Author: linda

Isn’t it funny how the new year beckons us to reform ourselves, as if the promise of new beginnings will cause us to turn over a new leaf. My 5 year old annual resolution-to lose those darn 5-10 pounds, now becoming a fixture on my body. I am not alone, it seems, seeing as how crowded the gym has been this week. I hear that 24hr fitness wrote high numbers of memberships, so much so that people are becoming aggressive over the limited number of mats, weights and balls. 5 pounds is substantial. After all, dragging around a 5 pound bag of sugar all day is no small feat. Climbing M. Peak dragging 2 bags of sugar could be quite exhausting! I picture myself, 10 pounds lighter, floating through my day.

Problem is that I have sabotaged my own weight loss. Had I never exercised, I could easily lose 5 pounds by going to the gym or jogging a few times a week. I have created my own demise by exercising 6 days a week. No weight loss will occur unless I run faster, spend more time exercising, or adding more weights. This like many other things, has only a negative future outcome because the more I do, the more I will have to do next year. By the time I am 80, I will have to spend a good part of my day working out-how is that motivating?

I have discovered lately, that running with Heidi creates drag-18 pounds to be exact. This seems to be the reason why I have a hard time doing a full 3 miles with her behind me. In theory, if I pull her along from now on at a rapid pace, the extra resistance should expend more calories. If I tie her leash to my waist, swing dumbells in my hands, and drag her at a fast pace, I can reap the benefit of increased weight, greater resistance and increased speed all at the same time! This could be quite an efficient work out.

Baking cookies is my greatest passion and this is the time of year when I can unleash my urges and set myself free. I can bake without guilt and in the spirit of holiday sharing, can give dozens away to appreciative souls. The process begins by perusing dozens of cookie magazines and my big binder of recipes accumulated over 30 years from friends, parties, newspapers etc. The pictures are beautiful and mouth watering. I select many old favorites-the pinwheels, crescents, date balls, and pick new additions to try. Armed with my shopping list, I stock up on flour, sugar, dates, decorative sprinkles etc. My exitement builds as I find mixing bowls, cookie cutters and the cookie press. The mixer and food processor will get a workout this week. Like an addict, night after night, I mix and grind and turn out batches of sugary creations. Some are sliced, some dropped and some molded. Most difficult are the pinwheels which have to be carefully cut and folded over. Soon the kitchen ressembles a cookie factory with sheets of warm, soft, and aromatic cookies. Piles of cooled cookies stand on screens, and the counter is full with plastic tubs of finished cookies. At the end of this madness, I have baked 3-4 dozens each of 8-10 varieties. Arranged in paper cupcake holders in a cookie tin or Christmas plate, they spread holiday cheer. Joy is seeing others bite into and enjoying my cookie creations. Until next year… Meanwhile I dream of a time when cookies will be my career.

The recent attention to the concept of social networks, especially in the entertainment industry is quite fascinating. I attended a panel discussion last week that focused on this topic as it relates to the future of digital media. Every day, the newspaper reports on yet another social networking site. Are people so hard up for friends that they are turning to the virtual world to find them? Or is face to face interaction so difficult that people prefer to remain pseudo-anonymous? Perhaps it is the attraction of revealing only what you choose to reveal, or not being obligated to reciprocate in a real friendship. I can’t imagine that the actual meeting up process on a computer screen more fun than a bar, club, party, hike….?

Lately I have been intrigued by the fact that dog walking creates quite a large social network for people. I have gotten to know the 9am walkers, especially the dog walkers. We have shared home remodellers, hair dressers, vets, child rearing challenges, aging parents, travel stories and cooking tips in our brief morning encounters as our dogs circle each other and we constantly untangle leashes. These are people with whom I have shared the beginning of every day. This morning, Heidi was still in bed with Jen, and I went for a run by myself, down the street which has been my usual route for the past 16 years. A lady stopped her car, rolled down her window, and with a very concerned look, asked, “Nothing has happended to your dog, has it?” I had never met her before, yet to her, I was as familiar to her as the oak tree that sits on the side of the road.
Out of context, without dogs in hand, in stores and social events, we often don’t recognize each other! A few years ago, I attended the memorial service of a neighbor. All the attendees were neighborhood dog walkers who had gotten to know her husband well.

Similarly, the majority of my closest friends are those that I have kindled a relationship with, as we raised our children together. These friendships seem to be particularly strong even as our children are grown and out of the house.
Somehow, we created lasting bonds selling 25cent brownies, manning Halloween booths, and shelving library books.
Come to think of it, just about every friend and acquaintance was made through kids or dogs. Perhaps when one has neither, it is difficult to form a friendship, and that is where the online social network plays a role. It will be interesting to see how the world of social relationships changes in this new environment.

