6:26 am in Belz Family Home

I can't sleep in since my mind is actually telling me it's almost Natlie's bedtime.

I'm sitting on the red couch in my living room. The table is set for breakfast. We'll have lots of relatives over for pancakes in about three hours. The clock ticks steadily. And I'm thanking God that none of the people in my family are six-year-olds and that everyone is a sleepyhead in the morning.

The TV next to me is ten years old. The piano has layers of brown tattered oldies and freshly printed test-runs. The zig-zaggy printed upholstrey of the armchair next to this couch is fading while the seat of it becomes ragged and stringy. My dad's thick maroon Bible sits next to the conc shell I used to always put my ear up to so I could hear the ocean.

Call me nostlagic. I'm just glad I'm home. All the glory of Shanghai could not make me happier than being in a place so familiar and so filled with Jesus.

Little Helper

There are Shou-Wu-Ai-Ee (forgive me for my made up pinyin) and Da-Wu-Ai-Ee in our house - Little Helper and Big Helper, respectively. Da-Wu-Ai-Ee lives with us. She makes breakfast, sleeps with and bathes Natlie, and at night gossips on the phone between segments of her favorite Chinese soap opera.

Little Helper comes every morning to meticulously clean and fold laundry, wash the floor, organize, and scrub bathrooms. Our house always look nice because of her. During her little breaks throughout the day - when I'm home - she'll pull out some English book or ask me to teach her a few words. She's a fast learner.

One day she flipped open her phone to show me a photo of a sweet little girl crouching to stay in view of the camera. It was her daughter. Then a few weeks after I arrived here I realized that all the pictures that Natlie and I drew together sat around or were thrown away completely unappreciated. So the next time I drew a swirl of flowers and dots and serpentine stripes I asked Little Helper to give it to her daughter.

Now we are good friends, and I think part of that is because she realized that I have so few reservations for who I am kind to. I put Natlie and Little Helper's girl in the same boat in my mind. That's refreshing and hopeful to her.

Last Friday Little Helper sat on my bed as I recited vegetable and fruit words with her. She explained in Chinese, "You go home and I am very...(she indicated tears on her cheek with her fingers). I miss you very much." Oh. I ache knowing I probably will never see her again.

the metro

10:45 pm on the metro:

We'll start on the left of the plastic olive green chairs. This first woman had a pink phone with dangling sparkles attached. She was talking very loudly to the person on the other end. Her eyes gleamed with pride all during her bossy conversation. Chinese women are rarely loud and they rarely look like they have power. And they never look like they enjoy their power.

The woman next to her was young. She had one of those message t-shirts on. It was blue and had the big fat letters of "I (heart) LIFE" plastering the entire front. Her black tights and silvery high heels looked uncomfortable. Over the course of twenty minutes the girl brought out her white compact mirror three or four times. She examined her eyes and skin and hair meticulously. Finally she picked up her cellphone and started chatting to someone.

Beside her, with one seat empty between, two saleswomen chatted about their day. The one on the left wore a beautiful cream-colored trench. She covered her mouth when she whispered something to the other. Her hand was cupped Korean style. The friend left after two stops and the other sat with her head up high.

language

I've seen a lot of Chinese. It is the most spectacular language. The dots, strokes and swiggles in their specific order absorb all my attention. The boxy characters, the curvy loops, and the specific step-by-step way of painting out the words hypnotize me when I watch Portia scrawl directions to the subway for the taxi driver.

Look at this one:



It means "splendid" and is pronounced "hua". It's so complex and yet makes its point so clear so quickly.

A well-educated Chinese person knows about 6000 different characters. That's like knowing the design of six thousand snowflakes, along with giving names to each one.

sublime expectancy

i'm not going to rationalize from now on in my posts.

i welcomed this opportunity to come to Chin-O whole-heartedly. now i long for home. i long for my brown wooden dresser with it's drawers and the big mirror that rests on top. i long for my greyish wool sweater i wear on cool mornings. i long for late night thoughtful conversations with my sister as we dose off in our still-bunked beds. i long for my language. i long for conversations at the table long after the meal's done. i long for America this time too - the land of the lispy English accent, soulful music, and free thinking. i long for laughter.

this next week and a half will be well-spent. but then i will go home which is where i want to be.

oh. and i long for college. more than ever now.

after school play

There is a play ground next to Natlie's school. On sunny days which come often now we go out and play in the afternoon when everyone gets out. I chase kids around and they love when I'm "it" because I'm the fastest. We have four or five kids that are regulars. The rest straggle on beside us. Sometimes it's plain old tag, sometimes it's some hopping game, or other times we play a shark game. I never thought I'd play with kids so much.

