a leave of absence from work, how my three oldest would already have their Bachelor's degrees (at least) and on their own, how I could leave the house in their capable hands while I flit off to New Zealand to write my heart out for three months AND get paid for it. Then reality slapped me in the face with its ugly, ring-laden hand. Right square in the eyepolos. I read the fine print. Where it says you have to be a New Zealand citizen or hold permanent residency. Um, yeah. Strike one and only. Of course all of my justifications for NOT applying came back as, "Yeah, I couldn't make it work anyway. Well, who knows if they will offer this in five years when I could MAYBE try to apply. Eh, just write on your own and keep self publishing." I applaud New Zealand and its ever forward-moving thinking and initiatives that support Pasifika peoples. How do we start something like this here in the USA?

Green Eggs and Pancakes

The waitress set our plates on the table

“Happy St. Patrick’s Day!”

Her voice feigning cheer

While her face contradicted the jolly message

She had difficulty masking the hostility

The green eggs looked like plastic barf

And the matching green pancakes?

Too light for St. Patty’s Day

Too green for a decent breakfast

At least the ham was normal

It was possible I had fallen into a Dr. Seuss nightmare

The glares we were getting from patrons

Were anything BUT welcoming

As we ate, I tried to quiet my eyeballs

They tend to roll really loud

Like outside voice loud

We were surrounded by rural, white farmers

In rural, white Utah

Celebrating a white holiday with green eggs and green pancakes

That we didn't order
We ordered pancakes, ham, and eggs
But not in green
We weren't even given a choice
Or a head's up
Nothing
My daughter walked back from the restroom
Took one look at the food
I shook my head, still in disbelief
Willing her to stay quiet
Looking across the room
Kitty corner to our booth
An older gentlemen sat staring at us
Not even hiding the fact
That his eyes were glued to the two brown women
Who stared in turn at their green food
Snapping out of our shock
We prepared our food as we usually do
Meticulously cutting our pancakes
Before pouring the syrup over the pieces
The more syrup the better
You want pancakes with your syrup?
Yes, please
Taking a bite, while giggling at the madness
It wasn't half bad
The eggs? Those were not half good
Ham, you are my saving grace
Minutes later, the waitress returns
"Do you need anything else?"
Even if we did, I wouldn't say anything
Just the check, please
So I can get away from this horror movie
I wasn't about to die in Nowhere, Utah
The cashier is a young Latina
"How was everything?"
Finally, a question with genuine concern
That's good customer service, my friends
Relieved to see another brown person
I wondered how she fared
Working, possibly living, in this surly environment
Driving home, surviving breakfast doused in food coloring,
We had two hours to dissect
Being put under a white microscope
Making us appreciate our neighborhood
With its rich diversity
And strong familial ties
Feeling sad for those who lack that beauty
Who can't see past someone's complexion
The only color they seem to appreciate
Are in green eggs and pancakes
We're well into the twenty-first century
And yet...

Hair Color and Potty Mouths

The beginning of each month has signified a very important milestone in my life for the past year. It's hair coloring day. I've tried paying for hair coloring with highlights to cover those stubborn white hairs that seem to be multiplying like rabbits, but it was too expensive and time consuming. So I found myself a box and color that I could afford and enjoyed. It's almost the same as my natural hair color. Well, before the white started taking over. Before I go any further, yes, I am vain. At least in that department. My sister said I was just like my dad, who colored his hair for many, many years. I take that as a compliment since my dad was a very good looking man. I'm just not ready to let my hair change color. And texture. I embrace my curls. They make me feel strong and sassy. And they are a natural part of me.

I mentioned to my daughters it was time to go color my hair and my youngest, who is thirteen, says, "Mom, you should just let your hair go white, like that guy in the movie Glass." That guy being Samuel L. Jackson. She didn't say, "Let your hair go white so you can look like Storm from X-Men. Or T'Challa's mom in Black Panther." She could have named any other female with beautiful white hair but she chose Samuel L. Jackson. My sister got a kick out of that. She texted: "It's prob cuz of that mother effing potty mouth u mother effing use every mother effing day." Sigh... I give up.

 
 

From Dance Clubbin' to Book Clubbin'

"Girl, that's my jam!" Thursday nights at the Wildcat house with their $2 long island iced tea pitchers, hip hop music blasting through the speakers, picnic tables all along the edges surrounding a large square dance floor, in a building that was most likely a barn once upon a time. Going to the club was a rite of passage. Being able to flash my ID knowing I was legally allowed to enter and partake, gave me a sense of freedom. That was clubbin'. What outfit should I wear? What's the latest Janet Jackson style I can copy? All of this on a broke ass college student budget. Meaning, I ate boxed mashed potatoes, pasta, and pasta sauce for the week. No ramen noodles for this gal. Breakfast was peanut M&M's and a one liter Pepsi. Lunch was whatever cost less than $5. Dinner, see list above. Going to the club on the weekend, or close enough to the weekend, helped release tensions. Especially after a really difficult test or turning in a fifty page report on a short story about a man who turns into a cockroach. I'm pretty sure I took that story in a totally different direction considering I grew up with ginormous cockroaches, some who even had wings and flew around. It's all about perspective, right? That was many years ago, about 27 to be exact.