There is something very humbling about being in a room with 120 nonprofit leaders of organizations in the Peninsula, who spend their days working to make a difference in poverty, hunger, at-risk youth, domestic abuse, disabilities, education …. Today, the Sobrato Foundation celebrated 10 years of grantmaking totaling over $30 Million in support to local agencies. In attendance were grant recipients of 2006. One only needs to be present at one of these events to realize all the good that is being done in our community. At the conclusion of the event, each organization was asked to pull a balloon down from the ceiling. On the count of 3, we popped them in unison. Surprise-inside each balloon was a slip of paper-this was the Sobrato Foundation’s gift to us and they consisted of $1,000, $5,000, $10,000, $20,000 and one $50,000 gifts. Ours was $1,000. All together, today, they gave away $250,000 to local charities. The building we were in, had been renovated to provide free office space to 28 nonprofits, and a beautiful conference facility to be used by local organizations.

I have always had tremendous respect for David Packard and Bill Gates, who are prime examples of how philanthropy can change the world, our environment and the neighborhoods we live in. As my children were growing up, I realized that the Packard Foundation had impacted just about every aspect of their lives-the trails we walked, the symphony they played in, the art classes they took, the schools they went to…

Bill Gates has always been my hero. He has been an example of working at something he was passionate about, being proud of the kind of person he was, and creating a business that has changed everyone’s life. Furthermore, he made nerdiness something to be respected. The Gates Foundation has worked to create educational reform nationwide, to fight AIDS globally, and to make systemic change in poverty by investing in drought tolerant crops for places like Africa and India. Their effort, with Warren Buffet’s funding, to effect global change are commendable.

I also find it extremely encouraging to see how philanthropists in Silicon Valley have made a concerted effort to raise their children with a tradition of giving. These mothers have taken the time to train them to continue the family’s charitable endeavors- the Groves, Sobratos, Packards, to name just a few. Their offspring are gracious and unpretentious, genuine in their dedication to making the community a better place.

So much of what we see on the news and in the paper is negative- focusing on crime and war, and bad politics. I suppose that is why I find our work so rewarding. For a few hours a day, we can escape to where we can see that there is lots of good people, doing lots of good in the world.

For several years now, I have heard my kids plotting and planning and asking eachother on Friday and Saturday nights, “Do you want to climb M. Peak tomorrow?” What was this peak that could get them out of bed at 5am when I couldn’t even do so with the aroma of frying bacon and waffles? What was the allure that would draw them to this place over and over again? Many times I was asked, and over and over again, I declined. After all, my getting up at 5am occurs once in maybe 2 years and I can recall those times pretty clearly in my mind -picking Robert up from Boy Scout camp, taking Jen to the airport to face the long security lines, etc. It certainly was not something I was about to make a habit of doing.

This year, my curiosity was peaked, and I began to consider the possibility of maybe joining them. “Winter-time”, I told them. “When the sunrise is late in the morning.” Friday after Thanksgiving, Jen began the usual question, “Do you want to climb M.Peak this weekend?” I had a few days to digest the thought. Having eaten so much in the past few days, I was feeling a bit guilty, and well, it is pretty much as close to the shortest days as we will get before the weather turns rainy and cold. It was basically this time or probably never. Departure time was set for 5:15am on sunday. My anxiety about waking up in time aroused me at 4am, when looking up, I saw the lighted wall switch-a dim pinkish halo and immediately thought it was Jen with a flashlight trying to wake me up. I sat up and mumbled something quite incoherent, to which Ray responded with, “What are you doing?” OOps! I went back to sleep and woke to the alarm at 5. The adrenaline flowing, I quickly became alert, and was ready to leave long before the designated 5:15. I loaded the backseat with a variety of jackets and stuck a banana in my backpack.

The city was dark, quiet and peaceful. As I mentioned, I am never up at this time, and so was intrigued by lights on inside a few shops – the beginning of a new day. We arrived at the trailhead to darkness and silence. I had my headlamp and strapped it on. We began to hike, a steady uphill climb that never flattened out. Turning around, I was caught breathless by the sight of twinkling lights from the city below and I found myself drawn to this sight, looking back on every bend in the trail. Large dark lumps on the sides of the trail turned out to be sleeping cattle. The trail continued uphill for about an hour and a half, 2.8 miles and an elevation climb of 2200 feet. We were warm from climbing and really did not need any jacket at all. The sky was crystal clear and the air crisp and energizing. “We’re almost there”, announced Jen. “The last part is the hardest of all.” I was beginning to wonder why I was there and why on earth Jen and Julia find this climb so enticing. I was also beginning to relate to why Robert declines to go. The last segment looked fairly manageable, a short section which appeared to be a 60 degree grade; I began to climb. To my surprise, as we reached the top, another section appeared, and then another. Steep and rocky, it was very much a challenge. We had been climbing about an hour and a half by now. I plowed onward; I could see the protruding signpost now, and I was determined to make it up there before sunrise. One last burst of energy and we were there.

The first rays of sun were just beginning to shine through, casting a long beam of light on the backside of the mountain, and reflecting on one of the gently rolling hills. The backside of the mountain revealed rows and rows of rounded peaks, light green from the recent rains. The front side of the mountain cascaded down to the city below, and the swirling brown patterns of the baylands. The early morning light reflected off the water in the bay creating a magnificent sight. It was not long before many rays of sunshine burst down upon the distant peaks. The clear skies created a glowing effect to which Jen gasped, “Its like a religious experience!” Brighter and brighter the sun emerged, casting ribbons of light on the hillside. it was a beautiful sight, and I knew then that this would not be my only climb up this mountain. “It is never the same up here,” said Jen. She described mornings where they sat above the cloud cover, with the rising sun shining down on the puffy layers. Other mornings, it is foggy and damp, and you don’t see much. For me, it was a magnificent start to the day.

