On the Road to Drumleman

A quote that says it all.

2007-06-29T09:40:00.000+08:00

"'Farewell!' was the cry of my heart as I left him. Despair added, 'Farewell, for ever!'"--Jane Eyre, Vol. III.

We leave tomorrow.

We're Okay

2007-06-04T09:40:00.000+08:00

I don't know if I have any regular readers anymore, but if I do, you probably are aware that we're in Southwest China's Yunnan province. You've also probably heard of the quake. Well, we felt it, and it woke us up, but Pu'er (a.k.a. Simao) is 200 km away from here, so we're okay. We've had folks who are worried about us, but we're okay. 3 dead though, in Pu'er, and many more injured. It tortures the mind to think about it.

Sorry!

2007-06-01T08:01:00.000+08:00

I haven't posted in ages because I've been busy and there's really nothing to write about. Okay, I was looking up 9/11 on World Book and the most striking picture was that of the Statue of Liberty holding her torch over a couple of smokestacks that used to be skyscrapers. But that's hardly anything you want to know.

Things are winding down here. Two more weeks of school after today, then two weeks of packing and saying goodbye, then it's time to go...home.

Home? What is home? I was faced with that question while listening to a tape with my favorite songs on it. One made me think about Qi Shan so much that my heart ached, but two songs after that was the uncomparable Atwater-Donnnelly singing "Song of the Cowboys". Immediately, I was back in Seattle on a winter evening, often late on a Wednesday during Lent. Both songs brought tears to my eyes from associations. I don't have associations of a place--just an event--with a song unless there's some homelike aspect to it. Oh, I don't know! It's just surreal. And last year I was half-wishing that something would come up and we couldn't come back.

Poking with Pictures:

2007-05-11T11:21:00.000+08:00

Honest! I didn't do nothing with this picture but add "clouds" to the background. Why is a completely different story...

Oog.

2007-05-10T18:40:00.000+08:00

Things are winding down. I'm tempted to quit this before June. Not because I'm sick of blogging, just because...oh, I don't know. I don't really know my own mind right now. I think it's because of leaving here. I'm being pretty honest with you, here. Life's been a bit of a bummer right about now. Not too bad, of course. But...ah, who knows? I wish I could just speed over the goodbyes and rewind life back to one of the two golden ages of our time here...

Drawing to a Close

2007-05-08T20:53:00.000+08:00

Less'n a month, now, and I'll bid you farewell. Yes, it's May already, and in June it'll be about a month before. I started this blog back in January 2006, and it's been a long way. And even that is less time than I've been here; I've been here since August, 2005.

2005! Two years! So long ago, I thought that two years was forever. And now it just seems long, for it's an age in my life...ah, phooey, why am I talking about all this now? It's a whole month, yet.

So, although it's "21:01:11" by my computer's clock, I'll "wish you a' a good morning" because who knows what time you'll read this?

"maurn"?

2007-05-08T09:46:00.000+08:00

I spent about fifteen minutes last night hunting for a Scots word that doesn't exist. It was a typo. I finally found the word; it's "maun". Which means, I think, "must". Let me think, just how does that make sense...?

"Though poor and poorer we must be"?

Actually, I think it does make sense. Never mind.

Universal Willie

2007-05-07T16:19:00.000+08:00

"Willie" is this universal name in folk music, it seems. Willie is everybody from this handsome guy that every lady in the whole castle loves to the fellow who kills pretty Polly. And everything in-between, though I suppose Willie O' Winsbury would fit in the first category. Anyhow, it's like the name "Johnny", only Johnny is mostly a soldier (Johnnie Cope? No exception! The guy was a general! He was also a real person). What's with it? If only the most universal name for women in folk music wasn't Mary. I don't care for that name at all, really...

I'm Back!

2007-05-06T16:57:00.000+08:00

I'm back from vacation where it seemed I did everything from dress up in a minority costume (Mosuo) to catch the stomach flu (not too bad).

And guess where I'm writing this?

The office computer!

One of these days, I'm going to look back on this and laugh hilariously. But right now I want to scream. Oh, well, "to everything there is a season"...and right now it's time for frustration. Then I can laugh.

P.S. I will post pictures of me in the horrible sunburn and beautiful outfit, but I won't post pictures of the stomach flu...are you glad?

Cool Resource!

2007-05-02T09:21:00.000+08:00

This is an absolutely fabulous resource for Jacobite songs. Yeah, I know, you probably are thinking When will she stop talking about this? and by "you" I mean Mum, Daddy, and Grandma (who else reads this crazy thing?). Well, it's exhaustive. In fact, there's one song that is sometimes thought of as pertaining to the Jacobites but it doesn't really have to be (seems to me kind of like "Paul is Dead", huh?) and yet it's included "for the sake of exhaustiveness". Well, the exhaustiveness hasn't exhausted me yet. When can we get home to "Loshan" where I can learn all these tunes?

I better go now. Daddy will probably want to spank me for that horrible pun...

Pleading or Accusatory?

2007-04-30T18:58:00.000+08:00

My mother is sick of hearing this. There's this song; "Will Ye No Come Back Again?" that goes like this:

Bonnie Charlie's gone awa'
Safely o'er the bounding main
Many's the heart will break in twa
Should he ne'er come back again!

You trusted in your highland men.
They trusted thee, dear Charlie.
They kent your hiding in the glen
Death or exile braving.

English bribes were a' in vain
Though poor and poorer we maun be
Silver cannot buy the heart
That beats aye for thee and thine.

We watched thee in the gloaming hour
We watched thee in the morning gray
Though thirty thousand pound they gie
There is none who would betray!

(chorus)Will ye no come back again?
Will ye no' come back again?
Better loved ye canna be.
Will ye no' come back again?

So is this pleading (come back, Charlie, come back!)? Or is it accusatory (Charlie, get back here now we did plenty for you get back here or else!)? Hmmm...

Frustration, frustration...

2007-04-30T08:47:00.000+08:00

Oy. I love going places, travelling (my dad tried to play the devil's advocate and said that I didn't, but he was obviously just kidding!), but I hate stress. Some might argue that stress is part of it, but I think it largely depends on how stressed you let yourself be. All of us (except maybe for Becky) let ourselves get stressed. I show it by sobbing when things aren't going exactly right; Mum shows it by getting irritable, and Daddy shows it by getting out-of-this world crabby.

So that's why I like to hang around somewhere else or do something so engaging it makes them forget about stress. Of course, that doesn't always work. I don't know. Anyhow, it gives me a headache.

Anyhow, a good way to tell if the family's stressed is if I'm lagging behind and not chattering; if Mum is one minute seemingly (and perhaps actually) having a good time and the next snapping; and if Daddy is dour (except he seems to be like that more and more these days :(...); all three of those, well...you've got it.

Thankfully for most of you...we don't tend to do it around folks we sort of know.

Cuy hi ngo mui-mui!

2007-04-29T21:46:00.000+08:00

Ney ho ma? I am in the Guangdong province, writing on a Chinese computer, and still guessing at characters. This is my sister's birth city. She, of course, doesn't remember it. The post title in Mandarin would be "Ta shi wa mei-mei", but the guy who asked me about her was speaking Cantonese, which meant I said that. I have tons of stuff to write, but little time, so joi-geen (or zai djen) (or bye-bye) for now and I will write later, probably back in Yunnan.

Over the Sea to Skye

2007-04-27T07:59:00.000+08:00

Well, I'm leaving, too, but it's not on a boat, not to Skye, and, most importantly, I'm NOT ESCAPING anything. Except school, maybe. Actually, if it weren't where my sister was left and spent the first almost-six months of her life (and perhaps was born), I would think myself and anyone else to be daft to go to a place where there's nothing to do. I mean it. It's a city like here, "Loshan", where there's absolutely nothing to attract tourists (so why do we have so many hotels?) (Of course, China Eastern did do this article about it, or the prefecture, the famed month we almost crashed. But it was all in Chinese, so I don't know if it said it was a good place to visit or not.) This is really a second time, but with a twist: last time was Gail's hometown, where there's nothing but a natural bridge; but Gail's grandma said the road wasn't safe so we didn't go. It was fabulously interesting, though, because it was an untouched part of China. Gail said no foreigners had been there for a long time, though I do actually know the name (knew the name)of somebody who was. But I digress. Anyway, there we had friends to visit and a guide who could show us the cool parts, here we are heading off to Guangdong to see this incredibly boring sounding city.

It's a need of my sister and my parents. They need to see it again. Sure, I think it would be nice, but I have no need. We've had some disappointments about this whole trip that have devastated my mom, irritated (yes, irritated) my dad, and that my sister has borne with incredible courage. But...I'm this outsider. I have to be strong. And sure, I want to be strong, to not want or need (or at least to put aside my want or need) any extra care or attention, but it's difficult. I only broke down once, and there's other factors influencing that, too...

I guess I'm feeling some strange feelings of being an outsider. Every year we celebrate "family day" because it was the day Mom and Dad were married and Becky was adopted. I have felt this niggling feeling for a few years now that it's not about me. That's okay. But I almost feel like an intruder. I know I'm welcome, I mean, Mom helped me come up with "it's the day I became a sister" sort of thing. And I'm not jealous. I see the specialness of adoption, yet being a birth child has its merits, too. Please don't get me wrong. But all of a sudden, I realized that this has nothing to do with me. And while I don't want everything to do with me, our trips have often been family affairs. Something for everybody. I guess it's my turn; Becky is sort of quiet and doesn't care much what we do besides rest occasionally or eat some Western food. And somehow I feel...well, not left out, but just--outside. I don't really care that much, it's just that I've got to acknowledge that, right or wrong, I'm feeling that.

I'm also feeling, interestingly enough, that we're going to the wrong province. I mean, in Seattle there are tons of Chinese people who come from Guangdong. I have yet to discover any who came from my sister's hometown, but there might be. And I've learned a little Cantonese. So before that, I would read books about and set in China or about Chinese people, and if they spoke Cantonese, or were from Guangdong, I thought it was the "right" thing. But now, having lived in Yunnan all this time, I realize that I've changed. I'm used to hearing Mandarin, I'm leaning Mandarin, and I'm really realizing what it's like to live in China. I'm also learning about local cultures and such in MY part of China. And all of a sudden, the "right" place isn't Guangdong; the "right" language isn't Cantonese, it's Yunnan and Mandarin. And usually, I found books about Guangdong and sometimes (though more often it was Mandarin) Cantonese. Now, I know I'll be reading those books that have Mandarin in them and reminiscing and perhaps I'll be combing the stacks for a picture; a word; a sentence about Yunnan.

So what I'm looking forward to is seeing Micha and Kiana again and seeing the Kunming Nationalities Villages, and, oh, yes, riding the train to Guangdong. Not the other way around; the novelty would have worn off.

And if Mum takes Daddy seriously about bowling, well, I haven't done that in years and it is something to do.

But I'll be glad to be back here surrounded by Yunnan culture...and, yes, probably researching the Jacobites again. Now I'm certain that the "right" place to go in Scotland is the Isle of Skye, or the clan that our name belongs to's castle, or--most importantly for me--Culloden Moor.

No tricks now

2007-04-26T08:01:00.000+08:00

Hum. We've got a real Jacob-Esau dynamic going on around here, except there are a lot of exceptions. If it weren't so frustrating it would be amusing.

My sister and I are both regular kids--regular people--in that we're bad and good and all that. Well, it seems we both have a particular flaw that drives one parent crazy while the other, though not fine with it, sort of takes it in stride, disciplining, surely, but not really getting too angry, or if they do it's very short lived. Becky's is her temper, mine is my habit of speaking disrespectfully--and while it's wrong, I don't think either of us do it on purpose all the time. But it is wrong, and it ticks both of our parents off--but the temper drives Mum nuts, and don't expect civil conversation for several minutes between my father and me after I chance to say something...well, you get the idea.

Now, I'm sure my parents don't play favorites, or if they do, it's an accident that they can't help and it doesn't affect much of anything. Besides that, there's always been this dynamic of "what's a creative thing to show Daddy" and "what's a creative thing to show Mum" with me at least and they're different. Daddy has more in-jokes, Mum's stuff is generally stuff that I would post in detail here more often or something like that. Like right now...well, she might read this before Mother's Day, and then what would I do?

And my sister, the youngest, can get by with more from Daddy, whereas I, the oldest--well, they both crack down a lot, but Mum's less...how shall I put it? And there's not this serious rivalry. Change our genders, ages, and so on...I think Becky would be off hunting while I helped my mother (though sitting around typing isn't doing that). Right now, I do a lot of creative stuff, and, oh, yes, occasionally I'm "mother's little helper" (when she's stressed or doesn't get the dishes done before English Corner), while Becky is definitely "mother's little helper". But I think that at the right place and the right time she'd go off hunting, a lot. Neither of us are that hairy. Furthermore, we don't have that birthright thing, and who knows if she'd buy it from me if we did? Hmmm...

The biggest parallel, however, is that she's already a really good cook. So selling a birthright for her cooking isn't as impossible as it may seem...;)

The Bold Fenian Men

2007-04-25T09:58:00.000+08:00

Yes, another song. I'm into Scottish songs and Irish songs that are against the English. This should make our very British neighbors aboslutely thrilled. Anyway, this one is "Down By the Glenside", and it's Irish. I've decided that I'm going to try and learn a lot of Jacobite songs and some Irish Rebellion songs. So far: the rest of "The Rising of the Moon" (Theodore Bickel tune) and "Down By the Glenside" and "The Foggy Dew". That's for the Irish. For the Jacobites: "Ye Jacobites By Name" (Robert Burns version!!!), "Johnnie Cope" (Not Robert Burns), "Will Ye No Come Back Again?" and perhaps some more. When we get home I'm really going to have to learn the guitar.

