Grandpa's Fishy Scene

This is the kind of place that is busy from 4:00pm to 6:00pm for the Senior Special. This is the kind of place that has loyal customers that drop the line, "I'll have my regular". Where the waitresses have cute coffee shop names like Esther and Judith, and chat you up like they were your aunt catching up at the holidays. Seafare is all of this, that which makes it great.

Seafare is also the midway point between Grandpa McWeeney's house and ours. It has cozy booths and Manhattan clam chowder. It is the first restaurant I came to when I flew back from eight months in Spain. It is the only restaurant I have never seen change since I was a kid. My grandpa confirmed that they really haven't remodeled at all, other than adding in a scenic ocean scape to the back wall.

McGrandpa kickin' it before Thanksgiving dinner

My grandpa knows fish. At 97, he doesn't remember every detail. He does remind you of his age when he is forgetful, to give him a break. But McGrandpa recalls the important stuff, like where to get the best rye in town, how much the iced ginger cookies cost at Food4Less, and jokes about dying. He also knows where to get great fish and appreciates a fresh trout finished with a glass of wine or beer.

For some time now, I've been suspicious of my Grandpa's fishy aging rate- still driving, walking, and cracking jokes as if he was a 32-year-old chap back in New York courting his soon-to-be bride. Perhaps it has been his dedication to moderation in life. Maybe his 30 plus grandchildren make him youthful. Could it be the bike rides? His punny nature? Daily mass? Not popping pills?

 Or, perhaps, there's something in all the fish he has had over the years.

Best Craigslist Finds

Courtesy of Creative Commons

In the past I've used Craigslist to find an apartment, a great vintage bike, and most recently... a soccer team? Indeed, and it has been the best thing yet in the midst of the job search. Not only does it force me to remember what day of the week I'm on and make sure I talk to someone outside of my family that day, but I also regain some youth on the team. I don't mean physically, because gone are the days when I could sprint for ninety minutes and then go do a triathlon if I wanted to. I don't mean all my soccer-genius comes back once a week. Gone are the days when my teammates could read my mind and we mesh like butter on hot toast with the same delicious goal- a goal.

No, but age-wise I feel young on the team. After listening to side conversation between halves and pre/post-game, I started to notice that everyone was either married, had a wedding to attend, or just had a baby. To demonstrate how this plays into the game, my favorite quote has been, "Hey Chris, can I play the beginning part of the half? So I can leave early and get back to the kids..." When my teammate said that, it actually shocked me. Then the simple reality sunk in. As my only form of employment right now is nannying, I'm starting to get a glimpse into motherhood. Combining that experience and playing with these older kids -- still young at heart-- I have been able to gradually shimmy into adulthood and get some more exposure without all the pressure. What else could Craigslist magically have to offer? Take a look, and let me know what you find.

The Bad News Bears, as our team has been jokingly naming our plight this season, actually won a game today. Glorious, victorious, and fighting to stay out of last place. 

Why Hate Goodbyes?

Unlike Jim Carey's character in Dumb & Dumber, not all of us can have such emotional heartfelt goodbyes like Lloyd's. I find myself fumbling between saying the proper farewell, "have a safe flight" or "let's keep in touch" or "I had such a great time", and giving a huge ridiculous awkwardly-long hug like Lloyd does below. When the time for farewell comes about, it just doesn't seem to adequately sum up a relationship. After we part I think, "Oh I should have said this," or "that was really awkward," and sometimes, "Why didn't I kiss him?" Whether the goodbye is via Skype or in person, I'm never really satisfied.

Yet maybe that goodbye moment is not as important as we think. We don't need to weigh these moments as much because we never really leave someone after quality time spent with the companion. My good friend Anne has pictures of me on her wall in Berlin, Brian has my D.C. postcard on his wall; I'm spread across the world. I leave impressions on people that will stay forever, and visa versa. I find myself imitating expressions of my senior year roommate Megan. I have recycled dance moves from around the world, from the Costa Ricans I met in Madrid to my crazy college friends in Berkeley. I retell jokes my friend Ever told me over beers the summer in D.C. Songs and places recall memories; those memories can't be quit when they are evoked by something familiar. There's a lot happening in between the hello and goodbye that can have a lasting impression. Morbidly related yet completely fitting, here's a poem-for-thought:

The Dash Between by Ron Tramner

I stood there near the headstone

of one I loved, and cried.

