Crossing the T

Doing the insane

Just a blast out to the internet via this silly blog of mine that I am sooo much happier than I was last year at this time when I was working for a really messed up group.  Last Spring, to disassociate myself from their willing and compliant mess, I just walked in and said, basically, "Enough, I want no part of this, I am walking out for good." That was an insane thing to do in bad and precarious economic times, but there are days when those quiet, lonely moments of prayer give you get that undeniable momentum to do something that others would never dare to do.  I am soooo glad I did!  It is a Merry Christmas.

Going nuclear at the mall

I try avoid this at all cost near the holidays, but unfortunately, I couldn't. I entered malls today, strip malls, next to a big shopping mall.  Just getting near the gravitational force of a mall at Christmas, drained me of all my available energy reserves -- malls deflate the core of everything near them.  Then it dawned on me, I discovered something from which our national security team might take valuable note. Now that Kim Jung Il is dead, I know what do with all the nuclear power he has. Or that Iran has.  Put it in a Dodge Ram, a mini-cooper, a Lexus SUV, a taurus, a basket on a bicycle, a Timbukt2 messenger bag - put in anything, then park it in a mall during Christmas, and watch it lose all power and be drained of all useful energy.

 

Kim Jung-il. Dead.

Kim Jung-il meets his maker.  Wonder what that's like.

Over hill, over dale, As we hit the dusty trail....

Sometimes a life change seems insurmountable, you wish for a break, a turn that just comes, a chance that someone gives you, a current that takes you along to the place you are intended to be. Yet sometimes that place you are intended to be is actually the fight that you find yourself in. We cannot flee the fight for goodness into which Faith places us. So over hill, over dale, As we hit the dusty trail....

Cyrano's Christmas Letter

A new writing venture perhaps....my friend, closing out an exhausting year, with unrelenting schedule, an absentee extended family, and the demands of a house full of kids, hired me to write her Christmas letter. Unsure of how a Cyrano-style Christmas letter would work, she read the draft to a friend, who proceeded to cry.  I'm not sure if it's good to make people cry at the happiest time of the year.  But the reality is, Christmas, while full of excitement and joy, is also the time where sorrows can run like a slow hidden stream, buried.  The letter goes out soon. We'll hear the reaction soon!   

break time?

I'm learning the lesson that when you work for yourself, you work all the time. Break time and bed time merge to be the same thing.  Exhausted, I crash, wondering who demands such insane work hours? I mean, really, this is getting crazy, who is the boss around here!?! Oh yea, me.

Revival

Haven't written here in a million years. But I'm happy to report that my goal to finish a screenplay and enter in a contest has been completed!  I don't know that it is good enough, but it feels really good to have completed the goal. I nearly didn't make it - I will admit this year has been a trying one. But I tried my darndest during a dash of long days and late nights while at the same trying to start a business - a dual track I wouldn't recommend repeating. Out of fatigue, I nearly gave-up and threw in the towel with a dramatic flash of indifference to a forever nagging dream. Despite the sorrows of days gone by, you can never let the devil's indifference weigh on your inspiration. This weekend, in Thanksgiving, I've started writing another project. I just keep praying that if the story is meant to be told that I have the focus and tenacity to tell it.

Sweet dreams

Important meetings. We all have them. Whatever the purpose, they can give us trepidation and even indigestion. Mine tomorrow provides worry, a tummy ache, and confused thoughts. Not enough sleep, nor enough time, to prepare, to relax, to feel a breeze of confidence and mojo. So I close tonight with a wish for my head to clear, for my gut to know which direction to go during what hopefully won't be a blurry eyed, blubbering spew but instead a conversation with authentic, intended words. All going towards one of those muddy but purposeful destinations. In the meantime, I shutter my eyes for the night with sweet dreams.

Blessed with time for words

I am soooo glad to have a couple of hours free to write today. These characters tumble through my head constantly and fervently and wish I could tell their story more quickly.  I will need help with two things before I'm done (which at this rate remains a long way off)- a USMC person who fought in Iraq to review one character for its authenticity and I need a white collar crime lawyer.  I'm quite sure I can track down the former, but the latter is going to be a challenge.  At this rate, I'm still embarassed to show the disjointed, hobbled, ganobbled spew of writing that it is to anyone. Even in the end, I'll probably feel that way.  Nonetheless, I do need that lawyer. Hmmm...where to get one!?

