Kristen tells the story of the communal chamber pot

I should be thankful that we live in an age with running water, and proper waste removal. While on our tour of Fort Erie, the guide told us one of the reasons the Fort smelled so bad back in the day, was because they shared a communal chamber pot between the 200-plus soldiers and other residents. My mistake. I thought it was the laundry tub.

Posted via email from tonychung’s posterous

After an extended delay at the Toronto airport, we made it to London in one piece, and have spent the last couple of days enjoying the company of my wife’s parents, visiting a variety of playgrounds, and otherwise enjoying this weather that reminds me so much of Vancouver.

I’ve been pretty fortunate to have unusual weather every time I’ve visited Ontario in the last 20 years. The residents claim the province is unbearably hot and humid, but I’ve never experienced this at all. I’ve always managed to find a good cross-breeze wherever we were. And air conditioning always helps, but honestly, I’ve rarely used it.

There was one incident years ago when I visited Toronto in March. When we arrived the sky was clear. The next day I awoke to a foot an a half of snow on the ground, and went shopping for a pair of boots that morning. But that was a rare experience that taught me to only visit in the summer or autumn.

All this great weather gives me reason to sing, and so I recorded a quick worship set that lasts about 10 minutes. Of course, it took several hours to edit on Roxio VideoWave, because the program kept crashing at the most inopportune moments (also, it does strange things with moving video titles.) Lift your hands and worship with me, to the video below.

I left some musical space at the end for you to respond to the Holy Spirit in prayer and thanksgiving from your own heart. After all, He wants to hear what’s on your mind. I’m just here to help provide some “atmosphere”.

God bless!

An edited post via email from tonychung’s posterous

From August 4 to the 20 I’ll be taking the family to visit my wife’s parents in Ontario. In addition to all the fun family stuff, I plan to meet up with other web developers, technical communicators, musicians, worship leaders, and social media afficionados while I’m there.

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Pretty exciting stuff. Send me a private message if you have time to meet for coffee.

Last weekend I took my family on a trip to visit my friend Caleb who pastors a church in Port Alice, a village in North Vancouver Island. Along the drive up the coast I had a lot of time to think. My kids slept in the back seats, and my wife focused her eyes on the unexpected conditions of the road ahead as we joked about how dark it was. Then the thought hit me to pray for all my single friends, who drive this road alone or with friends, and don’t experience the unspeakable joy that comes with being (in my case) a husband and father.

I prayed for my friends that God would provide for them a suitable help-meet who would offer to water their camels. That picture stuck with me, and now I can’t get the idea out of my head. I shared my prayer with Caleb, who in turn brought the topic up when we went out for coffee with his friends. After explaining the idea to this group of young married couples,  Caleb has taken off on the idea and I’m finding comments in his friends’ Facebook sites and everything. This is going viral!

Caleb explains to my sons how he lives in two trailers at once

Watering camels, historically speaking

The type of family relationship we’ve developed almost instinctively can be summed up in a story from Genesis 24, when Abraham pledged his chief of staff to return to his home land to find a wife for his son, Isaac. The servant, identified as Eliezer of Damascus in the Amplified translation, went on his quest back to the old country accompanied by other servants and several camels carrying treasures for the as yet unknown bride-to-be and her family.

Elizer was a God-fearing man, and like me, also found himself praying along his journey. Although he was concerned about finding success on his mission, his prayer anchored in a trust that Abraham had already prayed for the Angel of the Lord to prepare the way before him. He rested his entourage at a place where the women of the land drew water for the evening. I imagine there would have been several young women at that time of the day who would have made for a suitable wife for Isaac. But Eliezer was sure that God had already prepared the heart of one woman in response to his quest.

He set out a fleece before the Lord, that when he asked a girl for a drink of water, that not only would she give him a drink, but also provide water for the entourages camels. Anyone who has ever seen a camel drink knows that camels drink a LOT of water. It is no small feat to draw water time and again to fill one camel let alone the number accompanying the servants at that time.

