One special day, the designer [...]]]>

Once upon a time, there lived a designer in a village nestled between the Great Ocean and the magical city of Tinsel. The designer loved to create magical garments to warm and delight people from near and far who were lucky enough to buy one of these rare items.

One special day, the designer was invited (along with other artisans from her crafts guild) to present one of her scarves to a Tinsel Town princess.* What a wonderful bag of enchanting gifts! — surely it would gladden the heart of the busy princess.  It held baubles and books, scents and sights (no apples!) … and one, very special, magical scarf.

The scarf was made of the midnight sky and the ghost of spring flowers, long and flowing like a river but spun into a fabric so light and soft, it felt like a vapor on the skin.

Its magic made it light in the summer, and warm when chill settled over land, elegant for courtly duties yet just right for a walk down the Boulevard of Stars.

And so, the magical scarf was dispatched. (To be continued...)

*The princess in the story is, of course, the talented Ginnifer Goodwin, star of the current ABC hit “Once Upon a Time,” where she plays Snow White (caught in a time-space continuum sort of spell!) I am so honored to have been invited by The Artisan Group to gift her with my black pima Agapanthus scarf.  See what other wonderful gifts they will be sending to Ginnifer here on Pinterest.

This is the same design that was purchased for (Desperate Housewives) actor Marcia Cross by a member of her staff, for a Christmas gift last year, but on a taupe heather burnout fabric. More scarves like this are available in my  Limited Edition shop (black is currently sold out but other colors and fabrics available will be sure to delight!)

What was the magic that  made this scarf? Well, it starts in the garden…

Yin/yang, dark/light — all Balance out, so why must I Separate my wash?

Back when I was in grad school many moons ago, some academically political thing happened to our department (as often does in academia.) I’ve long ago forgotten what it was all about but it caused a group of us East Asian Languages & Literature  grad students to get together [...]]]>

Kimchee on Day 3

Back when I was in grad school many moons ago, some academically political thing happened to our department (as often does in academia.) I’ve long ago forgotten what it was all about but it caused a group of us East Asian Languages & Literature  grad students to get together and discuss strategy. There we were, one  unified bunch of Japanese, Chinese and Buddhism students, fervently discussing, copiously taking notes and enjoying the munchies our hostess placed before us.

Who knows what else was on the table, but I can tell you this: there was a small bowl of kimchee––homemade, garlicky, gingery kimchee that none of us could resist. We polished off what was in the bowl. She brought out more. I suspect we went through all the fruits of our hostess’ labors that night.

The topic of discussion, and to some degree the people, have long faded from my memory, but I can tell you this: I got the recipe and have been making it ever since. Even when I lived in Israel I’d make it, and even traded jars with a friend who prepared her kimchee using the recipe of her own Korean mom. My recipe is easy and possibly a shade less authentic than many I’ve seen online (although I have seen one very similar to this) but this remains my favorite. So as promised on twitter and facebook, here it is!

Kimchee

1 1/2 lbs. Daikon turnip (“Chinese turnip”)
1 1/2 lbs. Nappa cabbage (“Chinese cabbage”)
1 cup water
1/4 cup salt
4 large green onions
4 large cloves of garlic or 6 small
2 Tablespoons chopped fresh ginger
7 teaspoons cayenne or 10 t. red pepper flakes (less if you prefer mild)

1. Wash cabbage, cut into 1-inch lengths. Peel turnips, halve lengthwise, slice thin.
2. Combine salt and water. Place vegetables into pot or bowl. Pour salted water over vegetables and cover. Leave overnight.
3. Next day, mince green onions, garlic, ginger.
4. Drain vegetables, which should be wilted — RESERVE THE SALTED WATER.
5. Add red pepper, green onions, garlic and ginger to vegetables and mix by hand.
6. Pack tightly into jars. Pour salted water over the mixture up to 1/2 inch of the top of each jar.
7. Leave at room temperature of 3 days, then refrigerate.

Should give you 2 large jars or 4 small jars of kimchee.

Note: Many times I’ve doubled the Nappa cabbage and omitted the daikon. I’ve also been known to add extra garlic, because really, can you ever have too much?

Enjoy!

