Love Comes Softly

Ironically I have been watching more American television over here than while in the States, and the above title comes from a classic western romance. My roommate introduced me - bootstraps, shotguns, and cowboy hats. Assuredly couples such as the one in this movie grow to love each other over the course of time, though tonight I have found that a similar vein of heartstrings can be pulled through the embrace of school family.

Tonight was the art and science show/graduation/whatever else we needed to fit into the last performance event of the year. Now my second graduation at our school, we have doubled our numbers - from one to two. In short, I adore these girls. Perchance my mood is influenced by the sedating haze of stage lights over flowers and hugs, speeches with inspirational quotes, and the tossing of grad caps after a rousing rendition of "We're All In This Together", compliments of the ever-popular High School Musical. Real life movie scenes have that romantic pull. Yet I constantly find myself puzzling over who these kids are that we teach? Yes they are Korean and Japanese and French and German and Polish and Taiwanese and...and...

They are, or at the moment seem to be, unreal. Our high schoolers all genuinely care, and if I might, love each other. Our seniors challenged the younger grades to care about our community, to welcome newbies as family. They challenged each other to a new place of sisterhood, to stand by no matter what. Our graduates on stage, their language improvement seemed the surface joy, their persons the deeper love.

For the moment, I am the proud parent, the lover of beauty and romance, the reciter of poems, the hiker upon the vista, the scientist upon a breakthrough, the student upon an aced exam. No other profession can tempt me. No mistake and faltering of the past can be toted. For as we were reminded this morning in staff meeting, "what was meant for evil, He meant for good". I boarded the plane close to 2 years ago knowing little about the place I was to be. Tonight I know there is no place I would rather be. I know a bit more now, details such as lesson plans and grade books and staff members. I get in my work zone of task after task. I know. Yet there are still moments of wonder, such as this evening.

What am I doing here? What is this place? Can such a school really exist? Yes. It can and it does. Tomorrow I will have to write an exam, the next grade papers, and one day consider if this school should hold a place in my life for longer than four years. That anxious day will come soon. (We cried over those leaving tonight.) For now, though, I want to allow such a moment as the snap of a photograph or the bowing greeting with a Korean parent to linger like gazing into a lover's eyes. Softly and for right now.

My Roommate Getting Volunteered

She was picked to be the foreign master of ceremonies for a Chinese marketing campaign. Thanks to Doug (our principal who likes to help get us involved in community activities) I got to tag along as moral support.

The following video takes place during a public relations event to sell housing throughout China. Ironically though, the living spaces and developments being sold were called Spain. The owners of the company were apparently trying to create little Spanish villages around the country. I was bemused by the selling tactics - soloists, a fashion show, and a finance lecture. We were told that we were free to leave and eat cake during the lecture, that no one listens anyway. We shrugged and headed to the refreshment table. I don't remember if it was good cake. I only remember the soloist and the accompanying bubbles.

Vignettes

Tao Yuan-ming Tribute

Chinese writing is often so beautiful, poignant, and so tragic. It would be a pity to miss some of the words it offers. This one is entitled "Drinking Wine".

"I built my hut in a place where people live,and yet there's no clatter of carriage or horse. You ask me how that could be? With a mind remote, the region too grows distant.
I pick chrysanthemums by the eastern hedge, see the southern mountain, calm and still.
The mountain air is beautiful at close of day, birds on the wing coming home together.
In all this there's some principle of truth, but try to define it and you forget the word."

by Tao Yuan-ming

Anecdotes

as of 7/7/08

This afternoon my language teacher commented, “I fully expect to be able to vote one day.” Interesting.

The country is clearly moving in the direction of capitalist inspired democracy. The speed of change is still debatable and most assuredly still very volatile. The definition of this new Asian democracy may certainly encompass a constitution, but the whole Bill of Rights idea most likely will take longer to catch on because it iconically represents the West.

From Chinese lessons today, I wonder the validity in the following statement from my instructor:

Democracy is less efficient (I assume than communism). When China reaches the prosperity of the west, even surpasses it, then it will be ready for democracy. Until then…

I have never considered democracy in terms of efficiency, but rather only in terms of precision and hopefully accuracy. Historically there have been issues with the masses making decisions. Let “Are you smarter than a 5th Grader?” prove its point. Yet history has also commonly asked, “Do we fully trust our leaders?” Indeed if I was the leader, do I even fully trust myself?

