French Laundry Adventure

The adventure actually started TWO months before our reservation date when our own Tenacious "C", our persistent and ever clever friend Chat began to call the French Laundry's reservation number ten minutes before the lines opened at 10 in the morning, using two telephones lines. She hit the jackpot and got through. In reality, if you don't get through by 10:20, you don't have a shot at a reservation. Also, what makes it complicated is the fact reservations have to be made EXACTLY two months into the future---not one day sooner or later than your desired date. There is a $25.00 non-refundable fee PER PERSON and you will be charged the full price of the pre-fixe meal if you don't show up. With our reservation secured at 12:30 pm on Saturday, January 27, 2007, we felt like we hit the lottery.

The French Laundry is located in Yountville in the Napa Valley area of California. It's world-renowned chef is Thomas Keller whose list of accolades and awards run ridiculously long. The French Laundry was voted TWICE into the #1 position of the 50 best restaurants IN THE WORLD. The restaurant is a member of Relais & Chateaux: Relais Gourmands and Traditions & Qualité, two distinguished French associations recognized for their dedication in creating and maintaining the highest international standards for hospitality and culinary excellence. As far as I'm concerned, it ridiculously exceeded my expectations even at my most cynical and glum mood. Above is a photo of the French cottage where the restaurant is housed.

We started our day at 9:45 when a long stretch limo picked us up from our hotel in San Ramon. Chat and Butch got picked up first and then they swung by our hotel and we were off to San Francisco to pick up Corsee and Marty. After that, it was off to Yountville!

The ride was great but I got carsick because we were sitting facing the side and well...I began to feel sick to my stomach. It hit me so unexpectedly and I thought I was going to hurl. I think what saved me was the fact that I had nil by mouth. Marty was kind enough to trade seats with me and as soon as I turned on the A/C and had the vent blow cold air on my face and a few sips of Pepsi, I felt so much better.

We arrived at the restaurant exactly on time and when I saw the famous blue door, I knew my adventure was about to begin. We were shown our table located by a cozy fireplace. The napkins and tablecloth were made of the finest Egyptian cotton. And yes, they were white Frette linen of high quality thread count! There was the signature clothespin that held the pleated napkin together on the table. The servingware was made of hollow silver, Spiegelau and Richelieu crystals were used and the white china especially designed by Limoges. I wanted to wash my hands first and when I inquired about the ladies room, I was escorted upstairs and my escort opened the door to a fabulous washroom with classic country French decor and fresh flowers. When I returned to my seat, the napkin that I had placed on my chair was replaced with a fresh one on the table and a waiter pulled the chair and seated me. I felt like a princess! After studying the menu, we all decided on the 8 course chef' tasting menu. ($240 per person) The only other choice we had was the vegetarian tasting menu for the same price.

After we made our choices including the wines that would accompany the various courses for our wine drinkers, our waiter brought us what looked like six tiny baked pâte à choux or puff pastry balls. I popped one in my mouth and a very delicate cheese burst out of the puffs---c'est magnifique! WOW. In a few minutes, six mini "ice cream cones" were brought out: they looked so whimsical. They were actually long and delicate wafers speckled with black sesame seeds. The finest creme fraiche was piped into the cones culminating with a ball of salmon tartare on top that formed the "ice cream" which was sprinkled with tiny pieces of chives. The flavors mixing in my mouth---the delicate crunch of the wafer, the slippery feel of the finely chopped salmon and the rich, velvety cream all combusted in my mouth in a wonderful whirl. C'est bon! I wanted to speak French but remembered that I don't speak the language. Que barbaridad.

There were apparently about 40 chefs and apprentices in the kitchen creating these fantastic concoctions. The servers worked in teams in what seemed like a proportion of two guests per server. Dishes were brought to the table with flair--beginning with the ladies...three servers brought our dishes, placing them on the table in concert, then brought to the men in the same fashion. There I am above feeling very important and royal because of how we were treated.


The first course was the cauliflower "panna cotta" with Beau Soleil Oyster glaze and sterling white sturgeon caviar. Now I've had caviar before...the first time when I lived in Spain and then a couple of other times after when the quality was supposedly much better. And I hated it. Caviar to me, tasted like extremely salty fish-smelling little dots. So, I was very leery. The dish consisted of a tiny oval mound of black caviar on top of a white, custard-like sauce with dots of brown glaze. I took a tiny bite. Mama mia---I was transformed. Now I know why one would pay hundreds of dollars for a can of premium sturgeon caviar. It was just fantastic! Next I had the moulard duck "foie gras en terrine with Hayden mango relish, pickled pearl onions, mizuna and mint "aigre-doux". There was a $30 supplement for this dish on top of the $240. On the side, I was served toast en pointe. Shiver me timbers! I placed a tiny slab of the foie gras mousse on the toast, topped it with a pearl onion, some of the relish and sauce, placed that in my mouth and just savored the melding of the flavors. It was just grand. I had barely finished eating half of my toast and was about to grab the other half when the server beat me to it. I mean, he took the toast and replaced it with a whole toast. Why? Because the toast was no longer warm and so out it went and he replaced it with a warm slice. For the next course, Kurt chose the roasted fillet of Pacifc Kahala with navel orange, piuillo peppers, green garlic and Nicoise olive oil. The dish is shown below.


I, on the other hand, chose the Japanese sea urchin brule with French laundry garden bok choy, red radishes, sweet pea shoots and "Yuzu Coulis". The photo below does not do justice to the dish. Note that only the middle part of the sweet peas were presented---the sweetest portion. All the herbs and produce that they use come from their own garden across the street and were picked just before preparation. You can tell the difference. Every morsel was sweet and prime. The sea urchins melted in your mouth. It was amazing how food can make one feel so wonderful. By this time, I had already decided that Chef was definitely serving us sexy food. Voila!For the next course, we all were served Maine lobster tail "cuite sous vide" with glazed Tokyo Turnips, toasted macona almonds, watercress leaves and "rose" champagne emulsion. See photo below. I think if we had ended here, it would have been all worth it. The lobster was perfectly cooked. The irony here is that the lobster was exquisite probably because of how it was killed as much as how it was cooked. There is a science here...a culinary secret. I left nothing on my plate. Every crumb was eaten. By about this time, the servers presented us with the most luscious breads. Here was where I made a mistake that few will resist making...I ate a lot of the breads. We were presented with two different butters. I loved them both and proceeded to slap a lot of it on my breads. Note that I wrote breads. Be forewarned that eating the bread will, in the end, really give you that "too full, I ate too much" feeling. Not that anyone can do anything about it. Pass on the wonderful breads? Are you crazy?For the next course, we were again given two choices. I chose the slow-braised Devil's Gulch Ranch "Epaule de Lapin" with wilted arrowleaf spinach, Royal Blenheim apricot, Jacobsen's Fram sunchokes and honey and foie gras mignonette. They did not disappoint. This dish, actually the shouder of a rabbit, was robust and savory and partnered with the apricot, the marriage of sweet and savory takes its true meaning that few will ever realize. It was just amazing. Take a look at the photo below:

