Comfort Food as... Comfort Food

My Grandfather is turning 89 this year. This means he is old. Very old. Meaning he lived in an older, simpler, amazing time when a bowl of kake udon cost only 10 cents in Korea. These days udon is one of the very few dishes he is able to eat, and likes to eat at the same time. As a formerly 5'6" man who due to age is now 5'4" that weighs 120 lbs., there's not much left of him except super pruney skin and rattling antique bones, and hot soups seem to be good for cold bones and uncomfortable dentures. Thankfully he is as mentally agile as he was when kake udon cost 10 cents, though his hearing has not fared as well. On the phone one time, my mom was trying to ask him if he wanted some fish we had bought at the store. She tried "saeng-sun" first, but he didn't get it. Then she tried "mool-goh-gee", but that didn't work either. By this point, she was frustrated out of her mind, and started screaming into the phone "Fiiiiisshhh!!! Fiiissshhhhh!!!!" repeatedly. Listening to this exchange in the next room over, I was rolling on my bed, in a silent fit of laughter.

Trying to choose a restaurant to eat with my Grandfather isn't very difficult. I can count on one hand the number of regular restaurants we frequent with him, including Yashima, my harabuhjee's favorite udon place. Today after his doctor's visit, I brought him there. As we were waiting for the elevator to take us from the parking garage to the restaurant above, he turned to me and said, "Hmm, you brought me to the good udon place, hmm?" (From this dialogue, he kind of sounds like Yoda... he even looks like him too...)

After our dishes had been delivered and we were half way through our meal (don't let his size fool you: he's like the super-skinny Japanese guy that can pack away a thousand hot dogs; he finishes pretty much everything that is put before him), I asked him, "How is the food?"

He looked up, wiped the soup off of his straight white beard, and replied, "The soup here is the best. When I was a young man, around 19 and 20, a bowl of kake udon cost 10 cents. I ate a lot of kake udon then. I think it became a habit".

Huh. A hot, filling soup that not only gave nourishment and comfort when he was young, but also comforts and satisfies in old age. What a concept. Are the foods we are drawn to when the weather gets cold, when stress overwhelms, or when tiredness seeps in, the foods that not only comfort us now, but the exact foods that remind us of more innocent, comparatively worry-less times?

When I left to live in East Asia for two years, I took a box of Fruity Pebbles with me. I opened the box sparingly, making sure the vacuum-seal on the IKEA container was tightly closed every time I used it. I pulled it out when I needed a pick-me-up, when the grayness of East Asian winter got too much for me, when I was stressed and tired and overwhelmed with work. Fruity Pebbles is my comfort food, because each sugary crunchy bite makes me feel like the kid that begged her mom to buy a box at the grocery store, who rejoiced when the puppy-dog eyes finally worked, who couldn't wait for morning to come so I could break out the milk and cereal bowl for that first delicious bite. It reminds me of easier times, when the biggest worry of the day was mom catching me watching TV when I'm not suppose to, when sandy shoes and dirty shirts were the objects of her censure. I wish my biggest worries today were TV and dirty clothes.

It's amazing that tactile sensory inputs can trigger such emotions and memories in the brain, that not only affect our physical body, but our mental, emotional, and spiritual bodies as well. When people talk about comfort food, gooey mac-n-cheese, crispy chicken wings, buttery mashed potatoes, and that oh-so-delish pint of your favorite ice cream flavor immediately jump to mind. But immediately attached to those cravings are very adult feelings of guilt, torture, yearning, and denial also along for the ride. I think we all need to remember the true meaning of comfort food. Comfort food is for comfort, not for guilt. I don't advocate a daily indulgence in all of the foods mentioned above, but I think we all deserve a bit of guilt-torture-yearning-and-denial-free indulgence in our favorite comfort food once in a while. So what if that bottle of cream soda is worth 180 nutritionally empty calories? So what if there are 10 grams of fat in that Snickers bar? It's going to be the only Snickers bar you're going to have this month. And after trying to be a responsible adult day in and day out, you deserve those next 10 minutes of gooey chocolately Snickers-comfort-heaven.

