Celebration at Hsi Lai Temple

I didn't know what to do...

Sunday afternoon, Dana Point Harbor. My father, Kevin and I are walking on the breakwater with our cameras, anticipating a few shots of the days sunset. Maneuvering our way along the rocky path, we gaze out over the water admiring the Surfers making their way on waves in Doheny State Beach. Something catches my eye below me... a young pup is climbing the rocks just ten feet below.

Cut up, fur missing, it's eyes slightly gray with mucous, the pup makes eye contact with me and begins to climb the breakwater rocks toward us. I lean over the rocks and watch in awe as the pup climb its way up at least five more feet up towards the top of the breakwater to where we are standing.

It's eyes gleaming, I could swear the pup was trying to approach us. I knew the pup was in need of help and my eyes begin to well with tears. I'm feeling helpless, sad and angry. The pup continued to climb higher, inch by inch. It paused a few moments and surveyed the rocks, then lifted itself up and climbed again. I'm anxious watching the pup continue to pursue higher ground and I tell my Dad and Kevin that we should leave the area as it would not be healthy to interact with the animal, especially if it was ill. We were already too close to it and my gut feeling was to go.

I caught one last photograph of the pup as it turned to watch my father leave... I get up from my knees, brush the dust off my jeans, put my camera in my bag and I stare at the young pup for several more seconds. The pup paused as it wasn't able to climb any higher up the breakwater rocks. So it just stared at me. And then the stories began to run through my mind... Maybe the pup was waiting for its mother as she fished for food. I knew it is common for the mother to leave its pup on dry land while she hunted for food. But I couldn't help but wonder if this pup was seeking help. Perhaps the pup was fine, its injuries healed and was simply saying, "hello" to us. Whatever the case, the moment was deeply touching and heartbreaking at the same time. It was the first time a wild animal looked at me in my eyes at such close range. The brief connection was moving and deeply profound.

Since this encounter with "Bubby" (as I've named it) Kevin and I have chosen to look in to volunteering at the Aquarium of the Pacific.

I reported "Bubby" to the Marine Mammal Center with an attachment of his photo.

Chinatown - Los Angeles

(Shot with a Canon 20D)

The Session - Brothers

(Shot with a Cnon 20D)

The Session - Rene

(Shot with a Canon 20D)

The Session - Huisok

(Shot with a Canon 20D)

The Session - Alicia

(Shot with a Canon 20D)

A Family Affair

My Grandma, Mary, designs blouses out of 'Furoshiki' panels. Furoshiki (風呂敷, furoshiki) are a type of traditional Japanese wrapping cloth that were frequently used to transport clothes, gifts, or other goods. 'Cho Cho Designs' is the name of her company and the blouses are unique, contemporary and distinctly Japanese.

For the Holidays (which us Nomura's celebrate in early January or late December), we chose to have the cousins photographed while modeling Grandma's blouses.

We turned my aunt's house in to a full on impromptu runway studio. My Dad, a professional photographer, had a blast setting the lights for me, Kacie and Micah (more cousins). Touting our Canon's, we fired off over 500 shots as we encouraged our model cousins to WORK IT!

What a cool, spontaneous, extraordinary shoot! Our entire family came together and created a phenomenal group of shots. There was little to no planning, no shot list, and no agenda to follow... I am a part of an amazing family. Fully creatively self-expressed! (Shot with a Canon 5D)

Shogatsu

It is January 1st, 2009. Grandma is shuffling in the kitchen fussing over my favorite 'ozoni' soup. She mumbles something in Japanese, "...Shiran. My food no taste good this year." She says this every year, with out fail even though we tell her it's just as amazing as last year and the year before. Guests are salivating over the delicacies which completely cover the huge dining table. Seki-han (red-bean mochi rice), octopus with green onion, sesame oil and soy sauce, kamaboku (pink, white and green Japanese fish cakes), lobster, shrimp, kuromame (sweetend black soy beans, dried fish, kuri (chestnut paste), sushi, kazunoko (herring roe), bbq pork, california rolls, potato salad, chicken salad, cucumber kim-chee, green bean casserole, chirashi (sushi rice), kalbi (Korean bbq beef), sesame chicken and ozoni (soup with mochi). Most of the Japanese food prepared by Grandma on New Years Day has special meaning associated with it. I know the beans mean something that has to do with money, I think. I always make sure I eat a couple (I pop it in to my mouth real fast and barely chew... I don't really like the taste). I sneak a small piece of beef off of the edge of a plate while Grandpa smiles warmly at me. "Ara! Dame! Kitanai...Wash your hands!", I hear my Grandmother shout at me from the kitchen. I swear that woman has eyes on the back of her head.

