The Proverbial Nail

This is not about that nail that, but for want of the shoe was lost. This is about that nail that got pounded square on its head, driving down to grip all the boards and thus putting my thoughts completely in order.

Talk about mixing metaphors!

Starting with my experience at Guangzhou airport, transferring from international to a domestic flight – historically no problem but an exercise in aggravation this time around, I’ve not felt happy to be here at all. In fact, coupled with the thought of all those conveniences and comforts available Stateside and the sharp pang of loss at leaving everyone I love across the ocean, I’ve actually wondered what I’m doing here. 

That’s not good.

Since touchdown in Wuhan and after my initial joy at reuniting with my friend Sam, I’ve basically eschewed all human contact. I spent a great deal of time sleeping those first two days, and then running away the rest of the week. I’ve heaped onto myself tasks that I would normally stretch out over days. Things like shopping for food or other post-travel essentials: laundry, unpacking and allotting gifts. Not even the anticipation of gifting my friends and colleagues those few trinkets I had fun shopping for brought me pleasure. I’m not looking forward to the start of the school year.

REALLY not good!

What is wrong with me? Is my China honeymoon over? Am I ready to move on, discover new horizons, start anew? No, that doesn’t feel right. I still feel at home in my apartment and on this campus. What, then?

After fervent cogitation I came upon my problem. Well, not MY problem; THE problem. I can sum it up in 3 words that just happen to be names: Lancy, Lea and Long Ge.

Lancy calls me every single day, sometimes two or three times a day. Her constant refrain is: “I worry about you!” If I choose to not answer the phone, she will send panicked text messages. If I don’t respond to those she’s sending someone by my house to check up on me.

What is she so worried about? 

While living on campus Lancy lived her life and I lived mine and I treasured the times we could meet. The one time I did need her help she came at a gallop and, believe me: I am super grateful to her for it. Since she’s moved to Guangdong it seems I have turned into a nail biting burden to her, especially after my head wound. Not only does she send people to my home to check up on me if I don’t answer her but she spies on me by checking Gary’s Weibo – China’s Twitter equivalent. As long as Gary occasionally posts something about me, she knows I’m doing fine. She’s been known to call Gary too, asking him why I don’t answer her. She was dissatisfied with his explanation that she has crossed the line between actual caring, right into becoming a burden.  

My own children, while I’m sure they’re missing me just as deeply, do not harass me so. They seem to accept that I have chosen this life and that, if something dramatic happens I’ll be sure to contact them. If it is really dramatic, they know they’ll hear from Sam or Gary. Lancy does not seem to accept that I have things to do, a life to live and have no need to be compulsively watched over. Nor does she seem to have an inkling of how irritating it is to be constantly told “I worry about you! Please take care of yourself!” Does she think I am incapable of doing so without her every day admonition?

Interesting to note is that Lancy will contact me IF it is convenient for her, and by the method SHE chooses. She will not respond to emails I send her, nor will she answer the phone when I call her. Perversely, I call her when I KNOW she is at work or otherwise engaged. Am I not to be worried over on my timetable, only on hers? And what if my call were engendered by genuine need? Would I then go ignored?  

Moving on now…

Last semester I felt like I was living in a pressure cooker. I had taken on the task of teaching little children in a full immersion curriculum. Not finding any suitable materials here, I designed and created the entire curriculum from scratch. On top of my university lessons which also debut in my head and become reality in the classroom, my life consisted of nothing but teaching. If I wasn’t in the actual act of teaching, I was thinking up, designing or producing things for my students. School became my life.

During this past month I reflected on last semester. I enjoy teaching. I enjoy being creative. I do not enjoy being under the gun to come up with something novel, interesting, engaging and age/learning level appropriate to meet the demands of the parents whose little ones I teach during my time when I’m not obligated to the university.

This is the Lea/Long Ge portion of the story. They do not seem aware that teaching is great fun, but the act of creating and rehearsing curriculum takes up considerably more time. They are eager for me to get back in front of the class and resume the Saturday lessons, if possible spending even more time, effort and energy in the act of doing so.

A lot of my running away this past week has been running away from Lea and Long Ge. They are the nicest people and wonderful friends. As business partners they are vampires. They look at my calendar and see that I have some free time and immediately want to fill it up with a teaching obligation.

Prior to my leaving for the States I committed to them my Saturdays, and that is all I’m prepared to commit to. Lea would like for me to come over and spend 3 hours during the week with just her daughters, tutoring them. She fails to realize those 3 hours turn into twice that, what with getting there, getting home and psyching myself to perform. Long Ge suggested I turn my Saturday and/or Sunday mornings into teaching opportunities. Neither one of them seems to understand that I do not want, and will not commit to more than I’ve already promised.

I am overwhelmed, just at the thought of their gentle but persistent pushing. Thinking about how it is going to feel, being under the gun to produce, to create and to teach, I just want to shout: “Stop spending my time!!” I do not want this semester to be like last semester, where I was consumed by teaching. I’m a nervous wreck as I make my way, finally, to their coffee shop.

Sam says I work too hard. Gary accuses me of thinking too much. Could they both be onto something?

Why am I working so hard to create a curriculum for the Lil’uns school when approved programs are all over the place here? Why do I spend so much time at the computer, designing worksheets when they are free all over the internet, but for hassle of finding and printing? Why do I scour page after page of ESL references, looking for songs, ideas and art for my kids to work on?

Yesterday I met with Lea and Long Ge. After the initial joy at good friends well met we got down to business. I went over my university schedule with them – a schedule that allows for plenty of free time. I told them what I was prepared to give them. At every incursion beyond what I’m willing to commit to I resisted, gently but firmly.

Assertiveness, not cowering is the answer. I am in charge of this situation; it does not command me. If Lancy can’t seem to get it through her head that I do in fact have things to do and am not living in limbo, lonely and lost and bereft of company, that is her problem. If Lea and Long Ge insist on filling my every minute with teaching duties I will have to sever that relationship. Regrettable as losing a friend is, I have to ask: what is a friend who bleeds you dry?

