The Great Baby Race

In America, my son Darrell and beloved Samantha await the arrival of their little bundle of joy, scheduled for early next month. In China, Chris and Julia, both teachers at this school and good friends of mine also anticipate the coming of their child. I am caught in the middle: In body with my Chinese friends and in spirit with my son.

The Great Baby Race is ON! Who will make it to the delivery room first?

Sam’s due date it the 11^th of April, as is Julia’s. If I were a betting woman I’d bet on Julia. Not that I have anything against Sam’s ability to labor or Baby Ben’s desire to enter the world, but only because I know how each of these countries handle the birthing process.

Sam and Darrell will most likely welcome Ben in a birthing suite, using natural methods. Julia will be scheduled for a C-section. Chris will not be present in the operating theater. Believe it or not, more than 70% of the women in China deliver under anesthesia. According to Sam (the Chinese one, not the one who is currently incubating my newest grandchild) it is because they choose that method, but I’ve also read that most obstetricians choose it for their patients due to hygiene concerns and possible infections. Also, the doctor can make more money performing a C-section than assisting in a natural birth.

And here I was wondering how Chinese women stay so slim-hipped!

After delivery, Darrell, Sam and Baby will spend a total of one night in the hospital. Just long enough to make sure mother and child are healthy and well. Julia will spend a week to 10 days in the hospital recovering from surgery. She will not be allowed to handle her baby during that time as it might prove too stressful on her incision.

Darrell and Sam will have insurance and payment information paperwork to deal with prior to hospital admittance. Chris and Julia will not be allowed to leave the hospital unless their bill is paid. That would be about 8,000Yuan IF it is a simple procedure with no complications.

Once home, Darrell and Sam will go out of their way to make sure their baby has a sanitary environment. They’ve already banned Zeva, Kitty and Marley, their furry children from the nursery. They have plenty of hand sanitizer around and plenty of soap and lotion to keep their hands clean and soft. Any and all relatives will have to be disease free and wash their hands before holding Little Ben.

Chris and Julia, six months proud owners of a brand new apartment in the same complex I live in, have yet to move in. The smells and toxins of the new building might prove too harmful for Baby. They are still living in their 5^th floor walkup over Snack Street (see Strange Superstitions, Odd Suppositions entry, posted December 2011) Whether they will take possession of their new apartment once the baby arrives is not known. If the fumes are too toxic during pregnancy, there is no telling at what point they will be safe for Mom and Baby.

Sam will not doubt want a shower as soon as she gets home. She is a beautiful girl, meticulous about her grooming. She likes to be clean and feel good. She glories in her healthy head of hair (she has BEAUTIFUL hair!).

Julia will not be allowed to wash her hair for one month after delivering. It is said/thought that the head is the ‘entry point’ of the Qi (pronounced ‘tchee’), the life force that animates us all. To wash a woman’s head that just gave birth could incur a possible disruption of the Qi, causing all manner of infirmity or imbalance.

Sam has the option to breastfeed or not. Quite frankly, I’m not sure which she chooses. Julia’s only choice will be between the left and right breasts for the first 3 months of her baby’s life. There is no formula geared toward newborns however, there are formulas available for babies 3 months old and up – traditionally the time mothers return to work.

At 3 months old Sam and Darrell may introduce cereal into Baby Ben’s diet, if he is a particularly sturdy, hungry baby. Shortly after that, they can give him some pureed fruit. By the time Chris and Julia’s baby is three months old he or she will have already tasted soft boiled eggs, mashed fruits, potatoes, rice porridge and will be starting on vegetables. There is no such thing as prepared baby food here. Babies eat what people with fully developed digestive systems eat, just in softer form and no spices added.

At one month old, the fine down on Baby Ben’s head will just be falling out, making way for that ultra smooth silk babies’ heads naturally sprout. At that same anniversary, Chris and Julia will welcome all of the relations on both sides of the family to ritually shave their baby’s head. That ritual, done for luck and blessings will be the first access the extended family has to that baby. Over here, there is no such thing as a stampede of friends and family coming to call for the first month of baby’s life.

Sam and Darrell have long known they are welcoming a son. They have decorated their nursery accordingly and have chosen a name that is unique within both families, yet honors both sides. Chris and Julia are forbidden by law from knowing the sex of their child in order to prevent a gender-preference decision to abort. Traditionally the oldest relative from either side of the family will name the child. More recently parents have lifted that particular corner of the tradition veil, choosing to name the child themselves. More often than not, Chinese babies are nameless for the first few days of their lives, sometimes up to that first month when relatives come to call.

