23 March - Bella Bela and the Art of Mehndi

When I started researching the art of Mehndi, I was looking for something decorative to wear on my arm. I found a piece of jewelry that satiated that search but what I was looking for was true wearable artwork. When friend Mike Eitel, wife Bela and I were emailing each other a while back, I noticed her website (www.belatees.com) on her signature. I saw beautiful artwork in her apparel and stationery. What I did not realize was those were her personal designs. In bringing to fruition this week’s task of wearing Mehndi, I stumbled upon the beautiful personal story of Bela Roongta Eitel, the artist.

Bela shared that only two years into marriage and six years into a successful legal career, she had a personal epiphany of the need to connect with her Indian ancestry. Bela was fascinated with her husband’s knowledge of her own culture, having taken a language-intensive course on Hindi and living in Nepal and Thailand. Two of her goals included learning the language and learning the art of Mehndi. With her husband’s support, she decided to leave her legal career behind to travel to Bombay, India, and immerse herself in the culture for six months.

After Bela’s experience in India, resolution came full circle when she no longer felt the need to fight her cultural identity as being one or the other. “I realized I was Western and had access to many more opportunities than I would have had if I had been raised the traditional way. There were so many things about the (Indian) culture that I loved while being there, but I really was at home here.” Bela added, “I really appreciate the freedoms and individuality here. You can still have family, still be committed, dedicated and love someone while still pursuing your own dreams without…necessarily giving up individuality, especially (for) women. I came back feeling stronger knowing who I was as an American, as a Westerner, as woman of Indian descent living in America.”

Upon her return, she and Mike started a family. Bela was also fortunate to fall back into a career focusing on one of her passions as a director at the Task Force of Domestic Violence. However, her busy schedule left no time to focus on her Mehndi. Until one day, her core group of Indian friends saw her “doodling” on a card she had made. By happenstance, this card proved her skill and garnered encouragement to pursue this craft. “I did a fundraiser for a group working with domestic violence and created a Sun design that I thought would look better on a t-shirt versus a card. I ended up creating this and an Om design, then had them printed.” Thus, came the creation of her current business “Belabela.”

Bela's affinity for Mehndi was inspired by family nostalgia. Every two to three years, she and her sister traveled to India. "The one thing we always looked forward to was getting Mehndi the day before we left. My cousin taught me the whole art. Every night we would sit in the living room and she would apply the henna. My family said I was really good at it and gave me the confidence I needed." Bela explained that Mehndi is traditionally worn for special occasions like weddings or festivals. The application for a relatively intricate design can take 20 minutes to an hour; drying time takes at least an hour. (For Bela's wedding, the application took two to three hours.) To begin, you can mix the powder form of henna with water to the consistency of pancake mix. You will also need a coneshaped bag to apply the paste. Simply take a square piece of plastic (ziploc bag) and twist to make a cone. Create an opening less than 1/4" thick, taping any necessary edges to secure the cone tightly. Some Indian stores also carry readymade paste in coneshaped bags.

For the application, as with anything, practice makes perfect. You can use patterns found online or at your local bookstore. Fortunately for Bela, she has a natural creative ability to freehand. After applying the henna, let it dry for at least 30-45 minutes. Create a mixture of 3 parts water, 1 part lemon juice and 2 tablespoons sugar. Use a cottonball to dab the skin with this mixture. This allows the acidity of the lemon to react with the henna. After it dries, you can scrape off any remaining henna using a dull knife. The longer the henna stays on the skin, the darker the color. The Mehndi should stay for 7 to 10 days.

Bela considers her “artwork of Mehndi and apparel as a beautiful fusion of my eastern heritage and western upbringing.… It is an extension of my self-expression. Fortunately, all of this was a ‘happy accident’.”

Well, congratulations on your success, Bela, and happy birthday.

Information on Bela's Mehndi workshops, artwork, apparel and stationery can be found at http://www.belatees.com/.