Beneath his name was there engraved,

date of birth - and date he died.

The thought came quickly to my mind,

these years leave much unseen.

Far more meaningful to me

is the dash - which lies between.

The years within that little dash

live on in memory,

and represent the precious life

of one who’s dear to me.

In time I too shall pass away

and in the ground I’ll lie.

Will those I love and leave behind

stand at my grave and cry?

Our life here upon the earth

can end in but a flash.

Are we wisely using

the time within our dash?

Do we look for opportunities

to do a kindly deed,

and show love and understanding

to those who are in need?

For if our hearts are full of love

throughout the time we’re here,

we’ll be loved by all who knew us,

and our memory they’ll hold dear.

And there upon our headstone,

shining ever bright and bold,

that little dash between our years

will be a dash of gold.

_

Turkey Jerked

When I returned home at the end of August, Costco already had Santa lights and Christmas wreaths for sale. Brea's Downtown Promenade was in full seasonal attire the day after Halloween. Even with these warnings, I still found myself jerked into the holidays this past Thanksgiving week. For the past four years, I have been coming home for the holidays; this time, I was just getting settled at home in a peaceful rhythm when a storm of "how have you been" coffee dates infiltrated my Google calendar. The catching-up conversation overwhelmed me, mostly because I felt done after saying three words: nanny, tutor, job-search.

Nothing against the wonderful friends I got to see who are in med-school, getting teaching credentials, and really feeling God's presence in their life right now. I just don't know how to explain a journey within stretching to the tips of my capillaries over a cup of tea. I don't know how to tell my aunts & uncles at the carving table I have some crazy future ideas and I'm exploring how to go the next step. Fortunately for me, my friends and family are more than understanding of my roller coaster journey. After saying my three catch phrases including 'nanny', 'tutor', 'job-search', they either give encouragement by relaying their past challenges or make me laugh at a game of quidditch pong. Yes, quidditch pong is as exciting and magical as it sounds.

Never before have I felt so interrupted by the holidays. Thanksgiving Day seemed to rupture my peaceful spleen and tear out my pacified hair. That is only because I have been in a melancholic hum-drum of applying to jobs and digging deep in my soul. Actually, the shake is necessary to surface my mind again in the world. You wouldn't believe how far I get lost in my mind.

On the way home from Thanksgiving dinner in Oceanside, my mom let out a dramatic gasp as we passed the Imperial Highway exit on the 57 freeway around midnight. "Wow, look at all these cars lined up to go shopping for Black Friday! That's digusting." It truly was shocking, and the hours following the stroke of midnight on Black Friday only continue to shock me. The stack of ads in the paper and the Brea Mall parking lot are the most visual reminders that "the holidays" have arrived. Well, Thanksgiving may have jerked me into a holiday spirit, but it could be just the jerk I need to keep me moving forward full-throttle like a Joan of Arc riding in battle on her white horse. 

Growing Pains: When in Doubt, Babies Pout

Growing is an exhausting thing. This is very evident with Saydee, the 3-month-old angel of a girl I babysit a couple times a week. She can sleep a whole day, only waking up for a few bottles and a few smiles and a few walks around the backyard. I have never spent so much time with a newborn; what is so great is as I care for her, she is teaching me a lot about all of our necessities for growth. Those include food, sleep, and loving hugs. Every week I come back and notice she has gotten bigger, or is starting to pull hair, or learned how to push her pacifier back into her mouth. Growing is an exhausting thing, so we should give ourselves more credit throughout the process. Four years away at school was an accelerated time of discovery and adventure. Indeed, there was some growth there. Now back at home as the post-graduate who didn't shimmy into the entry-level young professional job (I'd say it's 50/50 amongst my friends), I've got some growing to do myself. So far this process has been complete with nourishing food, plenty of sleep, and the love and support from my family.