"Down By the Glenside" is a beautiful song about some rebellion (part of my project, after I've got words and tune down as easy as an Atwater-Donnelly song, is to research to death the origins and background, because there's some obscure stories out there), and its first verse deals with someone saying, "I was out walking and I saw this old granny humming this tune--'Glory O, Glory O to the bold Fenian men'." Anyhow, the tune is beautiful, and on some website I found an MP3 sample instead of a MIDI. I wish every website did that! It helps to know how the words fit in. But I like MIDIs, too and wish I could make them as good as some people out there...

Anyway, I'm writing a comic strip for my dad, the fourth in a series. The first three stories dealt with a young woman who 1.) frees her galaxy from the tyranny of the evil "Bureau" and its leader, Commander Krane; 2.) Gets Krane put in jail once and for all; 3.) Puts down another woman who wants to rule the Galaxy and is killing people to do it. But now, we turn from Sci-fi (and really bad Sci-fi at that) to folk music. This young woman's by this time aged quite a bit, and her children are grown. So her son, daughter, and son-in-law form a folk trio. Anyway, the story is about this woman's son, who is a bit of a jokester. Hence a really bad joke I made at the expense of this truly beautiful song:

Emmett (the son) is miffed at Theresa (his sister) because she said that he sang out of tune. Whether he does or not is yet to be soon. Theresa is moody and the siblings often have slight tiffs. Anyhow, Emmett has the solo for the first verse of this song, so he begins nicely:

"'Twas down by the glenside, I met an old woman
A-picking wild nettles; she scarce saw me comin',
I listened awhile to the song she was hummin':

And then he grins at his sister and bursts into "Angels We Have Heard on High"--"Glo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oria in excelsis--oh, sorry. Glory O, glory O to the bold Fenian men!"

Theresa's response is: "Can't he just be serious?"

But it is a beautiful song, truly!

Oy, the internet!

2007-04-24T10:49:00.000+08:00

No, like I said before, I'm not Yiddish. My catch-phrases are Yiddish and Chinese: "Oy" and "Aiyah!" Enough said.

Anyway, the internet is up again. How long will it be this time, hmmm?

At the Office

2007-04-23T09:47:00.000+08:00

This is all in Chinese. I have to guess at publishing buttons, and I'm just glad I know the Blogger interface so well. I'm writing on the office computer because the internet in our home is down (again!) and I don't want to wait or publish via email that much, because it adds so many weird line-breaks. But enough complaining.

For school this week I have to write a paper about some disease. I'm having a hard time choosing between diabetes, AIDS, or leukemia. I asked Mom and she said, "What a cheerful decision". But then she suggested leukemia. I'm actually kind of glad. AIDS is interesting and horrible, but it also bears a bit of an aura of "starving children in Africa". We should help starving children in Africa, but it's not a suitable threat. In my opinion.

The Rising of the Moon

2007-04-21T14:30:00.000+08:00

This is such a lovely song--the tune I know it to is the one I'm thinking of, though the other tune is nice, to. This doesn't have that little repeating bit, "At the rising of the moon, at the rising of the moon..." etc. It's really interesting. I used to think it was a woman (Sean O'Farrell's girlfriend?) singing. I still imagine that, though now I find that "buichaill" is a lad or a young boy. Oops!

Why did I become so interested in this Irish war song? Well, I liked it when I first had to sing it out of Theodore Bikel's book for school. Then, when I was thinking of making a personal tape of this "band"--i.e. my sister playing anything percussive, my dad singing what I could teach him, and me doing the rest of the stuff because I was the only one who actually knwe the songs--I started researching songs. At this time, 2004, or thereabouts, the word "moon" was this big joke between us...never mind why; the wrong people might see it. I learned the song as a joke. Then I thought it was great. At first, I thought it was a really slow, drawn-out song (sung by a woman, no less!), but I've heard the other tune now, and it's generally done pretty fast and by people who might at one time have fit the defnition of "buichaill".

So I guess the song has two identities for me...but where on earth is that tune from the Theodore Bickel's book has??? I can't seem to find it anywhere. Anyone know?

Ye Jacobites by Name

2007-04-20T22:05:00.000+08:00

So you don't get lost, here are the lyrics to the particular tune I'm talking about: Ye Jacobites by Name.

Now, most of the penned down stuff and folk music you get in connection with the Jacobites is all pro-Jacobite and stuff like that. Now, here's a different twist on it. As the site clearly states and shows, the original words were a scathing, specific lashing of the whole Jacobite cause. Any more and your ears would bleed. Now, along comes Robert Burns with his Jacobite sympathies (and, luckily for him, he was also not in the actual time of the Jacobites or else...) and he toned down the lyrics. Now, when sung right, it's a great song full of fire, though a bit too specific for my tastes...I like songs about fictional characters who are metaphors for everyday life--or even real characters who are metaphors, like in "There Were Roses". But this song fascinates me.

Another Jacobite song I just discovered today and am wearing out my computer playing a MIDI file of it, is "Johnnie Cope". The lyrics are in broad Scots dialect (or whatever you call it) and the story is...well...let's just say I like Jacobite songs for their tunes (and, occasionally, sentiments), but I don't really enjoy the whole history or story behind the thing. However, as no one seems to have written new words for it, I'm coming up with my own personal ones. If they're good, you can read them here. The problem? Well, the chorus begins "Hey, Johnnie Cope" and I can't discard that. Seriously, I've tried. So now I have to find a name with two syllables and then one. The closest I've come to is "Mr. Brown" for the goat that gets into the...well, we won't go there; or "Willie Lew" (short for Willie Lewis, Lewis being the last name) for the...well, it's supposed to be funny, but I can't get any farther than "He's gonna loose and it's not his fault", but who would be saying that and why? Hmmm, somehow I think starting at the beginning would be easier...

Willie Lewis is another topic entirely. No, he's not my boyfriend. It's just how I came up with him and why that you will find interesting if you find anything about this blog interesting. Except, you probably won't. In the words of John Lennon: "I'm so bored/I buried Paul."

Earlier, and earlier...

2007-04-20T07:45:00.000+08:00

Balkanarama is playing at Folklife. Which is where my dad first saw them live. This year, however, they're not at the Balkan Dance Party, they're at the Mural Amphitheatre! And not on Sunday night, either, but on Saturday morning.

Well, if you have the good fortune to be in Seattle at that time (unlike me. Alas!), you ought to try to catch them. 11 to 11-thirty.

My point is, though, that they keep moving earlier, and earlier. For years, they closed out the Balkan Dance party. (Okay, at least three....) And then they moved to earlier that night. Now it's early, Saturday. D'you realize what could happen? They might end opening the thing on Friday. Which would mean we'd make a special trip to see them. At least, I would beg and plead for that if my parents suddenly got it into their heads that it just wasn't worth it...

Hey, it's up again!

2007-04-19T20:08:00.000+08:00

Yay, the internet is up!!!

Hurm.

2007-04-19T10:26:00.001+08:00

Well, this is a revoltin' predicament. Our internet is
down and our cable isn't even showing up as a port.
I'm hoping--we're ALL hoping--that this is just a
glitch or a problem with the network. But it might be
the hardware. Stay tuned...

...do you know that only one of the "Paul is Dead"
clues gives me the creeps? It's not because of the
clue, it's just that I can't stand repeated lines like
"Number 9, number 9, number 9..." Anyhow, that does
give me the creeps, but it's not evidence.

P.S. Ever noticed? I'm really into this thing!

Poor Paul

2007-04-18T10:25:00.000+08:00

disclaimer: Apologies to Rogers & Hammerstein, Paul McCartney, etc. This is just a piece of silliness on my part. I like to spoof songs.

P.S. Despite this, I think that Paul McCartney is truly alive and this William Campbell person is just a figament of somebody's imagination...

Poor Paul is Dead

Poor Paul is dead.
Poor Paul M. is dead!
He banged into a pole and cracked his head.
Now the Beatles are but three,
And it really seems to me
That it's time that they got another guy instead.

Poor Paul is dead.
Poor Paul M. is dead!
Now Bill is in his place as number four.
But they can't keep quiet now,
So now they shall endow
Their fans with clues as they've not done before.

Ever heard John say "I buried Paul"? It's there.
It's an amazing thing, indeed. Took a lot of money to keep the authorities quiet
Why spend all that money? Are you feeling guilty, John?
Why spend all that money and then start spreading the word anyway?

The folks that really knew him
Knew Bill wasn't Paul, but nothing made them ever tell
Did they agree? Or did John bribe them all?
Paul M. is dead, dead, man.

I hadn't realized that there were so many clues.
But they're there. I hadn't heard it.
I heard it on the record backwards
I heard it on the record forwards
I saw Death in the picture.
That's how they meant it.

Poor Paul is dead.
Poor Paul M. is dead!
And John can beg in vain "Please turn me on!"
Such an innocent disguise
And on the nines it underlies,
In a crazy, strange and very eerie song.

Poor Paul is dead.
Poor Paul M. is dead!
But the fans themselves--they just won't let it be.
But I cannot surmise
That this came as a surprise--
But you're all quite welcome for to disagree.

Poor Paul is dead.
Poor Paul M. is dead!
And, Bill, you've fooled me all these years.
Your duplicity I'll show
So that everyone will know
That he can truly believe what he hears.

Pooooooor Pauuuuul
Pooooooor Pauuuuul!

If you don't know what tune to sing this to, well, then...go check out Oklahoma! and watch it!

So Sweet

2007-04-16T12:48:00.000+08:00

Well has Shakespeare said, "Parting is such sweet sorrow". I believe there is so much sorrow in the world, but I think that most of it is bitter. Parting, however, is sweet. So sweet. Its bitterness is tempered with the sweetness of love and memory. It may be tragic, yet love and memory remain.

Where am I going with all this? Well, as you might guess, I have recently parted with people. Our China team, to be exact. This was our last time together. Yesterday I said a lot of goodbyes and was down in the dumps all day. Rachel was some small comfort. She looked at my mournful face and said, "Not yet, silly!"

I grieve hard and there is no consoling my while it lasts. Yet, mercifully, it dissipates quickly, leaving me with a headache and a few bitter memories. And then, in a few months, I will remember times together with a strange pang of sorrow and a surge of joy; the sweetness of which will rival the sorrow of parting and will bring tears of some strange, unnamed emotion to my eyes.

Alas! Alack!

2007-04-13T11:12:00.000+08:00

Today we leave for Kunming. There we shall leave a lot of books and go back here to a pitiably empty bookcase. Alas! Alack! :)

Whistle a happy tune

2007-04-12T07:44:00.000+08:00

Last night I started playing the Bb whistle and Becky was reading my paper on the Civil Rights movement and Mum was just staring off into space instead of reading. I joked that with the whistle she couldn't hear herself think, and she said, no, that wasn't it.

I love my Bb whistle. It's a Generation, brass-plated, I think. It's really low and breathy, so it works to play airs and the more slower songs. For a fast song, I generally use the C whistle. It's also Generation, but it's nickle-plated. It's the one that matches most of my outfits, because of the blue mouthpiece. That one sounds great if you have the right acoustics, and somewhat funny if you don't. It's more shrill and wailing. I hardly ever use the D whistle. That one's a different brand, Feadog. I don't know what it's plated with, all I know is that whatever it is has tarnished really bad except around the finger-holes, where it's incredibly polished.

I got the D whistle as a joke. Actually, technically, it's Becky's and my whistle, but...well...she doesn't play it. She said that I acted as though I owned it by not letting her play it, but I reminded her that both of the times she's referring to I was talking about the other two, which are mine. And she generally plays it to tease me. I'd be happy to give her lessons! I mean, it's just what Mum and Daddy need--two whistles shrilling all the time!

Its tone is really different. It's shrill and loud with any acoustics, and I don't feel comfortable just candidly playing it in our living room anymore. The C whistle I'll play if it's just Becky around, and I'd play the Bb whistle in front of guests (if they wanted to hear it), but the D...ugh, it's so shrill and our living room is so small!

Fare thee well...let it not be the last!

2007-04-11T10:05:00.000+08:00

Friday we leave for Kunming. Needless to say, I shan't be able to post until we get back. This'll be the last time we're together, but I cannot give up hope that it will not be the last I see anyone. I hope that somehow I'll see them again...someday.

It's a good thing I disabled commenting; I sound like I'm grasping at a silly hope and I don't need anyone to tell me that.

Bonnie Kellswater

2007-04-10T11:16:00.000+08:00

I play a MIDI of this song over and over, insisting it sounds like Yunnan gourd-flute music. My mom and sister look at me and shake their heads, saying it doesn't. I say it does. Now, I'm sure they would disagree, but if you hear this song you get a small idea of what the gourd flute sounds like. So there. :)

Nothing much

2007-04-07T11:03:00.000+08:00

I have plenty of blogworthy material, but most of you will understand that I can't blog it. Oh, well. Tomorrow I probably won't write, because we're going to be extremely busy and I want to come home and collapse.

So, early.

