Into the Woods

 Today I will let the pictures speak for themselves. Taken on a perfect summer's day a few weeks back - we finally made it to Muir Woods after putting the trip off for quite sometime now. We couldn't have picked a more perfect day to cross the Golden Gate Bridge and take in the sights of our lovely city!

Lucky shot ... in passing.

My 3rd Eye.

Hello, Love.

Sweet Pea

Walking through the trail was humbling to say the least. To be in the company of Redwood trees that reached far up into the sky like hands outstretched for blessings; giving air to the the solemnity of its space was a spiritual experience to say the least. The energy of nature thrives within us and is fully awakened when we remove ourselves from the daily clutter of our lives.

Sacred.

A guest arrives - or rather the host perhaps? It was I that was the curious guest. Our little friend here was merely going about her business. 

And so it goes with the Chipmunks

The past two weeks have been a blur with guests staying with us and sadly no opportunity to take new photos and brush up with my on-going education and affair with photography.

Looking back at these photos, the stillness of time is revealed, the sacred moment of when we passed through and how the forest embraced us with the nurturing bliss of nature and the verdant clarity of what it means to grow and thrive. Renewed, you leave the woods feeling dwarfed in the general order of things with your enlivened spirit now walking tall among the trees.  

Tweet

First of Summer

The heat is on. We scream just because we can. 

Today’s ninety degree heat was set with the reassuring clarity that more good things are to come. There is much movement around the house these days. Milestones and memories both reached and recorded - the elusive flying kiss, a rare occurrence escapes even record time shutter speeds. 

Who made the world?

Who made the swan, and the black bear?

Who made the grasshopper?

This grasshopper, I mean-

the one who has flung herself out of the grass,

the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,

who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-

who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.

Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.

Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.

I don't know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

- Mary Oliver 

The Summer Day

"Tell me, what is it you want to do with your one wild and precious life?"

Tweet

The Alameda: June

The Alameda Antiques Fair last Sunday was alive with nothing less than the swag of old-world charm and voracious energy. The fabulous flea market of 800 plus vendors, odd treasures, vintage finds, and inspired ideas is hardcore as far as flea markets go. There's a reason why there are varied fees.  If you're eyeing that vintage french provincial arm chair, layer up, cough up $15.00 and eagerly stand by the gate by 6:00am. Fight through a crowd from 9:00am - 2:00 pm for a mere $5.00 because it's the perfect time for most people. You've had a good meal, didn't have to wake up too early and you're caloric intake is all set to burn on the Alameda runway.  

Even better for others is the FREE 2:00pm slot - which for the curious many is just to walk the rounds without a set list in mind. But then again you can get lucky and bring home a entire box of mis-matched china for $2.00 just because the vendor doesn't want to take it back on the road anymore. 

Ideally though, I think the best time to go would be from 7:30am - 9:00am. Start somewhat early, beat hoards of people, haggle for that vintage chair AND still make it to a fabulous brunch in the city. How's that to start an awesome Sunday.

6:00 AM to 7:30 am $15.00 

7:30 am to 9:00 am $10.00 

9:00 am to 2:00 pm $ 5.00

2:00 pm to 3:00 pm Free! 

Check out more updates on their website:

THE ALAMEDA

Actually some vendors do stay, but there is the general air of being rushed because most of them start packing up past 3:00pm. 

Not all vendors were happy about my camera snapping away, most of them didn't care (probably even expected it) though there were a few sensitive ones who actually stopped me mid-shutter to tell me it wasn't allowed. 

Some notes and favorite images of the day. 

Paper Flowers. Love.

Takeoff!
The Alameda Checklist:
1. Comfortable shoes!
2. Water
3. Sunhat
4. Cash
5. A list of what you want to find. It's overwhelming without one. You'd either end up buying random things you don't really need or end up with nothing at all.

Vintage Eye-candy.

Antique Butter Churner.
A vintage kitchen appliance was on my list, but even if I bought it I really wouldn't have any place to put it.
Just lovely to look at.

Dolls! They freak me out. Which is probably the reason why I'm oddly attracted to them and the sinister glare beset on those ghostly faces.
Just don't leave me in a room with them.
Because they'll probably start talking. 

Love how these frames are hung. Artful without even trying.

Randomly placed on a large tarp bin. Beautiful.
Poetic.
You can almost hear the vague humming of its notes.

