Photos

This is my dad's silliness--why hamburger meat? (oh, you can't get that here!


This is me and Evonne and Susie at a neighborhood festival. Love the balloons!

I thought you might like to see some photos. Unfortunately, I'm getting them all off my dad's flickr site (check it out), because for some reason uploading from the computer isn't working. It worked once! So I can't show you the "art shots" with corsages that I took that Daddy probably won't upload. Yeeks.

And now, back to China with the lao wai!

More about Thailand tomorrow.
Saro.

P.S. Trivia: Did you know that I used to type quotation marks like this: <>

Passport

Passport
In real life, or so they say, my passport is from
The United States of America
With stamps such as these:
A Chinese visa
A stamp from Canada
"Can stay for ninety days" and "departed" from Hong Kong
Leaving and coming back to China stamps
"Arrived" and "Departed" stamps from Thailand
And a residence permit from China, so--
I've been around.

Well, they think that that's my real passport.
But my real passport is from
The States of Azureham
With stamps like:
An Erinnese visa
A stamp from Pylonia
"Can stay for ninety days" and "departed" from Eire
Leaving and coming back to Erin stamps
"Arrived" and "Departed" stamps--oh, hundreds--from Once Upon a Time
A residence permit from Erin--
Dual citizenship of the Invisible World.

I made up the States of Azureham. Erin is where all the fairytales I make up happen. Pylonia is my dad's country. Eire is Erin's closest ally.

The Chronicles of Thailand

Note: I wrote in my diary for three straight days and was too tired to write any more. Tomorrow you will hear more. The diary entries are as follows:

The Chronicles of Thailand

January 22nd. Well, here I am in Chinag Mai. Whew! After so much traveling, I'm ready to drop.

We left Lone Valley on a 9:15 flight. Our ride--that is, Mr. Hu and Neill--was coming at 8:00. I figured that to get up at 6:45 would be about perfect.

Actually, I woke up at 5:30 and never got back to sleep. At 6:45, I got up, gulped down a strawberry poptart, got dressed, made my bed--and last minute preparations--and then it was...7:45. So we walked around, greeted Mr. Fleming-Charmichael (he'd just got back from his vacation) as we left, and then we went to the airport.

The flight from Lone Valley to Kunming was uneventful. After we'd leveled off from take-off, we started descending again. It was a pretty short flight.

In Kunming, we ate at McDonalds and KFC, looked for a bookstore, and just chilled for awhile (no pun inteded--it's freezing in Kunming).

Today we flew to Chiang Mai--lines and a stifling hot plane, yeesh!!! At customs, we had to have our pictures taken, which took forever. Then we got on this taxi, and--oy, gevalt!--Daddy almost got into the driver's seat. Why? Well, here in Thailand, everything's so British, of of course they drive on the wrong side of the road and the steering wheels are on the passenger side!*

January 23rd. Yechk! Elephants, are...well...messy. Today Uncle Charles, Sandy, Kelly, Neal, Susie and I went to see elephants at the Maesa elephant camp. We took sandwiches and chips--treats we can't get in Lone Valley or Kunming--and 7up. For dessert, there were waxed apples, pomelo, and chocolate sandwich cookies with mocha cream. We ate this while watching an elephant show, but first we rode and elephant! Riding an elephant is not as smooth as the Kitsap going to Bremerton, but it was fun after I stopped being scared. Kelly showed us how to lean forward while going uphill, but how to lean back when going down. After that it was time for te elephant show.

The elephants played harmonicas (not as well as Elwood Donnelly!**) and did tricks. At the end of the show, elephants came up to the stands and took tips, sugar cane, and bananas (I wasn't envious of the baht because we have plenty, and I wasn't envious of the bananas because I can't stand them, but I was sooo envious of the sugar cane!). One also put his keeper's hat on my head (one of the tricks in the show). All of a sudden, this hat goes neatly on my head and this elephant gives me a whack (or two) with his trunk (then he took it off).

After that, we saw the month-old curious little baby elephant. Ooohhh, he was so cute! He was a curious little guy, sniffing me all over with his wet, hairy trunk. He was about as tall as Susie.

Janurary 24th. A year ago today I saw Aubrey Atwater last.

Had an "expat moment" today. I know that a lot of times in the 'States, if your play journey was going anywhere real, it would be in the 'States. New York, Chicago, Seattle. I've ev en heard Foster, RI! Okay, so that was my fault***. But do you get my point?

