a birthday wish

Growing up, I LOVED any holiday providing a reason to get gifts. Birthdays and Christmas.....and then, after watching my brother being showered with presents during his two hospitalizations, my list of possible present receiving occasions expanded.

Happy Birthday presents
Merry Christmas presents
Happy Hospitalization presents

Through high school, I would think up the most economical ways to invite the most people to "celebrate" my life. In tenth grade, my Dad asked why I invite so many people to my birthday parties, "Why not just a few friends." Without a blink, without a thought:

"The more people, the more presents."

What a motto to live by. But there you have it, I LOVE gifts.

Over the years, my idea of gifts has changed. At seven years old, I'd see a commercial about the footise, new and improved with a counter to see how many times you could jump over the rope without tripping up (you know what I'm talking about)...so, I'd see the commercial and think, "THAT's what I want for my birthday....only nine more months!" All year, I'd come across things that I just knew would make that year the best birthday ever.

Don't get me wrong, I still LOVE gifts...however, my taste has narrowed in a way that happens when distant horizons are explored, alone. There's nothing like looking at the sun setting over a seemingly endless desert with only your eyes. To share that sunset and see, if only a glimpse, the sun set through another's eyes, through another's perspective...that is a gift. To talk face to face with Mom and discuss ideas and thoughts that don't mean much to her except that it allows us to be, if only for a moment, in the same moment, nearing the same place, face to face....that is a gift. To look around a room full of smiling faces; friends, family...that is a gift.

To know and to be known. To love and to be loved. Gifts worth wanting. Gifts worth sharing.

This year, my birthday wishes have already come true.

I am so grateful. Thank you.

breathing, still.

After watching a movie with my brother and a friend, I returned to the two bedroom hotel room where my parents and grandparents were fast asleep. As I got ready for bed, I realized that the light in my grandparents room was still on, but I could tell that they sleeping. Quietly, I snuck into their room and, just as I turned off the bedside lamp, I glanced over. Watery eyed, I stood their. No, I wasn't standing. I felt like I was falling while being held in that moment, that space. Breathing. Perhaps dreaming. Sleep. Life. At first, I only heard breathing and that was enough. No immediate thoughts. Just listening, watching.

Life is so fragile and in this moment of vulnerability, my response wasn't to analyze, contemplate, or discuss. Tears. At first from the beauty of breath that sings the song of life. But then it was the sound of my Grandma calling me for dinner as she has since I was old enough to respond. Then the voice of my Grandpa telling me why he became a Christian after years of being a Buddhist. Then the sound of the train trekking through the Canadian Rockies as Grandpa sits with eager eyes watching the breath-taking beauty pass by, deep in thought articulated with simple laughter when I ask what he's thinking. Then their excited voices congratulating me at my graduation. Then their supportive reassurances as I moved to Egypt. And now tonight. I wrote this after dinner tonight:

A while back, Mom and Dad heard about "Tip Top" diner on one of those travel channel episodes. Excited to finally bridge the reality and T.V., Mom mapquested Tip Top, officially adding it to our itinerary. An afternoon of reading and relaxing (yes, Ikeda's DO relax on vacation) turned into an evening of Happy Hour in the lounge (In fact, extremely happy when we found out this hour included food along with the drinks...FREE!) Happy Hour turned into two hours, turned into "Mom's Mangle" when she realized we had 12 minutes to find this restaurant and order our food before they close. Having served during the closing shift, I know the internal tension when a party of seven walks in TWO minutes before closing. Presuming THEY would be like ME, I walk in with "I'm so sorry" look...

I left no consideration that some people actually enjoy the jobs they choose to stick with for more than thirty years -- be it washing dishes, serving food, refilling drinks....or welcoming eleventh hour GUESTS. Humbling is an understatement. They were sold out of their signature pulled-pork sandwich, but fully stocked with kindness, generosity, smiles, mouth-tingling pie, pleasant conversation, and a satisfaction with their lives that could be tasted in each bite of hamburger steak.... So satisfying that Grandma (yes, my little, 87 yr old, Japanese, 5' Grandma who got a ticket for crossing the street to slowly) didn't put down her fork until she was only two bites away from complete victory. Jared barely finished 3/4 of the same meal. TWO bites left. Fork down. I don't remember the specifics of my persuasion, but it went something like this: "From this moment, Grandma, whenever hamburger steak sits at the table, this story will be told. A story TWO bites away from being made!"

One bite left: "grandma. Grandma. [Mom joins in} GRANDMA. GRANDMA!!!"

