Early Mornings

It’s 3:11 am and I’ve been up since 1:56.  Have had less than 3 hours of sleep.  I’m very nearly tempted to resort to reading George’s accounting text to put myself back down.

This last, wee, nighttime hour has been productive though — I’ve finally taken Andrew’s advice and organized my desk top, putting files into folders.  I’ve now got ‘Articles’, ‘Recipes’, ‘Blog photos’ and ‘Writing’ neatly lined up like little soldiers on the left hand side of my screen.  My son will be so proud.

Actually, ‘Writing’ used to just be ‘Untitled’ and is not a new folder, but one that’s been around for a while — and when I first started organizing 30 minutes ago, I’d clicked on it not remembering what had been dumped there.

Over the years, I’d occasionally be bitten by whatever bug it is that has always impelled me to venture into a world of words and put my own down on paper.  Since the age of computing has made it simpler to save one’s work in a medium that’s easily accessible (really bad at physical filing, remember?), a little bundle of bits and pieces of creative writing has followed me from computer to computer.

Occasionally, I’d haul them out, dust them off, read them and change a word here and there.  And then, shut the file again.

Perhaps it’s the grogginess of the early morning hour.  Maybe it’s the satisfaction of finally achieving a clutter-free desk top.  Possibly, it’s the recognition of a certain serendipity with Samantha’s recent post.

I thought I’d share this with you.

(A note — this was written nearly 18 years ago, back when we didn’t own a computer at home, and all computing tasks had to be done at work.  What a foreign concept today.)

Life on the MTR (October 6, 1993)

Sometimes, when you take the MTR, you see interesting things.  And the only reason you were paying any attention in the first place, is because there’s nothing interesting to look at.

There are moments where my mean-spiritedness shocks me.

Needing to work on my resume so I could leave my current job, I had been getting up early and hauling myself into the office for some private time with the computer.  On this grey and dismal morning, I was tired and grouchy, but by 7:30, I was waiting impatiently on the Admiralty subway platform for my train.

As I waited, disgruntled by the hour and utterly cheerless, an awkward, heavyset girl of around fifteen, garbed in an ill-fitting brown schoolgirl’s uniform sidled up next to me, insinuating herself into the amorphous queue to board the train. She was shorter than me, and the train was pulling into the station, so all I noticed was that her hair was greasy and it appeared as though she had tried to cover up a spotty complexion with mis-matched foundation.  Bathed in the unkind fluorescence of the train station, the application of ill-chosen cover-up had the unfortunate and unintended effect of highlighting her raised blemishes.

I distinctly remember thinking that this was one specimen of budding womanhood that was not going to improve with age.  Not the slightest hint of potential lurked.

After wedging my way with the rest of the commuters through the hissing doors and scrambling my way into a seat, I continued, unkindly, to take inventory. Her legs were doughy columns, stuffed into misshapen and manly black loafers; oily, coarse and overgrown bangs were parted precisely down the middle and perched beside her temples in stiff s-shaped wings – an unattractive hairstyle for her (or anyone), which served to particularly highlight her shiny, speckled jowls and large moon face.  Thick, unkempt eyebrows, which matched her mustache, and a victim’s cowed aura, completed her look.

“This,” I thought, “is not a popular girl.”

Since she was sitting directly across from me, I continued to watch her as she reached into a fake brown leather attaché and pulled out a pink Le Sportsac make-up bag, which she opened to remove what looked like a compact.  “It’s always the ugly girls who can’t stop looking at themselves,”  I thought churlishly.  “Now she’s probably going to apply neon coral-colored lipstick, which is not going to help her one bit.”

Instead, out of the little plastic case, she pulled a square sheet of iridescent paper, not more than 3”x3”.  As I continued to watch, she meticulously began folding.  Before long, from her fingers emerged a minute and perfectly formed bird.  The last thing she did was to very carefully spread its delicate paper wings.

Stealing a glance at me, she opened a box sitting on her lap, splashed with brightly colored cartoon frogs.  As she placed her creation inside, I saw that the box was stuffed full with her small treasures, dozens upon dozens of tiny, multicolored, iridescent origami cranes.

I got off the train and walked to work duly chastened.

Photos from the archives

While I carry on an internal debate on the fate of a post whose content is somewhat unsuitable to a family blog, I thought I’d take the opportunity to throw up some photos.