Sam and Darrell have enjoyed a baby shower or two. Thank you to everyone who has plied my son’s family with gifts, especially if that gift is diapers – one of the most costly aspects of having a new baby around. Chris and Julia will not have to worry about that cost. Pretty much from birth on the baby starts his/her potty training, as described in More Chinese Idiosyncrasies entry, posted December 2010.

Another cost Chris and Julia will not suffer is daycare. Once maternity leave is over, either Julia’s or Chris’ mother will move in and take over childcare. The new parents’ only cost will be supporting their parent. In some cases the baby is taken to the grandparents’ home, sometimes as far as two hours away, meaning the new parents only get to see their baby on occasion: if they travel or the custodial grandparent travels. Darrell and Sam will have childcare costs to worry about when Ben turns about 6 months old. Sam’s paid maternity leave ends after twelve weeks. Darrell is entitled to paid paternity leave. He plans on taking his leave after Sam has exhausted her entitlement, thus extending Ben’s time in his home environment.

Chris and Julia are also entitled to parental leave, but theirs is not a paid leave. The longer they stay gone, the less their annual salary. With childcare so handy and them living so close to the school, Julia may well return to work after that initial month and just take advantage of ‘milk leave’. That strange but aptly named leave is the extra hour a day of paid time a new mother in China is entitled to stay at home from work to feed her baby. For obvious reasons, Chris is not entitled to ‘milk leave’.

And so the Great Baby Race is on! Who will deliver first? Whose baby will have more advantages? Whose baby will… pardon the pun… come out ahead???

Please forgive me for that last. I blame it on New Grandmother Fever.

The Campus Crazy Woman

Although my personal brand of wackiness certainly qualifies me for this title, this entry is not eponymous. There is a genuinely crazy woman who roams our campus. She has been here since last year that I know of but only lately has she been more obvious.

She stalks around the grounds, muttering to herself. All of the students know to turn away from her when they see her come. She is mostly harmless but occasionally brushes against society by verbally attacking people and, most recently satisfying hunger. To look in her eyes is to behold the storm that rages inside her.

I made her acquaintance last year… or, should I say: I became aware of her firsthand last year when I held class outdoors on a particularly beautiful day. As is her habit she was stalking around campus talking to herself out loud when she became aware of us playing a word game in the park. We were not quiet but then, why should we be? We were out of doors, enjoying the sunshine and shouting words and phrases in English.

She charged into the fray, plowing through my groups of students – all girls, shouting that she was going to tell all of their husbands that they were whores and cheaters, and chasing after the students who ran away from her. After scattering my charges she left, muttering anew only to return a few minutes later, this time alleging she was going to kill all of their boyfriends and steal their men.

She shouted, gesticulated, ranted and stomped around until again my girls dispersed, frightened. I was beginning to think that maybe I should move my class indoors for safety’s sake when again, she left. She returned one more time but this time the campus police arrived to chase her away. She stayed gone after that.

Other than verbally assaulting people and scaring them by her mere presence, she seems rather harmless. There is no doubt in my mind that she could possibly become violent and actually hurt someone. As yet, to my knowledge, she has not gone that far.

Now that I live on the other side of campus I do not see her so often. However, as I teach in the front part of campus I do see her on the days I’m on duty. She has picked up a new trick, it seems. She appropriates… whatever she wants. Let’s say someone has just bought their lunch or a drink from Snack Street. She will snatch it out of his or her hand, whether the unfortunate student resists or not.

It is not a good idea to resist. Once, on Snack Street I saw her try to take a bottle of tea from some poor, hapless girl. The girl shouted that it was her tea and told Crazy Woman to let go. Crazy Woman raised her voice accordingly and let loose a string of invective I did not understand but that clearly frightened the young girl. She ended up letting go of the tea and Crazy Woman walked back on campus, sipping away. The student reported her loss to the campus policeman guarding the gate, seeing as Crazy Woman had to walk through the gate to get back on the grounds. He told her there was nothing he could do.

The next time we saw her on Snack Street she was munching a shish-kebab she had relieved some poor, hungry student of. Apparently that wasn’t enough, so she snatched a bowl of fried rice wrapped for takeout form an irate vendor. Back onto campus she went with her treasures.

She invades the school cafeterias. There are no checkpoints, monitors or guards at the cafeteria doors. She is free to walk in and around as she sees fit. Usually the students flee ahead of her, taking their food with them lest she decide she wants what they’ve got and simply help herself. As though scripted, a cafeteria worker will shoo her out.

