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.

What I Want To Be When I Grow Up

I've been getting the house decorated for Christmas now since Monday... and it's Friday afternoon. I'm exhausted. I still have the vacuum cleaner and mop in the kitchen and one last load of wash but I just needed to sit down and compose myself. It's been a long week.

It hasn't been fun decorating the tree at all. I do it alone. No kids jumping and playing around. Just quiet. And the ornaments are well distributed...as opposed to bottom heavy when I had little elfin darlings anxious to decorate and I'd hear "mom!" from every direction and from each of my four attention-hungry kids. I miss those precious times. It seems like a hundred years ago.

During moments like this, when I am alone to ponder my thoughts, I think about the future and the past. I have been a full-time mother since my first child was born. He is now 24 years old. Growing up in the Philippines, I was imbued with the notion that in order to be a 'success' and for my parents to be proud of me, I needed to have a worthwhile career and education was paramount in achieving this goal. My parents worked hard and sacrificed much so that I could attend a private school from kindergarten to seventh grade. The result of my desire to achieve was the acquisition of the prized reward: to be a national science scholar, to be paid by the government to study in the creme de la creme of exclusive schools: the Philippine Science High School. And I am humbled and grateful to have that blessing in my life: the gift of the most exclusive, intensive education. The unexpected prize of that privilege was to 'grow up' with over a hundred others who, not surprising to me, were my superiors in many ways. And these wonderful young friends still sustain my well-being to this day, inspiring and elevating me throughout my life. I attended the University of the Philippines and then Brigham Young University in Hawaii. By now, I should have reached the pinnacle of success in career and social circles.

But I am a mom.

And so, after nearly 26 years of marriage to my college sweetheart and four children later, I sit here pondering my future. My last baby, who is 17, will be attending college in the fall and thus, I will have no more children to 'mother' at home. I will be free to pursue my life's ambitions. I can continue on and become what I always want to be. There are so many things I can do and achieve still. I can 'rebuild' what was snatched from my hands when I became a mom. Now I can be free to really be a 'success'. Perhaps I can pursue that elusive career that I've dreamed of having. Perhaps now I can amass my fortune and become a woman of means. I can finally say: I am an artist. Or, "I run a law office". Or, "I am a writer". Or a teacher. Or whatever else sounds impressive. I don't have to say, "oh, I'm a stay-at-home mom" and wear an apron all day.

My friends ask me all the time what my plans are when Hannah goes to college. I give them a litany of dreams and secret desires that I wish to pursue: go back to college, pursue a graduate degree, learn to paint, go on study-abroad trips to exotic places, start a business, master web design and graphic arts, be an artist, finish that book, compile my musical arrangements into a book....yada, yada. Yes, I can do all that. And well.

But I've discovered what my life's ambition really is. Here's the revelation: I'm in it! I'm doing it! I am doing EXACTLY what I want. I've been doing exactly what I ambitioned in my heart of hearts. I've raised a fine bunch of children: self-assured, confident, intelligent people who know how to live within themselves. Most of all, they are kind, loving and generous individuals. And I am partner to the most wonderful man in the world...one who loves me deeply and completely. Yes, all along, I've been living the life that I really wanted. I am what I want to be when I grow up.

The rest is just gravy.

Maintaining Bliss

The photo above was taken just a couple of hours ago. All but one of my children have left to go back to college life. I stood on the driveway less than an hour ago and hugged them goodbye, told each one of them my "I love you's"...and then waved as I watched their rented suburban pull out of the driveway and then that turn that leads outside the private gates. It took a lot of focus on my part to keep from breaking down while we said our goodbyes but as soon as they made that turn, I was reduced to tears. My heart, I fear, is just not made for goodbyes. What a wonderful time it was to have them all....and especially my very first grand-daughter, Lucy, who came 'home' for the first time. She will be 12 weeks old tomorrow. My arms long for her already. And I still have kisses and hugs left to give. What am I ever to do?

My house was blissfully messy all week---dirty socks, blankets, clothes, shoes, baby things...all on the floor, dishes in the sink, laundry piling, food crumbs on the floor and counters....but it was pure bliss. I loved every minute of it. Now, I have to pick up and put things back in their pristine condition and all will be lovely to look at. There will be order and everything will be neat and tidy. Showroom condition. I'm not sure if I like it.

