Chinese New Year

The link below gives a nice look at how the Chinese New Year is celebrated in Beijing.
{It made me a little homesick.}
As one friend wrote, "you can almost smell the fireworks!"

Xin Nian Kuai Le!!

http://video.nytimes.com/video/2012/01/23/world/asia/100000001306948/year-of-the-dragon.html?smid=fb-nytimes&WT.mc_id=VI-E-FB-SM-LIN-TIE-012312-NYT-NA&WT.mc_ev=click

A trip down memory lane

Fourteen years ago Mr Johnson and I were newly married and college students. I had a semester of school left and he had two when we tied the knot in July of 1997. Shortly after, we moved into an austere two bedroom apartment with all our worldly goods. We lived in married student housing on the campus of the University of Illinois, a community mainly inhabited by older international students with families, and married grad and doctoral students.

The bank of mailboxes on the landing of our building listed names we then could not (but now can) pronounce : Xu, Zhang, something African, Wang, Lu. And smack in the middle, JOHNSON. We seemed to stand out. There was some major foreshadowing going on, but we of course had no idea.

We lived humbly on peanut butter (but splurged on good bread), and would spend our time at class, at work, and occasionally, when the moon and stars aligned, at home together on our cute little plaid love seat (reappolstered by Mr Johnson's grandma) in our IKEA meets garage sale living room where we would watch a laser discs (it was the 90s people!) in surround sound complicated by the cinder block walls and eat Chinese take out.

(Little did we know that our life -- a little less than a decade later -- would include three wonderful little people, and an even bigger adventure that involved again: Asian neighbors, Chinese take out, and more concrete living room walls!)

This last weekend we drove down to Champaign and our old university/early marriage stomping grounds with our girlies ... taking our obligatory October photograph on the campus quad. The girls posed under the Alma Mater statue outside Altguild Hall. Later we snapped some more of the girlies on a cobblestone street in the historic area of Urbana.

We parked on John Street, just around the corner from That's Rentertainment (which is stil on 6th) where we rented laser discs in the pre-ipod era. We bought the girlies U of I t-shirts @ TIS book store. (Go Illini!) And ate at a great Korean joint reminiscent of a lotteria in Seoul.

We drove to the barracks style housing that makes up the married student quarters, which still looks very much like it did in the 90s. We posed on the front steps of our old building, watched as Chinese students headed back from the impressive garden plot that they work all summer, and now are harvesting di guo (sweet potatoes) and squash.

It was raining and a little bleak ... The girls were running the camera ... and somehow we didn't get a shot of the whole building, but I think you get the idea ... laundry flapping on the balcanies. Storage boxes piled up on them too. We peeked into an empty first floor and saw no updates. Still austere. Exactly the same as it was when we spent two semesters living on love in 202.

Mooncakes and Memories

China celebrated it's Mid-Autumn festival earlier this week. It's a time of coming together with family, gazing at the moon at remembering loved ones both far and near.

Sunday night at The Bungalow we unwrapped the boxed mooncakes we bought @ Chinese School and brewed a micro pot of chrysanthemum tea. (The Three love to watch the tightly packed dried flower blossom in the hot water). We sipped the fragrant tea out of tiny cups, the mismatched cups of varying styles that the girls picked out themselves at the tea shop along along the Nan Shan market in QD.

The night was flooded with memories ...

With thoughts of friends on the other side of the globe ...

With comments on how we celebrated last year, in our QD garden, gazing at the full moon over the yellow sea ... with moon cakes (of course) and possibly Tsingtao pijiu for the adults. Last year at this time we had just discovered that our time in China was ending. We had just found out, but we didn't know yet where we would end up. That Mooncake Festival was especially poignant. We ended by releasing a paper lantern from the back yard, and watched as it's flame illuminated the thin red paper and the wind carried it out across the water.

This year we went out on the front porch of The Bungalow, gazed at the full moon and named people we knew and loved on the other side of the world.

We ate the moon cakes, even though we don't really like them, and then Bei Bei adding a new tradition of her own, asked if she could howl at the moon.

Related Post from last year:

http://thejohnsonsinchina.blogspot.com/2010/09/mid-autumn-festival.html

Back in the {Chinese School} Saddle Again, and Riding it into the Sunset ...

