Last weekend I had an enjoyable exercise in following one's impulses: two little words I blurted out set into motion a series of events that, in fact, continue to unfold. I don't mean to be oblique, but I am rather tickled by how the week has gone, and it can all be traced to one moment. Last Saturday night, we headed down with some friends to Fisherman's Wharf on the Kaohsiung harbor. Docked there at the moment is the MV Doulos, which sails to ports all over the world to provide books, medical assistance, and, when possible, a message of faith. The crew of 350 are all volunteers, from the captain on down, and crewmembers commit to a one- to two-year assignment on the boat. Over the years, more than 19 million people have come aboard to buy books and tour the vessel; she was built two years after the Titanic, and was first used as a cargo ship (she carried onions) but was later converted to a cruise ship. She has been running as a ministry since the '70s.
So this is how my two little words came into play. Before boarding the ship, we all decided to find some dinner at the restaurants along the wharf. Nora and I stopped at the first place we came to, a quiche and coffee shop, but the others wandered farther on looking for something else (something more manly, perhaps). At any rate, as Nora and I were eating, a performance began near our table, songs and dances from the drama department of the Doulos. We finished up and made our way over to the stage to watch them. Nora loved the dancing; the audience loved Nora (at one point, all the women squatting down in the front row had their cameras trained on her -- she is such a fascination to them). At the end of the show the members introduced themselves. The crew is made up of people from all over the world, and this group of about ten represented North America, South America, Europe, Asia and Central America. This last one, a woman from Trinidad, had already gotten my attention by using some American Sign Language in her music performance; now she stood on the stage and said where she was from, waiting for some recognition from the audience. People had clapped for France and Sweden and Canada, but no one seemed to have any idea where Trinidad was. She was playing up her disappointment, but still, I felt moved to say something. I called out, "Go, Trinidad!" She smiled, I smiled, the Chinese ladies around me giggled, and that seemed to be the end of it. Nora wanted to see the dancers, though, so we walked over to where the troupe was putting away their gear. The woman from Trinidad, Roopa, came up to me, so excited that I had even heard of her tiny island. She offered to give us a tour of the boat, so I rounded up everybody and we made our way up the gangplank. We did not get far, however, as tours were supposed to end at 8:00 and it was already past. But Roopa extended the offer if we were to come again.
I wasn't sure when we might make it back, but as the days passed I kept thinking about Roopa, about how far away from home she is. (Yes, I'm far from home, too, but I get to go back every summer, and people come to see us here, and the time seems to go quickly. She lives in a room that's smaller than your average walk-in closet. She shares it with three roommates.) I got online and Googled "food of Trinidad." I soon discovered the national treasure that is doubles, a fried bread filled with curried chickpeas. I found a recipe for it; I found I had all the ingredients. I knew we would go back.
Friday was a half day for the kids, and Tim was free in the afternoon, so after lunch I started making doubles [see my recipe here]. Everything went together easily, the house smelled fantastic (cumin and curry and onions, oh my!), and before long I had a bag with ten baras (fried bread rounds) and a little Chinese lunchbox full of channa (the curried beans). Tim came home and we piled into the van, back to the wharf to deliver the goods. I had sampled the doubles, and thought they were great, but I had no idea how close to real they were. Once on board, I handed the bags to Roopa, who asked what was inside. I told her to take a peek and see if it looked familiar. She poked around in the bag of bara and looked up at me with big, big eyes. "Doubles? You brought me doubles?" I smiled. She smiled, and then she started to cry a little. I did, too. How can you not? She was so happy to have a taste of home, and I was so happy to provide it. I feel a real kindredness with her, for whatever reason, and am still searching for ways to make her time here a little more comfortable. Monday is her day off, so I am picking her up at 1:00 for her first and only outing in Kaohsiung (the ship sails Tuesday for Taichung). I haven't decided yet how we'll spend the day, but doubles might factor into it. She did say they were very good.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
The thrill of the road
Check out this video for a taste of driving in Taiwan. It has several great illustrations of Kat's Taiwan Law of Vehicular Attraction: When three or more vehicles are on the same roadway, all traveling at different speeds, their paths will align at the narrowest, curviest, or otherwise most dangerous part of the road. Pedestrians, poor weather, and road crews increase the effect.
The video was taken somewhere on the east side of the island. It's beautiful country, but it's hard to appreciate the view when you're behind the wheel.
Enjoy!
The video was taken somewhere on the east side of the island. It's beautiful country, but it's hard to appreciate the view when you're behind the wheel.
Enjoy!
Monday, March 19, 2007
A little housekeeping
I just dusted off the books section on your right, there. That's been wanting some attention for a while. You may notice that I've renamed it, so I can lump in more titles, not just what I'm reading At This Moment (because I'm not a diligent-enough blogger to give you the play-by-play). Gilead and The Time Traveler's Wife are both novels; I would recommend the former to anyone – it was excellent. The latter I enjoyed, but it did get a bit steamy as the story wore on, so if your sensibilities are easily offended, perhaps you'd best skip it. I was too far into the story to put it down (and after she worked Gordon Gano into a scene I was willing to overlook many a transgression). Overall I liked it quite a bit. Time travel is hard to wrap your ahead around, but then again, I've got to use my fingers to figure out what time it is in Seattle, so it's partially just me.
The other two titles are non-fiction: Madeleine L'Engle's Story of a Marriage is a beautiful description of her life with husband Hugh, which she recounts while also parting the veil on his last months and days. Very emotional, but lovely. The Art of Travel I've just started. It looks to be an enjoyable read, one that I considered setting aside for the long flight home this summer, before remembering that I no longer get to read on the airplane because I am den mother, pack horse, and chaperone to two. I choose sleep over books now on those hops across the pond. At any rate, it's an intriguing look at why we travel, and how. Not a travel guide, but rather a guide to one's motives for traveling (or not, as the case may be).
