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A recipe from my friend Izumi Bloom.

1/2 cup room temp butter (unsalted)
1/2 cup golden brown sugar
6 TBL granulated sugar
1 Large egg
1 tsp vanilla
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 1/4 cups all purpose flour
3/4 cup of each, dark, white, milk chocolate ships
1 cup chopped walnuts

Preheat oven to 350 F
In large bowl, combine butter, brown sugar and sugar, mix. (medium speed)
Add egg, vanilla, well blended. (low speed)
Add dry ingredients, mix. (low speed)
Drop onto baking sheets lined with parchment paper.
Bake for 10-13 minutes.
Cool on wire rack

Every Tuesday I will receive a bunch of “trash” mail, full of advertising I don’t want. Normally I receive them and dump them in the trash right away, hence the “trash” mail name.

This Tuesday, however, my eyes stop at at a ad says “Have you seen him”? It is a search ad, a picture of a teenager having very floppy and weird folding ears, and next to it is a picture of a computer edited twenty years’ progressed look, having the same floppy and weird folding ears. I guess it’s his ears catching my attention rather than the search itself. However, it is interesting enough for me to read the complete ad that encourages me to post the ads anywhere so other people can help find the same person.

Is that teenager boy escaped from his family from a heated argument, or did he get involve in drugs that he never wanted to go back home? Other faces of similar ads also surface up. A girl of five years old, did she get lost in the supermarket while his parents were busy shopping? Or did someone abduct the girl out of a school when parents lost in vain finding her? A young man of thirty years, did he just walk out of a marriage leaving his wife and children in despair? Or was he in an airplane crash but his body was never be found? An old woman of seventy years old, did she take a regular walk but couldn’t remember how to get back? Or did she wonder off the rest home during lunch?

Regardless of the situation, someone is looking for them earnestly and eagerly. Have you seen him? Have you seen her? After five, ten, twenty, thirty years, they never give up. Have you seen him? Have you seen her? They ask eagerly, they ask urgently, they ask persistently. They are running a local, or even a national ad. Regardless whether people would see the ad or throw them in the trash, or whether the present person would look remotely like the progressive picture the computer generated, they hope one day they will find their loved ones; who can be their children, their spouse, their children or their close friends.

Have you seen him? Have you seen her? Earnestly and eagerly, come home, come home. Softly and tenderly, come home, come home. A calling too familiar that reminds me of a loving Jesus, whatever you do, wherever you are, I want to find you, I am searching for you, and regardless how long it will take, I am running a national ad looking for you. Please come, I have prepared the feast on the table, the warm water in the tub, and I haven’t seen you in years that you don’t know how much I miss you! Have you been wary have you been tired, please come and be with me in the garden where you can rest. I can hold you till the dawn and I will take care of your broken scar. Have you seen him? Have you seen her? Please, please, when you find him, please let me know. Please, please, when you find her, please let me know. If you see him, please let him know I love him. If you see her, please let her know I love her. I am waiting.

Aspiration, generally a good term, is used primarily for people who has a dream, a dream which “aspires.” Until recently did I realize that I have been groomed to have an aspiration of a big corporation CEO with millions in the pocket. I received an MBA education where CEO is highest of the rank, and to top that, I attended St. Gallen Symposium, the most prestigious management symposium where I was chauffeured to enjoy a “future” CEO life, one with juicy rewards. That aspiration motivates me to climb up the corporate ladder and gradually get lost of who I am. Work is no longer fun, but stressful, however, letting go is no easy task. Though I can still sit in the office pretending to be happy, I gradually feel the dieing of myself. I can no longer seek for the unknown and be curious. So I resigned, doing what I like. But the aspiration captures me, making me feel unease of the financial losses and longing for a CEO life with challenging tasks. “I hope next time I see you, you are already a VP.” said one CEO of a major corporation. Do I let him down by retreaving myself at home doing what I like? Or does his expectation on me gradually become what I am aspiring for? The question is left unanswered, but regardless I decide I shall not let myself down at the very least. Then it comes to an end that I know everything comes with a price, a price that may involve my “aspiration.”

I get up five o’clock in the morning, eager to see the sunrise from the ocean. The sunrise is around six thirty according to the calendar. I walk to the living room where the windows open to the ocean: it is still dark outside, pitch dark blue. I sit down with my plate of toasts and jam, watching the sky, enjoying the morning peacefulness. The sky gradually turns lighter, and I start marching outside the door.

The morning air bears a hint of coolness in a summer morning of west coast, long pants and a wind breaker are all I need to enjoy an early morning walk. My steps are light but I can clearly hear my breathing with occasional bird chirping breaking the silence of a dawn. There were no other passengers, walking in solitude accompanies me. The mist is flowing, while flowers are tinted with dews and a glimpse of dim light. Statues of gardens are standing half asleep, though letters of house numbers glow in the dark. Up in the wide sky of dark grey blue, a full moon is bright, refusing to give away its place. Gradually, I approached the open field of Point Dume State Park, where a trail lies before my eyes.

I step forward sanded pathway, plants brushing against me, sparrows of kinds flying around the mountains in the nearby distance, dark grey blue water widely open reflecting the sky. Ripples of the ocean only brings paddling sounds to the ear, while two egrets are cuddling on the rocks, sound asleep. The sun sticks out of light clouds in dark orange; while the moon is still clear in bright white on the other side of the sky. An ocean breeze is gently sweeping, a bell under the cliff delivers soft ringing. Little by little, the sun climbs up unveiling itself; its orange light spreads into the clouds, highlighting the waves. Sky turns brighter, dimming the moon. With a ray of light sneaking in, egrets start to move around, stretching their necks, spreading their wings. As waves splash the shore stronger, the bell is echoing with more rhythms: “Ding, ding…” Upon one ringing, egrets lift their wings and take off. A group of pelicans glide across the sky, and the moon disappears anonymously. A beautiful golden light radiates the sky, casting on the ocean.