The other choice, which Kurt picked, is the "rouelle" of Four Story Hills Farm "poussin' with buttered savoy cabbage, salsify "rissole" and Perigord Truffles which is pictured below. He was kind enough (of course, because he loves me!) to let me taste a morsel or two. It was as good as my rabbit and I wished we didn't have to choose one over the other. And now for the coup de grâce...bouillon-poached rib eye of Elysian Fields Farm lamb with globe artichokes, herb-scented "panisse', San Marzano Tomato compote and Coriander seed-infused tea. This artichoke is a singular treat. I like artichokes but never had I ever tasted this variety...that I know of anyway. The lamb melted in my mouth. It was like eating cotton. The flavor was rich and savory. Lamb is my favorite red meat and it was a most apropo ending to main courses.

By this time, I asked for some hot camomile tea and I was served a cup of the most delicious hot herb infusion that I passed on the sugar that I normally would mix into my herb teas. That was totally unexpected. We were then served a plate of Gros Michel Banana sorbet with a side of 'boule de neige" Muscovado cake and caramelized banana coulis. I didn't get enough! But it was a welcome prelude to the grand dessert to follow.

The photo above shows a small dish of creme brulee---best I've ever had. Interestingly, the ladies were served the brulee and the men were served custards flavored with lemongrass in the pots to the right of the brulee. How I wish I could have had both! I just could not decide which one I liked the best. Thanks to my wonderful husband for letting me gulp a couple of teaspoons of his custard. These wonderful concoctions were served after the dessert. We did not expect them. On the side, they also gave us papillons--flaky buttered pastries baked with caramel sugar.

Shown above are parts of the grand dessert: Calice de chocolat a la noisette with white chocolate "granite", toasted hazelnut 'sable' and praline 'semifreddo'. We were so eager to dive in that when we remembered to take a picture, we had already eaten most of it! It was a wonderful, fitting ending to a king's feast. By this time, we were already euphoric from the magnificent culinary experience of a lifetime.The grand total for this feast was well over $330 per person and totally worth every penny. While we waited for our cards to process, they handed us a silver pot of treats: caramels, assorted truffles and confections. And to our delight, the servers handed each couple a white bag filled with goodies: more truffles and butter biscuits. The revelers above, my wonderful friends, Marty and Corsee, Chat and Butch---they were actually what made the whole event even sweeter and magnificent. I couldn't have asked for a better day! For naysayers, keep in mind that the value one can derive from this experience is more than just the exquisite gastronomic experience---the total experience is one that I am grateful to have.

In the end, we posed in front of the famous blue door outside the restaurant. There is a beautiful garden around it where one can walk around and smell the herbs and vegetables growing therein. We decided that we will have to duplicate this experience every year or two. Can't hardly wait.

The Culture of Suffering

 
THE CULTURE OF SUFFERING

I was having lunch with our business manager yesterday at a very chic French restaurant called "Bon Jour" to discuss various design options for our office. It is now about 70% completed. We had just inspected the huge giant glass wall that will separate the conference room from the reception room with the glass artist who will be etching the design I had conceived. He had begun to measure where the design should go and I decided that I wanted him to change the proportions. We were all thrilled that it was all starting to come together. 

During lunch, we began to discuss the costs involved in selecting furniture for the office. The space is 6400 square feet and there are over 20 offices, 2 conference rooms, the reception area, three bathrooms, 5 secretarial "cubbies", a breakroom and a huge storage room where we will install a system of floor to ceiling shelves that will roll across the length of the room like accordion folds. I have begun to select and order the fine details that will make the office unique---depression green glass cabinet knobs and pulls, fine carved brass door handles, light sconces....and now I have to choose furniture and artwork for the walls.


We may have to hire a designer for the other details that I don't have a knack for, like ergonomic work spaces and such. I had mentioned that I know my limitations and reluctantly admitted to my lunch companion that my husband actually hired an interior decorator from Ethan Allen, despite my protestations, to come to my house to design my family room space and how difficult it is for me to get rid of my huge leather couch and chaise lounge that clearly do not go with the flow of that room in any way---be it color, form or style. It has been driving me crazy since we moved into our new home over 5 years ago and this gives me a very uneasy feeling. She asked me why it is taking me so long to fix this and I said: GUILT. Yes, I am laden with guilt. And fear. I said that I don't think I can afford it. And her eyes got huge and she let out a sudden gush of shock. "Don't you know that you can afford that? How did you think you got to build your building? Don't you remember how we had a line of banks wanting us to use their services? Do you think they'd be doing that because we don't have the finances in place? They were fighting over us! Then she asked me: what do you want done to make your life easier? So I gave her a wishlist: a housekeeper to come a least once a week, a personal assistant, a good cosmetic surgeon (hahahaha!! but not really...) etc, etc, mostly stupid stuff that I thought funny... but not really. She said she'll look into all that and make it happen for me. I was dumbfounded. And she said: You can afford it. Believe me. I know how much you make. Well of course she does! She participates in our profit-sharing! But I had no idea until she gave me a clearer picture. 

And I am even more laden with guilt now. Guilt that I have some resources. Guilt that I now have more financial freedom than I thought. Guilt that I can now afford to do things that most people can't. Guilt that I should be doing something noble and I'm not. And fear. Fear that other people will judge me harshly. Fear that I might suddenly metamorphose into one of those idiots I see lunching with their other idiot friends who all look bored and have nothing to do but talk behind each others backs. Fear that if I don't comport myself well, this will all be taken away. And the biggest fear of all: fear that some of my friends and loved ones will hate us and judge us harshly---which some already do anyway. I mean, I know some family members who would love nothing than to see us fall flat on our faces because it will justify their disdain for us. Why? Because they live the culture of suffering.