16 March - Exotic Fruits and Vegetables

I nurture a love/hate relationship. I lean on her several times a day, actually. Sometimes, I get so frustrated and want to wring her neck, then miraculously she redeems herself and becomes my lifesaver. You might have met her. She goes by the name "Technology." All this week, my personal computer had been extremely moody and would shut down when she randomly chose. Not a good thing when putting together a movie of photos to music for a surprise party and am already days behind schedule. So I looked for a task that might refresh my bloodboiling spirit, as the countdown of my deadline quickly approached.

How about going away to some tropical place via sense of taste? I recalled a photo I took a few years back of a roadside fruitstand outside Manila, Philippines. The nostalgia in tasting some of these fresh produce teased me, as I thought I could so easily find them here in the States. Stands like these lined the poverty-stricken streets, hoping for a few pesos' sale. (And for some, these stands unfortunately also doubled as homes.) Had not given enough forethought, however, on whether exotic foods are even in season because I found truly unique fruits were a bit difficult to locate. Are not tropical exotic fruits and vegetables always in season? I have enjoyed lychee, mango, guava and papaya before (as one of my favorite 9-yr-olds commented on its seeds, "is that salmon roe?"). So I went to 3 different places and found the following:

- Ugli Fruit. Poor thing will have some deep-seeded issues as she ripens. Unfortunately, the shoe fits. This comes from Jamaica and is apparently a cross between a Seville orange, grapefruit and tangelo. The size is larger and thicker-skinned than a grapefruit, making it easier to peel. The taste is more tart than a regular orange but certainly not bitter like a grapefruit. Sweet, juicy and tasty.

- Pepino Melon. This yellow heartshaped, almost plum-skinned fruit comes from Ecuador and Peru. The size is similar to that of a tennis ball and is exquisitely fragrant when cut open. It smells like a muted perfume of a true ripe cantaloupe more than a honeydew. The taste is more mild than one would assume, given its fantastic aroma.

- Manila Mango. This little guy comes from Mexico. Its title was a bit confusing as I noticed at different stores, it was labeled as a honey mango, Champagne mango and ataulfo mango. The small mango fit in my hand and its top half tapers and curves, giving it a “s” shape. Its taste is just as delicious and sweet as a regular ripe mango, but the meat lacks the stringiness, which makes it easier to enjoy.

- Bitter Melon. This green gourd grows in South and Southeast Asia. The oblong shape is covered by its broccoli/moss-like skin. When cut lengthwise, the inside reminds me of a zucchini. When picking through these vegetables, an Indian man next to me explained I should be sure to scrape out the seeds and sauté it with Indian spices, as the bitterness is found in the seeds. It is sometimes served with yogurt or mixed with coconut to offset its bitterness. In talking to Mom, she said she used to prepare this “ampalaya” with meat and scrambled eggs when I was younger. Can’t say I recall it. My husband and I made that tart lemon face, trying to pinpoint the closest resemblance to this fresh bitter melon: a rubber band.

- Eddo. These hairy root plants look like a mix between a coconut and large ginger. It can be found in West Africa, Asia, Central America, South America and the Caribbean and Polynesian Islands. I did not quite know if I should peel it as we do when using our microplane, or slice it like ginger for tea. This variety of taro root (poi) can be eaten and used like potatoes or yams. When baked, the taste can take on a sweeter and or nuttier taste than a regular potato. When sliced, one notices the tubular purple speckles inside.

- Squash Chayote. This interesting light green vegetable can be found in Mexico. I was actually impressed with the funny look on its face juxtaposed with its surprising crunchy texture and mild taste. Hubbo pegged its texture being reminiscent to jicama. One can use these raw on salads or prepare it baked, boiled, mashed, or stuffed. Interestingly enough, its leaves can be used as tea which is strong enough to dissolve kidney stones. All this from a simple squash. Who knew?

- Cactus Leaf. Yes, I was surprised when I actually pricked myself when handling it. Twice. As was the clerk, AFTER she held it and asked, "is this really a cactus leaf?" The size is larger than the span of my 7"-long hand. The inside is what one might imagine...a bit slimy and stringy like aloe and okra. The taste is like green beans and can be used in salads.

So after my tastebud adventure, I noticed my pc had still been moody and down for days. Though it took the DVD two hours to burn, I was able to make it to a wonderful surprise 40th birthday party in time. I still appreciate my dear friend Technology. She has again redeemed herself, particularly through helping me post this entry via yet another one of her children she lovingly named the iPhone.