Forever indebted to you...Pelosi, and those who spent before us

This is terribly depressing...that bottom line of unfunded liabilities.    We will be forever indebted to those who spent before us.

The battle lines are drawn...

Like I wrote about suits, Pelosi in her light purple suit and over-sized pearls, feigning femininity, strolling with that ridiculously, permanently strained grin and that enormous gavel. She is a caricature of democracy.  She'd use that gavel on somebody's head if she could, figuratively only I hope, but yet I wonder.  She probably had something like it in her hand as she corrupted her way into the votes.

...the battle lines are drawn...I'm glad to join the fight.

The Demon's passing

It's all up for grabs in the next 12 or so hours. Pelosi and her bribing team, towing Obama's sinking ship...passing one of the worst pieces of legislation.  Ugh. Glad to be volunteering for a healthcare organization Monday evening...the battle is on.

A Presidency unravels before our eyes...and, I can't believe I'm writing it, even the press is on to it.  This has to be one of the more pathetic White House Press Secretary performances in years...

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dvxETJGdeX0

Not suited for me...

Who decided suits should define business attire?  I have to wear them everyday in my new job.  I've tried on too many.  They all make me look like a brick. The ones in the shops right now are dreadful.  And I have to buy them. Spring ones. Ugh. I try them on and look in the mirror and it feels like I'm trying to aspire to be "Hillary Clinton all pant suited up" or Pelosi who also dons that all suited up look, but tries a pretty color every now and then. But, as Pelosi reminds us, it's nearly impossible to be truly feminine by hiding behind pastels and pinks, while shoving constitution-bashing, freedom-crushing policies down people's throats, all the while revealing that ever present icy wild-eyed look on her face. Every time we see that wide-eyed stare of hers, it's arguably convincing that she doesn't want to blink for fear that she'll miss someone passing by who she could otherwise bribe.

So this weekend I hit the malls AGAIN to find summer suits that have a bit of fashionable flair but avoid that Congresswoman-gone-bad look, which is all the rage in Pelosi's team at the Capitol.  No wonder AnnTaylor and others have nearly entirely dumped their suit selection. Perhaps women see the supposedly-powerful, but deeply-insecure women in positions of power showing terribly dirty, corrupt leadership and realize, "Oh God, I gotta stay away from THAT look."   

No idea where I'm going...

I ran across this when tossing old files -- not sure why I have it in some old papers. Don't remember who gave it to me, or how it landed there.  It is written by Thomas Merton who I know nothing about, other than he was a Priest. But I like it...

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going.  I do see the road ahead of me. I cannot for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so.  But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you.  And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, thought I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will trust you always though I amy seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils along.

Writing tally for today: Zippo.  Except for a million rewrites at work.  And that's not fiction, although the statistic of a million is. It felt like a million rewrites.  But who follows statistics really? Definitely not Congress or they'd realize they realize they are just about to slam and lie their way into the biggest fib ever written - their 2,700 some pages of destructive fabrication of reality. The biggest fib ever written.  Admittedly that's a fib writing that.  But at least I admit when I exaggerate to the point of conscious lying. That legislation isn't the biggest fib ever.  Because there's always that King of Lies, that guy whose head I'd lop off with my digital camera, whose whole government is a lie, a deadly one. But the central planners of Pelosi, Reid and Obama must make Kimmie J. Il proud; he's smiling right now, thinking, "My it's always nice to finally see my philosophical seeds taking root where and when you need I it the most. Finally those sweet savory seedlings of my Image are in D.C."

barely back....

Criminy, but it's impossible to keep up with everything...Writing is progressing, barely. Barely....I feel like I need to do what those bikers do. Log their mileage. Or get me a drill sergeant to scream in my ear at night and keep that dream alive. 

