WOW . . .

There are many things about L.A. that stun me just a little bit and cause me to wonder if New York and California are part of the same country. The prospect of Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger aside, other things have given me pause and jolted me with a touch of culture shock: healthy toned men and women everywhere; fancy-schmancy cars and other status symbols ubiquitous on the roads; low stucco-ed bungalow-style houses; 3rd-generation Korean Americans who act like FOBs and speak not a lick of English. They sure do lots of things differently out here.

Including the dol-janchi -- the traditional birthday extravaganza commemorating a child's first birthday. The tradition is rooted in celebrating the fact that a child even lived for a full year, stemming from the days when babies succumbed to all variety of ailments and levels of malnutrition.

All the ones I've been to or helped organize -- on the East Coast, mind you -- involved the following:
. . . designate the child's paternal grandparents' home as the party location
. . . spend a couple of days cleaning the house and cooking the party food
. . . order the dduk (rice cake in assorted flavors, colors and fillings)
. . . set up a low table with traditional symbolic items on it (pencils = child will be scholarly; books = child will be scholarly; new money = child will be wealthy; bowl of rice grains = child will be healthy; spool of yarn = child will have long life)
. . . the baby and parents dress in traditional fancy Korean dress
. . . guests pig out, then watch as the family takes photos -- with baby tearfully ripping off the icky Korean hat
. . . everyone laughs and applauds as baby selects one of the above-mentioned five items.

None of the previous dol-janchi's involved:
. . . restaurant catering space rental
. . . months-long planning and arts-and-crafting
. . . three days' worth of baking, icing-making, meringue-leaf-making . . . FROM SCRATCH
. . . six homemade cakes
. . . five flower-and-balloon centerpieces
. . . party favors
. . . Armenian female clown performing magic tricks and making balloon items (can't really call them animals, sorry), all the while expressing herself in a strangely strong Eastern European accent . . . in front of a crowd of about 80 Koreans.

This is what Baby's dol-janchi was like tonight. Ha's beloved first child, a precious daughter -- she who reaches out her hand and throws a humongous toothy grin at anyone who will look at her; she whose wipsy hair flutters hither and thither and can't quite manage to grip a barrette; she who gives you a high-five or bows repeatedly or claps gleefully at her own human tricks; she who eats any and every food without scrunching her nose or turning away, non-stop; she who is the biggest flirt with the biggest heart in the making. She had an Armenian clown tonight.

I'm amazed. I'm stunned. I'm blown away. I feel like I'm not in America anymore.

But I'm also in awe. For only Ha could do this. Only Ha would pull out of her pantry a large shoebox filled with Wilton School baking items and accessories, including an icing piping-and-head set, and horizontal layer-cake slicer (see, I don't even know the official names of these tools). Only Ha could incorporate real flowers into chocolate cupcakes to make them look like little plants. Only Ha could pipe little leaves that turn into hard meringue candies overnight. Only Ha could wrap regular cardboard boxes and top them with tulle to make lovely, dainty cake-stands. Only Ha could go to Costco and purchase a helium tank to fill balloons. And only Ha could manage to do most of this humongous project by herself, feed her family, care for Abby, receive guests and be gracious, put her hair up and look glamorous, and still be good-natured and slap-happy afterwards, ready to go rent "Bring It On" for our annual viewing and cheer-fest.

So, culture shock be damned -- it was a blast. Baby ATE IT UP --literally and figuratively -- and adored the Armenian clown.
That's all that matters, right? Right.