Why does Ms. Crazy listen to cafeteria workers but bullies and intimidates the students?

Here is another interesting question: who takes care of her?

It was hard to tell during winter but now that warmer temperatures have arrived I can see that she is decently and appropriately dressed, and relatively clean and well groomed. Her hair is washed regularly and while not attractively cut is styled in a functional, presentable coif that does not appear self-inflicted. During the winter months her hair tended toward the greasy but was still reasonably combed. She did wear quilted outerwear, suitable shoes and had gloves on her hands.

Is she sane enough to groom and dress herself according to season or is there someone who readies her, maybe just inspects her before allowing her loose on society? Does she live alone? With her parents? For that matter, after stalking around campus terrorizing the kids, how does she find her way home? Or does she just bunk down wherever she can? Does she try to enter other homes or direct herself unerringly toward her own abode?

She is quite a nuisance. The students are uncomfortable or downright fearful when she is around. She assaults the kids, at least verbally, and takes their things. No one does anything about her and no one protects the kids when she takes their food.

To my knowledge there are not many facilities for the mentally disturbed in China. Mental illness is actually a recent phenomenon. Mental health has become a social concern of epic proportions of late, since a man killed eleven kids at a primary school a couple of years ago (see Don’t Stop entry, posted March 2011).

Were there no mentally ill people in China before that series of terrible attacks on schoolchildren? There probably were, but those people were most likely the ward of their family, who did… who knows what with them? And then, there are students cracking up (not with laughter) all over campus, as I alluded to in the What’s Happening to my School entry posted November 2011. In the Over the Wall community there is a man who stands on the street corner laughing, grinning and orating at passersby unless he is squatting down, shoving food into his mouth.

Obviously, in this society where no one has much in the way of personal space or privacy if one has mental problems they cannot help but be noticed. Are such problems as fatalistically accepted as any other problem that these citizens face?

Probably, but I don’t know for sure. I can tell you about one case in particular: a physics professor at another university. He suffered a psychotic break and started ranting and exhibiting decidedly strange behavior. Nothing harmful to self or others, just a complete takeoff from his normally sedate manner befitting a professor of his stature.

He was hospitalized and medicated. I don’t know for sure if he received any psychiatric counseling or treatment but he was conditionally released from the hospital after ten days of medication. He had a relapse into madness after one month in the big, bad world. Final exams and stress of the upcoming holidays were blamed for this episode, but clearly it was seen and treated as a temporary state.

This time he endured three weeks in the hospital and again he was released. He was more stable, or at least less stressed upon his release. The holidays and final exams were over. The doctor said he could still relapse but if he made it for three months without falling back into madness, most likely he would be OK. He will have to take medication for the rest of his life, avoid stressful situations and, I believe he is supposed to report to a clinician every so often. Other than that, his is back in mainstream society, to sink or swim as he can.

And what of our local crazy woman? Is she going to actually hurt someone before anyone does anything about her? How far away is she from crossing that barrier? Will she ever take that plunge, or will she content herself with stealing the students’ food and stalking around while her internal storms rage? Will anyone ever take pity on her and relieve her of those terrible tempests? Is there in fact anything that can be done to restore her sanity?

The other day, one of my students showed me a picture she had taken of Crazy Woman, laying on a low, narrow wall that serves as a garden border. Her legs were splayed and her right arm was flung up, shading her eyes. Her left arm trailed in the dirt. Ena, my student laughed about her.

After seeing that picture I took occasion to talk to my kids about Crazy Woman during class. My main point was that the kids should not provoke her or antagonize her in any way, lest she cross the border from simple psychosis into homicidal violence. I finished with the idea that this woman cannot help her raging madness. She should not be an object of derision but rather a being that deserves our compassion and sympathy. Ena, a bit ashamed, erased the photo from her phone.

What a beautiful child she is.

The Trip to Mankato

Who remembers that iconic American TV show: Little House on the Prairie? Every so often, that paragon of fatherhood, Pa, would consult his family for a list of supplies needed from town and, early morning get the buck wagon ready to make that long trip over the prairie to Mankato. Usually one or the other of the kids, and sometimes the whole family would ride along.

I know exactly where Mankato, Minnesota is. I’m not going to Mankato, though. I have Minnesota on the brain because last week my former mother-in-law, that native Minnesotan joined her husband, who passed away 4 months ago (see ‘A Mile in their Shoes’ and ‘Numbing Pepper’ entries). I’m still grieving and think of how that family is coping with the loss of both their parents within such a short time.

I liken my preparations for my trip stateside to the Ingalls’ preparations for going into town.