The wind began to pick up and gradually, dark clouds rolled in from the ocean. We began to hike down, watching the city come to life. For those just rising, it would be a cloudy gloomy day; for us, it had begun with a glorious sunrise. We ended the morning with a hearty breakfast of french toast, omelets and hot coffee. I was on an all day high, feeling completely energized-pleased with myself for having made it up, and happy to have had Jen’s company. I am ready to make this a regular affair!

Under a bright moonlit sky, we watched Mick Jagger shimmy and shake his skinny body to some pretty classy guitar playing by Keith Richards and Ronnie Wood, and thunderous drumming by Charlie Watts. It was an audio feast, a visual display of extraordinary artistry, and an extravaganza of special effects that shook the ground and heated the air. What a spectacular show! It was my first real rock concert-yes, I led a bit of a sheltered teenage life! The Rolling Stones certainly didn’t come to Champaign Urbana.

We arrived at the Oakland Coliseum early to avoid traffic, with great plans to eat our Quizno sandwiches in our seats. Well, to our surprise, no food or drinks are allowed inside. We ended up wolfing down our sandwiches on the sidewalk and tossing our homemade popcorn. Entering the coliseum made me gasp as I could see the enormous 9 story backdrop, a towering structure of steel and lights with center screen. Our field seats were on the 50 yard line and it was not hard to imagine the thrill of being a quarterback surrounded by a stadium full of cheering fans. Slowly the stadium seats filled, but it was not until the opening band, Van Morrison, finished their act that saw 40,000 in their seats. I have never seen so many gray haired, ponytailed, and bearded old men. Tie Dyed t-shirts and leather Stones jackets seemed to be the uniform of the day. Behind us, a neatly dressed, professional looking 50’s something couple was hunched over, rolling joints, and giggling, passed them among themselves. Aren’t you a bit too old to be doing this? Are you trying to relive your adolescence, I wondered.

Suddenly, the bright stadium lights were extinguished and 9 stories of colored lights lit the stage revealing the Rolling Stones in their full glory. The huge center screen magnified the lengendary band and song after song, they played to a wildly dancing and singing crowd. Midway through the show, the center of the stage, with the entire drum set and band, rose up and smoothly rolled down the catwalk toward the bleacher section, providing fans with a rare close up view. The screen opened up to reveal an enormous inflatable mouth and tongue. On stage fans, standing on the second and third levels of the stage structure were part of the scene as flames , then fireworks, and lastly long streamers flew out the top.

The audience was captivated from beginning to end. Such energy, such excitement!

In an over zealous attempt to get into shape, Ray hurt his shoulder at the gym a few months ago. A friend refers to his problem as a disease called “old” but nevertheless it has created quite an inconvenience, rendering him unable to do most common household tasks. Now I have for a long time been convinced that this “injury” is a result of carrying an incredibly heavy briefcase containing laptop, books and his most worldly possessions. This briefcase is never left behind and has been more places than the average American citizen. It has seen the heights of Tibet and the rivers of New Zealand-planes, trains, automobiles, and boats. I think this shoulder is just plain tired! Wouldn’t you be?

While in China, Ma was at the local pharmacy searching for a Ben Gay type plaster for Pa’s foot. She came back to the hotel, bursting with excitement, as she had in her hand the solution to Ray’s aches and pains. Even better was the fact that the Chinese pharmacist had personally demonstrated how to massage this magic ointment deep into the crevices of your joints.
It was now my job to learn this special massage technique so that I could perform this dutiful job on my poor husband.

This procedure was demonstrated to me following a family dinner gathering. My brother, his wife, my nieces and nephew, as well as my kids all watched with great interest. I opened the box-it smelled like a mixture of Vic’s Vapo Rub and reminded me of elderly Chinese women. The direction said, “Musk Relieving Pain Liniment”. I tried to remember what a musk looks like-a bit like a yak, I think. Now I don’t take anything without knowing the ingredients, so I read on,
artificial musk-now that is a relief that we aren’t endangering real musk’s lives,
camphor, safflower-seems innocuous enough
pubescent angelica root, Dragon’s Blood!! (hoots from the kids) -ah, Google says, ” these are herbs that relieves pain”, safe enough.
Borneol-a type of camphor
Glutinous Rehmannia – “has the action of tonifing and replenishing the Liver and the Kidneys. Many famous recipes against illness for longevity. The prepared rhizome of rehmannia can be cured with honey in the form of the honey bolus for treatment. If you took it continuously for one hundred days, you would have a beautiful face just like a peach flower in blossom and you never got old at least within three years.” Oh my!

Directions; spray and message for 5-10 min. to make the sore feverish!

