What does the LORD require of you?

'Josephine and Mercie' by Edmund Charles Tarbell

Micah 6:8  

He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the LORD require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?  

  This is one of my favorite Scripture verses.  I even painted the verse on chairs at my home.  As I reflected on it the past few days, it crossed my mind that this relatively short verse could sum up how I should seek to live each day.

There are three basic things listed, easy for my mind to grab hold of as I go about my day-
1. To do justice/justly
2. To love mercy/kindness
3. To walk humbly with my God

As I go about the day doing my work - interacting with people in person, over the phone, online; and even thinking to myself...I  can easily remind myself of these three requirements which to me consist of, at the very least, doing all things with integrity, standing up against injustice; showing kindness and mercy, with patience and gentleness; and knowing my status before my God (not some impersonal God out there but my God, the God who is personal, who created and redeemed me, who knows and loves me, and who is with me wherever I go).

It has helped me to have these three requirements in my head throughout the day.  My naturally impatient, self-centered self with a tendency towards rudeness would now pause and think if I am showing kindness in how I speak to the person across from me or on the phone (I'm especially guilty of rudeness here), or if I am true to my word, or if I am being cowardly and selfish by not doing my part in securing hope for the oppressed (not necessarily always on a grand scale but equally crucial in everyday encounters like speaking up for the widow who is being bullied).

But more importantly, the verse reminds me to start each day cognizant of my status before my God, humbly obeying Him in everything and every way as His Spirit leads, not for fear of punishment by some distant oppressive God, but out of love of a personal God who loves me first and is ever present with me.  To me, it is like a child holding on tightly to her father with adoration and respect as he leads her with loving authority and impeccable wisdom.

I have failed and will continue to fail as I go about my day, stumbling as I act out in anger or without integrity, or  when I treat God and man with contempt, seeking to do things my way.  But my God's love is steadfast, He does not give up easily and is gracious to let me see my erring ways,then pulls me back up and set me once again on the journey with Him for another mile, for another day.

Before I end this post, I would like to point out that other than the use of the personal possessive pronoun "your" before "God," the name of God used in this verse "YHWH," translated "I AM WHO I AM" or "I AM" ("the LORD" in English Bibles) was first revealed to the Israelites during the Exodus.  God told Moses to tell the people before they set out that it's "I AM" who had  sent him to lead them out of Egypt (Exodus 3:14).  Up to this point, God's chosen people, including the Patriarchs, knew God only by titles.  YHWH is the first personal proper name that God revealed of Himself. It is this YHWH, this personal God who redeemed His people from the bondage of the Egyptians and who was with them every step of the way to the promised land.  It is YHWH (the LORD) who saved His people and overthrew all who opposed Him.

It is the same God, revealed now in the fullness of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit that is leading me to live my days to do justice, to love mercy and to live humbly before my God.

The Inheritance of Loss

Illustration by Lauren Monaco

This way of leaving your family for work had condemned them over several generations to have their hearts always in other places, their minds thinking about people elsewhere; they could never be in a single existence at one time. How wonderful it was going to be to have things otherwise. 

Kiran Desai, The Inheritance of Loss

Kiran Desai describes movingly the dilemma of those of us who have traveled far from home for education or employment, leaving behind our loved ones and the way of life, forging a new life but always missing the old.

I am more fortunate than Desai's characters who went far from their hometowns in India to England and the US but found it hard to assimulate into their new societies and sadly also did not succeed in bettering themselves or their circumstances.  Jemubhai (the Judge) became a warped, harsh man as a result of his years at Cambridge; Biju slaved in greasy and often sleazy kitchens in New York, to have his savings and belongings down to to his pants robbed on his return to Kalimpong to be reunited with his father.  In contrast, right from the get-go, I was fortunate to adjust seemingly seamlessly to American society.  As a university student, I adapted well and was included and embraced by my fellow American college mates.  Upon graduation, I proceeded to live the "American Dream."  But through it all, until the deaths of my parents, my heart and mind were always here and also there. I would constantly be thinking about my grandparents, my parents -- missing them, worrying about them.  Despite the distance that separated us, I managed to be embroiled in their lives, tackling happy circumstances and complications from afar, and always feeling inadequate and torn.

And in spite of how well I have adjusted to American life, there is always a yearning for things from "home" and of the way of life there (many aspects are far from ideal and from which I would not want to be subjected again).  And even though my closest ties are now severed by death, a part of me will always be tied to the land of my birth -- to its culture, to its landscape, and to its people.  Living the American life in the present yet subjugated to the memory of the people and the life back home.

In a sense, everyone feels the same way when she leaves family and hometown to study or work in another city, even in her home country with all its familiarity.  The dilemma is probably more painful and the parting more poignant when we have to cross oceans and cultures.

Sometimes the ache for loved ones and "home" is so acute that you wonder if it's worth the costs. But that is the way of life for many of us living in the present and those in generations past and in generations to come.  How wonderful indeed it would be "to have things otherwise" -- to finally be home and ever be with the ones you love and never ever having to say goodbye again.

