connie's space

I attended a 2-day Creation Justice virtual meeting session with those from all over the States. This was shared during one of our closure sessions. I share it with you here, now, to give you a little lift for your week. Blessings!

It was all my mom’s doing. She put the idea in my head.

As warmer weather approaches, my mom has been surveying her new garden, established last year at this new little house of hers, to see what has survived and what plans to re-appear. We had received permission from the house owner of her former home, a man who cares nothing for flowers or keeping up a yard, that she could dig up whatever she wanted for transplanting. (See old house below)

We collected bluebells, lily-of-the-valley, 2 rose bushes, 5 lilies, a clump of hostas, grape hyacinths, the white violets (a treasured, rare collection that clumped under the backyard tree), the clematis vine, spider plant seeds and numerous other whatevers that I can’t remember the names of.

In the past 2 weeks, I’ve found her mid-mornings stooping over the bare earth along the back fence to see what has managed to survive.

One row of tulips never did make an appearance. She dug around to find the bulbs with no luck. She fears the squirrels got to them although another row miraculously are doing very well.

The white violets are there, much to our relief. The rose bushes survived and the clematis has tiny green leaves making their way from all the straw-like, twiggy dead stalks of winter. We didn’t find any lily-of-the-valley but the bluebells seem to be happily making this their new home.

While I was perfectly satisfied with Nature’s offerings in our new back yard, my mom wasn’t.

“I should have dug up the poppies,” she announced with irritation after returning with the dog from her morning walk. “I went by the old house and it’s a complete mess. It took me 25 years to create that garden and now it’s just going to pot. Those poppies are going to be gorgeous but no one will appreciate them..”

She frowned.

“Well, if you feel that way, why not just go and dig up those poppies? And might as well get more lily-of-the-valley, while you’re at it. I’m sure he doesn’t care.”

She looked thoughtful.

“He did say to us come over at any time and take whatever else you wanted,” I further encouraged. “I doubt he’ll even know anything’s missing.”

And so it was that my mom and her enabler (me!) came about to being thieves of springtime.

We completed our mission yesterday at the old house, taking bins and pots, the shovel and clippers, to hack our way through the brush to find what she wanted. Despite the fact we had been given permission a year ago to do so, we did wait until the big white truck was no longer in the driveway before stealthily, and swiftly, pillaging her former garden.

We left with more grape hyacinths, another clematis vine, lily-of-the-valley clumps and the poppies.

Now all are transplanted and safely positioned in the soil alongside the outside of the back fence.

Hopefully, they will survive the journey and joyfully make this their new home.

As for the mother-daughter burglary team, I think that pretty much takes care of our acts of unlawful behavior. . . Well, at least for this year, anyway. Who knows about Spring of 2023, after her inspection here a year from now of what took and what didn’t? I wonder how long her old house owner’s open invitation to dig up plants will be considered valid?

Guess if a future entry details a visit to the county jail, you’ll have your answer.

Enjoy your spring, everyone! We’re certainly enjoying ours

Why does personal distressing news, or even personal luck, seem to come in threes?

This last week, at least for me, seems to have followed in this number 3 pattern. From the last post, I listed 2, not expecting a 3rd. In a shocking email just a few days ago, sad to say, it came. Let me explain:

China Eastern Flight 5735

As a follow-up: My Chinese students and friends kept their messages coming with condolences for the victims and families of China’s Eastern Airline crash. The first black box was found but it was becoming more difficult to find the second due to heavy rains and the heavy vegetation of the Guangxi mountainsides. How well I know those jagged mountainsides because I lived in a rural southern Guangxi Province area for 3 years.

Ground crews expanded their search to within 30 miles of the crash site and finally came upon the second flight box recorder unit on Sunday, March 27, at 9:20 a.m. according to one article I read.

According to the report, it was deeply buried under an astounding 5 feet of soil, which certainly proves the diligence, care and determination of search crews to find it. I can also imagine how devastating it was to sift through pieces of the plane, with personal items (ID cards, purses, pieces of cellphones) being picked through as well.

The last fatal China air crash in 2010 (42 passengers) took several years for a final report to be issued. While families and the public are eager to discover what happened, the analysis of both boxes will not reveal answers anytime soon.