Today Neal and I were in a playground. The dialouge was as follows.

NEAL: "P'tend you lost me and just found me again."
ME: "Okay."
(Neal runs to metal train. I run after him with a look of exaggerated shock and relief)
ME: "Oh, dear, where were you, Neal?"
NEAL: "I was on the train to Chengdu!"
See? His real place on a play journey was in China, where he's lived...for all his life.


*according to American standards. No offence.
**Elwood Donnelly plays more than two notes at a time and he uses his mouth, not his nose.
***I'll give you three guesses. Who has been mentioned already in the January 24th entry that lives in Foster, RI?

San neen fai loch!

Yeea-achk! How many seagulls can you put in Green Lake Park?

Oh, yes, Carol, my Cantonese teacher, would probably tell me that my tones were wrong or something. But, with the right tones, that would mean "Happy New Year!" in Cantonese ("Gung hay fat choy" means "Good luck in the new year"). I don't know about Mandarin, but it's probably different. "Loch" is pronounced like the Scottish.

The photo, incidentally was taken about a week ago in Kunming. Will post photos from Thailand soon.
Saro

Hold On

It's me. I wrote a poem en route to Kunming from Chiang Mai. Here it is, with some modifications. It is one of those "interesting" poems that you can't explain. You will have to free associate and make up your own meaning. Oh, how I love to do that!

Hold On

Hold on to memories.
The dearest place, it can become bitter, and
The sweetest day can be tainted with sorrow.
Hold on to the good parts, and treasure them.

Deep in a cold basement,
We are here.
Slices of freezing cold apples,
Ham and cheese--warm coffee and tea, sugar
Mrs. Binion's shaky handwriting adorning labels.
I take a cup to the faucet and fill it with water.
Miss Chow takes Mr. Judy's double-cupped coffee for him.

Dark and silent behind a stage curtain;
But there is no performance, no
Recital, simply my friend waiting still behind it.
But I see her silhouette and hear a stifled giggle.
"A-ha! Found you!"--simple words, and she emerges laughing.
Now it's my turn to hide. I dart behind the piano--
Dank and musty with a bingo card and a stale cracker--
And wait.

Sunny and warm on a big lawn--
Superheroes are playing, Captain Saro and Captain Susie--
Why is Captain Susie suddenly called Bob Newman?
Captain Saro is called Nutcase and there is running and laughing
While the inhabitant of a blue house
And the driver of a blue van
Talk on end; oblivious to the superheroes--
Who are busy saving the world
From
Faulty Whistles.

Hold on to memories.
The dearest place, it can become bitter, and
The sweetest day can be tainted with sorrow.
Hold on to the good parts, and treasure them.

I hope you liked it. It gives a lot of particulars and yet you'll never know what I'm talking about (evil laugh). But I do hope (nicer laugh) that you can find your own meaning--it's what I meant you to do.

Just killing time

Sawatdii-ka again. I'm not going to write about this vacation yet, but I am just going to write. I edited my profile, looks like it's up to 16 views! (Who looked at it?) I forgot something, a really big highlight of the trip, because I forgot to jot down notes. It was that wonderful.

• Seeing Kanya, Mum's pen pal, and getting to see the Thai countryside.

I checked my blog, WOW! The bullets are flowers!

Well, look what happens when i put Dvorak typing on this weblog:

Yd. 'gcjt xpr,b urq hgml.e rk.p yd. na;f ygp'grco. eriov

I love it! This Apple Macintosh has these really cool things that let you use all sorts of keyboard modes. I typed:

• The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy turquoise dogs
, or,
• Yd. 'gcjt xpr,b urq hgml.e ruk.p yd. na;f ygp'grco. eriov

I'm just killing time right now. Maybe I should take a nap on the pillow Kanya's grandma made us or else I should admire my hill tribe worry doll that we got at--yeeks, another thing--the Tribal Museum.
Saro

Sawatdii-ka!

Hi from Thailand! We rented the hotel's RFC (really fast connection) and I just thought I'd tell you about what I will blog about soon, back in Lone Valley.

• Elephant riding!
• Going to the mall
• swimming
• "taking the train to Chengdu" with little Neal
• swimming again
• seeing traditional Thai dancing at this really fancy cool restaurant
• going putt-putt! "Around the World in Eighteen Holes"!
• Seeing the Narnia movie
• Going to Baskin Robbins!

