Back in the Belly of the Beast

Dear China,

Leaving you was a sudden and temporary solution to our relationship problems. Hopefully the time apart has made us more able to cope with each others’ differences. If you can try a little harder to stop being a pain in my ass all the time, I will try to stop being such a whiney brat. I’ll try.

Last night I arrived back in Hangzhou and, therefore, back into the realm of Chinese censorship. Once again I’m forced to send these posts as black market email so others may keep my blog for me. I’m reminded once again that, in China, there is no direct route to your destination. For once, I wouldn’t mind a non-stop flight.

At 4:00 am, Linus and I left Laramie for Denver. He gave me the choice of Interstate 80 to I-25 or to wind through 287. Naturally, I asked if we could drive 287. Because it was still dark, as we reached the foothills of the pass, I asked him to pull over so that I could simply stare upwards. The sky was pocked with stars and I knew I wasn’t going to see them again for almost a year. The complete darkness made them seem almost closer.

At the Denver airport, the woman at the check-in counter for United Airlines nearly gave me a heart attack when she told me I’d missed my chance to enter China. Fortunately for me, she was only a poor reader. My valid enter-before-this-date was Sept 16. She didn’t happen to notice that it was of 2010, not 2009. My panic subsided.

The great thing about having a 4 hour layover in San Francisco is the fresh seafood. For a late breakfast: Dungeness crab eggs Benedict. Yes, the traditional eggs Benedict, but with enormous chunks of crabmeat. Delicious. Just the thing to prepare you for a twelve-hour flight across the Pacific.

Notable in-flight movies: 1) “Easy Virtue.” Someone please give Stephen Elliott my thanks for capturing Noel Coward’s genius on film. 2) “The Soloist.” I’ll watch anything with Robert Downey, Jr., and this was as good as expected. It also helps if you, like me, adore the cello.

Incredibly, when landing in Shanghai, I was not quarantined this time around. In fact, I believe the Porky and Babe Virus scare has started to dwindle, since there were no biohazard ogres boarding the plane to take our temperature before we were allowed off the jet.

Two taxis and a two-hour train ride later, I finally arrived at the apartment in Hangzhou. I immediately jumped into the shower to wash away the grit of travel. As I did so, I couldn’t help thinking that I was reluctantly washing away Wyoming along with it.

Predicted four-day forecast: Jetlag.

Aspen Alley and the Quiet West

Last weekend I had the opportunity to take a two-hour drive with some dear friends up over the Snowy Mountains and into the Sierra Madres of Carbon County. We came to Aspen Alley. Wyoming’s fall may not be as colorful as New England’s, but it is still stunning. The aspen tree leaves turn to a bright pollen color, as if they’ve soaked in the color of the sun, making everything look like it has been coated in amber or dusted in gold.

Carbon County’s beauty just proves my devotion to the autumn season. It remains the perfect time of year, and my favorite. It is an artist’s paradise.

We picked a clearing in the grove to set out several folding chairs while we picnicked on sandwiches and grapes. For the first time in over four months I was cold and it felt great. I borrowed Kaijsa’s Washington sweatshirt and snapped a few dozen photos of our group as we relished the serene surroundings.

On our return, we stopped in the tiny town of Woods Landing for pie and coffee. What better way to top off the American trails than with the all-American dessert? We turned out our pockets for change and invited the jukebox to play Elvis, MeatLoaf and some Bob Dylan.

Coming back into town, I reflected on our day. It is times like these that tell me why I love the quiet west. There are rare occasions and infrequent places that allow us to commune so closely with the natural world. Like Thoreau, I too wish to transcend from the hustle-bustle of urbanity. When I do, my mood shifts upwards and I see what contentment looks like. Here I can breathe.

Here she goes again

Ok, China. I've got a new visa. My flight leaves from Denver on Saturday morning and this time I am ready for you. No games this time. No tricks. I'm coming back on the condition that you and I have an open and honest relationship. I realize that I may be better at this than you, so I will try to be patient.