Luzhou Choir Member, Sister Xiao Liu

In my last post, I mentioned one of our choir members who has gone to be with the Lord and car pick-up information for those who wanted to attend the funeral. I contacted one of the members to receive more information about Sister Liu and here was her response:

“Here is her picture, from her WeChat, a beautiful girl. She was a good daughter of our Lord, and she was leader of our praise team. She had a history of cervical cancer, and after a period of remission, it may have returned, affecting her kidneys, liver, heart and other major organs. She sang so beautifully. She loved the Lord so passionately, and at the end of her life, she kept on leading the praise team — singing, praying, and praising. It was a pity. “

I added my note, saying, “Thank you so much for sharing her story with me. She lived a longer life because of her faith, to strengthen her every day. I am sure her family is saddened by her departure from this world. I will pray for them.”

Another in the group continued with this prayerful message: “Thank you, Lord, for taking away her burden of labor in the world and carrying her soul home, home into the sky.”

Bless you, Sister Liu, as you joyfully sing in a choir once again, a choir in heaven.

And in America: We Mission Intern Program (MIP) Alums say Farewell One of Our Own

To close off the above-mentioned threes comes the last one: Nzingha Nia.

From 1988-1991, I joined in the United Methodist’s Mission Intern Program (MIP) along with 14 others. We were between the ages of 22 – 30, a majority of us being in our early 20s and straight out of college. Our two placements, 1 1/2 years overseas and 1 1/2 years in America, were those of peace-and-justice positions, spread throughout the world. My overseas’ position was teaching afternoon and evening English classes for women and children, plus participating in women’s programs at the Kyoto Japan YWCA (Young Women’s Christian Association). My USA post was working in Washington DC, assigned to legislative issues which had been designated by the United Methodist Board of Church and Society as being important for church advocacy.

We MIPs were a close-knit group, having spent a full month of orientation, first at a conference center in Stoney Point, NY, next at Drew University and finally a week stay in NYC visiting 475 Riverside Drive, known as the “God Box,” which housed our Global Ministries headquarters at that time. (Now it is in Atlanta, GA).

I knew Nzingha Nia as one of elegant beauty and firmly grounded in her commitment to justice in the world.

When her daughter, Jendayi, last week contacted another in our alum group to share that her mom was in hospice, we were in shock. A mailing address was given if we wanted to send a card or note. I immediately sat down to write mine, although after I mailed it, Jendayi announced that her mom was no longer with us.

Although Nzingha will not be reading my letter herself, I pray that her family will find some comfort knowing how much she touched my life. I imagine others in my MIP group will add their stories as well about “our” Nzingha.

I leave you with the below, closing off my “comes in threes” post. The photo is of Nzingha’s daughter, which was shared recently by one in our group who visited her yesterday. We are waiting to hear about the memorial service. Such a lovely young woman, like her mom.

Letter to Nzingha Nia

Dear Nzingha,

This is Connie, one of your MIP groupmates.  Jill sent the address for us to send you a card so here you are!

I wanted to tell you that your name has been in my heart for so many, many years because of its uniqueness.  I remember when you first said to the group, “I’m Nzingha Nia” that I was blown away by the beauty of not only the name, but the person who carried it (you!).  Now Nzingha reigns high among other wonderful people I have come to know and admire:  Nkemba, Mbwizu, Tende, Ruhong, Precious,  . . . . the list goes on.

After so many years, I did a little digging and found out why Nzingha is such a majestic and appropriate name, although you obviously already knew this. It is the name of a great seventeenth century African warrior queen, known for her brilliance as an administrator and organizer, and unstinting commitment to peace.  Oh, how well that fits!!

Know that I am thinking of you, and sending God’s grace and blessings to you and your family.

Connie

This article arrived in my inbox today. I thought it makes for a fitting addition to the previous post.

And Yet Other Sad news, from the Luzhou Church Choir

Aside from references to the crash, my WeChat messages added another 54 notices this morning, with a majority of those being from the Luzhou Church Choir’s soprano group.

It’s not unusual at this time of year, during Lent, for so many messages to go flying. There are announcements of Easter anthems we’ll be singing, photo copies of the music, recordings to listen to, discussions of what went wrong during rehearsals that need fixing, reminders about wearing the black Mary Jane uniform shoes (not sandals) for upcoming worship services, those asking leave for various reasons and replies that notices having been received and recorded. (Yes, the Luzhou Church choir members take their rehearsals and Sunday worship very seriously, including excused or non-excused absences being marked and the roll taken at every practice.)