HIR!
HIRIA!

And then the rain and thunder came...

2007-04-06T07:55:00.000+08:00

Wind, rain and thunder last night. For about fifteen minutes the wind was horrible and the thunder crashed down in torrents. And although it was only about seven fifteen, the sky was pitch black. By seven thirty, however, a queer orange light showed up in the west, and the wind gradually died down and the rain petered out. The thunder moved away.

Is the rainy season starting, or what?

Today it's Friday. Now, if only it would get dark about three in the afternoon, and...

Rain

2007-04-05T08:46:00.001+08:00

It rained yesterday evening. We had the windows open and while it was chilly, the smell was everywhere. It's misty this morning. Perhaps more rain...?

Erin, Aran, Arran, etc...

2007-04-05T08:44:00.000+08:00

I just love the name Erin, whether for a person, for a real place, or for a fictional place. I also know that you're supposed to pronounce Aran or Arran about the same way. I like the spellings, but I wish they were pronounced "phonetically" (though Gaelic is probably more phonetic than English when it all simmers down...).

Nothing, nothing to say

2007-04-04T10:00:00.000+08:00

I know, this is getting pretty boring. The only thing to write about is that: My dad is correcting my story and I've decided to use this weblog to creatively ask him something: Why aren't you using the progress report?

Otherwise, there's nothing to write about. Except that my report is coming along. I think it's the best I've ever done. Daddy can answer that one more accurately, though...

Much to say there is not

2007-04-03T07:46:00.000+08:00

It's very warm and summery here--I'm wearing shorts. My violin keeps popping out of tune. The big tuners (not the fine tuners--I'm talking about the big peg-ones) get this thing sometimes where they'll come out of their sockets a little and pull the string hopelessly out of tune. So you have to push the peg back in securely and tune the string. It's hard. I get nervous every time I do it--but I can tune my violin. I've tuned a string to a perfect pitch with a big tuner, but it was probably a lot of chance. When I finally do get my violin tuned, I'm always playing the same-old, same-old, except with more of an American twist. Maybe Mum is right to get me involved with the Washingtime Old Time Fiddling Association or whatever it's called. I just don't think my skill level is up to snuff for even classical music, much less old-time fiddling. Of course, once I do learn old time fiddling, it's going to be a strong temptation to murder the "Minuet in G" by...fiddling it! I love taking one style and applying it to my favorite song of another style. It sounds terrible, but also interesting. The other day I heard a Jewish (Klezmer, I think) group do some songs from the Passover Haggadah and the fiddle sounded really Celtic in style. Of course, I can't identify things like that, but that's what it sounded like. Oh, and Happy Passover, if you celebrate it; my calendar says that it's today. Which probably meant that it began at sundown tomorrow...right? I'm not sure. I don't pretend to be Jewish. I just sing in Yiddish sometimes because I like the song and the language. Thought about learning it, but Spanish is a bit more practical.

I just squeezed all that in one big unfocused paragraph! There truly isn't that much to say!

John Barleycorn

2007-04-02T10:01:00.000+08:00

I used to hate that song. I used to think it was a song about two contenders for the throne, John Barleycorn and little Sir John. Sir John's supporters came from the West and killed John Barleycorn, torturing him. Sir John couldn't do it because he was too little. Finally, he grew a long beard and was the "strongest man at last". Everyone liked him, because he was for the people...the huntsmen, the miller, the tinker...

Then, I actually listened to the words and realized that it was something else. But what? I started to think that Little Sir John and John Barleycorn might actually be the same person.

Then, finally, I found it on the Contemplator's website and found out the true origins. Oh, ick!...

A New Fiddler

2007-04-01T11:22:00.000+08:00

Well, I'm pleased to say that Balkanarama has a new fiddler--Cathy Clasper-Torch, formerly of the Atwater-Donnelly trio. While this shall certainly be a detriment to Atwater-Donnelly-trio, Balkanarama is going to have a whole new outlook.

Anyway, that's all for now.

APRIL FOOL!

2007-04-01T11:20:00.000+08:00

Don't believe everything you read. CCT is still with A-D trio and Balkanarama doesn't have a new fiddler as far as I know. I know, it's lame, but Mum wouldn't let me do anything worse.

A musical evening

2007-03-30T09:13:00.000+08:00

Last night was a very musical evening, and my left pinky is telling me it was too musical. Those of you who play the fiddle would probably find it very easy to believe that I sprained it reaching a little too high (and, yes, the A was a little too sharp when that happened). I played the violin for almost an hour and I really attacked some of those tunes. "Cold Frosty Morn" and "Liberty" were insanely fast and powerful with plenty of wrong notes. Which is how I play when I'm just having fun. I played "Cold Frosty Morn" for Daddy, who remarked that it was very nice, but not really Balkan. The tune is a reel from I don't know where. Ireland or America, most likely. But Daddy likes to tease me that I'm supposed to be Matty Noble's replacement. Ha, ha. I heard that he joined the band when he was my age, but the guy is a virtuoso! I could never play that well. At least not Balkan tunes. I haven't given up that by the time I'm seventy or so that I'll be fairly good at playing Celtic tunes. Dream on...

When I wasn't fiddling up a storm (the rest of the family was at English corner and happily exempt from hearing me murder dance tunes), I was pricing various instruments at Lark in the Morning for fun. I told this to Daddy who asked me if I'd gone to America, or what? I told him it was the World Wide Web. Lark in the Morning is like a three-branch music store with locations in California, Seattle, and somewhere else (Canada? Midwest? I have no idea). I have gotten three of my four whistles there, and I really like going in there. Of course, looking at pictures of instruments online is dangerous. I'd love to try them all out! I am an instrument maniac, I think. Anyway, if I'm coming to see me, stash all your string, woodwind, and keyboard instruments (drums and brass I either can't or won't play much just because three sections is enough!) and pretend you don't have any. Joke. I don't just walk into people's houses and start playing their instruments. (except for Uncle Gary. If he's got an instrument out, it's usually, "Look, everybody, try it out!" That's why I have dim memories of trying to play "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" on an Appalachian dulcimer and strong memories of murdering a digeredoo...)

Who Weeps Outside My Window?

2007-03-29T14:50:00.000+08:00

Very modified title of a Canadian ballad. It's a pretty tune, and a tragic, Romeo & Juliet-esque story. I love it. I really go for the tragic ballads. The reason? They have the most haunting tunes. Also, the words range from, "Um, how many times are these folks going to die from love?" to "Waaaa, that's really sad!" The first is what comes up once you think about it. When you're not thinking, that category splits into two: "Oh, what a jerk!" to "Ohhh, how romantic!" This particular tune falls into first category, second side track.

I don't have the exact link with me now, but it's in the Canadian & Australian page on that Contemplator website I linked you to yesterday.

A Title

2007-03-28T11:44:00.000+08:00

Well...well...well...

As you may or may not know, come June I'm abandoning this blog and starting a new one. Although it's only March, I'm thinking of titles and motifs. My latest is a Gaelic title used by Turlough O'Carolan. Sorry, it won't be in Gaelic. I recently found out how to pronounce that title, actually! I'm trying to think up an appropriate tagline and URL...

By the way, I was just thinking about Dvorak keyboards today. I don't know why--well, actually, I do, but it's complicated as a sci-fi novel, or at least relatively. Anyway, back to Dvorak. They say it's more efficient, but I tried to learn it once and I couldn't make heads nor tails of it. Besides, can you use the keys in order to come up with a great long "word" like QWERTYUIOP? I once had a character in a silly story known as Qwerty Uiop. However, I do find research and stuff behind this stuff interesting. I had this typing program user manual that just brushed on it, and it's interesting.

Ah, yes...folk music, keyboards, Gaelic...what do you think of my mind? Pretty convoluted? That would be the nice way to put it.

Check it out

2007-03-28T08:13:00.000+08:00

Sorry, nothing new, except that I guess I did fairly well on my report. I have to correct it and turn it in Monday. Hmmmmm. Anyhow, I have a site you can check out if you're interested in folk music like I am: Here's a link. Be warned, there's background music on this site, but it's so interesting. You can always mute your computer if you need to, but the MIDIs are really something! I like this site so much I'm going to be adding it to my link list. But in case you missed it...

P.S. If you like Irish music a whole lot, check out Turlough O'Carolan. If you really like ballads, the Child Ballads is the way to go. And if you like sea shanties or stuff like that...well, you get the idea, right?

Sound Bites

2007-03-27T07:48:00.000+08:00

Yeah, sorry, guys, I'm just giving you short posts about anything and everything. Translation of all these posts: Nothing much is happening except normal life and a stressful but fascinating report. So I have two sound bites today (besides this introductory paragraph) that probably won't interest you anyway, but you might like to see it anyhow...here goes...

First, as you might know if you're closely related (hi, Auntie!), my father and I are writing a very dumb Star Wars story. The whole plot of it has been lost. First it was defeat the evil Resiaks, a type of alien. Then it was defeat Darth Dolor, the latest Sith. Then it was defeat Darth Sidious who faked his death. Now it's defeat Darth Murderous who suddenly turned to the Dark Side. Darth Murderous used to be Luke Skywalker. Also, Obi-Wan and Yoda faked their deaths, pretended to be ghosts, pretended to be Anakin Skywalker's ghost, and now are trying to learn Jedi ways from J.P. Patches (clown from Pacific Northwest). Luke's daughter, Annie, is not sure whether to trust them or not, when she finds out that there are some people who have also faked their deaths. So it's stupid. Very, very stupid. It gives me and Daddy something to talk about, though, as I defy the conventions of Science Fiction and leave him to redeem it, which he can't always do. Also, between us, Luke has been married twice and has six children, of varying ages and varying temperaments. Guess who Darth Dolor was?

Secondly, (and perhaps more interesting, too. Good things come to people who endure), Becky and I have started a literary club. We read books together and do writing on them. Stuff like writing to the main character, or writing epilogues, or "deleted scenes"...it's fun. We've been laughing and giggling over a book we borrowed from Aunt Iantha, and now we're going to begin on...probably...this biography of Abraham Lincoln that Becky just adores. We take turns, choosing. Next? It'll probably be Anastasia: The Last Grand Duchess by Carolyn Meyer. We're both fascinated by the Romanovs, though I wish everyone would talk about Olga, or Titania, or Maria for once. Why Anastasia? Because a lot of people thought she survived, I guess. Anna Anderson and all that. Well...maybe when I grow up I'll write about Maria. Fun...huh?

Good Writing

2007-03-26T11:09:00.000+08:00

I am a very emotional person, but it's very hard to make me cry with the printed word. But I hadn't really read much that Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. had to say before. I'd read about him, but (I admit it) very few if any direct quotes. Something he wrote from the jail in Birmingham made me cry. Literally. I had tears rolling down my cheeks. That's something for you. I was crying because of the concept, but also the words themselves. They just penetrated, deeper and better than most of anything I read. Why did whoever-it-was have to shoot him?!?!

Oh, brother

2007-03-25T15:07:00.000+08:00

It seems I don't have the same taste in books as my father. Which is perfectly all right with me except for one thing--he also judges a book's quality, not just his personal preference. Of course, to hear him talk you'd think he likes anything if it's good, but doesn't like something if it's bad. But, anyway, it seems like if a book is labled "On My Shelf" on his book blog, I am immediately either going to love it to death, or (much more often) get bored to death. Either that, or it's a home publication of terrible literary quality that I wrote. Scary. Anyhow, this brings up an interesting point: When I grow up, I'm going to write books, but how will I get them good enough to rate them on my father's shelf by their merit alone? Seems my favorite books get a "check it out" rating, or worse...Splinter of the Mind's Eye was waiting room material! (Just kidding. I have better taste in literature than that. And as for reading harmless pulpish fiction to wile away the hours of a summer afternoon, I'm hardly the most guilty of that in the family) But I write stuff like my favorite books (except Jane Eyre. Who can top that? Not I!), sooo...

Lethargy

2007-03-23T08:31:00.000+08:00

I love it here, but I wish I had as much to do as I did at home. I'm right now in a state of lethargy because of school but mostly because of boredom. I finish school, and then I have little to do or else I'm plopped in front of the computer all the day long. Well, there's two things I can do about this: I can take a walk, or even, sometimes, go to the English library and read an abridged classic. So, I plan to do this when I can. But, unfortunately, I have to finish my schoolwork and then have it checked and I'm not allowed to leave the house without permission if my work is undone and/or unchecked. So I'm trying to do more in the morning so I have time, energy and desire to do other things besides sit in front of the computer, eat, and complain about being bored. Let's see if it works...

The Dream

2007-03-22T11:24:00.000+08:00

"I have a dream." Dr. King's words live on past his death.

I know, I know, it's not January. But I am doing a report on the Civil Rights Movement, and so his words are ringing through my head. I am amazed by just how much happened...some things have been drilled into my head since I was a little girl, and other things I haven't heard of until now. In Seattle, there are so many community centers, highschools, gradeschools, etc. named for people: Langston Hughes Community Center, Thurgood Marshall School (grade school or middle school? Can't remember), Medgar Eavers community center. And there's more across the country--living monuments to these people and what they did and what they stood for.

May Dr. King's dream come true...

Spring has sprung!

2007-03-21T11:31:00.000+08:00

Here in Yunnan, spring means brown hills and dry grass and dust blowing in your face. Summer means rain making everything impossibly green and soaking in everywhere. Which do I prefer? If I were from a deserty area, I would like spring, I'm sure. But being from Seattle makes summer the ideal time.

