tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53600859784329983962024-03-12T19:50:11.123-07:00The Good GirlsWe are mothers, wives, partners, professionals, buddies, confidants. Some of us have kids, some of us have parents, but at one time or another, we are all daughters. We were told to be good—whatever that might be. We make mistakes along with triumphs. We are not perfect, and not always good; but we are all beautiful, strong, cool, awesome, wacky, sensual beings. These are our stories.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05246393318938411419noreply@blogger.comBlogger99125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5360085978432998396.post-41745768796238232032015-06-23T10:11:00.000-07:002015-06-23T10:11:55.565-07:00Long JourneyI wasn't sure if this was the right house when I first walked up the pathway to the house . It looked like an abandoned house with weeds growing everywhere. Yet judging from the shoe rack outside of the front door (such a Chinese way) I gathered it must be the right house. I was also tired from driving two days straight. I tried to find the doorbell. None to be seen. I knocked on the door and a young man showed up. I told him I was going to stay here starting today. He let me in, telling me Judy, the owner, wasn't there. I unloaded things on my shoulder in "my room" after he disappeared to his. The big trunk was so heavy that I had to unzip it downstairs, take some stuff out and carry them to upstairs, then dragged the lighter trunk upstairs one step at a time, while hoping the wooden stairs was hardy enough to take the bumping of the trunk on every step. No gentlemanly help needed -- nor was it offered. <br /><br /> I counted five bedrooms upstairs. There might be more downstairs. It didn't take long to unpack, although the plan was to stay here for three months. Just have to do laundry diligently and ignore following the fashion etiquette. I should be fine. <br /><br /> The bed is hard as cement. WiFi password left in my room by an unknown person didn't work. <br /> I text Judy: There's only a box spring on the bed..no mattress! My bony bones can't take it. :)<br /> Judy: It is a mattress. It's the Asian style and it's good for your back. I will find something for you to use on top of it.<br /> Me: The WiFi password doesn't work.<br />
Judy: I will send you a picture of the password.<br /><br /> What is it with Asians and the cement beds? I slept on one after mom moved back to Canada, and my back was so achy that I had to give it to my neighbors (they were going to use it as a box spring, appropriately) and buy a new mattress.<br /><br /> The password picture never came. I bothered the guy once more. Got a glimpse of his bedroom. Huge king sized bed with the only TV in the house. Hmmm. He confirmed there was one digit off.<br /><br /> Off to mom's. She seemed to be better than last time I saw her three weeks ago. The companion, Doreen, wasn't sure at times if she was going to be here much longer, which was what prompted this long trip. <br /><br /> Doreen asked her: Aren't you happy your daughter is here?! <br /> Mom: Nothing...to be...happy...about.<br /><br /> Thanks, mom. Even in your half-lucid way you managed to make people feel great. <br /><br /> I don't take it seriously anymore. She can't help it, and I'm doing this for myself. I don't want her to go through this last leg of her journey by herself -- whether she likes it or not. <br /><br /> That is, for as long as I can take it. Our last experiment didn't go so well.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05246393318938411419noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5360085978432998396.post-33752365507438634852012-06-30T14:30:00.000-07:002012-06-30T14:30:52.565-07:00Among My Own<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RWvbJOiyhp0/T-9seRwNuQI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/gE30KIxtQwE/s1600/grandbazaar" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RWvbJOiyhp0/T-9seRwNuQI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/gE30KIxtQwE/s320/grandbazaar" width="240" /></a></div>
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(Grand Bazaar, Istanbul)</div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">It was an odd match that perhaps shouldn't have been.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Still I was going along with it. Sharing has never been easy for me, but I did the best I could, all the while trying to ignore how my unconventional life must have sounded in your ears, and how uncomfortable it was for me.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">In the ninety-nine point nine percent mate-for-life world of people from “our culture”, I had to belong to the zero point one percent.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">It was soon clear to me that your life might look conventional from the outside, it was really “anything but” on the inside.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Your partner, regardless of being a decade your senior, behaved childishly. He ridiculed and complained about you often. He picked fights with you over the daily mundane. Instead of sharing a life together, he hid his assets from you. In fact, you revealed to me that he mentioned the D word often enough for you to ask for referrals of lawyers.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I scouted out the names and numbers of several family lawyers per your request, but I didn’t pass that information to you. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Instead, I talked to you about the realities of being a divorced woman in “our culture.” The culture from our mutual hometown, to be exact, still looks at a woman without a husband with contempt and despise.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You will be excluded from all social events for couples. That means you will lose the majority of your friends.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Eating out will be spotty, unless you are very comfortable eating alone in restaurants.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You will be looked at as a damaged good, regardless how much you struggled to raise your children in a foreign country.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Loneliness will be your constant companion.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You will lose the purchasing power of a dual income. You will have to say NO to things you used to take for granted. You will get used to shopping at places such as the flea market or the secondary market stores. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">My first apartment was furnished with a table, four chairs, and a tiny black-and-white TV--all were hand me downs. We used three chairs for eating and studying, and the fourth one as the TV stand in the livingroom. We spread the sheets on the carpet in the bedroom in the evening, and that would be our beds.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Moving was significantly easier in those days.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The blank space on the information form where it says “Emergency Contact” I had to fill out each time I enrolled the children to a new school, would make me cry every time. “Loneliness” was too weak a word to describe how I felt.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">If you have young children, these will be more severe on you and them, and last much longer.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Good thing is you don’t.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">There are rewarding gains to be had, of course. I wasn’t trying to scare you away from getting a divorce. After all, the decision might not be solely yours to make. But I did want you to see clearly before you jump.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I wish someone had done the same for me. But it all was a big life’s lesson I desperately needed. I can see it now--now that the tears had long been dried. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">When you called to complain about your home life, I listened with sympathetic ears. When you mentioned life has no purpose for you to continue, I tried to pump you up.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">When you made the comment about how hard it would be to rid your newly acquired wardrobe, I knew divorce would not be in your near future.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">That was fine, though. Plunging into the unknown is not only scary, it is also a move you have to make on your own. Nobody should make you learn the lesson before you are ready to learn it. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Then I had to go away. It was the trip of a lifetime--literally. I have saved over decades for this, and it is unlikely I will be able to do it again anytime soon. I savoured every moment of it, soaking in every little detail.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I did not forget you. Over the crepe-de-chine deep blue Mediterranean Sea, I thought of you. Before falling asleep with the gentle sway of the giant ship, I secretly wished you peace and strength.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">It was easy to adjust the time change on the trip, when daily excursion exhausted me thoroughly. Coming home was quite a different story. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I called as soon as I felt mostly myself again, hoping you would enjoy the Turkish Delight and all the amazing sites, of which I took sixteen hundred plus photos, I visited during the trip. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You never returned my call.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I’m not quite sure what I had done to have angered you. I know you are alive and well from your online posting, so I don’t have to worry that you had taken your own life.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">After doing all I could to support you, it is proven that it wasn’t enough. I am truly sorry for that. I hope you will eventually find the happiness you longed for. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Our friendship may have served its purpose, and now you are ready to move on. Maybe you needed to cut me off in order to forget the dark period of your life. That would require a complete reversal of your relationship with your husband, which is all but impossible.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">It hurts to think that you behaved just like the rest of “our society,” which would be equally unforgiving should you choose to be a single woman realizing happiness does not necessarily require a man. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Why was I surprised? I shouldn't be.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Your silence speaks loudly how futile my efforts were, but I will get over it like yesterday’s headache--painful when it happened, yet will be forgotten soon.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05246393318938411419noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5360085978432998396.post-13770089201079003732012-02-11T11:50:00.000-08:002012-02-12T21:29:30.909-08:00O Pardal do Sul<span id="internal-source-marker_0.9427342926267888" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">A walk in the park everyday prescribed by the doctor has gradually become a tantra among nature. He enjoys the early summer for its irreproachable weather. Everywhere he looks there are greens fighting fiercely for his attention. Flowers flaunt shamelessly with their seductive gestures, as if they knew their beauty is but a fleeting affair.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">He has lived in this vast tropical land for so long that he hardly remembers his old hometown. it ’s at the tail end of the winter where he came from four decades ago. As he remembers his childhood friends, their laughter still haunts him like yesterday.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Your father is crazy. He’s a mad man!” They chanted and smirked. Often one would push hm after the chant, adding to the provocation. He ran home as fast as his small stature allowed, into his mother’s arms with hot tears and torn sleeves. She wiped off his anger with soothing words, and mended his battle scar with meager treats she could find. A laundry woman’s pocket change never felt so warm and abundant.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">He didn’t understand why his father was in the mad man’s house, as the kids called it. He did know that that was why they were as poor as the four bare walls around them. A silhouette kneading on a washboard by a tub of water with a pile of clothes next to it was what his mother toiled all day to sustain her and four children. They learned not to envy other children’s shiny new shoes futilely, but be comforted by the fact they still had as complete a family as it could be. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">One day his father came home, thin in physique and vacant in the eyes. He felt the chills when his mother described how they used “electricity” on him. The far away land beckoned with a letter from their uncle, whose offer of sponsorship couldn’t be more appreciated as their way of escaping the constricting island, which pushed his father to the brink of insanity in the first place. His mind never fully recovered from the revolutionists’ persecution that forced them to flee to the island, which in his father’s eyes was a perfect death trap. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">New landscape breathed new life to his father’s spirit, but the new continent extended the old struggle to the family. He did poorly at school, having to learn a new language and culture with people who, although did not chant, but teased nonetheless. He volunteered to give up school and learn to be a chef, a proposition met with reluctance. He told himself this would help his family. Deep inside he unwillingly admitted that school was not an attraction to him.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Regret? It is a useless emotion--he tells himself. He might have been doing something easier, or he might not. Who could tell? His sister hated his drinking, smoking and gambling he learned from fellow kitchen workers; but she couldn’t stop him, and the parents would never interfere. He has some regrets, but quitting school ranks low on the list. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">He feels a little out of breath, and sits down on a bench nearby. Two bypass surgeries finally caught his attention to his way of living. The smoking and drinking days are behind him now. Mahjong is his only ungodly pleasure. Is it numbness on his arm, or is he imagining it? He couldn’t tell. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The fallout between his sister and him may be one of the regrets. He could’ve helped her when she asked. He had the means and ability. She took care of him and his brother growing up, as their parents were constantly laboring. Why didn’t he, he couldn’t say. Neither did his brother. From their parents they inherited the idea of “daughters are outsiders,” therefore money preceded affection without either one of them feeling any uneasiness. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">He wishes he knew how to be a better husband to Rosa. His Rosa--the mother of their three children--could be his biggest regret. Their lives stopped after the accident. She couldn’t be consoled, and he didn’t have the patience for her sadness. Their youngest of three children was taken by the will of the gods. There was nothing he could do--he was grieving himself. Now he knew he wasn’t what Rosa wanted, but he didn’t know it then. He didn’t understand why Rosa had to go, and to a continent so far away no less; but his rage was somewhat lessened by the fact she left the kids behind. He heard she was happy now. He pretended he didn’t care. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">His older son--his pride overflows when he thinks about it--is in medical school. He wishes his childhood schoolmates could see him now. The little poor kid they teased has a son who will be a doctor. The younger daughter is in college as well. It is a shame his father didn’t live to see this. He may be the second son, but his accomplishment is no less than the first born.