For My Wildish Un-Declawed Sisters

Sniff, Track, Hunt

Whenever I feel dry and frozen I read "Women Who Run With the Wolves" by  Clarissa Pinkola Estes. It was given to me in 1993, a year after I moved from Taiwan to Minneapolis, with two suitcases and an ill-fitted red coat on my back, no hat, no gloves, in the dead of winter. The person* who gave me the book was a transplant from Spokane, my American bosses family friend, my first woman friend in the new country.

Last night I felt drawn to the Ugly Duckling story and read until midnight while the snow whistled like a ghost in the wind. The light flickered uncertainly but the power never went out. Of all the stories in "Women Who Run with the Wolves" I keep returning to the Ugly Ducking, like recurring dreams. This morning I woke up and the crank in my neck disappeared and the snow was melting in the sun.

          " While it is useful to make bridges even to those groups one does not belong to, 

          and it is important to try to be kind, it is also imperative to not strive too hard, 

          to not believe too deeply that if one acts just right, if one manages to tie down 

        all the itches and twitches of the wildish criatura, that one can actually pass 

       for a nice, restrained, subdued, and demure lady-woman. 

        It is that kind of acting, that kind of ego-wish to belong at all costs, 

          that knocks out the Wild Woman connection in the psyche."

*Julie Neraas is a Presbyterian pastor, spiritual director, and professor in the Graduate Liberal Studies program at Hamline University. Her first book "Apprenticed to Hope" was published in 2009.

When Nulang Meets Zhinu - Round 1, The Call

Nulang, Water-Buffalo Boy and Zhinu, Silk-Weaving Girl are Chinese folklore characters. Their story was romantic and tragic, like Romeo and Juliet, only older, a few thousand years older. Nobody really knew what shenanigans Nulang and Zhinu got themselves into, only they were banished from the Jade Palace (English translation: Heaven) forever. Rumor has it drugs were involved and according to the legend the punishment for their stealing the Ecstasy for Immortality was permanent exile to live on the opposite bank of Yin He (Silver River, the Milky Way to you Westerners). On the third appeal the Jade Emperor agreed to let them cross the Silver River once a year. On the 7th night of the 7th Lunar month of every year, if you look up the sky and look very carefully you would spot the two most brilliant stars in the Milky Way, Nulang and Zhinu, still arguing about who's fault it was that they don't live in Heaven any more.



Round 1 - The Call

Zhinu came home from work tired. She finally found a job in the nearby town. Her past-life skills in the galaxy (global is the more hip word nowadays) commerce haven't proven to be in demand in the earthy community she lives in now. She tried house cleaning once, for a damn Republican, as Nulang likes to call everyone who makes more money than he does. But that didn't last long. After she insisted that her employer (a retired Admiral's wife) called her by her human name instead of "Yoohoo", she never heard from that woman again. Nulang told her she was being too proud and demanding, "No Americans can pronounce your name." "Well, I am not a cat."said Zhinu indignantly.

This summer with luck and a little networking Zhinu found a job teaching Chinese to five-year olds. It is hard work; five-year-olds have attention spans like fruit flies and they cry when Zhinu can't understand their 5-years-old English. Overall Zhinu is grateful to have found a job that is not going to break her back or makes her feel like a pet.

Nulang greeted her warmly. He is nice that way. He asked her how her lesson went, she said fine. She asked Nulang how his day went like American couples she saw on TV.

"Robert called and we talked for over an hour."said Nulang.

Robert is Nulang's high school friend. Zhinu feigned interest because she remembered the time when Nulang was working and she wasn't, she often waited all day for Nulang to come home so she could share the news of the day with him. Being a housewife or househusband is a lonely and thankless job.

"How is Robert?"
"He is okay I suppose."
"Is he still working at the hospital?"
"I guess."
"How is Julie?" Julie is Robert's wife whom Zhinu can't stand.
"I don't know, she didn't come up during the conversation."
"So, What did you talk about?"Zhinu knew it was a stupid question but she asked anyway.
"I don't know. This and That."
"For an hour?" Zhinu thought, not out loud.
"Robert might come visit." Nulang said after a few minutes as if he just remembered this insignificant detail.
"Did he say around when?" If Zhinu ruled the world she would like to know the exact hour if not the exact minute her guests would arrive but she knew she didn't rule the world, not yet, so she tactfully used the "around" word as to give her partner some space.
"No, he just said he would like to visit next year."
"Great." Zhinu chirped, a little too cheerfully, then she went on preparing her favorite lunch - Velvety Chicken and Vegetable Noodle Soup.

Ballsy Crabs- Spicy Good

Ingredients:
Makes about 8 Balls

1 Tablespoon olive oil
1/2 onion, minced
2 cloves of garlic, minced
1 teaspoon jalapeno, minced(more if you like it hot)
1/2 red or green bell pepper
2/3 cup of corn
1 teaspoon each of cumin and  paprika
a dash of cayenne pepper and white pepper

3 cups of crab meat

1 egg white

1/4 cup mayonnaise
1 Tablespoon cilantro
Zest of 1 lemon
salt and black pepper
1-1/2 cup of Panko (Japanese Bread Crumb)

1. Heat a tablespoon of olive oil in a skillet with medium heat, saute onion, garlic, jalapeno, bell pepper corn and spices until tender, about 5 minutes. Set aside to cool. Preheat the oven to 425 degrees.

2. In a medium bowl, mix crab meat with egg white, mayo, salt, black pepper, cilantro, lemon zest and cooled vegetable mix. Gently combine with a fork.

3. Put Panko on a plate. Form crab mix into 2" balls in your hand and carefully roll them in the Panko, carefully lay them 1" apart on a lightly oiled cookie sheet. Sprinkle more Panko on top and gently pat it down. This step takes great care as the crab balls tend want to fall apart. They are not as ballsy as they sound.

4. Bake until golden brown on the top, about 20 minutes.

They can be enjoyed as a warm appetizer, put one or two on a lettuce leaf and sprinkle with lime juice or a dollop of mayo. Wrap two in a warm burrito skin with your favorite garnishing, or eaten as a crab burger with lettuce, tomato, onion, mayo and mustard. I've not yet try putting them in Udon noodle soup like Tempura. I bet that will work. In fact I'm going to try that for lunch! Stay tuned.

