The Coming Storm

When we lived in Singapore, we could often see storm clouds coming from a long way off, and we knew that before long we would hear the onslaught of rain pounding against our windows.

There's a storm coming for us here too, and I don't mean the one currently dumping buckets of polluted water on our streets. The one I'm talking about has been a long way off for awhile, but I can see it on the horizon. I see the sky darkening, see the storm clouds rolling toward us. I feel the wind picking up and occasional droplets on my face. The storm is coming.

It's a storm of transition, of saying goodbye to people who are like family to us, to places that have been home for 13 years, to a culture that is not our own but which is what we know. It's a storm of knowing that this time we aren't coming back and that we will have to navigate the other side not as visitors but as citizens again. It's a storm of tears, adjustment, goodbyes, new experiences, old memories.

I'm tempted to run down into the storm cellar and hide out while the storm passes. Transition strikes me in odd moments when I am unprepared and sometimes unwilling to enter in, like when I realize, "this is the last time I'll see this person" and I thought I had more time.

I am trying to tell myself to be ok with those off guard moments. Truly that's what I want to be - off my guard. I want to get caught in the rain, so to speak, where my heart will be honest, raw, true. I know the real strength lies in bearing the storm, being willing to let my heart be broken, not in putting on a brave face and telling myself, "It's ok."

So in my mind Erik and I wrap our arms around the kids and assume a stance that will lean us into the wind when it comes. We'll stand together and hold each other in it, not because we are gluttons for pain, but we know that to keep our hearts open for good things we must keep them open to all of life, including the painful parts. And as one of my friends said the other day, "The sorrow is so great because it's been so good." And I want to celebrate that by acknowledging it.

And sometimes, when the storm gets to be too much, I know that my Savior will be close by, my shelter, my haven, my resting place, right in the middle of it all.

What It Takes

If I had known what it would take to get a dog back to the States a year ago, we would have told the kids, "We're waiting till the U.S. to get a dog."

But here we are with a dog we don't want to leave behind because really, could you resist this kind of cuteness?

No, no one could unless they were blind, or heartless, or a robot. So we press on. When all is said and done, this is what we know (at this point, but I am fully prepared for there to be more rigamarole, or at least more money) will have to happen to get her there:

1. My friend Laura takes a collection of Scout's things (bed, food, toys, treats) back to the U.S. with her in early August to give to my parents

2. A health check at one particular clinic in town within 7 days prior to departure where they will unnecessarily microchip our dog (see previous blog post).

3. We take the results of the health check to another clinic in town where they give us some official certificate that proves our dog is healthy. And microchipped. There is a 100% likelihood that this will involve a red stamp of some kind because that's how China rolls.

4. August 30th, 3 days before our departure, we take Scout to the airport nine hours before her 4:10 pm flight so that she can go through customs. It's unclear why it takes this long. Honestly, I'm not at all sure it isn't a scam to grab a few more of our hard earned kuai before we leave. United in the U.S. was completely unaware that this is required on this end. They are also unaware that this process cannot happen on a Sunday, which is why she's flying earlier than us. This would have been SUPER helpful information when we bought our tickets for a Sunday flight.

5. 4:25 pm she lands in Chicago, where my FABULOUS brother and sister-in-law have graciously agreed to come from Milwaukee meet her. The other option was to have her fly all the way to Minneapolis, which would have required a 6 hour layover in Chicago and then a midnight landing. Then my poor parents would have had to pick her up and drive her home. 

6. Scout tries to get over her traumatic experience with the help of said items from #1, adjust to a 13 hour time change, learn what life is like on the 1st floor where, "outside" is just on the other side of a door and not 12 floors down, and wonder where her people are for 3 days.

7. The next day my brother drives Scout halfway to Rochester while my parents bring his dog whom he left with them two days before (because we all thought it might be a bit much for my brother and his wife to have both dogs, especially since their dog would probably freak our dog out or our dog will be doing enough freaking out as it is) and they do a dog swap in the Dells. Scout continues to wonder who these kind people are, and where are HER people?!?  