Now Ma has been quite disappointed that Ray has resisted using this ointment consistently. It is considered a ready cure for sprains by Chinese. When I was growing up. I remember now being advised to wear patches after spraining my ankle in college, walking into class and thinking if I ignored the odor of camphor, maybe others would think it was coming from someone else. My parents believed in it so much, my Dad once sent a package to the UI basketball team when hearing that their star player had injured his ankle. The odor is so pungent that on our recent flight back from China, the flight attendant turned her nose up and questioned to the planeload of Chinese, “Who is wearing camphor?”

Tonight, this pungent aroma will clear my sinuses as it works its magic into my dear husband’s joints. Tomorrow, his disease of aging will disappear, his face will be like a peach flower in blossom, and he will have defied the process of aging.

Alas, the neighborhood is going downhill. A burglary occurred on our street last Friday. In the short time that the owner was out for lunch, someone broke in and stole jewelry and a 400 pound safe. Incidents like this make us uneasy and it is definitely time to train our dog to guard this place. I don’t think it will be a difficult process, actually, as she has the first step pretty well accomplished. When I say, “Heidi, be a watchdog”, she puts her head up, looks very attentive, and gives a very mean growl.
As you can see, we’re working on the surveillance part at present. I think it is definitely coming along quite well. It surely won’t be long before we can rest assured that all of us are well protected!

Fall is in the air, the trees are showing their full color, and golden leaves flutter gently to the ground. The sidewalk ressembles a crayon leaf rubbing, with outlines of brown stamped on the gray surface. As the temperatures drop, my thoughts turn to memories of apple picking in the orchards of Chicago. The kids sitting high on Ray’s shoulders, grabbing for the dangling bright red apples, and biting into the shiny fruit, sweet juice running down their cheeks. We picked bushels and bushels, coming home to bake a counterful of apple pies.

Sunday was apple pie day. Safeway apples replaced fresh picked ones, but the aroma of baking pie, and the sizzling sound of bubbling juices running onto the hot oven surface tantalize my senses. 40 apples later, 6 pies of all sizes stood proudly on the counter. We always try hard to resist cutting into a warm pie, knowing that the juices will run out and form a huge messy puddle, but resistance is futile, and as usual, we end up devouring half a pie in one sitting. Today, I picked a beautiful crusted one to take to Ma and Pa. Gently placing it on the floor of the front seat, I drove over there. At one intersection, I made my way through the green light when suddenly a police car on the side street to my right starts up his siren and he races through 3 lanes to make a right turn in front of me. I brake…….Heidi, on the front seat, falls to the floor, clearly startled, plopped right on top of my pie. Protected only by a zip lock bag, my lovely pie sports a huge middle crater and mashed apples. Beautiful no longer, but hopefully still delicious.

We ate together tonight, all 12 of us, and it came to me how most of our gatherings take place over food. Is it a Chinese thing? It occurred to me that eating and being together has been a part of my childhood, Ray’s childhood, and our family for longer than I had realized. Long time no see-let’s meet for dinner. Come over for dinner. Great grades-let’s go out and celebrate. Back from school-I’m making your favorite foods. We’ll come to campus and take you out to eat. Not doing much-let’s go out and try a new Chinese restaurant. Can you believe some of our fondest vacation memories are about food? Those Belgian waffles, that wonderful Italian restaurant in Florence, the mussels in England, the Peking duck in China, the lamb chops in New Zealand….

Harder and harder to get everyone’s schedule to match anymore, being together at one big table is such a treasure. We’re getting tight for a Chinese table of 10, getting cozier I think and still growing. I look at Ma and Pa and wonder what they must think, the 2 of them grown to 12! It gives me warm fuzzies to see all the kids enjoying eachother’s company-it’s a dream come true -to have each of them connected by the thread that makes us all family. I look around the table and count my blessings-these special times-isn’t this what life is all about?

Remember the quarter of a chocolate cookie, wrapped gently in the pretty orange and black napkin, and carried tenderly home for Mommy by your 6 year old child after a Halloween party? How about the little paper cup filled with goldfish, raisins and candy saved all day and brought to you by chubby little hands with a kiss? For some strange reason, carried home with love, they tasted better than any creation by a French pastry chef, didn’t they?

Well, wonderful treats from Google have been coming home lately, innocent little scrumptious surprises in unmarked, plain, white carryout containers. Opened up, they reveal luscious packages of chocolate creations that begged to be sampled, nibble by nibble, until lo and behold, all that’s left are a few crumbs. With good intentions to save half for Ray, but not stopping, I realize I have eaten every morsel. Oh, no matter, he is watching his weight anyway, and would have just complained about the extra calories. What must it be like to have original baked creations being prepared for your consumption each day, waiting to be taken. How does one stay in the office knowing something delicious is baking in the oven? How does one stay under 200 pounds? Probably a good thing I work for a nonprofit!

