News Trend My Homemade Pasta Primavera|Actual

"Primavera" means spring, and this dish often highlights spring flavors. But as long as the vegetables are fresh and bright, any season's produce will do.

I may be dating myself back to the Neolithic Era, but the first time I made this dish, I served it to my Jazzercise instructor who had come over to meet my five-day-old first-born.

Yes. I said Jazzercise. I loved everything about Jazzercise, from the legitimate aerobic workouts and sassy choreography to the super chic outfits. Think pale pink leg warmers, high-top Reeboks, and leotards with leg openings cut practically up to the waist.

Hey, this was the eighties, and this was how we rolled.

Such a devotee was I that I Jazzercised right up to the day I went into labor. Mhmm. Danced my way through all four of my pregnancies, as a matter of fact, and loved every minute of it. The babies did too - they would lie still and quiet while I was at group, but as soon as I sat down in the car to drive away, each one of them would stir to action and begin her own little in utero workout.

So it stands to reason that my instructor, Robin, felt invested in this newborn child of mine, and asked to come over to meet her during my two-week hiatus before returning to class.

"Of course," I must have said. "Come for lunch. I'll whip up a little something."

"Oh, no. Don't go to any trouble," Robin undoubtedly protested. "You just had a baby!"

"Don't worry, I'll keep it simple."

Well. I might have lied a little bit. But honestly, my fresh and festive homemade pasta primavera looks like a lot more work that it actually is. Over the years, I've streamlined the process to keep each step as simple as possible, and this delicious, healthy, family-pleasing dish is well worth the modest effort.

* * * * *

Ingredients:

1 box pasta. (Let's be honest. The tri-color rotini is the cutest choice. But any color or shape will work.)

1 bottle Italian dressing

Assorted vegetables:

broccoli,

snap peas,

zucchini,

summer squash,

carrots,

and/or whatever you like

Other options:

salami

feta cheese

black olives

artichoke hearts

1. Cook and drain the pasta according to package directions. Plop it into a big bowl.

2. Set a big pot of water to boiling.

Tiga. Keeping each type of vegetable quarantined from the others, chop into bite-size pieces and drop into the boiling water.

4. Cook only briefly, two or three minutes, depending on the type of vegetable and the size of the pieces, until just tender.

5. Use a slotted spoon to fish out the pieces and add them to the pasta bowl.

6. Using the same boiling water, drop in the next type of vegetable, and repeat the process.

7. Stir the pasta and veggies together and add about seperempat cup of Italian dressing. Refrigerate for several hours, until chilled..

8. Just before serving, stir in ample portions of salami, cut into quarters, crumbled feta, sliced black olives, canned artichoke hearts, or whatever else you have dreamed up. Add more dressing if necessary.

* * * * *

This may sound like a lot of fuss for a simple salad, but trust me, if I managed to make this meal while wearing a sleeping five-day-old infant in a front pack (oh, yes, I did). You can pull it off just fine.

At the time of this photo, my first-born was already a few weeks old, but this is exactly how she looked, sleeping inside my front pack, as I chopped, boiled and stirred my way through my first homemade pasta primavera.

And yes, she really was born with that much hair.

I was lucky. Robin came a few minutes early, so while I made the last-minute adjustments to the salad, she held my still-sleepy baby girl and whispered a few of our favorite work-out tunes to her, gently stepping through the routines as she oleh.

My first-born slept on like a dream.

Our lunch was ready in a snap.

And Robin and I enjoyed a special meal that I will never forget.

My first-born has grown up to love my homemade pasta primavera,

a fact which does not surprise me at all.

* * * * *

Ready for more stories about my most dearly beloved, tried-and-true homemade meals?

My Homemade Lasagna

My Homemade Macaroni and Cheese

My Homemade Spaghetti and Meatballs

My Homemade Grilled Cheese Sandwich

My Homemade Cold Tuna Noodle

My Homemade Beef Stir Fry

My Homemade Beef Stew

My Homemade Parmesan Chicken Nuggets

My Homemade Enchiladas

My Homemade Chicken Salad

My Homemade Cranberry Apple Crisp

My Homemade Pasta Primavera

My Homemade Pad Thai

My Homemade Quiche

My Homemade Potato Salad

My Homemade Cobb Salad

My Homemade French Toast

News Trend Frozen|Actual

My second-born is hand-modeling a lime Outshine. She better not have taken the last one.

