connie's space

           “I love you!” one of my college students, “Angie”, enthusiastically shouted while I threw a handful of candy into her bag.  “Can I hug you?”

            How often does Halloween fun, in this case trick-or-treating to the foreigner’s home, bring on that kind of reaction!

            These past two weeks have been devoted to Halloween in my English majors’ second year classrooms.  Part of our lesson time together covers holidays and traditions of America, such as Christmas, Thanksgiving, Valentine’s Day and Mother’s Day.  October is the month for Halloween.  It’s always the first special Amercian custom that we cover for the new semester so I try to do it up just right. 

            Because these students will be future elementary and junior high school English teachers, and because the textbooks their students use have a unit on Halloween, it’s important that they get all the information necessary to make sure they are well-qualified to teach such a unit.  I’ve gone over several older Chinese elementary and junior high school English texts that refer to Halloween as a Christian holiday.  All Hallow’s Eve, followed by All Saints Day, does have some Christian connections but it certainly is not a Christian holiday, or any holiday for that matter.   It’s a tradition descended from over 2,000 years ago from the Druids.  I certainly wouldn’t be doing my duty as a good Christian, or a veteran teacher, to unleash novice teachers into China’s schools with the idea that Christians celebrate Halloween as a Christian holiday.  Ouch!

            Thus the two weeks on Halloween.  

            Our Halloween unit covers the history of the day, how the customs came about, and what Americans (mostly children) do to celebrate this day.  In class, the students sample trying on costumes, re-enacting trick-or-treating, and bobbing for apples.  They always go crazy over the pumpkin I’ve carved as an example of a jack-o-lantern.  Those with digital camera cell phone abilities spend the entire 10-minute break posing with the lit pumpkin, wearing the witches’ hat and masks, and racing about dressed as the sheeted ghost. 

            Our days this week have been spent getting ready for next week’s Halloween unit test and making masks for visits to my home for trick-or-treating.  Students are required to wear their masks, bring a bag and come to my home for their goodies. Each class has a specific time to descend upon my little apartment in small groups. 

            As the appointed time comes, I can always tell of their arrival.   My second story balcony brings many gasps and shouts of “How beautiful!” from those glimpsing it for the first time.  The pumpkin glows his greeting while orange paper luminaries with smiling and frowning faces gaze down on them.  In the darkness, and the cool October temperatures, there is definitely a feeling of an American Halloween night in the air.

            Tromping noisily up the stairs, I finally hear the groups gathering on the landing.  They’re whispering in Chinese outside of my door:  “Knock on the door!”  “Quiet!  She’ll know we’re here.”  “Is this the right apartment?”

            Their shy hesitation can last anywhere from a few seconds to up to several minutes.  I, meanwhile, peer through the door’s peek hole from time to time or sit impatiently with a huge basin of candy in my lap. 

            Of course, I could open the door and invite them in but that spoils the entire experience of the evening.  They’re supposed to knock, they’re supposed to raise their masks to their faces and they’re supposed to shout “Trick-or-Treat!”

            Although it sometimes takes awhile, there’s eventually one brave soul who leads the way with a knock, the door opens and in they bound with “Trick-or-Treat!  Trick-or-Treat!  Trick-or-Treat!” filling my small outer room.

            I certainly am not the stingy one when it comes to goodies, either.  Everyone gets a huge handful of the best wrapped candies I could buy.  These students are poor and rarely purchase the truly tasty sweets.   Instead, they settle for the mundane cheap ones.  But on my Halloween watch, my trick-or-treaters get the best of the best. 

             It certainly seems to be worth the effort, too.  Excited, happy students shout “Thank you!” as they scoot down the stairwell, many already ripping into their candy wrappers to see what lies inside.

            As for me, I get shouts of “I love you, Connie!” and hugs from sweet students such as Angie.  

That’s certainly enough reward for me.

