Looking ahead, the next few months are getting full, and summer is once again on the horizon and demanding some attention already. My week is full. My day is full. I skipped the farmers market this morning and kept Nora home with me, just to have a quiet morning hanging out together. She heads off to kindergarten in August, and my days will seem a lot emptier. No less busy, but emptier. Today I have lessons to plan, meetings to organize and pray over, lunches to make and dinner to think about; but for now, I can enjoy her company and my tea, and know that those things will wait another hour or two.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Numbering my days
I like a bargain. I especially like a bargain in an otherwise-pricey store. Last year, in my search for a personal calendar, I found the perfect thing at MUJI: a plain brown blank calendar, with room for notes at the back. It was less than a dollar, and just what I was looking for. (MUJI often has just what I'm looking for, but rarely at a price I want to pay.) It's a 16-month calendar, so come April I'll switch to a new one. This means before April I'll need to sit down and fill in the dates for the next year and a quarter, so I've put that on my to-do list now (I sometimes require a long lead time). It was an interesting exercise when I did it last winter: filling in every day of the coming year, thinking about the seasons and holidays that are predictable, wondering where summer would take us and what else the year would bring--a year is full of both the mundane and the unexpected. Numbering the days made me appreciate how many days there are, and yet how quickly they can be counted and how quickly they will pass.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
New Year, New Post
It is time to write. Well past time, really, but not much I can do about that (aside from rigging the date I publish this under). 2009 is underway, and the Year of the Ox is upon us. Having just crossed from Saturday night to Sunday morning, it is officially New Year's Eve and the country is on the verge of massive migration. Later today, millions and millions of people will take to the roads and rails as they make their way back to their husbands' and fathers' familial homes for the first night of celebrations. On Monday, New Year's Day, they will move on to the wives' and mothers' families. There will be food, and drinking, and fireworks to frighten away bad spirits (you'd think the karaoke would take care of that, but apparently not). People will clean house to sweep away the old year -- but no sweeping on the first day of the new year, lest you sweep away any good luck inadvertently.
For those of us not obligated to follow this drill -- which just means foreigners, really, because everyone else is expected to go whatever distance to fulfill the New Years duty -- this is a holiday of peace and quiet, and a holiday for staying home. For many of us, living among Taiwanese and Chinese during New Years is akin to how a man must feel when his wife goes into labor: we're next to the action, but we're not really doing it. Sure, we get excited for the holiday, and put up red banners over our doors and greet everyone with "xin nian kwai le!", but we are not ringing in a new year that really registers as such. I'm not going to consider myself a year older tomorrow, I won't don red undergarments for luck, and I have no plans to hand out red envelopes of cash to my own children, let alone someone else's. I hope that doesn't sound Scrooge-like -- it's a rich and colorful holiday, and fun to observe, and I love that the two weeks of celebrations are capped off with the charming Lantern Festival which fills the skies with lights. But there remains that invisible barrier between "mine" and "theirs," and it doesn't seem likely to budge.
Our Christmas holidays were busy, but not terribly so, and before that we had family visiting in October and November. This week off from work and school will be a real pleasure: time to catch up on some projects around the house, and catch up with friends over dinner here and there. So often we say we need a vacation after a vacation; with an early Chinese New Year, that's what we've got. Happy New Year, everyone! May the Year of the Ox bring you peace and joy. And maybe a red envelope or two.
For those of us not obligated to follow this drill -- which just means foreigners, really, because everyone else is expected to go whatever distance to fulfill the New Years duty -- this is a holiday of peace and quiet, and a holiday for staying home. For many of us, living among Taiwanese and Chinese during New Years is akin to how a man must feel when his wife goes into labor: we're next to the action, but we're not really doing it. Sure, we get excited for the holiday, and put up red banners over our doors and greet everyone with "xin nian kwai le!", but we are not ringing in a new year that really registers as such. I'm not going to consider myself a year older tomorrow, I won't don red undergarments for luck, and I have no plans to hand out red envelopes of cash to my own children, let alone someone else's. I hope that doesn't sound Scrooge-like -- it's a rich and colorful holiday, and fun to observe, and I love that the two weeks of celebrations are capped off with the charming Lantern Festival which fills the skies with lights. But there remains that invisible barrier between "mine" and "theirs," and it doesn't seem likely to budge.
Our Christmas holidays were busy, but not terribly so, and before that we had family visiting in October and November. This week off from work and school will be a real pleasure: time to catch up on some projects around the house, and catch up with friends over dinner here and there. So often we say we need a vacation after a vacation; with an early Chinese New Year, that's what we've got. Happy New Year, everyone! May the Year of the Ox bring you peace and joy. And maybe a red envelope or two.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Belated goodbyes
It's two o'clock in the morning here in Taiwan, and I am finally saying goodbye to my parents' house. A sensible person would have said goodbye when she was actually leaving the house, I suppose, but the morning of our departure after our long summer home was harried: load up the car, rouse the sleeping children, make one last pass through the house for any overlooked belongings. I'm sure we forgot some things--I'm expecting a box from my mom any day now with assorted summer leftovers--but the thing is, it's the house I left behind that I'm missing now.
Today--as in this moment, while it's dark here but nearly noon in Washington--my parents are holding an estate sale, downsizing as they prepare for their move to a new home in sunnier climes. I had all summer to set aside anything I particularly cherished and didn't want sold, and I did tuck away some favorites. Still, my mind is now wandering through all the rooms (dodging all the bargain-hunters who are doing the same thing), as I recall what goes where, and imagine how it will look when it's gone.
I am happy for their move, truly. And I'm happy that they are sorting and selling and saving aside as they see fit. I've done that before our moves overseas, and it's liberating. I just wish I could be there today. I'm sad that the house is beginning its transformation from "is" to "was" without me, and am feeling a little adrift. Perhaps it's not right to keep an anchor on the other side of the world, but it has been a comfort to me. I will miss it when it's gone.
I really must get to bed, but first, Mom, if you haven't sold the elephant mug I made in 5th grade, and the chromed boat bell that dad told me I could have one day, please stick a "sold" sticker on 'em for me. Thanks.
Today--as in this moment, while it's dark here but nearly noon in Washington--my parents are holding an estate sale, downsizing as they prepare for their move to a new home in sunnier climes. I had all summer to set aside anything I particularly cherished and didn't want sold, and I did tuck away some favorites. Still, my mind is now wandering through all the rooms (dodging all the bargain-hunters who are doing the same thing), as I recall what goes where, and imagine how it will look when it's gone.