Yes, it is time for me to contemplate my temporary return to American society. Same as last year I am experiencing some panic: the anticipated culture shock after all the time spent here, wondering what I will eat when I’ve so enjoyed Chinese cuisine for the past ten months, and already mourning the loss of my quiet time and my private space. For more about my panic, please revisit ‘I’m Going to Be Arrested’ entry, posted May of last year.

I think this year it will be worse for me. Last year when I returned to America I was only one year out, and many things were still familiar. One thing that was new was how much I missed being in China and, upon regaining my footing here I found such joy at being where I belong.

The one thing I didn’t find joy in was having a rat crawl on my leg. (See ‘The Rat Party’, posted September of last year).

Now that I have a bright, clean comfortable home to live in instead of a dank concrete bunker on the ground floor of the girls’ dorm, I find I really like living here. Having hit my stride in the classroom, having gained acceptance with the Over the Wall community and become a part of the teaching community, having made even more friends… sometimes I loathe the thought of leaving what I have here. And now, I’m planning on leaving for over a month instead of just a few hours or days. What am I going to do?

I’m going to cover all of my furniture with dropcloths, for one. I’m going to leave windows cracked open, drapes partially open and bags of silica gel in my clothes and footlocker, so that no moisture gets trapped and makes them smell moldy. I’ll have to find a plant sitter and possibly give away whatever perishable foods I have in the freezer, in case the property manager turns the electricity off. Me being the sole inhabitant in my building, that is a possibility. Like Ma Ingalls, I will have to make the house ready for my absence.

And, like Pa Ingalls I will have to plan my trip Stateside with utmost care. As with that television family, money is a concern to me. Also, like them, I will have to make sure to buy everything I need for another year in China.

They only had to worry about what they would need for 3 months on the prairie.

Like the Ingalls, my needs are small. I only have to get things I know I cannot get in China, like shoes and clothes.

By no means am I saying that the Chinese do not have shoes or clothes. They have those in abundance, just not in my size. So, upon my return Stateside I have to plan on buying good, quality shoes that will last me the entire year I’m here. Another pair of jeans would be nice. This pair that I’ve had for 2 years is getting kind of worn. I probably need a new shirt or two, especially casual shirts to wear during leisure time. This hard water tends to take the life out of garments rather quickly.

I’ll need to stock up on Benadryl. I still have plenty but that is one thing that I cannot afford to run out of. The Chinese do have allergy medications but who knows if it will work? I’d just as soon have a supply of what I know will get the job done.

I’d like some rubber gloves that actually fit. I can buy them here but they are just a shade too small and I end up having to fight them to extricate my hands. Rubber gloves sounds like a luxury but believe me, my friends: with the quality of water here, wearing rubber gloves while cleaning is essential. Maybe I’d better plan on buying 5 pair.

Let’s see… what else? I’d like to go by a Columbia Outerwear store, or some other sports store. I get tired of being cold all the time in the winter. It would be nice to find some microfiber undergarments that are guaranteed to retain body heat. A new parka would be good, too. If it doesn’t cost too much. I’ve found the parka that I have does not block the wind very well, nor does it keep me especially warm. Of course, buying these is conditional. I’ll be in shopping mode in the height of summer, when such seasonal garments might not be available and if they are, they probably won’t be discounted.

And then there are gifts. The gifts I will bring to my loved ones, and the gifts I will take back to China. Offhand I’d say the challenge of gifting my friends who are Chinese something genuinely made in America that won’t take up my suitcase weight allowance, not cost much and mean something for the individual it is intended for will be greater than finding gifts in China for my loved ones in the States.

In this respect, Pa Ingalls and I differ: I do not have to inspect the wagon to make sure it is sound to make the trip, or make sure the horses are well shod. All I have to do is buy plane tickets and arrange my visiting schedule.

I’m not going to do the monstrous road trip that I did last year. It was grueling, taxing and costly. This year I will limit myself to 3 destinations: California, Texas and Florida. Most everyone I love is in or close to those places and several who are not have already said they would meet me wherever I am, rather than me going to see them. I really appreciate that.

Also unlike last year I am not going Greyhound. I wouldn’t have missed the experience for anything, and I still maintain that Greyhound has an undeserved reputation for being a ‘bottom of the barrel’ way to travel. No, the reason I’m not going Greyhound this year is because time is at a premium.

I’m only going to be Stateside for 5 weeks. America is very expensive, even when my loved ones treat me to everything from accommodations to food. Being on the road did lead to some unplanned expenses, and it took the fight out of me when it came time to resisting impulse purchases. I cannot afford to overspend. And, I cannot expect everyone to treat me to everything.