Chinese school is off to a good start I think. MGJ and EHJ completed a lot of homework over the summer and are both pleasantly surprised by the new {and in their opinion, improved} curriculum this semester. The are continuing to keep up in the Heritage level classes, which is for first language speakers, and they are most certainly the only blonde children in their respective classes.

When their teachers email homework or updates, I have to run it through google translate to get the gist. I am unable to help my girls at this stage, which makes me even prouder of their independent progress. It is not infrequent that EHJ poses a Chinese query to MGJ, or I find MGJ pouring over her Chinese dictorary or on-line translator.

Mr Johnson has joined other dads playing pick-up basketball in the gym during the girls' classes. All the other 父亲 (fùqīn, fathers) speak fluent Mandarin, so he's getting a language lesson of sorts when he plays each week.

Bei Bei has the benefit of reading and phonics now firmly in her grasp, so tackling the sounds of pinyin {Romanized Chinese} where e says "uh" and i says "ee", is challenging but not entirely confusing. She did remarkably well today when the teacher pronounced various pinyin sounds and they were required to identify the pinyin sound, write it down, and indicate which of the four tones was given orally.

The group of parents in Bei Bei's Chinese as a Second language class are different from last year's group. Only two families have some Mandarin background, although all but three (including Bei Bei) are of Asian decent.

In this environment, there is an unfair amount of pressure put on a child who looks Chinese but cannot speak Chinese, and the blame is almost immediately put on the parent. {At this beginner level parents are required to attend with their children.} Parents that speak Chinese are grilled about why their child's level is so far from proficient that they must be placed in a class for 'foreigners' (a term that is extremely interesting, since by 'foreigner' they mean non-Asian, non-Chinese speaker, of which there are only three in our class, not to mention that the class is taking place in the Chicagoland.)

Parents who speak some Mandarin squirm as they try to explain either that their 'foreign' spouse doesn't speak Chinese, or doesn't permit excessive demands of language learning. But what is refreshing, I think, in our current class, is that most parents, whom are mostly younger that last year's group, and mostly second or third generation Chinese (or Malay, Indonesian, Taiwanese, or even Korean) simply shrug and say, "we just don't speak Mandarin." I wish that this group would be applauded for their efforts, because even if they don't speak Chinese it is their desire that their children might learn. They are young and modern and American, but they want to identify with part of their Chinese heritage.

But shame has long been part of the teaching and learning process in China. Asian looking kids should know how to speak Chinese. And if they don't someone must be to blame.

I got my own dose of Chinese Shame today when I ended up seated beside the only 'Fresh off the Boat' mom in our group. Her son is in her class because, I heard her explain last week in Mandarin, her 'foreign' husband doesn't speak Chinese. She speaks Cantonese at home with her son.

Today she erased the answers on her son's oral quiz and coached him with the correct answers for the pinyin sounds and tones. He got a perfect score. (Bei Bei got 11 out of 13, and did them independently).

I asked the FOB mama, in English where she was from.

"China." She replied.

I asked her, in Mandarin, where in China.

"The South," she replied.

It was clear from her Mandarin pronunciation she was more comfortable in Cantonese. I had a hard time understanding her.

{My layman's description of the differences would be Mandarin has four tones and a harsher sound. Cantonese has six tones and is more singy/songy ... I think Cantonese is more the sound people think of when they stereotype Chinese language}.

"How long where you in China?" She asked me.

Her Mandarin was poor, and my ears are rusty. I stumbled, and presumed she had asked me how long.

"Five years?" she said skeptically... "your Chinese should be much better."

十四 Shí Sì and Chinglish

This July Mr Johnson and I celebrated our 14th wedding anniversary.

In China the number 14 (十四) pronounced shí sì, is considered one of the unluckiest of numbers. In a language that delights itself in the auspicious and perhaps particularly in the suspicious, 十四 is considered especially bad!

The Chinese counting is a building system. If you can memorize the numbers to 10, you can get to nearly any number after it. The teen numbers are 10 + the number. The twenties are two tens + the number.