I have cleaned up the list of "My" links, as well. I had added another blogging neighbor recently, but found out that she has switched over to posting photos on Flickr rather than blogging. So, Laura, you're out. (Auf Wiedersehen!) I updated my friend Clint's link so you go directly to his blog, rather than his photography site. Do check out his pix too, though, and stop by the grand opening of his new studio in Bellingham at the next Art Walk. He's very skillful with the camera.
So everything's tidied up now, and I can blog in peace and harmony. Enjoy it while it lasts.
The other two titles are non-fiction: Madeleine L'Engle's Story of a Marriage is a beautiful description of her life with husband Hugh, which she recounts while also parting the veil on his last months and days. Very emotional, but lovely. The Art of Travel I've just started. It looks to be an enjoyable read, one that I considered setting aside for the long flight home this summer, before remembering that I no longer get to read on the airplane because I am den mother, pack horse, and chaperone to two. I choose sleep over books now on those hops across the pond. At any rate, it's an intriguing look at why we travel, and how. Not a travel guide, but rather a guide to one's motives for traveling (or not, as the case may be).
I have cleaned up the list of "My" links, as well. I had added another blogging neighbor recently, but found out that she has switched over to posting photos on Flickr rather than blogging. So, Laura, you're out. (Auf Wiedersehen!) I updated my friend Clint's link so you go directly to his blog, rather than his photography site. Do check out his pix too, though, and stop by the grand opening of his new studio in Bellingham at the next Art Walk. He's very skillful with the camera.
So everything's tidied up now, and I can blog in peace and harmony. Enjoy it while it lasts.
Friday, March 02, 2007
Another busy day
Some days get the time sucked out of them, but others seem like they last forever. If you'd asked me this morning, I would have guessed that this was going to be one of the former. I will spare you the play-by-play of my day, but I will say that it involved getting Nora to preschool, mailing a package, cashing in some winning receipts, taking Cole to the pediatrician, having a follow-up with my own doctor, and taking a load of hemming and mending to the seamstress. It was a little crazy, but some days require a lot of you, and that's just the way it is.
Two things stand out from my busy day, sitting here now in a quiet house. The first happened at the hospital. I have a national health card with my name on it, last name printed first in the Chinese way; it is the same on my alien resident card and my hospital ID. Perhaps because they are familiar with the western order of names, every nurse or doctor who sees my name on those cards calls me by my last name – or rather, the feminine version of it: Michelle. It is uncanny, that not once in very many visits has anyone ever called me by my right name, nor even my right last name. So today I sat waiting for my number to come up, for the nurse to come out and say, "Please? Michelle?" And she did. That was not surprising. What did catch me off guard is that while waiting to pick up some pills at the pharmacy, the player piano in the lobby (this is a very posh hospital) started playing the theme to Cheers. I was humming along, and then came to that bit. You know, where "everyone knows your name." It was very hard not to laugh. But when the pharmacist handed me my prescriptions and said, "Thank you, Michelle," I very nearly lost it. Poor woman, she must have thought I was nuts.
The other great moment came after our visit to the seamstress. This errand has been a long time coming, Tim and I having amassed a sartorial stash, two bags worth, of things to be altered or mended. Our good friend Tiffany offered to go with us, to interpret as well as get some of her own things worked on. We went after dinner, when the woman's sign was usually set out. We arrived at the home of the seamstress, however, only to find the doors locked, the lights off, and the neighbor insisting that no one there did sewing anymore. No money in it, he said, which I can believe. (Most repairs will run you a dollar (NT$30), but if it involves a zipper it might push three bucks.) Undaunted, Tiffany directed us to a different part of town where she had seen another seamstress' sign before. The three of us walking down the main drag of the neighboring little village, bags of clothes hanging from our arms, must have been a sight. We ended up speaking (well, Tiffany spoke and we tried to look like we were following the conversation) with a shopkeeper who told us that the seamstress we were looking for was no longer in business (a disheartening trend), but there was another not too far down the lane and around the corner. At the OrangeKitchen we found success: behind the darkened cafe front, a back room with a pewter-colored, war-era Mitsubishi sewing machine and glass cabinets of thread was opened to us. We were made very welcome, as our host offered us chairs ("Sit-a down!") and summoned the seamstress in the family. She looked over our various garments (eight pairs of pants, one shirt, one skirt), took measurements, made marks with her yellow chalk, and then announced it would all be done tomorrow.
We decided to walk back to the car via a different lane, one which passed a local church (we had passed two temples on the way in, so it only seemed fair). The lane began to narrow, and then ended -- well, not quite. A passage led off to the left, which was the direction we needed to go. We slipped between the houses on that path, listening to muffled voices and kitchen sounds bounce off the stucko walls, walking farther into the dark, only to slip into an even darker, narrower path before emptying out onto the street. Adventure is too big a word for such a brief detour, but the sensation was there, for a few moments, that we were doing something we hadn't done before, walking where no one we knew had walked before, seeing one more corner of Taiwan which will be filed away under "Remember when?" It was a good day, all in all. Long, but good.
