Category: Thoughts

The Root Cause

Posted in Thoughts, Traveled PlacesTagged , , , , , 2 Comments

I found my mantra for 2013 while bending forward over my legs inspecting the stubby toes that protruded from my feet. Sunday morning was here again along with my weekly power vinyasa class. A grid of rainbow mats extended in all directions, defining invisible boundaries of personal space. Brandon called out from the front of the room and we began a new transition in a wave of energy.  A forest of human spines erupting through space. 

Root down. Reach up.

In vinyasa yoga, movement and breath are connected through conscious intension. The mind is aware of the body and in turn, the body is aware of movement and air flow.This morning, in the ritual of sun salutation, I became aware of my emergence into the new year. I tried to define my challenges and goals. Brandon began to speak, to relate yoga to our daily lives. My mind drifted and returned as I struggled to maintain a focused practice. Root down. 

Roots prevent trees from toppling over during harsh winds and heavy snows. They pull water and nutrients up from the ground, pry sidewalks apart and grow together in tangled balls beneath canopies of green. Roots can give humans their history or take it away. My legs become one trunk and my roots push past rubber and wood, down through the studio floor.Children without roots wander aimlessly in search of family history and a place to call home. The ceiling fan blows warm air through my branches overhead. Reach up. 

yoga_treePeople who walk with eyes skyward often benefit from an uplifted disposition. The sail attached to a sturdy mast will always capture the wind. The whispering kite has a reliable base and taut string while individuals with continued success have built a grounded foundation. We cannot choose where our roots begin or where our stories start. But we do have the power to build our roots, strengthen our base and reach toward the heavens. Dreams are only limited by the fungal disease of our self-doubt.

I leave you with my motto for the upcoming year. I hope it provides you strength as you move forward in your own life.

“Root down through the earth. Reach up to the stars. Everything is possible.”

World’s New Years Resolutions

Posted in ThoughtsTagged , , 2 Comments

The world needs some New Year’s Resolutions. With all that has happened in 2012, it’s time for us to reevaluate how we individually treat one another and collectively function as a planet. And while these thoughts might be idealistic, we are all we’ve got. Change starts with the human spirit.

The World: New Year’s Resolutions for 2013

Encourage walking.

Foster long-distance relationships between forgotten friendships.

Help neighbors rebuild a sense of community. 

Inform people that the physical capacity to have children is not a good enough reason to do so.

Create the impetus for immediate action surrounding climate change.

Give all hungry children food.

Plant more trees.

Have those with plenty give to those with few. 

Nourish creativity.

Eliminate racism and hatred.

Remind those with a soft bed to be thankful. Every night.

Breed acceptance for those who are different from what we know.

Stop all weapons from hurting people. 

Eat well.

Live within the means of the Earth.

Shower one another with renewed hope. For the future and for ourselves.

Happy New Year. 

In Honor of Children

Posted in ThoughtsTagged , , , , , , 1 Comment

563722_668210419128_1706885273_nChristmas trees in all corners of the room were laden with strands of colored lights and giant red bobbles. Garlands of greenery were strung across the fireplace mantle and red and white poinsettia plants framed an ideal location for little bottoms to sit as children smiled for flashing cameras. I was dressed in a large red and green felt tunic complete with pom-pom balls dangling from triangles below my neck. A red apron was tied loosely over the ensemble and whenever I moved, bells would jingle from the elf hat on my head.

Miniature trains ran round and round peaceful villages on table displays, past ice-skating figurines and fluffy cotton snow. Adult train conductors in grey and white-stripped overalls sat nearby in preparations for prying fingers and careless gesturing. At 4pm, the doors to Look Park’s Garden House would open to welcome families into Santa’s Trains event and exhibit.