Fettuccine Crab La Vodka

I first tasted this recipe a few years ago on Frost Island; a tiny, sparsely-inhibited and little-known island in the San Juan's.  C got a crabbing license on Monday, 8 years after living by the coast.  Now our fridge is taken over by crabs. Other good crab recipes, anyone?

Ingredients:
Serves 2 as a main dish or 4 if serving with a soup or salad

2 cups of fresh crab meat, shelled and picked well
1/2 small onion, minced
2-3 cloves or garlic, minced
1 Tablespoon Olive oil
1 Tablespoon butter
1 can of crushed tomatoes
1/2 cup of good vodka
1/2 cup of chicken broth
1/2 cup of heavy cream
Salt and Pepper
Fresh basil
1/2 pound of Fettuccine or Penn

1. In a skillet, melt butter and heat olive oil with medium heat, add onion and garlic, saute until translucent.
2. Add vodka and continue heating with medium heat until it reduces to half.
3. Add crushed tomatoes, chicken broth, bring to a boil and simmer.
4. Cook pasta according to the instruction, minus a couple of minutes because it will continue cooking in the sauce later.
5. Add cream to the simmering vodka tomato sauce and let it thicken to your liking, if it is too watery, add a table spoon of tomato paste.  Add salt and pepper to taste.
6. Put drained pasta into the sauce, add crab meat, gently turn and evenly coat with a tong. Once the pasta and crabs are heated through remove the skillet from stove.
7. Serve with fresh chopped basil on top.

Be There Before The Light Arrives

One of my students loaned me a book, "The Writer's Desk" by Jill Krementz. Many well-known writers wrote about "their rooms with a view" and their creative process. Flipping through, what Toni Morrison wrote struck a cord - "For me, light is the signal in the transition. It's not being in the light, it's being there before the light arrives. It enables me, in some sense."

I always get very restless and unhappy if I haven't written for awhile. The writing I talk about here is writing writing, it is not quoting someone, announcing something, writings that have little if any emotional value. As the days are getting shorter, the sun sinks lower each day behind the alders, the seasonal change signaled a transition in me as well. I always get a panicky feeling when the day turns into the night.  I usually resort to a glass of wine, then busy myself with dinner. Sometimes it works to easy my mind because I love cooking; it gives me some creative relief, once it is "night proper" I am fine. One good thing about getting older is that you have lived long enough to see patterns. I have become more and more aware of this recurring "dip" in my days, life and psyche as I get older.

Morrison's words gave me a different perspective on how to interpret light and darkness -" It's not being in the light, it's being there before the light arrives." Days can't exist without nights; light co-exists with darkness. Be there before the light arrives.

  

Soul Food on a Dark August Day

The Buddha's Last Instruction

"Make of yourself a light,"

said the Buddha,

before he died.

I think of this every morning

as the east begins

to tear off its many clouds

of darkness, to send up the first

signal - a white fan

streaked with pin and violet

even green.

An old man, he lay down

between two sala trees,

and he might have said anything,

knowing it was his final hour.

The light burns upward,

it thickens and settles over the fields.

Around him, the villagers fathered

and stretched forward to listen.

Even before the sun itself

hangs, disattached, in the blue air,

I am touched everywhere

by its ocean of yellow waves.

No doubt he thought of everything

that had happened in his difficult life.

And then I feel the sun itself

as it blazes over the hills,

like a million flowers on fire ----

clearly I'm not needed,

yet I feel myself turning

into something of inexplicable value.

Slowly, beneath the branches,

he raised his head.

He looked into the faces of the frightened crowd. 

- Mary Oliver

Baked Tofu

Ingredients:

A packet of extra firm tofu.
Marinate:
2 Tbsp of soy sauce
2 Tbsp of Sesame oil
1 tsp of Chinese Five Spice


Instructions:

1. Take the tofu out of packet, rinse with cold water, pat dry, place tofu on a big flat plate and put another big plate on top. Put a heavy object on top to squeeze out the extra liquid. Leave it for an hour.

2. Pat dry tofu again and cut into 1/2" thick slices with a sharp knife.

3. In a small bowl mix soy sauce, sesame oil, and Chinese Five-Spice. Brush the mixture evenly on the tofu, hold the tofu gently in the palm of your hand, brush the top, sides and bottom. Lay the coated tofu in a container in layers. Cover and leave in the refrigerator for 4 hours or overnight. Turn occasionally.

4. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Spray a cookie sheet with cooking oil and lay the marinated tofu slices in a single layer 1/2" apart. Bake for 40 minutes or until golden.

There are many ways to enjoy the baked tofu, my favorites are:

1. Cut the baked tofu into 1/2" strips, sprinkle soy sauce, sesame oil, chopped green onion and cilantro. We love spicy food so I usually add a dash of hot chili oil. Chinese usually eat this as an appetizer or as a side dish for noodle soups, rarely as a main course.

2. Cut the baked tofu into 1/2" strips or cubes, stir- fry either with broccoli, or/and red bell pepper, beans, the possibility is endless. Since the tofu is already cooked, add last just to heat through and to coat with the spices you add and the juices from the vegetables.

3. Spicy baked tofu bean paste noodle sauce - I will post the recipe shortly. "Zha Jiang Mien" is the Chinese name for noodles with a sauce made with minced pork, baked tofu, soy beans and bean paste - it's a very common and popular street food in Taiwan.  But the quality depends on how it's prepared, and the difference is like using Spaghetti sauce from a jar or making your own with fresh ingredients.

Five Minutes of Heaven

"Five Minutes of Heaven" is a movie I watched last night. It claimed to be inspired by a true event. In 1975, 17-year-old Irish-Protestant Little assassinated 19-year-old Catholic Jim Griffin in his home. The murder was witnessed by Griffin's 11-year-old brother Joe. Thirty years later a TV talk show brought them together for a live on-air reconciliation. The movie told the story of two men haunted by that moment of violence, and how they came face-to-face with their own wolds of pain, violence and vengeance.

It is a thoughtful movie and thought-provoking. It asked the question of what is true reconciliation and is it possible to achieve?  Although it is set in Northern Ireland it is a question applied to every corner of the world where there is conflict, not only the ones we see on TV but what goes on in our own lives. In our close relationships, if we are honest, we all experience and fail to resist that powerful seduction of that "five minutes of heaven", when we relish the power of our anger and righteousness and the sweetness of our revenge. We lash out and punish. We get applause from our friends when we retell and relive the story. "He/She deserves it!" they cheered.