I love it that my children get along so well...and love each other so kindly. I love it that they are patient and generous with one another. We don't have any feuds or hard feelings... and I hope those things don't crop up. The important thing is to make sure that everybody talks to each other. I don't mind discussing problems or misunderstandings before they fester and relationships are damaged and no one remembers exactly how it happened. I know. I've lived it. I still live it.

And because I don't like it, I don't want the same to happen to my children. So I decided on two important principles that I MUST abide by:

1. NO GOSSIP AMONG FAMILY MEMBERS. I must encourage them to talk to each other, to settle their small differences before they fester. I must remember that if there's no dialogue, separation spawns festering when bad feelings become worse. I have to be the example and not say anything negative about any member of my family. (OMG, how can anyone?) I must not allow others to criticize. Period. That is not allowed. But dialogue is much encouraged.

OK. That's only one. It's the only prevailing thought that I have right now. Probably because I'm so affected by the ravages of this tempest. Gossip is a habit that creeps up on everyone and before they know it, they can't get out of its vicious trap. Gossip is just so....pedestrian. My family is so precious. I must be vigilant. I must maintain bliss.

Crab Avocado Salad

This was the surprise hit of the feast! First off, you will need some fresh corn. The corn was boiled and then the kernels cut from the cob. See above photo. Doesn't that look good enough to eat already?

Then I made some fresh salsa out of Rome tomatoes, sweet onions, cilantro and some lime juice, salt and pepper.

Then, using a 2 inch round mold, layer the following ingredients: fresh Hass avocado sprinkled with lime juice, corn, grilled red peppers, avocado, salsa and a generous handful of fresh, lump crabmeat that's been tossed with more lime juice and sea salt. Make sure everything is compact in the mold and then remove. For garnish, I piped in my favorite soup: creamed tomato and basil soup. But you can use a nice homemade thousand island dressing or creme fraise.

Potatoes And Yam Casserole

I tried something new this year with my smashed potatoes. First off, I saw some novelty potatoes: purple, red and white ones. I bought an assortment, scrubbed and boiled them. (Keep skins on.) Then mashed them to death. In a separate bowl, pour about 2 cups buttermilk that has been scalded with about 3 tablespoons of Knorr's Alfredo sauce stirred in. I then poured this concoction into the potatoes as we mashed. Add some unsalted butter and then salt and pepper to taste. YUM. Creamy with a kick!

This year, I decided to finally try cornbread stuffing. I went to our local Whole Foods Market where they have very good cornbread. I bought 1.5 pounds of corn bread precut into squares that I gently placed in a bowl. I added one can of water chestnuts, chopped and 2 cups of grated Monterey Jack cheese. I made sure I folded these dry ingredient into the cornbread so as not to smash the squares. Then in another bowl, I mixed 2 eggs, 2 cups free range chicken stock, and 4 tablespoons Italian herbs. Again, I folded the liquid into the cornbread mixture and poured everything into a casserole dish that I painted with extra virgin olive oil. Bake for 1 hour at 350 degrees F. Voila! It was a hit.

Squash And Apple Soup

This soup was so easy to make, it's insane. First, caramelize 1 cup of chopped leeks. (Use only the white part---that's 3 leeks...)

Then I caramelized some butternut squash in EVO oil. To make things easy, I bought the squash already peeled and cut from Whole Foods Market. That made it painfully easy! Then add a little soup stock to finish cooking the squash. This time, I also added one big apple. After everything is fork tender, I processed the leek-squash-apple mixture in my Cuisinart. I already had some free range chicken stock in a soup pot and all I had to do was add the processed mixture. Add spices of your choice. I added 1/4 cup of maple syrup, ground white pepper, sea salt, and a little cumin and nutmeg. Then I creamed it with half and half. Correct seasonings before you serve. Everybody loved it!

Overwhelmed.... Again

All my children will be home today. I am so excited. But overwhelmed. I just finished my fifth load of laundry and I'm not done! I had 7 college students, 3 boys and 4 girls over the weekend. I set up 3 aerobeds, 1 trundle bed and 2 beds. Yesterday, I deflated all the aerobeds, stripped all the beds and laundered loads of sheets, blankets, towels and quilts. Egadz. My back is sore. I also put together a brand new portable playpen/changing table/bassinet all by myself. Then I unpacked a spankin' new LCD television/DVD player combination. Got that baby hooked up good. The most challenging task was, amazingly, installing my new Mighty Mouse wireless Mac Mouse. Turns out my OS needs updating to install the extra features. Nevertheless, this new mouse works like a charm. I love the tiny, scrolly wheel. What's next in my list? Yikes. I am exhausted.