Just 93 miles south at Sandy Hook Elementary School, a devastatingly different scene was unfolding:

[Newtown, CT] “A man killed his mother at their home and then opened fire Friday inside an elementary school, massacring 26 people, including 20 children, as youngsters cowered in fear to the sound of gunshots reverberating through the building and screams echoing over the intercom. The 20-year-old killer, carrying at least two handguns, committed suicide at the school, bringing the death toll to 28 authorities said.” -John Christoffersen, Associated Press

Sandy HookThe doors were open. Boys and girls trailed past with piping cups of hot chocolate and giant sugar cookies in each hand. Every child who wanted to see Santa had to recite his or her name for the friendly elves. Only after the children’s names were located in the “nice” book, were they allowed to scurry in line to speak with the big man himself. Santa made time for every boy and girl provided they arrived between the hours of 4pm and 8pm. The North Pole is a very long way away, after all.

“All 20 of the slain children were either 6 or 7 years old.” -CNN.com

IMG_5133Children, with mothers and fathers in tow, skipped aimlessly from one shiny new thing to another. They occupied a world of red and green wonderment; confident their guardians would produce hot chocolate, mittens and new bracelets at a moments notice. These mothers and fathers had expectations too. Expectations that their young child would grow up, make mistakes and eventually make them proud. And they also expect to be outlived by their toddling 6 year old as this is the natural way of things.

I stood next to the artificial white Christmas tree with pink lights and cupcake ornaments, overheating in my extra large elf costume. In this magical holiday display, children existed to be loved and to love in return. in this moment, nothing matters beyond the exit doors and cold December air.

“Staffers hailed as heroes- A worker who turned on the intercom, alerting others in the building that something was very wrong. A custodian who risked his life by running through the halls warning of danger. A clerk who led 18 children on their hands and knees to safety, then gave them paper and crayons to keep them calm and quiet.” -Associated Press

I have no answers for “why” the shooting and lives of 27 innocent souls were taken on Friday December 14th. But I do know that these children are our children, America’s children. Sandy Hook is every school in every town. As a former child and future parent, I send my prayers to every family who must now fill a hole where a former loved one used to reside. We raise you up on our shoulders and hope you find some inner peace in the coming months and all the months after that.

This holiday season and every season, hug those closest to you and sent your warmth out to estranged family members, forgotten friends and complete strangers. At the end of the
day, we must go on living as if we have years and years to fill with happy memories. It is our responsibility to live for those who cannot and for those who have forgotten how to try. 

For more information, receive guidance or make a donation, visit Help for victims of Sandy Hook.

Flying High

Posted in Thoughts, Traveled PlacesTagged , , 2 Comments

The skin inside my nose tingles just before I’m about to cry. It’s slightly uncomfortable but not a bodily function I can control. The sensation only lasts a couple of seconds, acting as a reminder that my emotional state is being challenged.

Strolling through Bradley International Airport gave my nostrils the same brief sensation, catching me off guard. I doubted any other security employees or fellow travelers felt a strong emotional connection to Gate 29 or the sprinkling of Dunkin’ Donut stands with sleepy-eyed baristas. But there is something about airports-about the precipice of travel- that gives me a feeling a pure bliss. Every wheely suitcase is going somewhere new. Every plane, every seat is stuffed with possibilities of the unknown. “Where are you going?” I want to stop and ask every family and businessman who shuffles by. “Do you see how beautiful it is to jump on a plane and fly?”

So as I sip my latte and look out over the Tarmac, I wish you the feeling of travel on this chilly December morning. For with travel comes the abundance of hope and possibility to challenged hidden preconceived notions about the world. Whether you’ve never flown or have visited every country, the ability to see newness and journey in life should not be overlooked. After all, life is as much about the journey as the destination isn’t it?

20121207-085428.jpg

Food Before a Storm

Posted in Food, ThoughtsTagged , , , , , , , 3 Comments

The month of November has arrived, quietly, like a cat on silent paws. We have survived one storm and are preparing for the next. One stole power from millions of homes, caused great destruction and left New York City under water. The other storm will make landfall on November 6th, causing just as much preparation, fierce winds and long-lasting consequences.

On Monday, all the schools closed early as western Massachusetts waited in anxious anticipation of Sandy’s fury. Those that remembered the Halloween snow storm a year ago, who had gone 10 days without power, stocked up on bottled water and spare generators. Would this storm be worse than before? 