I've felt a little guilty the past ten days, because whenever someone asks me "How is China?" I’ve been telling them how difficult it is, that I am less than thrilled. While that's not untrue, it is not the whole truth. I like experiencing the different culture and language and I like knowing that there are struggles I can handle. Part of me was afraid that I was a bit of a princess and couldn't deal with the hard stuff, but now I know I can - I just don't want to. Then again, who does? It’s good to know what your limitations are and how much you can actually put up with. I know I get homesick easily, but can tough it out if need be.

While I've been home, many people have been asking me, "Why are you going back? If you don't like it there, why don't you just come home, start a life, and enjoy yourself?" I must be honest; it's a tempting idea. I've considered applying for a job at the Laramie Community College. I know they're looking for lecturers for the spring semester; but there is a major part of me that doesn't want to chicken out on China, that I would feel like somewhat of a failure and a coward for coming back so soon and not sticking it out. The whole point of me going to China was to have the full experience of living for a year in a third-world developing country and having more to write about. This is the problem with growing up Catholic: you stay in relationships you know aren’t working because you are taught to follow through on your commitments.

So I'm pressing on. I'll return to China on Saturday, finish my current job in Hangzhou for the next three months, and then move to Beijing. Now that I know what is in store for me in the months to come, I think I'm up for it. I may not like things the way they are now, but I am convinced that everything will change in December. I keep repeating that, but it may be because I'm trying to convince myself that it's true. It's my new mantra. "Everything will be all right in December. Everything will be all right in December. Everything will be all right in December..."

You haven't called

That isn't to say I have been waiting by the phone, hoping you'll ring me; but it would be nice to know you cared, China. If I'm going to come back in a few days, you have to show me that you'll change - buy me flowers, offer me real dark chocolate, give me a few more massages.

Do I miss China? No. But I am ready to return. I was unprepared for the culture shock and the devastation of leaving things unsettled back here; but now things are a little clearer. I've had time to stew and regroup. Now I am fit for battle. In spite of a gaggle of mixed metaphors, I'm now more aware of what this year abroad will bring me, especially after looking back at the past four months. They were a warm up.

Yes, the honeymoon is over and the real work begins. This is the part of the relationship with which many people struggle - the middle. Beginnings are new and exciting. You don't know what to expect and you are both so interested in learning. The end is either a bittersweet or just plain bitter, but an end is in sight and the relief is imminent. However, it is in the middle that we can get a little lost. Sometimes, in order to find our way back, we need a little respite, some slight reprieve or temporary amnesty to bring you together again.

China and I may have just saved our relationship. These past days have been an opportunity to gain some keen new perspective. It is often in absence that we appreciate our significant others. I see what she's done here. She's pushed me away just long enough to let me know that I have to be the one to call her. I've been playing a game of chicken without knowing it. Fine. Tomorrow I'll phone China and make plans for a reconciliation. All this for a year-long fling. Let's hope she's worth the trouble.

Not Quite 10 Things I Hate About You

Dear China,

This isn't a love letter and I don't want you back. I have been home in Wyoming for three days now and I don't miss you at all. Since I've made this visit, I've developed a list of reasons why our relationship isn't working. Please take it personally and consider changing before I return next week.

1) You are communist. I am democratic. We come from different backgrounds and that is hard to cope with in a relationship.

2) You repress your people and I want them to rise up and say, "Revolution! Revolt of the proletariat!" But you have not taught the Chinese people to be free thinkers.

3) I don't like your cooking. Your food is hard on me. I think I've said enough about this in the past.

4) Living with you is like living with a messy roommate. I never feel clean and it is always my turn to take out the garbage - never yours. And you smell. Please import deodorant and stop cooking stinky tofu.

5) You keep me from everyone I love. You make me choose between you and my friends and that isn't love. When I left you for Wyoming I realized just how many people I left behind. There are so many people I love here, not to mention friendships that had only just barely begun.

6) You like the heat. I hate living in the heat. I hate the heat. I hate it. I absolutely hate it. That is all.

7) You don't close your mouth when you chew, and that is just gross.