But according to his promise we are waiting for new heavens and a new earth in which righteousness dwells. Therefore, beloved, since you are waiting for these, be diligent to be found by him without spot or blemish, and at peace. 

2 Peter 13-14

The Kingdom

Pritzker Pavillion, Millenium Park
Photography by A. Monaco

It has been a trying few months battling health issues and a very ugly United Healthcare.

But there was blissful respite this evening as I sat on the lawn of Chicago's Millenium Park, enjoying the last concert of the summer, Elgar's epic oratorio, The Kingdom.  The weather was perfect with a  soft cool breeze drifting through the park as people set down their picnic blankets, chairs, and folding tables under the cloudless blue sky, pulling from their baskets and bags varied foods and drinks, from the sophisticated to the mundane. We had our usual faire of Chicago deep dish pizza, packed with calories and memories of previous happy jaunts to the park during other concert seasons.

The concert soon began - the Grant Park Orchestra and Chorus steering me away from the thick rich pizza with its sublime performance of the prelude.  Dusk stealthily claimed the skyline - the fading light bringing with it a happy calm and contentment, ironic for a city setting packed with hundreds of people.  And as night set in and lights lit up the iconic buildings, accompanied by Elgar's masterful choral composition, I leaned my head on my daughter's shoulder and treasured that moment as I did numerous others when I gathered with family and friends during these charmed summer evening concerts at Millennium Park.

Here is a performance of The Kingdom with Sir Andrew Davis conducting the BBC Symphony Orchestra and Chorus.

In the first book, O Theophilus, I have dealt with all that Jesus began to do and teach, until the day when he was taken up, after he had given commands through the Holy Spirit to the apostles whom he had chosen. He presented himself alive to them after his suffering by many proofs, appearing to them during forty days and speaking about the kingdom of God. And while staying with them he ordered them not to depart from Jerusalem, but to wait for the promise of the Father, which, he said, “you heard from me; for John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit not many days from now.” So when they had come together, they asked him, “Lord, will you at this time restore the kingdom to Israel?” He said to them, “It is not for you to know times or seasons that the Father has fixed by his own authority. But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth.” And when he had said these things, as they were looking on, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight. And while they were gazing into heaven as he went, behold, two men stood by them in white robes, and said, “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking into heaven? This Jesus, who was taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.” (‭Acts‬ ‭1‬:‭1-11‬)

He Has His Hands on You

Photography by Lauren Monaco

LIstening to NPR this weekend, I came across a beautiful gospel song that brought much comfort to me.  It reminded me of God's shelter and providence during times of trouble and uncertainty.  I do not normally gravitate towards gospel music, but my husband and daughter introduced me to that world of music and have drawn me in.  My daughter Kathryn was part of a gospel choir at her university, one of a handful non-African Americans in the group.  It was a highlight of her time on campus.

Here is Marvin Sapp singing his composition, He has His Hands on You.  

He sees the tears you cry
He shares your pain inside
And sometimes you wonder why He allows you to go through what you go through
Just know He has His hands on you.

Your days are filled with dark clouds
Even when the sun is out
And from the top of your lungs you shout will there ever be a change, what shall I do
Just know He has His hands on you

He has his hands on you

He says He'll see you through
When you cry He's holding you
So just lift your hands up high
For He will provide
Just know He has his hands on you

Sometimes you feel so alone
Like a child lost with no home
They keep telling you to be strong
But you say when will it end?
When will I win?
But just know He has His hands on you.

He has His hands on you
He says He'll see you through

When you cry He's holding you
So just lift your hands up high
For He will provide
Just know he has his hands on you.

When times are hard and it seems no one can understand
But it's in those times that we, we tend to forget what it means to be in His hands.

He has His hands on you
He says He'll see you through
When you cry He's holding you
So just lift your hands up high
For He will provide 
Just know He has His hands on you.

Though I walk in the midst of trouble, you preserve my life; you stretch out your hand against the wrath of my enemies, and your right hand delivers me. The LORD will fulfill his purpose for me; your steadfast love, O LORD, endures forever. Do not forsake the work of your hands.

Psalm‬ ‭138‬:‭7-8‬

In Remembrance

Painting by Tong Chin Sye

Singapore has lost a preeminent leader and father figure in Mr. Lee Kuan Yew who died on 23 March 2015, at 91.  His death marks not only the end of an amazingly fruitful life but of a remarkable era.

I was born in 1959, the year Singapore became independent from British rule, the year Lee Kuan Yew and the People's Action Party (PAP) pushed for self-governance.  His governance had shaped my national as well as personal psychic growing up. I have lived away from Singapore for longer than I have lived there, but the qualities that were instilled in me growing up in Lee Kuan Yew's young country as it forged its way against all odds are still alive and strong as I live my life here in the United States.  The emphasis of seeking equality for all people, "regardless of race, language or religion" still loom large in my heart.  The belief that hard work pays off regardless of one's beginnings and the sense of patriotism, loyalty, and implicit trust of authority are hard for me to shake off.  This is because I grew up in a country, though fraught with uncertainties, had a government that  genuinely cared for its people.