But when we go back to our own lives we realize that five minutes of heaven becomes days of hell and the damage we caused to others and ourselves took much more than five minutes to repair. There is no winner in violence. We are all victims.

My first memory of violence happened when I was 3 or 4 years old. No, it is not sexual or physical abuse. It is something that happens to most of us. It is so common that we tend to ignore its subtle and long-lasting impact. I was trying to reach and tip over a hot water thermos. I screamed when the boiling water spilling onto my chest. I don't remember much of what happen next except my father's fury. He was holding me in his arm and shouting at my mother blaming her for her negligence. I remember how his fury frightened and upset me more than my burn and how I so desperately wanted him to stop lashing out on my mother but the only thing I could do was to cry harder which only made him madder because he felt helpless in easing my pain.

I don't think my father is a violent person although he did have a temper. He was a sensitive soul, more so than my mother. He was more in tune with our emotional lives and because of his sensitivity he suffered deeply when we suffered. He didn't have any formal schooling; joined the Nationalist Army when he was 10. He taught himself how to read and write from reading and copying from the newspapers. He passed away in 1992; the year I came to the United States after spending a year and half with him and my mother in our old house in Xinchu, Taiwan. That was one of the best period of my life, not the happiest but the best. I was very fortunate to be able to return my first home as an adult and spent a year and half with my parents as one. I will never forget those sunny days sitting in the yard listening to my father, telling stories from when he was a young men. Behind his heavy "Long Life" brand cigarette smoke, I saw not just my aging father but a man, a life.

What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean ---
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down ---
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is,
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? 


- "The Summer Day", Mary Oliver

    

Free Choice, Food and Ignorance

My mother is a terrible cook. The reason she is terrible is because she doesn't give a hoot about how her cooking looks, smells and tastes. The only exception is this braised fish dish she makes. I'm still trying to master the sauce to braise the fish in. Food to her is just something she does three times a day. She never eats snacks but she will buy them for the grandchildren and she will eat them when they are going bad. In a way, I envy my mother. Food is simple to her and so is life. She is 84 years old and I haven't met anyone who is more content and healthier than her.

It seems paradoxically for someone who just offered cooking classes to be talking about the blessing of eating simply, not choosy. Well, not really, there will be no good fictional writers around if paradox is not a human condition. What inspired me to write today is the word "choice".  Recently my friend DC posted a talk on TED (http://www.ted.com/talks/sheena_iyengar_on_the_art_of_choosing.html). Ms. iyengar started by talking about her experience in Japan when she asked for sugar for her green tea. She brilliantly and humorously used this example to open her talk on how our individual and cultural background influence our choices and how having too many choices or rather foolishly believing we do got us into trouble. Free choice is not free. One of my favorite scene in the movie "Borat" was the grocery(was it Walmart?) scene - when Borat went through the rows of hundreds of cheese packets and asked the help staff, "What is this?" The help staff answered, "Cheese." He went on to the next one and asked "What is this?" The help staff answered, "Cheese?" This went on for a few minutes! The help staff was as patient and expressionless as a robot . It was really painful and hilarious to watch and I understood why the movie company deleted the scene from the theater version. But this scene pointed out the ridiculousness of the so-called "free choices" in America. It is free choice but only in packaging! The better-informed consumers know that the cheese was all made by one or two big corporations.

I think most of us are ignorant about free choice, including myself. Let me tell you a story. This happened to me at the American history class when I took the Bard College's Clemente Course in the Humanities at WSU two years ago, an outstanding free (you do have to study and do the homework) college credited course for the low-income. The class was on United States Declaration of Independence. I read it for the first time after living in the U.S. for 15 years and I was moved to tears. At the class we are encouraged to speak up so I did and I got all emotional and all. After I finished I noticed the teacher looked funny and uncomfortable. He tried to put it to me gently that the men in "all men are created equal" meant men literally; it did not include women or blacks! I wish there was a hole in the floor. All the melodramatic remarks I made a few minutes ago about escaping a patriarch society to the land of the free to pursuit Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.

Believe me I had many more embarrassing moments like that during the six-month course. It made me realize that I thought I simulated into the American society seamlessly; I know how to talk and act like an American but I had not a clue about the fundamentals of what made America America. All these big words like freedom, independence, choice, rights we so fond of using are like the cheese in "Borat"; we are mistaken the packaging for the content. People asked me whether I am an American citizen. I am not but I am legal. I think I will become an American citizen when I figure out what it really means.

When it comes to the free choice about food the first step is to get informed - know where your food is from and how it is grown and transported. (1/4 of carbon emission in the U.S. is food related and majority of it is from transportation, that includes your drive to and from where you get food.) Read the ingredients: less is more. As far as my Chinese cooking classes go, I will use ingredients made in the U.S. or Taiwan where the food regulations are bettered enforced than China. By the way, I just found out recently that the standard for certified organic food in Taiwan is much more strict than the U.S. Here goes another of my ignorant assumptions!

These Please the Soul Well

I have perceiv'd that to be with those I like is enough,

To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough,

To be surrounded by beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing

flesh is enough...

I do not ask any more delight, I swim in it as in a sea.

There is something in staying close to men and women and

looking on them,

And in the contact and odor of them, that pleases the soul well,

All things please the soul, but these please the soul well.

- Walt Whitman

This being human is a guest house

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness.

Some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,

Who violently sweep your house

Empty of its furniture,

Still, treat each guest honorably.

He may be cleaning you out

For some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,

Meet them at the door laughing

And invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,

Because each has been sent

As a guide from beyond.

- Rumi -

East Meets West Fried Rice

East Meets West Fried Rice - There is no such thing called the "Wrong Rice"

Serves 2

Ingredients:

2 eggs

3 Tbsp oil

3 cups of leftover rice

Small piece of smoked salmon, cubed

1/4 onion, chopped

2 green onion

2 Tbsp of carrots, chopped

2 cups of broccoli

A dash of kosher salt, white and black pepper

1 tsp of soy sauce

1. Scrambled the eggs in 1 Tbsp of oil. Cook until it's almost done but still a little runny. Set aside.

2. Saute the onion and green onion in 2 Tbsp of oil until fragrant about a minute, add the vegetables and a little water(1/4 cup more or less), cook until the water evaporates and the broccoli is crunchy but still has some bite to it, about 3 minutes.

