Possible Sighting #4: Wellington International Airport

Saying goodbye to loved ones who live halfway around the world from you is not easy. In fact, it’s incredibly painful. On one hand, you’re full from the memories you created and the love you shared, but on the other hand you’re eager to get back into your own routine again. But when you don’t know when you’ll see those people again, and when it takes about 24 hours to get to them via one long 11-hour flight, the grief can almost be too much to bear. And it can make a person feel just how far away they actually are and that sucks. The loneliness sucks. 

I found myself feeling all of that and more yesterday, as my parents left for America after a five-week visit. I’m still struggling a bit today, but only because there’s no one here to help me do the dishes (they were so fast at doing those dishes!).

But the time had come to an end so we loaded up the car with their bags and were on our way. Trust me, I drove as slowly as I could tempting them with “one last toe dip in the ocean?” or “just a quick touch of the golden sand?” but they were satisfied.

Hello, Smaug 

My son loves the airport with the ginormous eagles, Gollum, and Smaug sculptures provided by Weta workshop. Walking to their gate, my boy was racing ahead of us shouting excitedly at everything in his path, and I was dragging my feet as I felt the tears wet my eyes. 

Not wanting to linger with the goodbye too much, we hugged; knowing everything we wanted to say to one another had been said at the house.We watched them go through security easily, with no line, all very laid back with smiles mirroring the joy that was gained from the visit.

A very active toddler, my boy was wiggling about in my arms and is much too big for me to carry around. But in order to keep him from hopping on the plane with them, I chose to hold him. He wiggled and spoke in his soft, chipmunk voice, “goodbye grandma and grandpa”, waved one last time and we began to walk away from gate eleven.

With heaviness in my heart at the thought of missing them and the physical heaviness in my arms with this big boy, I stepped off to the side of the hall to compose myself. I set him on a chair behind glass that separated us from the departure lounge but still allows you to see the parked planes. As he rattled off the letters written on the side of the airplane, I spotted a man sitting a few seats over, in the same area as us.

It was Joe. I was sure of it.

Reddish-blond hair, goatee, pale skin, deep-set eyes, glasses… Could it be that I’ve found Joe Wellington at the airport?

Trying to keep one eye on my boy and one on the possible-Joe, my parents then came around the other side of the glass from their departure lounge and gave us one last wave with air kisses. A lovely gesture, I waved to them again, but glanced back at possible-Joe. It had to be him. I looked back at my parents, still waving and still blowing kisses. Preoccupied, I could not stop silently rehearsing what to say to this possible-Joe. Back and forth, I looked to my parents, then to my boy, then to possible-Joe.

I had to ask if he was my old friend. I couldn’t let the opportunity pass me by.

I envisioned what I would do if it turned out to be him: I would probably yell at my parents and pound on the glass, “I found him! It’s him! It’s Joe Wellington!” and maybe I’d get a chance to ask if his surname is really ‘Wellington’ before security would haul me away.

We waved our final goodbye to my parents as I scooped my heavy boy into my arms. My eyes were completely dry at this point as I was focused on one thing only: I may have possibly found Joe Wellington.

Shifting my son’s weight to my left hip so I could speak with possible-Joe (apparently I think more clearly from my right hip?), I leaned toward him slightly as we were about to turn the corner... 

“Excuse me, does your name happen to be Joe?”

Softly but with eye contact, he replied, “No.”

“Ok then, thank you. You looked familiar.”

“No worries,” he said unaffected.

My boy and I slipped around the corner and walked slowly back to our car, the reality of why we were at the airport in the first place hitting us hard again. Our vacation time with grandma and grandpa had come to an end. Driving away, I thought about my friend Joe Wellington, out there somewhere, and how funny it would have been had that possible-Joe been actual-Joe at a time like this.

As we watched grandma and grandpa’s plane take off from a nearby park, the tears returned to my eyes. I laughed at how distracted I was at the airport, how overwhelmed with emotion I had been earlier in the day but how not one tear fell from my eye at the gate.

So my search for Joe Wellington continues. And in the meantime, thanks for distracting me enough that the goodbye wasn’t as sad as it could have been. I managed to hold off crying until getting to the car.

