Monthly Archives: December 2010

Homebody

Less than a year after we started dating, my husband brought me home to meet his parents during the winter break. Ever since that year, we have been spending Christmas at my in-laws in Maryland. The fact that my folks are not in the U.S. simplifies things since we don’t have to fight over which set of grandparents to visit. And in all honesty, even if my folks were here, I would have supported the idea of celebarting Christmas with my in-laws because they are the Christian and this is a holiday that holds a special meaning for them, especially my mother-in-law.

It does get a bit claustrophobic whenever I am here because we do not do anything. We sit around the house and enjoy each other’s company. We read and we watch movies on DVDs. This is all fine and dandy for the first three days. After that, I would get myself a severe case of cabin fever, knowing that Washington D.C. is only a 45-minute train ride away.

I do lobby for a visit to the Smithsonian every year. This year we did the tour of the White House, finally, and I even managed to force the husband and brother-in-law to have lunch in Dupont Circle. Can you believe it? I have been coming to Maryland since 1995, and this was the first time I had eaten there. If not for Dufmanno, I would not have known a place as cool as Adams Morgan existed.

Yes, I know every guidebook mentions all the cool neighborhoods. In my feeble defense, when your in-laws LIVE so close to D.C. you kind of do not feel the need to pick up a tourist-y guidebook…

I have never been to Georgetown. There. That should settle how pathetic it is. I am. We are.

I love them dearly but these people are homebodies.

Example 1: When we visited my husband’s grandmother and aunt in a Boston suburb in 1996, I found out that my husband and his brother had only been to Boston once. ONCE. They had been visiting the grandmother EVERY SINGLE YEAR and the aunt’s house is a mere 10-minute drive to a T station.

Example 2: The family gets together for one week every summer at the Outer Banks. We go to the beach and read. That’s it. The highlight will be having Chinese take-out one night and going to the 4-screen movie theatre one afternoon.

What’s more: they make me feel so guilty, like there is something wrong with me, for wanting to GET OUT.

On the third day of our trip here, I volunteered to go to the store, perhaps with too much enthusiasm. My mother-in-law, let me preface with this, a very kind and gentle person whom I get along famously well with and from whose mouth I have never heard of an ill word of others, jokingly commented, “You are itching to get out of the house, aren’t you?” “No. Me? Noooo. I just thought I’d go to the store for you.” “It’s ok. We don’t need anything right now.”

I don’t even feel comfortable saying, “I am going to Starbucks” because why do you need to go spend that money if you can have a perfectly good cup of coffee at home? Unless you are a spoiled spendthrift. And why do you need to leave the house when you don’t need anything? Unless you dislike the company of the people around you.

So that’s what I have been doing so far ever since we got here last Tuesday. RELAXING. There were days when I did not see the sky at all. It seriously stresses me out to no end. I feel so restless.

I am just a bad case of spontaneous combustion waiting to happen.

I hope I don’t trigger the alarm when I go through the airport security tomorrow.

Quickly. Group Hug!

Strangers are just friends waiting to happen. — Rod McKuen

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

I almost missed the postscript. And when I first read it, I was upset that he asked for $100 cash! "You little...!" I thought. I burst out laughing when I saw the instruction to Santa. Despite everything, I did not ruin this child. I think.

Dear Friends,

Yes, you dread this moment of sappiness and it has come. No, seriously, I am so blessed to be surrounded by people who show me what the true human spirit of giving and caring is, not just around Christmas, but on a daily basis.

In the past year, I have been fortunate enough to get to know many of you better through words and some, through images (although to my disappointment, nothing risqué. We need to work on that, my friends!), from all over the world. I have been even more fortunate to see a few of you materialize in the real 3D world. Do you know how awesome that is? It means that I would have more than one Cora waiting next to my Ducati right outside of Flynn’s Arcade when I came out of The Grid if I were Sam Flynn.

I am so grateful for the community I have found and become part of that my heart aches every time I think about it. I find it easier for me to breathe and to be myself every day because of this place right here.

I want to wish those who celebrate it a Merry Christmas and those who don’t, a wonderful long weekend and/or vacation. And for my Jewish friends, enjoy the movies and the Chinese! And you know, by Chinese I mean the food, not ME.

And to all, unless you are a Jehovahs Witness, a HAPPY NEW YEAR!

.