The word for 'four' (四 or sì) in Chinese sounds nearly identical to the word 'death' in Chinese. 'Ten' ( pronounced shí) sound similar to the word for certain.

Can you imagine the consequence? Ten + Four (Shí sì) sounds like 'certain death'.

As a result, elevators across the country of China lack floors 4 and 14 {and usually any number ending in four, including two/ten/four (24), three/ten/four (34) etc.} For good measure, they often omit the unlucky Western 13 as well, leaving a confusing array of numbers in the lift, usually stumping more that one foreign visitor, who quickly comes to learn the story of "death" and "certain death"

We were in St Joe, sandy and sunburned, with three kids in tow, on our actual 'certain death' anniversary date .... But we took advantage of grandparents and babysitters and celebrated in style, although somewhat belatedly, this week. (Our big girls are off galavanting in Western Canada with their maternal grands, and Bei Bei spent Monday and Tuesday in Indiana with her cousins and paternal grands)

Mr Johnson and I took advantage of our child free moments, spending

Monday Night (sweatily) dining alfresco at a local pub we'd been keen to try. (It was good, although next time we'd both pass on the 'Irish Nachos'http://www.finnegansirish.com/).

and

Tuesday we made our way into the city where stopped by the patio @ Chicago 312 (I am keen to try to figure out the recipe for the rhubarb and beefeater combination I sipped pre-show http://www.312chicago.com).

We then made our way over to the Goodman, where the run of David Henry Hwang's Chingish has been extended. The show lived up to its reviews! We enjoyed it immensely, and found that we followed much of the Mandarin dialouge -- although subtitles were available for the mostly mono-lingual audience. Chicago performances close at the end of the month, but it is moving on to Broadway ... be sure to see it if you get a chance!

Chicago Chinatown's New Year's Parade

The parade it's self, to be honest, was a little mama huhu.

Chicago was, after all, still digging out from the city's third worst blizzard on record. Days before hundreds of cars had been left stranded on Lake Shore Drive. We weren't sure if it was prudent to even go, let alone drive, so the girlies and I caught a commuter train to the City and cabbed it down to Chinatown.

The familiar, oily smells, and swirl of Mandarin and Cantonese and English, and the piles of white snow everywhere added to our sense of adventure. We met our good friends the M-L family, who also once lived in QD, had some great Si chuan for lunch-- which we ordered entirely in Chinese, found some hot Taiwanese bubble tea, and let the girls loose in a Chinese stationary shop reminiscent of their favorite ones in China. (Only it seemed that the prices were dramatically inflated! Things that would be 4 kuai in Zhongguo where 4 US dollars in Chinatown!) Still the experience was completely worth the efforts it took to get there.

Happy Year of the Rabbit!

Xin Nian Kuai Le!

Pondering Poo

"Where does Guinnea pee?" our ayi asked me, rather randomly, the other day.

"Um, outside, in the garden," I replied. (Although I must sheepishly admit she has also peed on the stairs leading up to our building... twice... and Bei Bei made a mad dash, both times, for a bucket of fresh water to purge the situation.)

"How about poo?" she asked.

I learned the Chinese vernacular for toileting words when I enrolled Bei Bei in a Chinese Kindie. I had an inkling that I would need to learn these words when my language teacher helped me fill out the multi-page kindergarten entry form, which was entirely in Chinese, and which devoted many questions to food requests and toileting needs.

What is your child's favorite food?

What foods will your child not eat?

How often does your child use the bathroom each day?

How often does she poo?

These were questions I wasn't sure I would always know the answer to. So, even though she would only spend three mornings a week there, I learned the toileting words.

There were two squat toilets in the bathroom of her three-year-old classroom. Bei Bei quickly learned how to use them.

And I learned that at a Chinese Kindie a normal answer to "How did she do today at school?" might be, "Her poo is a little dry."

"Yeah," would reply, without missing a beat, pleased as punch that I understood a response that was not a normal contextual response in my culture, "She eats different things at home than the Chinese kids."

I once bought my brother-in-law five kitsch knick knack figurines of Chinese boys. The were called, "The Five Things Boys Do" which were:

Chi/He/Shui/Niao/La (Eat/Drink/Sleep/Pee/Poo)

Each cheap figurine was posed doing one of the five things, traditional split crotch pants rounded out his outfit to accommodated for the last two of the "Five Things."

