Birthday Photos

24 years and a Visit from Dad

It's funny. The spell check on my word processor does not recognize the word, 'blog.' I wonder if the updated version does…

Monday, sometime after midnight I completed 24 years of being alive in western cultural standard time. In China, because a baby is alive in the mother tummy (so I was told), I would actually say I am in my 25th year. The thick lime green mug in front of me stains my tongue red with an infusion of raspberry goodness; a birthday gift from Bethany. To my left a small bottle of Brer Rabbit Mild Flavor Molasses joins a red balloon with a cut out construction paper stem hoping to pass itself off as a tomato to remind me of my favorite nickname, tomato face, christened to me by Utuq after observing me huffing and puffing after a jog. On my right a happy plant reaches its little arms all directions in a tall dark pot wrapped with ribbon and warmth. All gifts. Gifts from good new friends who took the time to make dinner for me (Megan and Yoko), decorate, invite several others (Gulambar, Utuq, ZouYen, Summer, Bethany) and then laugh over a more than lively game of UNO.

Early in the week I had received a guest also bearing sweet and dear to my heart, tidings and gifts from another continent. My dad came to stay last Thursday evening, taking a train Sunday evening to work on the greenhouse in Hunchun. It was a whirlwind trip of wakefulness at all crazy hours mixed with jetlag naps and bouts of caffeine-laden drinks to stall the sleepy.

All week I prepared and talked about the arrival of my dad with my students, so by the time Thursday rolled around I was even receiving text messages welcoming him here and wishing me happiness (of course). The big question of the day was, how to get to the airport and back? Harbin airport is situated, conveniently, way outside of Harbin to, as one of my students decided, "keep the sound from bothering the city people." (Honestly, I wondered if this construction burden city would even notice a plane flying over.) Figuring it all out took a bit of back and forth. Of course, there was the taxi but then one could be sure of high prices, there was a bus but the last one left from Harbin at 7pm, there was the idea of going and hanging out for 4 hours before my dad arrived but my students then insisted on going to accompany me and I just wasn't sure if that would be so fun (love my students but that is a long wait). Finally, dear Li Peng (from the Hunchun bus trip) came through again and found a car service that would take us and bring us back for a great price! We (because he still insisted upon coming) hopped in and went off for the 40 min trip out because we went the slow- but-cheap route, which bypassed the tollbooth by meandering through some back villages and orchards. In China, some things, like long underwear time, heater turn on time, and time zone in general, are not negotiable and most people simple accept and adjust. Other things, like regulations concerning copy write and obviously overpriced tollbooths are simple put to the side, respectfully but with precision that always brings a smile to my lips.

And so my dear dad arrived, accompanied me to class the next morning to the joy of my favorite students. We were playing Jeopardy review in class and dad was the happy host, whitening his fingers with chalk to keep track of all the points. The most interesting moment was when I brought dad to the foot massage place where he was quite happily surprised (after a bit of apprehension) to have his feet massaged for the first time in his life!

Yes, of course, the stay was too short and Sunday night came before it should have but thankfully my friend Utuq was there to help us maneuver the huge railway station in Harbin. We were able to accompany my dad into the waiting room; a tall ceiling hazy with cigarette smoke, dust and the muted colors of many people packed tight together with various articles of luggage and box, then down to the platform to actually board the train. It is quite the squeeze as the open the doors to go to the platform about 10 minutes before departure so the scramble was a wee bit intense and the send-off overly short, but there he went. I received a message mid morning telling me he arrived safely into the Hunchun farm. Oh dad.

Being Cold or Overly Properly Clothed

The cold fall arrived in Harbin and settled her dry cold self into my
toes, hands and every building I spent time in (including my
apartment). For a while the heat was not turned on anywhere because
the Chinese heating system follows dates on calendar. The Moon takes
precedence over Cold and so the time-of-the-long-underwear and the
time-of-the-radiator comes when he dictates and neither the warmth of
Sun nor the chill of North Wind can persuade otherwise. The long
underwear comes out just after the Mid-Autumn Festival and, without
fail, my students layer on the wool under thick pants and puffy winter
coats. The body is not to get cold and the translation for an upset
stomach is a cold stomach. Unfortunately, I have the quirky body of
my father with ice feet and hands that do not cooperate regardless of
how I dress. Nicely then, I am forever told how cold hands mean a
warm heart, which comforts but at times I could do with a bit less
extreme for either organ. It causes me endless frustration to be
either sweating in my big winter coat or freezing in a thinner
windbreaker so usually I just go through endless
taking-off-and-putting-back-on to regulate my jumpy body temperature.
It is a little shocking to my overly protective students though to
see me arrive all in a huff and promptly strip down to short sleeves
to begin the class, fussing about how warm the room is; they wouldn't
be caught dead in short sleeves in winter unless they were planning to
work out in a warmed gym…and even then I am not sure they would go so
far. I do not jest; a thin almost hose type layer, then a thick wool
layer, then the jeans, then the long puffy coat. I have seen knitted
knickers an inch thick underneath heavy sweaters and my longjohn lack
is probably just as concerning to them.

