Best enjoyed...

I've decided that I've been a little bit of a Grinch when it's come to fireworks this New Year's season. But I also have determined where this sentiment is coming from. It's coming from the reality that fireworks (including firecrackers) are best enjoyed not from your bedroom at 7:00 am, not from your kitchen at 7:00 pm and not while walking to the bike shed to get your bike and head to the store. Fireworks are best enjoyed when you have a front row seat and nothing else to do. And if that's you right now then here's something for you to enjoy:

But for those who thought I might be exaggerating about the propensity of our neighbors to set off fireworks several yards away from the building I submit this evidence:

We live on the sixth floor and have an attic in our apartment that would technically qualify as the seventh floor. And this is the balcony on that seventh floor outside the attic. So that little red tube that you see would be the case of a firework that was set off seven stories below only a few yards away from our window. You be the judge: Totally unsafe to be allowed to release fireworks purchased on the side of the road anywhere you desire. Or totally awesome. I leave it to you to decide.

Ting bu dong

Ting bu dong. Ting bu dong. Ting bu dong. Where have I heard that recently...well not out of my mouth I'll tell you that! Ting bu dong, meaning I hear but I don't understand, is a polite way of stopping any conversation while explaining to the other person that you can't make out their Chinese whether it's good, bad, or just out of your vocabulary range.

For awhile I would use this phrase every so often when I got stuck. But I tried to avoid it after the lady at the shoe store said that ting bu dong is the only thing wai guo ren know how to say. The irony is that in our short 5 minute friendship I eventually had to tell her I ting bu dong. Anyways, about four months ago I was elated when I heard someone say ting bu dong to me. Wow, I thought, it means I'm actually talking. Not very well, because the other person can't understand me, but at least I'm talking.

Well recently I've been bombarded with an onslaught of ting bu dongs. The lady sitting next to me on the airplane, the server at the restaurant, the seller at the market...it's amazing...they all ting bu dong me! Now I'll admit this is a sign that I should probably work more carefully on my pronunciation, tones and grammar, but I'm just so excited that I can talk now that I can't help but jump for joy. They ting bu dong me!!

My other huge praise has been that since coming back last week I've been able to comprehend maybe 75% of what's going on around me. So not only do they ting bu dong me, I ting dong them consistently nowadays! I'll admit that the majority of this 75% is either a) related to food b) understood while watching Thomas the Train in Mandarin or c) because another wai guo ren is speaking and I understand the context, but even so, I'm elated because I am also picking up on other conversations between locals that I'm eavesdropping hmhmhm* I mean happen to overhearing even without context. So, yeah me!

But before I go tooting my own horn I must be true to life and and describe what I heard today as I eavesdropped hmhmhm* I mean happened to overhear what a waitress said after I ordered some take out jiaozi.

“Her Mandarin is like a child's” she told her friend while looking at me and then quickly looking away.

Sad, but true. But I still have the last laugh...not only did I ting dong...I was totally stoked!!! Wow...my Mandarin is like a child's! I'm no longer a baby...I've graduated. I'm like a three year old now. And if you think my tongue is in my cheek think again. I actually am really excited. From 0-3 in eight months, not too bad! I'll need all the help I can get bringing on 3-6, but I'm ready for it!

*This is the sound of me clearing my throat just in case the context didn't dictate the random letters symbolizing a noise.

If I had only known...

When I was just a wee little lass my parents would take my sister and I to the 4th of July fireworks spectacular out at Lake Ray Hubbard. Don't be jealous of the ways we lived it up in good old Garland. We would put out our four matching lawn chairs in respective sizes to our place in the family, largest for Dad, smallest for little sis, and enjoy all that a fireworks show monitored by a local fire department could offer.

Unfortunately my parents had a quirky habit. About 10 minutes before the show would end, during the climax when all the fireworks were exploding at the same time, they would grab us, grab our lawn chairs and throw everyone in the car and hightail it back to the highway.

"What are we doing!?!" I would wail as I simultaneously tried to crawl into the little space between the backseat and the rearview window to catch the last glimpse of fireworks I could.

"Trying to beat the traffic. I don't want to be stuck for two hours trying to get out of this place for a 30 minute fireworks show," my Dad would reply.

Sadly I'm not making this story up. After our quick escape my parent's usually appeased us by taking us back to the house where we were allowed to run through the backyard with flaming torches called sparklers until we were reminded it was after our bedtime. Of course they were quickly forgiven.

