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The "Wu Word" Blog

February 2019

Happy Place

Happy Place
On a rainy day
I got in my car
I went away
Further and Far
I drove up
To your happy place
To feel your love
To bask in your joy
Where you smiled
Where you laughed
In your place of peace
In your happy place
Memories return
And I yearn
For what was
And no longer is
A very dull ache
A very deep burn
I am breaking
But I am not broken
Because I am smiling
At all I am remembering
It was just like yesterday
But it is today
And there are no more tomorrows
With you in it
In such deep sorrow
I stop, stare, and sit
Savoring all this
The snowy hills
The misty fog
Muddy puddles
Flowers underground
Chirping sounds
Air so thick
My breath so thin
Gets under my skin
I could not see
A single thing
 I could feel
How everything
Sharply stings
The sun shines
Blurred lines
I got in my car
Watched from afar
I quietly prayed
Wishing you peace
In your new time and space
Do not worry about me
I understand more than you will ever know
That you had to go
That you had to leave
To be free
You had to go away
To your place of peace
To your happy place 


My stepmom is a woman of few words.  This is not a line you often hear when it comes to women, but one out of the many admirations I have for my stepmom is how she speaks in volumes with her actions in humble ways rather than in loud spoken words. 
Just about every weekend that I visit her and my father, my Stepmother always has a bag of food prepared and packed for me to bring home.  She knows my favorite Chinese foods like sesame and taro balls that only SHE can pick out in a Chinese supermarket and have ready for me when I visit.  She was the one to make me ‘bone soup’ after my hip replacement surgery to fortify my weak bones and even weaker spirit into gaining strength back to learn to walk all over again.  Yet, the #1 way that my stepmom has shown and spoken her love and care for me is what she has known best: Coats to keep me warm.

Love is spoken and shown in different ways.  There are people who will say that they love you, but their actions will not match their words.  The words will lift you up and make you feel good only for a little while until you are crushed into questioning if that person really and truly knows you, cares about you, or, even, loves you.  There are people who will spend tons of money on materialistic things with the belief that money can solve problems and show and speak love.  A diamond ring.  A dozen stemmed roses.  The thing is that things are only things that mean absolutely nothing and are only a something when there is a meaning or message behind or inside them.  There are people who do not know how to say or speak “I Love You” verbally and who are closed off with their emotions, but will show and speak their love in what they do on the outside from their innermost feelings on the inside. 

No way am I a love expert.  I have yet to even experience love in the romantic sense or this supposed ‘falling in love’ that only seems existent to me in Hollywood movies, but I certainly have felt deep love and care for family and friends.  If you look up “Love” on the Internet, there are endless definitions that force you to keep on scrolling and skimming down the screen.  I think that there are many kinds of love: Love for ourselves (not in a selfish sense, but to respect and care for yourself) and Love between or among family, friends, and beyond.   I think love is something that cannot be explained or defined.  Love is something felt deep within that cannot really put into definitive words. Love is felt over time and in the seemingly littlest of ways and actions that mean the most and amount to growth in any and all relationships.   I think love grows, stretches, and spans over time and requires loads of ingredients like trust, laughter, care, nurturing, patience, faith, loyalty, and even more.  And Love is NOT always kind, but can be extremely hurtful and painful, but all the more worthwhile because, as I say and believe, it is better to feel something than nothing at all.  All in all, I believe that Love is like my Stepmother’s coats that have kept and continue to keep me warm and safe in the coldest and hardest of days. 

Love lies in the little acts of kindness that people show and not only say.  How do you know when someone loves you?  What kind acts or good deeds have people taken to show that they care about or even love you?  Is it important for you to HEAR words  of “I Love You” or to be the recipient of true actions of love and care?  What is love to you?  Who is keeping you warm?   

Keep smilin’ until we meet again, 
Mary ;-)

The Edge

The Edge
We are
The Stars
Twinkle Sparkle
Radiant Brilliant
Bright Night
Razor Sharp
Paper Thin
Think Thoughts
Catch Caught
Savor Flavors
Thick Skin
Lose Win
Sit Stand
Little Lot
Laugh Cry
Half Whole
Less More
Balance Act
Look Back
The fool
The joker
The loser
The winner
The saint
The sinner
My mistakes
My heartbreaks
No regrets
Any of it
All I did
All I do
All I was
All I am
Working to be
Better than best
Version of me
We are
Waking Walking
On a tightrope
A very fine line
Trying to cope
Holding on to hope
Looking down
Trying to be found
Into an abyss
Taking Risks
Breaking Rules
Making the Most
Meaning of this
Passion Purpose
Kindness Matters
Compassion Empowers
Those in Need
Good Deeds
Grace of God
Fear Nothing
Do Something
Cause Effect
Affect Impact
Commotion Motion
Progress Process
Eyes shut tight
Eyes wide open
To the blinding light
Stand Tall
Free Fall
Jump Leap
Keep Faith
Deep End
Begin Again
On the Edge


