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Occasionally and increasingly infrequently people thinking of moving to China ask me what they should expect. I tell them the absence of expectations is the best way not to have missed expectations. Birthday cakes in Beijing are generally awful..these light tasting, over sugared, over fruited imitations for the real thing. What I want instead…what I expect…is something that tastes like the cake my Mom used to make for me. So what I did was go to Jenny Lous and buy Betty Crocker chocolate cake mix and chocolate frosting and made it myself. I baked in on the morning of my bday so that it would be nice and cool for the frosting. When I got back from my bday lunch with Yang (fabulous) I found Yang’s mom and eaten a good 10% rectangular chunk from the rectangular cake. Well, plenty of frosting then. The cake came out a bit dry. Dry as in take all the water out of your throat dry and cause you not to pee for three days. At least Yang’s mom liked it, she took most of the leftovers home to share with her Majong friends. My birthday was on a Sunday, which I expected to have off work but this being China Sunday was switched to a working day in order to extend the New Years holiday by a day. The following weekend Aidan and I travelled to Harbin home of the best winter ice festival in China. I have wanted to go for the past few winters but haven’t because Yang was a bit disinterested. Ok, she flat out did not want to go. The reasoning was something like…It’s 20F degrees in Beijing and you want to go to some place below zero. Have a nice trip. Anyway, I decided to just go this year and then Aidan got wind of it and tagged along. We took the overnight train up and checked into the a four star hotel. If one has never been to a 2nd tier city four star hotel then one might expect it to actually be four stars. Well, the lobby was. The room itself would round down to a two. But ok. Foreigners get a lot of attention in 2nd tier cities but the ice festival draws more than the occasional foreigner so most of the attention we got were from hawkers trying to sell us hats, scarves, and face covers. It was cold, but not bitter, bitter cold and we managed to enjoy an dog sled ride and a inner tube slide. ...

The news came and his death wasn’t much of a surprise. It is easy today to worry about his family and those he left behind, because for sure their burden is great and when you right down to it only the survivors remain. Dead lasts forever. But it is the dead we write about tonight. Frankie was the black sheep of his family. Well, one of the two black sheep. The one who survived his younger brother’s submission to aids. Who survived what I surmise to be a hellish childhood. Who saw his younger sister become devout. ...

Yang got the call from Lydia’s teacher on Christmas Eve. She was yanking Lydia as the English MC. The English MC’s job entailed standing in front of the audience and saying “Good afternoon ladies! I am from the middle class. Happy Holidays and lets get on with the show!” It seemed Lydia had no inclination to learn these lines. She can sometimes get a little nervous when told to do something but is quite fine when allowed to find her own way. A bit like her father. And most grownups. So instead she performed in a couple of dance routines and I must say she was the best dancer. I must say. Actually, she was pretty good. Especially compared to the MC who replaced her. See for yourself..Lydia is leading the charge on stage proud of her new hairstyle (she rejected the first three). ...

I asked her what the hardest thing she’s ever had to do. She tossed her hair back, batted an eye or two, and said “nothing that hard”. It was our second date and we were still very much in that learning phase. Probing. Telling our stories. Open to every past sin or past accomplishment. It was all ok. Set fire to a rectory when you were twelve? Sure, understandable. Nuns and 12 year old boys did form two ends of the triangle. Slept with your ex’s best friend because…well..you both just really wanted to try it? Sure, understandable. Who hasn’t been there. ...

Yang and I are in a mall in the Zhongguancun (中关村) neighborhood of Beijing. It’s where Yang grew up back when it was considered the boonies. Aidan calls and wants to make sure Santa knows what toy he wants. We get home after some less than successful shopping — my basic approach is to reject everything until i am so tired of shopping that i make the worst possible choice – and Aidan asks about his toy. Diligent, that one. Yang tells him she told Santa and Santa knows exactly what he wants. Then Aidan makes a connection better not made. He asks Yang if she knows the English name of the toy. No. Then how could Santa know since Santa only speaks English. Yang tells me at which point I tell Aidan that of course Santa speaks Chinese. ...

It is cold outside so we are cooped up inside without much to do. Aidan and Lydia have roller blades on and I am not sure whether I am more worried for their safety or our floor’s safety. Or maybe simply the safety of our toes since we don’t where shoes inside the house and Aidan and Lydia are not skating in a very assured way. I am on the computer playing with some new photo software when I notice a picture of Lydia taken at about the same age as Elisa is now. I show it to Lydia and ask who is it. She says “Elisa”. I say “No, Lydia”. Lydia holds her ground. It is definitely Elisa. You judge for yourself. ...

I’m home after a short trip to the states and feeling pretty jet lagged. Ready to collapse. In the middle of this fog my son stands in the middle of the living room and performs a Peking opera song. I am a bit perplexed. I figure I am hallucinating or this is what he learned at school. I wonder how much of his school time is was dedicated to it. I think the hallucination might be the better root cause. Then I smile, thinking it is better than the song he learned before I went off to the states. The song that ended with “down with the american imperialists” or some such thing. Peking Opera is this super high pitched singing which allowed the songs to travel down the small alley ways of Beijing. Two nights later Aidan performs more Peking Opera this time sans singing. Not a huge loss on that front. ...

In order to keep my sanity I must go insane from time to time. Take tonight for instance. I got back to my hotel late after a hyper organized day. I immediately started becoming complexly unorganized. Clothes on the floor. One sock thrown on the desk, the other left on a door handle. My briefcase tipped over, the contents spilled. My cell phone lying open, battery exposed. I got completely undressed and then put on my sweats, sans underwear. I put a tee shirt, some big stupid nirvana thing, that singer who needed to be sane in order to be insane until he just…wasn’t. ...

I walked through the HK airport thinking I’ve seen all of HK and I’ve seen nothing at all. As I near the gate, I see a final chance to buy a toy for the four year old who is awaiting my arrival. I walk on past, thinking I have already done enough. Thinking that the rest, as they say, is history. Thinking that I’m glad her tastes are not yet expensive. ...

We are driving north towards what I call the “mega spa”. I refer to it as the “mega spa” because I don’t know its actual name. Not in English or Chinese. It is slightly north of the 6th ring road and will take us about 30 minutes to drive there. Our new GPS is telling us that I need to take the off ramp 4K ahead. Then 2K. Then now. It is remarkably precise…or so it seems…being it talks in Chinese I can’t actually tell. Yang bought me the GPS for fathers day but since all the instructions were in Chinese it sat around on a counter until Yang had time to set it up. Yang has had other things on her mind and in her womb recently. ...