Teacher Potato

I like to find myself in odd situations. It means I'll be different afterwards.

Wednesday night found me in a small white classroom crowded with long narrow tables and metal chairs. I sat quietly in the back while Ray, one of the foreign teachers in this after-school program, taught an English lesson in his crisp, rhotic Guyanese accent. Only two students had shown up for the five o'clock class, and it was already quarter past. Ray led Jimmy and Benny in a children's song, "Frogs Around the Pond," which was rather juvenile for these boys of eleven or twelve, but they repeated the words and sang along when asked. As the lesson went on, another boy, Arthur, came in. Then came a couple of girls who were quiet and compliant, and whose names therefore were never said very loud.

After going through the vocabulary of the song -- "hiking, biking, wishing, fishing" -- Ray turned the class over to me. I walked to the front of the narrow room, set my bag of supplies on the floor and my notebook on the front table, and greeted the children. "It's been a long time," I said. "Do you remember my name?" "Teacher Potato!" the older boys yelled out, and I gave them a grin. Teacher Potato indeed.

This class might be taught by foreigners but it is clearly under the guidance of a thin, large-eyed Taiwanese woman named Christina. She attends a weekly English club I lead, slipping in silently about halfway through my lessons, careful not to interrupt the discussion. About this time last year she asked if I would teach a lesson on the story of Easter to her buxiban students. Native English speakers from around the globe come to Taiwan to teach in these cram schools, yet I had never set foot in one; so out of curiosity -- as well as a desire to encourage my quiet friend -- I agreed to come. Christina asked me to focus on the religious side of the holiday, whose more commercial aspects were appearing in the markets here. The students' English comprehension levels were all over the map, as were their ages, interests, and enthusiasm. I had no idea how I was going to reach across these gaps. I ended up doing a lesson on symbols (this was a new word to them), starting with symbols of spring -- flowers, bunnies, eggs and lambs, all signs of new life -- and juxtaposing them with the cross, not an obvious sign of new life until you hear the whole story. They followed the lesson well, and the older ones were comfortable enough to tease me about my drawings: my Easter egg had come out a bit misshapen, ergo my new nickname.

I have returned to the class several times over the past year to teach lessons on summertime, Thanksgiving, and two cooking classes at Christmas (rice pudding and scones). What the students now know is that I will come with props, I will teach them strange new words, and I will make them do something. When Christina asked me to again teach an Easter lesson, I agreed. After some thought and a very timely suggestion from a friend, I came up with a craft that combined elements of the Easter story. Strands of hot glue trailed across the tables as we attached leafy fronds, coins, twine, thorns, nails and gauze to their papers. It was messy and out of their comfort zone and glorious. As we talked about the women coming to the empty tomb on Easter morning, coming to finish the burial preparations that had been cut short by sundown on Good Friday, I gave them cotton balls spritzed with perfume to symbolize the heavily scented materials they would've carried. The boys coughed and waved away the heady lavender that wafted their way, but the impression was made, the story taking shape in a new way in their minds.

Someone asked me recently if I am in Taiwan as a missionary. Technically yes, as we are one of the staff families at a missionary school. But I don't wear that label easily. I'm not here to win converts. I don't consider myself a missionary in the sense that I have a job to do and numbers of souls to tally. I know many missionaries, actually, and that doesn't describe them, either. But I do value my faith and know that if I were somewhere mundane, somewhere more ostensibly Christian, I would say less about this rather vital subject than I do here. People here are interested. Not easily offended, not easily swayed, but interested. So when I am asked, I share. It grows me as much as it might grow those who hear me speak, and it is only the former that I am in position to measure. As we prepare to return to America I wonder what will grow me there, what odd situations will present themselves, and how I will respond. I find that my faith, like the Easter craft, gets messier the deeper I try to delve into it, the more I try to apply it. I don't know what God has in mind for Jimmy and Benny and the rest, but I know that He made them and loves them. I don't know what God has in mind for me, but the story is the same.

