This Is China (TIC)

My auntie {who is also Bei Bei's "Fairy" Godmother} is in her second year teaching at a college in inland, Mainland China. 

Her host city is the "88th largest city" in the Middle Kingdom, and although the population of the city proper is 743,601, she has only met a handful of other Westerners during her tenure.

The other day she sent a great "this is China" story about buying eyeglass frames.

This is her email, and with her permission, I'm running it here. 

The problem with putting $265.00 (Canadian dollars) eye glass lenses in 15 yuan frames is that the frames break. After all they are cheap in price and now apparently quality. (like I should have known that.) 

Anyway, I think, what if I could find another pair just like them or close to them? So I said a little prayer and off I went down town and lo and behold what did I find but a pair that looked like they were the same shape as the lens when I measured the old frames to these new ones.  What's more the new ones are flexible - rubbery like . And yes they were 15 yuan too. When I got home I was able to pop the lens right in. There is a minuscule gap between the frame and the lens on one corner but you can't see it unless you look real hard. 

So off I went down town again to see if she had any more of the same kind and she did, so I bought 2 more pairs in case these break in the future. And because I returned for more she only charged me 10 yuan each so, 20 yuan for the additional two. 

Today I went to the new DQ that opened recently. I had a Moolatte for 26 yuan. $4.15 for a latte but only $1.60 for glasses frames. Some how that doesn't seem right. But now I'm set and have new frames and can still use my original lens. Yeah!

 {by SFL} Xinxiang, Henan, People's Republic of China

Sources for XX info ::  

http://numbersandstatistics.org/population/population+of+xinxiang+-+china+in+2000/
http://population.mongabay.com/population/china/1788572/xinxiang

Dairy Queen Image ::

(Google image search)

Expat Ruminations & The Northwest {Part III}

As I mentioned earlier ... our trip to Vancouver allowed us to catch up with four other families we knew in China. There is really no way to explain how neat it is to reconnect with people you knew on the other side of the planet!

When we bid our farewells in Qingdao twenty-two months ago, it was with the knowledge that we may never see some of our friends again. So, in many ways any such reunion is sweeter with the knowledge that it's likelihood was so slim.

Expat life is a series of circles and cycles. I often equate it to a Venn Diagram. Our family's circle, overlapping with another family's circle because of living arrangements, school choice, something as simple as shopping in the same international import aisle at the grocery store and/or, most importantly, because my husband's employer and the employers of other families all deemed a seaside city in peninsular China a worthy spot to deposit an expat family for a couple of years, allowing our circles to overlap.
{Of course ties where often greater than a shared interested in hazelnut spread, but that was often the fun and sometimes funny way friendships began. I recall one friendship in my earliest days in China, that began with a rather disgruntled expat wife showing up at playgroup after having voyaged back from a month of blissful seaside living in her motherland, returning in the smokiest days of Qingdao March. She complained about her husband's American employer, the hours of he was required to phone into conference calls... which translated into almost the middle of the night in China ... and about the the abysmal air quality in the Middle Kingdom. But, I noticed, her daughter had left the house in a dress-up cape, and I gave the mum the benefit of the doubt. Sure enough, it was jet-lag and exhaustion talking, and she became of my staunchest confidants in those first fledgling months in a foreign country. She was as fun and witty as her daughter's cape had suggested! Our Venn overlap began @ the expat playgroup.}


We had, in 2010, on our return voyage to QD, laid over in Vancouver, and considered it fortunate that we were able to see both The S & W families at the same time {in fact, at that moment, both families were sharing the same roof as they waited for slow boats from China to arrive with their expat goods.} They gamely let the girls and I hang out with them for a weekend.

The S, W, and Johnson Girls {Summer 2012 :: Crescent Beach}

When we promised a return trip this summer, and then learned that our Australian pengyoumen {The T's} had also managed to arrange a summer in North America {with greater Vancouver serving as a home base of sorts} we were thrilled!!