But these were regarding sad news, as posted by Choir Monitor (leader) Zhang in Chinese. I give you the translated version below:

“Choir Family Members: Sister Liu Xiao, who has been serving and working with us for so many years, was picked up by the Lord this morning because of illness.My heart is very sad but the Lord is never wrong in His decision. At the request of her family, the memorial service is scheduled to start tomorrow (Thursday, March 24) at 3 p.m. at Yangqiao South Funeral Home. We beseech the Father to comfort her family and all others. We pray the Heavenly Father to remember Sister Xiao for all her Christian service. We implore the Lord to lead tomorrow’s ministry as we remember her life. For those who have time, please go to see Sister Xiao off on her final earthly journey.”

This was followed by those adding their blessings and condolences to the group, with several continuing with determination:

“I’m going.”

“Yes, I also. Wish Sister Xiao RIP all the way.”
“My car can take us. It holds 3.”

” I can take 2 more. Meet me at Zhongshan Road at the Medical College.”

“Contact me for seating.”

And a last note from Monitor Zhang, which was so touching: “Brothers and Sisters, for those who can go to the memorial service tomorrow, please bring the song “The Incarnation,” “Golden Jerusalem” and “He cares for me.” We will sing for Sister Xiao and send her to the Lord in song.”

This was followed by numerous choir members eagerly responding:

“All right. “

“I can pick up all music at the church. Message me.”

“Copy that!”

“May the Lord bless our efforts.”
“Amen.”

And from America, while still waiting to return to my school and beloved choir family in Luzhou, I add the same: Amen!

At 7:30 a.m. this morning, I sleepily wandered into the kitchen where my mom was listening to NPR, eating her breakfast. She’s a very early riser but not so much me and always turns on the radio for the latest news

“There was a plane crash in China,” she announced while slurping away at her oatmeal. “I think it was Longzhou, way in the south. Something like 200 were on board. Isn’t that where you lived before?”

Well, that certainly woke me up!

Yes, I spent 3 years in Longzhou, a tiny town in Guangxi near the Vietnam border. My school was Guangxi Normal University for Nationalities. After 3 years teaching in this remote town of 700,000, a different campus moved to the larger city of Chongzuo. 8 foreign teachers had already been recruited to teach there so the Amity Foundation and I felt I was no longer needed. In Longzhou, not only was I the only foreign teacher at our small school or 2,000 students but I was the only foreigner within a 50 mile radius.

I loved every minute of it! Along with my rescue Chihuahua, Little Flower, I had the time of my life: smaller classes (I actually knew the names of all my students), being able to walk from one end of the town to the other (just 20 minutes), getting to know all the small shop owners, enjoying a tight-knit group of Christians at the local church (we had about 20 in attendance every Sunday), enjoying a gigantic apartment (4 bedrooms, sitting room, inside kitchen, bathroom and balcony) and hosting activities in the English Center which was located on the 7th floor of Classroom Building 3. The spectacular view of the vast mountain landscape from the window was well worth the climb as we had no elevators.

When my mom mentioned Longzhou, those were the memories that immediately came to mind. But the idea that a plane crashed there was a bit of a mystery as there was no airport in Longzhou when I was there, and Longzhou is not on anyone’s flight path yet one never knows.

I reached for my phone to contact a young man who used to come to my apartment with his friends when he was in junior high. His English name is Joe and he graduated from the university 2 years ago and is still searching for a job in accounting. It hasn’t been easy. He tried in the capital city of Guangxi Province, Nanning, but wasn’t having much luck due to the virus and other applicants having better qualification. He returned home last month to hang out with his family and continue searching online where next to send out his resume.

“Hey, Joe!” I texted on WeChat. “My mom heard there was a plane crash in Longzhou. I didn’t know there was an airport in Longzhou. Did she get the right name?”

Our time difference is 14 hours ahead of me, being around 9:30 p.m. his time, and I figured he’d be up. Sure enough, he was.

“Not Longzhou,” Joe immediately replied. “In Wuzhou. I’m watching the news now.”

Then he attached a video, one of many which local residents near Wuzhou posted. His was of a distant plane plummeting head first into the ground, smoke billowing upwards with distressing cries from those recording.

If you’re wondering about distances, here is the distance between Longhou and Wuzhou.

And another from Luzhou (7 million), my current teaching placement (which does have a new international airport) and Wuzhou.

