WELCOME TO AMERICA (OUR 31ST ANNIVERSARY)

Thanks to Qaptain Qwerty, I was able to take the above photo of Uncle Ping's house in Brighton Beach, during my visit to NYC last November. I looked at the house as if seeing it for the first time. Perhaps because it was the first time I "really" saw the house. Back then, the night of January 10, 1980, I was too tired to notice anything. The next few days, I was trying to keep up with so many things in the new country, I did not pay attention to the outside of the house. I do remember, after coming thru the front door, the sitting room was to the right and the stairs going down the basement was to the left. The entrance way led directly to the kitchen. To the right of the kitchen was a small bedroom, then the master bedroom and a full bathroom.

Singapore, January 1980
“Get up and get ready. The bus will be here soon. It is not going to wait for us.”
I got up, washed my face and got ready. (Did I brush my teeth? Did we even have toothbrush and toothpaste? Did I have a towel or had to share with others?)
The bus arrived to take us to the airport. (I remembered standing the whole trip because the bus was crowded. I was holding on the only piece of luggage with the whole family clothing.)
What did I see on the way to the airport? What did I see when we got off the bus, walking toward the terminal?

I don't really remember much of this trip or recall what went through my mind. I don't even remember boarding the airplane that took us from Singapore to Belgium. (Where did I sit? Who sat next to me, my sister CH or my brother VL? Were Mom and Dad nearby?) Except my Dad, no one in the family had ever been on an airplane before. Was I scared or excited about the new experience? (How did we know what to do, like putting on the seat belts? Did we use the restroom? We had to, it was at least 14 hours flight time from Singapore to Belgium. What kind of food was served and did we sleep during the whole flight?)

(Coney Island was only one subway stop from where Uncle Ping's house was but back then, we did not know what Coney Island was about. Above photo was taken in November 2010)

I remembered Dad went to search for ice cream when we were waiting for the connecting flight to New York. We teased him that the plane would take off and he could have been left behind. He came back all smiling with the ice cream cone. Was it chocolate ice cream?

From Belgium, we boarded another plane to NYC. We finally arrived at John F. Kennedy International Airport around 8:00 p.m. (I don’t remember walking out of the airplane.) Uncle Ping was waiting for us and he was holding a few winter jackets. He was smiling and saying something like, “Welcome to America!”

It was dark when we walked from the terminal to the parking lot where Uncle Ping parked his car. A big snow storm came thru the day before. We were not prepared for the freezing cold and the snow piling high. We wore thin layers of clothes and worn sneakers. The jackets from Uncle Ping helped but we were still freezing.

To this day, I still remembered the comical scene when Uncle tried to explain that it was safe and encouraged us to get on the escalator to the upper level to get to the parking lot. All six of us took the stairs even though we were so tired and hungry. I remembered CH could not walk and fell down in the parking lot because it was too cold. (How did all six of us fit into Uncle Ping’s car? Was it a station-wagon? What color was it? Where did I sit and where did everyone else sit?)

When we arrived at Uncle’s house, his wife was so kind to have dinner ready for us. I remembered looking at the bowl of rice noodle soup with big chunks of meat and not sure if I was dreaming. After seven months of canned sardines, ready-to-eat noodles and steamed rice, we shamelessly ate all the food put in front of us. Of course, my parents had to be polite, controlled their hunger and instead of eating, keeping the conversation with Uncle and his wife.
After the feast, we all went to sleep in the basement. The next day, we went to the refugee agency to fill out the paperwork. We were provided a bag of decent winter clothing and $200, and that was the beginning of our new life in America 31 years ago.

St. Louis, January 2011
“TOTA, get up. Get ready for work so you could earn a paycheck and pay income taxes like all law-abiding Americans! And Happy 31st Anniversary coming to America!”