Many criticisms had been levied against Mr. Lee, some rightly so, but the man must be credited for doing many things right.  All we have to do is to look at the countries surrounding Singapore.  The contrast is astounding and testifies to his forward thinking policies, strictness, commitment, and love for his nation.  It is nothing short of remarkable that Mr. Lee should be able to inspire a people with such diverse ethnicities and religions to stand and work together to build a nation.  And it is nothing short of a miracle that a country with no natural resources whatsoever, short of its people, should within such a short span of time emerge from the chaos of Japanese Occupation and British rule to become one of the leading nations not only in the region but in the world.

I am grateful to Lee Kuan Yew for having been instrumental in providing me with an excellent education, an education that is equally available to everyone in the country, regardless of race or social standing.  I am grateful for the freedom of religious worship for all--for making it possible for me to worship at my church, for my grandmother to raise her joss-sticks at her temple, for our family friend to pray at his mosque, and for my science teacher to celebrate Deepavali without fear of retribution.  I am even grateful for his oftentimes swift and sometimes harsh crackdown on any hint of dissension that could create civil unrest.  I am grateful for the stable economy that provided ample work for my family and friends; for an economy that thrives on proper legislation and not corruption. I am grateful for the excellent healthcare system that took good care of my grandparents and parents in their twilight years.  I am grateful for the affordable housing that is home to many of my extended family and friends, and now my daughter.  I am grateful for the strict law enforcement that allows us to walk the streets in safety, and the strong military that keeps us secure at home as the neighboring nations contend with ethnic strife and dog us with persistent threats.  All in all, I am grateful to Mr. Lee for governing with such wisdom, benevolence and integrity, thus allowing his countrymen to live with much dignity and security.  Such security and accomplishments should never be taken for granted.

Mr. Lee's death brings to mind the end of a generation that had witnessed a horrific World War and self-centered colonial rule--a hardworking, long-suffering generation that took neither national security nor any achievement for granted.  Along with Mr. Lee and my parents, the majority of that generation has passed on; there are few that are left to remind us of the struggles of the early years of independence when Singapore could have easily gone communist or imploded with ethnic or religious strife. But instead, it thrived and grew beyond expectations because of the dedication, intelligence, foresight and passion of men and women like Lee Kuan Yew, whose love for country and countrymen took precedence.

Singaporeans from all walks of life grieve the death of Lee Kuan Yew, thousands braving the hot sun, standing in line for hours to pay their last respects.  Their devotion and sorrow are palpable.  They have lost not only a great leader, but a father figure. The difference between Lee Kuan Yew and other world leaders, I believe, is that he led his people not so much like a politician but like a father, a very strict but devoted father.  He had poured his life into his country and his people know it and feel the urgency of his care.

My hope for Singapore is that the qualities that Lee Kuan Yew and his generation had exhibited and  instilled in my generation, of dedication, hard work, equality, ethnic and religious freedoms will live on for many generations to come.  That honest, righteous, and fair legislation will continue to rule the day and not be corrupted by the influx of the super wealthy and the contradictory cultural norms of recent immigrants.
                           
I thank God that He was gracious to this tiny country by molding a man to become its leader during its crucial formative years, to provide Singapore with Lee Kuan Yew to lead and govern with wisdom, compassion, integrity, and equity.

Proverbs 20:6-8

6 Many a man proclaims his own steadfast love,
    but a faithful man who can find?
7 The righteous who walks in his integrity—
    blessed are his children after him!
8 A king who sits on the throne of judgment
    winnows all evil with his eyes.

Proverbs 14:34

Righteousness exalts a nation, but sin is a reproach to any people.

Ready for some Happy Colors

Since my daughters will soon be going shopping for nyonya kebayas, I thought I would post some more pictures of this very elegant and exquisite attire!

I am partial to wearing black and usually like things to match, but for my next sarong kebaya purchase, I would go for a kebaya that is bright like yellow, lime green or cobalt blue with colorful embroidery paired with a contrasting sarong. No shades of black for me here, please! Too colorful for my age?  Not with nonya kebayas!  Look at these women below.  They look as vibrant as their kebayas!

A Vibrant Heritage

Painting by Heidi Koh

Both my daughters will soon be together in Singapore.  One is working there, the other visiting her little sister. They are both grown up now, curious about their heritage, and eager to buy nyonya  kebayas for themselves and for me. This has prompted me to blog about my Peranakan heritage.

I am Peranakan Chinese on my father's side.  Peranakan Chinese or Baba-Nonya  or Straits Chinese describes a people that are descendants of the late 15th C to 19th C Chinese immigrants to British Malaya (now Malaysia and Singapore) and Indonesia.  My father's family settled in a fishing village on the east coast of Malaysia.  When he was 19, my father, desiring of a better future than what the small fishing  village could offer him, hopped on a pig truck headed for Singapore, carrying with him the dream of pursuing a tertiary education in Australia. He did not make it Down Under but established a career in banking, got married, and raised three children in cosmopolitan Singapore.