Anyway, the radiator underneath each windowsill finally came on
the end of October during a rather cold spell and we were all
overjoyed to be able to sit in our rooms and feel warm. Of course,
occasionally they really crank up the water heat (or something) and we
all put on tanktops and shorts and forget that it is –9C outside until
the wind hits our face and our warm pampered faces wonder if they
should have hibernated in the sauna room of the apartment forever.
Yesterday, joy of joys, it snowed (xue in Chinese)! Suddenly,
winter has arrived with her blanket of white to shield the poor bare
swept earth. I wonder some if I mourn a bit during the time between
the glory of harvest and the sleep of winter. The bare ground and
stripped trees seem so cold and tired of life; I feel tired of life
too. The sun spends less and less time with the forsaken north and my
heart understands those ancient people that gave great sacrifices to
urge the sun to come back and not abandon them. Yet, the moment those
fluffy white specks hit the ground and energy changes; winter has come
and, be it only an inch of frozen dry white, it is an inch of white
and it makes all the difference to my sensitive soul. So…I am over
exaggerating but truly I am learning the simple joys are the sweetest
and most healing. Yeah for xue!

The Long-Trip Bus

About 3 weeks before Golden Week I had already decided I wanted to visit Hunchun but I was beginning to worry because the implications of a whole country on vacation was dawning on me concerning the travel. Of course, it just so happened that during my second day of office hours a student came to visit me who just so happened to be from Hunchun. Seriously. Considering the fact that my students are from all across China the probability of that happening is pretty scarce so it was a rather beautiful moment and I still feel inspired thinking about it.

My student was thrilled and promised to help me figure out transportation suggesting that I opt for the Hunchun bus instead of braving the overcrowded train that would only get me to Tumen (45 min drive from the farm). From this point on everything was taken care of by Li Peng and I didn't do anything besides continue to assure him that whatever happened I was fine and he needn't worry. In the end, the bus was sold out (you can only buy the ticket the day before or of) but his sister's friend was a relative of the bus driver (oh connections in China!) SO of course there would be a seat for me, somehow! It is amazing.

I packed my Josh and Wiens family hiking backpack (thanks you all!!!) and headed out with Li Peng around 3:30pm on that Friday wondering if I was going to go or not but perfectly happy either way. The bus was a Long-Trip bus; which means a bus with bunk beds instead of seats. Yep. Pretty cool. You get in, take off your shoes and deposit them in a little bag to take with you and then sort of shimmy down either the left or right hand aisle two bunks high for each row. The beds are narrow and just barely long enough for me so about average Chinese height. Each holds a mattress and a thick blanket with a small rectangle pillow filled with some kind of bean or bead and there is just enough room to sit up and only have to bend your head a little. I wouldn't recommend it for a very claustrophobic person.

I boarded the bus and was given the farthest bunk in the back corner, due to some switching around to allow the pitiful foreigner (that's me) a real seat instead of something less official. I protested and tried to point out that I was strong and would be fine anywhere, not wanting to deny someone of a seat, but seeing as my Chinese is only as good as my awkward waving gestures and facial expressions…well, it didn't work. By this point in my time in Harbin I was pretty exhausted and so even remembering the word for yes or no (there is actually no single word for no) was beyond my capabilities. I just sat back, smiled at the giggling staring people (mostly women) around me and ate some dates from a ziplock baggy. It was pretty exciting till I realized I would eventually have to pee and the thought of climbing through everything, trying to ask where or how to use the toilet, going out in the very cold somewhere and probably squatting in the dark all the time sort of worried that they would leave without me (I'm over paranoid at times)…was a bit too much to handle. I just kept falling asleep waking up to the nearly full moon staring at me and my face almost frozen due to the draft from the window by my head. The bus stopped about 3 times, for about 10 minutes each by the side of the road and I jealously watched the guy beside me jump out and return in a very short amount of time, probably feeling very comfortable and relieved.