But one woman did respond to the quest: Rebekah, described as “very beautiful and attractive, chaste and modest, and unmarried”. It just so happened to be Abraham’s niece. Eliezer asked Rebekah for a drink from her pail. She willingly gave it to him. Then she offered to draw water for the camels until they were full. Praise the Lord—This was the one!

Watering camels in the new millenium

How does this scene apply to the current day? Today’s world revolves around celebrity worship. Advertising directs us from the age of our youth to focus on superficial expression: appearance, economic or social status, and unfair comparisons. Mind games run rampant: “Does he like me?” “Does she think I’m cool?” Media teach our kids to idolize the “object of our affection” by placing him or her on a pedestal. Characters in movies research their “intended” by questioning friends of friends rather than asking direct questions while building a relationship.

When I met the woman who became my wife, I had made a pact with myself that the woman I marry would not be the one who met my needs the best, but the one whom I could best serve. This proved itself naturally, where my common actions met her needs, and hers mine. In addition to the natural communcation, which I call the “mechanics of conversation”, we were both willing to adapt to each other and go with the flow, much like jazz musicians who have never played together listen to what each other is doing and find ways to respond to what they hear.

There were no fireworks, no sparks, no love at first sight—just a natural growing together as our hearts worked toward becoming one in marriage. And that’s when the magic happened, which brought forth the whole shebang.

A willingness to water camels is a form of service that represents what is really going on inside the person’s heart. I am using camels as a metaphor for what a person finds important: their passions, their heart, their interests, talents, and hobbies. When partners recognize and nurture each others’ camels their relationship grows and matures in a healthy, natural way.

This desire shouldn’t end after marriage, but should grow and mature as old camels grow and mature. New camels will replace old camels. Every additional stage in the relationship could bring new camels that also require watering and support. If you follow Isaac and Rebekah’s story through the next couple of generations, you’ll see that Isaac anda Rebekah stopped watering each others’ camels when they played favourites with their twins, which caused a rift between husband and wife, and between brothers. Isaac’s son Jacob (Israel) eventually married both of Rebekah’s nieces, Leah and Rachel.

The camels that Rebekah watered to build the initial relationship eventually died off, leaving shallow husks of a relationship that brought pain and suffering to their children and grandchildren. Fortunately God fit all of this selfish mess into His plan and worked the same heart that willingly fed a strangers camels into the a man who generously fed his family even though they betrayed him.

Water my friend’s camels too

If you’re really daring, please visit Caleb’s blog, The Almost Weekly Report and leave a comment that says that you are excited for the work he’s doing at Ocean View Church in Port Alice and that you prayed for him to find a wife who is willing to water his camels, and he willing to water hers.

Almost Weekly Report: that about sums it up

In my next few posts I plan to expand on this idea in the hopes of eventually writing a book out out of it. I will provide links to different resources on marriage and family relationships that I have found especially helpful.

What are your thoughts about watering camels in relationships? Am I way off the mark, or do you think there could be something here?

tonychung.ca blog design circa 2007 to 2009

It’s already June. I haven’t redesigned this site yet. At the time of writing it still uses the original theme I installed back in 2007. At the same time, I have also developed ideas for several blog entries that I believe many will find helpful to reconcile issues of life, faith, and vocation. I’ve started 26 draft posts and have a handwritten journal for two more. I love being an ideation machine, but I’m finding that it’s difficult to write about the importance of building relationships when I’m out building relationships.

Over the May long weekend (16-18 this year) I went away to a men’s retreat, and returned with a resolve to improve my relationships with my friends and family, most significantly with my sons. This new focus on enriching the depth of my relationships makes it difficult to apply myself to any tasks outside of my daytime work. While I am passionate about publishing my thoughts to share with you, I’m finding that the cost of sharing revelation is greater than the income it generates.

I’ll be completing these draft posts over time, so bear with me. Right now there is too much life to live to be able to dedicate any time to this blog. Besides, shouldn’t YOU also be out there living your life anyway? What are you doing reading blog posts while the sun’s shining?

…I came that they may have and enjoy life, and have it in abundance (to the full, till it overflows). ~ John 10:10b AMP

Have a great summer. You may or may not see me online during this time. All the blessed!