• Seeing the Night Bazaar
• And, last but not least--in the future--going to Sizzler with Uncle Tim and Aunt Pat.

Sawatdii-ka, everyone. I'll talk to you later.
Saro

Farewell, farewell...

Now, I'll leave you with some poetry.

Untitled
Where is the girl who knew how to play with dolls,
And had tea parties at a cardboard table?
Where is the girl who spent hours gathering weeds
To serve at a royal feast?

Where is the girl who studied science
And wrote poetry--about eclipses?
Where is the girl who read mythology
And made friends with the characters?

Where is the girl who was halfway in her Invisible world
And searched for the hole that reached there?
Where is the girl who had six invisible friends
That populated her secret country?

Where is the girl whose dream was to draw
Things that would catch people's eyes?
Where is the girl who danced
No matter who was watching?

She's gone--maybe she found her Invisible World.
I wish her well.

Who is this girl who still plays with dolls
Sometimes to hide her expression and tears?
Who is this girl who stares out at the view
And thinks?

Who is this girl who studies science
And tries to stay grounded in what she believes?
Who is this girl who reads mythology,
And shuts the book when she's done?

Who is this girl with her head in the clouds
Who doesn't care about the Invisible World?
Who is this girl who is lonely--
Her few friends are far away.

Who is this girl whose dream is to write
Beautiful things to make people think?
Who is this girl who dances
Because she can't help it, embarrassed to death?

Who is she?
Don't I know her?
No, I don't think I do...

Here's one for Kunming--where, hopefully, I will be tomorrow. We hope to eat at McDonald's and KFC.

Kunming
What song can I sing for you,
City of Dreary Gray?
Should I sing you a song of car horns
Or crowded busses jammed with people?
Should I sing you a song of your ugliness
Or your pockets of beauty?

What song can I sing for you,
City of Weary Feet?
Should I sing you a song of your millions
Or your streets that stretch all around town?
Should I sing of your "foreigner's haven"
Or more of the local Chinese?

What song can I sing for you,
City of Beautiful Names?
Should I sing of your Small Flower street
Or should I call it "Xiao Hua Lu"?
Should I sing of the Northern Gardens
Or is it called "Bei Chen Xiao Chu"?

What song can I sing for you
City, the home of my friend?
Should I sing for your looks, or your streets, or the street names
Or the people just passing by?

One for an airplane--going on quite a different journey, I know.

Leaving
The airplane flies me away.
I don't want to leave.
Pilot, can't you turn towards my family?
Or, better yet, take me home.

When we left Seattle, we had an evening flight--quite late at night, actually--and the terminal was so quiet. But just outside were plenty of people--carrying on their normal conversations. But it was so...strange. We were in an island. Here, I've brought you the island now. Catch!

Night Terminal
Empty seats fill the gate waiting area.
Waves of people walk by,
But by the gate...there's hardly a sound.
Quiet.
So quiet--
Except for the TV
And scattered conversations.
And the voices, calling us
Away.

Well...tomorrow we'll wander away, so have a good week and a bit more. Ahhh, a week off from school, plus a regular weekend and a three day weekend--except, of course, that we have to make up the week at the end of the year, and the Monday that we come back is being made up that Saturday. But what a lovely break (if only it wasn't in the middle of a book...)!
Saro

Goodnight and joy be with you all

This may be the last post for a while--or it may not. There might be another one tonight yet, but definitely not tomorrow. We have to leave the apartment at eight o'clock, and then we're leaving Lone Valley at 9:45. We get to Kunming who knows when. 10 something, I know.

I have my own private diary which I will write in when I want to do a blog post. So that means that I will have some interesting Thailand adventures to tell you. We're going to Chiang Mai for about three days, then we're taking a day trip to a little town near Phitsanulok to visit some pen pal of my mother's (it's really hard to explain, but it's a girl about my cousin Michelle's age who my mum has corresponded with since she was really little). We're not touching Bangkok, which is fine with me because I've seen pictures of it and it's crowded, unlike Lone Valley. Kunming and Chiang Mai are enough for me.

Well, that's about all I can think to say right now...maybe I'll get a snack or read The Golden Goblet or something.
Saro

The tin whistle...

Susie and I give Auntie Anna a hard time! Notice that Susie is playing the whistle upside down and I am playing it right.

Did I tell you about how I got the tin whistle? No, I guess not. I guess I should, because I really like to play it.

