Today in devos, someone shared about how often we are so caught up in the end goal–the final check on that to-do list (and, yes, I’m the type who creates lists with actual boxes to check next to each item)–that we realize we completely are unaware of the journey to get to that goal. And most likely, we will always have another project, another goal, to reach, meaning we will never be able to get to a destination of complete rest…so why bother trying? When we wash dishes, really wash dishes and enjoy each moment. When we cook (and this is hard for me), really enjoy it and be thankful for the food. When I grumble about how difficult the hose is to wrap up after I water my plants, I should be thankful that I finally have a yard that I always wanted when I lived in apartments.

With that in mind, it sort of scares me that this whole summer has slipped by without my realizing it. Sure, we had tons of visitors and I enjoyed time with all of them, but I know I didn’t appreciate those moments as much as I should have. While I had fun showing people around, another part of my brain was thinking, “As soon as they leave, I have to work on my freelance article.” Or “The night after they leave, we’ll do laundry so that we can set up the beds for the next guests coming this weekend.” And now that our visitors are tapering off, the leaves will soon start turning colors, and the sky is definitely growing darker earlier, I wish I had mentally slowed down to enjoy the present days even more.

So as a tribute to the days I lost, here’s a recap of our most recent summer days:

We took a 24-hour trip back to LA to say farewell to Grandpa Kujawa at his funeral. Deaths are never easy, but he had been struggling so much in the hospital over the past months that there was some closure in knowing he no longer was in pain. We did enjoy reuniting with everyone, though, including Matt’s uncles from Michigan who we seldom see.

Ed and Dennis packed in several days of activities: kayaking, visiting Red Hook Brewery, hiking on Rattlesnake Ridge, the underground tour, and lots of eating. On one of their bike rides, Dennis picked some berries and put them in a worn-out brown bag that previously contained an empty beverage bottle. Gross! I think he tossed them and just picked a bunch of berries from our yard. Smart man.

A week after the guys left, Dorc arrived for a whole week. While we went to work, she worked at home on school and church stuff. In addition to stuff I mentioned in the entry about Macy’s, she taught me to make pai-gwut (Chinese spare ribs), helped me plant my magnolia tree, met Keba, went to the locks (got rained on!), and watched an outdoor movie. What I enjoy the most about time with Dorc is that it’s always really laidback and that we can just sit and not talk (and feel totally comfortable) or talk about random stuff.

The Kimballs were in the Northwest, so we got less than a day with them. When they arrived, I gave Kris a tour of the house, starting with the backyard. I said, “There’s our gardener,” and knocked on the glass door. Dorc lifted her head up from under a bright green hat and waved. Kris said, “What are you doing here?!” I love surprises. I also loved meeting adorable little Ben, the smily, mellow baby. Babies in one-piece pajamas are soooo cute, but it still doesn’t make me want to have a baby yet.

We also had dinner and dessert with Cynthia and Derek, who are getting married in a year! They live in Pasadena but were visiting Seattle and Vancouver. Cyn is a friend from my home church in Sac. She’s a few years younger than I am, so we were never in the same peer group, but we went through a phase of writing letters to each other, and we started exchanging e-mails recently. I can’t even remember when we had last seen each other, but it was great to catch up in person and get to know each other as adults. Dynamics really are different when we’re all grown up.

Last weekend, we camped at Larrabee State Park with Keba and Aaron. I was afraid that I’d come off as a high-strung camping snob to the Greenes, but fortunately they were totally easy-going and did not shake their heads (at least not openly) at our excessive camping gear and menu. We went on a beautiful hike, sought refuge in a quaint town called Fairhaven Bellingham during a brief downpour, and ate (and attempted to make) yummy campfire desserts. We also spent awhile during sunset on the coast, shooting frame after frame of starfish, water, clouds, and rocks. I loved how the Greenes were just as into taking pictures as we were. I found myself getting whiny that Matt was hogging the camera, where usually, I have control over it. It was a really relaxing weekend, which makes me wish we had planned more camping trips this summer. (Pics in my gallery, plus on Keba’s gallery…)

Maybe this recap was not as short and sweet as intended, but it was a nice jog back to the last few weeks. Now, September awaits…

Thanks, Dorc, for the cool cups!!