Thought crosses my mind: Lancy. Lea and Long Ge. Limbo, lost, lonely, losing. That is an awful lot of “L” words. Maybe my problem is not time distribution but the overabundance of “L” in my life! Oh, drat! Another “L” word!           

Musings Besides Pig Snouts

NOTE: this was the original conclusion to the previous post. But then I consulted my notes and saw that one more issue I’d like to tackle. Issue, fallacy… you call it.

I’d like to know about these things too, and I kind of like the way it is written. So here you have the semi-serious close to the previous entry, without a word on that most serious aspect of flying that I’ll get into… after you read what should have been my closing rant.

Was I delirious from all the flying or just wildly imaginative? Or just being my usual self? Have you seen such an oxygen mask? It is in fact shaped exactly like a pig snout, but that is not enough for me to make the comparison. Not only its shape but the two circles on the face of the mask that appear to depict nostrils lead me to believe those masks are specifically designed to look like pig snouts.

Have you seen such a mask up close and personal? Because they are sealed, there is in fact NO PURPOSE that I can determine for those circles on the front of the mask! If you know of one, please inform me/us. We’d love to know whether the airlines have our safety first in mind, or are they just trying to make us all look like yellow-snouted pigs.

I’d like to know about those curtains between first class and the rest of us travelers too. Seriously: do the powers that be who govern the airlines not think that those curtains are see-through? Are they supposed to prevent ‘commoner cooties’ from migrating into the airspace of those with socially elevated cooties?

Do they not know that we frequent and informed travelers are well aware of the perks of traveling first class? It is not like they don’t point those perks out when they offer to upgrade your seat for a nominal fee of $100 to $150. It is not going to hurt or offend us to witness those passengers getting a second alcoholic beverage for free, and we already know that the seats are roomier because we parade through first class on our way to the lowly coach section.   

What about being instructed to use the lavatory in our class of service? Will the plane somehow self-destruct if I, a lowly Zone 5’er pee in a rarified First Class toilet? What if someone in first class has a desperate need for a bathroom and the one unit in their class of service is occupied: do they have to hold it till they can use their own potty?

Why can’t we congregate in the aisle? We have to congregate in the aisle to get on the plane and back off the plane, why not mid-flight? What makes a midflight congregation raise TSA’s hackles so that that edict had to be introduced? What could happen mid-flight that couldn’t or wouldn’t happen at boarding or debarking?   

These are semi-serious musings that I wanted to close the last post with but, as usual ran out of room for. Now for the very serious issue of noise abatement.

Pilots are encouraged to use noise abatement procedures, which basically consist of cutting engine power by half upon takeoff, while steering ninety degrees from their scheduled flight path in order to keep the suburbanites living close to the airport from suffering traumatic damage to their hearing and nervous systems.

A bit of history. When air travel was in its infancy planes were nowhere near as digitized or computerized, and nowhere near as quiet and fuel efficient as they are today. Flying was considered a luxury, an amenity available only to the elite. Airports were built outside of urban areas and far away from what could possibly be considered viable encroachments of suburban life. However, with the proliferation of suburban housing developments and their ensuing popularity – again with those who had the financial means to live outside the city and commute to work, communities sprang up ever farther from city center, ultimately bordering lands projected as buffers between human life and the nuisance aspect of air travel.

The conundrum: those very people who could afford air travel also could afford suburban life. As they flocked by the thousands to ‘country castles’, developers made fortunes buying up unused land next to back lots of airports.

Next thing you know, people are living right next to airport runways. Babies could not sleep and everyone suffered from the constant barrage of noise and vibration as aircraft alternately landed and took off. Apparently no one thought to question or charge/indict the developers of those living communities; instead they successfully attacked airports and won the legal right to less noise… even though the airports were there first, and platoons of planners and civil engineers had studied this matter at length and made recommendations to not juxtapose housing to airplane runways.

Enter noise abatement procedures. Surely jet engines are powerful enough to bring a flying sarcophagus full of humanity aloft at half power. No need for them to take off at full power, roaring and disturbing babies and grownups alike. Furthermore, why observe a direct flight path over suburbia when they could just as well veer off by 90 degrees, count on the change of course to keep the bird aloft and then course correct later, when safely past where decent people are trying to live?

As I understand it, pilots the world over are still chagrined over this now global edict, which was first handed down in the late 1960’s. I can’t blame them. By no stretch do I claim an understanding of even simple physics, but even I can see that cutting engine power by half, when surely full acceleration must be needed is an exercise in folly. And, as one who traditionally sits over a wing or some other undesirable seat location within the plane, I can actually attest to hearing the diminishing roar as the pilot cuts back on power and banks his turn over the city.

No wonder every flight starts with the attendants intoning safety measures and then securely strapping him/herself in, as far as possible from a porthole. I’m guessing they don’t want to see the craft as it pummels, earthbound, either.

Most of this information I gleaned from the exceptionally well written Arthur Haley book titled Airport. While it is a somewhat dated tome, it accurately reflects the culture of its time, focusing on the nascent airline industry.                        

Mr. Haley wrote a string of one-word-titled novels between 1965 and 1979. His writing career spanned twice that length, but during this particular timeframe he excelled in weaving dramatic personal/fictional situations into America’s changing socio-economic climate. His trademark, besides one word titles, was deep research into his subject matter. He would spend on average a year researching his subject matter, another six months reviewing his notes and a year or two beyond that writing the book. Much of the research he undertook himself, rather than hiring a team of investigators. The public was spellbound. Nearly every one of his books made the bestseller list, and every one of his books depict a facet of (at the time) burgeoning commerce or industry. If you are looking for a good book or ten, I highly recommend anything he’s written.