"Bubblegum, bubblegum in a Dish" has become 'old hat' to me once again.

lunch

We came out of the back exit of of the Forbidden City. Jack, Natlie, and I hop over the shadows the branches of the trees lining the street and sidewalk. People stare at us. We keep playing. People stare because I'm white and I'm walking with a blue-collar Chinese guy and a little Chinese girl. They're so confused.

We skip and jump over lines so we don't break each other's backs. Finally we come to our car. Our Beijing driver is standing next to it. He has a blue suit on and looks nice. He is smoking. I think that's the third cigarette I've seen him smoke today. And I haven't seen him all morning. He opens the door for me and it's hot in the car. But Natlie jumps in on the other side and is ready to play yet another game. Think, Adrienne. Make up another game. I've tapped all my creative juices. I'm out. We end up playing a clapping and snapping game as we ride.

The driver stops and we get out to eat at a sit-down restaurant. The walls are red and it feels Chinese. The waitress pours hot water to drink in our small teacups. Two drivers are sitting with a Chinese girl and a young white woman. This is very strange to others. These are lines no one crosses.

We eat sautéed eggs and tomatoes, lamb, beef, mushrooms, shrimp, cucumbers and carrots. Chopsticks fly across the table. Everyone's is getting satisfied.

Our Beijing driver smiles nicely. His smile sticks out from the rest of his face. He also doesn't have long fingernails which makes me like him much better. His accent is almost gurgly. He tells me, "No English." I try my Chinese on him. It doesn't work.

Natlie starts to cry. Her mouth hurts. She cries louder. We leave the restaurant. The waitress hands me some Barbie stickers to cheer up Natlie. Natlie stops crying and we pile into the little black car again.

Wall

A late flight into Beijing last night brought us to our home on the outskirts of the city around 9 pm. We have rooms in a designer home at The Commune. All the attendants wear thick woolen jackets that are buttoned right up the middle and have a breastpocket on the left side. Everyone wears stars. Even the cigarette sand in the lobby's ashtray was moved into the form of a star.

I looked outside the dining room window at about six this morning to the Great Wall off in the sunrise. It's golden among the green mountains.

Once Natlie was off to an arts and crafts lesson, Jack the driver and I went up to the wall. We walked and walked but it wasn't enough. I wanted to see more.

Up and down, steep and steady moments, all thick stone, thick bricks, thick walls make up the most strange and beautiful piece of art.

I wished so badly my family was there to see it with me.

The little girl I teach is not the same one I met back in February.

Natlie has round cheeks and red lips. Her dark head of hair wisps around her face and she has bangs in a straight line across her forehead. She is a pickle.

When I first came Natlie didn't speak much at all. Her body expressions and guttural sounds got her what she needed and made people laugh (even in Chinese). Now she sings, dances, makes jokes, and has even almost learned the art of laughing at herself.

She couldn't read at all the morning after I arrived. Now she's burning through Brother Bear books like wildfire. She soaks up every word - even phrases like "You silly girl" and "Oh my goodness". The other day we were playing a game where we threw the ball around and made up compliments. I said "Splendid", "Fabulous", and "Fantastic". She spurted out "Excellent". I gave her a hug.

I'm not taking credit for her success. She just needed someone to piece together the language she knows and someone to challenge her thinking and speaking.

It's gratifying though.

International Churches

Dave drove up in his white jeep. He's one of a few expats that actually drives in Shanghai. His wife sat in the front seat. We laughed and talked the whole ten minutes to church.