Although he did not consciously raise his children in the Peranakan heritage, I realized later in life that I am more Peranakan Chinese in my outlook than I am ethnically Chinese. The Peranakans through the generations have assimilated comfortably into the local Malay communities, adopting the language, fashion, and cuisine as their own, yet holding on to aspects of their Chinese heritage like their Taoist ancestral worship and Confucius' teachings, like respect of elders for example. They also absorbed the British culture; the British colonized Malaya in the early 1800s.  By my grandfather's generation, the Peranakans were more loyal to Great Britain than they were to China. I remember my grandfather as much in the habit of quoting Shakespeare. He served as Justice-of-Peace of his hometown for many years.

My grandmother was the typical nyonya (Peranakan woman). She wore the colorful sarong kebaya which comprised of delicately embroidered kebaya top fastened in the front by kerosangs (intricate, sometimes gem-studded brooches ) that cascades over a batik sarong held up by tali pinggang (belt made of silver, copper or gold). The mix of patterns can be quite an eyeful. But I think it reflects well the  mix culture that is vibrant and unself-conscious. Beaded slippers called kasot manek adorned her feet.  She liked her food spicy, the nyonya cuisine more Malay influenced than Chinese. She was quite the feisty woman; her temper as fiery as her food!

Sarong Kebaya

Kerosang

Kasot Manek

tali pinggan

Like most Babas (Peranakan men), my father was educated in English.  He spoke and wrote immaculate English.   He also grew up speaking a pidgin version of the Chinese dialect, Hokkien, which had many Malay and English words incorporated into it, as well as Malay.  It wasn't until he moved to Singapore and had to do business with Chinese from Taiwan, Hong Kong and China that he studied Chinese in a serious way.  He was an excellent scholar and picked up the language quickly and became well-versed in Chinese literature, as he already was in English literature.  But despite his mastery over the language, he was never thought of as being your typical Chinese.  He was much too straight forward and "Westernized" in his outlook to effectively handle the complexity and duplicity of the Chinese business culture.  He was after all a Peranakan at heart.

I don't know if I consciously raised my children Peranakan, but I know they appreciate the diversity of their lineage.  When they were younger, I was often asked why I did not teach them my mother tongue.  Which mother tongue?  I would on occasion reply tongue-in-cheek, knowing full well that they meant the Chinese language. I like to tell them that I am a Straits Chinese, not your typical Chinese, but that would only confuse them.  Ours is a happily confused culture; perhaps it is time I make a more concerted effort to help introduce and preserve this very unique and vibrant heritage that has so shaped my father, and subsequently me, and now my children.

Happy kebaya shopping, Girls!

Inspector Morse

Painting of Keble College, Oxford, by W Manhison

My all time favorite television series is Inspector Morse.  Loved it all  those twenty years ago when it first came on at PBS; love it still as I watch the episodes all over again on Netflix (eyesight and energy permitting).  I do like detective series in general and have watched quite a few, both British and American, through the years (preferring the British over the American); none however can top Inspector Morse.  The acting is incredible; the characters captivating (soulful, elitist and surly Chief Inspector Morse, juxtaposed by loyal, down-to-earth, affable Detective Sargent Lewis); the setting delightful (Oxford with all its history, academic prowess, and quintessential English decor); and the music magnificent, composed of mostly arias. The writing is beyond compare--the intricate plots keep me guessing with their many twists and turns; but my oh my, the insight into the motives and darkness of human heart is brilliant!

Here's Maria Callas singing  "Senza Mamma" from Puccini's "Suor Angelica"--an aira you might hear on Inspector Morse as the brooding inspector drives to crime scenes in his vintage red Jaguar or relaxes on his sofa, working on his crossword puzzles in his comfortably decorated drawing room.

You felt secure in your wickedness,
    you said, “No one sees me”;
your wisdom and your knowledge led you astray,
and you said in your heart,
    “I am, and there is no one besides me.”

But evil shall come upon you,
    which you will not know how to charm away;
disaster shall fall upon you,
    for which you will not be able to atone;
and ruin shall come upon you suddenly,
    of which you know nothing.

Isaiah 47:10-11

Class of 2014

“Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art. . . . It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that gives value to survival.”  - CS Lewis

Our youngest graduated from Northwestern a week ago.  We had a lovely time celebrating.  The university did a fantastic job with the general commencement, the individual school convocations, and receptions. We even enjoyed listening to the commencement speeches, the main address being delivered by Ricardo Muti, renowned conductor and music director of the Chicago Symphony.  He was amiable and funny at times, encouraging the graduates to make connections on a more personal basis.  I detect a thread running through the various talks from Muti, to President Shapiro, to Weinberg convocation speaker Daniel Pink, of spurring the graduates on to cherish and maintain personal connections.  These young people have grown up in the digital age, where "friends" are made through Facebook and "conversations" reduced to phrases by texting.