I am happy for their move, truly. And I'm happy that they are sorting and selling and saving aside as they see fit. I've done that before our moves overseas, and it's liberating. I just wish I could be there today. I'm sad that the house is beginning its transformation from "is" to "was" without me, and am feeling a little adrift. Perhaps it's not right to keep an anchor on the other side of the world, but it has been a comfort to me. I will miss it when it's gone.
I really must get to bed, but first, Mom, if you haven't sold the elephant mug I made in 5th grade, and the chromed boat bell that dad told me I could have one day, please stick a "sold" sticker on 'em for me. Thanks.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Headlights & red lights
It's late, and I should be sleeping, or if not sleeping then getting our bags packed for tomorrow's jaunt to destinations north and an overnight with friends.
However.
Yesterday we were on the peninsula for a family get-together and on the drive home Cole was struck by the sight, as we came over a rise in the highway, of a solid band of headlights in the on-coming lanes and a solid band of tail lights ahead of us. He said, "That looks cool. Headlights and red lights." For some reason that resonated, like some sort of metaphor for life, or at least travel. Today it formed into a more concrete thought after rattling around in my brain: I do love coming home to Washington for the summers, seeing friends and family, eating favorite foods, losing sensation in my toes because it's so freakin' cold here in the summers; but when I'm here I have a general sense that I am looking at everyone's life from behind. It's not that I couldn't live like most people here, but the lifestyle seems one step ahead of where I want to be; if out of reach, only because I am taking small steps while everyone else marches on. Staring at the back of the American Dream: those are the tail lights.
On the other hand, living in Taiwan virtually guarantees that I'll not fit the mold. I live better than most locals, but am poorer than most expats; I am valued for my ability to speak my native tongue yet frustrated daily in my inability to speak Chinese; I do not really understand the culture around me, am not sure of my real reason for being there, but still persist in trying to make sense of all the whys and hows. Taiwan stares me down every time I step outside my cozy little nest: headlights.
This would be a great spot for an epiphany, or at least a platitude, but I have none. It's a puzzle, how we sometimes end up in unexpected places and then start calling those places home. And what was home becomes home again only when you're not there.
However.
Yesterday we were on the peninsula for a family get-together and on the drive home Cole was struck by the sight, as we came over a rise in the highway, of a solid band of headlights in the on-coming lanes and a solid band of tail lights ahead of us. He said, "That looks cool. Headlights and red lights." For some reason that resonated, like some sort of metaphor for life, or at least travel. Today it formed into a more concrete thought after rattling around in my brain: I do love coming home to Washington for the summers, seeing friends and family, eating favorite foods, losing sensation in my toes because it's so freakin' cold here in the summers; but when I'm here I have a general sense that I am looking at everyone's life from behind. It's not that I couldn't live like most people here, but the lifestyle seems one step ahead of where I want to be; if out of reach, only because I am taking small steps while everyone else marches on. Staring at the back of the American Dream: those are the tail lights.
On the other hand, living in Taiwan virtually guarantees that I'll not fit the mold. I live better than most locals, but am poorer than most expats; I am valued for my ability to speak my native tongue yet frustrated daily in my inability to speak Chinese; I do not really understand the culture around me, am not sure of my real reason for being there, but still persist in trying to make sense of all the whys and hows. Taiwan stares me down every time I step outside my cozy little nest: headlights.
This would be a great spot for an epiphany, or at least a platitude, but I have none. It's a puzzle, how we sometimes end up in unexpected places and then start calling those places home. And what was home becomes home again only when you're not there.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Spring goes zing!
How can it be May already? Not just May, but the end of May, even? Well, for once I've got a really good reason for not writing, and you can see her to the right, here. This is Nian Yu, a lovely little girl who was born two months premature and needed a caring home for awhile until she could make her way to the orphanage. From there she will travel to a new home in America, but only after the paperwork is done and the judge says okay. It may take some time, but I'm hopeful that by the end of this year she will be in a family for good.
We had never fostered a child before this, and hadn't really thought about it; but when a friend who works with the orphanage asked if we would consider taking Nian Yu in, I couldn't think of a single reason to say no. I knew she'd wake for feedings at night, and need lots of attention when we're all at our busiest, and make everything just a tiny bit more complicated, but none of those things seemed more important than providing an infant with the chance to bond to someone at such a critical time. So we said yes.
Lots of people asked if I thought it would be hard to let her go. I knew that it would be. If it wasn't, that meant I wasn't doing a very good job of mothering her. And indeed, last Sunday when we handed her to the very loving and dedicated couple who run The Home of God's Love, it was hard to say goodbye. I'm not really in the market for another baby -- those 1:00 and 4:00 a.m. feedings did take a lot out of me! -- but she was my constant companion for five weeks and I felt guilty for letting her go. I am grateful that she is in capable hands, and I am praying that her transition to the orphanage is going well and her stay there will be brief. Wo ai ni, Nian Yu!
Thursday, March 13, 2008
And then there were five...
Yes, I realize that a title like that is a sure-fire way to start rumors and invite people to look at my stomach to see if I'm in a family way, but really, now, I'm only speaking of the hamsters. Over Chinese New Year we decided to bring home two new hamsters (our super, best-in-the-world hamster, Cutie, having passed on last November). We found a nice pet store, with clean cages and a helpful staff, and asked for two hamsters that would cohabit happily in our big cage at home. I should have known something was wrong as soon as we got them in the car--they squeaked and scrabbled and appeared to not like each other at all. But we did take them home, and introduced them to their new home, and watched them continue to harrass each other. One was larger and generally sweet-tempered; the other--possible a runt--smaller and bizarre in behaviour, seeking out the larger one but then rolling on her back, practically begging to be bitten. Indeed, the larger one did just that after a few days together, so we dug out Cutie's first cage, a smallish one, and separated them. It was only a few days later that the little one, Indi by name, gave birth. Both of our hamsters are girls, and with a gestation of 20 days there is no doubt anyway that she was pregnant when we bought her. The suprise is that such a tiny thing could hold three babies and still be so slight. But mother and pups are all doing well (there is one runt, but it seems to be doing all right). They are two weeks old now, their eyes just opening and their legs finally taking them out of the nest they were born in. They are small-eared and downy-soft, and I want to name them all Beatrix.
