Tomato, Cabbage, and Sausage

Growing up, Ma was typically the cook. But, there were a few dishes that Mom specifically cooked. One of the dishes was a tomato, cabbage, and sausage dish. I remember her making it often as a kid, and I guess I liked it. It's a sweet entree. Fairly cheap and quick to make.

Below recipe yields about 6-8 servings.
Prep time: 15 mins.
Cook time: 30 mins.

Instructions:

• One head of cabbage
• Five small tomatoes
• A meat type sausage or a meat substitute; but something that will stay together while cooking
• Small can of tomato paste
• Salt, sugar, pepper, and garlic

Cut cabbage into bite sizes pieces and place in pot with water. Cook until it starts to get soft. Then, drain. While that's cooking, cut tomatoes into small pieces. After the cabbage is drained, put tomatoes and tomato paste in. Add seasoning as desired. You can also add the meat or meat product. If it's already fully cooked - you're fine. If it's not, then cook before putting into the cabbage mix.

Cook a little bit more.

As I'm cooking in my kitchen in Chicago, I think about where Mom is now. She's recovering from a fall and will soon get out of physical rehab to go back to her assisted living apartment. I think that she'll probably never cook this dish again as her meals are prepared for her daily.

I wonder, does she miss not cooking? I know she misses her house. But, she's adapted.

Other signature dishes of Mom? 

• Wrapped grape leaves
• Baklava
• Peanut brittle
• Taffy

When a Home is a House; House is a Home

I can't believe it's been almost a year now since Mom had her major cognitive issue that began a series of events unforeseen to me. I don't know why. My two moms never married, and when Ma began her health decline, Mom took care of her until the very end. Who did I think would take care of Mom? But, somewhere in the back of my head, I remembered her saying, "Liz, I don't expect you to take care of me." I know that was a long time ago, and even Mom couldn't have seen what was ahead.

From the hospital to rehab to an assisted living apartment - all of this in the short span of about three months. And, I thought that was hard.

As we came to the realization that she would not be returning "home," which a year ago - we would mean the house on Hilltop Lane. The house that she bought in the early 70s and that my sister and I knew all of our childhood.

Her home quickly turned into a "house."

We came (or, should I say... I came) to understand that we needed to empty her home as quickly as possible so that we could do light renovations and get it on the market. This was not an easy feat. Weekend by weekend, we would spend as much time as possible at her home going through boxes and boxes of accumulation from decades of world travel. The downstairs was fairly easy. It was the "junk room" that took the longest. There were boxes within boxes, not to mention all the memories that came with the unpacking.

For those who know me, they know that I do documentary photography. They know that I too, am a "saver." But at this point in our journey, all I wanted to do was get this shit job done. It was time and emotion, that I hadn't expected for my summer of 2013. I videotaped with the Flip camera some, and I did photograph the her home in stages, but I just didn't have the energy to do it as well as I wanted.

While Mom had the junk room, I had my own hell - my bedroom closet. For some reason, I still had boxes of memories from 3rd grade. I had papers, pictures, and letters/notes. I had old boyfriends' stuff. In the evening, I would go through as much as I could (typically with a beer and internet music playing). At one point, I had to stop and bring some boxes up to Chicago. I promised my spouse that over Winter Break, Spring Break, or Summer I would get through them.

Fast forward, and I hear Mom refer what used to be her home to the house. She now calls her assisted living place - her home. I call it the brand name or the apartment. It's still hard to think of it as home, but for her sake, I'm glad she thinks of it like that.

The many bumper stickers or carved wooden signs are true. Home really is where you make it. A house is the brick and mortars. The four walls, floor, and ceiling. A home is where people live. Where people talk, cry, sleep, and eat together.

Mom has been so courageous this year. Things are still rough, but we've gotten through it. I've come to know and love my three of my cousins, my Aunt, and Uncle so much more. I appreciate more than I can ever say all that they have done for Mom and me.

Even tonight, I'm alone at her home, while she recovers in rehab from a recent fall. But, the house is on the market, and I try and stay positive that the right family will be the right match for our house; and make it their new home.

