Minds Almost Meeting–September 12, 2009

Was it only a week ago that I climbed to the Lin An’s Ming Dynasty pagoda, tribute to King Qian Wu Yue? No savory moments at Babe Training School, just stress, disorganization and surprises. I’m wrestling with feeling more like the relic the pagoda was declared in 1962.
 
Saturday, I brought first graders (one reportedly age 9) downstairs chanting, “Red, yellow, blue” and dragging tiredly to Mamas after two hours of English guessing games. They’ll adjust to recognizing “Put your name in the cup” (to win the day’s big prize, a pencil), sit here, make a circle, say ___, color ___, write___” and get the dazed look off faces that smile delightedly when I help them through their turn. We’re all tired. The new texts were clearly too advanced, so we just matched colors to do the first page. We played games, using themselves to add and subtract. They loved musical chairs for “Take away one…”

The one new (demo) kid seemed ready to sign up. Zoe announced, “Virginia has a high sign-up percentage” (really?) and turned to me, “You look tired. You sleep OK?”
“No, I e-mailed you. I’m frustrated.”
“What’s wrong?”
“This (in front of at least 20 kids and parents) isn’t a good place. I’ll talk later.”
“Oh, OK.”
Later, eyes feeling feverish, I told her two hours was too long for that age to “study English,” even with the break we took between hours. “But we must! The parents have no other time and want their children to study with you.” Mark, sitting quietly at his computer, supportedly suggested we turn off the lights and take a 20-minute rest break; Zoe was silent. I plunged on: the new text seems must be at least second grade, but I got it only in time to look at a few pages.
“We drove to Hangzhou because the texts didn’t arrive and got them!”
“The red book was appropriate for T-Th Grade 1, not this one.”
“We need to change texts!” She gathered up her notes.
I plunged on— “Zoe, an hour T-Th is too long for the 3s-4s. Parents agreed that 40 minutes was best. Is that OK?”
Silence again. Later, “I must ask Michael (co-owner).”
Heat rising, I flared, “I cannot continue with learning things at the last minute or having them changed from what I
understood. No texts ready although the assistant assured me they were, teaching today when Mark and I both missed it on the new schedule, demo classes that no one told me were not regular students, supplies disappearing when I need them for teaching.”
She said, “Frankly speaking, I’m a mess right now.” She told me her mother-in-law is in the hospital, so she’s the daily care-giver while they await suspected womb cancer reports, Bear’s “not good with Asido” (<2 years) so she must care for him, the baby-sitter’s gone now, she took the foreign English test last weekend, and they got half the expected enrollment “because of one teacher saying….” Sympathy and shades of my own child-raising days and caring for a dying relative tugged at my heart. My backbone got a steely feeling. “No need to say whose fault.”
From Zoe, “I know those sound like excuses. I need to be at Babe School full time. I tell the girls, but they don’t do what I say. I have to do it myself.”

I expressed sympathy about her mother-in-law, then told her she was the boss and part of that job was to see that things were done. She kept repeating, “I told them to…” (I could’ve cite many things she told me one day, forgot about the next, but I didn’t.)

“Mama, I learn much from you.” (I hear this almost daily.)
Bear came in; they switched to rapid-fire Chinese. I was suddenly told, “40 minutes is OK” (one battle won) and “We take Mama to eat!” (last thing I felt like doing) They insisted: “Beef!” Mark and I ate hot pot at a new, expensive place, their solution to my problems.
On the bike-way home in the dark, the best Saturday event happened: a glasses shop re-affixed the earpiece to my broken glasses for free. I fell into bed, hoping I wasn’t going down the slope to a case of the flu.
At least, I’ve two days to recoup my energy and experience to bring to Tuesday’s classes. I awakened with kindly feelings and renewed resolve to help Zoe, if possible, to “administrate” better (learn to delegate effectively?). She must be in a panic; if the school is to survive, she feels it and her whole world depend on her.
I turn my energies to family members and friends carrying Zoe-like burdens and uncertainty across the ocean. I see you each in loving light doing your best, letting go of what you can’t control, enjoying what you can. I’m doing the same on this side of the world…

 
September 14: Time sooths: an evening of hot lemon tea under willows by the campus lake, a non-teaching day to organize my three classrooms, coffee and breakfast after a bike ride that introduced Mark to a Magnum bar, and an e-mail from Zoe thanking me for talking with her and inviting me to tomorrow’s meeting, plus her and Zoe asking Mark and me to go to Yellow Mountain over upcoming National Day, October 1-8. I’d love to see a fresh sunrise from the top!

Expert Immigrant Labor –September 11, 2009

I’m not wanting to be awake at dawn thinking of if and what to do about work! I click on npr and hear the president’s address remembering those lost on 9/11. Had I really forgotten? I’m again sitting on last evening’s 10″ stool in front of seven five-year-olds, pointing and singing, “Today is Friday…All day long…” oblivious to emotional ties to the 11 on the calendar.

We roll a big red ball, saying the English name of the recipient, singing repeatedly. “Roll it to a friend…___!” They catch on. We move on to plans for red/yellow/blue legos. I open the closet for the 250-yuan tub of legos. They’re gone! Frantically, I search the other three closets–nothing. Oh great! The first week, I’ve allowed my most expensive new toys to disappear. My Chinese assistant is speechless and the natives are restless, so I go to Plan B–coloring a rainbow. They’re fascinated as I mix yellow and blue for green. We build rainbows, naming colors. They leave smiling. “Hey! I’m a good teacher,” I tell myself.

I go before dinner, full of dread, to boss, Zoe. “The legos are missing. Do you know…?” She laughs. “Oh, I took them for my Asido to play with.” Bear, her husband, laughs. I mime the heart attack they almost gave me, make a mental note to ask her to leave a note when she borrows something. Zoe had been my assistant for the first kindergarten class September 10, pronounced the color lesson with legos “most professional,” then made my next one near-disaster. She asked, “Do you think Abdul’s demo lesson more suitable than Mark’s for grade 3? Mark’s students say it is boring and difficult to understand.” I tell her, “I’ve never seen Mark teach. He’s experienced. I know he can adjust his style. Did you talk to him about it?” “No.” “It seems fair to talk with Mark before you make a decision or talk with other teachers.”

 ”Oh, Mama Virginia, you must go to your 6:20 class!” “I thought you said it was 7:30…?” “No, it is now posted 6:20.” “You promised to show me before the schedule was set, but I’m glad of this change.” I run upstairs to two expected pre-schoolers, marching in with mothers. The Chinese assistant is nowhere to be seen. I wave forcefully “Bye-bye!” and moms scurry out the door, anxious mice. The boys are mirror opposites–one almost catatonic, the other chattering Chinese.

We start scribbling with red. I’m using a mirror, my marker, moving their hands, touching their mouths, and the noisy one says, “Red.” A star on his hand, and the other one whispers “red…” The door opens. Assistant Heather, “Virginia, those are not your students. They are for a demo class. Here is your one student.” I recognize a sweetheart I’ve seen before. “Tell them in Chinese to please sit here and watch.” Moms come back to hover and coach, along with the adult with my paid student. We shift to legos, and I cajole the children into repeating “red.”