Trinity Church of Shanghai meets in Meg's house every Sunday. Meg has blonde hair and talks like an Iowan because she is one. Her house is palatial and serves well as a meeting place for the church. Elyn, our speaker, rushed in to the living room late this week. She threw on her white robe and colorful sash and rushed to the front of the room. With a sumptuous smile and sweet voice she welcomed everyone. And then we were off through a whole set of traditional hymns and liturgy. The message was short and to the point. All listeners paid close attention and made no sound.

I found this church through my cousin's friend who lives in Beijing. After two Sundays at the massive charismatic church on my side of town, I was ready for some meat.

I have yet to find that fleshy satisfying stuff.

The two churches are good. Two hospitable and godly families have really reached out to me. Last night, I spoke to Lee, a mother and expat here, about the lack of depth in all sermons I have heard at three different churches here. She thinks most people wish they could be deeper, more expository, and more refreshing. Nothing changes though, she said. We couldn't pin down exactly why people don't speak up or take action.

I'm beginning to think things might be different if not every expat here had a personal maid, child care service, driver, villa, delicious food, clothes. Money can make people close up in some ways. Money can build a wall between a man and others. Maybe it's the same with their Lord. Expats here don't talk about their feelings or their struggles. People with money are supposed to have those things under their thumbs because they have the ability to do everything they want.

Rich people still struggle though and yearn for the Lord just as much. I see pain written on my friend Lee's face.

I'm curious what most of you have to say about this though.

Joya

Joya and I see each other every Saturday morning when we drop off 'our' kids at arts and crafts class. We sit and wait together. But I don't just know her because we cross paths on Saturday mornings. Joya is also Portia's friend. Her husband is some sort of consultant, and they have two little boys. They also love the Lord.

Joya invites me over every so often for dinner, to learn Chinese, or teach English to her son. Unlike most of the wealthy women here, Joya is a homemaker. She cleans her house by herself, she watches over her boys, and she cooks for her family. It's not as if they can't afford a helper. And Joya has expressed some anxiety and frustration over her work. But she's set on raising her boys herself, even if it wears her out.

Last time I went over to her house, we ate delicious soup, rice, duck, pig ears, and mango. Kevin, the older son, prayed before we ate. His dad helped him with the words. Afterwards, her boys and I played with their transformer toys happily at the coffee table as their dad checked something on the internet. Joya played a piece by Chopin on the piano. And everyone was in a truly good mood. She sent me home with some leftover food. She always smiles and laughs at my dumb jokes.

Oh, and did I mention? Before she got married she lived in Italy because she was one of the top Taiwanese opera singers.

schedule

6:45 Thought I could sleep in but hear Natlie's voice in the room on the other side of my wall call my name.

8:30 Rush upstairs from playing to eat breakfast. I eat rice sesame balls every morning and I like them.

8:55 Pull on my shoes at the front door because, of course, I never wear my shoes inside anymore.

9:05 Hop off my bike and lock the wheel and run into Mandarin class.

11:55 Say good bye to my sweet Mandarin teacher, Calla. She has a big smile.

12:00 Bike home, passing construction workers with blue helmets and torn shoes. I also see some expats. They avoid eye contact.

1:00 Out for lunch with Portia, Natlie, the driver, and the nanny. We eat Thai on a terrace. Natlie isn't in school because it's spring break.

2:00 Playing four square outside with Natlie. It's warm and we take off our sweaters.

3:00 Natlie goes to get a haircut. I'm sent to watch the process. I stand awkwardly on the side because there's no where to sit.

5:00 Off to her English tutor's house, I'm free for a few hours.

7:30 Natlie comes home. We play a bean bag toss game and jump rope before she's goes to bed.

8:00 I sing "Good Night, Ladies" to Natlie as we close her bedroom door. It's her new favorite song - esp. the part where I go faster and faster with "Cheep a little, talk a little...".

till 11 I will write posts and work on a scholarship paper.

I'm busy in a totally different way than I have ever been in my whole life.

day trip

After a spectacular traditional Chinese dance show, the crowds pushed out of the doors and poured out into the cool night. Most of the tourists were countrymen. They smack their lips, hawk lugees, and push ever so intentionally at anyone in their way. Hungry, I looked up at Jack the driver to see what our plan was. He has knowing glances that imply whatever it is I need to know. I've learned to communicate this way with him since words get us no where. The "ay-ee" doesn't understand this. She speaks to me in fast Chinese and when I give a blank stare, she talks louder or she laughs. Most of the time she talks louder.

