Refresh Everything

In this season of giving and giving joyfully, let me offer you a way that you can give safety and peace of mind to a homeless mom.

My work place, Mary’s Place, is in the running for a $50,000 grant from the Pepsi Refresh Project.  This is a super cool thing from Pepsi to fund good ideas that make a difference in local communities around the country.  There are different grant levels, and the top ten winners from each level, wins the grant.  Winning is based on voting.  So we are reaching out to the far corners of the earth (Hello Squatbean in Germany, Christy in Nicaragua and Aaron in Hong Kong!!) trying to drum up more votes!!

If we were to win the grant, the money would go to the Family Program, which is the area in which I work!  We are the only day center in King County that welcomes homeless moms with their children without a refrerral.  We see families who have just stepped off the Greyhound, having traveled across the country fleeing their abuser.  We see mothers who have a job, but their rental home was foreclosed on, and with only a week’s warning, found themselves living in their van.  We see grandmothers taking care of their grandchildren, when the mother is unable to do so any more.  We see these moms desperately working every day to find shelter – safe shelter – for their children.  In Washington, it can be up to a 4 week wait to get into an emergency family shelter. In the meantime, what are these families to do?  When they come in to Mary’s Place, we make sure they are fed, clothed, clean and safe.  We give them a hotel to stay in until a bed at a shelter opens up. Everyday we are seeking out new resources for shelter, clothes and diapers.  We connect these moms with DV advocates, schools and counselors.  And with a grant dedicated strictly to the Family Program, we could increase these services.

Would you please consider voting?  It is so easy.  Simply go to the Refresh site (www.refresheverything.com for those who aren’t link followers), and create a log-in.  It seriously takes less than 2 minutes.  Then search for Mary’s Place, we have the picture of the mom with the super cute baby!

(see!  SUPER cute baby)

Then vote.  You get 10 votes a day to spread out among all the good ideas, but you can only vote for each idea once a day.  So remember, vote every day. This is a popularity contest, and we’re hoping to win, so if you decide to spread out your vote, please vote just in the other grant levels!!  Then, spread the word.  The more votes from more areas around the country, the better!!

It couldn’t be easier.  Vote every day.  Help give peace of mind and saftey to a mom who so desperately needs it.

http://www.refresheverything.com/marysplaceseattle

I love my life here.  I love my job, my home, my community.  I am involved and focused.  My job requires a lot of energy.  And the day to day of it can easily grab all of my attention.  Often, I get so involved in the struggles and joys in the here and now, that I forget where I’ve been. 

Not that I could ever actually forget where I’ve been.  I have been so blessed, privileged even, to have been the places I’ve been, to have met the people I have met, to learn all that I have learned thus far.  I have friends all over Asia who will always remain in my heart.  Their spirits of determination were great lessons for me.  Their kind hearts and contagious laughter are a part of me.  We have connected on some level, and now, even here, they remain connected. 

But it is easy to overlook those connects; to be so involved in what is going on in front of me that I forget those lessons, that laughter, those beautiful endearing faces. 

And then I remember.  And I long for my other home.  For a city that despite its polluted, congested way, still has a hold me.  For the women I grew to love, and who showed me great love and great strength.  For the struggle there. 

I received word today that two ladies from the Bethune House  who I got to know fairly well, passed away recently.  Both were fighting different forms of cancer.  Both went home to the Philippines, and were eventually unable to afford the medications needed to fight the disease.  Tintin - survivor of two brain tumors and surgeries, passed away earlier this year after a third tumor diagnosis.  Gigi – a breast cancer fighter, passed away on May 31st.  Both of the ladies had a smile that seemed to be their source of strength.  Tintin was on of the first ladies I met at Bethune House, and she welcomed me in with her quiet spirit and deep laughs.  Gigi was one of the bubbliest ladies I have ever met.  She loved to laugh and sing and to make others happy. 

They will both be deeply missed.