8. Oh and did I mention at this point this will run is about $1,300 USD? Thank God she only cost $9 in the first place.

Resistance is futile

One of my greatest cultural frustrations in Asia is my American need to know the whys behind a rule. Really, I'm a rule follower, but I'd really like to know the reasons behind the rule. If I know them, I'll (generally) follow.

But Asia does not expect to be questioned, and therefore the question "Why?" is rarely answered with satisfaction. Whenever I come up against seemingly illogical requirements, I feel like the people must feel in Star Trek who are approached by the Borg, "We are Borg Asia. Prepare to be assimilated. Resistance is futile." Do not question. Just obey. Regardless of the ridiculousness of the rule.

Yet, futile though it is, I cannot help but still ask, "Why?" And Asia answers, "It's the rule." But I still ask. Sigh.

So when I was told that our dog must be microchipped days before leaving China, even though the U.S. does not require microchipping, I couldn't resist asking the cargo people, "Why?"

I had a vain hope that, because Jade from Panda cargo has been exceedingly responsive and helpful (unlike Grace from United who sounds less and less happy each time I call, and I really don't blame her), I thought she might give me a reason. Or better yet, say, "You're right. That's silly. You don't have to do it."

But no. She told me, "China requires it." But why, Jade, WHY? Do you understand what I mean when I ask why? Tell me the method behind your madness.

Oh Gina. Resistance is futile.

Greener grass?

"In America, I'll be able to drink water out of the tap again."

"In America, I can just go to the store and buy deodorant, instead of having to try to figure out when someone can bring me some in the next 6 months."

"In America, the likelihood that we will be woken up in the wee hours of the morning to the sound of our dog throwing up yet another inedible thing she found on the street will be significantly less." (this happens approximately once a week. This week, 3 times. Twice in one night).

These are the kind of thoughts I have frequently these days. It's hard not to look ahead and be excited about the positive changes to come. After living here so long the little adaptations we've had to make to do life here become forgotten, but the prospect of moving back brings them all to the surface.

In some ways, thinking about these things is helpful for me. It gives me things to anticipate in the midst of loss, even if they are little things. On the other hand, it's a dangerous route for my mind because it can breed discontent with my situation here. If I develop a habit of discontent in one place, it will not leave when I move to a place where the grass is greener, because I will have trained my heart to dwell on the negatives.

So I struggle to hold these emotions all at once - excitement and anticipation with contentment and gratitude for what I do have here.

Washing Windows

This morning I washed some of our outside windows, because I thought starting off the week with an exercise in futility would be a good challenge. It was also to remind myself how crazy dirty it can be here.

Why would I want to remind myself of that? When I write it, it just sounds depressing. But it serves several purposes. First, it helps me easily justify having a cleaning lady come every weekday morning for 4 hours; it reminds me that I am not a neat freak, just someone living in an urban jungle; and mostly importantly right now, it gives me hope that in the States I won't miss or need my helper as much as I think I will.

I mean don't get me wrong - I love this woman just as a person and I will miss her terribly. She brings joy into our house every day. But I know that my house will not rapidly decline into something filthy that would be featured on some reality show called "Dirty House."

See here's the thing. This is what my windows look like regularly, particularly if it has been raining (and this is the rainy season). I washed my windows this morning. By the end of the week, certainly sooner, they will look like this again. Why bother?

Last summer when I was at my parents' house, I noticed their front windows needed washing, so I did it. By the end of the summer - two months later - they still didn't need to be washed again.

This is true for our floors as well. We can justifiably mop every single day. It's not that I need super clean floors. It's that you can see dusty footprints, and also paths through the dust, if you don't.

This is something I'm always trying to explain to my Stateside friends, but they just don't seem to grasp it. They say their houses are "dirty" because they haven't cleaned in a couple weeks, but I look at them and see no visible dirt, so to me they're pretty darn clean.

Ok, I need to go finish washing the windows. Hopefully it won't rain for a few days so we can enjoy it.

House!

This is the sign our neighbors across the way posted last Saturday after hearing that the bank in Orlando accepted our offer on a house there. It's been a long and at times frustrating process, but we're nearly there (pending all those details with the loan and what not).