On a Clear Day in DC

At the in-laws. Can’t talk. I mean, it will not look too good if I remain attached to my laptop or my Blackberry or my fake iPhone, aka CONNECTED, the way I am at home. I can hide in the bathroom and tweet though.*

* I am absolutely not kidding about hiding and tweeting from the restroom… I sent a picture of the ladies room from Old Ebbitt to Wicked Shawn because she has been made to notice my strange habit of checking out ladies rooms wherever I go. I get excited about nice bathrooms…

And I absolutely love restrooms that make political statements, but only if they are left-leaning, liberal ones like those at the Luna Grill & Diner in Dupont Circle.

.

So we “visited” the White House today. It was over in 30 minutes. No sightings of President Obama. I was absolutely crushed over that. We did get to see all the fancy rooms looking even fancier now with all the Christmas decorations. (This of course begged the question of: What do people SEE when there is no Christmas tree inside every single room?) We spent more time in the UNofficial gift shop across the street including having our pictures taken with the cardboard POTUS and the First Lady. Apparently, one of the requisite poses is of the famous photo taken of JFK at the Oval Office with John Jr. poking his head out through underneath the desk. Is it just me or has Monica Lewinsky forever ruined that iconic image for you too?

Nothing is allowed when you tour the White House; you are allowed basically your cellphone (which has to be turned off), wallet and car keys. When I saw a sign that says

PASSHOLDERS BEYOND THIS POINT ONLY.

I was so tempted to risk being tackled by the secret service and take a picture of it, for you, because the P was missing. Instead I have this underwhelming photo to show for:

.

.

.

As a result of our trip to the White House, I spent the entire day out and about, including a jaunt to the trendy Dupont Circle, without my purse, i.e. NO lip balm, NO lipstick, NO compact, NO hairbrush, NO Kleenex, NO hand lotion, NO touch-up.

The horror.

I did take way too many pictures of the Washington Monument. What? I like reading the articles.

.

.

.

This is turning into a travelogue, so I will stop, BUT not before I show you the most interesting thing I saw today. Kudos to my husband for pointing it out as a good blogging fodder:

At the Air and Space Museum, there is a small exhibit calling your attention with the intriguing question:

.

Can you be a Stewardess in the early 1950s?

with 8 flaps emblazoned with categories such as Height, Weight, Age, Race, Marital Status, Education, Appearances.

5’2″ to 5’6″, 135 lbs. max, White, Never married, 2-year college or registered nurse, AND… [our favorite] Attractive – “Just below Hollywood” standards.

I have a phone (with a camera, like every other phone nowadays) and I am not afraid to use it…

.

Procrastinating

It is 3:50 am.

I am a night owl.

I think I am so by necessity: when I was in high school, it was necessary to stay up and “burn the midnight oil” so to speak in order to deal with all the tests and homework that Asian countries are so famous for; in college, I stayed up because drinking and shooting breeze while sitting on the curb in the middle of the night was all kinds of awesome; in grad school, I stayed up because I lived in a dorm room that was just wide enough for the pullout bed and therefore I stayed out of it as late as possible so I would not be swallowed up by the monster of loneliness; now I stay up because the wee hours are the only time that is my time. Quiet time. MINE. I can enjoy being with myself, the quiet inside my head.

I realized one of the reasons I love Christmas so much is because during this time, the soft glow from the Christmas tree keeps me company when I putter around the house. It is simply magical. In the glowing light, even folding the laundry is fun.

Yes I said that.

Indeed, a lot of things are more fun when I can take my time doing it, in complete silence, without being needed.

I am hoping this list of things includes packing because our flight is this morning and I have not even started packing yet. I have been doing everything else but that. But of course, with all this NOT PACKING, I failed to follow the Lunar Eclipse. But I made it up by watching this video a few times while giggling to myself. In the dark. In the soft glow cast by the tree yonder…

Total Eclipse of the Heart: Literal Video Version

Outside is covered in a nice thick layer of fresh snow. Inside is warm and dark except the tree. It is perfect and I wish it would last, that I could continue to not pack.

4:15 am now.

Off to fold the laundry.

Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!

As in Seinfeld…

.

When I landed in the U.S. which turned out to be in the middle of corn field and not in NYC or LA, I was often trapped inside my dorm room and therefore I watched a lot of American TV. That’s probably for the better since I needed polishing on not just the English language but also American pop cultures. Nick at Night turned out to be a great teacher.