The toilet paper baffle has been successfully developed. One rainy night last week, with ideas spinning in my head, I spent a good part of an hour with a package of Charmin Big Rolls in my cart, walking the aisles, searching for the perfect container. Having been taught not to waste food, I was determined to find a clear plastic jar that held something we would actually consume in a reasonable amount of time. Cranberry juice came to mine-what do you know-they’ve changed the round jugs to indented handles-won’t work. White vinegar-a bit too big. Folgers coffee-too small. Down to next to best-skippy’s peanut butter in a 64 oz can. I don’t really like Skippy’s and don’t eat that much peanut butter, but I could make a bunch of peanut butter cookies, maybe even take them in to work. 8 cups worth-might take awhile but better than a can of hot chocolate mix, which would take a decade to finish. I put it in my basket and took one last look around. Oh my, the perfect jar-Safeway cashew nuts-Ray eats those! Almost giddy, I quickly put the peanut butter back, a bit relieved to get rid of that. I took it home and ready with hacksaw and utility knife, cut the ends off. Oh my gosh, a perfect fit-the toilet paper roll fit perfectly, hahahaha! Installed on the toilet paper holder, it works! Baffles the dog!!

Those that have known us, are well aware of Heidi, our little bichon’s, fetish with toilet paper and kleenex. In talking with the owners of one of her “cousins”, it appears that one unique but not quite savory character flaw got overlooked and was inadvertently bred into this line, which in all other ways seems to have resulted in the perfect dog. What previously was exhibited as an occasional stealing of kleenex from trash cans has turned into viscious attacks on Charmin, and massive theft of mouthfuls of Puffs from kleenex boxes. Yesterday, I found a roll gouged and ripped, such that when unravelled looked like wispy sheets of lace. Partially our fault, I suppose, as we are too lazy to put the rolls onto the spools and generally leave them sitting temptingly out on top, making it relatively easy for crooks to escape with stolen goods. On the other hand though, when we do manage to properly hang the roll, we will hear the gentle rumblings of the spool going round and round in the bathroom, arousing us to action. On other days, we will find a very visible continuous strip of toilet paper coming out of the bathroom, down the hall and ending up under the dining room table, where said crook believes it is safe to indulge.

I often wonder what goes on inside that small head of hers. What prompts her to suddenly get up from her curled laziness on the soft armchair? Does she all of a sudden think, “I believe I need a little something?” or “It’s time for a little excitement.” “Hmm, haven’t had any charmin yet today.” And what makes her decide which of the 3 bathrooms she should attack today?

In my hours of jetlagged insomnia last night, my mind ran over many great ideas to thwart this crook. Today, I will wander the aisles of Safeway and look for the perfect sized plastic jar in which to insert my roll of toilet paper. Hanging it on the spool, the toilet paper will come out of a small hole, just large enough for slippage of paper, but too small for a bichon’s nose to fit through. Once again, mom will have foiled the dog!

This trip was the first time that I really became aware that my parents are aging. At 85 and 80, they are in excellent shape both physically and mentally, but the signs of slowing down were more evident in Pa, and there were definite limitations in the amount of physical activity he could endure. It is a bit sad to sit next to him and wonder how much long he will be a part of our lives. I also gained insight into the value of companionship as one ages, and we don’t really realize early in our marriages, how much those accumulated memories and shared experiences blend to make us a cohesive unit after 50 years of marriage-those personality quirks and annoying habits become things we adore about eachother and can laugh about. I am beginning to see how a life long companion is like one’s right arm; how difficult it must be to lose that companion. It’s funny how one’s priorities change as we age. For Ma, seeing the sights in Yangzhou was of no real importance compared to staying back and watching over Pa. I am inspired by their ability to stay upbeat and to maintain a sense of humor despite being thousands of miles from home and not being able to take full advantage of travelling. To enjoy life, despite setbacks, and to make the most of things-I used to see this often in my elderly stroke patients, who adapted to their conditions much better than those who were younger. I have often wondered why this is true- is the previous generation better able to cope, because their lives have gone through the trials and tribulations of war, the Great Depression, immigration etc. , or if it is just that you gain perspective in accepting what life deals you and you make the best of it as you get older.

I suppose the conclusion I have drawn from all of this, is that I shouldn’t take for granted that my parents will always be in the condition they are now, and that I need to spend quality time with them and learn about their lives while they are here. In other words, live to have no regrets.

I know now that I should have heeded my coworkers advice and watched out for those nasty bugs in the air. About 6 hours into our 9 hour flight, I developed a sore throat and it was downhill from that point. Partway through the flight, the flight attendant came on the intercom and announced, “We are going to cool off the cabin.” “Yikes!” A huge gush of air began to circulate and in my head I could see millions of germy bugs being blown all around the plane. What to do?? Dodge, hold my breath— there was no hope now! Nasty bugs knocked me down for a week. Next time I will be more careful and remember to bring my bug repellent!

I think we are all getting a bit punchy and silly. Tom is quite funny in making random generalizations about China. A truckload of pigs being transported to Shanghai on the highway prompted this comment, “Pigs in China are much bigger than the US.” This led to a deep discussion between Ma and Tom about whether they were big pigs or medium sized pigs, and what size the pigs really are in the US, and whether this comment he made was true! Our laughing has brought stares from the locals. At breakfast this morning, we had a good laugh over husbands and wives, who really is boss, and pretty funny pet peeves.

I think we are all ready to leave China-we’ve had our fill of food, gotten enough bargains, and are
looking forward to go back to quiet streets and wide open spaces. I am treasuring the time we have spent with good friends and realizing that it is hard to find good friends where you can say just about anything to eachother, can sit and laugh about virtually nothing, and have common interests and tastes that you can spend days and weeks together. I will be sorry to say good bye.