Today, I have a long list of groceries to pick up. I am going to start cooking for Thanksgiving today. I am making it easy. Turkey will be brined tomorrow and then stashed in the roaster early Thursday morning. Yams will be mashed, prepared and ready for the oven. Fruit salad will be in the fridge. Squash will be processed and ready to be made into bisque on Thursday. I am going to boil the potatoes already so all we have to do is smash it on Thursday. Pies have been ordered. Ice cream in the freezer. Breads will be picked up from the bakery on Wednesday. I am setting the table on Wednesday night. It'll be good.



Then on Thursday, after the meal is over, I am going to sit and crash and watch foreign movies with the kids. Clean-up....not for me. I'll leave that up to everybody else. And then soak in the joy of being together. Good plan.



I'll make sure I take pictures. Right now, I need another xanax. I think I dreamed yesterday happened.

After The Celebration

The house is quiet now. After a fun sushi lunch, Kurt and I drove the last of our PSHS guest to the airport to catch his plane back to Minnesota. I've finished picking up the house, stripped the beds, started laundering the linens and towels, vacuumed the floors and scrubbed the kitchen sink. My hands feel like sandpaper. It's unsettling. I rub hand creme on them to try and alleviate the dryness to no avail. It is getting dark and from where I sit, I can see planes flying across the sky---a fringe benefit of having a house overlooking the airport flight paths. It's the stacking hour and I can see a row of bright lights quietly and deliberately following an invisible path towards a common destination. For a brief moment, I am mesmerized by the thought that there are literally thousands of humans being transported across the sky, each living meaningful lives, each with loved ones and all contained and ensconced in aircrafts magically suspended in air hundreds of feet above the earth piloted by another human being. I was glad that by this time, all my friends have arrived safely to their various destinations. It is a strange and wondrous world we live in--and an awesome time to be alive. Since Thursday of last week, FIFTEEN chums from Philippine Science High School have met and laughed together. Some brought their spouses and significant partners. Two brought their daughters. Some stayed for only a few hours. But each one leaving hopefully, with their lives forever changed for the better. It has been a wonderful time. Last Saturday evening, me and four of my girl-chums spent the night together after the dinner party. As we sat together in our pajamas, make-up washed off and eyes barely open, we fought sleep and fatigue just to stretch our time together....some of us not wanting to retire first for fear that we might miss something. Our girl talk ended at 4 am. I felt so much closer to my friends after hearing their life stories, their perceptions, their fears and their victories. Clearly we are now seasoned and savvy women. Experience does that. And time. My life clearly is better because of my association with them. It is so amazing to me that I don't remember having any kind of meaningful interaction with most of the 'boys' when we were in high school. In some instances, I don't even remember saying even a squeak to them. But seeing them again, interacting with them and now, having some of them in my home ---well, has been lovely! I look at them and I see accomplished, kind and generous people who I consider to be great friends and in whose presence I derive great pleasure. The absence of teenage angst has been a great boon. Maturity does have its benefits.

The decade of our 50s promises to be one of celebration---if we let it. To that end, my friends are planning more opportunities to renew and invest in friendships. We will be in San Francisco the weekend of January 25. We hope to experience dining at the world famous French Laundry---that is, if we can secure reservations since there is a three month wait-list. In late February or early March, we plan to be in Oahu, Hawaii. November, next year, our friend Rolly will have another medical convention in New Orleans. We hope to congregate there was well. Much can happen during our 50th decade and we aim to create more memories together.

The investments we make with friends who knew us before we became who we are now can yield many happy returns. I am banking on it.

Overheard At The Airport

Joey arrived from Minnesota Thursday morning. He got picked up by his high school chums, Christie, Butch & Chat. He couldn't find passenger pick-up and his three friends couldn't find him. So Christie got out of the car to look for Joey. She dials his number to ascertain his whereabouts. He answers. 

Christie: Joey! Where the heck are you?

Joey: I'm here!

Christie looks across the street and there dead center was a man with a cellphone to his ear. It's Joey.

