Why I Love All Things Handmade

I love anything handmade. 

My love for all things handmade runs deep in my blood as well as my childhood memories.  

As a little girl, I played with a doll that once belonged to my aunt. The doll came with a blue dress that my grandmother made for my aunt, and that was the only dress I had for it. My mother sewed my purple tote bag for school and knitted my yellow woolen scarf. My aunt from the paternal side used to surprise me with a gift like a handmade broach every time I went to visit her. She still sells her hand crafted items at a small cafe attached to her home.  

It was part of my childhood norm to have things handmade. I rarely had store bought character goods that were popular among other kids. I hated my handmade things as a girl, especially the ones I brought to school. They were so different from what my friends had and I didn't want to be different. Little did I know these hand crafted items were a lot more special and durable. My family was all about quality and craftsmanship, and I learned to appreciate things handmade as I grew older.

My grandmother made these little bean bags for my oldest son when he was 11 months old. 

She went out for a walk one afternoon and came home with a handful of azuki beans a half an hour later. Then she pulled out her vintage kimono fabrics from her chest of drawers and quickly hand sewed these little bags filled with the beans she just picked. Did I tell you she professionally made kimonos, long before I was born? She was the one who taught me how to sew.

When all the bean bags were made, my grandmother showed her great grandson how to juggle. My son, who was all about throwing things back in those days, giggled with delight. 

These bean bags have been well loved by my boys over the past five years. I used to put them away as soon as they were done playing with them. We've lost so many small toys in our home (they magically disappeared into thin air), and I figured these are too precious to be lost. But why don't I display them for all of us to see and enjoy? 

So, I gathered them up in a bowl and placed them in the corner of our family room. 

I think of my grandmother every time I walk pass by the bowl full of bean bags. The boys can reach them anytime they're in the mood for juggling. 

This probably explains why I value handmade goods. Their imperfections and quirkiness comfort me. They remind me it's good to be unique and imperfect.

I am so grateful I grew up surrounded by all things handmade, those beautiful yet imperfect objects. They are unique, one of a kind and imperfect. Just like me. 

And it's nice to decorate our home with something that holds special meaning to us.

At Summer's End

We spent last weekend in Adirondacks, thanks to my mother- and father-in-laws who coordinated the entire trip. We hiked, ate good food, and enjoyed a scenic train ride, which my youngest son fondly called, a choo-choo ride.

When we finally arrived at our motel after four and a half hours of driving and a temper tantrum, our two year old niece burst into our room to welcome us. My boys joined her and together they ran in a circle shrieking, hardly able to contain their excitement for our vacation together. Then my sister- and brother-in-laws followed her into the room and gave us a hug. 

I've known them for thirteen years now - my sister- and brother-in-laws - even longer than I've known my husband, Steve. Back then we studied at a small state university in upstate NY.  A lot has changed since then.

When I came to this country thirteen years ago as an international student, my future brother-in-law, Jo was the one who came to pick me up at the airport. I had no idea one day that young man, who ushered me into this foreign land, would be my family.  

I met my sister-in-law, Elizabeth, through Jo shortly after, and we quickly became friends. We took psychology courses together and talked about our families. I was surprised we shared many of the same values despite our cultural differences. And through Elizabeth, I met her brother, Steve, the man I would marry in just four years. It was love at first sight. 

Thirteen years later, we're hiking up a mountain trail pulling our little ones by their hands. My sister-in-law is expecting her second baby due this winter. Things keep changing, without halting even for a moment. 

As the first day of school quickly approaches, my motherhood anxiety is on high alert. My oldest son starts first grade and youngest one preschool in just a few days. This is the first year I have both of them in school.

I never knew what anxiety really meant until I became a mother. This must be part of our defense mechanism that kicks in the moment we hold our baby in our arms. We promise ourselves to protect our little bundle of joy no matter what it takes. Like a mother bear who tries to protect their baby cubs, we are not afraid of doing serious damage to any offender. We would do anything to protect our children. 

But once they start school, we can't be there to help our little ones. They are now on their own. We moms know their every quirk and how special they are in their own unique ways. Would the teacher see what I see in them? The special sparks they have in their heart? 

The first day of school always comes sooner than I want. It's rather ironic, because I remember huffing and puffing when the summer started. I know I just need a few more days of grace period to complete this mental shift. The moment my oldest son steps onto the school bus, I know it would feel right.

Changes aren't easy no matter what it is. Change forces us to let go of old ways and embrace new habits. But what if we never change? What if I haven't changed a bit over the past thirteen years. Still studying in college, enjoying my single life and partying? We go through different phases of life, just as nature moves through the seasons. It would be hard not to change. 

So, I loosen my grip on life and try my best to let things unfold on their own.

Steve and I have gained a few pounds over the summer from all the rich food we ate and probably from our age. As much as we'd like to shed those extra pounds off, we're not bitter about it. Perhaps it's time for us to put our running shoes on and start jogging around the neighborhood, together, while the boys are gone to school.

Change is good. 

Sometimes, I need to remind myself of this. 