I was told we were to arrive at about 4AM so at about 2:30 I had gathered up courage (or enough discomfort to be mistaken as courage) to prepare the big dive into the unknown world of "the rest stop," when all the lights came on and everyone else starting gathering their stuff and piling up blankets. So we had arrived! Unhappily for me the trip did not actually end until 2 hours later due to Timothy's car breaking down, but the managing woman took good care of me allowing me to stay in the bus after we spent a confusing amount of time communicating that (on my part) I didn't need a taxi because someone was coming and (on her part) that I should stay in the bus and sleep to keep warm. I was so excited and awake I opted to sit in the front of the bus till I begin to feel the chill creeping into my bones and the bus lady's urging for me to get into a bed under a pile of blankets became more than just a request but rather like an order. In the end Timothy asked me to take a taxi, gave him directions over my cell phone and I arrived. Cold, desperately excited to use the bathroom and not quite ready for the sun to come up but there she was; already peeping over the horizon.

Guess what. I caught a cold. Go figure.

The trip home was much nicer because by then I was rested (sick but brain rested) and more confident of asking questions. Also, the bus was only half full and I got a seat way up front with a thicker blanket. We even stopped for dinner this time where I ate very spicy soup and managed to find a bathroom (yes I was entertaining but that comes with the leaving of the comfort zone to travel; you end up either frustrating or amusing people so it is good to be on the happier side).

Coming back to Dorm A-13 and banging on the door to wake the night guard (my dorm has a midnight curfew) was actually a comfortable returning. I remembered how a few weeks ago I arrived in the middle of the night scared and homesick. This night I walked into the courtyard and looked up to see the moon and the bright stars of the constellation Orion and in one moment the city was not so bad and home was at the top of 16 floors with friends down the hall.

Going to the Farm – Mid Autumn Festival and the Golden Week

Mid Autumn Festival. Moon cakes: some only slightly better than Christmas fruitcake, some worse, some delightfully yummy. I personally prefer the sesame or red bean filled ones. They come in all sizes, but always round and always bearing the ingredient inside in Chinese character on the top (no help to the illiterate me). The Mid Autumn Festival celebrates the harvest moon and is a time for eating moon cakes with your family while looking up at the full moon is a park or backyard. My students brought me several bunches of these always surprises cakebits and, as a foreign teacher, the international affairs office of HIT always gifted us with a beautiful tin case filled with only the most expensive moon cakes in Harbin. Strangely enough the most expensive moon cake is a sort of sugary bean filling surround a whole hard-boiled egg yolk (I am assuming the yolk resembles the full moon?). I didn't mind the surrounding filling but the dry egg yolk was less than exciting. I enjoyed the less expensive varieties. I was told that some of them have meat but thankfully none have yielded such delicacies (to my relief).

Golden Week. National Holidays in China. Three times a year the whole country (almost) goes on vacation for a week (maybe longer over the Chinese New Year) and though government is working to change this, it is a time-honored tradition and was ever present during the most recent Golden Week. A country of 1 billion people all going on vacation, a country of exceedingly mobile people all traveling to somewhere, wreaks a bit of havoc on transportation systems (which consequentially do not get vacation at this time).

I too decided to seize my chance of a lifetime to see a little bit of China's countryside and also to visit a family and farm where my father has been working the past couple years. The "small" town of Hunchun (only the size of Winnipeg) is also called the Last Stop because it is literally in the corner of China between the ominous shoulder of Russia and cold front of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea (DPRK).

I was visiting the Shell family of Timothy and Naomi and their 4 "eager beavers" of Mary Frances, Ruth Anna, Miriam and little Lyte. They live and manage a farm there consisting of all sorts of cows, sheep, pigs, chickens, a few dogs, lots of cats and a beautiful bunch of hills covered in pine and aspen like trees. I am sure there are more things but I was a little confused about who managed what and where and, as I was sort of delighting in long walks in the clean air and a very exciting new family to hang out with, I chose to relax rather than be inquisitive. (I can always ask questions next visit). It was a wonderful visit! I spent lots of time baking with Naomi and reading books to the family (yes the whole family listened to me read Prince Caspian and the Magician's Nephew and yes I did get hoarse). We spent a day with a few other families out in the country near to another town called Yanji picking pingguoli (apple-pears) and looking for 'pretty' rocks. The girls are also avid collectors of all sorts of rocks that end up in piles and jars various places.

Yes, those are sparse details but really the most exciting part of my Golden Week experience was, as I was mentioning before, the travel there and back….