LOVE IS IN THE AIR

Kissing Doves at Whitmoor Country Club in St. Charles, Missouri.
Look closely (center of photo) and you will see a statue of Kissing Dutch Boy & Girl. Photos above and below (a pair of beautiful flowers) were taken on May 2, 2009 in Brooklyn, New York.
Bronze statue of Boy & Girl "I Wanna Hold Your Hand" in front of Community Center in West St. Louis County, Missouri.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM

After we sang Happy Birthday to Mom, the cake was cut and distributed, I sat and listened to Mom repeating events she has told many times before. I saw no need to tell her that I already heard these stories. I knew someday I would wish I could hear Mom telling these same stories but she would be no longer around. Later, I asked Mom if I could look over her vast collections of photos in albums that are neatly organized and labeled. We had a wonderful time, just the two of us, looking over family photos including those when we first came to New York in 1980 taken with the really cheesy Kodak camera using 110 millimeter film.
(Photo below of cherry blossoms was taken on Saturday, May 2nd during a walk around Bay Ridge neighborbhood.)
Mom giggled while telling me about the black and white photos in her youth, the different poses, especially when she was 17 years old. Mom pointed out who was who in her family and her friends in Viet Nam in each photo. I tried to write down in my notebook as fast as I could without asking Mom to slow down because I did not want to interrupt her thoughts. I marveled at the differences between our lives, from birth, childhood, grew up in Viet Nam then to America, marriages, to the changes in our world that shaped the persons we have become, the cultures that both included opportunities as well as barriers to us a women, where we are and what we will be.
Mom was the only daughter and the youngest child with three older brothers while I was the oldest child with a sister and two brothers. When Mom was born, Viet Nam was part of French Indochina (the federation ended in 1954 after the French surrendered at Dien Bien Phu) while the US escalated its involvement when I came into the world in the 1960s.
(All photos below taken on Wednesday, May 7, 2009 at Brooklyn Botanical Garden.)
(I took the above photo while imagining Mom and I sitting together on the bench in the garden talking and sharing stories.) Mom got married when she turned 20; that was the year I came to America, after escaped from the Communist controlled and also a possible arranged marriage. I got married when I was 28 years old (a really old maid), living in Michigan; at 28, Mom was a mother of 4, living in Cho Lon, Viet Nam.
When we came to America (NYC) in 1980, Mom was 41 years old, having to start her life over, learning a new language and adjusting to a new culture. Would I have the strength to do over at that age, giving up my home, my car, my comfortable living for the chance to live in freedom? I thought of the time when I tried to explain things to Mom, only to find out later that I was wrong. Mom never had a job outside of the family business. She never learned to drive and travel on vacation was a luxury for her generation. I had plenty of opportunities to obtain higher education, working as office professional and making financial decisions without seeking prior approval from anyone. Mom loves to show off her cooking while I love talking about hockey and football.
At 70 years old, Mom still has beautiful and almost flawless skin. She takes pride in her cooking and taking care of her only grandson brings her happiness. What would I be when I am 70 years old? What purpose do I have in life besides my hockey games? Why do we always have regrets and wish we could erase the times when we were disrespectful to our parents or believed that we knew more than they did? I am lucky that I didn't have a daughter who would give me the heartache and half of the headache I caused my parents. Thank you Mom for all the loving you have given me. Happy 70th Birthday!

APRIL PROGRESS REPORT

My April Progress Report is a No Progress Report. I did not do anything towards my goals of simple living. I had to make unexpected trip to New York attending to a family matter. (I would prefer not to provide any details at this time as the situation was private.) Currently, I am pleased to report that all is well.

After the trip, I spend most of the time playing catch-up at work. Since April 15th, I was pretty much glued to the television as Round 1 NHL Playoffs games were featured on Versus every night and on weekends.

It was not all un-productive as I managed to attend both City Council meetings (the City Council meets 2nd and 4th Mondays) and a Subdivision Trustees meeting. We have a new Mayor and three new Councilmen. Last year, the Mayor was supportive of my nomination to the Planning and Zoning Commission. I was not appointed because the Council at the time wish not to have too many Commissioners from the same Ward. I was not too terribly disappointed as it was not a paying job and like my husband said that I already have too many things on my plate.