I can’t guarantee that Matt’s cup will stay intact. My hands might be slippery when holding it, or I may accidentally knock it off the counter. And then when I try to find him a new cup, maybe all that will be available are Kings cups.

I’ve been meaning to write some sort of update, but haven’t gotten around to it yet. In the meantime, happy 10-year anniversary of Judgment Day. (Thanks, Kit, for the reminder!)

This is what we did 10 years ago to commemorate the day: an all-night Quake LAN party! “Anyone not wearing 2 million sunblock is going to have a really bad day.”

In related news, check out this preview of an upcoming TV series called The Sarah Connor Chronicles…”Come with me if you want to live.”

For Dorc’s last day here in Seattle, I took the day off so we could have one last nearly full day of hanging out. We got lunch at Salumi, visited and ate at Bruce and Brandon Lee’s graves, and then spent four hours downtown. We spent four hours in only THREE stores, the majority of them being in Macy’s where we did some intense bra shopping.

And for all your shiny happy people out there, this entry is going to be one major gripe about the staff at Macy’s intimate apparel section. We were there for about an hour, going back and forth from the dressing room back to the floor, trying on various sizes and brands. Being that it was the middle of the day, the department was pretty empty. We were not hard to spot. Even so, we were not greeted the entire time we were there (at least I was not). Someone must not be reading their customer service instructions, displayed right at the counter, which instructs them to greet customers within 30 seconds of their entering the department.

When we first got to the bra section, I did see one employee eyeing us. Not the “Hi, I acknowledge you, and I’m willing to help you” sort of look. It was more like, “I see you, but I do not want to help you” look. No smile at all. We even made eye contact several times, but each time was cold and unresponsive.

As we tried on some bras in the dressing room, I heard one associate talking to another customer who was trying on bras as well. “How are you doing in there? Can I get you something else?” So this associate was capable of being friendly and helpful…just not with us.

We finally made contact when I approached the associate (the one who had previously been helping the other woman in the dressing room) to ask for a fitting. Framed certificates in the dressing room declared that these employees were “certified fitting technicians,” meaning they had been trained to tell you your proper bra size. How exciting. So I asked one employee for help. She took (and I kid you not) 10 seconds to measure me and then told me I was several cup sizes larger than what I normally wear. Maybe this is too much information, but let’s be honest. It’s no secret I’m not a full-figured woman. I was so shocked, I said, “REALLY?!” in the tone of voice that I would have used if she told me I had two heads. But she had already moved on to measuring Dorc, gave her the same analysis, and was already gone by the time Dorc responded with a “What?! Really?!” over her own measurement.

So we started all over, trying on bras using the sizing that the associate had given us. What a joke. We were NOT the size that this so-called qualified “technician” suggested so confidently. But we did buy bras (in the size that we originally were trying on), and then happily returned them a few hours later after finding more comfortable ones at Gap (where the associate was much friendlier).

If I’m at a restaurant and something is slightly off with my order (but still bearable), I won’t complain. But give me an anonymous platform, and I’ll gladly speak my mind. This  tells me that I’m passive-aggressive…or just a big chicken. So you can bet that I gave a little report at macys.com/tellus to make sure they knew that associate #630719 was unfriendly and was not accurate in her measurement of our bra sizes. Nor did she check back with us to see if our bras were working out. Will my review of my Macy’s experience make any difference? Probably not, but at least I did my part in making sure SOMEONE knows about my disappointing experience. :)

And sometimes, even just one e-mail makes a difference as I found out this past week when Keba made a huge impact simply by writing an e-mail. She received an e-mail promoting a 5K run to benefit a certain organization that supports women and children in Africa. Yet the run called for people to dress up as Africans and compete in a costume contest. Now, how do you dress like an African? Do you wear t-shirts and jeans, which is what I usually see Africans wearing? This organization’s website even has African children dressed in jeans and sweaters. And how do you even lump the whole fashion trend of a continent? Wouldn’t it be offensive for people to come to the run dressed in straw skirts and face paints when, really, the majority of Africans may not be living in remote villages and still gathering nature’s bounty for evening wear? It was an incredibly ignorant, yet innocent, move on the part of this organization.