Assistant repeats everything I say in Chinese. I ask her to stop. She then repeats my English words. I ask her to remain quiet, just “Help me with your actions.” How will they learn to listen to me with Chinese direction at every turn? I busy her with recording names, newly-given English names, telephone numbers. They match yellow/blue to earn lego pieces. We build houses, trains, robots. Active Lon cries and wanders, taciturn Matt begins to speak, and Sara whispers and generally follows my mimed actions.

I tell the assistant to bring Lon back when he explores my desk, supplies, CD player, shelves. She does it once. Big red ball comes out, and I invite grown-ups to play too, so we repeat all names several times. After 30 minutes, we’re all tired, only halfway through. Toilet break (no “bathroom” or baths here) and “Wash your hands” chant. I make a mental note to have snacks next session. We try to sit in a circle on the floor. “Head, shoulders, knees, and toes” was never sung slower. Assistant bellows off-melody, “Eyes, ears, mouth, and nose” until I ask her to sing softly. Then they echo one-word–at-a-time.

They watch me draw myself–hair, eyes, mouth, a few details. They look in a mirror at themselves, fill ink/blue/yellow/green eyes in the circle I draw on each paper. We identify hair in the mirror, and they each reach for black. Success! We admire our faces again, choose a color for another star-on-hand, and say “Bye-bye.” Lon’s permanently welded around his mom’s neck. Matt’s mom wants an interpreted chat about “How’s his pronunciation?” I assure her he’ll say “red, blue, green” like me if I teach him, like her if she teaches him. She smiles happily, “Tsank you!” Then she has him tell me, “Tomorrow…is my…birthday!” I draw him a cake with 4 candles. They confer, and he repeats her words, “I love you!” The woman has really good English.

Sara’s Nana (grandmother? nanny?) gives her over to mother, who arrives with a lot of questions, all in Chinese. I never did get anything interpreted beyond assuring Mom that Sara could–and did–”open her mouth.” Both Sara’s family and Heather subscribe to the “Louder means better” school of learning, I guess. “Please interpret that Sara showed understanding when she did what I said. She’ll speak louder when she knows me better.” I escape to teacher’s room, where Mark sits at his computer–and three of his students play games on mine. I pull rank and shoo them out: “I need my computer.”

The owner’s daughter comes in to see if I’m off “her” computer yet. If off, I’ve no place to sit. The kids burst in like tennis balls out of a sealed can, while parents chat and argue their child’s chances of success in the lounge, oblivious to the chaos. “Let’s get out of here,” I tell Mark. I know Mark was a CA Middle School teacher, admire his laid back ways and easy smile. We’ve just come through three days when I nursed him (he lives next door) while he lay flat with back spasms, then two days of my sleeping off severe allergy reactions when he brought me yogurt and instant noodle cups.

Sipping tea by the nearby campus lake, when well enough to walk, he reminds me philosophically when my sense of justice and opinions about what constitutes good teaching practices rise to my heated surface, “We’re just immigrant workers in China, Virginia,” and I calm down. We bike home under street lights. “I’m liberated until Tuesday evening’s classes, Mark!” I’m jubilant. I hear Mark’s philosophy that planning lessons is useless, since Zoe just gave him a text at the 11th hour. We stop and watch impressive swing dancing in two parks.

My phone rings. “Mama, you know you have two hours tomorrow?” (I had just e-mailed friends my Tue-Friday pm hours. envisioning the delicious three-day-weekends when I’d visit Xuzhou, Hangzhou, Yellow Mountain, read, dine, sleep…) “What two hours?” “I put it on the schedule. And I have your texts ready.” “What age? What texts?” “The same as last time (only one class has texts, to my knowledge).”

By the time I got home, I figured it out. She’d added a first-second grade class on Saturday afternoons without splitting their two hours/week. They’re offspring of the movers and shakers of Lin’An, excellent students in the demo lessons. What’s a foreign worker to say but, “Yes, boss.” I push down fear that the most ADHD kid I’ve encountered in China has also been added to their mix. What did I do to deserve this? Left a comfortable job in paradise. Got a pay raise promise (not forthcoming until October 10) with an apartment like one I admired with balcony (didn’t happen), took on the challenge of “beginning a kindergarten program” (I’m touted as expert, but not clued in on schedule/expectations/materials/activities until last minute, if then). Left a boss who said “waiting until the last minute worked” for her and gained a boss who stomps out of shouting matches in faculty meetings and doesn’t appear for a day, tells me one thing later swears she said something else, and works hours on micro-managing inefficient details.

They clearly need help, but I’m getting too old for this kind of flying blind! Not one to look back too far, once my hand is to the plow, I’m awake at 4:30 a.m. and e-mailing Zoe. “I’m frustrated…Can we talk?” Stay tuned.

Wind Power, September 4, 2009

Mid-summer, small windmills appeared up and down Sanya’s Chunguang Lu in front of my development, FengXingLong Gardens. Biking under the stilled pin-wheels that powered streetlights, I got to wondering about China’s windo-powered history. China Daily Business section June 3 showed road lamps powered by wind in Zhejiang Province, home of my next teaching experience, so that whetted my appetite for learning more.

China now has the fourth largest wind capacity in the world, after USA, Germany, and Spain. India trails in fifth place. All recognize the advantages of renewable, low water consumption, emission-free wind power. It’s the cheapest form of renewable energy. China boasts a year-on-year 100% growth this past few years. It projects installed capacity of 30,000 megawats (mW) by 2010’s end, up 12,000 mW from this year. Six more power bases are planned by 2020. Then current 2% of of China’s total power generation capacity would increase from next year’s projected 10%.
 
There are problems in this numbers game. Their grid capacity can’t keep pace; some wind power plants can’t connect to the grid effectively. China Longyuan Electiic Power Group Corp, producer of a third of the country’s wind power, has started offshore wind projects. The country’s five major energy companies have started wind power businesses
 
One thing is certain, China will continue to need increasing electricity, whether from thermal, hydropower, or wind. Here (Lin’An, where I moved 9/1 to Hangzhou’s “suburb” town of 150,000, I plug in 5/2009 www.linanwindow.com’s Chinglish take on “Rapidly deviloping industrial economices:…867 rural enterprises, 18 big-medium-sizedenterprises, 6 provincial, 2 municipal groups, and more than 150 ventures…exporting products of the joint venture are over 100 kinds…textile, cloth, wire, electric cable, building material, wine-making industry…Water and electricity facilities have got rapid increasing…71 small waterpower stations…With 40000KW installed capacity and 270 million RMB, the Qingshan palace center is busy in building…”
 
I bicycle over river bridges and near 100,000-ton capacity Second Water Work on the 3 km ride through endless traffic to Babe English Training School. Evenings and weekends until we open for business September 10, I do demonstration lessons with parents anxiously looking on, coaching their children until I have a Chinese Training Assistant interpret my assertive demand that they remain silent. We dutifully turn on/off air conditioning before/after using my rooms.