You know you have stayed in too many hotels when you get off on the wrong floor and try to open someone else’s door, then are angry because it won’t open.

The four of us had a wild and crazy evening dancing and singing karaoke for 3 hours in our own private little room and stopping only when we had exhausted all the English songs we could recognize. It was a spur of the moment, “let’s check it out” action that took us down the hall of a nondescript entry, up to the fifth floor of a Chinese KTV (karaoke) place with probably 50 little rooms. I think we blasted them out with our American singing as we kept seeing the Chinese guard looking in the window of our door. Obviously Chinese parents do not frequent karaoke places, or at least not this one, as all the other customers were in their 20’s.

This was a perfect ending to a day that started in Yangzhou and ended in Shanghai.
The breakfast buffet at the HG Metropole Hotel offered a delicious blend of Chinese and Western selections, the pastries especially were the best. Leaving Yangzhou, we headed on the highway toward Shanghai, but detouring through Suzhou. Known as the “Venice of Asia”, its canals wind through the city with homes along its edges. We were surprised at how much this city has changed since we last visited 10 years ago. Gone are the quaint old houses along the canals, replaced by new multistory apartments. Huge clusters of high rise apartments house thousands of factory workers in community like settings. Many such clusters can be found both within and on the outskirts of Suzhou. So much growth and change in such a short period of time made it completely unrecognizable to us. Where are the narrowing winding alleys and traditional courtyard homes? Where is the old Suzhou city with its unique character and flavor? Erased forever, they exist only in our memories and in the videos and photographs that we had taken.

It was a cloudy and cool day in Yangzhou, comfortable for walking but not so ideal for photography.
We started with a breakfast of pork and vegetable buns, at a local place, virtually impossible to find unless you are a local! We wandered the alleys for quite a while looking for this restaurant, walking past tiny family run stalls selling basic household items and knicknacks such as little tweezers for removing hair from pig skin, little scissors for cutting nose hairs, backscratchers, etc. Surprisingly, it turned out to be fairly large, hidden in the middle of several tiny alleys. After lunch, we walked the side street which was packed with bicycles and rickshaws-no cars allowed. The street was lined with stores selling sweaters, jackets, and embroidered blue jeans, which we bargained for at $5 US each. This country has an abundance of clothing stores, all selling the same inventory. Is all this an oversupply from manufacturing? Salesgirls are willing to sell for 25% of their marked and stated prices-how can their costs be so low?? Are they making these jeans for $1 a pair? If so, Americans are totally getting ripped off!! I am amazed that the mark up in the US could be so high, there must be too many middlemen, or the overhead in US stores must be way too high!!

The gardens of Yangzhou are beautiful and we had a wonderful few hours walking among willows, pavilions, ponds and rock gardens. It was a photographer’s paradise! We also managed to attract a bit of attention from several giggling schoolgirls who were curious about Ray and Tom’s heritage. They were puzzled by these gray haired Chinese men who spoke no Chinese. First, no men have gray hair in China and secondly, it was odd that Chinese wouldn’t speak Chinese. We have seen only a handful of Caucasians in Yangzhou; obviously it is not on the tour group path.

The 4 Yangzhou specialties of pigs head, bean curd threads, meatballs and fried rice appear to be the main selections in every restaurant, with not much else offered. We ended up at the same restaurant as last night but seemed to have a bit of a problem communicating with the young boys waiting on us and it took a bit of effort to get a fork for Tom, to elicit some coherent descriptions of their dishes, and to find something other than soup! We were a bit saturated with bean curd threads! My suggestion for Yangzhou is to develop a few other local specialities before the Olympics in 2008.

If anyone should ask, Yangzhou has 4 famous dishes – Yangzhou fried rice, lions head meatballs, stewed pig’s head and bean curd threads. We tried all but the pig’s head, twice in one day. It appears that these are just about all the dishes that most people go to Yangzhou for, and there is not much else on the menus. The meatballs are a combination of pork and crab meat, tender beyond belief and served in a clear soup broth. Bean curd threads are dried bean curd cut into threads that look like thin noodles, also cooked in a chicken broth. They are soft, very flavorful and I imagine, quite healthy!

We took a 2 hour walk through Yangzhou’s famous long lake, lined with billowy willow trees and rock gardens. Unfortunately, Pa’s foot was swollen from walking too much in shoes that didn’t fit too well. He had spent the last few days in the hotel room, but today, we were delighted to find that the park had a wheelchair available for loan. So pushing him on the paths, we discovered that China is making strides to be friendly to seniors. I can’t say that the paths are accessible, but it is a start. Yangzhou is a lovely city with a tourist-like flavor to it. The lack of manufacturing that is so common in most chinese cities, makes it a very clean and peaceful place to spend a few days. There are more bikes and mopeds than cars here and we had fun pointing out entire families, parents with babies strapped to their front, young couples and friends, all riding on single mopeds. There is not much that can’t be carried or transported by bicycle-men pushing carts of lumber 10 feet long in front of their bicycles, sacks of rice on the back of the bike seat etc.
It is a colorful sight that I will be sorry to see change. Yangzhou’s 5 year plan includes a thoroughly modern city with high rises and automobiles. China today will definitely not be the China of tomorrow.