We sat at a well-lit little cafe in the tourist park and ordered dumplings and noodles. Four men with blue matching visors sat at the table as well. They stared at me as I clumsily attempted clamping down on a few stray noodles floating in my bowl of soup. One man pointed to my left hand. My hair, skin, face, clothes, and voice throw them off. And then I'm left-handed. I am really from the other side of the world to them.

Natlie gulped down her meal and wanted to go over to the pool of water nearby. People were trying to do fancy obstacle courses over water. A crowd was forming as teenage boys and young business men attempted lily-pad hopping. People cheered at success and laughed heartily when someone fell into the water. Everyone was a high schooler for a few minutes.

We walked through the park afterward heading for our car and a long ride home. All the round red Chinese lanterns had been lit and the moon was shining bright.

The World Expo

Watch the world expo video on Youtube. I don't have access to Youtube right now, but type in "China expo bid video" or something like that and watch the most beautiful footage of this city.

Then come here for the World Expo here next year.

cheap

I am at an intersection between four of the cheapest stores in Shanghai. It's rainy and all I can see from the bridge passover for pedestrians is a flood of umbrellas, poncho raincoats, and motorbikes. The slush under my feet is made up of mushy cigarette butts, flyers, and old street food. On my right vendors sell panty hose, wallets, combs, and mirrors. On my left, Emma guides me through the pack of customers.

We enter the shoe floor of one of the cheap stores and a group of solicitors descends upon the new prey. My hair color attracts salesmen like honey does flies. "Watch, purse, shoes. I have many good brand. Gucci...," he says like all the rest do. Emma stops when I look at a pair of brown peasant shoes. She asks the salesman if we can pay thirty kuai for the pair. That's five dollars. In Chinese he chases out of his store. We scamper away. We meekly arrive back later on and the man gives them to me for fifty kuai. He plants one foot in the ground and jammed the other down adjacent to the first, pouting over Emma's hard bargain. Emma tells me not to smile. He flips out a wad of cash from his back pocket and gives me my change. A cigarette hangs vertically out of his mouth. He is grumpy.

The store is spinning now. All the shoes look the same. Everything looks the same and it's swirling in front of my eyes. So we leave and get milky sweet drinks. Then in lieu of a taxi, we order a motorbike carrying a wagon to take us to the subway station. I wish I had a picture.

On the way home, Emma told me everything cost more today because of me. Even the drinks.

Serenity

"Behold, He has his eyes on those who fear him, on those who hope in his steadfast love."

Live now because the moment is His gift. Seize now - not because now will be gone later but - because now is a gift. Trust his steadfast love now. Be steady. Don't dive into 'now' with rose-tinted glasses. Fear Him, enjoy Him and seek His steadfast love now in whatever moment you live.

tender moment

Natlie tells me she never wants to play with me again sometimes. This happens completely unpredictably and without antagonization on my part. She's a capricious little girl - to say the least.

So today when she glared at me, stuck out her tongue, and snapped, "I'm never playing with you again," I retorted, "Well, I guess I'll tell your mom to send me home then." Her face fell. And she was honestly sad. She hugged me, and I held her for a few seconds. "Don't tell my mom to send you home, okay?"

If you took care of Natlie often too, this would make your day.

Jack

Jack is our driver. Every morning the garage door creaks open at eight o'clock and he comes in to help get Natlie ready for the day. He is devoted to Portia and Natlie and stays all day every day with them and their car. He leaves at 7:30 pm every night after Natlie goes to bed.

Jack knows everything about Shanghai. He knows where to find the cheapest phones and movies and clothes. He knows the streets like the back of his hand. He knows he knows everything.

Here are some things I have noticed about Jack: He wears red socks because according to the zodiac calendar he needs to wear something special in order to have good luck. On rainy days he wears a black corduroy jacket. Jack also has really well-manicured fingernails. His thumb and little finger nails are all really long. I think he uses them as tools, but they're scary-looking. There's also a jade stone Buddha face on Jack's belt strap. He wears it every day.