We are delighted that our daughter, though savvy of the ways of social media, has made many real and lasting friendships in her four years at Northwestern, the old-fashioned way.  We got to meet many of these friends.  She and her friends organized cookouts and get-togethers during commencement week for the families to get to know them.  We so enjoyed meeting these young people -- all of them warm, sincere, thoughtful and unpretentious -- which speaks well of our child.

I hope our daughter and her friends will not only strive to keep up their friendships but make the effort to establish new ones as they enter the next phase of their lives.  Friendship, after all, borrowing CS Lewis' sentiment, is what will give value to all that they venture out to do.

No longer do I call you servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you.

John 15:16 

Fall is in the Air!

Church of Old Lyme by Childe Hassam

Fall has finally descended on Dallas!  It is time to pull out the sweaters.  How delightful to wake up to crisp fall air and warm fall memories this morning.  My favorite memories are mostly centered around our time in Fairfield County, Connecticut, where the air surrounding our Wilton home was fresh, crisp and musty all at the same time with striking fall leaves covering our two-acre land.  In mid-afternoon, with our youngest who was then a toddler bundled up in layers of sweaters, topped with a knitted cap (a cute round ball as her father affectionately called her), we would head out to our massive front yard to rake leaves and wait for the school bus to bring home our kindergartener.  How we looked forward to the yellow automotive pulling up to our driveway and our pint-sized child with her lollipop-colored glasses and her too-big backpack alighting the bus, her little legs carrying her swiftly down the long driveway into my arms for a big snuggly hug.  Hot chocolate, warm cookies and apples soon followed in our dated flower-wallpapered kitchen with earnest chatter of our day.

I was a much more enthusiastic cook then and our kitchen in the fall was often suffused with the smells of pumpkin bread or apple pie or pot roast in the oven, or a hearty stew or soup on the stove, not to mention the scent of cinnamon on just about everything!

Thanksgiving was a big affair at our home in Connecticut as my parents (who often stayed long enough for the holiday and before the first snowfall) and my husband's family (who lived across  the border in Westchester, New York) and international friends gathered around the table for a stupendous meal.  Everyone contributed to the meal with my mother helping with the turkey, my mother-in-law with the side dishes, and Aunt Diane with cheesecake and Italian cookies.  I would serve an Italian appetizer before the turkey meal, one year making calzone, another seafood lasagne.  I did usually go crazy with the dessert, one year we had as many as six different kinds of dessert on the table, including a hummingbird cake!  This adopted holiday is by far my favorite holiday and I would reckon my parents' as well.

Psalm 37:3-4

Trust in the Lord, and do good;
    dwell in the land and befriend faithfulness.

Delight yourself in the Lord,
    and he will give you the desires of your heart.

A Better Story

Painting by Norman Rockwell

I recently read a promotional blurb on a book that got me a little riled up.  It goes something like this:  "...when the credits roll in your life, are people going to think your story sucked? If there’s any chance of that happening, read this book and start living a better story."

Seriously?  In the first place, when the credits roll in my life, what other people think about it, whether it sucked or not, will be the least of my concerns.  And why are there people standing around judging if other people's lives sucked (such a grating word, by the way) in the first place?  Are they not busy enough living and appreciating their own lives?

I did go on to read the book as it was recommended to me, on a loan, I might add.  The book, thankfully, is less arrogant and less condescending than the promotion.  The author, a single man in his 40s, gave some good insights, but was eschewed towards promoting life's "better stories" as introducing inciting incidences like biking across the country, starting a mentoring program, hiking the Inca trail in Peru, inviting world leaders into your home, etc.

That is all very exciting and commendable.  And I know people who live such intriguing lives and I do find their stories appealing and exciting.  Maybe I am just not one to be impressed with showiness in lifestyle or personality for at the end of the day, the people whose life stories I find the most compelling are the ones who have very "uninteresting" stories to tell.  They will never be recognized for starting any programs, for dining with world leaders, for living and traveling to remote locales, or for writing books telling others how to live their lives...They just live their quiet lives filled with love for what they do and especially for the people who fill their lives.  They do not feel the need to feed their lives with inciting incidences but instead make their lot as "exciting" as possible.  They are the ones who wake up in the morning, content with their lot:  grateful to go to work; hold their babies; call their loved ones; write an encouraging note; pray; contribute time and money without ever being recognized by anyone, let alone world leaders; clean bathrooms; give a smile; listen; hold a hand; cook a meal, etc.
 
I think we can all start "living a better story" right where we are now by filling our very ordinary days with love and gratitude for what we do have instead of looking for the next inciting incidence.  If we can't appreciate the work we have at hand and love the people who now fill our lives, what makes us think that we will enjoy drilling for water in Africa or loving the destitute in Indonesia?  We will carry the same discontent wherever we go and to whomever who meet.  If you can't be generous, love and sacrifice for your family and friends at hand, you will not be able to do so with strangers in faraway lands.