The rest of my summer, about 6 weeks, I will spend in China. Are you thinking ‘Geez! Don’t you get enough of that place while you’re there the rest of the year?’

Well, no, I don’t get sick of being here. And, I have another reason for spending part of my summer here. But I’m not going to divulge it now.

Like Ma Ingalls tucking her hair under her bonnet I’m going to keep that nugget of information under my hat. You’ll just have to wait for it.

Cue music, roll credits. This episode of The Vagabond Blog is over. Watch the little pigtailed girls wearing 1880’s garb airplane themselves down the hill. See Baby Carrie tumble in the high grass as she tries to imitate her sisters. Wipe your eyes and savor the heartwarming feeling that classic family drama gave you.

I’m going to Mankato.

A Mile in Their Shoes

Today I received sad news: Jeanine, loving and beloved wife of Russ, has passed away after battling cancer and crippling arthritis for years. I wrote about Russ in Numbing Pepper last year December. All of us who knew of the deep bond these two shared kind of figured that Jeanine would not linger far behind her husband. Still, I grieve not just for the loss of another fine human being from this earth, but also for their children and grandchildren. Losing both parents within four months is a difficult blow.

The thing about losing a, or both parents is that, amidst the sense of loss and abandonment even grown children feel, the thought comes: “I’m next in line for mortality”. I know. I’ve lost both of my parents. My siblings and I are next in line for mortality, and our children will have to shoulder the burden of our passing, while facing the fact that they too will be next.

I think about Russ and Jeanine, and I think about their progeny. Do they know they were loved and wanted? Are they going to bond and nurture each other, or do as my siblings did: fight over any estate matters to the point of permanent division?

I know I told you about two of my siblings, the two I did not grow up with. First in Excess, Excess Everywhere and again in A Tale of Three Blankies, posted in August and October of last year. I also remember lightly touching on my other siblings in A Tale of Three Blankies. Now it is time to talk more about them.

Besides the brother and sister I did not grow up with who have welcomed me into their lives and homes with open arms, I have 2 older brothers and 1 older sister with whom I share nothing.

The last I saw of my eldest brother was when I was eleven. He left to serve in the military. My other brother, sister and I last communed when I was fourteen, at which point my mother took me back to Germany and left them behind with her soon to be ex-husband. We all found each other decades later, without the help of the Internet or other search tools. We have yet to stand in one room together. It has been thirty nine years since that last happened.

Our divisions are too deep. They date back to our mother’s death and subsequent settling of her estate. We squabbled over the interpretation of her last will and testament, an ugly scene under any circumstances. It is as much my fault as theirs. Since then we’ve found our lives, our beliefs, what we need and want from one another simply do not marry up. Rather than live with constant friction, name calling, back-biting and animosity I have chosen to abdicate. I eschew all contact with them no matter how innocuous it seems to be because I know from past experience that any communication with them escalates to verbal brawling. I will not tolerate it.

The brother closest to me in age is a maintenance technician in a federal facility in Texas. He is twice married and has grown children with whom I enjoy a good relationship. Next up is a sister who is an ESL teacher in Colorado. I do not have a relationship with her children. For some reason she saw fit to never allow me into their life, or them into mine. And then there is the oldest brother, the one who disappeared when I was just eleven years old. He was also twice married, with children from both unions. I have a relationship (of sorts) with the children of his second marriage but the son from his first marriage is cagey about accepting advances from anyone on his father’s side of the family. I can’t say as I blame him. This brother is a long-haul trucker, based out of Tennessee.

Our clan is not as large and Jeanine and Russ’s but it is far more convoluted and drama-laced.

When I first met my in-laws they were a well-knit group of people, all living under one roof save for the two oldest sibs, who were married and out of the house. This family was my first taste of ‘normal’, where families were concerned. Parents didn’t abandon their children. Everyone fought, played, argued, stole each other’s stuff, threatened to kill each other… until Jeanine’s shrill cry of “Russ!” brought him off the couch, to impose himself between the combatants. In the end everyone ended up at least tolerating one another, if not being friends. That’s what I always thought family should be.

Being as the only experience I have in family matters where a death is concerned is my own family and seeing as our relationships are non-existent, I wonder how my former in-laws will manage everything. Will they squabble over paltry things? Will they cooperate and support one another? Two of the more stable, and therefore more dominant members seem to have control over the family. Word I got from my son, when he visited with them a few months ago was that there were grumbles of malcontent between those two, and everyone else fell somewhere between their range of ideas.