There is a certain practicality to Chinese culture, life and speech. Especially about the stuff of daily life. Until very recently, it was more common to see a baby without a diaper than with one. Baby poo or pee in Chinese culture is as common and acceptable to discuss as a gassy or colicky baby in my home culture.

"She poos in the the garden, usually in the back corner," I responded to ayi.

And then, a little worried, I asked why she wanted to know. (The dog had been on her watch for the two weeks before the girls and I arrived back in QD this summer.... Had the dog been doing "The Five Things Dogs Do" somewhere other than the garden?)

"Did you have a problem with her when we weren't here?" I asked, trying to be nonchalant.

"No." she said. "I just never her saw go the the bathroom, so I wondered where she did it."

And just like that the conversation ended. Matter-of-fact. Not a big deal. The practicality of daily life addressed. And the pondering of poo passed.

EHJ & her friends with Guinnea

Mid Autumn Festival

Last week on the Western calendar (of the Northern Hemisphere), was the first day of fall. (I was reminded via Facebook post, that our friends Down Under, or under and over, in New Zealand, are looking forward to the first days of warmer weather on their calendar where the weather is the reverse of ours.)

Our first day of Autumn coincided almost exactly with the Chinese Mid-Autumn Festival, which follows yet another calendar, an ancient lunar one.

Mid-Autumn Festival Zhong Qiu Jie or Moon Festival as it is sometimes known, is my favorite of all the Chinese holidays. It's a celebration of family, and a time to enjoy the fleeting moments of beautiful autumnal weather.

It is, like many Chinese family gatherings, a food based holiday. Families share a meal together and little round moon cakes make an appearance. (They have become the Chinese equivalent of fruitcake in the US... nobody really makes them any more at home, and as they've become massed produced they've lost much of their flavor.) In fact, businesses often buy mooncakes by the opulent boxful and present them to clients as a Mid-Autumn Festival gift.

Moon cakes are round "cakes" traditionally shaped in a hand carved wooden mold, so that the tops and edges have fanciful shapes... Chinese symbols and floral themes are the most popular. Most have a savory filling (preserved egg or lotus paste anyone?), though some are sweet, with red bean filling or sweet black sesame. Starbucks has even gotten in on the act offering a waxy variety with flavors from mocha to hazelnut to blueberry.

Moon cakes, like so many things in China have a double significance:

They are round, and thus their shape mimics the full moon around which Moon Festival, or mid-Autumn festival, usually falls.

They also have a historical significance as legend says that secret messages where hidden inside of moon cakes by the Ming revolutionaries in their successful attempt at overthrowing the Mongol rulers of the Yuan Dynasty.

“The moon at the home village is exceptionally brighter,” reads a Chinese poem regarding the difficulty of being away from loved ones during special times. Certainly, over the course of our time in Zhong guo we have thought about the “bright moon at home,” as we reminisced sitting on the front porch of The Bungalow, watching the lightning bugs in June or the Lisbon Labor Day Parade in September. But as a Chinese friend who joined us for dinner one night shared, even when people are away from home, they look up and still see the same moon.

This is quite possibly our last Moon Festival in China. And while we've always marked in some way (the girls usually have a the day off of school, and plenty of info gleaned from their Chinese Culture classes to share with us), this year we decided to make it extra special. We bundled up and formed our lawn chairs into a half circle and gazed at the Autumnal Harvest moon. We dined on slivers of moon cakes. The favorite being the fruit filled one from Hisense, followed by the Starbucks entry. (The savory one given to E by a generous classmate was ceremonially tossed over the garden wall.)

My friend in Illinois has promised that if we end up there next year, she will show up with moon pies and a bottle of wine and we can "howl at the moon" together.

The Moon Shines Bright, The Stars Give Light,

God Bless You All, Both Great and Small

From Bedtime Prayers by Alan & Linda Parry

With much love from this side of the moon,

Hot Pot

Boiled Meat?

No thanks.

I was initially resistant to the idea of hotpot (if initially can mean for our first three years here.) Here's why: it's raw meat, there's scalding water, and there's mutton... boiled mutton.