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">A familiar pain slows him down on his trek. They had a wonderful few years after the gemstone business took flight. If he knew how much he was hurting his health with too abundant of food, drinks, and everything else of the enjoyment of the flesh, would he do it differently? Hard to say, he shakes his head with a faint smile. Being a boy and growing up poor prevented him from self discipline and appetite control. He traveled with his brother to all around the world for business and pleasure. They feasted as if life was invincible in every sense. Were they just too naive? Life was too good to care about something seemingly distant and irrelevant. The land on the southern half of the globe has been good to them.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">He has to crouch down for the pain is getting severe. Please...he thought...he just had a new daughter-in-law, he hasn’t seen the first grandson yet, he doesn’t want to leave his life that’s beginning to feel too precious to give up. Hsing--he calls out to his son, who lives hundreds of miles away--I wish you were here.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The two children smile to him in his mind’s eye, as he slowly falls onto the path he hasn’t finished, and slips into an eternal blackness.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">(<em>Sparrow of the South, in Portugese, to a life lost too early</em>)</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05246393318938411419noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5360085978432998396.post-24821803881765351082011-08-06T15:36:00.000-07:002011-08-06T16:17:00.238-07:00Tango<div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span id="internal-source-marker_0.10816512666479083" style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You glide down the freeway with all your senses acutely altered. Everything looks the same, yet everything feels different.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">She says <i>I’m not sure</i>, but to you she means <i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">it’s not promising</span></i>, and it sounds like a bomb exploded somewhere inside of you, only blood does not flow and nobody could see the hole the blast has made. You are certain if a doctor says she’s not sure, it means the odds are good that you are doomed.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You argue with _______ (God, Buddha, Allah, …) that it is not fair after telling yourself this isn’t true, this couldn’t be true and finally accepting that it<i> is </i></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> true. You do everything consciously right. You eat right. You keep your weight on the right side of obese line. You hate smokers and you drink sparingly. You even walk your dog everyday, five times a week whenever time and mood allow it. There is nothing you could have done to make yourself healthier, and if there is, you are convinced they haven’t been invented yet.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">How in vain it all is. There was certainly an inarguable reason for each of the knick knack, paper, souvenir, furniture, clothes, jewelry, key chain, and all of the “just in cases” that you have to keep, but you can no longer remember why. How you fumed over the neighbor’s dog doing its mud pie business on your lawn, but now you know there may be a chance you won’t be here to enjoy your lawn much longer. And the reason why you stopped talking to ________? You search high and low in your head, but a valid “why” could not be found anywhere. There was a plausible reason you went on trips with friends and thought your life was wonderful and somehow would <i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">stay</i> wonderful. God has a different plan for you. It was just not the right time to reveal it to you yet. The noisy neighbor’s dog barking non-stop drove you crazy, but can no longer make you angry, only sad, because you may not have to suffer it much longer. The trees in the backyard will probably be here long after you are gone, and that day could be sooner than you know.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Maybe you did something punishable in God’s eye and now is the time to repent. You fight back tears and make resolutions. You will be more patient with your mom, who has the patience of a dictator. You will forgive your friend’s little faults here and there, because you are certainly not perfect yourself. You will let your loved ones know, despite the difficulty, how much you love them, and do it often. But you will do these </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">only if</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> God lets you live and the result turns out negative. You are <i>not</i> going to do any business in a cost ineffective way. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">All these are going through your mind three hundred times a day, regardless what you do to distract, encourage, or mentally slapping yourself in the face to make it disappear. Some days you are at the bottom of the ride and every minute is a torture to endure. Some days you pick yourself up and tell yourself “I can fight it. So many people fought and won. So can I.” But a little voice at the back of your head says, at the same time, “Yeah, but so many people fought and lost, too!” So the cycle repeats like the big wheels in a carnival.</span> <span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Days lost meaning and loved ones stopped talking to you because you are acting weird.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> <i>Be that</i> <i>way</i>, you say to yourself, <i>you guys are going to regret it when you find out I have a terminal disease!</i> But it gives you little comfort, if any.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">And the call comes when you least expect it--inside of a grocery store. She does not come straight out and say it. Instead, she asks how you feel, is everything okay, is the incision healing fine, etc, etc. You warn yourself “This can't be good. She is easing me into the bad news. Don’t cry. Don’t fall apart now.” while looking frantically around for something to hold on or sit down, but there isn’t any in the bacon and sausage section. You push the cart to the side and hide your face in front of the cold freezer, so nobody can see your devastated expression. After a hundred years of unbearable chitchat and pleasantries, she finally tells you the biopsy turns out to be benign, and she will see you in a year. At this point your stress level is at the highest, and, like an overstretched rubber band all of a sudden let loose, you just want to scream “This should be the first sentence you say, dumb ass!” -- already forgetting the “be more patient” promise you made earlier.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Looking back at the dark valley you just traversed, you still seem to be able to see the intertwined shadow of God and Lucifer. Not only they are constantly tangoing together, they are exceedingly more intimate than you had ever realized.</span></span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05246393318938411419noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5360085978432998396.post-80474018540641629792011-06-29T19:55:00.000-07:002011-06-30T09:04:29.126-07:00Wholesome Land<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"We get free parking at the hotel. We just need to tip the valet." Jesse reminded me.</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Tip? Somehow the word triggered a wild thought, "Are they wearing G-strings?"</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"<i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Absolutely not</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">!</span></i>" Jesse used the tone that left me no wiggle room, but I couldn't stop. I went on, "Where am I going to stuff all those dollar bills then?"</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Do</span><i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> not</span></i> talk like that when we're there. I will be so embarrassed." She rolled her eyes and shook her head at the same time. Since when she's the good girl?</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"And no F word, no goddammit, no cussing while down there. Remember: we are going to the Bible Belt." She added.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I'm already not liking this pending trip much--not that I cuss often. I just don't want to walk on ice all the time while there. Sometimes my mouth has its own idea of what to blurt out aloud. Plus, it's 95 degrees there with 69% humidity, and this is only the <i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">beginning</span></i> of June.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">She also suggested a show we should see with the word "shepherd" in the title. I told her I wasn't going to travel two thousand miles to see a show of gospel music. The phrase "wholesome fun" sounds alarmingly unfun to me.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I gave another serious consideration to the dress I'm going to wear for the event: collarless, sleeveless summer dress with big flower-and-leaf design all over, and a neckline that doesn't really say "I'm a nice Catholic girl" either. I don't want to cause any heart attacks with it--one memorial is already too much. I could hear them whisper to each other now: <i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Look at that woman from California!</span></i> And look they all will, because I will have to sit up front to "man" the laptop and TV for the video showing. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Let them gasp, I decided. I'm doing this for Jesse, who told everyone to dress colorfully for the occasion since Wes, Missouri born and raised, loved color. The idea didn't go well with folks back in his hometown, who had a hard time understanding the concept of "celebration of life" in Jesse's email. They solemnly reminded her that this was a memorial, <i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">not</span></i> a celebration. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We were going home when the G-string conversation occurred, after spending an afternoon at Monterey, where Wes' ashes were scattered. She took a panorama view with her video camera of the bench on which they often used to sit, the ocean waves crashing on the rocks, and the golf course; but the sun wasn't cooperating and not a single ray was beaming down when we got there. It was normal for Monterey, where it's always grey, cold and overcast, but we were hoping Wes would pull some strings up there and perform a small miracle.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">To my relief, and sadness that followed, I didn't see any ashes among the ice plants by the bench. I always hear stories of wandering spirits that couldn't rest until their earthly remains are properly buried. What about spirits of cremated remains that are scattered about? How are they going to find peace? Do we imagine the unsettling souls because our own spirits need to be comforted after a loved one departed? I will make this the number one question to ask of the good folks at the Bible Belt.</span></span><br />
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</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Better get ready, Branson--California girls coming your way in two weeks. It's hard to predict which party will be more surprised.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> * * *</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;">You know you're not in California anymore when you see this sign at the entrance of the lady's room at Denver airport:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IHlr-hwp1ak/TgqDKLJHMoI/AAAAAAAAAmI/XowIvted_wA/s1600/tornado.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IHlr-hwp1ak/TgqDKLJHMoI/AAAAAAAAAmI/XowIvted_wA/s320/tornado.jpg" width="190" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I shall hate to imagine what will be flying about in the event of a tornado attack.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">But I do like the Gulliver's Travels inspired, cereal-bowl-and-donut shaped, mysterious airport construction:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jvdrF-z2liU/TgqFGwqAeJI/AAAAAAAAAmM/ybMv1ZN2ZOs/s1600/bowlanddonut.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="190" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jvdrF-z2liU/TgqFGwqAeJI/AAAAAAAAAmM/ybMv1ZN2ZOs/s320/bowlanddonut.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Our hotel room overlooks the river that meanders around the city:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xELfz2bcuxg/TgqHLX_j6nI/AAAAAAAAAmQ/8-cXjk7kMiU/s1600/hotel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xELfz2bcuxg/TgqHLX_j6nI/AAAAAAAAAmQ/8-cXjk7kMiU/s320/hotel.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And I would enjoy the serene view even more if it wasn't 95 to 100 degrees outside everyday.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">This bridge hides a dark history: Two black families moved into the city in the 50s. One of the men of the families was found hanging from the bridge one day. The other family moved out soon after. It hurts me in the chest every time I think about it. I'd like to think we have progressed admirably, if not quickly, since that time.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7bLMI84_wEo/TgqJksV48MI/AAAAAAAAAmU/oQO7FEXYw_E/s1600/bridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7bLMI84_wEo/TgqJksV48MI/AAAAAAAAAmU/oQO7FEXYw_E/s320/bridge.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">BBQ in Missouri style: Five different types of sauce and a whole roll of paper towels:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ul-6fBTGNxE/TgqKsWl25GI/AAAAAAAAAmY/yqoD0LKPQoM/s1600/bbq.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ul-6fBTGNxE/TgqKsWl25GI/AAAAAAAAAmY/yqoD0LKPQoM/s320/bbq.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">If a gun hanging in a holster won't make you work your hardest in the office, I don't know what <span style="color: black;">will:</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0Fi_5Wa86vQ/TgqLkHaB2iI/AAAAAAAAAmc/RvHI0uqMFBw/s1600/gun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0Fi_5Wa86vQ/TgqLkHaB2iI/AAAAAAAAAmc/RvHI0uqMFBw/s320/gun.jpg" width="191" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It was <i>actually</i> in someone's office.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Shoji Tabuchi's theater looks great at night outside:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tjtuM3YNqhc/TgqNLLNphrI/AAAAAAAAAmg/fEom0A-OPKQ/s1600/shoji.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tjtuM3YNqhc/TgqNLLNphrI/AAAAAAAAAmg/fEom0A-OPKQ/s320/shoji.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">But it's practically shabby comparing to it's restrooms inside:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-teBPY2K4aHc/TgqNlN4CfsI/AAAAAAAAAmk/IPXp1Q0rFXc/s1600/bathroom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-teBPY2K4aHc/TgqNlN4CfsI/AAAAAAAAAmk/IPXp1Q0rFXc/s320/bathroom.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">You can literally entertain your most distinguished guests here.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black;">Baldnobbers was the first show in Branson and the hillbillies were truly hilarious: </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-furuxpQ2hDo/TgqqYJY0EbI/AAAAAAAAAm0/zXzYxm076ec/s1600/baldnobbers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="190" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-furuxpQ2hDo/TgqqYJY0EbI/AAAAAAAAAm0/zXzYxm076ec/s200/baldnobbers.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;">But if you ask anybody in Branson you will be told that they are Arkansans. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;">I found out later Wes's brothers were planning on putting on bucktooth and overalls to welcome us at the airport, <span style="color: black;">simply because I had asked Jesse "Are they all hillbillies in Branson?" Too bad they didn't go with the plan, but the visual stayed.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">In my opinion, this is Branson's most beautiful attraction--rocky landscape:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1VClXxBoMPk/TgqPZTYdimI/AAAAAAAAAmo/g0lwmDTAqQk/s1600/rocks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1VClXxBoMPk/TgqPZTYdimI/AAAAAAAAAmo/g0lwmDTAqQk/s320/rocks.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It's everywhere and it's free, thanks to the Ozark Mountains.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I'm glad to have a chance to meet Wes' family and friends, all cordial, funny and nice people. This is the house in which the brothers grew up:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-97HeHRcaa00/TgqSOp04hII/AAAAAAAAAms/BKW75k7-9-0/s1600/house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-97HeHRcaa00/TgqSOp04hII/AAAAAAAAAms/BKW75k7-9-0/s320/house.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Every one felt as if he/she knew Wes much better after the stories being told at the memorial. I will never forget the tales of his tenacity and excellence for sports, his rowdy teenage years (repeatedly wrecking his father's car, beer cans falling out of the car every time he opened the car door, etc.) his deep belly laughs, his Vietnam War enlistment, his love for animals (my dog would jump onto his lap from my arms if he was near) We all laughed and cried. Jesse said Wes was there with us, and I believed her. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We squeezed four shows, a boat ride, and an amusement park outing in addition to the preparation leading up to the memorial in the six-day travel. Jesse handled the grieving widow role fairly well despite breaking down during her turn of the speech.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black;">Aside from a few stares, most people looked at me as if I were a normal human being. They are doing the best they can to be a diverse community and here's a great example:</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_RUaphO7qXY/TgqfBr_A6qI/AAAAAAAAAmw/sOkQM5SDqcM/s1600/diverse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_RUaphO7qXY/TgqfBr_A6qI/AAAAAAAAAmw/sOkQM5SDqcM/s320/diverse.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;">You can get your Hispanic and Asian fix in one sitting.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black;">The hotel valet asked me if he could go to California with me, not that I had some secret rendezvous with him (or anybody), but he couldn't stand the heat. He had my sympathy; and in case you're wondering--no, I didn't take him with me.</span><span style="color: black;"> It would've been scandalous for <i><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">them.</span></i></span></span><br />