Loud Crowds
All Around
Push me Around
Pull me Down
Drown the Sounds
And all the Doubts
Figuring it out
What’s it all about?
Oh how cruel
They played me for the fool
All the rules
Were made to break
Though they think
They are clever
But they will never
Be able to read
The thoughts in my head
My silence speaks
For the weak
Shatters and breaks
Loud and clear
For them to hear
I do not forget
I do not let go
So easily now
Or how
What you did
Cannot be undone
I bite my tongue
But I can take it
While I could sit
Like everyone else
And do nothing
Lies to myself
So I stand up
To do something
Anger is one letter
Short of Danger
I use it for the better
Fuel my Soul
Fill the Hole
Fire in my Belly
I am Ready
The actions
I take
My voice
Will make
Some Noise


In mid-December 2018, I received a large Christmas package in the mail.  It was meticulously packaged and wrapped up, making me all the more excited and full of childish glee to find out what this gift was.  
Inside was a beautifully handmade ceramic bread bowl with two homemade bread recipes tucked into the bowl.  This beautiful bowl came from my friend Ladybug who recently passed away less than a month from me receiving her gift.  This was her last tangible gift to me.
One of the enclosed bread recipes was called “Cheesy Beer Bread.”  Obviously, the recipe required a bottle of beer.  I had never drunk a whole bottle of beer in my life thus far, nor do I have any interest.  I had only taken a couple sips from guy buddies and colleagues who raved about the tangy beer that tantalized their taste buds.  I actually turned to my parents for a bottle of beer to try to make this recipe.  We all realize how funny this sounds, right?  Asking parents for a bottle of beer?  My father proudly gave me a bottle of beer called something IPA.   It was later on that I found out that this beer was rather on the high end side my Cheesy Beer Bread came out extremely strong and tasted much more of beer than cheese.
On a cold night that was all too perfect for hot piping beer bread, I whipped out the recipe, sprayed down my new ceramic bread bowl, and proceeded to make and bake my bread.  I popped open the beer bottle and heard the fizz and bubbles gurgle.  When I poured all the beer in, everything in the bowl foamed up.  I thought it was going to spill over.  It didn’t.  It stayed put, but I could see chemical reactions and all the raw ingredients were marrying and marinating into one another to make something absolutely delicious.  The scent of the beer with chili and cheese was pungent and intoxicating.   I poured the batter in the bread bowl.  I popped it in the oven.  I waited to see how my creation would come out. 
As I waited for my cheesy beer bread, I was flooded with memories of Ladybug and us baking bread with her for the first time. She loved bread.  She especially had a love affair with sourdough bread.  To her, there was something amazing and magical about the starter active sourdough culture being fed and cared for that would result in a crispy and crunchy crust and soured pillowy soft bread.  She loved her sourdough bread with room temperature unsalted butter and fresh fruit jam.  She smiled, closed her eyes, and proclaimed: “There is nothing better!” 
To me, what I find so therapeutic and remarkable about bread and just really cooking and baking anything is the chemical reaction of all these differing ingredients intermingling and mixing together, processing, and progressing together under heat to result in a final product that came from my own hard work and hands.    This is very much like all of us.  It is when we are under a certain amount of stress and heat that process and progress, our character to possibly create, and our fuel and fire to fight back to do something positive can result. With this bread bowl, I could see the seemingly simple ingredients rise up into bread.  It is only under heat and fire as the fuel to light up all these ingredients that a final product comes about.  I could bake.  I could use my hands and not feel helpless.  I could do something.  I could create. 
Approximately an hour later, my Cheesy Beer Bread came out.  As with anything you bake and cook, you wait again and see.  You wait for the flavors to integrate after the extreme heat.  You wait for just the right time to cut into and taste.  The right time for everything and everyone.  You know it.  You feel it.  When the time is right, the time is right.
We can and will rise up when we are in the process or progress of transformation and placed under heat, just like bread. When have you undergone a ‘chemical reaction’ that involved process and progress and then to create and do something?  What has been your fire to fight back and get up again?   Do you have fire in your belly as fuel to create from your hands to not feel helpless?  
Thanks for the gift, Ladybug.  I get it.  There is fire in my belly.  There is fuel in my soul.  It is time for me to create.    It is time to bake some bread. 
Keep smilin’ until we meet again,

Mary ;)
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