            Two more trick-or-treat nights to go, then it’s the Disney movie “Casper” in the classroom building’s only large power-point lecture hall on Friday night.  It’s a long hike up to the 6^th floor and the room only holds 120 (I have 180) so I imagine it’ll be a  tight fit.  I’ve already warned everyone they’ll most likely have to bring chairs from the lower-level classrooms.  As you know from the last entry, they’re getting pretty used to dragging chairs around so there shouldn’t be too many groans of inconvenience.  Getting them to put the chairs back after the movie . . . . , well, that might be a different story.

            Here’s hoping your trick-or-treaters this year were worthy of their goodies.  Mine certainly were!

            From Luzhou, wishing you a Halloween week’s “Ping An” (peace)

The 20-minute scramble and panic in between classes is immense.  Students race frantically from room to room, snatching up a chair and moving it from one classroom to the next.  Some politely carry their school furnishings while others lazily drag them along, the metal legs screeching agonizingly against the hallway floor.  Not surprisingly, the misused ones lose a screw or two along the way, sending the seat flopping backwards or leaving one of the legs behind.

The abusing students groan then disappear into another classroom to exchange their broken item with a sturdier one.

            Even after the bell rings, a few stragglers are still searching for seats.

            This chair dilemma started three weeks ago with the arrival of  2,000 freshmen students to our campus.  Our one classroom building, which opened 3 years ago, was built with theater-style pull down seats and long desktops in a number of rooms but others still have movable desks and chairs.  These are much like our US grammar school furniture.   The desks have an underneath compartment for storing books.  The wooden chair seats and backs have double bar legs attached by screws. This old-style equipment was brought over from the old classroom building (now a dormitory) after years of use so you can imagine what shape many are in.  Not great.

            At first, the scramble to find seats was a small annoyance.  Usually, it was just a matter of walking next door and grabbing up an extra chair from the back of another classroom.

            But three weeks later, after more chairs have broken up, it’s become a real pain.  Students are rushing up and down floors, gazing hopefully into the back of lecture halls to find a few usable stray chairs that might be around.  In many cases, they don’t find them.

            I encountered this very problem last Monday afternoon in my 2:40  class.

 The 3rd floor is filled with classrooms of desks and chairs.  Entering the room at 2:30, I began writing the lesson directions on the blackboard. The students shuffled in to find places to sit with several rushing outside from time to time to pull in a chair from somewhere else. 

            The real problem came when the bell rang and 4 of the girls were standing at desks at the back of the room.

            “Try the 5^th floor,” I told them.  “Look at the back of the rooms.  They often have chairs.”

            Giggling with embarrassment, the girls ran out as I started the lesson but they returned within 1 minute.

 I knew they hadn’t gone anywhere because they were back too soon.  They probably just stood outside the room to make it seem as if they’d gone someplace.  

This is definitely a cultural thing.  Chinese students never interrupt a teacher who has begun a class, especially if it’s not their teacher or classroom.  If they are late, they stand at the door and say, “May I come in?”  The teacher is then to respond by nodding his or her head.  Sometimes, the student just stands in the open doorway until the teacher notices him and gives him permission to enter.

Asking students to enter a classroom and steal chairs, even if the chairs are located conveniently at the back of a classroom, is very impolite and embarrassing.  I’m absolutely positive no Chinese teacher would deny them a chair, especially as we are all miffed by this chair dilemma, but these are Chinese students.  Taking a brave stance and initiative to go against custom is not exactly built into their systems.

In other words, they’d rather lie to me, their foreign teacher, and suffer standing for 2 hours than interrupt a strange classroom to clang, bang and drag out chairs.

Sneaking back to their standing places, my four girls positioned themselves behind their desks once again and seemed ready to endure the long stand.

“Did you find any chairs on the 5^th floor?” I asked as the entire class sat expectantly, waiting for their response.

“Yes!  No chairs,” they lied. 

So I turned to Plan B.

Plan B seemed perfectly logical to me.  In America, if we don’t have chairs, we just sit on the desks. 

            “We’ll do like we do in America,” I announced enthusiastically. “Just sit on the desk.”

            Stunned silence.

            Those standing in the back didn’t move. I thought they hadn’t understood what I was saying so I walked back to demonstrate.  All eyes followed me as I made my way to the back of the room, picked up a student’s things, and perched myself on the desk with the book balanced in my lap.