Click image to view The Other Coast February 18, 2009

When I saw this comic strip in the paper this morning, I had to laugh. So much of today’s communications media: phone, text/SMS/MMS, email, TV, online publishing—are only available as long as there is enough storage to keep them. The Way-Back Machine on the Internet Archive helped me recover my Tablet PC Blogs posts in a jam, but if all the hard drives in the universe were full, what would have happened then?

In contrast to my post about what happens on the Internet living forever, I present the alternative view. My friend Wayne Radford, the self-proclaimed “King of Poco”, put this bug in my ear over lunch one rainy afternoon. The short version is that our online publishing efforts, though wide reaching, are only temporal.

Way back in the dawn of time the human race shared stories of their heritage through the spoken word. In each family or tribe was a storyteller who entertained, provoked thought, and presented their traditions and history to the current generation. Before that storyteller died, he passed the mantle to the next in line, to carry on the tradition.

In our electronics-crazed age, we are disconnected from one another. We listen to our personal stereos. We play portable one-person video games. We share a sense of community, but that largely occurs online. Which reminds me of another great cartoon I saw this week.

Click image to view Zits for February 15, 2009

The sad fact is that Social Media encourages online activity that makes us feel like we’re connecting with others. In reality we are still playing by ourselves in a large room with several others. When our kids were in preschool we arranged play dates so they could “get to know other kids”. It was an interesting phenomenon that even though they were in the same room, each of them enjoyed the experience of playing with a different set of toys—they rarely interacted, or played the same game together.

It soon became apparent that we arranged those play dates for other reasons besides our children’s social development; we arranged these dates for us to socialize with other parents. This became clear to me when I compared my wife’s impressions of the play dates where the parents of the children stayed to chat, with the ones where the parents dropped their kids off and left to run errands. My wife always felt a greater sense of connection when given the opportunity to socialize with other adults. Go figure.

Back to my original point. I wrote this blog entry and published it for the world at large to read. Well, actually, only the interested three or four of you will take the time to read this post. While my work makes me a published author for however long the post is kept on the server, when the lights go out, it’s over.

This is a different experience than that of a printed book, which has the opportunity to live for on centuries (or not!) on a library bookshelf. Even then, the written word is still temporary. What matters most are the real-life connections we make with each other, right now. It’s easy to hide behind a pseudonym or a web site façade, an instant messaging nick or an avatar. It’s far more difficult, and scary, to present ourselves as we really are.

I’ve had the great pleasure of joining various meetup groups, technology user groups, and other business/social networking groups that meet face to face. It’s fascinating to watch the dynamic within each group. There are those who use these occasions to promote their services, but still more who want to meet the real “you” behind the online “you”.

Which leads me to my next point: I’ve been invited to speak at Northern Voice on February 20, 2009 about “Putting Your Blog to Work”. I’ve been keeping this pretty quiet, as I’ve been too busy to even think about my presentation. Plus, it’s my first time ever going to this conference, and I am not sure quite what to make of the whole thing.

One thing is certain: Face-to-face connection is what is required to create true permanence in the hearts and minds of others. I intend to share the real “me” behind the online “me”, and meet and get to know the real “you” behind your online “you”.

I hope to see you at Northern Voice. Let’s put the “Social” into “Social Media”.

The Tony Macchiato ~ AKA the Triple Venti Peppermint Soy Caramel Drizzle Macchiato Style Latte

As the new year rolled around I thought I would stop drinking coffee, or rather, espresso—more specifically, my Triple Venti Peppermint Soy Caramel Drizzle Macchiato-style Latte, which I want to officially label as the Tony Macchiato. I first stumbled onto this drink the morning after my wife and I celebrated Christmas 2007 with the staff from a previous employer at a hotel in downtown Vancouver.

Starting from its humble beginnings as merely a Caramel Macchiato with peppermint syrup instead of vanilla, the drink evolved over the last year and a bit  into its current incarnation. I have my barista friends, and even Starbucks itself, to thank for that.

