It's Over

I just finished reading the culmination of the Harry Potter adventure.



Blimey!!!!

“Excuse me, but…

…has anyone turned in a chicken?” “A chicken?” “Yeah, a roast chicken.”

That’s how my brief encounter with the Safeway checkout clerk began. Little did I know that a silly question like that would mark the beginning of an experience that would stir in me a renewed hope for humanity.

Flashback to 90 minutes prior… After being turned away from our usual grocery destination, Albertsons – which, a bubbly aproned teenager revealed, was “like” closed until the weekend when it will reopen as a Lucky Store – I headed down the street to Safeway. I spent the next hour meandering through the less familiar aisles, taking longer than usual to find the items on my list and read the nutrition labels of the brands that were on sale. I was quite pleased to have, for the first time, brought enough canvas bags (thanks, Sweetie!) to contain everything that I bought. Well, almost everything. The roast chicken, which came in its own carrier, didn't need a bag. It claimed the shotgun seat on my cart while the bulging canvas bags rode beneath it to the car.

As I hummed to myself while emptying the bags onto the kitchen counter at home, I suddenly stopped and gasped, “Where's the chicken?!” I rewound the filmstrip of my most recent memory and grimaced – through an out-of-body experience – as I watched myself wheel the cart back to the rack outside Safeway and abandon the roast chicken, still nestled shotgun.

And then there I was, sheepishly asking the guy if he had seen my missing dinner. He unsuccessfully stifled a grin, then asked me to follow him to a rusty cart containing what looked like a neglected groceries graveyard. We poked around a large pile of hot dog buns, shampoo, and other random items. No chicken. I was thinking to myself, “well, I’ll get another one,…or we’ll go out for dinner…” when the clerk leaned in and said, “Why don’t you go to the deli, get another one, and come out through my line.” I stared at him, wide-eyed, and whispered slowly, “You’re going to give me another chicken?” He nodded benevolently.

I have no idea whether he was in a position of authority to do it -- he looked 15 -- but regardless, this simple gesture had me beaming as I left the store.

Pursuit of Happyness

Have you watched it yet? We gave it 5 stars on Netflix. (Spoiler Alert!) An inspiring and frustrating story… “Inspiring”, in that it tells how one person’s endurance and perseverance really paid off; and “frustrating” because it glaringly showed the steep uphill and often unwinnable battle facing so many in down-and-out situations who are working so hard to change their predicament.

It reminded me to revisit the question, “How can I make a difference?”, a question that sometimes falls by the wayside, in the midst of other personal responsibilities, but one that I often use to keep myself in check. It’s not a matter of racking up community service points or feeling good about myself. To me, it is a moral obligation. It is unacceptable to walk by or turn away from those in need, no matter how many other responsibilities I may have. Granted, I may have fewer than most, which gives me the luxury to ponder this. But it does amaze me how easily we can compartmentalize our lives such that we can go through our days without giving a second thought to the sufferings and hardships of others. For most of us, I expect (hope) that it’s less of an apathy issue than the fact that we have our own sh*t to wrestle with.

As social beings, though, shouldn’t the welfare of others affect us in some way? Isn’t that what the “web of life” is all about, the notion that we’re all interconnected? I think so. I believe that the “pursuit of happiness” goes way beyond a personal endeavor. It reaches further towards a societal goal, where our own individual happiness is inextricably linked to the happiness of others.

“If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together.” -- 1 Corinthians 12:26

Just Pause and Lean In

I’ve promised myself that I would only write when I’m feeling inspired – not out of obligation because it’s due or it’s about time I updated this blog. I found my muse again in a contemplative early morning walk in the fog. My face is still damp and cool. A few pleasant images accompanied me home... Neighbors smiling and waving as they emerged from their houses, on their way to work or taking walks themselves, some following small dogs. Shrubbery alongside the road with twigs linked together with cobwebs, sprinkled with beads of twinkling droplets. And to think that I could have easily missed all this, if I had merely hastened my footsteps, cast my gaze downwards, or hadn’t stopped to take that closer look. The comfort of community and natural beauty right here in our backyard. Not always evident, but there nonetheless. It just takes a moment to look up, pause, and lean in...to notice so much more.

Samaritan

You accepted his offer to quench your thirst forever
Standing beside that well, all your secrets exposed
Knowing that you could trust him
Feeling assured that you were safe
What innocent faith

You were the only one who ran back to thank him
For overlooking your differences, for healing your disease
Prostrating yourself humbly at his feet
Praising loudly his unconditional love
What unbridled gratefulness

You reached out to help him without a second thought
Bandaging a stranger’s wounds, leading him to safety
Not questioning whether you should do it
Not expecting anything in return
What uninhibited grace

(An ode by Squeaks)

Georgia Peaches and Korean Hanboks

We returned to the South for a second time in a month, this time to Georgia for our cousin S.H.'s wedding. On our two-part journey to Atlanta via Chicago, we saw quite a few military personnel dressed in desert fatigues at the airports. I found myself pausing to say a quick prayer and thank them quietly as they walked by. We also noticed more blind people than we were used to as we wandered through Atlanta. Turns out that the town was hosting a National Federation of the Blind convention that week.

We stayed in downtown Atlanta, within walking distance from Centennial Olympic Park, with its leaping fountains that kept kids of all ages screaming with laughter.

We also tried a couple of great restaurants nearby – Fire of Brazil (www.fireofbrazil.com), where men called Gauchos walk around with large slabs of grilled meat on skewers and cut delicious slices of beef, lamb, chicken (you name it), for you right there at your table, to supplement their great salad buffet; and Pitty Pat’s Porch (www.pittypatsrestaurant.com), where we savored barbecued ribs, fried chicken, and blackened flounder, Southern-style.

We topped off this meal with peach cobbler a la mode for dessert. (Had to do it, considering we saw “Peachtree” everywhere we turned – Peachtree Street (more than one!), Peachtree Hotel, Peachtree Tavern,…)

The wedding was beautiful, with the ceremony set in the small town of Roswell in a round-shaped sanctuary nestled in the woods. I especially liked seeing the mothers in traditional hanboks. At the reception, held in a historic home just steps away from the church, A played the guitar and sang "This Day" (by Jadon Lavik) beautifully for the newlyweds' first dance. We were immersed in Korean during our time with his family, including the wedding, so I was doing lots of smiling and guessing what was being said based on hand gestures and facial expressions. I was careful not to look too much like I knew what was going on, though, after having to defer several friendly advances to A, who was always ready to translate for me.

From Provence with Love

We hosted S&A from France tonight. C'était géniale! Look what they got us:



I'm so pleased to know S as an adult now and meet the love of her life. While we laughed together over dinner – partially home-made (crab rangoons, stir-fried pork with green peppers, crème brulée), partially store-bought (roti chennai, beef rendang, kang kong belacan) – I found myself quite overcome by the flood of nostalgia of that summer in high school that I spent with her family in St. Brieuc. We were just children then, learning Breton dances, making jam from fresh berries that Maman had picked from the garden, S and her sister M running to meet me at the bus stop when I returned from school… Now S is planning her wedding, she and A have bought a house in the south of France (with a pool!), and M is married and expecting. That family will always hold a special place in my heart. I hope that they realize how much they've impacted my life.