Two things stand out from my busy day, sitting here now in a quiet house. The first happened at the hospital. I have a national health card with my name on it, last name printed first in the Chinese way; it is the same on my alien resident card and my hospital ID. Perhaps because they are familiar with the western order of names, every nurse or doctor who sees my name on those cards calls me by my last name – or rather, the feminine version of it: Michelle. It is uncanny, that not once in very many visits has anyone ever called me by my right name, nor even my right last name. So today I sat waiting for my number to come up, for the nurse to come out and say, "Please? Michelle?" And she did. That was not surprising. What did catch me off guard is that while waiting to pick up some pills at the pharmacy, the player piano in the lobby (this is a very posh hospital) started playing the theme to Cheers. I was humming along, and then came to that bit. You know, where "everyone knows your name." It was very hard not to laugh. But when the pharmacist handed me my prescriptions and said, "Thank you, Michelle," I very nearly lost it. Poor woman, she must have thought I was nuts.
The other great moment came after our visit to the seamstress. This errand has been a long time coming, Tim and I having amassed a sartorial stash, two bags worth, of things to be altered or mended. Our good friend Tiffany offered to go with us, to interpret as well as get some of her own things worked on. We went after dinner, when the woman's sign was usually set out. We arrived at the home of the seamstress, however, only to find the doors locked, the lights off, and the neighbor insisting that no one there did sewing anymore. No money in it, he said, which I can believe. (Most repairs will run you a dollar (NT$30), but if it involves a zipper it might push three bucks.) Undaunted, Tiffany directed us to a different part of town where she had seen another seamstress' sign before. The three of us walking down the main drag of the neighboring little village, bags of clothes hanging from our arms, must have been a sight. We ended up speaking (well, Tiffany spoke and we tried to look like we were following the conversation) with a shopkeeper who told us that the seamstress we were looking for was no longer in business (a disheartening trend), but there was another not too far down the lane and around the corner. At the OrangeKitchen we found success: behind the darkened cafe front, a back room with a pewter-colored, war-era Mitsubishi sewing machine and glass cabinets of thread was opened to us. We were made very welcome, as our host offered us chairs ("Sit-a down!") and summoned the seamstress in the family. She looked over our various garments (eight pairs of pants, one shirt, one skirt), took measurements, made marks with her yellow chalk, and then announced it would all be done tomorrow.
We decided to walk back to the car via a different lane, one which passed a local church (we had passed two temples on the way in, so it only seemed fair). The lane began to narrow, and then ended -- well, not quite. A passage led off to the left, which was the direction we needed to go. We slipped between the houses on that path, listening to muffled voices and kitchen sounds bounce off the stucko walls, walking farther into the dark, only to slip into an even darker, narrower path before emptying out onto the street. Adventure is too big a word for such a brief detour, but the sensation was there, for a few moments, that we were doing something we hadn't done before, walking where no one we knew had walked before, seeing one more corner of Taiwan which will be filed away under "Remember when?" It was a good day, all in all. Long, but good.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Night noises
It is the last day of February, in fact the last hour of February. I stayed up to take a warm bath and my last dose of pills for the day (apparently pertussis is what's been going around). As I walked through the house, shutting off lights, I was so pleased to hear the night noises drifting in through the open deck doors. Only February (!), and outside crickets, frogs, some unknown nocturnal birds with a whooping call, all sing to me through the screens, as tan geckoes skitter across. This has been a particularly cool winter (I will refrain from calling 50ยบ cold), and a rainy one, but I'm not sure I'm ready for spring yet. Late winter days here are just about perfect, as are the nights.
Happy Chinese New Year, by the way. My camera isn't working, so I've got nothing to show you from our week off -- but then again, you can probably picture us staying home and laying low without any visual aids. The whole of the country goes visiting on New Year's, so we waiguoren tend to stay put. As it is Year of the Pig, we ate a lot of bacon and I made sausage. I'm not sure how the poor beasts came to symbolize good fortune, but we did enjoy our share of them. Do not, however, draw conclusions about how we rang in the Year of the Dog....
Happy Chinese New Year, by the way. My camera isn't working, so I've got nothing to show you from our week off -- but then again, you can probably picture us staying home and laying low without any visual aids. The whole of the country goes visiting on New Year's, so we waiguoren tend to stay put. As it is Year of the Pig, we ate a lot of bacon and I made sausage. I'm not sure how the poor beasts came to symbolize good fortune, but we did enjoy our share of them. Do not, however, draw conclusions about how we rang in the Year of the Dog....
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Pretty as a picture
One of the many diversions available to foreigners in Taiwan is professional modeling; it is not hugely lucrative, but the catalogs make for great souvenirs. The key to being a successful model is being the right height and the right color, the former varying from job to job, but the latter being a fairly fixed idea
. Nora, it turns out, was just the right height for a job this week (95 cm), and a most desirable shade of pale. Actually, it's not strictly about skin color, but about looking foreign. Many half-Chinese children model as well, but I know of some mixed-race families where one sibling gets work while the other, more Asian-looking, child does not. The manufacturers know what sells their product: the notion that across the great Pacific little fair-haired, pink-cheeked boys and girls are wearing the very same clothes that hang on Taiwan's department store racks.
So today, Nora and I travelled up to a photo studio in Tainan with a couple other moms and kids, to shoot a children's clothing catalog. The siao jyes oohed and aahed over the kids, and promptly set about dolling them up, teasing their hair and dusting powder on their little noses. It was fun, at least for the first couple hours. It turned out to be a very long shoot, running well past dinner time, and There Were Tears. But the kids were great, the clothes were darling, and the money will be set aside for a rainy day. It's not a way of life I plan to pursue (being a studio mother, that is), and opportunities to model are fairly rare anyway, but perhaps the next time a job comes around Nora will be up for it again. She certainly likes the camera.