A new adventure into the world of fabrics and custom made clothing. This journey started as a discussion with Jen a year ago about the cost of ballroom dance attire. It had occurred to me that it was probably possible to have a dress made at a very reasonable price. Armed with the name of a tailor recommended by a friend, Tom, May, and I went in search of her shop. We ended up in the “tailor” district, streets of small storefronts with mannequins of jackets, cheongsams, wedding gowns and suits. Not realizing that this women had moved from her previous location, her apartment, we found ourselves in a somewhat seedy looking hallway peering through the metal grating of her door. We were directed back out to the street. She studied Jen’s Nordstrom printout quite carefully, quoted me a price of $37 in labor and sent me out to the fabric mart. This turned out to be a 6 story building with stall after stall, bolts of every imaginable fabric. Bargaining at 25% of quoted price, Tom, May and I had a blast matching combinations of fabrics for this dress design. Cost of fabric $10 for 6 total yards of silk and crepe, one of which was a beautiful blue sequined lacy blue fabric. Back to the tailor, who approved of our purchases. We are excitedly awaiting the results of this production-dress will be ready for pick-up on sunday afternoon. Stay tuned…..

We wandered onto the Bund at night-the lights of the foreign concession always beautiful. Later walking along Nanjing Road, we chuckled at the street vendors with their wares spread on the ground. All of a sudden, in about 3 seconds flat, everyone picked up their goods and walked off. Sure enough, the cause of all this action-a policman on a moped coming slowly up the road. In about 5 min. all the goods were back on the ground! This charade was repeated numerous times within the next half hour. No one was arrested, no one got fined, no one made any noise or got yelled at. Over and over again throughout the evening, police rode by, vendors casually went for a short stroll and pedestrians seem to take this all in stride.

The rate that Shanghai has joined the fashion world is amazing to me. The department stores in China look like the inside of Macy’s but each section (Elle, Givenchy,etc.) rents space and operates as separate businesses. 3 years ago I would wander the department stores and find wonderful prices on Chinese brand labels-jackets, pants, blouses and cashmere sweaters. 2 years ago, there was an even mix of high end expensive American and Europen labels, with reasonably priced chinese labels. Last year, I found my favorite shopping spots disappearing and the prices of clothing higher than the US. In May of this year, I only bought inexpensive and wonderfully cut slacks. This week, all are gone, replaced by high end labels at incredibly high prices. The fashion scene resembles that of Europe and has far surpassed that of the US. What I find very puzzling though is, “Who is wearing and buying these clothes?” I rarely see anyone purchasing in these stores, and the city appears to be Madison Avenue times 100! My one “fashion girl” sighting was a young lady in boots, skirt and lovely layered top, talking on a cell phone, long hair blowing behind her, and riding a moped! She looked like a Barbie doll among the masses of people on bicycles, and men pushing carts of chickens and lumber.

Our night on the town found us in the newly developed Xintiandi, a yuppy outdoor pedestrian area with modern nightclubs, European-like sidewalk cafes and restaurants, shops and condominiums.
Quite unlike the hustle and bustle of the traffic and noise on the streets surrounding it, it is frequented by tourists, expats and the nouveau riche of Shanghai.

Shenyang is located north of Beijing and in the area that people refer to it as “dongbei or northeast”. Northeasterners have a reputation for being honest and down to earth. We found this to be absolutely true as people were much friendlier, helpful and kind and we felt a sense of security in knowing you probably won’t get cheated here. The skies are blue and the clouds wispy in Shenyang. This is the city where Ma’s childhood was spent. I am trying to match the images of stories she has told me, with what I see, and it is difficult. The city is quite developed and other than the concrete wall and eastern gate, not much remains from 60 years ago. We encouraged her to question a group of elderly gentlemen about the street that her home was on. There is a gate to the area, but upscale condominiums have replaced the single story compounds. She sees the resemblance of her relatives in the faces of these northerners, and delights in our cabdriver, whose ancestors were from the same village outside of Shenyang. “You look just like my brother!” she says. The sterotype of honest and kind personalities of northerners is reinforced more and more as she asks for directions from strangers on streetcorners. These people are definitely a kinder bunch than those in Beijing and Shanghai.

It was such a thrill for her to actually be there and to remember what it looked like during her childhood. It is actually quite amazing that now 60 years later, she can come back and experience this, knowing that at 20, when she left her home, she never imagined she would have spent her entire adult life in America. She was the third daughter in a family of 4 children, her younger brother was the only son-it goes without saying that her life was not highly valued in a Chinese family. As a young adult, she told her older sister that she wanted to go to America-they laughed at her and said, “How are YOU going to go to America?” At 25, when the Communists took over and the US government took their passports and refused to let them leave, she never imagined she would be able to return. Her life has been so different from the sisters that she left behind, and the person she has become is so much more than what she would have been. Amazing, isn’t it, how our lives take turns that dictate who we become.