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</div><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial;">After enduring Jesse's neurotic breakdowns, over-packed luggage, losing and finding stuff all over the place all of the time, irritability and constant threats to cry over the minutest affairs, I think we'll stick to short day-trip for now until I'm recovered from this one.</span><br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: black;">You will be proud to know that not once did I say the F or G or S word while in Branson. Not when anybody could hear me anyway.</span></span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">(RIP, Wes.)</span></em> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div align="center"></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05246393318938411419noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5360085978432998396.post-38795319448633272632011-06-01T13:06:00.000-07:002011-06-01T13:06:14.429-07:00Remember me<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mR0VwUqnITk/Td7I0Ff5O3I/AAAAAAAAAmE/yO1AxtWNU0s/s1600/pier.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mR0VwUqnITk/Td7I0Ff5O3I/AAAAAAAAAmE/yO1AxtWNU0s/s200/pier.jpg" width="193" /></a></div><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">He turned the engine off and exhaled quietly. The day has been painfully long. He closed his eyes but couldn't get the faces out of his mind, some of them tearful. He rubbed his temples in futile attempt to ease the tension he felt all day.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">They worked there just as long as, if not longer than, he did. Some asked him, "What am I going to do? This is the only income we have, and we have a house, the kids are still in school..." He lowered his head and said he was very sorry. They understood he was only performing his duty. The company wasn't profitable and this was the necessary next step. The despair in their eyes will haunt him for a very long time. It's hard to choose which side of the desk he'd rather be sitting.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">But the day wasn't finished, and he wasn't sure if he was ready to go in and face a despair of his own.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">He heard music, not the sound of TV, when he walked into the house. Is she back in the fog land, or did she just want something different tonight? He wasn't sure. He couldn't tell after the illness--not like before.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Hi honey." He checked her face before kissing her. Was the short hesitation a sign of the onset of regression, or was it merely his imagination?</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Hi, how was your day?" She smiled her angelic smile and asked. He wondered if she remembered what he did for a living. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"It was unbelievably horrific. The layoff finally happened, and all day I had to tell people they didn't have a job anymore. You shoud've seen their faces." He poured a glass of Jack Daniel. Something stronger than wine was needed tonight.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Layoff? Why?" She asked and immediately looked guilty bouncing back her glance at him. How could she recall? It has been two weeks since he told her about the state of the company and what could happen, but it might as well be a hundred years for her. It wasn't her fault, he wanted to tell her. It was the cursed bacteria that destroyed her brain a year ago. He didn't blame her, but he couldn't deal with it either. Not after a day like today. It's time.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">He put the glass down and held her shoulders gently.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Honey, I'm tired and I can't do this anymore. I tried, but I have my limits. And I hate to be the source of your unhappiness, or guilt. They eat me up inside. I think I need to spend the night at my parents'."</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Her lips trembled, but not a word came out. How she begged heaven and earth to reverse the damages, but they both knew it was impossible. She couldn't blame him for leaving, and couldn't ask him if he would ever come back. She could see the weight on his back as he ascended the stairs, and feel the pain as deep as her own. The sad part is, by tomorrow, or day after that, she will be happy as can be. None of these will remain with her for long.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Her eternal bliss came with the price of his never ending Ground Hog Day. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The duffel bag sat on the bed and he next to it. He imagined this moment a few times before, when things became too happy and all so temporary, when he had to repeat things to her that he shouldn't have to--his favorite brand of cereal, TV show, or restaurant. At first it felt like a new romance that was fresh and exciting. It soon got old and tiresome. He held on for the love for her. He will forever love and remember her. He's not sure, though, how long she will remember him.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Remember him? He stood up suddenly. The doctor said she would have no short-term memory. Things and people that have been in her life for long period of time, such as since childhood, should be fine. So how could she still know who he was? Theirs was not a long-term love affair, and yet, she never forgot him, however doubtful he was at times. Did his effort finally pay off? Could it be that her love for him had found a way? He had taken it for granted that she would remember him, and she did. Maybe it's not his charm, but her love for him was stronger than he had realized.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The duffel bag went back to the closet, items emptied out. It won't be easy, he knew, but he loves her and she loves him. That's more than enough for him. If love can find its way to stay, so can he.</span>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05246393318938411419noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5360085978432998396.post-6260300872896225112011-04-24T12:27:00.000-07:002011-04-24T12:27:57.724-07:00Are we there yet?<div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Not unlike many inexperienced but imaginative people among us, my romance has come to an untimely end with much hard work, excitement, exhaustion, and finally, disappointment. My romance toward renovation, that is.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I was hoping for something that would stand out in a crowd, but resulted in something quite different. Here's what I meant:</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Before the renovation I had high spirit and energy. I wanted something that's either a farmhouse despite the fact that my Yorkie was the only animal I owned, or a Cape Cod although I really have little idea what that looked like. My vision was roughly based on this:</span><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-atRAB3VZs1A/TbRjcDcmVtI/AAAAAAAAAlI/JnTvtHpGABY/s1600/farmhouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-atRAB3VZs1A/TbRjcDcmVtI/AAAAAAAAAlI/JnTvtHpGABY/s320/farmhouse.jpg" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;">or this:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C4ztPKdaR5Q/TbRjroedQhI/AAAAAAAAAlM/BI2W6i_0X1M/s1600/capecod.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C4ztPKdaR5Q/TbRjroedQhI/AAAAAAAAAlM/BI2W6i_0X1M/s320/capecod.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;">The general idea was white cabinets and dark floor. </span><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I even picked out a beautiful granite countertop with swirl and movements that would make you go "Ahhh" when you walk into the room:</span></span> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1LzVhLlPxG0/TbRlNtAb3mI/AAAAAAAAAlQ/uKoNYw0eesE/s1600/ivorygold.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1LzVhLlPxG0/TbRlNtAb3mI/AAAAAAAAAlQ/uKoNYw0eesE/s200/ivorygold.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">I soon found out those white cabinets I loved so much were out of my price range, unless I painted them myself. So was the granite. In the good name of conserving resources, this is what I ended up with: (Before)</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rIlEZDvmh24/TbRqPmcjBBI/AAAAAAAAAlY/calQVtICdpI/s1600/CIMG0173.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rIlEZDvmh24/TbRqPmcjBBI/AAAAAAAAAlY/calQVtICdpI/s320/CIMG0173.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">and</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RaUGBavEk5g/TbRpJ2Ri9-I/AAAAAAAAAlU/Xbig7Q0DL-Y/s1600/CIMG0185.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RaUGBavEk5g/TbRpJ2Ri9-I/AAAAAAAAAlU/Xbig7Q0DL-Y/s320/CIMG0185.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">and this is now:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ubkmByfa0NU/TbRtwDvj4QI/AAAAAAAAAlc/me9heS5iOPw/s1600/CIMG0303.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ubkmByfa0NU/TbRtwDvj4QI/AAAAAAAAAlc/me9heS5iOPw/s320/CIMG0303.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">and this:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XNn-kihtTig/TbRuVOfyHXI/AAAAAAAAAlg/bdOs_E9Vm1A/s1600/CIMG0308.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XNn-kihtTig/TbRuVOfyHXI/AAAAAAAAAlg/bdOs_E9Vm1A/s320/CIMG0308.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The baseboards and trims are yet to be completed. Due to Easter Sunday the free helpers all of a sudden decided to be religious and refuse to work. The audacity of some people.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So instead of "Ahhh" now the granite just greets you with a "Blah," but I can live with that. From the five slaps of granite they cut to fit this kitchen, I probably saved a thousand dollars by downgrading the granite. I even sealed it myself.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Next project is to address the moisture problem that caused us much headache while installing Pergo. The side yard has accumulated years of dead leaves. While sweeping them up I pulled a number of interesting items from beneath, the most unusual one being a lawn chair.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JLUtNMeSH0g/TbRx4o8fZAI/AAAAAAAAAlk/dFqUSoQew9I/s1600/sideyard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JLUtNMeSH0g/TbRx4o8fZAI/AAAAAAAAAlk/dFqUSoQew9I/s320/sideyard.jpg" width="191" /></a></div><br />
<div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I swept one-third of it and the waste bin was full. Two more weeks the leaves should be all gone. </span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Cape Cod-dians will probably be caught dead to have this remodeled style, which is not a style at all. But when you have to make compromises, you have to let go of style--a concept I've rediscovered accutely. </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">As a reward to myself, maybe I will visit Cape Cod after all is done. </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I hope that will heal me from this hopeless renovation romance, which will be my first <u>and</u><i> </i>last one.</span></span>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05246393318938411419noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5360085978432998396.post-10832788181227359872011-04-01T08:44:00.000-07:002011-04-01T08:44:09.544-07:00Renovation is...still fun?<span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">My free laborers worked hard to remove the old cabinets. That saved me about $400.00 from the contractor's bill:</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vi7gUQ1GN_w/TZT9lBRHmDI/AAAAAAAAAkU/UK_S4Z9yeVs/s1600/CIMG0242.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vi7gUQ1GN_w/TZT9lBRHmDI/AAAAAAAAAkU/UK_S4Z9yeVs/s320/CIMG0242.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">After hours of trying to remove the two layers of linoleum floor in the kitchen to no avail, our contractor told us it's best if we remove the particle board under it as well. Except for the entry way and the master bedroom, the whole house will have two layers of plywood basefloor. Just when we thought NOW the Pergo can go on it...not so fast. The moisture has caused the foundation to shift, and it's more severe than the home inspector had told me. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">The <em>real </em>contractors had to come in and level the floor with shims</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">:</span></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-89fuFG4dmQ8/TZXa0zIq9vI/AAAAAAAAAkY/g7cWWldY868/s1600/CIMG0267.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-89fuFG4dmQ8/TZXa0zIq9vI/AAAAAAAAAkY/g7cWWldY868/s320/CIMG0267.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">and more shims:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-761Z_J_S-lI/TZXcC94sLII/AAAAAAAAAkc/dHZC3ZANdus/s1600/CIMG0263.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-761Z_J_S-lI/TZXcC94sLII/AAAAAAAAAkc/dHZC3ZANdus/s320/CIMG0263.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Naturally, I had to ask for tiled bathroom floor. The baseboard underneath the linoleum is even worse than the kitchen:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-90M7ZqHMsWY/TZXdEn0THeI/AAAAAAAAAkg/dx691T8IwVE/s1600/CIMG0274.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-90M7ZqHMsWY/TZXdEn0THeI/AAAAAAAAAkg/dx691T8IwVE/s320/CIMG0274.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">A fan is working hard to dry the floor before the contractor can install the tiles. I don't think it's effective when I checked yesterday. We may have to pull the basefloor up and install a new one. You know what that means...$$$!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Trebuchet MS;">The cabinets arrived yesterday and was I surprised! The top cabinets are much larger than what the contractor told me. I hope the corners will agree with my forehead in the days to come:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JBQoc9qMx70/TZXhWpEDiUI/AAAAAAAAAkk/WKaj5FJYosM/s1600/CIMG0270.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JBQoc9qMx70/TZXhWpEDiUI/AAAAAAAAAkk/WKaj5FJYosM/s320/CIMG0270.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Before the cabinets can be installed, the drain has to be moved to inside of the wall:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--4JWQ5R55bc/TZXixF8I4hI/AAAAAAAAAko/WMLET69Mk_A/s1600/CIMG0269.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--4JWQ5R55bc/TZXixF8I4hI/AAAAAAAAAko/WMLET69Mk_A/s320/CIMG0269.