blackbelt oma

"What I Wore" Wednesday Carnival - 02.08.12

2012-02-08T07:30:00.004-05:00

If you haven't figured it out yet, this is not about what we wore on Wednesday, but what we wore this week and sharing it on a Wednesday. Got it? Okay!

I wore this Zara Collection brown empire-wasit tunic over a lime tank. I wore it with olive leggings and brown suede boots by Style & Co. I threw on this fun bangly-fangly scarf the color of a new penny. Bright gold accessories. I can't remember what day it was or where I was going! Oooh, I could have used a bracelet or two!

I have always loved the rust, russet and saddle range of colors. I've been wearing outfits that will go with these two vintage pieces: Liz Claiborne leather saddle bag and Joan&David suede oxfords.

Here are two I wore to run errands - grocery, bank, going to Boo's school. Green half-zip fleece by Sahalie, which btw, I LOVE. LOVE. Extremely modestly priced, soft and wears well! Worn over a GAP layering tee. Brown straight-leg pants by Ralph Lauren CHAPS.

Same pants but this time with a chunky wool sweater by Club Room...I know, it's a man's sweater. Worn with a new fringed scarf:

Hey look! I even match my house!

Here's a close-up of the scarf, though the colors aren't quite right. There's no actual rust on there - it's various weaves of red and pale olive green. There's no brown either - black along with weaves of black and the pale olive that make it look brown:

Last but not least, I wore this outfit to the opening of the Pediatric unit at the local hospital. Talbot's animal print skirt from a long time ago, topped with a brown knit top. "Chanel red" leather satchel by Nicole Miller, gold jewelry from all different places.

Check out other WIWWs at The Pleated Poppy!

The Silence of Love

2012-02-02T08:30:00.004-05:00

I walk through silence
present and dense
descending dove
blanket me

There is no agony
by unmet desires
for You give me peace.

I hold my love's hand and he
tugs gently, blindly
Two shall become One.

The bed dips as I sit
I hold my son's hand
stirred out of the depths he
tugs gently, blindly
my hand up to his mouth.
Kiss

Rising another step
to the Silence
Mom, why are you here?
To check on you, my sweet.
Thanks, mom.

There is no agony
by unmet desires
for You give me peace.

Meme with Boo

2012-01-26T11:51:00.001-05:00

Boo, age 6-1/2 (3 years ago) - answered these questions while wearing his birthday suit. He's a little more modest now.

1. What is something mom always says to you?
We always have to go to school and church

2. What makes mom happy?
When I sing

3. What makes mom sad?
I disobey her

4. How does your mom make you laugh?
By tickling me?

5. What was your mom like as a child?
I don’t know

6. How old is your mom?
49

7. How tall is your mom?
(Looks around the hall) I’ll be right back (brings back yardstick) You’re 36”

8. What is her favorite thing to do?
Go shopping

9. What does your mom do when you're not around?
Bible study or (work at) Liberty or shopping to buy me some toys

10. If your mom becomes famous, what will it be for?
What does famous mean?

11. What is your mom really good at?
Playing Sorry

12. What is your mom not very good at?
Not good at tickling

13. What does your mom do for a job?
To protect me.

14.What is your mom's favorite food?
Korean noodles!

15.What makes you proud of your mom?
When you win a game.

16. If your mom were a cartoon character, who would she be?

You would be Francis (Eww! It's that whiny badger!)

17. What do you and your mom do together?

We go to the grocery store and the playground

18. How are you and your mom the same?
We have the same colored skin. Mine’s a little darker but we’re still the same.

19. How are you and your mom different?
You wear glasses and I don’t wear glasses.

20. How do you know your mom loves you?

I just know.

21. What does your mom like most about your dad?

He’s your husband

22. Where is your mom's favorite place to go?
Aunt Brenda’s house

23. Moms favorite movie?

John & Kate + 8 (Up until this time, he'd never seen a movie. And this was back when John & Kate were cute and nice!)

Happy Hangers

2012-01-18T07:30:00.000-05:00

I have found a new love: FLOCKED HANGERS!

They are really the best things since sliced bread. They have a thin plastic profile which is flocked with a velvety material giving a soft texture and firm grip on your clothes. {Think "The Last Supper" hanging in the dining room at your Aunt Mary's.} Especially these days with such plunging and/or wide necklines, my clothes were always sliding off their hangers. And being slightly OCD-ish {what architect isn't, right??} I couldn't stand seeing 5 different kinds of hangers in my closet, depending on the neckline and fabric of my clothes

These ultra-slim flocked hangers come in all sorts of great colors, shapes and accessories, available almost anywhere, including online. The kind I bought are actually supposed to be hung on each other in a cascading pattern - see the little hooks? But I'm going to use the hooks for matching belts or scarves. They are also very reasonably priced; I got 18 for $9.99 at TJMaxx. See?

It's balm to my OCDish soul!

Memphis, Tennessee

2012-01-16T20:19:00.000-05:00

Ernest C. Withers
American (1922–2007)
I Am A Man, Sanitation Workers Strike, Memphis, Tennessee, March 28, 1968

Funny Friday

2012-01-13T08:30:00.035-05:00

Boo got a science experiment kit for Christmas. Not from me, mind you. I can't think of one mom who would purposely buy their young son anything that has the word "experiment" even near it.

But trying to be the encouraging mom, I kept mum, and even sounded enthusiastic about how "cool" it was. Although I am adamant that I never lie to anyone, ever, there are times when we as moms (and wives) must dig deep into our purse of emotions, where down in the corner near the gum wrapper and lint, if we look carefully, we'd find a scrap that means "I'm happy you're happy" and play that card. And I did.

So in the interest of mother-son bonding, we did the experiment:

I would show you the next photo, but I was too busy picking up all those wet, brightly colored crystals from my Momeni rug.

Wordless Wednesday

2012-01-11T12:00:00.001-05:00

Flirtive

2012-01-11T09:30:00.000-05:00

"He's flirting," the young mother would say about her 2-year old son.

That always struck a chord with me. The wrong chord.

I always thought that's what young women did with males to {harmlessly} get their way. Access to a closed office, a drink, and the potential for S3X but never S3X. Just the little juice of it. When a man flirts with a young woman, there was always danger there. Lurking, furtive. An older woman, a woman old enough to be the man's mother or even grandmother, it was to harmlessly get some approval; to send herself back a time before she learned how lascivious men were. See it all as harmless and innocent.

When I search "flirt" clipart, this is what I get:

Perhaps English being my second language turned first-cousin, I never fully understood the nuances of it. Flirt. Why would a second meaning of flirt be used on a baby?

Though it's not visible to the naked eye, there it is:between the f, l, i, r and t are the naked letters s, e and x. Do you see it?

How strange to associate a word like that with the affections of a child.

Or is it just me?

2011 - A Year in Pictures

2012-01-04T07:00:00.159-05:00

A YEAR IN PICTURES

From January 2, 2011

to December 31, 2011:

*************************************************************************
JANUARY
His favorite things: drawing and keem:

FEBRUARY
We made a trip to Pittsburgh to see Dave Garrett, the violinist, in concert at the Benedum:

I made some online friends into real life friends at the SolNal party in the Harrisburg (PA) area:

and so did Boo:

MARCH
Oma and Boo's excellent adventure. Yes, it was cold.

APRIL
Suddenly, Boo seemed lanky and not such a little boy anymore. Happy and sad.

MAY
I love being near enough to The Shore to go for quick trips. We had such a get-away over Memorial Day weekend, thanks to some dear friends. We were grateful for our time, but it was tainted by a stressful summer of work for my dear husband. But lucky for me, he stayed handsome throughout, cuz y'know that's what's really important:

JUNE
Nothings says "Summer!!" like picking strawberries!

...and then eating them!

...and the boy turned 9:

Going back I'm even impressing myself at everything we did! We were blessed to host a Pastor from Canada (by way of Australia and Mississippi.) Rohan Crown, who works in Lethbridge, BC, quickly became our friend...anyone who likes sushi can't be all bad!

JULY

Wow, we were busy last summer!

AUGUST
Thanks to the continued benevolence of my brother, Semoon, we get to enjoy Cape Cod!

If we're really blessed, we even get to see them, too.

SEPTEMBER? School, of course!

First day of Fourth grade:

Wasn't Kindergarten yesterday??

...and my friend and I started an online thrift store: gogo thrift:

OCTOBER

NOVEMBER

DECEMBER
..and on that day a child was born.

I look forward to a 2012 of more writing. I appreciate everyone who has seemed it fit to read my ramblings. Blessings to all of you!!

New Year Resolution

2012-01-03T10:42:00.004-05:00

About 35 years ago, I made a few Resolutions because, y'know, in the US of A, that's what we do. Not that my immigrant family did, but y'know, everyone else. Of course, I promptly forgot them and when I did remember them, promptly ignored them. And of course, I don't recall what those Resolutions were.

But this year, I do have a resolution. No 's.' Resolution. Just one:

I will write more.

The reason I've been writing less are varied:

I've slowed down on the passionate issues that had been percolating in my heart these many years. Having dumped my varied and sundry thoughts here on blackbelt oma, this very blog has, in a way, lead to its own demise.
I've been putting whatever little writing energy I had into being a contributor at my friend's blog, All Things Chic. In my twenties, I was fabulously fascinated by fashion and all things worldly. (Including men, but that's another post!) I knew all the designers and even supermodels. I knew the histories and traits of the luxury goods lines. Having grown up in a little Appalachian city, I drank that stuff up like a Bedouin. I think growing up in a post-industrial (Conrail) city of rusty rail cars, suffering the not-so-slow death of downtown and the onslaught of strip malls, I longed for beauty and design, which I found in these material goods. I am no longer very interested in or invested in fashion, but continue to care deeply about design. I wouldn't be telling the whole truth if I didn't say I have fun shopping and coming up with outfits. I've written some posts I'm really proud of, in the contribution to society catagory, but, now that my friend Jo-Lynne won't be a part of All Things Chic, I'm going to hang-up my Contributor status so I can divert my energy to this blog. However, don't be surprised if you see me as a guest blogger on her Musings site!
I've started an online thrift store on etsy called gogo thrift with my besty (link also at right.) It's not going to make us into Steve Bezos but it'll give us some "mad money."
Facebook. Aaah Facebook. I love you and I hate you. Need I say more?

So, for all of my hundreds of followers (ahem) be on the lookout for a resurgence of brain dumps, here at blackbelt oma, by blackbelt oma.

Oh okay. I'm busted. I've said this before. But THIS time, I mean it!

About Me

2012-01-02T08:30:00.002-05:00

If you could set aside all your concerns, if you didn't have a child tugging for attention, if you didn't have a job to go to and weren't exhausted, I mean. I'd tell you where I've been, where I am, where I hope to go. And what I bought on sale.

God adopted me as an heir to the Kingdom through Jesus Christ. That is first and foremost, and defines who I am. And will be. I'm glad He is purifying me because there is nothing I can do to help Him. No amount of prayers, fasting or exercising can purify me but the sacrificial lamb of Jesus Christ.

Check out my posts with the label "More About Me" for... umm, more about me.

How Can There Be Only One True Religion?

2011-12-03T11:13:00.000-05:00

I couldn't have said it better. Look here.

Things I Love Thursday 12.1.11

2011-12-01T08:17:00.038-05:00

I love that I live in this century.

I know. We're in a recession. Kids are more distracted and more disrespectful than when Aristotle complained about teenagers. There are more horrors than I want to bring up here.

I'm not sure, though, that things are any worse than at other times in history. Have you read Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett? In typical Follett fashion, he describes in incredible detail and accuracy, what life was like in the Middle Ages. [They've made a mini-series of it.] If in modern warfare, it is horrible that we can drop one bomb and annihilate an entire city, then it is just as horrible to imagine that you had to look at a person in the eyes while you dug a sword into his throat. Each day, you couldn't be sure if you'd be hungry or full, if you'd have a bed or not. Or fresh water or not. If a Lord would chase them into the wilds or leave you be. If your child would get a wound that would fester. And kill him.

I am glad that I don't have to go foraging for food every day. That I get heat and light and water when I want. I am glad I can go to the hospital, that I can get a CT scan, an UltraSound within a week. I am glad I can call 911 and have people show up at my door. I'm glad I have glasses, and contacts. I'm glad every time I take an aspirin or an anti-biotic.

I can go on and on and on. Maybe I am just a wimp. But when I lay my head on that soft pillow, and pull the warm blanket over me, in my war house, I am thankful that I live in 2011.

Things I Love Thursday 11.24.11

2011-11-24T09:12:00.009-05:00

Thanksgiving Edition: I'm proud to be an American.

Don't touch that dial! Don't roll your eyes; give me a chance, here.

The other week, we were in Washington DC and Boo was given the choice to what to visit. He chose the Air & Space Museum and the Capitol. I have to say I was a little disappointed that he chose the Capitol. It sounded a little boring to me, but the trip was for him, not for me. As part of the tour, we had to watch a 12 minutes video. I was internally rolling my eyes. God can see my heart but fortunately my son can't.

Guess what? It was terrific. It took me outside of the nitty gritty ugliness of human behavior and made me look at the United States as it was meant to be. It reminded me of the basis on which this country was built: freedom of religion, all people are equal, we can say what we want.

I know, I know. Things are ugly right now. And depending on who you ask, things are ugly for different reasons.

But really, where else would you want to live? May God bless America. Please.

I pray that you will zoom out, put aside the gritty ugliness of all human beings for one day, and honor whatever good and beauty there is.

Things I Love Thursday 11.10.11

2011-11-10T08:58:00.003-05:00

I love to drive.
I love the adventure of looking for, and finding new places.
I love looking around me, letting my mind wander to different places. (As if I needed encouragement for that!)
I love having my son, or my husband, or friend with me so we can chat without interference.

Today, my son and I are going into Centre City. We're going to visit my friend, who is a Federal Judge. He's going to show us his office, the courtroom, the holding cell and the sally-ported elevator that brings the accused up to the courtroom.

Then we're going to Chinatown and get some "Viepamese" food, as he calls it. Then we rode the subway, all the way from one end of the line to the other, where it becomes the Elevated. [Where we saw a lady drink Thousand Island dressing, from the bottle. We could smell the vinegary dressing smell, which when, you smell it on the subway, smells rancid.] Where my son didn't know to be afraid of anyone and held the doors open for anyone and everyone, of every color, class and odor.