I guess only time will tell. Russ is only 4 months in his grave and Jeanine has yet to be laid next to him. I, living in China and not even a member of that family anymore, will wait for my third-hand reports, trickled from my former husband into my children’s ears, and from them to me. I will ask for that information, if need be. In spite of my long ago divorce I still care about this family.

And I care about my family. Although I maintain no contact with any of my older siblings, I offer up prayers and well-wishes on their respective birthdays, dates that are engraved in my brain. I think about my mother almost daily, even though she is years gone. Come February 17^th, her birthday and the day before her death I turn downright morose.

Here is an interesting little tidbit about my mother. After her youngest child moved away and eventually left the country, she chose to stay in Germany, a land where she barely spoke the language and had no support network. Being as she refused all contact with any of her children after her duty to them was done I can’t speak of her quality of life or what she did for her remaining years. I imagine it is somewhat like my life in China: she spoke enough German to get by, she kept herself distant from any potential relationships. It was her landlady who informed us she had only weeks to live. Apparently Mother didn’t have much in the way of close friends.

I do see a similarity between my mother and I, in one respect. I have chosen to hie myself off to China, a distant land where I barely speak the language and, at least when I first got here had no support network. The major difference between my mother and me is that I enjoy a rich and loving relationship with my children. And, I have solid friendships, both here and in the States.

What if I couldn’t live here anymore? What if I had to return stateside? What would I do? Rather than infringe on my kids’ life and the families they’ve made for themselves I thought I would take up a new career in trucking. The idea first came to me last year in August, while I was traveling across the States. That would be the one job that would guarantee me the freedom and isolation I seem to crave, all while earning enough money to take care of myself without burdening my children.

And then the irony hit me: The job I held prior to moving to China was maintenance in a federal facility. Matter of fact, it was the same branch of service my brother works in, just a different building. Now I am an ESL teacher, just like my sister. If I have to leave China, I intend to become a long-haul trucker, just like my oldest brother. And I have isolated myself overseas, just like my mother.

They say that you cannot understand a person until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes. I contend that you can’t love someone until you understand them. So, for my siblings who choose to disparage me, you should know that I love you so much I’ve walked a mile in each of your shoes. For my mother, who turned away all those years ago, you should know that I am now walking a mile in your shoes. I feel the loneliness you must have felt in Germany, so far from everyone who loved you.

For the family that I was a member of for such a brief time, back in my youth: I’m walking in your shoes too. With both of my parents gone, I’m wrestling with being the next in line for mortality and looking back at the time my family was rent by my parents’ death. I hope that, with first Russ and now Jeanine gone, your family continues to fare well in their memory.

Hit and Miss

My friends, I am super excited! I can’t wait to tell you all about this!! I can barely restrain myself!!!

So why don’t I just skip the hyperbole and tell you already?

Here goes.

Last year I was not a great teacher and I knew it. Even worse: my kids knew it. I have reported on several occasions throughout this blog that I am not the be-all and end-all of teaching. I was not being deprecative, only realistic. I give my students full credit for putting up with my mumblings and fumblings in the classroom. Furthermore, thanks to their good words in reporting me as a good teacher, I have been offered an unprecedented third year contract to teach at this school. Not even my venerated predecessor Byron had such tenure. Honestly, my students were eternally kind while I tried to hit my stride.

THAT’S the name of that entry I wrote back in November 2010, when everything was new and scary and I didn’t have the first clue of how to be a teacher. We should go back and review what I said then.

I alluded to the fact that I had no classroom resources, and I still don’t. Instead of that scaring me nowadays, it causes me to be more creative. The kids are thriving on role play and the other little learning activities I create. Every one of my classes are engaged and every student is participating, even the shy ones. I’m enjoying coming up with activities. It is totally a win-win situation. Here is some of the feedback I’m getting:

“This class is so much fun!”

“Wow! We really get a lot of chances to speak English in your class!”

Most endearing, and most heartening is when I greet my class: “Good Morning, My Students!”, they now chant back in unison “Good Morning, Teacher!” I’ve never had that, and most teachers on this campus don’t get that.

Moving on now…

In ‘Hit my Stride’ I asked that $64,000 question: do I belong in China? At that time, I really wasn’t sure. Now, in my second year and after a trip stateside last summer I am more convinced than ever that here is where I belong.