Peaks and valleys

All sorts of titles are coming to mind for this post, many of them film references. Hm. Anyway, I had said in my last post that I had something in the works, and now that all systems are go I'll fill you in. On New Year's Eve, at Cole's behest, I made a resolution -- which makes obsolete my circa-1999 vow to never make another New Year's resolution -- to climb a mountain this year. For years I've wanted to scale one of Taiwan's peaks, so now that our move is looming I've been looking for a way to make good on my recent promise to Cole and the long-standing one to myself.

Thanks to Blue Skies Adventures I'll be hiking Hohuanshan (insert one of many alternate spellings here:_____) the weekend of April 3rd and 4th. At first I thought the timing was terrible. It's Easter! How can I take a solo trip that weekend? But Cole insisted that I should go, Tim is willing to manage the holiday details, and I am now free to watch the sun rise on Easter morning from a height of 34oo meters plus change. It promises to be amazing.

Hohuanshan comprises eight peaks, and on this trip five will be up for grabs. Three are quite mild hikes, two others are a bit more challenging. I'll see how it goes once I'm there. At this point my goal is to do four, but I'm saying that with very little information on the conditions. My own condition is another factor. Must get out the boots and pack and start breaking them -- and me -- in.

If you're on island and want to come along, contact Mark at Blue Skies. And if you want to partake with me in Eucharist Under Special Circumstances on Easter morning, let me know; I'll bring more wine.

Home and Away

Time for an update, or rather, well past time for an update. It's been a crazy year, and not necessarily in a good way -- lots of changes ahead, but as Cat Power would have us believe, "What comes is better than what came before." (Although I hear she needs to lay off the sauce.)

Okay, musical ramblings aside, here's the scoop: We'll be moving to Phoenix this June. Both my parents and Tim's have retired to Arizona, so this is a good place for us to land. The hardest part of living overseas, for me, is not having the kids grow up close to their grandparents. So this is a good thing. [Hey, as I was just writing that "What Comes Is Better" started playing. Spooky.]

Other news... is scarce. At the moment things like renewing passports, packing up the house, getting tickets home, house hunting from 8,000 miles away, and looking for work seem to be more than filling up my time. Well, to be honest, thinking about those things is filling up my time. I'm making slow progress. We have three months yet; plenty of time for panicking later. Not sure how often I will get back to this, but I will try to post occasional updates and maybe some pictures of any farewell jaunts we take. Kenting is certainly on the list of weekend trips, and I am planning a little expedition to make good on a New Year's promise. News at 11:00.

Merry Christmas!

The big day is here, at least in our time zone, so Christmas greetings to one and all and wishes for a very happy new year. Here are some new recipes to keep the holiday cheery, sweet and warm. Lots of Christmas love from Taiwan!

Recipe update

(Because if I'm going to resurrect one blog, I might as well resurrect the other....)

I've been cooking with my students a lot this fall, literally taking my show on the road, so the new recipes I've posted on Wonton Woman are field-tested and Taiwan-approved. Hopefully you'll like them, too.

Show of Hands

One benefit of letting my blog languish for months is that I can come back to favorite topics without fear of wearing them too thin. It is no secret that I like driving here -- I like the organic nature of it, the hierarchy of the moment, the freedom to fill a gap when staying within a set boundary would only cause problems for those in your wake. It's not Western logic, but that doesn't mean it lacks logic. You just have to let go of the known way before you can really embrace the local driving mentality. It took me about a day to figure out that I was going to like driving here. Other people never get to that point. We're all made a little differently, so I don't judge -- I just wish everyone could enjoy the Galatians-like freedom of driving in Taiwan (grace and law being the two major forces battling it out in the foreign driver's heart).

So this brings me to today's Adventures in Licensure, Wherein Two Friends Take the First Step Towards Getting Their Taiwan Drivers Licenses and Are Stymied at Every Point Along the Way. This is not the first time I've considered getting my license but I never got past the at-home practice exam's morbid pronouncement of my skills. I am rope shy. With this attempt, however, I don't have to go it alone, so I am hopeful that I might, in the coming weeks, actually come home one day with a real Taiwan license. This is an illogical hope, really, but I cling to it; if I did not, I would have given up ever accomplishing the first of three steps, the physical exam, at the first sign of trouble today. Or if not the first sign then definitely the second, at the very least the third.