Old Faithful

For the last five years, I predictably ordered a Venti Six-Pump Toffee-Nut Long Americano every time I set foot in a store behind the green logo featuring a mermaid in a circle. My only deviation from the norm was during the summer, when I learned the iced version was 10 cents more expensive than a quad-shot long espresso, on which the drink was built. (Note: purists assure me that a Venti Americano is supposed to have five espresso shots, but most of the time they only give me four anyway).

However, once I stumbled upon this new pepperminty/caramelly/soyee espressoy beverage, it became my drink of choice. I even started making them at home.

Stirred, Not Shaken

One of the baristas suggested adding a third shot to compensate for the additional soy in a venti cup over a grande. I immediately fell in love with the boldness the extra shot offered. Sometimes a barista even offers to throw in the fourth shot that would normally be discarded anyway, giving it a double dose of boldness.

Regardless of the number of shots, the only way to enjoy this beverage is to stir it with a venti straw, and lick the foam off the straw before even sipping the drink. Like that scene from Tanpopo: look longingly at the caramel mesh as you slowly blend it with the foam, sensuously mingling the flavours into a divinely exhilarating experience. Caress the straw gently and enjoy the candy bar taste of the caramel exploding in your mouth. That sort of thing.

Membership Has Its Privileges?

When Starbucks introduced registered cardholder benefits, of which the free addition of syrup and soy milk into beverages is the easiest to quantify, I was in a quandry. When I paid with  my registered card, I’d lose the free syrup benefit, as it was already included in the price of a caramel macchiato.

To further complicate matters, Starbucks still must charge for specific syrups like cinnamon dolce, white mocha, and caramel sauce. However, this requirement is not usually enforced, as baristas are rather ticked with HQ for closing so many stores in the US, and for hiring management from outside the ranks of current sbux employees.

Bad, bad, bad PR Mr. Schultz. This reeks worse than the breakfast sandwich. When your staff turn against you, all you have is your product, which is only part of the concept, but not the central idea. People don’t visit Starbucks for the product, but rather the ambience of an environment rich in coffee knowledge. But I won’t go there in this post.

Working Around the Red Tape

As the special syrup charge is not widely implemented, I found the best way to order this beverage is to ask the cashier to ring it into the till as a Triple Venti Peppermint Soy Caramel Drizzle Macchiato-style Latte. Paying with a registered card saves close to a buck fifty on the syrup, drizzle, and soy. Even if the barista charges for the drizzle, I save a buck, and the total cost works to be five cents less than a Caramel Macchiato.

Sometimes I may not even care if the espresso shots are poured on top, and skip confusing the issue by ordering the latte as a macchiato.

Not Cutting Out Coffee After All

I mentioned earlier that I started the new year looking for alternatives to drinking  my espresso beverages. After suffering for about ten days, I caved and ordered my Tony Macchiatto. I tried the new fruit infusion beverages that Starbucks offered this year, and preferred the Berry Chai over the Apple Chai.

Then I stumbled onto Starbucks online beverage nutrition comparison chart and was amazed that among venti sized drink, the Tony Macchiato has 60 percent of the calories of the new Apple Chai Infusion,  50 fewer calories than the new Berry Chai Infusion, and just about on-par with, (well, 40 calories over), a Black Tea Soy Latte. The fruit tea infusion calories are all from sugar!

Starbucks Online Beverage Nutrition Comparison Chart

Of course, this isn’t taking into account any calories derived from fat. Soy milk definitely wins that comparison hands down, with a higher fat content than even whole milk. This nutritional information is still all my easily swayed mind needed to justify my espresso habit.

Next time you visit Starbucks, order a Tony Macchiato; I am certain that you will enjoy it. Print this article to remind yourself how to order it, and show the barista how to make it. You won’t even have to state a specific size: This drink is best enjoyed Venti.

Grandma Rose Woo 1916 – 2009

Between new years day and Chinese new year, Rose Woo, my grandmother, and my children’s great-grandmother, passed away at the age of 92. She had been fighting what we thought was the flu and was confined to her bed during Christmas. We admitted her into the hospital on new years day because she had stopped eating. Over the following weeks, she appeared to recover well, but she still couldn’t manage enough strength to walk, nor even stand. She died peacefully in her sleep only one day before we would have celebrated Chinese New Year. We’re going to miss her.