Shopping is now a breeze. I know the bus routes by heart and can find several different ways to Metro and the various Walmarts around town. Not only do I shop there but I also shop with confidence at the local retailers and farmer’s markets. The over-the-wall community and I have bonded in such a way that many residents defend me. Here is an exchange I heard while walking past an outdoor pool table a few days ago:

“Look! A foreigner!” (I smiled without breaking stride).

“You know she can understand you” says the second player.

I turned and flashed a broad grin, enjoying the first man’s embarrassment. But only a little. It is not nice to enjoy others’ discomfiture. What I really enjoyed was being defended. And I enjoy being greeted warmly every 5 meters by the residents of that community. I have gone from being called ‘waiguoren’ to being hailed as ‘Lao Shi’ – Teacher, a title of respect. No one is afraid to engage me in conversation and I respond heartily, in spite of my still limited language skills. The children still call me ‘waiguo ayi’, or ‘foreigner auntie’. They are all so cute I just want to bite every one of them. Not really, but you get the idea.

Sam and I enjoyed dinner at the restaurant over the wall. Talk about delicious food! Talk about an audience! All of the grannies and most of the little kids lined the windows to watch their foreigner eat with chopsticks. Being the focus of such attention is still a little weird, I have to admit. But I’m their foreigner. I can deal with it.

Last year’s entry should have been titled Hit or Miss. That’s how things stood back then. This entry should bear the title Hit My Stride.

I have totally got it going on!

Now I should get going…

Hello… Prank?

Isn’t it funny how seemingly innocuous games you play with loved ones become favorite memories? My sister and I had this running gag: “Hello, this is a prank call.” “Hello, Prank! How are you?”

I love pranks. Jokes, tricks, hoaxes, teases, funny stories of all kinds. As long as they are not harmful in any way. Come about this time of year I start thinking of how I can prank, punk or otherwise poke fun at my colleagues, friends and family. I’ve come up with some good ones!

Like the time I was managing an industrial maintenance team and I mixed up all their assignments. The electronic technicians got mechanics’ assignments, the custodians were assigned to diagnose electronic problems, the air conditioning guys got appointed to monitor processing machines… and I laughed my fool head off, even though the joke was kind of on me because I had to go back into the scheduling matrix and schedule their assignments properly. The extra work was well worth the fun of seeing the confusion on their faces.

I’ve had a few jokes pulled on me, too. My son, then just ten years old, decided to be a sweetheart and fix my lunch. I didn’t think anything of it on this fine morning, the best Spring had to offer, when he met me at the door with my little Igloo cooler packed for work. I thanked him and rushed out, never once seeing the crack in his façade.

It was only at lunch that I realized I’d been punk’d. All the elements of lunch were there – sandwich, drink, chips, fruit and a pie for dessert, but the little darling had made me a wish sandwich. He didn’t put anything but mustard between the two slices of bread。

Yep, you guessed it: I wished I had something between those two slices of bread. Actually, I wished he were in front of me so I could thrash him within an inch of his life! The job I was doing was hungry work, and physically demanding. By the time lunchtime rolled around, I’d been slinging forty-eight pound lead bars by hand for 5 hours. I was pretty darn hungry. And here, this little cherub of mine saw fit to mess with my food. Oh, just wait till I get home…

When I did get home his little blond head was sticking out the door, a monstrous grin splitting his face. Until he saw the look on my face, whereupon he decided it would be an excellent idea to disappear for the rest of the evening.

It was probably wise of him to do so.

Even though it was years ago, he and I still laugh about that one. Of course I can laugh about it now, but back then, it wasn’t funny. Where in the world did he get the compulsion to trick people like that? Oh, yeah! That must have been from me: his ever loving, practical-joking mother! And yes, he is still a jokester.

The best joke I’ve ever played was international. When I moved to China, in September 2010, I developed a large following of caring individuals at the school I teach. While cultivating those relationships I also had the pleasure of maintaining all my relationships in the States. To pay tribute to my Stateside friends and family, I have to confess that they kept me sane and grounded while I went through the shock and grief of abandoning one lifestyle and embracing a different culture.

Come April 1^st it was time to pay everyone back for their kindness. First order of the day: send a text message to all my friends in China, telling them that I have some grave emergency Stateside that I must rush back to. Next I took to the keyboard and typed up a message detailing that I was going to forfeit my position as ESL teacher and just come back to the States because of homesickness and culture shock. I included a postscript that wished them happy April Fools’ Day, so they could see it was just a joke. I sent it to everyone in my address book, even my former employer. And then I sat back and waited.