2 March - Two weeks of Zen

Dear friend Yvette, who recently took up mixed martial arts, inspired me to visit my former dojang. It has been almost 2 years since I trained at Chosun Black Belt Academy (http://www.chosunacademy.com/). Mr. Peterson, my Sah Bum Nim or instructor, was kind enough to spend time over the past two weeks to teach me several things. I found it unexpectedly exhilarating to suit up once again, as though putting on an armor of memories where attaining my first degree was somewhere in a past life. All the etiquette of respect for teacher, surroundings and the martial art of tae kwon do returned as I stepped into the dojang and bowed. I panicked as students were still milling about, not knowing whether class was beginning or ending. As a higher rank, there is much responsibility in class, i.e. opening and ending class in Korean, as well as leading exercises, sparring, forms and techniques. I was grateful in being greeted with some familiar and unfamiliar faces assuring me class had indeed just ended.

My goal was to learn my next form, Keumgang. Mr. Peterson suggested I also learn a weaponry form with a bo staff, a completely new endeavor. A form or poomse is a series of movements in a response to attacks from imaginary assailants from several directions. Here, one can see the strike of a bo staff. It has, at minimum, the strength to break a one-inch board (i.e. skull, knee, etc). This is the bo staff form, which is actually a Japanese art form.

I also wanted to see if I could brush off some dust and break some boards using some of the simpler techniques, a spinning knifehand strike and a jumpback kick.

Perusing my Chosun Black Belt Academy handbook helped me to stop, recall and appreciate anyone’s journey in receiving his or her first degree. In order to apply, we were required to submit two letters of recommendation, a statement of why we would be good candidates, our final round of zen quotes with our personal interpretations and have competed in at least four tournaments. The testing alone was a grueling 3 1/2 hours – 1 hour written and at least 2 1/2 hours physical. Upon hearing how rigorous the testing might be, I began running two weeks ahead of time just to prepare my body to sustain the exam. We were tested on the history of the art, different creeds, vocabulary and the meaning behind various symbols. We demonstrated the 65+ self-defense techniques and 12 forms, executed however the judges called them -- frontwards with somersaults in between each movement, backwards, combined with other forms. We showcased our sparring techniques with several assailants at once. Proved our knowledge of the 45 hand techniques of blocks, strikes, punches and 35 kicking techniques from simple flying side kicks, jump reverse hook kicks to 360 back kicks, breaking boards with any kicks the testing board might deem fit. I recall speaking with dear friend Shanel right after, just to exhale and decompress, but it manifested in sobbing.

I remembered the things I appreciated most during my three years at Chosun. I do believe the tone of any organization starts at the top. Mr. and Mrs. Peterson ran the school with an all-encompassing curriculum and foundation of philosophies…family first, respect, discipline and being goal-oriented, among others. With each class, we were inspired to help our fellow classmates to reach their next goal. Our instructors taught us to build camaraderie thru fun team exercises... we checked our egos at the door and participated in silly games like adult leapfrog. We utilized the same jump, which resulted in breaking two boards simultaneously by the end of class. We ended classes with meditation as well as contests such as team pushups where one person has his feet atop another’s shoulders, playing bombardment or baseball. Everyone truly felt he or she was a part of an extended family. With all the different walks of life that came through the door each day or night, we found we would choose these people as our friends outside the dojang.

Being a part of Chosun raised our standards as human beings to one another. We were reminded of simple human rules such as respect. It was a mandate to address higher ranks with a “yes mam” or “yes sir”. And as higher ranks, it was our duty to teach and respect the lower ranks. Mr. Peterson would ask the kids, "What is a good deed? It’s doing something nice for someone just because. You don’t need anything in return." The children were required to perform and list good deeds in a notebook, which was brought to every class. The curriculum outside the actual martial art…of learning the language, tasting the culture in Korean food, meditating and getting "centered", requiring us to research zen quotes, deciphering their meanings and articulating our interpretations…these were what left me with an affinity and loyalty to Chosun to this day. I relearned to work hard at something I believed in.