I know people who are afraid to go into the city. Who are afraid to, or don't want to drive more than 30 minutes at a time unless forced by job or hospital appointment. I am blessed to have a reliable car, a husband who supports my plans and the money to buy the gas.

Drivin' in my car with the radio on.....

zoom zooom!

"What I Wore" Wednesday 11.09.11

2011-11-09T08:21:00.040-05:00

This has been a crazy week! We were in DC, usually a balmy place, and met up with 34 degrees and icy rains. I was completely unprepared mentally and wardrobally.

What: Here's one of my favorite outfits: animal print tunic top layered over Victoria Secret Body lycra top and Simply Vera Wang leggings. Accessories: statement wood & bone necklace refashioned by Jessica Buchtel, artist, satin gold watch from NY&Co, satin gold bracelet from the Sackler Museum of African Art. Vintage black suede cowboy boots Via Spiga. Bronze leather handbag by Talbot's.
Where: Seeing the Air & Space Museum.

The next day was much nicer, so I ventured out in something a little more Springy. I'm writing an article for my friend Jo-Lynne, about what is appropriate attire for a 50-something. I think I'm on the verge of being inappropriate; I don't know, just a little too "cutesy."
What: Sleeveless dress by En Focus Studio from Ross, with a melon shrug from Dress Barn, worn over black leggings. Patent black wedges by Me Too.
Where: Touring the Capitol.

What: Eggplant front-zip fleece by Champion, purple and burnt orange down vest by Land's End over jeans. Brown suede athletic shoes by Privo.

Where: Doing some architecting - roof inspection of the local public library.

I got this new gray cotton knit tunic by H&M and wore it two different ways:
What: With this aqua silk/wool scarf, over black leggings and knee-high boots.
Where: To a meeting at my son's school.

Then a bit more casual, ironically, to church: over denim leggings and my vintage Via Spiga cowboy boots.

I layered all my silver necklaces to get this look:

Finally, this is my dressy winter coat that I had to get out the other day. This was my Christmas present a couple of years ago - cashmere coat by Fleurette bought at Last Call Neiman Marcus.

Join the adventure at All Things Chic!

Cleave, 2

2011-11-07T08:18:00.023-05:00

Our Boo is very attached to his father. It may be at age 9, he is starting to see the world from beyond the film of childhood. We hear that it's around this age that children begin to see aspects of this world that were merely distant imaginings, like illness and death. It may be that he is just now able to begin processing the fears and pains of having watched his father felled to the floor. His mother weeping and screaming, trying to get a response.

If you do not already know, our little guy has Asperger's Syndrome. One of its symptoms is the inability to understand others' nor even his OWN emotions. He has watched his father go off in an ambulance. Over. and Over. Something like 13 times in 12 months. Through it all, this little guy never shed a tear. I so distinctly remember, as I was tending to my fallen hero, then desperately going to the phone to call 911, seeing this little guy walking along the edge of the room. In my mind, he is surfing on a board of denial, sweeping his hands along the walls, the doors. Several years ago.

Several weeks ago, he started saying, "Oma, daddy, remember when daddy was in the hospital and I gave him my baby bunny?" Yes, dear, that was very kind of you. We didn't think much of it. Then one day, little guy was laying with his dad, their heads nestled together. Once again, "Dad, remember when you were in the hospital and I gave you my baby bunny to hold?" But this time, his dad felt a tear trickle down little guy's cheek and land on his own, the rivulet continuing.

What is it like to not know your emotions? [Alright, cut it with the comments about your husbands, okay?] What is it like when you can barely recognize happy, sad, angry, let alone the more subtle satisfied, suspicious, or dismayed? When you have to be shown flashcards of facial expressions and associate them with a word that may or may not make a connection? It is stepping out of yourself, and looking at yourself, recalling the flash cards you've seen in therapy and see if one matches with your own psychic face. Like recalling a spelling word.

But then again, we get some unique perspectives from our Boo. And sometimes, it's spot on. Like when recently, his dad was away on business. They've been such close buddies lately. Boo is in the back seat of the car, and we are driving away, leaving dad at his conference. This time, the tear is not a rivulet but a watercourse, running over, under and around him. Swept away, and little guy says,

"I feel like he's right next to me, but he's not here."

Is that not the essence of emotional pain? being cleaved but then cleft? Amazing, clear thinking from a boy who doesn't understand emotions.

Right.

Cleave

2011-11-04T11:17:00.003-04:00

Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh. - Genesis 2:24 (NASB)

I just read Little Bee. We is thinkin it be bout goodies and baddies.

There is a horrific scene of g*ng r*pe. This isn't a spoiler because as soon as you start the book, an ominous valance of doom hangs over you. Like a cloud which lovely fullness turns gray at the horizon. It's just a matter of how and when the story unfolds.

Cleave isn't a word you hear much these days. Except on the Food Network for cutting meat. Isn't it odd that a word would have a meaning and it's opposite? The word that means

to adhere closely; stick; cling. to remain faithful.

also means

to split or divide by or as if by a cutting blow, especially along a natural line of division, as the grain of wood.

It made me wonder why r*pe is so traumatic. Such a deep, primal wound that seems to even overshadow beatings. Why children, who are barely aware of their body parts are almost irreparably damaged by it. Not just the physical pain and physical trauma but there seems to result in a knowledge of deep betrayal. A knowing.

She also gave some to her husband....and he ate it. Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they realized they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together and made themselves loin coverings. - Genesis 3:6b - 8 (NASB)

When sin entered, why did Adam and Eve know they were naked, of all things? How did they think to cover their loins of all things? Could it be that their cleaving physically represented their cleaving psychologically, emotionally...primally? And that something deep, at their very core, had been irreparably broken?

God is a poet. God is Poetry. Would He create us with this Cleaving which does not reference His own Cleaving to His trinity? I cannot help but think that for us to Cleave is to see a little glimpse of the Trinity. Separate but Whole and Equal. At His earthly end, it was not hanging by nails through his body, cleaving his sinews. It was the agony of the cleft between Himself and The Father.

Perhaps the r*pe, the forcing, the tearing, perhaps it is essential humanity cleft to the core. Left broken and shattered down the primal human grain.

"What I Wore" Wednesday 10.19.11

2011-10-19T07:06:00.060-04:00

Once again, I thought I'd join the "What I Wore" Festival hosted by The Pleated Poppy. Come check out the fun at All Things Chic, too!

Last week, I went to my son's school for the first meeting of the chess club I started. I wore my new, A-line, button-front denim skirt by NY&Co with a taupe tee by Ideology. I wore this skirt last Sunday for a house tour, and I noticed the tee I wore was too long. This one is shorter and goes better with the skirt. I wore an old pair of metallic bronze slingback by Bandolino and a bronze and ivory statement necklace. I kept the earrings small by wearing bronze hoops

Every single piece, except for the earrings are from a thrift store or yard sale!

Saturday evening, my husband and I went to a dinner party with some friends. I am in a book club with an amazing group of bright and kind women and this is the annual Autumn dinner where we bring our spouses and NOT talk about books.
I wore a new top by TRAMP, a racer back, black/white tent tank with asymmetric hemline, worn over a black tank by Alfani from Macy's. Black leggings by H&M. Vintage black suede & leather embellished cowboy boots by Via Spiga.

For church on Sunday, I decided to wear this new navy sweater dress I got at Ross. Although I love navy, it can be a bit tricky not looking like a school uniform or too preppy. I wore a 3/4-sleeve, basic white blouse from J.Crew, and denim colored capri leggings Kohl's. I wore red patent leather wedges and carried a mustard patent leather bag to add color and "zap" to the outfit.

What did you where this week?

What I Wore Wednesday

2011-10-05T07:06:00.131-04:00

Is it still Wednesday?? Whew. I decided to join the What I Wore Festival by The Pleated Poppy. Come check out the fun at All Things Chic, too.

On Saturday, we took a family trip out to Crystal Cave, which is way out in the countryside. I was all dressed and ready to go in the outfit you see below left, when I stepped out of the house and the weather, unbeknownst to me, had turned to winter. Not really. But it was cccooold! So I ran back in the house, threw off my fuchsia jacket and threw on my thick brown knit cardigan. I should have put on a belt too, which I didn't think of until I started writing this post. So thanks to Polyvore and a little Publisher magic, I added one in.

I wore a white shirt, GAP flare jeans, brown Privos, and silver jewelry from various places including Target and Silpada. I've been carrying this chocolate brown leather tote by Ann Taylor LOFT. At left, I had on a fuchsia cotton jacket by Christopher & Banks. At right, a brown wool cardigan by Jones & Co.

Sunday, I had this hankering to wear my new khaki pants. It was a task of shopping my closet and finding a stylish combination. I'm not sure I succeeded, but this is what I wore to church:

Khaki flares by Banana Republic, animal print tunic top by Curves (of all places!) tie-waist denim jacket by i.e. relaxed, which used to be available at Macy's.
.

Accessories: Sterling chain necklace in a pewter finish & sterling bead bracelet by Silpada. Chinese character for Ram, which is my mom's zodiac sign. Tortoise/silver earrings, silver bangles, and watch with pewter strap bought years ago and don't remember where.

I came home and thought the outfit would look better with dark pants. Here's the same outfit but with chocolate brown flares by The Limited. I think this is a more flattering look, but I just wanted to wear my new Banana pants!

Monday, I had errands to run then attend a funeral in the evening. I changed outfits but wore all the same jewelry:

Khaki pants in a classic cut by Gap, peacock feather design ombre long-sleeve tee by One World Live & Let Live, worn over a wine camisole. Calvin Klein over-dyed denim jacket and Talbot's brown leather ankle boots.

Blue, gray, black & purple “watercolor” print dress with empire waist and tie detail by connected apparel, black circle cardigan by Willi Smith,both bought at TJMaxx. Black lycra stretch boots by Nine West, similar to these by Annie, the only kind that fit my calves.

This Fall's poncho craze is all about sweaters and outerwear, but what about a blouse? I wore this to run errands and then to a doctor's appointment.

Poncho blouse by NY&Co, long-sleeve tee in Aubergine by Ann Taylor, flare jeans by GAP, chocolate brown suede/patent "Claudie" boots by Bandolino. I was flouncy enough; I kept jewelry to a minimum with the wood statement piece necklace.

What did YOU wear this week?

The Racist Button

2011-09-30T21:06:00.003-04:00

A classmate in grad school was recounting her semester in Seville, Spain, where she met up with a group of American guys. They invited her to an island for the weekend and she went. With these strangers. I was a bit shocked and asked if she was in the least bit afraid, to which she batted her long lashes and replied in her wispy voice, "They were really nice and they were American!"

Lest anyone judge her as being shallow and foolish, I find there are many who associate superficial appearances with deep character traits. "Character flaws" like being a rapist, or murderer. We want our crazies to look like Ted Kaczynski, not Timothy McVeigh. We want our crazies to be unkempt, rambling incomprehensibly; not like the nice young man at the Sunoco down the street.

Most of us have learned that looks can be deceiving, but it seems when faced with it in our lives, we forget. Maybe we want to forget. We want life to be simple and worked out for us. If you are bad, you will look scary. A scary "badge," as it were. It's almost an urban lore to have the murderer/rapist/molester's neighbor say, "He was pretty quiet. Seeemed like a nice guy."

I think we have a primal instinct to identify people that are like us, and therefore deemed safe, while we look at others dissimilar to us and automatically get our guard up. I talked about this with respect to race before. But we have evolved, haven't we? And being in an integrated culture, don't we have to think a little harder? Maybe just even think, for a minute, instead of going to the automatic place?

Sin knows no racial, ethnic, class, gender, or national border.

When the Nazis were rounding up Jews, the neighbors watched. "Neutral" countries turned their heads. We'd like to think those German neighbors were hate-spewing, racists sneering at what was going on. Some were, to be sure. But I'm betting they were neighbors and merchants and just like you and me and your aunt and your neighbor. The one that is so nice.

Because you know, no racist thinks they're racist. They consider it Truth. Guised in Right and Wrong. Some dare to base it on the Bible. The Europeans who ruled Africa did not see themselves as racist. They just knew that the black natives were lazy, not to be trusted and violent with no rule of law. It was a Truth. And to rule over them and force European Law on them, to make them work the land to benefit Britannia was a matter of Right and Wrong.

Do you find people that are a little too quick to believe a story about an angry black mob attacking an innocent white man? Shake head, "Those blacks...." They're a little too quick to believe the myth of the "urban single mom," who sucks our taxes by popping out babies for welfare money. [I grew up in central Pennsylvania and I saw a lot of women with food stamps at the grocery store and none of them were black.] Do you know someone a little too vehement about illegal immigration? Now don't be accusing me of approving the breaking of the law. I'm talking about the heart, here. Have you heard a contempt in their voice for the illegal immigrants themselves, instead of the laws and processes?

Racists(and murders and rapists) don't all live in southern Georgia. They don't wear uniforms, although there are some that wear those sheets. Or Nazi paraphernalia. They don't wear a button. They wear Dockers and polos and live down the street. They play with their kids, attend a house of worship. And seem like a nice person.

...behold! a great multitude that no one could number, **from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages,** standing before the throne and before the Lamb... - Revelations 7:9

Bad Enough

2011-09-03T21:49:00.002-04:00

I've drastically altered how and what we eat in our household over the years. I believe what we eat is really important, which may sound really obvious. But if it's so obvious, then why don't more people eat healthy? I have faced many crossed-arms of closed-mindedness and sardonic looks of disbelief, verging on the eye roll whenever I bring up the notion of Real food or Slow Food, as if I were some far-out Birkie-wearing crunchy granola. WHICH I'M NOT! (Not that there's anything wrong with that.) Anyone who writes for a fashion blog by definition, can't be!!

It's not just about whether the food is organic or not, because it's about more than that, but for argument's sake, or a brief blog post's sake, let's say organic food vs. industrialized food.

I realized it's not just that people have to believe organic is better, because I think people do. It's that they have to believe the industrialized food is bad, or bad enough to make the extra trip, make the effort, pay the extra. Otherwise, why change?

Why fix somthin' that ain't broked?