Andrew had one of these up on his Facebook page — I’d forgotten about them.  Look how young the kids look!

These were taken on January 3, 2009.  Just over 2 years ago.

Hey, everybody, look at Mommy!

Joey, attempting to catch flies.

And finally, they cooperate.

As adorable as a pile of puppies.

Where does the time go?

Crushworthy

I have a confession to make.

I have a massive crush.  In fact, I might be in love.

A couple weeks ago, as we were watching BBC (yes, again!), their interview program Hardtalk came on.  Normally, when George turns on the TV, I stay in my little corner of the room, mostly focused on whatever’s on my computer, and a little patch of my attention occasionally gets diverted to the television.  I  might watch for a little bit and toggle back and forth, computer screen, tv screen, computer screen… and so on.

Basically, it means, I’m not really paying attention to anything, or getting anything accomplished.

But, this time, I noticed that on TV was a very attractive woman.   She was older, but beautiful, vivid and compelling.  I stopped whatever it was I was doing on my computer (blogging, likely) and gave my full attention to the program.  And, as great-looking as she was, she was even more captivating for her intelligence and eloquence. Who was she?

On the bottom of the screen was her name, Sylvia Earle.

I googled her right away —  here is what Wikipedia says about her:

Sylvia Alice Earle (born August 30, 1935 in Gibbstown, New Jersey) is an American oceanographer. She was chief scientist for the U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration from 1990–1992. She is a National Geographic explorer-in-residence, sometimes called “Her Deepness” or “The Sturgeon General”.

Hang on — hold it.  As a woman on the wrong side of my 40s, fully aware of the slippery slope of aging, I immediately zoomed in on her birth date.  As early-onset dementia is starting to set in and erase my math skills — not that I ever had many to begin with —  it took me a moment to do the problem.

She’s 75 years old!!!

She looks amazing.

Crushworthy

Wikipedia goes on to document her background.  Wow.

“Education and Career

Earle received a B.S. degree from Florida State University (1955), M.S. (1956) and PhD. (1966) from Duke University. She was Curator of Phycology at the California Academy of Sciences (1979–1986) and a Research Associate at the University of California, Berkeley (1969–1981), Radcliffe Institute Scholar (1967–1969) and Research Fellow or Associate at Harvard University (1967–1981). She led the first team of women aquanauts during the Tektite Project in 1970. In 1979, she made an open-ocean JIM suit dive, setting a women’s depth record of 1250 feet (381m); she also holds the women’s record for a solo dive in a deep submersible (3280 feet, 1000m). From 1980 to 1984 she served on NACOA (the National Advisory Committee on Oceans and Atmosphere). In 1985 she founded Deep Ocean Engineering along with her husband, engineer and submersible designer Graham Hawkes, to design, operate, support, and consult on piloted and robotic sub sea systems. In 1987 The Deep Ocean Engineering team designed and built the Deep Rover research submarine, which operates down to 1000 meters. She left the company in 1990 to accept an appointment as the Chief Scientist for NOAA (National Oceanic & Atmospheric Administration).”

(I don’t even know what’phycology’ is!)

“In 1992 she founded Deep Ocean Exploration and Research (DOER Marine) to further advance marine engineering. The company, now run by her daughter Elizabeth, continues to design, build and operate equipment for deep ocean environments.

Today, Earle serves as an explorer in residence at the National Geographic Society.”

And, if that’s not enough, and you’re not feeling unworthy yet:

“Accomplishments

Earle has led more than 400 expeditions worldwide involving in excess of 7000 hours underwater in connection with her research. From 1998 to 2002 she led the Sustainable Seas Expeditions, a five year program to study the United States National Marine Sanctuary sponsored by the National Geographic Society and funded by the Goldman Foundation. An expert on the impact of oil spills, she was called upon to lead several research trips during the Gulf War and following the spills of the ships, Exxon Valdez and Mega Borg.”

She’s also a prodigious writer.  Where on earth does she find the time?

“Sylvia Earle is the author of more than 125 publications concerning marine science and technology including the books Exploring the Deep Frontier, Sea Change (1995), Wild Ocean: America’s Parks Under the Sea (1999) and The Atlas of the Ocean (2001), she has participated in numerous television productions and given scientific, technical, and general interest lectures in more than 60 countries. Children’s books that she has written include Coral Reefs, Hello Fish, Sea Critters, and Dive!