In other news, 2008 is blowing by and with nary a dull moment: we enjoyed our Lunar New Year break, although we didn't do anything particularly festive; I went to Taipei on the high-speed rail All By Myself (that went on the calendar in red ink, don't you know) to give a talk to the Amnesty International group up there about the current state of affairs in Burma and how the Free Burma Rangers are working behind the scenes to help; I've led worship at church (not my gift, but my offering, I like to say), led Bible study, and planned the church picnic; I've volunteered at school for after-school activities (Nora and I head up free draw, or as she calls it, "Draw School") and with Cole's class as they prepared for their big chapel program and with the middle school drama group as they tried to figure out how to write dialogue; I have written a cooking article for a local magazine (I will probably write it as a regular feature from here on out), and worked on some other writings that have been languishing in the far reaches of my mind for a while; and amid all that craziness managed to make an astounding dark chocolate sorbet that is at this very moment begging me to finish it off. I may have to heed that call shortly.
I know at least one person will read this and appreciate the update (even though most of this he already knows, but maybe hadn't heard about the sorbet, eh, Kevin?). Hopefully there are a few others who continue to check in despite my long gaps between posts. We are doing well here overall, but are eager for Tim to finish his degree this fall so we can all see each other a bit more. Easter and the perfectly-timed Easter break are just around the corner--it is one of my favorite holidays here because the weather is usually gorgeous and the island is hard at work, leaving the scenic corners and beautiful drives wide open for us. I hope your winter is melting into a lovely spring wherever you are.
In other news, 2008 is blowing by and with nary a dull moment: we enjoyed our Lunar New Year break, although we didn't do anything particularly festive; I went to Taipei on the high-speed rail All By Myself (that went on the calendar in red ink, don't you know) to give a talk to the Amnesty International group up there about the current state of affairs in Burma and how the Free Burma Rangers are working behind the scenes to help; I've led worship at church (not my gift, but my offering, I like to say), led Bible study, and planned the church picnic; I've volunteered at school for after-school activities (Nora and I head up free draw, or as she calls it, "Draw School") and with Cole's class as they prepared for their big chapel program and with the middle school drama group as they tried to figure out how to write dialogue; I have written a cooking article for a local magazine (I will probably write it as a regular feature from here on out), and worked on some other writings that have been languishing in the far reaches of my mind for a while; and amid all that craziness managed to make an astounding dark chocolate sorbet that is at this very moment begging me to finish it off. I may have to heed that call shortly.
I know at least one person will read this and appreciate the update (even though most of this he already knows, but maybe hadn't heard about the sorbet, eh, Kevin?). Hopefully there are a few others who continue to check in despite my long gaps between posts. We are doing well here overall, but are eager for Tim to finish his degree this fall so we can all see each other a bit more. Easter and the perfectly-timed Easter break are just around the corner--it is one of my favorite holidays here because the weather is usually gorgeous and the island is hard at work, leaving the scenic corners and beautiful drives wide open for us. I hope your winter is melting into a lovely spring wherever you are.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Sawaadi bi mai!
Happy New Year, that is! Well, as is obvious to everyone, I did not post a word from Thailand. We weren't too terribly busy, but with limited internet access and abundant shopping and pad thai all around, blogging did not happen. Our trip was fabulous, the weather perfect (not too hot or humid, but very pleasant), and we met--and met up with--several friends. We are eager to return, maybe as soon as next Christmas. In the meantime I'll wear my Thai scarves, lather up with mangosteen soap on my new loofah and just enjoy lots of happy memories.
Cole and Nora both give Chiang Mai a thumbs-up. They loved the hotel room and big hotel breakfast (although Nora's usual choice was chocolate cereal, which she dubbed Cocoa Deluxe--a fitting name for a US$4.oo bowl of brown corn flakes). They were good sports through all the shopping, and had plenty of their own adventures: riding an elephant, birding in the jungle, swimming in the icy hotel pool... they loved it all. They particularly enjoyed our jaunts across town, whether in a tuk-tuk or a song-taew (a motorized surrey and a red pick-up truck, respectively), the chief modes of transportation in Chiang Mai.
It has been so long since we've traveled anywhere besides the U.S., I'd kind of forgotten what fun it is to see new places. Taiwan is an adventure, but a more familiar one to us now. Thailand was full of new sights and sounds, all quite pleasant, and we are grateful for the chance to ring out the old year and welcome the new in such a relaxed and friendly place.The new year is already presenting some interesting opportunities. I will be speaking later this month in Taipei to the local Amnesty International group about the situation in Burma (I'll be sure to get you an A.I. bumper sticker, Marc). One of our new friends in Chiang Mai is Alex, who coordinates the relief team efforts for the Free Burma Rangers. Please check out their website (www.freeburmarangers.org) and support them if you can. The FBR is the only aid group sending teams into Burma to provide humanitarian relief. The need is great, and the Rangers put themselves in great danger by crossing the Burma border and remaining there for weeks or months at a time.
I will also be writing more regularly this year. I have been given a cooking feature in a local magazine, and will be writing other articles for them as well. I'm looking forward to working with other writers and photographers, and meeting some people outside of our usual circle.
I hope 2oo8 is off to a good start for you, too. Please drop me a line and share your New Year's news.
Cheers!
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Christmas wrap (up)
Just a quick note to say that we are off tomorrow to start a real live vacation: first to Taipei for a Chinese wedding (a family friend's step-daughter is the bride), and from there on to Chiang Mai, Thailand. The bags are packed, and we'll leave early tomorrow to catch the high-speed train to the capital city. The trip will take 90 minutes, instead of the 4+ hours it takes by car.
Our Christmas was very nice, and hopefully yours was, too. We enjoyed several great meals with friends, and the kids had a fun morning opening all the lovely gifties under the tree. Santa was good to them, as were their grandparents! I broke with tradition this year and went to see an acupuncturist, squeezing it in between opening presents and Christmas dinner. My neck has bothered me off and on for years, and I'd had a twinge for a week that was threatening to totally seize up. I will (maybe) give you the whole story later, but for now I'll just say that it was a success, and with follow-ups every day this week I am feeling very relaxed.
I must get to bed now, but I'll write more when I can, maybe from Thailand. Happy New Year, everyone!
Our Christmas was very nice, and hopefully yours was, too. We enjoyed several great meals with friends, and the kids had a fun morning opening all the lovely gifties under the tree. Santa was good to them, as were their grandparents! I broke with tradition this year and went to see an acupuncturist, squeezing it in between opening presents and Christmas dinner. My neck has bothered me off and on for years, and I'd had a twinge for a week that was threatening to totally seize up. I will (maybe) give you the whole story later, but for now I'll just say that it was a success, and with follow-ups every day this week I am feeling very relaxed.