I don't mean to steal, but...

This is just too good to keep to myself. One of the bloggers that I follow (Totally Severe) posted on her recent trip to Bolivia, and without going into detail, she really captured the experience in just a few phrases:

"Yo soy un río de pie." (from a poem by Reiche)

I didn't really get what this meant, until I'd read the whole post, then reread the title of the post. Then I got it. "I am a river of feet"... doesn't sound as romantic as in Spanish, but it really fulfillingly encapsulates the experience of traveling in a foreign place alone...

"It’s entirely possible that I’ve captured the skin of the city and failed to reveal the heart." (on the photos she took while traveling) ...so freakingly beautiful I wish I had coined this sentence... once again this sentence is like a photo capture of the awkwardness and conspicuousness of being a foreigner doing foreign things in a foreign place... also the stuntedness of a person with limited equipment, limited skills, limited time, limited vision, and limited cultural understanding and assimilation to fully capture the essence, the moment, the feel and time of a place and of being.

I totally get Sarah's struggle of restlessness, anxiety, and exhaustion mixed in with the beauty, thankfulness, joy, exhiliration, and openness of exploring a scary new place. Peace to the traveler.

Burning Qur'ans Does Not Reflect Christ

Dear Partner in Prayer! As the anniversary for the September 11th attacks quickly approaches, headlines have become crowded with stories about Islam. For weeks, the media has been reporting on the growing controversy of the Cordoba House, a proposed mosque and Islamic center near the Ground Zero site. Many Americans are upset about the idea of a mosque so close to the place of the terrorists attack and they have not sat by quietly. Protests have erupted across the nation, and violence has not been far behind. Just last week, a young man stabbed a taxi driver because he was Muslim. Others have vandalized mosques and teenagers allegedly fired off guns outside of a mosque. Another very disturbing act of retaliation comes from a church in Florida. They have declared September 11th as "Burn a Koran Day." In a field behind their church, they plan to toss at least 200 Qur'ans into a bonfire as a means of condemning Islam and terrorists. Their Facebook page for the event has about 14,000 members. I have to wonder, what is their goal? What bridges are being built? Although they want to show that Islam is a false religion, they are doing nothing to promote the love of Christ. In fact, they are doing the opposite. Although, as Christians, we struggle with Islam as a religion, we need to show love and respect. As followers of Christ, we want to share the Truth but in love. This act is not showing the love of Christ. 1 Peter 3:9 tells us, "Do not repay evil with evil or insult with insult, but with blessing." If your Muslim friend mentions this event, I encourage you to apologize on behalf of this church. Explain that they are not reflecting the actions of a follower of Christ. Show them specific examples of how a Christian should act, such as Colossians 3:12 where Paul writes, "Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience." This week, pray that God would use the tragedy of 9/11 to bring glory to His name and that He would send rainclouds to Florida to cancel "Burn a Koran Day."

Please pray: That God would use these controversies to His glory That "Burn a Koran Day" would be cancelled That God would comfort the families who lost loved ones on 9/11 Reaching Muslims for Christ, Fouad Masri Crescent Project

All in the span of seconds.

Two thoughts today:

As I walked through the long hallway on the first floor of Young Hall, I spied a blotchy brown stain on the tile. Ew, what is that? Is it coffee? Who spilled it? Did it happen this morning? Somebody just lost their whole order of coffee. Who's going to clean it up? How many coffees was that? Who is walking around this morning, not only crying over their spilled coffee, but extra cranky because they missed their daily shot of caffeine? All in the span of about 10 seconds.

Guys (meaning non-uterus-carrying-human-beings), please excuse this brief moment of TMI.

Driving to school today, I thought about the universal reality of the very first period. Every girl goes through it. Though there are many shared responses to the event (What did you do with the soiled panties? Did you hide it? Throw it away? Wash it? Burn it?), revelations on the occurance can vary. "I thought I was dying." "I thought I'd gone to the bathroom in my underwear." "I knew exactly what it was." I also wondered, what are the different responses to this momentous advent into womanhood in different cultures? in different time periods? In different families? For some, it means another additional expense added to the costly job of raising a girl child. For others, it is a chance to celebrate an adolescent's entrance into adult society. And others, it is the time to find a husband and be married off. All in the span of about 20 seconds.