Finally, morning is awake.

Evacuate! It was my first response when I figured the station fire of La Canada Flintridge was out of control. Our house was so close to the fire that we saw flames directly facing us from the mountain ridge and our cars and house were covered with ashes. When I first saw the ashes raining down the sky, I found some fun out of the situation but when it kept dropping without the will of stopping, my intuition told me it was not fun any more. It started to get…scary. There is this ultimate topic of man verses nature and at this moment, I decided not to fight but to run.

I called my friend and she reminded me of taking all valuable things out of the house including important documents, computers, albums, medication and jewelry. So I told my husband and daughter to pack what they think are important. After exercising all the common sense that my friend gave me, I also found myself taking these along: the journals I have hand written for Heidi, Heidi’s development record, a calendar made by my friend Teresa for our baby shower, a drawing Hermes owner Mr. Dumas made for me, all the business cards I cannot re-collect, my cashmere dress, my wedding dress, and in the end all Bibles at home. Surprising I only took three jewelry pieces aside from wedding and engagement rings: Swarovski necklace my husband bought for the wedding, another Swarovski necklace I bought in Switzerland, and a stained glass pendant I bought during my Venice trip. In Heidi’s little bag: her Elmo slippers, Dancing Elmo toy, a European doll given by my mother-in-law’s sister, an angel doll given by a church friend, her pink princess dress, and her ballet slippers. My husband: wedding album, tops all the albums he wanted to save.

Packing, packing and packing; within one hour, we were all in the cars and two medium sized suitcases stacked behind the seats. While I am surprised of how little we can live on and how few things that really matter to us, I am also amazed of what contained in these suitcases, our most treasured.

There is an old Chinese saying to describe the greatest man on earth as “there are no predecessors before him and there are no successors after.”

It is quite a concept, funny though, from historical, sociological and management perspectives. Shouldn’t the greatest man on earth knows how to learn from the great men of the history and the accumulated knowledge in the society? Now about the successors, maybe to gain an expertise in any field is not an easy task, and the security of one knows more than others gains an edge for him. But shouldn’t the greatest man on earth bore the responsibility of passing his knowledge and wisdom to the next generation and lest not waste his brilliance, so the society can prosper and benefit?

Maybe it is satisfying for a human being to think of himself as “greatest,” but what are the real criteria of being the “greatest” or is the concept of being the “greatest” faulty at the beginning?

You may ponder.

A girl called Abby fell down one day, dark turned the world that was once gay;
With all her might she could not fight, a body so weak she could not speak;
Lying on the ground she was found, unconscious she felt drowned.
Run, run, run to the hospital, on father’s arms with love’s charm;
Electronic pads and wirings around, papers of wave files feeding abound;
“Seizure,” a name she couldn’t seize, but the name makes her freeze.
Run, run, run to the school, in her own fold and lonely cold;
All her friends walked away, chatting at the lunch room bay;
For they said Abby could not be near, a spell Abby could not bear.
Run, run, run to her corner of peace, a girl named Heidi came beneath;
A “hey,” “come on,” and flowers in her hand, Abby’s face in wonderland;
Best friends we have grown, we do not play just alone.
Run, run, run to the playground, hide-and-seek goes another round.

Heidi recently played with eggs, flour, mixing as part of her “cooking show.” As a result of one experiment, we discovered a tasty cookie recipe.

3 Large Eggs
1 cup of butter
2 cups of sugar
3 cups of flour
Mix in a large bowl, microwave 30 seconds to soften the butter.
Beat until all into fine mixture in light yellow color.
Spread the mixture into a pan, 1/4 inch thick.
Preheat oven to 350F.
Bake for 25-28 min.

Cool, and enjoy!

Run, run, run, as fast as you can… When I was seven, I acted in my first movie. I loved the acting part, but traveling didn’t seem to agree with me. I worked day and night, sometimes needing to dub a film during post production and working until two or three in the morning. My mother was a director, moving from sets to sets in a different film, who I could only meet occasionally, always not having her in the picture when I grew up seemed to leave a void in my memory.

When I finished my last movie at age eleven, I decided never ever touch the movie business again, not for me, or my future family. I ran, I ran, I ran, as far away from movie industry as possible. Despite my obvious talent in writing songs, directing radio shows and acting, I chose to enter the top engineering school, one that rivals MIT and earned a BS and an MBA degree at the end. I joined prestigious consulting firms, took my profession as a Marketing Researcher, and had my essays published worldwide for management topics.

In a mysterious way of life, I ended in Universal Studios, which is one of the biggest studios in Hollywood. At another turn of my life, I re-joined the professionals of producers, casting directors, script writers, and movie publicists, and entered the conversation of film making again.

…you cannot catch me, I am the gingerbread man. Maybe gingerbread man is supposed to be eaten.

Non-greasy, extremely tender, light ginger smell, with a transparent pinkish color. Husband tested! I am so happy to discover this recipe during a doctor’s open house event.

Uncooked shrimps
Sprinkle salt all over shrimps, fully cover for 1 minute
Wash shrimps and wash off salt with water
Drain and dry shrimps
Pour some cooking wine (rice wine) over shrimps, just enough to cover
Shred some ginger roots in small pieces
Frying pan, pour and heat some vegetable oil in medium heat until oil starts to get warm
Put shredded ginger roots in frying pan, and immediately
Pour all shrimps into the frying pan, stir until they turn transparent pinkish color
Spoon out shrimps, dress in green vegetables and serve warm.

Enjoy!

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