{All set to bike Stanley Park :: seventeen bikers and two riders}

{The Johnson fam, The T Fam, The W Fam, and the H Fam}

{silly faces}

As noted earlier, we had a week with The S Family before they took off for a 40th birthday get-away in bear inhabited interior BC. We headed south across the boarder to Seattle for a long weekend and a little 15th wedding anniversary celebration, some penny smashing on the tracks, swimming with skinny dippers, and drinking coffee.

Sufficiently caffeinated, we then returned to Vancouver, where The S's generously allowed us to live in their well appointed home, in their absence, and we spent three more lovely days biking, hiking, canoeing, swimming ... sharing lattes, BBQing and simply catching up with good friends.

As an added bonus, another family that we knew from our QD fellowship had recently repatriated to Seattle and joined us for part of that time as well. It was bittersweet as The H's lost their 11 year old son in a tragic accident in China last year, and now face a new life in America with three, instead of four, children.

There is much to be said about the importance of maintaining and nurturing these relationships, though oceans and timezone separates us. Our children benefited from the re-connection with other expat friends as much, if not more, than we did. The emphasis of the whole 3CK Movement (Third Culture Kids), is that expat kids share a unique camaraderie with other children who live abroad in a culture that is not their home culture, and not fully their host culture. For me personally, I see my kids reconnecting with other expat kids in shared lingo (referring to some words in Chinese rather than English) or using terms they shared in the British school system. I also seem them come alive as they rehash memories or connect on common ground (a shared dislike for Weekend Chinese school and a love for their respective Chinatowns).

our TCKs

{The don't call it Beautiful BC for Nothing!}

{sweet girlies}

{ice cream boy in his ice cream shorts}

Our First Year in China

A while ago I was asked to present at our public library on our life in China.

I tried to think of a way to condense five years into 30 minutes. And I couldn't. It just doesn't work. So I thought first about our first year in China, and what it took to get there. I pulled together a video documenting our first months in the Middle Kingdom. If I'm emotional about getting to go back to China, creating this video might have been part of the reason.

It all came back when I looked at those pictures ... the fear, exahustion, and unknowns ... but also the thrilling wonderfulness of arriving and knowing things would probably be okay. It would work out. We would make it.

Here's a portion of the video I shared with 15 "Friends of the Library" tonight, while they munched on Chinese rice crackers along with Midwestern snacks:

looking back {december in qd}

The last month has been a whirl wind...

packing up,

moving out,

long sad good-byes

Then ....

five days together as a family,

on the beach,

away from it all

Before heading out...

arriving for the last time @ Qingdao Luiting International Fei Ji Chang

lingering over our last meal in the Sailing City... from the our 21F vantage point above the harbor where in 2008 the world's best sailors convened for the Summer Games, and where later our Sailing Sisters learned the ropes (literally) of this aquatic sport

The last morning...

5:30 wake up call

Pick up by our "entourage" which included our former and current drivers and another colleague of their's that we have known from the beginning

Caravanning from the InterContinental to our home, one last time, to collect our remaining boxes ... then on to the home of our sweet Dutch friends who kept Miss Guinness for us in the final weeks ... and finally arriving at the airport with one way tickets to Chicago via Seoul .... Watching Mr Johnson and our three driver friends check in a mountain of luggage whilst the girls and I were joined by our sweet Saturday night ayi who created French braids down that back of each of head while dabbing away tears.

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/

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.)

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.|

Countdown to the Unknown...

April 2006

Ti'an An Men Square, Beijing

Foreground: Mr Johnson & the Johnson girlies
(then aged 6, 4 and 11 mo.)

Background : Beijing Countdown Clock

When we moved here in 2006, every major plaza in China had a countdown clock marking the days, hours, minutes to the start of the Beijing Games on the auspicious date of 08.08.08 (@8:08). At that time we believed we would spend a little over two years in China, and those countdown clocks coincided almost exactly with our original departure date. An exit in 2008 was postponed to 2009 and then moved out again with the economic crisis to 2010. When we were in the "Doldrums Days" of early 2010, waiting and wondering which way the wind would blow, we eventually accepted an offer to extend again... for two years... an offer, which you all now know, was recently rescinded.