3. Add rice, smoke salmon, scramble eggs, soy sauce, salt and pepper. Mix well and stir constantly until rice is heated and coated evenly with the soy sauce. Use the spatula to break up clumpy rice and the eggs into smaller pieces. Adjust the flavor if needed.

4. Divide the rice into two bowls and serve hot.

I've made fried rice numerous times, mostly without meat or fish, usually when there was nothing else to eat! Last night I stumbled on this recipe also as the last resort. I had nothing planned and the idea of having fried rice for dinner seemed depressing! Then I remembered I bought a small chunk of smoked salmon at the Chimacum Farmer's Market. It was wild line-caught Alaskan salmon from Cape Cleare Fishery. If you are like me who still consider smoked salmon a luxury item, now you can exhale, it only costs $5. You actually don't want to use too much salmon as it is nicely salty and flavorful, too much can be, well, "too much". You can use chives instead of green onions if it's more available, or just pluck the green stalks from the onions in the yard like I did. Now comes the most exciting part - the rice! I never used Basmati rice before but that was what I had for leftover. Again, like what I wrote in "Accidental Mango Salsa" - the best recipes come from accidents! I discovered Basmati is the best for making fried rice because it doesn't stick and stays in shape when heated. Besides it's nutty undertone compliments the salmon's smokiness.

I want to sound like a wise old Chinese woman with sage advices- "no, no, no use short-grain rice, no make the mistakes I made. Aiya, you learn, foreign devils." But wait a minute, who's talking? Who just wrote, "My best recipes often came from accidents?" There is no such thing called the "wrong rice" in the world of creating fried rice! So go ahead, use whatever you have, create your own master piece, and share with the world.

Accidental Mango Salsa

Those of you who enjoy cooking probably have this happen to you - you create something wonderful by accident. In my mind there are two kinds of cooks - the scientist who follows recipes to a T; and there's the artist who finds whatever is in the fridge. I was a scientist when I had disposable income which allowed me to buy gourmet ingredients however obscure and costly, and even if I only used them once it was worthwhile for impressing my friends. Now I'm turning into a starving artist by default! I usually don't have a recipe in mind, I look at what is available and try to create something decent and healthy out of it - necessity is the mother of invention.

It was a warm May afternoon yesterday and I had been working in the yard all day, so slaving over a hot stove in our West-facing kitchen didn't seem very appealing. There was some turkey leftover that needed to be consumed quickly as we had been living off it for a week. We bought it at QFC around last Thanksgiving for 29 cents a pound. So there was cold turkey and burrito skins - a no brainer. And I was delighted to discover I had all the components for a fresh salsa (okay, I admit I don't have my own vine-ripe tomatoes); store-bought tomatoes, jalapeno, cilantro, lime, garlic and red onion Then I noticed the Manila Mango and the avocado I bought on sale also needed to be consumed before they became too ripe. I have used mango before but I think the secret is to use the right kind of mango. I don't know about you who live in other parts of the country or of the globe, but in Washington buying mango is a crap shoot. Once I bought a whole box at Costco (by the way, I quit Costco six months ago and I haven't suffered withdrawal); most of them were not edible. This is the big green and red Mexican variety. This mango I used is the smaller, oblong golden Manila mango which I bought at Central Market in Poulsbo, 3 for $5. And the avocado which I only splurge when it is a dollar each at the QFC.

Accidental Mango Salsa

Serves 2 (2 burritos each and some extra for chips)

2 ripe tomatoes, cored and seeded

jalapeno, cored and seeded (I used a whole one because it was also going soft!)

3/4 cup loosely packed cilantro

2 cloves of garlic

1 Tablespoon of red onion or green onion

1 Tablespoon of lime juice

1 ripe Manila Mango

1 Teaspoon of olive oil

1 Teaspoon fresh oregano (optional)

Salt and fresh-ground black pepper

Chopped everything up, add lime juice, salt, pepper and olive oil, let it sit in room temperature for 10-15 minutes. Viola. Add the usual suspects to your pan-warmed burritos, such as sour cream, shredded cheese, lettuce, crumbled corn chips (this really adds a nice texture to the burrito), and a dash of hot sauce (Cholula Original is our new favorite) if you like it hot and spicy like we do.

色即是空，空即是色。

我 打電話給我二姊祝她母親節快樂。她說她兒子要教她電腦。我想我這下非得用中文寫了。

很久沒用中文寫東西。還一時不知該寫些什麼。

記得在台灣時告訴茹茵寫日記的好處。這是我今天寫的東西：

“在台灣買了本心經解讀。第一次稍稍了解”空“和”色“的關係。以前以為色是不好的，空是好的。這是分別心。 現在進一步了解，有色才有空，有空才有色。兩者是一體的。互相依存的。

色是空的展現。我們都是色空的融和體。“

上面花了我一個小時。太爛了。

My Mother - Be Happy, Don't Worry!

My mother is amazing. She is 84, she swims, bicycles and sings karaoke. What I love most about my mother is that she seems to enjoy everything and everybody, she is totally oblivious to what I consider "wrong" with this world - she doesn't worry. How great is that? Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I love you. She doesn't read English but let's not worry about that right now.

Tea - A Love Affair

I have been flirting with T for 13 years. It all began after I quit my job. It was a conscious

and voluntary choice but it felt like a bad divorce. T was the "perfect" rebound but as affairs usually turn out, it didn't stand up to reality-check. I thought T would fill the void of loosing my old identity as the "hot-shot", "east meets west" business woman. How wrong I was! But I never regret meeting T and we remain a platonic relationship.

I set up a company called Double Happiness Tea Inc. I wrote a 36-page business plan, studied hard, traveled to Asia twice to learn and looking for a good reliable tea exporter. I was approaching tea as a product, like a knickknack which was my old employer's claim to fame. I did farmer's markets, co-ops, open houses, the malls. Everybody "loved the idea" but few were willing to pay what they paid for a pound of mediocre coffee for a 2 oz of top-notch tea, which actually lasted longer because you could make multiple infusions. Thirteen years ago green tea was just getting to be the new health food, some people lost interest immediately when I said I wasn't sure green tea would help them loose weight. I thought a bit of education was in order so I started teaching Chinese Tea Ceremony. After doing it for awhile, once in the middle of Minnesota's winter driving two hours in heavy snow to a shaman's workshop at a church, I discovered I actually enjoyed sharing tea more than selling tea. It took me awhile to admit that I wasn't going to become the "Starbucks of Tea", but thanks to the IRS who made the self-acceptance easier. I hated doing business tax, especially when I was loosing money, I threw in the towel and move to the capital city of coffee - Seattle, well, not quite Seattle but close enough.