Like so many things in my expatiate life, I needed to be ready for the experience.

Mr. Johnson finds my need for readiness a little annoying. I first employed it when we were preparing to move to China. I needed a little prep time before getting our passport pictures. I needed to be emotionally prepared. I knew that once they snapped my unsmiling mug and those of my incredibly young children there would be no going back. I needed a day or two. I needed a week.

Of course we got the passport photos and the passports, and the full-page-eating visas necessary to come to China, which we traded out for the residency permits to live in China. We learned how to wield chopsticks. And then one day, I was ready to try hotpot.

And as Mr. Johnson promised, I liked it. I really did. The meat cooks in an instant in the rolling boil of a spicy broth. You toss in mushrooms, and spinach, and Chinese cabbage. You get your own cute individual pot. And at my favorite spot there are freshly made noodles to drop into the pot as well.

I think hotpot is more fun on a date than for a family meal. There is of course pots of boiling water, and semi-open flames, which with kids is as much of risk as I assumed it would be (and was part of my initial reluctance-- if initial translates into three years.) It's an interactive meal that carries numerous verbal warnings something along the line of "This is raw meat... remember to dip you kuai zi in the rolling boil." But, since we no longer need a high chair and our palates are more inclined to try and like new things (that E. likes hot pot is saying something!) we sometimes give it a go.

We did this weekend. We caught the city bus and had hot pot.

Happy Children's Day!

ér tóng jié kuài lè!!

Happy Children's Day!

Today is International Children's Day. And China celebrates it.

There are latex balloons and cute only children out ratio-ed 6:1 on the streets
(four grands + 2 parents = 6 adults for every 1 Chinese kiddo.)

For more info check out my friend Alina's article in the latest issue of the Qingdao Expat Magazine.

It's on-line now.

Cut & Paste www.qingdaoexpat.com into your browser and then take a peek under the magazine tab. (Unfortunately the hyper-link feature in Blogger is being un-cooperative.)

Attack of the Rhino (my experience with Chinese Massage)

There is a cloud of suspicion that swirls around Chinese massage, or rather "massage" in China. Especially for the international business traveler, who no doubt has been propositioned at one time or another in a shady hotel, or a five star one, with the awkward lure of awkwardly pronounced "massageandsex," by not the procurer of the services, but an underling of the operation. There is also the confusing middle of the night phone call in hotels of all calibers, where the offer for a "massage" sounds more like "message." And so, the confused and jet-lagged recipient says, "Message?" and soon gets a rap on the door. There has been a movement to clean up these operations, but the oldest profession in the world is alive and well in China.

While that kind of "massage" is the stuff of lore of business traveler's lounges from Beijing to Boston, from Shanghai to San Fransisco, it is not the only kind of massage in China. Nor is it most famous.

Traditional Chinese massage, an extension of TCM (traditional Chinese medicine), divides the body into meridians, pressure points, and seeks to treat the problem not just the symptoms (alleviation of the just the symptoms is their main criticism of Western medicine.) Now, I am no expert on this. And I'm not a big fan of the acupressure massage. We do the foot massage thing, and we have done Chinese massage that left me feeling like I've been rolled over by a steam roller. Literally disoriented. And bruised. How a 98 pound countryside girl, trained in traditional massage techniques can lay me low like I've a been a prisoner of war is amazing. And not something I've signed up to go back for. (Mr Johnson on the other hand is becoming something of a "China Hand" and subscribes to green tea and firm massages!)

But I haven't sworn off Chinese massage entirely. There is a great sense of business acumen in this country. And they have come to realize that if the foreigners can't hack a firm bed, they probably don't like a firm massage so well either. About once a month I head to a lovely Chinese spa that is clean and well staffed. They mix traditional Chinese acupressure with a more European style oil massage. There are various degrees of pressure, and you can request any level. If V is on hand I request her. She has the strength of a man, and the discretion and perception that comes with experience. She picks up on subtleties her younger colleagues sometimes miss. This woman, when I had an ear infection so profound antibiotics couldn't seem to relieve it fast enough, employed a number of techniques on my ears and around my jaw that opened my plugged ear so I could hear... after weeks of muffled din. I trust her.

