Choices and Decisions

Having successfully received and sent back my US voting documents October 26, I’m sipping a fresh kiwi-orange smoothie, celebrating a new blender and my country where each citizen has a say in electing leaders. China’s 1.3 billion population doesn’t have that privilege, according to my 20-something co-teachers, who pored over my ballot and asked dozens of questions. Ella, ‘English teacher’ who’s gradually getting away from speaking Chinese to our nine kindergartners, and Shirley, Chinese teacher who has them reciting at the tops of their voices, meet me weekly to trade English-for-Chinese help. They’re regulars in our new Wednesday night English Corner too, eager to improve their English as long as other Chinese-only speakers don’t laugh at them. We played the game ‘Duck, Duck Goose’ while learning short-u sounds today, and the teachers chased around the circle with as much exubrance as the kids. 
 
I returned from Xian full of gratitude for the red carpet rolled out for us distinguished guests. They couldn’t control the soggy weather that threatened the top notch programming that followed Saturday’s 80th anniversary ceremonies. Battery-operated technology allowed speakers, microphones, and cameras to continue while pretty girls held orange-and-black  umbrellas over our 150 heads. Pei Hua’s 35,000 students toughed it out on army camp stools in drizzle for at least two hours. Not since the Olympics had I seen or heard such talented dancing, singing and playing. To top it off, Foreign Affairs helper gave me China Mobile’s gift umbrella to introduce Halloween colors to Sanya!
 
      Fully moved into my fourth floor apartment, I’m getting on-average one new appliance or piece of furniture daily. Venes came for soup we cooked on the new hotplate, Saturday; handyman Li has all faucets working and we’re hopeful for the washer hook-up tomorrow. I’m using my own laptop, connected to broadband just last night via my new phone (8863.0080 has enough eights to be considered a ‘lucky number’ ); I’ve a rice cooker and a wok for weekends when there are no meals served at Golden Sun Kindergarten. Tonight’s fare was fresh shrimp and bok choi with rice.
 
     Our neighborhood complex of six-story concrete boxes’ inhabitants congregated near the gate with gongs, horns, and drums last evening for a rousing celebration of a 75-year-old man’s death. Folks ate, played cards, and visited throughout the night. My 7:00 a.m. Tai Chi group, reduced to three who didn’t participate in the funeral, moved our practice to a clearing under a banyon a respectful distance from the mourners. Their all-night vigil was rewarded by rosy apples and thick rounds of cheese piled on tables as I walked to Golden Sun’s hot coconut milk and baozi (steamed, filled buns) breakfast. I had finished morning English class when firecrackers marked the end of the funeral gathering. I logged on to Google to discover China’s population clock ticking off 33 million births and 16 million deaths since 2008 came as a New Year’s baby.  I’m living among 1/5 of the 6 million world population, considering myself lucky to be here, gleaning what I can from your e-mails and internet newspapers about the economy and upcoming election.
 
      On this side of the world, we’ve weathered our first crisis. Helen got a call while we were registering my residency with the police. ‘Terrible! A teacher (teaches Chinese to three year olds) hit a kid.’ It was  in the class of 18 where I’m working with the confused English co-teacher on setting up and following a lesson plan. Helen spent the evening with the mother and child who gaily skipped around them, telling me she ’solved the problem; I will refund one month’s payment and take the mother to dinner. She insisted on an x-ray, although the child said it wasn’t necessary.’ Helen’s thinking what she should do beyond the Chinese teacher saying, ‘Sorry’ to the parent (striking children is unlawful here, but parents seem to be exempt from that law). The school takes a strong stand, thank goodness!
 
     It’s off to the beach after I teach ‘over/under/next to’ in English concepts today. Parents attend an all-day Open House tomorrow; for me, it may be business as usual. I often look up to see observers sitting in during my class activities. They’re glued to the repetitive ‘teaching,’ fade away when I start child-centered activities, but the kids are showing their individual smarts and personalities as they cut/paste/dictate/tie and–soon–make a neighborhood out of the sandbox. I’m sick of my name because it’s the greeting/call for attention they say repeatedly at the top of their lungs. Discourse comes later, I hope!