I had a long talk with a friend today. She's seriously considering breaking up her very serious relationship. He has a serious, congenital health problem that can be dramatically improved by lifestyle changes. But he won't. Seriously. I guess he wants to keep cheating death, but he has to buy into the notion that the lifestyle he's living now is bad, or bad enough to make the change worthwhile. Right now, he doesn't believe that it's bad enough - for his children, for my friend, for her children...for himself. It makes me wonder if he values himself.

A former boss wanted to write a little book on change. He wanted me to do some reseacth and thinking about it. I was really stumped. Within the context of Christianity, long-lasting change with regard to the essense of who we are, is impossible without Christ. We have a Genesis-borne tendancy to deny God's importance in our lives and do what is good in our own eyes.

Change, in terms of day-to-day habits that do not go to the core of our Nature, can be accomplished, because WE VALUE OURSELVES over all else. If we believe that what we are doing/saying/living/eating is bad, or bad enough, we will change, to survive.. Maybe it's just the primal survival of the fittest.

These are my thoughts of the day. More to come...

Until then, enjoy the holiday weekend. Be positive, be useful, be safe.

Fashion Friday: Blackbelt Summer Action

2011-08-19T07:00:00.000-04:00

This is the time when all the stores are desperately trying to clean out their summer stock, right? Well the same is true for thrift stores. Yesterday, even though I barely had 10 bucks to my name, I stopped at one of my haunts and SCORED!

Fun watercolor tank by Lucky. Lucky for me, since these are pretty pricey! I love how it fits, I love the little ruffle embellishment and the fun colors.

Here's an Old Navy black embellished tank, which I am sure has never been worn! I'm not sure how long this flowers and ruffles thing is going to last, and I'm already getting tire of it, but I like this because it is subtle and flattering on me. If I get one summer out of it, it's still worth what I paid!

I love love this t-shirt. It's so simple and casual, clean and fresh. It's Faded Glory, sold at WalMart, which is funny because I never go to WalMart.

And look at these adorable shorts I got for Boo! Not always easy because he won't wear anything that even has a speck of orange or red. Don't ask me why! I have no idea!! I'm determined to have him dress better this school year - instead of gym pants and t-shirts every day - so wish me "bon chance!"

So. Tahdah!!

Bedtime Butterflies, Birds & Bees

2011-08-09T21:55:00.003-04:00

Butterfly kisses on his damp cheeks. A long, rough day for my 9-year old.
A punch from a camp-mate.
Too much sun.
Too much fun.
Too much of everything today.
He fought my hugs, wanting to fight the world. A bed time book, a long, long prayer and lots of hugs brings him to sleep's door.

Little flutters of oma's eyelashes on his baby skin. Butterfly kisses.

"Is that what butterflies do when they get married?"
I chuckled and said, "I don't know. "
He ponders, "They don't have weddings because they're just insects."
Then concludes, "They just mate - like snakes."

I hope I'll remember this night. These moments...these moments? They're what make up our life.

Good night, sweet one.

A Shard of Eden

2011-08-05T07:45:00.000-04:00

Every Wednesday afternoon, Boo and I make our trip to "The Farm," as we call it. It's a place about 7 miles from our house, where's we've joined as CSA members. Every Wednesday, we get our share of vegetables and fruit that are organically grown, bio-diversely farmed, sprouting from non-GMO heirloom seeds.

Boo says hello to the chickens

and walks around with me and Farmer Heather as she gets us our share of greens. This is in addition to the tomatoes, beans, cucumbers, plums, peppers and the rest of our share of what is currently flourishing. We also get a dozen or two of healthy eggs, some Farmer-made jams, pickles and such.

I enjoy finding out, by email, what will fill our cupboard each week. I love that Jinsok knows where his food comes from. I love he knows who grows his food, that she works hard, that food comes in cycles and seasons, that sometimes they grow well and sometimes they don't. But that each time we make our 7 mile trek, we're getting something really fresh - like 1 minute fresh - and that no chemicals are leeching into the waters.

I was hoping that joining a CSA would inspire me to cook more at home. And it's working!! Fortunately we like a variety of greens and we like our food rather simply prepared. Tonight we had (grass-fed) beef and sage sausages, beans, Swiss shard (chard) with some Ezekiel bread.

Make sure there are no bugs in the shard!

Cook the stems first in raw coconut oil and garlic; add the leafy parts and add soup soy sauce to taste.

Feed child.

July Vacation 2011

2011-08-02T21:47:00.001-04:00

.
.

I watch my son grow. In inches and pounds.

But also in love and joy and even grief. I see each year, that he loves his extended family more and more. And as such, his grief is bigger each time we part. For a mom who never saw her child grieve, it is a beautiful thing to watch big rivulets of shiny run down his ashy, tanned cheeks. Tears were fears and cries were for old traumas.

The pure, salty sadness of tears is delicious to my soul.

Who Cares About Organic Clothing??

2011-08-02T08:49:00.001-04:00

Whether you see it the earth as God's creation and gift to us, or as Mother Nature brought on by evolution, let's take care of what we have: the earth and the people that do dwell.

Come read my post on All Things Chic.

Step by Step

2011-06-27T00:53:00.005-04:00

She cried, remembering the pain of the dream.

Her first waking sense was the smell of her own tousled hair, and the damp, wrinkled cotton on her face. It was only then that she felt more than saw the white light of morning.

Her nights were shot with dreams - of chases, abandonments, of her lover just beyond her reach. He was leaving her and he was cold to her, oblivious to the gnawing, churning inside of her, the pleading that refused to come out of her, locked inside, choking her.

He came in gently to raise her, as he always did. "I had a bad dream," she whispered. Then she cried, remembering. He sat, silent, sympathy on his face but not understanding. He knew about her dreams, and how she would cry 3 and 4 tissues' worth, even after she was awake and knew it had only been a dream.

"Don't leave me," she begged.
He chuckled, "I'm not planning on it, sweetie."

It was a phrase that never sat right with her, never comforted her in the way she wanted to be. This time, this time, she challenged him, "I know you're not planning on it, but will you?" she asked with emphasis on the verbs.

He was silent. His shoulders twitched as it always did when he was uncomfortable. He was the kind of man, like many men, who felt disingenuous talking about his feelings. But that discomfort could sometimes look like a person caught in a lie. Slowly, as if confessing something embarrassing, he said, "Well, it takes steps." He paused. "Those things don't just happen."

And in that moment, she understood everything he was trying to tell her:

"I'll never leave you," is the phrase young women want to hear, a romantic ideal of someone's emotional response, eschewing the inevitabilities the future will bring. "I"m not planning on it," acknowledges the real world temptations but says "I'm committed to you and I will keep my vow to you no matter what I face."

And in that moment, she was comforted in the way she needed to be.

Crossing the Line

2011-06-25T22:45:00.011-04:00

Germans are known for their sense of orderliness.
Hispanics for their passion.
American for their "frontier" spirit.

In my last post, I shared that my mother advised me against marrying a Japanese man. She actually preferred I marry an "American," meaning White, of course, over a Korean man. This is pretty amazing for back in the day. She believed that Americans had a more egalitarian view of women than their East Asian counterparts.

Clearly not every white American man treats their wives well. But there is some cultural understanding and acceptance in America of what constitutes a good or bad husband. Roses on your anniversary, doing the dinner dishes, rubbing your wife's feet: Good. Having a mistress, going out with an escort, being a couch potato: Bad. We can name philandering politicians, and we ran to the side of Diana when we found out about Camilla. There are other cultures whose determination of a Good Husband and Bad Husband differ from ours, right?

When you make an informed characterization of a people, considering their history, age, class, and/or ethnicity, you make generalities, right? whether you're a blogging mom or a Cultural Anthropologist.

When does a sociological characteristic of a peoples turn into prejudice?

Nobody wants to be considered liars, or adulterers, right? But there are cultures that consider side-stepping to be the correct and appropriate behavior. There are cultures that consider mistresses a part of male behavior, or even, a right. Is that calling a Spade a Spade, or Pot Calling the Kettle Black?

Everyone knows Asians are good at math, right? Is that racist? As a culture, East Asians are good at math. There are tests of school children to prove it. My own personal experience indicates that East Asians are much more math literate than their American peers, and this has been confirmed in a book pointing to this alarming condition called Innumeracy: Mathematical Illiteracy & It's Consequences.

So that can't be prejudice, can it? What's bad about being considered smart?

When does a sociological characteristic of a culture turn into prejudice?

I thinking you cross the line when you take one tendency, good or bad, and apply it to every person of that group. Conversely, when your observation of one person (or two or three or ten,) in a certain time, a certain place, of a certain class and group and turn it into an observation about the whole ethnic group.

I'm thinking it's when you white-wash an entire group, when you can no longer see, or are no longer willing to see the individual, to consider the person in front of you. Whether being smart or lazy, precise or dull, that individual is dehumanized, cast in plaster, and made into something of your own imagining.

Things My Mother Told Me

2011-06-22T22:54:00.001-04:00

"Dress better than everyone in the room; as a minority, you will always be looked down on."

"Do everything properly; never part way."

"It's better to be small breasted; they won't sag when you're old."

"It's better to marry a lazy smart man than a hard-working dumb man. A smart man, even if he's lazy, will be able to figure his way out."

"I want my sons to marry Korean women, and my daughter to marry an American man." (You got your wish, mom!)

"You can marry a Chinese man, but don't marry a Japanese. They are the worst toward women."

"You have to give men hell every once in awhile."

"You can love a rich man just as much as a poor man, so you might as well marry a rich man."

{By the way, the proper response is to chuckle,slightly shocked, but not offended.}

The Final Sunrise

2011-06-19T23:55:00.005-04:00

"The hours go slowly but the years go swiftly."

or something like that.

Each day, often filled with the drudgery of responsibilities - being at the office, going to meetings, shuttling your kids around, picking up toys, weeding. Somewhere in there you rest, relax, enjoy the family. Then you flop down into bed.

Only to find at each birthday, each anniversary, each milestone, that the years have gone by. Your 2-year old is now 9, 18, 24. I love watching Boo grow, I love seeing the person he is, the person he is growing into. But I also feel a sadness as I watch him. Why?

I am also a bit sad as my husband and I mark our anniversaries. I know that one day, one of us will be left here without the other. Will the remaining one find another to fill the days? I don't know; I can't say. I know now though that I never tire of him, he is my best friend and confidante. I can't imagine finding anyone else to be with.

We mark each hour. The days go marching by. Then it's a year gone by. Then 5. Then 10. Why the wistfulness at life going by? Are we mourning the coming of the end of our story? Do we have a longing in us to be eternal? Is that why men build monuments? leave a legacy? I never felt this way when I was young. Is it that as we age, we crest the hill and see in the horizon our Final Sunset?

Do we not enjoy the beauty of the sunset, only because we know there is a sunrise?

Am I not wistful and sad because we were never meant to see the end?

Death Be Not Proud

Death is the Enemy

What if after the Final Sunset, we knew there was an eternal Sunrise? Here in the quiet hours, as I have faith that there is a tomorrow, and the sun will rise again, would I continue to mourn at each passing year if I knew there were more years to come? That I could live eternally?

"For God so loved the world, that He gave His only Son, so that

whoever believes in Him

shall not perish but have everlasting life."

Things I Love Thursday

2011-06-09T08:19:00.000-04:00

..
Payday.

A Player

2011-06-08T21:11:00.002-04:00

Boo is an enthusiastic player. I mean, that boy knows how to play. Anything and everything. I am so grateful. I've had parents tell me they had a second, third or fourth child so the kids would have playmates. I assume there was more to it than just that. As an Only, I can't help but feel that parents pity him a bit, pity me a bit.

We were told by his foster family that even as an infant, he loved the water and being outdoors. Neighbors may see him in our yard, playing with sticks and stones and water and running through the grass, making piles of dirt and collecting bugs. At the pool, he is busy pretending and making up games, swimming and squirming like an otter.

Although not particularly athletic, he has great balance and we took off his training wheels before his fifth birthday. We are not a particularly athletic family, preferring the outdoors, the arts and culture. On the other hand, he never showed much interest in sports until recently.

I saw other families spend much of their free time running from one activity to another, giving up much of their weekends to sports teams and tournaments. There's even a recent book called Until It Hurts: American's Obsession with Youth Sports & How it Harms our Kids. I heard an interview on NPR with the author who was a "soccer dad" type and how he drove his kids to perform. There was a time when kids didn't start sports until they were maybe 11, 12. Now of course, you start at 5 with tee ball. That is not the life I wanted for us. Given Boo's history, we wanted as much family time, relational time and bonding time as possible.

I also wanted him to "be a kid," like we were when we were young. Not out of mere nostalgia but because of the rich benefits we derived from wandering around, feeling different textures, smelling all the smells, discovering God's handiwork. And yes, even sometimes, getting bored. It turns out that our brains develop from all the sensory input by being around nature.

Because of how our culture has become, it is a natural question to ask if Boo is involved in sports. I find myself explaining, almost apologizing for not, as if I were a bad mother. It's not that I think they are judging me; they are just making friendly conversation. But I do get that question a lot and I haven't been able to find a gracious way of replying, without apologizing, without explaining all of Boo's neurological weaknesses, without sounding righteous.

Strawberry Fields Forever

2011-06-04T20:54:00.002-04:00

One of our favorite things to do - a sure sign of summer: pick-your-own strawberries. There's an organic farm over the river and through the woods that we go to. With Boo traipsing through the rows and eating right off the plants, I'm glad they're pesticide free. He might end up eating a bug or two, but, eh! Even the Husband went, but I didn't get any pics of him.
.

[There is just no way to be stylish when going to the farm.]

.[There

Perspectival

2011-06-04T13:20:00.000-04:00

I love children's art. Of course I have a special interest in Boo's development. He is adding to his understanding of the subtleties of perspectival drawing; showing wall thickness, interior walls, objects within. He'll be 9 next month. *proud*

Spring

2011-05-29T21:30:00.001-04:00

I know I'm the serious sort, but I needed Spring in my blog. Some Happy. Do you think it's too cheery?? I mean, I wouldn't want people to think I was happy or anything. HA!

I have some posts in my head. I just quit my job so I have oodles of time [and energy] to write.

Do you know about my other gigs?