The ear thing is often a subject of conversation in expat circles. In Western society when would we ever feel comfortable touching someone else's ear? (Save that goofy stage of second grade boys who like to give "Wet Willie's"). When you get your hair cut and washed here, there is often that moment when the stylist slips their fingers in your ears. It's part scrub, part massage, and strangely I don't mind it. I had a British friend who it really bothered, but as she practically pointed out, once it's done its a little late to point out you don't like it! Chinese culture is much more casual about ear touch. There are guys who set up on the street to clean your ears for a fee. Some hotels offer a ear spoon (a tiny metal scoop to clean the inside of your ear) as part of their toiletries kit.

Mr. Johnson finds the experience @ my spa a little tame. (The spa has a policy of women or couples only, and I don't mind going solo!) About once a month I custom order a one-hour session for my back, shoulder, arms, and head (which includes ears and face). The spa looks out over the Yellow Sea, and on a spring or fall day it's lovely to crank the window open and feel the ocean breeze spill into the room.

So yesterday, V pointed out to me tight spot under my shoulder blade (the exact reason I had come in.) Should I try blah blah she asked? I didn't know what that was, and after I ruled out that it was cupping, I said go for it. She left the room and came back with something that felt like the long end of a plastic rat tailed comb. With generous amounts of oil, she worked the tool around my neck, shoulder blades and down my spine. It felt like scraping. But lubricated scraping. She put the tool away, finished the massage and I got dressed.

Back downstairs I asked for some specifics. It's xi niu jiao, she told me in Mandarin. I wasn't familiar with this, and looked it up in my translator. Certainly it wasn't really what she was suggesting: Rhinoceros horn. Don't shower for at least four hours and drink lots of water, she added. (I suddenly felt like I was at a doctor's office, not at a casual Monday afternoon massage appointment.)

I felt sick about the possibility it could be rhino horn. I went home and did a quick google search. The comb that she used on my back was most likely made of either sheep or ox horn. Rhino horn, is a must sought after ingredient in TCM, and as a result has lead to the drastically decreased numbers of the world's rhinos (going the way of other animals like the majestic Amur tiger, sought for its bones; black bears for their bile, and musk deer for their musk glands all of which are equally threatened by TCM).

When I came home. I told the girls I had been attacked by a rhino. Then curious, I asked if there were any marks. One gasp from E., and I realize there probably were. After several failed attempts, and with the aid of the bathroom mirror, I took these shots myself... over my head and backwards. (Mr. Johnson couldn't stomach looking at the marks, let alone documenting them... he said it made him feel the way he felt when he watched the process when one of our baby's needed an IV.)

Maybe next time no rhino horn, or sheep horn, or ox horn. Just a plain old massage with some sea breeze.

The Tai Tai's Musings on "Face"

We hear over and over whilst in China about the importance of "Face" in in this country. "Saving Face." "Losing Face." Treading lightly in business, daily life, and interactions, because of the huge importance "face" plays in Sino culture.

China (along with other Asian nations like Japan, and Korea) place a huge value on "Face". These countries (and also some in the Middle East and South America) are considered "high-context cultures". In a "high context culture" you don't say things directly. You beat around the bush. You read context from clues. Status and hierarchy play important roles. Honor is important too. And respect. The most important, honored etc is the one who: (fill in the blank ... pours the tea, who pays the bill -- based on where they sit at a round banquet table with relation to the door, etc). To Americans and others from "low-context cultures" it sometimes seems like a lot of smoke and mirrors.

People in low context cultures (like the one I hail from) speak directly. The meaning of what I say is understood by what I say. Here, not so much. You don't speak directly. If you want a taxi driver who is going uncontrollably fast to slow down you don't tell him simply, "Slow down," you say, "Maybe slow down a little." Yi dian dian (Literally: "one little, little") gets tagged on to so many phrases in Chinese its almost laughable, because you really mean the opposite!

But the high contextual culture of China has been skewed by its modern history. Communism makes all (in theory) equal. So high context gets lost or at very best convoluted. If everyone is equal the need for honor and status go away. But "face" somehow remains. To save someone's "face" often means more beating around the bush, not speaking directly, and not initiating direct conflict, because a high context culture yearns for harmony among its members.