It's a sad thought to have, I know, but I realize that with spring here, winter is over. Winter's song will next come to me in Seattle, in a blue house that I hope our renters are keeping up well enough (kidding. We drove by this summer and they seemed to be doing a fine job). One more season change--that to summer--and we'll go home.

Home. We're going home. And yet we're home now. Where do I live? What do I want? When will I find out?

What on Earth?

2007-03-20T20:22:00.000+08:00

Yeah, I know I signed my last post funny. That's because I really like the name Kae as a nickname for Catherine. But if I went by Kae, everyone would start spelling my name Katherine or Kathryn or something like that. Not cool. So, my sister, Beck, comes up with this great idea: "Why not go by 'C'?"

So, here we are: I spell it Ceigh because that's prettier than C. But I'd really like to spell it Sígh, with a Gaelic-ish spelling, but I'd probably end up getting it pronounced like "Shee" or worse. Oh, well, I don't want people thinking I sigh a lot.

Overused names

2007-03-20T20:12:00.000+08:00

If I'm ever going to be a professional writer, I'm going to have to come up with more names to use. Oh, I know and love plenty. For women, anyway. But my love of the name Janet makes me blind to any other name...actually, that ain't so much of a problem anymore. But. But, but, but. I can't seem to come up with good names for men. I generally end up with a Jacob (called Jake) in every story as a secondary character or a villain. And what's that about names for primary characters or "good guys"? Oh, you mean Emmett...or are you talking about Nathan. Oh, you meant Emmett the XIV. I thought you were talking about the first one. Or, if the character's Irish, he's Sean or Ian. Girls are Maureen. Or Sian (with a "roof" over the a).

So, someday you're going to read a book, probably a bad one, and...guess what? There will be ten characters: Jake, Emmett, Nathan, Janet, Maureen, and Sian. And Ian, Sean, Audrey and Helen. And then there won't be any more books because my editor will object strongly to my repitition of names.

Or, maybe I will see the merits of other names. What about Nathaniel? Emery? Shawn? Ivan? Jane? Marie? Shavonne? Ellen? Aubree? Whaddya mean, they sound a lot like the characters in the last story? And that plot...isn't that awfully familiar?

All right, that's it. I hope you actually read to the end of these ramblings. It either means I have loyal friends and family, or that my writings are good, or that you were amused enough to read to the end.

Ceigh

Music. Music. My kingdom for it.

2007-03-19T20:05:00.000+08:00

Yesterday it was Balkan music. Today it was Klezmer. Tomorrow? Either American or Celtic folk. Probably both, i.e. Atwater-Donnelly. I can't stand this. I don't want to leave, I don't want to leave, I don't want to leave...hey, won't it be nice to be home and playing thus-and-such-of-a-CD...hey, that means I'll never have that "Dali Pasta Salad" again. No, no, no, no, no, no, no...! That's an example of my thoughts.

Life is strange. It's a strange, strange world, and one side of it is so hopelessly depressing and the other so sickeningly cheerful that you've got to get it both by halves. And hopefully you get a nice even slice of each, or else you're either depressed all the time or so cheerful that nobody wants you around.

KBCS is on their pledge drive. Which meant we heard six songs on a one-hour show and the rest of it was "Pledge at the 120 dollar level and get this!" Thankfully, pledge drive only lasts one week every time. It's very amusing the first time, but after that...

On a latter note, I'm busy working on my report on the Civil Rights Movement. Interesting stuff, there. It's a wonderful story. When I say story, I don't mean fiction, I just mean that the whole movement is like a story, with a definite goal and all sorts of plot twists. But the work it takes to retell it in a nice, dignified, research paper way for a fifth-grade audience is difficult...

Bad News

2007-03-18T11:32:00.000+08:00

What's happened to Balkanarama? Every time they make a CD, they lose members and start changing slowly. It's been interesting, up until now, but this...

Matty Noble quit. For those of you who are not quite Balkanamaniacs like my family is, he is--he was their violinist. Very talented guy, too--practically a virtuoso. I could study like crazy for years, but I could never be that good--and he was with the band since he was about my age, which shows something about his playing skill, I should say. You listen to a sample of music of practically any CD and that beautiful quavering background, or sometimes the foreground--that's the violin. The whole family laments this loss.

The first time I saw Balkanarama, it was at Crossroads Mall in Bellevue, and he wasn't there, because he was (to quote band leader and the guy who does the talking, Mike Gordon) "Somewhere in a bus on 520". Non-Seattleites, that's a really really traffic-y freeway. Anyhow, he was there the next time, and the next, and the next...I've seen the band with and without violin, and it's going to be a loss.

But. The core of the band, as I see it, is still there, and hopefully they aren't going there. And as long as they stay, Balkanarama is going to be just as high on my list of top ten groups to listen to. Because the music is wonderful.

P.S. isn't it funny? Balkanarama loses members, Atwater-Donnelly "adds" them. Look at the website (it's on my links list), and you'll see "Atwater-Donnelly. Aubrey Solo [that's the Atwater part]. Atwater-Donnelly trio. Atwater-Donnelly band. Jerimoth Hill." What's next, Atwater-Donnelly Orchestra...?

Beannachtaí na Féile Pádraig oraibh!

2007-03-17T13:01:00.000+08:00

Beannachtaí na Féile Pádraig oraibh! 'Tis St. Paddy's day, ye lads and lassies, and here we are in China. Guess we'll have to have a wee bit of baiju to celebrate!

And here I am, a lass who supposedly loves Celtic things, not wearing green??? Ack! Don't pinch me! I'll change!!!

Yeah, have a good one. We're celebrating by watching One Night at a Museum. Which I don't think is Irish. Should I go look up some Irish actors and watch a movie with them in it? Let's see. Liam Neeson, Sorcha Cusack...

Beannachtaí na Féile Pádraig oraibh!

How long are you going to sit around and quote Jane Eyre???

2007-03-17T12:55:00.000+08:00

At least, that's what my sister says. I have no answer for her. I like that book!

Maybe I'll share my favorite line, later...

a new picture

2007-03-13T10:47:00.000+08:00

Atwater-Donnelly's Photo Album has a new picture now, on top of the picture they've had up since Halloween 2005. Almost two years! But worth the wait. I really like this one. Jerimoth Hill in action! I can't wait to hear that CD...

Why?

2007-03-13T10:32:00.000+08:00

Why do I want to publish books? When I grow up, I mean? Do I want to make sure that the whole world reads what I have to say? Do I want the whole world to know some startling philosophical truth? Do I want to make money to justify my scribbles? Or, is it one of the reasons I wanted to be an actress (long ago!); that people have given me so much I want to give other people too?

Why?

Or is it because I want to see my name in print?

Or do I want people to see what I have to say?

Or...what?

I don't know. I think there's a mixture of something selfish (though not necessarily bad selfish) and something truly wanting to give people things. I wouldn't mind writing books that make people cry...because I have read books that made me cry and I've enjoyed those because they're intense and they really draw you into the story. I want to give people something to read, to enjoy.

And yet, I know my motives are more than that. There's something selfish in here, and I don't know what it is. I don't think it's something to be concerned about--or even that's necessarily wrong. But what? What? What? Why? Why? Why?

And then, of course, there's the When? When? When? aspect of it, too. Just when, after I'm grownup, will I actually come up with a story that people will buy?

Finally, I'm trying to think of a title for my new blog, which I will start in (good grief!) less than four months now. Is Gaelic okay? (I'll see if I can spell it correctly...)

Oh, and today I learned how to say something I've been wanting to say. It describes our calendar picture: na dwa hua shi huang sih deh. That flower is yellow.

It may not seem like much to you, but I put together the sentence, and it's a little joy. The other little joy is that I understood a young woman (Hannah) when she said something about dancing. I heard tiao wu and I was so excited. I was whispering this excitedly to Mum as soon as it happened.

Two years ago, I cared about music. I still do. But there's so much else in the world; I think no one has enough time to experience everything! So much to see...and if bad things were taken away, there would still be barely any time for good things!

I digress. I'm still wondering why I want to publish...

Jane Eyre

2007-03-11T14:08:00.000+08:00

I have just been rereading my favorite book, Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte. I'm not going to go look in the HTML ref to type the umlat, sorry. I have discovered what are my favorite parts, in order:

When Mr. Rochester has the Ingrams and the other folks over
When St. John Rivers and Jane are arguing (it gets funny once you know what will happen)
Whenever Mr. Rochester tells his history (the history isn't so nice, but his narrative style is interesting...)

I really just like this book as a whole. One thing I find interesting is that Jane and others see others as inferior because of their education, and find it frustrating. What's interesting about this is that Charlotte Bronte had the same problem. She lived in Haworth all her life, practically, and by her standards, there was nobody with education to talk to. It's depressing, and while there are parts of the book that have a prejudice, (Jane thinks French people are inferior and there's also prejudice against "Creoles"--what terms, one doesn't know) this is hardly a prejudice, but more of a simple problem: if you're more educated, there comes a point when you have to draw the line or you'll lose your listener's interest and the pleasure of conversation. Interesting enough!

Oh, and the version we have has all these critical excerpts in the back of the book which are vastly interesting. You've got to read Jane Eyre, it's an exceptional book!

...I don't know all the words...

2007-03-04T09:44:00.000+08:00

I'm gonna sing you a song,
Even though I don't know all the words.
That never stopped me before--
Even so, I don't know all the words...

I have no idea what that song is all about, but it's a beautiful song. And whatever it means, a bit of that song took on a new meaning yesterday.

Yesterday was Kiana's early birthday party. Most of the foreigners here are leaving by April, so this was sort of a farewell party, as well. What was nice was that there was a family of foreigners who left last year and are not coming back here except for this visit (and maybe another visit, but I doubt it, and anyway we probably wouldn't be there). We went to a playplace by Dico's. What was nice was that it wasn't so strict as it was in America. I know that some rules are for safety regulations, but I have been prohibited by height and age to get in a ball pit for ages. I love ball pits! So I had fun.

Preston and Alexander, two foreigner kids, began socking balls at me, and I socked them right back. I noticed a three national kids watching me. All little boys a bit older or about the same age as Preston. After awhile, Preston and Alexander left, but the boys began throwing balls at me. I was happy. In America, when I was eleven and twelve, I would play with little kids on the playground, and I had fun doing it. Parents would be asking me if I babysat, so I guess I made some sort of impression on them. The babysitting questions annoyed me some (I hate looking older than my age), but I managed to keep answering politely and pleasantly, "No, sorry." But I enjoyed playing with the kids, and it made me happy to do it again.

Anyway, it was soon chaos. Two of the boys socked balls at me and one little boy who kind of became my shadow. Two girls watched us, then began making a fort (behind the slide) and sending balls in waves towards us. Alexander showed up and also began throwing balls, crowing, "Boys against girls! Boys against girls!" It was hilarious! It was also tiring.

Oh, how I wish I was fluent in Chinese! I love to play, but it makes me feel bad when I can't understand what they're trying to say to me. Thankfully, I think it didn't really matter too much, yesterday. But I still wish...

Just a Quick Note

2007-03-01T10:31:00.000+08:00

Classes started today. It's nice to have stuff like the cafeteria open again. And my mother is generally more cheerful when she has stuff to do.

JERIMOTH HILL (the group) IS FABULOUS! I'm going to wear out the headphones listening to their sample track. Maybe when we get back to the States...

A Startling Equation

2007-02-25T20:26:00.000+08:00

I am trying to train my mind to think complicated plots and details, because I want to write novels when I grow up. Hence: I'm trying out novel-length ideas right now, even as we speak. Unfortunately, it's hard not to cram everything into the first chapter. And subtlety, an art I admire, is not one of my strong points.

Plus, I keep wondering if I've heard the names I put down in writing before. Names really do matter, but I also don't want everybody wondering about some character I named "George Washington" or something like that. Once, a long time ago, I called a character John Adams, but not knowing much history, wondered where I'd heard it before. I attempted (and never suceeded) to psych up the courage to ask Daddy: "Is there somebody in politics you don't like named John Adams?" Another time, I came up with an Angela Bennet, when an Angela Somethingoranother and a Ruth Bennet were running for some office. Now, I'm wondering. Is the name Meg or Margaret Thatcher a name I should have heard before? In what context? Does it really fit a motherly older woman with health issues who is continually worrying about her nephew who is getting into trouble because of a crazy political scheme he has worked out?

Finally, it's really hard to figure out little everyday details. And I have too much of a liking for conversation. And, again, the subtlety. I might as well shout from the rooftops: "IN MY STORY, SO-AND-SO IS ACTUALLY A TRAITOR!" Dumb. Anyhow, eventually, I hope, with coaching and practice--much practice--I shall end up cranking out some decent "Young Adult" (hello, we're teenagers!) fiction...

But, until then...oh, well. If everything I typed or came up with was automatically published...alas for literature!

You can't catch up, Mom

2007-02-22T17:03:00.000+08:00

My poor mother! Just the other day she was remarking how we were caught up--we have Balkanarama's latest (the name slips my mind), and also Atwater-Donnelly's beautiful 2005 recording: When Winter Calls.

Now, I shall break to my mother the news that Atwater-Donnelly (plus four or five others, the new group "Jerimoth Hill") has put out another recording. Perhaps she'll cheer up when she hears that there's a very fun sample on the website. And I'm sure she'll cheer up when she finally hears the sample!