If you don't have a box of Outshine frozen fruit bars in your freezer right this very minute, you are missing out.

Frosty cool.

Refreshingly tangy.

Pleasantly sweet.

Satisfyingly healthy.

These summertime gems raise the concept of the popsicle to a whole 'nother level, and my entire family is addicted to the delicious madness.

Don't get me wrong. I know that the internet is practically tipping over these days, what with all the recipes for homemade frozen fruit treats. I take nothing away from the DIY foodies.

But at our house, we have no time for such fiddle faddle. We need our Outshines - lemon or strawberry preferred - and we need them NOW.

So I'n off to the grocery store to reload our stash yet again. See you at the freezer case.

News Trend Cleaning ADHD|Actual

This fantastically dry and sunny Seattle summer is doing great things for my flower pots.

Sorting

Stacking

Tossing

Lifting

Carrying

Stashing

Storing

My across-the-street neighbors have been busy lately.

The family matriarch, who has been a kind and gentle neighbor to me for most of my adult life, is moving. Recently widowed and getting on in years, she has graciously agreed to let go of her big, empty house and move in with her daughter and son-in-law. In a beautiful turn of fate, this good lady's grandson and his young family have decided to buy her home. So, for the past few weeks, the extended clan has been helping to pare down Grandma's household, get her settled in her new digs, and prepare the house for the new family.

Normally, June is a month for annuals to splutter and struggle as they fight to stay ahead of the dastardly slugs.

Cleaning

Prioritizing

Organizing

Refinishing

Repurposing

Paring down

Letting go

I find my neighbors' project has kick-started my own housekeeping energies. Now, I'm not exactly ready to hand the keys over to the next generation of Streichers. But there's no doubt that the seasons of life are changing at my house too. I am thinking about how my house can better reflect who I am today, and what my family needs from our home.

But this year, the blossoms are practically leaping out of the pots, and I am endlessly inspired by their enthusiasm.

Seeing my home in this new light is helping me make all kinds of useful decisions:

What furniture can I get rid of to make my rooms feel more spacious and comfortable?

Would a fresh finish invite my tried and true 80s coffee table into the new millennium?

In a home strewn from one end to the other with laptops, tablets and smart phones, is it necessary to have two old-school TVs?

Is my kaleidoscope of wall colors cohesive, or I have veered off into an unfortunate Candyland look?

Do we really still need those Raffi cassette tapes?

Predictably, this intellectual exercise has spun me out into a whirlwind of tasks, schemes and strategies designed to bring a new sense of peace and purpose to my surroundings. I've been leaping from one job to the next with wild abandon.

I call it "cleaning ADHD." My family just stands back and gives me room.

And while I'm glad that my neighbors have nudged me onto the right track for transforming our homes to keep up with life's changes, I'm also taking advice from my good cat, Luna.

I'm sorry, but your electric sander is disturbing my nap. Can you keep it down over there?

Settling

Stretching

Breathing

Cooling

Purring

Dozing

Dreaming

Sometimes, you just have to take a break and lounge in the shade.

News Trend Rumble In The Jungle|Actual

I've been lucky enough to travel the length and breadth of the little country of Malaysia, and one of my favorite adventures was swimming at a secluded island beach in Langkawi. Surrounded by nothing but the silent Indian Ocean and untold acres of wild, untamed jungle, I spent hours bobbing in the silky waves as my eyes drank in the undulating green sea of tree tops, and my ears rang with the high-pitched and never-ending cacophony of insects and birds that is known as the scream of the jungle. Later, I learned that the interior jungles of Malaysia are roamed by marauding packs of elephants who will knock cars from the roadways with a single swipe of the trunk, and even a remaining population of elusive, endangered tigers.

So strange and unearthly different from my beloved Pacific Northwest fir forests, so foreign and incomparable to anything I had ever experienced before, the tropical jungle has since earned a place in my imagination, and made a home in my heart.

 ^ To build a jungle, start with some big, leafy basics. Shove the couches to the middle of the room, and let the forestation begin.

^ Add a plant table to boost up the little guys. Mine is homemade from pallet lumber with a few coats of polyurethane.

^ Buy only the plants that you adore.