Back in our airplane now. We’ve been briefed about our seats being flotation devices, how to buckle our seatbelts and where the emergency exits are. We are all strapped in, ready for take off. The plane taxis into position and pauses at the head of the runway. The engines roar, signaling our imminent ascent into the heavens. It is nighttime. My seatmate already had his eyes closed and his head back, priming to nap the flight away. I glance out the porthole he kindly (or inadvertently) made available to me by his intent to sleep. I like looking at the lights below, cities laid out like gridded jewels, amber in the night from arc-sodium lighting.  

Thank goodness we were instructed to keep the window shades up during takeoff and landing! Otherwise I might have missed the “Thank you for observing noise abatement procedures” sign.

Never thought I’d actually see such a sign.    

Why Do They Look Like Pig Snouts… and Other Airline Musings

In the past month I’ve boarded no fewer than eleven airplanes. Might have been more what with connections and transfers and layovers but, quite frankly I am too lazy to cross my office to actually look at my collective flight manifests. Besides, 11 is already an impressive number, considering I did all that traveling in less than 30 days.

I’ve been on planes so old they still have ashtrays in the armrests, and planes so new they have ‘turn off electronic devices’ in place of the traditional ‘no smoking’ next to the ‘fasten seat belt’ sign on the underside of the overhead compartments. It was on that antique plane that I met Tina and that we fishtailed so wildly upon landing (see 2 posts back – A Shout of Sunshine). The apparent age of the plane is in part what caused my disquiet.

For luxury, comfort and amenities I vote for the Airbus 330 that I flew from China. While great for long flights I doubt the everyday traveler will see some of those conveniences. Conversely I hear that one airline wants to try out a ‘leaning seat’, a mere post to park one’s derriere, with no back and no footrest: a commuter plane in order to accommodate more passengers. I swear: air travel is getting more like moving cattle every day!

In the course of all this traveling, and indeed during past travels, certain questions cropped up. By the time I get home or near a computer I always forget to write about them but this time, I’ve made it a point to make notes specifically pertaining to air travel, so… wait no more, dear Readers! On with some air travel observations! Please note that, no matter what country and no matter what airline or carrier, these observations hold true: what one airline does, they all do. What one airline has, they all have. Therefore I’m not naming specific airlines.

I’ll get to the pig snouts in due time. I’d like to do this in chronological order, from boarding the plane to getting off at destination. The first comment surely has to go toward how passengers are welcomed aboard.

“Using the red access lane, we welcome our first class passengers on board.”

A few privileged ‘first classers’, sedately conscious of their elevated status promptly step up to the red lane, present their boarding pass and proceed down the gangplank, the first of the cabin’s occupants.

“Using the blue access lane, we now welcome all Preferred flyers.” One or two passengers will self-importantly take the blue lane, present their boarding pass and make their way into the plane’s bowels.

After that come Platinum, Gold and Silver members, Dividend Miles members, Skyline members, members of the military, people traveling with small children, and finally the rest of us slobs, seated in zones 1 thru 5, all instructed to use the blue lane. Depending on the airline, there are a few more class distinctions or passenger designations, but these should suffice to illustrate my point. Those needing help with boarding, such as the wheelchair-bound, get to board last. Poor suckers! By the time they board, there is no more room in the overhead compartments and all of their carry-ons have to be stowed belowdecks.

I’m usually a Zone 4 or 5 flunky. That leaves me plenty of time to wonder: what is the difference between the red access lane and the blue? As far as I can tell, it is just two poles, 5 feet apart with a tensa-barrier between them. The carpet is not cleaner on the red side, the air is not more rarified, the same gate agent scans tickets… there is, in essence no difference between the red and blue lanes other than they are so marked.

Of course I get a good chuckle in because, with all the breakdown of passenger classes, only one or two people qualify for each of the designations so, approximately every 10 seconds the gate agent is making another announcement, welcoming another group to board.

Why is first class boarded first? That just means that, for all that their fannies are supposedly more dignified than us coach travelers, they get banged into and stepped on more than those Zone 1 people who sit at the back of the plane. More specifically: they get banged into and stepped on BY those Zone 1 people who sit at the back of the plane. How is it that first class passengers tolerate being stepped on by commoners? Wouldn’t it make more sense to load us commoners first, make us suffer the long wait in the back of the plane and load those with rarified fannies last? That way they could stay in the lounge longer.

And what of those flimsy curtains that separate first and business class from the rest of the horde? Don’t they think we can see through that curtain? But, I’m getting ahead of myself. First I’ve got to wonder…

“The captain has turned on the seatbelt sign”.

What? The CAPTAIN has turned on the seatbelt sign? The BIG, BAD CAPTAIN wants US to fasten our SEATBELTS??? Why, we Certainly MUST capitulate to what the big, bad CAPTAIN wants!

Why am I reminded, each time I hear that admonition, about Father Knows Best and all those other mid-50’s TV shows where Daddy had all the power and Mother had only to remind the misbehaving child to wait till Daddy came home for his/her (usually his) punishment?

Why can’t we passengers just be told “The Fasten Seatbelt Sign is Lit.” Surely we are all mature enough to comply with such a directive without invoking the fear of a big, bad Daddy, aren’t we?

And speaking of Daddy. Remember when you’d go on those family vacations or Sunday drives? Father firmly in the driver’s seat, mother monitoring all action in the back, reminding us to sit still because Father needs to see out YOUR back windows to back up?

Why is it that, upon taxiing, the plane’s window shades have to be up and the cabin lights are dimmed? It is not like the pilot (The Captain!) is stretching his arm along the top of a mythical bench seat, looking over his shoulder through YOUR side window to properly gauge distance to prevent backing into a ditch or a tree, is it?

Upon actively pondering that question I decided to ask. The first flight attendant I approached fairly sneered at me: “it is so we can see if there is a fire or something wrong with the wing or the plane during takeoff or landing.”