Family portrait - with bird in flight. Score.

Gorgeous mirrors that could, possibly, each reflect a different reality. 

Just as curious as the rest of us.
The Bling says it all.

See you July 3rd!

Tweet

Kitchen Curiosity: Strawberry Cupcakes with Fresh Berry Frosting

 Something happened on the way to motherhood. Instinct kicked in and I'm suddenly in the throes of an almost primal hankering for domestic competence - to bake (among other things). 

** Dukan Dieters Beware: Proceed with caution. Sugar and carbs ahead - This was a MAJOR cheat day. ** 

All for fun, folks. 

It’s almost surreal, like walking through the woods and having Disney’s forest friends crawl out of the bushes and break into song; all while two bluebirds rush down from a leafy branch to wrap an apron around my waist and tie it off with a perfectly shaped bow. 

Cue orchestral soundtrack. 

You must know that before I moved to the Bay Area from Manila, I had no idea how to make rice - on a rice cooker.  Not only did I have to re-learn a few things, I had to learn  kitchen and household basics and how to whip up meals with what we had  in the fridge. The first few months was a crash course on homemaking. 

Now that cooking a pretty decent meal is somewhat second nature to me, I figured it’s time to venture out into the unknown, to challenge myself. Besides, much practice is needed for years of bake sales and birthday parties, school projects and sleepovers,  but more importantly - to satisfy an immediate craving.  

A few weeks ago a good friend had brought homemade strawberry cupcakes and it was incredibly tasty and fresh that I couldn’t stop thinking about it. She’s had years of experience (like her entire life) and I, on the other hand, the hungry novice had to look up how to sift flour without a proper sifter. The depth of my baking experience was limited to pasta, a box or two of brownies and tollhouse cookies.  On second thought the cookies probably shouldn’t be counted. 

I suppose I could have made it with store bought cake-mix but the invariable challenge of a completely fresh, home-made cupcake made it all the more appealing. I googled strawberry cupcakes and found this recipe: I fortuitously had everything in my pantry. But then again it’s probably because fresh = simple ingredients. 

CUPCAKE:

1/3 cup fresh pureed strawberries

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, sifted

1 teaspoon baking powder

1/4 teaspoon coarse salt

1/4 cup whole milk, room temperature (I only had fat free milk so that’s what I used)

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, room temperature

1 cup sugar

1 large egg, room temperature

2 large egg whites, room temperature

FROSTING

1/2 cup fresh strawberries pureed

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, firm and slightly cold

Pinch of coarse salt

3 1/2 cups confectioners' sugar, sifted

1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

You can find the complete recipe HERE.

And so after Mandarin was fed, changed and strapped in her high chair, I rocked out to our nineties playlist and my hand mixer and I went to work. The cake was simple enough, a little bit of elbow grease using a hand mixer, but with fruitful results. The recipe’s cupcake yield was for a dozen but somehow I ended up with 6 mini cupcakes. Not quite sure how that happened because my muffin tins were almost full. 

Improvised sugar sifter. Score. 

Ready to bake!

The frosting recipe only called for three tablespoons of fresh strawberry puree. Three tablespoons!? Three tablespoons is hardly enough, so I tipped my measuring cup and let the berry goodness swirl into ribbons of strawberry delight. 

Sweet Berry Goodness. 

Hello Lover. 

How you like me now. 

This may just be the beginning of a beautiful friendship. I mean, they weren’t perfect of course. They tasted pretty good, possibly less sweet next time around. The frosting could’ve been smoother; still I was incredibly proud I created these lovelies with essentially flour, sugar and strawberries. All while my little helper cheered me on. 

Happy Weekend!

Tweet

Blue Fish, Pink Bird, Yellow Star.

Mandarin’s developmental milestones are on a roll. Her most recent being standing up and a real crawl. It’s official! No longer the zombie drag of leg and foot or the seal belly flop. Today, I watched her crawl and move around her play mat on all fours. This of course only means one thing. I need to move my eyes to the back of my head because as soon as I turn around she’s going to jet across the living room and live out the awful scenarios in my head. Like when I turned my back for literally FIVE seconds and suddenly she’s standing up in her high chair. I’ll take that heart attack right now please.

