on a jet plane

tomorrow it's

5 travelers

15 checked bags

1 40 pound dog and her 40 pound kennel

10 pieces of hand luggage

Qingdao > Seoul > Chicago

... already we're so lonesome we could cry

{and so we have}

The Johnson's {Seaside} in Qingdao

We took these photos at the height of fall.

The ginko trees were turning yellow.

The grass was not yet brown.

We took them by the seaside,

with the dog

(which is prohibited, and we were so informed by a local bao an)

(He's the security detail who is not quite police)
He pedaled up on his moped and informed us "No Dogs @ the Beach."

Never-the-less, we snapped these in quick succession.

And they've made for some fun memories of glorious autumn weather in our fair coastal city.

The air is decidedly more crisp now. The air quality -- smoky and gritty.

We were assessed yesterday and it seems we are JUST-AT-THE-LIMIT!

We're full on sorting.

And dumping.

And packing.

It's life out of suitcases from here on out.

The next week will be intense, and there probably won't be much from the old bloggie blog.
So I'll leave you with some of our favorite memories and best smiles,

and see you on the other side of our pack-out!

Thanks for all your love and support,

from friends here and on the other side of the world --

at the place we will soon, once again, call home.

Cheers, Love, and Peace,

Sunny Sunday Morning

We had a rough night.

Bei Bei up in the night with croup.

The whole family with sore throats, itchy eyes and nagging coughs that don't seem to let up at this time of year in this dry, barren, late-autumn land.

This morning, after a cup of coffee, things seem brighter. In fact, they are so bright that EHJ and Bei Bei decided to bespectacle their faces with dark glasses while scrubbing six weeks of window markers off the windows.

It's sad to watch their master pieces streak down the pane.

Sad that tomorrow the "Moving Master" will come to assess our five years of accumulation, calculate how many days are needed to box it up, truck it out, and then put it on a slow boat from China.

Sad that I still have random piles. And stuff sitting out: The ant farm. The Elmer's school glue (see it there in the photo). Earrings I wore Thursday. The new credit cards Mr. Johnson is nagging me to activate. (And that's just on my computer desk!)

But for this morning, whilst I sit in my mis-matched pajamas, drinking the dregs of today's first cup of Sumatra extra bold, savoring the gritty bits that slipped passed in the French press, it's hard not to smile as I watch these two on a Sunny Sunday Morning.

** The blissful sweet moment just passed, as Bei Bei yelled from the other room, "Are we going to be ayi's all day long mom??

Reading...

Three International related NY Times op-ed pieces I found interesting this week:

WikiLeaks and the Diplomats

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/30/opinion/30tue1.html

From WikiChina

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/01/opinion/01friedman.html?_r=1&src=ISMR_AP_LO_MST_FB

Speaking in Tongues

http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/12/01/speaking-in-tongues/

Perspective ...

It's easy to get wrapped up and overwhelmed as a family entering global transition.

I've got piles and shopping lists galore. I have been running all over our coastal city collecting "last minute" furniture, textiles, and Chinese trinkets. Having art framed and pictures developed.

Part of the stress, I realize, simply comes from the volume of stuff we own.

Stuff.

Last week the two families who sweep our sidewalks and mop the common areas of our apartment building, the families that have been habiting an unheated, unconditioned, un-leased garage in our complex, were packing up. It's not uncommon for migrants to move on, and often quickly, from one place to the next. But the leisurely way they were sorting their things suggested to me they weren't going far.

After asking them what was up, I learned that they had been told to relocate to the underground parking garage under our complex. Two couples with one child each now reside in the damp, dark and moldy concrete bowels several stories underground. They transported all their possessions in an industrial size trash bin (the same one I drop my daily trash bag in).

Kinda puts my "predicament" in perspective.

Kudos, Google!

It was fun when google created a salute to pacman earlier this year . . . (http://www.google.com/pacman/)

And fun when they did the same for Scooby Doo on Halloween . . .

http://searchengineland.com/scooby-doo-googles-halloween-logo-54428

Everybody can relate to fun pop-culture icons.

But, I was even more impressed with today's display. Simple and to the point. A woman riding a bus, taking a seat and taking a stand ... 55 years ago today.

Naming Kate's Boy

Last week I met this beautiful baby, my sweet Korean friend's 3400 gram breast-fed boy. She asked me to give him an English name. A task which I found both endearing and daunting.

This is not the first time I've been asked to name a baby while living in China. Shortly after we arrived in China, I helped a random mom of a Chinese classmate at EHJ's Chinese kindy pick an English name for her son. I told her to call him Matthew since her son's Chinese name was Ma Tian (and because I've always loved the name Matthew).