Writer's Block

I'm back.  It's been a long hiatus, and yes, I'm still writing that silly book. Up to 67,000 some words-- but it totally needs to be rearranged and reworked.  It has many characters as the D's - Dickens and Dostoyevsky -- but reads as chaotic as a Jackson Pollack painting; it will feel like a crime and punishment to read it!  Work unfortunately has been terribly demanding and exhausting.  Now they've added travel every week, so I'm in the sky every week, getting to work at odd hours.  I don't really have such a thing as writer's block. Except my job, it blocks me from everything except paying my bills.  I just want to be home writing my book, but in this economy I should be careful what I wish for. So I keep working like crazy, trying to crush that stupid dream since I don't think anyone will ever read my book anyway.  We all have our dreams.  It's tempting to crush them.  I wish I could some times.  But alas, that's why they are dreams; they just don't die. Just like love. The real kind.  But my o' my, but the world is full of distractions and fakes. You have to stay grounded to not be tripped up by it all. And even then, sometimes the fools knock you flat on your face. For a bit, anyway, before you get back up and take them out for the ride of their life. Then head out on your own, to make your dreams come true. The real kind.

When you've got the blues...

When you've got the blues, play it as beautifully as this. 'Cause when you do, the worlds blues fade away, far away. 

George Lewis, your Burgundy Street Blues still years later, takes the blues way far away.
Burgundy Street Blues- George Lewis 1959
Uploaded by boberwig. - Explore more music videos.

With gratitude...

Their words are better than mine could ever be....I only say I do not forget, and many of us remember today with tears, with hope, with gratitude, with a flag flying as our deep-in-the-heart symbol of our debt to you.

http://fearless1stmarines.vox.com/library/post/mnf-w-commanding-generals-memorial-day-message.html

http://fearless1stmarines.vox.com/library/post/rct-1-hq-co-commander-letter-to-friends.html

A million flags, each holding one's heart for you....

Posing and Pausing...

Ok, I know I know, I'm a hypocrite. I complain of bloggers, yet I blog. ;-)  But the blogosphere is swamped with foul people who pose as writers, but are revealed to be liars -- like Michael Moore who steals other people's work and writes what is aptly termed war porn.  It's the many beautiful, inspiring stories of our troops, heroes and freedom that are left untold or less frequently told, which spurred me to write in the first place. I'm not sure I've done much good (but glad to have made some new friends which is always worth it!!)   

With regards to my blogging, I'm going to have to pause, take a hiatus until I finish my book.  And find a new job.  I can't promise that either the book or the next job will be worth writing home about.  In fact they probably won't be.  But they both need to be completed.  Quickly.

In the meantime, if I write here, it will be under duress -- about some topic that is causing me to lose sleep until I write about it.  :-) 

Fearless First...

It pays to be fearless.  I suppose none of us really are.  But I think our troops do qualify. Despite fear, they do put themselves in harms way.  Or more accurately, as I wrote before, they put harm on the run.   

Here's the Fearless First Marines, who write of progress, of good news, of dedication, of tough news, of sorrow, or hope, of people they have come to know, and some I'm sure they wish they hadn't. These guys have put together a great site -- and it's worth the read. I check in often.  It's good writing and informative. 

I have to admit, even though I write this blog, I'm not really a big fan of blogs. So many seem to rant unproductively. Or degrade into some sort of brain-dead sophomoric, adolescent stupor, as even Powerline's John Hinderaker does.

But the Fearless First site is well done, solid, accurate....consistently...

My next "vacation", North Korea Resort Life

I wouldn't mind going here for my next vacation, a resort in North Korea.  Just to help flood that crazy country with people who know freedom.  They can't stop the flood forever...

Here's a video of getting to the resort.

http://link.brightcove.com/services/link/bcpid86195573/bclid132209461/bctid1556110335

And a link to the article about the visit. The article shares the fact that you can take a picture of an image of North Korea's psycho leader, but the "authorities" will inspect it to make sure you didn't chop off his head. As the reporter writes, "One day, I saw a remarkable mosaic, a portrait of Kim Jong Il and Kim Il Sung composed of 250,000 tiny colored stones. Just as I snapped a photo, a whistle blew. Two hotel employees came over and asked for my camera. Later, a Hyundai Asan staffer explained my potential offense: Chopping off the leaders' heads. Fortunately, I had captured the whole mosaic and was allowed to keep the shot." 