Splendid Summer Mornings

as of 7/5/08

My windowsill has become a favorite spot and I find myself missing it while away on business and pleasure trips. It is my hermitage for reading, thinking, and writing. This particular Sunday I have concocted muffins from scratch. (Still loving variations of that recipe, Mom. Thanks much). Complimented with iced coffee reminding me of my sister, I am prepared. It is amazing how much the right combination of foods can create a mood.
Common sights from my fifth floor window box are bicyclists loaded down with wood, plastics, piping and the like. I keep checking for the wide-load security signs as commonly seen on the back of vehicles in the States, yet here a wide-load seems an average load for wiry pedalers. Trucks and taxis drive about on the sidewalks of our apartment complex with their daily to-do’s. Women parade by in their baby-doll party dresses with frills and laces. The sun is safely blocked from their faces with an equally frilly umbrella. I’m not so much about these frills for girls past the age of seven, but they do take care of their skin.
My reading for the morning is a book my Mom sent, Enjoying the Presence of (the Father). I promised a breakfast date with Dad since last night when I was tied up at a friend’s apartment in the rain. Somehow I had been volunteered to bring the school’s projector and laptop equipment to our weekly fellowship meeting. Last night there was no way to safely escort the materials home in the torrential downpour via bike, taxi, or bus, so my friend and I watched Adam Sandler’s 50 First Dates over soup as we waited for the rain to subside. An acceptable evening, but in no way up to the caliber of jazz and reading – my original idea. Jazz24 has become our excellent choice of jazz streaming, by the way. I recommend it.
This morning, however, is just the thing. Summer is for inspirational relaxation after all. I have been pondering the disciplines. Yesterday’s fellowship group watched Rick Warren’s message to the Asia conference titled Affluence and Excellence. Today’s reading delved into the ways that the physical body can be a real expression of veneration to the Father. If the desire is to be more completely taken by Him, grasping the idea of breathing his presence, then He must become more a part of daily living. With His daily presence there is peace that transcends logical understanding and inner joy regardless of circumstance. It is the sensation of taking home with me wherever I go. It is the calming dissonance of real understanding amidst language and cultural obstructions.
Practically, I am challenged to out-give our Father. Affluence is relative. It will always be possible to convince myself into poverty or riches. I have been given a salary (though some prefer to call it a stipend). We have house cleaners, go for pedicures, and travel frequently. We also are considered below poverty line by State-side standards. I am literate and have a university degree. I speak English. Better yet, I am trained to teach it. Still I do not read or speak in more than 2.5 languages. I do not yet have a master’s degree. I am currently China-fit –meaning I can walk, bike, and climb stairs with 5 sacks of groceries. I am also no longer in the best shape of my racing life. Perspective is everything. Daily I am convinced that the true battle for fulfillment, joy, and peace begins and ends in the mind. Hence the reason for my window dwelling.
Rick Warren challenged us, “What do you have in your hand?” From the story of Moses, that very thing is your staff and also the rod of the Father. Which do you choose it to be? Will you pick it up or lay it down? These abilities and monetary funds of mine are both pauper’s coins and riches. I desire to be a good steward of my gifts, using them for the blessing of others so to most glorify the Father.
I was reminded of our human frailty the other day when I ridiculously ran into a flowerbed while biking. (Typical, right?) I felt like an idiot and managed to rip the skin off the insides of two toes. By the time we returned to my friend’s apartment, I had lost so much blood I was nauseous. I have been hobbling around for the last two days – all due to a minor altercation with an inanimate object. Oh my, how pathetic and weak I can be. I think the parallel can be extended to other areas. Money and popularity and success waffles easily.
So in all disciplines, in affluence, in influence as a teacher and as secondary lead, in athletics, in hospitality, in language learning, in travel, in cleaning my apartment, in food preparation and consumption, in reading, in movies and music – in all things may I grow to be more disciplined and more willing to offer these things in my hand to the hand of the Father. I believe what Warren shared that one can never out-give the Giver. I am off to clean the house now. May even this small act be a reflection of His character, in work that is thoroughly and well done.