Maybe I’m not supposed to find Joe Wellington right now… but maybe I’m just supposed to keep looking.

Wellington After Dark

           Happy Holidays, Joe Wellington followers!

           There has been a lot of discussion about Joe Wellington the past few weeks as 2014 comes to a close. With the holidays here, I’ve been traveling and enjoying time with friends and family. My wee family of three feels very blessed that my parents have travelled from America to visit and tour part of this gorgeous country we call home. And really, it also means we have live-in babysitters!

            A few weeks ago, my husband and I were able to have a date night (rarely do we get to go out in the dark!) and venture out for a night in downtown Wellington. It’s been a long time since I’ve really allowed myself to enjoy the nightlife- I got most of that out of my system when I was in my early twenties- but in the past eight years I’ve spent much of my time focused on education, career, and then starting a family. So when the opportunity to go out without a little toddler hopping along was presented to me, we didn’t hesitate. We didn’t really know what to do or where to go and while my husband was eager to socialize, I saw this as an opportunity to search for Joe Wellington.

            First stop to help ease us back into date-mode: Husband's office Christmas party. I was excited to attend the festivities because his company switched offices and I’d heard nothing but good things about the move. I also just plain like the people I’ve met there. Not only does my husband work his dream job, but he’s met some kick-ass people. One co-worker who he's always spoken highly of was willing to show us a couple of the nightspots we’d wanted to try. Unfortunately, Joe Wellington was not at the party so we had to continue on.

            Second stop: My husband’s co-worker and his partner met us at the Library Lounge and Bar. It was packed with wall-to-wall people and BOOKS. If given the choice, we could have picked a spot on a couch or table and still be encircled floor to ceiling by any book genre to match your mood- nonfiction, romance, and mystery, literary or even travel guides. As an aspiring author, this is my idea of the ultimate relaxation spot. 

Just one of the many books surrounding me that caught my eye at The Library Lounge

We were placed on a waitlist for a booth but there was no wait in getting a drink at the bar. We chatted and listened to the piano lounge singer while sipping our super sweet-tasting Christmas cocktails. Still, even with all the literature surrounding me I managed to scan the room for Joe Wellington. Hopeful he was hiding between a pile of books, I am sad to say I didn't find him among the pages. 

            Third and final stop: Hawthorn Lounge. We accompanied our friends through a plain doorway and up a narrow flight of stairs that offered no sign to inform us of our whereabouts. Stepping into a crowded and bustling room with a bar, I felt like I was transported back to a 1920s speakeasy.  The bartenders wore shiny silver vests with bowties and rapidly but meticulously mixed their signature drinks.

            It was here that I told our friends about Joe Wellington and led them to this blog and my Twitter page (@EWallerCarlino). A creative artist herself, my friend was instantly enthusiastic about the search and vowed perseverance in finding him. She tweeted some photos I had on Twitter that got a bit of recognition but no leads. It’s those extra pair of eyes (and tweets) that will help find my long-lost friend. 

            Most people offer encouragement, stating that New Zealand is a small country so finding him shouldn’t be too difficult. Yet, here I am a year later still searching. One Twitter follower commented on a tweet, suggesting that perhaps Joe Wellington doesn’t want to be found. While that very well could be true, all though definitely not the outcome I want to accept, I feel like I must keep trying.

            Some say his last name must not be Wellington. Truth is, since I have no documentation (weird for someone who has heaps of journals) of him, I admit that is definitely and most likely accurate. So now what?

            With bright Christmas lights lining the dark streets, laughter and chatter of the holiday season stimulating me as my beloved and I sauntered down Courtney Place, I am reminded amidst the commotion of why I continue this journey.

           Joe wasn't any place I went to on our date night, but every store I've entered this holiday season, every stroll around town, every crowded farmer’s market or restaurant I frequent, my eyes remain open to whatever is to be found.

            The gems I find along the way, the positive outlook in all of this, is that I’ve new friends who are eager about this search too, and willing to spread the word about it… and maybe (I hope!) even add a blog post of their own findings while searching for Joe to this site (contact me if you're interested!).