Enough of Me, this is supposed to be a travel blog not a "How I failed" confession. Now let me take you for a fun ride to Yung Kang Street; which has become one of my favorite neighborhoods in Taipei. Although most of the one-story houses with tiled roofs and walled gardens(built during the Japanese occupation period between 1895-1945 to accommodate Japanese officials) are ancient memories now, the neighborhood still has an old cultured atmosphere. Away from the main road, from the well-known places like Din Tai Fong (see my post on Facebook, April 29th), the stall that sells shredded ice that Japanese tourists favor and various enticing eateries and quaint shops, tucked away in the narrow back alleys are the "tea joints".

It was my dear friend Cathy who introduced me to these tea joints and they have become my "must-visit" every time I go back to Taiwan. Some of these joints have no signs and they don't need to for they are in the business of word of mouth. They are run by people who are the real "tea artists". They are not tea houses, they may have one or two tables and they don't serve food. It's like going to a friend's house, you sit for two, three, four hours, sampling tea and telling stories. Contrary to popular belief I always sleep soundly after a night of such tea feast. Each tea joint is known by the tea connoisseurs in Taipei for its specialty - one is known to get the freshest and prized "young teas" of the season, the other is known for its secret stash of "Red Seal Pu-er" which a quarter-size chunk is worth an ounce of gold, yet another is where you can buy a $300 teapot made by the most famous local ceramist, or a place you can learn how to play an ancient music instrument. As for a novice like me, I just go for the wild ride and enjoy being treated like "Cathy's friend who lives in America". Then I came to the "Starbucks Land" loaded with half suitcase of tea and my unrequited love for T.

Where is this food thing going?

Where is this food thing going?

Talking about Taiwan without talking about food is like talking about America without talking about the National Parks - both are something that inspires awe and wonder, requires reverence and gratitude but often taken for granted and abused.

Like the National Parks the most impressive aspect of the food culture in Taiwan is its diversity. As the photos shown here - you can have a 10-course exquisitely presented meal at one of the most elegant restaurant in the world. (Believe me, in my jet-setting days I've eaten in many 5-star hotels and restaurants) The restaurant is tucked in the hills with two "eating quarters" - one for big groups and one as shown in this photo) for smaller groups. Before and after the meal you can walk around the meticulously (it looks totally natural but you know lots of work went into it) landscaped grounds. I felt like I had crossed the threshold of time and became an ancient Chinese poetess; the world melted away, the only sound was the burbling creek.

Then there is the street food variety - rice sausage and rice stick soup served with a side dish if you desire - from every part of the pig you can imagine. This stall is called "Half square-foot shop" and is listed in many travel books as the "must-visit" in Danshui. I like how one traveling author described the rice sausage - "stuffed with savory sticky rice; tender and supple like a baby's arm"! (No kidding!) If you go on the weekends you will most likely be joining the lines two or three circles deep, watch and salivate over the shoulders of the lucky ones who are eating the baby's arm sliced and covered with a red sauce.

Taiwan is a vegetarian's dream - check out the spread in the top photo. It's a buffet! Any old tofu buger just won't do. There are everything you can imagine - some look just like meat; pork, duck, kidney, fish, you name it. You won't feel deprived being a non-meat eater.

I noticed the food culture in Taiwan, like cultures do, is changing with the time and the environment - some for the better, some for the worst. Chinese has always been obsessed with health and longevity but this time with a twist - the Western influence. Apart from still wildly believing in the "usual suspects" of traditional foods that are "Bu" (nourishing)(such as ginseng, goji berry, mushrooms, etc.), nuts, seeds, raw fruit and vegetables are becoming the "new boy in town". My sister made me a smoothie each morning with fruit, vegetables and nuts. She insisted on adding beets too because my family has a history of kidney and gal bladder stones! I've never seen beets in my life in Taiwan before! It was a bit weird having my sister telling me the benefits of eating flex-seeds and walnuts as if it was a secret recipe she just discovered yesterday. I think the Western influence came from many of the top-selling health books written by doctors who studied and lived in the West. Many of them were cancer survivors. My sister's children called the book she was reading "the Bible". I understand my sister's new found "religion" - she lost her husband to cancer last year and both of her children are overweight.

Twice in Taiwan when I was not accompanied by the locals and had to choose restaurants randomly I had bad experience and it was very bad. I tasted vegetables that was so laden with pesticide that I could taste it! I challenged the stores mined not by the owners but teenage minimum-waged workers, they looked at me as if I was crazy or snooty, or both. One of the restaurant was located at the Taipei main train station - thousands of people go through there each day. Why didn't anyone complain? Why is the restaurant still in business? Maybe the Taiwanese are so used to the taste they think it as "normal"? That's highly possible and a scary thought. I didn't know what else I could have done apart from telling everybody my experience, warning them off and reminded them to buy vegetables that are pesticide-free and wash store-bought produce really well.

Since Taiwan is so small the "local food movement" is a "foreign" concept. Since people like my mother and sister almost go to the market daily they think they are getting fresh food. In the old days it was true - the local farmers would bring in their harvest to sell by the side of the road, in their baskets or carts. You can still see some but most were replaced by well-lit, well-stocked stores and supermarkets who buy wholesale and I'm sure from big growers who most likely use pesticide to keep the production up and cost down. There are vegetables labelled "organic" in stores and I did visit a store which sold exclusively organic food from their own farm. But like the States 10-15 years ago the prices were at least double if not triple the regular ones.

From my own experience I learned that you can have all the latest knowledge and information about food, health and the environment, but old habits are hard to break and true awareness takes time to sink in and it comes from "living" it. I did take a master gardeners class when I moved from urban Minneapolis to rural Olympic Peninsula and it was tremendously helpful in helping me understand my new habitat, but in the end it is nature who is the ultimate teacher - it patiently shows us the way if we are only willing to listen.