And then there are the dogs. Cassidy (black Lab), Lacy (yellow lab) and Kahea (half fox terrier and half chihuahua) "Lacy! NO!"... "Kahea, get back here!"... "Caaaas! Cassidy..." All three circle the dining room table in hopes of just one fallen morsel of Grandma's home-cooked creations.

I'm feeling quite toasty and very red. I've had about 5 sake shots by this time, 9 p.m. or so, and it's time for something sweet. Mmmm, cookies, King's Hawaiian Passion cake, homemade bundt cake, Aunty's green jello... I start to feel guilty for not knowing how to cook New Year's food like my Grandma, so I pick up my camera and take pictures the pretty food instead.

Kampai! Happy New Year!

The last day of 2008

“Irasshai-mase!!!” is being shouted at me by four young Japanese waiters. I am guided to a seat at the bar which overlooks the food prep and cooking area. I can feel my skirt hiking up my thigh higher than I am used to and I struggle to pull it down towards my knees all while trying to look graceful sitting on the awkward bar stool. A group of young college age students sit at a large table behind me chattering about the world’s current events. And to my left is a young Asian guy with his buddy, neither one engaged in much conversation with each other as both are busily texting someone on their mobile phones. I am at Shin-Sen-Gumi Ramen, in the South Bay about to eat the last meal of 2008.

As I get acclimated to the smells, sounds and awkward bar stool, my mind is skimming over the last several years worth of New Years eve’s. When was the last time I actually went out for New Years Eve? I instantly recollect two times when I went all out. I am nine-teen and my parents are out on the town. I make a promise to not have too many friends over. Needless to say, I have triple the number of friends allowed at my house, there is alcohol scattered in every room of the house and I am am throwing up in my kitchen on the floor at the stroke of midnight. The second time I recall, I am in my mid-twenties. While dressing at the hotel, a photograph of me is being taken... I’m wearing a black and red china-girl style dress and my hair is tied up in an up-do with silver glitter adorning my eye-lids. I am posed on the hotel bed on my stomach while being conscious of my cleavage. Fast forward six hours or so. I’m in my hotel room, laying on my stomach and a photograph is being taken of me. However, compared to the earlier image captured of me, I now have red eyes, mascara has run down my cheeks from laughing and sweating at the night-club, the up-do has turned in to a birds nest, the “Happy New Year” tiara upon my head is bent to the point where it now reads, “ppy New ea”, and I am experiencing a major wardrobe malfunction in the bra department. Good times.

My new years flashbacks are interrupted as the waiter brings a steaming hot bowl of Hakata Ramen in front of me. My high heel flips off the bar stool foot rest as I try to get out of the way of the waiters reach and I accidentally thrust my chest in to the counter. I smile and casually pull down my skirt again.

I eat most of my noodles, gyoza and seaweed salad and I am now off to Santa Monica to dance the night away. “Doomo-Arigatoo-Gozaimashita!!!”, is shouted as I depart the noodle house. Finally, I am going out on the town New Years eve. It’s been so long. I’m anticipating party people dressed to the nine’s, martini’s all night long, a little hip-hop, some funky house music even a little rock and roll, and a handsome man to kiss at midnight.

Flash forward two hours.

It’s 11:50 p.m., December 31, 2008. I am unlocking the door to my apartment after having driven all the way back home to Santa Ana from Santa Monica in the most hellacious fog I have ever witnessed. No dancing, no martini’s and no hip hop and rock and roll. My boyfriend has a fever. My priority is to keep safe and to be healthy. With ten minutes left in 2008, I am sitting next to him on the couch in the dark with Ryan Seacrest and Dick Clark on the television. My mind is flashing back on all that could have been that night and what I could be doing right now (dancing like no one is watching, drinking my dirty martini with extra olives, etc.) But I’m not doing any of those things. I’m sitting at home listening to intermittent gun fire and the sound of banging pots and pans.

Instead of resenting my boyfriend for being sick, regretting driving all the way to and from Orange County to Los Angeles twice and worrying about my skirt hiking up my thighs all night... I turn to Kevin and I think to myself, all that matters is that I am with him right here, right now... And I still have a handsome man to kiss at the stroke of midnight.