. Nora, it turns out, was just the right height for a job this week (95 cm), and a most desirable shade of pale. Actually, it's not strictly about skin color, but about looking foreign. Many half-Chinese children model as well, but I know of some mixed-race families where one sibling gets work while the other, more Asian-looking, child does not. The manufacturers know what sells their product: the notion that across the great Pacific little fair-haired, pink-cheeked boys and girls are wearing the very same clothes that hang on Taiwan's department store racks.So today, Nora and I travelled up to a photo studio in Tainan with a couple other moms and kids, to shoot a children's clothing catalog. The siao jyes oohed and aahed over the kids, and promptly set about dolling them up, teasing their hair and dusting powder on their little noses. It was fun, at least for the first couple hours. It turned out to be a very long shoot, running well past dinner time, and There Were Tears. But the kids were great, the clothes were darling, and the money will be set aside for a rainy day. It's not a way of life I plan to pursue (being a studio mother, that is), and opportunities to model are fairly rare anyway, but perhaps the next time a job comes around Nora will be up for it again. She certainly likes the camera.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Funny undies
I only have a minute, since I'm trying to get to bed before 11:00 these days, but I just had to share: I picked up some new "big girl pants" for Nora this week, white with a cute little duck design on them. They were sealed in their packaging, so I couldn't really check them out until I got home, but, I mean, it's little girl undies. What could possibly go wrong? (Okay, that's a rhetorical question; this is Taiwan, and any printed surface should be approached with caution by English speakers.) So, I get them home, and upon closer inspection I find that next to the happy little duck is a tiny little fish, labeled "fish," and a tiny little crab, labeled... "crap." Naturally.
I'm thinking maybe I'll frame them.
I'm thinking maybe I'll frame them.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
New Year notes
Whenever I start feeling like I'm so behind in posting, I click on my neighbor's link to the right here to cheer myself up. (October? Thanks, Matt! I feel better already!)
The new year is off to a pretty good start. My parents are here for a visit, which is great, but Tim, Cole, Dad and I have been feeling a bit off (a couple of nasty bugs have been circulating the building since Christmas), so I'm hoping that it all blows over soon and we stay healthy the rest of their time here. We're planning on touring the east side of the island next weekend. Last Saturday we spent the day in Kenting -- lovely weather, and hardly anyone else on the beach -- but the last two days Cole's been sick and we've not done much.
I have been spending very little time on the computer lately, not on purpose, but as a result of trying to get to bed earlier. Something had to give, and for now, at least, it's computer time. I'm finding that the earlier I go to bed, though, the harder it is to get up in the morning. I will keep at it, but seriously, it makes me want to sleep more, and that's kind of not the point. Could be a flu-related thing, though, so I'm not making any plans to stay up late. Yet.
Not much news on this side of the world. No major aftershocks since the quakes in December. The holidays were quiet and pleasant (except for said earthquakes), but now school's back in session and life's picked up where it left off before the break. We're looking ahead to Chinese New Year already; nothing like two weeks off to make you wish for more. Sort of like the sleep thing....
Speaking of, off to bed I go. Will post some pix soon of our travels.
The new year is off to a pretty good start. My parents are here for a visit, which is great, but Tim, Cole, Dad and I have been feeling a bit off (a couple of nasty bugs have been circulating the building since Christmas), so I'm hoping that it all blows over soon and we stay healthy the rest of their time here. We're planning on touring the east side of the island next weekend. Last Saturday we spent the day in Kenting -- lovely weather, and hardly anyone else on the beach -- but the last two days Cole's been sick and we've not done much.
I have been spending very little time on the computer lately, not on purpose, but as a result of trying to get to bed earlier. Something had to give, and for now, at least, it's computer time. I'm finding that the earlier I go to bed, though, the harder it is to get up in the morning. I will keep at it, but seriously, it makes me want to sleep more, and that's kind of not the point. Could be a flu-related thing, though, so I'm not making any plans to stay up late. Yet.
Not much news on this side of the world. No major aftershocks since the quakes in December. The holidays were quiet and pleasant (except for said earthquakes), but now school's back in session and life's picked up where it left off before the break. We're looking ahead to Chinese New Year already; nothing like two weeks off to make you wish for more. Sort of like the sleep thing....
Speaking of, off to bed I go. Will post some pix soon of our travels.
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Twist earth!
So, if you were three years old, and right in the middle of dinner your house started moving first side to side in one direction, and then side to side the other way, what might you call it? I think Nora's "twist earth" pretty neatly sums up this evening's excitement: two quakes (6.7 and 6.4), coming about eight minutes apart, each seeming to go on longer than anyone here remembers a quake lasting (a minute? half a minute? three? It's so hard to gauge time when you're in the middle of one). After the first, we went out to the hall, heard lots of voices a floor below and headed down to trade stories with our neighbors who had gathered there: fish tanks sploshing most of their contents on the floors, vases falling off tables, books off shelves, small children freaking out. This was the inaugural quake for one of our new families, and for their parents who are visiting from the states as well. (Welcome to Taiwan! Hi! Hug a wall!) While we were all chatting, the second quake hit, and I headed inside an apartment with Nora to find a secure place to ride it out. Several moms hunkered down in the hall with their little ones; they started singing Jesus Loves Me, which was comforting except that it made me realize just how long the quake was lasting. I prayed. And prayed. It really went on and on. Once that one ended, many of us headed out to the lawn, to the relative safety of open spaces. Our building is exceptionally well built, conforming to California earthquake codes, as opposed to local standards (which, in practice, if not on paper, seem to only require that something metal (old coffee cans, rebar remnants) be--oh! we just had another one. Dashed to the hall with Tim and Cole (Nora's in bed), and watched things move. This is getting really unnerving. Eek. At least we're not on the 7th floor; they really sway up there. Cole asked, at the tail end of it, "Is the building still moving, or is that just my legs?"