Earle was named Time magazine‘s first “hero for the planet” in 1998. She is a Knight in the Netherlands Order of the Golden Ark.

She was instrumental in adding a new feature of displaying oceans in version 5.0 of Google Earth.

Additionally, she serves on several boards, including Marine Conservation Biology Institute (MCBI).

 

Sylvia Earle displays samples to aquanaut inside TEKTITE”

The surprise, really, is that I’d had no idea who she was.  Where have I been, all these years?  Clearly, under a rock.

And really, what the hell have I been doing with my life?

On paper, she is scary impressive, but it doesn’t compare with how she comes across on video — by the end of the program, I was not only rapt, I had crept forward until I was sitting directly in front of the TV screen, hanging on her every word.

She had some funny stories about her career as a marine biologist, about her experience as a woman in a male-dominated field,  and was eloquent in her plea to the audience for marine conservation efforts.  Her passion and love for the ocean come through loud and clear and compelling.

Something she said, really moved me — I’m going to have to paraphrase, as I can’t locate the interview online.  Bear with me, as I try to do her words justice.

“Over my many years as a biologist, I have learned two truths about life.  There are many, but here are the two truths I know:

Life on earth consists of a very simple formula.  By that, I mean that there is very little that separates humans from anything else living on this planet — we are not so different from rhinos, or parakeets, or oak trees, or lizards, bacteria, fleas, snakes, cats or fish.  We’re all made up of the same few ingredients in very similar recipes.

And yet, out of this simple recipe for life comes unimaginable, awe-inspiring diversity.  Think of how every person you know is unique, and different.  But it’s not just people.  Every tree, every bird, every flea, mosquito, lizard and cat and dog is absolutely different and distinct from every other individual of its species.  Every single one is different from every other.  Not just in our time, but throughout all time.  How amazing and wonderful is that?”

Sylvia Earle then goes on to illustrate with an adorable story of these five angel fish that she once spent days observing — to the point where she could tell them apart from each other.  They not only had different faces, they had distinct personalities.  One might be shy, when another was curious, always out front and leading the way.

She’s right.  There is something almost incomprehensibly miraculous and wonderful about the diversity that we have in our world.  If only for that reason alone, life is precious.  And, despite our multiplicity and variance, all the creatures on this earth, no matter how  different share so much, not least of which is, this earth.    Which, frankly, her message to us was, we are doing a crappy job of stewarding.

I’m not going to get on my bully pulpit and start lecturing — you’ve all already heard it before, and you know what you should be doing.  I will however, give you a link to a speech she delivered at the TED conferences, where she had been given yet another award.  As she speaks, behind her on a giant screen plays a moving, and visually stunning video.

I defy you to eat another bite of shark’s fin, after watching the image of a shark, ruthlessly shorn of its appendages and tossed carelessly back into the water, slowly, motionlessly, helplessly, sinks down out of view toward the ocean floor.  I don’t know about you, but I can’t seem to wipe it from my neural hard drive.

Anyway — I think Sylvia Earle is wonderful.  She’s what I want to be when I grow up.  Vibrant, passionate, smart, accomplished.  Gorgeous.  And yes, sexy.  Even at 75.

Our daughters are being fed a constant junk food diet of celebrities, who, let’s be honest here, suck the big one as role models.  Kardashian sisters, Spears, both Britney and Jamie,the Disney actresses,  Miley Cyrus and Demi Lovato — the list goes on and on — over-sexualized, troubled, drug-raddled — their values all turned upside down, and not a one famous for anything that could remotely be classified as accomplishment.

What I want to know is — where on earth are the Sylvia Earles of their generation?

Yeah, okay, they’re probably home, doing their homework.

Hairy

Since the horrors of the Japanese earthquake and tsunami, we’ve gotten into the habit of turning on the BBC in the morning.

As we speak, they are interviewing some French social/political commentator on Libya and Qaddafi.

Sometimes, how people look is so distracting that it’s difficult to pay attention to what is coming out of their mouths.  I don’t mean to be superficial, but here, you be the judge:

What IS that?

This is not a bad looking guy, but I would wager that he is not married, or in a relationship.  No self-respecting woman would allow their man to appear on international media coiffed like that.