It reveals rampant killers are paranoid that others will do to them, what they have done to so many.

Maybe I can sneak in some tricky little camera and take a picture of that mosaic with Kimmie Jong Il's head chopped off.  Then I'd post it here.

Not enough time...except for Mom

I have too little time this evening to write enough about all that I have felt, read, seen, heard in the last week.

The stories are dense and there is just not enough time to share it all. In these limits of fatigue, I am reminded that too many stories, so poignant, are often left untold. So although I wish I could write more, I have to settle for what little I can write. 

So tonight I write briefly, to hope for a friend whose boyfriend's affections are distracted, his fading tenderness I hope won't leave a hurtful ending. Another friend whose ex-boyfriend is calling with hurtful, abusive words -- why he wants to punch her in the gut even more I'll never know.  I heard stories last week to remind me that sorrows of broken affections sting deep - like jelly fish, broken loves can sneak up invisible, then paralyze you. Like I said before, we come with strings attached, gratefully.

Yesterday, I felt someone close to me whose life is fading, saw a wave goodbye even when the arm's muscles couldn't offer one. I saw so much frailty yesterday, and in seeing frailty, it makes me feel frail. Reminds me how fragile we all really are.  How life's journey goes too fast.  Yesterday I also heard the heart of an older woman, still in love with a man who caused her pain. Who, in all life's bitter struggles with rejection and loss had come to know forgiveness. In our frailty, it seems, God offers us our redemption. Yet, then, yesterday too, I felt a daughter's heart whose mother's forlorn and abandoned journey leaves a sting, even on a sunny day - and I wonder where is that mother's redemption when the evil of apathy and lies has come to roost to solidly?

In all this last week, I got a call from a number far away. A voice mail, telling me to call back. When I talk to this person, I get lambasted for still being single. For not visiting enough. For not calling back fast enough. Half the time, I can't even understand what this person is saying. But she always asks why I'm not dating, never taking the time to hear my story. This time I didn't answer. I ignored it. I couldn't muster the time, the energy. I couldn't take the time, wondered if I ever should. 

But today, Mother's Day, I took the time, I ate some waffles smothered in raspberries, syrup, whipped cream, with my Mom, my dad, my family, my adorable nephews. I am blessed to have a great family, to have parents whose love did mean love forever. A Mom who is a great Mom.  As a kid my friends often said to me they were jealous of me -- I had a cool Mom, nice parents.  I heard this from more than one friend, "Your Mom remembers more about my life than my own."  And today she proved again, why. My mom today came with flowers for me. I'm not even a Mom.  She knows my life has taken some unexpected turns in life and love, and she came with flowers for me. On Mother's Day.

Oh my word...

My last post was about my words when they go right, at least somewhat right for one person.

But tonight, I was reminded of when my words were all wrong.   

I have prayers for understanding...but I think on this particular story, I may never really understand.

Sometimes before life's story has all panned out we want our canvas painted with all the shadows revealed, all the inner secrets exposed, with the intertwined plots of our particular story played out in moving color. But instead, sometimes we are left with an ending and none of the chapters in between ever written. We're left with unsolved mysteries. A friendship lost. A goodbye we didn't think needed to be said. And no sure reason why. We beg, we pray, we plead to know the missing chapters. Instead, I think sometimes life can feel like a cover without a book, an ending without the middle.

It is that very mystery that inspired the fiction piece I'm working on --  lives and hearts crash together sometimes for reasons we may never even realize or know. But it is also that ending-without-the-middle that choked my creativity earlier this year.  Stopped the story in its tracks.

It is why we need, even in all life's victories and sorrows, the family and friends who, when the clock strikes twelve, push us forward. Help us write more and better chapters in our love and friendships, even when the pages previous seem snatched from our hearts.

Midnight Strikes Twelve (o' 2)...

Last August, I was in trouble.

By October, even bigger trouble.