8) You make everything more difficult than it has to be. Everything I try to accomplish in China is either thwarted or sidetracked. It's like my Dad's jolly-rigging job with the kitchen stove. You have to turn on the living room lights to cook an egg. It makes no sense.

9) I'm usually not one to complain about size, but you are too big.

China, you are GREAT for two or three weeks; but after that, the honeymoon is over and I want to get the hell outta Dodge.

Always,
M

Reprieve

China kicked me out. She threw my clothes out on the front lawn of the apartment complex. My laundry fell from eight floors up before it hit the ground. She knows I never wanted the relationship in the first place, but now my poor students are stuck in the middle of a messy split. So, instead of calling it quits for good, it is just a brief separation.

This has been the longest Saturday of my life. On Friday, I registered residency – again – this time with the Bin Jiang District police station, then took a twenty-minute taxi ride back to Xiaoshan’s immigration office to see if I could renew my tourist visa one more time. When I arrived, they told me I had to have a Chinese bank account. I asked the duty officer why. His response was, “I don’t know. It is just policy.” Way to be a robot, dude.

Not only did I need a Chinese bank account (for a tourist???), but I also needed to apply for the renewal in my own district. So, back to Bin Jiang, only to discover that the immigration office closed at 5:00 pm and not 5:30. We arrived at 5:09 to find the office lobby dark and the doors locked up. I bet they didn’t even wait until 5:01 to close. China, man. She’s got a schedule.

So, with my visa expiration approaching within twenty-four hours, I had no choice but to leave the country. Originally, the plan was to fly to Korea, where I would stay with my boss and she would arrange for a business visa. However, you cannot make plans in China. There is no future – only a now. I was later informed that it would not be possible to get a visa in Korea, or any other country besides the U.S. It has something to do with third countries and being an American and Communist bull that I don’t understand. Blah blah blah.

The next morning, I made quick arrangements for a flight from Shanghai to Denver via Chicago. In order to get to Shanghai in time for my flight, the train was out of the question, since it wasn’t guaranteed that there would be seats available. Instead, I hired an illegal taxi to take me straight to Pudong airport.

It took three and a half hours to drive to Shanghai. It consisted of mostly silence, save for two short conversations in broken Chinese about bus exhaust and bridge construction. My flight to Chicago lasted fourteen hours, with a two-hour layover that just barely gave me time to get through customs. The customs officer was surprisingly pleasant – and cute. Finally, I boarded my flight to Denver and passed out in a fetal position the second I found my seat: the last seat of the last row on the plane. It was a two-and-a-half hour flight to Denver, and a two hour drive to Laramie, where I am now safely and comfortable going to fall asleep for the next day or two.

Monday I will send in my application for a new visa. Hopefully it will take a very long time. I’m enjoying English conversation and clean mountain air.

China’s and My Relationship Status

The bad news: China rejected me and wants to break up. The Chinese government denied my request for a business visa because I’ve been in the country too long. Idiocy. My tourist visa expires on Saturday and my boss decided to leave all this until the last minute. Very smart.

My options are these: Tomorrow I will go back to Xiaoshan to the embassy and ask to renew my tourist visa one more time. Likely I will not be able to, since I believe you can only renew once and I have already done so. You can only cheat on China once. She holds grudges and doesn’t forgive easily. The second option: This weekend I will fly to Korea. By leaving the country, I can apply again for a four-month business visa. Maybe China just wants some space. Time apart will make her realize she wants me back.

The timing is terrible. I have family visiting this weekend from Canada and I fear I won’t be able to see them. I’m trying to be optimistic, but China won’t let me. It’s hard to be optimistic in this country when at every turn you find several roadblocks. She’s a jealous and controlling bitch.

The good news: I am now the squatting toilet master. If you can use a squatting toilet on a moving train that’s swaying side to side, you can pee anywhere.

A Day in Shanghai

I live in the Bin Jiang District of Hangzhou. But don’t tell China. According to China, I am now officially a resident of Shanghai.

In order to apply for an F type visa (a business visa), you must register as having residency in the same city as the business that employs you. Technically, I am not employed by the business, but by the head of the corporation himself in order to teach his daughter and niece. But no matter; this is a minor detail.