            The entire room erupted into laughter. 

            “No!” a few of the students shouted while those standing tittered nervously. 

            O.K.  So obviously students sitting on top of a classroom desk is a cultural faux pas in China.   

After so many years of teaching in this country, didn’t I know that?   Guess not!

Plan C was to share a chair with another student.  This I had seen on many occasions where seats were not enough.  These young people are so tiny and thin, two rear ends on a chair would be like one rear end for the average American. 

While this solution was certainly more acceptable than the other, my four still opted to stand.

I’d done everything possible to help them out so I just let them be.  And, bless them, they did manage the entire time standing aside from a few squats, their heads popping up over the desktop,  toward the end of the second period.

As the week wore on, more and more students were having difficulty snatching not only usable chairs but desks as well.  I watched entire classrooms emptied of both desks and chairs for one period and then dragged back down the hallway by students needing them during another period.

            Peering into one room during a break, I noticed some very ingenuous boys had positioned the desks on their sides and were using them as chairs.  While sitting on top of the desk seemed out of the question, tossing one on its side and sitting on it certainly didn’t raise any eyebrows.  I’ve taken a mental note of this as a Plan D for next week’s classes.

            And most likely, I’ll really be needing that Plan D,  . . . . if there are any desks to spare, that is.  This weekend, the last enrollment of 400 freshmen are arriving with perhaps another 100 yet to trickle in.  Every year, the college submits the number of incoming students to the provincial government for approval.  This year, 2,500 were approved but only 2,000 arrived.  Much of this is due to the earthquake when many of the entrance exams were postponed to a later date, thus making freshmen enrollment in Sichuan’s smaller colleges late as well.

            Heaven only knows how those 400 students will be managing in our classrooms next week. If we’re short on furnishings now, we certainly aren’t going to be in great shape for receiving newcomers when Monday hits.

            Our newly arrived freshmen don’t know that yet, however.  Hopefully, all the preparations this weekend to make them feel at home will help ease their disappointment in our facilities when they actually start their courses.  Banners this week have been flying, welcoming new students to our college.  And tonight’s Friday evening, two performance events hosted by different departments are being held for our newcomers as well.  One is on the sports’ field and another near the entrance gate.  Stages have been set up, fancy sound and lighting equipment positioned, balloons tied together for decorations, and community sponsors used to pay for huge back-drops announcing the event.  These same sponsors, mostly for drink companies, have also set up their wares under tents to sell to the students.  The most popular sponsors are those that sell bottled drinks, such as flavored iced teas, juices, and soft drinks.    

            While it’s great that the students are able to find sponsors for such events, one does wonder why those same sponsors don’t consider a donation to the college, perhaps for something, like, might we say, . . . classroom chairs? 

            I’m guessing that any day now, a huge truck will pull up to our classroom building and be stacked with hundreds of brand new chairs.  The workers will begin unloading them, one by one, and hustling them into classrooms where they’re sorely needed. Who knows?  Maybe that will even take place this weekend, in time for my Monday afternoon class!  Wouldn’t that be great.

            I’m not counting on it, though. I’ll most likely be turning to Plans A to D come the beginning of the week.

            Anyone out there with a Plan E is welcome to send one my way.  Always pays to ready with extra solutions, just in case.

            From Luzhou China, here’s sending you a weekend “Ping An” (peace).   

            Now that the October 1^st National Day holidays are over, swimming pools all across China are beginning their Winter Swimming Club seasons.

            From the bitter, harsh, snowy cold of the north to the more temperate and mild warmth of the south, non-heated pools are opening their doors once again to swimmers ready to brave the winter elements in their regions. 

            In Luzhou, our Number 6 High School’s public indoor 50 meter pool is one such place.  During the sizzling 100 degree summers, it’s crowded with those wishing to cool off from the heat while at the same time not having to deal with burning their skin.  During the fall, winter and spring, the pool remains quite empty aside from us die-hard fans of the water.  