When Midnight Stuck Twelve on December 31, 2007 -- I came up short of words in 2007.  I only had 35,848 words of the 90,000 target I had. I was way short. That's like thinking you successfully landed on an aircraft carrier because you only were a half a mile off when you tried to touch down.

But I sent it off to my "reader" -- the person who has encouraged me to write this novel. Who cornered me. Who triggered my start. He's not the man who fires the starting gun on the Olympic 100 meter dash, but the one that gives you the courage to get down on the starting block and take off running at times when you feel like you just don't have the guts, when you know everyone is already off and running, when so many have a head start on you, when some already sped across the finish line and are relishing the cheers.

My reader is a distant uncle. An Australian. A former professor.  An avid reader. A poignant speaker. With trepidation, I kept my bet and sent him what I did write, the 35,484 words. I knew I'd get positive thoughts (because he's just an encouraging man), but also a good solid dose of professorial grading reality, even the bad stuff.  He just left a message today that he thought it was STUPENDOUS.  That my writing put him in tears in a couple of places. 

He put me in tears. But I was bouncing off the walls too.

I had given up really.  I didn't make my goal in December and then was hit with the distractions of broken dreams earlier this year, and I stopped writing. Pursuing another dream when one dream is broken is tough. I didn't.  But that was stupid of me.

But today, he insisted, he wants the ending. He's hooked.

I'm sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo HAPPY!!!!

Of course, he is going to hit on the professorial critique too. I got home too late to call back, and hear a good dose of what needs to better than it is.  But I realized it was stupid to shut my word faucet off. Broken dreams are no excuse. Someone is asking me to write. I simply must.

I'll be picking up and finishing to the initial 90,000 goal. The book is about crashing destinies, that's all I'll say. The devil's in the details. And the details aren't for sharing, yet.

Butterfly Lovers

Jet lag stinks. It's 3 a.m. and I can't sleep, NOT AT ALL.

So I'm writing emails to friends, writing blog posts, reading...blah blah. Brain please turn off!

Anyway...

While in Beijing, during lunch, I asked my Chinese colleagues for a music recommendation. I love music, and that was the souvenir I wanted.

They discussed in Chinese what to recommend. There was a CD store across the street from the restaurant we were eating at. One programmer took me to the store, and picked out the two they most recommended.  One has Western tones, the other traditional Chinese instruments.

One is titled Butterfly Lovers.

The story, the programmer told me, is "...more sad than Romeo and Juliet. Much more sad."

So I had to look it up on Wikopedia when I got home (which I thus cannot guarantee is correct). But I find it interesting my new friends picked beautiful music for me that was once suppressed, and has now been set free:

The story is set in the Eastern Jin Dynasty.

A young woman named Zhu Yingtai from Shangyu, Zhejiang, disguises herself as a man traveling to Hangzhou to study. During her journey, she meets and joins Liang Shanbo, a companion schoolmate from Kuaiji (Kuàijī, now known as Shaoxing) in the same province. They study together for three years, during which their relationship strengthens. When the two part, Zhu offers to arrange for Liang to marry her 16 year-old fictitious sister. When Liang travels to Zhu's home, he discovers her true gender. Although they are devoted and passionate about each other at that point, Zhu is already engaged with Ma Wencai (Mǎ Wéncái), a man her parents had arranged for her to be married to. Depressed, Liang dies in office as a county magistrate. On the day Zhu is to be married to Ma, whirlwinds prevent the wedding procession from escorting Zhu beyond Liang's tomb. Zhu leaves the procession to pay her respects for Liang. Liang's tomb splits apart, and Zhu dives into it to join him. A pair of butterflies emerges from the tomb and fly away.

The Butterfly Lovers' Violin Concerto is one of the most famous works of Chinese music and certainly one of the most famous outside of China. It is an orchestral adaptation of an ancient legend, the Butterfly Lovers. Written for the western style orchestra, it features a solo violin played using some Chinese techniques.

Traditional Chinese composers often write in a different tonal system than western classical music. As a result, this can make the music sound constantly out of tune to some Western ears. The Butterfly Lover's Violin Concerto is written in the familiar western tonal system, but it utilizes many Chinese melodies, chord structures and patterns.