I took the 11:00 am train to Shanghai this morning. It takes about an hour and a half to get there from Hangzhou. Lucy and I thought we’d leave the apartment at 8:00 am, in case we could get an earlier train, but it was sold out. So, we waited at the Hangzhou train station for two hours. Luckily, I had brought a book with me. Several chapters later, it was time to board.

We were fortunate enough to grab a soft seat. On my previous Shanghai-Hangzhou train experience, I was forced to stand for the duration of the ride. This time, I sat back and continued to read my book. The only distraction was a four-foot middle-aged woman sitting diagonally across from me who proceeded to suck back some fried rice. I read the same sentence several times, trying to mentally drown out the sound of the food traveling from one side of her jaw to the other.

When we arrived in Shanghai, I was amazed to see the sunshine. I had only been to Shanghai once, upon arriving in China. That day was extraordinarily smoggy, just as I had been warned. No one had ever reported sunshine from Shanghai. It was beautiful and it immediately put me in a better mood.

A taxi drove us to a hair salon in a Korean neighborhood where we met Lucy’s friend and boyfriend, who told us where we could go to register as a resident of Shanghai. One form from this building, another from that building, two signatures here, five copies of your passport there, and I was finally registered. Now to apply for the business visa.

The headquarters for the company at which I was supposedly employed were on the third floor of a building not too far from the train station. A worker took my passport and all my documents and paperwork when I entered. I frightened a few fish in the hallway aquarium and watched a 50-year-old Korean managing director chain smoke while talking about his two children. We made idle conversation for a few hours while I waited for who-knows-what.

Whenever I meet the duty officer – and who knows when that will be? – I am instructed to tell him that I am an English translator for a dental company in Shanghai. According to China, I was hired to train engineers how to write professional business documents in English.

After getting our story straight and making sure I knew what the deal was, Lucy and I left Shanghai to return to Hangzhou and our students waiting for us back in Bin Jiang at the apartment. It was a long day, but I shot a few good photographs and got out of town for a few hours.

So, my passport is in Shanghai, on its way to apply for a business visa that will hopefully last me 90 days. We will find out on Friday if it was successful.

I’ve said it before: nothing in China is simple.

Finishing Touches

My day, as I predicted, didn't end in Hangzhou without a few more memorable moments. The first of which was when I tried to use a public toilet. Not realizing it was unisex, I walked in to an unlocked stall, hitting a man in the back with the door. Mid stream, he turned around to scold me. Apparently it was my fault he didn't lock his door.

Sometimes the buses in Hangzhou can take longer than you expect, but are worth the wait. I stood in line for nearly half an hour to board a bus headed back to Xiaoshan. When the next driver decided to finally show up for his shift, we were allowed on the rig. My guess is that the passenger load can carry up to sixty people. Maybe more, considering the standing room. It takes only seconds to fill up one of these city buses. And yet, we sat there for another lengthy span as a pushy pregnant woman shoved sticks of melon in our faces, selling them for a few yuan a piece. I noticed plenty of chewed off sticks that had been dropped on the floor of the bus. She have done quite a bit of business that evening.

Construction in China is never ending. To avoid frustration, it helps to make jabs. "The national bird of China has become the crane," or my favorite, "When is China going to be finished?" Because of the constant changes, the bus ride took a little longer than usual, as we were rerouted to another avenue. When my stop finally approached, I rose and made my way to the back door of the bus. When it lurched to a stop, I was unprepared and my hand leapt to a railing. I stopped myself from falling face first onto the melon-stick-covered floor, but my arm swung in such a way that I pummeled a poor girl in the seat next to the door. My leg went into the side of her chair and I now have a dark bruise that looks like I was assaulted by a baseball bat, Nancy Kerrigan style.