We have staff families traveling over break to cities much nearer the epicenters of these quakes, and I can only pray that they're out of harm's way. (One more reason to stay in better hotels, eh?) Apparently two buildings collapsed after the earlier quakes, killing at least one person and trapping others. Not a lot of details yet on the English news sites. Please keep the people here in your prayers, that there won't be more deaths, and that the aftershocks subside soon.
We're fine, if shaken a bit. Tim says the last one was a 5.5, so at least things are moving in the right direction. I'll keep you posted.
We have staff families traveling over break to cities much nearer the epicenters of these quakes, and I can only pray that they're out of harm's way. (One more reason to stay in better hotels, eh?) Apparently two buildings collapsed after the earlier quakes, killing at least one person and trapping others. Not a lot of details yet on the English news sites. Please keep the people here in your prayers, that there won't be more deaths, and that the aftershocks subside soon.
We're fine, if shaken a bit. Tim says the last one was a 5.5, so at least things are moving in the right direction. I'll keep you posted.
Christmas past
Christmas Day is behind us, and there's a sense of relief in the air. It is both a holy day for us and a holiday, so I appreciate that Christmas in Taiwan is a toned-down affair; there's a bit of hall-decking and last-minute shopping, but not the craziness of the season stateside. Still, I miss family, miss being able to carry on certain traditions (someone please tell me who got Willy this year!), and miss the smell of a real tree--I stuck some sprigs of rosemary into our tree so it would at least smell like something in nature--and it's easy to get homesick the more you think about what you're missing. So now that the big day is over, I feel free to enjoy the rest of our winter break without the emotional weight that Christmas brought to the first half. My parents are coming to visit in a couple weeks, so I am looking forward to that, and hoping to get a few things done around the house in preparation.
I hope you had a lovely Christmas, wherever you are, with the company of friends and loved ones. I had a good one, but I'm happy to have it over for another year.
I hope you had a lovely Christmas, wherever you are, with the company of friends and loved ones. I had a good one, but I'm happy to have it over for another year.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Island in a dry river
I have not written in two months. Crazy. It's not that I haven't had plenty to write about, nor have I been so utterly busy that I couldn't sit down for twenty minutes and peck out a post or two; I just haven't written. The longer I went without writing, the more I thought about how to explain why–not just to you, my clamoring readership, but to myself, too.
The answer began to coalesce around a Chinese character I learned some time ago and just came across again in a street name downtown: jhou, which friends say means an island in a dry river. A quick (ha ha, quick) perusal of my Chinese-English dictionary (ever thought about how to arrange a dictionary when you've got no alphabet?) calls jhou an islet, or a sandbar. Whichever meaning, I think jhou describes how I've been feeling–stationary yet evolving, able to see everything around me, yet at the same time a bit tired of noticing everything around me. The unexamined life is sometimes a blessing. Of course, the lie in that is that I have still been examining, just not reporting. I can't decide, though, if I identify more with the sandbar or the dry-river island. I will certainly always be a foreigner, will marvel daily at how different things are here, will continue to stand out like a blue-eyed, fair-skinned thumb (if you'll allow me that liberty), but... this is my life, and the longer I'm here the more normal it becomes. I am a little island in a rushing, pushing, pulsing river; I am also an island in the drier tedium of routine, trying to keep from being absorbed into the plainer parts of my days.
Ack, sorry to ruminate all over you. I'm not sure if the cure for that is to write more, or less. Either way, I'm blogging again and hoping you'll pop in from time to time to say hello.
The answer began to coalesce around a Chinese character I learned some time ago and just came across again in a street name downtown: jhou, which friends say means an island in a dry river. A quick (ha ha, quick) perusal of my Chinese-English dictionary (ever thought about how to arrange a dictionary when you've got no alphabet?) calls jhou an islet, or a sandbar. Whichever meaning, I think jhou describes how I've been feeling–stationary yet evolving, able to see everything around me, yet at the same time a bit tired of noticing everything around me. The unexamined life is sometimes a blessing. Of course, the lie in that is that I have still been examining, just not reporting. I can't decide, though, if I identify more with the sandbar or the dry-river island. I will certainly always be a foreigner, will marvel daily at how different things are here, will continue to stand out like a blue-eyed, fair-skinned thumb (if you'll allow me that liberty), but... this is my life, and the longer I'm here the more normal it becomes. I am a little island in a rushing, pushing, pulsing river; I am also an island in the drier tedium of routine, trying to keep from being absorbed into the plainer parts of my days.
Ack, sorry to ruminate all over you. I'm not sure if the cure for that is to write more, or less. Either way, I'm blogging again and hoping you'll pop in from time to time to say hello.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Whimsy it is
A friend's question has prompted this post; I will do my best, Clint, to muster whimsy at this late hour, but you will be lucky if it even makes sense.
When I write about the books I'm reading, I usually hyper-link the title to the book's Amazon page so you can read more about it, and buy it if you wish. Turns out, I can (in theory) make a little money by doing so, simply by signing up as an Amazon Associate and then modifying my links to include my special Amazon ID code. Then (in theory), when my readers, who are legion, click on the links, they are tagged as Browsers Who Came to Amazon Thanks to Kat, and any purchases they make within twenty-four hours (for any items, not just the ones I link to) earn me a Tiny Little Finders Fee.
In theory.
The reality, I am finding out, is somewhat different. Either:
a) My readers are not legion;
b) My readers don't buy books;
c) My readers have unwittingly already been tagged by other, less charming and definitely more deceptive Amazon Associates who create programs to randomly tag people as they roam the internet, so that my little tag has no place to hang his hat -- there's no room at the inn; not a square to spare; that train has sailed. You get the picture.