Virginia’s Housing History, Take Four! Saturday, Aug 29th

A first in China, this Lin’An apartment 3 km from workplace, Babe English Training School. It was clean inside, with many small necessities like broom, soap, purified water, and food in refridgerator.  The “Enterance” (spelling seen on prominent supermarket out a bus window) is securely triple-locked, though I’m told theft isn’t a problem. Sliding doors to my drying room “balcony” got its broken lock fixed the second day here; they cleaned up trash on the mildew-streaked cement out there the third day. No place for drinking tea, that!

I’ve prettied up the walls with US calendar art and Chinese folk art gifts from Hainan. Yesterday morning, I biked to a supermarket for peanut butter (chunky, knock-off Skippy!) and an electric pot for morning oatmeal. Zoe and Bear arrived with a rice cooker and loaner bike; Co-owner Shirley gave me a box of tart plums, now in season. Clock arrived after I settled in, with explanation that same Chinese word for “death” doubles for “clock”, so I put Hainan Cheri’s grandma’s cross-stitch insoles there to remind myself Time Marches On!
 
I await a TV and–hopefully–chairs and a table to join a funky puppy-print red futon. Playful puppies play ball over my queen bed night and day; computer sits on a corner desk. Tiled bathroom gets cleaned each time I shower; washer is big. View from bath and kitchen gets lively around 7:00 a.m. with the trash truck’s rumble. I’m hoping to screen that view with plants and look beyond to university trees and buildings.
 
I cooked chicken-vegetable stew to share with Mark, next door co-worker. He’s delighted to be here, away from gang-infested Oakland Middle Schools. He’s sharing Skype and indebted me greatly yesterday. I boarded the bus, hoping to eat lunch near school and leisurely prepare for four demo classes with five-six year olds and parents. Exiting when I saw the landmark overhead tubes (water? electricity?), everything started to look alike with no other familiar landmarks.

No cell phone answer from Zoe, my owner life-line in Lin’An. I walked both directions, discovering the emergency yuan I carry had been removed when I washed cell phone carrier. I had ID and 1.5 yuan left, so I boarded Bus 6 back to my flat. Zoe answered a third call, and Mark biked home to lead me through twists and turns on bikes (seat’s still far too low, after raising it beyond where Chinese wanted it raised). We arrived to…no kids!

A teaching assistant ran to KFC for a sandwich, and Chinese teacher Sam gave me “bubble tea” (the same sweet milk tea with rice balls Hainan called “pearl tea”–no bean curd, like I thought), and I relaxed a moment.
 
Teaching times had changed; I taught 5-6 year olds (including one, whose grandpa told me my class was “too easy”; then I learned his grandson was nearly-eight years old!); next came a mixture with one girl whose mom needed to sit behind her to wipe tears and sisters who cried until Mom took them out (the older one told Zoe she “was the best in her kindergarten and didn’t understand everything with this foreigner”); last, 3-4 year olds straggled in over thirty minutes’ time and were so delightful you could eat them with a spoon. Zoe said parents were signing kids up; it sounded like she was doing an agressive sell job with them.
 
I fall asleep before reading much at night; I can get Fish Fry on www.kcuf.org mornings, and perhaps we’ll soon have some kind of schedule by September 10, when classes start. One day at a time while it marches on…

Aug 22, 2009 Housing History Tour

As Hainan passes through China’s scorching ‘09 Summer, I walk from room to room in my comfortable Sanya apartment. I read awhile in my spacious air conditioned bedroom, look up at white crown moldings and remind myself that, as recently as late 1980s, entire families lived in a two-meter-squared room. No wonder my Chinese friends can’t fathom me living alone in all this space. “A warm home’s like a small shell,” they intone, and my shell’s too big for their comfort.  Foreign Affairs offices, knowing foreigners expect space, cheerfully placed me in three similar places in as many years. I seemed the only one who noticed the inequality involved.

I smooth the duvet on my queen-sized guestroom bed. A bachelor, living with his married brothers and sisters in a room this size, would consider this space for a dignified, happy life in 1989. At that, he would remember the days and nights before the 1950s when real estate first became a concept in China. Dorms for men or women only was the rule back then; I heard more than one story of a pregnant wife secretly moving from her family’s home to the men’s dorm while the husband waited years for his work unit to issue a spot in married dorms.  

Teachers didn’t have it easy back then either; like everyone else, they kept moving between work units. Once accepted to teach at a university, they were sent keys to share a family’s home. In Beijing, prior to 1980s, that was a two-meter-squared room on one side of a hall which shared kitchen and toilet with room-after-room home like theirs. They often walked on bricks to avoid sewer water on the floor. By 1986, home removal companies formed to raze, then build apartment blocks across cities. It’s still happening in every Chinese city I’ve visited; cranes and bamboo scaffolding dot city scapes. Sounds of jack hammers and heavy equipment are common sounds day and night.

I cross my gleaming tile floor to computer-stream in Piano Jazz or flip to a Channel 15 classical concert and think how 20 friends filled up my living room with Chinese banter last evening. They toasted my birthday, sampled microwave popcorn and dark chocolate around my glass-topped table, and asked for the recipe to chicken salad, before asking the inevitable, “Aren’t you lonely here?”

I’m just as amazed that they speak fondly of their identical-to-my concrete box on the ninth floor across Fenshang Gardens development. Eight women live in three bedrooms with a common living room, a sea of shoes tossed around two bicycles. The young principal claims one room, seven teachers share the other two. Free meals are eaten at school or (weekends) in street shops, so the kitchen is a place to brush teeth. A squattie-potty and shower at the end of a clothes-drying entry is identical to mine, except I have an egg-shaped washing machine. No wonder they usually respond to, “What are your weekend plans?” with “Washing clothes.”

One recent week, they used my shower when their landlord suddenly turned off water with no warning. At least they didn’t have to do what Shanghai families did in 1986, brushing teeth around a family tap where they also washed chamber pots.
I shrug off their “It’s so clean!” comments and refrain from telling them of the scrubbing, bleaching, and rearranging it took to make each place I’ve lived my own. This apartment had eight student teachers’ mattresses on the floor, no broom or mop, one faucet that worked, and two working light bulbs when I moved here. A wet mop had left mud-streaked paths; sinks were crusty; toilet smelled like an outdoor privy. Disinfectant and detergent changed the face of things with a half day of elbow grease. Owner Helen, invited to have iced coffee recently, walked from room to room and announced, “I want to live in my apartment again!” The appliances, plants, and decorations I’ve added will stay for the next occupant when I move.

My kitchen has a handy fridge, water purifier, microwave, blender, rice cooker, wok, tea kettle, and silverware and plates–more than enough for weekend cooking. I invite a co-workers to watch CCTV9’s documentary on Real Estate and ladle Western-style vegetable soup into their bowls. Accepting seconds, they try to refrain from smacking and slurping in deference to my Western way of eating. We learn that, in 1991, Beijing listed China’s first real estate sale as people quit relying solely on the government to improve their lives.