There are a million things that can go wrong and as much as we’d like to build a safety bubble around our children, they will somehow still manage to find a way to hurt themselves. Accidentally. Take ME for example. As much as my parents wanted to protect me, I managed to fracture my left elbow, faint publicly and dislocate my knee. All before I was 18 and none of which involved sports or school. The first while standing on one of those office chairs with wheels, using it as a rolling ladder to get from one end of the shelf to the other while sipping on a juice box. Real smart. The second: dehydration while attending a Pearl Jam concert and the other, well, it was at a Foo Fighters, Sonic Youth, and Beastie Boys concert. Mosh Pit. Another story for another time.

Given the confines of a slated sterile area; a blanket, a mat, an imaginary line where we figuratively draw and fence out the dirty from the clean, why does she still manage to find the laptop cord that I’ve piped along the couch cushions for stealth reasons? I get paranoid that if she gets a hold of it and follows where it leads to her fingers will discover the socket. Like leaving a trail of crumbs. Her attention to indiscriminate things amazes me. The single button on her shirt, any kind of tag, the remote control, the logo on Daddy’s shoe. Her curiosity is entertaining. For now (not when she turns 15!).

And the blue fish, pink bird and yellow star? The point is that she knows what they are. They’re part of a toy that she jiggles around through the day, and there have been a number of times on separate occasions that she’s pointed them out to me when asked where this and that is.

My nine month old. Such great heights.

She is exactly as old as the length of time I carried her through horrific heartburns, backaches, stretch marks, swollen feet and the magical trimesters of feeling my own child grow and stretch and kick - from the inside. Now that she’s here with me, I am drawn to the details ( just like she is ) the delicate curl of her lashes, the lingering sweetness of peach-mango snacks in her palms and how her big toe reminds me of a blueberry. There are many days when I feel lost in the cycles of rinse and repeat and the forecast of dark clouds and sunny breaks and the rest of the stay-at-home hackneyed presets.

Thanks for the photo, Ninang D and Uncle P!

Tonight I find myself watching her make a beeline for the remote control in bed and I know that right this moment, this is where I’m supposed to be.

Tweet

Oh, The Backyard.

The neglect of our backyard has once again led to a willful microcosm of blooms and wilderness. Weeds are prime examples of survivors belting it out at the bottom of the food chain and being heard - mind you - with such emphatic discord. Yet in the minutia of things, they are sights to behold up close. There is a note of innate beauty and tenderness in its organic hankering of mass destruction. They are delicate and harsh, stubborn and unforgiving, let’s not forget: a sore sight to behold.

The weeds per se aren’t entirely to blame for our poorly executed backyard. Seasons shifted, lemons grew and roses bloomed all with just the nurturing hands of nature, fertilized and nourished by my neglect.  And I say this without remorse. I simply shrugged my shoulders and went “hmph!” oh well. 

And because I have no control over the wildlife in our backyard (in my attempt to liven up the vibe of our borrowed 80's house) we’ve adopted a Peace Lily, which I admittedly had no idea was called that because as far as the grocery tag goes what we have is a $9.00 Spathiphyllum.  It caught my attention because it was vibrant and verdant, the perfect size for the cobalt blue pot I bought for $5.00 months ago, and because it undeniably bore a resemblance to Vulcan ears, that we simply couldn’t help but name (him), Spock. 

Spock, the Peace Lily meet...the internet. 

And Spock's distant cousin, Gene. 

The fact that I had to Google How to take care of a Peace Lily plant  means: A. I have no idea what I’m doing. B. I am still capable of killing the most house friendly plant there is. C. It turns out I didn’t inherit a single green gene from my grandmother, the plant whisperer. She can pull a Moses make a dead twig come to life. 

Nonetheless, I found it to be the perfect opportunity to start bringing in some flowers inside our house and while on a creative spell somehow managed to use a bottle of Sweet Basil Pasta sauce to and a bit of old gingham fabric from Mandarin’s blanket as a shabby chic vase. These flowers take such little space in the home but makes all the difference. They bring an air of renewing energy with a hint of nostalgia. 

No matter how bad a day must seem, the roses are a dependable bed to fall on. Their unkempt nature only adds to the charm, and glancing at them once in awhile makes a foggy day look ever so hopeful.  

And the weeds... 

So delicate.

Never mind the weeds. 