If you're curious, the address is 14419 Nell Dr, Orlando, Florida, 32832. We hope to get everything settled before Erik goes radio silent out in the Wild West of China this Thursday.

Rejoice with us and pray that all goes well with the details!

Our Patriotic Cake

from glorioustreats.com

Ok, so above is the picture of what we wanted to make for our friend's 4th of July party. Fun right? So we set out to make it. Now because I am often impatient, I did not refer back to the instructions, which was my first and repeated mistake. Primarily this resulted in me having to make an extra cake because I initially baked 2 white cake rounds instead of a white and red, then a red and blue. So altogether we had 6 cake rounds. Six! Oy. If only that were the worst of it.

Assembling proved difficult as I injured my wrist and was trying to rest it, so I had to give instructions to my family while I watched. By the time we got all the layers together, on a scale of "Nailed It!" to "Epic Fail", we were cascading toward the latter, as you can see below.

At this point, I was ready to throw in the towel, but Megan was desperate to bring this cake to the party. We left it in the refrigerator overnight, hoping it might pull its act together by morning. It did not.

But wait - cutting in to it proved that there was hope! Yes, it seems we managed to make two red stripes next to each other (yet another proof of Gina's strange reluctance to actually refer to instructions. You would have thought that trying to fit 3 cake round halves alongside one cake round and wondering why they weren't the same height would have been my first major clue. 1/2+1/2+1/2 is not equal to 1).

So we trimmed around the outside and made an obscenely large second batch of frosting with which to cement the cake together long enough for it to be consumed by the hungry, patriotic masses. Here it is waiting to be judged in our little mini-competition:

We won "most patriotic" which seems fitting somehow - the American way always seems to be a fight against the odds, isn't it?

Next time, (if there is a next time) I think I will just use red cake and put copious amounts of white frosting in between as the white stripes. I mean who doesn't love more frosting?

Growing Up in China, and I Don't Mean My Kids

"Can you summarize your China experience in one sentence?" This was the question posed to me by one of three students from a local university. I'll get to my response in a minute, but let me give you some context. This was an interview set up by an old Chinese friend of mine who is their English teacher. Students from their university are compiling a book of foreigners' experiences with Chinese language and culture. I was also asked to write a short excerpt for it. They showed up this morning a week earlier than I was expecting (my fault, not theirs) so they got to see what foreigners look like when they have gone for a long walk on a hot morning but not had time to shower change into anything other than the equivalent of pajamas. Lucky kids!

We talked for about an hour and they asked me about things like my most embarrassing language moment (I don't really have one), homeschooling my kids as opposed to putting them in local schools (the whole concept seemed to baffle them) and the best ways to learn language. They also shyly asked me for advice on living in America. It was fun to answer their questions, although I found myself having to pause occasionally and swallow hard before I could answer because it was digging up so many memories for me. I thought it best not to weep in front of three strangers who would probably be freaked out and feel responsible, "Teacher, we made her cry! What did we do wrong? Are all Americans this emotional?"

But this question about summarizing my China experience in one sentence stumped me for a minute. I finally was able to answer, "I know this might sound strange, but I have grown up in China." They indeed looked puzzled, so I continued, "When I came to China, I was 26. In China I learned how to be a mom, how to be an adult. China has been the background for me to learn to be a mature person (at least as mature as I am at this point!). It has forever influenced who I am."

They said this was the best answer anyone had given to this question. :)

What Did Our Ancestors Do?

So here was our conversation at dinner:

Ethan: I've realized that a lot of times peoples' last names have something to do with what their families did. Like the Schumacher's family probably used to make shoes. And the Hausmans . . . I think they made houses. Or maybe they sold real estate.

We all giggle.

I ask, "In Germany?

Ethan, with a grin: Yeah, they were ancient German real estate agents. And the Olivers sold olives, obviously. But what about Butz?

We're all silent. Then we burst out laughing.