Each to-be-displaced household was given 60 yuan (<$9US) and one year to find a new place during mass relocation. 1993 brought a south-north road plan, and 100,000 residents quit climbing ladders (no stairs) to reach their room-on-room homes and moved to Beijing’s suburbs. It was disappointing; there was no lighting and only one bus route into workplaces. “Real Estate Takes You to Paradise” slogans changed to “You won’t reach the sky in a single step.” Folks had nine-meter homes and no running water, but they had real estate. Developers began buying up land and building 32-square-meter homes. Hopefuls pitched tents in front of real estate offices so they wouldn’t miss a chance to buy. People pooled resources and formed cooperatives, responsible for their development’s management, in 1997. Security, always an issue in welfare housing, began to reform. 1989 brought the first guards, now at every development’s gate around the clock.The half-century system of Welfare Allocation was abolished in 1998.

“Happy Housewarming!” is now a common greeting, accompanied by strings of firecrackers lit to drive away any mischevious spirits. My own door opens under a lucky red longevity and prosperity banner. China’s housing comodities reported 130% growth in the five years prior to 2003; per capita income increased 55%. Tonight, August 23, 2009, TV news showed an impressive space shuttle planning to probe a Mars moon within the next year. Even “The sky’s the limit!” is taking on new possibilities. Who knows? If housing development opens up on another planet, China’s one child policy may become a thing of the past.

August 16, 2009, The Almost Birthday

Back in June, in Kansas to wish Mom a happy 90th year, my brother took great delight in saying, “I can handle a mother who’s 90, but I don’t know what to do with a sister who’s 70!” He got a lot of laughs, and I started facing the fact that I’d be in Sanya for a significant birthday. My kids e-mailed a web list of experiences they’d like me to choose–balloon ride (over Guilin, actually several hours away by plane), a hike in the rain forest (I took Philippino Ami hiking there on her birthday for 1/9th the web price August 2), or scuba diving. I called Hilton’s rec guy, Wilbur, and set up August 8, figuring I’d have my next-day birthday to recover, if needed. 

Plans for a birthday beach bar-b-que were scrapped; most of my friends on staff had finished their contracts and moved on to hometowns/teaching at English training centers/bigger city kindergartens. The remainder teach every-other-week while Golden Sun combines classrooms as summer enrollment drops. Private school parents take families to cooler mainland homes during these hot tropical months. I decided I wouldn’t spend big Chinese yuan for a hotel-supplied seafood bar-b-que and overpriced drinks for folks I hardly knew chattering in Chinese. I had my invitation translated to Chinese for a “drop-in” refreshment in my apartment after their school-supplied dinner August 7. 

Friday morning, the children greeted me with spontaneously sung “Happy birthday to you…” and 17 people came that evening. In spite of “No Gifts!” on the invitation, I was given an assortment– earrings (Summer–English teacher I’d trained–and Xiao–I’d taken one sunrise bike ride to the beach with her); necklace (Shirley, who’ll assist English with my replacement); pearls (Chinese-Canadian business owners Bo and Annie); a can of spring water topped by a golf ball (Mr. Li, Caretaker); Chinese pencils (cook and his pre-school son); tiger eye bracelet (Kelly, principal and non-English speaker, who came after everyone else had gone); friendship bracelet (Alice, in training now); jade cell phone ornament (bus driver and wife, our Auntie who keeps classroom fed/clean/safe); pink shell bracelet (Darys, with whom I’ve spent hours doing visualization/verbalization to organize her thoughts in both Chinese and English); and a hand-cut papercut for long life and prosperity with birthday wish in Chinese (Mark, new teacher). I wore or happily displayed them, along with books and CDs from two US friends. Leo (not invited), 4-year-old who’s learning English as a tutoree, knocked–”Open the door, please!”–with a big box of Nestle’s coffee, threw it in and fled with his dad.

They tried tentatively, then ate with gusto: chicken salad on crackers; popcorn (from US WalMart; it’s all sweetened here); sweets (brought by Philippino sisters); watermelon; and a dark chocolate Terra Cotta Warrior made by Hilton chef. Chilean merlot (Hilton manager, June’s gift), peppermint tea (my concoction); orange drink (favorite of young Chinese women); green apple pop (has a bite to it) and strawberry wine (gift of expat and book lender, Robert, and his ex-student, Linda) led to a lot of sampling.I felt valued, and no one asked my age.
 Saturday, I watched clouds gather–there’s a typhoon in Philippines and Taiwan–and couldn’t get anyone to answer English at the Hilton. I took books to trade, my umbrella, and–sure enough–they’d cancelled all water activities. Wilbur took me to “The Kitchen,” decked out with bamboo ceiling and baozi (dumpling) basket chandeliers, where I read Freud’s little book on Forgetting, ate a small salad, drank a “fresh coffee,” and paid 106 yuan ($15US). Russians were having steak, big salads, and lots of drinks with little umbrellas while it poured rain into a frothy ocean beyond the palms. They must’ve not been living on teachers’ salaries.

Back home, I played “8″ games with Leo for a half hour, ate left over fried rice, and took a bus to tutor fourth grade Ricky, walking a long way under my umbrella in brisk rain. Ricky worked well toward his goal of winning the CCTV English speaking contest, then tantrumed at his mother during break. I strolled home along Sanya River to shed my distaste for the way young boys and mothers bark at one another, climbed to my flat, and couldn’t find my key! I called Helen, four hours away in Haikou.

“Virginia, my key is in my bag. I will send it tomorrow morning by way of the bus to Sanya.”  My options were to go to a hotel or beg Venes’ wooden couch. Venes’ new suite-mate, the only one home, tried to make me welcome with his limited English. His high-pitched giggling, insisting that I sleep on the lower bunk in his room, and downloading Nicholas Cage in Knowing diverted my attention from wondering what would happen Sunday when my kids called my empty apartment. 

Birthday morning, I bought breads from our market and my cell phone rang. Kent had set up a conference call with Janet; I even talked with Grant and Ethan. My first US-initiated call in China was a great birthday present–CA Fortner’s had a great HI trip (RJ’s birthday); all kids are healthy and thriving; Janet’s school and jewelry business is busy; both families now have dogs.I floated inside to have Ami’s coffee before we went to house church. Mike’s message was on forgiveness, and I pondered what I hadn’t forgotten/given myself that I left my key. Freud would say it had to do with something deeper than overload. Korean-born preacher, Jay Li invited me to lunch with the group (after I answered his “How old are you?” with “My father would say, “Old enough to know better.”) It was delicious–duck, fish, eggplant, and broccoli with our rice bowl. Venes joined us, then we caught a bus to YaLong Bay’s Bikini Party.

Cover-up and swimsuit were back in my locked apartment, and they ran out of give-away bikinis (to my relief and Venes’ consternation), so we watched the frantic girations to ear-splitting music, then walked the surf. No one ventured out in the high waves just offshore. We left early, enjoyed the 45-minute double decker bus ride to Sanya Bus Station, and spent another half hour trying to find the proper desk and person to recover my key. The girls presented me with chocolate milk tea with soy bean pearls, a birthday treat. 
 
Our beach party entitled us to a ticket to an evening Crown Beauty Center’s Superstar show, which we approached with high spirits. Thirty minutes later, we were squashed flat, clutching our valuables, in a mass of Chinese humanity. Several hundred seemed to hold tickets; folks wandered about in the box office; police stood just inside iron fences and occasionally let a small group through to stand in yet another blob–I dared not call it a line. I didn’t see anyone going into the show. We walked home, disappointed, until Mark opened Venes’ apartment door to wonderful aromas. He had cooked us dinner, deliciously seasoned vegetables, rice, onion with scrambled egg, and fresh plums. As I unlocked my door, I thought it wasn’t the birthday I envisioned, but it was warm and full of surprises. 