So sitting here, in Seattle, at another shelter, involved in another struggle, connecting to new lives, hearing other stories, more laughter and tears, I remember.  I find myself connected to two places at once and marvel that I am not torn, but fulfilled.  Though sadness is a part of this moment, there is joy in having known these beautiful women, and joy in knowing there is so much more to come.

The value in reading

*Just a fair warning.  This post of chock full of judgment!!*

I haven’t been reading as much as I did last year, just seems to be a slow start to the year.  Could be that I’m not spending as much time in airports this year.  Could be that my fiance now lives in the same city.  Whatever the case, my reading has diminished, and that’s a little sad for me, considering how much I love to read.

I met a guy a few weeks ago – one of those real sleezy guys that makes you want to shake your head and say, “I thought people like you only existed in daytime soap operas.”  It so happened that because he was a business associate of my cousin who was in town, I had to spend a better part of an evening with this guy.  He was loud, obnoxious and infuriating.  It would be hard to pick the comment that I found most appalling, but this one definitely landed in the Top 5.

“So my kid, he’s like 14, and he reads all the f***ing time.  I mean, come on, do something dude!  I make fun of him all the time.  He so didn’t take after me.  I can count on one hand the number of books I’ve read in my entire life!  I just don’t get him.”

I just stared at this man.  Who mocks their kid for reading?  Seriously?  Now, I had been true to my Southern roots all night and ignored most of his asinine comments.  I pretended to ignore his mockery of all things decent, and feigned losing count of the number of times he put down his wife.  But mocking his child for reading, I couldn’t handle.

“Um, I read 32 books.  Last year.”  And I honestly didn’t care how pretentious I sounded.  Shame on that man for mocking his son for reading.  Shame on him for not setting a better example.  And kudos to the kid for not taking after his dad.  Call me judgmental, but good grief.  I’m not saying everyone has to love reading as much as me, but puh-lease, don’t mock your own kid for goodness sake!

Reading for me is a release.  It can be an escape from my day.  Or it can me something to draw me closer to a certain history, or personality, or subject.  I just finished reading, “The Piano Teacher.”  A decently good story, but what really drew me in was the attention to describing the setting in Hong Kong.  It made me miss my dear friends back in the city.  It was a great reminder of my time there.  Reading road names and hotels that I often passed helped me draw to mind particular faces that maybe I haven’t thought about in awhile.  What a beautiful thing for a book to be able to do!

So read on kid, whoever you are.  Escape if you need to.

The difference in a year

December 10th.

Three years ago today, I was living in Kentucky.  I was a bartending seminarian.  We were all anxiously waiting for the miraculous arrival of Mr. Asher Paul.   I was in the beginning of a relationship that would eventually become THE relationship.  I was anticipating graduation, enjoying snow and had a house full of dogs.

Two years ago today I was in Indonesia.   It was a three week whirl-wind trip full of spicy food, bad air and incredible learning experiences.  I was able to attend a UN Conference on Climate Change.  I marched with indigenous peoples from all over Indonesia.  A few weeks earlier I had attended a traditional Indonesian wedding, and spent time with the families of migrant workers.

One year ago today I was in Hong Kong.  It was my final day in Hong Kong.  I cannot begin to express what all I gained from my time there.  I spent 15 months trying to blog about it, only to feel that I failed miserably at accurately conveying how meaningful and impressive every moment and individual was.

One year ago today I was in transition.  Leaving my apartment before dawn, (and subsequently breaking my toe!), and ending the day in Japan.

One day.  Over the span of three years.  From Kentucky, to Indonesia, to Hong Kong, to Japan, to Seattle.

Last night my dad called.  He asked what I was doing, and I said eating dinner.  “Anyone with you?” he asked.  “Of course not,” I replied.  “I lead a pretty boring life.”

I think I need to retract that statement.  My how time flies when you’re having fun; traveling the world; discovering what it means (and what it doesn’t mean) to be a missionary; watching friends get married and expand their families; falling in love; meeting new friends; saying goodbye to new and old friends; learning about migrant rights and issues surrounding homelessness…..