But if I only had known as a child of seven that one day... I would be living in a country that for the last 8 days straight has released fireworks almost 15 hours a day, sometimes beginning at 7:00 am, and sometimes lasting until 12:00 pm...a country where residents in our apartment community release fireworks from the courtyard below our living room windows and sometimes from their own living rooms windows...a country that has as far as I can tell no fire codes or fire marshals monitoring official fireworks shows let alone private displays... a country where our friend recently said an average person could spend almost 20,000 rmb on fireworks during the average holiday season... Well if I could only know then what I do now, I probably would have just buckled my seat belt and told my Dad to get a move on it.

Thank You India...I mean Thailand...

One of my favorite songs is Thank You India by Alanis Morrissette. I love it. It's a song about what you can learn when you are in a place other then where you live. It's grateful, but in a very raw way, which I feel like is sometimes the most beautiful form of gratitude. It's completely different from her first album, but still very much her all at the same time. Someone told me she wrote this song after a trip to India to experience life from another perspective. I wikkied that story...it looks legit...which makes me like it even more.

If I was going to write a song to a country, it would be Thailand. India is certainly a little more gritty and I admit, I was a little more excited about sleeping late and eating Western food then suffering in another country, but I still can relate.

So here it is...thank you Thailand!

how about leaving my long underwear at home

how about morning runs and afternoons on the beach

how about green grass to walk through

how about going to sleep at the same time as my husband

thank you Thailand

thank you rest

thank you quiet

thank you sunshine

thank you lack of busyness

how about the sound of waves on the beach

how about the night market

how about time with people much wiser then I

how about salad bars and bubble water with limes

thank you Thailand

thank you rest

thank you quiet

thank you sunshine

thank you lack of busyness

the moment I stepped off the plane was the moment

I realized I could breathe deeply

the moment I stepped on the return flight was the moment

I realized I could go back without fear

how about "being still and knowing"

how about remembering your sovereignty

how about unabashedly admitting that it ultimately is not about me

how about spending time not complaining but worshipping instead

thank you Thailand

thank you rest

thank you quiet

thank you sunshine

thank you lack of busyness

If you'd like to see the real lyrics click here.

Oh how the turns have tide...or rather How the tides have turned...

If anyone can correct that horrible misquote of a title I would be eternally grateful. If you can't quite get the reference here are two words to give you a little clue: Michael. Scott.

I found myself in another country last week, more to come on the wonders of being in a warm tropical place, when this little interchange happened between myself and one of the ladies at the market.

Me: How much for these pillow cases?

Lady at Market: 170 bhatt

Me: They are beautiful. You have so many colors. I just love your country.

Lady at Market: Ok then, for you a special price. 190 bhatt.

I leaned over to CL on my right and said slightly under my breath: Did you just hear that. She went up on the price. Wow, I'm so happy I'm not the only one.

Lady at Market, sheepishly realizing her mistake: I mean 150 bhatt.

Me: Don't worry. I actually make the same mistake all the time when I bargain in Mandarin.

Lady at Market at first doesn't reply but only smiles at me since her English is limited to prices, colors and the very useful phrase "come and take a look, you will like" clearly doesn't understand what I have just said but understands I am not upset and am somehow attempting to make her feel better then lowers the price to 120 bhatt.

Lesson of the day:

5 silk pillow cases from night market: 600 bhatt

Feeling good that other people make the same mistakes in your language that you make when you try out other languages: priceless

My achilles heel...

The year was 1990, or maybe 1992, and teenagers across the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex had yet to face the devastating loss of Y95. Our ears were accustomed to the faster dance sounds of Paula and MC as well as the soulful ballads of the legendary for a summer Wilson Phillips, when suddenly across the air waves we were assaulted with a song that originated in the pit and somehow made its way into the pop history that is the early 90's. You will find it on any monster ballads CD. You will find it wherever bad music is played. A song by a band named Extreme. The longest, whiniest most hideous sounding songs in the history of all songs...More then Words. (It could be debated that the Beatles' song The Long and Windy Road is a possible tie for first place, but we will leave that to another blog post.)

If you were fortunate enough to reach puberty in the early 90's then you were fortunate enough to probably learn the lyrics to Ice Ice Baby by heart. It is possibly that you embraced this song only because your ears were so numbed to all that is right and true in music by the hideousness of the song More then Words. I loath this song. If I ever become a double agent for a secret government branch and was held captive and tortured for information my captors should just put this song on repeat...I will tell them anything they want to know. I would rather listen to nails on a blackboard, or Beijing opera, all day long then listen to More then Words. It makes me skin crawl. I have been in department stores trying on clothes that I might actually like to buy when this song has started playing. I left the dressing room quickly and never looked back. I am not sure how else I can say how much I despise this song. If you ever think it is funny to sing it around me and see my reaction, you are not my friend. And I will not let you read my blog anymore...cough, SL, cough.