During the week, between lots of teaching while Chinese teachers held staff trainings, I thought about the diving advice I’d received: dive-certified expat Robert told me how he panicked on the ocean floor; Kent said he’d be more comfortable if I got certified; Janet said she thought training took several hours; Helen said she “would not let her life be dependent on one other person,” and I wondered what I had gotten myself into!  As if on cue, the rains stopped and sunshine ushered in August 15.

Wilbur met me, Alex determined that I was healthy; David interpreted what the instructor said as I learned hand signals, and I did what pro nephew Ben and niece Coleen told me, “Relax and stay calm.” The wet suit fit, so did the shoes. I had no trouble breathing deeply, clearing my goggles, ears, and air supply, and we sped across the bay to a rocky area. They put a weighted belt on me, I floated down toward a wonderland of coral colors, undulating sea plants, caverns, occasional fish, and sandy ocean floor. Currents of cold and warmer water surprised me as we descended. When signaled that it was OK, I touched spiny, corrugated, smooth, and rubbery formations. My thirty minute dive was over far too soon. I e-mailed the kids, “FANtastic!” Why had I waited this long to try it?

July 31

Yes, it’s great news today, July 31!  I bike early to breakfast with an expat with whom I trade English books, hoping he’ll lead me to somebody interested in filling my spot as Golden Sun’s next “native English speaker,” along with Venes’ Philippino sister, Amy. An urgent call comes from Chinese teacher, Cherry, and I pedal hurriedly to school. You’d laugh, seeing me try to engage the entire school in a “copy me” bear hunt while waiting on reporters to arrive with their cameras today for “an activity” (All I know).The 2-5 year olds do pretty well in their huge circle of chairs, so we try an action song; then Venes leads one.
 
We line up, follow teachers into the courtyard of my next-door apartments and ”pick up rubbish” (with only two small plastic bags to put it in)–a much-needed activity for this entire year, in my estimation. Problem is, the rubbish had all been cleaned up by workers over the past few days; the kids mostly pick up decaying leaves. Teachers wield new brooms for sweeping grass clean. Go figure!  This will go on TV as an example of devotion to the motherland on Sanya channels, no doubt.  It makes me wonder at the veracity of CCTV9’s pictures of rockslide damage to a bridge I’d crossed near Chengdu in 2006 and Shanghai’s flood waters receding today. I’ll live two hours’ trainride from Shanghai by September.

At noon online, I get Lila’s good news that she has a clean bill of health and predictions of a normal future. I’m an unexpressibly grateful grandmother, thankful also for cool days during three-day rainy sprinkles in Sanya. I imagine she’s back to her big grin as she zooms down the slide she navigated at 12 months. Put her in a helmet and watch her go…

Time Wrinkles 7-2009 7-20

 ”It’s daughter Janet’s birthday, starting 13 hours earlier in Kansas.” I tell expat Clinton as he drives to Sanya airport to meet teachers Mary Jane and Elaine at the intercontinent building (they come from Hong Kong). We talk of their tours–Great Wall, Terra Cotta Warriors, Yantzee Cruise–over their first salad since the U.S. at Casa Mama’s. They ooh and aah at Sanya Bay spread out to the west. We catch up on Kansas City students we’ve known in common, Clinton laughs at Western girl talk, and I tell them of my June Kansas reunion trip.

 ”Thirty-five relatives fill up Janet and Brian’s Wichita acres pretty well. Brian’s bicep surgery seems to be healing. Grant’s as tall, at 12, as I am. Ethan’s into sports and soon enters third grade. They’re thinking of getting a dog.” They ask of Kent and RJ’s kids. I picture Owen, chattering and purposeful at four, running his trains. I see Lila after she feeds herself–fistfulls of spaghetti in her red hair, on her face, and down her pink dress, quite pleased with her world. I try to tell them of her robust personality, this 16-month-old girl among a portfolio of grandboys.

We unpack, scout out towels and boiled water cups in my minimalist concrete-box apartment, then nap in the best Chinese tradition. I’m grateful they’ll share a queen-size bed and floor fan. Buses to TianFuYuan Hotel work out smoothly, their first public rides, where we swim until Cheryl and Arnie’s “Tennessee Waltz” wafts over the pool.  We sit with small kissing fish nibbling our feet in a small pool, emerge to Carpenter’s sound-alikes and dine on the patio.

Singers Cheryl and Arnie sit with us on breaks, and the women are captivated by my Philippino friends. I do Natalie to his Nat King Cole’s “Unforgettable” and get happy applause from diners. We rattle happily home on Bus 6, then 11; I’m happy when the driver tosses his cigarette away at my faltering Chinese request. 7-21: Up at 6:00, they try out Tai Chi sans English instruction. It’s a three-ring circus with workmen sledge-hammering down the wall-seats and basketball goals to placid music and graceful (?) movements.

I make Hainan coffee, leave them writing postcards. I have noodles with teachers before leading a Colors and Shapes lesson in Golden Sun. The remainder of the day is ours: We bus to DaDongHai (BigEastBay), bargain for a camera chip, walk the beach, snap photos, try papaya smoothies and Rainbow One burgers and fries. The typhoon, discussed on CCTV9, seems to have waves churned up, but weather’s actually cooler than expected. My giggling friends pose at the waves’ south edge, hoping the almost-black nude guys with psoriasis show up in the background. A frozen Magnum mocha bar goes down easily at an outdoor table. Corner Deli offers cheeses, nuts for a wine-on-the-beach time they’ve requested for supper.

A supermarket stop lets Mary Jane people watch while Elaine and I replenish Hainan coffee (heavenly aroma, ground on site) and crackers. Too late for a facial, we go home. Too tired to reboard a bus for a beach, we eat party fare around my glass table and go to sleep early.

7-22: I awaken with sinus-blocked headache and blame Chinese tanins. Or typhoons? Sometimes this happens when weather or political shifts happen to my world. I check internet and find nothing amiss, beyond the usual economic depression talk. My guests ply me with decongestants and Tylenol, breakfast bars, disposable razors, mouthwash, vitamins, calcium–all needed in my dwindling stash.

I assist Venes’ lesson with 2-5-year-olds, bring my friends to admire one helper’s baby grandson’s dimpled hips and fat thighs. A red embroidered apron covers his front side, the latest in Chinese baby fashion.Then we’re off to lunch along the river before YaLong Bay, Hainan’s Riviera. We miss the double decker bus and join workers on rattly Bus 15. I hear “If we’d have stayed with the tours, we’d never have known the real China!” 

Culture shock comes with the faux-Egyptian sculptures and blue pools at Pullman Resort. My sinuses clear as we swim under waterfalls, down slides, and sit in bubbly jets until they say, “Let’s go to the nicest place here for your birthday dinner tonight!” I call June, Hilton manager, and–what else? He suggests their Ize (he says “Ice”) restaurant. Chef Charles gives us a special price–300 yuan, personally taking our orders, waterside: Tenderloin and king prawns after a crab salad and crab bisque, side dishes of white asparagus, broccoli, artichokes, and mashed potatoes. We pour Argentinian wine.