I must get to bed now, but I'll write more when I can, maybe from Thailand. Happy New Year, everyone!
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Ironing sandwiches, winning the lottery, and other Taiwan commonplaces
I hesitate to say that the drought is over, but I do feel like writing more lately. Not to put all this on you, my small cadre of faithful readers, but it is hard to write to a silent audience. A person needs a little feedback, and sometimes she needs even more. But regardless of who stops by to read, I still need to sort through life from time to time and you, my friends, get front-row seats. No fear, though--I'm not going to unload three months' worth of the expat experience on you (at least not in one telling). But perhaps some highlights....
The immediate crisis in my life is my broken range. Since Thursday last I've been without both stove and oven, due to the fact that I complained that the oven was not heating properly: 55 minutes to heat the thing to 350º means wasted gas and a hungry family. Anyway, this led to a visit from our maintenance man, who deemed the problem bigger than he could handle and called in an appliance repairman. The repairman came and gave it a go, but realized a part would need to be replaced. Of course the part had to come from Taipei, so it would be Saturday--Monday at the latest--before he'd be back. He returned Tuesday. That was yesterday, and after he'd retrofitted the part (because it certainly couldn't be exactly what was needed straight out of the box) he discovered that there was another problem as well, requiring another part, this time (thankfully) a bit closer to home. He did come back today but still hasn't finished up the job. In the meantime I still have a family to feed and a strong desire to make Christmas cookies before the holiday passes us by, so I've had to get creative. Enter: ironed cheese sandwiches. It works, I did not invent it, and Cole prefers them now to cheese sandwiches made any other way. They actually cook much quicker, but there's a tendency to be a bit underdone in the middle (which, honestly, is what Cole loves about them: more melty than toasty). There was a little improvement today: when the repairman came by he hooked up the gas to the burners again, so at least I can make a decent supper. Cookies, however, are still on hold.
Considering how often I win the lottery here, you'd think I could exert a little pull and get these kind of problems dealt with straightaway. At this very moment I am sitting on two winning receipts (yes, receipts) worth a total of four hundred dollars. Of course, those are New Taiwan dollars, or NT$, so they're only equivalent to about US$12, but still, I won. You see, every odd-numbered month the winning numbers are announced and people all over the island pull out their stash of cash register receipts to look for a match--and I am right there with them. I once had five digits match, which was a nice little bonus of NT$4000 (US$120), but all my other winners have been small fry: three digits, about six bucks a pop. The great thing about winning, though, is that you don't have to go to some distant lottery office to collect (well, unless you win big). They can be used same-as-cash at any 7-11, and there's not much you can't find at a 7-11 here, so that's a pretty good deal. The whole point of the lottery is to ensure that businesses issue receipts in the first place. With everyone clambering for official, lottery-eligible receipts, the government has a much easier time of keeping track of sales and collecting taxes from businesses. Without the receipt incentive a lot of money would never hit the books, and there'd be no reliable record for the taxman. So what the government saves in henchmen they give back to people as lottery winnings. Well, not all of it, I'm sure, but I can't complain. Somewhere there's a million dollar winner with my name on it. I just have to keep shopping until I find it. If only they'd fix my stove, so I can go buy groceries and get back in the game.
The immediate crisis in my life is my broken range. Since Thursday last I've been without both stove and oven, due to the fact that I complained that the oven was not heating properly: 55 minutes to heat the thing to 350º means wasted gas and a hungry family. Anyway, this led to a visit from our maintenance man, who deemed the problem bigger than he could handle and called in an appliance repairman. The repairman came and gave it a go, but realized a part would need to be replaced. Of course the part had to come from Taipei, so it would be Saturday--Monday at the latest--before he'd be back. He returned Tuesday. That was yesterday, and after he'd retrofitted the part (because it certainly couldn't be exactly what was needed straight out of the box) he discovered that there was another problem as well, requiring another part, this time (thankfully) a bit closer to home. He did come back today but still hasn't finished up the job. In the meantime I still have a family to feed and a strong desire to make Christmas cookies before the holiday passes us by, so I've had to get creative. Enter: ironed cheese sandwiches. It works, I did not invent it, and Cole prefers them now to cheese sandwiches made any other way. They actually cook much quicker, but there's a tendency to be a bit underdone in the middle (which, honestly, is what Cole loves about them: more melty than toasty). There was a little improvement today: when the repairman came by he hooked up the gas to the burners again, so at least I can make a decent supper. Cookies, however, are still on hold.
Considering how often I win the lottery here, you'd think I could exert a little pull and get these kind of problems dealt with straightaway. At this very moment I am sitting on two winning receipts (yes, receipts) worth a total of four hundred dollars. Of course, those are New Taiwan dollars, or NT$, so they're only equivalent to about US$12, but still, I won. You see, every odd-numbered month the winning numbers are announced and people all over the island pull out their stash of cash register receipts to look for a match--and I am right there with them. I once had five digits match, which was a nice little bonus of NT$4000 (US$120), but all my other winners have been small fry: three digits, about six bucks a pop. The great thing about winning, though, is that you don't have to go to some distant lottery office to collect (well, unless you win big). They can be used same-as-cash at any 7-11, and there's not much you can't find at a 7-11 here, so that's a pretty good deal. The whole point of the lottery is to ensure that businesses issue receipts in the first place. With everyone clambering for official, lottery-eligible receipts, the government has a much easier time of keeping track of sales and collecting taxes from businesses. Without the receipt incentive a lot of money would never hit the books, and there'd be no reliable record for the taxman. So what the government saves in henchmen they give back to people as lottery winnings. Well, not all of it, I'm sure, but I can't complain. Somewhere there's a million dollar winner with my name on it. I just have to keep shopping until I find it. If only they'd fix my stove, so I can go buy groceries and get back in the game.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Violet skies
I like blogging, I do. But the last few months have been so crazy: traveling all summer and then settling back in, the start of a new school year for Cole and Tim, and me heading up the pastoral search at our church. I am busy with life here, but not exactly the parts I want to write about. On top of all these duties and distractions, so many things that I would share about living in Taiwan resist capture. I saw the most striking hue cast across the low clouds at sunset the other day – a typhoon was passing to the north of us, and our sodden skies had dried just a bit, with clouds like wet cotton absorbing the light and melding the colors into one giant sheet of violet across the sky. It gave a dull glow, unearthly, and completely unphotographable. It just looks grey on film.