A Study

I come to work with a bag of books full of thinking on all I have to give them.
They are the confounded, the misguided, the standoffish and bitter – There is a book for each, even the sensitive and closed student who opens to Frankenstein turning the pages she first read in French. They are the unguarded, the naïve, the reflective and candid – the wide-eyed and sincere student who offers a gift with a little bow. “The winter is coming. This scarf will keep you warm,” one says. What I unwrap is all they have to give me – invariably genuine, simple and profound .
Yet I am always surprised as I study them day in and out at their desks peering into books on authenticity, vernacular, and truth. They inhabit the secret gardens, the hobbit holes, the dungeons and the sea portals – and perhaps are learning to consider me just as closely fondly unwrapped and woven. - EJC Nov’07

Home for Christmas, If Only In My Dreams

Toll road I94 appeared after 12.5 hours of flight travel. The flight attendant commented on the snow over North Dakota an hour earlier. This sight confirmed my hopes for a White Christmas, however. Welcome to Chicago, O'hare.

I was giddy, but calmly reminded myself of travel decorum in my sudden urge to hug both the man with the Chicago Bears sweatshirt, and the stoic gentleman next to me wearing the "Life is Good" cap. Haha, US soil! The landing also reminded me that no longer is an instant bond created just because both people are Americans. Indeed most of the flight was comprised of Americans.

The chatty Philippino from my first trip over the Pacific was deemed a better travel partner than the "Life is Good" man, as this time I sat generally in silence for 13 hours with a few comments about airline food and snow percentages in the northern USA. No one wanting to practice English? What? Feeling average, run-of-the-mill, was a change I noted.

Disembarking, the only mishap of the experience was when a kind man attempted to take my bag out of the overhead compartment for me, only to accidentally lop an older lady on the back of the head. I'm sure it hurt.

She showered the man with a caroling of:

"What a jerk!"

"Couldn't you have waited 10 seconds? Oh no! You had to move now, NOW!"

"A (sarcastic) Merry Christmas to you too!"

I shook my head at the first conversation I witnessed on US soil. Americans...

Still, it had been a long flight, so I suppose no one should be judged too harshly. Such a contrast to an earlier comment while still in Shanghai, from a lady pointing out the kindness of an American's helping hand -

"Thanks so much. You know, I haven't seen an American gentleman in four months!"

"You must have been in the interior of China," came his reply.

Thus, I too from the interior of China, made my big entrance into O'hare Airport. Collecting two bags, and applying peppermint chapstick, I was ready.

"China must be quite different from Libertyville. Welcome back," smiled my agent of homeland security.

No taxis or hotel locator signs needed this time - the family was waiting in the distance with open arms.

Er Shi Ba

from 3/18/2008

Er Shi Ba, twenty eight times we traversed the Himalayan mountainside on our way to the summit. The map read steep. Steep meant 28 switchbacks. Our first New Year in China, and we opted for a rugged and colorful vacation. My roommate Jessica, friend Christina, and I brought in the Chinese New Year with a literal bang as we watched part of the four hour traditional Chinese programming and surveyed the scene of amateurs shooting fireworks one would need a license to buy in the States. We heard hospitals are the busiest during that first kickoff of the New Year. There was no bad seat in the house for the display, and though neighbors set their explosives off near trees and cars using cigarettes, all kept their face (pun intended).

We three became the next display as we loaded our packs and headed south to the Yunnan province of blue sky, warmer weather, and mountains. ‘O glory, mountains. Stepping off the plane in Kunming, we noticed all heads turned to stare. Although we’re used to being a spectacle by now, we still laughed as Christina commented, “On your left we have the living lawei display”. Yes we were white – though hoping to be a little less so after the hiking excursion.

The first night we spent hostelling and mixing with types who have come to China because they feel either that Mandarin is the next language of business and love, or that the American Dream is a suburban fraud and much better found on the other side of the world. It was a classic hostel and a good first for my roommate, and after day one we moved on to higher aspirations of playing mountaineers.