But the real Sensei for me, in terms of getting integrated into the American Pop culture, is Seinfeld.

It was a struggle for me at first. The show is full of references and references to references. I felt that I needed a secret decoder to decipher the humor underneath the banters. I knew it was funny; I just didn’t know how or why. More puzzling instead. When I finally was able to laugh at all the appropriate moments, and sometimes even at the more subtle points, I knew that I had “GOT IN” the secret club.

We went to see Jerry Seinfeld last Friday. The show was supposed to start at 7 pm, and yet, at 7:20 pm there were still a lot of people getting into their seats. Many of them were either holding a drink or obviously tipsy already. As late as 7:45 pm, there were stragglers wandering in. And throughout the night, until the show ended a little bit after 8:30 pm, people would get out of their seats to get more drinks and popcorn.

Is it just me? Is this nothing uncommon when it comes to standup comedies even though the venue is Chicago Theatre and now some comedy club in a basement somewhere?

.

.

I really had fun at the show. I laughed so hard, my stomach hurt, and I found it hard to breath quite often. In fact, my husband told me after the show that he was surprised by how loud my laughter could be (or did he use the word “cackle”? Anyway, after 14 years of marriage, I was surprised that he was surprised by anything. Wow.) I had to press on my temples at several particularly hilarious yet insightful observations that he made for fear that my head might burst from the suppressed urge to jump up and down in vehement agreement.

One example: (Paraphrased below as usual… for I have no photographic memory…)

The problem with being a father is that our role is not clear. A kid’s role? Very clear. A father’s role? FUZZY. We have no idea what we are supposed to do. In fact, there are only two things that are clearly what fathers are expected to do. One is to come home every night, drop your bag on the floor, and yell, “Daddy’s home!” and then expect everybody in the house to drop whatever they are doing and come running.

The other one is AVOIDANCE. We practice avoidance so nobody can see us. (I can’t quite remember what exactly he said in the middle here… It’s funny. Just trust me on this one.)  “WHERE IS YOUR FATHER?” This question is the most often asked inside the house. (At this line I howled with laughter because it is damn true in my household. At the same time I felt grateful towards Seinfeld because it was damn nice to know I am not alone in dealing with the “Husband in Hiding” issue…) … GOLF stands for GET OUT LEAVE FAMILY…

.

.

Jerry asked the audience to throw questions at him at the end, and it became obvious that many in the audience were flat out drunk. One guy kept on yelling Festivus! Some gal repeated what she had yelled at the beginning of the show, “Jerry I love you you are the best you are the funniest” (and she did not know when to stop). A very blonde and young girl sitting in the first row told Jerry that she has been watching his show since 1995. Jerry said, “Yes, and I have been on TV for the 15 years before that!” Again, this one did not know when to stop either. She went on full gushing mode. “But I think you are the best and the funniest… blah blah blah.”

“If you turn around now,” Jerry had to interrupt her, “you’ll see that there are other people in this room. It is not just you and me here.” He then tried to make the whole situation funnier for the rest of us, “Sometimes people sitting in the front row are so blinded by their power…”

The question of whether he plans to do another TV show was brought up, Jerry said, “To be honest with you: I am old, rich and tired.” He now gets up in the morning sitting at the kitchen counter with his three kids eating cereals while watching Sesame Street. “I would watch Elmo and laugh at his antics, and I’d thought to myself, ‘Yeah. Let him bust his red furry ass…'”

Some guy from the DRUNK section yelled out, “DO YOU THINK YOU ARE FUNNY?”

Awkward silence in the audience. I guess most people were holding their breath at that somewhat rude question.

“I don’t know. It really doesn’t matter what I think. You guys are the ones paying for the tickets!” At that, thunderous applause.

There is no shame on the bandwagon if it is for a worthy cause

WARNING: Wagon jumping here!

.

.

I learned of Beads of Courage from BugginWord, a charity that I have never heard of until today. The main program is based on a concept so “simple” yet so brilliant (’cause many probably thought to themselves: “Why didn’t anybody think of this sooner?!”) that is making a huge impact on the lives of young cancer patients directly.

The idea is straightforward:

Give beads to children coping with cancer and other serious illness. Allow them to tell their stories through these beads.

I was doubtful at first. “Beads?” I thought to myself, immediately conjuring up the images of teddy bears given to children in the hospitals around the world during Christmas season. Teddy Bears are nice. Yes. But I can only imagine the comfort to be temporary. How is it going to make any ACTUAL difference? And with BEADS?