Anyway, do yourself a favor and go listen to the sample (and if you want to do the hard-working people who give us the music a favor, you can do what we do: have a running collection of their CDs). It's pretty easy to find once you get to the website.

So, I leave you with that. What did we do on vacation besides almost die? Well, that's a post for another day...

just a profile pic

2007-02-21T11:54:00.000+08:00

This is me in Xishuangbanna (a.k.a. Xishuang"banana")

Adventure--part II

2007-02-19T10:47:00.000+08:00

Home seemed to be on the way for our "brave heroine". She, along with her family and a bunch of people bound for Loshan, China, have just entered a plane after waiting in vain for the one they were supposed to be on to get fixed. After at least three hours delay, she is finally on her way home...or is she?

Part II--"Take Care of your Kids!"

I was singing "The Wells Fargo Wagon" from "The Music Man" as we entered the shuttle. I sat down in the seat 14C next to a couple whom I didn't know when we entered the aircraft. I glanced over the safety manual. I've read those since I was eight years old and I have practically memorized them. I watched the safety demonstration with a little interest, then as the plane took off, felt my headache coming back.

I flipped through the China Eastern magazine, looking at the pictures--the words were in Chinese. There was even a small article about Loshan! I can see why. If I may say so, it is the best of both worlds. It is not exactly tropical, but not exactly alpine. I have experienced both on vacation.

Pretty soon, they turned the TV on. The flight had been rather rough, and we were just experiencing turbulence, which always makes me nervous. I imagined we were decreasing altitude, and for a minute, I thought the masks were coming down! Imagine my relief when I discovered it was a TV. We began watching fashion shows. It might be my imagination, but I seemed to recognize the tallest, skinniest, small-headed model from the flight to Beijing! It is indeed possible, I think.

Soon, the TV went back up and I felt a definite decrease in altitude (I can feel these things). We were told we were descending to Loshan, and to fasten our seatbelts, put up our traytables, and put up our seats. Quickly, I and the couple beside me complied with the commands. I elt my head and decided it would be nice to be home.

The next minute, I felt like it would be nice to be on the ground, safe and sound--in Timbuctoo if that was the need!

The plane experienced a bit of turbulence. I'm used to that. It happens all the time. I saw with excitement hills that looked vaguely familiar. I saw a city and tried to decide if it was Loshan. The man next to me said something about Yun "Beehive", which is about an hour and a half from Loshan by car. Oh, well. I was coming home!

Wait a moment, I thought with a touch of horror and a lot of bewilderment, isn't this too fast? Daddy says I need to trust people more, but this was beyond that. There was only one I could trust at this point, and when that happens it's really frightening. It must have been scarier for the rest on board. The couple next to me clasped hands as we dipped, rose a bit again, then started descending faster and faster, bouncing about. The intercom crackled on. "Ladies and Gentlemen, we are experiencing turbulence. Please remain seated and take care of your kids!" The man next to me didn't have any kids, at least not right with him. Instead, he grabbed a barf bag. His wife or girlfriend giggled nervously.

I gripped the edge of my armrest in panic. More than anything, I wanted the danger to disappear or the end (if indeed that was what would happen to us) to come quickly. Skimming the edge of mountains in a plane full of shrieking passengers is not my idea of a good time. Shrieking and nervous giggles added to the confusion. No longer were the mountains invitingly green and familiar. Now they were evilly close, evilly rocky. I must admit, I was hoping one petty hope. I hoped that if the guy had to use the barf bag, he would not barf all over me or his girlfriend or himself. I was actually hoping he wouldn't barf. I was also thinking, "Barf bag! I'll be happy if I ever barf again!"

Slowly, we rose and turned. I wondered what came next. Soon the intercom crackled on. All I caught was "Kunming Gi chan" and "Loshan Gi chan". Also, I heard the communal shrieks turn to. "Oooohhhhhh!" Then the announcement was made in English. "We're going back to Kunming".

The couple on my left fell asleep on each other, still clutching each other's hands and the barf bag.

Adventure--part I

2007-02-17T10:03:00.000+08:00

Well, guys, I'm very glad to be alive. And this is why. I think I can tell this in three parts. Here is the first.

Part I--A Delay

I was crying. We had just said goodbye to the team for the second-to-the-last time. In April, we'll say goodbye again, and then...that's it. So I was sobbing into my handkerchief in the Kunming airport. I would remember how Katrina teaches me a little Chinese...how much fun Rachel is...Aunt Laney's sweet concern for my cough...etc. (Just because I haven't mentioned somebody just means I can't exactly put into words what I will miss). And I was trying to eat an expensive meal of fried rice chock full of la jiao and pickled vegetables. It tasted terrible, and I had ten minutes to stuff as much as I could into an uncooperative stomach. I managed to do it some small justice, but I was still crying as we hurried away from the cafe at 2:00 sharp. We'd already checked our baggage, but we needed to go through security before our flight left at 2:50 PM.

We hustled through security, waiting impatiently as the man checked our boarding passes and passports. He looked at the picture of the frowning girl in a blue checked short-sleeved shirt and her hair pulled back in a half-ponytail. He found enough resemblance in her face to the acne-spotted, tear-streaked face in front of him, and let me pass. I pulled off my purse, handkerchief, jacket, and camera and shoved them into the bin before passing through the security check. Soon we were heading down the familiar passageway down to the exact same waiting hall our flight to Xishuangbanna with the whole team had waited at. Down the exact same gate we would go, at the appointed time, to fly...alone.

I was heartsick. Time and again my blue eyes filled with tears, and my glasses smudged. I forced myself to eat a chocolate muffin, bought for an exorbitant price at a small airport commodity and gift shop. 2:30 PM. When would we begin boarding?

My head was starting to hurt as it reached 3:00. I looked around, trying to find some information in Chinese and Chinglish about the flight to a small city that should have left ten minutes ago. Nothing. Then, to my annoyance and concern, a woman shouted something into a microphone. My Chinese is very bad...(all right. Nonexistent!) and I couldn't understand what she said, but I heard our city's name mentioned...numerous times.

Soon, I heard the "doo-doo" and a woman's voice crackled onto the intercom. "Ching wang Loshan [For purposes of storytelling I've made up a name for our city] duh li cuh ching cho leh"...or something like that. I knew she wasn't telling us to board because she continued: "wo men..." that means "we" and it precedes every delay and cancellation message I've heard there. Then she repeated in English. "Ladies and Gentlemen. May I have your attention, please? We regret to announce that flight MU1167 to Loshan cannot leave on schedule. Due to..." I couldn't make out what she said, "...would you please wait for further information? Thank you. Ching wang Loshan..."

What is it? I thought, frustrated. Soon, they posted a noticeboard in English and Chinese that announced that there were mechanical difficulties and the flight would leave on "no time". Which, in my experience, is Chinglish for "we don't know and please don't bug us about it."

A few minutes later, they wheeled in a library cart filled with boxes. A man started shouting "Loshan...blah blah blah blah blah," into his megaphone, and immediately our fellow-passengers began crowding 'round him and the boxes. In a minute, I could see why. They came back with cans of coconut juice. I was so thirsty and really wanted something besides water to drink. Plus, the day before I had enjoyed a fresh coconut with Aunt Laney and knew what it was like to drink. My sister and I felt the same way, so we showed the man our boarding passes, as everyone else was doing, and came back with a tall cool (not cold, but not lukewarm, either) can of juice each. I opened mine and took a sip. Obviously, there was sugar and coloring added, but it had the same wonderful taste. I settled myself down to read some critical notes on Jane Eyre while my headache wonderfully disappeared.

Next to us, there was a flight to Beijing boarding. To my astonishment, I noticed a plethora of tall skinny lao wai women dressed in the height of fashion with their faces made up. A lot of them had their hair bleached or dyed. They seemed to be from European nations, but I caught an American accent on one of them. Fashion show? Some of these women looked half-starved! More and more flocked on. Now, expatriates who live and work in China, or even just casual tourists, have a "look" to them. They're dressed a variety of ways...they speak Chinese...they don't wear a ton of makeup...we decided that these women were definitely fashion show material. I looked with astonishment at one whose head was somewhat short and skinny, with bleached hair, a short torso, and long legs. And skinnier than Katrina, who to my mind is plenty tall and plenty thin. I think Katrina was shorter than some of these women.

After they stopped flocking to their flight to Beijing, there was nothing else much to see. Our flight, they told us, would leave about 17:50. Finally, another gate opened, and our flight was announced. It was 17:30. We crowded into a shuttle and were bussed out to another plane. I'd seen a plane at our gate getting one of its under-wing engines fixed, so I was glad it was a different plane.

Finally we're on our way, I thought. Now nothing can go wrong.

Nothing?!

Ugh

2007-02-04T08:43:00.000+08:00

An expatriate's life is a lonely one. Micha and Kiana (and their parents) are moving to Kunming in March. I'm going to miss them. Hopefully I'll be able to spend time with some foreigner.

On a lighter note, we are heading to Dali and then Xishuangbanna this Spring Festival. It sounds like wonderful fun. I dreamt we were in Xishuangbanna and found this Irish store owned by this Irish guy. That was really weird, especially as he was charging me for this hairpiece and first he types in what it is, then he typed in what was the design and what was the color. It all made this equation. Oh, well. I was just dreaming.

Haloscan

2007-02-04T08:41:00.001+08:00

Guys--

I've just (re)installed HaloScan on my blog. It's not showing up. Is it showing up for you? If you read this and you see a link to comment at, please comment. Thank you!

Winter

2007-01-31T14:26:00.000+08:00

Good grief! It depends somewhat on your opinion, but WHO STARTED THE
POPULAR ASSOCIATION WITH WINTER BEING DEPRESSING??? It's not!!! Winter
is one of the best times of year. I appreciate Narnia for its symbolism
and archetypes, but the whole "always winter and never Christmas" would
be bad any time of year. Period. It's BORING to have no seasons.
Spring's rebirth would get old after awhile. Summer's heat would drown
people in their sweat after not too much. Autumn's winds and harvests
would drive one nuts (no pun intended) if it never ended. WHAT'S WITH
WINTER? Everything's asleep! It's a wonderful, lazy quiet time of year.
Time to think.

Of course, if you have enough books, you can outweather quite a few
boring events...

Bracelets

2007-01-16T11:10:00.000+08:00

My friends must think I'm a jewelry person.

The July before last, we had a bunch of people over and everybody gave
me a necklace.

When my friend Kelly left for America last summer, she gave me a
bracelet.

When it was my birthday, my friend Kiana gave me a bracelet.

When it was Christmas, my friend Sherry gave me a bracelet.

When we had a playdate with Kiana and her sister we made jewelry.

Look at my picture; AM I a jewelry person?

Poor Me!

2007-01-12T10:46:00.001+08:00

Alas. My school assignment was to write a short story--one or two pages
long--that used flashbacks to tell the main part of the story, like
"The King's Fifth" by Scott O'Dell. Thankfully, it could be about
whatever I wished. So I came up with my favorite story that I tell to
myself, which has undergone massive changes along the way (Mainly:
changed a main character's name, replaced the villain, changed the
personality of a main character's sister, changed the name of the
imaginary country). I wrote it down, getting very caught up in it and
doing, if I may say so, a fairly good job, for me (but that isn't
saying much, truly. You've never read my fiction). Now, the shortest
"short story" I have written has been eight pages long. I completely
missed (and I would swear to that in court) the part that said "two or
three pages", so I wrote away and submitted it, thinking, "Well, at
least it's under twenty pages, unlike the time I retold the Greek
Myth." No. It was 23 pages long.

My punishment was this: Shorten it. To two pages, but if it was over it
would be accepted. I did all I could and it's still three pages long.

Alas. When I write a short story it's too long, and when I write a
novel-length story (I can dream, can't I?) it's much too short.

I'm learning to write more, to include more descriptions, to edit
myself and lengthen myself. It works. And if I had known about the
limit I would have come up with something else, entirely. The problem
is I don't notice. (Now: do NOT say I "need to notice" these things. I
know that, and I am working on that. The LAST thing I need is a million
people saying that to me.)

Alas, I must learn somehow to actually write a short story that isn't
8+ pages long. My poor, poor, homeschool evaluator!

It's a Wonderful Life....

2007-01-03T11:22:00.001+08:00

....and what came over me at Micha's and Kiana's house where I cried
buckets over Return of the Jedi? I have never cried so much over a
movie before or since, though there are plenty of runners-up: "It's a
Wonderful Life", "Narnia", "Fiddler on the Roof" (Especially the scene
where they're cleaning up Tevye's house and Tevye is looking up with
his hands spread out). Why? Why? Why? I LIKE to cry buckets over a
movie.

I guess that's all for now.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

2007-01-01T11:17:00.001+08:00

Happy New Year and here I am starting ninth grade (we always start our
school years in January). I am reading absolutely fabulous books!!! Of
course, as soon as I got to the folks planning the mutiny in that one
book, I knocked my glass of water off the table. Somebody go hang Scott
O'Dell for me, will you? Thank you. Anyway, my sister is in fifth
grade. If we weren't going to homeschool all the way through twelfth
grade, she might be starting middle school next year! AAAA! My baby
sister. :(

Anyway, I asked Mum if we were sending me to public school at home this
year (ninth grade) what middle school would it be? Asa Mercer?
Washington? Something else? She said she really didn't know.