Christie: Ay porbida!

She hangs up and waits for Joey to cross the street.

Joey: I had a hard time finding passenger pick up. I was at the taxi pick up!

Christie: Let's go then!

Joey: I'm so hungry.

Christie: Shoot. We already ate. Butch, Chat and I went to dimsum at Chinatown.

J: What? I want to go to a Japanese restaurant!

C: Too bad. We can talk about it in the car. They had to make another circle around the airport. Can't park and wait.

J: Ok. Good. Since we have time, let me get something in my bag. I have something for you.

C: Presents?! Yeah. Gimme. Gimme Gimme!! What is it?

J: I got you something from Lithuania but I only got three. Chat and Les got the other two so don't be telling others in the group that I gave you this cause I don't want the others to feel bad.

C: Don't worry! I won't tell a soul!! (!?) Yippppeeee!!

J: Here.

It's a small bag. Christie opens it. It's a necklace with a pendant of amber.

C: (Shouting with glee...) AMBER? Is this amber? Thank you Joey! Does it have a bug in it?

J: Yes, it has a bug.

C: (perusing and inspecting the amber...) Where? I can't see it.

J: There! That's the bug.

C: I can't see it. It's too small. I want a big bug. Do Chat's or Leslie's have big bugs? Did I get the amber with the smallest bug?

J: That's most certainly a bug. It's obviously a bug.

C: But I can't see it! Is this furry thing the bug?

J: Yes that's the bug.

C: But it's so small. It's like a mini-mosquito.

J: What did you want? A bangaw? A horse fly?

C: Yeah. A big bug. I want to see Chat's and Leslie's. I want the one with the biggest bug.

J: Are you kidding me?

C: No. I want the amber with the biggest bug.

J. Next time, I'll get you amber with a grasshopper!

C: There's the car! Let's go!

Moral of the story: If you're a bug, don't get caught unaware....stay away from tree resins.

Of Ruth and Lucy

I get to see Lucy again this Saturday. Sunday is her big day when she receives her name and blessing from her dad. We will be driving up from Las Vegas---a good six hour drive.

I've been pondering this occasion lately. Lucy is first of the second generation from my line, to be born in the USA. She is only one quarter Filipino. She is the second generation of deRama's (my line) to be born in the covenant. Because I am the only deRama who has children, my father's line lives on only through me. That means that my children don't have cousins on my side of the family.

Lucy has blue eyes. She doesn't resemble a Filipino baby at all. One day, she will say that she has Filipino blood...and that will reference me. I am that exotic or mysterious ancestor whose legacy can be relegated to an enthusiastic ice breaker at dinner parties: "I have Filipino blood" or "I have a great-grandmother who was Filipino."

*********************************

The story of Ruth has been told many times. It has been used ad nauseum to characterize loyalty and love. Ruth, after being widowed, decides to leave Moab with her mother-in-law, Naomi. Many laud her for being loyal to Naomi...for loving her mother-in-law as if she were her own mother. Great story.

But wait. Why would a woman choose to live with her mother-in-law when she has a mother? Is that not being disloyal to your own flesh and blood? What does this "betrayal" say about Ruth?

Here's what Naomi tells her two daughters-in-law:

And Naomi said unto her two daughters in law, Go, return each to her mother’s house: the Lord deal kindly with you, as ye have dealt with the dead, and with me. The Lord grant you that ye may find rest, each of you in the house of her husband. Then she kissed them; and they lifted up their voice, and wept. (Ruth 1:7-8)

Clearly, both Ruth and Orpah had mothers....and families who would welcome them and love them. What about loyalty to their own mothers, siblings and families? Why would they be less important than Naomi who was not a Moabite but a member of the house of Judah? This definitely does not show loyalty. How can you leave your own mother to run off with your mother-in-law to live in a strange country? Where is her loyalty to her family, her mother, her family, her own blood? Is the story of Ruth and Naomi then, really about loyalty? Obviously, it is not. If not, then what?