My house had prepared too. Pots were filled with water when I arrived home and a fire was crackling in our wood stove. I started the dinner preparations and soon all of us were cutting, washing or stirring. Roasted parsnips, carrots and eggplant. Quinoa. Red wine and walnut cream roll for dessert. As the wind picked up and the rain began to beat against the house, we feasted in the warmth of our kitchen. But how were my friends closer to the storm? 

Me: Ah! I just saw that 2.2 million people lost power. Be safe!

Jen: I’m baking homemade oatmeal peanut butter cookies for the storm.

Two college friends, miles apart, were preparing for Frankenstorm in the same way–by eating. I watched recipes for soups, baked goods and cookies fly down my Twitter feed set to #sandy. Online news articles discussed the need for comfort foods before a storm. Apparently my little house wasn’t the only one stocking up by stuffing our faces.

How old is this tradition? The question brings us back to the second storm but not to foreign policy, woman’s rights or gun control. The Fannie Farmer Cookbook educates best, “Loaf cakes made with yeast were popular in New England…as far back as the early 1800’s. Election cake (also know as March Meeting Cake) was often baked on election days and allegedly sold and served only to those who voted a straight ticket. The loaf is deliciously moist and spicy.”

The Election Cake has cloves, mace, nutmeg, and hidden tastes of dried figs. On Tuesday, I plan to sink my teeth into a slice regardless of the political outcome, consequences of climate change or increased hour of daylight savings time. With such uncertainty, what else can we do but surround ourselves with friends and good food?

 

To My Parents

Posted in ThoughtsTagged , , , , 4 Comments

My parents dropped my car off today, complete with new radiator hose and spare keys. We sat in my living room, judged one another, and danced around the restaurant choice for the evening. I don’t care. Where do you want to eat? With Korean as the winning option, the Tsukada clan hopped in the car and sloshed through the light drizzle into town. Conversation picked up, the eyes stopped rolling and we settled into our normal routine of recent news and internal thoughts. After a quick ice cream stop, my father revved up the car and before I knew it, I was back on my porch waving goodbye into the darkness. It was a typical evening of kim chi and banana walnut ice cream except that today was my parents’ 24th wedding anniversary. 

“I can’t believe it’s been that long,” my mom commented while my father nodded from the driver’s seat. “You wonder where the time has gone.”

Twenty-four years of time that stemmed from an autumn day in Ticonderoga, NY when two people took a leap of faith. It was a small leap that, in some ways, rivaled the nerve-racking trepidation of Felix Baumgartner before his 23 mile free fall to break the speed of sound.

And so, my dear reader–we are gathered online today to celebrate the marriage of two people who mean so very much to one person in particular. Me.

“Thank you for spending your precious 24th wedding anniversary with your only daughter. Thank you for making her feel, every single day, that she is worthy of your love. Thank you for giving her the freedom to live on her own and the permission to come home whenever she needs. Thank you for deciding to move to New York City, to work in the World Trade Towers, and to meet one another. Thank you for finding the love and trust needed to start a family and keep that family strong, now and always.”

Oh stop crying. It’s always easier to be sentimental about your parents AFTER they’ve left your house.

*And thank you for finding the spelling, tense and grammar mistakes in every blog post. Every single one.

Stage in my life

Posted in College Graduate Problems, Thoughts, Traveled PlacesLeave a comment

“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts”

-William Shakespeare

I get the metaphor. Entrance and exit. Life and death. But what about the time before the play is over–the entrances and exits– and anxiously hiding in the wings?

I like to think that our lives are a series of entrance and exits; some cues well rehearsed while others, hastily improvised. The set changes and lighting shifts but the main character remains the same in our one person show. William Shakespeare perfectly articulated the parallels between our everyday existence and the portrayal of human life. Except I took Shakespeare’s advice literally. By auditioning for a play.

So three weeks ago I found myself Googling “1 minute woman monologues” in my parked car outside of Northampton Center for the Arts. I had found an ad in the daily paper but it wasn’t until the day of the audition that I got up the nerve to call and schedule an appointment. Just in time to learn I should have a monologue prepared. OOPS. And despite my confusion and not-so-cool business casual attire, I got a small part in a beloved American classic.