The culture of suffering is what I call it. That's the belief that in order to be a righteous and God-fearing person, one MUST embrace suffering. It is the kind of culture that believes that in order to attain some measure of respectability and integrity, their lives must consist of struggles and most of all, sacrifices. They like to sacrifice anything that is not required of them to sacrifice anyway. Sometimes, in their quest, they sacrifice their own families, their happiness, their freedoms haplessly, inadvertently and worst of all, needlessly. Now I am not against adversity but I do believe that one does not need to be looking for adversity because life comes already packaged with enough challenges, pain, suffering and difficulties. But the culture of suffering judges people who may actually "enjoy" and rejoice in their successes as haughty and prideful people. I think I am tainted with some of this culture of suffering because the guilt I feel won't allow me to relax and enjoy the peaks and perks that life can sometimes offer and also gives me the permission to wallow in strife and deny the blessings that come to me. It is a delicate balance. 

Sudden wealth and privilege can be daunting. Some think that it can make you happier. The truth is, if you are a miserable person when you had little money, you will still be miserable otherwise. You will still have the same angst, the same fears. I used to fear running out of money when I was on a tight budget and I used to fear spending. I still fear running out of money and I still fear spending. I wish I had rejoiced in the past because I had some money to spend and pay my bills---then I can be really enjoying my freedoms now. But I don't. It almost seems like you have to break a thick barrier to get to the next tier. And you can't get to the next tier unless you break that barrier. But you HAVE TO get there because otherwise, you'd just be plain stagnant....and you WILL feel it. You will feel that urge to keep improving yourself...and your lot.

The biggest hurdle is when you feel that you have to justify your success. When we purchased our first MBenz, one of my husband's relative asked: how much did this set you back? We shot back another wisecrack. But yes, every time I purchase something, I have to preface it with, "it was on sale" or "I had to dig in the clearance box for this", or " they practically gave it to me"---when nothing could be further from the truth. I feel like I have to apologize every time we travel or vacation somewhere. 

Life can be such a funny and complicated ride. I know I make it that way sometimes. But my new goal is to be joyful and most of all, not worry about those who enjoy diminishing or devaluing our triumphs. I will keep those friends who rejoice in our successes and lift us up when we are down and avoid those who want to hold us back. My goal is to always have a grateful heart and a sensitivity to others' needs. Most of all, I want to break away from the culture of suffering because it is the devil who wants us to suffer. If we embrace suffering, we embrace darkness. The God I know wants us to be happy, to rejoice in His blessings, to seek Him in all things.

Missing Tagalog

I served a full-time LDS mission in Spain and spoke Castillian Spanish for a year and a half. Half of those months, I had a Spanish companion. It was a total immersion in the language and culture of the country. About 12 months into this, I literally ran into my first Filipino. She took a look at me and with a gush of excitement asked, "Filipino?" I replied, "Si, soy!" She asked me if I spoke Tagalog. I replied " Si, por supuesto!" She asked me where I was from. I answered, "Yo soy de Manila. Y tu?" She asked me again, "Marunong ka bang managalog?" To which I replied, "Si! Claro que si!" I did not realize I wasn't speaking Tagalog and when it hit me that I was speaking Spanish all the time, my brain tried to shift gears and I found myself stuck for a moment. "Dame un momentito que se me traba la lengua!" It took me a few moments to get going in Tagalog. This was a totally new experience for me. It was very strange to be speaking Tagalog for the first few minutes. Unexpectedly, the shift took some effort.



Last Saturday, while shopping at Dillards, one of the sales reps asked me if I was Chinese. I said that I was Filipino. She then asked me if I spoke Tagalog and I said, "Yes! Of course!" But then, with Hannah by me who didn't speak a word, and not knowing this other lady in any way, I was stuck in some sort of twilight zone of the tongue. It felt weird to speak to her in Tagalog in the middle of a fun banter between me and my daughter. So I told her, that I spoke Tagalog fluently but that it takes me a while to get warmed up. Which wasn't really true because when I'm with my Filipino friends, there's no hesitation and I'm there. But it was true only in this particular situation. I find myself more and more in this particular situation.



I have been married to an American for nearly 26 years. He speaks no Tagalog. None of my children speak Tagalog. I have no Tagalog-speaking neighbors. I am the only Filipino in the church that I attend. And I have no Filipino friends around me. I left my homeland 2 weeks after I turned 19...alone...while I attended a US college in Hawaii. And though I had a small cadre of Filipino friends, most of my comings and goings were in English. My very deep and intimate relationships were always with non-Tagalog speaking people. And as time marched on, I found myself speaking Tagalog less and less. It has been English 24/7 for me. And suddenly, I find myself longing for those subleties and nuances that can only be experienced in Tagalog. Here are some that I truly miss hearing...and saying.



1. Hoy. I love to say that. And I love to hear that. It's feels so intimate to me when someone who cares about me calls out to me in a soft, malambing way..."Hoy! Dito ka muna sa tabi ko" or, "Hoy, ano ka ba? Mag-shopping tayo!"

2. Bahala na. Someone told me that "bahala na' is a contraction of "Bathala na". I don't know if that's true. But 'whatever happens happens' is a poor translation. I sometimes long to hear someone say to me: "Ay, ano pa ba ang inaalala mo---bahala na,'day!" It feels like faith...and hope and all things will turn out exactly the way it should...that is, in our favor. It's like having God always be on your side.

3. Tara na! This phrase holds so much promise of adventure to me. It means, "I love to be with you so let's get going!"

4. Kain na! I love this phrase! Especially when you go to someone's house. They don't say, "how are you?" or "It's great to see you!". They say, "kain na!" It means warmth. It means welcome. It means that all they have is yours too. I love that.

5. Nauulol ka ba? Hahahaha! I used to say this a lot and now I can't coz there's no one to say it to. And no one can appreciate it the way good Pinoy friends can. It just doesn't exist the same way between English speaking friends. "Are you nuts?" is NOT an equivalent.

6. Wawa ka naman. Wish I could hear this sometimes. It feels like an extended hand. It feels like someone shares my sorrows or frustrations in a very big way. But at the same time, it also feels like "get off your soapbox". So it's a hug, a lift and a sharp push at the same time.



I can think of many others but these are the ones that stick out right now. I am flying out to San Francisco in 2 days and I can't wait to be with my posse from Philippine Science High School. I can speak Tagalog ALL DAY. And I will get energized, rejuvenated and elevated. I can't hardly wait.

Where Is Jordan Going?