Fork digs in. Mouth meets fork....with a glisten in her eyes, grandma savors the attention, holding the bite at her lips. A few waitresses have joined in the excitement. A cook peers through the window [the cheering may have been at Ikeda volume levels], a flash of the camera and the bite is gone. Devoured. Grandma owned the moment. A few claps, some high fives, proud smiles, a cleaned plate and then...from the farside of Grandma another fork raises. Last bite of salad on his fork (his unfinished country fried steak already packed in a to-go box), Grandpa leans forward for his moment. A 94 year old mouth, a childlike heart. Fork pauses at his mouth, freezing for a photo. A flash of the camera and the bite is gone. Salad all over Grandpa's lap. Priceless. A few more conversations with people who love thier jobs, love each other, and taught an unsuspecting guest a humbling lesson.

And now, breathing. Humbled, still.

settling in..

or something like it.

as my stuff finds a new home: clothes hung up, books on bookshelves, scarves and coats tucked away, records stored upright...things are looking like they're coming together.

except, the box of random, homeless stuff tucked in the back of my closet, the unsorted mail and paper collected and bagged while i've been away...then there are things i'm still unaware of like the contents in the container hiding under the bed that i refuse to open.

in a lot of ways, i feel like the current state of my room reflects the current state of me. i seem to be finding my place for the most part. but there are still things that i'm aware of that don't quite fit yet. then there are the things that i'm not even aware of.

today, the urge to get up and go -- go anywhere. somewhere. to be GOING -- crept up multiple times while getting my teeth cleaned. while mashing butternut squash. while sitting in my room, friends looking at my stuff, me looking at my stuff with new homes. a new home. stuff i've picked up along the way. now home. with me. unfamiliar.

i love being home. i love being with family. i love hanging out with friends.

but now my attention has a new home. along with my stuff. along with me.

i slept in my bed for the first time last night since leaving egypt. i don't think i will tonight.

i'm not ready for that sort of commitment.

Decisions

A friend continually reminds me that, as we get older, the margin for error decreases. Consequences for wrong or poor decisions seem to come at a higher cost. Living back with my parents illuminates this with the everyday, "small" decisions.

An unnecessary comment. Stuff left out. Dishes not washed. Every decision I make in this house affects everyone else living here. People notice my shoe pile growing in front of my bedroom door and aren't happy when they trip over my purse or knock over my mail. Ipod plugged into my Mom's computer. Letters waiting to be mailed on the dining room table. All these things are so minute and yet all so intricately entwined with the lives of others.

At the same time, all of my other decisions equally, if not more, affect those I've allowed into my life. How I spend my time with or without people, what I do or don't do, everything says something. So what am I saying? What have I failed to say? If every moment has a purpose, every now says something, then what am I saying now?

I fear, too often, "me" and "I" get in the way of what it is I really want to say. Of what I'm trying to say. Of what I've been saying all along:

I love you.

What are you saying now? Look at the people around you. The daily intersecting of lives? Before we know it, too many nows have passed and that voice, which we all have, forgets what life is all about.

May your decisions NOW speak something worth saying.

Something worth hearing.

While in Egypt, I discovered the enjoyment of baking. Aside from playing dough darts with left overs, baking has the potential to appeal to so many senses -- smells, hopefully, entice others to "check in," looks invite them to sit and indulge, taste keeps them coming back.

And I, when I have....no, when I make the time, enjoy the process -- selecting the recipe, gathering the ingredients, occasionally pretend I'm the host of a cooking show...only occasionally, I assure you :)

I prepared some pizza dough for lunch tomorrow. Yes, it's 1:30am, and I'm making pizza dough. Love it. With some locally grown tomatoes, I intend to use my Egyptian mom's tomato sauce recipe, throw in some basil from the garden, and.....some quality store bought mozzarella. Pick some lemons from the garden, make a little lemonade, cut a few orchids, find a few friends: a recipe for a good time, I hope. :)

And then I'll call my dentist to schedule the pulling of all my wisdom teeth. Post-pizza, of course!

waiting in the car at the open market. no parking. listening to Mark Driscoll's latest series: The Peasant Princess, Song of Solomon (Mars Hill Church, Seattle).

coffee breaking at the samoan jack in the box.

perusing the aisles of marukai, the japanese market.

a morning well spent with grandpa and grandma.

sipping tea made with fresh mint leaves from the spearment plant that i bought today.

hurting hands from cutting overgrown grass with scissors yesterday.

procrastinating from the daunting task of cleaning and organizing my room.

i've "grounded" myself. no phone, internet (after i'm done with this blog, of course), or re-cleaning my bookshelves and desk (the only places in my room that i consistently clean and organize) until i finish cleaning my entire room, which includes fully unpacking. grrr.

here goes.