Our Town was written by Thornton Wilder in 1938 and continues to be a staple across the country to this day. In fact, the play was produced 4,000 times in the last decade alone. Our Town takes place in Grover’s Corners, NH and explores life, marriage and death in three simple acts. The set is minimal, props are almost non-existant and the narrator or Stage Manager is constantly breaking the 4th wall to speak with the audience directly. My character, Sam Craig, comes in Act 3 as a town resident who has been gone for some time. Both he and the undertaker move about the graveyard visiting the deceased in the quiet, thoughtful way of two people slowly acknowledging the passage of time. Our production of Our Town will be loosely based in Northampton, MA as a tribute to the Center for the Arts. As a newcomer to the area and to the play, my character could not be a more perfect fit.

I am NOT telling you this because I’m the next Kate Winslet or Lucy Lui*. I’m telling you because whether you audition for the local theatre production or not, you are part of Shakespeare’s “stage”. You are your own character. On that Thursday evening in particular, I decided to be an outgoing, crazy theatre character instead of the easier role of introverted bystandard. Every day we wake up and make character choices that determine how other actors and actresses in our lives will respond. My mom used to tell me that, “there are no small parts, only small actors.” And the world needs you to be the truest, biggest and best you there is. It’s type casting in the best possible way.

*I chose Lucy because she can act, not because she’s asian. Racist.

Post-Graduate Depression

Posted in College Graduate Problems, ThoughtsTagged , , , , 1 Comment

Dear Friend,

You have graduated from college. Your parents and relatives have congratulated you but there remains a doubt that your accomplishments are worthy is of a congratulations. But you smile and nod. After all, it may be the last time cash tucked in greeting card wishes come in the mail.

I’ve seen the days you’ve spent pouring over cover letters and resumes. I know job searching seems like a black hole, a bottomless pit where you throw all of your career dreams and future aspirations. Networking becomes a dirty word and if you have to attempt one more phone interview or draft one more inquiry e-mail…well what choice do you have?

Or maybe you already have a job. I hope it is everything you wanted but maybe it leaves something to be desired. Your working life is broken into two categories–big and small–without Goldilocks’ approval of “just right”. Your cubicle, paycheck, meaningful romantic relationships, checking account? Too small. Your student loans, job aspirations, responsibility, credit card debt and desire to be loved? Too big. And all you want is for Baby Bear to give you his porridge, his chair and his bed.

Maybe you resort to Facebook pictures of peers who look like they have figured life out already. Or the friends who are still at your alma mater-smiling and laughing because they are safe in their academic campus bubble. I’ll will never lie and tell you everyday is easy. But there is the good news. It gets better.

You ARE talented, beautiful, kind and innovative. Everyone is struggling just like you to move out of their parents house, afford nice things, be proactive and make a change in the world. Think of just how far you have come. Instead of looking at your life as one overwhelming existence, tackle small projects and small goals. One cover letter. One day learning how to cook a new meal. One class on something new. With each small success, your confidence and definition of “possible” will grow.

Yesterday, I successfully balanced a checkbook. Last week, I returned to childhood and picked apples with my parents. And two weeks ago, I was sitting at my desk wondering how I was possibly going to survive another 8 hour work day in my grey-colored cubicle.

There is no longer a right or a wrong. You will not get validation that you chose the right path and life from now on will be easy. There is only the curiosity to try something new. Do not abandon your fear. Use it to explore something difficult and beautiful.

Good luck.

Wondering

Posted in ThoughtsTagged , 2 Comments

I wonder who dropped all those toothpicks on the bike path. Coming or going? Accidental slip or careless littering? Living in Northampton, I choose the latter.

I wonder how moths, the size of insect school buses, manage to find their way into our house. The holes in the screen are so small and yet, there they are, attempting to blend in with the white of the wall. These poor creatures are naturally overwhelmed by the bright lights and false exits.

I wonder if anyone’s blog is truly worth reading. Twenty years ago people might have said, get off the computer and write a book.

I wonder why a phrase like business casual that is so commonly used has so many different interpretations. Maybe, for some companies, it pertains more to the work ethic than the style of dress.