With great anticipation we arrived in our city we call base camp. The following two days we spent figuring exactly how we were going to get out past the foothills. We researched before leaving home of course, but travelling in China always makes for interesting swings and turns off the expected path. We waited for Jessica’s friend to arrive in town. We waited on phone calls to drivers, tour companies, and hotel owners. While we waited, we shopped. The Old Town of the city was great fun in its tourist bustle. Many Chinese came to this area during their two week New Year vacation. Traditional groups from the area gathered to show off foods, dress, song, and dance. The local people have a beautiful dark Tibetan look that exhibits every line and wrinkle when they smile or grimace. Life is stamped on their faces like a print on leather. I imagined them to be great story tellers.

At the end of day two, however, I grew weary of the run-around attempts trying to reach the mountain. It was an archetypal divergence between the Chinese and the American way. I adamantly pushed for a travel plan, and a backup in case of a flop. A to B to C leads to D. Simple and linear and efficient is the American method. Not so here. We called a friend of a friend of a friend, a tour guide, and proceeded to take her out to dinner to discuss the possibility of some assistance, all the while making small talk and then she wanted to show us a tea house where her friend worked, so we all herded along into a regular night life venue hop as the clock ticked later and later – still with little mention of the hike.

Ah China. Relationships are of the utmost value, to the extent that if nothing is accomplished but one has made a friend, the time is deemed profitable. I agree with the philosophy to a point, but this evening was like dreading the “quick call” to that friend who infamously drags the conversation out to an impressive looking phone bill.

When a driver picked us up at 8:00 am sharp the following morning, I told myself that I really needed to chill out and enjoy the moment. It worked out. We were going hiking. Life’s detour is often more vibrant than the planned course, but such words are also easier believed in retrospect.

We reached Tiger Leaping Gorge by 10:30, lost the long layers by 11:00, reached the switchbacks by 1:00, and I lost what I ate for lunch by 3:30 at the summit. Writing a name on a hostel wall seems the more pleasant way to leave a mark, but puking works too. Mountains have their way of spinning outlooks, even without nausea. I had read it in the Everest novels. These rugged giants can take you out. One way to humility is hiking a 15-er with mules following as sag wagons. While I plotted how to conserve energy to last until the summit, they looked bored, knawing away at shrubs, and mocking us with the bells around their necks in reminder. “Only 50 yuan to carry you, your stuff, or both.” The equivalency of $7 seems no big deal, but out of principal we abstained.

The following day, the mules deserted us for the less experienced first day hikers and we were left to commune with cliffs, waterfalls, and wandering goats. The traveler is lost up in them, partly in the captivating way one looks at another and accepts that person as the world for the moment, and partly in the knowledge that getting lost or stuck or sick is a very real danger.

Mountains put us in our place. I think of the sunrise through the peaks in pink, purple, orange, yellow on day two, and I recall the switchbacks on day one. Mountains can also take our breath away. In fact, we may be disappointed if they don’t.

Today I took a sick day. We returned to the flatlands of Wuhan and left the mountain sickness behind, or so I thought. The devil is back, but at least now he has a name – giardia. I suspect altitude sickness played a role the first time, but who knows. In any case, I am off again to climb what feels like 28 switchbacks to the vista of good health.

America the Beautiful

from 10/20/2007

Yesterday we celebrated International Day at school. First we roamed about the tables of goodies, stuffing ourselves with delicacies from multiple countries. The delicacies were not all edible, however, yet just as filling. If someone from the Korean table puts food on your plate, they respect and honor you. You learn to bow in return. If you compliment a Chinese “jacket” you learn that there is a name for the covering hinting at jacket, but one that unveils a rich cultural tradition. There is no exact translation. The performances began. One woman, with poise, elegantly strummed traditional Chinese airs. I am always lured by the Chinese appreciation of aesthetics and this occasion was no exception. I have heard the style of music before, but this time my impression came not from the sound, but rather from the way the woman moved the silence. After every few notes, the woman resolved the chords by pulling her fingers together and away from the instrument as if she was conducting - or even drawing.