I watched him for a good few minutes and couldn’t figure out what he was trying to say, so fascinated was I by his unusual protuberating tuft.  (‘Protuberating’ — I’m making that up, but you know what I mean.)  Looking like that is clearly incompatible with effective communications.

As I gaped, fascinated, and with a sense of reluctant admiration for his utter lack of self-consciousness,  I was struck by a sense of deja vue.  And then, I realized.  I already had a photo of his hairdo in my photo library.

 

Things that make you go, 'hmmm'.

Crabby — It’s a Good Thing

Yummm

Yesterday, when George hobbled back home from basketball, the limp courtesy of a charlie horse from being way too old to be slamming into your friends at 7 am, he told me, “Norm said Greg is going to be in town tonight.”

I waited for clarification.  I had no idea who Greg was.

“They’re getting together for dinner tonight, along with Ed and Bridget.  They’re going to have crab at that new restaurant from Singapore, ‘No Signboard Seafood’.  We’ve been invited to join them.

Crab?  Ohh, Greg!!!  Why didn’t you say so?   I love Greg!

Yeah, okay, still no idea who Greg was.

To be fair, I’d never met Greg in the old days back when they all hung out together in New York — for whatever reason, our paths had never crossed.  But he knew my sister Gayle, and I think everyone just sort of assumed we’d met.

No matter.  The important thing was, he was coming to town, the result of which was, crab.

In my many criss-crossings of Causeway Bay to pick up and drop off the kids from school, I’d seen the ‘No Signboard’ sign go up and heard it was a famous crab restaurant from Singapore that was coming to Hong Kong.  Luckily for us, it had opened up in the past week and Norm had managed to snag a table that evening.

I was also really looking forward to spending time with Ed and Bridget and Norman and Noriko — it had been way too long since we’d seen them.

This is pathetic, especially in the case of Ed and Bridget, because if you don’t know, they live right above us.

I don’t just mean in the same building — I mean, our ceiling is their floor.

But, digressing here.

We disembarked the car in Causeway Bay around the block from the restaurant and, as a sort of pre-dinner visual assault/aperitif, were accosted by a store window display of, quite possibly, the ugliest clothes in all of Hong Kong, which, if you know Hong Kong at all, is an achievement of the highest magnitude.

Blindingly tasteless in a way that could put clowns out of business.

It wasn’t even that the clothes themselves were mind-bogglingly objectionable — the shop, named ‘Merci Beaucoup’ (thanks very much for making me want to stick a hot poker in my eye?) managed to increase the level of ugliness exponentially by cleverly combining the clothes in such a way as to achieve a soaring geometric progression of unsightliness.

This was proudly and prominently displayed  in their front window:

Sexy.

The unloveliness of these outfits reverberated with such jarring and discomfiting resonance with Bridget and me that I actually left the restaurant after we’d been seated, in order to take these photos.  They are so remarkable in their awfulness, that I just had to share.

I’m hoping that the purveyors of these clothes are being ironic and somehow, we’d missed it.

Now that I’ve accosted your sensibilities, let me make it up to you.

On to dinner.

Taken from the street as I walked back from my foray into fashion photography. Think they were debating the merits of white pepper vs chili crab.

No Signboard Seafood is on Paterson St., with the entrance on Fashion Walk Alley, which, if you haven’t been, is a pleasant little enclave of al fresco restaurants along a walkway, smack dab in the middle of busy, bustling, honking, traffic-dodging Causeway Bay.

The restaurant itself is clean and crisp and new, with a bright, modern feel.  And, when I say ‘bright’, I mean that if you’re over 40, there will be no doubt left in anyone’s mind as to your age.  On the bright side (no pun intended), if you forget your reading glasses, you’ll still easily be able to order off the menu.

There’s a holding tank as you walk through, where you can view candidates for your plate.

That's not one giant mutant snow crab -- that's a boy crab and a girl crab, on a date. Hubba hubba.

I didn't really need to post this photo, but the colors were just too gorgeous to resist.

The menu looked great, with various Singaporean-style offerings, but we came to eat crab, and far be it for us to lose focus.

With the exception of some deliciously spicy Chinese water spinach, competently executed sweet and sour pork (to remind us of our American-born Chinese roots) and some fabulous little ‘Ant Octopi’ (better than it sounds, more on that later) we ATE CRAB.