After teaching for almost 20 years, Mr. Peterson recently earned his fifth degree black belt, while building yet another successful school from the ground up. Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Peterson. Choong Sung.

23 February - Screenplay to West Side to Midwest

This week's task of reading a script brought me back to heartwarming days of falling into character as Anita in "West Side Story." How quickly cobwebbed memories, long tucked away, quickly rise to the surface when asked. The memories of being surrounded by a new family with intense rehearsals, one-on-ones with the director and crazy exercises to help us get lost in finding our new personality -- the one we leave behind temporarily when exiting the auditorium, to awaken again right after the last period of class. I remembered the well-choreographed numbers like being lifted high into the air by the Jets, similar to a body pass. (And that lead Jet, friend Patrick Noonan, recently informed me we can catch him on "30 Rock" and an upcoming episode of "Law & Order.") This recreated the famous scene where Anita is harassed in Doc's shop, that which starts the trail of fatal misunderstandings...all in those funny black-heeled Mary Jane shoes.

This week's screenplay, however, was read in the comfort of my own Eurotop bed, far underneath the down comforter, with a nice mug of hot water and fresh lemon wedges. A dear friend who is a producer and former Miramax Films executive sent me one of his current screenplays to review. My excitement awaited as I understood this gripping Wisconsin-based tale to be quite an emotional feelgood based on a true story. I unfortunately cannot comment on the premise as it is in the process of being shopped for financing. I understand the L.A. director has already been selected. I will say, however, I needed a good cry anyway.

On another front, Wisconsin Governor Doyle recently announced eliminating film production incentives due to budgetary reasons. It will be interesting to see how the counterpoints (job creation, revenue, economic stimulus, etc.) and discussions will affect producing upcoming films such as this. (To learn more and to get involved, please see http://www.filmwisconsin.net/.)

In any case, I look forward to seeing this compelling film come to fruition.

9 February - Parasailing Home

I had never stayed at an all-inclusive resort nor had any burning curiosity of experiencing its benefits. But I now understand why we would -- and why many others do -- return. My husband and I were fortunate to take this annual holiday with five other couples, our dearest friends. We were even more fortunate that one of them is the director of marketing for a major travel company. When we arrived at the Excellence Resort, we were greeted with citrus-scented washcloths to freshen our hands, as well as a lovely glass of champagne. The grounds were gorgeous, canopied beds on our own private beach, waitresses offering appetizers and refreshments at the pool, the amenities (workout facility, track, 10 different bars, theater, nightclub, classes, etc.) and activities were extremely enjoyable. The food offered at the seven restaurants was excellent – Spice (hibachi/sushi), Toscana (Italian), Chez Isabelle (French), Barcelona (Mediterranean) among others. I always wanted to learn Spanish, so I took advantage of the classes and met with an instructor for a private Spanish class at the outdoor bar one evening. Some of us spent a day shopping at Playa del Carmen, where I was able to enjoy sipping the natural juices from a coconut. We then ended the week jetskiing, snorkeling and parasailing.

My husband and I had experienced something similar to parasailing in a previous life, which pre-empted any potential jitters. A thoughtful friend had surprised us with a parapenting excursion while honeymooning in New Zealand’s Southern Alps. This is where one is tied tandem to an instructor, he proceeds to run down the side of the mountain and a heat thermal lifts him high into the air. Now that I think back, it was a pretty crazy experience. (I took this photo of hubbo while parapenting across the sky from him.)