Mother/Daughter Walmart Phenomenon

Lately, I've become very conscious of a mother/daughter phenomenon at Walmart. It's the adult daughter with the mother shopping together. For me, it's my mom in a Walmart mobile shopping cart and me following close by trying to get her to move on. For others, it's the mom pushing the cart and the daughter in tow.

As I pass these pairs, I make eye contact and give a smile to one or both of the couple. To the daughter, I try and communicate - I know how you're feeling. Try and be patient and don't raise your voice.

To the mom, I try and communicate - I know this is not the kind of situation you thought you'd be in. The role reversal and the feeling of disempowerment. Yes, you are still the mom. Sometimes, you have to remind us of this.

The cart will be filled with items like Poise Pads and Depends. You're shopping at Walmart, so you know that budgets are tight, and that if you could shop other places - you would. But for now, it's Walmart.

My last trip with mom, I let her roam around without me hovering and I did some work at the in-store Subway. Trying to give her the freedom to roam at her own pace; giving me less frustration. I thought it worked out well.

There's Not a Card for That

So, I recently found out that I did not get accepted into a Ph.D. program for higher education. Yes, I'm kind of bummed out. I thought this was the right time for me both personally, professionally, and academically. I've been a practitioner now in higher ed for over 12 years, and I realized that I wanted the research practice and to offer my contributions to the academic field. I had heard that the program had gotten a lot more selective in the past few years - trying to raise its own academic reputation as well as increase its finishing rates.

As I started the application process, I found myself being "in the closet" in a way. Telling only certain people that I was applying (of course those I was requesting letters of recommendation, and even my director/supervisor once I got an interview). But, it was this weird space of... I want to tell you, but I also don't want to tell you, because then, if I don't get it - then, I'll have to tell you that I didn't get in.

However, I also wanted the support of my friends, etc. as I anxiously waited.

Then, I got the e-mail confirming... that I was not accepted. Then the official letter.

I've lately been thinking, I should throw myself a "FU (insert program name here); Their Loss" party with cake and everything. I could then ask my friends and guests where they see are my future paths, skills, and talents. Something affirming.

In a way, it's not entirely the end of the world. Not getting in made me self-reflect on really what were my reasons and intentions of grad school. I also got the experience of taking the GREs for the first time - so now I can better empathize with the undergrads I know taking them.

For those out there who also did not get accepted (and only you know who you are), loves and hugs. Remember, it's not just about you. There were other factors considered most likely out of your control. And, I'm working on on a Hallmark card for this situation like ours as you read!

Where are the Asian American Staff at UIC?

On Thursday, February 28, the UIC Chancellor's Committee on the Status of Asian Americans (CCSAA) held an Asian American Community Forum to bring awareness of various issues significantly affecting not only the Asian American (but all) students, faculty, staff, and alumni at UIC. Approximately 60 people attended with a huge turnout from students.

While there were many issues presented, one particular concerning issue that stood out to me was the severe lack of Asian American staff in student service positions. I've been at UIC for nearly eight years now, and I've always made it a point to connect and build community with other Asian American faculty and staff. When thinking about those I knew - especially in student affairs - I could count them all on two hands.

Elvin Chan of AARCC presents the dismal numbers of
Asian American staff at UIC.

During the Community Forum, Chan presented the numbers from 2010 data (2012 data will soon be released). It was unacceptable, horrifying, and depressing. My feelings soon went into anger and frustration of WHY?

Some brainstorming of why there aren't more Asian American staff in student service positions:

• There is still not a solid pipeline for undergrads to understand student affairs work as a career.
• Lack of mentoring for Asian American staff
• 'Asian American Glass Ceiling' effect for those few who are working in student affairs; not being promoted; thus, leaving the field
• More and more, colleges and universities are pushing industry-specific career paths due to economy; for example, major in K-12 education, so you can be a teacher. Student affairs careers have always had the challenge of - what is the major for student affairs? It usually comes from your student leadership in co-curricular activities and then, if you're lucky, an entry level first job at a higher ed institution. Or maybe, you'll enter an M.Ed graduate program.
• Lack of tracking with data. I now would LOVE to know the data from multiple years. Let's go back to 2000. Then, we need to make this public in a number of spaces with strategic planning for changing these numbers.
• People don't see the need for Asian American staff, because they don't count Asian Americans in race and diversity issues. This is still part of the Model Minority Myth that continues today.
• People think there aren't Asian American staff for this job pool - wrong. By doing a national search with target marketing with Asian American communities and/or being open to Asian Americans from other fields with transferable skills, there will be qualified candidates.