I hobbled off the bus and was limping down ShiXin Bei Lu when a polite young man on a bike offered me a ride. Sometimes you can get lucky and stumble upon these dudes on their bikes who just want to pick up a few extra yuan. It was a relief, but I was too tired and too sore to remember to ask him how much before I hopped on the back of his blue bike. He took me for thirty RMB. A total rip off. I could have hailed a legal taxi cab and payed only seven. That'll teach me to accept rides from strange young Chinese boys on electric bikes. Anyone else ever have that problem?

Weekend Adventures

I have the great fortune to be able to apartment-sit for someone in Xiaoshan until the end of October. So, while the girls do their usual weekend studying back in Bin Jiang, I get to have a few days on my own each week. At first I wondered how I would travel back and forth between districts, but yesterday morning I learned that it is possible to ride my Barbie bike from Bin Jiang to Xiaoshan and still have ¾ battery remaining. Brilliant. Because of limited parking and the inability to access electric outlets, however, I have to drag the bike onto the elevator with me and keep it in the apartment. The hassle is worth it.

Two hours after settling in the apartment, the power went out. I was warned about this and given a pay-as-you-go electricity card that works rather like a debit card. I walked down the hall to the electrical room in order to purchase two months worth of electricity, only to discover the card read as an error. For an hour I was ushered back and forth from security guard to local resident, anyone who would help me figure out this blasted contraption.

Eventually I was told I had to go to the source, like Neo in the Matrix. A security guard gave me the address in Chinese and told me to take my card with me. Outside, a guy on a motorcycle offered to give me a ride. The electric company’s headquarters was less than five minutes away. So, I hopped on and he waited for me to buy electricity, then returned me safely home. This is way better than your average taxi.

Today was yet another adventure. I took a rickshaw to the bus stop where the “gypsy cabs” wait to take you to into Hangzhou. These are illegal mini vans who transport people back and forth from Xiaoshan and Hangzhou. When I got there, I was the only one, so I waited for other passengers to arrive. The cabs won’t drive unless they fill the van. The vehicles look like they’re on their last leg, but can seat seven sweaty passengers. While waiting, I sat down on the curb and watched several cab drivers eat their lunch, the food gloriously hanging out of their mouths.

I looked down at my legs and realized how pasty white they were. In China, this is considered the height of beauty. But to me, it looked sick. To get a little color, I picked a spot on the curb that was completely in the sun. I hiked up my pants above my knees and rolled the sleeves of my shirt above my shoulders so that I could get as much sun on my skin as possible. The cab drivers pointed to a spot next to them in the shade and asked me if I wanted to get out of the sun. I told them I was fine and didn’t want to move. I liked the sun. It didn’t matter how many times I told them, though, they kept asking me to move. They couldn’t comprehend why I wanted to let the sun beat down on me. One driver in particular got up from his spot, squatted beside me - mouth stuffed with food - and tried to persuade me to move. All I could do was stare at the food between his teeth and behind his cheeks. He smiled wide and some of the food fell onto the sidewalk.

When there were finally enough passengers, we left for Hangzhou and I got stuck with the folding seat in the middle row of the van. Every time we turned the corner I was tilted away from the window and practically dropped in the lap of a young Chinese girl sitting next to me. I apologized all the way to Hangzhou.

In Hangzhou, I got out of the cab a little before the bus station, where most of the cabs will drop you off. I decided to walk a little ways until I decided where I wanted to go. Three city blocks later I was overheated and needed a breeze for some relief. I flagged down another rickshaw and asked him to take me to the foreign bookstore. I knew it wasn’t too far, so I asked him how much he would charge. 20 yuan (about 3 US dollars). I thought this was a little expensive for what rickshaws normally charge for the distance I wanted to go; but I decided to bite the bullet.

After twenty minutes or so of weaving in and out of side streets and dilapidated alleys I realized that he was trying to take short cuts without really knowing what he was doing. I politely reminded him where I was going and he seemed to change direction. I love how no one here knows where they’re going. It makes for an interesting ride.
After all that, when I finally got the bookstore, I was bored by the selection and didn’t stay longer than ten minutes. Instead, I walked around West Lake for a little while until it got too hot again and I took refuge in my favorite American embassy: Starbucks.