And so Keba made that known. Within a day, she received an e-mail directly from one of the heads of the organization apologizing and explaining that they had meant no harm in promoting a costume contest. However, they were pulling all the advertisement about the costume contest. WoW. Talk about the power of a simple e-mail, expressing your opinion.

Now if I could get some sort of similar response to *my* e-mail, that would be sweet. (OK, I don’t want her to get fired, but I want people who are unfriendly and rude to know that it’s not acceptable especially when they are in a customer-driven industry.)

Update: The manager of the downtown Macy’s responded and said he had a talk with the supervisor of the Intimate Apparel department, and they’re going to have a talk with that employee. I think I’m just cynical and don’t know if that will *really* happen, but at least I got a response. Or if I’m really curious, I can always go back and see if she’s nicer. I can even ask her for another fitting. She won’t remember me. She didn’t even remember me when she rang up my stuff shortly after she fit me. She asked me, “Did anyone help you today?” I said, “You did.” She looked at me blankly. “You gave me the fitting,” I said. “Oh! It’s hard for me to remember,” she said. Yes, I imagine it is hard to remember people you try to ignore.

A friend from the ol’ days in Sac (also our wedding photographer), Susan, has tagged me to list eight random facts about myself. After my list, I’ll tag another eight people to do the same on their blogs. Here we go…

1. Since I was a kid, I’ve disliked taking showers because I think it’s a waste of time. I’d rather be doing other things…but don’t worry, I do shower every day.

2. I get nauseated when I see things (hair, loogies, even wet toilet paper) in sink/tub/water fountain drains.

3. I love, love, love the color green and always have since I was a kid, but I hate, hate, hate frogs (even though they’re green).

4. I go back and forth between wanting to live on a farm in the country and wanting to live in a city where I walk straight out of our house and into a cute area with shops and restaurants.

5. I’m incredibly, insanely terrified of childbirth and can’t even watch it on TV.

6. I wish I were a better dresser, but am too frugal to do anything about it.

7. I totally want to be a bgirl, but I don’t have that cool, hip-hop persona to pull it off.

8. I turn red when I talk to people…but only to some people, and I can never predict when/why it happens.

And I’m going to tag…

1. Dorc

2. Keba

3. Kris

4. Suzanne

5. Kit

6. Kaycee

7. Traci

8. Susan the knitter

Let me know when you guys post!

I just started reading a book called Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by one of my favorite authors, Barbara Kingsolver. She primarily writes novels, but this book–her most recent–is about her family’s decision to move from Tucson to southern Appalachia, where they would live on a farm. Their goal was to buy only food raised in their own neighborhood, grow it themselves, or learn to live without those items that didn’t fit into either category.

As mentioned in the book, “each food item in a typical U.S. meal has traveled an average of 1,500 miles. In addition to direct transport, other fuel-thirsty steps include processing, packaging, warehousing, and refrigeration…If every U.S. citizen ate just one meal a week (any meal) composed of locally and organically raised meats and produce, we would reduce our country’s oil consumption by over 1.1 million barrels of oil every week. Small changes in buying habits can make big differences. Becoming a less energy-dependent nation may just need to start with a good breakfast.”

I’m not exactly sure how that works with the correlation between one local meal and the reduction in oil consumption (because wouldn’t other people still be using up energy by still eating foods that are not raised locally?), but I understand the concept that the less demand there is, a smaller impact will be made. At this point, I start debating in my head between paying a little more for long-term benefits on the earth and our bodies with being cheap and just wanting to get whatever’s on sale.
Reading this book reminded me of a recent comment that a visiting friend made as we were driving around Seattle. I pointed out a co-op on Madison, explained briefly what it was, and he responded, “That sounds like something they’d have in Berkeley, you know, with the hippies growing and selling their food.”