Saydee, an angel from heaven

Growing is painful. Saydee doesn't know how to communicate what she needs exactly. She gets confused if she has gas pains or if she is hungry. She wakes up hungry and doesn't want to patiently wait while I warm up her milk. Wow, I can relate. Stuck between committing to a career path and wanting to just go have fun, deciding between taking the higher-paying or more-satisfying job, playing with the dreams of buying and living off a plot of land versus poshly walking the city streets to work, changing my pace to a slower rhythm yet wanting to keep the beat going -- it's all mind-boggling! Whereas I learned much about the world at Berkeley, I am learning more about myself than ever before at home. The journey within can be a painful one, yet well-worth it.

We could learn a lot from how babies pout when in doubt. The pout is a soft wimper that will grow into a full-blown cry if not addressed. Saydee knows something is off, but may not be sure what it is yet. We have each other to lean on and should ask for help when we need it, whether we know exactly what it is we need. I have learned to be more assertive with my needs from good friends like Jenny and Aja. Yet babies go the extra mile and yell it out until they are understood. Food! Diaper change! Hug! Rocking chair! Who knew I could learn so much from a little bright-eyed baby. 

Silence is Golden

Courtesy of Creative Commons

This past weekend, I attended a silent retreat at the Sacred Heart Retreat Center. What does that entail? A lot of eye-hellos and even more talking to God. At a certain point, you run out of things to say in your head and you are forced to listen.

It is quite an experience sitting around a table of 8 women in silence. You start to notice all the clanks of plates and clatters of spoons, and the eating styles of women from the age of 22 (me, the chiquita) to 82. I picked up a few tricks; as the tea-fanatic I am, I learned a cool way to strain a tea bag. Place the pouch of leaves in the concave part of a spoon; wrap the string around pouch and spoon; squeeze. A very neat way to sip. The dining scene sounds like an exhibit I saw once at the LA Museum of Modern Art. A room full of projected videos on each wall, showing a certain function happening with a distinct noise. Ranging from vacuuming a room, to mowing a lawn, to hammering a nail, these noises together made some sort of symphony out of the daily humdrum. I had a similar experience at mealtimes with the fellow retreatants. With some smiles, hand gestures, and mouthing out 'water', we all filled our bellies.

Even more so, we filled our souls with peace. Besides the silence, it was a loud retreat in my mind. I couldn't put my pen down, thoughts surfaced in my brain that I had been ignoring, and I had conversations with God. Whoa. I recommend it to everyone. Whether you make a silent retreat yourself, or find one to attend, you are sure to learn a bit more about yourself as you leap into the journey within.

Who said silence is golden? I agree. 

A Bruxie's Brea

For four years, I have been coming back from Berkeley to visit my family for most holidays, vacations, and occasional getaway weekends. Taking the 5 or landing into John Wayne, I arrive back in Brea, only to find some new unexpected, rapid development. In the past four years, Brea has added Target, specialty grocery stores, and every chain I know to its landscape. Not to mention how posh Downtown Brea has become. Not only can you go to see the newly released movies at either theater, but you can also get a sandwich-waffle. Waffle-sandwich?

After getting coffee with an accomplished writer today, I joined Terri Daxon at Bruxie's one year anniversary ribbon-cutting ceremony outside their store on the Brea Promenade. Their criss-cross design and pocket-like patio seating matches their waffle-sandwich concept, varying in savory and sweet options. With the ceremony sponsored by the Brea Chamber of Commerce, Bruxie chefs boasted of an very admirable accomplishment. They are #2 on Yelp across the nation! However that is measured. Now, that is a feat for any restaurant.

The Brea I know has evolved so much since I was a kid, yet it is still the place to which I always come back. Now that I am stationed in Brea for the time being, I have to accept the changes while simultaneously adjusting to new developments in the making. There is no magical escape, return, and the awe-filled drive through town noticing what is new and what lost its gusto in the midst of all the growth. Instead I am part of this community now. I can sit back, or I can contribute. Talking with Miss Brea 2012, Linda Shi, I found out that she also graduated from Berkeley just a year ahead of me. Cool, right? Attending Chamber of Commerce events, meeting the people that make Brea so posh, and getting free food sounds like a deal to me!