One year--December of 2004--Daddy joked that he was going to get me a tin whistle for my birthday. It was because I was really into Aubrey Atwater and all that (yeesh, if they have some way of knowing how many links there are to their website, they're probably wondering, what on earth is this blog linking to us so often???). So he joked that he was getting me a tin whistle for my birthday. He didn't. He got me a MUSIC STAND that was much better because I really wanted it. Then he joked about getting me one for Christmas. And he didn't then, either, but there was a real good joke going on about it (tee-hee!). Then he was joking about getting one for Susie's birthday, and I read up on the whistle and changed my mind. I decided I wanted one--not that bad, but enough so that if Susie really got one, I'd try to talk her into sharing. Well, her birthday (on the twelfth day of Christmas) rolls around. No whistle. The next day is Epiphany, and Mum takes down the Christmas tree.

All of a sudden she gave this gasp, and pulled something metal out. I thought that the tree stand had broken and that made me really sad--we'd had that stand for ages. But then I saw that it was tin--or brass, more likely--and there was this green rubber (or plastic)...thing...triangular...mouthpiece...on the end. It was a tin whistle!

I sat down, and by the end of the day I was playing "Kerry Polka" (okay, maybe we're Democrats, maybe we're not, but that has nothing to do with the president's--um--the other contestant for the office of president) and this Renaissance dance and peace has not been in the house since.

A few weeks later, of course, we happened to see Ms. Atwater and she had to hear the whole story (why mum kept telling stories about me I don't know). She asked me if I had noticed that you can make three or four notes with each fingering position depending on how hard you blow. I said yes. Then she added:

"Or you can blow really hard and everybody will hate you!"

Daddy says she's a wise woman. I say that she must have tried it herself. Who knows what? It could be just common knowledge, 'cause the harder you blow...the higher you go!
Saro

Susie's Greenbelt

Will you go to the rolling of the stones
And the tossing of the ball?
Or, will you go and see pretty Susie
And dance among them all?

I will not go to the rolling of the stones
Nor the tossing of the ball,
But I will go and see pretty Susie
And dance among them all.

The song goes on to say that they start dancing and this guy (probably jealous) stabs him in the side, giving him "his fatal wound". So, they bury him in these woods and then Susie walks by with a tablet (does that mean a gravestone, a pad of paper, or a rock to sit on?) under her arm. When she gets to his grave she begins "to charm"--I don't know if she sat down or what. Anyway, she charms "the fish out of the sea and the birds out of their nest". Okay, not too bad--if you want a bunch of dead fish at your feet and birds flying around you. But then she charms "her true love out of his grave so he could no longer rest". That's when the song ends, and to be quite honest with you, I think Susie either died of fright or made tracks for home fast.

But it's got a beautiful tune, and--at least the way a certain group does it, it's haunting. No pun intended. There's this guitar or dulcimer in the backround sort of doing a simple accompaniment, and the whistle just wails.

"The Rolling of the Stones" is supposedly a fragmented American version of Child Ballad #49, "The Two Brothers" (that's quite a sentence about origins!--thanks, Aubrey Atwater). I saw the lyrics to "The Two Brothers", once, and--at least in my impression--the only thing that song has in common with the "Rolling of the Stones" is that the guy gets killed! Oh, and by stabbing, too. I'm not quite sure of the tune...

Back to "The Rolling of the Stones" (and the tossing of the ball?). I love that song. It is absolutely beautiful, and, if you drive down Beacon Avenue all the way down without turning, you get to the boundary between Beacon Hill and Rainier Beach--it's a greenbelt, or greenspace, actually. It's absolutely beautiful, and you can almost imagine a whistle wailing in the trees (no, no, no, I meant the sound, not the musician!) and the song just playing...

So I named the greenspace, "Susie's Greenbelt" in my head. If you ever end up on the Lagan, do visit it. You'll see everything...
Saro

We climbed the hills o'er...

Those long summer days, when we climbed the hills o'er
To spend hours in the fields, over Aran's wild shore
The soft summer twighlight bids shadows to flee
On the road to Drumleman, that winds to the sea.

That's my favorite verse of my favorite song. Every time I hear that verse, I think of these hills, and two people on them. One is sitting down on the grass and pointing at something. Her wispy hair is blowing in the breeze. The other woman's hair is more neat and she is standing. They are always pointing out over a field somewhere in Washington State--maybe Jefferson Park's hill by the resovoir minus city street and playground...