            Last week, a few sunny days of 80 – 70 degrees have given the water a boost of warmth.  But these past 5 days of rain and cold are sinking us fast into a more chilly swim with chillier yet to come.

            Last year, southern China was sent into almost a daily freeze with even snow.  Rarely do we go below 40 so I can just imagine how challenged our small town swimmers were last year to brave such an unusual climate.   This year, who knows what the weather has in store for us.

            The Number 6 High School first built their pool in 2003, the second year I was in Luzhou.  Before that, I had no place to swim during the winter so I satisfied myself with daily dog walks around the campus.

            Needless to say, for a die-hard swimmer, it wasn’t very gratifying.

            Then a magnificent indoor pool arrived which thrilled everyone in Luzhou who was a water person.  It was equipped with everything from lane lines to starting blocks to heating.  The high school administrators went all out in their building of this facility, including sitting rooms alongside the deck where people could eat, rest or even smoke cigarettes. 

            When the cold weather hit, the pool’s heating system kicked in to a toasty 75 degrees inside with the water steaming upward, into the 90s.  With so many in a small provincial town not used to visiting the pool in the dead of winter, the cost of heating it became too pricy.  No one came aside from me much of the time.   Not even the elderly wanted to swim in such hot water.  A majority who enjoyed winter swimming ventures instead headed to the Yangtze which was where they’d been swimming for years before the pool opened.  

            The third year, the school decided to halt heating all together.  They started the Luzhou Winter Swimming Club starting from Oct. 1 to May 1^st.  With a photo and 100 yuan fee ($14), anyone could join the winter swimmers and receive a discount of only 3 yuan (44 cents) a swimming ticket to enter instead of the public 8 yuan ($1.17).  I gladly joined, not realizing just how cold that water gets beginning late October.  By November, I was hardly able to stay in for more than 15 minutes.  Meanwhile, my winter swimming colleagues were easily diving in and gleefully making their way along up and down their lanes for more than 30 minutes.  Amazing, as most had very little body fat to keep out the cold.

            Being the whimp that I am, I cheated.  I ordered a wetsuit from America. 

            That first stroll out onto the pool deck in my Aquaman Pulsar competitive  swimming wetsuit  brought a lot of stares and whispers from my Chinese friends.  They were quite taken by this strange sight, wanting to know what it was and why I was wearing it.   I was even featured in the local newspaper, picture and all, of the foreigner in her special winter swimming gear.  For a couple of days, I was quite the celebrity.

            But after awhile, things calmed down.   I and my suit became a regular item at the pool.  No one cared much what I wore and went about their own work-outs as usual.

            I’ve been a year absent from our No. 6 Middle School pool so my wetsuit is once again causing somewhat of a stir.  Everyone touches the sleek, black, tight-fitting material and wants to know how it works.  They are especially fascinated by the long cord that dangles down from the zipper in the back.   This is the cord that allows me to unzip the suit.  We now jokingly call it the foreigner’s weiba (tail). 

            Years ago in China, overseas’ visitors were often referred to quite venomously as foreign devils.  I’m just thinking if I were transported back 100 years to the China of old, wouldn’t my winter swimming appearance cause quite the sensation. 

            “You see!” the Chinese locals would shout. “It is too certainly a devil.  Look at its tail!”

            Some positive image of Christianity and foreigners that would leave behind, eh?  Good thing the China of today has a more worldly, informed view of overseas’ visitors and their religious faiths.

             In all honesty, this is a good time to be in China sharing in the love of other Chinese Christians and also in the kindness of the Chinese people.  I feel very blessed to be here, my foreigner’s tail and all.  J 

            Until next time, from Luzhou, here’s wishing you Ping An for your day.

Just How Hot Is It?  Darn Hot!

            The past four days have seen our wide college avenue dotted with pastel-colored umbrellas, fringed in lace or edged in colorful trim.  It’s not rain students and teachers alike are shielding themselves from.  It’s the sizzling heat beneath our hazy, steaming sun that has us sweating and breathing hard when we enter the classrooms.

            All across the campus, everyone is wilting in this high-humidity, 95 degree weather. 

