California Roll

Stepping into the Park Clan

To be honest, before I traveled to Oregon last Thursday I was not looking forward to the prospect of meeting all at once seventy new relatives at the Park family reunion (my husband's relatives). I'm an introvert, so spending Thursday through Sunday with people I didn't know in a place I didn't choose was not my idea of a dream vacation.

Of course I wanted to see Joyce and other Oregonian Park relatives once again, but I had many assignments due for my graduate studies both before and after the event. And I would have to depart  for New Mexico just two days after returning from Oregon (i.e Thursday this week). Plus, I'd recently spent time with another dozen Park relatives and haven't had time for my own extended family - so, in anticipating this event, sometimes it felt like an unwanted pressure, alongside positive hopes.

The event exceeded my expectations. I met many kind and fascinating people and deepened friendships started previously. We ate delicious food, feasted on the verdant green and tall, tall trees of Oregon, and enjoyed feeling a part of a widely extended family who hailed from Carolina, Nevada and Manhattan as well as Hawaii and California. Over the dining table I heard stories of feeding orphans in North Korea, about setting up a charter school in SoCal at an archaeological lab and parenting two very active young boys.

The setting, a Presbyterian retreat center, was a wonder venue for this - in the free time the wee ones could tumble on lush green lawn and climb trees, older ones swam in the pool, and older ones yet played horseshoes or sat in the numerous lounges and continued conversations started in louder and more public settings. 

I credit how well it went to to the hard work of the organizers. About six people took on significant responsibilities. Little things like printed name tags held on strings, a posted family tree and photo display and slide presentation and a fun icebreaker on he opening night helped us to learn each other's names and feel comfortable initiating conversations.

My two college-aged daughters were quite enthusiastic about the event. They relished viewing a 2.5 hour slide show of sixty or eighty-year old photos that pictured their grandfather's nine siblings and their descendants.

A talent show was entertaining as well. Organized games, courtesy Collin's sister who is an educator,  during the free time in the morning and afternoon helped keep the very young to teenage kids happy, involved and getting to know each other.

One afternoon many folks went to visit the grave site of Kyoung Soo Park and his wife Im. These two  immigrated from Korea and from them descended this huge body of hard-working and accomplished people. We heard the story of how Grandpa Park, who went to Hawaii as a farmworker knowing no English at all, ended up in Mountain Home, Idaho by himself among people who knew no Korean, as a bartender. I learned how one of Collin's uncles was an Ace Pilot in WWII and honored with six medals, despite opposition at one time to Asians participating in the American war effort.

It was indeed a rich time and left me and my family wanting to do it again.

Ecuadorian Effects

A relative reminded me recently that I promised to report on my eldest daughter's trip to Ecuador and never did so. Sitting now in a Holiday Express just ten minutes from her apartment at her NY college, puts me in mind of "Wendy." (renamed for privacy).

This past summer Wendy went on a four week program with International Student Volunteers. First she studie Spanish in Quito while living with an Ecuadorian family along with six other North Americans. She had little prior knowledge of the language, but caught on quickly. A background of French and Latin helped.

Next she traveled to her volunteer assignment set in the cloud forest--something akin to a rain forest, but in high altitude and cooler. A generous, ecologically-minded family has established a nature preserve in the cloud forest to nurture native flora and fauna.

At the preserve Wendy and her ISV team were up before seven AM and at day's end so exhausted that their heads lay on pillows by nine. Wendy became good with a machete--cutting down some banana trees with this tool. She also de-weeded the coffee bushes, played soccer with the nearby villagers, and assisted the ornithalogist in keeping track of native birds. Her favorite day was spent hoeing the corn and coffee plants under a blazing-blue sky and the towering yellow stalks of corn.

Two weeks of adventure tourism followed: jumping off bridges held by a harness and ropes, sleeping in a hut in a rain forest and inducing a giant spider to leave their abode, climbing a volcano to a glacier, mountain biking and hiking. Wendy enjoyed the quieter activities too of touring Quito and days at the warm beach.