This week I had the honor of being selected the Doer of the Week at Martha Stewart’s “Dreamers into Doers” website.  I talked about how and where I work, and how I got here, and what inspires my design approach. Above is only a snippet — but you can read the whole thing here.

Check out some books and gifts for Diwali at CurryPlum.com

Condensed from Wikipedia:

Diwali (or Deepavali) is popularly known as the Hindu Festival of Lights. In 2010 will [...]]]>

Today is Diwali, the Hindu Festival of Lights. I made this little film last year at the home of my friends Smita and Gunjan Bagla.

Check out some books and gifts for Diwali at CurryPlum.com

Condensed from Wikipedia:

Diwali (or Deepavali) is popularly known as the Hindu Festival of Lights. In 2010 will start on Friday, the 5th of November and will continue for 5 days until Tuesday, the 9th of November.

The name Diwali, which is derived from the Sanskrit “row of lamps,” involves the lighting of small clay lamps (diyas) (or Deep in Sanskrit: ???) filled with oil to signify the triumph of good over evil. During Diwali celebrants wear new clothes and share sweets and snacks with family members and friends.

While Diwali is popularly known as the “festival of lights”, the most significant spiritual meaning is “the awareness of the inner light”. Central to Hindu philosophy is the assertion that there is something beyond the physical body and mind which is pure, infinite, and eternal, called the Atman.

Just as we celebrate the birth of our physical being, Diwali is the celebration of this inner light, in particular the knowing of which outshines all darkness (removes all obstacles and dispels all ignorance), awakening the individual to one’s true nature, not as the body, but as the unchanging, infinite, immanent and transcendent reality. With the realization of the Atman comes universal compassion, love, and the awareness of the oneness of all things (higher knowledge). This brings Ananda (joy or peace).

I turned the corner. An elderly man was picking green figs from a laden tree. I complimented the tree and its bounty. He [...]]]>

It was later than I usually go for an evening walk. The sun was low enough that trees were more silhouette than foliage, and the air gentle after the day’s heat.

I turned the corner. An elderly man was picking green figs from a laden tree. I complimented the tree and its bounty. He told me that he grew the tree from seeds someone brought him 30 years ago from Alexandria, in his native Egypt.  The birds like to eat many of the figs. Squirrels just taste them and discard; he thinks maybe the figs are too sticky for their taste. They prefer the avocados in the backyard.

“The figs must be picked only when the skin just starts to crack,” he said and offered me a plump green fig to try. The sweet taste of summer, of Egypt, and of my Israel.

The same goes for pomegranates, he said, indicating the tree we stood near at the edge of the sidewalk, where large red beads with crowns were just starting to become pomegranates. The royalty of fruit coming of age.

More neighbors out for a walk came by with a small white dog. More figs passed around. “Take these! Take!” More talk. Laughter. Fig recipe ideas. Names exchanged. The puppy’s name was Penelope.

“Look!” said the man suddenly. He pointed. “A full moon — so beautiful!”

By then it was dark. We took our gift figs and departed with smiles. Neighbors in a small neighborhood in a big city –  who knows when we will meet again. Was  it the figs that brought us together?

Postscript: George told us he came to the US from Cairo in 1968, via France. He speaks French, Italian, Arabic, Spanish, “but not English!” he joked. He worked as a court translator for many years. He said that when the figs are too abundant he cooks them for jam.

A couple of months ago, my father sent [...]]]>

It’s been 65 years today since the devastating bombing of the city of Hiroshima. A month or two later (I have conflicting notes) my father was there, sent along with other American military personnel. He was in the the Coast Guard, then part of the Navy.

A couple of months ago, my father sent me these 3 photographs he took in Hiroshima. Growing up I had seen photos of his ship, of islands with palm trees, of him with a monkey on his shoulder, but never these. I want to share them today.

The note on the back of this one says “From top roof of standing hospital. Area was the university. Spots on picture I think is due to radiation on film.”

Also from the hospital roof:

This appears to be at ground level. The note simply says “Ruins of University.”

I am sure when my father took these pictures he had no idea that years later he’d be wondering if his health issues were due to being exposed to radiation, nor that one day he’d have a daughter who would, as a student of Japanese, visit a gorgeous rebuilt Hiroshima.