All Things Chic
and
Eat Local Philly.

Both by my friend Jo-Lynne. Check out her Spring.

See you soon!!

Three Years Old

2011-05-09T08:00:00.153-04:00

Three years ago today, I let my friends Jo-Lynne and Sarah talk me into spending even more time on the computer. Doing this thing called "Blogging."

I didn't really know what I was doing. Like the new girl starting school in the middle of the year. I had some thoughts that had been percolating in my mind for awhile. Months. Years. Thoughts I wanted to get out. Set out.

I'm an architect, and my college professors will tell you I AM NO WRITER. Not only that, I always felt a bit handicapped by being raised in a family in which I was the only fluent speaker of English.

I was just shy of 7 when I moved to Long Island, NY. My brothers were 13, 12 and almost 11. My mom and dad, arriving in a new country as adults, would never master the English language. And, as it turned out, neither would my brothers. They would never catch on to why it was "I'm going to school," but "I'm going to the hospital." They would always carry a Korean accent and never internalize the subtleties of the new language, and yet, through lack of use, lose most of their Korean, too. Rock and a hard spot. Coming or going. Here nor there.

I would slide into the slithery mystery of English and slip right into it like a new pair of pajamas. I shed my Korean accent without looking back; without knowing that I had lost something.

I often share the story of my first trip to the public library. It was a one room, wooden building, dusty and with that faint smell of old charcoal. It was the librarian who first said those magic words, "Nancy Drew." What could my mom or dad tell me about American books? Nothing. What could they do to help me with my English? to expand my vocabulary? They couldn't read to me, nor would they know what to read. My brothers had their own difficulties adjusting to a new culture.

When it was time to prepare for college, my SAT scores reflected my home life: 95th percentile in Math and a 50th percentile in Verbal. I heard Korean parents say their children should stay away from fields like Law that require a mastery of language; that they were handicapped because of their immigrant families. It's an essentially Korean way of thinking - to put people in boxes, fence themselves in.

Through blogging, here's what I found out. Somehow, while studying vocabulary for the SATs, reading voraciously, writing business letters over and over again, somewhere along the way, I must have figured out how to write. My best friend said I should write more. I scoffed, given my background, my Korean fence. She scoffed right back at me, giving me that quintessentially American,"You can do anything" speech. It's an essentially American way of thinking - to see the vastness of the land and sky and know you can do anything.

Three years ago, I started with a little word: CAN.
And now, three years later, I see that I can write. I can! I think.

Thanks to all my friends, who have stuck with me and supported me.

Mother's Day Redux

2011-05-08T10:02:00.000-04:00

I had a post stirring in my head. Here, I had already written it:

Bond - Shaken & Stirred

Who's Your Mama?

2011-05-08T09:36:00.001-04:00

First mom.
Tummy mom.
Birth mom.

We chose to use "tummy mommy" because...well, because.

HH asked Boo this morning if he thought about his tummy mommy on Mother's Day.

"No - I don't even know her. I love my mom."

It simultaneously makes me smile and break my heart.

Where ever you are, whoever you are - the woman who grew my son in her body, then suffered the breakage of giving him up - Happy Mothers' Day.

You will be happy to know that he is well. I am doing my best.

I promise you one day we will look for you. And if you cannot see him - for whatever reason - I will understand, if Boo won't.

Royal Wedding Full of Grace

2011-04-30T16:14:00.006-04:00

Back in the early 80's when Diana Spencer wed Prince Charles, I was all over that wedding thing. Even if the Prince's ears stuck straight out. I was as young as they, and less prone to over analyze the meaning of life. [The American prince back then was John Kennedy Jr., who was only a year or two younger than me. I couldn't help secretly wondering if I should transfer to Brown.] I sighed through that royal wedding.

This time around when Catherine Middleton wed Prince William, I was quite a bit less enthused. After all, I am more the age of their parents. It is a little harder to swoon over a prince the age of a son. Although I didn't watch the wedding on Friday, I had some time to myself this morning and watched one of the many reruns. I've always admired William and Catherine, for their good looks and their appropriateness and wisdom in the wildly public life they lead.

I immediately thought of Grace Kelly of Philadelphia, and my Googling proved I wasn't the only one. There are the easy comparisons of Catherine and Grace both coming from a "common" family that had risen in society through business dealings, and then, of course, marrying a prince. They both have understated elegance and well... grace.

I set aside my disbelief, let myself float into a world where not only are you the "it girl" of the event, you're the "it girl" of the whole world. I set aside thoughts of all the glamorous weddings that ended in terrible sadnesses...Diana and Charles, Andrew and Sarah, Jackie and JFK, Caroline and John, Grace and Prince Rainier...

...and wished them as much happiness and love and hope as...

Grace and Dave.

We are an adopted Prince and Princess of His Heavenly Kingdom.

Breakfast of Champions

2011-04-19T17:36:00.000-04:00

.
Boo, 2 months shy of turning 9, had crackers dipped in extra virgin olive oil for breakfast today.

One is the Number

2011-04-03T07:44:00.004-04:00

I believe there is a god that is pre-existent, preeminant, who created all things, knows all things, determines all things. I believe he IS love, he IS truth, he IS justice. I believe that when he speaks there is no separation in thought, time or will but IS.

I believe we can only know him when he reveals himself to us. No amount of dancing or fasting or prayer wheels or exercise or any doing of anything will get us close to him unless he chooses to reveal himself to us. I believe he revealed himself to us through his creation, and then Jesus Christ and his Word.

One truth. One is a very big word. Word.

Boo's Couch

2011-04-02T23:42:00.001-04:00

Today I sank.
Down deep.

There have been changes in my life lately. It's not the new job. Or that I feel like I don't have time for myself. Or the hot flashes. There are people in my life who are disrespecting me. In a way I've had to live with for many, many years. Until I had Boo, then I could tell everyone to stick it and I stayed home and went shopping and to play dates.

Somehow, these people with their disrespecting have come into my life again. I volunteered for this?

It's not any one of those things. It's a hundred little things and not any of them. It's my chemicals whirlygigging around me.

The soft part in the back of the roof of my mouth got tingly. And my neck got tingly tight. The way it does before the tears come sliding out the eyes.

I didn't want to do anything. Just lay around. I couldn't get up. I couldn't feed my baby.

My husband and son came to be with me. Boo wanted to know what was the matter. I said I didn't feel well. He sees my tears.

Are you sad mommy?
Yes.
Why?
I don't know. I don't feel well.

Wait. Do you not feel well, or do you not feel well because you're sad?

Such wisdom.

He sat next to me, this little boy with Asperger's Syndrome. This boy without Theory of Mind. I said will you hold my hand.
He did.
Tight.
Pudgy, dry, square hands.
He sat there and healed me.

Old Reliables That Weren't

2011-03-28T07:16:00.002-04:00

Do you remember Merthiolate?

Boo got an ouch yesterday. He prefers Neosporin, which doesn't hurt, over Iodine, which does. I told him we didn't need to use Iodine on his particular kind of ouch (blood blister,) but maybe we should use Bactine, to make the hurt go away.

When we were little, we didn't have Bactine, which has been around since the 50's. My parents were firm believers that it had to HURT for the medicine to work. They just didn't trust anything that didn't hurt; it couldn't possibly kill those nasty germs.

As each family has their allegiances to certain products, my mom had hers to Merthiolate. So we didn't have Mercurochrome, which made your skin turn red. We didn't have iodine, which made your skin turn brown. We had Merthiolate, which turned your skin a bright, fluorescent orange. It was the stuff that really. REALLY. hurt. It made you wish you'd die from an infection or blood poisoning before you had to endure the pain of your mom swabbing your open wound with the scratchy plastic wand. I'm sure that soldiers with blood gushing out of their wounds were glad my mom wasn't around because she would have POURED Merthiolate into the wound.

I did the old person thing of saying to Boo, "When I was your age, we didn't have all these choices and we only had MERTHIOLATE," and went on to tell him the gruesome story of this childhood torture device.

In writing this post, I did some research.
So. Did you notice the name Mercurochrome? Did you ever notice the similarity to the word MERCURY? Mercurochrome is the trademark for merbromin. The molecular formula, for those of you interested, is
C₂₀H₈Br₂HgNa₂O_6.Notice the Hg right in the middle there? Do you remember your periodical table from high school chemistry? Yup. Hg = MERCURY.

So I looked up Merthiolate. It's the trade name for thimerosol. Got that? THIMEROSOL. The controvertial preservative in vaccines? That is a mercury compound, too: C₉H₉HgNaO₂S

Not only did it HURT LIKE HELL, we were being POISONED!!

So the punch line is, after I told Boo how much Merthiolate hurt, he said, "Mom, mom, it shouldn't be called Merthiolate. It should be called HURT-thiolate."

Right on.

Not Bad, For Your Age

2011-03-21T05:59:00.000-04:00

You know those emails you get seemingly every other day? Some, I am sure I signed up for, but beats me if I remember when or why. I get this one called "Real Beauty, Powered by You." There is an article about how to apply blush for each decade of age. Here's what it says about for women in their 50's:

Shimmer can magnify wrinkles, so it's best to apply it sparingly and only on the apples of the cheeks, says celebrity makeup artist Mally Roncal. Doesn't Michelle look fabulous for being in her fifties?

Do you know which Michelle they are talking about? Michelle Pfeiffer. Look at her picture:

Now read the paragraph again:

Shimmer can magnify wrinkles, so it's best to apply it sparingly and only on the apples of the cheeks, says celebrity makeup artist Mally Roncal. Doesn't Michelle look fabulous for being in her fifties?

For being in her fifties! Does there need to be a conditional? Doesn't she just. look. fabulous?? I'd put her up next to 1,000...no 10,000 younger women and see if they can hold a candle to her.

Why does Ariana Finlayson, the author, do this to women??

Things I Love Thursday

2011-03-17T07:20:00.002-04:00

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Beautiful birthday gift from my 8-1/2 year old son:

Mountain Sunshine

2011-03-16T00:07:00.000-04:00

Sierra Mist Natural

What makes it "natural?" Real lemon and lime juices? Spring water? Organic something? anything?

Noooooooo. It's made with REAL SUGAR. That is what makes it natural.

Sugar. You know, the addictive stuff that is sprayed with chemicals, poisons our land [and therefore water,] threatens the health of the workers... you know the stuff that is processed and bleached, and subsidized by our government? Yeah, THAT sugar.

Natural!

Unexpected Feelings of a Working Grrrl

2011-03-13T20:00:00.012-04:00

.
I started a new job. Today. The last time I got paid to work, was January of 2003....it's been a long time.

My overwhelming feeling?

Sadness.

I've said goodbye to a life I've known for 8 years.

The Creation

2011-03-13T07:43:00.007-04:00

All knowledge of God rests upon revelation.
Though we can never know God in the full richness of His being, he is known to all people through His revelation in creation, the theatre of His glory.
The world is never godless. In the end there are no atheists; there is only argument about the nature of God. The recognition is universal of a power greater than human beings themselves, to whom they owe piety.
-Herman Bavinck

Vietnamese Food 310: Lettuce Wrap

2011-03-12T22:57:00.001-05:00

If you've taken Vietnamese Food 101 and 201, Beyond Pho (which, if you haven't heard by now, is pronounced Phu.) You're ready to move onto the 300-level upper class courses. No prerequisites. Just your charge card.

HH and I love Vietnamese food. We haven't met one we don't like yet. We love the combination of sweet and sour, mild and hot, rich and light, all in one bite! We learned about this place Pho Hoa, which is actually a chain. The meat was grilled to perfection, the greens were just-picked fresh and the interior...well, let's just end the comments there. Any how! Here we go...

Bún chả Hanoi, or Lettuce Wrap

Look at this spread! On the left is my grilled pork, on top of bite-size rectangles of rice noodles and garnished with scallions and crushed peanuts. At the upper right you can see HH's - similar to mine except with grilled shrimp. I think you can order chicken, too, and maybe you can get a tofu version? Here's a better photo below. That big platter of greens has lettuce, Thai basil, mint and perilla, known to Japanese as shiso. You can see also some slivers of carrot and radish which have been seasoned in a sweet vinegar. The dressing in the little bowls are made of vinegar, fish sauce, red pepper and sugar. It gives just the zing to keep every bite fresh and interesting.

HH had grilled shrimp

I always get grilled pork

Get the green(s) you want

Add rice noodles, meat, fixings, and vinegar dressing...

I'm making a bite with perilla (shiso) and mint...

And eat!!

Leave your American-western-European-heritage manners at the door, open wide and take a BIG bite. You'll be glad. So many flavors and textures in one mouthful!

Bun Cha Hanoi, or Pork Lettuce Wrap.

Fashion Friday: St. Patrick's, IF YOU MUST

2011-03-11T07:38:00.119-05:00

OK, if you feel you MUST wear green on March 17, then first things first. Let's put these in the garbage:

No, no, no. Don't put them in the charity box and tempt some other soul with them. Throw. Them. Away. If you're worried about the landfill, remember, cotton is biodegradable, so you'll be green! HAHAHA!!

OK. Now try these approaches:

1. Bold? Wear one major, stylish piece. But JUST ONE.

These bags range from $35 to $350.

2. Shy? Wear just one little, stylish piece. Like a pair of shoes (I suggest "stylish," so that means NOT Merrells and NOT Crocs.)

Try the gladiators with cropped cargo pants or shorts if you dare!

Really, really shy? How about a piece of jewelry?

3. Wear it with an unusual color like this pencil skirt in gray:

Ann Taylor LOFT

Or lime, or sand, or white.

4. I'm doing 4 in honor of the 4-leaf clover. So finally, how about this Arizona tank top available at JCPenney's to wear under a cardi or jacket? Now this would be a statement for Ireland:


Soft twill jacket by Coldwater Creek

Things I Love Thursday

2011-03-10T07:32:00.003-05:00

I love my husband.
I love my son.

and.

I love my body.

I'm sure the first two comments did not surprise you, but did the third?

I have a new gig as a fashion writer at All Things Chic.

You will not see me make self-disparaging remarks, not because I'm perfect... oh wait, is that in itself a self-disparaging remark?? or catering to our common attitudes as women?? We women do it as a matter of course. And if we don't, we are hated.