I’ve now read it was a China Eastern plane carrying 132 people. The last major crash in China was in August of 2010, where 42 people were killed. That is quite a good track record considering that in the 1990s, when I first arrived in China, a string of crashes gave mainland China the reputation of being the most dangerous country for air travel. With a complete overhaul of planes and pilot training, that changed the entire airline industry entering into the new century.

Now the safety of China’s flights is the highest in the world so this current crash has really sent the entire country into shock. I am already receiving messages from Chinese friends, former and current students, also my church choir members, if I’ve heard about their recent tragedy.

Some of my students are posting videos of the crash or notes of concern.

My colleagues and friends are including screen shots of news reports.

The choir members in our WeChat group are including prayers for the victims and soothing words of solidarity for their families.

Zhou Yan, a Luzhou friend who is an extremely successful businesswoman, wrote: “Yet another bad thing happens in my country. We are watching the news now about the plane crash. So many people died but still searching for the survivors. I wish everything is normal. I wish you can return soon. I am waiting for that day! Please take care of yourself.”

“Yes,” I texted back to Zhou Yan. “I wish the same: to return to Luzhou, for everything to be normal, to end tragedy and the virus and the war. We just have to remain hopeful, keep in touch and support one another. That is important.”

She replied with a heart emoji, I returned with a dove. Thus ended our messaging for the day: her late evening, sending world hopes of love; my early morning, with those of peace.

It’s been a tough 24 months away from “my” China, for numerous reasons: No in-person contact with beloved students, colleagues and friends; missing my campus apartment with all the homey comforts (and really neat clothes that always dazzled my students!); greatly increasing the teaching load my Chinese colleagues, who are taking over my courses since there’s no one to sub for me ; not being able to sing with my Chinese church choir; putting on hold, yet again, all my holiday activity events (including Easter egg hunts, which were everyone’s favorite Spring activity); Plus not being able to fully utilize the English Language Resource Center for movie night, student lesson planning sessions, useful classroom arts-and-crafts demonstrations, Tuesday and Thursday game time and hoisting down boxes from shelves to pull out seasonal decorating items. (See below an evening game night.)

A Die-hard Swimmer Bemoans her Current Fate

But most distressing has been the opening of the school’s first natatorium. I’m a die-hard swimmer, and have been all my life. I tell people I’ve spent more time in the water than on land. I started splashing about at our local summer pool when I was 3, joined teams all the way through college and continued onward to keep in shape even to my current age of 57. (Ah, those years of summer swimming team!) I’m Age 6, 1971, in the first picture, then moving on in years from there through to high school.

When the indoor pool finally opened, without me, on the school’s campus in May of 2020, I was devastated.

Anticipating the Grand Opening

For 3 years, I’d watched it being built along with the basketball stadium. Every day, I’d walk to the sports field to take a look at the progress of our college’s 50-meter pool complex. I marveled at the workers’ 2-story temporary housing go up, watched with anticipation the empty expanse of land being dug out, witnessed bulldozers, flatbeds of iron girders and other equipment come and go, marveled at the rise of the impressive criss-crossing steel frame of the building itself and reveled in the eventual completion of the spectators’ stands as well as the actual filling of the pool.

When I left for my Chinese New Year holiday in January of 2020, there were leaking issues the workers were dealing with so it continued to be closed, much to my disappointment. But I figured by my return after just a month in America, I’d alight on February 14, 2020, to a grand opening. I was determined to be the first in. I wanted to wow the lifeguards, my students and administrators with my swimming prowess. I was especially looking forward to our school’s 3-day Sports Day in April, a yearly campus-wide mini-Olympics, where I promised students I’d coach those who wanted to enter the swimming competitions. As for myself, the teachers in our Foreign Language Department already had me down to enter the faculty competitions, where we all knew I’d give us a glorious outcome over the other departments. Finally, the first time in our school’s history, the PE teachers wouldn’t stand a chance against the College of International Studies’ foreign teacher, Connie. They might be able to defeat us in basketball, ping-pong, badminton, volleyball, and track & field but in the water, that was the foreign teacher’s domain.

How I was looking to walking 5 minutes to the pool from my campus apartment home rather than spending 30-minutes to taxi across town for my daily workout at the city’s new natatorium, where I had a year pass. There I met with the older crowd, all die-hard swimmers like myself. The water was heated but not the pool deck area, which made for a very chilly walk to and from the locker rooms.