Art is a beautiful thing

Today I watched the contemporary dance choreographed by Travis Wall and danced by Robert and Allison to Coldplay's severely edited "Fix You" on So You Think You Can Dance. Being that this song is one of my all-time favorites, the cuts and jumps kind of distracted me throughout the dance, but those distractions could not detract from the powerful feelings and emotional energy evidently displayed on that stage. The dance was one of those rare events in life that are so beautiful, it touches something deeper than mere appreciation of athleticism and musicality. This moment was one of the very very rare times when I watched a dance on SYTYCD that made me feel something evocatively significant, deep in that dark, warm, quiet place where sorrow, grief, helplessness, and passion resides within someone who has experienced these emotions.

The story behind the choreography is that Travis' mom is sick, and the dance was a display of his desire to support her and take the pain away. Robert related to the dance, because he also has personal experience with a sick mom, and ultimately Mia Michaels, one of the judges, broke down in her critique by sharing her own experiences with her mom's death.

Allison's dancing was of course excellent, but I think what really sold her performance to me was her facial expressions: pain, suffering, and sadness contorted her gorgeous features, almost a dance itself that mirrored the tortured beauty that was the bodily dance. Robert's dancing was equally exceptional, though with his mundane khaki shorts and plaid top was often literally outshone by the luminescent pink nightshirt and spotlight Allison wore. In either case, Travis' choreography was one of vulnerable and tender moments, violent pain, desperate hope, and exhausted yet exhilarating love that helped drive the son forward to physically and emotionally support his mother.

I've read criticisms and comments by other viewers who've critiqued the overly dramatic praise of this dance, saying that the "moment" seemed forced and too emotional for what the dance actually warranted. After reading a few of these comments, I was disappointed that these reviewers couldn't experience what I did in watching that dance. Like Robert and Mia, I too have felt the helplessness, worry, and pain that one inexorably experiences when a parent is sick. Viewing the performance was like experiencing that pain again, but also the catharsis. I finally came to the conclusion that one could not understand the depth and fullness of this story, without already having experienced the suffering itself. In that way, I feel sorry for those critics who believe that the responses to the dance were overly dramatized, because they will never be able to view this performance in it's physical and emotional entirety, until they have experienced tragedy like the dancer, choreographer, and myself have.

Suffice it to say that my words cannot do this dance justice; therefore, please go watch a video of this dance! And though I wish tragedy on no one, I have to confess that experience will enhance the appreciation of this dance art to the fullest.

Oreganos? Oregonites? Oregonese?

Last night my sister and I were sitting in my bed, trying to figure out what you call people from Oregon. People from New York are New Yorkers, and California Californians. But what do you call people from Oregon?

This subject came up because we are planning a trip to Central Oregon this weekend, for my elementary school friend's wedding. We haven't been to Oregon since we were kids, so we are anxious to plan out activities to see all the things we didn't appreciate back then.

The rugged natural beauty of the locale, exciting outdoorsy adventures, and the native epicures' penchant for good restaurants and breweries (of the yeasty and bean-y kind) are particular pleasures we are looking forward to experiencing.

If anyone knows of fun things to do, pretty places to see, and good things to eat/drink around the Redmond/Bend area, please leave a comment!

"life" is a many-splendored thing

Bubbles are perfect spheres of wonder, fragility, and ephemerality. Floating, pushed by a quick breeze, bursting on a moments contact with any unforgiving surface, they are here again and gone the next. A quick blow, and little baby bubbles form. But with a seasoned and wizened long and slow breath, one may be gifted with a monster bubble, full and heavy with promise and grandeur. But what does Ellie care for all these musings of an old lady? She just likes the slippery stickiness of the soapy goodness.

EEEPPPIIIICCCC

Recording in a room Madonna once stood and recorded in...

EEEPPPIIIICCCC.