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Aidan says to me “we can eat at home more often” as Lydia reaches for her second hot dog and Elisa by some miracle digs into my version of 白菜. The July 4th dinner which we had on the 3rd is a success. We don’t really live where there are many American expats nor am I very close with Americans that would have a fourth of July BBQ. Back in my early days here I did attend a couple of independence day celebrations with other newish American expats. It felt weird to celebrate the fourth with expats since they are not known to be the most patriotic of folks (some of course are, especially the execs placed here with packages). For me, the fourth was mostly a day off in the states. I never felt super patriotic. At the same time, I don’t harbor any ill will. It’s just a day. But I do want the kids to understand and embrace that they are American so I keep up some traditions. ...

(a slightly sanitized version of a diary entry) Experience robs me of hope and then returns it anew. I am reminded by love that I am a two time loser. It makes me sad and angry and angry and sad when someone tells me I failed my first wife since I abandoned the marriage. And then her illness got worse and then she died. Died while I was on my honeymoon with wife number two who when the news broke told me “you deal with this”. ...

I wake up, alone, and in a light sweat. I debate getting up and turning the AC on so I can sleep another hour. I check my phone. 7am. I slept through the night for the second night in a row after three weeks of insomnia. I get up and wash out my eyes which are recovering from an infection. I feel my sore throat is coming back. If 70 is the new 50 then it’s really going to suck to turn 70. ...

I’m on the subway on my way home from work and my brain feels fuzzy. It’s been a hard week but not as hard as it feels. I check my wechat moments and see my ex is at the airport board in hand, ready for a weekend trip. On her other hand is a man which upon closer inspection looks to be her boyfriend. While I know she has a boyfriend, it’s been hard to tell from the pictures which one he is because she has her arms around so many. But this picture is different for the man has that boyish look of holding his woman. ...

Since I wrote Thought on Turning 50 I’ve had a few more thoughts which I guess is a good thing. At least the brain is still active. Some of my thoughts are direct results of experience. The experience of how my knees feel in the morning coming down the stairs. The experience of having a millennial co-worker see a picture of me from seven years ago and exclaim “wow, you were so young”. The experience of waking up on Sunday morning alone and spending the day alone. The experience of playing basketball the previous sunday with my 13 year old son. The experience of wondering if I should put sunblockt on the spot that has appeared on my head or if I should just avoid escalators. The experience of being the old guy at work. ...

When I grew up my schools had team sports which I participated in from the second grade through my senior year of high school. In Beijing, my kids, at least through grammar school have a “sports day” every Spring which I’ve for the past eight years. My typical attendance consisted of arriving at the school playground around 9am which is later than work so I tended to stay up a little longer the night before. During the sports day I would sip my coffee while waiting for one of the kids to do something. It could be an opening performance, a game of soccer, or a three legged race with a parent. It was a chance to nod at other parents that I may have or may not have nodded at other such events. It was a chance to see my kids around their classmates and how the acted with each other. ...

The moment of peace finally came Sunday night after dinner when I was listening to “Bears” and cleaning the kitchen. It certainly wasn’t there on Friday when I heard of Prince’s death. Not because I was all that huge of a Prince fan, it had just been one of those days following another one of those days. I went to the only spice authentic mexican restaurant in Beijing for dinner and had tacos even though it was a perfect night to sit on the street and have chuanr. After tacos we moved next door to a brew pub. This brewpub is notable for catering to mostly Chinese and while it was packed we were the only two foreigners there and by the time I got the Baby IPA a third joined the fray. I told my friend that Prince had died and he was shocked which surprised me a bit. We are of the same generation but he never struck me as a Prince kind of guy. He asked the waitress to play some Prince but she had never heard of him. I opened up a music app and showed her. Still no recognition. A few minutes later I was plugging my phone’s headphone jack into their sound system and Purple Rain filled the room. I left my phone there with the rest of his hits queued up and returned to the table. ...

Aidan dribbles and then takes a step back three. It clunks of the back rim and into my hands. He’s been telling me that he’s been shooting threes during his after school games but this is the first time I’ve seen it. He now has the strength to shoot them relatively easily using a push set shot which strangely makes me feel proud. He even makes a few doing our four games of 21. I of course beat him in every game but my aching knees the next two days tell me I won’t have this advantage for long. ...

Loss is a bitch. I am sitting across from my dad in Pacifica at one of his favorite coffee and bakery shops. It is one of his favorites because he can order a small coffee and they don’t charge him for refills and because the dutch crunch rolls are really good. And cheap. He slices open said roll and starts to jaggedly spread butter onto it with a plastic knife. He looks up. I comment that there are a lot of old timers in this place. He says “yea, always the same guys” and then he breaks into tears. He raises a hand to his lips. “I miss your mom so much”, he says. He apologies for his grief. I say there is no need to apologize, that I understand. Barely audible he says, “I know you do”. ...

I am running along the 2nd ring side road into a slight breeze. Compared to yesterday my legs are heavier and the air is heavier. I move one through the sloth and my brain joins me by going back in time. My distinct early grammar memories are few. Getting picked on mercilessly in kindergarten until the end of the year when one of the bullies was also transferring from public school to catholic school. Becoming engaged to a pretty girl in 2nd grade (later she would become a stunning adult and me a stumbling one). Skipping 3rd grade math because I did well on some kind of standardized test. And being sent to speech therapy. ...