Let's stop that now. I'm not being arrogant. I have come to know and accept and be with my body. So don't hate me, and stop hating your body, yourself.

Let's be like men. Stick out our beer bellies, scratch it, and say "look at my awesome bod!"

The Question of Love

2011-03-06T21:46:00.003-05:00

I think a lot about Love. Love seems to justify everything these days. Love and tolerance.

What is Love? Puppy dogs and sweet smelling babies? A brand-new pick-up truck or a new pair of red pumps? Is it a feeling?

If God is Love, then does it not come from Him, defined by Him? Or do we define Love, then put it upon God? a god? Does not Love have a definition? or do we make it up as we go? Are all actions justified if we have love? Can even abhorrent actions be justified by love?

"Because I love her..."
"I may not be the best mom/dad/wife/husband but I love him/her/them."
"Two people who love each other..."

Is God God, or is He only what we want Him to be? Do you define God or is God pre-existent? Is God only Love? or is He also justice and wrath? Can a God be only love without justice? Can a parent be a good guide to a child with only a love that is void of justice? Does not love, the love of a parent, have definition? I knew a mom who had 4 children to four different men, 2 who were incarcerated. One man had the custody of one child. The other three were finally taken by social services because she was repeatedly arrested for shop lifting, the children were sleeping on mattresses on the floor next to dog excrement, and there were garbage bags of unwashed clothing thrown in the basement. Tears streaming down her face, she wailed and thrashed in the courtroom as the children were taken away, because "she loved them." Does it seem like an open and shut case to you? If you really look, do each one of us define love as we want, in a way that is convenient to us? Or is there something bigger, greater than us, that defined ---no made Love?

It says in the Christian Bible that people have come to love the Created above the Creator. Worshiping money, nature, animals...even Love itself. And hold it higher than God Himself.

Does Love win over all? or does God?

Grace notes: The point I am trying to make is that people actually worship Love. A Godless Love. They worship and honor love over God. I would contend that God is Love, but Love is not God. That is how people justify what they do, whatever it is, no matter how abhorrent it is to God, because they themselves define love instead of looking to what God tells us about love.

God needs to win out because we need to define love as God has defined it, within the context of his mercy and judgement. We live in a world that a (self-defined) love wins the day and I think it is tragic.

Fashion Friday: Dressing for the Holidays

2011-03-04T09:23:00.005-05:00

I know. It's March. Shouldn't she have done this post in, um, December??

I'm not talking New Years' parties because you can find literally hundreds of posts and articles about that.

I'm talking....the dreaded....OTHER holidays: Valentine's Day, St. Patrick's, Easter and the worst: Fourth of July. I just want you to know I never. NEVER dress for these holidays. Do you remember on Bridget Jones' Diary when the [gorgeous] Colin Firth wore that horrid "jumper" that his mother knit? Yup. That's what I think of. If it can make the Fabulous Firth look that bad, think what it's doing for your figure!

Love makes you do funny things. In my case, the love of a 3rd grader with an interminable smile. I'm even volunteering in his classroom for parties. Look, it's no secret among my friends that I do not like children. Oh sure - I like MY kid and I [usually] like YOUR kid. But not kidS. So love makes me do funny things. I get to watch these kids eat glop made with white processed flour, covered with sugar paste made desirable to them by a smathering of petri dish coloring and petroleum-based flavors...

Oh. Fashion Friday. That's right...where was I??

So I went to help with the Valentine's Day party at this school. What to wear. What to wear. So. I wore this slinky red tunic top, a red/grey silk scarf, skinny jeans and a pair of BONGO red wedges. I wore earrings that my friend, Jessica Buchtel, made out of brass washers and red coral. [I just want you to know that all the reds DID match. At least they matched enough, but the camera makes them all look clashy!]

I would not be so "matchy-matchy," were it not for a 3rd grade Valentines' Day party.

So, if you wore one of these tops for Valentine's Day:

you have a chance to redeem yourself. St. Patrick's and Easter are coming up.

**Check next Friday for my suggestions!**

**Check out the What I Wore Wednesday features at my new gig - All Things Chic!**

Things I Love Thursday

2011-02-24T16:19:00.000-05:00

I love my son's small school.

As he was entering Kindergarten, I had much to consider. He was on the young side of the age cut-off and he had some as-yet-undiagnosed "issues" I didn't know what to do with. I visited every school within a 20 miles radius and made an Excel chart of its features and detractions.

I wanted Montessori. I wanted a nice, clean, safe building. His school was not on the list. It was too small, too dirty, without air conditioning and frankly, I was not looking for a Christian school. All the wrong things. But the other schools were just. not. working. out. As I did my search, I came to realize more and more clearly the environment that would be best for him...and me. He was still filled with anxieties that needed to be carefully tended to. Even the small public school near our house seemed overwhelming. I finally went to visit West-Mont Christian Academy because I was running out of options...and time. Then, the school went through a major renovation that summer.

I had run out of excuses.

When I went, I was immediately drawn to the small environment. There is one classroom per grade. The school secretary sits right in the middle of the little lobby and can see everything going on. (I'm sure sometimes she wishes she didn't!) Everybody in that building knows everybody else's name. The principal gets hugs from all the kids; and he hugs them back. Because the school is so small, his Exceptional Ed class is one-on-one. I doubt I could get that at any of the tony private schools in the area. He loves his teachers and his teachers truly love him. He prays for them, and they pray for him.

As I sat in the car line today, waiting for my special treasure, I was telling my friend about all the imperfections of the school...the cranky kids in his class, the cranky teacher last year, the paint chips. Then I remembered how grateful I was to be guided to the right place, despite what I thought was best.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. - Proverbs 3:5

Dust in the Wind

2011-02-23T09:17:00.000-05:00

I am sapped
wiped
squeezed
dried out

I will ooze out volcanic slurry
or blow away as dust

Our 15th of a Second of Fame

2011-02-22T23:55:00.003-05:00

My friend got four tickets to the taping of the Nate Berkus Show. Who? Yeah, I had to google him, too. I would never have gone were it not my best friend, The Artist. I thought a trip to NYC would be fun, no matter what the reason. I remember the days when I’d take day trips to NYC…or night runs for dinner. I’d be pretending to study in my dorm room when the phone would ring. A friend would say, “Hey I got a car -- want to go for dinner in NY?” Well, duh! Of course I’d say yes.

We’d be going with two friends of The Artist. Hugs, hellos and fussing as the two of us get in the car to pick up Karen around the corner. The 3 of us then go to Jen’s house. See Jen run out her back door, to her car. See Jen run back in the house. See Jen run out the front door, and jump in the back seat.

We chatter away and the two in the back seat argue intermittently about the best way to get to Trenton. I feel a headache coming on. Our boots tap-tap and clack-clack as we hurry across the pavement, then the glossy floor of the train station. Conversations about our children intersperse with comments about our outfits. Oh, I love that hat! It’s so you. Mine’s in 3^rd grade, how about yours? Should my pants be in or out of my boots? Do you think we can make an earlier train? Let’s find coffee. I have to stop in the rest room. Where’d they go? Wait!

Look! Hi, Tim!

The train takes an hour longer than it should but we’re too busy talking. Me, too, talking. But what I really wanted was a latte and quiet. That headache grows. Not a headache so much as a too-fullness; the talking jiggling the nerves in my too full head. Like nitro.

I’m in heels too high and another walks too fast. We’re like a slinky dog as we 4 stretch and careen and back again. Weaving through the Manhattan crowd 2 by 2 then 3 and 1 then 2 by 2 again in different sets.

Fries sprinkled with cheese

We get there finally to wait in the cold. The Fast One has gluten-free crackers, ear muffs, mittens and hand warmers. The other hasn’t eaten and we share Greek fries in line. There are young men and women drones buzzing about with earphones, walkie-talkes and badges on lanyards. There’s one that comes down the line to mark our tickets, then another one follows checking it twice. There are 4 at the doorway for security. Another at the bottom of the stairs. Two at the elevators; two when we get out. I’ve lost track of how many guide us to the ”Audience Waiting Room.” There are bananas, bagels, coffee and tea. The room is filled with middle-aged women and gay men.

Many more with Earphones. One comes in and makes an announcement. Another hands out forms. Then another form. Then they collect them. There’s one guiding the line of women needing the restrooms. Two male versions stand nearby. Another one hands out the same form they just collected. Sorry-we-shouldn’t-have-collected-it-I-didn’t-get-the -memo. Another one is recruiting for future shows. She even asks to take a picture of us because she “likes our vibe.”

The waiting room, the hallway, the restrooms are all dingy – the green aura of cheap fluorescent. (Maybe that’s where the term “green room” comes from?) I keep waiting for my glasses to clear up, but it’s not that. It’s just dark and dingy and the worst lighting I’ve ever seen. I feel like I’m in the movie, Brazil.

There are more and more of these drones. We are herded through. We get a “gift” which we are not to open. We enter the studio. No. Wait.

WE. ENTER. THE. STUDIO.

If you could hear the eternal light of Heaven, this would be it. The clatter and jabber and shuffle of the audience dies away as they all sense the clarity, the perfection, as if we are entering the presence of The Almighty. Not because Nate Berkus is such a bigshot, but because the studio is this white box of perfection. Only a Higher Being could dwell here. There are no shadows or gradations. No blind spot or heat spot. Everything in that studio is covered in a clear, pure white light.

There is another Earphone, but she has a name, Dena, and she is paid to keep us entertained, and keep our "energy up." There’s also a male Earphone named Gab and he’s a comedian, too. They tell us when to clap,and for how long.

Then there’s Nate. Charisma. Gentle and sweet, a charm you can smell. And he's one of those men that you think must smell good. I thought I’d hate this part, the clapping too enthusiastically, the corny, made up “chatting” with the guests. I thought it was fascinating. I can see why people get caught up in all….THAT.

When we left the studio, we headed to a Greek restaurant around the corner from the studio. We had more fries sprinkled with cheese. We were all less talkative. We each made calls to our families. Then we took the train back to Trenton, all of us quiet, ready to get back to our real lives. Our ride back to our houses was quieter. No arguing about which roads to take.

We said our goodbyes as if we had just carpooled to a friend’s party. A perfectly tanned, perfectly coiffed, perfectly spoken where nobody is offended or wrinkled or have panty lines.

Me, Bren, Jen, Karen in the audience.

A New Era

2011-02-16T20:09:00.002-05:00

My son has an invisible friend. His name is Aceladin. Acela, as in the high-speed train + din. If I want to know more about him, I am to go to www.aceladin.com

Things I Love Thursday

2011-02-10T10:24:00.019-05:00

I am "inspired" by my friend Jo-Lynne, who was inspired by Jill to talk about what I love. Glass half full. Jo-Lynne thinks February is dull and drab. Pshaw! Pshaw, I say

Seriously, I *love* February. But it's easy for me to say because I am not adversely affected by the winter months. I know several people very close to me who are, so I know it is a real issue. Here's what I love about February:

New Florence, PA

Snow. We Christian-type folks always hope for a white Christmas, but I notice people around these here parts do not want it to stay. I think if it started snowing at 5:00 Christmas Eve and melted the day after Christmas, it would be hunky-dorry. Not me. I love me my snow. The kind that stays. I grew up in central Pennsylvania, where it is not unusual to see mounds of snow in parking lots in April. Around balmy Philadelphia though, usually, after a couple of months of pretending to snow, we might get a real snow around this time of year. I remember how drab the world seems after the leaves fall and before the snow comes. And when it comes? It always reminds me of the glory of God - how He covers our sins ...so that we are as white as snow.
Snow. Did I say this already? Speaking of memory, here's a funny one. You can insert "menopausal" for "elderly:" "
Two elderly ladies had been friends for many decades. Over the years, they had shared all kinds of activities and adventures. Lately, their activities had been limited to meeting a few times a week to play cards.

One day, they were playing cards when one looked at the other and said,
Now don't get mad at me. I know we've been friends for a long time, but I just can't think of your name! I've thought and thought, but I can't remember it. Please tell me what your name is...

Her friend glared at her for at least three minutes; she just stared and glared at her. Finally she said, How soon do you need to know?

OK, so. Snow: The Sequel: I love watching Boo play in the snow. That kid is never cold, and he loves to be outside whether it's 9 below zero or 9 above 100.
2011
2010
2009

3. Happy Birthday to Me!! It's my birthday month. And though the delight of getting one year older is waning, I still love being surprised by my HH with something delightful, no matter how many times I tell him not to get me anything.

I think Three is a perfect number for Thing I Love Thursday. And finishing about me, right? ;-)

Tiger Mom Award of the Year. Decade.

2011-02-08T11:08:00.001-05:00

Not being a pro sports kinda gal, I just learned about Hines Ward for the first time today. I saw a link to this video, where he is inducted as a member of the President's Advisory Commission on Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders.

Yup. You read that right. ASIAN AMERICAN.

Hines Ward was born in Seoul, Korea to a Korean mother and African-American serviceman. They moved to the US when he was an infant, then a year later, his father, Ward, Sr., promptly divorced his mother and married someone else. As if it wasn't cruel enough to do that, Hines, Sr. went to court and successfully argued that Kim Young He was an unfit mother, since she spoke no English and could not support themselves. (I wonder if he realized he had something to do with that?) The younger Ward lived with his paternal grandparents and then with the jer...um, I mean, father until he was 7. But that is just the beginning of this amazing story.

Kim Young He, his mother, is the Tiger Mom of all Tiger Moms, not because she made him play the piano or yelled at him to get better grades. No. This young woman, who spoke no English and had nobody in this huge country, set out to prove the court wrong. In Georgia no less. His mother worked three back-breaking menial jobs to prove she could support her only child and got. him. back.

Like any kid might, Hines Ward was embarrassed of his mom. He admits that. He had grown up in the African-American community and suddenly, here was this virtual stranger who was little, with funny eyes who spoke horrible, "broken" English. Despite her 3 jobs, she always made meals for him and took him to school. One day, he ducked in the seat. He snuck out of the car (who taught her to drive? how did she save up to buy a car?) and turned to look at her...and saw her crying. (just. kill. me. now.)

It's his mother he speaks of, his mother that inspired him. Get a box of tissues and go to the link.

Then try and Google Hines Ward, Sr. and see if anything comes up.