After the program ended came another adventure. By herself, Wendy took an airplane back to Quito, found the bus station, bought a ticket to her destination out in the country side and boarded a bus, conducted all in a language she'd only been learning for a month. Her goal? To stay a week with a Wycliffe family who are translating the Bible into Quechua.

That's a whole other story, but it's now near the day's end and a bowl of homemade pumpkin soup is looking me in the face as I sit in Wendy's apartment. My beloved daughter made this from some fresh pumpkin that she de-seeded and cooked herself. Time to eat!

A Fun Father's Day Song

My 18 year old daughter found this song that I highly recommend:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vwNW_vk1pWk&channel=vlogbrothers

In it's humorous way, it reminds me of how we can look at the same thing from two ways - from what's missing or bad about it or from the good impact it has. How we often neglect the latter.

Today I celebrate my own dad's golden qualities: self-restraint, thinking things through, and putting away a sizable amount of money on a school teachers salary while supporting a wife and four children.

I remember one meal time after his participation in or leadership of a faculty meeting. (He was the head of the business dept at a community college for a number of years.) "People wanted to know what I feel." Insert here a disgusted scowl and a reddened face. "It doesn't matter what I feel. We have to think about these things. Our feelings don't matter."

The good side of this was that our impulses to buy more things, own a bigger house, spend more money on vacation were rarely considered for long before a firm, "No." Yet they had money for a college education for any child who desired that.

Children of the depression, my mom and dad were always worried that there wouldn't be enough money at the end. My mom lived seven years after dad died and acted like a ten-year-old with a hundred dollar bill in the candy store. Yet, much remained afterwards. I was surprised at how large my inheritance was.

So today I'm thankful for their thrift, my dad's hard work both at the college and at our home and garden and his propensity to save.

Leaving on a Jet Plane

Leaving on a Jet Plane

Do you know that song by Peter, Paul and Mary, "Leaving on a Jet Plane"? It dates me (popular in the 60's) and wings through my brain as I think about the departure of my eldest for college. In her month home we had talked about nearly everything we needed to talk about. It was time enough, but still hard to see her go.

I never imagined when my children were young that I would feel this way. They've become so much a part of me.

I wanted to send with her something of myself and our past together. So on Monday I made cinnamon bread. During her preschool and elementary school years we used to make two loaves of cinnamon bread twice a month.

Jenny would get out the milk and pour it in the Pyrex cup until it reached the red line I had pointed out to her. Then she'd pour it into the pot on the stove to heat up with the butter. When she was seven, I copied in big letters the list of ingredients so that she could independently read and measure out the right portions of sugar, flour and yeast.

In Japan we couldn't buy cinnamon bread, so we treasured our loaves made at home. Toasted, with butter melting on it, homemade cinnamon bread is the best comfort food around. It's better than homemade pie. Sweet, but wholesome. Filling, but light. And the smell when it cooks or toasts affords double delight. On Monday when I made cinnamon bread for Jenny, she reinforced by efforts by eating three thick slices.

In Japan we couldn't buy granola either, so we made our own. On two of my three by five stained recipe cards are scribbled two versions: a health and nut lover's granola with eight ingredients and on the second card a recipe for when I'm in a hurry. Just oats, honey, oil and raisins. We usually made the simple version in Japan because of the cost of ingredients uncommon in Japanese diet like nuts.

As a grade schooler Jenny loved making granola. She'd stand on a stool and stir the tan colored oat flakes with a big spoon until all were coated with honey and oil.

I sent Jenny back to New York with a quart-size bag full of an even more complicated recipe for granola, acquired from a trip I made with Jenny. At the B&B in Santa Fe at the time she checked out St. John's college, they had a white four poster bed and luscious breakfast with the best granola ever.