I do wonder where the real Drumleman is, and whether it exists or not. Lately, my mum has gotten really interested in Glastonbury, England, but I'd rather find Drumleman--both my own personal one, and the real one.

Maybe someday I'll write a story about a girl named Gael or Saro. Just an ordinary girl who lives in a country called...Erin, I guess. And she lives in a village, the Lagan, and her father, a trader, takes the family every spring to a costal village, Drumleman. It's somewhat of a strange idea, I'll grant you, but...it really interests me.
Saro

Just rambling

Missing You
I saw your picture last night,
And I wondered how you were doing.
How I long to see you again,
And tell you what I've been up to--
Maybe show you a picture or two,
Or play you a song.

But I don't know if I'll ever see you again.

I saw your picture last night,
And I wondered how you were doing...

Here's one that's remarkably figurative--and probably dumb, too.

I've traveled far over the waters
And followed the curve of the sea.
And now I believe I've forgotten
The memories I've called back to me.
So come here and listen and hear me
I'll sing you a song full of pain
But someday the song will be ended.
And joy will be reigning again.

I've not always been far away--now
I know I am far from my home.
But someday I know I will come back
My heart will be telling me, "Come."
So come here and listen and hear me.
I'll sing you a song full of pain
But someday the song will be ended,
And joy will be reigning again.

And someday I'll go home and stay there
I'd sail seven seas for to see
If happy I'd be when I got there
Or would sadness stay deep in me?
So come here and listen and hear me
I'll sing you a song full of pain
But someday the song will be ended
And joy will be reigning again.

So come here and listen and hear me
For joy it is reigning again
For my song, it will be soon ended
And gone are the tears and the pain.

I don't feel that way all the time--it just has its moments. One annoying thing about me is that when I get a song in my head and it has no words or none that I know and it needs words, I make 'em up. And this one was so pretty, but so anguished, that...well, you see what I came up with.
Saro

I wish...

My ballet teacher always said to keep in touch. We sort of did, but I was nervous about picking up the phone and calling someone, and she was kind of busy. When we did talk, I could hear her cat miao and her voice combined with that made it feel more homelike. But we lost touch and her 'phone number changed and she moved to another city. I wish I had kept in touch now. Sometimes I wish that I'd find whatever community center she's teaching at, walk in, and ask, "Do you remember me? It's Saro," and maybe tell her that I have a weblog and that I think about her a lot. Perhaps it's still possible, but I doubt it.

By the way, if you look at the picture on the profile, that's us in our Hallowe'en costumes. Best laugh I've had at my costume for years! We're dressed up as our "favorite folksingers".

The other picture, if it works, is a picture of us having a laugh. We were trying to do a skit with folk songs and dumb jokes and that's why we look so silly.
Saro

More Poetry

This one is based on truth. Think I wrote it the morning after the bird sang.

Evening
One bird sang last night
Just like one last summer.
I wish I could go back,
For joy mingled with sorrow then.
And a bird sang in evening,
Just like me.
I sang,too.

This one is supposed to be dumb. It was written to be dumb.

Aliens
Aliens are we,
With stiff shiny hair
And strange eyes
With markings 'round our heads
Yes, aliens are we.
Ones of the Swimming Pool.

Ah, yes. Would you believe I have to poetry for school? This is one of that variety:

Teardrop
Read my message, or let me tell you--
I know I'm just a drop of crystal,
But I am not a diamond or a drop of water to ignore.
Let me tell you my story,
Written by inky lashes on my surface before I rolled on the journey.
As I rolled over old trails and inked them afresh,
Let me tell you my story,
Left to dry onto salt-encrusted patterns.
Let me tell you my story.
Before I am gently patted to death with a white shroud,
Or roughly killed and smeared onto clothes and hands.
Let me tell you my story.

This one...hmmm. I think I wrote it after I found the jasmine flower still in my jasmine tea.

Tea
I let my tea steep too long--
I think.
Now it's dark and bitter as the tea they always give me.
Ever notice
How tea leaves, dry crumbly
Like burrs
Will turn into floating green-brown leaves?
No, of course not.
For your leaves are packed in bags or balls not free.
Like mine.

Here's one more...