Round 2 of the Playoffs starts tonight. It should be an exciting round with the Bruins v. the Canes and the Capitals v. the Penguins in the Eastern Conference. My beloved Red Wings taking on the Ducks and Chicago Blackhawks v. the Canucks in the Western Conference. I won't predict any outcomes. I am just so glad that the Canucks are still in the playoffs. Check out my shorthandedgoal blog for photos and posts about the playoffs.

Finally, 34 years ago (April 30, 1975) the Northern Vietnamese Communist took over South Viet Nam. 30 years ago (1979) my family made our final preparation for the boat journey, getting ready to escape Viet Nam from My Tho. I tried to re-construct my memories of how it all began. When and how exactly did my parents inform us that we would be making the almost suicidal journey? Was I scared or accepted the planning (what other options would I have anyway)? All the little details about our last meal together with my grandmother (Che Pho) kept putting more meatballs onto our plates. Where did the time go? I left Viet Nam as a teenager and now I am a middle age chubby woman who only cares whether Versus will show all my NHL playoffs games!

NEW YORK IS IN MY HEART

In a blog entitled "vanishingnewyork" by Jeremiah, there is a statement at the end of the page that reads "A New Yorker is someone who longs for New York" which I completely agreed. I am not sure if I could manage the fast pace of New York City like I did 20 years. After living in the Midwest, I would not want to trade my two-car garage, a nice backyard and plenty of parking space for the tight space and hectic flows of city living. Yet, New York is always in my heart because my family is there. Also because it was where I received my real life lessons "swim or sink", began a new life, learning English and the American culture, where my determination and strength were put to the tests as I worked full time while earning my college degrees. I still refer to New York as my hometown. The City always fascinates me with so many characteristics, history and ever changing neighborhoods of so many ethnic groups and cultures. Whether I would consider living in New York again, I am not sure. One thing I am sure that each visit will always have special memories and I will always long for New York, my hometown.
It was a special treat when my brother took us to this pier during our visit in December 2007. The above sculpture stands tall at 69th Street Pier at Bay Ridge Avenue. It emits a beam of light as a memorial to those who lost their lives during the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001.

Look closely and you will see Statue of Liberty (left side of the screen) and most of lower Manhattan.

The 69th Street Pier is the community's key seaside recreation spot. It attracts fishermen from other boroughs to find great catch of the day. A great view of the Verrazano Bridge could be seen from the pier even on a not-too sunny day.
The Verrazano Narrows Bridge, which connects Bay Ridge to Staten Island, was completed in 1964. Prior to the construction of the bridge, commuter ferry service was operated between this Bay Ridge Pier and the St. George Ferry Terminal in Staten Island.

Bay Ridge is in Brooklyn, southwest corner of New York City borough. To get to Bay Ridge by subway, take the R train Brooklyn line, getting off at Bay Ridge Avenue, 77th Street, 86th Street or 95th Street stations. (Be sure to check for any latest changes of the lines as other trains might be rotated by the MTA instead of the R as published on the subway map.)

CONGRATULATIONS TO QAPTAIN QWERTY

Congratulations to Qaptain Qwerty on an important milestone. The World Greastest Blog, QaptainQwerty, reached 10,000 on the Hit Counter. Please join me in extending our heart warm best wishes to Da Qaptain on this wonderful achievement. May the Hit Counter of your blog enjoy many more milestones, 100,000, 1,000,000, in the near future. Keep up the good work. In my book, you are always the BEST. I am so proud of you. Your #1 Fan and Faithful Follower.