Jack doesn't talk that much. We have one inside-joke. One time I woke him up when I opened the car door to go somewhere. He yawned. I wanted to show off my new vocabulary. "Jiou shun hiao." That's "Good Morning". Now he uses it all the time. It's not that funny but I'm glad we have a joke. Most of the time he reads the paper in his down time. He listens to talk radio too. Sometimes he comes inside and sits at the dining room table focused hard on Natlie's rubix cube or he plays with Natlie and me as the Big Bad Wolf.

I love watching the driver because he's just so different. And I wanted you all to meet one of the people who has become part of my everyday life.

Changing the Day

I made butterhorns today with Natlie who stayed home from school sick. The nanny and maid craned their heads over my work, observing each measurement and each movement carefully. They continually offered their hands as we stirred, kneaded, watched, cut, rolled, baked. This bread-making and the use of the oven that idles in our home was the most intriguing activity of the day - of the week- in the house.

While my grandma's specialty didn't turn out spectacularly the scent of warm buttery bread filled the house for a few precious hours and that cheered up the place.

cold again

I felt ill this morning so I didn't go to the orphanage as I normally do on Mondays. I didn't want to pass the sickness on to the little ones. I did not want one of the caretakers roughly grabbing my hand and leading me out of the room as if her pastel purple uniform entitled her to do such things. But my friends, Kristen and Suzie, like to go out for lunch afterwards. So we did. I met them a few blocks from my house at a little restaurant.

I rode my bike to meet them at the little diner. Does anyone who is reading this know me? I follow traffic rules very carefully. I wait for the green man, run when my time is running out, and stop - halt - when he becomes red. I walk on the white-striped lines. I am very paranoid about pedestrian accidents I think.

Biking in my neighborhood is changing me though. I cut more corners and I watch for other cyclists most carefully. Today I rode fast and squeezed between a police man and a cement post. I am not a dare devil yet, but this is some serious progress for an uptight law-abider.

I still have a bad cough. The maid who's cleaning in my room right now told me I shouldn't have eaten "bing-chi-lene" or ice cream if my throat is sore. I'm sure that's what she was explaining with her hand gestures. Sometimes we don't communicate that easily though. She just left. I yell, "Thank you."

She cheerfully retorts, "Uh, NO sank yoo." And she snickers. I laugh in my hoarse laugh.

I'm past the adventure of living here in some ways, but I have to realize that my situation will never be just as I wish it to be. I have to be happy in my Lord and not be so easily swayed. At any rate, he has put me back on an even keel.

Everything is not perfect. I am past the adventure of this. Being here is hard. I am growing, I realize. I learn new things all the time now and most of these things are not flowery truths.

I'm exhausted...

Two Gems

For my yoke is easy and my burden is light. - Don't stress the little things. Don't get weighed down with wondering whether or not you are honoring Him. His yoke is easy and his burden is light. We are free.

Therefore let us be grateful for a kingdom that cannot be shaken and thus let us offer him acceptable worship, with reverance and awe, for he is a consuming fire. - I forget that he is over this. Some girls sit on my bed as I type this wanting to learn a few English words, and I am happy to help them. He is over us. Do I sound melodramatic? I hope not. Am I making sense? I hope. I must remember that he is watching me and all my actions are in the palm of his hand.

What a comfort and a call!

Sunday break

Today was my first official day off. After Natlie fell asleep last night, I rode over to Emma's apartment. Emma is Brae Howard's friend and Brae is my brothers' friend. Eden and Katrina, two other girls Brae knows, came over as well.

I spent the night at Emma's. It was cold. No one but the upper class turns on heaters unless they are absolutely frozen.

This morning I attempted making American pancakes for the girls and failed miserably. I tried to excuse myself by saying the kitchen utensils weren't good for making American food. They saw past that though. I'm not a "skilled" cook. At the end of my experiment, a few nubs of charred pancake batter and a smoky kitchen were all that I had produced. We were still hungry.

So we skipped outside this sunny morning and onto the metro headed to People's Square (like Times Square in NYC). In the food court, I looked around. Everyone I saw was dressed well, eating well, and consuming so much. What did we want to eat? We wondered to ourselves. We went around the whole circle that made up the food shops. Japanese rice pastries, ice cream, kabobs, dumplings, noodles, donuts, shakes, mango smoothies. There was every good junk food in that food court, I'm convinced.