The Butterfly Lovers Violin Concerto was written by two Chinese composers, Chen Gang and He Zhanhao in 1959 while they were students at the Shanghai Conservatory of Music. The music did not acquire popularity before the late 1970s, when China loosened its restrictions after the Cultural Revolution. Once released from censorship, it became an embodiment of China in transition. Today it is popular and is slated as part of the Olympics celebrations in 2008.

Here is one song from the CD, performed to ballet. A truly beautiful melody, and some incredible gymnastics to adjoin this version.

A fool were tempted...

To see the infinite pity of this place,
The mangled limb, the devastated face,
The innocent sufferers smiling at the rod,
A fool were tempted to deny his God.

He sees, he shrinks, but if he look again,
Lo, beauty springing from the breast of pain!--
He marks the sisters on the painful shores,
And even a fool is silent and adores.

Robert Louis Stevenson, 1889, after visiting the quarantined leprosy settlement in Kaluapapa, Hawaii

Picks of the Pics

The pics to go with the stories...

The modern Chinese, very hospitable, bright, talented, I look forward to working with them...

 

And the previous generation, a man with a mountain of memories.

An old woman from far off lands whose face showed her walk in life knew many sorrows, yet her feet decorated, hand embroidered with care...I didn't want to be obnoxious and get up close for a picture of her face -- would make me an obnoxious gawking tourist.  So I took these pictures without aiming, from my hip, camera slung over my neck. Her face, told of a thousand tragedies, perhaps her feet even more so. I followed she and her friends along, noticing that a few of them held their husbands hand, loosely, tenderly, as though love alone had pulled them through, together, through the passage of life, and burden.

The ever present troops.

Tian'an Men Square and the woman who ran up to me, put her arm around me for a picture, holding on to her hat in fierce wind.

The school girls before they saw me.

The girls after they saw me and screamed and came running. I am actually in this picture. Center. Also in orange. Maybe my orange shirt was the attraction? 

The Great Wall -- or the part that could be reached before road construction blocked our passage to the entry further down.

These next pictures show the climb, whereby everyone got sore knees and feet, as we had to race up for lack of time (but were later told that the discomfort was from liver failure or stomach ailments, requiring herbs)...the Japanese girl on the right wore Mickey Mouse shoes, and her toes were bleeding by the end. The Hong Kong woman (on the left above, middle below), who I'll stay in touch with. She and her husband were great, and very funny.

And the challenges of language:  (I certainly could never learn Chinese. How they read that script, I'll never understand!  If I tried, I can't imagine what errors I would come up with!!)

This was at Chinese Tea House, which includes performances of Chinese poetry, puppets, acrobatics, etc. Including a performance whereby a man dressed up to symbolize a bad monkey told a story. The bad monkey apparently made a MESS of Heaven, not a MASS.  But the Pope would be proud of the Chinese monkey.

I had some absolutely DELICIOUS food when in Beijing. Minus the Fido.  Most of it was incredibly, wonderfully good, presented so carefully. So this one is an unfortunate error...

 

All in all, excepting the Mad TV version of Great Wall tour guide and Chinese Medicine, the Chinese were so hospitable, caring, I made new friends, had delicious food, learned some history...a great visit. Now I gotta get rid of some jet lag!!

Random Musings Part Deux

The books I brought for my long flights were addictive, but both had horribly depressing endings. Depressing is different than tragic. Tragic doesn't have to be depressing. In fact, in tragedy there can remain the triumph of love and hope. An author who does not choose to convey hope is merely using fiction to dump their angst on the rest of us. Basically, when I finished the two books I wanted to chuck the best sellers in the trash.

But here is a quote that was quoted in one of the books, which I did like:

                      I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known--cites of men 
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honor'd of them all,-- 
And drunk delight of battle with my peers, 
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am part of all that I have met; 
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravel'd world whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson, "Ulysses"

All of China on the Wall

I think the entire country of China was on the Great Wall today. Seriously.  It wasn't peaceful, at least half the country of China was on it, and the entire world of tourists. Then every 20 feet, there is some middle aged man who thinks having a smoke is going to help his climb. So fresh air isn't even a plus. Claustrophobia on the wall is a very real possibility. Especially, when they close the main Great Wall section because of road construction, and cram all of us onto a tiny part. (In fact, most of Beijing in under construction -- Olympics.)