WHERE IS JORDAN GOING?

Well, scoring in the 99 percentile in the LSAT paid off for my biology major. Jordan, who applied to a dozen law schools got his first response....and its an acceptance! Jordan applied only to top tier law schools like Harvard and University of Chicago...etc but for fun also applied to only two 2nd tier ones like Arizona State and an intriguing law school in Hamden, Connecticutt called Quinnipiac School of Law. (Click on the colored texts---it links you to the school's website!) I think it was the name that intrigued him. I think that was brave. Well, Quinnipiac School of Law sent him an acceptance letter plus incentives.

HOWEVER, he was also accepted into the College of William and Mary in Williamsburg, Virginia where he was offered all kinds of incentives like, reduced tuition, jobs on campus including assisting a law professor--- a very sought-after and prestigious position and a $4,000 stipend. Notable alumni from this law school would be the likes of....former US presidents THOMAS JEFFERSON, James Tyler and James Monroe, several Virginia governors. Desmond Tutu was their commencement speaker last year.

The next day, he received another acceptance letter from George Washington University Law School in Washington, D.C.--ranked #19 in the top tier listing of law schools. Famous alumni who graduated there would be Senator Harry Reid (but we don't like him...), David M. Kennedy, Daniel Inouye, senator from Hawaii, and many others.

He also got accepted to BYU Law School with incentives but I don't know the details yet. BYU Law School is also in the top tiered rankings. So far, no rejections yet. We are still waiting to hear from a few more law schools. We are very excited for Jordan and he has some tough decisions to make when he gets the rest of his acceptance letters. Exciting. I am very excited for him. He has plenty to look forward to including an exciting seven weeks in England and Scotland with a small group of English students who will be studying the works of British writers. Keep checking this particular blog because I'll update this as we get more word from the rest of the law schools.

After Christmas Venting

It's been a most challenging week. After the kids left last Sunday, I began to feel really sick and eventually, my right ear, jaw, neck and head began to hurt plus a low grade fever began to ensue together with a feeling of malaise. Yep. Ear infection plus flu. The interesting thing is I had this exact same malady 13 months ago to the day! Photo above of my 13 month old medication is clear evidence. Soon after I began taking antibiotics, I started feeling better, fever gone, achy body gone.... but then came the vertigo---just like it happened same time last year when my doctor gave me a prescription for antivert (meclizine). I couldn't take the stupid pill anyway because it just replaced my vertigo with nausea. It is very obvious to me that my immune system just sinks to its lowest after the winter holidays. It is also obvious to me that it is during Christmas that I direly MISS having maids, cooks and drivers who can clean up after everybody.




Gosh, golly, gee. I long for those days when I didn't have to worry about laundry. I have a MOUNTAIN of laundry. My laundry chute couldn't even hold its contents and everything spilled on the laundry room floor. I never had to worry about hanging towels or changing sheets. The maids did all that. I miss having a cook who will take care of every meal. All I had to do was figure out the menu and send her to market. I miss lounging around after meals with family and not worrying a thing about the kitchen. Dishes would be washed and put away and food put back in the fridge. I wish I didn't have to put groceries away after I shop or unload them from the car. Maid or drivers did that for me. And I wish I didn't have to feel guilty and anxious about being sick because laundry just keeps on piling and no one gets a decent meal---not to mention housework just piles up. Then I get depressed and annoyed about being sick. And did I mention guilty? So I can't get better because my emotional state is just whacked out around the moon and back. Last year, it took me nearly 3 weeks just to get feeling normal again. Today marks day 6. I have a long road ahead. I suddenly feel old and decrepit.

Living in America sucks sometimes. OK. I know I am having a bad day right now. But it's true and the only reason is because I can't have maids and a staff to help me with housework. I hate housework. I hate cooking. I hate cleaning. I hate laundry. I hate picking up. I hate it. It's the 13th of January and I am just now removing the ornaments from the Christmas tree. And I have tons to pack and put away. Why can't I have a maid to do that for me? And I need a tall glass of kalamansi juice. Why can't I have a maid to fix me one? I hate to vacuum. I hate doing dishes. I hate being a housefrau. And no one is going to convince me that doing housework is noble. All it does is keep me from executing all the creative things I want to do because if I attempt to do what I want to do, my guilt about housework shuts me down. When Hannah goes to college, I am going back to work full-time so I can hire an assistant, dang it.


Now that that's off my chest, I feel better already.


Below is how I feel.

A Lack of Vision

A LACK OF VISION: GOOD AND BAD BUSINESS

I had two interesting related experiences. Last Saturday, I went to a Filipino restaurant called Pinoy-Pinay located in Las Vegas. I spoke with a nice lady named Mely who happened to own the restaurant with her siblings. They have three restaurants in California aside from their Las Vegas location. I ordered some food for the night. I made a comment about their cash only policy and asked her if she's had a lot of bad experiences with checks and credit cards. She said that she's had large volumes of bounced checks from Filipinos and lamented that checks bounce no matter how small the amount is. And it didn't matter if the checks come from business owners, Filipino doctors or nurses....she's had checks bounced anyway. So she had enough and instigated the cash-only policy. She also installed an ATM machine in the premises. Granted there is a premium of fees when it is used---but she's not had any problems when people have to pay cash. She also made the comment that it's so sad that its mostly Filipinos who bounce checks or use stolen credit cards.

Of course, most of her patrons are Filipinos since its a Filipino restaurant. Her family used to own the famous Liwayway Bakery in Baliuag, Bulacan and that establishment has been in existence for decades because she believes in honesty and that businesses have a longer life if it is run with integrity. And she's not kidding. Every time I order food from her, it's always more than I expect and she never shorts me. The food is always good, hot and the volume is always generous. So I keep on patronizing her establishment. It's a good place. And it's always full. It's an inspiration to see her doing so well. But so sad that she's had these bad experiences with her own countrymen. Of course, if she were a burger joint, she'd probably have the same problems with all kinds of folk since check bouncing is not limited to Filipinos.

Yesterday, Natascha, Hannah and Catherine went shopping with me. We went to Chinatown. Last week, there was a promotional week-long trade show in the Chinatown mall and a merchant gave us a coupon to encourage us to shop in his store. We liked his merchandise so we went back to look for his store. After we chose the items that caught our fancy, I presented the coupon to the cashier.

She told me that the coupon was no longer valid.