Option a) is impossible, of course; you can see from the plethora of comments as well as the many requests to post more! more! more! when I have the occasional dry spell, that you number in the teens at least. I find b) only slightly more likely, not because my readers, who are legion (see above), don't read, but rather because many of you are known, card-carrying, library card, uh... carriers, and also maybe spend your money on better things (like famine relief, or organic dark chocolate). That leaves us with c), the Tag Pirates. This, though frustrating, is a blessing and a curse, and for the same reason: I can do nothing about it. Yes, it stinks, but think of the time I save by being totally unable to change the situation!
So, my tags are set, and maybe someday I will get credit for a sale, my little tag sobbing before the Academy, "You like me! You really like me!" But there's not a whole lot I can do until then -- except, of course, write. For my readers. Who are legion.
When I write about the books I'm reading, I usually hyper-link the title to the book's Amazon page so you can read more about it, and buy it if you wish. Turns out, I can (in theory) make a little money by doing so, simply by signing up as an Amazon Associate and then modifying my links to include my special Amazon ID code. Then (in theory), when my readers, who are legion, click on the links, they are tagged as Browsers Who Came to Amazon Thanks to Kat, and any purchases they make within twenty-four hours (for any items, not just the ones I link to) earn me a Tiny Little Finders Fee.
In theory.
The reality, I am finding out, is somewhat different. Either:
a) My readers are not legion;
b) My readers don't buy books;
c) My readers have unwittingly already been tagged by other, less charming and definitely more deceptive Amazon Associates who create programs to randomly tag people as they roam the internet, so that my little tag has no place to hang his hat -- there's no room at the inn; not a square to spare; that train has sailed. You get the picture.
Option a) is impossible, of course; you can see from the plethora of comments as well as the many requests to post more! more! more! when I have the occasional dry spell, that you number in the teens at least. I find b) only slightly more likely, not because my readers, who are legion (see above), don't read, but rather because many of you are known, card-carrying, library card, uh... carriers, and also maybe spend your money on better things (like famine relief, or organic dark chocolate). That leaves us with c), the Tag Pirates. This, though frustrating, is a blessing and a curse, and for the same reason: I can do nothing about it. Yes, it stinks, but think of the time I save by being totally unable to change the situation!
So, my tags are set, and maybe someday I will get credit for a sale, my little tag sobbing before the Academy, "You like me! You really like me!" But there's not a whole lot I can do until then -- except, of course, write. For my readers. Who are legion.
Saturday, October 14, 2006
Excuses, excuses
So, last time it was, "I'm too busy," and this week it's, "I'm too sick." But you don't want to hear it, I'm sure, so now that I am up and moving about I will put down a few thoughts that have been keeping me company lately.
For starters, we have a new car. Not an actual new car, of course -- the day I buy something off the showroom floor you'll know I've been taken over by an alien lifeform. But for us, a 2000 Mitsubishi Space Gear is a huge step up from the '93-ish Toyota Zace that we've been driving. There are bells; there are whistles; there are two TV screens and a built-in refrigerator. (No lie.) It is certainly the nicest car we've had, but I'm not totally comfortable with that. Perhaps it's not the frills that bother me, but rather just the idea that I no longer drive a Zace in Taiwan. Old Zaces are all we've ever driven here, and I love them. Manual transmission, no power steering -- no power anything -- but totally utilitarian and unfussy. And, I guess, a little bit romantic -- for all its dings and doors that don't always open and windows that leak in the carwash, it's a great roughin' it car, and captures a bit of Taiwan in its funkiness. Yet now we're in a silver mini-van. A very comfortable mini-van. I am leery of too much comfort; I think it makes you weak. The reliability, though, is a good thing. And seatbelts for everyone. And room for visitors. And karaoke! Did I mention the karaoke? It really is a hoot. Come see us and we'll take you for a spin. You can have first dibs on the mic.
In other news, Nora starts preschool next week. She turns three on Monday (already!), and Tuesday heads off to Sunny Kindergarten (which is actually quite shady, but who would send their child to Shady Kindergarten? Who knows what bad habits she'd pick up there). She is very excited, had a great time when we visited last week to make arrangements, and is looking forward to the big day. Our little friend and neighbor, George, will be in her class, so I'm hopeful that his familiar face will help ease the transition. I am excited to have a few hours to myself twice a week, for Bible study on Tuesdays and writing/editing/napping on Fridays. I'm also eager to hear our little red-head start chattering in Chinese. I think she'll do fine.
For starters, we have a new car. Not an actual new car, of course -- the day I buy something off the showroom floor you'll know I've been taken over by an alien lifeform. But for us, a 2000 Mitsubishi Space Gear is a huge step up from the '93-ish Toyota Zace that we've been driving. There are bells; there are whistles; there are two TV screens and a built-in refrigerator. (No lie.) It is certainly the nicest car we've had, but I'm not totally comfortable with that. Perhaps it's not the frills that bother me, but rather just the idea that I no longer drive a Zace in Taiwan. Old Zaces are all we've ever driven here, and I love them. Manual transmission, no power steering -- no power anything -- but totally utilitarian and unfussy. And, I guess, a little bit romantic -- for all its dings and doors that don't always open and windows that leak in the carwash, it's a great roughin' it car, and captures a bit of Taiwan in its funkiness. Yet now we're in a silver mini-van. A very comfortable mini-van. I am leery of too much comfort; I think it makes you weak. The reliability, though, is a good thing. And seatbelts for everyone. And room for visitors. And karaoke! Did I mention the karaoke? It really is a hoot. Come see us and we'll take you for a spin. You can have first dibs on the mic.