See More

2011-02-05T22:32:00.002-05:00

I listen to a great show on NPR called Tell Me More. The show has a clear multi-cultural bent. The host asked a question awhile back, ”Will racism ever end?” I’ve been thinking about that ever since.

I started by wondering why we have prejudices in the first place? Are all prejudices bad? Prejudice, I think, is a basic skill which allows us to distinguish one from another. It’s like in the Kindergarten song that asks, “Which of these things don’t belong together?” So when it’s a drawing of 3 oranges and 1 apple, it’s an easy task. If the drawing showed 3 white kids and 1 black, well, that’s rife with all sorts of implications. My son has a difficulty distinguishing a friendly smile from a sarcastic grin or pained grimace. It is a survival skill he is learning, one painful encounter at a time.

In the most basic, instinctual sense, a baby needs to know who her “safe people” are. She learns who her mom, dad, grandma and neighbor are. As adults, we learn to assess a friendly situation from a potentially dangerous one. Seeing people similar to us puts us at ease. Most women will feel more comfortable walking into a room full of women, than a room full of men. When I drive through a certain part of town and see people hanging out on the street corners, cigarettes hanging from their mouths, donning ghetto gear, I feel uncomfortable. I’ve thought this through and it’s not the color of their skin so much (they are equally black and white) as all the other symbols of their condition, that puts me on edge. “What will they think of me?” is as vital a question as “What do I think of them?” We make ourselves the “norm,” from which all judgments are made. “I am safe,” and “I am normal,” are adages which we must live by.

I have 3 older brothers, each a year apart in school. Growing up in an area 99.6% white, they were constantly mistaken for each other, so much so that they stopped correcting people. And really, they did not look alike. Ask any Asian. They are similar in height, with brown eyes and black hair, but then, so are several billion east Asians on this globe, right? My one brother is fair-skinned, with fine-features set on a broad, square face atop broad shoulders. My other brother is very olive, with thick black brows, coarse hair, a triangular face and much slimmer build. Yet another brother is fair skinned but has a rectangular face and wore glasses.

Cut to scene 20 or so years later. I am having a conversation with a white friend and we are talking about who his children look like. He analyzed the exact tone of his children’s auburn hair and lighter brown eyes and the similarities to the Smith side of the family, as opposed to the blonder shade of hair and deep brown eyes of the Jones side. He went on for several more minutes comparing the exact tilt of the nose and freckle structure. These two examples, though occurring years and miles apart, made me realize something important:

We are more aware of our “own kind,” because we consider the basics "normal," and can easily get past these superficial qualities and see deeper.

Despite having spent most of my years in the US, it is still harder for me to distinguish the subtleties of Caucasian features. It is harder for me to see past the blond hair of the 4 tow-heads in my son’s class and constantly get them mixed up with each other. Likewise, I think one race can’t see past the most basic features of another race, past the unfamiliar, past the "otherness" unless we really spend time and effort to see past the basics, dig deeper and really try to see.

Being able to recognize our own, to judge a comfortable situation from a threatening one, are lifesaving skills for us as human beings. It’s no wonder then, that one white male executive will be more likely to hire another young white male, from his own fraternity. I get that. But as human beings, we have the ability to get past our instincts and consciously choose to make wise choices that take us past merely our own comfort zone.

Will racism ever end? In this life, on this earth, as long as our ability to segregate and differentiate is essential and instinctual? I don’t think so. But while we are here, can we at least try to see past the surface? Can we set ourselves aside as being the “norm,” or the “normal,” as the basis by which all things are measured? Can we look at the other person, part the curtains, and see more?

Happy Lunar New Year, Everyone!

2011-02-03T11:17:00.000-05:00

How about these Korean rabbits!! Aren't they cute?? But wait, did the announcer just finish a segment about South Korea with a comment about the "Chinese New Year??"

I don't do new year resolutions. But I'm making an exception this year:

To write more, and spend less time on Facebook.

Thought you had to make resolutions on January 1? You have a second chance!

Dog Tail

2011-02-02T08:14:00.023-05:00

When I practiced architecture, I did some public school projects. Public schools, being ummm, public, fell under the auspices of the state. The state requires many, many forms. Forms about building codes. Forms about how big. How tall. How deep. And cost estimates. And the absence of archeological finds. And historic significance.

One of the forms required me to certify that I was, indeed, a Registered Architect. Architects are registered by the state. That same state required me to certify that I was registered. By the state.

Are you getting the picture? Or are you dizzy?

The other day, I was reading yet another story about an adopted person, now grown, being deported because the parents didn’t fill out the proper forms 30 years ago. This person was adopted legally as an infant by US citizens and lived in the US continually all her life. It reminded me that I needed to get an additional form for Boo.

In 2001, a federal law came into affect that adopted children automatically acquire US citizenship upon immigration.1 I did get Boo a US passport. You must be a US citizen to get a US passport. However, a passport itself is not proof that you are a US citizen. Soooo. I have to fill out and send this form, N-600, “Application for Certificate of Citizenship” through the Department of Homeland Security, US Citizenship and Immigration Services.

Take a breath.

Plus $600. Yep. So Boo can have a certificate proving that he is a US citizen. The citizenship that the US government gave him. That he has to prove. To the US government. Which gave him the citizenship. For just $600.

Dizzy yet?

I can’t help but think of a little dog chasing its own tail, yapping and circling around. I feel like that dog.

I started to dig up some of the resentment I feel about the whole adoption process. If you are not familiar with adoption, you can feel free to be shocked. You’d think I would be grateful, right? Well I am grateful. But I’m not grateful for the heaping piles of humiliation and distrust thrust upon adoptive parents. Or maybe it’s just me.

See, I had to prove that I was worthy as a parent. That my husband was worthy. That my extended family was worthy. That we were neither criminals nor child molesters. Finger printed. Interviewed. That we made enough money by showing them our IRS forms for the past 3 years. Be threatened to terminate the process because of a misstep. We had to prove that our house was clean and safe. That we lived in a nice community. We had to explain our theory of child rearing and philosophy of discipline. On top of all the forms we had to fill out just for the actual adoption part. Then I had to argue with the pediatrician’s office that it is indeed a newborn checkup even if he isn't newborn and that I shouldn’t have to pay out-of-pocket for the exam. On top of all the checks that added up to 5 figures.

I thought ,"Why is it so hard??" Why can some 16 year old open her legs and 9 months later the hospital just hands her the baby, but we, at 40, have to go through all this??? What is God trying to say?

And then it came to me. Or, He came to me:

So then you are no longer strangers and ALIENS but FELLOW CITIZENS with the saints and members of the household of God 2

Yes! Of course! When you are borne, you are the heir. Every nation, people and tribe recognizes that. However, when you are not borne to, but a stranger and an alien,ow alone you are! How separated! Even those who want you, to adopt you, must prove and pay, prove and pay again and again your legitimacy, your rightful place in their family. I've read the text a hundred times. I've contemplated adoption and the Kingdom for at least 8 years. But it wasn't until that moment, when I saw how separated my child was from us, how foreign, that I saw a glimpse of how far we ourselves are separated from God.

God had to “prove” it, to pay for it with the blood of Jesus Christ so that we, as strangers and aliens could be adopted into His household, to be His heirs.

It's a complete circle for me, an adopted heir to His kingdom.

1 certain restrictions apply
2 Ephesians 2:19, NKJV

Don't Stop

2011-01-14T10:48:00.002-05:00

Maybe all this technology and snap-tap-of-a-finger access makes us appreciate how our brains and hearts really see:

I went into architecture because I loved the tools. I love how my brain juices flow throgh my fingers and onto paper. Just a stick: pen, pencil, charcoal, I could pour my intuition onto a softness, smoothness or toothiness, and it, in turn, would feed my brain with an oh-so-subtle sense that makes my synapses hug.

Here I sit at the computer, blogging. Facebooking, and tweeting (for about a week last year.) Which I love (too much.) To put a plastic keyboard and wires and screen and 1s and 0s between me and some unreal space...well it's a different creature all together.

When I saw this stop motion feature, I thought: I wonder, since we are pretty much completely immersed in computer-aided-everything, I wonder if now, we can really appreciate that computer-zapped things are a different creature from the hand-done things.

It's not just charming. It's something about how we humans were created.

Open Minded

2011-01-12T11:39:00.001-05:00

There are over 50* countries where being a Christian, or carrying a Bible, is illegal. I'm just sayin'.

* I am looking for a good source to link to. The particular laws vary, but essentially, it is illegal to be a Christian in these countries. There are also countries where it is technically legal to be a Christian, like Turkey, but you are put under such cultural duress that life is very difficult (humiliation, rejection, etc.) including being killed. Or like China, you can own a Bible but can be arrested for attending an "unapproved" church.

Staying Warm

2011-01-10T20:42:00.000-05:00

New, never worn, still has tags! Patagonia synchilla for Boo - retails for $69. Look at the tags - got it for $7.50!!

Ann Taylor tie-knot shirt - retails for $54, got it for $3.50! I'm thinking it would look great with a basic cardi like this:

and Ann Taylor trousers like these:

A good day for blackbelt!

Mediteranean

2011-01-03T23:50:00.002-05:00

Poor Richard

2011-01-02T23:03:00.001-05:00

Appropriate for the next 11 months:

“How many observe Christ's birthday! How few, His precepts! O! 'tis easier to keep holidays than commandments.”

~ Ben Franklin ~

Love, Recapitulated

2011-01-01T17:18:00.000-05:00

Happy New Year, everyone.
No exclamation point(s.)
As the years go by, that wish is said with a bigger and bigger dose of wistfulness. It is less an exclamation: "Happy New Year!" than a wish: *HAPPY* new year.

As we scrambled to submit our year-end givings, I was reminded of my own selfishness. I pray I will be more generous. More generous in heart, mind and soul. More generous to my son, to my husband, to family. To my neighbors. (Who is your neighbor? Jesus said in the parable of the Samaritan.)

And to the world.

JANUARY: The month of turning over a new leaf. "When I was young and idealistic, I lived in a big city. I walked the historic cobblestone streets, walked through the public greens, attended a picturesque church....Passing by the reflecting pond in the garden, on alternate benches came the pungent smells of the homeless...."

FEBRUARY: The month of Love. Love, not Hollywood-hormone-induced-sexualized-crapped-out-sappy-temporary-emotional-this-is-what-I-decided-about-love, but Love. "Do you think the world is fair? I bet you've told your kids once or twice 'the world isn't fair,' in one form or another. But do you think in the depth of your existence that the world is fair?..."

MARCH: Speaking of Love: "I looked up at her, hoping..."

APRIL: We can't love if we don't know what love is, right? Are you Hollywood? Do you define love? or did Love exist before you? before time? "Don't you think God loves everyone? Shouldn't God love everyone? After all, God is love, right?..."

MAY: Mother's day. The true gift to me.

JUNE: This Boo's birthday month. As he grows each year, I see how he has matured, but I guess a mother's worries are endless. Even when the Lord God Almighty of the Universe keeps telling me He's in charge. Sigh. "I saw a man old or young in tattered clothes..."

JULY: Love is a choice. It is. "I choose to love you. I do..."

AUGUST: Whew. We need a little fashion relief.

SEPTEMBER: Wasn't this yesterday??

OCTOBER: "A section of dried vine. It was in turn a staff (which turned into a snake,) a plow, a lawn mower, a whale's tail. Lift it - slap it on the gold and orange ocean - so like the sound of water being broken. He sings a whale song with amazing mimicry...."

NOVEMBER: Amazing Love. It is. Amazing, that is.

DECEMBER: "This is one of Christianity's "high holy days." I hope that you will look beyond the dilution and silliness and petty fighting and garbage that goes along with this season. And forgive us..."

The Beatles had it partly right, "All You Need is Love." If we only they meant Love, the Source, the Origin, the Definer; not 'love' as we decide to make it.
My Love to you last year, this coming year, the years to come.

Blackbelt_oma

Sign of the Times

2010-12-28T00:06:00.000-05:00

I was texting with some family members at lunch today. We were expecting them from NY, through the snow storm. "WRU?" and such.

Boo looked over at me and signed "I love you."

And I returned the sign.

Boo said, "Look, mom, I'm texting with my hand!"

To My Non-Christian Readers

2010-12-25T10:44:00.001-05:00

This is one of Christianity's "high holy days." I hope that you will look beyond the dilution and silliness and petty fighting and garbage that goes along with this season. And forgive us.

Can you see the beauty of Buddhism and Islam and Judaism? I hope you can see the beauty of Christianity: the earthly birth of Christendom's god. A young man and a young woman being obedient and submissive to their God. Our King of Kings being born in humility, in a dirty, smelly stable. Blood. Pain. Followers of every kind - kings and herders. Foreshadowing His death.

I wish for unity in diversity. I wish to set aside our differences and love each other for the human beings that we all are. No, not agree, but appreciate.

I hope for all of you, that Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness, Gentleness, and Self-control descend on you.

My Love to you all.

~O~

“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast."

- Ephesians 2:8-9

What I Thought

2010-12-21T22:18:00.000-05:00

Disagreeing with someone doesn't mean you hate them, right? You can think of many people, many issues with which you disagree and hate is not a factor, right? Right?

I don't need to give examples, right?

Ok, so there are people that I really, really dislike because of their views. You know, that I disagree with. But it's because I DISRESPECT them. Like a local-yokel Communications major trying to run for president. Of the United States. Or that Big Fat Liar dude. And that Glenny-come-lately.

These days, I hear proponents of homosexual marriage banty about the the terms "bigot" and "hate," when speaking of those of us who disagree with them. The public stance is, "if you disagree with us, you hate us and you're a bigot."

Gosh, I didn't know I hated homosexuals. I didn't know I was a bigot. Sure I harbor prejudices like everyone. But I am one to look deep into myself and really try to cleanse myself.

I thought I saw all people as being made in the image of God. I thought I tried to respect people for all they are, not just a part. I thought I vehemently disagreed with those who single out homosexuals as being worse sinners or perverts or blah blah. I thought that I believed we were all sinners and that I am saved only by the Grace of God and not of my own doing.

That's what I thought I thought.

Not Too Hot

2010-12-18T09:11:00.000-05:00

HH isn't feeling too hot.
Oma isn't either.