In the same way, when I sit down to write I fear that anything I try to put in words will be diminished in the end. I feel like I am drawing from a shallow well, so now I am planning a time to get away, by myself, to fill my reserves. I have months of observations of Nora in my head, waiting to go into her journal; I have pieces of a scrapbook for Cole tucked into various drawers and closets; I have essays, poems, manuscripts, that I want to finish, maybe publish, but no energy to do it all. I forget sometimes that my nature is more introverted than I let on, but I think when I can't write it's clearly time to step away from all the hubbub and give my soul a little rest.
We have a week-long break in October, as Taiwan celebrates the founding of the R.O.C.. I am thinking of places I can go for a day or two, either in the mountains or by the ocean. Somewhere where I can sit and think and write. In the meantime, I am happy to be where I am, doing what I am doing. But I do see that it's not giving back to me as much as I am putting into it. Blogging will resume, eventually, but maybe just not yet.
In the same way, when I sit down to write I fear that anything I try to put in words will be diminished in the end. I feel like I am drawing from a shallow well, so now I am planning a time to get away, by myself, to fill my reserves. I have months of observations of Nora in my head, waiting to go into her journal; I have pieces of a scrapbook for Cole tucked into various drawers and closets; I have essays, poems, manuscripts, that I want to finish, maybe publish, but no energy to do it all. I forget sometimes that my nature is more introverted than I let on, but I think when I can't write it's clearly time to step away from all the hubbub and give my soul a little rest.
We have a week-long break in October, as Taiwan celebrates the founding of the R.O.C.. I am thinking of places I can go for a day or two, either in the mountains or by the ocean. Somewhere where I can sit and think and write. In the meantime, I am happy to be where I am, doing what I am doing. But I do see that it's not giving back to me as much as I am putting into it. Blogging will resume, eventually, but maybe just not yet.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Kat, unplugged
Yes, I am still here. I took the summer off from blogging -- this is my Taiwan blog, for one thing, and I was 7,000 miles away -- and figured I'd get back into things once we settled in. Well, we've been without internet access for most of the last week, so my plans have been thwarted. I'm writing from the library at school, and will just say for now that we're all doing fine: one small earthquake, two small typhoons, and weeks and weeks of rain since we returned. So everything's back to normal.
Cole started 5th grade today, by the way. Can you believe it?
Cole started 5th grade today, by the way. Can you believe it?
Sunday, June 03, 2007
Living high
For my birthday recently, we took a trip down to the new Dream Mall, the largest retail center in Southeast Asia (for the moment, anyway). The mall features not only a Marks & Spencer, T.G.I.Fridays, and Toys 'R Us, but tops off it's 121,000 ping (that's 400,000 square meters for the ping-impaired) with Taiwan's only Hello Kitty ferris wheel. Oh, yes. You can see it here (along with a giant cup noodles) lurking in the background. Everything behind us is mall. Mall, mall, mall. We've been three times and still have only seen a portion of it: Muji, Starbucks, Baskin-Robbins, Nitori, McDonald's, the National Palace Museum shop, Birkenstock, Mont Blanc, Hankyu (a Harrod's wannabe, but we'll take it), Mister Donut, and more. The entire fifth floor is devoted to children's shops and an indoor playground. There are three levels of underground parking (below a six-floor garage). The food court is massive. I don't even know where they've hidden the movie theatres.
For my birthday, however, our mission was clear: ascend from the ninth floor to the roof and finally – finally!– ride the ferris wheel. On our two previous attempts the lines had been ridiculous, but on a Monday, at five in the afternoon, we hit it just right: one couple ahead of us, lovely light, and fifteen minutes of spectacular city views. It really was a nice ride. (In this photo you can see the view from the ferris wheel, when we were just coming over the top, looking back at the main plaza where the first photo was taken.)I took a dozen pictures (a couple more of which can be seen here and here) as we made the trip around, then we hit the ground running (the wheel never stops moving) and headed in for dinner. It was a great birthday, and a great way to wrap up our fourth year here. The kids and I leave tomorrow, and I'm ready to come home for the summer (though with not nearly as much on my shopping list anymore, since Kaohsiung is now a shopping mecca). I'm ready to see family and friends, ready for zucchini and raspberries and littlenecks, ready for cool summer days and no typhoons. But Kaohsiung is home now, too, and it will be good to come back in August and get back into the swing of things. Have a wonderful summer, everyone!
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Free as a what?
A while back, when I was regaling you with tales of Nora's new underwear, I made the observation that, in Taiwan, any printed surface should be approached with caution. This is not quite true. Foreigners love to read the English on clothing, bags, scooters, panel trucks – we share our "best Chinglish" stories and laugh at how mangled English can be and still convey some meaning (maybe not the intended meaning, but still). I have never detected a sense of superiority in these stories – most of us have very limited Chinese skills, and we appreciate any effort to put things in our language – but we can't help but read anything romanized, and the results are strangely rewarding. There is no caution, only delight.
Some of us (well, at least one of us, ahem) actually buy things simply for their English content. I have a collection of canned drinks – several coffees ("let's be black," "let's be bitter," and the one everybody's searching for, "God"), a Snoopy chocolate milk and a matching milk tea (both with histories of their respective drinks), and a very Parisian-looking coffee with a poem by the great beverage connoisseur and caffeinated thinker Gertrude Stein. My favorite, however, has to be a tinned white fungus drink, which, quite appropriately, goes by the brand name "KKK."
All of this comes to mind because I've finally used up the last of a not-very-good shampoo that I bought last fall. We needed something other than baby shampoo in the guest bath since we had company coming, but Pantene or Dove or Prell wouldn't do. Oh, no. It had to be:
I am as free as a fish, walking along this city. If only the shampoo were better – I'd buy it every time. Now that I've run out, though, I'll just have to find something else to amuse the guests.
Some of us (well, at least one of us, ahem) actually buy things simply for their English content. I have a collection of canned drinks – several coffees ("let's be black," "let's be bitter," and the one everybody's searching for, "God"), a Snoopy chocolate milk and a matching milk tea (both with histories of their respective drinks), and a very Parisian-looking coffee with a poem by the great beverage connoisseur and caffeinated thinker Gertrude Stein. My favorite, however, has to be a tinned white fungus drink, which, quite appropriately, goes by the brand name "KKK."