            While it’s easy to feel defeated once again, I continue to keep my eyes peeled for Joe Wellington because I never know what I might uncover, who I might meet, and what experiences might enrich my life while looking for my long-lost Kiwi friend.

            So... what can Joe Wellington do for you?

            Happy New Year, Friends. I wish for you a lifetime of searching, never taming the curiosity and wonderment of the day. I wish for you a year of discovery, of meeting new people who believe in your vision, and to honouring your passions. 

            As for me? I will continue to look for Joe and honour the joy discovered along the way.

            Stay tuned into the New Year as my search for Joe Wellington continues with a tour to the South Island of New Zealand!

Finding Faith In Humanity

quotejive.com

My anger and sorrow around what's happening in the USA, particularly in Ferguson, MO, has not been easy to process. There are too many layers for me to even begin to try to dissect and I find myself asking a lot of questions.

But first I’ll start with a confession.

I embarrassingly admit that I did not pay attention to Michael Brown’s death when it occurred because I was… busy. I was distracted; content in my own tiny and sometimes-secure, privileged world. I had heard about it on the news and was shocked that yet another unarmed teenager was killed. A black, unarmed, teenager was dead. And I remember talking with someone about it and drawing a connection to Trayvon Martin’s injustice. 

I promise I'm paying attention now.

At the time, I didn’t care more than I could or should have, which is really messed up. Unfortunately, I pushed it aside as “just news” but did allow time to reflect on those generations before us who have tragically died for a similar reason, several most likely not even reported.

Perhaps the insensitivity on my part was an outcome of the desensitization from my career or maybe I’m so used to hearing about it in the news now that it seems like a common occurrence. I hate writing that. Maybe now I’ve reached that mindset that much of our nation, and in my opinion, the police force, has been trained to function on denial as the way to cope in our daily interactions. Seems we are combative in all we do these days. I’ve been programmed to not care.

I promise I care now.

In the past few days, with the news that the grand jury will not indict the white officer who shot and killed Mike Brown, I made time to care and I’m outraged that this boy is dead and that there are people out there who are blaming him, and due to the violence that has broken out, people are more focused on that than on the issue at hand. I’m sickened to hear that the officer got an interview on television, which I have not watched and don’t intend to. But I do care about him, too, in a weird way, and have genuine interest in how our greatest protectors are trained to keep us safe.

Confrontational or not (which I think is a common response from an 18-year-old who has been conditioned to be that way in our society) the details of the altercation actually don’t matter to me right now. Because it’s something so much bigger than a police report.

It matters that a life is gone.

What matters is that this violence has gone on long enough. What matters is that people are angry- raging- about the inequality in the USA and sadly, a lot of us are how I was when I heard the news on August 9th… busy.

Why don’t we care?

The past few days, I needed to care. Something inside ached at knowing that yet another shooting took place where a young person died.

I’ve been sick to my stomach, sad to tears, and furious that so many people have turned such a blind eye to this violence. And I’m not talking about the violence from the riots; I’m talking about the violence in which another young black man was killed. I’m OUTRAGED that no one seems to care about that. It seems much easier to push that aside, standing firm in the belief that racism went out in the sixties.

It didn't.

Isn’t it sad that a death is easily dismissed because it's said he was disobeying the law?

Can you read that question again and honestly feel okay with the fact that death was the outcome?

My god, what has happened to us? Excuses for death. 

I suppose it's much easier to believe that it’s not about racism. It’s easy to suggest that had the altercation taken place between two white men, the outcome would be the same. But would it?

Perhaps we need to talk about society in general.

Let’s talk about the rich versus the poor. Let’s talk about the insured and the uninsured and the gap in between. Let’s talk about those who can barely afford to put gas in their car to get to work and those who own five cars. Let’s talk about education. Let’s talk about why violence happens. Let’s talk about the media's role. Let’s talk about more than just who is right and who is wrong. Let’s talk about trust. Let’s talk about faith in humanity.

Where has it gone?

People are pissed and they have every right to be. I'm pissed, too.