(This is not a treatise on Chinese culture, but a quick lesson, and I will be getting to my point....)

But here is the part I struggle with. Low-context culture or not, I don't like to be embarrassed either. I don't think China has cornered the market on this one. "Face" to a certain degree is a human need regardless of culture. No body likes to get singled out, or corrected, or embarrassed.

But, why the Sociology lesson today, Tai Tai? you may ask...

I muse about "Face" today, because several times in the last week I've destroyed it. My original title for this piece was "Saving, losing and destroying face." And I stand before you today in blogland and low-contextually admit outright that I have been a face destroyer this last week. I have knowingly used what I know will bring attention in this high context society.

Remember all those boxes that came from IKEA last week? Five of the most unmotivated and unskilled delivery people showed up. They told me they couldn't make around the corner. They couldn't get the boxes in the door to my apartment. They dropped my "fragile" box. Then said they didn't. (One girl whispered I should open the box they didn't drop to make sure it was okay.) They were pathetic.

This is China. People hand carry pianos up multiple flights of stairs. They opt to use human labor in place of mega machines. They are some of the hardest working people on the planet. (And just to be very clear, these five have been the exception to most of my experiences over the last four years). Not to mention that these five twenty-somethings work for a shipping company, and thus their job is to deliver large boxes. And, did I mention there were FIVE of them.

But, I tried face saving first....

"Maybe if you tried 'one little little' more it would work?" (Making it a question also helps the statement be less direct.)

I patiently tried again.

"Maybe if You walk backwards and You pivot this way, you both can navigate the doorway?"

I didn't add ("And, you other three are doing a splendid job of doing nothing.. please continue to simply just look on...)

Finally in frustration I pointed to the logo on their shirts.

"This is a moving/shipping company right?"

"Your job is to move/deliver things?"

They got it.

But they lost face.

One of the five had agreed that they could take the mattresses to the second floor.

But after face loss no one was willing.

The low-context, direct speaking Tai Tai was on it.

"Okay, don't take my mattresses up." I said, digging my heals into this "face" smearing event.

"There are five of you and one of me, but I will carry this mattress up by myself."

Two started ducking out the door.

"You wait here." I intoned in a way that made them certain to continue hanging out awkwardly with me and my ayi in my living room.

They watched me un-pack the light weight twin mattress, carry it up the steps and heave it over the railing to the second floor.

I came down, and told them there was one more mattress (an Asian king size) I had to carry up before I would sign their invoice and then they could leave. There was suddenly great interest on their part to carry the second mattress up the stairs after all.

I signed the invoice.

They left.

And then ayi told me. "They couldn't carry that first mattress because they were all too short."

She was "Restoring Face." The collective "Face" of five people she'll never see again, because in the high-context society she lives in, "Face" is everything.

Si Nian (Four Years)

Sean, Beatrice, Millie & Eliza

Beijing Capital Airport -Tuesday, February 7, 2006

(In transit from O'hare to Qingdao)

This week we celebrated the forth year since we arrived in China. Four years ago our girlies were: a gapped-tooth six and a half-year-old, a freshly-turned-four middle, and a breastfeeding baby of nine months. We were wide eyed with culture shock, whilst exhausted by jet-lag, and felt like we stuck out like sore thumbs... we did!

Our entry into the Middle Kingdom was lauded by explosions of fireworks, blaring car alarms, and frighting firecrackers. We had no idea our move date corresponded almost directly with The Chinese New Year... the culmination of the entire nation's efforts to create one bang up holiday. Our planning was certainly poor. We clearly had much to learn about Chinese culture!

The upside is, The Chinese New Year (which follows the lunar calendar) always falls right around the anniversary date of our move...Thus we annually commemorate our move with the mother of all holidays and preparations hosted by the most populous nation on the planet.

Fireworks, Rituals, and the Frantic Festive Rush of the Lunar New Year preparations...