Cultural ponderings

Chinese culture has been swirling in my mind lately, and not necessarily in a good way. More of a "13 years and I still don't get it" kind of way. Last week you might have seen the graphic pictures of a woman who was forced to have an abortion here. What you might not have heard is the backlash from the local government against her family, who have had to go into hiding, because they posted that. I wonder at the injustice of it.

Closer to home, some friends of ours with three small children recently had an incident at a local fast food place. Their youngest was being bullied by a local boy (who was terrorizing all the kids in the play area). Since no parent was stepping in to stop the abuse, our friend finally pulled the boy aside and told him it was inappropriate. In flew the mother of the child, screaming that her son would be psychologically traumatized from the reprimand. They tried to leave, but the woman grabbed their daughter and refused to let go until the police came. Our friend spent 7 hours at the police station where, although the local police sided with him, he was finally forced to pay 1,000Y to the family so their son could have psychological testing. What? Insanity.

So this morning I sat with my oldest Chinese friend here and we discussed these things. She said, "We Chinese parents, in that situation, would just pull our child out of the play area because we know that other children are being raised to be the aggressors. It's really hard to find kids for my son to play with because they are all this way. They are aggressive children being raised by aggressive parents."

She is a professor at a local university, and this summer she will be hosting a group of 30 students checking into graduate schools in California. Their university actually makes money off these trips by charging the parents over $5,000 per student. Who in China can afford this we wonder? Apparently at least 30 sets of parents! She said most of the students don't care about seeing most of the universities - they'd rather shop! More of mom and dad's hard earned money out the window.

She sees her job as an English teacher slowly becoming more obsolete. The students are coming to university with such excellent English she is hardly needed. Only one semester of English is compulsory. So what could she do instead?

She's actually thinking of helping to develop the homeschool movement here in China. She would love to homeschool her son, but she's afraid that without a formal structure that affirms homeschooling, he might not be able to attend university here. She would love for China to give formal permission for parents to homeschool, but she wonders if it would be a license for rural people to keep their kids at home in order to use them for labor. It's exciting to see her wrestle with these issues, and I hope for her sake that homeschooling becomes a possibility.

Why? Well, because she described her son's school to me, and it once again made me thank God that I never chose to put my kids in local schools (I know there are some great schools out there, but this is an example of a pretty typical school). Her son is in a class of 40 first graders. His is one of nine 1st grade classes in the school. They have exams next weeks. They'll take a practice exam, be given results, then given an opportunity to take essentially the same test again. There is competition between the nine classes for the highest scores, and between their school and others. Sound at all familiar?

She was called in after school recently to talk to her son's teacher, or rather, to be lectured by her son's teacher. For five minutes, in front of other parents whose children have been performing sub par, she was reprimanded about the serious situation with her son's math abilities. She said, "To this day, I don't know what it is he's doing wrong. Maybe writing sloppy?" but she just laughed it off.

All this just goes to show me that you're never done learning about a culture. I find it all fascinating and a little baffling.

Project 365 June 21-26

June 21 - steaming something. I'm a sucker for stuff that's steaming

June 22 - it's encouraging to find your kids like this

June 23 - the after dinner clean up

June 24 - she really didn't want her picture taken

June 25 - rainy night

June 26 - windows at the Forbidden City

What's Behind That Anger?

I've spent a lot of time this spring thinking about and processing rage. I've become convinced of several things:

1. We're all angry
2. Anger expresses itself in many forms - contempt, control, performance - besides what we think of as anger
3. Anger is a cover for something deeper the majority of the time
4. We will not stop being angry unless we deal with whatever is under it

I just finished a good book called Faces of Rage. I'll tell you more about it some other time. This morning, though, my rage thoughts come from dealing with a very angry little girl. Yes, that's right - sweet little Megan has an angry streak. How could she not with that mane of flaming red hair? Megan's always had a tough time expressing what she's really feeling, and lately she's managed that the way many of us do - she gets angry instead.

So, figuring that there was something under the anger, I tried a little exercise. I asked her to draw what she was feeling. Mostly she just wanted to break the colored pencils or throw them. I drew a heart and asked if she could write what was in it. She couldn't. I asked her to pick any color and draw with it. She picked red and scribbled. She wrote "Angry!" She scribbled with black. Then gray.