All of this comes to mind because I've finally used up the last of a not-very-good shampoo that I bought last fall. We needed something other than baby shampoo in the guest bath since we had company coming, but Pantene or Dove or Prell wouldn't do. Oh, no. It had to be:
Sakura Moisturizing Shampoo
In such a crowed & nervous city,
I refuse to be the same,
In my own way,with my own style,
I want to be myself,
as free as a fish, walking along the
city,
free my own pace,
as I wish..
I am as free as a fish, walking along this city. If only the shampoo were better – I'd buy it every time. Now that I've run out, though, I'll just have to find something else to amuse the guests.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
The birds and the beads
A Japanese White-eye slammed into our window this week. He was alive, breathing really hard, but otherwise totally still. I was afraid he'd broken his neck, but after 20 minutes or so he flew off, so I guess he was just shaken up. They're very pretty birds, quite small, and they do have a lovely song.
Speaking of song, we were awakened at 6:30 this morning by a temple parade: gongs, horns, drums, wailing voices – all of it being broadcast from the back of a truck so we wouldn't miss a note. Firecrackers punctuated the music. Big ones. This month has been unusually active for the local temple – they've strung up red lanterns, a couple miles' worth, all along our road, to mark which areas fall under their jurisdiction. This is for the benefit of roaming spirits, I believe, not just for us foreigners in the neighborhood. The next nearest temple had something going on today, too, so it could be a Taoist, island-wide thing, or something local. I wish I had more insight into those goings-on. I will have to ask my Chinese teacher to shed some light on it.
We had an outing today to the aboriginal (Paiwan tribe) village of Santimen (pronounced "san-DEE-mun"). This is my fourth trip to visit the bead shop there, but every time I go there's something new to look at, and the drive into the hills is refreshing in its own right. There are beautiful pieces of jewelry to buy, which I did, but the main reason we went was for the DIY beadmaking craft. It's a bargain: for NT$200 (about $6.00 US) you get to make your own large glass bead, then choose accent beads and have it made into a bracelet or necklace right before your eyes. The kids both made necklaces; Nora's is a gift for someone (I won't ruin the surprise), and Cole made a "pearl of great bravery" for himself. The beads all carry meaning within the tribe, and were worn like badges, proof of someone's experience or character. They were originally made from clay, but have been translated into glass. I'm sure we'll go again soon. Tim hasn't been yet, and just this evening a friend said, "Oh, let me know next time you go...." Maybe next weekend. Let me know if you want to tag along.
Speaking of song, we were awakened at 6:30 this morning by a temple parade: gongs, horns, drums, wailing voices – all of it being broadcast from the back of a truck so we wouldn't miss a note. Firecrackers punctuated the music. Big ones. This month has been unusually active for the local temple – they've strung up red lanterns, a couple miles' worth, all along our road, to mark which areas fall under their jurisdiction. This is for the benefit of roaming spirits, I believe, not just for us foreigners in the neighborhood. The next nearest temple had something going on today, too, so it could be a Taoist, island-wide thing, or something local. I wish I had more insight into those goings-on. I will have to ask my Chinese teacher to shed some light on it.
We had an outing today to the aboriginal (Paiwan tribe) village of Santimen (pronounced "san-DEE-mun"). This is my fourth trip to visit the bead shop there, but every time I go there's something new to look at, and the drive into the hills is refreshing in its own right. There are beautiful pieces of jewelry to buy, which I did, but the main reason we went was for the DIY beadmaking craft. It's a bargain: for NT$200 (about $6.00 US) you get to make your own large glass bead, then choose accent beads and have it made into a bracelet or necklace right before your eyes. The kids both made necklaces; Nora's is a gift for someone (I won't ruin the surprise), and Cole made a "pearl of great bravery" for himself. The beads all carry meaning within the tribe, and were worn like badges, proof of someone's experience or character. They were originally made from clay, but have been translated into glass. I'm sure we'll go again soon. Tim hasn't been yet, and just this evening a friend said, "Oh, let me know next time you go...." Maybe next weekend. Let me know if you want to tag along.
Friday, May 04, 2007
Pix
Now that I have my camera back, I've added some more pictures to Formosa Fix. The funny thing is, I've only uploaded photos taken the day before my camera broke, back in January. But I will get snapping and post some new ones soon, too.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Odds 'n ends
Time for a little loose-end trimming. With summer travel just around the corner, I sense the need to start wrapping things up – not that I can't blog from home, but my mind is already halfway across the ocean and I don't want to leave a bunch of unfinished Taiwan stories lying about while I chase after it.
First, the MV Doulos. We did get a tour the night I took doubles to Roopa; she was leading her team in drama practice, but her friend Hannah graciously led us around. We covered the whole of the ship, from engine room to laundry room, and then had dinner in the mess with both of them. (Roopa happily skipped the chow line and just nibbled on her doubles.) My camera was broken at the time, but the picture I would put here for you if I could is the view from the darkened ship's deck, looking into the brightly lit laundry: giant, bright yellow commercial washers line the walls, clean shirts on hangers hang from the pipes that traverse the ceiling, and in the foreground, hanging in the doorway, a dozen clown wigs – hot pink, lime green, rainbow-striped – dangle from the drying rack they're clipped to. It startled me and made me laugh. (And curse my broken camera.)
A few days later I did pick up Roopa for her Big Day Out, and Hannah joined us, too. They were in need of a day of rest, so we picked up some steak and potatoes at Dollar's and came back to our house for dinner. They were thrilled to sit in a room that wasn't moving, on a real couch, and just have the time to catch up with each other. Their duties on board keep them running in different directions, which is harder on them as their time to leave the Doulos approaches. Hannah will leave this month, and Roopa has to decide if she will leave in September and return to Trinidad, or remain on board one more year before marrying and moving to Australia. It was a pleasure to get to know both of them better, and to learn about the inner workings of such a venture. The protocal for courtship on a boat full of young men and women was particularly fascinating.
Next, the bread. My rosemary-sea salt loaf had good flavor, but I was surprised to see that the salt which I sprinkled on top blackened. It didn't burn so much as smoke, so the flavor was actually fine, but aesthetically, black salt was not what I was looking for. I will dig around to see what solutions I can find. In the meantime, I have another loaf going today, cinnamon raisin this time. It'll go in the oven in another couple hours.