* * *

Today, I'm sharing with Emily at chatting at the sky.

The Taste of Happiness

It was right before 6 o'clock on Saturday night. 

I was running late cooking dinner, sauteing chopped onion in olive oil and melted butter. I heard the sound of a lawn mower coming from a distance, slowly approaching to the kitchen window. 

Why hurry, I told myself. Stephen had just started his mower and the boys would be busy following their Daddy's heels until the last blade of grass is cut short. I took a deep breath to slow down. Summer days are easy. No homework, no getting up early the next day.

Queen Anne's Lace + my art: Contemplating in our kitchen

I glanced out of the kitchen window and saw my 5-year-old just a few feet away from his Daddy. I looked around expecting to find my youngest son, but I couldn't find him. "Where is he?" I felt a tightness in my chest. 

I flung opened the window and called my husband. He stopped the mower immediately, looked around and shook his head. He didn't know where the boy was. 

He called the boy's name loud once, twice, and three times. No response. 

My husband ran to the front yard looking for his son. I dropped the wooden spoon in the sizzling pan and ran out from the poach door with bare feet. 

Where could he be? My heart pounded hard in my chest, while running through the garage to the front yard trying to find a trace of that little boy. 

He was only a week shy of becoming three years old. He could make a bad choice without knowing its consequence. Did he follow a ball rolling down our steep drive way to the street? Could he be taken away by a stranger who came from the woods? 

"Oh no, God, no! Don't let that be!" I pleaded as I frantically looked around our front yard. He was not there. I couldn't breathe.  

I turned the corner to the side of our house, and I saw his chubby legs pushing the pedals hard on his red Radio Flyer tricycle.

I grabbed him from the bike and squeeze him tight in my arms. 

"Thank you, God, for keeping him safe," I whispered, as I let out a sigh of relief. I pressed my lips to his soft cheeks, covered in sweat and dirt. His cheeks were warm and we were safe. But the tightness in my chest didn't go away.

I have a quiet ache that runs deep within me. My heart aches for my boys every day - when they are hurt or struggle to make new friends. My heart grieves for the things I have lost over the years, too. The time I could've spent with my family who lives on the opposite side of the planet and the financial security we once had.

Every time I'm not sure if I could keep pushing forward, I would look up and capture something beautiful like a snapshot. The moment my son gave me a little shiny pebble he found in the backyard with his grin so wide and proud. The moment I wondered if I could see my grandmother again while she's still alive, then turned around and found my husband tenderly smiling at me. I savor those fleeting moments of happiness before they slip through my fingers.

When did my world come alive with all these of emotions? When did I start tasting fresh corn so sweet, a homemade blackberry pie so tart? When did I realize a handful of Queen Anne's Lace from our land is more graceful than a store bought bouquet of flowers?

Was it when I became a parent? When I moved to a foreign country by myself? When we decided to change our careers despite the financial risks? 

I once knew happiness, the kind that didn't cause any aches. The safe kind that doesn't involve any risks. I lived a sheltered life and smiled like an innocent flower. I didn't know what it meant to be stepping out of that boundary of my comfort zone and really live.

All the pains and aches I've been through over the past several years have woken my senses and given me a new set of eyes to see things in a different light. I find myself yearning to live and taste life in a way I've never done before. The deeper the ache your heart knows, the more beautiful and vibrant the world becomes. You will never know what sweetness really tastes like without knowing the taste of bitterness.

I'm not afraid of taking risks with life anymore, for now I know the taste of true happiness. Because I know life is beautiful no matter what it brings.

Seven Years

Seven years ago today, 

I married my best friend at a small chapel of Star of the Sea Church in Hawaii,

surrounded by close friends and family, who traveled across the ocean to celebrate our special day. 

It was one of the happiest days of my life.

Seven years and after two beautiful boys, career changes, many hugs and tears, we have grown closer than ever.

Love is a flower which turns into fruit at marriage 

- Finnish proverb

I can't imagine life without him.

 Photos by Adam A. Palmer

The Sweetest Fig | New Art

Thirteen summers ago, I came to America with two large suitcases full of dreams. It was a five minute decision that I made to study abroad and explore the world. Little did I know it was going to change my life forever. I was 23. 

Fast forward six years, summer of 2007, I was in Honolulu getting ready to tie the knot with the man of my dreams. While our guests relaxed their tired limbs from a long trip on the sandy beach, Steve and I drove around the city taking care of the final details of our destination wedding. Soon it was time to pick up my parents at the airport who had just arrived. When was the last time I spent time with them, I wondered. I hurried to the luggage claim with my anticipation quickening my pace. I was 29. 

Three summers ago, I knew our life would soon be busier than ever with a new addition to our family. I was getting our home ready for the impending arrival of my second son, while my mother helped me watch our toddler. The hospital bag had been packed, collecting dust by our bedroom door for nearly two weeks. "Today might be the day. Be ready," I whispered to myself. I was 33. 