             The elderly wander slowly about, cooling themselves with hand-held fans.  Our female students without umbrellas hold textbooks over their faces to protect the rays from damaging their skin.  The boys roll up their T-shirts to cool their flat, muscular bellies.  The rugged construction workers move at a slower pace than usual. They’re still putting on  finishing touches around the new dining hall building, getting the road, railings and sidewalks completed.  Kitties flop helter-skelter on the pavement and stray dogs take care to trot under our school’s shaded areas.

            In other words, it’s pretty darn hot!

            Currently, the only ones using an umbrella indoors are my elderly neighbors living below me.

             For a month now, my toilet has been dripping down on them.  Our apartments are exactly the same with my cubby-hole bathroom  directly above their cubby-hole bathroom.  Every time they go to the toilet, they carry an umbrella with them to protect their heads from splattering sewage. 

            Our buildings are so old and in great need of repair. Believe me, this isn’t the first time such things have happened nor will they be the last.

              The manager of the teachers’ housing units has been contacted numerous times to fix this leak yet he continues to stall.

            His most recent excuse has been:  “All the school workers are very busy preparing the dormitories for the new students.  After they have arrived and settled in, I will send someone over right away.”

            Ah, we’ve heard that before.

            But my neighbors are very understanding Chinese folk.  They know things take time to get done in this culture so they wait patiently, umbrella close at hand, and continue in their usual routine to protect their heads from my toilet droppings.

Our Vocational School’s New Arrivals

            The truth is that the workers at the school are, indeed, incredibly busy getting ready for our new college students.  We’ve already had our first small wave of  fresh arrivals 3 weeks ago when the Qing Hai University students came to this campus, their Sichuan branch school.  There were only about 500 of them.

            Now we’re having the full load of 2,000 freshmen descend upon us.  They trickled in from Monday to Wednesday and have been swarming through the gates in full force yesterday and today.  Tomorrow  will be yet another huge wave with Sunday beginning their 8 days of military training.

            The rest of us, upper classmen and teachers, will be enjoying the 1-week National Day holidays along with the rest of the country.  

            Little Flower and I will be going to Chengdu for the week.  Jalin and her family are  looking forward to our return and so am I.  I’ve already chosen the hotel, the one where Richard stayed at within our quaint little red light district.   It had very friendly staff, lovely clean rooms and the manager had no qualms about a dog staying there.  And it was cheap.  $15 a night is a good deal, especially with an Internet café around the corner and Jalin just a block away. 

            I do hope for these newcomers to our school that the weather cools off soon.  Everyone at present has been so hot and tired as they walk through the front gate.  Parents and students alike collapse exhausted under departmental tents while volunteers scurry to bring them water or helpfully haul their things to the dorm rooms.  The line outside the infirmary, where students are getting their physicals, has grown longer and longer.  Our freshmen stand in the burning sun, fanning themselves with their physical exam papers, while their eager parents wait nearby under trees or find a cool place to sit around  the tennis courts.  (The courts are directly in front of the school’s medical clinic.)  

Our Dormitory Potpourri

            But if it’s hot outside, imagine how it feels inside.   The students report to me constantly of how ruthless it’s been for them.  The dorms are sweltering at 8 to 10 to a room with no fans or breeze blowing through day or night. 

            The newest addition for housing has been the conversion of the old music building into dormitories.  This is what has been keeping the school workers busy practically 24 hours a day.  Walls had to be repainted and re-plastered, new light fixtures added, bunk beds with their boards and thin padding carried over, and the sparse restrooms given more faucets and trough sinks for usage.

            We now have a very odd potpourri of dormitories stretched across campus, all different prices per year with different amenities.   We have the newly built dorms with 4 to a room, a balcony and a shared toilet (1,200 yuan, $190).  Next on the list is the 1998 dormitory buildings with 8 to a room, balcony and shared toilet (1,000 yuan, $158) or 8 to a room with toilets at the end of the hallway (800 yuan, $126).  Third we have the ancient dormitory with 8 to a room and shared floor toilets (700 yuan, $110). Fourth gives us the music building conversion at 600 yuan ($95) with 8 to 10 a room. Fifth is the classroom building conversion for the male students, 30 to a room with dinky trough toilets at either end of the building (400 yuan, $63). 