Three years ago I helped my Chinese teacher come up with a name for her little Ya Xin ("x" in pinyin has a "sh" sound). I came up with Shania, not because of my love for country music, but because it incorporated the same sounds as her given name, and was easy to pronounce. My teacher also liked the name because it was unique. She has given herself the English name "Maggie," but later realized that "Maggie" is an oft claimed (though I think quite tasteful) name among Chinese women her age (As well as Jennifer and Rachel for the cult following of Friends, which -- along with Desperate Housewives --made a late debut in China and created quite a misconception of modern women in the United States!)

Chinese "English" names are often common nouns, numbers or worse, borrowed from Disney.

We have met: Ice, Knife, Apple, Hunk (he wasn't), Iceberg, Eleven, Seven, Cinderella and Snow White. We have also met people who took nice enough names, but which are impossible for most Chinese to pronounce. For example, Mandarin doesn't have a /th/ sound (so much for my giving that little guy the name Matthew the first year we moved here.) For most Mandarin speakers /th/ becomes /sh/, which of course makes a muddle of names like Arthur (which sounds like Arshur... which in turn sounds like er shi, the Chinese word for '20') or Cathy whom most English speaking Chinese turn into Katty as a way to either save face, or they truly believe that's the correct way to say the name since so few have mastered the /th/of Cathy.

It's different with my Korean friend though. My Korean friend, unlike my Chinese friends, has had exposure to Western culture outside of watching pirated DVDs of American television programs. Kate could easily find a fun and trendy Western name on her own. She's cosmopolitan... having lived in Canada and several cities in China. She has successfully created an English name for herself and her husband, which are both reasonable and durable names. They gave their daughter a thoughtful name that can be used in three languages (English, Chinese and Korean) with ease.

And now she asks me ... a mother of three girls ... to name her baby boy (a boy she herself was not able to give a Korean name, since that honor was claimed by paternal grandfather).

My friend is fashionable, stylish and comfortable in English. She speaks with a West coast twinge to her voice, and not a noticeable Korean accent. She wants a fun and trendy name for her boy, not William or Billy or Harry or James... some of the more popular English names Korean boys take.

And so in the end, I drafted her this email. But, truly in the end, it is really her choice.

Hi Kate,

I've been thinking about a fun English name for Min Seo.

I have always loved the name Matthew, which means the same things as Min Seo (most often the meaning for Matthew is 'Gift from God'). However, I think Matthew is a little common now, and sometimes the "th" sound is tricky for kids and non-native English speakers.

I found Matteo which is a Italian version of Matthew and kind of trendy. I also like the way it looks similar to Min Seo (starting and ending with the same letters.)

You could reduce either Matthew or Matteo to Matt as he gets older. Matt is kind of a cool name for a older kid :-)

As far as current popularity, of the top 1000 boys names in the US right now, Matteo ranks #454. It has gained in popularity since the 1990s, but you probably won't bump into a lot of other little guys named Matteo (as a "Jennifer" this appeals to me, since so many other people my age share my name.)

If you don't love the name Matteo, it's okay... he's your little bundle. I won't feel bad if you don't use it!

Love,

Jen

Repatriation Thought {one}

{one}

On average, it takes a person/family about 12 months to adjust a new home and culture when they move overseas.

Repatriation, on average, takes about 18 months.

Repatriation

We're on the verge of it now. The vortex is sucking us closer and closer and whether or not we are fully prepared the reality is upon us.

Repatriation for us, it turns out, means heading back to exactly where we left. We will be taking up residence in The Bungalow again sometime in January.

The reality again of a proper yard, two-car garage, and vehicles we can drive is going to be ours. The girls can roll out of bed at 7:30 (about the time they get on the bus now), and will be done with their after school snack by 3:30 (or the time they presently are getting on the bus for their 30 minute ride home along a seaside route.)

So much is about to change for all of us.

Some of we are looking so forward to.

But, there are other parts that are challenging to think about.

And like I said... we now only have four-ish weeks.

I have a friend who is using her Facebook status to each day give a adoption tidbit. It's part personal experience and part education. I have a hard time committing to anything consistent right now, but I'd like to do a series on Repatriation that is, like my friend's, part personal experience, part education ... A way to help validate my own feelings and those of our girls (and possibly those of other expats who have gone through what we're on the brink of), and a way to help gently explain how it is possible to sometimes feel less than thrilled about going "home."

Remembering to Use it Wisely ...