ParaSAILING is a bit different. For those of you afraid of heights, this just might be your medicine. The ride is very peaceful, several hundred feet in the air. The process is quite simple and relaxed. The guides fit you with a harness, which looks like a very large child’s swing. You and your partner are then hooked to a line at the back of the boat. They judge your weight, adjust and balance the harness with your partner. Before you know it, you float backwards up into the air and enjoy the view. It is simply floating – no speed, no turbulence, just sitting in air...admiring the gorgeous varying grades of blue water. After accomplishing my “new things” for this week, I realized something else. Yes, the thrill of new experiences awakens the human spirit. But more importantly, immersing myself in the company around me creates the balance and calm that I need to cultivate the seeker within me. How lucky was I to have been sharing something so peaceful with the most admirable and humble man I know? And to look down below to feel the comfort of friends who are “home”. I think it would be somewhat discouraging to travel to a wonderful destination and feel any stress of having to entertain and manage expectations or feelings. That is the beauty of this core group. We never have to worry because each is considerate enough to put the next one first. We can go off and do our own thing. No one takes offense; no one feels obligated -- we all realize and respect this is our individual holiday as well. Each evening, we met up at 7:30 to catch cocktails and dined wherever the vibe took us. There was the perfect amount of alone time, couple time, group time and girl/guy time. Enough relax-on-beds-at-the-beach time, and excursion time. Though we are all at similar places in our lives, this is not to say we are homogenous, just...”home.” Each brings his or her own unique persona which is well-needed in keeping the balance. We joke about personal issues; share our current state of life and its problems; philosophize how to "get there"; and the concern for our aging parents. We share in each other’s sorrows and celebrate each other’s accomplishments. Without a doubt, each would give the shirt off his or her back. We recognize how lucky we are with whatever we have been given because happiness is a choice, no matter what the circumstances. But we also listen and carry each other through that which might be troubling us. We are cognizant of the gratitude in finding one another as well as our partners. We are silly and mellow. Deep conversationalists, yet up for a shot of Zarletti's Limoncello moonshine. Anytime.

And if we did get silly and might have reverted back to our college days, I am quite certain Mexico echoes the same school of thought as Las Vegas: Whatever happens in Mexico stays in Mexico.

2 February - Living and Letting Go...

I struggled with this week’s entry. My intention was to bring flowers to random elderly who have no visitors to receive, as there is much history and wisdom to learn from those who have lived a full life. But I received a phone call and learned a friend’s younger brother had passed unexpectedly. John was only 31 years old and left behind a wife, his high school sweetheart, and two daughters.

At the funeral, I learned that the little boy I once knew had become a compassionate, selfless man -- a role model in his enthusiasm to learn and constantly improve; encouraging others to be their best. John was an engineer by trade; skilled woodworker by hobby; triathlete by competitor; jokester by nature; family man by heart; kickboxing champion and teacher by passion, just like his older brother, Joe. His younger sister Jennifer recalled how, at 15, John stepped in as her fifth grade track coach because no parent could volunteer his or her time. And upon her graduation, when fellow students were assigned to write of their heroes, one classmate wrote of John. She thanked him for the most precious gift anyone could give -- his time. The gutwrenching part of the mass was when my friend Joe spoke. Tall in stature, professional and accomplished, he began sobbing and spoke quietly in such poetry. It was so personal, as though we were listening to a private conversation. Joe plead for five more minutes to hold and kiss his baby brother once more…to tell him how, for the better part of his adult life, Joe had looked up to John for his drive, courage and gentle heart. Joe promised to raise his daughters as his own. He looked forward to meeting him once again in the next life to repay the friendship he had found in his brother. Then John’s parents approached the casket. It never struck me as hard to see parents having to say goodbye to their child until that evening. We are so used to justifying someone’s passing by saying, “But he lived a long life.” So what is the consolation when such is not the case? Let alone, the death being unexpected?

Listening to this, I began to sorrow in missing a friend I did not get to know…until now. Why do we learn how amazing someone is after their final hour…during their eulogy? Is it because our paths did not cross much? Or did I not take the time when I had the opportunity? I was even more saddened in the aftermath to come. Going through the motions of planning a funeral is mechanical, a distraction. When the obligations and fielding calls subside, the void of your loved one’s presence becomes stronger. It becomes your new reality. A painful adjustment.

My father passed away when I was 25. He was only 66. Being a physician, I am quite certain he was aware of his pre-existing conditions that eventually took his life. Knowing he could have taken some preventive care was a bit tough to process. When we received the call at 4am, I felt I graduated into an exclusive club but not wanting membership. I somehow had gained a new experience, a new piece of wisdom on my belt -- one others had yet to earn. I looked at all the guests at the funeral with concern, for one day, they will join me with the same refrain. I remember longing for the world to pause for a bit and pay its respects. But I knew life did not work that way. The sorrow came in waves -- fine one moment, tears pouring down the next. Wondering why, at a time where Dad was finally beginning to enjoy his retirement, becoming lighthearted about life, enjoying Mom’s company once again…why would he be taken from all these good things? ...the same question I asked in John's case.