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">They told me that was the correct way. I wonder how the repair can be done should there be a leak in the future. After all, <em>every</em> drain in the house is leaking right now.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">In the meanwhile, I'm travelling between the two cities almost everyday. The view is lovely on the hilly freeway:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kUGFBjf3yB8/TZXsYcq5HXI/AAAAAAAAAkw/YiAI7znuSjc/s1600/ontheroad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" r6="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kUGFBjf3yB8/TZXsYcq5HXI/AAAAAAAAAkw/YiAI7znuSjc/s320/ontheroad.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">and the delivery of my first-ever brand new refrigerator was exciting:</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XuYIArdVqzc/TZXtCRJjm0I/AAAAAAAAAk0/hsXPeY5MPLk/s1600/fridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XuYIArdVqzc/TZXtCRJjm0I/AAAAAAAAAk0/hsXPeY5MPLk/s320/fridge.jpg" width="191" /></a></div><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">as much as when the first plank of floor was installed:</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hzuINUmaeI4/TZXtkRWSByI/AAAAAAAAAk4/OO2slaMtT_Y/s1600/firstplank.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hzuINUmaeI4/TZXtkRWSByI/AAAAAAAAAk4/OO2slaMtT_Y/s320/firstplank.jpg" width="191" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">but the sadness is getting stronger each day with the project progressing along. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I will be relieved when I don't have to drive so much and have to make choices I've never done before on a daily basis, such as what color of cabinets go with what granite countertop, what's a flush mount and is it compatible with the current mount, should I get a single-hole faucet or a multi-hole, or simply forgo all the choices so far and go with a more affordable version, (It seems "compromise" is <em>the</em> word for me nowadays.) the endless tiresome hours spent wondering up and down the isles of HomeDepot and such, will hopefully soon be over, and my fingernails will be restored to their normal state when I stop biting them, or the knots in my stomach from all the anxiety of not knowing what I'm doing, will finally go away. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I will have one thing to worry then: my mother not liking any of the improvements I've made so far. That will be tomorrow's chore. I have to go and meet the workers there now.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05246393318938411419noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5360085978432998396.post-18281080338120945382011-03-16T23:50:00.000-07:002011-03-17T07:29:41.378-07:00Renovation is fun<div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I'm a little exhausted, but just in case you're wondering: the house renovation is underway and so far I've had plenty of headaches.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I had my heart set on laminate floor, as I was told they last forever. Something dark like this would be nice:</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-ilTecBc4AWA/TYGklupGEnI/AAAAAAAAAkA/GT-O98CW7dg/s1600/Pergo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-ilTecBc4AWA/TYGklupGEnI/AAAAAAAAAkA/GT-O98CW7dg/s320/Pergo.jpg" width="190" /></a></div><br />
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<div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Pretty, right? Naturally, it's on the very top of the price range and I just can't talk myself into it. To HomeDepot I will go tomorrow. They have a lot of choices in the $2.99 per square foot range, and I'm sure they will have something close to this one.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">In the process of removing the old linoleum floor, we found this:</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-YixOvuX9g1Y/TYGlxCpLL7I/AAAAAAAAAkE/oixfhzHK2hE/s1600/DoubleAwful.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-YixOvuX9g1Y/TYGlxCpLL7I/AAAAAAAAAkE/oixfhzHK2hE/s320/DoubleAwful.jpg" width="191" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Under the not-so-great design of the lighter color, there is an ugly yellow old floor that they didn't bother to remove when putting in the new one. Must be a 70's original. Can you say BARF?</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The base floor is a jungle of staples, and they have to be removed before the new floor can go in. I did it a while with bare hand and pliers. Not a good idea by the way:</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-iT-cMVbRibM/TYGnb1GoeHI/AAAAAAAAAkI/7eRrmJR-Pv0/s1600/Stapled.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-iT-cMVbRibM/TYGnb1GoeHI/AAAAAAAAAkI/7eRrmJR-Pv0/s320/Stapled.jpg" width="191" /></a></div><br />
<div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The lighting is done, but now I'm wondering if I should move the sink to the other side of the room so the kitchen is open to the family room, thus the flow will look much nicer. In other words: flip the "L" shape horizontally. Good idea, but very bad for my wallet:</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-OOsruaiCwkA/TYGoK8eAyNI/AAAAAAAAAkM/AaUSvJAY5uw/s1600/WIP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-OOsruaiCwkA/TYGoK8eAyNI/AAAAAAAAAkM/AaUSvJAY5uw/s320/WIP.jpg" width="191" /></a></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I may have to leave it as is and just have new cabinets, new counter top, and walk a few extra steps from the kitchen to the family room. We can all use some exercise, after all.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lesson learned: Don't talk to the contractor on the kitchen layout. Had I talked to the designer at the cabinet store first I could have saved some money <i>if</i> I decided to move the sink. </span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The biggest headache is the cabinets. I know I like dark color floor, but I have absolutely no idea what kind of cabinets to get. My first love was off white (I was aiming for an old farmhouse look), and for some reason that's the most expensive cabinets I could get. Back to square one.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;">I may have to settle for something Lowe's. Sigh...</span><span style="font-size: small;"> (no offense to Lowe's employees)</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Special thanks to my little helpers who worked for free--all in the name of trying to save a few dollars. See? No low-hanging jeans here:</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-d5rXX9b2e-o/TYGuQnOGkgI/AAAAAAAAAkQ/uTnWXtNelaE/s1600/HardAtWork.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-d5rXX9b2e-o/TYGuQnOGkgI/AAAAAAAAAkQ/uTnWXtNelaE/s320/HardAtWork.jpg" width="191" /></a></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I foresee a sleepless night with the indecision of cabinets coming. Ideas welcome!</span></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05246393318938411419noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5360085978432998396.post-71187085519328971332011-02-22T21:54:00.000-08:002011-02-22T21:56:51.708-08:00REO for the Faint of Heart<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J7iiwt-sRK8/TWSZrkrHLVI/AAAAAAAAAjo/ILskWsDQ140/s1600/penpaper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" j6="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J7iiwt-sRK8/TWSZrkrHLVI/AAAAAAAAAjo/ILskWsDQ140/s200/penpaper.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I was neither thrilled nor scared when the offer was accepted by the bank. The house needed a lot of work. The refrigerator was missing and the toilets didn’t work, among a long list of other things.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">People tend to yank things they can haul away or break the ones they can’t when the bank tells them, shockingly, they have to go because they haven’t been paying the mortgage.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">It was the thing we had to do, for the stairs will be impossible for mom to negotiate in the years to come, and all the half-way decent houses were out of our price range. I, on the other hand, had to suppress my tears whenever I thought about leaving the house and the city that have been my home for the past thirteen years. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I realized just now that I had lived like a gypsy until I moved to this city near the bay, and soon found out it was less expensive to buy this little house than to rent an apartment.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Things changed much downwardly after I read the inspection report. I called the agent and said I didn’t think I wanted the house anymore. It wasn’t painful to say it, because I didn’t fall in love.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Adding to the long list of repairs, the foundation was uneven from the moisture in the soil. The inspector said the problem was common--every house in that area had this problem and it was not anything serious.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Foundation lifting? Not serious?? I wasn’t going to buy into that. I wanted my deposit back. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">He immediately came up with a great idea, which made me wonder why he didn’t say so earlier. I had my theory, or course. Anyway, his idea was to get repair quotes from two companies and submit an addendum to the bank. They might agree to credit the repair fee after the sale.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">The bank was more than generous--they agreed to lower the selling price in the amount comparable to the foundation repair. That squashed my hope for skipping the deal and staying put for now. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">With the same price I could buy two houses in Sacramento area. I can rent one out and, combined with the rent from the house I’m in right now, the income could be a big help for us. Mom said she could live in a townhouse with stairs, so we could afford one in this low-crime high-class area nearby and preserve my back from not having to maintain a house. Numerous scenarios ran through my mind during the ten-day “weasel” period I almost went mad. In the end though, I had to nip these ideas one by one. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Mom was thinking only the present. Her health will make climbing the stairs feel like conquerring Mt. Everest soon. The suburb of Sacramento is not suited for someone like her at all. The whole town probably has one Chinese restaurant. If you don’t like it, well, you just have to learn to love it. I’m not sure if I’m ready to listen to her constant complaint, giving that she likes to eat out so much.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">So, with much dread and a trembling hand, I signed and released the contingency on the tenth day. Reluctantly, I will be moving to a strange city and living among strangers soon. The only relief is the tiring process of house hunting, that includes driving all over the places, the letdown after looking at the houses and their prices, the realtor who didn’t show up at the property because he simply forgot (and was promptly fired by me), or we couldn’t get in because the key didn’t work, or the renter changed the locks and refused to open the door so all the time and effort were wasted, or the strange remodeling work done to the house that made me think "WTH were they thinking," or the previous owner’s wife died in the house so I walked through the house with a repeated silent prayer, is behind me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Now the new chapter begins--remodeling. I’ve heard that dealing with contractors is a lot of fun. I’m looking forward to it.</span>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05246393318938411419noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5360085978432998396.post-63787940783944122782011-02-06T16:34:00.000-08:002011-02-06T19:47:43.047-08:00Heaven Awaits<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G8HuqCxoUdQ/TU82F2REcBI/AAAAAAAAAjk/vDOeLTE3kVE/s1600/clouds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="167" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G8HuqCxoUdQ/TU82F2REcBI/AAAAAAAAAjk/vDOeLTE3kVE/s200/clouds.jpg" width="200" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">My car is racing on the freeway the way my heart is. How can this be, I ask myself. They said he had six months, and that was no more than a month ago. They are doctors. They can’t be <i>that</i> off.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">All these people driving on the freeway on a glorious 70-degree warm February day, probably off to do a variety of fun activities, taking full advantage of the unseasonal warm weather, makes me wonder if they know how ridiculous they look. It’s so bright out there I have to put the sunglasses on. It should be a happy day. You don’t die on a happy day. They shouldn't look so cheerful.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I pull up behind Lena’s car. She gets out and we hug each other. She comments on how fast I made it—I live three cities away. We both look like we missed something from our morning routine—either a shower or some makeup. I was working in the garage when I got the sad news. Shower will have to wait.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Jessie opens the door with glassy eyes and a surprised look. The hospice just left and the undertakers are on their way. Lena and I both decline the inquiry of seeing him. I don’t know about Lena, but I am a little scared. We don’t know what to do so we go outside and greet the dogs, who are going crazy from being blocked away in the backyard. We can’t go back in without the dogs squeezing through with us, so we have to go out the side door, circle back to the front door, and knock on the door to be let in. Jessie is talking to the undertakers and shakes her head at us. We are sufficiently embarrassed. We are supposed to comfort and support her, not adding to her burden, which is just what we end up doing.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We sit in the kitchen when they prepare the deceased for transport to the mortuary. She tells us how he was snoring all night last night and didn’t eat. He snored this morning as well. When she decided to wake him up and eat at nine o’clock or so, he was no longer breathing or having heartbeats. I take a look outside the bedroom door before they start the prep work, and his skin is in unnatural pale-yellow. His left arm freezes above his chest, reaching for something, it looks like. I wish with all my heart, and tell Jessie so, that he went peacefully; but I cannot fully convince myself. Nobody knows what happens in the last moment, and that scares me.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">He is taken away in thick blanketed bag and a white car. A red rose is left on what once was his pillow. I say a silent sendoff to the gentle giant, whose three-hundred-and-eighty pound imposing physique has been ravaged to a mere one-eighty by cancer. Jessie wants breakfast—it has been a long morning and she hasn't eaten yet. We do our best to finish, but not quite successfully, all the pancakes, breads, eggs, butter and syrup. She packs up all the leftovers for the dogs, including the syrup, ignoring our advice of how bad it is for them, then back to her house. </span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The weather is too nice to sit inside, so the picnic table under the magnolia tree is where we sit and talk. Jessie has waves of emotions that come and go. They have been together for twenty-five years, with the last three and half fighting cancer. She wishes she had been home the day before, which would be their last day together while he was awake, when we assure her the goodbyes had been said, the love had been shared and understood, and there would have been nothing she could have done to make it better for him. We manage to add some humor to our conversation, at first tentatively, but soon freely, with Jessie being the leading lady. </span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">When she talks about the problems of her dogs, and stops to ask her son who also has a dog: “You don’t have any anal gland problems, do you?” and we laugh until tears roll down our faces, that’s when I know. Heaven is great, but living is better. Jessie is sad and will be for a while, but she is strong, and she will be okay. </span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">That’s what they mean by life goes on. The living <i>has</i> to find a way to continue.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">(To Jessie, whose husband Wes passed away on 2/5/11 from throat cancer.)</span></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05246393318938411419noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5360085978432998396.post-35001751294065180192011-01-25T13:20:00.000-08:002011-01-25T13:20:28.809-08:00Liang Zhu<!--[if !mso]> <style>