Anyway, that's all for now. Happy New Year.

Happy

2006-12-26T15:04:00.000+08:00

Well, we had a joy-filled Christmas and now we're having a nice quiet Boxing Day. Of course, what's really cool is that we're going to the farm for dinner!

I was going to post a picture of my new Wa minority costume but Daddy hasn't uploaded it yet, grrr...

Oh, well. Have a nice Boxing Day, okay?

BETA!

2006-12-24T09:16:00.000+08:00

Except, you know, it's not Beta anymore. I just switched and I love it. It's great. And it's not too different, either.

I love to hear from you guys, but right now my commenting service, Haloscan, doesn't have official support for this. It says that it's coming, so I'm going to wait for a little bit. Thus, I've disabled commenting on my blog for right now. If you know me, you can send me an email. If not, I apologize for the inconvenience.

In the meantime, check out my cool new blog-works!

Have you ever mixed up Debbie Reynolds and Natalie Portman?

2006-12-23T07:40:00.000+08:00

Okay, maybe not. But I have. And I'm not a big movie-person, at least not 'til we came here, so please pardon me, fans.

It happened like this. We were watching Singin' in the Rain and had stopped the movie after the studio dance sequence during which we decided we didn't like Gene Kelly's voice. Okay, Becky and I did. Oh, well. But as we stopped, we got to talking about the actors and actresses or something. The reason we'd stopped is that we were going to have popcorn. Anyhow, the conversation gets on Debbie Reynolds, and Daddy says, "Princess Leia's mom."

Okay. Now, I knew there were prequels out there where you meet Leia's mother, but I thought they'd come out rather recently, myself. So I said, "Wouldn't she be kind of old?"

"Not really."

"But, I mean, when did the Star Wars movies come out?"

"Oh, seventies, eighties--the prequels are more recent."

"So, wouldn't she be old?"

"What do you mean?"

"How old is Luke and Leia's mom in the movies?"

At this point, he finally gets it. "Oh--no. Debbie Reynolds is Carrie Fisher's mom."

So, not knowing much about Star Wars other than the first movie (A New Hope) at the time, I unwittingly mixed up Natalie Portman (who plays Leia's mom) and Debbie Reynolds (who is Carrie Fisher's mom). What next? Elaine Taylor and Julie Andrews?

A lot of company

2006-12-20T08:32:00.000+08:00

I haven't written for awhile, but my grandma and my aunt are here so I want to spend time with them and/or make Micha's present, so I have no time to write. Sorry!

In the meantime, you can read the archived posts. Or check out something else.

Oops, more to say

2006-12-15T13:26:00.000+08:00

Last night I fell asleep before I could hear "Dark the Night" by the
Crossing. You have not heard beautiful if you've not heard this. If
only my neighbors could play THAT, too. I just wish they'd play the
Russian song again. I have always associated it with a dance I did to
it at home one time, but suddenly this year I found myself listening to
the words and the music and the song just brought tears to my eyes, it
is so beautiful. I love to listen to it in the dead of night (we play
music to sleep by) when the space heater's off and I'm awake all alone
in a cozy bed and my thoughts wander.

Music changes associations with times. I don't think I'll remember
China per se with some of these Christmas-y selections, but I know I've
found secret places to visit with the accompanying music. I can picture
them without the music, but when I actually hear the music I am
practically transported there. For five seconds I can feel snow
crunching under my feet and see a quiet but beautiful and almost happy
graveyard from a Christmas movie (only it wasn't happy or peaceful in
the movie) while a bell sequence is going, and for three minutes I can
be in some nameless country in the dead of night, the sky clouded over,
except for a small cloud break out of which shines a star. Against the
sky is a steely tower with a flag waving in the wind, and a camel is
being prepared with finest metals, incense, and resins.

Or, for a few minutes my association ties still run deep, as I am
untangling lights and garlands and such in Grandma's living room. Ahhh,
much as I like it here, I know that once I can do that again my cup
will be brimful.

But it brims full here, in different ways. The joy of standing on a
high plateau among mountains with a tiny landing strip and a small
building with two waiting halls, standing in one, nose pressed against
the glass, watching the flow of heads for the two lao wai looking
utterly tired and lost but happy to be here at last. Or, if, this year,
I can't have that joy, I will have the joy of hearing my family's voice
in the hall, and see the sun-drenched, browning hills receive a new
regard in my eyes as I show them the wonders of my home.

Christmas is a time of joy, and a time of peace, and a time of love.
Every year it seems more wonderful (except, of course, occasionally a
"fallout" year).

Movie music?

2006-12-15T11:40:00.000+08:00

Well, THAT was strange. I overheard a very familiar song from our
upstairs neighbors. But it wasn't QUITE familiar, you know, the way it
is when you hear a song you know from one artist with another artist.
Actually, that's what it was, I think. Balkanarama does some movie
tunes, and I think this was one of them. Either that, or it is a
cross-over from my mom's old Tetris games--Tetris being a Russian
computer game that played Russian music in the background. But I
distinctly can hear, now in my head, Eva Moon singing to that tune,
which she most likely would, if you know what I mean. Anyway, I have
neither knowledge of neighbors or language to ask if that was a CD or
if they are watching Russian (I'm assuming) movies. And they'd probably
think I was very strange, anyway.

Yesterday I wrote Haiku and discovered that it is a wonderful way to
veil your thoughts if you aren't bound by more than the five-seven-five
thing. No offense to the Japanese, but I think I'll probably take their
art and write on whatever subjects are at hand.

BLACK AND RED
Black and red color
Wild melody is calling
Wild rhythm cries, "Dance!"

Anyway, getting back to movie music, I am no fan of such unless it's a
VERY memorable score to a VERY memorable moment, or, in this case, if
it's done by some cool Balkan band and I dance to it. Enough said.

Original...or BETA?

2006-12-12T13:41:00.000+08:00

Hemming and hawing here. The new Blogger BETA sounds cool. I really would like to try it out. But you can't revert to the original blogger, and I don't want to take such a risk.

The only solution (besides forgetting my curiousity, of course!) is to create a new blog just to test it out.

Of course, that's just a waste of server space.

On a lighter note, Saturday was my birthday! I am now fourteen and still the center of the universe ;). When my dad uploads pictures from last night's party, I'll post 'em here.

Here we are with some poetry

2006-12-11T08:27:00.000+08:00

Winter Calling
Winter calls with varied breath
With a chill or with the sun.
With rain, or snow, or gentle dew
Or nothing wet at all
With drying hills
Or snowy fields
Or rain tossing through the evergreens
With browning leaves,
Or no leaves at all.
With chilly winds or warmer days
And nights seem always cold.
Winter calls with varied breath--
Dry, wet, snow.

Deep in Branches
I used to smell Christmas branches
And to do it, you have to bury your nose in the branches
(Being careful of the tinsel, of course).
And the eyes come along, too.

So when the branches don't smell I've learned to look
Deep in branches and past
All the glitter
And, sometimes there is where I'll find
The most radiant star.

Candles
One candle flickers
In the paling winter light
Bringing a promise of coming.

Two candles flicker
In the last fading light
Bringing a promise of love.

Three candles flicker
In the darkening gloom
Bringing a promise of joy.

Four candles flicker
In the deepening night
Bringing a promise of hope.

Five candles flicker
In the earliest morn
Bringing the coming of peace.

Thank you for reading.

@*%@$%#!!!

2006-12-06T08:10:00.000+08:00

Actually, I don't know any swear words.

Balkanarama is playing at my favorite Balkanarama-venue this Saturday. And before you say: "What's so special about that?", may I remind you that I turn fourteen this Saturday?

Oh, well. What I suspected might happen did. Micha's birthday's on the eleventh, so we're having a joint birthday party. That'll be fun, I hope.

I hope Sherry comes on the hike on Saturday...:)

Matty Noble, Balkanarama's violinist, has been touring in Europe for ages, now. Will he ever come back? :( He adds so much to the music--he's a virtuoso at the violin. What I'd give to play that good!

Ciao for niao...

Since when is crying...theraputic?

2006-12-05T08:57:00.000+08:00

I think it's stupid not to cry (quietly, reasonably, in private, I mean). I mean, I was learning in science class that it's good for you. Of course after a good cry you're a miserable, snivelling hulk, but you feel strangely better.

But this is awfully strange. Last night I was feeling perfectly happy here, listening to Christmas music, and feeling like I could spend this Christmas perfectly happy here. I mean, part of what gets me through is knowing that it's temporary. I think maybe I could live longer than two years here or some other place, but I'd need to set it to two years, just think, it's only two years...hey, I could go for another one, but Christmas would always be hard. I'm wearing myself out coming up with new traditions and modifications of old ones, but that's what I like to do...why shouldn't I??? I'll get to rest come Christmas Day, and then I can see my success. Just like last year. It's the best way for me to spend Christmas.

Of course, now I know things. Don't play music of especial sentimental value until nightfall (when it actually looks like winter), don't get too hung up on stuff like that until then, and, finally, don't expect too much. I don't. I expect that once Grandma and Auntie get here and it draws closer to Christmas, things'll get very Christmas-y like they did last year. And, this time, I know I'll be happy even as they leave because I'm going to throw myself into everyday life that will be so restful.

Don't misunderstand. I'm really happy here even now and I also know what really matters in Christmas. But if there were no traditions, I would seriously celebrate Christmas sometime else...like in summer when it rains or something. Even in America, if everything traditional went out the window, well, Christmas in spring or something.

But why was I crying last night? I was happy. Everything was peaceful. My "depression" only sinks in when I try too hard at the wrong time of day or at night if I can't force myself to think of other things. In a little bit, the music shall become second nature again. After pretending to dance with the people in the song from Ghana (or Tanzania, I wish I had the liner notes with me!!!) or watching the snow, birds, and bells in that little interlude on the Fred Waring, I'll have to think of other things. But at night, awake, and not trying to sleep, or think, only to live and reading or something...I reread the Westing Game and it made me cry. And I was listening to Celtic music so beautiful you could burst. Heightened emotions here, I think.

But I love it when I have heightened emotions and I don't feel the need to express them, or I do in excessive writing, and no one stops me. It's a beautiful feeling.

Still, the Westing Game making anybody cry? I understand Return of the Jedi, but...the Westing Game...?

Shhh!

2006-12-04T11:07:00.000+08:00

Please, nobody tell my dad about the baby water buffalo I got him for Christmas! He can't know. It's to be the best surprise ever!

Just a Picture

2006-12-03T12:54:00.000+08:00

No, I won't tell you what exactly is going on.

Last Month of the Year

2006-12-02T09:44:00.000+08:00

And, for some of us--some of my extended family will know exactly what I'm talking about--it is the last day of the old year (not the calendar year). In Kunming we bought purple and pink candles and with some yarn and crochet hooks from a wonderful care package, I crocheted a circle of "greenery" (after a granny square, it was a cinch!). Tomorrow I shall set them up. Ah, my favorite time of year. And in a week...well, check the age on my profile in a week :)!!!

There's a really fun song on Atwater-Donnelly's latest CD (which we took with us completely, yay!!!) with the same title as my blog post. It is a really fun song. However, I have a runaway imagination, and so "Last Month of the Year" popped into my head as somehow being a very quiet, minor-key tune. Don't get me wrong--I love the real version. But nothing prevented me from writing some different words to this other tune I knew...

But actually, I decided I was going to stretch my storytelling skills a bit and tell a Native American legend about Mt. Rainier.

The Legend of Mt. Rainier

Long, long ago, when the world was young, and as yet there were no people, the mountains were giants. Now, Tahoma was a beautiful woman, married to the mountain in the west, and she lived with him in the west--and in that time, the animals and plants we use today for our needs were not in this place. They were in the west.

Now, one day, Tahoma's husband took a second wife, and she became jealous, because he became enamoured with his new wife and payed little attention to her. So one day she told him she would leave. And he said, "Fine. Go ahead."

Tahoma was shocked. She had thought this would make him realize what she was worth. But instead he cared not about her.

So she took a basket and gathered a bit of everything--all the plants and the animals that grew and lived there, and put them in. Then she hoisted her son up on her hip and set off. And every so often, she would turn and look back, hoping to see her husband coming after her to call her back.

But she saw nothing.

Eventually, she got to where she is now. She settled herself down, and began to scatter the contents of her basket around her--the plants and animals, and everything. They took root and grew, and are still there to this day. Then Tahoma picked up her little son and lifted him up so he could see where they had come from. And so they remain to this day.
-=0=- -=0=- -=0=-
Now, that's probably a mish-mosh from several sources inadvertantly made my own. Sorry. I just like the legend a lot. And, I don't pretend to tell it in any style but my own. Find a book if you want a more correct version.

And, happy new year.

Happy Thanksgiving!

2006-11-23T21:01:00.000+08:00

Extra! Extra! We interrupt this weblog for some important news. We, the Lao Wai Central--that is, the newspaper that reports on the strange customs and ways of the foreigners here in this little town, have been amazed at the way our foreigners acted today. We shall follow the American family at the college to see just what those foeigners are up to.

This morning, at 9:35 AM, our reporter, Guh Ja Di, saw the two girls in this family emerge from their apartment building, flushed and excited. The older girl had a folded piece of paper in her hand. She produced from her pocket a length of cloth (which she folded and tied 'round her sister's head) and a feather (which she put in the cloth to create a strange headdress). She did the same with a headband and another feather for herself.