I wonder if I’m getting fatter now that I’m in a new city. My new acquaintances have no prior knowledge with which to judge my current figure.

I wonder why more people don’t sign up for home energy assessments. Free advice and free lightbulbs? And even if you don’t sign up at least approach my table. I don’t have cooties, you know.

I wonder who invented the cubicle. I don’t think I like that person very much. Thinking outside the box becomes more difficult when you’re sitting in one.

I wonder why I thought going home for visits was considered a weakness. Yes, I do want to spend my Saturday afternoon with my mother and father picking apples in the crisp fall air. And that is what I’m going to do. No reservations necessary.

—–

Riddle of the day: What is sweeter- a call from a friend you haven’t spoken to in months or a bowl of local wild blueberry ice cream to complete your evening after a cup of tea?

The answer: Both. Friendship and frosty desserts are a power couple which can’t be beat.

Farm view during my afternoon jog

The Quiche

Posted in Food, ThoughtsTagged , , , , , , 2 Comments

[This is a story about a novice cook learning to feed herself in the world outside of a college cafeteria or the warmth of her mother’s kitchen. Her baking and culinary skills are average at best, never warranting bragging rights or 4-H ribbons. She spends hours pouring over recipes online, vegetarian cookbooks, and pictures of delicious-looking authentic cuisine before putting some olive oil in a pan and cooking the oldest vegetable in the fridge. This story is about that girl and a delicious dinner experiment.]

I found an extremely thick paperback lying near the KitchenAid near the stairs. The spine was broken down the middle from handling and culinary love. (Beware the unbroken cookbook). Tonight, I would make a quiche. More realistically, tonight I would make the crust of the quiche because I had plans and not enough time. I followed the instructions for a Basic Tart Crust, watched the food processor whir into action and rolled out my buttery masterpiece before sliding it into the refrigerator to cool.

 

When I retrieved the pie dish the following evening, my heart sank. My crust, the first I’d ever made, was covered in white spots. Flecks of butter like pimples on picture day had appeared over night. It looked diseased. “Eh, I’m sure it’s fine. Cook it anyway and see what happens.” That was my mother.

Half the recipes I found told me to pre-cook my crust and layer the cheese on the bottom. The other half didn’t pre-cook their crust at all and added their cheesy goodness right in with the rest. I followed the first advice because seeing my infected crust another minute would have forced me to abandon the project and order pizza. After 10 minutes in the oven, the crust had begun to look better and I felt a renewed sense of hope. So I flew into a frenzy, sautéing some onion and green pepper, shredding cheddar and Parmesan, and whipping together as many eggs as I could find. A juicy red tomato on the counter looked lonely so I cut him up too.

My knife’s eye turned out to be bigger than my crust’s stomach. My tomato, sautéed ingredients, egg-and-milk liquid, and cheese overwhelmed the small dish.  I slid the overflowing mixture into the oven, closed the door and checked my watch.

Over the next 30-40 minutes, the quiche bubbled, changed color, and breathed a sigh when I poked at it with my various kitchen utensils. Eventually, it resembled something edible so I pulled it out of the oven and called Jules. As a last-ditch effort, I made a salad with some fresh corn-off-the-cob and made a silent prayer that I wasn’t poisoning my only close friend in Northampton. When Jules arrived, we sat at the kitchen table and she watched as I took my first bite… 

IT WAS DELICIOUS! I beamed at the beautiful egg-based pastry sitting before me and wondered why it had seemed so daunting just an hour before. My pie in the sky became a quiche at the table and I couldn’t have been more proud or relieved. There was no telling what culinary feats I had yet to accomplish. 

So why write about a simple cooking experience? Why tell you about a seemingly insignificant event in my life? Because that quiche represented something more. I could have baked anything, followed any number of recipes to create a meal. Even the greatest chef can’t promise with 100% certainty that she will open the oven door to find something worth eating. But we go on cooking just the same. I followed pieces of countless recipes, each with a different spice and specific procedure. In the end, you cannot follow anyone’s recipe but your own and that has made all the difference. 

And by difference I mean quiche. Bon appetite!