The process seems straightforward enough, albeit a bit drawn out: you first submit to a physical exam at a local hospital, which is equipped to test your abilities and determine if you are fit to sit behind the wheel. If you pass, you proceed to the written exam and driving test when you are ready, but no later than one year on. The physical exam involves checking your weight and height, verifying that you possess two hands (yes, really), checking for colorblindness, performing a vision test and a night-vision test -- which simulates the very real situation of a car suddenly turning its headlights on right in your eyes while you are staring at a sign you can't quite make out (probably the most practical part of the entire three-part testing process) -- and finally, confirming your ability to discern whether a tuning fork is thrumming in your left ear or right. This is useful when trying to balance the speakers, although the buttons on our stereo are so mysterious I leave all adjustments to Tim.

Our adventure started well -- we found the hospital, and even found the parking lot. We got as far as registering (this is called gua hao, the same as when you register a letter. I don't know why I was surprised that it's the same term, considering we use register for both situations, but I was). After paying the registration fee (NT$120, or about US$4.00) we toddled off towards the physical exam wing where we gladly handed over our health cards and registration forms to the nurse. She took them, then asked us for our photos. Screeeech, and... halt. We had no passport-sized photos with us, and the hospital had no photo booth. The nurse told us we could go to the Department of Motor Vehicles a few miles away and get photos done there, then return. Our registration would still be valid if we came back the same day. (Have I mentioned that my M., my friend-turned-licensing sherpa, had left her infant son at home with a sitter, and we were hoping to get back before he woke from his nap?)

We gathered our documents and drove to the DMV; I was pleased because we had spent so little time in the hospital we didn't owe any money for our few minutes of parking. My friend pointed out that the NT$20 we saved on parking would be used up in gas. But no matter! We (meaning I) managed to negotiate the very tricky Nanzih interchange and get us going the right direction on the right road, and within minutes we were there. I knew right where the photo booths were, so, again, our confidence was strong. All went well until suddenly it didn't: after M. got her photos I hopped in the booth, practiced my most natural non-smile, and then waited for my visage (times eight) to drop into the slot. I was told to wait 27 seconds, but after a full minute went by with no photos, I peeked in and saw an error message on the screen. M. went for help, and before long someone came along: she told me to use the other photo booth, the one with the "Out of Order" sign pinned to its curtain. "It's not really out of order, it just won't take bills. You'll have to use coins."

Back at the hospital (after reversing our Nanzih interchange journey), we made our way back to the exam wing, noting the undeniable smell of cigarette smoking wafting through the waiting area. We handed the nurse our papers, again, and our photos. She gestured to a counter and stools behind us, where we were to use the provided scissors and glue to affix our photos to our documents. Hand sanitizer was also provided, thankfully. M. and I enjoyed our brief crafting session before she was called in for her exam; I believe she passed. Mine followed, and while it's likely that the nurse's hao le just meant you're done, I'm hoping that I passed, too. She stamped my health report twelve times -- that has to be a good sign. Right?

Food for Thought

I have been leading an English club for over a year now, one which was started many years ago by a good friend as an outreach ministry. The women who attend are from slightly different social and economic backgrounds, but most fall into the stay-at-home-mom or work-to-keep-busy-wife categories; many of their husbands run businesses in China or Vietnam, and their children are not babies anymore. The women are happy to have something to do on Tuesday mornings that is both social and edifying. We spend the bulk of our time studying English ("Chat Room" is our current textbook), then move on to a shorter study of something Christian in nature, and finally end with prayer. This was the format when I took over, and while I am not a "preach it and teach it" evangelist by nature (preferring the "preach the Gospel; use words when necessary" approach), I was happy enough to keep the discussion going on spiritual matters. I enjoy their questions about my faith and culture as well as the chance to ask about theirs.