So let’s talk. Let’s not be afraid to say what we need to say. Let’s not be so quick to judge others, but to accept that people should be allowed to disagree. Let’s listen openly and let’s stop with words that produce shaming. Let’s remember to forgive and honor the people who are resilient, admitting their mistakes. Enough with this narcissistic bullshit.

Let’s talk about Newtown, Cleveland, Los Angeles, New Orleans, Seattle, Chicago. Let’s continue to talk about Columbine. Let's talk about guns. Let’s get to it; let’s debate whether or not it’s about guns or about regulating guns, or is it about mental health? And try not to get distracted by the noise. Let’s talk about distrust among the people, let’s talk about being busy, and let’s certainly talk about fear.

What have we become so afraid of?

We have become a society based on fear. We have allowed fear to have power over our words and actions. Fear of acceptance, fear of cowardice, fear of insanity, fear of glorification, fear of having to go on living in a world of fear. All those things and more. We have become a nation that is afraid to speak up.

After processing (I’m still processing) my emotions about all of this, I realized something crucial: maybe it’s that I care too much. Maybe I made myself busy because it’s all so overwhelming. Where do I even begin to help in such a mess as this? Maybe all we want is to be heard.

I promise I won't give up on caring. 

So where do we go from here?

We need to figure out how to talk to one another and to accept that we will disagree. The person sharing their opinion is valid and the person listening is valid. If we want to preserve the sanity of our future generations, to eliminate the fear, we must educate ourselves. History is important to know.

Our culture wants to be distracted and sometimes that is okay for self-preservation. But it’s not okay if we never acknowledge the suffering. Suffering is essential; it is there to tell us we need to change as that’s when growth occurs. But it’s hard and painful so we tend to play it safe. It’s easier to be busy. No one talks about it, no one comments, no one knows what the right thing is to say. Gulp. Fear.

So I’m waiting.

I am waiting for YOU to be shocked. I'm waiting for you to stop being so busy. I'm waiting to hear that you CARE and I can’t wait to hear your call for CHANGE.

Face those fears and try to listen. Find your voice. And maybe that means getting mad (mad does not mean violent). Learn about what it means to be passionate about something, how to release the mad, and maybe if enough people let it go, change can occur.

Thank you, Michael Brown, for helping me find my mad. Thank you for showing me I need to listen better. Because of you, I am determined to reclaim my faith in humanity.

Joe Wellington can wait. This is more important. 

Helpful links:

A favorite study of mine: The Code of the Streets

Donate books: Ferguson Library

Change: Justice for Michael Brown

A powerful read: Things To Stop Being Distracted By When A Black Person Gets Murdered

Another great read: What White People Can Do

The best read yet: NY Times series from Nicholas Kristof

Chirp, Chirp, Peep & A Possible Sighting

I joined Twitter.  Should I add an exclamation point to the end of that? Okay, I’ll try again.

I joined Twitter!

That’s better.

I’ve only been active for just over a month and I’m amazed at the networking. Yes, it’s fun to read what celebrities have to say but more than anything, I’ve developed this sense of community among writers and I actually like it. For the longest time, I was opposed to joining because I didn’t think there was any reason to. And there’s not. Unless you’re promoting your work.

My main purpose for twittering was to help fuel this search for Joe Wellington. Sometimes I forget, and I think readers do too, that he is a REAL person. This is a TRUE STORY. The blog has been great, but I still have not found Joe. And let me just say, I am still actively looking. Whenever I am in the city or at a public event, my eyes are peeled for a JW sighting.

In fact, just the other day, while stuck in traffic, I saw a guy who had some resemblance to Joe. I asked my helpful husband, “Should I ask this guy if he’s Joe Wellington?” My husband laughed, said yes and then, “Oh wow! That’s my friend Oliver!” (At least I think that is the name he said. It certainly wasn’t ‘Joe’).

So that was definitely a failed Joe Wellington sighting.

On Twitter, I added photos from 1998 of Joe and I at the San Francisco hostel, and I’ve asked my 100 followers to RT (retweet). No one- except helpful husband (who is on there to promote his own work) retweets.

