Irmalee Louise Jones Walker

 

 

I first met my grandma before I was old enough to start forming memories. She and my auntie Janice flew out to Hilo, Hawai'i when I was just about two weeks old. She loved telling me the story again and again about how during their stay, at dinner the entertainment host asked for the oldest person in the room to come up to the stage. Then when he asked for the youngest, Janice stood and lifted me up and said, "Here she is!"

Looking back, I think the reason my grandma loved telling me that story so much is because that was the moment that Irmalee Louise Jones Walker - already a devoted wife and mother of four, a retired career woman and former mayor, a true friend and dear sister, a community servant and all around beautiful class act of a lade - that was the moment she became what she always made me to feel, was the proudest role of her life - a grandma! You see, from the moment she flew across an ocean 30 years ago to welcome her first grandchild to the world, to her move to Bishop after my cousin Ali was born, to her final trip to Hawai'i for my sister's doctoral graduation - she devoted the later part of her life to making sure us granddaughters knew just how much we were loved.

She and my grandpa came to Kona every spring during my childhood for us to spend Spring Break with them. They taught us how to swim, how to play cribbage, gin, hearts, poker... "Ante and you won't be so rich," my grandpa would always say.

My sister and I were fortunate enough to also spend summers in California with our grandparents, first in Bellflower, then later in Bishop. It was in Bishop that at the age of 14 my grandma took me for my first driving lesson. "Just don't tell your grandpa," she said. "This is against the law."

My grandmother taught us how to cook, how to sew, how to play the piano. I distinctly remember the day she sat us down at the dining room table and spent an hour showing us which utensils went where and the proper way to pass the serving plates.

More significantly though, she and my grandpa taught us the importance of an education, the importance of independently following your dreams, and most of all, the importance of family. When I look around at my sister and cousin, my dad and my aunties, not only have we all graduated from college, traveled the world, and went off to do whatever called each of us, but through it all we have remained a unit. We laugh together, cry together, get in incredible arguments and debates like only a Walker knows how - yet still, always a family. And for that I am eternally grateful to both my grandmother and grandfather.

Today, we honor Irmalee Louise Jones Walker and the legacy she left behind. Where ever you are, grandma, you should be very proud. I know I am.

(from Memorial Service April 11, 2015)

art without limits...

...it is almost a redundant statement. The inherent meaning of art holds that there are no limits to creativity. Still, our modern society seems to have forgotten that notion. We have put a higher importance on subjects like math and science which, without pushing the boundaries of the imagination, would never have made the advancements they did. It is a relief then, that there are groups like Art Without Limits that remind us when it comes to art, limitations should not--and do not--exist.

No where was this more evident then at Ayni Gallery in Santa Barbara this past Saturday night, when Art Without Limits hosted its first annual "Coming Out" event for their emerging artists. Musicians, photographers, painters, poets and writers took the stage to share their craft with an ever appreciative audience. I too, swallowed my nerves and read two original poems. I owe this feat in great part to my two amazing mentors: Sojourner Kincaid-Rolle (poet/writer) and Ann Dusenberry (actress). Together they help me both hone my skills as a creative writer, as well as practice the art of sharing my work in front of an audience.

Following are the two poems I wrote and shared, as well as photos from the event (taken by another emerging artist: photographer and dear friend of mine Shannon Jordan). It was truly an inspiring evening. Thank you to everyone who came out in support of art.

xoxo...lika


My Wolf and His Dog
His shaggy hair, bleach white as the Pennsylvania snow; fine as hot beach sand.
it blows everywhere; getting all tied up in sailor’s knots.
It is a strong mane, framing gentle, weathered eyes that have seen too much,
and yet not enough.

Her hair, it goes everywhere. Pure white flecks of Tala’s soul left anywhere she touches.
And anywhere is everywhere my wolf goes.
She follows, as I will.
Loyal beings we are; wolves in a pack.