Last week Mr Johnson sent me a link with the repatriation services provided by his company through a contracted, outside organization. The idea was the company wants the employee, his/her family and spouse to feel supported. I need to say at the very outset how fortunate we are that such a service is offered, especially when there is belt tightening at every level in most American companies. (Speaking of belt tightening... Mr Johnson also reports the pen cabinet at work has recently been padlocked... and every third bank of light bulbs is not being used... the Chinese are great at finding cost-saving measures!)

I called the hot-line number based in Illinois, spoke to the sleepy sounding man at the switch board (my mid-day was his midnight), and asked for a litany of information on repatriation, school transfer, family stress and anxiety and anything else they offer expats on their way "home." After five years here, we've seen the toll repatriation takes on families and couples. I want to have my arsenal full in advance. Our book shelves are already full of titles like, Raising Global Nomads and Homeward Bound.

I was hoping for something advocacy and a prophylactic. I got bland response that someone would call me back.

No one did.

So five days later, my hackles raised (this is also the emergency helpline for people under severe stress, who don't need someone to take their name and number, but need a counselor on the line stat... ) I called back. Rather than Mr Sleepy Switchboard, I got Mr Surly. No record of my call. Wasn't his problem. Why did I call this number?

................. small diversion that will eventually get back to my point.................

My younger sister got inked this weekend. Courtesy of the steady hand of a careful artist, her ribcage now reads, in 36 pt. courier font:

maintain the rage but use it wisely

For those of you who don't know me particularly well, I can get hot over issues of perceived injustice. Apparently, it's a bit of a family thing.

This weekend, half a globe away, while my sister was spending some quality time with Le tatouer, I was outside enjoying an unseasonably warm November Saturday, when our nouveau riche neighbor cruised into the dead-end spot in our shared drive way at an unnecessarily high speed.

To his surprise, I met him at the door of his swanky Mercedes sedan and asked him, quietly, to please, next time slow down. His eyes immediately reflected that he knew what I'd said, but to 'save face' he told me he couldn't understand what I was saying. Slowing way down ... I said in my toneless, but never-the-less understandable Mandarin, "Could you please drive more slowly? You drove too fast and there are kids here. My kids ... her kids," I said pointing to the countryside woman who serves with her family as caretaker for the common areas of complex in exchange for housing ... the most basic of housing ... they reside in an un-leased garage. (During our exchange, she was washing her clothes by hand and spreading them on the bushes to dry.)

Finally, exasperated with the Western woman bent on conversing with him, the driver turned to me and said, in English, "Sorry." Then walked away.

I'm not sure what, if anything I accomplished. I think the migrant mother heard what I said, and knew in some small way she had an advocate in the Western woman who understands, despite huge cultural and monetary divides, that kids are precious and deserve a safe place to play. (This was another tangent I went on with Mr. Mercedes, who argued it was okay to drive fast since he didn't see any kids in the area.)

I hope that the lead-foot driver will allow his foot to hover over the break instead of the accelerator the next time he pulls up and parks his expensive ride in front of my apartment home. Maybe he'll even conjure the sweet face of his cute niece that we enjoy playing with in the cement circle in the center of our apartment towers. Suǒyǒu de háizi shi baobei men (All kids are precious), I had reminded him.

Who knows ... maybe he'll stubbornly continue to drive in a careless manner, just to defy his nosy neighbor. (There is a definite sense of entitlement among Chinese men of a certain age. Especially those those who have money or power... this guy seemed to have both.) But there was something that registered in his eyes makes me think he'll think twice before hammering down next time.

Maintain the rage but use it wisely

My sister's now daily reminder is a quote from a social worker who's work she admires. Channel your frustration into action, and don't look like a jerk when you do it.

In retrospect, I probably toed the wrong side of the line with my neighbor. Mr Johnson is constantly encouraging me to "let some things go." And he has a point.

But neither of us thought it was worth letting our negative experience with the hotline and help for expats go. It was supposed to be a service. They were supposed to provide help.

There was no doubt that I maintained my frustration. I channeled it right into an email... one for the head of the department of the contracted agency, and one that was sent on to Mr Johnson's company to report the problem. To their credit, both organizations responded immediately. Our case was handed off to the head of the department, and the guy who was supposed to have followed up with us has been taken off of "The Johnson's in China" case file. After my plea for advocacy in via email, and again on the phone we got some response. I was taking it back for our family, and for all the other expats I've known here with no such number to call.

I was personally contacted by phone by the director. She will personally handle our case. Any questions? we should contact her. We've even got her mobile.