• Running to buy the new clothes for for the whole family for the yearly celebration.
• Scurrying to clean houses to a spit-polished shine. (Daughters-in-law carry a special burden to clean not their own home, but also their husband's parents' home, unless of course they already share the same roof! And, in this culture which has already had a full generation of one-child families, she might find herself @ her own parent's home scrubbing a year's worth of wok splattered peanut oil off the kitchen wall and coaxing dust bunnies out from under hard mattressed beds).
• People take pride in hanging up with great care new couplets flanking each side of their entrance or Fu banners (extra lucky if you install the character for luck upside down) on their doors.
• Stores and shops, packed beyond what a Western mind finds imaginable, with people stalking up on Coke, red wine, Tsingtao beer, pumpkin seeds, pistachios, and peanuts for the days following the New Year when friends come to call, grab a handful of nuts to shell on your coffee table, and wish your household a happy and prosperous year of the tiger.
• A healthy supply of fireworks are purchased for Xiao Nian (little Chinese New Year... one week before the actual Chinese New Year), for Chinese New Year, and for Lantern Festival 15 days later when glutenous rice balls, filled with a mysterious array of fillings are eaten, and the remaining loot of the you-could-blow-your-hand-off-with-those fireworks are blown high into the soon smoke filled skies!

The Last Round of Questions from Kindergarten

Floral arrangement that looks like two puppies!

@ our local Flower Market

Group Dancing

Music Square, Qingdao

Summer 2009

Lovely Qingdao Roses

along the Seaside Walking Path

More Floral Arrangements

@ the Flower Market

Millie Climbing a Craggy Coastal Pine

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11. What kind of flowers grow there?

Roses grow here really well because of the sandy soil. (It's also really humid here, so roses thrive.) In addition to traditional rose bushes that bloom all summer, there are some "climbing roses" that, in early June, spill over the sides of complex walls, and cement barriers, creating a beautiful contrast the to concrete and tall buildings in a big city!

Local nurseries grow lots of annual plants (plants that only grow for one summer and do not come back again the next year.) Marigolds, petunias, snapdragons and pansies are grown by the thousands, and artfully arranged in the major parks into shapes or symbols in giant flower beds. These beds are completely re-planted at least twice a summer, with massive teams of gardeners from the countryside doubled over. In the fall, they plant ornamental cabbages.

Our city hosted the Sailing portion of the 2008 Summer Olympics. That summer at the airport, entire fields were transformed into beautiful flower arrangements that were visible from the air, and to commuters on the overpasses of the expressway.

We love going to the flower market where they sell fresh cut flowers (roses, lilies, Gerber daisies, and orchards potted in sphagnum moss. At the market, they make beautiful flower arrangements for the local hotels, for weddings, and even for the wedding cars!

We also have lots of scrubby pines along the coast. Ginkgo trees are planted along the main streets in our city. There are also many magnolia trees that grow in gardens. We have lots of other beautiful trees that grow in our city too-- most notably cherry trees, which blossom into beautiful pink flowers mid-April.

12. Do people sew their own clothes there?

Not usually. (Not unless they don't have the money to buy.) Here the tailor is not that expensive, so some people get their clothes made for them or they just buy them at the shopping centres. We have had traditional Chinese clothes made at the tailor.

(answered by Millie Johnson, age 10)

13. What dances do they do there?

Lion and Dragon Dances are very popular in China. These are usually formal performances, with professional dancers that are hired to perform at weddings and also during special festival's like the Chinese New Year (Lunar New Year) celebration. The "Lions" (actually two, very athletic people under one costume) dance to the beat of traditional drums. It's a really amazing performance to watch, and is usually followed by confetti cannons and strings of loud fireworks.

More casually, Chinese people (often Chinese grandmas and sometimes grandpas) dance together in common areas like public parks or even in the main courtyard of their apartment complex. These dances are fun to watch, because, although they are impromptu, the women take them very seriously! One person usually brings a small radio and plays a CD of Chinese instrumental music. There are a few "leaders" at the front, and many neighbors who join in rows. Lots of other people will stop to watch, and sometimes even join in too!

My daughter, Millie also reminded me that many of the different minority groups throughout China have customs that involve dancing. 95% of Chinese people are Han minority, but the remaining 5% are made up of 55 different minority groups. Each minority group has a distinctive culture, customs, and style of dress. Some of their customs involve dancing.