When I first got to China I started to carry a notebook around and take little notes about the strange things I ran into. I thought it would be great material for a blog or story entitled “Chinese Lessons” in which I exposed about the whimsical and not so whimsical lessons of a middle aged man’s life journey in China. This strategy had some fatal flaws. First, I am a lousy note taker. Always have been. I considered trying to compensate by using a voice recorder but given that I don’t like to talk or draw attention to myself, speaking into a voice recorder was a double whammy. The second flaw is most of my whimsical and not so whimsical observations are hardly unique. Books and blogs of poorly written prose already exist on “chinese people cut in lines” or “i regained my soul while eating dumplings”. And, the final fatal flaw is I do not speak Chinese. Hard to write a blog called “Chinese Lessons” when you don’t know the word for “lessons”. In general I learn things when I have an interest and an aptitude. Maybe this is true for most folks. With languages, I neither have the interest nor the aptitude. My best friends in childhood spoke english as a second language. Did I ever ask them, even once, to teach me some spanish. Not that I remember. I had pretty much zero interest in taking a language class in high school, instead I choose “computers” as my high school elective. Kind of the the opposite end of the aptitude/interest pendulum for me. Most people assume I speak no Chinese except for 7-10 year olds who have no concept that someone would not be able too and they just blah,blah,blah (however that translates to Chinese) when they speak to me. The other common reactions I get is locals pointing out foreigners who speak “good chinese”, think Yang could teach me, or that I secretly can understand much of their conversation. That last bit is partially true but I understand it at an IQ level of about 35 so I wonder how intelligent those people think I am. But I am in China and it would be nice to be able to ask for paper when using the restroom so I decided to take some lessons. Well, I’ve decided at least five times to learn Chinese which will be the subject of my next post.. ...

When I left to the states on my last business trip we had just gotten (ok, Yang had just gotten) Elisa a walker. Elisa toes just barely touched the floor and she was able to make little progress in moving the thing. She was however, able to push the buttons on the walker tray which produced unbelievably loud “toy noise” as if “toy noise” was some type of music genre. I vowed to replace the toy’s batteries with some worn down ways but laziness gave way. All and all what is a little more noise when Aidan and Lydia are around? When I returned from the states, there was Elisa sitting tall and pretty in her walker. She must have grown a bit in the eleven days I was away because she could get around the house just fine by herself. The freedom turned an already happy baby into a downright giggly one. She would follow me into the bedroom, to the kitchen, to the living room. The new found freedom was not without pitfalls, I once spotted her chewing on one of our plants but overall we have a pretty safe house. A loud house, but a safe and now even happier one. ...

Yang is having dinner with her college classmates and I am taking Lydia and Aidan to explore the Solana mall. It is not so cold today and is nice to be out and about. Aidan asks the security guard where the kids playground is and we head towards it. Lydia runs ahead and ends up in a toy store. Aidan forgets about the playground when he discovers the lego store. I point out the disney store to Lydia and she dashes for it and is soon playing with a Cinderella dressing table. The stuff in the lego and disney story are more expensive than the equivalent in the states so aidan and lydia know not to even ask to buy something. But they don’t give up looking for bargains. We find a small knick knack toy store…i call it knick knack because they seem to have a random assortment of toys without any rhyme or reason. The reason seems clear that their stock is the excess inventory from other, more expensive stores. Lydia and Aidan zero in on this as a place they could score a toy. Lydia finds a barbi coloring/sticker book and with Barbi misspelled on the cover. I knew the price would be reasonable, 15 kuai (about $2.25). I told Aidan who could buy a toy for up to 20 kuai but despite 10 minutes of looking, nothing in that price range looked good too him. They had a bunch of model cars going for 25 kuai each so I suggested Aidan get one of those. He confirmed that he could get one and when I said yes, he went to the store clerk and asked (in chinese) “what do you got for 25?”. Smart boy. On the walk back to the car Lydia fell asleep in my arms but before she was out she kissed me on the cheek. Her first unprompted kiss that I can remember. Sweet….or was she just planning he next shopping expedition? ...