In other news, Nora starts preschool next week. She turns three on Monday (already!), and Tuesday heads off to Sunny Kindergarten (which is actually quite shady, but who would send their child to Shady Kindergarten? Who knows what bad habits she'd pick up there). She is very excited, had a great time when we visited last week to make arrangements, and is looking forward to the big day. Our little friend and neighbor, George, will be in her class, so I'm hopeful that his familiar face will help ease the transition. I am excited to have a few hours to myself twice a week, for Bible study on Tuesdays and writing/editing/napping on Fridays. I'm also eager to hear our little red-head start chattering in Chinese. I think she'll do fine.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Monday, September 25, 2006
Check this out!
There's a new blogger in town. You can find him here:
colescuttle.blogspot.com
He's having a lot of fun with his entries -- drop him a line and tell him what you think.
colescuttle.blogspot.com
He's having a lot of fun with his entries -- drop him a line and tell him what you think.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Grrr...
I just posted below, but there's something amiss with the links -- they seem to work all right, but for some reason there's an extra space at the end which causes my commas to dangle precariously all on their own. It probably only bothers me (well, and Tim, and maybe a certain few of you), but now I've got to figure out how to fix it. It looked good in the preview. Sigh.
Books, books, books
I've updated my reading list over on the sidebar. I recently put in a big Amazon order with some other teachers, which meant I finally got to delete some titles that had been lingering on my wish list. The Eugene Peterson book, Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places
, is one that I've had my eye on for a while. I also ordered two cookbooks, The Bread Lover's Bread Machine Cookbook and Not Your Mother's Slow Cooker, which I'm hoping will motivate me to use those two machines a bit more. I seem to be only getting busier, so it's time to put some of these devices to work.
Still on my wish list: Oracle Bones, by Peter Hessler, whose first book, River Town, I thoroughly enjoyed; Orthodoxy, by G.K. Chesterton; and The Poetry Home Repair Manual, by Ted Kooser. The latter I read a couple years ago and still think of often, so at some point I'd like to get a copy.
Books have been figuring prominently in my life lately. I am organizing Scholastic orders for the middle schoolers, which was a bit of a grind to set up but now should go fairly smoothly. I have been working on a children's book, based on a nursery rhyme I used to tell Cole and which might have some publishing potential; and I've been doing some editing work as well. I am happy to be surrounded by all things book, though it does keep me in the house more.
In the interest of full disclosure, I have just today gotten set up as an Amazon.com Associate, which means that anytime someone clicks on one of my Amazon links and then makes a purchase (of that particular item or another), I get a bit of the take. I'm not expecting to make millions off it, but since I've been posting Amazon links in my posts anyway, I figured I might as well take advantage of the opportunity. I've opted to get reimbursement in the form of Amazon gift certificates, so if my nickels and dimes do add up, you can guess what you'll be getting for Christmas.
, is one that I've had my eye on for a while. I also ordered two cookbooks, The Bread Lover's Bread Machine Cookbook and Not Your Mother's Slow Cooker, which I'm hoping will motivate me to use those two machines a bit more. I seem to be only getting busier, so it's time to put some of these devices to work.Still on my wish list: Oracle Bones
, by Peter Hessler, whose first book, River Town, I thoroughly enjoyed; Orthodoxy, by G.K. Chesterton; and The Poetry Home Repair Manual, by Ted Kooser. The latter I read a couple years ago and still think of often, so at some point I'd like to get a copy.Books have been figuring prominently in my life lately. I am organizing Scholastic orders for the middle schoolers, which was a bit of a grind to set up but now should go fairly smoothly. I have been working on a children's book, based on a nursery rhyme I used to tell Cole and which might have some publishing potential; and I've been doing some editing work as well. I am happy to be surrounded by all things book, though it does keep me in the house more.
In the interest of full disclosure, I have just today gotten set up as an Amazon.com Associate, which means that anytime someone clicks on one of my Amazon links and then makes a purchase (of that particular item or another), I get a bit of the take. I'm not expecting to make millions off it, but since I've been posting Amazon links in my posts anyway, I figured I might as well take advantage of the opportunity. I've opted to get reimbursement in the form of Amazon gift certificates, so if my nickels and dimes do add up, you can guess what you'll be getting for Christmas.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Driver's Ed.
I need to get my license.
I have always relied on an international driver license to keep me legal here in Taiwan, but, alas, mine has lapsed and I need to get a local one to get back on the right side of the law. The test is similar to to the one in the states, at least on the surface: you must first pass a written exam, and then take the practical portion. The driving guide is available online, as is a practice exam. I decided to try the test once, without consulting the guide, so I could judge my baseline competency. I wanted to know how hard I'll have to work to pass this thing. The results were not encouraging, as you can see here:
I believe you need a score of 80 to pass, so I've got some work to do -- that death threat has given me new motivation. I'm surprised they used gallows humor in this case, actually; taking an exam in this culture is a big deal, and many young people do take their own lives if they feel they have let their families down.