In the traditional musical sense, the sound was left unresolved, yet in the silence, the tune settled at the point of her fingertips. I thought about my command of silence. In the classroom, in conversation, in thought, there is certainly an element of fear in silence because it is an unknown, a vague irresolution. I would like to manipulate the ability of silence to powerfully suggest while still leaving space for the observer to create his or her own clarity. Soon after the first performance, we observed a colorful representation of everything from masked dancing to an Aussie telling the story of a walking expedition down under. Then the Americans sang “America the Beautiful” …followed by a little “Country roads take me home, to the place I belong…” Funny how we knew the words to the second song better. We were slightly embarrassed, but after all, Americans only sing the first and maybe the fourth verse. As to why we didn’t practice, my answer was… “well, it’s an informal culture, you know.”

I must say though, while standing on stage watching the China flag wave atop the elementary school, I smiled at the two worlds coming together and was more proud than I have been in a long time to sing “from sea to shining sea”. It seemed more real from across a different sea. I’ve been sharing a lot of music with friends lately. One that I continue playing on repeat is Natasha Bedingfield’s “Wild Horses”. I find the spirit and invitation of her song present in the daily grind. There’s the planning, grading, and the same over-commitment issues I have always found. Yet there are also times to look up, step back, and to reflect back how I’ve been tired of talking, talking about school improvement and talking about diversity and talking about how to make America beautiful. I love running from one class to the next with a grammar book and a play in hand. I love turning bright red knowing I have just made a complete fool of myself by innocently asking a culturally inappropriate question. I love discussions that begin with the differences between eastern and western style education. And I am learning to love the silence where it all comes together – like the settling of music upon the woman’s fingertips at International Day. It has the feeling that we are going somewhere, truly making footprints. Running with grammar books, wild horses…it’s fun when they seem the same. But maybe I’m just crazy to like grammar. …and I thought to end there, but we just lost power in the building, a semi-monthly occurrence. Internet’s gone, so I guess I won’t be posting tonight. We will have the opportunity to play with candles, however.

Look, I'm a Journalist Again!

from 10/17/2007

A pre-edited article for our organization's newsletter... a little of our Senior High Fall Camp experience. The framework is taking an overnight train to Beijing and then hopping on a bus for 2.5 hours to the mountains, 25 plus students in toe. I stayed in the hotel penthouse and if I had better vision, I might have been able to see The Great Wall. At this hotel, I learned that common China showers are not separated from the rest of the bathroom facility. No toilets either; step over the hole to stand under the shower head....now there's a concept.

Here's my article.

Tying it all Together:

Teams of students labored through a high ropes course and a collection of team building activities targeting communication skills, collaboration, and leadership development. They found that what is frightening is also an exciting opportunity for growth and empowerment.

“If we have tried something that is impossible and accomplished it, we are all the more able to do it again with [trust in Dad] to overcome our fears,” one student commented.

As Fall Camp revealed, challenges never present a solo venture. “There are some things we just cannot do alone…it is always better to have someone beside you.” Throughout their climbs, the students appreciated partners of encouragement and safety. They spoke the value of such partnerships throughout their lives.

“We’re a group, not only at Fall Camp, but at school, and in the world...We’re a big family,” a student suggested. “If we want to make a dysfunctional world work correctly, we should train ourselves first.”

The camp in Tianjin hopes to be a premier step in development of community action, leadership training centers around China. WYIS was the first large group to be hosted in the facility. The location looks to serve the [organization's] community along with outside groups as the idea of adventure education expands throughout the country.