Ruth, being a Moabite whose culture worshipped idols, was a convert to the belief system of the house of Judah. Like Naomi and her fallen husband, she believed in a Messiah. Naomi's household was of Jewish heritage living within the confines of idol worshippers in the land of Moab. And Naomi, being widowed, wanted to return to Judah to be with her own family so she can worship her God freely as a widow...as a woman without a husband. Remember that without a husband, women did not have a fighting chance to survive....much less in a foreign land and even worse, a widowed Jew living in Moab. Ruth, unlike Orpah, decided to leave her own family to be with Naomi: to embark on a long journey to Judah--a land she had never before lived in, to a culture unlike her own, to a people who spoke a language unlike her own. All this because she knew that living alone in Moab, without the support of a husband and now, a mother-in-law, she would face a difficult life living as a widow who believed in and anticipated the coming of the Messiah, the Jehovah of the Old Testament who would later be born, within a country who overwhelmingly did not share the same belief. And I'm not even delving into the details of the culture and role of a woman during these times. If we understood the culture and times, it would strike us even harder how difficult this decision had to have been for Ruth....and how acutely significant it was---ironically, another widow who would choose to live in a foreign land under the care of her mother-in-law who, I would gather, hoped that her family, her clan will take her back after years of living in Moab.

The story of Ruth and Naomi then, takes on a clearer and logical path: it is the story of a woman who had to follow her belief in the one true God---a woman who would leave the family and country she loves to be a stranger in a new land, live with a new people who worship the one true God. It then becomes a story of faith and testimony in the one true God.

In time, she will marry Boaz. And out of her loins, by her union with Boaz, three generations later would be born David who would be king. As we all know, Jesus comes from the house of David both via his 'adoptive' father Joseph and quite directly through Mary who also comes from the same ancestry.

Why am I thinking about this story? Because I can relate. I am living in a new land, speaking a language that is not my own, raising children in a new culture. And now, my children are having their own children. They are Americans. But somewhere along their genealogical line, I will pop up---like the Moabite, among the the house of Judah.

And Lucy is the first branch sprang from that fruitful bough.

A True Halloween Story

So I've been asked on numerous occasions about my uncanny ability to sense things. Last night, I was reminded of an experience that I had with Kurt's grandmother. Here's what happened:

We were living in Wymount Terrace in Provo, Utah while Kurt was going to law school at BYU. Our apartment was a very small 2 bedroom apartment. (Did I say very small? It was teeny...)



One night...in the middle of the night, I was restless and could not sleep. So I quietly got up and walked to the living room to watch television. I did not turn on the lights because I did not want to rouse Kurt and the boys who were all in deep slumber. At around 2:30 in the morning, I sensed something in the air. It's very hard to describe the feeling but it would seem like I was dreaming but I was perfectly aware of everything that was going on...in fact, I sat up. Then I sensed the presence of several 'persons' in the room. My heart started pounding and I was scared. So I said out loud;



"Should I be afraid of you guys?"



I 'heard' a response but only in my head.



"No."



So I started to get curious.



"Are you good spirits? Because I don't feel very warm and fuzzy right now."



I 'heard' this response:



"We are unfamiliar to you. But not to your sons."



Then I understood. They were all related to Kurt and my sons but not to me. They were generations of ancestors from the Faux line. At that instance, I sensed the presence of more spirits filing in and walking pass the couch where I was sitting. I was impressed that they were all looking in to Kurt and then to the boys' room and then disappearing from there. All they did was look at Kurt and the boys as if wanting to see them for the first time. I could sense the file of many spirits passing by. It lasted close to an hour. I basically just sat up and 'watched' as this happened. None of them deviated from just filing in, walking pass me and then looking in at the boys and at Kurt. Towards around 3:30 am, the number of spirits began to trickle until the last one passed. My anxiety level began to wane about that time and then, everything was silent and I felt alone again. I sat for a time and then returned to my bedroom and fell asleep.



At about 7:30am, the phone rang. I roused Kurt and told him to pick up the phone because "grandma just died". I said this half-asleep and Kurt jumped out of bed and picked up the phone. It was indeed true. Grandma, Ila Faux, passed that morning, if I remember right, at around 3:30am. After he hung up the phone, he asked me how I knew. I began to tell him what happen just a few hours ago.

I've had other similar experiences. I had a fantastic experience with my father on one occasion.

But that's another story for another time.

I Think Too Much

During a girls' only lunch, someone made a comment that I "think too much." This is not the first time I've been accused of this heinous thing. It's a congenital disorder that I've struggled with for decades.