Don't get me wrong, I am not against starting mentoring programs or biking across America, but pursuing such endeavors does no equate to living a better story than living a seemingly "mundane" life  with a grateful attitude and loving the people around you.  Not many of us have such privileged lives that we can take time off from our responsibilities to hike the Inca trail

I want to salute my octogenarian friend Lois who spent the past 50 years of her life teaching piano, loving and encouraging the students who sat at her piano bench; my other octogenarian friend Catherine whose eyesight though dim spends her day praying fervently for her family and friends; for my mailman in Winchester who always delivered our mail with a smile (and once in a Santa suit); for my daughter's school bus driver Mr. Ephraim in Wilton who made sure she was never let off the bus unless we were at the driveway to collect her; to my friends who mentor one-on-one, teach bible studies to the blind, make the effort to encourage a friend, take in an ailing friend, love their families...all very ordinary people, living very ordinary lives but with so much love for what they do and the people they do it for.

I Corinthians 13: 1-3

If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. ² And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. ³ If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned,^[a] but have not love, I gain nothing.

The Pianist of Willesden Lane

August Renoir:  Two Young Girls at the Piano, 1892

Our daughter Lauren treated us to the play "The Pianist of Willesden Lane" at the Royal George Theatre in Chicago this past week.  It was a moving one-woman poignant tribute by concert pianist Mona Golebek to her mother's harrowing experience during WWII.  It traces the life of Lisa Jura as a young talented, aspiring musician as she played the piano through the turmoil and adversity of the Holocaust.  Golebek interspersed her theatrical  performance with her own stirring piano performances of well-loved music by Grieg, Chopin, Rachmaninov, Beethoven and Debussy. 

As I sat mesmerized by the exquisite music as it weaved through the tale of survival, I was once again reminded of the crucial role fine arts plays in our humanity.  In this case, music helped Lisa Jura survive the darkest of times as she sought to carry out her own mother's parting charge to hold on to her music as she was swept up in the Kindertransport to London.  (Her parents later perished in Auschwitz.)

I don't think my father was trying to be high-brow when he guided my brothers and me to appreciate the fine arts, for it is in the realm of great music, art, and literary works that we are catapulted from the ordinary to the extraordinary.

Here's a little preview of "The Pianist of Willesden Lane".

Psalm 71: 22-23

²² I will also praise you with the harp
    for your faithfulness, O my God;
I will sing praises to you with the lyre,
    O Holy One of Israel.
²³ My lips will shout for joy,
    when I sing praises to you;
    my soul also, which you have redeemed.

Haman

Esther Denouncing Haman to Ahasuerus by Ernest Normand

⁹ And Haman went out that day joyful and glad of heart. But when Haman saw Mordecai in the king's gate, that he neither rose nor trembled before him, he was filled with wrath against Mordecai. ¹⁰ Nevertheless, Haman restrained himself and went home, and he sent and brought his friends and his wife Zeresh. ¹¹ And Haman recounted to them the splendor of his riches, the number of his sons, all the promotions with which the king had honored him, and how he had advanced him above the officials and the servants of the king. ¹² Then Haman said, “Even Queen Esther let no one but me come with the king to the feast she prepared. And tomorrow also I am invited by her together with the king. ¹³ Yet all this is worth nothing to me, so long as I see Mordecai the Jew sitting at the king's gate.

Esther 5:9-13

I was listening to the book of Esther on my ipod the other day, and the above passage stood out to me.  Everybody knows Haman was a very wicked man - avaricious, conniving, filled with hate and ready to exterminate God's people without cause.  His hatred for Mordecai was especially vehement because Mordecai was not afraid of him and refused to kowtow to him.  According to this passage, it appears that all of Haman's wealth and accomplishments meant nothing to him so long as Mordecai was around. 

And then I thought, is there a Haman in all of us?  We hope we are never so consumed with hatred like Haman to the point of plotting to kill, but do we harbor any bitterness toward anyone that so consume us that we cannot appreciate the blessings that we do have?  Or have we been so focused on  one thing that we don't have or can't have, that everything we do have pales in comparison? 

Creme Brulee French Toast

My dear friend Carol shared this delightful recipe with me.  My husband loves french toast and this is a big hit with him.  What's also wonderful about this recipe is that I can prepare the dish the night before and put it in the oven the morning of.  It is definitely thumbs up!  What can go wrong with a recipe that calls for challah bread and Grand Marnier?!  Give it a try. 

