Hickory Smoked Turkey

On our way home from meeting friends in Tennessee, my husband H turned to me and said, "You are so brave to date a minority."  I looked at him and told him that I wasn't brave at all.  That in every way possible, I still benefit from white privilege, and that no matter how caring or great he thought I was, I could never fully understand what it's like to be an Asian-American living in the South. The night before, we were looking forward to taking a day trip to Gatlinburg to see friends who were there doing the same thing, taking the weekend to go somewhere new and explore a new town.  We met our friends at the Log Cabin Pancake House and had a normal breakfast.  We ate pancakes (big surprise), drank coffee, and caught up on life. H is a classmate with our friend so they talked about school while my friend's husband and I listened.  Our friends are both white, but the topic of racism was brought up pretty early on in the breakfast.  On ...

It's been over a year since I've written here but I am excited to share my review of the new poetry book, Under the Kaufmann's Clock by Angele Ellis, photography by Rebecca Clever. Upon opening Under the Kaufmann’s Clock, Angele Ellis takes you to the streets of Pittsburgh where you immediately feel at home.   The narrator seamlessly interweaves the characters and relationships in her life with the city, and insists that you sit down with her at the local café to study the ground beneath.   To compliment the gritty and oftentimes stark moments of pain, are photographs by Rebecca Clever.   Clever captures the vulnerable and iconic elements of Pittsburgh without pretense or ego.   Community and relationship drive both the works of Ellis and Clever. Ellis walks us through the four seasons which take on a unique tone in the city.   The first poem, “Landscape,” from the “Spring” section of the book, vibrates with a sense of longing and beauty that can onl...

When I was in my twenties, I had a list of things I swore I would never do. A lot of my choices stemmed from my studies in college and had a lot to do with feminism. I wasn't militant, or even radical, but I held firm beliefs that I thought I would never change. Then, along came my thirties, and I found myself revisiting my list and realizing much of it didn't speak to me anymore. The list of "Never Will I Ever..." included: 1. Get married 2. Stop being a vegetarian 3. Move to the South 4. Have kids By the time I turned thirty-six, I had checked off more than one "never" prediction on my list.  In fact, I was already living items 1-3. I had made a comment in one of my non-fiction classes that in my twenties, I swore I  would never get married, and there I was, engaged and getting ready to marry.  A student, in her late-fifties, replied, "Welcome to your thirties, hon.  It's the time in your life where you do everything you said you wouldn...

When I was a kid, my parents co-owned a bowling alley with another couple.  I literally spent every Saturday at the bowling alley, roaming the building, playing games, sitting at the bar drinking orange juice, and chatting with my parents' friends.  Some of the best lunches I had as a kid took place at the bar.  My dad would make my sister and I kielbasa, cut into tiny circles with a piece of cheese on each sphere.  Instead of forks, we used toothpicks to eat. Some of the sweetest moments between me and my mom took place at the bar counter as well.  I still remember cuddling up to her, my head on her chest, and her wool sweater itching my face, as she held me while drinking her grasshopper that my dad or Kathy, the bartender, had made her.  The people who worked at the bowling alley were extended members of our family.  Kathy would entertain my sister and I with a smile on her face.  I am sure we got in her way more than once but we never knew it....

It's Thanksgiving morning and I am grateful.  The mountains outside the kitchen window are a shade of dark blue and a train whistles in the background.  My husband is baking bread and the cats are waiting for him to "accidentally" drop some goodies on the floor.  I am alive and I am happy. But, this Thanksgiving feels awkward and a little sad to me.  This is the first Thanksgiving I will spend apart from my family.  I know that I am writing from a place of privilege and luck.  My husband has had to spend many Thanksgivings away from his family and in the last four years he has happily traveled with me to Michigan to spend the holidays with my family, even though he misses his family in New Jersey and New York.  I know that he has sacrificed time with his family to be with me and for that I am grateful.  I am lucky.  When I was a kid we used to spend Thanksgiving at my great-aunt's home.  We ate Thanksgiving dinner in her orange and p...

It’s the type of rain that makes your feet ache and your heart focus on all that you are missing.   This is the 8 th straight day of rain and I am feeling tired. I used to believe that weather had no hold on me, that even in the coldest or most depressing of weather days, I could shine like a rainbow and pretend that I glided through the day on a magical unicorn.  Not anymore. In reality, as a writer, I should love this contemplative weather.  The pause in beauty gives me time to regroup, gather my thoughts, and contemplate my past and present.  But, I am leaving out one key factor here, weather like this makes me lazy and sad.  In fact, weather like this makes me want to drink coffee in bed, eat a large amount of raspberry danish while wearing my pajamas, and sleep until 4 pm.  Then, get up, eat some potato chips, drink some wine out of a coffee mug, and fall back asleep.  The "Cycle of Healing," is what I call it. When it rains during Oc...

Have you ever tried NOT to write about something? The topic might scare you, it might seem intimidating or it might force you to face your own flaws.  I have been trying to not write about this for a few weeks now out of fear and resistance of facing the things I need to work on.  I have to face up to the fact that maybe I'm not as open minded as I thought I was. When I was a kid, I assumed that everyone was treated fairly and with respect.  When I got older, I realized that viewpoint was incorrect.  I grew up in a suburb of Detroit that was very white.  When I was in junior high, the city decided to bus some of the students from the other side of town to our middle school.  This caused an uproar with parents, many of whom were white.  The kids being bussed in were of Middle Eastern descent and it was very clear that the fear felt by others was based on ignorance and discrimination.  Then, I went to college and majored in creative writing and wo...