One Year Ago

My toenail fell off today.  I was putting on my shoes this morning, and looked down, and there it was, hanging half off.  Since I was running late for work this morning (what’s new), I put a band aid on it and headed off to work.  Band aids fix everything, right?  When I got home, I took a good look at it, and sure enough, it was ready to come off.  Finally.  I mean, it has only been, what?  Ten months?  Remember that? Ten months ago, at the butt-crack before dawn, I was pulling 15 months worth of luggage off the elevator and directly into my toe.  I spent my time in Japan and California limping around with a broken toe.  I assumed the toenail would fall off, but it never did.  Until today.  Let the healing begin.

Taking care of that toenail was an odd bit of final closure to my time overseas.  It is the final, tangible bit of Asia that was left on me.  I used to be able to look down at my foot, see that disgusting, bloodied toe, and laugh thinking about hobbling around Japan.  It would remind me of that drasted elevator in my apartment building.

As much as I love my life in Seattle, I miss my life in Hong Kong.  A lot actually.  More than I thought I would.  I could not be happier with where I am right now – where I work, preparing for Kris to move to Seattle, getting married….my life is very very good.  But I miss my friends in Hong Kong.  My sweet little church.  The wonderful ladies of Bethune House and The Mission.  I miss the food.  Good Lord I miss the food!!   The adventure of living and surviving overseas was a good fit for me.  It is something I still crave – that sense of adventure.  Of learning to navigate around in a foreign language.

I think back to where I was a year ago today.  I look back on my blog, and this is where I was.  Amazing what can change in a year.  I will always look back on my time in Asia as more than just an experience.  It really was shaping for me.  Who I am today is due in part because of all that I learned in my 15 months in Asia.  Those journeys, those experiences, the stories, the faces – they will never leave me.  My work and my focus may have shifted, but my love for the people, my desire to help in the struggle, the desire to stand alongside those fighting for justice and equality – that will never fade.

All this, from a toe nail.  Funny what makes us remember, huh?

Better late than never: A post about my time in Alabama

It has honestly not been that long since I have been out of the South.  I guess it really depends on if you count Kentucky as the South.  They don’t serve sweet tea in about half the restaurants, but have you heard their accents?  So, not counting Kentucky (which, despite the lack of sweet tea, I do count as the South), I’ve been out of the South for exactly two years.   And yet, even with such a short time away, it never ceases to take me off guard when I go back.  The accents are what get me the most.  They kind of make me giggle, sometimes they make me roll my eyes, but they always make me feel at home.

I pride myself on getting out of the Deep South without much of an accent.  It comes out on occasion, but it is certainly not the first thing people notice about me.  I do say very Southern quips like “y’all,” and “darlin’” A LOT, and I get teased for that.  And more often than I’d like, my “I”s come out a little longer than I meant.   (which always makes me think of Valerie making Alabama boys counting to niiiine.   But back in the Deep South, places like Alabama and North Florida, it isn’t so much the accent, as the long drawl that is so defined, so unavoidable.

I first heard it on my layover in Memphis.  To an outsider, I’m sure that all Southern drawls sound the same, but I can still classify Memphis from Montgomery; Louisville from Laurel; Decatur from Destin. There are subtle differences that remind me of the many areas around the South that I’ve lived in, or have family.

And the heat!  Whew!  Actually, not so much the heat as the humidity.  It is amazing how quickly I have become acclimated to Seattle summer.  I could use all the tired-old expressions about the Southern heat and humidity.  How it “literally sucks your breath away,” or how walking outside is like “walking into a brick wall of humidity.”  All true.  It doesn’t matter how you try to prepare yourself for that kind of heat, it always takes you off guard.

Yet, these things, odd as it may seem, feel like home.  Hard to decipher accents and overwhelming heat are what feel most like home.  I love Seattle and the Pacific Northwest.  I can see myself living here for a long time.  But I guess it is true what they say, “You can take the girl out of the South, but you can’t take the South outta the girl.”