A little flavor, like the night we tried red beans in ice cream

from 10/1/2007

I like to wander. Meandering literally and linguistically allows for a certain flavor of relaxed contentment that one cannot find in routine dealings. I especially enjoy evenings. Now, for example - I have just reopened this journal site successfully and my mind is reeling as wine spools about the tongue beginning its flavor softly and then growing into something much more exotic. My roommates are asleep. I, however, am out on the town, having moved no further than our dining room table. It is good to have communication open again. I will most likely sleep until noon again tomorrow because of it. We are celebrating the Chinese national holiday and I bask in the knowledge that I can indeed sleep till noon without feeling like a slacker.
The other night we did go a-wandering. My roommates wanted ice cream. I was excited for the outing, and of course there is my perpetual sweet tooth.
Coming upon an area of central shops outside the university we observed the dancers. They are commonplace in plazas, with their portable radios and shabby performance attire twirling in semi-uniform rhythm. Surprisingly, they are not asking for money. They appear to be out for pleasure, however an odd form of it on a Friday night street. I appreciate their freedom to make the plaza their stage, though they are not expecting viewers nor can they claim the same grandeur and romance as in other plazas of Italy or Spain. Dancing for them is perhaps more of a commodity. It is humble and more real than on other stages. I liked it.
We wandered into a music store drawn to a man at the piano. He greeted us with a genuine smile and invited us to play. I have decided that for moments such as these, I must remember one piece well - just to play over and over again in each location. The flavor of socializing through music is one I would like to know. I stumbled through the piece before me. My sight reading is horribly rusty. Still, the man complimented my skill in the gracious Asian tradition and I felt that this was the kind of place where I could return many times to talk and work on my Mandarin and piano together. Not that I was overly inspired toward either skill, but rather, it was the way the little shop emanated a flavor I wanted for my classroom. I was drawn into it the same way as I wanted to touch the piano keys. Never mind skill level.
I want my students drawn in even though they view their English as unsatisfactory and their knowledge inept.
I had the chance to play a Chinese-type violin with loose, horse hair strings. I forget the name for it now. It sounded horrific, but it was fun because it moaned. I don’t know why I liked the moaning, other than it just added to the evening. Jessica said that we will have to come back with a camera. I don’t think I want to. The evening should be left as is.

When It All Started

From 9/8/07 -

It all started on the way home from a Saturday meeting. One van following the American lady commuters, its passengers staring more than usual. We turned a corner to encounter one whistle from a random Chinese man. Construction and lawn care apparently do not change from country to country. My roommate Jessica claimed it was my shorts debut and I insisted that it was her luscious curls. We continued our commute without another thought.

The evening continued in the typical manner of spending too much time on the computer (Erika) and painting cards (Jessica). Erika found that there are no cheap tickets to Egypt around the time of the Olympics and Jessica was disconcerted to find that her first painted pansy was far superior to all other attempts. So much for practice.

We finished a tough chicken dinner to observe two free fireworks displays, compliments of the apartment next store. These types of amusements are regular occurrences in Wuhan as apartments are being built. Never have we seen them this close, however. We took pictures and commented on fireworks as a cultural tradition - a dedication of apartment complexes both after they are completed and during the process. The pictures look a little like we are in the middle of a war zone, so we decided to send the pictures to select over-anxious people without commentary just for kicks. Or is that cruel?

Settling down to coffee, books, and skype, we heard a siren outside. Strange. We hopped onto our balcony to observe what appeared to be an ambulance and/or the China swat team. Stranger, was that as we looked over the balcony, the onlookers to the scene turned to stare at us. One proceeded to take our picture, or at least it appeared that way. We walked back inside, feeling a bit confused.

A few minutes later our door bell rang. Erika, peering through the peep hole discovered a strange man. Jessica, the self proclaimed logical one, suggested we ignore him. Good plan, except for the sharp knock on the door that followed. Four men in official uniforms appeared. Oh, wait. There were also the men in orange jumpsuits and hard hats. They carried a long rope. Thoughts of being escorted away crossed our minds. Jessica was mentally packing her bags while Erika considered her passport currently being held at the school for residence purposes.

Timidly, Erika cracked the door.

The first man spoke English. Thank goodness.

“My son is lost.”

Um. Right.

“May we use your….um…um.” Well he kind of spoke English, better than our Chinese at least.

We figured out that he was referring to the balcony and window. The group paraded into our apartment, rope in hand. A small boy with a balloon appeared, and hesitated to enter. Meanwhile on the balcony, one man was strapping himself to a hodgepodge of repelling tools, preparing to climb over the edge. Another man tied himself to the end of the rope - the safety.

We debated getting cameras, but opted to not be “that person”. The men finished their urban repelling and exited the same way they arrived without a word. The boy waved goodbye. We later discovered he left something like a Christmas ornament by the door. This was the same ornament that had been sitting on the staircase all week.

We really wished we knew what happened.

We can only figure yet another day in China. My writing students need an example of a narrative on Monday. Maybe we’re onto something.