“Follow me across the sea,” he says.
Tala leaps aboard, as I dive in to swim alongside the giant sea vessel.
Ramblin’ Rose carries my wolf and his dog,
up and down the ebb and flow of the ferocious blue.
Is it safe to climb in?
Where I am, the water feels cool and I float with ease.
Like the sea, I am liquefied.
Do I belong on the boat?
I belong with the travelers, with my wolf and his dog.

I am a traveler and I am his wolf.
I will listen.
I will protect.
I will follow.

“Follow me to the farm,” he says.
I say, live off the land and I will live with you.
Let the dog run the rich acreage, and we wolves will howl at the moon;
we’ll watch the sun come up over the ridge and set among the waves.

Let’s follow the waves!
Tala leaps and rolls in the sand, mimicking our motions in the sea’s curl.
As we paddle in, the moon rises.
She howls at it too.

--

For she is your wolf, and you are mine.
The day you found me I became your loyal moon howler too.

So wherever you go, or whenever I do, wolves wandering as we must—
in hunt of adventure, of knowledge, of self—
We will know to seek the moon.
I will howl,
so will you, my wolf,
and Tala dog too.


The Rhythm of Time
How to wait without waiting?
It is an art as fanciful as dance and music.
I find the tic tocs of the soul’s clock placating.

Sit under a mighty oak that’s shading
time’s melody; among the fallen leaves’ fine ruin
is how some wait without waiting.

The slow pulse of seconds is infuriating.
Still, the rhythmic beat will move you through it:
the tic tocs of the soul’s clock are placating.

The leaves sing a tune, as swaying
branches dance under the sky at its bluest.
How one longs to wait without waiting.

Sunrays fall and quickly time is fading
into shadows whose sound is fluid,
helping the tic tocs of the soul’s clock be placating.

Soon the jingles of the stars are cascading
and the sound of time finds its true fit.
How to wait without waiting?
Let the tic tocs of the souls clock be placating.

the transfer of inspiration

a good friend and sister of mine shared with me a TED talks video featuring the French street artist JR who won the TED talks prize for a "wish to change the world". watching him speak about his wish, got me thinking about my wish. with so many things i wish i could change about this world, where do i begin?

i sat and thought. as that video was passed to me, the inspiration was too. now i sit here letting the inspiration well up within and flow through me, and i hope as you read this, into you. we all begin to fulfill our wish to change the world through the transfer of inspiration.

this past week i was inspired by my mentor to do my very first open mic reading of some of my poetry. offering me yet another attempt to transfer inspiration. when we continue to pay it forward for whatever cause may be, we create a chain reaction of people thinking about how, they too can change the world.

following is one of the poems i was inspired to write and read for the open mic, and below that the TED talks video on JR. may you greet this day inspired, and one step closer to making this a better world.

for brandon elizares (02.04.96-06.02.12)

i didn't know you.
through scattered stories and collaged memories
now i know,
they knew you even less.
how much did your spirit endure
before it gave out?
the way a wall will fall
from unending thrown stones.
had those hands lifted you up,
would we be laying you down?
if those hands were taught to heal,
to instead use stones to build an empire
filled with warriors
for peace,
we would be walking on a path of love,
and not drowning
in your loss.



a special thank you to a couple of my inspirations: b. alia & sojourner

maya, may i

Maya, may I have this dance
to shake my rhythm hips
and speak my lyric lips;
to be everything it is
that I feel,
everything that I am.

Maya, may I grow
from the roots of my toes
to the leaves of my finger tips,
knowledge constantly pulsing.
Maya, may I never forget
always, there is something to learn.

Maya, may I cease to judge,
may I remember 
our individually colored threads
weave one beautiful
tapestry of humanity.

Maya, may I be strong enough
to not only attempt,
but to achieve;
and be brave enough 
to face the falls.
And rise again.

Maya, may I? 

            You may not--you will, as we all will.

And we all will.

I had the privilege and pleasure to go to a speaking by Dr. Maya Angelou earlier this month. Inspiring might only begin to describe the experience. Above I pay homage to just a few of the jewels I took--and continue to take--away from her lecture. Her life and body of work is tangible proof that any human being can achieve excellence. Any human being. And if we allow ourselves. . .we all will.