SHG - Shorthanded Goal (the blogger formerly known as TOTA)

OLD SAIGON IN NICE

I was not suprised to see this Vietnamese restaurant Old Saigon when we were in Nice last July. Viet Nam was a French colony from 1861 to 1954 when the French was defeated in the fierce battle of Dien Bien Phu. The owner of this restaurant could be among the large population of Vietnamese living in France even before the Fall of Saigon in April 1975. It was nice to see Old Saigon in Nice!

Nice, France - July 2008

A GENTLE MOMENT OF LOVE

I took the above photo during a trip to Washington D.C in July 1989. We were walking around, and I asked my sister and brothers to slow down to wait for Mom and Dad. As I turned around, I saw Mom and Dad, after more than 30 years of marriage, still holding hands, a moment of true lasting love when Dad leaned over and gave Mom a gentle kiss. Mom had a smile of a blushing bride. I am so grateful that I was able to capture the moment and thankful for the gift of seeing the love my parents had shared.

I am sure I am not the only woman who does not care for Valentine's Day. I am not against the occassion and everyone has the rights to celebrate what is important to them and their relationship. From the beginning of our courtship, I informed my husband that in my humble opinion Valentine's Day is marketing ploy invented by florists, restaurants and greeting cards companies. When I was single living in New York, I remembered on Valentine's Day, the women in the office would wait anxiously for their flowers be delivered, sent by their significant others. Those that did not get the flowers, except me, were disappointed, felt rejected and unloved.

This entry is not about Valentine's Day. It is about the love my parents shared for more than forty years. Their marriage was arranged but not forced. Neither Mom nor Dad was perfect and they went through many difficult times. Dad told me one time that he would not able to go on living without Mom. He said that he would prefer to pass away first. Well, he got his wish!

Here is a previously published post in April 2008 about how my parents got married.

"Like many marriages during that time, my parents' marriage was arranged by someone who was respected and knew both parents from business circle. The marriage was arranged but not forced. My maternal grandparents were business owners and respected in the village. There were many matchmakers already inquired about their youngest and only daughter. My Mom was an attractive young lady combined with her parents' wealth explained the long list of many suitors. After the initial contact by a business acquaintance who was also a well-known matchmaker, my paternal grandfather (A Cung) made a visit from Cau Ngang (my Dad's birthplace) to my maternal grandfather (Che Cung) in Cau Tau Ha (Mom's birthplace). A month or so, another meeting was arranged, this time my Dad came along. The first time Mom saw Dad was when she was asked to serve tea to A Cung, Dad and other guests as an informal face to face introduction. Mom said that she was so nervous that when she put the teapot down in front of Dad, she almost slammed the teapot on the table.

Later, Mom's parents (Che Cung & Che Pho) asked Mom whether she liked Dad and whether she would agree to marry him. Mom knew she was not forced and could refuse the arrangement. Fortunately for Dad, Mom responded that it was up to her parents. Che Cung mentioned that he had consulted others about Dad's family, his characters and based on Dad's facial features, he thought Dad would be a loving husband and a good father. Che Cung said that he did not pay attention to the fact that Dad's family wealth was not of the same level. His only concern was finding a husband who would be faithful and loving to his only daughter.

After the engagement was announced, Dad would visit Mom every other month during his business trips. They would go for a walk or to the park, not alone but with two elderly ladies following and keeping watch. There was no such thing as "roadside kissing" or drive-in movie, Talk about the big difference compared to what takes place in today's society regarding relationships and marriages. Mom still remembered the poems Dad wrote to her and the long letters she sent back each week.

The wedding was a three-day celebration with lot of relatives, and guests from both families attended. In the traditional setting, the groom's family took care of all the expense for the wedding and presented gifts to the bride's family. There were many people who came to the wedding with gifts of expensive items and money to show respect and to express their gratitute for the help Che Cung had assisted them over the years.

My favorite story was that as part of the wedding celebration, Che Cung gave a large sum of money to build a school in the village. The principal wanted to name the school after Che Cung and he refused. (Che Cung suggested that the school had the same name as the village.) Talk about being a true humanitarian and modesty.