I had over $200 worth of goods in my hands so I was incensed and I said,

"But of course the coupon is no longer valid! Because we're here now and I'm holding all these merchandise!"

So she said that I could choose one item from a clearance rack instead of giving me the 20% off. But there was nothing that we liked from the rack and even if we did, everything was small.

So I told her to just honor the coupon because it has no expiry date on it and I just got it last week. She refused. I got mad. So I said, you either have $150 worth of sales today and I don't see any other customers around (there were none...) or zero sales. She refused to budge.

Well, I really liked the 5 pairs of shoes and other items so I got really mad and said, "You know, this is no way to treat a customer. I could be having a great first experience in your store and come back every month and spend a hundred or so every time or you can lose this sale and other potential sales. What is it going to be? Or do you want to call the owner?"

She finally gave me the discount and took the coupon grudgingly. So I was mad. Crazy, stupid Chinese. How dumb is that?

Anyway, I got what I wanted and I'm never going back to her stupid store. But this is so common among the Asians that I deal with. For example, the Korean-run dry cleaning stores will send us coupons and then when we get there arms full of shirts and suits, they tell us the coupons are no longer valid even when there is no expiry date. So then, we are caught literally with our clothes hanging on our arms with no desire to haul them back to the car. Then another battle has to be fought. This type of shenanigan gives us such a bad reputation. It's so stupid.



Anyway, that's my shopping experience for today. Tomorrow, I'll just hit the mall and get my usual good deals at Nordstroms clearance racks. Crazy.

2007 Mishmash

Well, we're five years closer to the Mayan calendar's predicted doomsday date of Dec 21, 2012, which also marks the completion of the galactic alignment when the earth aligns with the galactic equator which is the center-line of the milky way. This happens once every 26,000 years. This also marks the completion of the earth wobbling very slowly on its axis--when it shifts the position of the equinoxes and solstices one degree every 71.5 years--- two events predicted by the Mayan calendar and incidentally, is also when their calendar ends. I'll be close to 56 years old then. I hope I'd have lost 40 pounds. I slept through New Year's Eve---a definite sign of the times---though I think my kids had a great time together. I was just exhausted.

We had the CEO of Mountain View Hospital and his wife as our dinner guests last Saturday. We had a great time. Mark Howard was the 11th LDS missionary in the Philippines who taught and baptized my step-father and his family. He is a delightful man full of enthusiasm, vim and vigor. He loves Filipino culture and...food! His favorite drink is "cosmos" so, as a surprise, I had a 2 liter bottle of Sarsi, formerly known as "cosmos". He drank the whole bottle. I had pork adobo, chicken pastel, guinisang sitaw at kalabasa (squash and long beans), pansit palabok and lumpia. For dessert, I served samplings of mango and jackfruit with cashew ice creams on my green depression glass bowls and saucers. I had quite an elegant spread. I worked the whole day to make the house look spectacular with the kids help, of course. Kurt was his usual charming self. My mom and step-father were here too. It was a fabulous affair. He promised to help Leland land a summer internship with the hospital. I hope that happens. It was great to reminisce the early days of the church in the Philippines.

We completed the study of the Old Testament in church yesterday. Next Sunday, we start the New Testament. I have to say that I fully enjoyed this year of study because I decided to really 'feast' on the scriptures. I've studied the scriptures in various ways through the years---by topic, by elaborate marking strategies, by outlining, cross referencing, etc. This year, I decided to study the Old Testament by reading up about the history of the times on the side. This was a great idea.

To fully understand the Old Testmant which is told mostly from the point of view of Judaic writers, one must understand the culture and times and as much of the language as possible. This casts a wider and brighter light on the text and detail of the scriptures. For example, most people read the Old Testament as if it were a mystical or mythical book that happened in some far away place and time that we can't really relate to. But when you realize that Alexander the Great, Tiberius, Socrates, Plato and Aristotle were alive during the times of the Old Testament, that puts a different spin on the way you perceive things.

I was especially fascinated by the history of the Israelites---how they were dominated and conquered by several kingdoms starting with the Assyrians, the Babylonians and Chaldeans, the Persians, the Greeks and then the Romans who ruled until nearly 500 years after Christ. Another fascinating spin is the fact that great battles recorded by ancient historians such as Josephus actually coincide with battles described in the Old Testament. The battle of Thermopolae for example, happened 500 years before Christ---during the reign of King Darius. Before him, King Cyrus, a Persian ruler who overthrew the Babylonian King Nebuchadnezzar, ordered the enslaved Israelites to return to their ancestral land of Judah, including Jerusalem, and actually insisted on putting this decree to writing. Included in this decree is the charge to build a temple on the site now known as Temple Mount. This same decree is still being used to this very day when Israel, as late as 2002, used this decree to underscore their right to the land of Jerusalem, specifically, the Temple Mount which is, in large degree under Muslim possession as a "spoil of war". Two Judaic temples have been built on this site, starting with that of King Solomon which was destroyed by the Babylonians. The 2nd temple was built after King Cyrus' decree which was eventually destroyed by the Romans after the death of Christ. The third temple is yet to be built and the anticipation of this event is formally included in the thrice daily Jewish prayer services. This third and last temple will precede the coming of the Messiah. There is actually a movement by many Jewish and non-Jewish groups to expedite this event. I myself am anxious for this to happen. But the political implications are grim as prophesied in the Old Testament and we know now that for this to happen, a great war will have to be fought against the Muslims....which in fact, is already happening.

Another detail that is so lost to the world is the fact that Christ was a practicing Jewish rabbi. He was in fact, a Jew and observed the Jewish traditions as they are meant to be observed. In a fit of righteous indignation, he was mortified that the holy temple (the 2nd one built after King Cyrus' decree...) was being used as a "den of thieves". Temples were and are still an important part of Jewish tradition and should still be important. This gives the building of the 3rd temple on Temple Mount in Jerusalem great urgency. It is part of Biblical prophecy. While many may view this as only a Jewish "problem", if you think about it, it really should be every Christian's dream if we are to be looking forward to the coming of Christ. Anyway, I am looking forward to studying the New Testament and will start my studies immediately. Jordan will be going to London and Scotland for the spring term to study the works of English writers. I am thinking of meeting him in Barcelona when the term ends mid-June. I hope I can manage that since it coincides with Hannah's graduation date. We'll have to do a lot of planning. This summer will be Hannah's last summer before she goes to college. I can't even think about it.