Hiroshima Castle, (I made my friends pose as “guardian samurai/ninja”, 1976

世界人類が平和でありますように　• May peace prevail on earth.

I bet you didn’t, and to be honest, until yesterday, I didn’t either. Ovarian cancer, unlike its pink cousin, breast cancer, is way down on most of our radars as familiar diseases to look out [...]]]>

Did you know that today is Feel Teal Friday and that President Obama declared September Ovarian Cancer Awareness Month?

I bet you didn’t, and to be honest, until yesterday, I didn’t either. Ovarian cancer, unlike its pink cousin, breast cancer, is way down on most of our radars as familiar diseases to look out for. While is affects less women, the two are often linked and yet a screening process for ovarian cancer has yet to be discovered, and without over symptoms in its earlier stages, it is called the “silent killer” for good reason.

This is an intensely personal issue for me so I hope you’ll stick with me here and read on.

One of my favorite people in the whole world has been battling this monster of a disease for SEVEN years. She’s my cousin, Susan R. Frank, and it’s best if I let her share her story in her own powerful words. FEEL FREE TO RE-BLOG AND SHARE: Twitter, Facebook, etc. It’s an important message.

*******

How would you feel if your gynecologist, just prior to surgery, actually promised you that you did not have cancer, only to awake hours later to find out that not only were his promises empty but that you in fact had advanced ovarian carcinoma. For me it was my worst nightmare coming true – diagnosis with Stage 3C metastatic ovarian cancer at the age of 46. Since losing my mother to breast cancer as a young girl, I have both expected and dreaded a cancer diagnosis for much of my adult life. I had measured my successful health status by reaching certain birthdays of my own children that my mother never attained with my older sister or me. After much calculating, I thought I was in the clear.

Even though I am a scientist, I denied an obvious familial propensity for breast cancer and only discovered my BRCA-1 genetic mutation status after I became ill. Big mistake, as this mutation placed me in a high risk category for developing breast and ovarian cancer. As for the initial gynecologist? He was quickly replaced with a highly reputable and qualified gynecological oncologist who performed expert debulking surgery on me a week later.  The first doctor did come visit me once in the hospital, which I thought showed courage. Fortunately our meetings ceased after that time.

In the almost seven years that have passed, I have had three surgeries, more than four years of chemotherapy, one bowel obstruction and have lost my hair three times. I have traveled, been divorced, began a fulfilling career in science, have enjoyed two high school graduations, two college graduations and one son’s wedding. I never expected to live long enough to attend half of those wonderful events. I have had access to and have received excellent medical care throughout this process and emotional support from professionals, friends, and family. I have been fortunate to have had health insurance that has covered my surgeries, hospital stays and treatment.

I am one of the lucky ones. As you may have heard, ovarian cancer is now a “chronic disease.” Following the initial surgery and my first regimen of chemo, the cancer successfully went into remission. I have enjoyed periods when I was dancing with NED (no evidence of disease) and received a breather from chemotherapy. Ironically, the BRCA-1 mutation may provide an advantage during therapy. The mutation affects how cells repair genetic damage and many of the chemodrugs are designed to further damage the genes in order to kill the cancer cells.

I am now into the sixth month of my fourth recurrence, which began with a bowel obstruction due to cancer invading my colon. This resulted in abdominal surgery which left me with a colostomy. I look forward to that being reversed, however my oncologist insists there is no rush. I have learned that with chronic ovarian patients the motto is “leave well enough alone.” Quality of life issues loom large, as well they should.

As I said, I am one of the lucky ones. I have minimal side effects from all the drugs I have been given and my blood cells are holding up. I am able to work full-time and would rate my quality of life as a 7 or 8 on a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being the best. This is not representative of most patients. I am fully aware that I will remain on therapeutic drugs until the time comes when they no longer work or I can no longer tolerate them. I find myself becoming increasingly concerned about end-of-life issues, pain management, insurance coverage, and how my family will fare without me. I am grateful for having three sons instead of daughters, as the health risk to men (if they inherited the gene) is significantly lower than the risk to women.