One of my favorite kinds of vegetables, and these were delicious.

No Signboard Seafood is famous for it’s White Pepper Crab, which was terrific — the crab was huge and meaty, and tender and sweet, with the subtle flavors of the crab overlaid with the stimulating zestiness of white pepper and the freshness of scallion.

White pepper crab.

My favorite though had to be the traditional Singaporean chili crab.  We were served a humongous beast of a crustacean — but its brawny, armored and frankly, spicy exterior hid a sweet and generous cache of tender meat.  And the sauce — generous amounts of piquant chili smothering the crab and pooling in the serving plate — it’s eyes-rolled-into-the-back-of-the-head, brain-short-circuitingly good on white rice, or sopped up with the fried or steamed man tou (Chinese-style plain buns) you order for just that purpose.

Chili crab - the stuff of dreams.

The crab was so good we ordered two.  Of each.

Here, it’s not just not bad manners to lick your fingers — it’s de rigueur to do so.  And a crime not to.  Wasting a drop of that sauce would be nothing short of criminal.

We also ordered a dish of fried baby ‘ant’ octopi — I’d never had them before, and they were toothsome and delicious.  Crispy, giving way to a bit of chewiness, spicy and sweet, if you don’t watch yourself, you’ll keep popping them in your mouth until the whole plate disappears.  You won’t even realize how it happened.

Bet you can't eat just one.

The spice in the food was underscored by the spicy stories that Ed dug out of George’s ancient history, about a certain, aggressive young co-ed of our mutual acquaintance — because a little mortification is good for one’s soul.    And gut-busting laughter is good for everyone else.

We had a great time last night — the food was fabulous, and the company equally, if not more so.

George, Ed, Norm and hey, it's Greg!

Our host for the evening -- thanks Norm and Noriko!

Technology and The Force

For those of you who don’t know, although I suspect most of you do but are too polite to mention it, I am a technology noob.  I barely know how to do anything on the computer, and what I can do is probably achieved in the least efficient, most digressive and tangential way.

I am also very disorganized and have never figured out how to file properly.  This has dire implications for our household, which we won’t get into here, but also, when this greased slide into entropy is combined with my techno-ignorance, it results in a shambolic computing environment.

Perhaps not the end of the world, but my kids can’t stand it.

“You know, Mom, you could put stuff into folders,” Andrew said, making an effort to keep censure from his tone.

Samantha takes a more proactive approach.  Sometimes, if she’s sitting next to me, she’ll wordlessly pull my computer onto her lap.

“Hey!” I’ll say.

“Wait,”  she’ll reply.

Her slender little fingers will fly across my keyboard and something will happen on my screen that makes my computing life simpler and more effective, or more aesthetically interesting.  My Adium icon will magically appear on my dock, and I won’t have to keep searching it up on Spotlight every time I restart my computer.

She also took it upon herself to alphabetize my iPhone apps.

“See?  Isn’t it easier this way?” she’ll chide.

Or, she’ll decide it’s time to redecorate my cyber-surroundings, going into my System Preferences and calling up my options and asking me to choose a new desktop background.

It’s not really that I don’t know how to do these things for myself, or can’t figure them out; it’s that I can manage just fine and accomplish what I need to with the methods I already have in my employ, and I’ve had this computer for long enough that I’m no longer intrigued by playing with the bells and whistles.

And I have an irrational dread that trying to change things up may result in unintended results that I won’t know how to back out of.

A few days ago, early in the morning, I noticed George had a cool new screen saver up.  Pretty, luminous dots of color would flare up and slowly fade in various hypnotic patterns on his screen.  Frankly, I was a little covetous.

So, when Sam made me change my desktop background, I also went back a little later and found the screen saver I liked and changed some settings around just for fun.

This morning, Sam and I were sitting on the sofa together, each busy with our own computer.  She has an uncanny ability to know what’s going on in my techno-universe, even when she doesn’t appear to be paying attention.

She’d seen my new screen saver and new settings.

Without taking her eyes off her own screen, I heard her murmur, “So, my young Padawan has learned to use her System Preferences…”

Yes, my little Jedi Master.

P.S.  Did you know, if you Google ‘padawan’ for an exact definition, the first entry that comes up is on a website called Wookieepedia?

A ‘padawan’, by the way, is an apprentice to a Jedi knight, or master.

The Force is with her.