 Like half the universe, I've been obsessed with fiddle leaf figs, and keep a giant specimen next to the table in my office. But when I discovered that they - or something much like them - grow luxuriantly along the roadsides of Hyderbad, India, I let go of all restraint. I've added two more of the beauties to my collection since I got home from my trip and I don't promise that I'm done.

^ The leaves on this philodenrom selloum please me beyond reason. They're just so big and bouncy and ridiculously whimsical that I suspect Dr Suess must have had a hand in their propagation.

^ Transplant every specimen into a clay pot (nine out of ten plants prefer them over plastic), water and feed conservatively, and give everyone a chance to settle in and get growing.

Along with a beloved ten-year-old jade tree and a deep green scheffelara, just like the one in my childhood home, my baby jungle has just begun.

* * * * *

In gaji of my newfound love for the jungle, here's my latest decorating philosophy:get rid of all the furniture and fill the house with plants.

Okay, so that's a little extreme. I'll settle for keeping a few couches around as long as I can heap up the sunny spots with greenery galore.

My current goal is to turn one end of my living room into my own private tropical jungle. Lush, leafy greens of every shade and texture, heaped on my rustic homemade table, clustered together in pots, and straining toward the ceiling. When I walk in this room, I want to feel like I just wandered into the deep, green mystery of the Malaysian interior.

Minus the bugs. And the stampeding elephants.

But I wouldn't mind a well-mannered tiger or two.

News Trend Sweet And Tender Moments|Actual

Even from my own backyard, the clouds present an ever-changing story.

In the past few months, a lot has changed between me and my mom.

My mom is battling advanced dementia. No, not Alzheimer's; she has a lesser-known memory loss disease called Lewy Body Dementia. The best way I can explain the difference is to say that Alzheimer's is a heavy, wet, wool blanket that smothers the brain's most recent memories and pushes the sufferer's mind deep down into memories of the past. In contrast, LBD is an erratic pendulum that swings unpredictably back and forth between reasonable coherence and utter confusion marked by anxiety, hallucinations, and paranoia.

This past winter, her symptoms worsened with shocking speed. Though she was still living in her home, Mom now required 24-hour care and her dementia-trained caregivers needed to help her maintain her most basic routines, including her daily phone calls to me.

Then, as winter turned to spring, my mom fell and broke her knee cap.

Technically, she split her patella right down the middle, with a three-cm gap. Surgery was required to wire the pieces together, then she was suited up in a soft cast and sent off to rehab to heal.

When I caught up with her in mid-April, the surgeon had bad news. The bone fragments were not healing properly, and sure enough, by May, she needed a second surgery to reset the knee cap. That meant a full reboot to the recovery process and a move to a different care facility.

The physical distress of the broken bone took a huge toll on my mom's mental abilities. While I was with her in April, she would scrutinize me, confusion written all over her face, and say, "You're the mother."

"Look at me," I would say. And when she was looking straight into my eyes, I would point at my face  and gently remind her, "I'm the baby." Then, shifting my finger toward her,  I would add, "You're the mother."

Her eyes would soften. She would smile. And then she would always say, "That's right. You're my daughter. And I'm your mother."

These were sweet and tender moments.

They reveal an infinite variety of white puffs, wisps and streaks,

A week after my visit with Mom, I flew off to India. Thanks to the miracles of Verizon, I set my phone up with an international calling plan that allowed her to call me in India using nothing more than my basic American digits. During my three weeks in Hyderabad, my mom reliably called me three or four times a day; predictably, our conversations ranged back and forth between calm, coherent discussions of my work with the Indian princesses, and paranoid hallucinations.

Half a dozen times, during those middle-of-the-night-in-India calls, my mom would demand angrily, "I looked out my window today and saw you getting out of your car. Why didn't you come to my room? "

"Oh, Mom,that wasn't me. I'm in India, remember?" And I would hold my breath, wondering if she could possibly retain the details of my wild adventure to tutor Indian foster children.

"That's right!" she rationally recalled each time. "How are those girls doing with their reading? Are they enjoying the books you brought them?"

And these were sweet and tender moments too.

Surprising and unpredictable.

Two days before I left India, her phone calls suddenly stopped.

During the next few days, as I flew back to the US, picked up my daughter in Arizona and drove her home to Seattle, then jetted off once again to Vietnam, my mom and I talked only once or twice. I wrote off the irregularities as a short-term blip, and figured that once I settled down again, our phone calls would get back on track.