Passing on the first try is a rare thing among the expats who have tested and lived to tell about it. The problem is not the written test, although it is bizarrely worded and full of arcane details about fees and fines and special rules for taxis; the problem is with the driving portion, which is as impractical as a practical exam can be. The test takes place on a closed track outfitted with sensors and alarms. The student driver gets behind the wheel of a car trimmed out with tags that trip the sensors, which, of course, set off the alarms, every time you make an error. The driver is tested on his ability to parallel park smoothly (without stopping during the maneuver); to negotiate a set of S-curves, both forward and back; and to back into a space, again without stopping the car while doing so. The course has numbered markers to guide the driver: pull forward until you are even with the #13; turn the wheel two turns to the right and reverse until you are even with the #14; turn the wheel five turns to the left and reverse until you are even with then #15; straighten out your wheels. Yes, this is the practical exam. Perhaps this explains why so many Chinese people require assistance when parking their cars. It's commonplace for whomever is riding shotgun to hop out (often to race ahead and save a space, but that's another story) and direct the driver gently into the slot. It doesn't matter how big the space or how small the car; parking is very often a team effort.
I've heard that you must get a score of 85 to pass the driving portion; each error is worth 10 points. I'm not even going to go there. I'll just chalk it up to new math.
I have always relied on an international driver license to keep me legal here in Taiwan, but, alas, mine has lapsed and I need to get a local one to get back on the right side of the law. The test is similar to to the one in the states, at least on the surface: you must first pass a written exam, and then take the practical portion. The driving guide is available online, as is a practice exam. I decided to try the test once, without consulting the guide, so I could judge my baseline competency. I wanted to know how hard I'll have to work to pass this thing. The results were not encouraging, as you can see here:
I believe you need a score of 80 to pass, so I've got some work to do -- that death threat has given me new motivation. I'm surprised they used gallows humor in this case, actually; taking an exam in this culture is a big deal, and many young people do take their own lives if they feel they have let their families down.
Passing on the first try is a rare thing among the expats who have tested and lived to tell about it. The problem is not the written test, although it is bizarrely worded and full of arcane details about fees and fines and special rules for taxis; the problem is with the driving portion, which is as impractical as a practical exam can be. The test takes place on a closed track outfitted with sensors and alarms. The student driver gets behind the wheel of a car trimmed out with tags that trip the sensors, which, of course, set off the alarms, every time you make an error. The driver is tested on his ability to parallel park smoothly (without stopping during the maneuver); to negotiate a set of S-curves, both forward and back; and to back into a space, again without stopping the car while doing so. The course has numbered markers to guide the driver: pull forward until you are even with the #13; turn the wheel two turns to the right and reverse until you are even with the #14; turn the wheel five turns to the left and reverse until you are even with then #15; straighten out your wheels. Yes, this is the practical exam. Perhaps this explains why so many Chinese people require assistance when parking their cars. It's commonplace for whomever is riding shotgun to hop out (often to race ahead and save a space, but that's another story) and direct the driver gently into the slot. It doesn't matter how big the space or how small the car; parking is very often a team effort.
I've heard that you must get a score of 85 to pass the driving portion; each error is worth 10 points. I'm not even going to go there. I'll just chalk it up to new math.
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Nora's new moves
According to Weather Underground, we're in for thunderstorms from now 'til next Wednesday. We've not had a lot of rain this summer, so I guess it's catching up to us. Thunder is rolling quietly in the background as I write, but the deluge has moved on. I hope it's still dry when the kids walk back from school. I was thinking of running some errands later, but it's no fun in the rain.
A few nights ago we headed into Nanze, a nearby town of varied spellings (Nanzih, Nanz, Zanze), where the kids bought ice cream cones and Tim and I got to do a little shopping (Working House is having a huge sale). We parked on a side street, and as we walked towards the main drag we passed a group of women practicing their Tai Chi routine. The parks are always busiest at night, when it's cool enough for people to take a little exercise. A tape player sat nearby, its long extension cord trailing into the darkness. Music played as a gentle voice called out the movements. Nora was enthralled, but we had to move on.
After we were done in town and were heading back to our car, we passed a different group of ladies, who leaned and stretched and turned to a tinny little waltz. This time Nora was not going to simply walk by. I put her down, and she watched them intently, not moving a muscle as she took it all in. The women noticed her and smiled. Nora kept staring. Finally, I asked, "Can you do it, too?" Without missing a beat, her little arms rose from her sides, up over her head, and down again, in time with the women and very close to what they were doing. She was enjoying herself, but she was taking it very seriously.
The music ended soon after, and the women all turned towards Nora and gave her a little round of applause. A few of them bowed slightly, and all of them were smiling. Hau ke ai! How cute! As we walked away, Nora called out, "Thank you for the dancing!" I admire her ability to enter the moment, to connect with strangers and still be herself. I hope she always keeps that.
A few nights ago we headed into Nanze, a nearby town of varied spellings (Nanzih, Nanz, Zanze), where the kids bought ice cream cones and Tim and I got to do a little shopping (Working House is having a huge sale). We parked on a side street, and as we walked towards the main drag we passed a group of women practicing their Tai Chi routine. The parks are always busiest at night, when it's cool enough for people to take a little exercise. A tape player sat nearby, its long extension cord trailing into the darkness. Music played as a gentle voice called out the movements. Nora was enthralled, but we had to move on.
After we were done in town and were heading back to our car, we passed a different group of ladies, who leaned and stretched and turned to a tinny little waltz. This time Nora was not going to simply walk by. I put her down, and she watched them intently, not moving a muscle as she took it all in. The women noticed her and smiled. Nora kept staring. Finally, I asked, "Can you do it, too?" Without missing a beat, her little arms rose from her sides, up over her head, and down again, in time with the women and very close to what they were doing. She was enjoying herself, but she was taking it very seriously.
The music ended soon after, and the women all turned towards Nora and gave her a little round of applause. A few of them bowed slightly, and all of them were smiling. Hau ke ai! How cute! As we walked away, Nora called out, "Thank you for the dancing!" I admire her ability to enter the moment, to connect with strangers and still be herself. I hope she always keeps that.
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