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</style> <![endif]--> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G8HuqCxoUdQ/TT86nBF6jII/AAAAAAAAAjc/j_K11SgXUmQ/s1600/butterfly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G8HuqCxoUdQ/TT86nBF6jII/AAAAAAAAAjc/j_K11SgXUmQ/s1600/butterfly.jpg" /></a></div><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br />
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<div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The red sedan swayed in hurried rhythms that told her the carriers were rushing. Unlike the usual wedding procession that was always led by musicians playing loudly with their suonas, this one was silenced by an unfortunate taboo.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">They were headed to a graveyard.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Yingtai had barricaded herself in her room since the procession arrived this morning. If she had to marry someone she didn't know, with the only reason being he was from a rich family, then she would pay her respect to the man she had befriended, liked, then loved, for two years.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The bridegroom finally caved in, as the sun was tilting unmercifully toward the west.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Two years earlier, she had begged her father, who normally gave in to her pleading, to allow her to leave home and attend school. She was dissatisfied with home schooling, but boarding schools were for boys only. It was unheard of for a girl to leave home, disguise as a boy, and live among boys for such a long time. Sure, her maid Yinxin went with her as well, dressed as a young servant of hers, but the family's reputation would be greatly damaged if anybody ever learned a word about her endeavor.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Too much education would only do a girl harm—people believed. Perhaps there were plausible reasons for that…</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">This time, though, her tears could not change her father's mind. In fact, he lost his temper entirely when his daughter told him she had fallen in love with her classmate, and thus made the pre-determined wedding take on a sense of urgency. An educated daughter wouldn't hurt her chance of marrying well too much, but a daughter enamored another man? That was scandalous. He had to put his feet down.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Unlike her future husband, Shanbuo was poor. His family barely scraped enough to send him to school. He would probably be a teacher for some prosperous family. She didn't care. Everyday was filled with happiness when she was with him. She couldn't fathom life without him. They were best friends for two years, until the day before she left, urged by a letter from her father. That was when she finally told him what she really was. He was shocked, then realized why she was so different from all the other boys. He fell in love when she put her hair down, and behaved, for the first time, like a girl. They talked until day break.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">He promised to send the matchmaker to her house as soon as possible. She arrived home only to find the matchmaker had been there, but was promptly turned down, for her father already selected a husband for her. She was broken by the news, but she died when the news of Shanbuo passed away three months later from a broken heart. That was when the world lost meaning to her.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Now the sedan stopped. Yinxin open the covering drape with a sad expression. Yingtai removed the jade bracelet from her wrist and put it in Yinxin's hand:</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You and I grew up together. We are like sisters. Take this as a present from me. My future mother-in-law may not want to keep you, so I want to give this to you now.”</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Young Miss, I can't take this.” Yinxin was alarmed. There were no tears on her young mistress' eyes as she had expected.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Please accept it as a wedding present from me.” She insisted, then looked out. The procession stopped by a field that was filled with messy graves. She removed her red wedding dress to reveal the white mourning dress under it. Her red headdress was removed soon after the procession started its journey.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">She found Shanbuo's grave with Yinxin's help. The faithful little maid had been the conduit between the young couple until the day he died.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">She turned her face to the sky. No gods or fairris could save them. She had cried all the tears in the world and the world did not care, nor did it stop. She put down the flowers, fruits and incense, then she left the letter for her father behind the flowers. She begged him, for the last time, to forgive her. He didn't know what he did was killing her. How could he know?</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">She turned to look at Yinxin and smiled, then, with all the strength she had, crushed her head on the tombstone.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Yinxin's scream was dampened by the thunders from above. A butterfly seemed to come out from the grave. It fluttered closer and closer, then from Yingtai's lifeless body came another butterfly. Together they flew away. Together, they were forever to be. </span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">(Liang Shanbuo and Zhu Yingtai were buried together, and a temple of Shanbuo was built in year 347. The legend is often referred to as The Butterfly Lovers.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05246393318938411419noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5360085978432998396.post-14101596794409793402011-01-11T15:28:00.000-08:002011-01-11T15:49:20.503-08:00Laws of Harmony<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G8HuqCxoUdQ/TSzWkafoEAI/AAAAAAAAAjY/8A42At0OwF8/s1600/trailer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="121" n4="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G8HuqCxoUdQ/TSzWkafoEAI/AAAAAAAAAjY/8A42At0OwF8/s200/trailer.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">According to a not-so-pleasant but all-so-true research of late, many of us will face a non-existent retirement when it’s time for the corporate world to kick us in the derrière just when time is near for us to qualify for that pension, and get a “package,” as they so strategically called, that will last you a year or half.</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We can forget the Social Security or Medicare. The experts keep telling us they both are going to evaporate by the time we need them. It’s best not to get our hopes up. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We have a few options to consider, excluding the following: 1. Buy a mega lottery winning ticket. Caution--this doesn’t work that well from my personal experiences. 2. Execute a bank robbery. This will provide free room and board in local penitentiary (if we make sure the camera catch our faces clearly) but not much else, and if we don’t plan it well it could backfire in the “getting ourselves killed by the security guard” scenario.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We can move to where the jobs are, work as if the universe is ending tomorrow, save every penny and live in the Scrooge style that Dickens described so well in his book. Most of us don’t find that remotely appealing though. Another problem is we don’t speak the language where the jobs are--being proud Americans and all.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What else can I do, you ask. Let’s see…</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Move into a trailer and live off the proceed of your house--if you are blessed with owning a house instead of an upside down mortgage in the first place. Keep your fingers crossed that the market will be more lucrative by that time. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I understand your need to be with family when your health and income are both declining. It’s a viable solution that each day looks more like the <em>only</em> solution for many of us. For the benefit of everyone involved, I think a list of things we should practice now is in order.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1. Showing appreciation is unbecoming, so make sure you don’t do it. Or better yet, let them know it’s not appreciated with every chance you have. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Maybe your kin moved out of his/her big bedroom so that you can enjoy it, and prepared new furniture for your comfort. That was what they were supposed to do anyway.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Say nothing or murmur an inaudible “thanks” when getting breakfast-in-bedroom service as if a knife is placed next to your <span style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">décolletage </span>and you are saying it against your will. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If he/she thoughtlessly ordered cable TV for you, make sure you throw a temper tantrum because the remote is different and you have to learn the channels anew. How inconvenient it is for you.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">2. Show him/her how much you like the home cooked meals by insisting on eating out every other day. Lecture them on how restaurant food is healthy because the customer’s health is indeed the utmost concern of every restaurant owner. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Disregard the excess twenty pounds you are carrying because losing weight is so <em>not</em> in vogue among older people.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana;">Take twenty different supplements daily to counter any claims that you are not eating healthy.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">3. While dining out, display your best table etiquette. This includes slurping all things remotely liquid, diving into your food as soon as you are served without regards to others, sticking your fork into other’s plate if the other person is unfortunately served before you, spreading your elbows wide so others won’t get to your food (or get to eat their own food), chewing with half of the food hanging on the side of your mouth, etc.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A little primal insecurity will only do others, especially those you are supposed to nurture, immensely good.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">4. You never make a mistake, so insist on it until the sun goes down, or until the cows come home--whichever occurs the latest. Blame others for what you did or didn’t do. Remind them you are not a lunatic if you run out of excuses. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">5. Good conversation skills are imperative in old age. Nothing says harmony more when you scorn, jeer, challenge or argue every time you want to say something. Complain about something they love each day, such as a pet. It works like a charm to draw people in. Close yourself off to others so they will stay in different quarter of the house. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">6. Honesty is the best policy, especially when interacting with others. Deny, make up stories from mid air, change facts to serve your purpose. Scold others for getting the "facts" wrong. Do all of these to keep them on their toes. This will show them you still have a sharp mind.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">7. Doorknobs and handles are for imbeciles. Slam, shut, and bang all you want, but never use them to close things properly. Loud noise makes jumpy people, and thus makes their hearts so much healthier.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">8. Frugality serves everyone good, so save a square or two of the toilet paper after your “session” to show them your good sense. This serves especially well when combined with #2 above, because eating out is a <em>great</em> way to save money.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On second thought, maybe a trailer is a much better way to go for you and your family’s mental health concern. Keep in mind that these are in no way any implication of how my mother behaves, because she is perfect--see #4.</span>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05246393318938411419noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5360085978432998396.post-4177054186499095632010-12-27T09:10:00.000-08:002010-12-27T10:05:04.467-08:00The Magpie Bridge<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G8HuqCxoUdQ/TRfcQsXgIVI/AAAAAAAAAjU/rABK9kJEg2Q/s1600/MagpieBridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" n4="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G8HuqCxoUdQ/TRfcQsXgIVI/AAAAAAAAAjU/rABK9kJEg2Q/s200/MagpieBridge.jpg" width="166" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">She is the daughter of the great emperor of the heaven, and is blessed with divine skills of weaving. They live in the palatial dwellings among the clouds. She is loved by both of her parents just like a princess is and should. They call her Zhenoo--Weaving Maid.</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">The skies are hung with brightly colored silky hues of her weaving. The earth is covered with every color one can imagine. She weaves day and night, never stops to have fun, for the demand of change of season and skies are too many.</span> </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">She does her duties happily and faithfully until a mysterious condition starts to worry her parents. She is sluggish in her weaving, and her eyebrows are locked in an unhappy knot. Her laughter is dimmed and her appetite has largely disappeared. The heaven’s guards have to report this to her father, who rules everything in heaven and on earth.</span> </div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">The emperor, with his endless wisdom of a ruler, thinks about this for a while and knows what is wrong with his daughter. He calls for her presence and asks her gently:</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">“Who is the young man you are occupying your heart with, my daughter?”</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">Her face turns pale with fright, but then turns to pink after realizing her secret is no longer a secret.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">“Father, his name is Niulang--Cowherd Boy, who lives on the other side of the Milky Way,” she says, “but it is not easy for us to meet, for the Milky Way is vast.” </span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">The great emperor is happy that his talented daughter finds a hardworking young man and orders a wedding to be prepared. He sends his daughter to cross the Milky Way with his strong imperial clouds to live with her new husband.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">Being newlyweds, they both are literately on cloud nine, and the rest of the world disappears from their eyes. She stops weaving, and the skies and the earth look the same every day, day after day. He, at the same time, forgets about his herd and they are scattered all over the heaven. There is cow dung everywhere.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">The emperor gets the report and is angry. This is <b>not</b> how they should behave, he thinks. He for a moment forgets that he, too, was a newlywed and forfeited his duties briefly.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">He issues a harsh order for his daughter to return home immediately. They are to live on the opposite side of the Milky Way and to only see each other once a year, on the seventh day of the seventh month. </span><span style="color: red; font-size: x-small;">1</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">The heartbroken lovers beg the emperor but could not make him change his mind. The order is given and is to be obeyed.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">The effort to cross the Milky Way is too great, for their clouds are not as strong as the emperor’s. Thus the day of their rendezvous is even shorter from the long commute. Zhenoo’s tears touch deeply in the hearts of the magpies--the bird of happiness--so they conspire to help the lovers out.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">On the seventh day of the seventh month, the magpies come together and form a bridge in the sky with their bodies. The young couple meets in the middle of the bridge to pour their hearts out to each other. For seven days the top of the magpies are bald from the steps of the lovers. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">If you look carefully at the Hunter‘s constellation, you can see the carrying pole with a basket on each side in the sky. Niulang puts their two children in the baskets and carries them on his shoulder to meet their mother. <span style="color: red; font-size: x-small;">2</span> </span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">Young maidens have since been setting up altars in their backyard in midnight on the day of Niulang and Zhenoo’s yearly reunion, and pray for loving and faithful husbands for themselves. Surely their wishes will be granted from a pair of lovers who do not wish others to suffer the kind of heartaches they have.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">(1. The Lunar seventh day of the seventh <span style="color: black;">month</span> is the Chinese Valentine’s Day. 2. In a male dominate country I guess it’s only normal that the man gets to keep the kids.) </span></div><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"></span>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05246393318938411419noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5360085978432998396.post-10989582910644560852010-12-11T09:06:00.000-08:002010-12-11T09:06:14.661-08:00Wired<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G8HuqCxoUdQ/TQOuQoJVbgI/AAAAAAAAAjA/juHY5UL6aFM/s1600/tv.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G8HuqCxoUdQ/TQOuQoJVbgI/AAAAAAAAAjA/juHY5UL6aFM/s1600/tv.png" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>"I need to get into the crawl space. Where's the entrance?” <br />