Jenny now abstains from meat that comes from animals treated inhumanely. Only free-range chickens or cows can serve as her food. In the last month I've shopped at many stores to find the right foods and tried out new recipes, like Turkish stuffed zucchini, with feta and swiss cheese.

When Jenny contemplated leaving California for college, I cheered her on. I didn't even think of the consequences to myself -- like not being able to drive up and see her when I missed her badly or she sounded distraught on the phone. I didn't anticipate that she wouldn't want to come home for her second Thanksgiving, but I understand well why she didn't.

Perhaps because I wish my desires for adventure had been blessed and supported by my parents I encouraged her to go to school far away. I attended a college only a two hour drive away.

Jenny's first year away was really tough for me at times. But I do believe Kahil Gibran's words: "If you love something set it free. If it returns to you, it's yours. If it doesn't, it never was."

A Grill, some dogs and wine spell fun!

Last night we had the great pleasure of hosting three young and energetic boys and a sweet six-year old girl, along with their Dutch parents. I'd met the mother, whom I'll call Jan, at a Tuesday morning moms group at my church.

I'd asked herlast Tuesday, "Has any American had you in their home yet?"

No. How sad, and that's after five months living here. No one born here had invited them into their homes - not even for a snack and play time for the kids. I couldn't let them return to Holland at the end of this year with such an inhospitable reception from Americans. So I asked, though it's the fourth weekend in a row we're spending energy on hospitality or relating to foreigners.

The experience was pure joy for my husband and 17-year-old as well as me. My teen said, "It's interesting to see the different way they parent." Was this Dutch culture? Or, just them, I don't know, but I, with my daughter, appreciated too this couple's willingness to let minor infractions go and give gentle, clear instruction. The kids were wonderful.

My husband said, "I really like the couple. They're sweet." And Collin's an introvert.

With so much going on lately, it was not a "good time" to have guests--but I did it anyways. Previously Jan had told me a story that helped me see hospitality didn't have to be such a big deal.

When Jan did a birthday part for her daughter, she invited the guests to help make the cake. So I knew Jan didn't expect things preparation done perfectly beforehand. When the family arrived yesterday, I invited the kids to scoop out cookie dough on the baking sheets. The adults drank wine and started to get to know each other. After a while, my husband started the grill and blackened some hot dogs. I set out cantalope, squash soup and condiments while the mom helped the kids get ready for our jacuzzi and clean up afterwards.

Yes, hospitality is not only obedience to what God asks of us, but fun!

Mother's Day - Getting What You REALLY Want

    I've been a mother for nineteen years now.  What I wanted has changed on Mother's Day keep changing.  As my children grow and I adapt and grow too I want different things.  Sometimes I thought I wanted roses when I really wanted affirmation and connection. Sometimes I wnet to my mother's house to celebrate Mother's Day when what I really needed was an afternoon alone or at the movies.

I think we all need to look into our own hearts and see what we truly need - not what advertising images say we need - at this time and stage.  But in case you're too tired to know or lacking creativity, here are some ideas sorted by developmental stage of children (and us?), because we  can't ask if don't know what to ask for!   You're list may very well be different than mine.

For Mothers of Children who Want You All (or most) of the Time.

You know who you are.  Those who have to go to the bathroom to have a few minutes of peace.  Perhaps you don't want the flowers or negligee or a meal out. Perhaps you want time. Think BIG. An afternoon isn't enough. 

How about a whole day and night?  Or, perhaps you might like a gift certificate to go away to a city, or to a park for a couple of nights or to go hang out with a girlfriend in her home.  You're husband won't know you need this - really long for it - unless you ask.

A poet friend with an engaging and demanding three year old son took a delightful trip by herself.  She enjoyed the time with no obligations as she stayed alone in a hotel room, read a book at night and went to a museum by day, enjoyed the absence of dirty dishes, cries or demands.