(The problem with making a stink, though, is I'm pretty sure there's a little star beside my name now. "Crazy" Tai Tai Johnson, over there in China. White glove treatment. Red carpet rolled out because they dropped the ball the first two times we called, and a little star for crazy.)

Details ...

Believe it or not, we still don't have any.

Only that Mr Johnson needs to be in the US by January 1.

HR is moving at a snails pace. (And with the huge time difference everything takes at least two days.)

I would like to get in touch with the movers. Set up plans for our temporary housing here and in the US ... in short, I'd like to be prepared.

Instead we wait. We read outdated material on repatriation, because sadly, that's all there is.

Milestones

It sound so cliche to say a picture is worth at 1000 words.

But to me, this one always will be.

It was shot at Chicago O'Hare in February 2006 shortly before we boarded and took our business class seats with three children, six and under, and with our one way tickets tucked into their newly minted passports.

They had all flown before. The breastfed Baby had even made the long trip to China with us on our Look/See visit about six weeks earlier. But this was a new step, a new phase, a milestone of international travel across time zones and cultures. We were hurtling headlong into our life as expats.

The Baby (9 mo.) is zonked. The Middle (4) is crying. The oldest (though it seems impossible to consider a gap-toothed six-year-old as "old") is pensive. She is wearing her purple cowboy boots with yoga pants because they took up too much space in our preciously allocated suitcases.

Speaking of suitcases, 20 or so are balanced precariously on the over-sized luggage cart. The two thrift store specials are featured prominently in this photo. One was quickly discarded when we arrived in our host country, and the other eventually became the storage space for our menagerie of oft-naked Barbie's.

I look at this photo and remember the uncertainty and emotion that accompanied that day and the days leading up to it. I just want to grab each one of those sweethearts and tell them it will be okay. You'll love it in China. You'll call it home. I want to tell those young parents on the other side of the camera, those exhausted looking, not quite thirty-somethings, who lean against the ticket counter, that they'll do okay too.

And, I'd like to tell them that one day they'll stand on the other side of that great precipice, and find themselves on the brink of yet another milestone. And the emotions they feel then might be vaguely familiar.

|This post is part of the View From Here Photo Challenge. Click over to gogovivi and check it out.|

Pepero Day

Last Thursday I sat down to the computer to write about Pepero Day.

And then, of course, I realized it was also Veterans day, and I thought better of pounding out a post based on a trival holiday that emphasizes biscuits, when in other parts of the world people were thinking more somber thoughts... Except possibly in Korea*, where they were busy selling out to consumerism and buying up Pepero brand biscuit sticks to share with their friends.

In a nutshell, Pepero is a holiday created, most suspect, by the makers of this product, though Lotte (the manufacturer) denies it. Whatever the case, someone cleverly realized that their sweet sticks look like the "one" digit, and they could play up on this fact on that calendar day that reads 11/11 (think of what fun they will have NEXT year!) And, it's somewhat suspect that, according to the Wall Street Journal (in 2006), in the two months leading up to 11/11, Lotte sells two- thirds of it's annual total of these pretzelish snacks.

Our big girls got in on this holiday via several thoughtful Korean classmates who gifted them with a full box of Pepero each. However, in Bei Bei's class sweeties and lollies are not allowed. (I LOVE that she is content to take a healthy snack every single day, and that there is no cause for concern about what anybody else is snacking on because they all have to bring in something nutriuious.) However, I also see the value in a supervised sweet snack at home sometimes, and we made a pit stop on the way home from the bus to pick up a pack of Japanese Pocky for her to munch on whilst her jie jie men dined on the Korean branded product.

* It's important to note that Korea has several days on it's own calendar to honor their military heros.

May 6th Korean Memorial Day : The day commemorates men and women who died while in military service or independence movement. It was originated from the traditional customs of Mangzhong, one of the 24 solar terms. On this day, national commemorating ceremony is held in National Cemetery.

October 1st Armed Forces Day : The day recognizes, venerates, and honors military forces of the Republic of Korea. In 1950, during the Korean War, South Korean Forces broke through the 38th parallel on October 1.

Source:
http://wiki.answers.com/Q/What_holidays_does_South_Korea_celebrate

for more on Pepero See:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pepero

Remembrance Day

Eliza Hazel Johnson & Lilly Hazel Lewis with Poppies
Summer 2010, Camrose, Alberta, CANADA

November 11th arrives solemnly in the Northern Hemisphere, just as the wind becomes chilly and the skies morph into a cold grey.