Ours is a relatively common expat story. In theory, our state of limbo should be excellent fodder for an expat blog. Almost every international service employee finds themselves in our shoes at some point. That it's such a normal part of the international experience should make it easy to blog about.

But its not. It involves uncertainty. (And nobody really likes to admit that they are scheduled to leave in a little over two months, but they STILL don't have a solid idea of where they are going or what the assignment will be.)

Our day-to-day routine seems to have changed little. There has been more motivation on my part to purge... things we've long since outgrown and no longer need (that never-the-less tend to linger in the bottom of dresser drawers and the corners of the garage). I have boxed these things up and shipped them off... to the used book bin, to be marked for the expat charity bazaar, passed on to friends who's child is a size smaller. Mr Johnson is finding his days exponentially longer when there is less to keep him busy. The girls still have their homework, and playdates, and footie and swimming. But my mind is racing of everthing we'll have to do once we we finally KNOW.

The Olympic countdown clocks have long ago been removed from the public squares in China. In cities like ours their will always be a reminder of the 2008 Summer Olympics, with logos and monuments to the Sailing Regatta held here that summer.

But, there is a new clock, silently ticking away, reminding us that time is slowly, steadily, running out.

We're at mid-term in the first semester @ school.

We're six weeks past Mr Johnson's program being cut.

We're ten weeks away from being out of here.

We're STILL not sure where we are headed, only that it's out of here.

(Which doesn't sound so significant, but its one decision we know for sure.)

We're in the fiscal fourth quarter.

It's been one week since my last blog post.

(This is beginning to sound a bit like a confession.)

| The Expat Exit | Installment One

Sweet John Mayer continues to croon in my sidebar. Urging me to "say what I need to say." Telling me I'll feel better in the end. And so with Mr Mayer's gentle nudge, I'll give you some feedback on how I'm feeling during this stage of our Expat Exit timeline.

Mr Johnson

Firstly, to clarify.

Mr Johnson is still employed.

He will have placement within his company. His project, which was somewhat controversial at the highest levels of this Fortune 500 (but seemed to him like a no-brainer, progressive opportunity here) was simply cut. I hadn't considered the need to post this basic status, until an seasoned expat friend on the ground here recently asked me thoughtfully, yet directly. So those unsure if this announcement meant an end to our time in China, or an end to his employment, it's probably good to clarify.

Encouraging Friends

It's also so good, I realize almost daily, to be here now. We are surrounded by people who understand how these kinds of things simply happen. It's a common expat tale. I have said sad good byes to friends in the same situation before. And quietly, in the back of my mind and heart, had steeled myself for this possibility. (Not that that necessary lessoned the blow when the words were said audibly.)

Our expat friends have said so many kind words. Asked thoughtfully about next opportunities. Been the balm that we needed and the support network we relied on. That in a nutshell is the secret treasure of expat life.

We were fearful five years ago as we prepared for our move here that we would be stepping off the edge of the earth, into an unknown, and hurtled headlong into a 30 month commitment to China that we would find someway to muddle through. We wondered "what kind of people move to China," and we were surrounded at home by people unsure of why we would want to.

As we arrived, we were met by expatriates who were like us and those who were not. On one end, intrepid, suitcase toting half-pats. On the other, stuffy container laden expats with sights on career advancement and import grocery items. We met people who loved it here. People who hated it. People who endured it. And people who sometimes scampered between love, hate and acceptance.

Expatriate Experience

We found a soft place to land somewhere in the middle. In short we found a place to fit in. We aligned ourselves with people positive about being here, but also along side those who were realistic about the challenges. We found a network of friends, and realized that often the people we met here would offer us friendship and guidance (if asked for or needed), but mostly (and perhaps most reassuringly) just the knowing look of shared experience.

In time you find that you are the one doing the buoying of new expats. It is you offering the shoulder on which to cry, or the doorstep on which to deposit the busy toddler of an expat friend preparing to move on. It is the cyclical, transient experience of expats. And despite the relatively short amount of time we might know someone here (four or more years is a lifetime in expat experience), the depth of the relationships I've formed here will haunt me for the rest of my life.