A Success Story

Taipei, like most Asian metropolis such as Bangkok, Shanghai and Hong Kong, used to be known to visitors for their excruciating traffic jams. I didn't experience any on this trip, (okay, maybe once and that was because I was in a car!), thanks to the new MRT (Mass Rapid Transit) system. My sister owns an apartment in Danshui where I stayed in Taipei. In the old days, before 1996 when the MRT first started operation, "going to Danshui" was equivalent to "going to the San Juan's", you don't just jump up and go - it is a trip you have to plan for and it takes half a day just to get there. Now it takes 50 minutes from Danshui to Taipei's main train station where you can choose from hundreds of buses and trains (including the high-speed train) to other parts of Taipei and Taiwan.

The MRT is often, fast and clean. It has announcement in Mandarin, Taiwanese, Hakka and English. No beverages and food are allowed and passengers are "reminded" to talk gently on their cell phones and watch their steps when they embark. There are four routes which cover extensively huge areas of Taipei. You can buy a single ticket but I'd recommend getting a transit card which is like a debit card and you can buy in any amount and add more as needed. It will save you lots of time and it is good for all public buses in Taipei. Before I left Taiwan the company (Taipei Rapid Transit Company) is announcing that you can use the card at places like the 7/11 too!

For more information on MRT, check out Wikipedia and the MRT official web site www.trtc.com.tw. Be sure to choose English so you don't think I'm pulling your leg thinking you can read Chinese characters.

After I posted the Kitsap Airporter yesterday and as I am writing the MRT today, I can't help thinking about just how screwed-up and backward the public transport system is in the U.S. (New York might be the only exception) And how this "car culture" mentality got us in trouble on so many levels. I was telling a friend who responded to my post yesterday on alternative transport to the airport that my 84-year-old mother and her girlfriend who is close to 90 take buses all the time and that is one thing I noticed about Taiwan - you see old people out about and are fully engaged in life. That has such a positive and uplifting effect on the society as we can see our own future: not as a burden but happy, independent members of the society. I think the Mayor of Seattle should send a delegation to Taipei and maybe they will learn a few things about "serving the people".

A Good Way to Go

I'm so inspired by my recent travel to Taiwan and Hong Kong that I decided to include more information and thoughts on travel in my blog.

Living in the quiet woods has a few disadvantages; one being it's damn far from any airport. I always dread the drive to Sea-Tac, so unless it's my 84-year-old mother coming visit I usually ask my guests to rent a car! Even though my partner Curt kindly and willingly offered to drive me to the airport this time, I decided to search for a better alternative. The ones I already knew were expensive and irregular.

I found one! It's Kitsap Airporter (www.kitsapairporter.com). It costs $21.50 a trip and it runs every hour from Poulsbo from 2 a.m. to 10 p.m. To and from the airport I had women drivers who were courteous and excellent drivers. One of them lived in Thailand while she joined the PeaceCorp. We chatted the whole way about traveling. That was a great start to my journey and reminded me why I used to love travel so much - you just never know whom you are going to meet and so often when you least expected you meet the most interesting people.

It's not here or there; it's here and there

After spending two months in Taiwan I came to realize that I had been asking the wrong question all along! The right question to ask is not here or there but here and there. You see, I spent half of my life in Taiwan and half in the U.S. And for the past twenty years no matter how much "positive thinking" and meditation I did I felt there was something missing in my life; I felt incomplete and torn. I felt I had to choose between becoming an American or a Chinese.

The "Aha Moment" came when I attended my first grade school reunion, after being graduated for 44 years! I saw 30-40 classmates from the Air Force Children's Primary School, Xinzhu Taiwan. I couldn't remember most of their names but the faces I recognized instantly and the memories washed over me like a tsunami. The boy I had the hots for, the "not-so-bright" kids I protected from the bullies because I had privileges as the teacher's pet and a "good" student, the cute girl I secretly envied. But the Aha Moment came when some of them, like myself, live in the U.S. but spend half of the year in Taiwan! Why didn't I think of it?!

I'm sure you can relate to this even if you never left the U.S. You grew up in the East, South or the MidWest and now you live in the PNW: You spend your youth running as far away from your first "home", you worked hard during your 30s & 40s trying to prove that you were "somebody", independent and different from your parents, now in your 50s you wonder why, like the salmons, you are propelled by this mysterious and irresistible urge to swim back to the place where you were born, so that life goes on when your decomposed body becomes food for the river and the forest.

Just some random thoughts, probably incoherent as I just landed two nights ago. I'm still under the cultural shock of how quiet and green it is here. Good to be back and writing again.

Live to Write or Write to Live?

Northwest is a gardener's paradise and nothing makes a gardener happier than working outside. I did just that this morning instead of writing. I planted sugar and snow peas, purple, red and yellow finger potatoes, and collard greens. Every spring I experience exhilaration witnessing what is coming up and planning what to grow and anxiety over how much there is to do. This morning was no exception except the anxiety was amplified because I'm leaving for Asia in a week and I won't be back until late April. On the one hand I'm excited about conducting researches for my book project, on the other hand I am feeling conflicted about compromising one life passion(gardening) for another(writing).

I'm faced with a paradox - what I love to write about is what I love to do, if I give up what I love to do, what is there to write about? But I also know it is rather limiting to write solely from my own experiences, I am curious about people not only in the U.S. but all over the world who share similar passions in food, culture, and the environment, and write about their thoughts, values and experiences. Is this what "act locally, think globally" means? I don't know. What I do know is I need to live to write; not the other way around.

The Seven Sisters Clams

It is the clamming season! My partner and a neighbor have been going to the Seven Sisters Beach near the Hood Canal Bridge to harvest clams. I've been itchy to try this recipe for years because it reminds me of home. This dish to seafood restaurants in Taiwan is like burgers and fries to American diners. When we first moved to the Northwest I was excited about the prospect of cooking and eating more fresh seafood. One would think it was a realistic expectation considering we were moving from the landlocked Midwest. I have been greatly disillusioned. Not only the store-bought and restaurant-served seafood are not fresh most of the time, the prices are unaffordable for us volunteers of simple living to eat regularly. And the kicker is unless you go to the top restaurants which we can't afford, your choices are pan-fried, deep-fried and battered-fried! What is the difference? The seafood we've enjoyed the most has been gifts from friends and neighbors who were the actual fishermen; salmon, tuna, crab, oysters, and even dog fish once. (It makes great miso soup,) Now clams! If you are going to steam the clams, instead of using lots of butter for dipping, try mixing soy sauce and rice vinegar in 1: 2 ratio and minced ginger. Try it, you would like it, I guarantee it.