Johnny unlocked his gold schwinn ten speed and watched his friends begin a new game of touch football. Johnny had to be home before 5pm or him mom would be mad at him. And if she got mad at him, she would tell his dad and then Johnny’s dad would be mad with him. And Johnny did not want this for he was afraid of his dad. The schwinn wasn’t new to Johnny anymore. It almost felt like an extension of his legs as he peddled away from the school yard and towards home. Just as he turned the corner he heard Mike yell “hut hut hike” and a new play started. Mike was a good player, one of the best in the yard. There was no one best player in this playground. No one stood out above the rest. As such none of these boys were destined for any athletic greatness. Not even a college scholarship. Johnny was everyone’s friend. He felt that everyone liked him just fine and he liked everyone in the yard. At the same time Johnny didn’t have a buddy, a best friend. Mike and Dave were best friends. Dan and Julio were tight. Johnny? He hadn’t even been over these guys’ house. Shifting down into second Johnny felt strong and powerful and as free as any 14 year old boy could. Soon, by the time they were 15, the tag football games would be left to the younger kids. Johnny new this, he was insightful in this way, and he wondered what he would do after school when the games ended. Johnny pulled up to his house and leaned his bike against the side of it. He was hungry and hoped his mom cooked something good for dinner. Good being things that were not bad. Like creamed tuna over bread. Or eggplant parmesan. Or any meal that included broccoli. Johhny had to eat every thing on his plate even though that hated broccoli made him feel like he would puke. But if he didn’t his mom might tell his dad and his dad would be mad and we’ve already covered that. A strange thing happened. Johnny opened the front door and no one was home. In fact there was nothing. No furniture, no pictures on the wall, no nick knacks, no people, and strangely enough no toilet paper. The place was empty. It was if Johnny’s family had moved out and forgot to take him. So Johnny sat down on the hardwood floor, wondered what he would do with no TV, what he would do for dinner, what the heck is going on. Then Johnny smiled. ...

I am in the small bedroom next to the other small bedroom in the house I grew up in. It is almost four in the morning and I can’t sleep thanks the sixteen hour time change from my adopted home of beijing. Somewhere else in the house it is likely that my mom is awake trying to deal with her chronic shoulder pain. Pain severe enough that her chronic knee pain is no longer so visible. I’ve done this trip a bunch of times – maybe 15 – so I should be used to the jet lag, but I am not and my brain won’t get quiet when it needs to get quiet. i suspect sleep will come soon, but then the alarm will ring at six and I will be on my way to seattle. funny the things that go through my mind during these sleepless nights. i keep pushing back the work thoughts because i think they will keep my up longer. i try to play a mental round of golf in my head to no avail. i think of old friends and old girlfriends. old girlfriends not in a longing way, but in a low key way. its weird being at my parents house. they seem to have an ok life all and all. not the life i would want, but i can see their comfort in it. i here the same stories over and over again. the same patterns repeating over and over again. my parents are getting old and have been getting old for sometime. they’ve both slowed down a lot and makes me wonder how much more slowing they have in them. i keep thinking i will take down their story, but i never do, and i guess it will just pass one day. maybe next trip. ...

Aidan, you are six today and I can’t be more proud of you. Not proud because you turned six healthy and happy – this is a relief – but because of who you are. At some point in the past year you became a boy and the event almost slipped by without my noticing. But I did notice, the way your body folds on the bed is now longer and slightly awkward, the way you tolerate Lydia when she’s fussy vs. whacking her up side the head, the way you sit down and diligently do your homework, the way you likewise work to assemble your legos, the way understand when ask for more and when to ask for less. There have been other changes too, of course. You’ve had a few tough stretches at school where the bigger kids picked on you (your father can relate) and you came home with scratches and bruises. But you have adjusted to it and have improved your kicking skill. You’ve even adjusted your story a few times about what happens at school which means you are beginning to lie and discover what us other humans can detect. Keep in mind the two principles about lying that I’ve already told you. First, never lie to your family. Second, only lie about something important. When you are mad you bend your head and storm out of the room, not making a sound. You don’t get mad very often, and less often as the year passed, but when you do it is mostly because me or mom said we were going to do something we didn’t do. Like buy you a toy. At some point during the past year you stopped taking naps but you did start getting scared at night. Right now you wake up most nights and say in “very scared” in Chinese. I don’t so much raise you as I observe you and do everything I can to make sure that the part of you that is your essence does not get stepped on and recedes. Because your essence is so beautiful and uniquely you. It is in everything you do. When you cry when I leave on a business trip, when you beam with pride when you assemble a bionicle, when you run with joy chasing me, when you talk endlessly with your sister explaining what is real and what isn’t, when your voice is always too loud for a restaurant and you lower when i ask. Lower it for a good syllable or two. Your essence shines through in the photos of you, from day one to today. ...