Ingredients:
3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks) butter
1 1/2 cups firmly backed brown sugar
3 tablespoons corn syrup
1 loaf challah bread, sliced 1-inch thick with each piece sliced in half diagonally
6 eggs
2 cups (1 pint) half-and-half
2 cups (1 pint) milk
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/3 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons Grand Marnier (optional)
powdered sugar, for dusting (optional)

Directions:
This recipe requires advance prepartion.
1.  Lightly butter a 9 by 13-inch baking dish and set aside.
2.  Melt butter and brown sugar with the corn syrup in a small saucepan over medium heat;
     stir until smooth and bubbly.
3.  Pour mixture over the prepared dish.
4.  Arrange the bread slices on top in two overlapping rows, slightly stacking the bread.
5.  In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs, half-and-half, milk, vanilla, sugar and liqueur until
     combined; pour evenly over bread.
6.  Cover with foil and chill for at least 8 hours or overnight.
7.  Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.
8.  Bake until set in the center, approximately 45 minutes, then uncover and bake another additional
     15 minutes or until golden brown.
9.  Dust with powdered sugar  (optional)

Black is always elegant

"...black is always elegant, and that being well-dressed depends in a large degree upon the shoes one wears."  Simone de Beauvoir, "Chantal", When Things of the Spirit Come First.


I may not agree with Existentialist writer, Simone de Beauvoir, on several fronts, but I  absolutely agree with her on this bit of fashion advise she gave through one of her fictional characters.  One cannot go too wrong with black as far as I'm concerned; it's been my choice of color for attire for the longest time, to my mother-in-law's chagrin.  I stayed away from it for a while when we moved to Dallas; I don't know why...maybe the sunny climate cries for something softer, lighter and brighter. But I think I'm going to go back to basic black again.

And I totally agree with de Beauvoir about the shoes.  The right shoes complete the outfit, and they do get noticed more often than one thinks.  My mom was of the belief that scruffy footwear absolutely destroys any outfit.  I must agree with her.

Here's Princess Kate in a black gown.  Regardless of the color she wears, she is a young woman of immaculate taste -- restrained, elegant and classic!

 

Pollini and Muti

 Painting by Edouard Vuillard: Window overlooking the Woods

Apparently, Maurizio Pollini will be performing with the Chicago Symphony late April.  I wish I could be here for it - other than being confident it will be a superb performance, it'll be wonderful to treat my girls to the collaboration of two of their grandfather's favorite musicians, pianist Pollini and conductor Riccardo Muti.  Interestingly, they are both Italian, both graduates of the Giuseppe Verdi Music Conservatory in Milan.


 The piece they will be collaborating on April 25-27 is Mozart Piano Concerto No. 21.  Another wonderful composition that will be showcased is Schumann Symphony No. 3 (Rhenish), as well as Beethoven's Consecration of the House Overture and Mendelssohn's Calm Sea and Prosperous Voyage Overture.  A pretty good lineup, I would say.

 Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. 

James 1: 16

Wistful

Painting by Claude Monet

My youngest is in Europe now; having backpacked through Spain, Italy and Greece, she's now in Paris to start her fall term.   Today's cool fall weather and this soulful music by Ennio Morricone make me wistful for her.  She has been selected to blog about her study abroad experience in Paris;  here's her first blog post.

Favorite Food

My favorite Singaporean dish is Seafood Hor Fun.  It's one of my mom's favorites too.  It is readily available in many of the food courts in Singapore.  But my mom and I liked our seafood hor fun best from the Tanglin Club.  The Tanglin Club started off an a private club for British expats during the colonial era but has since evolved to include locals (with many of its starchy rules remaining in effect).  My parents were members for as long as I can remember.  When my father passed away, Mom moved to a smaller space, a condo only a stone's throw from the Tanglin Club.  Whenever my daughters and I visited Singapore, we would  frequent the Club, first with my parents, then with just my mom.  It was like a second home.  The girls spent hours in the pool (they had their first swimming lessons with Mr. Jimmy, a most miserable experience), frequented the library, took Chinese brush paining classes; I worked out at the gym (occasionally); and Mom and I enjoyed afternoon tea on the mezzanine level.  But our favorite spot was the poolside restaurant, partly because it was the most egalitarian--young and old were welcomed--there was no dress code, and the menu offered an international cuisine.  The girls would order their sandwiches, pasta or salads, with a definite side order of fries (one of the best I've had) and Mom and I would delight ourselves with the local dishes like seafood hor fun, Hainanese chicken rice, rojak, or char kway teow.  Mom and the girls would end the meal  with a good selection of desserts from ice-kachang to tiramisu.  With the sun setting and the evening breeze kicking up, we would walk back to the condo, happy as larks to have spent yet another carefree day together at the Tanglin Club.

Those carefree days at the Tanglin Club are behind us now.  But the happy memories are forever etched into our collective memory.  I've never made seafood hor fun; I think it's time to give it a try.  It won't be like Tanglin Club's, and there is no Mom to enjoy it with.   But hopefully it'll taste just as good and every bite evoke sweet moments with Mom.