Dead End
You were the fifth driver today
To miss the bright yellow sign with its big letters:
DEAD END.
First came the little white driving school car
Then the bright red sports car
Then the dark-blue van
Then the little green beetle
Then you.
I wonder why you all miss the sign.
I know it didn't used to be a dead end--
I remember then.
It was back when the library was in the tiny warehouse
And the ABC market was the Beacon market
And the restaurant by the supermarket was still there...
But now, the restaurant is replaced by construction,
The Beacon market is ABC
The library is in a shiny new building
And the roadblock's in place--
And the dead end
Is there.

One thing about this last one, if you locate my home on the Lagan, you'll find that right on our property is a bright yellow dead end sign. Many different cars drive right past, and since they drive right back again, you can tell that they missed teh sign. The library did used to be in a tiny warehouse; only recently did it move to a new location that's a bit farther from my place. The Beacon market was a spot that catered to the Chinese around and it was the only place you could get jelly poppers without going out of neighborhood or going to Chinatown. It was characterized by a lot of fruit out in the open and a lot of people chattering in Chinese. The restaurant is South China, which was a great restaurant in our neighborhood until Sound Transit made it move to Bellevue to put in a Light Rail Station.
Saro

The doll, Susie, the doll!

Susie likes to tease me about my doll, Aubrey. Yes, if you've followed me from the start, that name should be painfully familiar. Or if you know me really well...

I love to make dolls. One spring day, 2004, I got out this cloth and began to make a doll. My original thought was to name her Ana Magdelena after J.S. Bach's second wife. Never mind. I was just getting into Atwater-Donnelly at this point, so I changed my mind and decided to call her Aubrey after Aubrey Atwater, a (need I tell you?) folk musician from Rhode Island. See here.

At first I was really embarrassed about it. So everybody went around calling my doll Ana Magdelena. I had other dolls, Sue (after Sue Niemann) and Eva (after Eva Moon). They called them Clara and...um...Constanze.

Eventually, the secret came out, right before we were to leave for Illinois to see Grandma and Grandpa, and we were also going to see Atwater-Donnelly in concert. Mum asked me, "Are you going to show the real Aubrey your doll?"

"What?" I said, "Why, no! Why would I do that?"

"I bet she'd be thrilled."

"And I would be embarrassed down to my socks!" my face was already turning red. Either that, or I had accidentally splashed chili over it.

I never did show her the doll...then. That November I don't know what I did, I mean, I wrote this fan letter to them and got this response on a postcard with a lovely picture of Sakonnet, RI on it. Talk about thrilled. I was thrilled, and I mean thrilled.

Fast forward to January--late December, actually. Mum and Daddy were looking at this performance calendar, and they noticed that Ms. Atwater was doing a school program in Bothell, which is by the Lagan. Mum wrote her an email and asked her to dinner. I mean, she'd never been to Seattle before, and this was pretty cool. Of course we'd want to see her.

But she was too busy, and she said as much. She added, "You can come to the school program."

So we made plans to do that, but Becky got sick and only Mum and I went (more about that much later; it's a long story). But I took Aubrey-the-doll, just for the car. I said as much and I meant it. It's a fairly long drive to Bothell. And Aubrey-the-doll is really my best friend after Evonne. I left the doll in the car and we went into the carpeted school gym. Mum and I and this other guy had to go to Jack-in-the-Box to get take out for lunch--then we'd go back to the school and all eat lunch together. I picked up the doll and put her in my pocket (my coat has big pockets) to make room for drinks in the place where she was lying. On the way back, I decided to take the doll to show Ms. Atwater--maybe.

My way of going about it was so transparent. "Oh, dear! Mum, I left my doll in my pocket and she might get lost!!!"

"Oh, come on. Show Aubrey," Mum said, seeing completely through my ideas. I ended up showing the doll to Ms. Atwater, not mentioning the doll's name. Mum took care of that. I don't think I have been redder in my life!

And, according to Mum, she was thrilled.

What on earth????

You know, once I started singing,

"On top of old Smokey,
All covered in snow
I lost my true lover
By courtin' too slow."

I know that one thanks to Weavers CDs. But some guy heard me and said that most kids my age don't know that song! That still shocks me. I mean, it's not my favorite folk song, but I feel like I've known it forever.Is that the truth? I feel like Digory Kirke. "What do they teach in the schools these days?"

In a lonesome place

This place is so familiar to me.

I amazed my aunt this Christmas by communicating in the worst Chinese that street vendor had ever heard.