This is a human resources and diversity issue. It is also a retention, recruitment, and graduation issue for students. From the Forum, it was clear, that the sentiment is not that just because there is an Asian American staff person, all Asian American students will be funneled to them. No. However, some to many students might. And even, some to many non-Asian American students will also gain great advice from them due to the other skills, talents, and experiences.

Until now, I've never been an active participant of the CCSAA, but this issue has made me want to be involved. If you want to be involved, I welcome you to join me. CCSAA meets the first Wednesday of every month during the academic year. 

The Drive Down/Back

When you travel back and forth regularly, you find that there are certain points that mark your way. For me, traveling south from Chicago to Indianapolis, one of my first markers is seeing the South Holland water tank that reads, "Youth, Faith, and Family." I think to myself - I would never want to live here.

For almost the past year, I have driven back and forth from Chicago to Indianapolis to take care of my mom, since she had (what she calls to this day a 'stroke) a few falls as well as self-medication mismanagement. Between the falls and the trauma that came with them and not taking and then over-taking medication - Mom ended up needing to goto the hospital. While she finally stabilized, she couldn't go back home, but went to a rehabilitation center.

I quickly found myself in the decision-maker role, and one of the first decisions was to choose a rehab place. Since I've known the higher ed system for over 12 years now, I thought - I can do this, it's like doing a campus visit day! What is a good fit? Who will both of us be comfortable with? Who can I trust  my Mom with at such a vulnerable time?

After visiting three places, we landed on Kindred. Besides the first impression that they seemed more professional and organized, I also met "Dave." He was one of the nurses I met, and my "Admissions Officer." He sold Kindred well as I grilled him with my interviewing questions. He spent a lot of time with me and answered all the questions well. This was my top choice.

Finally, the exit ramp to I-65 South. I am now officially not in the Chicago area. I always feel like once I get on 65, there's no turning back. I've done this drive so many times, I could do this drive with my eyes close. I know every turn. Every pot hole. I know how to pass the trucks safely. I know the two exits that have the cheapest gas and the cleaner restrooms.

So, I handed off Mom to Dave and the rest of the Kindred staff. Some- better than others. But Mom liked Dave the most. He worked only on the weekends, but they got to be really close. She trusted him and his opinions. He made time to listen to her and talk with her. I decorated her room with photos and always brought her flowers. There were high moments and low moments. Like the time she seemed worse, and I was on the phone with my sister crying. Or, when she couldn't write her name.

Driving down the road, I see the windmills. In the evening, approaching them, I see a vast field of red flashing lights - like UFOs. In the daytime, you come upon them and can't help but wonder what Don Quixote would think. They don't look that large, but continuing over the hill, I try and picture how small I would be if I could get close to one. I fantasize me driving off the road, through the fields, to get to the base. I'd stand by one with my virtual yardstick and put my hand level on my head like I was a growing eight year old.

Nearly six weeks later, Kindred starts talking about her release and next steps. Back home with additional paid care? Assisted living? I personally didn't think she could go back living independently, but it's up to her. She talks about going home the most. Until the next time I visit - when she decides on assisted living. I'm surprised, but relieved.

After the windmills, I look for the black and gold of Purdue University. I never even thought of applying to Purdue, but some of my high school friends went there. It's a big place like UIC. The Boilermakers. Seeing the "Welcome to Purdue" gives me comfort that I'm less than 1.5 hours away from Indianapolis. If I was on the bus, this is when I would call Ma and Mom to get them ready to leave the house to pick me up. If I didn't want to have to wait and stand in the cold, I'd call them as I passed Purdue.

Sometime since the last visit, she decided to go into assisted living. I'm not sure who changed her mind, but I have a feeling Dave and some of the therapists had something to do with it. I quickly started looking for assisted living places. I took this very seriously, because I imagined this would be her last "home." I visited three different places and none of them were "perfect." I was astounded by the cost. One night I did the math and felt incredibly sad that I was calculating money with her life.

The last marker is the sign for "Whitestown and Brownsburg." It reminds me of where I am - Indiana.

