My Burrito

Two weeks ago I went to see three hours of films about the Japanese internment. It's an event put on by a local newspaper, and a subject I think is important, so I go. It's really interesting to see different kinds of films, narrative, documentary, animated, all about the same subject.

I'm just a curious outsider at the festival. I talk to fellow movie-goers and they're all connected in one way or another. The minister who confides that she's actually Filipino but serves a Japanese-American congregation. The man who was the subject of one of the films. The students in the local university Ethnic Studies department. Their professors, who told them they'd get credit if they showed up. The filmmakers, professors, the volunteers, and me, it seems.

The festival falls over lunchtime and there isn't really time to eat, so I bought a burrito the day before at my favorite taco truck to bring with me. The owner told me that the woman who worked for him all those years just moved away, so I have a new lady to get to know.

The plum trees were in bloom. We used to have a plum tree in our back yard growing up. Now waiting in line for my burrito in the industrial neighborhood next to the power station is the one place I can guarantee a view of one of my favorite flowers up close.

Back at work, the ceanothus has been blooming.

Before the film festival began I had time to buy a new pair of tabi boots. I broke a daruma (a good luck doll) while reaching for my credit card.