As I adjust to the Orange County lifestyle, with no destination short of a ten-minute drive, I found a lot of joy being at this event and seeing some familiar faces. When I was volunteering in the foster care home in Spain, I came away with the conviction that one must contribute to their local community, wherever that may be. I hear echoes of my Grandpa McWeeney saying, "grow where you're planted." Yet I found my university education to be a very selfish lifestyle. Me, me, me! My grades, my accomplishments, my health, and my fun! Slowing down the pace in Brea, I have time to think about you, about us, and how I can contribute to the 'we'. Where does writing fall into that equation?

All that from a ribbon-cutting ceremony, would you believe it!

The ribbon-cutting crew, with Miss Brea 2012 Linda Shi on the far left.

Current Dreams into Reality

Surreal Tidal Wave, courtesy of Creative Commons 

Dreams tell me a lot about how I am feeling currently. One recurring dream of mine has a stronger current than others. That is, I am peacefully enjoying a day at the beach with family members and then all of a sudden huge waves come to the shore voraciously pulling blankets, shoes, books, and any other item their clammy hands can grasp. The dream ends in a feeling of helplessness as we look to gather our things but we can't get off the shore to the parking lot because a large wall appears. We are caught between a wave and a hard place, one might say. A day after Superstorm Sandy hit, I had this dream again, with some variations. Paralleling to my anxious feelings of finding a job, I have learned that water evokes a drowning sensation as I try to stay afloat.

I have been having this water-themed dream since I was a child, but it had never felt so real, well, until it happened. In the Mediterranean sea, of all places. It was a calm day at the beach in Almería, Spain where I was volunteering for the summer in a foster care home. As the kids had started to get cabin fever, a day at the beach with them was a great solution. One moment I am standing in the water waiting for Sandra to pass me the beach ball, the next moment I see her eyes get really big, and a second later I am knocked over by a wave. Pura, the elderly nun with us, collecting sea shells, was knocked over as well. Three subsequent waves followed as we scrambled to gather and move our valuable electronics out of harms way. Then, pacifity once again.

Most people on the shore laughed it off and struggled with a wet book, towel, or phone. But I, I just experienced a dream manifest into reality! As I looked for the right words in Spanish to express this to my company, questions whirled in my head: What does this mean? Should I do something, act on this? Which life am I living and which is a dream? (For a more introspective look, I recommend La Vida es Sueño by Calderón de la Barca)

A recurring dream had just turned into reality, yet this was a time of relative tranquility in my life.
My life at the foster care home involved playing cards with the kids, braiding hair, going to the beach, and doing some household chores. At a time when I had never felt as relaxed and free of mind-clutter, this dream becomes reality. I still don't know what to make of it quite, and I still don't know where those three unexpected waves came from. Though there was a cruise ship in the horizon...I think it was really there.

Book Sniffin'

Courtesy of Creative Commons

I remember sitting in the back of my Spanish literature class and stealthily smelling the book I had just check out of the library. Not stealthily enough, the cute guy next to me asked, "Did you just smell your book?" That potential relationship went out the window. Yet I stayed content with La Celestina in my hand.

There is something enchanting about walking through endless rows of books, running your fingers across the spines, and stopping every once in awhile to judge one by its cover. Name, color, print, and the wear-n-tear are all factors in the judging process. Many say it is a superficial way, but when you add smell into the mix these factors take on a new dimension. The book is an experience; smell as another sense contributes to the experience.

I dream about having a study in my house with tons of pretty books to scan through. Sounds like a luxury to come home from work, not to find eyes peering at you but spines for you to examine instead. I find a bookshelf relaxes me, rejuvenates me, and also excites me with the endless options. I am known to be an indecisive person because I see the possibility in everything. A bookshelf is a good visual of that, with every book having something unique to offer to the big picture.

Yummy, books.