At the “Celebration of Life” service we held in her memory, Rev. Terry Shea opened with a poem by Linda Ellis, to remind us that while our date of birth and date of death appear on our gravestones, it is more important to consider how we spend the years in “the dash” between those dates. I first heard “the dash” several years ago when Wayne Myers, an elderly missionary to Mexico, spoke as a guest at Coastal Church in Vancouver. The message within those 36 lines was appropriate for the occasion; I later spoke about my memories of life with Grandma Rose, packaged as “some things death teaches us about life”.

This is a recap of those thoughts, but not exactly as I presented them. I’m not sure why I chose not to use notes, but I am thankful that God answered my prayer that I would speak sensibly, and encourage those in attendance. Two of my relatives also shared their memories, and the sunny (albeit windy) weather cooperated, helping to turn a sad occasion into the homecoming send-off my grandma deserved.

Grandma lived quite the dash!

Ninety-two years… now that’s some dash! My grandma had seen so much change during her lifetime, from growing up on a farm on Vancouver Island to living with us. During that time she witnessed two major world wars, the great depression and subsequent recessions, the fall of the Berlin Wall, the space race, the arms race, conquered diseases, and several more triumphs and tragedies endured by the human race. My grandma had lived through them all and stayed the same person inside and out. She was always my grandma.

As a child I couldn’t relate to the stories I read where kids made a big deal about packing up their stuff to “go and visit the grandparents”. I lived in a house with one Grandma, and spent a lot of time at my other Grandma and Grandpa’s place. Of all the grandkids, I was fortunate to have my grandparents look after me while my parents worked. At lunch we feasted on bacon, eggs, Kraft dinner, and fruit salad, and watched soap operas and the news. Then I’d go back to school to finish the afternoon, play with my friends in the playground, and return to the apartment to do my homework. My parents joined us for dinner after work, socialized for a bit, then head home to rest so that we could repeat the process in the morning.

I started reflecting on some things that death teaches us about life when we took Grandma to the hospital. When I spoke this message, I didn’t label the sections, but as I write them down I feel the headings keep me organized.

Get to know what you’re good at

My grandma knew that she could do some things well, and focused her energy into those things. She didn’t know how to use a computer, didn’t own a VCR, and didn’t own any property. However, she always considered her appearance, and the appearance of her home, and in the home she excelled. I remember how she would spend the afternoons vacuuming the carpet, sweeping my food crumbs off the floor, cleaning the windows, cooking the meals, washing and hanging the laundry. She was everywhere at one time.

She spent a lot of time at home, and to that end she created a pleasant environment that made her happy. And she loved to entertain. My grandfather also was an amazing Chinese chef and the two of them worked in the kitchen to prepare dinner for family occasions.

Value relationships over possessions

My grandparents’ accommodations were well-kept, but very modest. Rather than buying the latest, greatest things, they chose to entertain people and build their friendships. My grandma had a few very close friends, most of whom have already gone on before her, and she would socialize with them on a daily basis. If we have but two really close friends who know us as well as her friends knew her, we’d be truly rich indeed.

When grandma moved into my parents’ home, she grew attached to my sons. I have photographs of her playing hockey in the kitchen with my eldest, and video of her singing Christmas carols and show tunes as she rocked my youngest. These memories bring me great joy.

She was always asking the whereabouts of the members of the family who were at school, work, meetings, or whatever. There were times I walked by her room and heard her speak the names of everyone in our family and social circle. She was thinking about them, and probably wondering how they were doing. I heard that she had some medical problems that required surgery that the doctors considered too much of a risk at her age. Instead of wallowing in pain and despair, she thought about those she cared about.

Be aware of the events around you

Being born of hearty stock, she was always up for a good discussion, bordering on debate. She listened to talk radio in between soap operas and the news. When she lived on her own, my wife and I often picked her up on the way to family gatherings. During the ride she would share what the radio personalities discussed, and struck both chords and nerves. It made the ride shorter, more vibrant, and exciting, all at the same time.