And I recently added another book to my reading list, Peter Hessler's Oracle Bones. I got it for Christmas, blazed through it, but then forgot to mention it here. Highly recommended reading, especially if you read his first book, River Town. (It stands alone, so read it either way.) Hessler has a real talent for finding the hidden threads that connect seemingly disparate ideas and events, and his general love of China comes through, even as he struggles, frustrated, to understand her.
I, on the other hand, have no brilliant thread running through these lines, other than the relief of getting these lingering details out of my head and into print. I feel a bit freer now to move forward, but I will try to stay in the present long enough to give you a few more stories about happenings here.
First, the MV Doulos. We did get a tour the night I took doubles to Roopa; she was leading her team in drama practice, but her friend Hannah graciously led us around. We covered the whole of the ship, from engine room to laundry room, and then had dinner in the mess with both of them. (Roopa happily skipped the chow line and just nibbled on her doubles.) My camera was broken at the time, but the picture I would put here for you if I could is the view from the darkened ship's deck, looking into the brightly lit laundry: giant, bright yellow commercial washers line the walls, clean shirts on hangers hang from the pipes that traverse the ceiling, and in the foreground, hanging in the doorway, a dozen clown wigs – hot pink, lime green, rainbow-striped – dangle from the drying rack they're clipped to. It startled me and made me laugh. (And curse my broken camera.)
A few days later I did pick up Roopa for her Big Day Out, and Hannah joined us, too. They were in need of a day of rest, so we picked up some steak and potatoes at Dollar's and came back to our house for dinner. They were thrilled to sit in a room that wasn't moving, on a real couch, and just have the time to catch up with each other. Their duties on board keep them running in different directions, which is harder on them as their time to leave the Doulos approaches. Hannah will leave this month, and Roopa has to decide if she will leave in September and return to Trinidad, or remain on board one more year before marrying and moving to Australia. It was a pleasure to get to know both of them better, and to learn about the inner workings of such a venture. The protocal for courtship on a boat full of young men and women was particularly fascinating.
Next, the bread. My rosemary-sea salt loaf had good flavor, but I was surprised to see that the salt which I sprinkled on top blackened. It didn't burn so much as smoke, so the flavor was actually fine, but aesthetically, black salt was not what I was looking for. I will dig around to see what solutions I can find. In the meantime, I have another loaf going today, cinnamon raisin this time. It'll go in the oven in another couple hours.
And I recently added another book to my reading list, Peter Hessler's Oracle Bones. I got it for Christmas, blazed through it, but then forgot to mention it here. Highly recommended reading, especially if you read his first book, River Town. (It stands alone, so read it either way.) Hessler has a real talent for finding the hidden threads that connect seemingly disparate ideas and events, and his general love of China comes through, even as he struggles, frustrated, to understand her.
I, on the other hand, have no brilliant thread running through these lines, other than the relief of getting these lingering details out of my head and into print. I feel a bit freer now to move forward, but I will try to stay in the present long enough to give you a few more stories about happenings here.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Man cannot live by bread alone; woman, however...
I just found a boss hog bread recipe (love you, Eryn!) at chocolateandzucchini.com. Like Clotilde, I did not find immediate success. My first attempt was dough soup, baked into a golden brown curling stone in my Le Creuset dutch oven (curling stone, because a hockey puck would be too small). But undaunted (thank goodness Clotilde admitted her own third-time's-a-charm luck with this recipe), I made a second loaf today and, my dears, it's nearly gone. I did share a large hunk of it with some fellow bread-desperate friends, but mostly it's just been the work of me slicing into it all evening, slathering on the butter, and telling whoever walks into the kitchen, "I'm so happy! I made good bread!"
Find the recipe here, and then pull out your scale – kitchen scale, that is; pull out the bathroom scale and you may never make bread again. The key to this bread is the moisture content, and humidity is gonna mess with standard cup-of-this, cup-of-that measurements, as will variations in measuring a cup of flour (scoop? spoon? tap? level?). The loaf I'm nibbling on now (yes, right now), is plain Jane, strictly by the book. I have started another loaf tonight with the addition of three sprigs' worth of fresh rosemary needles, and will top it with coarse sea salt before baking tomorrow morning. See, that's the beauty of it: there's no kneading. You mix it, let it sit forever (or at least the next 12-18 hours of forever), drop it into a hot cast-iron lidded pot, and bake in a very hot oven. No mess. No kneading. No more crappy white Taiwan bread.
I am SO happy. You have no idea.
Find the recipe here, and then pull out your scale – kitchen scale, that is; pull out the bathroom scale and you may never make bread again. The key to this bread is the moisture content, and humidity is gonna mess with standard cup-of-this, cup-of-that measurements, as will variations in measuring a cup of flour (scoop? spoon? tap? level?). The loaf I'm nibbling on now (yes, right now), is plain Jane, strictly by the book. I have started another loaf tonight with the addition of three sprigs' worth of fresh rosemary needles, and will top it with coarse sea salt before baking tomorrow morning. See, that's the beauty of it: there's no kneading. You mix it, let it sit forever (or at least the next 12-18 hours of forever), drop it into a hot cast-iron lidded pot, and bake in a very hot oven. No mess. No kneading. No more crappy white Taiwan bread.
I am SO happy. You have no idea.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Who is the crazy lady hugging a box of Grape-Nuts in aisle five?
Oh, that would be me.
After the last post got me thinking about raspberries, and how much I crave them, I started thinking about how many things we can get in Kaohsiung now. I mean, raspberries have a short season in Washington, and luckily I fly home at the start of it, so I can't really complain about how scarce they are here. But other foods I have longed for are beginning to hit the shelves on our little island, and for that I am deeply grateful. When western foods become available, not only do I get to enjoy them right now, but it also frees up a lot of space in my checked bags at the end of the summer. My bring-back list is getting shorter and shorter every year.
Here are some of the goodies I've found around Kaohsiung in the last nine months:
Grape-Nuts (I really did hug them).
Cream that doesn't taste funny. It's still UHT, but it has no weird ingredients, only cream, which makes a huge difference in homemade ice cream and such. Plus, it's from Ireland, where all the cows are clean and happy.
Green peppercorns.
Bourbon vanilla extract.
Orzo, or rather Rosemarino, which is a bit more needle-like but still cooks up into a lovely pilaf.
Sea salt, and loads of it: New Zealand salt, Chilean red salt, local salt -- it all makes me happy.
Yogurt starter, with even more bacterial strains and a creamier taste than the starter that I've been smuggling over here for years.
Chili powder -- Costco size.
Rye flour. Haven't bought it yet, but I know where to find it now.