Normal Conversations

Here's a typical happening in the life of my friend. It's a compilation of conversations that have been going on for years. It may sound funny and exaggerated but all are true. In real life, it's not funny. The names have been changed to preserve identities and small details altered....

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Dad, after a phone call from the police department: That was the police. They've arrested Sam and his friend for drug possession. They found a pipe and some pot. I better get them out of there.

Step-mom: Again? What? This is the fourth or fifth time, right?

Dad: I can't let the police hold them. They've got my car.

Step-mom: How did they get your car? Did you let him drive it again? Didn't you ban him from using your car after the last arrest?

Dad: Poor Sam.

Step-mom: How do you think he's paying for gas and pot? He's 19 and hasn't been able to hold a job. He doesn't have a job.

Dad: I don't know.

Step-mom: You know, we're missing the flat panel TV that you bought, the Xbox, my laptop, a CD player, some cash and my jewelry. Have you been giving him money too?

Dad: Well....I let him use my credit card just to get some dinner. Besides, we can't prove that Sam or his friends took those things.

Step-mom: What? Didn't we just pay $800 last time for using your card to call those nasty 900 numbers? You let him get away with that again.

Dad: It doesn't matter. The card only has a $2500 limit.

Step-mom: But...

Dad: Well, I didn't complain when you racked up $500 to go shopping for your daughters.

Step-mom: Oh I forgot. Okay then. It's your card. Your money.

Dad: I'll go bail them out again. By the way, I'm letting him drive my car to the cabin tomorrow.

Step-mom: Oh. Are we letting him go snowboarding tomorrow after being arrested again?

Dad: Well, it is New Years' weekend. I have to leave a day early. You'll have to take the jeep to meet me at the cabin and stay here alone for one night with Sam. He'll follow later in my car.

Step-mom: But I'm concerned that he'll bring his friends over again. You know, I think they deal. And they're always high on something. I'm concerned for my safety. You just never know what kids can do under the influence.

Dad: What can his friends possibly do to you? They're nice kids. Sam would never hurt you! I'm offended that you would think that way of Sam! He's a good boy. He can be a sweet boy.

Step-mom: You mean other than dealing, doing drugs, stealing, sex with minors and illegal road racing, they're good kids?

Dad: Yeah. Now, don't be taking on that attitude. You know, if you just show a little bit more love and be more of a mother to Sam, he'll change and become a good person.

Step-mom: So it's contingent upon me for Sam to behave well?

Dad: Well, he just never knew love from his mother. And people have judged him so harshly. You need to be more loving and forgiving. I am very disappointed in you. I'm disappointed in other people who should be friendlier with him. Parents should teach their children to be more loving to people like Sam who have many challenges.

Step-mom: It's kind of hard not to judge him harshly when he's got a potty mouth, smokes weed, doesn't have a job and steals. Nice kids don't want to hang with potheads.

Dad: He's just misunderstood. People just need to be more friendly with him. I'm just so disappointed in those nice kids. And I'm especially disappointed in their parents. How can they be nice kids if they can't be friendly and forgiving with Sam? I hold them responsible for Sam's misery too.

Step-mom: Okay, well, do as you wish. (She's had conversations like this for nearly a decade and tries very hard to disconnect.) I'll just go upstairs and pop some more pills to ease my nervous stomach. You just do what you usually do and bail him out.

Dad: Okay, I'll see you later. I'll be at the police station. Now remember that I love you.

Step-mom: It's kinda hard to forget that dear. Of course, I know you love me. I just can't be first in your life ever because your kids come first and I understand that.

Dad: I appreciate that. But I'd love you more if you just acted more like a good mother to Sam---you know, make him oatmeal once in a while or just don't get so upset whenever he steals or doesn't come home. You let your kids get away with murder too. Just make sure your bedroom door is locked so we can help Sam not steal. I had the alarm system installed for your protection.

Step-mom: But how is Sam going to get in if I fall asleep and he comes in at 3 in the morning?

Dad: Oh, I gave him the code.

Step-mom: (exhausted) Alright dear, I'll try harder next time to be a better mom according to your expectations and demands.

Dad leaves. Step-mom disconnects. And Sam gets bailed out again, no real nor meaningful consequences happen. And this madness has been going on for years now. But really, it's just normal conversation in their household. No one has an inkling that it just isn't normal. It is THEIR normal. Sam will get high tonight, hang with his pothead friends, and cruise the already crowded streets of Las Vegas, full of New Year's weekend revelers. His step-mother will turn on the alarm system, lock herself in her bedroom and take a sleeping pill. And I pray that she'll be safe.....again.

Difficult People

During the holiday season, stuff comes out of the closet in more ways than one. I start thinking about difficult people.

Difficult people (DP) are those who make you feel uncomfortable when you are around them. They can also cause you to feel stress when you think about them and their words or actions cause you to feel terrible hurt, frustration or an unrelenting feeling of helplessness. It is an easy matter when difficult people are simply those you can avoid. But oftentimes, difficult people are part of your family, extended family or those you work with and deal with on a daily basis. That's when it becomes quite a challenge.

I've thought a lot about my own circumstances and the difficult people who are part of my life. I've come to realize why these people are difficult and cause me great frustration. First, they are DP because they have some inner pain that they project on you because you are just the convenient person to strike at. A good example is when someone feels enormous insecurity or self-loathing. When they meet someone who they deem is a threat to their standing in the family or in the workplace, their raison d'être becomes simply to make you look bad or as a difficult person once confessed to me, "to put one over you" at all times. This relentless pursuit to make you look bad or insignificant can be tiring and stressful especially when done over and over. These are people who CANNOT and will NOT see YOU as you are but are caught up in some kind of mechanism that makes them see you and identify you as someone like you who stirs up some sordid, ugly feeling in their minds. This causes them to react to you as if YOU were this person. And you end up the brunt of ugly deeds, words and manipulations. These are people who probably have inner turmoils or unresolved hurt or childhood trauma.

Secondly, some people are difficult because they cannot experience you as you are and thus interpret YOU in a way that is dictated by their limited experience...though their conclusions are quite unchangeable even if you are completely and utterly not even close to their interpretation of who they think you are. This is so common in families. Have you ever been in a situation where, no matter what you say or do, people in your family will still interpret the meaning of your actions or words according to some hidden agenda or encyclopedia in their head? And the worst of it is that your actions and words don't even come close to their interpretation? Ah yes. This is terrible stress.