<br />
The goofy “cable guy” said. I thought he was joking. The serious one was already high on the ladder installing the dish while this one loitered around.<br />
<br />
“Um, there isn't one.” I replied.<br />
<br />
“What's that?” he pointed at the little "windows" at the base of the house and asked.<br />
<br />
“Yeah, it <i>looks</i> like there is a crawl space, but you can't get into it.” I assured him. <br />
<br />
He looked at me funny, but I put his suspicion to rest firmly: “I've lived here for thirteen years, and I have <i>never</i> seen an entrance to it.”<br />
<br />
He went into the house and opened the storage space under the stairs.<br />
<br />
"There's the entrance.” He pointed at the floor. <br />
<br />
I looked down and, as if appeared solely by magic, a square-shaped dark seam on the floor mocked me with silent cracks.<br />
<br />
It's true. You learn something new everyday.<br />
<br />
Thank goodness I was small enough to crawl into the storage and pulled most of the stuff out so he could get down there. Then I cleared out the closet so he could climb into the attic and do his job.<br />
<br />
I knew <i>that</i> entrance.<br />
<br />
All the stuff had to go back to where they belonged and the dust had to be cleaned. These were not in the “cable guys” job descriptions. It would've saved me a lot of grieve had I known what was in store for me.<br />
<br />
I was a little tired but excited after cleaning up all the mess. Time to reveal the surprise to mom. <br />
<br />
“Look, ma. Now you have nine channels to watch instead of one. Merry Christmas!” I was so proud of myself. Her only activity--watching TV--would be a lot more interesting from now on. <br />
<br />
Or so I thought.<br />
<br />
I then tried to teach her how to use the new remote, and that was when things went downhill.<br />
<br />
There were four buttons with which she needed to get herself familiarize.<br />
<br />
On—you turn the TV on with it. <br />
<br />
Off—as the name suggested, you turn the TV off with it. <br />
<br />
Up—go up a channel. <br />
<br />
Down—go down a channel. <br />
<br />
Those, and remembering her channels start at 2050.<br />
<br />
Simple enough, right? <br />
<br />
She tried it a few times and couldn't get it right. She lost her patience promptly and told me she never watched those channels, she wanted her old channel back and to cancel the cable <i>right</i> <i>away</i>.<br />
<br />
When will I ever learn? Why did I try to get her a comparable life here when I knew she was not the appreciative type, and would say anything when angry? <br />
<br />
Two days later she wanted me to teach her again on the channels. By that time I lost my patience and good wills. I'm paying for the satellite channels, and <i>somebody</i> was going to watch them. She can stick with her one and only channel upstairs.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, She figured out how to switch back to air channels by watching me, and now watches her one channel on the big screen downstairs. <br />
<br />
I think she did it just to aggravate me, which probably gave her certain degree of enjoyment, and she was succeeding. <br />
<br />
It's amazing how, with the right amount of incentive, whether positive or negative, a person who couldn't do or learn anything <i>can </i>achieve the impossible.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05246393318938411419noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5360085978432998396.post-36636119523743534442010-11-25T01:51:00.000-08:002010-11-25T01:51:10.744-08:00The Long Way Home<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_G8HuqCxoUdQ/TO4wyU6NBjI/AAAAAAAAAi4/ODH2T5V-5aA/s1600/airplane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_G8HuqCxoUdQ/TO4wyU6NBjI/AAAAAAAAAi4/ODH2T5V-5aA/s1600/airplane.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>“I see lights. That must be San Francisco!” Mom pointed at the window excitedly.<br />
<br />
<br />
“Ma, it was seven o’clock when we took off, and that was forty minutes ago.” I replied with a finger pointing at my watch. She <em>knew</em> it would be a two-and-half-hour flight.<br />
<br />
She looked at me, then the window, then was quiet for a while. <br />
<br />
Twenty minutes later, she saw lights again: “<em>That</em> must be San Francisco.”<br />
<br />
This is going to be a very long flight, I thought to myself, and it will be the first <em>and</em> last time I am ever going to fly with her.<br />
<br />
It was worse than traveling with a kid. At least you could tell the kid to be quiet. <br />
<br />
I was a little tired. The day started early, since I woke up at five and couldn’t sleep anymore. There were still a lot to do before we had to leave.<br />
<br />
I made five or six garbage runs. Mom’s friends were going to take everything away after we were gone, but I felt bad leaving too much junk, so I wanted to do the best I could to reduce their work.<br />
<br />
It didn’t help with mom telling me, as usual, to take a break. I think she said that to make herself feel better, not knowing or caring who was going to finish all the work.<br />
<br />
Then I had to cook for her friends who were kind enough to stop by. I cooked the traditional dumplings which, according to mom, was <em>the</em> thing to eat when leaving for a long journey. Thank goodness for frozen food.<br />
<br />
It started to snow amid all the actions. I ran to the patio yelling snow, snow! <br />
<br />
I was the only one who was so excited. They were probably all sick of the wintry scene. <br />
<br />
We had the first unpleasant surprise when we arrived at the airport. The flight was delayed for two hours. <br />
<br />
I didn’t buy their reason--weather. I’m from California, okay? We don’t have bad weather there. Find another excuse for your inefficiency. <br />
<br />
We did the duty-free shopping. We had coffee. We did the restroom runs. Twice. We had some food. I pushed her wheelchair all over the place. The airline clerk was nowhere to be found, so I decided I didn’t need her. I am my mother’s keeper now.<br />
<br />
After we finally sat down in our seats on the plane, but not before we had this near miss roller coaster slide down the tunnel, I heard the flight attendant telling a passenger it was bad weather that caused the long delay. <br />
<br />
So much for the great California weather.<br />
<br />
Three or four times of proclaiming we were over San Francisco later, mom finally got her wish. We were over the city, only we couldn’t land. There was a thing called air traffic jam and we were in it.<br />
<br />
We circled twenty more minutes in the air. Mom complained that the pilot <em>drove</em> too slowly. <br />
<br />
To top things off, the traffic on the ground was worse than that in the air. We probably waited half an hour for our ride to drive the two-minute distance from the cell phone area. <br />
<br />
It was almost midnight when we reached home. A simple two-hour flight turned into an eleven-hour ordeal.<br />
<br />
My little house had never looked nicer, and the licks from my little Yorkie had never felt sweeter before.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(Happy Thanksgiving everyone!)Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05246393318938411419noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5360085978432998396.post-2198038534276125812010-11-07T08:46:00.000-08:002010-11-07T16:17:11.904-08:00House of Five Hundred DoorsI know it’s late, but I have some questions that have been bothering me for quite some time, so I figure now is as good as any to ask you a few simple questions.<wbr><br />
<br />
What‘s that? It’s one o’clock in the morning? Oh, I’m sure you don’t mind. After all, you and your family don’t go to bed <em>that</em> early. Don’t bother to argue. I hear you every night.<br />
<br />
First question: why did you spend so much money to install five hundred doors in your unit? Regardless where you originally came from, you have to admit it’s rather peculiar. Every other step one takes in your unit requires a slam of a door. Every night, all night long. It’s obvious nobody in your unit understands how to “close” a door, but only how to shut the door with a bang. <br />
<br />
If you don’t know how to properly close a door, I will have to ask you to remove four hundred ninety-nine of them from your unit immediately. You see, there’s only so much door banging one can endure in certain amount of time, and I’m tired of stabbing the ceilings with the mop handle. I will have to fix the ceilings if I damage them, and I won’t like that.<br />
<br />
Second question: is everyone in your unit a sumo wrestler? Not only this causes an unpleasant mental image to one’s mind, the echo of your every step ripples through your floors / our ceilings sounds like a kong sounding from afar. And you guys walk a lot. All night, every night. Add this to the banging of the five hundred doors you installed before you moved in, and you have a symphony of beneath-the-penthouse nightmare.<br />
<br />
For your own good I suggest you lose weight immediately. If you fall through the ceilings one day from a heart attack, which won’t be far judging from the sound of your steps and the vibration of the walls, I will have to bill you for the repair. I won’t like that either, especially if you’re in a hospital and I‘m risking not having the expenses recovered--if you get my drift. <br />
<br />
One more question: is your child half monkey half horse? He/she is obviously very young, judging from the screaming and the little steps he/she takes when running. It may be a lovely sight for you, the parents, to have an undisciplined wild beast racing in the house, screaming while slamming those five hundred doors, but not for your neighbors downstairs. Trust me on this one. <br />
<br />
Oh, anoter thing about the kid--going to bed at ten or eleven o’clock is way too late for a child that young. In fact, going to bed at twelve, one, or two o’clock in the morning is way too late for you, too. How you manage to get up in the morning and go to work is beyond me.<br />
<br />
I haven’t had a good night sleep in I don’t know how long. My eyes are scratchy dry and my skin is breaking out. The noise coming from above is stressing me to the point that the mop handle feels too weak of a gesture. I’m also getting more wrinkles from lack of sleep and anger. I <em>really</em> don’t like that.<br />
<br />
The fact that you live on the top floor may have given you some superiority complex. Here’s a surprise--you still have to be considerate to your neighbors. Paying a little more doesn’t give you the right to forfeit common courtesy. Even a real penthouse dweller like Donald Trump would agree with me. Besides, it’s only a four-story building. You’re not <em>that</em> higher up.<br />
<br />
These nuisances may be commonly accepted where you came from. People may not have the right to complain--about anything. It may be the very reason you left <em>that country</em> and sought a better life here. Why else would you uproot your family, travel thousands of miles to a place where nothing is easy and no one is familiar? I get that. <br />
<br />
I just have one thing to say to you and all the horn-honking, traffic-cutting mad drivers in this town: don’t make this country a duplicate of <em>that country</em>. There’s a saying (and I’m sure you’re familiar with it) goes something like this: taking off one’s pants to break wind. <br />
<br />
It makes your thousand-mile move totally unnecessary if you insist on behaving the old way. You might as well stay where you were in the first place.<br />
<br />
<br />
(Other than raining one hundred eighty days a year and the few little things mentioned above, it really is a nice little town to live here. No really.)Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05246393318938411419noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5360085978432998396.post-10886521659611857172010-10-22T10:56:00.000-07:002010-10-22T10:56:21.686-07:00Skin DeepThe box of glass plates removed from the display rack was heavy. Mr. Wong offered to lug it for Mrs. Liu, who was a tiny woman in her seventy’s. She was so tiny, in fact, that she had to shop her clothes in children’s department, then had them altered to fit her properly.<br />
<br />
<br />
Mom’s display rack had some knickknacks only she found precious. The rest of us were happy to see it go--especially Mr. Wong, who was also our realtor.<br />
<br />
I opened the front door for them. The cold air and grey skies reminded me again this was not California, and how I missed it.<br />
<br />
Mr. Wong was supposed to hold the dolly that had the box of glass while Mrs. Liu and I unloaded the plates from the box to the back of her car.<br />
<br />
He let go and the box fell, without my knowledge, behind my back, hitting my right heel.<br />
<br />
I grabbed my heel and stopped breathing. They were shocked and asking me if I was alright. I couldn’t speak for a few seconds.<br />
<br />
When the pain subsided I lifted the pant and found a piece of skin missing. Some blood was dripping and the heel around it already turned blue.<br />
<br />
I assured them I was fine, but might need to put a Band Aid on it, and went back upstairs half limping.<br />
<br />
Mom was either trying to call someone or playing her handheld toy. She asked me if I remember to take the keys back and I told her what happened. <br />
<br />
She said, “You sure know how to pick a fine place to stand.” without once looking up.<br />
<br />
I found a Band Aid and went to the bedroom. <br />
<br />
Of all the arguments we had over throwing her possessions away, this comment hurt me the most.<br />
<br />
It was understandable she was infuriated by my actions in the past two weeks, even though she knew they were the right actions, and she had no idea where to begin if I hadn‘t done it for her. I knew it must be hard to be parted with her worldly possessions and move eight hundred miles away.<br />
<br />
She was not trying to be cold. I was expecting too much. <br />
<br />
I was silly to think now that she was going to live with me, somehow I would get a loving mother that I never had.<br />
<br />
Growing up with a pair of self-centered parents, I should know better. They both were buried in their own miseries that life, and themselves, had brought on. No one had doted on me since I was a child. I should know not to rely on anyone emotionally. I have finally learned to be happy. <br />
<br />
So why couldn’t I stop my tears? <br />