An edible birthday package arrives, with thin opera layers and sides of white/dark chocolate around chopped mango. Even the lemon water tastes divine! Chinese-accented, “Happy birthday, Virginia” brings an arm full of red roses and a bottle of Chilean VistaMar merlot with bicyclist in shadow on the label. I make a note to ask Kent if it’s good. As June sits down, Charles brings a foot-high chocolate Warrior in full battle dress. I’m speechless, but June regales us with stories of managing hotels in Manila, Beijing, Hong Kong, and Hainan. Just before midnight, he makes a 50-yuan deal, probably half-price, for our cab return.

7-23: (Unknown to me 16 hours earlier, 8:51pm, 7-22, son Kent writes on his i-phone, hurrying home to CA from Seattle:”Lila has been sick. Throwing up, and then she seemed to have a little pain.” UCSF doctors thought it stomach virus, then urinary tract, then did ultrasound for appendicitis, found a 5cm dermoid tumor on her ovary…) In Sanya, we plan to hike Yanoda rain forest. I skip out early from teaching, answer a Chinese friend’s call. “It is too late for bus to Yanoda, Virginia.” They take it philosophically, and we cross the undulating bridge across LinChunHe (Spring River?) and spend an hour getting thoroughly shampooed, massaged, and blown dry. The ear cleaning tickles.

 (A half-continent away, Kent is writing e-mail updates: “Subject: Re: Lila in hospital Things have really accelerated. I got to the hospital and they were prepping Lila for surgery. They are worried the growth has twisted the ovary and if so, they have a better chance of saving the ovary the sooner they go in. The doc prepped us in all the worst case scenario stuff, but assured us the high probability is simply removal of the tumor and no further issues the rest of her life. We just handed Lila over to the anesthesiologist.”)

Across Sanya River, we wander First Market. Mary Jane takes pictures–fishmongers in rubber boots, tall pyramids of jackfruit/lichee/apples/mangosteen, stalls with papaya and coconut candy, parts of pig/goat/sheep/duck/chicken. I wish I could send odors home with their souvenir snapshots. A nice Coffee Diary fish cooked in coconut milk, green vegetables, and rice outfits us for a return to YaLong Bay. I’m feeling beat. My guests seem fine. We slum it a few minutes at the crowded public beach, then retreat like British colonial ladies, with lemon tea or milk tea with pearls on the wide Holiday Inn veranda to outwait overhead sun. I slump and fall asleep as we admire off-shore islands and turquoise waters below. At sun down, surf laps at our feet. A bride’s veil billows wonderfully in the wind as her satin shoes sink in sand, posing for wedding book photographs. No shells here today. Maybe the typhoon claims them from afar.

At ShiWei bus stop, we go to Rainbow Two’s riverside table and eat junkfood–potato skins, chicken fingers, and nachos. Two contented women pack while I retire early, unused to Western foods, unaware Kent was writing an e-mail: (Date: “23 Jul 2009 08:15:58 Well, that wasn’t a very fun night. Lila’s got more dope in her than the Tour De France riders … and nobody offered us a thing. They’ve taken about half the tubes out. Nurses come in and put a blood pressure cuff on her every hour; Lila isn’t a fan. The chair for the adult in here is about as comfortable as my middle seat on that Southwest flight. Hopefully by noon she’ll be coming around a bit, and they said they could take the catheter out and perhaps let her drink and eat a little bit. The Doc stopped by with his young entourage–UCSF is a “teaching hospital”== and said this was all normal. Gonna be a long couple days. Thanks to cousin Karen, Sara the super-sitter, and grandpa Gary for taking on the Owenator.”)

7-24: Cellphone alarm awakens us at 4:30 a.m. I call the sleepy cabbie (first such call for me in China), lug suitcases down four flights, hug my friends good-bye at 5:15 at the apartments’ gate. We don’t know then that they’d arrive at a dark airport building, unintelligible Chinese directions, and a hurried walk to another building before successfully boarding their 8:30 a.m. Hong Kong flight. Mary Jane goes home to a newly-painted and polished house, compliments of her retired husband.

I sleep, until 8:00 a.m., then check e-mail and encounter all of Kent’s updates amidst a wall of emotions. Clueless, I open the most recent one first: (written 7-23 pm) “Lila is light years better than yesterday, but it does still seem like she has light years to go. She now wants to be in our laps, and is quite content and actually occassionally smiles when there.” (He and RJ trade off 12 hour shifts. Owen has fun with a whole stream of relatives and friends. He puts Lila in the context of “Curious George Visits the Hospital,” thinking Lila swallowed a puzzle piece, the doctor is talking to the man in the yellow hat while the mayor is visiting to dedicate a new hospital wing.) “Lila still has little interest in drinking anything, and no interest whatsoever in eating. These are prerequisites for getting the heck out of here (that and pooping).” Docs all seem to think she’s doing well. She’s herself now–not delirious–and even will smile and play peek-a-boo a bit. I think she’s bored. I know I am. Once the Tour de France ended this morning (streamed on computer) we both have been sort of mentally casting about for something to do from this chair. Her last morphine was at 3am, and before that, 7pm. The day before we were morphine on the hour, heavy doses. While she stiffens with pain if you try and hold her upright, her general abdominal pain seems to have lessened considerably from before. Her skin, temperature, and general spirit seem back to normal. I hope we can get out of here tomorrow. I’m sure she’d like to be in her own crib. I’d sure like to be in mine. No word from doc on biopsy. I’m assuming that’ll be next week before we get the all clear. We’re going to get the all clear. We’re going to get the all clear. Everybody chant it with me now…”)

I take the guitar for Friday’s “Songs and Games Day” with pre-kindergarteners. During cut-and-paste seatwork, I pat sweaty, black heads tenderly and wish I could touch Lila’s red hair. What feels palpable is gratitude for folks sending prayers and good wishes from several continents as we await positive biopsy results. Virginia Fortner

Quarantined, Graduated, Decided!

July 1, 2009 (Hong Kong’s Anniversary of Return to China)

Now that I’ve returned to teaching three familiar kindergartners mixed with a dozen four-year-olds, I can smile back on my 2:30 a.m. Monday, June 22 arrival in Sanya. I got a text message during the second hour in seat 14D as China Northern waited on Shanghai’s runway: “The government says all must quarantine one week. Please stay in your apartment three more days. I hope you can understand. Helen”
 
I didn’t understand as I climbed Building 12’s four flights, littered with trash, wrappers, butts, and construction dust. No one had swept, let alone mopped the stairs in my absence. At least I didn’t have to teach next day; jet lag could wear off. I awakened hungry with empty fridge and larder. Clinton called and brought breads, spaghetti sauce, meat, and condiments. Venes, whose visiting Philippino sister had to stay away from Golden Sun all week, brought food from the lunchroom. She laughed about teachers’ fear of touching my dishes, but I felt somehow unclean. A full heat wave raged outside my air-conditioned bedroom. I read, slept, drank boiled water, listened to hammering downstairs where they’re refurbishing an apartment.
 