Here, I wanted to order a plain iced tea. I asked for an iced English Breakfast tea. Not difficult, right? Wrong. They cannot make English Breakfast iced tea. I said to make the tea hot and then pour it over ice. This was too complicated a process for them, so it took a few minutes of persuasion and demonstration to tell them that it is possible to make iced tea from hot tea. So, now I sit with my iced tea melting in the heat while I write on the second story balcony and watch the sun set over West Lake.

The day isn’t over yet. I’m curious what the journey back the apartment will be like.

Some advice on China

A friend from home wrote me an email, asking about China. He is thinking of coming here to teach and wanted my advice on various aspects of such an undertaking. Here was my reply:

Obtaining a job and visa: I would recommend getting a tourist visa to start with. It's easier to obtain and will let you come to China without much hassle. I suggest getting a 90 day visa, just so you're covered for a while. Once you get to Beijing or Shanghai, there are plenty of jobs available. The cities will usually have a magazine for foreigners (in English) that will tell you a little bit about what's going on in the city, including classifieds. Once you get here and secure a job, you can negotiate in your contract that you want the school to sponsor your work visa. This shouldn't be a problem. You will probably have to make a trip outside the country to get this (a weekend in Hong Kong - which is like a vacation in itself).

Salary: Pay all depends on which school, how much they need you, and what position you'll have. Generally, the average salary for a teacher in an international school is pretty good. About 16,000 Chinese Yuan (RMB) per month. That's about $2,300 US dollars. Plus, you get a 6,000 RMB living stipend on top of that. About $800. This covers apartment costs. All in all, a pretty great deal, I think. However, most international schools will not allow you to take extra jobs or tutoring positions outside the school, so what you make is what you make. Private tutoring jobs are ok, but I really recommend trying to go the international school route. I had a position at an international academy, which pays a little less, and now I am a private tutor. I make 10,000 RMB per month with no living stipend because I live with my students. That said, I'm only doing this until December and then I'm moving to Beijing to an international school. I need the money... and Beijing is just way better than Hangzhou.

Transferring money is an issue, too. The banks will not let you wire money to an American account. Your international school (if that's where you get a job) might set you up with a bank account. That's if you're lucky. No worries, then. However, most places will pay you in cash. Banking is relatively new in China. All those things you hear about Chinese technology being better than ours? It's a load of crap. Most businesses don't even know what a credit card looks like, much less accept them as payment. So, if you do get paid in cash, you will have to do what I do. I take my cash to the Bank of China (it's the only bank that will let you do this) and buy American dollars. However, you can only buy $500 at a time (about 3,500 RMB). So of course, multiple trips are necessary. Nothing is simple in China.

Food is also another issue. Real Chinese food is NOTHING like American Chinese food. You will be sick of rice within a week. I promise. I'm not sure how you feel about Asian cuisine, or whether you have dietary needs, but I find it extremely difficult. However, that's probably because I have limiting constraints to my diet: I am a vegetarian AND I have digestion problems. I can't eat fried food and EVERYTHING (and I do mean everything) is fried. They fry salad, for goodness sake. The supermarkets usually have a small international food aisle, so I do alright.

DON'T DRINK THE WATER. You will probably have to buy a water cooler with a hot and cold tap (they're cheap), or if you're lucky, one will be provided for you. I wash all my fruits and vegetables with the hot water. If you buy one of these, just know that when it says "cold" water, they mean room-temperature. The Chinese are just now starting to be ok with cold water. Most of them think it's bad for you. They associate cold water with the water from the taps (which no one drinks because of pollution).

Travel in China: Make sure you take your passport with you EVERYWHERE. You are required to have it in order to check into a hotel or hostel and you are required to have it at the bank. Basically, I suggest just carrying it with you wherever you go. I will say this for China: it's fairly easy to get a train, bus or plane to anywhere in the country. Depending on pure luck, you can often get a good seat deal.

