Sunday, March 31, 2013

Big Yellow Taxi (You Don't Know What You Got Till It's Gone)


 
 
 Big Yellow Taxi   Printer-friendly version of this lyric

They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot
With a pink hotel *, a boutique
And a swinging hot spot

Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got
Till it's gone
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot

They took all the trees
Put 'em in a tree museum *
And they charged the people
A dollar and a half just to see 'em

Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got
Till it's gone
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot

Hey farmer farmer
Put away that DDT  now
Give me spots on my apples
But leave me the birds and the bees
Please!

Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got
Till it's gone
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot

Late last night
I heard the screen door slam
And a big yellow taxi
Took away my old man

Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got
Till it's gone
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot

They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot

Friday, March 29, 2013

Remembering Sung

In 2001- I met a lady in the Jacuzzi at the Bally's fitness in Rosemead, California.
She didn't seem very happy when I first approached her- as she seemed kind of sullen and very sad.
"What's wrong. You seem pretty unhappy," I asked the lady, who had a short curly hair cut, big eyes that at first seemed to reflect her sadness- but at the same time, accepted her fate.
"I'm sad and lonely," was all she said.
"Oh- okay- like the rest of us," I responded, and began to turn away.
I walked to the opposite corner of the Jacuzzi, only to be surprised to see her sitting across from me.
"I am Sung," she began, with a proud expression. "My name means royalty."
"Yeah, okay- so why are you so sad, Sung?"
"I am not really sad," she replied, "but conversations are made from questions."
 
That is how I began my little journey with Sung- and she told me she owned a house in San Gabriel, and that she was involved in vacation sharing, and had formerly owned a swimming pool business with her former husband.
 
Sung was about 55 or so- I was ten years younger and was surprised at how wise this lady was- and how kind as well.
 
Many times afterward, I would go into the sauna at the same gym, only to find Sung in a prayer type pose- quiet as a mouse and was meditating.
 
I never disturbed her, would go about my business only to find her again sitting next to me and would start telling me about her rose bushes and gardening- and how her neighbors referred her as "the crazy woman" who gardened in her bathing suit.
 
"Oh, Danny, here- I got these at the Hawaiian market for you."
 
She handed me a large tin can of crackers, and the first thing I mentioned was peanut butter and crackers, my favorite, and she warned me not to eat too much.
 
Then she began to stretch, and I she showed me that she could hold her hands flat pointed upward.
 
I had known another Thai lady that could do this maneuver- and as I tried myself, it locked up my back and I started yelling.
 
"Don't try this at home," she laughed, and she could hang her leg around her neck- all the while laughing at me; "can you do this?"
 
"No."
 
Sung had tried to teach me some basic yoga in the following months that turned to years.
 
I never grasped them, but I scratched the surface of some of the Buddha discipline she tried to teach me- the only difference she had "hung out" with "the tree people" or "forest people" in her native Thailand and I must admit- some of her teachings I still use today.   
 
I can go on, as I will throughout this blog- but sadly, I must indicate in 2005- I lost my friend Sung after she had a bad "slip and fall" on a city street.
 
We thought she had walked away from the slip, where she fell on the edge of a curb while walking.
 
She hit her head on the concrete, and she had always feared X-Rays- and I remember the last time I saw her, that she informed me of a "terrible headache" and I told her to go home.
 
Months later, I found out that she had not gone back to Thailand like the other gym goers had told me.
 
She had no choice to opt for neurosurgery to repair a blood clot in her brain (most likely from the fall) and when she came out of it she was paralyzed on her right side, and barely able to speak.
 
Her daughter, who lived in her house, along with her brother, would not allow her to have visitors, and only one of us, a Pilipino lady named Mila- had contact with her since her surgery- once.

The departure left me for a hunger to learn more about Thailand, it's peoples, the Buddhism and
ways of life.

Nobody- and I mean nobody, was like Sung- who was a wonderful teacher and friend- and never asked for anything in return.

I was never able to "fill the void" she left- I must have taken her for granted, thinking she would always be there.
 
Guess I thought wrong.

This blog is also dedicated in thankfulness to all the Thai Restaurant's that I have visited while searching for another "Sung."

I want them to know I am sorry- and thankful as well- for allowing me to share some of this emotional baggage.

People that are close in our lives cannot be mimicked or "replaced." Sometimes, "The Spirit" or whatever God or Goddess you believe in might have pity on us and bring a "Sung" into our lives.

If it does occur- do not take anyone or any of the teachings they might bestow upon you for granted- as you may touch them today, and tomorrow, they might be gone.