Then they began their walk, giggling madly. They took the usual route to the Hua Shu and went through there to Qishan Lu. They crossed at the safest crossing, and then walked down to the newest apartment complex. They knocked on one door, still giggling madly. When the other foreigner opened it, they both said "Hah". The other foreigner (the one they call Kiana) giggled. Soon, more foreigners came and they commenced to painting stools with strange symbols abounding in orange and red and brown. "This is what we are thankful for," one of them said, when asked by the reporter what the heck they were doing.

The two girls skipped home and immediately went to lunch at the cafeteria where they ate vegetables that they say are good for preventing cancer. They seemed pleased with their lunch.

At 4:00 PM, the whole family set out with two other foreigners to the farm outside of here. There there were many people and everybody was caught up in the festivities. When they were asked what they were thankful for, they spoke of turkey, friends, turkey, China, turkey, Thanksgiving, turkey, happiness, and turkey. They also mentioned turkey. They are enamored with those birds, it seems.

All in all, they seemed to be very happy and celebrated quite a bit. Now, we ask you--what is it that foreigners celebrate that makes them so happy?

Thanksgiving Proclamation

2006-11-21T16:38:00.000+08:00

I have never wanted to be President or take a high political standing. Not only can I not stand politics, I just could not stand to have half the country think you're wonderful and half not or something like that. Also, being in charge of a whole country must be pretty tiring.

Still, I think there would be one nice thing about it...no, I'm not talking being in control or having a cool house (white) or a plane or stuff like that--I don't really care about that stuff (as I write this my family is not even in possession of a car, we're in a foreign country with no control over practically anything and in an apartment that is smaller than the first floor of our two-floor house!). But I think it would be fun to write proclamations for holidays.

My mom was just looking for this year's Thanksgiving proclamation, and that was actually the first time I'd ever heard about such a thing. It's interesting--to have to write all that in a manner that the whole nation would want to read it. And the whole nation might read it. Thankfully, to have this challenge and joy you don't have to be president (and thankfully, most people can avoid the job if they don't want to). If you write a book you want many people to want to read it and there might be a bunch of people from all fifty states who read it.

Oh, and thankfully there are people who seem to like being president or don't mind or whatever so that those who don't want to be president don't have to be.

Yes, I know Thanksgiving's on Thursday. I just like to be kind of "awares" of things to be thankful for most of the time (when I'm bummed I have to be plain old bummed first, before I can look on the bright side. Who doesn't?), plus, it seems so sappy to have to come up with things spontaneously when you're groaning from indigestion. I prefer to think about it, ponder it, and do it before the meal. You might be thankful for a lot to eat before the meal and still afterwards, but afterwards you might be too full to want to think about food.

So, aside from the obvious that you could probably list for me (e.g., food, clothing, food, family, etc.), here they are, in order:

Words
Books
Pencils
Keyboards (computer and musical)
Finale NotePad
Computer games (especially my new favorite, a science fiction one)
The fact that the Chinese people actually know how to cook vegetables, unlike most Americans (except they're tied in the potato department and Americans do tomatoes better)

How do the days run?

2006-11-20T08:00:00.000+08:00

I just realized that no one knows how exactly we spend our days. I thought you might like to know, so...
Monday, Thursday and Friday I wake at 7:00 or so and read my history over breakfast. Tuesdays and Wednesdays are the same, only I wake around 7:30. I then generally goof off until later in the morning, when I do science and English. Math is only for part of the year because the math curriculum is made for three or four times a week, instead of five. So I do five, skipping occasionally, so that around Christmastime my schooling will be light. Actually, to be fair, I don't do both science and English most of the time.

Twelve o'clock is lunchtime. We all go to the cafeteria and get some food there. Yes, it's Chinese food, but it's good for everyday. I generally get a vegetable, with or without rice, or noodles, topped with lots of green onions and crushed garlic.

After lunch Becky and I usually play or read until Becky's school starts and then I generally start doing the rest. After that I do other things until it's time to be "checked" (when it's really my schoolwork that's being checked, not me!). Then I have to pick up completely, and then I'm free 'til supper. After supper I'm also (generally) free.

Weekends are completely unstructured, which is the way weekends always should be. I mean, they may be structured to the hilt, but they're always different. Saturdays have a different flavor than Sundays, and we do a lot!

This week is as unstructured as a weekend, actually. Wednesday's a wedding, Thursday's Thanksgiving at the farm, and Friday is "do-school-early-pack-up-and-go-to-KUNMING!!!" day. How cool is that?

London Bridge is Falling Down...

2006-11-18T21:42:00.000+08:00

...my fair lady!

Yeah, I know, that's a weird way to announce that we saw a musical tonight. Can you guess which one? :)

Okay, this movie was okay...not great but not as good as I thought it would be. With a little bit of luck I might actually watch it again, you think?

I'll have to do some research and see if there is a plain in Spain that gets a lot of rain. Or, if I were to get really technical (spoiler warning!!!) how did Zoltan Karpathy "discover" that Eliza was "Hungarian". Hmmm... Zoltan Karpathy was funny, though.

Is it just me or does the style of hat that Eliza's father wears in the start of the movie ring a bell with anybody? It seems to me like I've seen it on folks in Seattle. But, then again, not since 2005 sometime, and here it is November 2006.

Oh, well. It's a fun movie. See it, but do yourself a favor and see it with subtitles...or in your primary language if at all possible...

P.S. I watched a musical and now I have "'Til There Was You" from the Music Man and "Papir iz doch vays" (sp?) from Folksongs and Footnotes by Theodore Bikel. No idea why...

Dancing at the Crossroads

2006-11-17T07:52:00.000+08:00

I can make up so many jokes with that CD title from my favorite Celtic group. See, I have a favorite American folk music group, my favorite Balkan group, and my favorite Celtic group. If you aren't srict about initials it's A-B-C. If you are it's A-D-B-C. Whatever. Anyways, I made up a joke about finding people from the band dancing at the crossroads in a non-serious story* and telling the main character all sorts of dumb puns on their CD titles as they give her directions. This, unlike many of the strange people that wind up in non-serious stories, had no basis in reality--I have never met anyone in the band, unlike the other two. In all, by the way, I've met three people between the two but even that gives you a little more to work with. I haven't even seen this group live.

But I was just thinking about CD titles and how nice they would be as book titles (I always do) and I realized that there's another joke about "dancing at the crossroads"--my favorite Balkan group is impossible to sit still to, and the first time I saw them was at Crossroads mall in Bellevue (And I wasn't dancing, per se, but my feet were, and that sort of counts).

Yesterday, in desperation, Kiana and I got together to paint, though our teacher is all of a sudden a bit too busy every time a lesson comes up. Now, it could be that she all of a sudden had a work overload, or she could be putting us off. I suspect the latter, but mostly because Mum does so, too, and she's the best source of Chinese culture in my family. Of course, a Chinese person who was western enough not to mince words would be invaluable, but since you have to find a person, then become really close friends with them, and then take care of the rest, I'll stick to my mom, or another foreigner who's been here much longer than we have. Those are my best bets.

I didn't really know what to paint--so I started painting something from home. I enjoyed filling in every detail I could remember adn put down, though I did make the roof too dark, the windows too yellow, the sign too close to the main building, and skipped (intentionally) the "window boxes" that lined the walkway.

Then I decided that I would paint another picture (after a little break that involved a woman and her son and a duck going to America on a ship captained themselves, picking up some pirates who turned out to be Vikings and slept all the time, and finally sang a song about "Hey, hey, it's the New World!" In the middle of it, Kiana did something I used to do, and still do sometimes--sing prose to a very strange twist of melody like a recititave only singing it like an aria. And no rhymes. It was like I was playing with my past self for a minute). I didn't know what to draw, so I painted (contrary to watercolor style) a wash of the deepest, darkest blue I could mix, and then I painted a black hill, then I made a mix of green and black practically out of the tube and painted it on with very little water. Finally, I used white straight out of the tube to make the limbs snowy and the snowflakes falling fast. Ah, if only--sometimes I wish that we could live, not in Beijing, but in northern China where it would look more Christmas-y and we could have central heat. Oh, well, it's just an idle wish come Christmas and Easter time. Now, don't say that I haven't seen snow because it does snow in Seattle--every two years or so, a day or two in January.

Anyways, I now have got to work on Christmas presents--I have Daddy's practically finished, know what I'll make for the three women in my family, and am hopelessly lost on my sister. I asked her what she'd want and now I'm torn between giving my sister something she wants and would enjoy or doing less of a "sacrifice" but something she'd still enjoy. It sounds cruel, but everyone will understand when I tell them: She's awfully clingy and wants to sit on your lap and kiss you and hug you and everything and she won't get off even when we tell her to stop. I can barely stand it when I want to--I don't think a present has to be that much of a sacrifice. I am not selfish, I just don't think it will end the way she hopes (i.e. I'll be mad because I got into this, and she'll be mad because I promised and am not exactly keeping my word). Even though she said it wouldn't have to be Christmas Day...hmmm...maybe I could play EV Nova with her extra...?

Of art and watercolors

2006-11-16T08:05:00.000+08:00

I love to draw. In fact, I love to doodle more than I like to do practically anything else--it's right up there with reading.

I used to hate poetry and spending a long time looking at art, but now I like both, go figure. I also attempt to write poetry and paint nice--not stupendous--but nice pictures. I've found that if I'm really into a picture it has more life, more substance to it. Even if I decide I want to paint a picture of an animal (my worst subject) but I don't want to draw a night sky (now, they're easy), the animal will look better even though it's worse. You know what I mean?

Well, lately I've been looking at art and I am impressed with the symbolism in some art. In some it's blatent, and in some it's just little things you notice. I have a lot of respect for both, but more for the latter. Anyways, I once made up a little story-book (that I never finished) for somebody in my family with "blatent symbolism" in the illustrations. One page for each of our favorite bands, and a page for Star Wars, and a plain page. So. On the first page you have a very dumb book title (though broken up into CD titles it's perfect) How to Daily Grow in Simple Sentences (now, that's two CD titles, "Daily Growing" and "Simple Sentences"). The next page had some harder in-jokes about another band...the princess was playing a lute and singing with her eyes closed, there was a shoe on the table, the lady's-maid was sort of dancing, and one of them had sunglasses in her pocket. The fourth page was extremely dumb. The princess was wearing a white dress. Her dark hair was being coiled about her ears by the lady's-maid. There were two others, one reasonably tall and the other short and squat, in the middle of an argument. In the backround were a couple of crazed siblings swinging on ropes. Anyways, it was a way to pass the time, though the aforesaid family member never got it because it was taking too long and I needed something...

Anyways, great artists can do better than that, and I love looking for things like that in art. I think art is like a poem--which is like an onion, layers. No Shrek jokes, please. It is the outer skin and the heart which you must consider. And sometimes only the poet knows the heart.

That's what I like to do, though I don't do it very sucessfully. Take a private emotion and tell the world...but first, throw on so many veils that you can barely find it. And the veils change to emotion to something different, something beautiful.

Of course, it's easier to do in a painting, and a picture is worth a thousand words--but one must come up with those thousand words. So it's harder to be a writer...but more satisfying, in my opinion.

Anyways, I didn't mean to write this much, sorry. Have a good one

My forte?

2006-11-15T13:40:00.000+08:00

I just got into writing a short story (set in my latest favorite computer game, of all things) and realized that I am more suited to that than longer-length stories. At least for now. I have a million different stories I'd love to write, though, mostly set in a made-up time and/or place. It's like historical fiction but easier.

Anyways, if I ever write anything that I feel like posting online and that I feel comfortable posting online at this time it'll be here. Don't worry!

Ciao for niao...

------/\--/\--------
----(0------0)-------
-----(---o--)--------
---------------------- (Miao!)

Ah, now I remember!

2006-11-13T20:21:00.000+08:00

Now I remember what it was I wanted to tell you. My dad and I like to make up new words for folksongs. Now, how many of you know "So Long, It's Been Good To Know You"? Well, we made new words up for this.

First the background story: I first learned this song out of Theodore Bickel's songbook--Folksongs and Footnotes. I then heard the song from the Weavers. It's got a different part in the chorus than the first.

At first, the Weavers version sounded awkward, and then I could sing both, but now I barely know the Theodore Bickel version. So here is a verse for "So Long, It's Been Good to Know You" that Daddy and I made up:

Now, the Weavers their version was so strange to me
And Ted Bickel's score was a joy for to see
But Ted and I parted--the Weavers hung on,
And now I am singing a Weavers-style song, and its

So long, it's been good to know you...etc.

Random Thoughts

2006-11-13T07:21:00.000+08:00

I was sure that I heard rain on the roof this morning--then I realized it was the neighbor's shower.

I feel so guilty. I wish it would rain and be cold all winter. It was wonderful that it lasted as long as it did.

Don't misunderstand--I want what's best for the crops. But everybody wants something for himself, sometimes big, sometimes small, and I see no harm in wishing for something a little bit selfish--so long as it isn't wrong--if you know what's selfish and what isn't. And if your wish is selfish because it's not best for other people, you should only be half-serious. But otherwise I think it's fine.

Now--the connection has been down, and I really want to type down the random thoughts I had all formulated into a blog post last night as I was falling asleep. You know the problem with that? It gets connected to my dreams and when I wake up I don't remember the dreams.