The lessons, not necessarily answers, manifested. Everyone mourns in his or her own way. We can offer our presence, but provide space and time. Believe me, they will remember each and every outreached hand. And time will eventually heal…. It will take strength to get through all the “firsts” – First birthday, Father’s Day, Easter, Thanksgiving, Christmas. But there will be a safe time to reminisce where laughter will replace the tears. Most importantly, I learned there is truth in the grieving process. After the grief and acceptance, we have to make peace on our own terms in order to get through it, and meet on the other side. This may be spiritually or scientifically. For me, it was spiritual. My husband asked, “Do you think God would take him if his soul were not ready? I think he was ready.” I thought about that for a long while. Dad had struggled and worked his whole life. He put his six siblings and seven children through college. He put in his time. Did he get to enjoy the fruits of his labor? What would his quality of life have been after the surgery? The survivor of several conditions, including a quintuple bypass surgery. My sister was going to donate her kidney a month later. It would have affected two families. Although Mom was a nurse, how difficult would it have been for her to take care of him, shuttling him around, cooking, feeding and bathing him? This humble, resilient woman had served others her whole life. Dad had already met all his daughters’ future husbands. He knew they would be well taken care of. He was at a joyful time in his life. I think Dad had made his peace, let go and went home. So had I.

Perhaps I had to relearn some important lessons this week. The one thing that humbles us and makes us equal is death. No socioeconomic status or skilled attorney can bring someone back. Nor prevent our time from coming. And what about life? Is it about career? Affirmation? Self-worth? Or is it about relationships? We can become an executive, move to grandiose cities, “succeed” as however one defines it. But at the end of the day, if we carry no quality relationships, what do we have? One can tell a lot about another by the company he keeps. So yes, grab life with both hands and breathe as if it were our last. Hold those we love a little bit closer. And those who are unaware of our love should be told. But also consider who have we touched? Who do we affect? How do we want people to remember us? And what will they say at our passing?

Ironically, on the day of John’s funeral, the "Quote of the Day" on this blog was: Someone must pass on to show the rest of us how to live. Thank you, John, for reminding us of this precious lesson.

John is survived by his wife, Christina and two daughters, ages one and three. Donations to their college funds can be made at any Chase Bank branch under Bridget and Brianna Corro.

26 January - Snowboarding

Choose any reason for our highly anticipated annual holiday at Lake Tahoe... incredible family time, elegant log cabin accommodations on the west shore, inhale God's country, critique Super Bowl commercials with leading ad industry gurus...learn to snowboard.

I tended to my inner “Type T” (thrill-seeking), as my
psychology professor Frank Farley coined it many moons ago. Pushing the quadragenarian bracket, I could make any excuse as to why my body currently aches as it does...low bone density, bad knee, not enough protein. Truth is, sacrificing one’s body is just part of the process in learning to snowboard. I took a group lesson the first morning at Squaw Valley, learning "falling leaf" techniques on heels and toe side as well as "j turns". We learned the importance of shifting our weight to the front leg versus the natural inclination of leaning back in fear. Frustrated but ready to put the pieces together, I took an additional private lesson with Lauren to complete the "s-curves." The wonderful calm vibe of this San Diego native gave me the confidence and visualization I needed to complete this week’s mission.

But as I return to this familiar place, my takeaway and gratitude are not in learning to snowboard. I realized the beauty of … chairlifts. And not for its convenience of transport. It provides a meeting place for new friends like Michael, a fresh transplant from the UK to the San Francisco Bay area. Or Raymond, the humble and warm Chinese man who determinedly shared my same mission. Or bonding with Bill, the other straggler from my class, there with an international group of friends. Or debriefing and sharing a chuckle with my husband. As well, it is the vehicle that provides a few moments to witness in silence the pristine scenery of 8,500 to 10,000 feet above sea level. For that I am humbled and grateful.

It rejuvenates me, just in time for that après ski.