            Last on the housing list for males is a one-story, narrow building once used as offices in the 1960s.  These have outside shared toilets and faucets for washing with 8 crowded inside each office space, the grand yearly price being 300 yuan ($47).

            If you’re a very poor student from the countryside, whose parents are barely able to afford your tuition, that 300 yuan dormitory is a lifesaver.  It may not look like much but it’s a place to sleep.  There’s also a very strong bond that forms between those living here, all fellow schoolmates  toughing it out together. 

            For a majority of the students at our college, it’s the education, not the comfort, that matters.  They take their studies very seriously.  In my opinion, putting up with such living conditions for 3 years makes these young people a true inspiration to all of us “whimpy” Americans. 

            Before closing, the National Day holidays will find me without personal computer access so it may be a week before I’ll be back in touch.   I’m sure I’ll have plenty of stories to tell upon my return.  

             Until next time, stay safe, everyone, and  “Ping An” (peace)!

            After announcing my father’s ICU hospital stay, I received a number of emails from so many of you, saying my family was in your thoughts and prayers. Thank you so much for your concern.  It has meant a great deal to me here in China. 

           I was actually waiting for good news to report before saying anything further.  He is still in Terre Haute Union’s ICU, with my mom spending most of her days and nights there.  She’s accompanied with frequent stays by my older brother, Paul the attorney, and my dad’s younger brother, Chuck the retired college physics’ teacher.

            After two weeks of bad news, my mom is now able to email some good news.  My father is now breathing on his own up to 18 hours a day.  He sits up in bed.  The doctors are very optimistic that after rehabilitation sessions, he will be able to return home at some point, maybe after a month or two.  This is a much better than anyone expected in the beginning.

            My mom has tales to tell of all the nurses: the tough veteran, the newbie, the handsome dark Spaniard, the down-to-business gal.  Each has his or her own personality which makes the day pass more quickly for my mom.  She observes this-and-that about each one of them. Even though the newbie is still learning about dealing with ICU patients, the over-all quality of care is exceptional.  We are very fortunate in that.

            My brother has already gained a great deal of respect among the doctors and nurses for his desire to understand everything that is going on.  And news has traveled fast about his profession.  He was stopped last week in the hallway by a hospital worker who wanted advice about a legal matter. 

           My brother is a very kind, affable guy.  I have no idea what he told her but I’m sure it was helpful. 

            He’s probably now endeared himself to the entire ICU ward. 

            Union Hospital has an email card service which my high school classmate told me about.  My father was a high school history and civics teacher for over 25 years in our Marshall community.  He is well-loved by all his former students so she sent around the notice to many of us alums how to send an e-card.  These are then distributed by the chaplain’s office at the hospital.  I’ve already given it a go to see just how well it works.  I’ll get reports from Priscilla, my mom, on if it’s been received or not.

            Computers certainly are Godsends in many ways.

            In the meantime, stay tuned for Mid-Autumn Festival news.  Our overcast skies are not going to allow us to see a full moon tonight but if the rain holds off, maybe Little Flower and I can join the students on the sports’ field for moon cake eating.  Last night on our 10 p.m. walk, we spotted quite a few couples hugging and cuddling on the field’s  lawn.  There were also clusters of dormitory mates snacking on potato chips and their own moon cake piles.  If we have a good showing tonight of the same people, I’m sure I’ll have plenty of opportunity to get rid of my small hoard.    It’s more fun to share with others than to stay at home.  I’m sure LF would agree.  The more people there are, the more begging she can do and the more moon cakes she can eat.  No one can resist a cute, eager, whining Chihuahua.  Little Flower should have quite a few birthday dessert helpings this evening, that’s for sure, and some extra birthday pounds to go along with them! 

            Reports yet to follow of our Sunday Mid-Autumn Festival evening.

            From China, wishing you a Sunday’s Ping An (peace)