Today's lesson was about food, and went particularly well. First, we ran through a list of about forty vocabulary words and then took turns answering questions from the book: What is the most disgusting thing you have ever eaten? When you are nervous or angry does it affect your appetite? Do you have an oven? (Not everyone does here, although toaster ovens are common.) My favorite was, What should a foreigner know about food customs in Taiwan? This opened up quite a conversation on cultural differences related to food. I noted that westerners linger over a meal much longer than locals; when we go out to eat the table next to us might go through several different parties who come in, order, eat, and leave, while we eat and talk and talk and talk. (And maybe ask for the menu again to check out dessert.) I was instructed on how to avoid second helpings of foods I don't care for (don't finish the first helping), how to avoid offense with my chopsticks (don't stick them upright in my rice; don't point with my index finger while holding them, lest I point at the gods or ancestors; and don't bang out a rhythm on the table with them), and how to hold my rice bowl properly (do bring it nearer your face, but not in your open palm, which looks like a beggar holding a bowl; rather, secure it with your thumb, which not only looks less beggarly but also prevents spills).

We talked about congealed blood as an ingredient, about the hidden message in the English phrase, "That's different," and about why foreigners say "congee," a Japanese word, rather than "rice porridge" when speaking about that traditional breakfast food of the Taiwanese. Our time sped by as we compared two cultures and their food beliefs and traditions. Next week we will use our class time to cook -- scones, cheddar crackers, and rice pudding are all on the menu. They are curious to try nutmeg, which was a new word to them (the fact that I happened to have an actual nutmeg in my pocket didn't help, sadly, since a whole nutmeg doesn't have any aroma). I am looking forward to seeing what foods they'll bring to the cooking party. Winter is just around the corner; I'm sure I'll get a lesson on which foods to avoid and why I shouldn't have iced drinks despite the temperatures still being in the low 80s. If they don't volunteer it, I'll ask.

Touching base

I feel guilty whenever my two most loyal readers, my mother and Tim's mother, say that they still check my blog to see if I've written anything lately. I've not posted anything in a very long time, and part of that is due to Facebook. Being far away from friends and family, I like the immediacy and the interaction it provides; in comparison, blogging feels like monologuing in an empty theatre. I have stopped most other kinds of writing, too. No poems, no essays, no progress on the back-burner book that was an active project last year. I am not feeling writerly these days.

Writing about Taiwan is in its own category of non-writing. When you first arrive here you are surrounded by blog material. Everything is noteworthy, intriguing, odd. After more than six years here, though, the novelty is mostly worn off, and what remains is leftover observations and complaints. One of my cardinal blogging rules is No Complaining -- it does no one any good at all -- so in the absence of anything fascinating to share my posts have dried up.

November is here, which historically is one of my least favorite months in Taiwan. It's still hot, the skies are steadily grey, and the holidays lurking around the corner will bring with them too many responsibilities: church programs, school programs, and the need to make Christmas fanciful and lovely despite being nothing like what I'm used to. This is not a problem for Tim and the kids -- this feels like home for them more than it does for me -- so really my issues with feeling untethered and without traditions are pretty contained. I am grateful that they are content with being here; I am conflicted, constantly wanting to be here and somewhere else at the same time, but I appreciate that this place and time in our lives is good. We are safe and fed and enjoy the company of some very good friends. We are healthy and busy and just generally blessed, and therefore able to wail the lament of the well-off: why can't we have all of this, plus more? So maybe now you see why I haven't written much lately. I know I do.

I have been pursuing some new interests this year: I've taken up guitar and I'm really enjoying exploring a different musical side of myself. Improvising on guitar is much more satisfying than doing so on the flute. (It's also easier to sing along to.) I've been accepted into the University of London's divinity program and will commence studies as soon as my materials arrive; I can sit my exams in Taipei, and plan to enter at least two exams this May. I am still tutoring one private student, and I lead a ladies' English club once a week. I have been setting up a new Sunday school program at our church using the Godly Play approach, and love to see the kids really connect with the stories instead of just filling in worksheets and placing stickers on a page. I think children are so close to God; it's a joy to give them the chance to work through the stories in ways that are meaningful to them.

The kids are doing well -- Nora's in kindergarten, Cole is home schooling. They are funny and kind and getting bigger all the time. Nora's reading more and more, and Cole is learning guitar along with me; they're both pretty happy with where they are.

I won't promise to write more often, but I will promise to write again. I know it would be good for my soul, like any discipline. We'll see how it goes.

I plugged this blog into the wordle machine and this is what I got.  (Click on the image to make it larger.)  I notice I have a lot of time words in my mix.  Go figure.  

Go make your own at www.wordle.net.

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.  

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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!

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!

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.

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.

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?