<br />
Am I still trying to fill that void unconsciously no matter how hard I tried to ignore it consciously? I’m relatively smart and somewhat educated. I know a lost cause when I see one--most of the time.<br />
<br />
What stubborn and unexplainable force possessed me to think if I looked hard enough I would find what I was missing?<br />
<br />
Sometimes, some people are just skin deep. They <em>are</em> what you see.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05246393318938411419noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5360085978432998396.post-55218293162668457122010-10-07T19:28:00.000-07:002010-10-07T19:28:40.117-07:00Like Thunders to DucksShe must have been watching me. As soon as I finished the form she gestured “Can you do this for me, too?” while holding up her form.<br />
<br />
I guessed it. I didn’t understand a thing uttered from her mouth. Thank goodness hand gestures are mostly universal. The smile didn’t hurt either.<br />
<br />
I could see the plot she and her husband secretly came up when I was writing. “Look, she knows English! She can help us!” Two heads nodded eagerly.<br />
<br />
I assumed they were a couple. I know her culture. She wouldn’t be traveling with a man who was not her husband. But wait, they had different last names... <br />
<br />
Two different passports for a couple. Interesting… Maybe they were brother/sister whose life paths led them half a world apart. I have never met my uncles, aunts, and cousins from either side of my parents, except for the one uncle who fled to the island. The war tore the families apart. <br />
<br />
“Do you have meat, poultry, or food with you?” He shook his head. I didn’t think he knew what poultry was.<br />
<br />
“Do you have over ten thousand dollars with you?” He showed me his index finger and said slowly: “One thousand.” <br />
<br />
That was five times of <em>my</em> cash on hand. No wonder she wore pure gold earrings and ring.<br />
<br />
“Do you have any guns?” I formed a gun with my fingers and aimed it at him. He laughed and said no. This question never ceased to amaze me. Do they really expect me to say “yes” if I had a gun in my bag and somehow escaped the baggage screening? <br />
<br />
I skipped the question about the farm. It would be too much work to explain a farm. The local agricultural bureau would have to be on guard without my help.<br />
<br />
“Sign here.” I pointed the form and handed over my pen. They both signed. She thanked me in her dialect. <br />
<br />
It appeared they wanted to stay quiet and subdue. They didn‘t get such luck from me. I opened the booklet and showed them the choices of snacks available for purchase. They smiled and nodded, then shook, their heads.<br />
<br />
Our abilities of understanding each other fit the saying “like thunders to ducks” perfectly. We knew something was making a lot of noise, but had very little idea what was really happening. <br />
<br />
This must be how my mother used to travel to see me. She always called me after she arrived home, describing the trip to me loudly. <i>The flight was delayed. I met a person on the plane who spoke my language. My friend picked me up. I ate the sandwich you made for me. A woman at the customs questioned me on the jewelries I wore. </i>Etc, etc. <br />
<br />
I always thought it was silly to make a less-than-two-hour trip sounded like a big ordeal. <br />
<br />
The couple made me see that it <em>was</em> a big deal for my mom. She couldn’t fill the customs form. She couldn’t order anything to eat or drink. Somebody had to help her. With a lot of patience while doing it.<br />
<br />
My eyes welled up. I was full of gratitude to those strangers who helped my mom on the numerous flights she took. I now know why she was so excited when she got home safely.<br />
<br />
I ordered a box of snacks and forced the couple to eat it with me. <br />
<br />
Let them think I was a strange and crazy woman. I don’t care.<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>(I’m visiting my mom who broke her wrist recently. I will be mostly missing from the blog world for a while since there’s a lot to do.)</em>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05246393318938411419noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5360085978432998396.post-63211113692585269592010-09-27T08:24:00.000-07:002010-09-27T08:24:59.944-07:00The Herder<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G8HuqCxoUdQ/TKCxClxgtPI/AAAAAAAAAio/t5gSFoyMo4g/s1600/templealtar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_G8HuqCxoUdQ/TKCxClxgtPI/AAAAAAAAAio/t5gSFoyMo4g/s200/templealtar.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Tu-er looks at the fading sunlight and increases his pace. The sun is clinging on the silhouette of the mountains and slipping down unwillingly. The town behind him is swallowed up by the evening haze. As far as he could see there’s no smoke to indicate a village is near.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Curse that old man at the noodle stand, he thinks. The old man told him a village was within five miles and could be reached by dark. He was eager to get home after a month away from his family, so he took advantage of the sunlight and his strong legs.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Maybe he missed the turnoff. A fork taunted him a couple of miles ago. He followed the direction given to him to “keep going west” and now he’s not so sure. A sudden scream startles him and he jolts at the noise. A big bird dashes out of an elm tree, its dark wings flap a few times and disappears into the grey horizon. He exhales nervously. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">A blister threatens him inside the hemp sole. Perhaps a night under a tree away from the element is the only way to sleep tonight. He surveys the landscape when he notices a vague shape in the dark. He focuses on it and a rush of joy washes all the anxiety away. It’s a small temple. He runs toward it with brave big steps.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">He pushes the wooden door slowly. To his further delight it’s closed but not bolted. He calls out timidly, asking if he could spend the night, while crossing the foot-high thresh-hold carefully. A statue sitting behind an altar table greets him with wordless stern warning. The offering room appears endless in the dark air. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">The cold incense burner and the empty tabletop tell him its abandoned state. He decides it’s a place safe enough to spend the night. He spreads out the cotton quilt he carries on his back and closes the door. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Few moments after he closes his eyes, it seems, a squeaky noise and a cold breeze on his face chase the slumber away. He sits up under the quilt with his heart pounding in his chest, his eyes searching wildly in the dark. The temple door is ajar. The pre-dawn moonlight casts a blurry streak on the floor. He must have slept through the night without bolting the door first. What a coward, he scolds himself, and stands up to close the door.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">His hand freezes on the edge of the door. A group of people, their shapes can’t be made out with the moon hiding in the flowing clouds, are running toward him--toward the temple. The bobbing shadow alerts him he doesn’t have much time. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">He had the misfortune of running into the bandits once, and he knows what will happen if they see him. With the fastest speed he wraps up his belongings and rolls under the altar table. The tables are covered with red table cover, a long table in the back and a short one in the front. To be safe he presses himself all the way to the back. The statue and the long altar table are set in an alcove and is the only safe place he could hide. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">He stops breathing when they come inside. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Thud, thud, thud. Sounds like they jump in one by one. A man yells tiao, tiao...! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">He doesn’t understand. As if the rest of them don’t know there is a thresh-hold and need instruction to jump over it. He listens on. The man chants for a while in words he couldn’t make sense of, with more of the thud, thud in the mix.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">To his surprise, the noise quiets down shortly and the door is closed again. He could hear the man standing in front of the table praying to the god for a safe trip home, and the sound of the man putting his bedding down. Soon his snoring rattles the worship room. The rest of the group doesn’t make so much noise as breathing.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">He slowly lifts a sliver of the table cover against his own warning. The man on the floor is sound asleep. He looks up slowly and could see a row of man-shaped objects lined up against the wall. They are wrapped in linen from head to toe, their eyes two black holes looking into the lifeless space in front of them. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">It feels like a bomb exploded in his head and forced all the blood out. As he slowly slips to the floor and faints, he remembers the tale he once heard from the village elder.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">The families of the traveling men died away from home sometimes didn’t have money to have their bodies shipped back home. They would pool their money together and hire a herder--a mysterious man with special and dark power to command the corps. They travel by night and sleep by day, and always by routes seldom traversed. The corps jump, not walk, while they travel. It was imperative, the elder said, not to disturb them if you bumped into them, or bad fortune would be upon you soon.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">By the time Tu-er comes to, the herder and the corps are deep in their “sleep,” and the pearly grey outside is promising a good day ahead. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">He doesn’t remember how he got out of the temple. Perhaps he crawled out, although his children and acquaintances will never hear that from him. He never risks traveling at night just to get more mileage in anymore.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">(Corps Herder was a real profession and a lost art—according to the elders)</span></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05246393318938411419noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5360085978432998396.post-57210275355139479512010-09-15T18:33:00.000-07:002010-09-16T13:37:34.170-07:00Cicada Song<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G8HuqCxoUdQ/TH8UlPeqgpI/AAAAAAAAAig/ublg7q6emms/s1600/flametree2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="185" ox="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_G8HuqCxoUdQ/TH8UlPeqgpI/AAAAAAAAAig/ublg7q6emms/s320/flametree2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">The sea of red petals of the phoenix trees paint every treetop to bright red, and set the heated July sky on fire. They seem to be particularly brazen in color this year. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Millions of cicadas join the summer march by singing their mating songs with all the force they can squeeze from their tiny bodies. They scream “Look at me--I’m here!” with their bug eyes and bulky dark bodies as if the world is ending tomorrow.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Everywhere she goes she can’t escape the loud reminder: graduation in two weeks. </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Pearl puts her books and pens in the book bag one by one deliberately slow. She hopes she can catch a glance from Toni. In fact, she hopes for more than a glance, but she will be blissfully happy if it’s only a look or a smile from Toni.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Her face dims when she sees Toni’s back leaving the classroom. She does a quick scan just to make sure Leanne is not one of the girls leaving with her. </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">She’s not. Pearl feels relieved.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Leanne’s face is pretty and delicate. She attracts attention from everyone--especially Toni’s. Pearl doesn’t want to, but her heart feels as if it's filled with acid each time she sees them walking together, often laughing in a world where Pearl does not exist.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Look at me. I’m not pretty like Leanne, but I don’t ask for much either--Pearl quietly pleads. The day shines much brighter if Toni looks her way once or twice. She can’t tell anybody this secret. She doesn’t know how to explain.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">How can she like a girl in that way? They don’t understand Toni. Toni is not just a girl. Her hair is cut to extra short. Her pleated skirt looks like it doesn’t belong, and is such a bother to her. She cuts her nails short and walks in large and square strides. She is something else disguised in a girl’s body. Something so different and dangerous that lures Pearl with an unfamiliar excitement. </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">The walk home is quiet and alone, as it is every day for Pearl. She says “baba” to the man sitting in the living room. He is watching TV and grunts an “um” to her, his eyes fixed on the TV. The three of them--her father, her step-mother, and her half brother--look like a happy family that needs no intruder. The woman and the young boy don’t pay any attention to her. They never do. She retreats to her room to finish her homework, her yearning for Toni continues in the small and muggy room.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">The school held a sleepover in the gym once. She was assigned a spot next to Toni. She was so nervous and excited she could hardly talk or sleep. Her head was next to Toni’s, but she couldn’t look into Toni’s smiling eyes. To cover her shyness, she turned her back and pretended to be sleeping. What she would do to revise that day! She would talk all night with the one person she adores the most. She would find out all about her, and find a way to let her know how she thinks about her every day.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Her shyness must have looked like cold indifference to Toni. Pearl realizes it now with a permanent stab in her heart. She missed the only chance she had. She watches helplessly when Toni and Leanne get closer each day.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">The final days and exams come and gone in the speed of a tropical storm. Everyone is exchanging address and phone number. The yearbooks are signed over and over. Toni writes “wishing you a bright and successful future” on Pearl’s. It’s painfully routine and polite.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">The graduation ceremony flashes through before Pearl, or anyone else, is ready. Auld Lang Sine is still ringing in their ears when they find themselves out of the hall. The girls wave good-bye to their classmates with tearful eyes, promising against life’s onslaught to keep in touch, and junior high is over.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">The cicadas still sing on every treetop. The moment they stop singing is the moment they die. The phoenix trees still burn up the sky every summer, proclaiming their passion to few who notice. Pearl knows she is the only person in the world who knows the cicadas are calling out to Toni, but she will never see Toni again.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>(Phoenix tree is called flame tree here)</i></span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i></i></span></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05246393318938411419noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5360085978432998396.post-41186721882311954512010-08-30T11:57:00.000-07:002010-08-30T11:57:02.704-07:00Follow<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G8HuqCxoUdQ/THQGy8zsNrI/AAAAAAAAAiY/aEthAI3LfrI/s1600/walkonbeach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="140" ox="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G8HuqCxoUdQ/THQGy8zsNrI/AAAAAAAAAiY/aEthAI3LfrI/s200/walkonbeach.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>I shortened the leash and said “heel” before crossing the intersection. Coco tightened the leash right on cue as if I just gave her the command to run. <br />
<br />
<br />