Unfortunately the other night The Captain decided to take a break from programming to watch some funny Utube clips. He typed the word sitar into the search. Not only did he find Sitar Hero, he also unfortunately found Mike Myers signing More then Words in The Love Guru. And thus he discovered my achilles heel. I know it is not healthy to hide things in relationships. But it is also important to reveal your achilles heel to those closest to you at just the right moment. In the case of my husband and I the right moment could have come when we were in our 90's and I could simply turn down my hearing aide while he decided to torture me with his own rendition of More then Words. Please friends pray for us, the cat is out of the bag and now The Captain can torture me at any moment. I fear for the consequences. But now I must go and find something worthwhile to listen to because this blog post has put the loathsome song back in my head.

I have a lot to say...but I don't always say it...

One of my favorite bloggers recently posted a blog entry about racial diversity. I found it interesting, commendable and also slightly naive. Actually I'm not sure if naive is the word I'm looking for, but there was something about it that made me stop and read the first 50 comments posted in response looking for someone expressing my sentiments. I took about 15 or 20 comments before I spotted it but there it was. Disagreement.

I knew it would be there and I knew it would come from either: A) A person who majored in early childhood education in college and took approximately 12 hours of classes on cultural diversity. B) One of my professors who taught those 12 hours of cultural diversity classes or C) someone not white. I'm betting it was probably the third type of person because I don't think Dr. V would waste her time reading the Pioneer Women blog. Her blog reading would be more intellectually stimulating. But I digress except for this shout out to Dr. V who I personally think was a wonderful professor and I am now saddened by the fact that I think I was to intimidated to ever tell her.

There are a lot of things I think about blogging about. Some are public service announcements. Things to the extent of "Just in case you were wondering if you should post your the birth video of your first child on facebook, don't." Others are feebly formed thoughts on issues like race. Others are just dumb bumblings of how I mess up in language all the time and can barely master English grammar let alone Chinese grammar. Almost daily I compose fantastic blog entries on all of the above topics, usually while washing dishes. But then I don't actually blog. I'm not so worried about the first three reasons I don't blog: 1) lack of time 2) lack of a computer with a proxy 3) stupid idea to start with. But the fourth reason I don't blog really is something to think about. I don't blog sometimes because I'm scared of what people will think.

I'm scared that someone who did post her birth video on facebook will read my blog entry and be offended. I'm scared if I talk about my bumblings everyone will know what level I am as a language student. (As if they didn't already know.) And I'm afraid that talking about things I think about frequently, like race and culture, are issues that friends will not understand or disagree with. So I don't talk about them.

I think that's ok. No one needs to be told through their friends blog not what to post and not post on their facebook page. A blog isn't really the type of medium that invites personal interaction and dialogue which can promote understanding. That would be a phone call. It's more of a public proclamation of thoughts. Or maybe just a public proclamation of cute baby pictures. Since we don't have a baby, all I'm left with is my thoughts. Which are not as cute.

So today I desire to stick my neck out and say one thing about race in response to reading another person's blog entry saying that discussing race should be avoided. Race is often, not always but often, connected to something that I find precious. It's connected to culture. I don't think race needs to be the first thing talked about when a person meets another person, but to ignore race in an effort to be "color blind" means that a person's cultural background is ignored. I think culture is precious because it is a part of each of us and to pretend we are all the same is really not true. We are all people, but we are unique in our personalities, our cultures, and skin colors. I like that and I like talking about it because I like people. I just wanted to say that, it's ok if you don't agree. Or if you have a suggestion to help me refine my perspective, that's good too.

On another interesting note because I happen to be white American and my husband happens to be Chinese American we get a lot of reactions in this Asian city where we live. People here ask about race pretty frequently and usually at the beginning of the conversation. In my husband's observations it's because of a desire to figure out what type of relationship they can have with you. In my observation I agree with him. I also think it's because they feel confused by us. Maybe I'll explore this topic more in the future. Maybe I won't. But I do just want to observe that difference between one Western perspective on race I've encountered recently vs. the perspective I encounter here pretty regularly.

Another interesting question. If you have time go and read this blog entry and then write me a note. I am really curious now to know if you would buy your children dolls that were not your own race.