It's a day for remembrance and is so named in Canada. It's the day the US and her neighbor to the north join the UK and other Commonwealth countries marking a moment of silence in honor of our veterans .... Pausing to celebrate a commitment. And, to remember the lives lost in the name of freedom.

Ironically, or maybe ideally, it was the day Mr Johnson's maternal grandfather, a stalwart veteran of not one but two branches of the military was laid to rest complete with a gun salute that pierced the still silence on that biting cold November day not quite a decade ago.

My brother and his wife are both in the United States Marine Corps. My grandfathers were both veterans and my paternal grandmother served in the Royal Canadian Air force, in an era where the world was connected with a common theme of loss and destruction.

American friends who have repatriated from China often write that dates like Independence Day and Memorial day, and also today's, when all the ones line up on the calendar page as if in salute . . . take on special meaning after living in Socialist (Communist) China.

For me this day is inseparable from the words of a poem my Dad would recite, one he learned in Grammar school, each Remembrance Day.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved, and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

In Flander's Field by John McCrae

Cue the Drum Roll . . .

Aurora, Illinois

January 2011

stay tuned ...

The View from Here: {alter ego}

Bei Bei had a pretty low key Halloween this year. While her oldest sister traipsed off to a costume/birthday party on Saturday night, and older sister had her pants scared off at a five-star spooktacular Halloween party hosted by her classmate (whose father is the general manager of a Hilton hotel) replete with a haunted trail and creepy dinner (ghoul-masked waiters, eye balls in goblets of green slime); Bei Bei and her Korean classmate contented themselves decorating hard, tiny pumpkins with Sharpie markers and playing in the relaxed way five-year-olds are famous for.

But even without a Halloween party of her own, and without any trick-or-treating this year, Bei Bei found a way to "alter her ego". In fact, she does so nearly everyday! In the single day that this was photographed (with camera on my first generation iphone) she wore this sequined mask, a purple tutu, a witch hat, and a Hawaiian hula skirt. She daily plunders the dress up bin and creates great combinations.

My older girls don't dress up so much anymore. Yes if there is a birthday party invite that stipulates a costume is required. Yes if it's Halloween, or Book Week or International Day @ school. It used to be there wasn't a day that went by that EHJ wouldn't don the Old Navy cow costume (circa 2000) and spend the better part of the day in it, but it's been ages now since my middle dabbled in dressy-ups. And forever and a day since my oldest did.

So I will relish the moments Bei Bei spends altering her ego. Even if it means that if I round the corner to see how her teeth brushing is coming along I find her in a cami and baggy Chinese undies posing in the mirror in a sequined mask, without toothbrush in sight!

|This Post is Linked to The View From Here: 8 {alter ego} Photo Challenge over @ gogovivi.com

||See links in sidebar||

Waves

I'm finding that emotion comes in waves for me these days. Crashing and thunderous. Like the waves at high tide.

Sometimes I get welled up just seeing the beauty of the sun sparkling across the blue colored Yellow Sea. It's there again when I see the full display of fall colors against the backdrop of our limestone Laoshans.

This is the last season, for a long time (maybe ever), that I'll rise to the sound of the putting engine of an old wooden junk, motoring out for the morning catch; or the scratching sound of the simplest of brooms sweeping the sidewalk clear, before the morning rush of people will litter it again.

In momentary glimpses, I see the world around me differently. These sights, which threatened, during the longest days of expat experience, to become mundane, I am once again acutely aware of.

Listening to each syllable of a language that does not roll easily off my own tongue.

Noting each face.

Locking away in my mind the images.

The woman from the countryside sitting idly in the sunshine, the padded baby, sitting in her lap in quilted split crotch trousers and tugging at his momma's sweater for a drink.

A lorry laden with sweet potatoes, covered with homemade quilts to prevent distruction by frost, swaddled to prevent bruising.

Each image and sound byte tugs romanitcally at my heartstrings ... as if I am experiencing it for the first time. This wistful feeling rises and swells. Crests and crashes. And is whisked out to sea.

November 1 ...

Mr Johnson arrived home yesterday with Halloween cards for the girlies and my November issue of Real Simple. (Courtesy of my mother-in-law, who sends that fab mag each month.)

"Hey," my mister said, "Now you can 'feel organized for the holidays'!" (Which was the tagline emblazoned across the monochromatic array of fall gourds.)

Organized for the holidays?

I feel like a freight train is running straight through our calendar . . .

Footie Fun in Secondary

MGJ & Teammates

Play it Forward

MGJ in action

Team Photo

(Girls from the US, France & Korea round out the team)

The Journey to the Tourney