Not for long! My phone started chiming with sympathetic, supportive text messages. My colleagues at the school were especially worried because, to date, they only knew me as a rather serious individual, not prone to lighthearted fun. It is not wise to ‘punk’ your colleagues until you have a good relationship with them and back then, we hadn’t developed that yet. My students, who really enjoyed my class, were concerned their foreign teacher was going to take a powder.

The next morning my inbox was full of messages from my Stateside contacts. Those who had seen the postscript said something to the effect of: “I knew I’d be hearing from you today!” Those more familiar with reality of culture shock, and those who had not read the postscript fell for the joke hook, line and sinker.

I sat in my apartment, on another continent laughing to tears at having tricked everyone so thoroughly. Stateside, my friends and family offered a place to stay till I could get back on my feet. My colleagues were prepared to welcome me. My former boss wrote too: Did I want my old job back?

I had to compose a reply that incorporated an apology for the joke, all while letting everyone know how much I savored the fact that, even from halfway across the world I still had the power to ‘punk’ them. The backlash was not pretty, but it was worth it.

Meanwhile, in China: one of my students tricked me with ‘toothpaste oreos’. Knowing how much I love Oreo cookies, she replaced the filling between the cookies with toothpaste. I was just getting ready to bite into one when she shrieked and snatched the cookie away. We had a good laugh once she told me what I was about to eat, but after that I decided to hide out the rest of the day.

Now, with the Day of Fools just around the corner I wonder what I can do that will top that harmless bit of fun. And how I can prepare for the fallout. Any suggestions?

Blogger Confessions

My friends, if you have been following this blog for any length of time you know that I tend to be prolific as well as verbose. Ponderous at times, even. Here lately the words escape me.

It is not for lack of subject matter, as I’ve assured you in recent posts. I have been consumed with the desire to put to rest that daunting topic I’ve been picking at for 3 weeks. And I have other things to write about. But there are other, more compelling reasons why I’ve lately not put much effort into writing.

The cold. At first, this winter did not seem too bad. I have heat pumps to heat the apartment with, I have my little space heater, I have a footwarmer and a hand warmer. But as the chilly temps dragged on and on I found myself less and less willing to spend the first ten minutes of the day dressing in layers, and then to lug the space heater from room to room, and finally to sit still for the hours it would take to write. It wasn’t a depressive episode per se because my mood was pretty cheerful. I just couldn’t bring myself to sit still and get thoroughly chilled, only to recover warmth when I got back into my heated bed at night.

I avoided spending any time in my living room during the cold months because it was simply too expensive to heat. The climate control unit did a great job of heating the air 4 feet off the floor up to the ceiling but being as the return air pulled from the bottom of the unit, if I sat down I was subject to the rush of cold air the unit caused. To make matters worse, it is very expensive to run. I depleted my prepaid meter in just 3 weeks. One thousand Yuan for 3 weeks of heat, inadequate heat at that is just not cost effective.

Tied for first place is that implement of torture I parked my backside on. I may have told you a while back that, instead of a padded, swivel chair with casters that you or I would conventionally accept as being an office chair, the Chinese use regular kitchen chairs as office chairs. Over the months I’ve come to think of it as my personal torture device, only slightly less comfortable than an electric chair. At least electric chairs have armrests and what could be perceived as unique, maybe even lovely cuffs to restrain your limbs. This chair lacks any refinement whatsoever. After a few hours, everything from my hips down begged for mercy.

It has gotten to the point that I can no longer stand to sit. Just the idea of parking myself on a chair, a couch, or a bus seat sends chills of apprehension down my spine and waves of pain down my legs. The long muscles in my thighs are rebelling: they suffer a dull sort of ache that will not go away even though I do exercises specifically targeting them.

Unless you have one of those super nifty ergonomic chairs that require a loose kneeling position rather than a sitting position, you pretty much have to sit to type. For now, sitting is out of the question for me, unless I absolutely have to.

Priorities became essentials. Responding to emails and videochatting with family became the maximum allowable time in the torture chair. Once Gabe went to sleep and I had answered all the emails, I leaped up out of that infernal seat and did not park myself in it for the rest of the day.

There goes any chance I might have had at writing anything.

Thanks to Gary, I now have an office chair complete with casters and a mesh netting backrest. It is quite comfortable but I believe my hips and legs need some recovery time. I still cannot bear sitting down in the conventional ‘feet on the floor, back straight’ position.

Coincidentally, spring has finally made its appearance. My apartment has warmed up from its niggardly high 40’s temps to an expansive 68. I can sit cross-legged on the couch with my faithful laptop and type to my heart’s content now, without needing to run any heaters.

So now I’m back to writing. Wanna hear what’s going on?