Boo made his daddy a cup of hot tea.
His daddy made him and his oma breakfast.

Me? I'm sittin' on my a$$ blogging about it.

Gulag

2010-12-06T18:01:00.002-05:00

North Korea, smaller than the size of the state of Mississippi, has the most political prisoners in the WORLD. The genocide in Darfur, so tragic, has something like 400,000 victims. Scholars guess that in the 90's in North Korea, 2 to 3 million people died from starvation.

The peak of the famine was around 1996.

Fifteen years ago. I wonder if my uncles would have been alive then, and if they, in their seventies, already stooped over from decades of poor nutrition, in their sunset years, couldn't move south to the sunshine, but instead, if they starved to death. My dad's big brothers. I wonder if they married and had children. They might have been grandfathers. I wonder if they saw their grandbabies die, their ribs stretched over by grey skin

while Kim Jong-Il was drinking Hennessy cognac, watching DVDs, talking to his sons in Europe. Maybe being driven around in his Mercedes, surveying his kingdom of starving children foraging for bugs and twigs.

Human Bein'

2010-12-03T12:16:00.001-05:00

All those moppets have equal value: whether bein' white, beige, tan, brown, athletic, handicapped, mute, blind, deaf, happy, sad, made in China or Macao. I need know only this, that they are all made in the image of their Maker.

Once they start walkin' and talkin' - it's a different matter. Born that way or made that way, they're walkin' and talkin' now.

I have the right and the responsibility to judge whether the walkin' and talkin' is acceptable, or not. Acceptable. (Loaded!) We all do it. Judge: Decide. I see other moppets doin and talkin things I find unAcceptable. They - obviously - think it is Acceptable. I have the right and responsibility to differ. But some of them moppets are startin to insist that I accept what they walkn and talkin. Not very liberal of them.

According to them moppets, me a bigot bein'.

Sunday Sounds

2010-11-21T17:35:00.000-05:00

Boo: It's amazing that you love me. That you love me forever.
Me: Yup. I love you. Forever.
Boo: How did you know that? Where did you learn to do that? Did God love you first and teach you?
Me: The Holy Spirit gave it to me. All good things come from above.

"Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change." - James 1:17

Fuzzy Segue

2010-11-19T11:55:00.001-05:00

I reached across the dinner table to remove a white fuzz from Boo's hair.

Boo: Ow mommy, what are you doing?
Me: You had something on your hair.
Boo: What is it?
Me: I think it's a goose feather from my jacket or something.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Boo: I always like to see the Tooth Fairy.
Me: \\figurative head scratch// What brought that up?
Boo: I thought the white thing might be the Tooth Fairy's hair or something.

I Am

2010-11-16T08:57:00.000-05:00

Boo did a little booklet in school for Bible class. He had to look in the Bible for the various images Jesus gives us of Himself, which he had to illustrate:

Flash light and candle:

Bread and toaster:

Gate with people in Heaven above:

Jesus raising someone from the dead:

Shepherd telling the sheep, "Eat what you can," something I always tell him:

Grapes on the vine:

We raise our son to believe in the God who created the Universe, the author of Love, one who cares about every little thing in our hearts. It brings me great joy to see him learn this every day, at home, church and school.

Watercress Again

2010-11-08T07:51:00.001-05:00

I was at a Korean grocery store last week and was so taken by the beautiful watercress, that I bought four bunches. At an American grocery, that would have been 1/4 of my food budget, but I got these amazing, fresh and at 99 cents a bunch!

I had a post about Watercress just this past summer, but let me show you two slight variations. Follow my previous post about soaking in salt water, rinsing, cutting and blanching the watercress.

Drain, then squeeze the excess water out with your hands:

Here is a more Korean way of making them, basically by eliminating the Oyster Sauce from the previous recipe I posted. For two bunches of watercress, I used about 1/2 t. of sugar, 5 Tblsp of soy sauce, and 1 minced clove of garlic. Mix.

Add chopped scallions. Then put the watercress in and mix thoroughly. Sprinkle toasted sesame seeds on top. This is called "minari moochim," (미나리 무침) or seasoned watercress.

Some people serve the watercress raw, like a salad, adding vinegar to the mixture above, to create a dressing. That is terrific too, especially in the summer - fragrant and crunchy! Just make sure to soak it in salt water and rinse thoroughly to remove as much pesticides as possible.

The second way is to serve it is warm mixed with just Oyster sauce and garlic.

Last night, I served it warm with Oyster sauce (top left) and cold Korean style (top right) with cabbage kimchi (bottom left,) dried laver (bottom center,) and radish kimchi (bottom right.) Below are pictures of the dried laver seasoned with olive oil and salt, the oyster sauce and the two kinds of kimchi.

You can find all those things at the corner Korean grocery store. (jk) Or the chains H-Mart and Assi. Bon appetit!

Druthers

2010-11-06T08:43:00.000-04:00

The sun.

The ocean.

Nature.

Love.

Faith.

Hope.

The planets.

Animals.

Ponder these things and their beauty, enormity and power.

I would rather honor the One who is the source of, or made these than those things themselves. If I am making up the notion, I'd still rather live in a transcendent way that hopes for, longs for, believes in the Power that created, instead of the creation.

Housekeeping

2010-11-01T09:38:00.020-04:00

I sat outside on the deck this morning. In my sleepwear and green slippers. I wore a fleece hoody and down vest, wrapped a ragged blanket around myself. I sat outside in the 44 degree weather, looking out at my world, coffee mug and novel in hand.

She emptied several cupboards and left them open to air, and once she washed half the kitchen ceiling and a door. Sylvie believed in stern solvents, and most of all in air. It was for the sake of air that she opened doors and windows, though it was probably through forgetfulness that she left them open. It was for the sake of air that on one early splendid day she wrestled my grandmother's plum-colored davenport into the front yard, where it remained until it weathered pink.*

- Housekeeping by Marilynne Robinson

I grew up in a place where caring for the house involved 2 maids for our household of 8. The "cleaning" part of housekeeping (caring for the home) was separated out and done invisibly. Even today, I am slightly shocked that my house gets dirty.

When we moved to the U.S., my mother had to do what those 2 maids did. And she was not happy about it. I learned to separate out the jewel-like yolk of housekeeping that is caring for the souls within, and saw only the , goopey, nutritionless slime of the egg white called housecleaning. My mother traded the confines of Korean society that gave her all the freedom she ever wanted, for the freedom of American society, that constricted her to vacuums and back-breaking trips to the grocery store, where she had to drive herself, load up herself, put away by herself. To the tangle of unmade beds and laundry; the tangled pile of rope that was the English language - that held her down like a slave. The irony was wholly lost on her as she banged that vacuum around, inevitably while we were watching our favorite TV show. In English. While we sat on our asses.

I still get a tightness inside me when I think about housecleaning. My mother's unhappiness weighted down my natural tendency toward obsessiveness. So I became obsessively neat but not necessarily clean. A mis-squeezed toothpaste tube would send me into the technicolor fogginess of insanity, but I cleaned the toilet only when the shock of dirt forced me to it. I color-coded my closet but was merely annoyed that the windows got dirty and turned away, assuming they would clean themselves. I would pick up the largest dust bunnies by hand, slightly fascinated that they created themselves while I wasn't looking. Once I started cleaning, though, I would clean with compulsion and irritation for hours, until I gave up half-way, exhausted, defeated by the whorling, exponential nature of dirt.

Aunt Sylvie, who returns from a vagrant life to care for her 2 nieces, lives the world not defined by walls but by the openings. She doesn't live by the solidity of life but the airy flow of life, as if she herself should fly. Her sister, the girls' mother, did just that - flying off a cliff in a borrowed car. I wonder if it is her love and admiration for her sister that brings her back to the walls of her childhood home.

Housekeeping freed me from the leaden weight I thought I had to carry around called housecleaning: Sylvie's independence, her love of air, her obliviousness to the dry, cracked leaves in the foyer. Confetti of the cosmos called autumn leaves sit in the corner of my dark foyer. So what? So, I sat on the deck today, the icy air crowning my head, being what and where I wanted to be

Twenty-five years later, I'm reading the book again (lately, I've been re-reading by favorite books.) I'm only half-way through. But, twenty-five years later, I live my life as the fullness and freedom of Housekeeping, not just cleaning, because of this book.

I am sure I looked ridiculous on the deck this morning. I am not immune from the definitions set by society, but inside me, I have air. So what? Here's what. Sylvie and Housekeeping taught me to have air, to breathe, to be able to say "so what."

* Housekeeping, by Marilynne Robinson @1980 Picador, NY

Let It Be

2010-10-30T21:57:00.003-04:00

A section of dried vine. It was in turn a staff (which turned into a snake,) a plow, a lawn mower, a whale's tail. Lift it - slap it on the gold and orange ocean - so like the sound of water being broken. He sings a whale song with amazing mimicry.

We made our way from one trail marker dab of paint to another - like so many bindi on the trees' foreheads. He saw a face on one rotting trunk. "Look, dad!" Ridges on felled trees made by beavers. Rapunzel vines sinuously, sensually wrap around a beech tree.

Miles Standish, Powhatan, Plymouth fill his history slot. "Let's be Indians, dad!" He yells and his voice is clear, perfect. Like God is listening. God is listening.

The shu!crunsh of our steps, the lapping of the lake, the coos of birds. And only the slightest Doppler woosh of a car assuring me civilization is near.

Stooping over moss or a rock I see eternity; looking a mile back to where we started and I see a moment. The closer I look, the deeper I see. Moss jungle, bark canyon.

And to an 8-year old, a vine can be anything, if only you let him.

Pipe Dreams

2010-10-26T17:38:00.003-04:00

I just think it's funny that an 8-year old thinks about stuff like this:

Comment by my mechanical engineer brother:

1. Left side animal is propelling the gear for the well gear.
2. The gear is related to the pulley on top of the well which operates the bucket.
3. When the bucket reaches the top, the automatic tilting mechanism pours bucket into a trough into a spigot.
4. Right side animal opens the spigot knob if he wants a drink.
5. Whenever the bucket gets stuck in the well, the right side animal takes the elevator down to fix the problem.

It seems so obvious and logical to me!

Great minds think alike. Apparently.

Che Sera Sera

2010-10-24T22:32:00.002-04:00

"Mom, I'm going to miss you when I marry my wife."

My Thoughts on Halloween

2010-10-23T09:49:00.003-04:00

I did not grow up trick or treating and we don't do it now with our 8-yr old son. My parents were not religious, but they didn't want their daughter going to strangers' homes in the dark to bring home candy. I never felt like I was missing out either, when all my neighborhood friends went. That was just me. I've always had an independent streak. Finally, when I was 15, I agreed to go with a group of girls. They made fun of, and played pranks on the older folks. I'm stuffy like that. I did not enjoy it and never went again. In fact, I think I left them early.

I have a friend who tells me to "lighten up," and in general I could probably lighten up a bit. But I personally feel that it is not OK to "lighten up" about Death, which to a Christian is the Enemy, no matter how fun and pretty or cute this society makes it.

Our pastor is preaching on 1 Corinthians 8, which has something to do with Christian liberty - as in living your own conscience (based on the Bible.) I do not condemn my Christian friends who feel differently than I do, and I am in no position to judge people who do not have the same belief system as I.

Our church asks us to consider using this time to interact with neighbors. They ask us to stretch ourselves so that we are living IN the world; not segregated from it. I totally agree. However, using Christian Liberty, I understand that others don't or can't feel comfortable going to a bar. I have no such compunction. I remember one of my most interesting conversations about my faith occurring at a steelworker's bar in Pittsburgh over a couple of beers. I, in turn, don't feel comfortable being in the Halloween setting. It's not because I'm weak or in denial; it's something that I've come to believe over decades of thought. Cuz, you know, I think a lot! We choose to interact with our neighbors throughout the year. For the last two summers, Boo and I would go strawberry picking (at local organic farms,) then bring a pint to several of our neighbors. It is a delightful time for mother and son, and a delightful reason to talk to our neighbors. I hope it is a great lesson for our son to learn the joys of giving, the joys of relating.

Wouldn't you know?? even though we are very low-key about why we don't celebrate Halloween, ("It's just not something we do." "We don't celebrate death.") our son is endlessly fascinated by it. (insert eyeroll here) But at this point, it's a non-negotiable for us. How will we handle it in the years to come? I don't know, but I know this:

"Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet*" and I will trust our God will guide us, step by step, like the soft, gentle light from a lantern.

*Psalm 119:105

Dino Court

2010-10-21T07:53:00.002-04:00

That's Italian!

2010-10-20T07:44:00.003-04:00

Every night is our special time, Boo and me. We snuggle, we read, we pray. Tonight, we opened up a book by an author by the name of DiPaolo.

"That sounds like an Italian name," I say casually.

Boo: "Mom, do they speak Italian in Italy?"
bb: "Yes, they do."
Boo: "I knew it! I was checking to see if you knew."

Fashion Friday: Making My Own Skinny Jeans

2010-10-08T08:57:00.068-04:00

I took this pair of bootleg jeans....

and made meself some skinny jeans!!

If you want to know how I did it, then read on.

So I've been looking for some skinny jeans that are appropriate for me: 50, chubby, 5'3", muffinable, Korean proportioned me. Oh, and cheap. Blackbelt shopping cheap.

I went to Chicos because their jeans will keep the muffin from overflowing. But at $79-89?? and literally needing to cut 8" off the bottom?? Every other pair I looked at had the additional problem of being low-rise.

This past week, I opened up my winter pants drawer and found a pair of jeans I'd forgotten about. They have a touch a Lycra, a deep rise and are a dark wash boot leg jeans. They were the perfect length and the perfect price: $7. Seven dollar jeans?? Yes! at the thrift store. (Check back for my post on shopping thrift stores.)

1. Make sure they fit well at your waist and hiney.
2. Make sure they have Lycra.
3. Check all seams along the legs to make sure they are single stitched like this:

not double top stitched like a lot of jeans:

4. You know they can't have pleats, right? Right??
5. They should be black, dark denim or white, without any bling.
6. Flip them inside-out, start pinching and pinning to what you are comfortable with.
7. Keeping the stitch length as long as your machine will allow, sew.
8. Flip them back right-side-in and try them on. Do this as often as you need to get it right before making your final stitching run.