Fast forward. Clubbin' equals book clubbin'. The music we listen to are shared stories, laughing, and crying. The partaking of choice? Sugary sweets, little cucumber sandwiches, water, and hot chocolate. Your ID? The book of the month. You don't even have to live off of ramen, pasta, and boxed mashed potatoes. You can check out the book at the library. For FREE! Gasp! This is the new stress relief from a week or month of work, wherever that might be. A chance to be surrounded by folks who can connect, agree, disagree, and really get into culture, upbringing, the good, the bad, and the ugly. All in a safe space. A one hour session that turns into two hours as we shut down the library (poor ladies needed to close and go home) and continue our chatting out in the parking lot. In the cold. But not wanting the night and conversation to end.

I'll be honest. I choose the book clubbin. The dance clubbin always left me with a sense of loneliness and a constant wondering about why I was doing this to myself. The book clubbin had me going home feeling utterly fulfilled, a new sisterhood forged, and looking forward to the next month. As I read our March book, I'm driven to continue this writing experience. Past, present, and future, books have always filled any void in my life. It's the perfect kind of clubbin!

Join us in March as we discuss the first book of LaniWendt Young's Telesa trilogy, The Covenant Keeper, available at the Salt Lake City Public Library or on www.amazon.com.

CLICK HERE FOR BOOK CLUB SCHEDULE FOR 2019

Why Do I Write?

Why do I write?  A common question that has surfaced in the last few months about my stories.

I write because I was born and raised in American Samoa, surrounded and immersed in a rich culture. I write because my children were born and raised in Utah, listening to sporadic stories from their parents and grandparents about growing up in the islands. I write because my children, along with many Pasifika children, hold ancestry in one or more of our Pacific Islander groups, but rarely, if ever, set foot on ancestral lands. I write because these children may not hear or learn of their stories. They may be more familiar with Harry Potter, or anime, or Disney, but they may not know the story of Sina and the eel, Pele and Kamapua'a, Tu'i Tonga's bloodline leading to the gods, or the meaning behind the well-known Maori haka, Ka Mate. I write so our Pasifika children can see themselves in stories, so they, along with others, can have a better understanding of Pacific Islanders, and above all, inspire them to start learning their own stories. Hopefully, they will pick up where I leave off, and continue telling our stories, bridging the gap between their heritage and the new space in which they live.

I was asked to speak about myself at the KUED pre-launch event for PBS's The Great American Read program that officially begins next Tuesday, September 11, 2018.  Since I don't do well with impromptu, I wrote this as my introduction.  I was then asked how I learned the stories.  It's been an ongoing process.  I learned some when I was growing up, but I feel like I've learned even more recently, as I research for my books, and because I want to know more.  

Lesson of the day:  Never stop learning or telling your stories.

 

A Work In Progress

My writing is a work in progress.  In the last five months, I self published two books, one middle school reader and one picture counting book that is in English and Samoan.  I've been interviewed by KUED (the local PBS station) and will have a 5-minute episode on my writing that will air on PBS throughout the year during The Great American Read (TGAR) series.  In a couple of weeks, there will be a prelaunch for TGAR and I will be there to discuss my book and view the episode before it airs on the nationwide launch date of September 11th.  I'm slowly working on the next book which is based in American Samoa.  The writing is always a work in progress.  But I love it.

My career is a work in progress.  I love working with students.  My current position has been extremely rewarding.  I have been encouraged to do more outreach, I have been supported when coming up with new ideas, and I have been taught new things that excite me.  I have been encouraged to write, not only for the department, but for myself.  I have been introduced to a fellow writer and publisher so I can "pick" her brain.  I continue to learn and grow in my position.

My life is a work in progress.  I have two, almost three, adult children and an almost teenager.  I am trying to adjust to their independence and sometime in the near future, the empty nest syndrome.  Many parents are elated to have their children out of the house.  Some even open the door and fling their childrens' bags to them as they dance on the porch waiting for those quiet times.  I am not one of those parents.  The thought of being home without my kids makes me sad.  So I am trying to take advantage of some extra time to write more, I signed up for a Samoan language class, and I'm doing more in-person events to promote my books.  I look at pictures of when my kids were young and wonder where the time went.

My faith is a work in progress.  I have always believed in God, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost.  I have always turned to him and the scriptures in times of need and in times of joy.  I continue to struggle to know what is true, though.  The ideals and actions of man cloud the goodness of worshipping and fellowshipping.  Which one is true?  How do I know?  I keep going and receive bits and pieces of confirmation that what I'm doing is working and will continue to help me grow spiritually.

My thoughts are a work in progress.  There are days where I get lost in the daily tasks that are ever present as a full time working mom.  I have an idea pop into my head as I'm washing dishes, or cleaning the shower, or walking the dog.  Sometimes I can write them down to ponder later.  Sometimes I forget what I was thinking about since I'm bombarded once I walk in the door of my home.  Maybe a machine that can record the thoughts might be helpful?  Or maybe that's dangerous because some thoughts are not so nice.  Cancel that machine order. 

We are all a work in progress.  It's a neverending process that we should enjoy on this journey through life.  I've been learning about my ancestry, trying to gather stories from aunts and uncles about their days growing up.  I didn't get to write down my Dad's stories before he passed away.  So many memories gone.  I'm hoping my Mom will start writing her stories.  She used to write.  When I was a teenager.  We would drive up to the tram and I would sit quietly as my mom wrote.  She was writing children's stories about a tram and its adventures.  Sort of like a Thomas the Train.  I don't know where the stories are, if they're tucked safely away or if they are completely gone.  We will continue working on ourselves, gathering our family stories, and strive to be better people.