Upon the recommendation of locals, we feast on the best potstickers I have ever had in my life. Shrimp, pork and fresh chives wrapped in a delicate yet slightly chewy wrapper, burst with a pocket of juice when we bite into them. 8rmb a plate of 20 – amounts to 5cents a piece!

We spent the following day visiting the Imperial palace, the only other palace in China other than the Forbidden City in Beijing. Ma made arrangements with the cab driver who drove us from the airport, coincidentally from her home village, to take us to the town where she was born. The following morning, we rode for an hour on a beautiful highway past fields of cabbage, corn and green onions to a small city named Ximin. She had vivid memories of the train station where as a little girl they would arrive from Shenyang, ride on a wagon cart with big wooden wheels, and go to visit her grandparents. Unfortunately, the train station was rebuilt 5 years ago, but the station master took us upstairs and showed us old photos of the station. The town is still fairly undeveloped and we did not linger.

Ma had a delightful time chatting with the cab driver about the “good old days”. We learned that it is difficult for children of the working class to attend college, which costs $3,000, much more than a parent is able to save in a decade. It is a tough life for middle aged Chinese, where being only children, some couples have 4-6 elderly parents and grandparents to care for. It makes us appreciate the standard and quality of life that we take for granted.

Our stay in Shenyang came to an end and it was a productive and enjoyable trip!

As Americans, we are certainly a good example of rule followers, aren’t we? Not so in China…
It is the ritual of the seat belt that we have observed in every taxi cab we’ve ridden in thus far. Pa, always seated in the front seat, is as diligent about buckling his seatbelt, as he is about flossing and brushing his teeth after every meal. Yesterday, Ma looked at the cabdriver and asked why he was putting his life at risk by draping his belt over his lap unbuckled. “99% of drivers don’t belt them, but we can get ticketed, so as long as we make it look ok, we are safe.” “You can even buy jackets with safety belts sewn across the front to make it look like you are buckled!”

This morning at breakfast, a women was eagerly trying to use her newly learned Chinese on the waitress. Unfortunately, the poor girl could not understand her and soon had enlisted a group of 4 waitresses around her to help. The girls were trying to talk to this women, who at this point was trying to understand what they were trying to tell her. Turns out all this women was trying to say was, “the food is very delicious!” I ended up talking to this women and discovered that she and her husband live by El Camino Hospital. She offered me her unused Russian language cd’s and we exchanged phone numbers. At this point, a Chinese guy walked by and casually told us he was from Foster City!

We had Peking duck last night, a feast that delighted the Mays. I am convinced one can never tire of Peking duck.

I can feel an electricity in the air, a sense of anticipation, readiness, and excitement-the entire city focused on one goal, Beijing 2008. It has given the city momentum and purpose, a driving force that is behind every crane and bulldozer. From the everyday cab driver learning to speak English, the shiny new cabs on the road, to the English signs that finally make sense. Practicing, getting ready, cleaning house, polishing manners etc, all for their big debut. Will they be ready? I am convinced that yes, they will. Strangely,watching this process, I am proud to be Chinese, if only to be associated slimly by blood, facial features or my black hair. I hope for their success and the proud emergence of this debutante into a world that still has images of mao jackets and little red books.

As I walk the streets of Beijing, the smells and sounds of the city stir up memories from 2 decades ago. I see the bright neon lights and remember the darkness of the city as we flew in at night time. I see the panorama of skyscrapers and remember the newly built 2 story concrete structures with crooked doorframes. I see women with perms and delicate skin and remember the boxy hair cuts and black penetrating eyes. I see blue jeans and gym shoes and remember blue jackets and cloth shoes. I see Samsung Lcd screens on street corners and remember busts of Mao in the friendship store. How far this nation has come! The gap between me and the millions that look like me has narrowed to a mere crack. More and more, it has become a place where I am comfortable.

It is interesting to see this place from the perspective of someone like Tom, raised in Chicago Chinatown, his first visit to China. Tom notices every last detail, and his observations have been amusing. “Isn’t it amazing how many blacks are in China?” he announces, to which May and I look at each other with puzzled looks. Oddly enough, on the next 2 street corners, we see 2 Black men dressed in suits. “May, you are one of the tallest women and I am one of the shortest men around.” What totally amazes them both, in the end, is the $17 North Face Jacket we negotiate at Silk Alley.

Today is for launching into new adventures. I’m just learning this new mode of communicating and can’t believe I am putting my life out for everyone to read. Creating a blog took a bit of decision making – my name for one- how do I want myself to be viewed, and what will attract readers to my site. How about the title of my blog? This was as hard as naming a book you are about to write. Don’t they always say that the title should come last? Then the address-well, do I want my name on it, or is that too personal? But do I want to remain anonymous? But then, I want my friends to find it easily and remember it.

Tomorrow we leave for China. Funny how people at work react to such distant travel. I was told to use Purel alot and wash my hands often! Have a good time, but be careful! Don’t bring back any foreign germs! My goodness, you would think I was going to the moon. I suppose we are a bit matter of fact about traveling to China; it feels as commonplace as driving to Yosemite and maybe simpler because I don’t have to load up the car and plan all the food I have to take for backpacking!

Look for further news in the coming week…..