Ummm… Sorry, Sneer Boy: during takeoff or landing, you and all other flight attendants are securely strapped in to your webbed gear at the back or the middle of the plane nowhere near a porthole, and you are in no position to check for fires or wings falling off. While I didn’t exactly sneer back at him I did leave him non-plussed, as with all the other flight attendants I asked. It seems no one really had a viable answer to my question. 

I think I speak for all passengers that, if the plane is on fire or we lose a wing we would just as soon not watch as we plummet down to earth at however many miles per hour. Likewise we’d just as soon be told that we should watch out for such conditions IF that is the true purpose for leaving the window shades up and dimming the cabin lights. Till I get a clear answer on this I’m going to maintain the visual of the captain carefully looking over his shoulder to back up, just like the Daddies of yore who ever so carefully shifted their hydramatic transmissions into ‘reverse’ and looked over their shoulder before backing the car into the street to start their fun filled, family vacation or Sunday drive.

Now, for those pig snouts. Were you wondering where they fit in?

Poor flight attendants! How many times have they intoned the safely preamble to every single flight you and I have ever been on? How many times have they waved their arms at emergency exits, demonstrated how to buckle and unbuckle seatbelts, how to use a seat cushion as a floatation device (even when the projected flight trajectory would take us nowhere near water), and how to put on an oxygen mask in the event of cabin depressurization?

In all the times they’ve done that, has any one of them noticed or remarked on the fact that those oxygen masks, but for being yellow, look exactly like pig snouts?

I’m out of room and I’m out of time, but I’m certainly not out of musings. I think I’ll write a ‘part II, because there is a rather serious issue I’d like to bring up and get into in some depth. In part II I’ll delver further into the topic of pig snouts and broach all my other musings… you’ll just have to read on to find out what they are.

Confoundings and Conveniences

Coming back from the States I always get into a state of confusion. Actually, I enter that state while still in the States. At some point in all my travels I usually start wondering whose couch, floor or bed I’m in/on. Not that I’m in any way angry about it but, upon waking after a day here, a week there and an overnight yonder, you can see why I would end up confused.

Immediately after figuring out where I’m at I reckon on what day it is. After last year’s nearly missed flight – well, in my case nearly missed, in Gabriel’s case missed for a fact (see The Importance of Plans, D, E and F, posted last year August) I’m not taking a chance on messing that up again.

I do get confounded. Not just about where I am or when I am but which cultural more to uphold. Is it proper to be ‘Chinese’ in America? Can I be ‘American’ in China? How about if I’m just myself anywhere I go?

Somewhere along the way, while in America, I get used to doing things the American way again. In my humble abode I shower a certain way: turn the water on, get all wet, turn the water off. Wash hair. Turn water on, rinse hair, soap bath pouf up, work up a good lather and turn water off. Wash up, turn water on, rinse, turn water off. Condition hair, turn water on, final rinse and I’m done. It saves a lot of water and it is vital for me to wash that way because in the winter I tend to run out of hot water very quickly.

Somewhere in the beginning third of my sojourn stateside I realize I am actually expected to let the water sluice on, even when I have no active use for it. Also, I start remembering how good it feels to have a seemingly endless supply of hot water. By the end of my time Stateside, I find myself lounging in my daughter’s Jacuzzi tub with all the jets blowing and water up to my chin. My China self would sniff disdainfully at such waste. My American self is already mournfully projecting the truncated showers I will be subjected to for the next eleven months.

Life in America is so convenient! Hot water flows at will with but a flick of the wrist from any tap in the house (labled ‘hot’. Obviously, if one turns on the ‘cold’ tap, only cold water will come out, unless there is a serious problem with the plumbing.) Here, unless I’m planning on using a lot of hot water (like showering or doing laundry) my water heater is switched off. When I do my dishes I just heat water in my kettle. Two kettlesful of water and I’m done with my dishes. 

In China, if I want some sort of convenience food, I have to get ready to face the world – hair, makeup, clothing (of course), and then I have to walk a certain distance to whatever food I’m hoping to score. Noodles or fried rice from a local vendor is relatively easy but if I want really extravagant junk food like McDonald’s or KFC I have to ride a bus for at least 30 minutes after running the gauntlet from the OTW community. And then there is the riding home, walking back from the bus stop, ect.

You can see why, if I’m besieged by a desire for hamburger or fried chicken I make a day out of it. No sense in going out for just a hamburger and coming right back home.

In the States, if you want a ‘junky’ late night snack, you simply hop in your car in any state of dishevelment or dishabille, shod or not and in a matter of minutes you are at a drive thru somewhere, ordering your heart’s desire. If you live in a city or suburb, it is just a matter of minutes. If you live further in the country, it might take you a bit longer but you don’t have to gussy up and face the scrutiny of whoever you might meet on the way.

Usually, while I’m lounging around in that Jacuzzi tub somewhere toward the end of my stay in the States I start thinking about how much more difficult life in China is. I start thinking: do I really want to go back to freezing in the winter and sweltering in the summer? Do I really want to do my dishes and laundry by hand? Do I really want to walk or ride public transportation everywhere I go, be social when I don’t want to be and be accessible at all hours?

No, I don’t necessarily enjoy those aspects of my life here. At least, not all the time. However, living here I am afforded the chance to live the dignified life I saw for myself while still living in the States. When you’re on the other side of the world you can see the forest in spite of all the trees, so all the fallacies and incomprehension and adaptations I made in order to be able to get along in America are plainly visible to me here in China. Here I understand the way of life, the traditions, the culture. There, and anywhere else in the world I’ve lived, for the most part, I felt like an outsider looking in.  

Not that I’m saying Yay to life in China and Boo to life in America or anywhere else. While I admit I find life in America extravagant and more luxurious and convenient than life in China, I don’t believe everyone should come to China to live, or even embrace the minimalist lifestyle I feel so comfortable with here. Even while I think about how to permanently rejoin this society of luxury and convenience I know I am not serious. As soon as I get my feet back on Chinese soil I will feel more in my skin, more myself than I do in America.