Elementary School

This is a time when you can really have fun on Mother's Day and not put too big a burden on anyone. You might feel like I describe above (needing time alone) or more like in the tween stage -- wanting time to enjoy these delightful people.

Children often want - perhaps need - to give you something concrete.  Once in elementary school my girls made wonderful cards for me out of construction paper with glowing words about me (only true half the time), which I reread sometimes now to bolster up my sagging sometimes now that I'm a parent of discerning teens.  I've also received coupons from them to do various chores - like set the table or make me coffee. Wonderful gifts to ask for and receive.

For Mothers of Tweens

This can be a hard age.  They want you but they don't. One girlfriend's daughter was pre-menstrual constantly for six months because she had a period every two weeks.  Oh the angst and conflict in that house.  Maybe you need time away and could ask the blooming independent almost tween to take care of their dad. It's good for a kid to have responsibility to fix a meal while you're gone.

Or, maybe you want to treasure this time when they still need you. After all, the kid can't drive a car yet or go most places by her/himself.   So maybe you can think of an activity you'd like to do together.

One of my favorites was when my husband loaded up our bikes and we went to SF for a picnic on the beach (which my husband fixed), then bicycled up hill to the Palace of Fine Arts.  It's not every day that I can insist my kids accompany me to an art museum and they'll gladly do it. So I take full advantage of their desire to honor me! 

Your suppressed longing might be ice skating, or race cars, or listening to jazz or a concert together.  Anyways, recognize that their desire to please you and make time for you is probably stronger now than it will be four years hence - so enjoy it!

For Mothers of Teens

In the past I've asked for a day at home with no work to do and the right to ask them to bring me a drink or do a needed chore.  It's a treat to be in my home and not feel compelled to sweep when I see dirt or hairs on the floor. 

This year when my 17 and 19 year old asked what gift I wanted, I ask for a letter or card which said positive things about me.  This is a real and needed treat because now they see me so honestly, note my flaws and mention my positive traits much less often than before. 

Sometimes when I hear from them that they assume that I know how wise and strong they think I am.  Well, with the up and down emotions of a 50 year old whose mother has died and whose kids are leaving, I don't often see myself as wise, loving and strong. I need to hear it and keep hearing it. Is there anyone else out there like me?

I love what a girlfriend wrote to her children, two of which are teenage boys:

"Just a reminder - you know what I like - but I'm not even going to ask for cards.  I would appreciate some
hugs and kisses.  I'd like you to tell me what three things you've really enjoyed about being with me over the last year and what three things you would like me to change that make you upset or angry at times.  I have a wonderful husband and three marvelous human beings named . . ."

I'm saying a prayer for all you who read this!  Savor the wonderful things said about you tomorrow and try to remember them when you're again feeling like a failure and know it's not true.

A Trip to the Utter East

I figured if my 70 year old friend knew how to put photos on her blog, I'd better learn how! 

To the left, Sheri and me at Baltimore's inner harbor.

On the right, Providence, home of "RISD" - Rhode Island School of Design. It's  lovely town and I enjoyed getting to know Ann, the host of our B&B, but it will not become Sheri's college town.

Right now, MICA - Maryland Institute of Creative Arts, is Sheri's desired destination.

Dethroning

    Christmas is about God's humility to take the form of a baby and be born in a dirty, smelly stable, sleeping on straw in a cow's feeding trough, a manger. As an old Christmas carol goes,
    "Empty he came, as a man to our race,
    equal with God, yet forsaking his place,
    Humbly He served in our world,
    humbly He served in our world.