Watch this video segment from CBS Morning News and you will understand why I was totally blown away by and could not stop telling anybody about what this organization is doing for children around the world and the power of, yes, beads.

(Warning: Elly wrote “Prepare to cry” after the link. I did not heed her warning for I was an idiot this morning. Be warned.)

Ants

I have been thinking about ants a lot lately. Or rather, the absence of ants. It probably has a lot to do with all the holiday-related activities happening in this house: cookie baking, frosting, sprinkling, gingerbread house decorating. Every time when I see Mr. Monk walking around with a sugar cookie that he has added frosting and sprinkles to, I wince and say to him, “You are lucky we don’t have ants in this house.”

After saying that, I then half expect the ants to show up just to teach us a lesson. Hubris! I live in its shadow.

Moments like this remind me that one of the things about living in America I am most grateful for, in addition to the awesome return policy in most stores, is the lack of ants. The lack of paranoia that a single piece of crumb would attract a horde of ants within five minutes. And there are a lot of crumbs in this house. My kids are like crumb machines; their mouths, as what mothers in Taiwan would say, are like a chipped bowl.

Growing up in Taiwan, I was always wary of leaving crumbs on the floor partly because my mother was vigilant in covering up food and picking up crumbs while yelling “The ants will come and move you back to their colony at night!” and partly because swarms of ants really creep me out. Like the flying German cockroaches, ants are common in houses (i.e. apartments) in Taiwan, at least the places I lived in growing up. It does not matter how clean your house is, they still show up uninvited.

I remember watching wayward ants move along the cracks on the wall as I studied late at night. I followed their trajectories, mesmerized. The wall must be immense from their perspective, like traversing a desert plain. How do they find their friends? Sometimes I would set up “road blocks” by holding my ruler against the wall, forcing the lone ant to change her direction. Again. And again.

Now that I started down the memory lane, I realized that one of my most vivid childhood memories was also one of my greatest childhood traumas:

My mother came home one day from her job at the hotel with a rare treat: a piece of Black Forest Cake. A hotel guest had given my mother the leftover from their party. I had never owned something so extravagant in my life (at that time): The cake was fancifully decorated with delicate chocolate shavings with a cherry perching on top of a tower of whipped cream. It was too beautiful to be eaten and I could not bring myself to cause the cake to disappear. I left it out on the dinner table so I could admire it in all its glory and take my time to savor it later.

I fell asleep before I had the chance.

As soon as I opened my eyes the next morning, I remembered my cake! I put my face right next to it, Ah, CAKE! but noticed that the chocolate sprinkles were moving around…

My father ran to the scene following my scream. He took a lighter and got rid of the ants covering the entire cake. “Here. See? Your cake is ok again.”

“NOOOOOO!!!!!” I was inconsolable. “It is NOT!”

“Look! It tastes just as good.” He took a spoonful of the cake and put it in his mouth to show that the cake was still edible.

All I could do was cry as my father kept on taking a bite off the cake to convince me to try.

I can’t remember how long it took me to recover from the shock. But to this day, whenever I remember that scene, I can still feel the overwhelming sense of regret. If only.

As a grown-up, when I am at a bakery or a coffee shop, I can’t help but order a piece of Black Forest Cake if it is available. But somehow it never tastes as good as the piece that I had never tasted.

.

Getting into the Holiday Spirit

Work.

“Single mother” for two weeks.

Business trip.

Sick.

Child hurting his foot by doing backflip on concrete floor.

Suspicion of a broken foot.

X-ray. Orthopedic surgeon.

Good news: Not broken.

Bad news: No other cure but time for the pain.

Advent Calendar = Sweets first thing in the morning.

Over-purchase of cookie doughs from school fundraising not realizing the size of the tub AND the requirement to freeze them.

Emergency!

Baked cookies = Sweets throughout the day.

Lots of baked cookies = HYPER! for kids. = Coma + Sense of self-loathing. For me.

Keen awareness of the locations of all my sinuses.

Avid supporter of the Kleenex industry.

Work.

Tendency to procrastinate.

Dying. To. Sleep.

But. Can’t.

Sum(A1:A20) = Massive SCROOGEdom = Major Cop-out with Pictures…

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Here's what I had to say to the first snow this season...

.