Medical progress has been achieved for several cancers. For ovarian cancer, not so much. With improved surgical techniques and new therapeutic drugs more women achieve remission and suffer fewer side effects. Unfortunately, detection efforts fall short and survival statistics remain depressingly low. Only 28% of all women diagnosed with metastatic ovarian cancer, which accounts for 62% of all ovarian cases, live more than five years (National Cancer Institute’s SEER Cancer Statistics Review Summary Stage 2000).

September is Ovarian Cancer Awareness Month. I urge all women to be vigilant on their own behalf with their doctors. If you experience any of the symptoms such as persistent abdominal pressure, bloating, urinary urgency, pelvic discomfort or pain, persistent indigestion, unexplained changes in bowel or bladder habits, loss of appetite, lower back pain or changes in your period, which do not improve, please be thorough to find the cause. There are many reasons for these symptoms. But, if your doctor does not share your concerns, please find a new doctor. If you have a high incidence of ovarian or breast cancer in your family, please speak to your doctor about genetic testing and screening. Finally, if you do require surgery, please use a gynecological oncologist as they have received three years of additional training to perform ovarian surgery. For further information, I suggest www.mayoclinic.com, as an excellent online resource.

Ovarian cancer may now be a chronic disease, but it still sucks (is truly awful) and it is still a killer. As women, we must all take care and we must all advocate on our own behalf.
––Susan R. Frank

*******

Update: Susan R. Frank (the pseudonym she chose for privacy) passed away in December, 2009, three months after she published this article.

Big thanks to Melhi for blogging about this — will you?

Gilda Radner Familial Ovarian Cancer Registry

When I knew her in Israel, she’d paint anything — cabinets, furniture, pillows, clothing, and the unfinished Arab-style pottery plates and water jugs sold all around Israel. If memory serves, she painted part of the hallway leading to her apartment. She was compelled [...]]]>

My friend Cheri Lasher-Sandhu never met a surface she didn’t like.

When I knew her in Israel, she’d paint anything — cabinets, furniture, pillows, clothing, and the unfinished Arab-style pottery plates and water jugs sold all around Israel. If memory serves, she painted part of the hallway leading to her apartment. She was compelled to paint, a painting whirling dervish.

Cheri and I met when we both lived in Tel Aviv, a fateful meeting of funny bones — we’d bounced hilarity off each other with that sort of synchronicity and timing I find only with certain people. Some days we’d perform a type of guerrilla office art warfare by faxing each other assorted wacky creations to see how much we could crack each other up at work (read: sabotage)– fake purchase orders, made-up business correspondence, xeroxed snacks for a 2-D birthday party. Now try and imagine me sitting next to a fax machine, seeing an x-rated cartoon addressed to me coming in, and me looking over my shoulder while surreptitiously force-pulling it out before my boss would notice.

And then there was her apartment: a wonderful visual cacophony of her own artwork, quirky collectibles and funny retro things.

For reasons of economy at the time, we were both very into what is now called “repurposing stuff,” the difference being that when it comes to painting I could barely handle plain minimalist white. Once I spied a hobby horse on the curb awaiting trash pick-up. I literally threw my car into reverse and zoomed backwards down the entire block to grab the prize for her, and sure enough, she transformed it into a wonderful, slightly psychedelic child’s toy-turned-piece-of-art.

It was no longer trash. It took on a personality. Friends gave it a name. Avigdor.

These days Cheri lives outside of Chicago and her huge apartment is still a feast for the eyes, albeit more grown-up. Textiles and collectibles from India and Israel blend with her own primitive-mod painted wall hangings. Her hand-painted pottery lines the floors and the tops of bookcases. Her studio is crammed with paints, stencils, vintage ad art and long easels where she stretches the silk scarves she paints and sells. Around the house bold colorful canvases practically trip with faces, symbols and interlocked neon geometric shapes like the intercultural lovechild of Picasso and Peter Max.

Years ago while working at UCLA’s International Institute I used Cheri’s remarkable eyes in an academic music project CD cover. Alas, this is all I am permitted to show of her.

She doesn’t have a website yet, but here’s a taste of the Lasher wild ride. Some of these shots are a bit out of focus because I took them with a Flip video, but, well, you’ll get the idea.