Mostly, I increasingly felt that I wanted to join Babe English School’s international staff in Lin’An outside Hangzhou in two months; I hated to abandon Helen, whom I knew had made up her mind I was staying in Sanya after my August 31 contract ends. I decided to run it through my head and past trusted family and friends, sending out these pros and cons.
*********************************
“Both: agree to six month contracts, provide apartment, paperwork and medical exam expenses, get supplies needed for teaching, airfare back to US, have keyboards, DVD players, dance rooms, offices to handle parents, have me teaching up second floor stairs; have mountain greenery; I like five-year-olds and have curricula in my head; work 14-16 hours/week;

Golden Sun +s: already established a good program to repeat, successful English Corner, I know Sanya, have discount cards for Western restaurants, have friends with cars and books, three beaches to walk/swim; big markets with fresh fruit, seafood, vegetables; have comfortable apartment with guitar, bike; yoga class; massage place is good and cheap; facials and haircuts are great; Helen gets travel discounts/invites me to special happenings/feels I’m an asset for school; three high-paying tutorees I enjoy; free meals M-F at school; good reputation here; cheap transport to airport

-s: differences in ed philosophies; last minute surprises; teachers I trained are going elsewhere; extreme heat half year (100s yesterday); school’s very production-oriented with costly, extravagant programs that require kids to practice memorizing for weeks; lower salary (still adequate);

Babe English School +s: British couple teach jr high-adult classes with skill (he’s kind of principal); their two-bedroom apartment was adequate with a great patio looking at mountains; bigger kitchen; owners liked me immediately and want me; more salary, but more expenses; promise of anything needed to outfit newly-refurbished kdgn room; have mornings and Sun-noon-to-Tues-afternoon free each week; would like me to mentor inexperienced teachers (from Philippines, Canada, Australia); tea-growing area with a.m. mist on big lake; close to Hangzhou (great city with culture, shopping, eats); quiet and non-touristy; city’s cleaner than Sanya; classes (6 kids) for 50 minutes each; university nearby with English Corner to meet foreigners; three friends are teaching in Hangzhou next year”
**********************************************************************************************************
Two hot days of reflection and reading left me calm, but stir crazy. E-mails came, telling me everything from a “no-brainer for the new adventure” to “stay and go with the flow”–most reminded me of what I knew. The answer was within me.I read each one, picturing dear faces a half-world away at their computers.
 
I closed off two bedrooms and laundry-room entry and cooked spaghetti for Venes and Ami. The meat turned out to be mutton (probably goat); I made a mental note not to try that combination again. Helen called, “Can you come tomorrow at 9:30? We will take a graduation picture.”
 
“Do I also teach tomorrow?”
“I think you return to teach Thursday.”
Evidently I was not contagious if posing for group pictures, only when teaching.
 
After pictures, I walked boldly to market for in-season watermelon and mangos, biked to get a foot massage. Clinton, two-time angel of mercy, drove me to buy a fan. Air began circulating nicely in my apartment. Thursday a.m. re-entry was full of smiling Chinese greetings. Helen said she had knocked with China Daily and fruit, but I hadn’t answered. I confessed that I had gone to get a fan, since she had “let me out of jail for pictures”. She laughed and confessed she hadn’t been to yoga class since I left, three weeks ago.
 
“We begin again next week. Graduation Friday.”
“What? When I left graduation was June 30.”
“That is Tuesday. Parents take children to mainland homes on weekend, so we change to tomorrow. “
 
I had written my speech before leaving for Ella to translate. Helen, helped her do it that morning, then rushed off to run a dozen pre-graduation errands. She appreciated, but declined, my offer to hang banner and balloons in the park at 7:00 a.m. Parents and kids, dressed to the hilt, came at 9:00. At 10:00, my words got rounding applause: ***********************************************
“Mothers, Fathers, and Friends of Golden Sun Kindergarten… In my country, kindergarten is usually part of Primary or Elementary School. Some children go to preschool while still in diapers, some attend private school from preschool-to-senior in highschool, and most begin school at age 5 in Public School Kindergarten and continue through Grade 7-9 Middle School and Grade 9-12 High School. A small percentage of children are home schooled. Graduation, in my country means a momentous occasion at age 17 or 18. I have experience with all four kinds of schooling, but this is my first kindergarten graduation.
 
I remember the children in Golden Sun Senior Class with great fondness. Jessica memorized many lines as “Snow White” last month. Coco became a confident speaker as queen in the English play. Jack’s laughter and singing as he worked made me smile many days. Jay’s sharing with friends warmed my heart often. Hank’s quick answers were a teacher’s delight…(I mentioned a positive trait of each kindergartner I’d taught.)
 
Your children did what I believe children are meant to do. They played, looked, listened, and put together ideas about how to get along. I think learning to share and get along with others is the biggest job a young child does. At the same time, he or she needs good teaching guidance to develop skills in speaking, math, writing, and reading. A small part of that is memorization, something I find most Chinese do very well. This year, we tried to use what we memorized, think how it could solve problems and connect with life.
 
I knew that Tom was solving problems when he discovered the ‘T’ sound was at the beginning and end of ‘tent’ and spelled it on the chalkboard. I was pleased when Sticky used English to get something, “Teacher Virginia, I have no eraser!” I watched John learn how to look at the teacher and learn from others; he was the first one to recognize all ABCs.
 
Your children and my own four grandchildren are our world’s future. I hope I have shown Golden Sun that there can be true joy in learning–whether it is about my country’s customs far away or China’s proud, colorful traditions. It has been my pleasure to be a teacher this year.”
********************************************************************************************
The 33 graduates chased balloons, wriggled through teachers’ speeches, received diplomas and remembrance books, ate a three-tired cake, and hunted papers to win the honor of letting doves fly skyward with good wishes tied to their feet. The poor doves, harrassed by kids holding/grasping/launching them, couldn’t get off the ground. I retreated to sit on a rock with Helen’s in-laws until rain clouds ended the harrassment. I suspected that several doves went home to a cooking pot as we hurriedly loaded cars and school bus. 
 
Saturday, Helen invited Venes, Ami, and me to go to Nanshan Temple, dedicated to Kwan Yin. Friends and contributors to temple coffers, we were driven around like royalty. Helen and Kailyn, secretary, prayed to Prosperity Buddha for money. Helen’s special Kwan Yin statue allowed her and me inside with the many-limbed goddess in gold, where Helen kowtowed and I meditated until a young girl spoke persuasive Chinese. Was it a prophecy of increased enrollment? More high-end international fees? Good health? No. She was hoping Helen would give money for a golden chain and special ribbon on a flowered offering.
 
We hurried to where Helen’s husband’s entire family planted a “Buddha tree” in honor of his mother’s recovery from cancer. She handed me a red-ribboned spade to do the honors. Lunch at a Muslim restaurant near Sanya Bay–fish, coconut milk, chicken-vegetables in tiny bread bowls, spinach, specialty dishes, and soup–made it a magical day.
 
Primed to talk with Helen, I asked for some time Monday. She promised an afternoon meeting as we drove to yoga class. Then some kids had to be readied for a photo session with a Chinese superstar, so she suggested Tuesday. That was over a week after I thought I was to finish “considering six more months.”
 