And somehow, my Great Wll tour ended up including a visit to some Beijing Chinese Medicine center, for a foot massage and a plug to buy Chinese herbs. None of us on the tour, including the Chinese people, knew we were getting a foot massage included in the price. In fact, it wasn't in the price. All 15-20 of us load on the small bus, got surrounded by Chinese foot massagers and had to shell out 20 RMB (a little over $2). In fact, there was so many other things packed into this tour, we had to run up the Wall and run back down for lack of time.

While at the unexpected visit to the Chinese Medicine Center we learn from the Chinese doctor, that apparently if your feet hurt, it's a sign you need herbs. Chinese herbs.  I think my sore feet had more to do with climbing the Great Wall steps for two hours straight, than a problem with my liver.  Half of us refused the Chinese doctor diagnosis (which was going to be a hard core plug to spend money on unknown chemicals.)  But the Italians, Europeans fell for it. The Chinese couple I befriended refused. The Japanese girl I befriended refused. The Westerners fell hook line and sinker.

At their diagnosis, I couldn't stop laughing. The Brits (who also refused) and I were exchanging glances -- the whole thing was quite funny.

I was listening to the half a dozen people getting a diagnosis.  They all got the same thing, at the same time. So they probably didn't here the chorus of Chinese medicine doctors saying the same thing to the weary hikers...here is the sample:

Chinese doctor (of which there were 12 or so):  Do you have back pain today?
Out-of-shape Italian Great Wall Tourist Climber: Yes!
Chinese doctor:  Are your bones sore?
Italian:  Yes! 
Chinese doctor: Do you get tired, are you tired?
Italian: Yes!
Chinese doctor: Let me see your tongue.
Italian: (sticks out tongue)
Chinese doctor: I think you have the early onset of liver failure.  I recommend this treatment. 
Italian: (Hands over credit card. Receives large bottles of pills.)

More on the Great Wall visit later. The best part was making new friends with a super nice couple from Hong Kong.  We exchanged addresses, and will probably stay in touch.  The humor today was NON-STOP, the three of us were laughing because of the goofiness of the tour, and the uselessly bad tour guide -- the husband of the couple from Hong Kong was hilarious about it.  The wife was amazing -- in her college years, she traveled by herself deep into rural China.  Truly amazing tales.

I have to wake up in 3 1/2 hours, so gotta log off.  Just wanted to type stuff in before I forget!

Just one closing question:  Has anyone else noticed, you can't walk down the streets of Beijing without hearing a Chinese men spit dramatically. A gutteral spit. Spit. Spit. Spit. Tonight, I saw a little boy spit into the alley.  They must learn young. 

Mobbed (by sweetness) on Tian'an Men Square

Yesterday, I toured The Forbidden City, with bird dung on my head (see prior post).  Then I went to Tian'an Men Square.

There are quite a few tourists on Tian'an Men. I wasn't the only Westerner; it's a touristy spot these days.

As soon as I got on Tian'an Men, I took a picture of the BIG MONSTROUS CHAIRMAN image. Why I took that picture, I don't know. It's not like I respect him, he's no Lincoln Memorial that's for dern sure. So I was just standing there looking around aimlessly, wondering why we gather to take pictures of that man. Then all of a sudden this woman gets all excited and comes running up to me, stands next to me, all excited, asks for a picture. Her husband takes the picture of her with me and she runs back to him all excited. 

Now, in Spain or Italy, someone scooting up to you is a sign you're about to get scammed for something bad.  She was so excited to take her picture with me, put her arm around me, and while her husband was taking a picture, she's treating me like a movie star and I'm thinking to myself, "What scam am I falling for here? Is there any one with their hand in my purse? Did I remember to zip it, yea I did. Is she really just taking a picture??...etc."  I looked around the square wondering, "Am I the only Westerner here?"  No.  "Are the other Westerners taking pictures with strangers?"  No.  Her husband took the picture, and she thanked me profusely, and ran off excited.  So I took a picture of she and her husband, at which point they looked at me like I was crazy  for wanting their picture. But who the heck are they?  And who was I to them?  Lord knows I don't look like Paris, nor Angelina, I wasn't accompanied by Kobe, nor Brad Pitt, and although one person on this planet thinks I look like Tina Fey, no one else will.