I drew a man, a big man, out of red. I explained that being angry makes us feel big and powerful so we don't have to feel other things underneath. I took another pencil and drew arrows out from behind our red man that showed maybe he was hiding things like "hurt" or "sad" or "fear." She finally said, "I know" and drew an arrow that said, "Stress."

She was feeling a little overwhelmed by all that she felt she "had" to do today (which was surprising to me given that it's summer and the only things she really had to do today were 10 minutes of Chinese homework and taking a shower). Digging a little deeper, it seems the stress also covered the sadness of the attachment she's formed to our friends' cousin who is visiting and will be leaving on Friday. For the next 5 minutes Megan cried about several things that are weighing on her.

I can't say we got to the bottom of everything - my default these days is to assume that transition stress is at play too -  but I do know that suddenly now I have a very different girl who is happily filling water balloons for an epic neighborhood fight later. It's a good reminder of the importance of looking anger in the face and asking myself, "Hmm . . . what's really going on here?" Apparently doing so can be quite freeing. :)

There and Back Again

I get what it was like for Bilbo Baggins. He was a hobbit happy to stay in The Shire until adventure came knocking at his door in the form of Gandalf.  Bilbo had no desire to go, stating, “We are plain, quiet folk and have no use for adventures. Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner! I can’t think what anybody sees in them.” 

But what followed was the “story of a Baggins who had an adventure, and found himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the neighbour’s respect, but he gained – well, you will see whether he gained anything in the end.” 

              I would probably have been happy staying my whole life in my hometown as I have never been the adventurous sort. But Adventure came knocking on my door too and sent me to Asia for 13 years where I have found myself doing and saying things altogether unexpected as well. I believe I've gained quite a bit in the end. I hope I haven't lost the neighbor's respect, although I strongly suspect I will have lost quite a bit of common ground and understanding and don't know that I'll ever fully get it back. After all, as Gandalf commented,  "My dear Bilbo! You are not the hobbit that you once were.” And neither am I.

But like Bilbo, I hope to be content and scatter memorabilia from my adventures throughout my home for which I have a greater appreciation that I did before I left. And I'll keep in touch with my Elf friends whom I have met along the way.

I was explaining this to the kids tonight, and Megan commented that she hasn't been There and Back Again yet. America is "there" and China is "back again." 

But that is another story entirely.

Slow Drain

Most of the time I think we're doing well here. We love our friends. We love our house. We love what we do. We think this might be the most transformational time in the history of this country, and we get front row seats. We're mighty blessed in that way.

But sometimes I realize that this life takes its toll. It's like there's a slow leak somewhere in our boat, draining us. As much as we've adjusted to life in another culture, it will never be our own. There will always be moments, ways, places where we don't fit, where things rub us the wrong way. Things take longer and/or are more difficult because of the lack of development, the need to speak in a second language, the cultural barriers.

I confess I'm ready to be done with that aspect of our lives. I'd like to plug that hole. I know that moving back to the States will bring a whole new set of challenges, but they will be different and I think I need different right now.

Hmm . . . not the most light-hearted post I've ever written, but there it is!

Project 365 - June 1-20

June 1 - the kids and I were doing a picture a day thing. The first day was supposed to be "morning" so here it is

June 2 - and then I didn't do whatever we were supposed to do for June 2. This guy was peddling his services

June 3 - but day 3 was "empty" so here's my empty shot

June 4 - yeah, and that was as far as I got on that June photo thing. This is just some night dining

June 8 - oops. Missed a few days. I liked this night sky

June 9  -Ethan with one of his best buds

June 10 - Erik's morning ritual

June 11 - an unusually clear but cloudy day

June 12

June 13 - my feet in the air!

June 14 - Scout doesn't want to come

June 15 - I love seeing people walking their elders

June 16 - hard at work?

June 17 - Ethan making dessert

June 18 - the night train

June 19 - Terra Cotta Warriors

June 20 - three generations