It was a very comfortable meeting. She said she hoped I would continue, but understood my need to try another teaching challenge. I told her that not wanting to disappoint her was my biggest problem with leaving Sanya. She thanked me for offering to return for short term teacher training whenever needed. We reviewed summer school changes, English Corner plans, and made plans to go to yoga in the evening. I e-mailed Zoe, at Babe School, an affirmative and went to bed a contented woman.

U S-China Vacation Contrasts

June 13 and the Kansas reunion was approaching to celebrate Mom’s 90th year. Ten months since I had seen family, I knew they all planned to be at hometown Fredonia (except nephew Ben sailing somewhere around the Bahamas). Golden Sun Kindergarten boss, Helen said I could depart Sanya for two weeks, returning in time for kindergarten graduation. She ordered Shanghai-Chicago-Kansas City roundtrip ticket at 2/3 the discount price on English websites, but insisted we wait until domestic Sanya-Shanghai tickets were on sale two weeks prior to departure.

I couldn’t resist saying, “In America, you buy tickets early to get discounts. This feels backwards to me.” A slight savings did little to offset my Western anxiety about ordering the costly final leg of arrival journey before knowing I had a ticket to make that flight.

Helen drove me to the airport at 5:00 a.m., reassuring me she “would get a good price” and e-mail me my Shanghai-Sanya flight and hotel destination later. I read and ate (30 yuan duck l’orange sandwich, a pricey $4.50US) in hazy Pudong Shanghai airport for six hours before boarding United. Every few minutes, people were admonished to report to authorities if they had a fever or felt poorly. I donned a mask, along with half the plane’s passengers, on take-off. Three movies, three meals, naps, and one book later, we landed in Chicago. There was plenty of time for customs, dinner, and dark chocolate almond snacks.$10 pre-made sandwiches plus tax (not charged in China) tasted like gold, but the mayo and mustard were like old familiar friends.  

Friends met me at Mid Continent Airport, introduced me to their loaner Honda, plied me with evening cabernet and morning lattes, and gave free reign to a well-stocked refridgerator.First impressions, driving from the airport, were of how organized, spacious, and green was my old home, Kansas City. My lovely apartment’s upper window looked out on Rockwell-Nelson Art Gallery.

Intentions to do its Sculpture Walk waited for a day; I slept til noon, then began a whirl of lunches, dinners, and parties over the next five days. There wasn’t enough time with any one person, yet I had relaxed opportunities to catch up on most friends’ lives. I’m grateful for those who called, planned, and understood when schedules didn’t mesh. Lives had moved on this past ten months: one couple was selling a home for a painful move to assisted living. Two self-reported memory problems. Most had grandchild pictures handy. Hair was whiter, familiar figures hid beneath extra pounds I didn’t remember, but personalities were the same and greetings were genuine. 

Coffee with Heather, who taught in China 20 years ago, led to a first-time experience, peaceful anti-protest gathering in support of Ohev Sholom where a noisy handful Fred Phelps’ folks picketed. I was impressed with the patience and candor of the friendly policemen who asked us to stay quietly on our side of the street. Protestants, Catholics, Jews, and agnostics quietly sang “We Shall Overcome,” giving support to the synogogue members berated as “Christ killers.”Across the street, children held vile signs; one man preached hate for minorities, abortion, and homosexuals. I thought of China’s risking to break sexual taboos with its first gay movie, Spring Fever. The picketers quickly left after 30 minutes.

I waved at the two policemen present and remembered that this was the day after a Beijing protest anniversary that ended in loss of lives. I went on to do my taxes, have oral surgery in preparation for a three-tooth bridge, and a long nap.    A Scrabble game won by one point, dinners in kitchens, lunches and coffees on patios, and gardening tips after an elegant Delta Kappa Gamma gathering stand out in memory. At church, I got more than my share of hugs and marveled at how the youth had grown–both in size and talent. One girl showed a power point of her winning Model Cities project, rebuilding in miniature Greensburg, KS flattened by a tornado. A boy played confident guitar in the sensitive praise band.The service flowed, moving me toward a hopeful place where love and peace spoke possibilities in today’s world.

Over lunch waffles, a friend and I updated births, deaths, and infirmities in families long known. Ex-roommate, Liz met me at the Nelson for exhibits of intricate Indian art and Siegel sculptures. Harris’ evening gourmet party brought teaching co-workers, biking buddies, and friends. Dana and Alan arrived on bikes (I formerly owned hers), excited that they will teach in a Hangzhou university next year. I answered questions, hoping I did justice to “How do Chinese….view Americans….see the economic downturn…?” It is hard to draw conclusions about so vast a country, with development bringing change in attitudes and knowledge almost daily.

A three-hour drive south to Wichita reunited me with family, over 30 of us. Ethan decided he’d rent out his room at $5/night. Grant showed me an impressive coin collection and seemed pleased at the Asian money I added to it. Kent’s CA family, held overnight in Dallas due to 8″ of rain, drove in a yellow rental, identical to the color of Helen’s Hundai that had driven me to Sanya’s airport. Law student, Kate, and Medical Transcriptionist, Jed, came from Montana without a problem. Six-month-old grand-nephew, Chase announced Justin’s family’s arrival in the middle of the night. CA Niece Jennifer’s family drove with a camper, where the kids elected to sleep when they weren’t in three tents. KS son-in-law Brian was unaware that his torn bicep put him in a class with Hillary Clinton (broken elbow) and Margaret Thatcher (upper arm surgery). Arm in a sling awaiting surgery, he supervised loading a new grill on their truck for two-hour transport to Fredonia’s South Mound and the reunion lunch. Sister Gayla’s family brought delicious salads, neighbors dropped by, and my friend since second grade surprised us. We played Scrabble and looked at photo albums in Mom’s Madison Square clubhouse. Brother Ron and I took a walk around the hometown, slept at Mom’s, and had pancakes and llama sausage for breakfast. Then it was back to daughter Janet’s pool and hot dogs topped off by home-made ice cream.  Some of us took a four-mile walk on country roads to walk off the calories.

It was hard to tell them good-bye, knowing I’d commit to eight months more somewhere in China. Departure day, I picked up e-mail with Shanghai hotel and air confirmations just in time to board United. I left confident that my $3000 teeth would adapt to chopsticks just fine and my taxes were a break-even proposition this year. On the plane, China Daily’s account, “World’s Oldest Man Dies in Sleep” (at 113), reminded me that my kids delightedly said they might just as well plan Grandma Mary’s 100th, ten years away.

Fourteen hours later, white-clad space-age figures aimed lazer guns at foreheads for an hour, starting in the front of the plane. They looked at me and barked Chinese. Uh oh! My seatmate interpreted, “Pull up your hair.” I lifted my bangs, and they pronounced a mask-muffled “OK” and shuffled past on white-covered footies. I made a mental note to get a hair cut soon. Kunming student now working in Shanghai, Toby, told me while we strolled People’s Square and Walking Street, “I have a dream. I’ll visit America and play hu lu si with you on your 100th birthday. I guess I’d better start practicing. It might happen.