From the humble home in Viet Nam, to the journey seeking freedom in the open sea, to the little hut in the refugee camp, to the new land in America, each step we took towards a good life, Dad was there with us, providing and caring the best way he could. Happy Anniversary, Mom & Dad. Thank you, Dad, for all you did for us."

There you have it, a true moment of love and a lifetime of lasting love.

IN REMEMBERANCE OF MY DAD

"You need to come home," was all my brother VL had to say as I understood that Dad had reached the end of his life. It was Tuesday, February 6, 2001.

I immediately left the office, called my husband and then called the company's travel agency to check for the next available flight to New York. As we quickly packed for the trip, I made sure that the above photo and a rosary were in my purse. In the photo Dad looked so happy and proud at VL's wedding in 1997.

We arrived around 10:00 p.m. and went straight to the hospital from the airport. I was composed until I saw my Dad, Dad saw me, always a happy-go-lucky person, he smiled but his sunken eyes and weak voice said it all, I broke down, accepted that it was the end. Two years of chemotherapy destroyed Dad's body but the cancer never took away the spirit of the man and the love for his family. I held my Dad's frail body and for the first time was able to let all my tears flow, no longer holding back, while Dad telling me "Don't cry. It will be ok".

Every night I prayed and held onto the rosary as I tried to get some sleep. I listened to Dad's breathing through the machine. I kept watch whenever Dad tried to turn or tried to reach for the water. As I applied the lotion to help relieve the itching on his dying body, Dad asked, "Con khong ngu sao? Lo cho Ba nhung cung phai giu suc khoe." (Are you not sleeping? Make sure you don't neglect your own health while taking care of me.) I requested that I assisted the nurse when we washed Dad to make sure that he was not in pains when we tried to turn him. I noticed that even as gentle as I could holding him, his body was bruised easily. His liver was no longer functional and the rest of his body began to shut down. On February 10th Dad was no longer able to speak. His eyes closed but he was able to smile and squeezed my hand as I continued telling him about the weather, news stories, what happened at my work and improvement we were planning to do to our house in St. Louis. I sat next to the bed, holding Dad's hand, hoping that he would open his eyes, smiled, asked for water and started speaking again. It was one way conversations with little response from Dad but I held on, unable to let go of the last physical connection we had.

Looking at the photo of my Dad at VL wedding gave me strength. Dad looked so happy and proud. I wanted to remember my Dad being healthy, not the frail body destroyed by cancer and two years of chemotherapy. My Dad died peacefully in the evening of Tuesday, 13th of February. I don't want to remember the time we were together in hospice, I rather remember the good times we as father and daughter going to soccer and basketball games. The funny story how Dad protected me as the fans rushed into the stadium for a sold-out game. I want to honor my Dad for the life he lived, for the courage he showed when he held our family together through all the rough years, how he helped other people on the boat journey, for the lessons he taught us by living a life of integrity and great characters and his love as a husband and a father. And that is how I will always remember my Dad.

THE LITTLE POCKET CALENDAR

I found this little pocket calendar from 1979 which I carried with me when we left Viet Nam. I am surprised that almost 30 years later, the calendar is still in very condition, a little worn out but everything is readable. On the first page, I forgot that I wrote the followings - (bottom photo)

"Where there is a will, there is a way. (That is pretty good for someone who not yet was able to communicate in English!)

In Vietnamese "Tuong lai trong tay, Tu minh tao lay" Translation - "Your future is in your hand, Create your future."