I dismissed it as encounter with quirky Chinese woman but then. . .

The wind was absolutely whipping that day.  When I say strong, I mean insanely strong.  You could hardly get through the tunnel archways in the Forbidden City -- I'm not kidding when I say, the wind pushed us all forward. It was so strong, this Chinese woman and I just had to stop in the middle, hoping it would abate, covering our eyes, she cowered against the wall. But it didn't abate, with our backs to the wind,  our weight leaning backward, she and I just started laughing. Other people were staying in the tunnels and playing against the wind, getting launched forward, etc.

So on Tian'an Men, the big RED China flags were absolutely whipping, straight out, so hard it felt as though they'd fly off like kites. There was a pack of teenage girls in their orange uniforms, under the red flags. The color contrast was quite cool, so I snapped an image. Then one of the girls saw me, and I took a picture of a few of them facing me. Then all of a sudden, they all went squirrelly. I'm not kidding when I say they went crazy about me. They ran over from every direction, crowded around me, squealing. They wanted their picture with me. A few screamed, and then all twenty or so of them came running. They squished against me for a picture.  Their teacher took a picture, and they were yelping in excitement.  Again, in Italy, packs of kids that squish up against you usually results in you having absolutely no worldly  possessions after except your underwear.  These girls were so excited, so sweet really.

I managed to get their teacher to take a picture with my camera -- as I figured no one is going to believe me that I got mobbed by teenage girls on Tian'an Men.  In rural Thailand years ago when I was there, the students would get similarly excited, but I was the only Westerner they'd ever seen.  But Tian'an Men isn't short of dazed white woman tourists with cameras.

Who the heck am I when I'm on Tian'an Men square?

But as my little notebook reminds me, Love will follow you wherever you go, To the sky, to the universe...

These girls had so much sweetness, excitement, anticipation...I don't think it was me per se, but their love for opportunity, for something new. They were a pack of smiles and hope, something China didn't have for a long time. To see hope and the extended hand of friendship beautifully alive on Tian'an Men was amazingly sweet, hopeful. It makes me have prayers that no one boycotts the Olympics -- there is a generation ready to Spring forward in China. . .

How much is that doggy in the window

Oh the jet lag. Here I am very early, wide awake.

On this trip, I have several coworkers with me, and on Thursday we went out to lunch with about 12-15 of our Chinese partner colleagues. They ordered many dishes.  The best English speaker was at the other table, with two of my colleagues. I was with the programmers and developers from Guangzhou.

Our meeting got out early on Friday -- way cool, as then I had more tourist time! But last night, I met up with my coworkers for Duck, where we sat next to a table of extremely drunk Chinese men. At one point, they nearly got in a fight -- three were trying to hold back big angry guy...I thought I was about to have a very  large Chinese man land on my plate of duck. 

While out for duck, my colleagues ask me with trepidation if during the previous day's lunch, I had tried any meat from the small bowl with the tiny bits of meat and peanuts?  I said that although I was a litle suspicious of the tiny bits of meat, but I took a small bite, mostly peanuts.

I apparently took a bite of Fido. My colleagues at the other table were apparently informed by the English speakers of the various meat types at the other table.  My table didn't provide the info session.

What Fido did I eat? How much is a doggy in the window in Beijing?

The next day I proposed an implementation solution to a technical problem we were facing, based on late night phone calls back home. My suggestion caused a ruckus of conversation in Chinese.  There was one programmer, very quiet. I had the feeling he was the brains of it all. He had an intriguingly quiet manner about him, but I think he's extremely perceptive.

While they were discussing, I said to my colleague, "I think they think we're crazy."

The quiet programmer, who was looking away from me towards the technical Chinese discussion, turned his head to me because he heard every word I said and chuckled, I think he was holding back an outburst. Probably laughing, because I was right.