Because as we prepare to move on, I'm afraid not only of loosing those proximity to those friends, but also that ease of making friends is not easily replicated in our home culture. While our family would jump at the chance of another foreign assignment, we recognize that with the present economy repatriation seems most likely. Ironically, we are no longer terrified of hurdling headlong into the unknown, but we find ourselves anxious about a return to what is known.

"I have two and a half friends," a former expat friend emailed me. One full year after her repatriation. Her note full of blunt honesty.

The repatriation phase often takes longer than the initial adjustment to your foreign post. All the experts agree on this. And all agree that for each individual the process is different.

For now I am content to enjoy our remaining months here. Savoring the life we live in QD, with friends from all over the globe. Making the last memories. Drinking the last lattes. And being sure to keep the word "last" from dominating our conversations.

News....

The old adage is "No News is Good News..."

Except perhaps when you're waiting to know where you are off to.

And you're feeling anxious and edgy.

And you're rationing your Tylenol PMs.

We haven't gotten any updates yet.

No choices.

This, apparently is going to take some time.

And some patience on our part.

(And then a whole lot of hurrying and scrambling when we finally do find out...)

Twinkie Talk & Grocery Carts

There's a scene in my favorite chick flick, Steel Magnolias, where Shirley MacLaine's character Miss Ouiser Boudreaux lament's to Olympia Dukakis' character Miss Clairee about words she shouldn't have spoken.

"I shouldn't have said that," the spunky southern woman says as she navigates through the Piggly Wiggly with an open box of Twinkies in her cart.

"I shouldn't have said that... and I didn't mean it."

"Ouiser," Miss Clairee replies dramatically in her slow iconic Louisiana drawl, "Nobody pays any attention to you."

"But I feel bad," Miss Ouiser continues, "I'm an awful person."

"No you're not," her friend replies matter-of-factly. "You'd give your dog a kidney if he needed one."

And that seems to satisfy her crochety friend with a conscious.

Ouiser nibbles on a Twinkie, her faith restored.

Oh how I am in need of such absolution.

There are things I should not have said.

Things that come back to haunt me.

Words I said when I was tired or loney.

Things I said about living in China.

Last week it was me navigating my cart through the grocery. I picked up Mr Johnson's noontime call on my mobile, and heard the words that felt like a punch to the gut.

His program has been cut. Our time in China will draw to a dramatically quick end. He would have to sit on the details for 48 hours, until he notified his team. We would wait to tell the girls.

What a long, sad, hard week it has been.

He told his engineering team. We told our girls. We shared the news with our friends in QD.

Mr Johnson likens it to being @ your own funeral. Thoughtful texts, and phone calls have poured in. Sweet, tear-filled conversations. Honest words about the highs and lows of international living.

It has been one more reminder of just how rich our life has been here in friendships. How fortunate we have been to meet friends in China, both Chinese and other expats, who like us, are making a home, for a while, in a foreign land.

Despite recent quips to the contrary, I was feeling pretty settled back in QD. China is always more "do-able' when you're on the ground doing it, than somewhere else thinking about it. We were gearing up for the excitement the next two years would bring.

I have appologized to Mr Johnson for my words.

"Just for the record," I said, "You do know that I didn't really mean those things."

He said he understood.

Now, I just need Olympia Dukakis to indemnify me with some straight talk.

"Tai Tai Johnson," I need her to say with a sassy Southern accent,
"Nobody pays any attention to you. . . Now go have a Twinkie."

Labor Day & other holidays

Overall, we love living abroad. We love the people we meet. The places we see. The travel. The daily exposure to unexpected things during our international adventure. (I am not loving this random blog formatting! hope to find a solution soon!)

But sometimes, especially on holidays, we miss the opportunity to be together with family and friends.

Labor Day is a big day in the tiny village we lived in. We would gather on the front porch of The Bungalow and watch as people gathered along the parade route and parade participant assembled. If it was a rainy morning, we stay there, watching the action from our dry perch on the front porch. Because parking was often scarce, the cars and trucks of friends would line our maple lined drive.