Besides: can you imagine if everyone jettisoned life as they know it and came to China? Talk about overcrowding! And what of diversity? If everyone lived as we in China do, what difference would there be in being here or there? If everyone thinks the same, what would we talk about?

No, I don’t think everyone should think like me, do like me or be like me.  

I am here by personal choice, living a life that feels right to me. While I do enjoy my short sojourn into the lap of luxury and the life of excess I perceive America to be, I am always glad to be back here, to where life is real for me. That would make my perception of life in America an illusion. At times I believe it is, especially when I read about the poor who have virtually no chance at redemption or betterment, the mistreated, the misdiagnosed and the misfortunate who crowd every city and overshadow any and all aspects of American life. In fact, I do true Americans a disservice when I reduce their life into the scope of the 30-odd days I spend visiting my loved ones.

Let me always remember that. 

Interlude. Or: Things That Freak Me Out in the U.S.

Just as I get acclimated back to Chinese life and doings I reflect back on my time in the states, time that passed far too quickly. A while back I wrote about things that, even 2 years into living in China still freak me out (see eponymous entry, posted May 2012). Now I will share the things that freak me out when I go back to the U.S.

No people: Living here and going about, you get used to seeing people everywhere. Pedestrians striding either purposefully or meandering leisurely. Women dancing in the street at dusk and men playing checkers or poker. Seniors sitting and absorbing sunshine or chasing their grandchildren, Children of all ages scurrying about. Buses are crowded, malls are crowded, restaurants are crowded, markets are crowded. In short: people everywhere.

In the States nary a soul can be seen. Wide, paved avenues suffer traffic only at peak times a day or special occasions. Mall parking lots are half empty except on prime shopping days like Black Friday or the day after Christmas. Sidewalks for the most part are completely devoid of pedestrians. In Albuquerque I literally felt like I was in a ghost town for the lack of vehicular and pedestrian traffic. Not even a meandering dog, let alone a pack of them to be seen. Of course it was Superbowl Sunday when I was there but still… In Albuquerque and everywhere else I wondered. WHERE IS EVERYBODY???     

This observation comes from having visited no fewer than 10 cities on this trip alone, but this experience is not unique to this visit. Every time I have returned to the States the biggest crowd of people I see during my sojourn stateside is at the airport. After that, the people just seem to disappear.

High countertops: because I visit my son’s house first I always exclaim over the height of the counters in his kitchen and the vanity in the bathroom. Being used to thigh-high countertops here and having made my peace with them, I am literally shocked to find these gargantuan-height countertops while stateside. Even after staying with Darrell and Sammi for 10 days before moving on to the next loved one’s house, I marvel at the height of the counters everywhere I go. Whereas here I’ve resigned myself to chopping meat and vegetables at arm’s length, stateside I actually have to bend my arms at the elbow to prepare food! The awe persists through the last visit, usually my daughter’s house on the other side of the continent from Darrell’s house. That means that, all across the country I walk into kitchens and bathrooms and gasp in wonder at the height of their surfaces.

For everything a gadget: one of my favorite stateside stores is Bed, Bath and Beyond. They have EVERYTHING!! There is a tool, implement or gadget for anything you might want to do from scrubbing vegetables to giving yourself a neck massage. And kitchen gadgets! Not only is there a gadget for everything, but they are displayed from floor to ceiling!

My kitchen, considered luxurious and appointed way beyond what is necessary by Chinese standards, would be seen as primitive by the standards of the homes I visit while stateside. Pantries full of food! refrigerators bigger than I am, loaded to the gills and with extra deep freezes in the garage! Cabinets sheltering glasses and dishes for all occasions! Flatware enough to allow twelve to dinner and not have to wash a single fork between courses! Crockery and cookware housed below those dizzyingly high countertops! Small pots, big pots, stock pots, dutch ovens, 3 or 4 different sizes of frying pans! How is it that I only get along with one wok and one pot? 

Strainers, grinders, food processors! Garlic press and tea eggs! Egg separators, egg cookers, egg poachers, egg carriers and 2-minute microwave egg cookers. All that, just for eggs! Imagine what all there is for meats, vegetables, fruits, grains, legumes, breads, snacks and beverages. It just boggles my mind, all the things that I do without over here. And I haven’t even talked about baking gadgets and bowls and dishes and pans and appliances yet!

I feel downright deprived. I actually considered buying some gadgets stateside and bringing them back with me but… so used am I to one meat cleaver, one paring knife, one filet knife and one all purpose knife to use on either my plastic cutting board (for meat) or my wooden cutting board (for everything else) that I’m afraid I’d get back here, pull my gadget out of my suitcase and find no use for it.

Besides, most or all of those things are made in China anyway, so if I really wanted anything, I could buy it here. Metro has some pretty cool kitchen stuff. I just haven’t found justification enough to part with the cash. Metro stuff is pretty pricey. Stateside, gadgetry is kind of inexpensive.

Excess: going hand in hand with the ‘gadgets galore’ phenomenon that takes me by surprise every time I visit the States, the excess of everything leaves me dumbfounded as well. Not to say that there is no excess here. Quite the contrary: the Chinese are rapidly catching up in the excess department the more capitalistic/materialistic they become. Food excesses in particular.

I say this just having come back from a birthday luncheon that cost over 1,000yuan. Perhaps 25 to 30 people in attendance.  

Here we were, in the fancy restaurant at the biggest table I’ve seen since being here. The lazy susan alone was at least 2 meters in diameter and the whole tabletop must have measured 3 meters across. Food, food and more food! The wait staff kept bringing dishes: duck, fish, this soup, that stew, braised pork and fried bread and glutinous rice balls and… I had to stop counting. The ‘bai jiu’, that clear wine reminiscent of moonshine was flowing like water and, being the only foreigner, I was toasted as much as was the birthday boy (Sam’s father). I begged off after only 2 glasses, citing conflict with my allergy medication.