On my second night in Danang, Mom called me and we talked briefly. I don't recall exact details but I remember she was upset about something, and I did my best to soothe her as I stood on the noisy sidewalk outside Luna Pub, where I had been enjoying a scoop of Bailey's gelato. After she abruptly hung up, I consoled myself, "She'll be alright and I'll talk to her again soon."

But this, too, was a sweet and tender moment, though I did not know it at the time.

But the sky which holds them remains constant and forever blue.

Because that was the last time I talked on the phone with my mom.

She has never called me again.

And though I still ring her several times a week, she no longer picks up.

I don't know why. I can only assume that the disease has crept further and deeper into her mind, corrupting the place that remembers our phone calls, that knows she can call me any time, and that I will always listen to whatever she wants to say.

This silence has left an enormous hole in my life. I've struggled to figure out how to accept this void, to trust that she is alright, to believe that there is nothing I can or should do for her now.

And that is where I stake my claim.

And this the only thought that brings peace to my heart:

My connection to my mother, mysterious and profound, is in transition. She is leaving this world; I daresay that even though her stubborn body ticks on, her soul has turned toward heaven. This distance between us now is painful, yes, but only temporary.

Like shifting clouds in the sky, the circumstances of our relationship are blown about by winds that neither my mother nor I can control. But as sure as the sun will eventually break through the gloom and shine in a clear blue sky, I know without a doubt that we are destined for eternity together.

And I trust not only that everything will be okay someday. I trust that everything is okay right now.

Every day challenges me to hold to this promise. And when I get my head wrapped properly around this truth, and feel in my soul that my mom and I really are okay; well, that is the most sweet and tender moment of all.

News Trend Hello, Wanderlust...Do You Deliver?|Actual

Pure white walls, stretching wide and clean in every direction.

Substantial shelves placed here and there, creating interesting partnerships with the tables and chairs, but allowing plenty of room for humans to move.

Dazzling sunbeams filling the space with light.

During my mornings in Vietnam, as I sat in Wanderlust Cafe and sipped my blended mango smoothies for breakfast, my mind and soul found peace and contentment in this refreshing room.

If I can't take this room home with me, what can I do, I puzzled, to capture this feeling in my own dining room?

The vision came to me in a flash.

So once I got home, with a bit of furniture reshuffling and some carpentry work from my husband, my dream became reality.

^ Out with the big red cupboard that once stood in this corner, and in with a new shadow box.

^ Crafted from odds and ends of pine lumber that have been squirreled away in the garage, and finished with an old can of light walnut stain, we managed to capture the rustic feel that I had in mind.

^ Wide enough to house at least small pots of cacti and succulents, the lower shelf perfectly suited for an endless stream of kecil-garlands.

^ And the top shelf offers limitless options for plate propping.

^ Best of all, when I sit at my table now, I feel the same sense of spaciousness and light that I enjoyed so much at Wanderlust Cafe.

^ If I could only get someone to bring me a glass of fresh blended mango, my life would be pretty much perfect.

News Trend James' And Jiyoon's Wedding|Actual

I was too busy having fun to take photos. But my daughter managed to grab this shot of the fabulous ceiling as we were settling into our seats.

I went to a wedding this week.

Dreamy summer night.

Brick walls and twinkle lights.

Dancing groomsmen.

Bouquet- and garter-tossing.

And plenty of bumping tunes.

Every element of the traditional yet updated wedding fell perfectly into place.

Chivalrous groom.

Sweet bride.

Proud parents.

High-spirited friends.

And a best man with a speech full of jokes.

Each person there, both my long-time friends and the new acquaintances I made, warmed my heart.

I was unreservedly content, completely at ease, and genuinely grateful to celebrate this special day with the happy couple and their guests.

And while this fact matters not at all to me, this was a room full of Korean-Americans. Tparents and their peers had mostly emigrated to the U.S. In the 1980s; most of the young adults were full-blood Korean, born and raised in mainstream American culture, but accustomed to keeping company with their ethnic homies.

I was one of maybe ten straight-up whiteys in the room.

Some may see that as odd or extraordinary or slightly bizarre, but I can only say how fortunate I feel to have been part of James' and Jiyoon's wedding.