Another writing in Vietnamese "Nhan loai truoc tien, Gia dinh ke tiep, Ban than sao chot." Translation - "Mankind first, Family next, Self last." Meaning we must do/serve what is good for mankind first, next is family and serving our own interest last. (I was 19 years old, full of dreams and very naive. Now I am just a typical hockey/football fanatic, prioritize my life around NHL and NFL schedules, cynical, self-centered and more concern with earthly possessions and what is good for me.)
The date at the left bottom corner was July 23, 1979. We were living in a hut on Berhala Island, a temporary refugee camp. (Read Qaptainqwerty blog for more details about our time on the island.)
On the last page of the calendar, I recorded the date - May 30, 1979 when we first arrived Karamut Island, all other dates and when we were transferred, how long we stayed in each of the four islands - Letung (one week), Berhala (three months), Kuku (a month and a half), Galang (one month - for some reasons I thought it was longer than that), and on November 14th to a processing center called Airraja, then a month and a half later to Unggat (for just one night, a very memorable night even to this day) and finally the boat and bus trip to Singapore on New Year Eve before the freedom flight to America on January 10, 1980. Berhala Island was where I was so sick that everyone thought I was going to die. Some even thought the Mountain God wanted me for a wife! But then he found out that I was domestically challenged and only interested in sports. The Mountain God decided to let me go and picked a pretty girl with more useful skills.

CHUC MUNG NAM MOI

Today is January 1, 4706 in the Lunar calendar. It is the Year of the Ox. It is my Year according to the Chinese astrology based on a cycle of 12 years (Rat, Ox, Tiger, Rabbit, Dragon, Snake, Horse, Goat, Monkey, Rooster, Dog and Pig) and the five elements - metal, water, wood, fire and earth. I am a metal Ox in the Chinese horoscopes. It got a little complicating since I was born on December 12th of the Ox year, so technically I am considered a water Tiger with a metal Ox tail. No wonder I have always suffered from identity crisis!

To all my adoring fans and faithful followers, Chuc Mung Nam Moi (Happy New Year in Vietnamese) and Gung Hay Phat Choy (Chinese), may you and your family enjoy many years of good health, prosperity and happiness.

Lion dance or dragon dance is one of the highlights of the New Year celebration. The dance is a ritual to whisk demons away and to bring prosperity to businesses and homes. Performers received money in red envelopes as an appreciation for their services.

Hey Qaptain Qwerty, look what I found. What a coincidence that I found this issue celebrating the New Year in 1994, the Year of the Dog, from the magazine named Tuoi Tre published by Vietnamese-American Youth Organization. Did you draw the front cover? Hope it brings back good memories seeing the magazine and the description of what the organization tried to provide to the community.

ZUZU's PETALS

"I want to live again. Please God, let me live again." George Bailey in It's a Wonderful Life (1946).
For those who are familiar with the American classic movie It's a Wonderful Life, "Zuzu's patels" was what George Bailey said with great excitement when he found the petals he hid in his pocket when he told his daughter Zuzu that he had "fixed" the flower so that Zuzu would stay in bed and go to sleep. George was so happy that he was back to living, back to the life he thought he did not want to have or wish he had never been born. George was also so happy telling Bert, the policeman who was also his long time friend, "my mouth is bleeding". The petals and the blood on his lips were the symbols of recognition and appreciation for what life is about as George Bailey realized that despite what he thought was the worst thing that happened to him, taking one's own life was not the answer. George thought his life was not worth living and that he should never had been born. Through the help of the lovable angel 2nd class named Clarence, George saw how the community and the world beyond his neighborhood was positively impacted by his generosity, kindness and how many lives he directly or indirectly saved by a few simple actions. In this alternative world, George was given an opportunity to see that he made a big difference in the world.