Most DP come from families where there is unhealthy communication or disconnected relationships. There are three roles generated by this situation: the Perpetrator, the Rescuer and the Victim. These three roles are not exclusive to one member of the family but rather, each member takes on each role under different circumstances. The important point is that whenever these roles are played, NO ONE wins. All lose. Sometimes, the loss is huge and ineradicable. All roles cause pain, perpetrate lies or painful secrets, come from a sense of shame or cause shame, come from a loss of personal power and come from a feeling of worthlessness. The Perpetrator, fueled by the need for self-preservation and/or the need to feel empowered because of the loss of it, has one motivation alone: to hurt others and put them down. They believe that others deserve the punishment or hurt that they are about to inflict. The Rescuer, is fueled by the same need for power, superiority and importance just as the Perpetrator and does this by enabling others. They feel superior by rescuing or enabling others. They take on a "you owe me" attitude. They feel that they need to be in the middle of everything because they are vital and necessary to find solutions to problems. And lastly, the Victim role, again, is fueled by the same needs and thus find safety and self-preservation by being submissive. They are unable to stand up for themselves and avoid confrontation.

The only way to tear one's self from the debilitating dance of taking turns taking on the traits of all three roles is, I believe, largely innate. No one knows for sure why some people can tear away and create healthy relationships despite growing up in an unhealthy situation such as described above. I call it resiliency and emotional intelligence---an awareness of one's self and more importantly, one's worth.

Everyone operates on their hopes, dreams and perceptions. Intellectually, I can understand that people, myself included, have their own version of reality. I understand that what DP say about me is really only a projection from their own reality or awareness. I also understand that most of the time, they do not see me but instead, see only an interpretation of someone like me who they think is me and are imprisoned in this haziness. They obviously do not take the time to see ME as I really am because they have drawn their conclusions already. So they are stuck. And invariably, they lose the opportunity to see the real ME....the true version of me that perhaps they might like after all! If we can only see each other as we really are, we can begin to truly love one another.

The danger of having DP as part of your family is that most members DO have a preconceived notion of what they deem each member of the family is. They cannot fathom that their brother or their sister is an individual--- a living, breathing human being with strengths, weaknesses, interesting idiosyncrasies, hobbies, opinions, personalities---that they have grown up to be people that they know nothing about. They continue to react to them within their reality and awareness that all too often is so diametrically opposed to who their brothers or sisters are. They miss out. They lose. No, everybody loses. The key is, communication and a desire to really know each member of the family individually---not as the whiny little sister or the brooding older brother---to let go of those old, obsolete impressions and just get interested. To even encourage this to happen is like pulling teeth and oftentimes, we get jarred only when it is too late. My husband for example, tried calling each of his siblings on various occasions and his calls are never returned. And he doggedly tries and tries. I admire him. I wish I were more like him. I find that sometimes, we push the same buttons because we are simply too lazy to find other buttons to push that may open up a whole new world....a whole new relationship and perhaps, a lifelong friendship.

How do I deal with difficult people? My tendency is to stay away. Stress gets the best of me. I do try hard to keep relationships alive but sometimes it takes its toll. One holiday, just a few years ago, we put our four kids in the van to make the long drive to spend some time with extended family; some of whom were most definitely DP. We didn't even get to the freeway when I started to have a severe panic attack and began to throw up. Needless to say, we turned around and went back home. That was the last time I was to attempt to spend Christmas in Utah. There has to be a point where I need to just stop, recoup and wait for another time. Hopefully, that time will come soon. Now I understand those stories of family members showing up to Thanksgiving dinner drunk. Well, since I don't drink, I may just have to find a way to be heavily medicated.

Living in Chaos

I was having an interesting discussion with a friend of mine and the subject of finding some peace while living in chaos came up. She was concerned about being in a marriage where there are stepchildren with severe behavioural problems that create such chaos and turmoil within the 'sanctity' of their home. What do you do when your home becomes a hornets' nest of uncontrollable bad behaviour? Would you walk away? Would you begin to hate those you love? Or become indifferent? These and other questions plague her.



Almost immediately, my thoughts went to another place and time. My own childhood.



I think my father was mentally ill. No, I'm sure of it. It seemed like two people inhabited his body. The good father, the good man who lived inside him was wonderful. He was generous and kind. Talent oozed from him. He could do anything. He was creative, intelligent and intuitive. He was charming and fun to be with. With him, I felt safe. And happy. And loved. With him, all was right with the world and I can accomplish anything.



But there was another man who crowded inside him. This other person was sinister and dark. I did not like him. He was abusive, manipulative and cruel. This was the father whose rage was uncontrollable. This was a man who would drag my shaking 9 year old body out of bed one night because he thought I lost the key to the house. He yells at me with ferocious angry eyes and commands me to look for that key if it takes all night. When he yells obscenities at me, his angry eyes look at me but don't actually see me. It's as if he is staring at nobody. And I feel like a nobody. He pounds me with the question: where did you put that key? Answer me! And I don't know what to say because every time I say "I don't know", he hits me with his belt. And every time I start to cry, he looks at me with utter contempt and tells me not to cry or I'll get some more. My mother does nothing but watch as if all that is happening to me is well-deserved and my sister feels no compassion for me. So I hold it all in. I go to another place in my head. Everything goes into slow motion until I disappear. When my sister finally remembers that she had the key in her school uniform pocket and produces it, the rage dissipates and my father retreats without a word. The next day, it's as if nothing happened. And I am happy again because I have my father back. But the damage runs very deep inside me. Incidents like this were part of my life. There was no warning. And I could not avoid them no matter how careful I was, no matter how good I tried to be. It just seemed all too futile. At times, my everyday behaviour was acceptable. And other times, what I thought was acceptable, became the fodder for more abuse. It was very confusing. I relished the intervals, the in-between times when my father was himself again and ours would be a happy, idyllic, wonderful home. But I can always count on the fact that at some time, he was going to blow up and I would take the brunt of his rage.



My father was the thermostat that decided if ours was going to be a happy home...or a miserable one. Every day, after school, I’d have some time to walk home from the jeepney stop and during those walks, I would go into some kind of stealth vigilance. I remember that I would go deep inside myself and let some other person take over---someone sharp and quick, to reconnoiter and find the clues that would warn me of trouble ahead. I learned to rely on this person. Perhaps it was just instinct but every day, this ability became sharper, stronger and 100% reliable. By the time I got to the gate, I knew what to expect. Sometimes I would breathe a sigh of relief. And sometimes I steeled myself, ready to accept whatever tempest lay in wait.