School Pool Opens, Closes due to Covid, Re-opens to Date

While many areas of China have recently been struggling to keep the country’s Zero-Covid strategy in place, Luzhou (6 million, Sichuan Province) is proving itself Covid-free . . . at least for now. My students are posting pictures of folks maskless, lovely spring flowers throughout the campus, outings into the countryside with friends, eating out at crowded restaurants, sports events taking place, as well as contests and performances going on in the fully packed auditorium. Campus venues likewise remained fully operational, including the sports stadium and the natatorium.

I received word of the grandness of our new water-sport addition from Australian, Geoff, who recently turned 70. I once featured him and his disabled wife (Chinese, whose English name is Snow, 56) in a previous post. The two of them visited my campus recently to take a look at our nice facilities. They sent these pictures.

dav

dav

Quite impressive, isn’t it?

The gentleman giving the “thumbs up” signal was meant for me. He and I swam together every day at Zhangba Park Natatorium, where I had a year pass. Now he is swimming at my college pool, which is open to the Public for a $4 US fee per swim or you can purchase a year pass, as I absolutely will do when I return.

How I miss all my swimming buddies, including times I was asked to give swimming stroke advice for freestyle and butterfly, two of my areas of expertise. Looks like upon my arrival to my Luzhou home, whenever that can take place, I’ll have a lot to look forward to: new swimming friends and just a 3-minute walk from home, up the roadway incline to my favorite hang-out place of all time, the swimming pool. Can’t wait!

Next report: China is struggling as Omicron variant runs wild Updates will be personal stories from former students about the current Covid situation who live in: Shanghai, Jilin (Beijing district), Shenzhen, Nanjing (our Amity Foundation headquarters), tiny town Longzhou (my 3-year placement from 2009-12, along the Vietnam border) and Hong Kong.

I No Longer Pray for Peace

On the edge of war, one foot already in,

I no longer pray for peace:
I pray for miracles.

I pray that stone hearts will turn
to tenderheartedness,
and evil intentions will turn
to mercifulness,
and all the soldiers already deployed
will be snatched out of harm’s way,
and the whole world will be
astounded onto its knees.

I pray that all the “God talk”
will take bones,
and stand up and shed
its cloak of faithlessness,
and walk again in its powerful truth.

I pray that the whole world might
sit down together and share
its bread and its wine.

Some say there is no hope,
but then I’ve always applauded the holy fools
who never seem to give up on
the scandalousness of our faith:
that we are loved by God……
that we can truly love one another.

I no longer pray for peace:
I pray for miracles.

Poem by Ann Weems, a Presbyterian elder and poet
written for Ash Wednesday 2003
https://www.squanlife.com/squanlife/2013/01/i-no-longer-pray-for-peace.html

My mom and I were engrossed, extremely engrossed, watching the Winter Olympics during the past few weeks. We’ve been glued to the TV in our small sitting room, afternoons and evenings, to catch all the latest excitement of the world’s incredible athletes.

Squeezed between us has been Chinese rescue, Bridget, who came to America in the summer of 2019 to be my mom’s new doggie companion.

This has been Bridget’s first Winter Olympics, and while she has been cheering on her fellow Chinese, she’s likewise done the same for her adopted countrymen and women. I consider her a bit of an Eileen Gu, who holds dual citizenship with loyalties to both the US and China. (If you hadn’t kept up, since 2019, American-born and raised Gu switched her sports allegiance to China. She gave 2 golds and 1 silver to her Asian team instead of joining in our USA athletes.)

Another kind of athlete, that of Nature, alights

It’s been while watching the Olympics that we’ve had another nerve-racking view of sorts. While sitting on the couch, we’ve had a clear view of the neighborhood birds and squirrels, eating happily on our deck from offerings of cracked corn, black oil sunflower seeds, corn and suet. It’s been through the French doors leading to the outside deck that we’ve been witnessing their happy antics, especially when the snow and ice brought our little creatures crowding one another out to peck away at all the goodies.

The scattered messes they leave on and around the back deck, from empty seed husks to droppings, are forgiven as those that make them are so much fun to watch. But one such remnant, which struck us as much more concerning and unwanted, was a pile of plucked feathers spread out in 3 different areas around the house.

Yes, it seems we have a predator in our midst, one which feeds on vulnerable critters. While debating what it might be (cat? owl? eagle? hawk?), our silent assassin suddenly made himself known by swooping down and perching on the porch railing.