I am not an unusually intelligent person. I'd say I'm pretty smart. And I'm not dumb either. But I have to admit that I have a tendency to over-think things through. Worst of all, I do over-analyze. That's the downside of my overactive thinking. It can be devastating. Sometimes, my mind races through various scenarios and perspectives and before you know it, I am haplessly emotionally invested in an event or a notion before anyone else gets there. It can be unnerving when I'm the first one to react to something and I start crying before anyone else even realizes that there's something to cry about. By then, that moment is sucked out because everybody's attention is drawn to my reaction and nobody knows why I've been reduced to this babbling idiot because the cause will have simply poofed, vanished.



Variables that are often overlooked by or are invisible to others are very clear and obvious to me. So, before anyone realizes the problem, I will have already reacted---oftentimes, quite ridiculously. So I've learned to hold things in. That produces a side-effect that is very undesirable: depression. As things mount in my head and I realize that there's nothing that can be done but let things happen, I stew. Many times, people get gobbsmacked at how ridiculous my thinking gets.

But there are also very good advantages. I tend to over-analyze myself. So I consistently try to find better ways of being me. Many times, I fail at the execution of my plans to alter negative behaviour but sometimes....I get it and get it good. Those are good days. I tend to keep evaluating my goals daily, asking myself questions about how I comported myself during the day and then figuring out how to be better. I also like to find patterns of my own behaviour that need squashing. The older I get, the more frightened I am that my bad patterns will become permanent. You know that saying: you can't teach an old dog new tricks. Well, this dog (or female dog, if you wish....) wants to learn new and better tricks. And if I am not on board, I will be consigned to become....well, a very old and cranky female dog.



Another advantage is that I don't have to be surprised when what's inevitable by my vista, happens. Because I think too much, I can see patterns where others can't. When I was younger, I often tried to control the outcomes of these patterns. But as time went by, I realized that you can't control anything outside your person without paying a hefty price. So, I sometimes amuse myself just waiting....and watching as the predicted outcomes happen. This is probably the most difficult aspect of my disease because giving up that control requires a bundle of serenity that I never had. But I find that the more I give up, the more I find peace....which is, in a huge way, strange.



Thinking too much, while it very well IS a handicap for me, can be my biggest and best gift if I can learn to harness its overbearing power into a power for good. It's akin to finding out that you can fly but don't know how to navigate, control and set boundaries. Therein lies my constant challenge.



I need to take my brain to the spa.

Autumn Meanderings

I went out and shopped for Fall decorations so my house will look festive for Thanksgiving. (See my lame & banal attempt on left...) I feel like I am losing a lot of my creativity and my mind can only come up with tired ideas. I need a change of scenery.

Whenever the "ber" months sweep by, I am always beset by a certain melancholy. The dropping of the temperature probably does that. All of a sudden, I have a sudden yearning to sip a mug of smooth, hot chocolate with mini-marshmallows by the fireplace while I get cozy under a plump woolen blanket and watch a mindless movie on the telly. Next week, we turn our clocks back for daylight-savings time. I think it's stupid that we do this. This means that by 3:30pm, it'll be dusk and dreary. Egadz. Who thought of that? (It's 3 days later and I just found out that daylight saving time was instigated by....egadz....Benjamin Franklin!)
All things have seasons and cycles. I do find that truth absolutely amazing. If one would just sit down and think about it, (woops, I am thinking again!) inevitably, one would feel the presence of Deity. It is a perfect concept. There are an endless array of cycles in the world above, below and in us that beg observation and pondering.

Last week, we met with our financial planner. It was jarring to suddenly be faced with some realities that we know about but can't necessarily relate to: aging, mortality, death. The reality is, either Kurt or I will eventually experience losing the other. That eventually had to be addressed. In the back of my mind, I couldn't accept that this will happen. Not may happen---will happen. And yet, I see cycles happening all round me that prove this inevitability.

While having lunch yesterday with my best friend, we prattled about cosmetic procedures. Then she said that I shouldn't wait until I'm 60 to get it done. 60! That sounds so old and unreachable. But I'm 50 now and it sure went fast. Time to call the doctor.