My father was not the only source of strife in my home. An uncle, my father’s cousin, lived with us from the time I can remember. It was not unusual in Filipino culture to have relatives from rural, dire provincial areas to live with their city relatives who were much better off . In the case of my uncle Pete, he lived with us while he went to school and to help care for me and my sister. But there was something really bad about him. He was a molester---a quiet monster who molested me through out the years that I grew up in my home. And though I tried to tell my parents, my pleas for some intervention were met with either indifference or a scolding for “having a dirty mind”. So I learned to live with it. As a teenager, I locked my bedroom door at night and closed my windows even during the hot summer nights---that is, until my father put an end to that. One night, in a rage, my father kicked my bedroom door open and began to yell a litany of accusations at me ranging from “what are you trying to hide by locking your door?”, to you-are-a-whore (ano ka, puta?) ramblings.



Such was my life. And that was not the worst of it. I’d rather not tell the rest.

What is important is what I came away with from this chaos. And they were gifts. Jewels.



The first gift that I got from being in this chaos is the sensitivity to variables and details that most people can’t see. Some of my friends and family say that I am one who “sees dead people”. I don’t know if this ability is one that I was born with or one that I developed to deal with the chaos but nevertheless, I can sense things. I can see things that people can’t see. Sometimes, I dream things that happen or will happen. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night with some knowledge or warning that I need to heed either for me or for someone I know. But the sharpest skill I have is the ability to sense what’s inside people...especially what’s hiding inside them. And I’ve never been wrong though I can think of times when I’ve questioned myself and ended up sorry because I refused to believe the voices inside. I’ve since learned to never question my instincts. One example is a few years ago, I became acquainted with a nice family who all looked perfect. They had a nine year old girl who one Sunday, sang in church. That’s when it flashed in my head that this girl was being abused. I thought it was ridiculous that such an extraneous thought would flit into my head. Six years later, I would find out that her grandfather was an abuser. Could I have done something? I don’t know and I’m not going to punish myself. But gosh golly gee. I rely heavily on this ability and it has never failed me.



The second gift I got is the clarity of my true identity. This sensitivity is one that I need to work on and be vigilant about at all times. I’ve learned that there are times when one cannot walk away. When this happens, the only control you have is within yourself. Though there were strong forces that continually and relentlessly beat up on me, trying to prove that I was a nobody, a worthless person or a bad person, there was also a small but abiding voice that told me I was superlative. I saw myself differently deep inside. I saw what God sees in me---a valuable, loved and beautiful person. If I could choose the family I would be born into, why did I choose to be born where I was born? There has to be a reason. And it isn’t because I am stupid. I knew I was smart and I knew if I chose it, I had a good reason. And if God chose it for me, then he sees something in me that is superlative because He wouldn’t put me here just to make my life miserable. Or He wouldn’t be God. Because God loves. He loves me. Thus, there is a valuable reason. And there is. The truest most beautiful aspect of ourselves lie in wait for us to discover. And when we are ready to see, it becomes visible. And then there is peace amidst the chaos.



The third gift I got is the belief that life comes packaged with opposites---pleasure and pain, joy and sorrow, difficulties and successes, peace and tribulation, adversity and wealth. All these are necessary for our growth and development. Life is comprised of experiences and events that shape who we are and what we can become. The forces around us happen whether we like it or not and rain will fall on both the good and the bad. And through all of these forces, the prevailing truth is that the greatest power on earth is the one that we are all imbued with: the power to choose for ourselves how we comport within these forces of opposites. For every force and its opposite can have joyous or devastating results depending on how we choose to be affected. Therein lies the hook. Therein is the secret.



I can list many more gifts but three sounds like a good place to stop for now.

The point is, I’ve come away from all these experiences basically intact, happy and peaceful. I don’t wear my unpleasant experiences like a badge of honor. I do not consider myself an abused person. I chose to break the cycle. I do not think that I am a survivor or a victim. I am not defined solely by the misfortunes and tribulations that fell upon me but by the sum total of my experiences, good and bad. I am merely one who lives life still and whose experiences continue to grow and provide me with wisdom and clarity. And while I am alive, I have yet many more to experience. There will yet be storms and tempests around me and as sure as I know those storms gather, I also know there is stillness and peace behind them. I’d like to think that I love fiercely and boldly. And I’d like to think that I continue to get better.



My father will have passed away seventeen years ago next week. I sorely miss him. I understand his battles against his demons. He was just a man who was my father. Though he was flawed, and absent his illness, I know his love for me was real and fierce. And I believe that my forgiveness and understanding gives him peace and joy wherever he is....and I want all that and more for him. I do look forward to that day when I can embrace him again and he will just be himself without the illness that racked his mind. The next time I see Papa, the only person who will inhabit his body will be that wonderful, loving and fantastic father. I know it just as surely as I know the sun will rise tomorrow.



The last time I saw my uncle Pete over 30 years ago, he was just a small man with a dark and sad countenance. I feel sorry for him and the life he lived, the choices he made. I feel sorry that his father was often drunk and abusive and that he did not know love. I wish him peace and clarity---that he will see with heaven’s eyes what God sees in him and then live the rest of his days accordingly.



It IS possible to live peacefully amidst chaos. We are endowed with the tools to do it and do it well. When we discover that it is within ourselves that we can find peace, the heavens open, God intervenes and miracles begin to happen. It is that work, that faith, that effort, that precedes the miracle.

Lucky Lucky Stars!

Last Saturday, while browsing around in Chinatown, Hannah and I saw a jarful of tiny, little paper stars. "Lucky stars", they were called. We were so intrigued. So we asked the attendant where we can get a book with instructions on how to make those stars. She walked us to a corner in the store where she showed us a package full of paper strips. Then she offered to show us how to make the stars. We left the store with 4 packages of those paper strips---so excited to start folding like crazy.

We got hooked

It's an interesting phenomenon actually. I had no desire to get addicted to this. And the stars don't really have any deep meaning for me. But I found that every star I made was different and the quest to make a perfect star became a strong driving force that I kept on forging on...obsessed with the desire to make perfect five points, perfect corners. "Ah yes---next time, I'll make the corners more sharp." Or, "next time, I'll crease the folds." etc. In due time, we had quite a collection of tiny, little paper stars. I'd love to write about profound implications and metaphoric lessons from this experience. But I won't. I think it's just too plain obvious.

I just like to make paper stars.