Voila!

True Value

2010-10-03T23:11:00.020-04:00

I believe that all humans are valuable, having been made in the image of God.
I believe everyone is gifted in different ways.
And those who are less gifted have something important to give to the world.
I believe God has a place in this world for each one of His children.
I believe that no matter what you are given in this life, you can rise above it, or rise because of it and triumph.

I can give a convincing argument and actually believe all that.

But when it's my own son, I have to face that what I really value is intelligence. The kind that gets you into an Ivy League university and hired into a corner office.

When we were getting ready for Boo, HH and I prayed that he would be smart. That was the only thing we prayed for. Yes, yes, healthy. But above all, smart. We didn't ask for athletic or pretty or tall or charming. We asked God for Smart. I am sure HH meant it when he said because it would be the right fit. And I must have believed that too. But dig a little deeper and I meant I wanted Smart because Smart means an Ivy League education, a nice marriage and a house in the suburbs.

Last summer, a dear, sincere friend and I were laying on our chairs at the pool chatting about this and that. She knows about Boo's struggles and asked me if it was harder because I was smart. I have long believed that to know I was intelligent was to understand I was merely the recipient of good genes that were passed down to me; that it was not my own doing

Even as I answered, "Yes...." Even as the word came out of my mouth it rang false...dissonant...arrogant.

As the week went by, that exchange kept coming back to me. Raising Boo is NOT hard because I am *so* smart! It is hard because I am Impatient. Is impatience linked with Intelligence? No! May it never be! Quick-tempered by nature, I get impatient with this child, this special treasure, this precious one because....? Why? Merely because of my nature? or is there something stinking in the cellar?

Here's what I learned: I get impatient because I am not actually interested in helping him learn, but because I want him to fit into my world. Fit into my mold of Smart = Valuable. Fit into this peg, dammit!

Fill in the blank. Push the right button. Pull the right lever. Ding! Ding! Ding!! Then you will be of True Value. In my eyes.

And that is just. plain. dumb.

Fashion Friday, or Shift Picks for the the Body Shift

2010-10-01T07:50:00.169-04:00

There are so many great dresses out these days. For me, I'm glad we've moved on from the flowey and flowery to the Structured Shift. I have never pretended to be a fashion blog, but I'm so happy about this turn in fashion, I thought I'd share!

Although I've lost 7 lbs, I've got about 20 more to go. I've found as the years go by that I can't be wearing the flowey polyester fabric that clings in the wrong places. And it's always the wrong places, isn't it?? And there seems to be more "wrong places" as my body shifts in ways I never would have dreamed. I always needed clothes that were a heftier fabric, and designs that were more structures, and now more than ever. And were I so blessed to be a svelte older woman, I would still have to consider whether certain styles were appropriate for me, as an older woman. The shift is not, like anything else, a cure-all. And hence, not all the styles below will work for everyone. Heck half of them might not work for me! But I heart them!

Were I down by 10 more pounds, I'd be maxin' out my cards* for these**:

Carolina Herrara Spring 2011 Runway

There seems to be a lot of gray this season, but it's a great color. I love me my black, but gray can seem a bit more casual and less severe. (And on a blog, it's easier to show the details in something other than black.)

tahari

Calvin Klein

This dress if not technically a shift, but I thought it would be flattering for some of us that might want to hide the middle area and upper arm area, without looking like we're hiding something.

Suzi Chin

Here's a shift that might not be to a lot of people's liking but I've always loved color blocking in that retro 60's or 70's style. This particular take on it would be really slimming because of the bold stripe of white in the middle, the black along the sides, and the slight A-line of the shape:

9 West

I was debating whether this looked a little Mother-of-the-Groom-ish, but hey, I'm at the Mother-of-the-Groom age! although Boo has another 17 years or so before he's the marrying age. In the end, I put this in because this dress would be very flattering on almost anybody, as long as you're not spilling out of the scoop neckline. And how you style an outfit can make or break it:

Suzi Chin

God save the Queen and all, but this is NOT the look we're going for:

I mean, when you're the Queen of England, wear what ever you want. But for now, think about these options. This is what I'd recommend:

I would NOT buy this in purple but try it in the lovely berry, or preferably, the black:

I would NOT accessorize with pearls that your mom gave you. Or the ones you wore at your wedding.
I would NOT have anything satin near me
I WOULD try for edgier, fashion current accessories such as:

textured hose

strappy modified gladiator sandals or embellished pumps:

Various brands all available at Macy's

or if that's a bit much for you, then these more modest, trendy pumps or sandals:

a funky clutch

Matchy satin clutch? No. Edgy lace clutch? Yes!

and slightly over-the-top jewelry

Betsy Johnson, Jessica Simpson or Givenchy.

But not all at the same time, you understand. A pair of wild trendy shoes would be plenty, so keep your other pieces more sedate.

I love animal print. But I wouldn't wear a whole dress of it. But this giraffe print I like, because it's not literal in that child's coloring book way, but a bit abstract, more like shattered glass:

Eliza J

I thought you'd want to know that I took each of those images and "fattened" them up by 20%. (All their heads look a little squished, right?) I wanted the dresses to look a little more realistic.

So there you have my shift picks for the shifting body! (Do not say that 3 times fast.)

* Jk'ing cuz I'm not that kind of shopper, and also because some of these are not affordable by this mere mortal.

** All items except Carolina Herrara runway found at Macys.com

The Kitchen Window

2010-09-27T07:26:00.019-04:00

I have this great view out my kitchen window. I love watching the neighbor kids play; Boo running up and down what we might loosely call "lawn." I love having the neighbor boy kick the ball over to our side and watch him retrieve it. It symbolizes our warm and friendly relationship as neighbors.

But at dusk? At night time? They call this "The TV screen." [Never mind that it's as boring as real TV.] We've playfully talked to each other on the phone, while waving at each other through that screen.

Fabric name: "Fresh"

"What's a girl to do?" I am not a fan of curtains. Or lace. Or frou-frou of any kind. Short of a renovation or expensive up/down mini blinds, I was left with a trip to Joanne's Fabrics. I went in thinking I wanted white, or muslin or something plain and severe and architectural. But this caught my eye:

It reminded me of my childhood. I think my mother had bright yellow curtains in our kitchen that she made. Isn't the kitchen full of memories for you? For many of us women, isn't there a special connection to our mothers that was made and broken and made again in the kitchen?

So, my intellectual architectural self had to step aside and let my emotional reminiscent side thread the bobbin, set the stitch and press the seams down on this one.

I'll miss the view but I don't think my neighbors need to see reruns all year long. ;-)

Do the Hustle

2010-09-26T15:24:00.002-04:00

Death be not proud.

We know you're dancin' up there, buddy. The Hustle will come back to you like...well, like riding a bicycle. But we miss you down here. See you later, sweet, sweet friend.

Fashion Friday, or Blackbelt Strikes Again

2010-09-24T07:03:00.021-04:00

Blackbelt, dressed as an ordinary mom, stealthily by day or night, frequents thrifts stores and yard sales...all in the name of fashion justice.

Just last week, she found and rescued these fashion basics, bringing them to a warm, loving home, where they will be washed inside out with mild detergent and hung on satin hangers.

Black cotton jersey. From H&;M.

Worn with a tank under, a bit like this?

I am always warm. So even in the winter, I am wearing short sleeves. I've got plenty of V-necks because that's more flattering on me. But I needed some scoop-necks to wear under denim jackets or cardis. It's hard to find good basics, I found this deep scoop neck is more flattering on me than a more modest one.

By Ideology.

I was scanning the internet for the right look, and I found one at my friend Jo-Lynne's blog:

From Francesca's Collection

What do you think? Pretty close, huh?

This one, too, but a longer silhouette that I can wear over leggings:

It's brand new! It's organic! and it's actually a grey-purple. By Toggery.

And look at this beautiful silky top! I want to find a pair of straight jeans in an unusual color to wear with this:

In 2 shades of gray by cdr

Closest I could get but not this tent-ish.

I've been looking for a sporty winter something:

Eddie Bauer down vest

I'm not the outdoorsy type but here's an outdoorsy look that'll help me pretend!

And last but not least, this black, silk top from my favorite store - TJMaxx:

On clearance for $7

I'm thinking something like this - with skinny jeans or a pencil skirt. (I wish I could belt it but that's not the style for me at this point):

Not perfect, but really wanted to show you!

All six items for a grand total of $26.00. SCOooRE!!!

*Thanks to Eddie Bauer and Ann Taylor, my stylists. ;-)

Being Baby

2010-09-21T20:17:00.004-04:00

At the ripe old age of 8, children seem to start their march to the beat of social norms. One of them seems to be trying to shed the image of youth, calling someone a "baby" one of the cruel but common taunts. They also seem to separate themselves by pre-defined gender roles. Girls play "girly" stuff with girls, and boys show their athletic prowess with boys.

Scary!

One of life's difficulties for Boo is that he doesn't understand any of those social norms. He is just as ready to play with a boy as a girl and just as willing to play with a 3-year old as with a 12-year old.

He is hurt that he isn't allowed to join the girls, even though a couple of them are good friends of his and have come for play dates. He was shunned by several kids last year because he would quote the Teletubbies, because he thought they were hilarious!

Funny!

It would actually upset these kids as if they were personally attacked, yelling, "That's for babies!!" Boo isn't interested in Pokemon or Spiderman or the DS. He isn't envious and doesn't follow the norms just to belong.

He has a bully in his class that day after day, week after week, rules over the other boys with his physical prowess and excludes Jinsok with the dreaded words, "You can't play!" I advised him that this boy is no friend, and that he should stay away from him. With uncharacteristic angst, he protested,"But the Bible says I should try to be friends with him, mom!"

This same bully has been harsh to one of Boo's classmate but Boo has stayed true to him. In fact, this little boy said to me that Boo was the only one that was still his friend. But when Dylan was allowed into the bully's circle, Dylan obeyed the groupthink and did not play with Boo. Lately, Boo has made friends with some kind older boys and has left his classmates behind.

Boo loves to wear a shirt and tie, because he loves looking like his dad. [Stay with me here.] On Chapel days, he always wears a shirt and tie. Except that he told us he and Jason were going to wear a t-shirt which they both own. We reminded him that he had made a promise to a friend but left it at that. He came back out of his room, wearing the t-shirt and said, "I can wear a shirt a tie to church on Sunday."

So my rhetorical question is, who is a "baby" and who is mature? Do we teach our children to grow up by associating their "maturity" with certain toys and tv shows?

Do we, as adults know the difference between worldliness and maturity? Between information and wisdom?

New england candy co.

2010-09-20T19:44:00.000-04:00

Some things can be improved!

So Far Away

2010-09-18T08:50:00.000-04:00

We held onto the last scrap of summer, refusing to believe that the corner of that shimmery scarf would slip out of our hands. But all this week, I've awoken to temperatures in the mid-sixties. It was cold enough for me to holler at Boo to wear a jacket, knowing full well it would be discarded on the play ground blacktop. Summer is gone; Autumn is here.

But I recall the shimmery, soft scarf, its reality is with me. Not sere nor not surreal, but real.

----

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What is Real

2010-09-17T07:57:00.000-04:00

“To understand reality is not the same as to know about outward events. It is to perceive the essential nature of things. The best-informed man is not necessarily the wisest. Indeed there is a danger that precisely in the multiplicity of his knowledge he will lose sight of what is essential."

-Dietrich Bonhoffer

FaShun

2010-09-16T23:34:00.006-04:00

I cringe when I hear "Asian inspired." I cringe almost as much if I hear "Tribal inspired." There aren't a lot of people who understand the word "inspired" in a true design sense. And when they are ignorant enough to use terms like "Asian" or "Tribal," or Heaven forbid "Ethnic," I know my bp is going to shoot through my designer chapeau.

When I was in grad school, laying over the drafting table with mechanical pen in hand trying not to smudge the line (the computers in the CAD lab for non-designy geeks,) there was a term coined by my favorite professor: Put-a-tecture. It's the designer who didn't understand the underlying structure, theory or concept of a certain style or period of architecture. Instead, the poor student would browse through architecture fashion magazines and pick out pieces of buildings he liked and "put-a" here and "put-a" there on his -tecture.

Fashion design can be like that. Take the shiny, cheap silk, embroidered with overused icons - storks, pagodas or Heaven forbid, Geisha - and just make it into something "western," and Voila! (If I can mix cultures here) there you have some "Asian inspired." Or, here's something unfortunate from no less of a fashion house than Dior:

All he forgot was the coolie hat. This is from 2008, not 1988. Let's do some Amish Shunning of that.

And which part of the 17 MILLION SQUARE MILES of the Asian continent are we talking about? Hmmmm?

So imagine my surprise, let's make that joyous, ecstatic surprise, when I saw the Spring 2011 collection by Carolina Herrara. She didn't insult with "Asian" inspired. It's Korean inspired. Here's the inspiration:

And here, Carolina Herrara is just flat out phenomenally "inspired:"

I have to say she is not the first one to draw on Korea. Korean designers have been doing it for awhile. (The problem with this one, right, is that it may look beautiful to some, but those of us familiar with Korea see something too literal. Those "gowns" look just like the traditional skirts - but without the tops that go with them, so they look slightly obscene to me!)

Carolina Herrera is the first master designer of international fame to do it and really get it SPOT ON. Thank you, Cah-roleeena!! MWAH!

Communication

2010-09-16T22:59:00.001-04:00

Boo has a good friend Z in his class, who is seriously in the running to marry. When he's 25. Her little sister started Kindergarten this year. Boo loves Z and T.

He told me he saw T at Chapel. I said, "Did you say 'hi'?"

"Yes, mom, we communicated."

Well, excuuuuse me! ;-)

Summer Days Gone By

2010-09-15T09:06:00.063-04:00

Boo has expanded his preoccupations from elevators, fires stations and skyscrapers to include spiders, insects and dinosaurs.

So, on a coolish summer day, we took the train to 30th Street Station to the Academy of Natural Sciences.

We ran away from some jaws, peeked through some skulls, took time to be a paleontologist and ate an awful lunch at awful prices. (can I make a joke that the pizza must have been made during the dinosaur years??)

I had to carry all 60 lbs of him, and my the backpack across the length of the parking lot to our car...then home.