Buttons

We posted a new video on You Tube showing how the Mongolian deel buttons are made.
Check it out. A link is on the Video bar on the side bar here on our blog.
Just click on the picture of a hand.

7- Eleven Conjecture

It is Monday morning and little Bat (boy) just swallowed the last cup of milk. Altai (little girl) is screaming that she is hungry. Uck. Now what? Of course, you are running late and then you hear it.
"SUE AVARAY SUE AVARAY SUE AVARAY"
A teen age girl is hollering at the top of her lungs.
You run down the 5 flights to the front of your apt building with your baggie in hand.
Out of the trunk of the car (or outside the city, horse cart), a couple lugs a blue 10 gallon barrel.
With a long handled ladle, she scoops out your fresh-from-the-cow (or horse, or camel, or sheep & goat or a mixture) MILK.
Yum, yum. Breakfast is saved.
We hear the milk sellers almost every morning, tho they are not the same people each day. They come in from the countryside or edge of town to sell the freshly milked liquid. At first the calling sounded like a yodle but now I can hear the sentence: "Please buy milk." or more like "Milk! Come and get it!"

Button Button Who Made the Button

This has been a long week, I couldn't wait to sleep in on Saturday. But I traded the chance to sleep in for a unique opportunity to see a button production, starting at 8am ;(. Traditional Mongolian attire includes a shin length robe like coat/shirt/dress kind of thing. Closures for these dells are a small ball type button that fits through sewed-on loop. At Streams, we have bought 100s of these buttons and created earrings. Today, we got to see how they are made. I must admit, I suspected they were imported from China in some form or another. But they are truly hand made starting with a flat piece of metal. It was fun to watch the process. And we feel great about selling a product that is Mongolian crafted. P.S. It was totally worth getting up early!

Reflecting

I was here 4 weeks ago having just learned of Jim’s mom’s death, here in the Incheon Airport. Shouldn’t I be at Mom’s bedside, moistening her lips, listening to her last breaths?

I just learned via e-mail that Mom died a couple of hours ago. It’s too late.  I’m stunned, saddened, and quietly crying. This experience is not how I pictured it.  How can 70 years just suddenly stop like that? It is an answer to prayer, her suffering has ended and yet we are taken off guard. Perhaps the reality and finality of death is always a bit of a surprise?  A woman using the computer next to me keeps asking for help, jerking me back into this world between flights.

            Sadness is weighty, like an elephant sitting on my chest.  The mourning comes in waves as memories pass thru my mind and escape with the tears leaving salty trails along my cheeks. I’m grateful for eternal life but the loss feels so abrupt and final. I take a walk up and down the airport halls leading to gates and planes ready to carry people into foreign worlds. Color, flowers, a gigantic butterfly mobile, murals, mother of pearl display – things that mom would have liked, catch my attention and cause more tears.

            Arrived at LAX, maneuvered customs, but was so sleepy that I bumped into the metal detector. Fortunately, the TSA worker could barely keep her eyes open either and suggested I just back up and try again. Everything seems a blur. I’m sad and sorry, glad and relieved all at once.

           Obituary, mortuary, eulogy. This gig is too familiar.

            I’m moving mom’s clothes into black trash bags and thinking this is a good job for me. I can handle it emotionally. I can easily separate the emotions from the task.  Suddenly, as I slip pink, white & flowered blouses from their hangers into the plastic; tears begin to pour like rain. A life, these clothes embodied a life, not just any life but the life that gave me life.  Gone, ended, finished. Sad again.

            Jimmy & I are both mom-less now. God’s timing is puzzling but we trust and focus on the next thing. We are grateful for our moms and for those helping to carry us through.  I have a choice: to dwell on the past in sadness (a certain measure of this is healthy), or to be thankful and make a vow to invest in relationships more, to live in the present and to be thankful. Life is a gift. Life passes so quickly.

?Mongolian food in Kennewick, Washington

While in Kennewick, WA, my hosts took me to a Mongolian BBQ restaurant.  The restaurant featured a buffet of meats and vegetables, many that I have never seen in Mongolia, including bean sprouts, mini-corn, water chestnuts and pea pods.  But there was no Mutton, Mare’s milk or Vodka anywhere!  The restaurant was owned by a Korean couple and the chefs were Hispanic.  The food was very tasty but I’m not sure why they call it a Mongolian BBQ?

Mongolians in Olympia!

Several years ago before we moved to Mongolia, our Pastor in Olympia was in a local restaurant.  His waitress was an Asian woman with an accent, so he asked her where she was from.  She said she was from Mongolia!  Our Pastor told her about us and asked if he could give us her name.

Dawn became our Mongolian language tutor. 

Last month, while in Olympia, we went to the same restaurant and met with her again.  This time, our Mongolian language was much better.