George Bailey with the look of desperation and hopelessness we all could relate to at some points in our life. Like George, we all have great ambitions to see the world, to save mankind, to be famous, to be powerful, to be successful. Somehow our dreams never became reality because like George we have to sacrifice for our family (like my Dad started working as an errand boy at the age of nine to help his family and had to quit school after 5th grade so his younger brothers and sisters could continue their education), putting off our big dreams, accepting less or settling because we thought that was all we could expect. Or someone with good intentions like the board members at the Building & Loan when they placed the condition that they would vote against Mr. Potter only if George himself run the business. Like George, we all have big plans and were ready to "shake off the dust of Bedford Falls, go to college, become an architech and design famous bridges, skyscrapers". Like George, there was time when I thought my life was a massive failure, "worth more dead than alive" or "better off dead". I wondered what difference does it make whether I was born or not and what difference have I made in the world. Am I just like the "oxygen thieves", taking up space without any useful purpose or real benefits to society? What would I see in the "alternative world" where my family members and people I knew did not recognize me because I was never born? What if instead of being born into the world of a Vietnamese-Chinese female, lived under Communist controlled system, endured the horrid journey as boat people, survived months in the refugee camp and started a new life in New York City, I was a Swedish-Canadian hockey player with the Detroit Red Wings and won a few Stanley Cup rings? Would I appreciate freedom and what America has provided to a refugee like me and never take things for granted if I did not have those life-changing experiences? Watching the movie at Christmas time has become a tradition for us because we want to remind ourselves what George Bailey finally realized that he is "the richest man in town" and that life is worth living.

A few years ago I bought the above can of popcorn because It's a Wonderful Life is one of my favorite movies. The popcorn was not that good but I kept the can and placed items such as plane tickets when I moved to Michigan, plane tickets when I flew to NYC for my Dad's funeral, a note my sister wrote to me after my hospital stay due to a blood clot, a dried single rose my husband gave me and other sentimental pieces that are representation of events in my life. Each time I add a new item, I looked thru those already in the can. It is kind of my own on-going time capsule. I remind myself that life is a picnic, you take the sunshine, the rains, the flowers and the bees, and all the hamburgers and all the tofu hotdogs!

THE TALES OF TWO LIVES

My friend, Mei, told me that she turned 50 this year. I called Mei to wish her a Happy Birthday as it was too late to send her a birthday card. This is the second time I forgot the occassion in 27 years of our friendship. I never knew that Mei is three years older and have always thought we were of the same age. I looked out the kitchen window watching my husband blowing leave, getting ready for the city's weekly leaf collection schedule and recalled that Mei told me about how her parents made it clear that she should only marry someone of Chinese ethnic. How different from my parents that they welcome my husband with open arms. My parents have always been so accepting and only concern for their children's happiness. My mother had commented that my children being mixed race "My lai or Amerasian" would have been so cute! I thought of how Mei and I became friends, the years we have known each other and the tales of our lives. I met Mei when we attended LaGuardia Community College in Astoria, New York City. I helped Mei with her English composition, writing reports and she helped me with Algebra and Calculus. I was not good with computer programming classes either!

Mei and her husband, Kei and their children, Tei and Wei (not their real names, of course) live in Flushing, New York, in the same house since 1989. From the house, going to work in Manhattan, Mei either has to take a bus or Kei would drop Mei off at the subway station (#7 Flushing line). Mei has worked in accounting department at the same publishing company since she graduated in 1983. My office is only 15 minutes drive and I moved out of states twice, changed jobs a dozen times since 1983! Mei's family originally came from China, exactly where I never asked. Her father went to Hong Kong and a few years later joined by her mother and all three girls. The whole family came to America in 1979, a few months earlier before my family arrived (from Viet Nam, refugee camp in Indonesia) in New York early 1980. Mei said that her father half jokingly said that he had to leave China and then Hong Kong because he could not bare being made fun of having all girls and no son!

We have always stayed in touch after I moved away. We tried to get together whenever I visited NYC. While Mei taking her children to swimming, dance classes or Chinese lessons, CP and I are living a carefree childless life, instead of taking Paulina to music lessons or Andrew to soccer games, we went on day trips and taking naps whenever. (Paulina and Andrew are our imaginary kids) I enjoyed seeing Tei and Wei growing up and became fine young people. Tei is currently a sophomore at a well-known art school and Wei is a high school senior. On the weekend, while we attend Sunday Mass or going to antique shops in Kimmswick, Mei probably visits her parents in Brooklyn, taking Wei to ACT classes or going to dim sum with her sisters.