Recipe for Seafood Hor Fun
Ingredients:
8 oz of broad kway teow (translucent flat rice noodles)
4 slices of fish (seasoned with salt, rinse and rub with a bit of cornflour)
4 medium size shrimp
2 brunches of chye sim (cut into 2 inches long)
6 slices of fish cakes
4 slices of pork (marinate with mixture of half teaspoon of cornflour, 1/4 teaspoon light soya sauce and dash of pepper)
2 teaspoons of minced garlic
1/2 beaten egg
Preserved green chillies (optional)
Mixture A:-
1/2 cup water
3 rounded teaspoons of cornflour
Mixture B:-
1/2 tablespoon of oyster sauce
3/4 tablespoon of light soya sauce
Mixture C:-
1/2 tablespoon of light soya sauce
1 tablespoon of dark soya sauce

Preparation for Kway Teow:-
1) Heat up the wok with 1 1/2 tablespoons of oil.
2) Add 1 teaspoons of minced garlic, stir fry till fragrant.
3) Add kway teow and stir fry in medium heat.
4) Add in ‘Mixture C’ and continue to stir fry.
5) Set aside on plate.
Preparation for Gravy:-
1) Heat up wok with 1 1/2 tablespoons of oil.
2) Add in 1 teaspoons minced garlic, stir fry till fragrant.
3) Add in sliced fish and fish cake and stir fry for a few seconds.
4) Add in chye sim and 1/2 cup of water and leave it to boil.
5) Add in shrimps and stir till 1/2 cooked.
6) Add in ‘Mixture B’ and add pepper.
7) Slowly pour in ‘Mixture A’ until the required thickness.
8) Move all ingredients to side of the wok, and slowly add in 1/2 beaten egg to the gravy.
9) Turn off flame immediately after about 10 seconds, and move all ingredients to the gravy.
10) Pour the gravy over the broad kway teow and serve with preserved green cut chillies.
** Above recipe is for 1 serving.

Happy Father's Day

 

My father ‘s most quoted verse from the bible is Apostle Paul’s words in 1 Timothy 1:15, “This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners; of whom I am chief."  No one needed to convince my dad that he was a sinner.  More than anyone I know, he was  most acutely aware of his sinful state, very much in need of a Savior.  For that, he was one of the humblest, kindest, most forgiving, generous and loving persons I know.  According to Jesus in Luke 7 about the woman who anointed his feet, that her sins, which were many, were forgiven—for she loved much. But he who is forgiven little, loves little.

Missing you, Pops, this Father’s Day!

Here's Sarah Chang playing one of my father's favorite violin pieces, Meditation de Thais by Jules Massanet.

Happy Mother's Day

Illustration by Lauren Monaco

To Mom, with love

I learned a lot about life from my mother, and inherited many of her traits.  But one thing that I've not acquired is my mother's gift of conversation.  I come from a family of introverts, except for Mom.  Growing up, we relied on Mom to spice up our dinner conversations, especially when we had company (which was frequent as my parents were exceedingly hospitable people).  Mom was able to keep any conversation going from world events to knitting.  Part of it is she's a woman of strong opinions but she's also one who knew how to ask questions.

But what is most unique about her conversational style is her ease of weaving  quirky Chinese proverbial sayings into her everyday conversations.  They add such vividness and color.  She said she acquired these sayings from her mother and from her  studying of  Chinese proverbs.  None of my aunts throw proverbial sayings into their conversations, so I tend to think this is something uniquely mom.  The pictures created in one's mind from her sayings are quite arresting which made her conversations quite unforgettable.  For example, if she's chiding us for being ignorant, she would say, "You are like a frog at the bottom of a well, never having seen much of the heavens or the sun!"  That certainly had a way of putting us in our place!  Now when I overhear arrogant, ignorant talk, the person is sometimes reduced in my mind to a frog in a well, croaking in the darkness of his limited circumference of a well.

I am not about to weave quirky Chinese proverbs into my everyday conversations any time soon, as I think only Mom can do it well in her unique casual kind of way.  I can however present a sampling of the proverbial sayings she's fond of using.   It will not have the same flavor and richness, and I'll probably do a tortured job with the translation.  Some of these sayings are quite pedestrian and others quite elegant.  Some are easily interpreted while others require some deciphering.

Here they are...

Another version of the frog in a well:
As the summer insect cannot speak of ice, the frog at the bottom of a well should not talk of the heavens.

Trying to drive a dumb man to speak (indicating futile effort)

Those who reject iron cannot make steel

Water at at distance cannot save a fire which is near; a relative afar off is not equal to a neighbor at hand.

Adding flowers to embroidery (presents to the rich)

Sending coal in a snowstorm (timely assistance)

A workman who wishes to do his work well must first sharpen his tools

Not willing to pull out a single hair (stinginess)

A tiger entering a cave, looking in front but disregarding the rear (recklessness)

Distant waters cannot quench present thirst

Fresh flowers stuck on a donkey's head

A man with hare's head and snake's eyes (a devious person)

To nourish what is small at the expense of what is great.

Seven hands, eight feet (clumsiness)

Words as myriad as dog's hair

Taking advantage of a fire to stage a robbery

I end now with my favorite of her sayings:

Before my couch the moonbeams bright
Are like the frost pure and white;
I raise my eyes and see the moon,
I drop them and I think of Home 

I raise my eyes, Mom, and I see the moon.  I drop my eyes, Mom, and I think of you!  Missing you this Mother's Day.