She listened to the radio until she had problems hearing. She read the paper until she could no longer see clearly. But she was always up to discussing things. I know she made her home care workers very happy by keeping them occupied.

Remember your roots

I am especially grateful that my grandma lived to experience the joy great-grandchildren can bring. We feel that living under the same roof with them is probably what kept her alive so long. While she was in the hospital, she kept asking, “Where’s the little one?”

It also helped that she lived an active life growing up on a farm. When I was a kid she often spoke of feeding the chickens, riding the horses, and walking to school 20 miles in the snow, uphill both ways.  She biked everywhere. She was strong. She beat up the boys who picked on her brothers and sisters. It was because of her I developed a fondness for spinach.

I overheard her more than a few times as she sat at the table after lunch, singing the entire song,  “Jesus Loves Me This I Know”. She must have learned this in her childhood; it’s not a song we sang very often.

Take care of what’s entrusted to you

We owe it to my grandma’s memory to consider the time we spend “in the dash”. My grandma was close to all her children, especially her own daughters, and daughters-in-law. I know she was grateful for my mom, who looked after her daily after my grandpa died almost twenty years ago. I know she was happy to live in the same home with us to be around our active life.

To maintain privacy, I have deliberately avoided mentioning any specific names. On behalf of my family, we thank you for your caring and compassion, and for checking in on my grandma so often during her life. You enriched her life by including her in yours. You also came through for us when she was hospitalized. In honour of my grandma’s memory, let’s make it a point to continue on this path, and nurture the relationships we encounter along this journey.

I love Joel Stein. In his article that concludes peanut allergies are an issue only in rich, lefty communities, he compares a recent medical report to a short story he wrote years ago about a severe allergy epidemic that crippled the future until it was discovered the symptoms were psychosomatic. Funny that he didn’t show it to anyone, because he usually says the very thing on everyone’s mind that they wouldn’t dare say in public. I myself have often wondered why in recent years it appears that everyone and their dog can be allergic to peanuts.

Rising of a new dawn

My son entered Grade One eating only peanut butter and banana sandwiches for lunch. Shortly into the school year, he was told he could no longer bring his favourite sandwiches, because a classmate was allergic to peanuts. To prove himself a good friend, he stopped bringing peanut butter and ate sandwiches with only the banana. Sometime before the end of that school year, we learned that the student who was “allergic” to peanuts just didn’t like the smell of peanut butter.

My son had already made the sacrifice, and eventually grew to love banana sandwiches. Buy why was that one student’s suspected allergy never verified, or even questioned?

Scent allergic people are militant. When I was back east in 1999 I caught a news story where a teenage political activist was allergic to “all scent”. She used beets for blush and baking soda for her pits. At lunch she set up a table to educate her school about scent allergies. She expected the world to bow to her sensitive sinuses. Since then, she hasn’t been the only one.

Nowadays, you can’t enter an office building, school, apartment, transit vehicle, etc., without signs declaring the location as “scent free”. I’d rather be honest and tell “hairy-chest haven’t washed” and “antique perfume saturated maven” that they upset my olfactories, and ask if they would mind washing more or splashing less.

Before anyone criticizes me for being insensitive, I must clarify that I grew up asthmatic and was (probably still am) allergic to everything but food. I was on scads of pills, inhalers, and went twice weekly for serum injections to deal with what I thought was my problem.

Who would have thought that I didn’t have to endure all that physical inconvenience? I could have just told the world to stop shedding, wafting, and spreading their allergens into my general direction, or even to the areas where I might travel.

One of my friends is deathly allergic to eggs, as we learned when we had to take him to emergency when my mom was baking muffins. One of my friends is allergic to shellfish, and yet another is allergic to the more extroverted seafood that don’t live inside shells.

I think it would suck to be diagnosed with a food allergy, because I like to eat, and would hate to limit my diet for such a lame reason that it would keep me alive.

Many thanks to my friend Emma Hamer for her Facebook post pointing out Joel’s article reprinted in the Vancouver Sun.