We found a good restaurant which was crowded, unsurprisingly. Instead of coming back when a table would be free, we accosted the present customers, peering over those still slurping down their noodles. We impatiently nudged each one out of his seat until each of us had replaced another. That's the way to get things done here. Nudging, pushing, taking initiative, not beating around the bush.

Afterwards we rode to Century Park and bought a pineapple for a dollar. The vendor cut it into quarters for us and slid a wooden stick through each creating a wonderful treat.

The park was full. These past two days have been the first sunny and warm weekend after many weeks of rain and clouds. We sat on the green grass among Shanghainese couples, teenagers loudly hassling each other and their colorful kites, and mothers and fathers toting one little child around - each cuter than the one before.

It's been a nice break.

pain

The Disabled Asylum is on the other side of town in Puxi. Lee, a Canadian expat from the local church, took Kristen, Suz, and me to the three-story stowaway of an orphanage. On the top floor, at the end of the hall when the stench gets most potent, we enter the nursery section of the home. Little ones sit in wooden chairs, strapped in by fabric rope. Each has a different bulky fleece on and looks away from us as we enter. We sit, play, sing and clap with the kids. Some are blind, others are crippled, some have Downs Syndrome, and others have seriously malformed bodies.

There's one little girl that has sat on the third going left both times I've come to the home. She tilts her head to the right all the time and continually drools out of her mouth. I hold her left hand because her right one is always tightly clenched shut into a fist. She smiles when I sing and talk and clap. Her whole face lightens and her brown eyes flicker. Her stiff legs twitch.

I am not the most compassionate person in the world and I am enamored by some of this three-year-olds. I cannot explain this home and the affect it has had on me.

angels

I had 46 yuan in my purse. I had to go home and I had hopped in a taxi without thinking about how much cash I needed. Soon the numbers were racking up and I knew we were still in the wrong part of the town. I asked to driver to please take me to a metro station. He did. I climbed out and dumped all my cash into his hands plus an American $20 bill. I felt bad and blubbered, "Sorry," in Chinese. He stared at the American bill for a long time, turning it over and over in his hand. He had no idea how big of a tip I just gave him. Who know what he'll do with it.

He drove off and I stood on a road. I didn't know where to go. In a bright internet café a man explained where the train underground was.

Down the escalator of the metro, I dug into my purse for my subway card. Thank goodness I had that. The lights of the subway were too strong and I felt tired. And people always stare at me, but I've gotten used to that. I try to ignore it. Tonight it was easy.

I wondered how I was going to get home from the closest station. I had no money. My bank card doesn't work here. The woman at the service desk of the subway looked forebearing but I was desperate. "Could I take money off my subway card?"

No response.

No English I guess.

The man behind me said he could help me. I explained how I needed cash - twenty kuai - to get home (that's about $3). He handed me 20 yuan. I sighed. "Thank you."

He helped me and then he left my life. I'll never see him again. But he helped me.

Manicures

Today I got my first manicure ever. The small Chinese woman led me through a dark tunnel. I sniffed the lavendar air and immediately felt relaxed as I made my way through the candlelit hallway. "Nihaou. Welcome to the Dragonfly," another beautiful Chinese woman whispered as she bowed. Once in my seat the little woman flicked on her "study" lamp. She snapped on a blue mouth cover. Am I diseased? Is this supposed to keep me cleaner? I was confused.

I saw the girls' eyes glance up at me every few minutes as she masterfully filed each nail, examining my previous amateur nail-cutting job. She probably wondered how such a forlorn and disheveled-looking white girl ended up in her customer's chair. My nails are beautiful now though.

mornings

My mornings at la Casa de Portia start out bright and early. I hear the patter of little feet and then boom, my door swings open and Natlie charges in and flips open my covers. Groggily I throw on some clothes and trip down the stairs. Soon though, Natlie is tugging at my shirt to come down to the play room. "You the monster," she directs. I give her a head start and she is off running down the spiralling staircase.