Today in a little village half a globe away, people gathered to wave flags, and throw candy. Horns and sirens sounded. Horses pranced. Kids smiled. And we remembered.

Here are some pics from a family gathering we had last summer @ Raja & Lester's Love Nest. It was full on, barefoot, BBQ & sweet corn family fun. {@ it's best!}

Thoughtful Rumination

We were standing in our row at Fellowship this morning (not our usual row ... it's summer, and most people are traveling, so they closed off all but the front half of the 400 seat auditorium forcing our tribe closer to the stage) when it hit me. This is probably the weekend we would have been heading home.

We are in fact, preparing for our round-the-globe, dateline-defying (we will arrive in Canada at roughly the same time we depart Beijing) journey to North America this week, but it is with ROUND TRIP tickets, not one-way ones. It is with lists of things to stalk up on (Tampons, Oxi-clean, triplicate sets of black leather dress shoes, in half-size increments, two pairs per girl to satisfy dress code requirements @ their conservatively garbed international school). It is with a full calendar of doctors appointments and dates with friends and family.

I saw in the empty rows around me the lack of people... some just traveling in Asia for the summer, or heading to their home countries for a few weeks R & R. But, some of those empty seats won't be filled again by friends we enjoyed seeing on Sunday mornings and other times throughout the week. And its not just at Fellowship. There are people from other circles of my life that are poignantly absent. This was the end of the line for them in QD. This weekend was supposed to be the end of the line for us.

On the other side of the globe in middle America, in our tidy, flag-waving community (that could easily fit in the confines of our fellowship auditorium), our sturdy, brick bungalow... the one with the aging maples lining the pebble drive and the large live oak standing guard in the back yard, has just gotten a much needed face lift. Both baths have had an overhaul. (Thanks Danny & Josh!) Plaster has been repaired. The modest, square, detached garage with a slim galleys for two cars (built in an era before mammoth, petrol gluggling SUVs were dreamed up) has new windows and doors, and a proper eaves trough.

But we're not moving back in. Renters (eventually) will.

And so, this weekend is full of thoughtful rumination. Considering what was to be, what is the reality, and how in the long run Mick Jagger might have had it right when he sang:

You might not get what you want

But sometimes you get what you need

And so that return date, the one where we book movers, and packers, and one-way tickets is moved out two more years. Imagine the ruminating in July 2012.

World at our doorstep

Maybe it was the 12 kiddos standing on the makeshift platform Sunday morning at the Early Childhood Education (E.C.E.) Sports Day. Twelve kiddos representing 10 countries (US, PRC, Germany, Denmark, Italy, So Korea, UK, Australia, Canada and Singapore). Maybe it was sitting under the flags of nearly every nation Sunday night, as we saw the weekend out at the Olympic Marina, ice cream in hand, as has become our weekend tradition. The world, it seems, is at our doorstep. The world in the swirl of languages we hear around us. The world just overhead in the unfurled flags.

"Which is that flag?" one blonde Johnson would query, to be answered by another. Sticky fingers pointed toward their favorite pattern, or the most unique. Our five-year-old can readily identify the Korean flag and the American one. The flags of China and Canada too. When we came to one that stumped all five of us, we committed to google it. The world is a click away.

Are we going to watch soccerfootball? Bei Bei asked later that night.

Soccerfootball.

The combined nomenclature she is familiar with. Americans (and Canadians?) call it soccer, South Americans and Europeans dub it football. (In Chinese the literal translation is "foot ball" as well). So in her mind soccerfootball makes perfect sense.

We watched as the tall and ruggedly athletic soccerfootballers from all corners of the globe stood at attention on the turf. We listened to the tunes of anthems we don’t know the words to. We watched as they sang along. The world neatly defined in matching uniforms and 90 minute matches. The world on a screen in your living room.

The world on your computer, your TV, your smart phone and mobile device.

The world on your doorstep.

Half a globe away, the world on mine.