I’ve been telling bedtime stories to the Aidan and Lydia and I enjoy it pretty much. I stand in between their beds, lights off, and walk back and forth talking away. Sometimes I aim for a moral, sometimes just try to be funny, sometimes just to get them to sleep. Lydia allows no scary stories. A couple of days ago…on the last day of the Chinese New Year celebration Beijing’s sky lit up with fireworks. It felt and it sounded like people where emptying out the inventory. We drove to a nearby Santana Row-ish mall and walked around with the kids. I was a bit tired and wanted to sleep but the kids wanted to light fireworks so we headed off to a fireworks stand and bought some. Aidan and Lydia enjoyed it quite a bit but the overwhelming sense from the people around us are that Chinese people are a bunch of pyros. They just have this look that I imagine an arsonist who enjoys his work has. Speaking of which, on the way home we saw fire trucks heading towards the business section of Beijing. Don’t hardly see fire trucks here, even more rare to see them with lights on rushing somewhere. But hey, it was national shoot flames night. And when I got home, I found out that is exactly what happened. One of my facebook friends who lives near the new CCTV complex reported a huge fire. Luckily the building was still under construction and vacant although sadly one firefighter died. Some pictures: ...

Yang told me that Cui Ayi and her daughter had left for Chinese New Year. And that when they said goodbye to the kids they cried. I told Yang that I guess they just quit. Occasionally I get asked on how to find a good ayi by someone who has just moved to Beijing. I give them the run down – mainly all the problems with finding a good one vs. the best way to actually find one. I then close by saying that Yang handles the ayi hiring thus significantly lowing the value of the wisdom I just bestowed. Then comes the whopper…I tell them we’ve had…give or take…15 ayis since 2005. At which point my “ayi hiring for dummies” is viewed as “dummies hiring ayis”. And, well, the numbers actually get worse. We’ve had two ayis at a time, one live in and one that comes in during the day. Until two weeks ago, the one that came in during the day was the same person, Cui Ayi. So the other 15 were from the live in position. And even there, we had one ayi that was with us for a good eighteen months. Here are the “long haulers” of our ayis: ...

Our trip to Malaysia was the first time I had been to a predominately muslim country and a bit to my surprise I found it quite comfortable. But then again I’ve always found diversity more comfortable than a lack of it. Which is one of my struggles here in China, because there are…well…a lot of Chinese people here and my lack of language skill means I see people in less than their full dimensions..and they I. But, anyway, back to Malaysia. We are at our resort, located in the center of a small bay on the island of Langkawi. I am following Yang and the kids down the path to the beach. Walking up the path is a blond eastern euro women who is not too young, not too pretty, and certainly not too shy about wearing a bikini top over her rather substantial assets. Walking directly behind me is a muslim man and his wife. The wife is wearing a black burqa – you know the head to toe, only the eyes showing (if that) outfit some muslim women wear. The man is in a pretty contemporary western style outfit. Even though the burqa is as black as night I’m pretty sure the muslim couple are on their honey moon because they are holding hands and have “that look”. At least from what I can see. I can only imagine what the woman in the burqa though when the blond woman walked past. I don’t need to imagine what the man was thinking. Have you ever wondered whether the united states has more churches or gas stations? I’m not sure what the point of question is, but I’m guessing gas stations are the clear winner. Well, in Langkawi mosques outnumber gas stations by, I would estimate, 10-1. And not for a lack of cars either, its just seemed that every mile or so there was another mosque but it could be an easy 10 miles before you came across a gas station. As we found out leaving the airport with an empty tank of gas and asking ourselves “hey, you think mosques sell gas?”. In addition to mosques there are prayer rooms in public places like airports and hotels. The prayer rooms are broken into men and women sections and it is very easy to mistake then for restrooms as the signs reads “men/women’s prayer room”. I’m not saying I walked into one thinking it was one, but I’m not saying I didn’t either. ...

He biked her to piano lessons from the time she was small until the time she wasn’t. He piano play inspired him and he forever held out hope that she would become a protégé. When he was young his mother used to play for him and he later learned she could have been a famous concert pianist but that she gave it up to start a family. To bear him. He tried to play but the gift did not stop at his generation, so he waited for the next. At first his daughter showed great promise or so said the piano teacher. With some hard work and years of effort, she too could be as gifted as her grandmother. The mother, for her part, was interested in the lessons as a way to improve her chances in getting into a top school and not for this silly dream. While it was true that the grandmother’s music talent did pass on to the granddaughter, the genuis did not. For genius requires more than skill; it requires passion and the ability to dream. For a while, it seemed the father’s dream and passion might be enough for both of them, but at last it was not. She got into a 2nd tier school and let her piano skill fade as she concentrated on her studies. The difficulty finding a job and a direction for her life after she graduated, only made manners worse. She married a man like herself – serious, kind, practical – which meant no piano in the house. When her father was entertaining guests on this cold winter day, she declined knowing she would let him down. He persisted. She played, hitting some tough notes, missing some transitions. She felt he let her down. He continued to asked her to play. Eventually, she had to stop. As she left for dinner, she wiped the tears away. Generations lost. ...