Ingredients:

15-20 medium clams*

1 Tbsp of green onion, ginger, garlic, red chili pepper

1 tsp soy sauce

1 tsp sugar

1 cup of basil

2 Tbsp oil

* I let the clams sit in natural salt water for a day or two to get the sand out. Before cooking I brush-cleaned the shells and let them sit in regular clean water while I prepared the other ingredients.

Directions:

1. Heat oil in a wok or skillet until hot. Add green onion, ginger and garlic, stir-fry 30 seconds until fragrant.

2. Add clams, soy sauce, sugar, stir to coat, continue cooking with medium heat until all the clams are open. Add a little water if needed, usually not necessary as there will be enough juices from the clams.

3. Add basil, cook for one minute and serve.

This dish can be served as an appetizer or a main dish for two with vegetables and rice.

Bon Appetite or should I say "Itdakimasu" - "I humbly receive" as my Japanese friend Mayu and Yuko would say before meals.

Reminder: Before you start digging, you need to apply for a license and follow the rules published by the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife.

Rashomon

It was the third time I watched Akira Kurosawa's "Rashomon". The first time was 30 years ago and each time I "saw" and "perceived" the movie differently. If you have seen the movie you would know the perception of reality is at the heart of the story. The story is about a rape/murder case happened in the woods and the accounts of all involved. The rapist, the victims of rape and murder, the witnesses( a monk and a woodcutter) told their side of the story at a local courthouse. Each story was told in such a vivid and paradoxically "truthful" way that the audience (me in this case) believed each version as it was told and totally forgot about the last one!

The story I'm making up today from watching "Roshomon" last night is this - our mind is a brilliant con artist. It makes up stories incessantly: about ourselves, others, nature, and the whole universe. Since there is no way and a waste of time really to pin down the so-called truth we might as well learn how to tell stories like Kurosawa.

For Being A Little Bad

My father used to say,

"You are incorrigible."

He wasn't angry,

in fact he was a little glad.

In Chinese dictionary,

Incorrigible consists of two characters:

Ren, Allowing,

Xing, Nature.

In English dictionary,

Incorrigible is an adjective,

That cannot be corrected or reformed,

especially because set in bad habits!

Laurie Anderson sang,

"When my father died, a whole library burned down to the ground."

Wondering Lotus sang,

"When my father died, a whole dictionary turned up becoming mine."

William Shakespeare said:

"Best men are moulded out of faults;

And, for the most, becomes much more the better

for being a little bad."

Be incorrigible I say,

Like the lotus grow and thrive in mud!

Bliss

Bliss was a sunny February afternoon,

I feasted on the golden rays;

Savored spoonful after spoonful of Joyce Carol Oates;

Drooled over Noodle and Mei Meis' playfulness,

Until when the desert was served:

"My Faith As A Writer

I believe that art is the highest expression of the human spirit.

I believe that we yarn to transcend the merely finite and ephemeral; to participate in something mysterious and communal called "culture" - and that this yearning is as strong in our species as the yarning to reproduce the species.

Through the local or regional, through our individual voices, we work to create art that will speak to others who know nothing of us. In our very obliqueness to one another, an unexpected intimacy is born.

The individual voice is the communal voice.

The regional voice is the universal voice.

- Joyce Carol Oates"

Bon Appetite!

You Don't Have To Be Wrong For Me To Be Right

"You Don't Have To Be Wrong For Me To Be Right" is a book I picked up at a garage sale last summer. It was written by Rabbi Brad Hirschfield, the president of the National Jewish Center for Learning and Leadership, and a cohost of radio shows and TV series. I had never heard of him before but the title caught my eye, arouse my curiosity and it was marked 25 cents.

The book turned out to be a good read. Hirschfiled was a good story teller; personable, eloquent and convincing. From the stories he won my respect as someone who not only talked the talk but also walked the walk. He backed up his insights with real believable life experiences. I highly recommend it.

While I was reading the book and immediately after, "You don't have to be wrong for me to be right" became my daily koan and I was shocked as how much I did and behaved exactly the opposite - "For me to be right, you have to be wrong"! After the shock came the self-examination and I realized this unconscious habitual reaction to someone who disagreed or upset me was a learned response. I learned how to deal with conflicts primarily from my parents. When they disagreed they fought, my mother usually gave in, they made peace, until the next time or they complained to the third party, us, the children. My father's way to express disagreements was through anger and shouting; my mother through crying and silence. When disagreements erupted among the kids it didn't help when I was always made the "right" one because I was the youngest. Once I had a better understanding of how I learned my conflict-dealing skills I felt better about my lack of them. It is never too late to unlearn the old and learn anew. I have two koans now, the first is "you don't have to be wrong for me to be right". It nabs arguments right in the bud because there is nothing to prove. The second one is "I don't have to be wrong for you to be right." I think the second one might be even more helpful for women as we generally tend to assume guilt readily, for the sake of peace!

So, what is your koan today?

What has "Eggplant & Basil" got to do with World Peace?

In Taiwan eggplant with basil is considered a typical Hakka cuisine. It is believed that Hakka people were originally nomads from Northern China who migrated to southern provinces of Guangdong, Jiangxi and Fujian in the 17th century, and later on to overseas including Taiwan. About 20% of Taiwan's population is of Hakka descent, many settled in Hsinchu where I grew up. The rest of Taiwan's population consists of aborigines, Taiwanese and mainlanders. I belong to the mainlander group who has only been in Taiwan for four generations. My parents evacuated from China in 1949 led by the Nationalist government who lost the civil war to the Communists. The aborigines, Taiwanese and Hakka have been in Taiwan centuries earlier than the mainlanders and enjoyed their own language and cultural heritage. The Nationalist government, as the ruling class and occupying forces usually do, imposed their might, superiority and culture on the occupied. But despite of 40 years of political, economic and cultural oppression good food transcended all boundaries; Taiwanese and Hakka cuisines have shared as much, if not more, popularity as mainland (Canton, Hunan, Sichuan, Shanghai are the better known ones)cuisines in Taiwan. This "food equality" makes me hopeful that when it comes to food - We are One People. You might be wondering about the lack of mentioning of the aboriginal food culture. Well, that will be another day and a very long story.