One time Mei and I were waiting for our trains to arrive. We stood on the same flatform but expected different trains, connecting to another train to Queens for me (back then I lived in Woodhaven) and Mei was single, living with her parents in Brooklyn. We talked about Mei's older sister, Zei and young sister, Yei, both had gotten married. About our little circle of friends from LaGuardia, Sei and Nei also were married. I jokingly said that whoever train arrived first would be next to get married. Looking back I realized that being 3 years older would be a big deal for Mei to get married and I also did not really care about being an old maid! Trying to finish my 4-year degree while working full time was my priority rather than finding a husband. I never forgot the horror and almost painful look on Mei's face when the train from Queens arrived. I thought it was funny, started to laugh but stopped when I saw the disappointment in Mei's eyes. We waved goodbye, said "See you later" but I could not forget what just took place. CP and I attended Mei's wedding in July 1988. The following year, Mei was seven months pregnant with Tei when CP and I came back to NYC for our 2nd reception (our church wedding and first reception were in Detroit) as my parents wanted to make sure their friends did not think I just ran away without a proper wedding ceremony. More than 20 years later, I still wonder if Mei ever thought of or even remember such incident with the trains.

KNOCK, KNOCK WHO IS THERE?

I developed a new found interest during our recent vacation with taking photos of door knobs. Prior to our trip, I read in the travel guide about decorated doors and windows in Tunisia, specially about Tunisians using the color of blue as symbol of the Mediterrenean sea. As I started taking photos of doors, entrance archways, and windows, I also noticed the door knobs. Included in this entry are a few interesting door knobs from Tunisia, Malta and Rome. We were walking along an alleyway, near Spanish Steps, going in and out of various shops when I saw the doors (photo above) of a private home, tucked between a clock and a souvenir shops. I called out to my husband to tell him about the handle in the shape of a hand. In my excitement, I picked up and then let go of the handle to show CP how it worked. Luckily no one came to the doors as I was sure it was not the first time strangers accidentally knocking without the intention of knocking! Notice the open slot for mail, what happened if the postal person was short and could not slide the mail in the slot? When I was about 10 years old living in Viet Nam, I almost caused my neighbor a heart attack when I knocked on her door, yelling, "Please open the door". That evening my mother told me to take an empty tray that was cleaned, back to the neighbor and to thank her for giving us some bakeries the previous week. I knocked on the door, waited and waited but no one came to the door. I decided to knock harder and yelled real loud. I did not know that the neighbor was conducting illegal gambling and when she heard me she thought it was a raid from the police. How she did not recognize the voice that of a 10 years old girl was a mystery to this day? Suddenly people started running out the back door, then the alleyway, all because of my yelling. I apologized to the neighbor in front of my parents when she came over later to air her unpleasant experience.

I took photos of the door knob above and the next two below from the homes I saw on the way from the hotel to Metro station or around Rome.

The two door knobs (one above and one immediate below) were from Valletta, Malta. I like the one above because it was in the shape of a fish as I thought it was a clever design. The one below looked like it was made specifically for one of the Knights in the St. John's Order. The last (bottom of the entry) door knob was from Tunisia from a house near a market place. You could tell the design was influenced by Arabic culture.

THE SHY LEAVES

I was so excited when I found the patch of the shy leaves (la mac co) during a recent visit to the Garden. I told my husband how as a child living in Viet Nam, I had a lot of fun playing by touching the foliage and watched the plant leaves closed up. That was the reason we Vietnamese named the plant "the shy leaves". I looked up on the internet but could not find much information about this plant. I only learned that it is called Neptunia, a kind of foliage within the subfamily of Minosoideae.

Photo above showed the foliage before the contact and photo below showed the leaves closed up after being touched (those were my husband's fingers). I would love to hear from any of my adoring fans or readers if you could provide more information about the Neptunia and wish to share stories how you also enjoyed this wonderful reactions of nature.