Brown rice flour. Bought it, but haven't used it yet. Somewhere I have a great lavender shortbread recipe that calls for it.
Ginger snaps.
Fresh dill! A friend bought some at the morning market and shared it with me. It's salmon with dill butter on the menu tonight.
There are still some essentials that elude me: beef bouillon, couscous, tapenade, chutney, vanilla beans, lentils, dried pears, powdered sugar that doesn't make your frosting gritty. But when you consider how cheap the fresh produce and meats are here, and how easy it is to get western staples, it looks more and more like a cook's paradise. And with all the extra room in my suitcases, maybe I can bring more books. Or travel lighter. There's a thought.
After the last post got me thinking about raspberries, and how much I crave them, I started thinking about how many things we can get in Kaohsiung now. I mean, raspberries have a short season in Washington, and luckily I fly home at the start of it, so I can't really complain about how scarce they are here. But other foods I have longed for are beginning to hit the shelves on our little island, and for that I am deeply grateful. When western foods become available, not only do I get to enjoy them right now, but it also frees up a lot of space in my checked bags at the end of the summer. My bring-back list is getting shorter and shorter every year.
Here are some of the goodies I've found around Kaohsiung in the last nine months:
Grape-Nuts (I really did hug them).
Cream that doesn't taste funny. It's still UHT, but it has no weird ingredients, only cream, which makes a huge difference in homemade ice cream and such. Plus, it's from Ireland, where all the cows are clean and happy.
Green peppercorns.
Bourbon vanilla extract.
Orzo, or rather Rosemarino, which is a bit more needle-like but still cooks up into a lovely pilaf.
Sea salt, and loads of it: New Zealand salt, Chilean red salt, local salt -- it all makes me happy.
Yogurt starter, with even more bacterial strains and a creamier taste than the starter that I've been smuggling over here for years.
Chili powder -- Costco size.
Rye flour. Haven't bought it yet, but I know where to find it now.
Brown rice flour. Bought it, but haven't used it yet. Somewhere I have a great lavender shortbread recipe that calls for it.
Ginger snaps.
Fresh dill! A friend bought some at the morning market and shared it with me. It's salmon with dill butter on the menu tonight.
There are still some essentials that elude me: beef bouillon, couscous, tapenade, chutney, vanilla beans, lentils, dried pears, powdered sugar that doesn't make your frosting gritty. But when you consider how cheap the fresh produce and meats are here, and how easy it is to get western staples, it looks more and more like a cook's paradise. And with all the extra room in my suitcases, maybe I can bring more books. Or travel lighter. There's a thought.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Signs of spring
Easter is behind us; kids are counting down the days 'til the end of school, and teachers are counting down the hours; the days are getting warmer, but rain's in the forecast.
All true, but that's not really what I mean now when I say signs of spring. I mean spring in Taiwan, spring as an expat, spring that takes some getting used to. (By the way, was anyone else out there taught to capitalize the seasons? It is a deeply entrenched habit, one that I fight only half-heartedly.) Anyway, spring (Spring), for me, is this:
Walking through piles of dry brown leaves that have finally fallen off the trees.
Looking for giant caterpillars, or their dessicated casings, nestled in the crevices of our school wall.
Mangoes the size of a lap cat.
Making mental lists of what I need to buy in the states this summer. Every morning for the last two weeks I have said to myself, "I should buy two of those lipsticks this year." Every morning.
Dead baby birds in the carport. Did they fall? Were they pushed? Why don't they get eaten?
Constantly feeling like I'm forgetting something. Too many parties, projects, and weekend trips as the school year winds down and people make ways to spend time together.
The accompanying feeling of sadness, kept just below the surface, as the end of the year means saying goodbye to dear friends.
Chirping geckoes.
National auto taxes (bad), and an automatic extension on my IRS filing (good).
Daylight that lingers long after the garbage truck's anthem, Für Elise, has faded away.
Swinging between two extremes: wanting to see everyone this summer, and wanting to do nothing all summer.
Scarred and charred hillsides, after families have come to fufill their duty to ancestors on Tomb Sweeping day. There is some small irony in the living honoring the dead by wiping out all of the plants that have grown around the tombs. We show up at a grave with flowers; they show up with weed trimmers and lighter fluid.
Strawberry season is over.
Raspberries await.
All true, but that's not really what I mean now when I say signs of spring. I mean spring in Taiwan, spring as an expat, spring that takes some getting used to. (By the way, was anyone else out there taught to capitalize the seasons? It is a deeply entrenched habit, one that I fight only half-heartedly.) Anyway, spring (Spring), for me, is this:
Walking through piles of dry brown leaves that have finally fallen off the trees.
Looking for giant caterpillars, or their dessicated casings, nestled in the crevices of our school wall.
Mangoes the size of a lap cat.
Making mental lists of what I need to buy in the states this summer. Every morning for the last two weeks I have said to myself, "I should buy two of those lipsticks this year." Every morning.
Dead baby birds in the carport. Did they fall? Were they pushed? Why don't they get eaten?
Constantly feeling like I'm forgetting something. Too many parties, projects, and weekend trips as the school year winds down and people make ways to spend time together.
The accompanying feeling of sadness, kept just below the surface, as the end of the year means saying goodbye to dear friends.
Chirping geckoes.
National auto taxes (bad), and an automatic extension on my IRS filing (good).
Daylight that lingers long after the garbage truck's anthem, Für Elise, has faded away.
Swinging between two extremes: wanting to see everyone this summer, and wanting to do nothing all summer.
Scarred and charred hillsides, after families have come to fufill their duty to ancestors on Tomb Sweeping day. There is some small irony in the living honoring the dead by wiping out all of the plants that have grown around the tombs. We show up at a grave with flowers; they show up with weed trimmers and lighter fluid.
Strawberry season is over.
Raspberries await.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
What would Jesus do?
Just came back from school where Nora and I had lunch with Tim. On the way home Nora was holding a bookmark Cole gave her, imprinted with a cross and those ubiquitous letters, WWJD. She held it up and asked, "What does this Bible say?" (I guess the cross gave her that connection.) I told her, "It says, 'What would Jesus do?'" Her eyes lit up. "He would give me a present before Christmas gets here a long time from now!"
Well, why not? Actually, today being Good Friday and all, I think we can say He already has.
Blessed Easter, everyone!
Well, why not? Actually, today being Good Friday and all, I think we can say He already has.
Blessed Easter, everyone!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