Natlie tosses some Barbie dolls and stuffed animals on to my lap. We have Silly, Matthew, Nana, and Sessy. These are our regulars. We play and play until Nanny calls us up for breakfast. Portia's already eating. She has been up a while, I bet. She's always having heavy discussions with big cheeses in New York and California. This afternoon she flies to Hong Kong. But Portia is fantastic. She is a serious lawyer but a relaxed conversationalist. We can sit at the table and talk and laugh for a while.

Nanny (more commonly called "I-eee") sets a bowl of rice mush and vegetables with a boiled egg on top in front of me. I eat slowly because it's not my favorite dish. Natlie scarfs hers down and begs for me to come back downstairs. "No, we have to brush our teeth. I'll chase you upstairs." We leave for school in ten minutes.

In the car on the way to school, we play the same games over again or Natlie watches Tom and Jerry. The driver is quiet and IE is brushes Natlie's hair. It's raining just like every other day and the sky is grey like every other day. Soon it will clear up. Hopefully it will clear up.

Now I sit on my bed trying to decide what I'll do with the rest of my day before Natlie comes home. Shopping, exploring, sleeping, reading.

I have so little reason to want to complain.

whole lot of sale

Like sardines in a can, the bags, purses, books, nicknacks, and pillowcases line the walls on either side of a store. We entered on one side of the tunnel-like store. We walked. I walked side-ways; my hips were too big to fit otherwise. I hesitated before pulling out an electric blue satin wallet from the shelf for fear that all would come toppling down on me with the one. Out on to the other side of the tunnel, there were more stores of telephones, stationary, clocks, buttons, cloth, and jewelry.

In fact these places have every imaginable thing. Need a mango juice can telephone? Jesus stickers? Peacock lamps? High heels with roses on the toes? Fake microwave noodle keychains?

I wish all of you could go to the "whole-sale" market with me.

Photos

http://flickr.com/photos/8611475@N07/

Befuddled

I have seen a woman flip through a wad of 100 yean bills without thinking twice and noticed the large eyes of one vendor as I pulled out just one to pay for my merchandise. I have strutted through emaculate white halls of ten-story malls and driven through sewage-filled streets. I have sat with successful Masters degree holders at dinner and watched a small woman at the cash register struggle over addition. I have shot up in a futuristic elevator to the tip-top of one of the world's tallest buildings and come down again to find the gruff migrant construction workers eating outside in the frigid rainy weather.

I do not see how dingy scrimping by and pure affluence can abide in such tight quarters. My sensitivity to this topic is so heightened after my other travels this year. Liberia is so obviously chaotic and disarrayed. The western world is orderly and cut to a clean line. China has a great heap of history, rules, population, and tradition to load a greatly improved and growing economy upon.

Dichotomy

As soon as I saw Gao's friendly smile behind a sign with my name on it, all settled down in my tumultuous mind. Now I sit here in Portia's home writing. It's hard to believe just two days ago my mom drove me through an icy dark morning to the airport in Cedar Rapids.
Portia lives in an upscale expat community right outside of Shanghai. Natlie, her daughter, greeted me and asked me how I already knew her name. Her mom talks easily and listens to my opinions, already.
This morning Portia took me to the supermarket. The place was packed. They had everything - washclothes, rugs, shoes, eggs, fish. At the checkout line the thin little cashier couldn't ring up the jumprope Portia was buying because it didn't have a barcode. Portia whispered to me, "Sometimes I wonder why some things don't work around here and then I remember I'm actually in China." There are little glitches like that everywhere. Dreyers ice cream instead of Breyers. Pirated movies everywhere - even in seemingly legitimate stores.The disorder is striking everywhere.
Yesterday in the car, billboards filled up the highway - advertisements for plush cars and glittering watches all around. And then also right off the highway old crumbling houses spot the suburbs. Most are tin-roofed. Garbage is piled up. Massive bundles of recyled goods sit waiting for collection some time.
I am just skimming the surface of this division in China though. I don't understand it well yet.
A few other thoughts: The sky is hazy grey here most of the time. Fruit is an excellent dessert. My body already feels somewhat cleansed from classic American oils and toxins. Chinese children are beautiful. Most Chinese women have gorgeous hands.