Whether I end up back there or not, the South will always be home.  I may joke or even complain about it, but it is who I am.  It is not the whole of who I am, but it is a part of me.  Stephanie asked while I was there, “After all of your moving, where do you feel most at home?”  It is a hard question to answer.  I definitely feel at home in the South, but I think that has to do more with the feeling of familiarity, friends and family than anything else.  Because I also feel at home in Seattle, a city that I am growing to love more and more every day.  Parts of me also really miss Hong Kong.  I felt at home in the work that I was doing there, in the church community that I found.   I think that, for me, there will never be just one place that I feel most at home.  It just isn’t possible.  But how lucky am I to have such a variety of places in which I feel comfortable?

I use the same joke everytime that I stay with Brian and Stephanie, that no matter where I live, I feel most at home on their old worn out couch (which is no longer with them).  I have spent more nights on their couch, in 3 different cities and twice as many houses.  And it is true, the feeling of home for me can indeed come from familiar surroundings and thick accents, but more often than not, comes from the people I am around.

And so that is what my time in Alabama was.  A weekend where I really nearly melted from the heat, yet was energized by the people I was around.  It was a time of playing with my sweet godson, and walking with old friends.  It was 4 days in which I felt at home.  That is a hard feeling to leave.

Back in the saddle…er, kitchen

I’ve mentioned before that one of my goals in moving to Seattle was to learn to cook.   Somehow I had missed out on that lesson in life, so teaching myself to cook in a city that thrives on local and organic foods seemed a wise choice.   How’s it going you ask?  So very tasty.  I have set goals for myself to make one new meal a week, and for that meal, to use at least one local product.  Not including the weeks I was traveling, I have met my goal every week.  Of course, it helps that I have no children to tend to in the evenings, or friends to cause my to stray with offers of dinner out, but still, I’m impressed with myself.

I realized though that while I am loving learning to cook, I had been neglecting my baking.  While in Hong Kong, the material object I missed the most was my mixer.  Well, that and an actual-for-real kitchen.  I missed baking.  And while my beautiful mixer is still stored away in a garage in Florida, I have re-gathered or obtained many other baking necessities.  This week, I set cooking aside and got back to my baking roots. 

I started with Valerie’s scrumptious but incredibly STICKY Strawberry Cookies – with cherry chip substitute.  (An aside: while the cherry chip cookies were yummy, I’ll stick with strawberry from here on out.)  It was my friend’s birthday, and everyone deserves cookies in the mail for their birthday, right? I love these cookies because they are cheap and always a party favorite.  What I do not like about these cookies is that they can easily burn the motor out on your hand mixer.  Or, as evidenced below, will completely twist up your beaters.

 <—YIKES!!

After the cookies, I decided to fall back on an old classic, and one of my favorites and specialties, an Apple Pie.  We were having a staff meeting on Thursday, as well as celebrating our director’s birthday, not to mention that we had two boxes of leftover apples at the shelter.  So Apple Pie seemed like a must have.   I must say that it turned out beautifully.

Wednesday we are welcoming our new pastor, and I’ve been commissioned to make a “Welcome Cake!”  On the 30th one of our social workers will be finishing her internship, and I’ll be making her “Goodbye Cake!” 

Is it odd that I feel more complete when I’m baking?

Cooking up a storm

For most of my adult life, I have classified myself as a baker, not a cook.  I have always been quick to joke, “why should I cook, when everyone cooks for me?”  It was true.  Growing up, my mother did all the cooking.  (okay, yes, my father did make dinner on the rare occasions my mom was out of town.  Breakfast for dinner every time.)  In college, it was dining hall food (bleh), and then when Val and I shared an apartment it was – well, we were P-O-O-R.  So we ate whatever was free or cheap.  I remember a time that we dug for change under the mats of my car in order to split a value meal at McDonald’s.  Yeah. But occasionally, when money would appear out of thin air, she would cook, and it was always beyond amazing and completely without the aid of a cookbook.  While in seminary, I worked in a restaurant the entire four years, so food was always free or cheap.  Then I started dating Kris, and yes, it was because he knew his way around the kitchen.   That man can cook a gourmet meal without breaking a sweat, and is hot to boot.  Seriously, what more does a girl need?!  Then, living in Hong Kong, I ate at the shelter most days because, well, I didn’t even have a kitchen.