I persevere, adding links to the WJW site, photos, and blurb something quirky, something clever, and then of course say something gracious (this seems to be the theme on Twitter)… no retweets.

I add hashtags here and there to see if that helps get my voice heard (don’t get me started with how annoying these #hashtag things are). No one retweets. No one replies.

Argh!

The next day, sulking in self-doubt, I see there’s an email in my inbox from Twitter with my stats. Apparently I’ve had several views of that particular post with the JW picture and some are even clicking on the link to the blog. So some people are exposed to it, just need that extra push…

And then a favorite! Someone has ‘favorited’ (equivalent to a 'like') two of my Joe Wellington photos! Someone in New Zealand who might actually be able to help me find him!

Hazzzah!

Now help me find Joe Wellington!

@EWallerCarlino

Going Ancestral, Part Two: Dear Tūpuna

Honoring Tangaroa- god of the sea

*E kōrero Māori ana koe? (Do you speak Māori?)

I don’t either. But I’m learning. So here’s my attempt at honoring this culture by using Māori words in my post. I only hope someday to fully understand the meaning of their words. Forgive me, friends, for possibly butchering your language. I mean no disrespect. Feel free to correct me!

I’ve just returned home from a thirty-five day trip to the USA. Traveling to New England and then on to the Midwest was A LOT. My e tama (son) did surprisingly well even if we were short on sleep. Still, I can’t say I want to do it again anytime soon. But, the depleted energy was worth it because we got to see many whakahoahoa (friends) and whānau (family) we miss on a daily basis.

In the Midwest, I was able to see some cousins I hadn’t seen in awhile. I have always considered myself close to my cousins, largely because my grandparents owned a kōphua (small house) on a popular lake chain. When my immediate family moved there, it was the ideal spot to visit family members during their summer vacations. When the matriarch of our family passed away almost 10 years ago now, the kōphua was sold and with extended family spread all over the country, we lost touch. Until, of course, social media reconnected most of us.

Every year that I’ve been back to visit my parents, I make it a point to visit my grandparents’ rua tūpākapu (grave). My grandfather passed away when I was very young- only five or six years old. My tipuna tāne (grandfather) owned a newspaper in Iowa. He was a businessman of the time: a WW2 vet, married to a young wife, worked hard during the day, smoked, drank too much, and in his later years became a quiet (or just hard of hearing?) and loving grandfather. I like to think of him as progressive- a man who stood for social reform. He gave my great-aunt her own column to write back in a time when wāhine (women) were  ‘settled’ into their routines at home. He also helped turn the city dump into a park and he made sure his tamariki (children) were set up with what they needed to be able to provide for their own families. He was mārohirohi.

My tipuna wahine (grandmother) and I had a playful bond. I would stay with her almost every weekend while I was a little girl. She would pick me up from school and whisk me away up north where there was just a bit of sunlight available to take a swim before dinner. She taught me whakangā. I often credit her with helping raise me.

This is what I honor when I visit their graves.

While visiting the US, I also got to visit my 88-year-old maternal grandfather. My e tama (son) got to talk with him and show him his dinosaurs. My grandfather, although physically weak, didn’t miss a beat and was pulling out his best whakanene (teasing) for my son. He inquired about my son’s schedule, eating habits, and friendships. It was probably one of the best visits I have ever had with him. I left feeling so grateful for all he has taught me as well; lessons he didn’t know he was teaching, and lessons I preferred to ignore or didn’t understand about my family for many years. He taught me kaha.

While in America, I felt the presence of my ancestors. Since I’ve been back in Aotearoa I continue to have whakawhetai (gratitude) for my grandparents’ guidance in my life- for helping me to get to where I am today, which in turn will guide my son.

Standing before the sunlit lake in Minnesota, which has now become an ocean in New Zealand, I say a prayer of thanks to let the tūpuna (ancestors) know their lessons will never be forgotten.

*Ka maharatia tēnei i ahau e ora ana (I shall remember it as long as I live).

*Line from “The Bone People” by Keri Hulme, p. 57 & 347. Joe Wellington gave me a copy of this book in 1998.

proof Joe Wellington is real