    As a young mom, it required humility to spend my time changing diapers instead of making my mark on the world. Christmas involved the humility of setting aside my expectations of Christmas being about me receiving, and making it about my children, but I found great joy in watching their happiness as they opened our presents to them.
    As my children have become teens, Christmas necessitates a different kind of giving up from me.  Now it's much harder to please them. Now expensive things like I-pods lure them and memories of surprises I bought in the last two years for them which fell flat tempt me to resignation, to a kind of withdrawal of hope and involvement.  That's wrong.  The humility of giving without expecting enthusiastic appreciation, that's what is required from me now. 
     I had asked my oldest some weeks ago if I could just give her money to buy things in after Christmas sales and she had no qualms about that.  My younger one wanted an i-pod.  Easy.  And costly enough to equal what we've usually spend in totality for one child.  That was enough I thought.
    But I discovered in the last few days that my 16 year old still really wants other presents, especially surprises.  She told us we could go to the dollar store to buy her some surprises, but I don't want more clutter of cheap things. I've discussed with my husband. We have enough to give more and he, the one who loves to give to the poor and needy rather than spend money on materialistic stuff for us, wants to meet her desire.
    So we've done a bit more shopping. And I'm trying to do it from the perspective and motivation of servanthood, rather than some hidden expectation that I be admired and appreciated for my efforts. One more growth point where I need to ask God for his grace to change my inner most being.

Coming Far

I've gone from home but funny,
what wakens me -- tall liquid
ambers with leaves turning red, gold, drifting down
stir much within.

Mother collected foliage. Sometimes I find leaves
pressed, dry, faded to straw between hymnal pages,
She used to sing as she elbowed  a blackened pot. Her
melody drifts down now, "I Come to the Garden Alone.."

In my own yard I hear rustles of a presence.
Chirps speak, not she who spread
discarded bread on a fence ledge where
birds feasted.  While walking among

redwood giants, I glimpse a dull olive
canvas tent, smell sweet pork 'n beans heating
on a kelly green stove and I hunger. On this hot
October afternoon near the one year mark, I thirst

and find at camp's fountain a dark bar, the semi-
sweet she weekly bought, and a new soda,
       Henry Weinhard's.
Now I loosen its cap, discover its cherry scent, taste,
bubbles like I once drank perched on a bar stool beside

her.  I'm far, far
from home, yet sweet,
bitter-sweet home still travels
with me.

Breaking up is hard to do

    I wonder if you've heard that song?   I'm certainly feeling the truth of that 60's title,  "Breaking up is hard to do" today.
    My oldest, Jenny, is going through the throes of having broken up with her boyfriend.  A decision made because they'll soon be on different ends of the country. At the same time she's also "breaking up" with me. 
    As one counselor said, "When the daughter is close to her mother, she has to reject her even more in order to separate."  "Separate" here means not just to move away, which she'll do in two weeks as she sets off for college, but to become a separate person emotionally, to no longer care so much what I think and feel.
    I know this process is necessary intellectually, but it's still so painful for me. Probably is for her too.
    "The greatest information comes in the greatest pain."  That's a quote I can't attribute, read it in an article about writer's block.  I'm holding on to that truth as I still feel the sting of some harsh correction from Jenny yesterday
    Before lying down last night I prayed that God's spirit would teach my spirit during the night, to reveal to my spirit what I need to know to get through this one.  He loves to answer that prayer.  Sure enough, I awakened with the story of the Father and his son who left him running through my mind.  I know God is like that Father, he understand how I feel.  Romans 5:1-5 came to mind.  I opened the worn red leather Bible and read the whole wonderful five verses there. 
    It was hard to stop crying last night, but today I have hope. Even though Jenny was attacking some very basic personality traits of me that seem out of my reach, impossible to change, I know that God has lavishly poured His Spirit into my heart.  As I listen to Him and cooperate, He can change me in ways that I deem impossible.
    I also know that the real acceptance that counts is not with my daughter.  In the long run it matters little whether my daughter thinks I'm a wonderful person or not. What matters is God's esteem of me.  And I am good in His sight through my belief in Jesus.  I certainly haven't done everything right, nor am I a perfect mother, and when I try to base my self-acceptance on those things I soon fall flat.
    "And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God.  Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character, and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit."
Romans 5:3-5a