One of my goals in moving to Seattle was to learn to cook for myself, and to cook with locally bought items as often as possible.  Local is no issue here, because this city is serious about promoting, supporting and making affordable local anything.  I’ve seen local cheese, local wine, local beer, local fish.  I’ve see local yarn, locally made guitars, even locally made birthday cards.  This is no joke.   So, I can buy local.  Now the real question is, Can I cook?

Turns out, I don’t suck at cooking.  For most of my independent adult life, I thought I did.  Honestly, I thought I was a nightmare in the kitchen.  When all I really needed was just a little confidence and time to explore.  So far, I’ve made pizza where even the crust was from scratch and all of the produce on top was locally grown.  I made a to-die-for salad with grilled chicken the other night that was seriously some kind of incredible.  Last night I made pita fajitas. 

I find that not only am I enjoying the food I’m making, but I’m enjoying the time and energy it takes to cook.  I love finding new recipes, and get excited shopping for all the right ingredients.  There is anticipation over my meal as it simmers on the stove.  And when I finish, I feel that I have eaten healthier and accomplished something of worth in making my own dinner from scratch.

So my continued challenge to myself is to make one new meal a week.  (I seem to remember someone else with a similar goal   In these meals I have to use at least one local product.  I’ll try to keep you updated as I go (though it will not be anything as extensive as Val’s food blog). 

Who knew?  I can cook!

Missing Hong Kong

Friday night I was trying to make my way out to a co-worker’s house.  I had to take a bus route that I had not yet taken, and was diligently paying attention to the road signs and passing stores, watching for my landmark.  Across the aisle from me, two women sat chatting away in another language.  I strained my ear toward them, to see if I could catch what language they were speaking.  To my great surprise, I heard them speaking Tagalog – the Philippine language.  Excited that I could recognize what language they were speaking, I started paying more attention to the two women than to my approaching landmark.  I could pick out parts of their conversation.  The older woman’s concern for her son.  The second woman complaining about her long work hours.  I wanted to talk to these women.  To greet them in Tagalog.  But I was scared, and I let my fear keep me from speaking to these strangers with the familiar language.  As they got off the bus, I found myself a little sad and disappointed in myself for not speaking to them.  I also found myself a little lost.

In paying attention to the women rather than the road, I had missed my stop by a good ten minutes.  I moved towards the front and the bus driver confirmed that I had indeed missed my stop.  “Not to worry though.  We are about to loop around, and you will be back again in about 20 minutes.”  I called Rachel to let her know what happened, and settled in for the rest of the journey.  There were only three people remaining on the bus at this time, the bus driver and myself up front, and an older gentleman towards the back, sound asleep.  Earlier, when the Filipino women had gotten off the bus, I had heard them speaking to the bus driving in Tagalog as well.  So I pushed myself to ask the bus driver, “Are you Filipino?”  She was.  I was so excited.  I began sharing with her about how I had been to the Philippines, and had worked in Hong Kong with Filipino domestic workers.  I asked about her, where she from in the Philippines, what brought her to America. 

She came from Pangasinan, and was impressed that I knew where that even was.  The youngest of 11 children, she has been in the States for 30 years.  She has 2 sisters working as domestic workers in Saudi Arabia, 3 in Hong Kong, and one in Canada.  Her parents were farmers who left their land looking for work in Manila.  The story of so many in the Philippines.  When her father couldn’t find work, the family moved back to the farm, where her parents still remain.  It has been over 10 years since she has been home. 

When we had reached my stop (again), I got off the bus, thanking my new friend in Tagalog. “Salamat!”  And felt a twinge of homesickness for Hong Kong.