At the end of the dinner, all bai jiu bottles now empty and a few bottles of red wine drunk too, the waitstaff came in to clear the dishes… but not before Sam’s parents asked for takeout boxes. Discreetly, after all the guests had left they packed up all the leftovers and took them home. I’m certain they will get eaten, if not by the household members then by friends and/or neighbors that drop by.

That brought sharply to mind the time while I was at a loved one’s home and the fridge got cleaned out. Stacks of plastic containers housing leftovers were emptied out… into the garbage. Why, those leftovers were barely 3 days old! Why throw so much food away? And “This is past its expiration date: into the garbage it goes!” – even if the product is still good. I couldn’t get over that.

And the list goes on: whereas I’m wont to reuse a paper towel till it is no longer useful, that same paper towel in the states would only see one usage before being discarded. Of course it depends on the towel’s usage. I wouldn’t reuse it if I had just cleaned up something potentially dangerous like blood. But if I’m only mopping up some water, why not let that towel dry and reuse it?         

Medicine for everything: losing your hair? There’s a tonic for that. Suffer from anxiety? There’s a pill for that. Erectile dysfunction? Lowered libido? Inhibited hormones? Heart palpitations? Arthritis pain? Depression? Digestion? Dry skin? Dry eyes? Chapped feet or lips? Step right up, folks! We have something for everyone! Don’t listen to that disclaimer that says your toenails could rot off or your lungs collapse or your liver or kidneys could fail or you could experience dizziness or blindness or an altered genome if you take this product.

I am perpetually amazed that there is a drug for every condition. Most drug commercials are a minute long because of the FDA mandate disclosure of all possible side effects and the urging to consult with your doctor before taking these medications or engaging in these treatment plans. “Only your doctor can tell you if (insert name of medication here) is right for you…”

Don’t get me wrong: in China there are also advertisements for treatments and there is medicine available here. Matter of fact, one can buy antibiotics without a doctor’s prescription. OTC brand – yes, that does stand for Over the Counter offers pretty much everything you can imagine, very little of it requiring a prescription. If I’m not mistaken, sexual enhancement drugs are not promoted in any way here (there might not be any, for all I know). Most television commercials cover innocuous drugs like nasal spray for allergies or analgesics for pain. Mostly we see commercials for herbal remedies, none of which urge you to consult your doctor.  

Prior to leaving the States, one of my favorite movies had been Blast from the Past. I found it a great story about a family that lives underground for 30 years, coming to the surface only because food stores are getting low. Brendan Frasier gets on that lift, emerging in what used to be his backyard but is now a new age church. Having been trapped underground, in the gentle existence his parents knew in the mid-sixties for all of his life, imagine his shock at finding out what the world was really like!

With the help of his ‘girlfriend’, played by Alicia Silverstone he brings his parents to the surface. Of course he could not introduce them into mainstream society so he spent some of the money from the bonds he had cashed to outfit an exact replica of their belowground living quarters above ground. But for one frenetic time when his mother witnessed what the world had become and got totally freaked out by the experience, the parents spent the rest of their days in their tranquil nest.

That is how I feel when I return to China after my frantic month in the States. It is wonderful seeing everyone but life there is… well, it is now too alien for me. I need my low countertops, minimal meds, enough food for 3 days with no waste, and people everywhere.    

A Shout of Sunshine

It is so quiet here. The kind of quiet that presages a good, soaking rainfall and indeed the sky looks as though readying for a downpour. In this preternatural silence I launch a shout of sunshine: two noteworthy stories about two remarkable women that I met in the course of my travels.

Tina: beautiful… radiant, even. We met onboard the flight to Dallas from San Diego. The plane was not crowded. How unusual! Of course, traveling off-season, just past the Holidays, when everyone was vacationed out and worn out (fed up?) from this Season’s greetings, it was bound to happen. Makes me believe that traveling in the off-season is truly the way to go. That, and the low airfare prices. I was able to score no fewer than 6 plane tickets for just under $900, tax and all. I’d say that’s not too bad, wouldn’t you?

Tina! No more digression: let’s just talk about Tina, and later Caroline.

I worried that my enclave of silence would be disturbed by this cherub of a woman who smiled her welcome when I sat down in her row, one empty seat between us. I need a buffer of silence to digest the visit I just had before taking on another round of socializing. Of course that doesn’t help me meet people, hear their stories and promote my blog. It is a constant wrestling match between my needs and my needs. That would be ‘silence’ for the former and ‘blog promotion’ for the latter.

How is it I keep getting away from Tina?

No more distractions. Here goes:

During most of the flight I absorbed myself in my Kindle, communicating that I was in no way open to conversation. Only at the end of the flight, when the pilot treated us to a landing that actually freaked me out a bit, even for all the flying I’ve done, that Tina and I locked eyes and exchanged conversation. Retrospectively, I wish I had given her more attention.

Tina and Craig met years ago. He was her first love. He moved away to Nebraska in 1989, taking his feeling for her along and leaving her grieving for what could have, and maybe should have been. He returned for a ‘hello’ visit in 1991 but quickly left again, for whatever reason. Twenty-one years later they reconnected via Facebook.

Four months ago he called her, asking: “if I fly you out here, would you come see me?” Heart soaring, Tina agreed. ‘Out here’ was DFW; the flight I met her on was that flight. No wonder this precious soul was glowing! I can just imagine her anticipation, can’t you? With proper, authentic sincerity and awe, I asked Tina if I could relate her story in my blog. Blessed woman! She snatched my writing pad and sketched notes out. From these notes I inform you. 