The train is a complete entity unto itself. There are four levels of travel on a train: hard seat, soft seat, hard sleeper, and soft sleeper. Because trains fill up SUPER fast, you will most likely never get a soft seat or a hard sleeper (these are comfortable and the most affordable). So, your options are hard seat (the most uncomfortable, dirty and noisy way to travel, but dirt cheap), or the soft sleeper. Incredibly comfortable and fantastic, but expensive. However, you can get a bus to practically anywhere and it is reasonably priced.

It helps if you can count to ten. There are also hand gestures for each number, which helps when you are bargaining in a market.

Get used to bugs. I saw my first cockroach two months ago.

Be careful of drivers. Anyone with a motorized vehicle (small or large) is absolutely insane. I've been hit twice - once by a car and once by a scooter. They don't care about rules. When I get home I am grateful just to have lived through the traffic. There is a hierarchical order to the road: Buses, trucks, cars, scooters, bicycles, then pedestrians.

No one chews with their mouth closed.

It probably sounds like I'm getting down on China, and, well... I am. It's not the easiest place to live and to be quite frank, I never want to come back here again. That being said, though, I'm glad I came. I'm glad I've experienced it and I think my experience has been FAR better than some other people I know. I hope if you come you'll like it here. It's really cool to experience something SO different.

Please Come Again

On this day in the little town of Laramie in southeastern Wyoming, there is a remembrance for a lovely poet. If only I had ample petty cash – to be able to hop on a plane at a moment’s notice and fly to the other side of the world, simply to celebrate a friendship and a brilliant mind.

Craig Arnold has frequently been on my mind. Only last night I had a dream of him, standing amongst a crowd of admirers, within a great auditorium built to house artists such as he.

He always gave great advice. Sometimes I simply took it without knowing that it was the right choice, but doing so because I figured he knew best. He always turned out to be right. I could trust that.

In this dream, Craig, having fumbled through the mass, stood before me and gave me his advice once again. I listened carefully. I knew it would be important, that I should hold on to this advice because it would affect many future decisions.

When I woke, the advice had left me. I remember his face - nearly a foot above me - his bald head shining with the gleam of the auditorium lights. I could tell you what he was wearing, the tone of his voice, or how much sweat had accumulated on his nose; but I can’t remember the simple words he gave to me that were of such importance. Perhaps they will come back to me when I need them again. For now, I’m just grateful for the visit. I keep thinking I never got around to telling him that he reminded me of a bald Hugh Grant.


At RQA I spent a week teaching W.H. Auden’s “Stop All the Clocks” in my creative writing classes. The voice in the poem stayed in my head for days. I eventually had to mimic its rhythm and tone and there was only one person I knew I could write it for. This is for Craig:



So soon after, and yet so long
To ask in earnest what went wrong.
Open the church doors, call out the mass.
Prop up his coffin, let the people pass.
Arrange the pictures, line them along the mantle.
Let his face sing without preamble.
Lift him high above the rock.
Today we’ll call in the flock.
He carried a song, a light, my heart.
Expect these now to turn to dark.
Close the windows, keep the rain from off the sill.
Leave the wind chimes to their trill.
Over all the echoes, the organ, the slews,
Carve his name in the wood of the pews.
Kiss the orchids tied ‘round your neck.
So prettily they fall, as he did in death.

The apple may never even fall...

I feel myself becoming more like my mother every day. Not only am I eating more mangoes (my mother's favorite fruit), but I'm beginning to sound like her.

Tonight was parent-teacher conferences at the girls' school. Since their parents aren't here, I went instead. I went around to their classrooms and met their teachers. I remembered what it was like for my mother and how I was always terrified about what she would bring home to tell me. I hadn't done anything wrong (usually), but for some reason was horrified my mother would find out I was a different person at school.

The girls were just as anxious to know what I talked about with their teachers. I heard myself saying things like, "All of your teachers had the same comment: you need to speak up and ask more questions in class."

I gave a big lecture, just like my mother used to do, about how it was important to be vocal in class and how, even if they didn't have a question, it was important to voice an opinion or put out some ideas to get a discussion started. I couldn't believe what kept pouring out of my mouth. I was having flashbacks. It made me miss her, but it is also comforting to know that I am turning into her. I could think of a better person after whom to model myself.