This was none other than a sharp-shinned hawk, which is the only bird in the hawk family that is known to prey on small birds and rodents. After numerous tries at getting a good picture of this slick, stealthy feathered creature, I got him! He perched first in our small backyard tree and hopped down to the railing before sailing off after a small sparrow.

Since that first sighting, we’ve continued to apprehensively await his sudden visitations.

This brings me to the hazards of keeping our Christmas tree, bought in early December for the back deck but not yet sentenced to the trash pile. I’ve watered it continuously for 3 months and you’ll be surprised to know it still holds its soft pine needles and emits that fresh evergreen fragrance. These are the benefits of keeping a freshly cut tree outside in the frigid temperatures of central Illinois.

We left the tree as a shelter for our little birds but have found it more of a death trap. On more than one occasion, we’ve watched our sharp-shinned hawk position himself on the cast-iron deck railing, cast his evil eye deep into the fir tree’s branches and wait patiently for the petrified sparrows within to stir.

They huddle in terror, desperately keeping as still as possible.

One eye flick, one wind-ruffled feather, one shift of tiny feet sends this stealth bomber diving deep within as his prey try desperately to stay out of his reach. On more than one occasion, we’ve watched the race for dear life as our dainty, twittering two or three are chased from their safety zone. They strain in flight, scattering high into the sky, with their sharp-beaked grim reaper swooping fast behind them.

The result has been either an escaped meal or, as my mom and I have found around the house, plucked piles of soft, downy feathers.

Victory or defeat?

While the Olympics are now over, the Paralympics are yet to come. This will place me and my mom yet again in the sitting room, watching the competitive spirit of these special Olympians on TV. At the same time, we’ll be anxiously eyeing our unconcerned, peacefully clustered birds.

For both the humans competing and for our backyard Nature-dwellers feeding at our invitation, one wonders will it be the thrill of victory or the agony of defeat that meets them these next few weeks?

In our silent assassin’s viewpoint, I’m guessing he’s thinking that depends upon whose answering.

There is nothing like watching the Winter Olympics on TV when it’s likewise really wintry outside your own windows. Yesterday’s recent storm through America’s Midwest and swooping onward across the country didn’t disappoint in adding that extra “Wow!” factor to enjoying the Games on our USA networks. Our Marshall, Illinois, yards, streets, rooftops and trees are completely covered in that powdery substance we call snow. While it certainly wasn’t a time to be out on nearby I-70, it proved to be a perfect evening of cozy couch wrap-ups and cocoa-sipping.

Snow Experiences in my Beloved Luzhou

In Sichuan Province’s Luzhou (loo-joe), the city where I live in China, temperatures rarely dip below 45 in the winter. Very few of my students have ever experienced snow or the frigid degrees that come with it.

I will say, however, that my first year in Luzhou (2002) did give us a snow shower on Christmas Day, one which I’ll never forget.

I’ve reported this before but I was holding final exams on that day and my students were coming, one by one, for their conversation exams which I was holding on the open-air corridor balcony leading to their classroom. There was no heating in the classroom so all were hunkered down in their seats, mittens on and layered in sweaters. Quite a few were jumping up and down, flapping their arms to extend enough energy to warm themselves. Others, while waiting for their turn to come for evaluation, were wandering the room while spouting well-practiced, memorized English sentences.

I remember my fingers were so cold that I could barely hold the pen to mark their scores.

As I asked questions and waited for the replies, the air filled with my breath. I’d have moved into an adjacent classroom if one had been available but since none were, I was stuck outside in the elements with only the corridor’s overhead for shelter.

Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, it started to snow.

None of my freshmen, ages 17 to 18, had seen snow before. I later heard from colleagues and news reports that the last snow in the region had been 50 years ago. This snow was proving to be such a unique, rare and utterly astonishing event that it sent everyone inside scurrying to the windows to peer out. My little balcony corner was suddenly engulfed in vocalized exclamations of wonder and eagerness to race outside to play in the snow.

That proved a bit difficult with our exams going on; however, as I was toward the end of my testing list, I figured might as well make their day. I dismissed those who had finished while the others were left to wait it out for their turn to come, after which they, too, could join their classmates to rejoice in all the excitement.