Mom has now been at her assisted living place for nearly eight months. We both have done our best to adapt. It's not been easy, and I hate it when I get so frustrated with her. When go to Wal-Mart and I see other daughters with their mom, and they are almost abusive. I promise myself in my head - I'll never be that bad, but I know I've been close. I know it's not her fault, and she knows she frustrates me. That's the sad part. Because then, she feels bad too.

Then, the 865 pass comes. If I want to go by the house, I veer right to 465 East. If I want to go down to the apartment, I go left to 465 West. I breathe out knowing that the four hour trip is almost done. Finally, I get off the Interstate and am in the city of Greenwood heading south on SR 131 and SR 135. I'll pass numerous retail shops and the golf course, and then I'll be "home." I love you, Mom, and I only want to be as happy as you can be. You took care of Ma for so many years, and you deserve the same dignity, respect, and love. I wish I could do more.

A New Introduction to Eyebrow Threading and Nora

The other day I decided to treat myself to the one cosmetic act I do - getting my eyebrows waxed. I called this one place, but they were busy, so I decided to try Carmen's Beauty up in Rogers Park. They used to be located right at Loyola eL, but they moved to Sheridan and Pratt. Even better - as they were now closer. I called, and they were available.

On the snowy, but warmer day, I walked down.

"I called about eyebrow waxing," I said.

"Yes," the woman at the desk replied. She then said something in another language to a young girl standing near her.

I see the young woman get some supplies, and in a soft voice she says, "Follow me."

We go to a chair in the back, and I take off my winter outerwear.

"Sit back, please," she instructs. Then I realize exactly what she wants me to do.

"Waxing or threading?" she asks.

"I've never done threading," I say, "So, waxing."

"Okay, as you like."

I close my eyes as she puts on the warm wax. Then, patting on the light strips of fabric. I brace myself for the pull. But before this happens she says, "Be strong."

I try and tell her that I have a high tolerance for pain. That I can take it. Don't worry. She says, "You like pain?" I reply back, "No, it's okay."

Just when I feel like we're basically done, she asks about threading. I've seen it been done before, but never had it done to me, but I decide to give it a try. "Sure," I say. I close my eyes again, and I feel an odd sensation. It's a mix between being caught in a loom and tweezing.

After a few more minutes, she asks if I want to do... and she gestures above my lips. "Sure. What the hell, let's do it." I say. I feel like we're in this together.

Sometime during our time together, she introduces herself. Her name is Nora. I later learn she is studying early childhood education at Oakton Community College. I tell her that I know Oakton, and that it's a good school. Really nice. I say that I work at UIC, and she asks what I do there. I say I help students. That's my generic reply, when I don't feel like getting into the LGBTQ stuff.

I know we're coming to the end of the session as she asks if I want to have her lightly rub alcohol on the areas she worked on.

I give her my UIC e-mail with a note that I help college students, and feel free to write if she has any questions. I doubt she will, but I wanted to offer anyway.

So even if you're an Asian alien, you're still suspect

Only through convenience,  I've been watching The Neighbors on abc channel 7. It comes on after Modern Family so it is easy to get sucked in. Overall, the idea isn't bad. Kind of funny. No big stars to boast, but that's okay. The main alien family is multi-racial with well-known American people's names. I instantly took notice when I saw there was an Asian American son. He was playing the typical geeky role, but to some degree there was license to do so moreso because he was an alien than because he was Asian.

This past week's episode involves a high school dance. Then,  there was a time when the girl he likes asks if he was gay. I saw that coming.  Once again,  the Asian American male is seen as non-heterosexual. Stupid. C'mon ABC, that is so 1980s. I thought we'd be past that cheap laugh.

Somewhere Between adoption film

My friend and her daughter and I recently attended the Chicago showing of "Somewhere Between" where a film director showed the lives of four Chinese adoptees with their families. When the film was done, they were in their early teenage years, and now six years later, here they are on "tour" with the film. Overall, I thought the film was well done. The girls were pretty open and honest. It was mostly them and not a lot from their adopted parents.

There was one time in the film when the adopted mom asked the birth parents, "So which one of you abandoned her?" I felt a collective - gasp and sigh from the audience.