I don't believe that the best opportunities happen only in youth---that our futures are made and set by the choices that we make in our youth. I believe that every season is full of a thousand opportunities. Age brings wisdom to those to seek it and opportunities for change and reinvention still do exist even at 50...and I anticipate the same at 100....or even at the moment that I take my last breath. This I know is true because with every breath we take, there is an opportunity for insight, understanding and clarity. Pure knowledge can happen in the twinkling of an eye... and that knowledge can be elusive in other seasons when, for instance, we get too busy grabbing life's gifts and experiences in our youth. There is much to look forward to.

The Greatest Gift

I get to have dinner with some donors and potential donors for Brigham Young University tonight. It's so bizarre to think that I get to be one of the few who get to sit down and dine with a university president and a dozen other people who are movers and shakers. There are lawyers, real estate developers, a judge magistrate, a private consultant....men and women who have built substantial careers and have made a name for themselves. It's been an interesting journey. I've known many of them at least for nearly 15 years or more. I've seen some of their struggles and challenges and how they've coped or overcome them. Some have had reversals of fortune and have had to build again. Some have had family or physical challenges. But there is a common constant among them---they've all stayed close to the church despite seeming difficulties. 

We've been on both sides of the fence of having and not having. Nevermind that I came from a "third world country" and know what it's like to---live without electricity or water. Kurt and I married when we were college students and had two small toddlers when we started law school. I've lined up for surplus cheese and received help from the WIC program: receiving free milk, bread...some basic items for free---a potentially humiliating prospect but I got over it. I learned to sew, shopped at second-hand stores, clipped coupons, baby-sat to get a few extra bucks. Yeah, I know what it's like to live from paycheck to paycheck. Or not have one. And I know what it's like to start a business without any capital....to stretch that hamburger for another meal. I can safely say that having is better. Much, much better.

Some people assert that money is evil. I can't really buy into that mode of thinking. It is simply fear and a lack of faith that makes one think that way. Assigning an object a measure of morality is insane. Money can't make men greedy. Money can't make us haughty or proud. Money can't push us to do evil. It's people---it's us! The responsibility lies with us---not an inanimate object.

At times we judge people harshly because they happen to achieve some measure of success financially. We'd like to think that perhaps they didn't deserve their 'luck'. Perhaps we'd like to think that they're really miserable people underneath all that success. We'd like to think that they're the type of people who seek riches and not God or lack spiritual direction. Sometimes, we'd like to focus on their imperfections, their families, their other failures. We like to think that people divorce because they have money---not realizing that those who have financial difficulties also get divorces or have problems with their teenagers. We like to criticize their children, their own achievements, failures or difficulties, then blame having money for their ills. Or, we criticize their parenting skills; basing their skills or lack thereof on how much they give to their children or how much they withhold. Moreover, we'd like to think that they've somehow 'changed' and we can't be their friends anymore. Or worse, we secretly wish they will just eventually fail so that God can teach them a lesson or two--not realizing that failures do not necessarily reflect evil or misdeeds but rather, just parts of life's journeys. The rain falls on both evil and good men and many times, what we deem as 'failures' may actually have enormous blessings behind them. Judging others thus becomes such a useless and counter-productive exercise that makes us either bitter or proud.

Then there are times when we judge people harshly because they seem to lack financially. We'd like to think that their lot is due to their laziness, lack of vision or confidence. Some even think that God is punishing them for whatever misdeed or evil that they committed not thinking that many wealthy people may have done the same evil and reap the appropriate consequences in ways that we perhaps don't see. We'd like to equate having wealth or the lack of it with goodness or evil. Neither schools of thought can offer peace nor understanding for others.

My opinion is that having or not having has nothing to do with good nor evil. It's again, us....people, who make choices, not wealth itself or the lack of it thereof. Evil men will still be evil with or without money. Unhappy people will still be unhappy wherever they are on that proverbial ladder of life. Guilt, bitterness, anger or cynicism can all exist in whatever station of life we are in and having money or lacking it don't necessarily aid in their cultivation or eviction.

All things come from a greater and higher power. And just as quickly as blessings are given, they can also be taken away. I know the power of the widow's mite. There will always be someone wealthier, prettier or more talented. And conversely, there will also be someone less wealthy, less attractive or whose talents are not as shiny. The challenge is to love one another no matter where we are in life---up, down, comfortable or challenged; to see the good in all of us; to support and comfort each other; to feel each other's pain or joy; to find each other's strengths; just to love. It is the greatest of all gifts. It is what we all need to achieve. It is the great equalizer.