Last summer, my boys and I spent six weeks in Japan with my family. It had been four years since our last visit, and it was my youngest son's first time to meet his great grandmother. 

I will never forget the smile on my grandmother's face when the boys gave her a hug. 

One morning, my parents took us to pear picking at a local farm. We filled our baskets with fragrant pears and peaches right from the trees. The boys stuffed themselves with blueberries they just picked from the bushes, with stains all over their mouths. The owners of the farm offered us to try some of their freshly picked figs. It was round, fuzzy, and fit right in my palm.  

And it was the sweetest fig I'd ever tasted. I was 35.
 

As I drew a picture of the figs, I thought of the sweetest fig that nourished my soul last summer. The flavor of the summer's end fruit still lingers in my memories as a reminder of the different seasons of life I've walked through. 

So much has changed since I made the five minute decision. I left my family in Japan on a hot summer day thirteen years ago, and today I'm raising my own family here in America.

My heart belongs to two countries on the opposite sides of the world. I'm slowly learning to make peace with these two separate identities that I carry.

     The Sweetest Fig: Ink pen, soft pastel, acrylic on paper

Why are summer memories always so bittersweet?

Taking A Walk Down Memory Lane

I'm 36 today.

I found some old pictures from my childhood. Not so many, but some good ones. 

Yuko Kato: Born on May 16, 1978 in Chiba, Japan. I was born two weeks early and weighed about 2,800 grams, which is a little over 6 pounds. 

My brother and I were the best friends.

I was a chunky baby.

"I'm one! Now I'm walking!"

"Mommy, can you please stop shoving food in my mouth? I'm already full, really."

Bossing my brother around like that's my job.

And of course, I had to ride him like a horse.

I used to love playing in the rain. I still enjoy listening to the rain, especially at night right before I'm about to go to sleep - it quiets my mind and nourishes my soul.

I grew up near a beach. I'm in my element when I'm strolling on a sandy beach and listening to ocean waves, while feeling the sea breeze on my face.

I think this is a picture from the time when I received a big award for my artwork. Mine is 2nd from the right at the top with the pink background.

Piano recital. Another thing I was really good at was playing the piano. My Mom believed I was going to be a pianist. I loved music, but I hated to practice. 

Seijin-shiki: Coming of Age ceremony. I was 20 and lived in Kyoto, Japan. I miss Kyoto - it's such a lovely place filled with history and traditional culture. I'd love to live there again some day.

It's amazing to see many elements of who I am today were already there when I was a little girl. 

I love art and music.
I am always in charge.  
I feel most connected when I'm listening to the sounds of nature. 

I never thought quickly looking back on my childhood would give me such a clear image of who I am today. Sure, my childhood preferences don't describe my whole self, but they reveal the hints of my true design.

"The past and present are hints of the future."
                                                     - Gary Morland

Taking a walk down the memory lane. 

Have you done that lately? 

Our Foyer Today

How was your weekend?  

We had a great time celebrating Easter with our family.

The kids had a lot of fun hunting for Easter eggs.

 Cousins. They are the best buds and so adorable together.

After a week long Easter break, my 5-year-old went back to school yesterday. As much as I enjoy having him around, it's nice to get back into our normal routine.

I recently framed one of my paintings, Contemplating, and have found a place for it. My 5-year-old decided to call it "Pompom Head," and that somehow sounds more fitting than my original title.

Resin Bust and "Pompom Head"

It sits right behind the DIY painted resin bust in the foyer.

Our foyer is in need of some serious intervention. The DIY painted trumeau mirror hangs where the Hollywood Regency mirror used to be (the HR mirror is currently in the guest bedroom). I haven't decided how exactly I want to decorate the wall yet. 

The foyer has been the most challenging space to decorate due to its shape and lighting. The hallway that leads to the kitchen is so narrow that I can't put any furniture deeper than 13 inches deep under the trumeau mirror. We only have small north-facing windows by the front door, so this area gets very little natural light throughout the day. Do you have a room like that in your home? 

Since this is the place you see when you first walk in, I want something interesting with a big impact. How can I transform this space from drab to fab? 

As always, I went to my Pinterest board for some inspiration. Pinterest has been such a helpful tool for me to gather pictures for inspiration and learn from them - I would analyze how some designs work and some don't. I'm a visual learner so it works perfect for me. I wouldn't know what to do without it!

Here are some of my favorite vignettes.

Furlow Gatewood. via House Beautiful

 

Jonathan Berger. via House Beautiful

Suzanne Rheinstein. via Elle Decor

David Duncan Livingston. image via Stagetecture

image via Traditional Home

Ashley Whittaker. image via The Foo Dog Ate My Homework

Thornton Designs. image via House of Turquoise

Across from the resin bust and painting is the front door with the little windows.

Looking into the foyer from the kitchen.

Well, I tightly cropped the above picture so it'll look decent. But our foyer looks like this in reality. Part of the ceiling has been out for quite some time. Our goal is to have it finally fixed this summer! 

We have a long way to go! I'm going to start making some small changes this week, and I'm pretty excited about it.

Any suggestions?