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?
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!
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?
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.
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).
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.
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. 
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.
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...
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...?
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!
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.
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?
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)
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?
...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...
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...?
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
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...
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