Eggplant with Basil

Ingredients:

3-4 Chinese eggplant, cut in 2" strips or 1" rounds

1 cup loosely packed basil

1 cup of oil

1 Tbsp chili bean sauce (less if desired)

1 tsp minced green oion, garlic and ginger

1 tsp soy sauce and 1/2 tsp sugar

Directions:

1. Heat 1 cup of oil in a wok or frying pan until hot, add eggplants and stir-fry until all pieces are coated with oil. Cook for a couple of minutes with high-medium heat, then turn down the heat to very low and cook the eggplant until very soft. This might take 15-20 minutes. Stir occasionally.

2. Take out the eggplants and drain. If there is excess of oil left, pour into a small bowl or jar for other use.

3. Heat 1 tbsp of the drained oil until hot. Add chili bean sauce, green onion, garlic and ginger, stir-fry about 30 seconds until fragrant. Add drained eggplants, basil, soy sauce and sugar, heat through and serve.

Try it and let me know how it turns out. If you enjoy it invite someone who sees the world differently than you, share it and see what happens!

Why English?

"Do you write in English or Chinese?" was a question a friend asked me three years ago, when I started writing publicly. He was the first and in fact one of the very few, and he is a Dutchman. I remember I answered without an ounce of doubt and hesitation, "in English."

Why do I write in English? I've asked myself and answered it many times in my head and in writing, none of them told half of the truth as Ha Jin did in his novel "A Free Life". In a book review the critic used "Another Country", a poem the protagonist Wu Nan wrote, to praise Ha Jin's works , "the freedom he seeks is the freedom of art, more radical and dangerous than the merely political, and one Ha Jin has confronted with powerful results."

"You must go to a country

without border,

where you can build your home

out of garlands of words,

where broad leaves shade familiar faces

that no longer change in the wind and rain."

(Partial)

In another article from the Boston Review, this is what was said about Ha Jin, "We hear in these poems the living and the dead..... in an uncanny language in which English is carried up into a region of pure human authenticity - the language of no nation but the nation of the person who speaks willingly or unwillingly the truth."

I rest my case. By the way, Ha Jin is also a professor of English Department at the Boston University.

Fortune Cookies

Do you know fortunate cookie is an American invention? How do I know? Because I am Chinese and I never tasted one until I came to the U.S. Not only it wasn't originated in China, according to Wikipedia, Japanese Americans claimed they first introduced and made them in the 19th century. Then how did fortune cookies become associated with Chinese restaurants? It was believed that the Chinese overtook the business during WWII when all the Japanese were put away in the intern camps!

History aside, I have my own theory about fortune cookies. I suspect the fortune cookie was invented because it was a business idea. Americans love deserts. Although traditionally Chinese meals don't end with deserts, the earlier Chinese restaurant owners must have figured it out that - if they wanted to attract and keep American customers, they better serve up something sweet. The fortune was just an afterthought.

Collecting Bones

When my father died he was cremated. His bones were the first human bones I've ever seen. While I was in shock to see my father as a pile of bones my nieces and nephews were squatting on the floor helping the "bone collector", they were laughing and competing with each other in finding the most intact bones from the still-warm ashes. It was like a scene at a science lab. The bone collector said my father must have been a kind man when he was alive. I thought he was trying to be polite in order to get a big tip. I asked him how he could tell. He was a little taken back and shot me a look I've interpreted most of my life as "How dare you challenge me? I am older than you, a man and the authority here!" But his winkled face and his voice actually were kind when he said, "You can tell a lot from the bones. If a person led a bad life his bones are dark and dull; your father's bones are bright and clean. He was a very kind man." Everybody in my family was nodding so I nodded too. We did thank him and gave him a decent tip.

I haven't thought about bones much except maybe when I am eating tofu or doing yoga. I've been reading Clarissa Pinkola Estes' "Women Who Run With the Wolves" again lately, before I went to bed. I've read it so many times since it was given to me as a gift from my friend Julie in 1993 it is falling to pieces. Even so I am always surprised when I read it. This time when I opened the book, it said "Introduction, Singing Over the Bones." As I read on I became even more at awe at its knowing and my knowing as when my wildish psyche is in disarray and needs the right medicine. It is time to go to the desert, collect the bones and give them a spring cleaning.

The Beginning

What inspired me to set up this blog was what happened yesterday. I got up around 6 a.m. After my daily ritual of writing morning journal, smoking hand-rolled American Spirit cigarettes and drinking expresso made with French Roast, I started writing on the computer. That's where I do my serious writing, or so I thought. This image has been lingering in my mind - two tiny spiders, each engrossed in their perfect centers of the universe. It was a photo I took in fall 2008. It speaks so well for the "trapped" feeling I always feel during winter. I thought maybe I wrote about it I would feel less trapped. Without much thinking I started by first explaining how the photograph came about - how we went on a whim and got a new Mac and a digital camera two years ago and how the new technologies empowered me to see the world with new eyes. Half page into my writing it dawned on me that I set out to write about the "web" as in a spider web, but I was drawn into writing the "Web" as in WWW! I'm not done with the story yet, who knows where it wants to go. I don't even know where this story is going. Oh, right, now I remembered, the sea lions.

But I have to tell you about the dogs first. We adopted another dog lately and she hasn't been trained to walk "nicely" in the neighborhood; she barked at people who have lived here longer than she has, she jumped up on people with a mouthful of slobber, and she doesn't stop for cars. So I've been taking her and her new brother Noodle(By the way, her name is Mei Mei, little sister in Chinese) to the beach so they can run free AND most importantly I can relax too. Now you know why we were at the beach we can move on to the important stuff - the sea lions.

It was the voice we heard first - loud, rumbling and fighting noises. "What is that sound?" I asked my partner Curt worriedly. "Don't know." Not an ounce of concern. "It's a beautiful sunny Monday afternoon and we are walking on a beautiful deserted beach. Relax!" said my critique. There was a good-size rock in the distance and as we got closer the brown blob covering the top, which I thought was moss, started to move! "Seals. No. Sea Lions!" Curt exclaimed. "Wow!" we marveled in unison when a couple of them raised their heads and let out this roar that it was unfamiliar and familiar at the same time. The dogs got really quiet. I think even they knew they were in the presence of something wild and untamed - like their ancestors before they figured out how to get food and shelter the easy way.

Before I went to bed I read "Women who run with the wolves".