Thanksgiving in Canada

Today is (well was for me now) Thanksgiving day in Canada. The past three years I have spent this holiday in the glorious home of my friend Judi. Far and beautiful, tucked into north-western Ontario on a bit of an island called McKenzie. It is always a time full of deep talks, canoes across crinkled waters, numerous cups of strong black tea swallowed in evaporated milk and honey, dancing while cooking frenzies, and (my specialty) the gathering of leaves and harvest field beauties to adorn the Thanksgiving table.

Yes, I am sad to miss my very dear holiday with some very dear friends.

So to commemorate this Canadian Thanksgiving far from home but ever still thankful I have decided to devote a blog to all the amazing things in my life right now.

A hurrah for green things! My fingers and eyes seek out the clinging green on waving branches, drinking up that precious colour now more than ever for soon it will be only found on pictures and in my mind's reserves. The few spots of yellow and red or purple flowers also get special attention and yes, I stop often to be the odd curly haired crazy sniffing up great breaths of sweet marigold or fading rose. It is a trick Josh and I have been testing this past year; stopping to smell all the flowers to live longer or happier on a natural flowery sort of high (better on the lungs).

China! It still has yet to sink in. I cannot seem to grasp how I wanted to travel and then: zing! Bam! Here I am. Although, globalization seems to creep up on me and I often wonder if this is actually Winnipeg with a Chinese flavor or China with a Winnipegish sort of flavor? I feel concerned that all cities might feel a bit like that and I am confused as to whether to enjoy feeling at home or be annoyed that I can never really leave. (I need to think more on this one.)

Josh! Family! Friends! If home is where the heart is than my heart just keeps getting bigger. I could elaborate but then I would never stop. It is good simply to be in awe of the cup of friendship that continues to overflow.

Water in large bottles and kind, patient people that understand me when I fumble in Chinese and bring me a new bottle when I finish one. Vegetables and fruits from kind and patient vendors with wooden carts on the street side. Too many kinds of rice and things to add to rice for me to tell the difference and only one kind of flour. Hot baked yams right out of the steel drum on the corner. Tea of the green, black, whole flower varieties and then some. Yellow and green colored chalk that remains on fingers and migrates to everything else. Strong wind that stirs up dust and blood to cool whipped faces in the struggle to walk in the dazzling autumn sunshine of the sweet morning. Runners that cushion the happy simple plodding of early morn jogs. Recognizing a character on sign, understanding and being understood when speaking Chinese. Recognizing a student's face and almost remembering a name and sort of saying it right. Sitting for a moment of silence and suddenly forgetting to hear the construction banging outside. Skype connections clearer than telephone; communication that goes beyond words.

It is good to be thankful.

Teaching English – Master's Oral English

Ah yes. The thing I came to Harbin to do: teach English. I have now completed 3 weeks of classes and am officially a laoshi or teacher. Seven times a week I teach the same 2-hour class to about 25 to 30 students each time. In total I have almost 200 delightful students each with a beautiful Chinese name I am attempting (!*!) to memorize and learn to say in a way that is at least somewhat near to correct. It's a wonderful sort of disaster that only remains bearable with lots of laughs and forgiving patience!

The course I teach is designed to improve the listening and speaking skills for students learning English as most of them can read and write very well but when it comes to the more productive (listening and speaking) aspects of the language they are less confident and able. My job is to get them speaking. Easy right?

Well, in some ways. The greatest blessing so far in my arrival to Harbin is that this course is already planned out! Megan, an English teacher from Arkansas who has been here for a year already, is teaching the exact same course and she has all the lesson plans, worksheets and overheads for the whole semester. YES! They are done and all I have to do is look over them, figure out how to make sense of what I say and do and copy off the worksheets to hand out! The hard part comes only when I step into class each morning.

So there I am four mornings a week; walking over to the building, scurrying up the steps to gather the little plastic box with a key to open the computer and a remote to turn on the projector (the rooms are fully equipped), then stepping into the corner room full of large windows partially covered by dusty drapes and solid long wooden desks. Usually I arrive about five minutes before and the class is already there; studying, chatting softly, and (yep) basically just waiting for me. It is all rather awkward still and oddly frightening. It is considered quite a privilege to have a native English speaker as your teacher, which creates quite a celebratory sort of gap that I have yet to really break down. (Hopefully that will come with time.) Yet, I have definitely settled into a nice routine which is much more comfortable to me than that first week of teaching. It was crazy! Trying to get everyone's names, figure out who is supposed to be in the class, being too soft and allowing several auditing students (grrr), trying to explain all the policies and such in a simple slow sort of way and probably failing miserably, since I tend to talk fast when I get excited. Of course, things still don't quite gel all the time and I have many lessons to learn. Many.

My respect and awe of those in teaching positions grows by the minute…