Although many co-ops sell locally grown produce, it’s not like you see hippies coming in and out of the market with wheelbarrows of freshly picked carrots or tomatoes from their gardens. And certainly people other than hippies grow their own food. I know that, and many people know that, but it humored me (and reinforced that typical LA stereotype that many Seattleites believe) that our friend would think this. But I wasn’t surprised. I’ve heard it before. Environmentalists are tree-hugging protesting fanatics, and people who grow their own vegetables and fruit are hippies who don’t shave their armpits.

Growing up, my parents had a large backyard where they grew apricots, summer squash, persimmons, plums, green beans, and more. I remember my dad throwing plums into the pool while my sister and I dove after them. I also enjoyed being out there, digging through the dirt to collect worms in an old margarine tub, or helping my parents fill up bowls with ripe fruit. My parents weren’t being hippies. We still bought food from the grocery store. They just enjoyed growing things in the garden.

One of the more amusing memories from my childhood was when my mom took me outside to see some flowers that had popped up in our yard. They were tall, without any leaves, with a beautiful bloom at the top–they were called Naked Ladies. After taking one look at them, I called back to the house where my sister was, “Na, come out and see the Naked Ladies!” without thinking twice about how that may sound to any eavesdropping neighbors.

Yesterday, Keba and I spent about two hours at Bybee-Nims farm at the base of Mt. Si, about 45 minutes east of Seattle, picking blueberries. We ended up with about 10 pounds each! We came back and picked blackberries from the Ip Blackberry Farm (aka the mess of blackberry bushes in our yard). I’ve already made a blueberry cobbler and froze all the other berries so that I won’t have to pay an arm and a leg for berries in the dead of winter.

As we were walking through the blueberry bushes, much in need of pruning, and sorted through which berries we wanted to pluck from their branches, I realized just how much fun it was to “harvest” food, even if we didn’t grow them ourselves. It was a beautiful sunny day, we had an amazing view of Mt. Si overhead, we were outside, and we were able to catch up with one another. As we moved down the aisle of blueberry bushes, we heard families all around us–some parents who probably didn’t realize they were being overhead, as well as kids who were crawling underneath overgrown bushes and getting dirtier than their parents liked.

This is the sort of childhood I would love for my kids to have. I want them to recognize plants, to distinguish a sweet, ripe berry from one that is unripe and “spicy” (as my 2-year-old neighbor says). I want them to dig for worms and get excited about watching their tomato plants grow. I want them to walk to the neighbor’s house to pick figs, or get excited about picking their pumpkin from a real pumpkin patch (and not just a pile of pumpkins on the corner of a strip mall).

I don’t know how much fruit and veggies we’ll be able to grow in our yard, but hopefully I’ll have my own miniature version of the garden that I grew up with. And hopefully that will be a start for my kids to pique their interest in getting their hands in the dirt.

Family dynamics are always interesting, especially when you get married and are faced with merging and adjusting to different ways that you’ve been raised. Then there’s the adjustment of parents with older kids and vice versa. People always joke about the test of patience that comes from spending too much time with family, and we can’t deny there is truth in that. But in the end, once family has packed up and gone home, we realize how much we do really love them and are thankful for parents and siblings who would take the time to visit.

In addition to hosting our families, we got an unexpected visit from Kim, a cousin from the Bay Area. She and I went out for a dinner along the waterfront, got boba, went to Kerry Park, and hung out back at home until late last night. I think that was probably the first time she and I have ever hung out alone. Usually, we’re catching up in our grandparents’ living room during Christmas dinner, while all the other relatives are sitting nearby. So to have four hours alone with her was a special treat. I think of her (and most of my cousins) as my “little cousins,” because they are all younger than I am. But–with the exception of my young cousins who still are in elementary school and younger–many of them are in college and have graduated. It makes me a little sad that I don’t live near any of them anymore, now that we’re old enough to have deeper relationships. But that distance is all the more motivation to keep in touch in other ways, and to make the most of those Christmas dinners.