We just landed at DFW. Not wishing to be voyeuristic but hoping to witness these two hearts’ reunion, I scanned the crowd at the baggage carousel. She was not hard to find. Locked in an embrace reflecting a lifetime of devotion and ‘could have been’s, there stood Tina and Craig, pressed close enough to be one body. Craig rained kisses down on her from beneath his battered Stetson. She shed tears and returned his ministrations just as fervently. I went on, gratified to know that such a love withstood the distance, times and trials life hands us all. Soon enough my focus shifted from this great love story. I was being tackled by my diminutive sister who was also beaming with love and longing. Not that of a lover, obviously, but of one who cherishes her family.

Now a short tribute to Donna who, every year comes to the airport at close to midnight to pick me up. Thank you, Donna. I hope one day to collect you at the airport and treat you to a one-of-a-kind visit to my home. You make me feel so special and loved. I hope you know you are loved, too.

As amazing as Donna is, she is not the other woman I wish to tell you about. In fact, I believe she would wilt away under public scrutiny. Instead I’ll talk about Caroline. Caroline, of the mystical hazel eyes and luminous smile. She, the very embodiment of twinkling personality, tradition and goodwill.

Caroline is a writer. Not of great tomes or magical fables but of greeting cards.              

She is not employed by Hallmark, American Greetings or any other greeting card publisher. You will not find her works online, for free or at any price. However, if you happen to be a postal employee, especially at the North Texas Mail Processing plant you are likely to run across her handiwork, especially around Christmas but also at any other occasion that calls for greetings. Any holiday excluding the 4^th of July, Caroline will dump upwards of one hundred fifty greeting cards in the mail stream.

Greeting cards? Over 150 greeting cards? Hand written and addressed, with postage affixed and everything? Who does that anymore? Who, besides Caroline? Not many, I’d venture to guess.

How did she get started with this tradition?

Playing bridge. She was unemployed at the time and a group needed a fourth for bridge. A friend called her in. She enjoyed the game and savored the company. That is where the whole greeting card hobby/habit started.

Caroline sends out cards for all occasions besides holidays (excluding the 4^th of July): birthdays, anniversaries, children’s birthdays, pet birthdays, ect. You name it, Caroline has got it covered. If you are on any of her three lists, you will receive greetings.

She maintains hand written lists. I asked if she ever thought of going digital, either to create a spreadsheet instead of all those hand written lists, or to send out e-cards. She exclaimed that she doesn’t even own a computer. All of her lists are painstakingly maintained. She updates her lists by the cards that come back stamped ‘undeliverable’. Also, she stays personally informed about people’s status: who is still married, who is still alive, ect. She showed me her lists. I was impressed, not just by the detail but by her script. Beautiful penmanship!     

She is an accountant by trade. That might explain her methodical list making and maintaining. Or maybe she is just that well organized. She would have to be in order to keep up this traditional form of greeting.

How and where does she find all of these cards? What is the criteria for being deemed a ‘good’ card? Would she ever consider designing her own cards?

Never. She avers she has no talent for design, although once, she did commission a special card for one of her contacts. A card is deemed ‘good’ if it is humorous. However, with a rare frown she explained that, for her recipients past the age of sixty it is very difficult to find a good card. Her words exactly: “there are no ‘good’ cards for people celebrating their 60^th or beyond.” She should know: she shops year ‘round for cards, going as far as to the neighboring cities. Mournfully, she related how her favorite card store in Arlington, TX closed its doors. A sign of the times, to be sure but still: what a shame.   

What about postage? Chuckling, she told me about the time the mailman rang her doorbell a few weeks before Christmas. At his feet were two postal tubs full of her cards. Because she had selected outsized cards that year she owed more money. Dutifully she applied the required postage and dropped all the cards back in the mail stream. “Postage is getting to be tricky to calculate” she confided.    

How many actually respond to her greetings? “Not as many as you’d think”, she replied. However, she does relish the responses that she gets and sometimes gets feedback from unusual sources.

One time she attended a funeral, dutifully signing the attendance book. Another attendee, a family member of the deceased, seeing her name a few lines up searched her out to thank her for all those years of greetings. Guess who is now on Caroline’s list.

Would she ever consider stopping? Only if she ran out of money, she said with a twinkle.

This year Caroline thought about not sending out Valentine’s greetings. Her own love is gravely ill. She just doesn’t have the heart to send out clownish greetings of love while her Hank lies in hospice. It nearly broke my heart to hear her, valiantly staving off heartbreak by cloaking herself in optimism. That dark cloud passed quickly. Because of an overwhelming demand for greetings she will satisfy her public by sending out yet another round of cards.

Caroline inspired me. I have many friends who would love to receive a hand written missive from the other side of the world. And, what a gift to make: a tangible testament to undying friendship. There is no reason for me not to do it. I have my loved ones’ addresses. This year, I resolve to emulate Caroline. Exercise my penmanship and shower my loved ones with a hand written greeting or two.

My cards will have to go ‘airmail’, I hope on a flight that suffers a less scary landing than the one that caused me to finally talk with Tina.

Upon touching down our plane fishtailed wildly, from the left to the right of the runway. I can handle in air turbulence but not fishtailing on the ground at over one hundred miles per hour. It was not as though my life flashed in front of my eyes or anything so dramatic, but I did experience a frisson of fear. Maybe the fates intended it so that I would talk with Tina, and thus present you with these two very different tales of love.       

      

Frank’s Question

While visiting with Darrell and his family I had the pleasure of meeting Frank and Alice. Wait, NOT Alice. Somehow I always call her Alice but her name is Laura. I don’t know where, how or why I came up with Alice.

She doesn’t even look like an Alice. When I met her I asked her if she had a twin named Alice – that would have been too freaky, no? Might there be another close relative named Alice? Upon her witness I found that she is not even remotely related to anyone so named, leaving me dumbfounded as to why I persisted in thinking of her by that name.