"Liang guh"

"Liang guh?"

"Doi. Hao."

I surprised my aunt by picking up this huge bamboo stick and playing with it. You just don't play with huge bamboo sticks in the 'States. 'Least not so readily. But I do it all the time.
-=0=-=0=-=0=-=0=-=0=-=0=-=0=-=0=-

This place is a ghost town.

It's quiet. And still. There are a few people playing basketball, and a few people strolling around, but otherwise...quiet.

It's depressing for my mother, but refreshing for me. Think, walking around without hearing "Lao wai!" yelled at me so much and not having to stammer to a few amused older ladies, "Wa bu ming bai Putonghua!!!"

It's funny, but at times it's a bit wearing. I do miss being able to say more than "Hello!" and "Thank you!" and "Goodbye!" and "I don't understand Putonghua."

My friend Kelly (whom I'll see in Thailand, hopefully) who lives in Kunming is bilingual. Two years younger than me, strawberry blonde, and speaks Chinese. Often with her, I'll lean on her to get me out of a situation. Or once I was with Rita, who is with our organization--she's bilingual--and she got me and Susie out of a beggar. But shaking my head and walking away really quickly does the trick when you have no language.

It just isn't the same. Often, when walking the streets of the Lagan, I will meet someone who will say "Hi there" or "hello". Many Chinese people know "Hello", but it doesn't have the assurance that this person probably can carry on a conversation if the need were to arise.

It's funny how people here will throw in an English phrase. Somebody tried to order something and he said, "Doi. Hao." and the woman nodded and walked out, calling, "Yes. All right." She probably knew about as much English as I Chinese, and yet she said that. Often I will do something like that only I don't say it out loud.

Well, I've got to go--I'm becoming a living iceberg and taking a sponge bath even with hot water isn't going to help any (the shower's hot water is on the blink. Phooey). Let's see, where did I put my gloves...?

Farewell, my friends...

I never had a "over the fence" sort of friend. I never had a friend that I would play with every day. My mum says it's good, 'cause I'm not influenced by peer pressure as much, like, you know:

You don't like rap? Gee, you're weird. and You don't want to be completely in style? What is your problem, Saro?

I do have a good friend, Evonne, and I really miss her. She's a neat friend. Like she likes all sorts of pop music and stuff like Brittney Spears that I really can't stand, but I listen to her talk about it and then she'll listen to me blamming about Aubrey Atwater or something. And sometimes we used to write secret letters to people (I won't tell you who). Secret letters is when you write a letter (that's sometimes deeply personal) that you'd love to send to this celebrity or person you know but you wouldn't dare to. We all have our personal reasons. They're secrets, I won't even give you hints about what they're about or who they're to.

Evonne and I have known each other since...yeeks, I think I was nine or ten. Ever since we've been pretty good friends. We'd talk about school life--"math sucks" and all that--and I'd tell her what it was like to be homeschooled. We still correspond pretty regularly and once we wrote a story, "Uncle Mouth and Aunt Teeth". She came up with the names and most of the events, and I wrote it. It was stupid, because I'm not really good with short fiction (I either build up to the climax much too quickly and it gets too short, or else I take too long and the climax happens at the end of the tale), but we had a lot of fun and correspondence was all about Uncle Mouth and Aunt Teeth and Qwerty Uiop.

Oh, and the Dai food tonight was really good. I highly recommend, come to Lone Valley and check it out. It is dee-licious.
Saro

The Road to Tacoma

Riding to Grandma's house on a Christmas day is a cherished memory. I'd like to share it with you...

The gray sweep of the Duwamish mirrors the sky.
The trees along the road are dark green.
The road is wet and cars gleam.

Travel southward, travel south
Lined with green and lined with brown
Travel towards the cheery red house
Lined with lights like rainbow ice--
For it's Christmas day and joy lies wrapped beneath a tree
Wrapped in color, wrapped in white,
On the ground or on the straw.

High above stands a car dealership.
Why they have a jet plane, I don't know, all I know is
They have lights on it now.
Dark car tracks on lighter roads.
Almost noon.

Turn off the exit and go 'round the hill--
Stay off the lanes that go back to Seattle
Stay in the Thru Traffic lanes.
The chiropracter's office looks like a big candy cane--wrapped in red, you know.
Turn down a street and drive over speed bumps.
Park the car and run inside.

Someday, I want to be a writer.
Saro