Well, as soon as I remember it, connection or no I will make a cyber copy. Or at least type it into the computer. Don't worry!

I will wind up with a riddle:
Who can murder people, marry people, start and end wars and countries, and cure the common cold? (answers are on the comments page)

Just Like Martin

2006-11-10T19:11:00.000+08:00

I know, I know, I said I wasn't gonna do book reviews. I meant it!

This is something else. It's a blog post about a book: Just Like Martin by Ossie Davis.

I've read it about six times. And when I read a book six times I'm either stumped for reading or enjoy it a lot. Or perhaps both.

I like it a lot. It's set in Alabama, 1963. It's a small town and there's this teenager, Isaac Stone, and the book is about him. He wants to be nonviolent. His mom died and his dad is really hurting about something from the Korean war. And Isaac's hero is Martin Luther King, Jr., and he really likes the speeches Martin Luther King, Jr. makes. Oh, and Isaac and his family and friends are Black.

Anyways, one day, somebody bombs the church and it kills two kids. And, anyway, well, it's hard to explain without giving it all away.

Anyways, I like this book because the characters are really interesting. They've got many layers. And when you start reading it it's like your immersed in the culture and ways of this little town. And it tells me about a time in history. I feel like I'm almost really there, invisible, able to maybe understand a little of what the people feel like.

Finally, I realize that people all over the world are alike. What made me realize this was actually the fact that the people in the town, even as they were different, were the same in so many ways. Like, there's this one woman, Big Mother, and one time Isaac's dad says, "Is there anything to eat around here," and this other guy says, "Big Mother's in the kitchen, and you know what that means." I guess they aren't exact quotes, but you get the gist of it. I know people like that :).

It's fascinating. I really recommend it. I sure hope it's in the Seattle library systems, 'cause we're returning it to Uncle John and Aunt Trish in a couple weeks.

Sorry!

2006-11-08T20:47:00.000+08:00

Ai-yah, I am so bad at updating. Nothing really is happening, except for school--it's biography time these few weeks. I am currently reading Leonardo da Vinci and will finish it next week, when I begin on Luther. I am also reading The Second Mrs. Giaconda, which is a mixture of funny and serious and is really enjoyable, despite its low rating. Rrr.

But that's boring. Who cares a whit what I read? (Besides Mum, who makes sure I don't read bad stuff, and Daddy, whose interest in my school books I cannot understand, try as I might) So that's why I don't blog about that. My dad has book reviews, check them out, though they're heavy on the Sonlight side--no, that's spelled right. Sonlight is a curriculum. I don't have the URL with me now, but it's the curriculum they're using for me. And I like it a whole lot. But that's straying from the point.

Oh, I could tell you about my Christmas preparations, I suppose. Or Gail's, but that's another story. She asked my mom to write a simple Christmas skit and according to what she's told us, it's getting very interesting. I'm looking forward to it. Anyway, my Christmas preparations involve presents and programs (only one, and that's Becky's and mine to do) and, most importantly, trying to turn a few limp sheets of posterboard and make it into a suitable tree. Unless my parents take the hint and give me an artificial tree for my birthday. Or a Douglas Fir gets abandoned by the side of the road the way our palm branch was...

Let's see--I'm thinking aloud here--I'll need to make more snowflakes. Also, I'll need to buy or beg a sheet of red posterboard for a secret that will be very funny, and I want to decorate everything--this year I can use the TV. No specials this year. Rats. Ummm, what else do I need to do? Oh, yeah, somehow make some more suitable decorations. Hm. Well, that plus eight Christmas presents, half of which are not figured out yet, the other half are mid- or pre-production, and...well, Christmas is my time to get stressed.

And it's really not too early to start thinking about it. I do this every year and this year it's even more important. Pre-Christmas last year was a disaster, but Christmas was great. I want all of the Christmas season to be a success, even if I have to work my tail off.

Anyways, this was just an apology and "nothing to write about" post, so I will close here. Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!

(Oh, and if you think this is early for Christmas, the other day I was looking at St. Patrick's Day cards. But, then again, I'm in a Celtic mood...)

Oh, where is a violin teacher?

2006-11-05T17:13:00.000+08:00

FINALLY! Yesterday Mum, with the help of her Chinese teacher, got my
violin fixed. The Chinese teacher's English is really good, and she
also teaches Japanese, if I remember correctly. She took Mum (I was
afraid to go) to a guy on campus and according to Mum he got the bridge
fixed and even tuned it. Gone are its fuzzy sounds! Oh, it sounds so
wonderful now!

I really want to play a joke on Mr. Yarr, my (former) violin teacher.
He jokingly said, "Send me some Chinese music" and I would like to pick
up a copy of the "Yellow River Sonata" or whatever it's called, which
is all written in Chinese musical notation as well as being Chinese
music and send it to him with an accompanying note about it being the
"real deal". Oh, well.

I just can't wait to start taking violin again in the States. Only, I
think I want to get some lessons in how to play in the Celtic style.
Vibrato and the other hand positions would be nice, too.

Now, I know your heads are probably muddled, but I will clear them up
by simply stating what the problem was. The violin bridge had slipped
(and if anybody is really experienced with the violin or has a teacher
who offhandedly mentions these things like mine did, you'll know that
it wasn't glued on in the first place) and I was afraid to play it,
thinking perhaps the violin would implode. I couldn't (and still can't)
remember what makes it implode, taking out the bridge, taking out that
post inside it, or taking off all the strings in the wrong way.
Anyways, we got it fixed and it's working beautifully!

Anyways, I was playing a few songs from the fiddle tunes book Mr. Yarr
kept bringing to class, and I was so wanting to play the other songs in
it that I finally went out and bought the same book! And I was just
wishing that there was someone to play the harmonies with. But since
the violin was sounding so bad I took most of my books and all of my
duet stuff home. Oh, well...

random pictures

2006-11-02T13:53:00.000+08:00

Becky is the Death Star for Hallowe'en! And it was her idea. I was so proud of her ideas...

Hallowe'en was "Interview your favorite Star Wars characters"--take your pick, Luke Skywalker or the Death Star?
My latest profile pic. I hate the way my face comes out on camera, so these computer paintings are a way to soften and yet tell the truth.

Leaving on a rocket

2006-11-02T08:18:00.000+08:00

My sister, the cartoonist, is doing a (in her words) "boring comic strip" about astronauts going to Neptune. It's instead of a plain old normal report like I did about Venus when I had that assignment. (If I could go back, I would either do Uranus or Pluto because no one wants Pluto anymore). In her research, we discovered that it would take twenty years to do a round trip there.

Here I am, for two years on the same planet, with the same basic way of life, and sometimes I thought (and still think) that it'll be forever, that I will never live on the blue house on the corner again. But I got to thinking--and, understand, I hate to put things in perspective. Sometimes it does not help, but it was okay in this case because I am at peace living here--and what I thought was this:

I imagined myself an astronaut, on a voyage to Neptune (and I have dreamed of being an astronaut occasionally) and I was watching Earth get smaller and smaller, and I realized that I would spend twenty years away from any of this planet, the one planet that is habitable, going to a cold other planet I cannot even land on. Not even to the moon, where the comforting blue glow of earth would be there sometimes, and I could walk on its poor dead surface. Where other people have set their feet.

Right now, I am caught up in a computer game about space travel--the science fiction kind. I don't know how I'd like it if I were really there, but that is no danger. Instead, I play the game, shipping people's valubles, helping scientists, and looking for adventure (in this game, by the way, I have yet another name--Rhia, short for Rhiannon Carter). And, actually, although I can't stand most science fiction, my favorite movie is sci-fi, though for about three reasons--good story, one planet is forested with redwoods that for some reason remind me of Washington State, even though it's California, and it made me cry. But to be really tossed into space, to really live a life of danger...? I would not like that.

So I guess the point of this all is--Earth is home and that is where I will stay, even if I were qualified to be an astronaut; and there is a difference between wanting to be thrown into a book or a movie for a time and wishing to live it for real.

What's in a Name?

2006-11-01T19:16:00.000+08:00

Names DO matter.

I am not kidding, for I have been four people, depending on my name.

There was Cathy, the little girl with the round glasses and the blond
hair who loved so many things. And the essence of her still remains
when one uses the name. But I don't like that name anymore. Of another
person, it is a good name all the way throughout her life. But for me,
it's finished; outdated.

There was Ga Dai, the girl who doggedly studied Cantonese and loved the
characters, but frustrated herself trying to commit them and their
meanings to memory. There were people who called her Ga Dai and they
addressed another person entirely.

And now there are two. Catherine, the girl who has so many faces in and
of herself...a girl who fiercely loves books, music, and movies that
make her cry, a girl who loves to play and be silly no matter how
grown-up she looks, and yet likes to be the "quiet" girl in front of
strangers--no matter how annoying it is, it is a complement to have me
talk a lot to you.

And then there is Ja Di, the girl who can't speak more than a couple
words of Mandarin, but loves to draw and is delighted that her art
teacher calls her by her Chinese name. Ja Di is the one who, with help,
painted the Wa women dancing, and the Christmas star shining in an icy
dark sky.

It's interesting, you must fully accept a name or nickname before it
becomes part of you and highlights a part of your many-faceted
personality. Then, you must use it consistently and constantly, and it
will become you and yours. And THAT'S what's important.

Sometimes I think I need a fifth name to cover a fifth facet. I have a
pondering, poetic streak that fills my serious stories and poetry, the
ones I want to publish someday.

And it makes me wonder. Do people still publish under pseudonyms? It
may be that my creative streak will be highlighted in the future by a
pseudonym under which I publish. I don't think a pseudonym is exactly a
lie. I think it's a way of distancing one part of yourself from
another, keeping your, say, gardening streak away from your, say,
musical streak. Just for an example. Janet can garden, be the real
person and the person of the heart. But Leah can be the person who puts
her soul into music and something.

Forgive my ramblings, they're probably very boring. I just like to
ramble. It's interesting for me, and that is what I believe my blog is
for. Me. But I would be very happy to take you along on the ride.

Seattle Busses

2006-11-01T15:27:00.000+08:00

"My Friday regulars."

"My Monday regulars."

"My Wednesday regulars."

Only the first was actually spoken to us by any bus driver, but I think
they probably all had that feeling. I am not saying we are the center
of the universe, I am simply saying that people tend to notice people
that ride the bus often.

Of course, the guy who drove the 24 probably had a lot of regulars. I
tend to notice individual people, and who knows? Perhaps more than one
bus driver noticed the quiet, often serious little Chinese girl, the
quiet, often serious middle-aged woman, and the girl who read or wrote
or drew and was sometimes serious, often quiet (yammering away inside
her head like she often does when confronted with a crowded room full
of strangers). For those were the "regulars".

Or perhaps they took no more notice of us than they did of the Chinese
grandmothers shouting across the bus in lyrical Cantonese what they
bought at the markets in Chinatown. The markets! From our passing on
the bus, I could not smell the fresh produce, but I could see and hear
the little old grannies. Oh, how I would miss them! But I do not.
Instead, they chatter away in a lyrical dialect as unknown to me as
Cantonese and I meet them everywhere.

And they knew my mother--here it is always, "hello Eunice" from the
younger crowd, but in Seattle, once a week or more we would meet a
little old grannie who came to her community English class and could
say a few things to her in broken English. Those Saturdays were often
days of Chinese delicacies, brought home from generous students. But I
digress.

Whether it was to downtown from the bus stop up the hill from our
house, filling with Chinese grannies and then filling with other people
from all walks of life, or back up from downtown, often on a sunny
evening or a dark cold night, when I was only too glad to get on and
hope to squeeze a seat, or if it was to Rainier Beach from the bus stop
on Walker Street (an ongoing joke between me and Becky) or
back--through the greenbelt, of course--or sometimes taking the Kinnear
bus to the Seattle Center, the 36 route (changing to the 1) was and
probably still is my favorite.

You'll never know where you'll meet a bus driver (and I won't go into
that now). We have met a bus driver we're pretty sure has driven us on
the 36 once or twice. We don't remember every bus driver. But we do
some of them.

I know at least SOME drivers might have noticed us...I recognized all
sorts of regulars. A British woman from Magnolia on the 24...long blond
hair, a strange but almost beautiful face; a man on the 55 to West
Seattle--always in a thickly lined coat, bald, and sort of belonging
among coat like a snowy owl. People like that. And our bus drivers,
too. The one who noticed us was somewhat nice and a bit heavy, with a
beard and looking like a cross between Henry VIII and my violin
teacher, who, by the way, bears a striking resemblance to the aforesaid
Bluebeard. In looks, I mean, not personality!

Now in my head is "Shule Aroon". And I know why. Once off the bus and
home for good, what better than to play a CD or two? And I know what
CDs we played often enough. What little music I have I don't play
enough of...I popped in our meager Atwater-Donnelly collection last
night and tears stung my eyes as the memories flew back and socked me
in the face. I should play them more often. Then again,
Atwater-Donnelly always makes me cry, even at home under perfect
"playing conditions" ("Where the Wild Birds do Whistle"--hot summer
night, "Culled from the Garden"--sunny morning, late night, or, best of
all, down to Portland). Well, not CRY, but my eyes are certainly not
dry. Whatever.

And, all those who I've seen on the busses and remember so clearly, and
others as well--I'm thinking of you.