Sunday afternoon, my landlord Barbara and I spent most of the day volunteering at the set up of a new apartment building for homeless and mentally ill men and women.  We took a break for lunch and walked across the street to a small local diner.  When we walked inside, I noticed everywhere signs of the Philippines.  Straw mats, Philippine Idol playing on the T.V., a bamboo flute with Baguio City painted on it.  A Philippine restaurant in South Seattle!  I was so excited.  As our young waiter handed us our menus, I went over all the best items with Barbara, recommending my favorites.  She ended up going with Pansit – egg noodles with soy sauce and chopped veggies.  I got one of my all time favorite Philippine dishes, Chicken Adobo with a glass of fresh calamansi juice.  I was in heaven. 

There were times working with nearly all Filipinios, and after spending a full month of eating nothing but Filipino food while visiting the Philippines, that I did get tired of their national dishes. (as one would with anything they eat too much of)  But after nearly 3 months of being away, I had never been so excited to have Filipino food for lunch!! 

I love being here in Seattle.  And I am so thankful to be in a place that is closer to home and my loved ones.  But I miss Hong Kong (well, the people there, not the city itself.)  I miss working at the Mission and the Bethune House.  I miss my wonderful Filipino and Indonesian co-workers.  I miss their beautiful culture lived out in music, dance, language and food. 

This weekend, I had two chance encounters with a culture I adore.  It made me realized how incredibly lucky I am to have had the experiences I did in Hong Kong.  Now if only I can find a place that serves dunaguan.

Seattleite

Today is the first day it has rained since I’ve been here.  And it really only rained for a couple of hours, just drizzle, nothing too serious. I take that to be a good sign.  This week, other than being cold, was absolutely beautiful!  We had quite a few sunny and clear days.  Even in the winter, this city is beautiful.  I live on a ridge, right smack in between the Cascade Mountains and the Olympic Mountains.  On the clear days, when I’m walking the couple of blocks to my bus stop, I have a grand view of the snow capped mountains that surround me, and it is beyond breath taking.  I keep thinking to myself, “How is this my life?  How am I this lucky?”

After only two weeks in, I am already falling in love with this city.  I have to admit that while I have loved every place I have lived, I have never loved a city.  In the past, it has always been about the relationships formed, the experiences I’ve had in the various Southern states I’ve lived in.   But here, before relationships have yet formed, I have already connected to this city.  I can’t explain it properly.  There is just a…spirit to this city that I’ve connected with.  I don’t know any other way to describe it.  I can’t lay my finger on what it is that make Seattle so wonderful. 

Seattle is so many things that Hong Kong is not – in a good way.  While I adored my time in Hong Kong, I DID NOT like the city itself.  It was smelly, crowded, polluted, hot.  Seattle smells like coffee and lavender.  I don’t know yet what the population is here, but I have not once been pushed of the sidewalk or run into someone’s back because of the crowds.  I can walk down the sidewalk and look around and breathe. 

It would seem that everyone here has a dog! The majority of the people I see walking around my neighborhood are walking their dog(s).  And every one smiles at each other, whether they know each other or not, as they pass by.  When people get off the bus they thank the bus driver.  And are sincere about it!  It is Southern hospitality at it’s best!  It is said that Seattle has the cleanest air in the country, and I believe it.  I have not once blown my nose and it come out black (as it did nearly EVERY day in Hong Kong).  It makes walking so much more enjoyable. 

One thing that is similar between Hong Kong and Seattle though, which I am thankful for, is diversity.  The women who come to the center range all ages, economic statuses, sexualities, races and religions.  I can walk down two blocks and pass 5 restaurants from various ethnicities.  And it isn’t just Chinese food here, they have Schezwan.  It isn’t just Indian.  It is Pakistani and Bangladesh.  There is Santa Fe and then there is Mexican.  And there is no lack of Greek restaurants.  Where do I start? 

I could go on and on (not just about the food, because I haven’t even started on the local foods!), but I just wanted to say that I’m comfortable here.  I feel like I fit in.  I honestly cannot say that I have ever felt this way about a location before.  It makes me excited for the relationships that will surely come as I continue to settle in.