Either way she is quite a lovely young woman: gregarious and engaging, just like her husband. That is important to me because, in the event something should happen to both Darrell and Samantha, Frank and Laura will be Baby Ben’s parents. I don’t want anything to happen to Darrell or Samantha, but it is nice to know that my sweet grandson will be well taken care of in the event of.

Frank is a highly intelligent man, witty, curious and thoughtful. Upon meeting me for the first time, he already had several questions ready about China, Chinese culture and life over here. As most of you know, I encourage such speculation. It gives me a chance to dig in, really research a topic of interest – maybe something I hadn’t before given any thought to?

I was able to answer most of his questions, and Laura’s as well, right off the cuff. The one I couldn’t readily answer was: “is there an orphanage for unwanted baby girls?” It seems Frank had read about an altruist who ran such an establishment.

I remember reading about this man and his social works too, but the ‘baby girl orphanage’ smacked me as wrong. So I did some research.

Frank, here is your answer.

Baby girls are no longer officially stigmatized as ‘less desirable’ in this society. With the recent discovery/realization that daughters are often better caretakers of elderly parents, and the fact that the government offers incentives such as money for education and extracurricular development for parents of baby girls under the Spring Blossom Project, coupled with the fact that, almost thirty years into the one-child policy there is a dearth of marriageable women, Chinese society is slowly turning away from the ‘male heir’ principle. Indeed it is illegal for a doctor of expectant parents to reveal the sex of the baby when ultrasounds are performed.

That is the official, or the party line, if you will. The unofficial story is glee at bearing a male heir, even today when males of marriageable age are having trouble finding a partner and are actually looking beyond China’s borders for suitable mates. The Chinese being endogamous to a fault, marrying a foreigner – someone from, say, Taiwan or Thailand, or even Korea is not necessarily appreciated, but most understand the need for it. If not for those ‘foreigner’ women, how would the family name be carried on?

NOTE: when I say ‘foreigner women’, I mean in the least a woman who is Caucasian or some other ethnicity/race. A woman from an Asian country is acceptable but a woman from Japan is decidedly not appreciated. A woman from the Middle East is also not favorably featured as a marriage prospect. She should at least have features that could be mistaken for authentically Chinese and be willing to convert to or uphold a traditionally Chinese way of life.

The orphanage Frank was questioning was a house for undesired children: children with some sort of difficulty. Either a physical or mental/psychological impairment.

While overall the stigma against baby girls has been at least officially lifted, the shame of bearing a child less than perfect remains, and it is very strong. Parents of deaf, blind, physically challenged children or, as parents are later to learn, mentally incapacitated children of either gender are summarily rejected. Summarily and formally, so that the couple can try for another, more perfect child.        

On the surface that sounds cold and calculating, but again: one must consider this fact in context with the society that propagates that action.

If you are only allowed one child, and that child accounts for your family’s entire future, it would be necessary for that offspring to not be in any way deficient. Each person must compete for scarce desirables in today’s China. Jobs are no longer assigned regardless of gender or ability. Education is a must for proper social positioning and maximum earning potential. If your child is in any way ‘less than’ the other children, he/she cannot possibly win out in the struggle for a dignified, successful life.

Add to that the lack of resources for people who are handicapped. Throughout most of China, people who are physically challenged are just now earning benefits and access to everything available to people who are otherwise healthy, well formed and mentally competent. Here, there is no such thing as handicapped parking and not much in the way of any other concession for those gifted (or cursed, depending on your perspective) with less than perfect bodies/health.

There are audible signals at crosswalks and markings along every sidewalk so that the blind can safely navigate their daily life. However, I’ve yet to see a person who is blind work anywhere, be it a government office or a shopping mall. People who are deaf have even fewer resources given them, and admittedly are much harder to detect because their disability is not readily visible. I have seen people sign their conversations while out and about town but personally do not know of anyone who is deaf that is gainfully employed either in the public or private sector. And I’ve yet to see anyone who is physically challenged fill any job slot.

Of course, I realize I am just one person in one middling large city that is situated in the center of a very large country. I can’t be everywhere at once, monitor everyone’s actions or witness everything. My information is limited to my personal experience and what I can find out with my  limited ability to read Chinese.

Often I turn to Sam or Gary for input on these subjects. They are obviously more informed than I am. From both of them I got the same information: although the tide is turning, it is turning very slowly to regard the handicapped as less than desirable in the job market or elsewhere, including personal relationships.

Of course I’m always ready to amend or outright retract something I’ve reported in error. Please bear that in mind. This whole entry might one day be refuted.

One of the more spectacular notes to underscore how wrong people are in regarding the disabled as completely useless is the couple who perform a ballet routine. She is lacking one arm and he lost a leg, yet they dance with passion, grace and skill comparable to the finest of well formed dancers. They were recently featured on China Has Got Talent. Simply google ‘China’s Got Talent Disabled Ballet Dancers’ to see them in action. I promise they will take your breath away.

Besides this couple there is a troupe of dancers who are deaf and/or blind as well as physically challenged. You can read about them here: http://www.chinadaily.com.cn/xinhua/2012-10-13/content_7231192.html  

Of course, if you google the topic you are as likely to come up with negative reports as positive ones. That might be worth bearing in mind. I have no opinion on such reporting, other than it promotes the media’s desire to project China as a country with profound disregard for human rights. 

Clearly there is hope for, and sunny days to come for people in China who are physically disadvantaged. Last semester I personally witnessed no fewer than 3 people on our campus alone who are physically disadvantaged in one way or another. That is 3 more than there were 2 years ago. However, until such people are actually socially accepted, they will remain on the fringes, most likely finding their place at an orphanage. Let’s hope the people on staff there truly are charitable and kind.

And there is your answer, Frank.

Any more questions? Please send them to teamkrejados@gmail.com, or post them in the comment section of any given entry. I will do my best to research and find an answer for you.