The last few leftovers I was grading were definitely a challenge to converse with due to all the chaos in the courtyard below. Their classmates, not to mention numerous other students, were running about , shouting, twirling, catching snowflakes on their tongues, inspecting the delicate flakes that landed on their clothes, and basically causing such a fuss that I could barely make out my examinees’ responses.

When everyone was able to finish, I remember standing on the second floor of the classroom building, watching the frolic of the campus students below. Such joyful abandonment! It brought back memories of my own childhood: building snowmen, sliding on icy streets and sidewalks, creating snow forts, participating in snowball fights and creating snow angels in snowy drifts. What a shame cellphones were not readily available or even used at that time or we’d all have been able to record the entire thing.

That snowfall was quite brief, a mere 2-hours with no accumulation. By noontime, there was no evidence of this wintry wonder even having taken place. But the excited chatter of that first snow experience lasted for several weeks afterward and I’m pretty certain the memory 20 years ago of that special event, with the Winter Olympics upon us, is being brought up today by those who experienced it.

Looks like I’m joining them by bringing it up here in this space!

Sharing My Snow Experience with My Chinese students and friends

Yesterday and today proved to be a great opportunity to post snow photos and videos to share with my Chinese students and colleagues. I had so much fun! And the response of the below was non-stop. My WeChat replies exploded with exclamations of delight and longing at such a wintry scene. Here’s my offering for today, with more to come.

If you’ve been following my Year of the Tiger posts, you’ll remember that Gao Pei (Frank) sent me an incredible box filled with favorite Chinese snack items as a New Year’s gift. It was great fun to see such a wide variety of items I never see here in my Midwest USA area. In China, I see such gift boxes and individually sold snack items on a daily basis. Pulling them out one by one brought back so many memories of the tastes and smells of my overseas home.

It also made me realize that there’s no way I could possibly eat all of these on my own. They are an acquired taste, some of them, so sharing with my mom is fine for some items (like the almond cookies) but not so much for others (like the Sichuan spicy noodles or rice flower red bean candy.).

Who in my community would possible appreciate any of these? None other than our local Chinese restaurant owners!

Over I went to bestow upon the mom and dad, plus their adult kids and the grand-kids, 3 boxes of Frank’s generous picks which he had sent to me.

As I swooped in the doorway of Happy China, then bustled past a few lunch diners who eyed me with curiosity at the fancy boxes I was carrying, I felt stealthily secretive, just like a tiger. No one had any idea I was coming. All were in the back kitchen, woking up more vittles for the buffet, when I burst through the swinging doors of the back room, shouting, “Gongxi Gongxi! 恭喜! (Congratulations!)”.

“Wow! Connie!” greeted me, with a response of “Gongxi, Gongxi!” and “Happy New Year!” in Chinese.

I began hauling out the contents of one box, pointing out the assorted snacks inside. The goodies were individually wrapped but not for long. All grabbed their favorites, tore into the sealed packets and began munching down all those familiar tastes of China while at the same time serving up buffet stir fries into the containers. Not missing a beat, they kept working while exclaiming, “好吃! 好吃!” (Good eats! Good eats!)

The son has 4 children at home so one box went to him. It might be that his very Americanized kids won’t care for what is offered but I bet Dad will. His wife is from South America, Lupe, a young woman very adventuresome. I’m guessing she’ll be keen on trying out whatever her husband brings home. I’ll be interested in hearing the reports next time I see her.

In exchange for my goodies, I was gifted with a Fujian Province apple, ordered from Chicago’s Chinatown by the family. The apples had just arrived that morning by truck from their Chinese product company used for all their special orders. I felt so honored that they would part with one of their treasured items and I was the recipient.

For those here, it’s really business as usual but for those in China, I continue to receive messages filled with family pictures around the dinner table and descriptions of gatherings, shopping ventures, highlights of this year’s CCTV gala  and plans for short-distance traveling.  The reports are filled with excitement and happiness, reflecting the joy of the holidays.  How I wish I could be a part of it all!

Well, there’s always next year.  Perhaps in 2023, I’ll  be celebrating alongside all those who are currently sending me greetings from afar.  Let’s hope that next year’s Chinese New Year (the Year of the Rabbit, to be celebrated on January 22nd)  will give us respite from the virus and see me curled up on my couch in China, sipping tea among friends and discussing with relish all our upcoming holiday plans.

Until next entry, here’s wishing you peace 平安 (Ping An) for your day.