As long as they don’t completely take over.  Either way, they’re poignant reminders that there too is something wild and free quietly thriving in the shadows of the most organized facets of our routine-laden lives.  

Tweet

Motherhood...

Looks like I missed the obligatory Mother’s Day post. No great epiphanies to share from dawn’s breaking to dusk’s closing except that I really do value my mother a hundred fold, now that I’ve become one myself. But then everyday would be THE day to know this. Nonetheless, Mother’s Day merits some form of appreciative gesture; a phone call, a Facebook shout out, cheesy Hallmark card, or an iTunes gift card. It’s during these days that make it difficult to be 7,764 miles away from your mother when all you want to give her - to express your gratitude for giving you life, loving you and raising you - is a hug. It doesn’t help that she’s resistant to the internet either. So much for Skype. Or email.

So. What is it like to be a new mother?

Tiring. Rewarding. Often times I feel like I’m running on instinct and is probably the most that I’ve trusted myself; my body, my mind, and what I am capable of handling. All it takes is a smile (like I always say) but more often than not Mandarin sticks her tongue out on the corner of her mouth and I’m done. My-sappy-heart-is-melting - done. Sooner or later we all discover these soft spots; the twinkle in her eye, that naughty smirk...nothing like a dose of silliness to tug at those heartstrings.

Frustrating: when I feel like I can’t get it right. The laundry’s piled up, dishes unwashed, meals to be cooked, toys on the floor, rooms to clean, vacuum and swiffer through. It can get chaotic, but when all things are lined up and everything is in harmony, well, let’s just say I will dance with the spunk of a flash mob in Grand Central station when I’m happy.

Sentimental and weepy. Everyday.

Gratifying. Truth be told, there is a sense of pride knowing that you’re raising your daughter the best possible way you can. And loving her with as much love as your heart can fill.

The quiet and poignant ripples of inexplicable JOY.

Tweet

Pocket Review: Le Petit Reve

When a package you’ve been waiting for finally arrives, you don’t wait and find a pair of scissors, a knife, or anything resembling a sharp object to rip that bag open. Fingers, teeth, the corner of your remote control - anything will do. That’s the wonderful thing about packages that arrive at your doorstep; they can’t be judged based on how they look, because more often than not they look bruised, limp, and left-for-dead like it got into a fight - and lost.

The item in mind here is a blanket for Mandarin. A custom made quilt with vintage floral fabric, white eyelet ruffles held together with organic buttery soft fleece. Now, the imminent cliche that drops in this sentence : it is what is inside that counts. Because the filthy plastic bag that arrived that afternoon opened up to reveal a lovely boutique-style gift, wrapped in Japanese tissue and tied together with pink gingham fabric. Even lovelier was the blanket itself. Perfectly quilted with squares of dainty pink rosebuds, the softest vintage chenille and flannel, the muted colors of the roses - all pulled together with delicate pink lace; I thought twice before unraveling it because it was so pretty.

We are in L♥VE!

The shop, Le Petit Reve = The Little Dream with a BIG heart. ♥

Thank you Selena, seamstress extraordinaire!

Tweet

Where It's At

Here is where it’s at. 

The leak from the bathroom on the top floor to the guest bathroom has gotten worse. Much worse.  There are soaked towels laid out on the tile and the dripping sound of water instead providing Zen calm, has stained the general surrounding area with thoughts of ancient torture techniques. Surely back in the day someone must have gone mad just hearing one drip after another.   

While on the thoughts of torture, that’s what Mandarin’s face looked like as I gave her a spoonful of pureed zucchini. She gagged and shot me a horrified look reminiscent of green beans and pursed her lips and held up a closed for business sign.  How can she hate zucchini!? I can eat their healthy goodness everyday and now the batches I made for her either I will have to eat like an 8 month old - or the kitchen grinder will. Even the zucchini-carrot purees I made have gone to waste. She loves carrots on its own, I thought it would have been a good mix. 

Last night whilst reading Is your Mama a Lama before bed, she threw up everything she ate for dinner; what seemed to be a whole jar of Earth’s Best carrot tomato puree and her 6 oz bottle of milk. All over me, my PJ’s, her book, the WHITE duvet, our pillows and my computer. 

Yessssss. This calls the one defining photograph that speaks across generations and a wide spectrum of emotion: 

Here’s hoping the rest of the week goes smoothly!

Tweet