I’ve been walking and training her to heel for about a year and half now. I don’t know what her problem is. She knows to “wait” when I say so, just not “heel.” I can’t say she’s not smart, since she never misunderstands “breakfast” or “dinner.” Or the Chinese version of “come brush your teeth.” <br />
<br />
I’m convinced a bilingual dog can’t be a dumb dog. <br />
<br />
Yet she acted in complete surprise every time I yanked her back after the command “heel” and her subsequent running. I would tell her she was a little stinker for trying to flee from me. Maybe that’s where I did wrong. Maybe "little stinker" sounds like "good job" in Yorkie lingo. <br />
<br />
I saw the couple on the other side before crossing the street. At first glance they looked like strangers who happened to be walking on the same side of the street. He walked a good forty feet ahead of her and seemed not at all concerned that she was about to cross the street by herself. He didn’t stop or look back, just kept on walking. <br />
<br />
Coco and I kept our distance behind them. She had dark hair fashioned into a simple bun. It was the only part of her that didn’t say “old.” She was short and walked with a little lopsided stride in her chubby physique. He, on the other hand, was tall and agile. The distance between them made me somehow want to yell at him. <br />
<br />
They were from the same mysterious country from the far away land of which I knew very little. Must be arranged marriage--I mused to myself. Suddenly he made a blunt one-eighty and I yelled silently--yay, he did care! <br />
<br />
He passed her without a word or even a glance, and turned back a few feet afterward. In the meanwhile she didn’t miss a beat--just kept on walking behind him.<br />
<br />
I was getting annoyed, despite the fact that I knew I shouldn’t. I was from the same kind of society where men walked around as if they were sent down here in golden sedan carried by God himself. I had enough of that that I didn’t want to see it here. I sometimes would get stuck in the doorway with another man from my hometown, who clearly was not familiar with the concept of “ladies first,” and I would go out of my way to ignore him and resist the urge to apologize. <br />
<br />
They had to learn and I was accelerating their assimilation process by giving them their first lesson. <br />
<br />
It was also annoying that “love” did not exist to us. If we were awkward adults with no clue how to show affection, it’s because we were raised where love was a hushed word, a taboo. It’s a shameful emotion that should be ignored at all costs.<br />
<br />
Parents showed their love by scolding and putting their children down in front of others. Criticism equates adoration in their minds. They get away with it because parents command complete filial piety, one of the first words I looked up in the dictionary soon after I came here, upon their children; and because there’s no such thing as “therapy.” We had nobody to blame for our problems. <br />
<br />
Love is to be assumed, and not expressed, between husband and wife, or lovers. My friend once told me she loved her husband, and her mother said she talked like an idiot. Did she have no shame, she wondered about her daughter.<br />
<br />
Having a full stomach, on the other hand, is of utmost concern of ours. We greet each other not with “how are you” but “have you eaten yet,” or the latter follows the prior immediately after. Regardless your answer, we will proceed to force-feed you until your mid section is about to explode. It took me years to forgo the habit of taking food with me when going on car rides with my friend. She shared the peculiar behavior with her other friends, and they had a good laugh. I didn’t understand why it was funny just as they didn’t understand my need to feed her. <br />
<br />
Had she known where I was coming from, she would’ve asked “Where are the chicken wings?” instead.<br />
<br />
The couple made a turn and parted way with us. He stopped and looked back until she almost caught up before making the turn. They didn’t share a word throughout the walk, and yet there was an air they silently exuded that was so comforting. They stuck together through so many decades, and in all likelihood will be fulfilling “’til death do us part” part of the union. I watched their backs, lanky and nimble versus short and wobbly, trotting away from me for a few seconds. I wasn’t so annoyed anymore. <br />
<br />
Coco looked at them and realized that wasn't the path we were taking. Not anytime soon anyway. We continued on our usual route home. It must've started drizzling, as my cheeks were getting misty. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Collin’s touch jolts me back from the murky abyss. I look into his blue eyes and I could tell he’s a little worried. </div><br />
“Are you all right, darling?” <br />
<br />
“Yes. It’s nice to be relaxed at last.” I put on a smile behind the sun glasses. I have loved this man for so long, and deceived him for so long, that I must keep the act going. <br />
<br />
Until I find a way, if the possibility is not as bleak as it seems right now, to show him the truth without hurting him or the family. <br />
<br />
“I know what you mean. I should thank you for planning this family vacation. The cruise is perfect so far.” He sits down next to me and looks out the horizon with a satisfied sigh, holding my hand in his. It’s not hard to make him happy, but he said “so far” as if he had some foretelling inkling. <br />
<br />
Is he also gentle and loving like Collin? It’s been thirty years and my memory is a bit fuzzy of his face. <br />
<br />
I remember kissing Collin good-bye and watching him drive away as if it were yesterday. I ran upstairs and cried behind closed door all night. He was going to college and it was our last day together for a long while. <br />
<br />
We will see each other soon, he promised. Christmas will be here before you realize it. You know I love you, Alina. I am doing this for us, for our future. We will get married as soon as I’m done with the school. Wait for me, Alina.<br />
<br />
I held Collin close to me that day while silently fighting a war inside me. He was gifted and disciplined. The future for him was bright and the college was the right thing to do. He said he wouldn’t look at other girls, and I trusted him. He never did the entire senior year we were together. I would wait for him for as long as it took. Other boys didn’t exist in my eyes. <br />
<br />
He was also leaving early to start working at the college. It would be selfish if I told him I was pregnant. I knew he would’ve stopped his life to be with me. The thought of whether or not to tell him had tormented me for months. I lost weight instead of gaining it. Now it was too late to either tell him or to terminate it. There was only one option left. I had to beg my parents to keep it a secret. They finally caved in to my tears.<br />
<br />
They tore my heart apart when they took my baby away. I was not allowed to hold him. They said it was for my own good. I glared at his face through tears for five seconds and tried hard to sear his image in my mind. They said it was better to give him up for adoption than otherwise. They said this as if they had no hearts and could feel no pain. The physical pain was minute comparing to the heartaches, which took years to heal. I learned to harden my heart each time I saw a baby, or heard a lullaby. I even drew up a sketch of a lovely woman holding my baby with a smile on her face in my mind, then pushed the sketch deep into the back and told myself he would be fine.<br />
<br />
Collin held my face and said I had changed, but wasn’t sure how, the first time he came back for the holiday break. I hid my face in his collar and just said I missed him so much. He believed the tears were over his absence, and he loved me more. I learned to live with that lie, too. <br />
<br />
The only thing I could remember now is he had Collin’s dark hair. Time has buried the little wrinkled face and the nine-month dark period in a place I seldom visited. Just when I started to think my life was perfect, that the darkness had finally left me, I got a letter from the agency. <br />
<br />
Your son wanted to contact you, it said; he's waiting for your decision.<br />
<br />
His first letter was enclosed. It was short and polite. He’s in the States half a globe away from me and somehow he found me. He talked about his life and work there, but very little about his childhood. The omission spoke louder than words. My heart sank. The promise that he would be with a good family was not kept. The sketch I made up for him was another lie burned up in smoke. <br />
<br />
I’d love to meet you, he said. Is he punishing me by not saying he grew up in a loving family, or that he didn’t blame me? How could I tell him I did marry his father and have a great family, only he’s not included? Will he understand I didn't try to find him because I didn't think I had the right to disturb him? How could I tell Collin he had another son he never knew, because I gave him to strangers? <br />
<br />
Me, the person he thanked many times for making his life complete, had carried this cancerous secret with me for thirty years. Our lives are built not on rocks, it seems, but in the sands, and now the tides are coming in. How, in trying to do the unselfish thing, did I manage to fail my family and my first born?<br />
<br />
The shimmering ocean stays silent, but stares me back with an enticing promise. The promise of peace, at last. <br />
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<!-- AddThis Button END -->Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05246393318938411419noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5360085978432998396.post-52332980870451989582010-08-06T08:37:00.000-07:002010-08-07T09:27:29.487-07:00Point Siege<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G8HuqCxoUdQ/TFwfxNMDFQI/AAAAAAAAAh8/Bc27_3D8-QI/s1600/Algiers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_G8HuqCxoUdQ/TFwfxNMDFQI/AAAAAAAAAh8/Bc27_3D8-QI/s200/Algiers.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>The river shines a million diamonds under the September sun. Donald doesn’t stop like he used to, but walks with his eyes looking straight ahead.<br />
<br />
He used to think the river as a big, beautiful woman loving and nurturing her children with her ample bosom and comforting arms. With her soft throaty voice she sings them to sleep at night.<br />
<br />
The hurricane changed it into a savage sea monster. It unleashed its claws and swept away houses with people in them. His roof was blown away and his possessions were stewed in muddy water. In one day he lost everything. He can't bear the sight of the river now.<br />
<br />
He heard the police had set up an evacuation center at “The Point”--a small town spared by the hurricane and flood. He hopes they have food there. He's getting hungry after walking several hours on foot. <br />
<br />
This town makes him uncomfortable. He saw a few glances behind the curtain along the way. Plantation style houses with summer blossoms and wrought iron fences can make a postcard ashamed, yet he feels he is being watched with unwelcoming eyes.<br />
<br />
Some trees are lying on the street blocking his way. They are arranged not by wind, but by human hands. He looks around. Going back to bypass it will take too long. He's losing energy under the inferno heat. He bends down to remove the trees.<br />
<br />
* * *<br />
<br />
Robbie sees him passing his house and gets his shotgun out. He calls the boys and tells them where the guy is heading. The boys say they will be there soon. They are going to get him this time.<br />
<br />
We set up the barricades to give you warnings, he says to himself, not my fault if you’re too dumb to get it. This town is special. We take good care of our properties, and we are not going to let some looters ruin it. Hurricane or not, you people are not welcome here. The sheriff told me they didn’t have enough people to maintain order. Do what you have to and leave them by the side walk, he said.<br />
<br />
Robbie pats his shotgun proudly. He's grateful he had the smarts to get it at the first sight of the drones of those people flooding in to the center. No low lives like them are going to destroy our town by stealing or looting. We'll show them who’s in charge here.<br />
<br />
* * *<br />
<br />
The sound of the blast bounces off the water and ripples away slowly. Donald feels the pain in his neck, arms and back before falling to the ground. Two or three guys with guns pointing at him looking from above, their silhouettes big against the blue sky blocking the sunshine. He doesn't feel the heat anymore.<br />
<br />
“We got you, nigger. We got you!” Robbie says. Donald sees anger in his eyes, but more than that, he sees fear glittering behind it. I know that fear, he wants to say. He had felt it many times before--every time he passed a man like him.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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</div>shifu - abbess<br />
nigu - buddhist nun<br />
miao - buddhist temple<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The hills glistened under the slanted golden sun. Her hand-tucked canvas shoes and long wide sleeves, sweeping along grasses scented with dewy drops, were wet. She brushed her long hair aside along with the sweat on her forehead and drew in deeply the cold mountain air. <br />
<br />
She had collected enough fire woods for the day and filled the giant urn in the kitchen with spring water. <em>Shifu</em> told her to fetch one more thing for the ceremony tonight, and she was told to do this chore by herself.<br />
<br />
Others had described the shape and scent to her before. It’s pure white in color, they said, and they bloom in summer with dancing petals. She missed the season when she came to the <span style="color: black;"><em>miao</em></span> to stay last year. She was broken then, lost her sight for life. <br />
<br />
<em>Shifu</em> and other <em>nigus</em> nursed her back to health in their quiet and gentle ways. She gradually understood from <em>shifu’s</em> wise eyes that life could be simple; that heartaches could be buried. <br />
<br />
She realized she wanted to be one of them when she was healed. The tip of her hair danced in the gentle breeze and tickled her face, her neck. Waye used to do that. She pushed the thought out of her mind.<br />
<br />
Not today, she thought, today I need to be pure and empty. The bothersome hair will be gone forever, much like her thoughts of earthly connection. Her fingers wrapped the hair around but she was concentrating on purging her thoughts and didn’t notice.<br />
<br />
You will know when you find it, they said. The scent is divine, there’s nothing like it! That’s why we offer it to Buddha.<br />
<br />
She followed the turn of the road and there it was: behind the big tree in the shade, some white flowers swayed in the air. The blade shaped green leaves bounced under filtered sun light. Her hands reached out to touch the petals and the aroma seized her. <br />
<br />
Waye’s head was buried in her hair and he whispered: “You smell like heaven.. ” She felt Waye’s arms around her and she caressed her arms achingly. Her memories were battered with horrible fragments. There was blood all over her. She remembered screaming his name, his head draped lifelessly on the steering wheel. People were shouting and pulling her away from the car, from him. She couldn't stop screaming.<br />
<br />
They told her she was lucky to have survived, but she didn’t know how to live without Waye. Her mother took her to this <em>miao</em> as a last attempt to pull her back to life. Almost a year later she decided to join the women. Her head would be shaved clean, a symbol of cutting tie with the rest of the world, and her scalp would be burned with incense for spiritual cleansing. All pains would be gone for good. <br />
<br />
Her face was wet with tears and her arms full with white wild ginger flowers. She had lost the sense of time sitting under the tree. Fresh tears kept flowing down and she let them come out freely. She was no longer lost. Her heart hurt for the first time in a year. <br />
<br />
<em>Shifu</em> saw her face when she walked into the <em>miao</em> and knew--the broken child was repaired. She carefully put the flowers in the vase in front of Buddha’s statue and turned to face <em>shifu</em>. <br />
<br />
“They smelled so...” she began to say, but words failed her and her voice cracked. <br />
<br />
“I know.” <em>shifu</em> said, her eyes calm with foreboding wisdom. “ Your bag is packed and ready in your room.” she said, gently and lovingly, “Go now. Go and have a wonderful life.”<br />
<br />
<br />
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