Indulgent photo post

I took quite a few photos in China this past week; unfortunately, these are not photos that CIS can use in a slide show, or can be used to better understand the different schools we visited.  They’re just photos of sights I found interesting.

Scenes from Kunming:

We sat and had really terrible-tasting beverages next to this view.

Close up of a branch hanging over the water.

I once saw a car in Hong Kong the color of that duck's head. Gorgeous.

Scenes from Nanjing:

Looking straight up from the approach in front of the old school building.

Another photo of barren trees. I have a lot, so brace yourself.

We did a walkabout in Nanjing around the neighborhood the school is situated in — as part of our research, we walked into a market:

All sorts of dried stuff that will taste good in soups.

Pickles, anyone?

If you can't take the heat...

I love these colors

Abundant veggies.

Fresh. And sort of Italian looking.

Speckled.

Every kind of tofu product imaginable.

Coordinating your outfit to match your produce.

An extra-terrestrial mushroom.

Everywhere we went, there were strawberries and they were utterly fragrant and sweet.

One of our evenings in Nanjing, we were pumped full of red wine and bai jiu (a fiery and potent Chinese white liquor).  All the good will from all the intemperate toasting spilled over into the wet night after dinner, and we took a walk.  We were clearly in a very touristy area, but the photographs look great.

Which came first, the tourist or the attraction?

Garish can be attractive.

More bright lights.

When we got to Hangzhou, the wet and cold followed us there.  But after we had lunch that first day, we couldn’t resist and took a walk by the West Lake and the neighborhood around our hotel.

Pretty much everywhere you look, it's beautiful.

There's something about a bridge.

I told you I like branches.

There's something romantic about an umbrella.

If I were a child, there is no way I could resist swimming out so I could sit on that massive bronze buffalo.

Just one more tree shot.

You never know what you might find down a little alleyway.

Raising the red lantern .

Nostalgic Nanjing

During the tour of our potential partner school in Nanjing, they took us to the site on their campus where our China Center would be situated.  On that site sits a dilapidated but unapologetic old building which they’d be willing to let us use.  They were quite sheepish about the property, like they were offering us shit on a stick and trying to pass it off as Spam — “It’s very old,” they said by means of apology.

In this stage of China’s development, there is a headlong rush to embrace the new and modern and demolish anything the slightest bit dated or fusty.  In my eye, this building has integrity, with strong, generous lines and a certain forthrightness of attitude.  To the Chinese, it’s just an embarrassment and a reminder of not quite having caught up.

The only building in the entire school that doesn't scream 'Bureaucrat-approved design'.

The side view's pretty charming too.

No one has used this building (at least, for approved purposes) in what appears to be decades.  Doors are barricaded with rusty iron gates, old wooden bannisters are bricked over, and when we stepped into one classroom to admire the high ceilings and generous proportions, it reeked pungently of urine.

You can see that there used to be wooden railings.

Can't you see the students casting a longing glance out the window while rushing to get to class on time?

On a beautiful day, this could be lovely

Gloomy and ramshackle, but there's light at the end of the tunnel.

Although the classroom had clearly been used as someone’s toilet recently, we milled around to have a look, and interestingly enough, nobody had ever thought to erase the blackboards!  According to the teachers who accompanied us, the building hadn’t been used in years and years — reading the blackboards felt a lot like being able to reach out and touch history.

In the day of the traveling salesman?

In case you are having problems reading through the graffiti, on the board is written:

“What do you need most now, Madam,” said the salesman after showing his company’s products.  “What do you need most at home, now?”

“Money, sir,” the woman said, with honesty.

How great is that?

But my favorite has to be this:

Ain't that the truth?

Paper cranes for Japan :) by Sam

Yesterday I saw some kids in my year getting origami paper from people and making paper cranes.  Later I found out that they were not just making them for no reason, they were making them for Japan.  The person that organized this is in my year’s student council rep, Katherine Yang.  She has been asking people to make paper cranes because the Japanese believe if you make 1000 paper cranes for someone, that means good luck.

Right now the count I am pretty sure is like 298 paper cranes, i don’t remember but it was a large number.

We still had a lot to make so while I was in our upper primary gym watching people practice for Dance Idol, Katherine came along.  It was funny also because when I was watching people in my year dancing, I also spotted Jasmine and Georgina Savage making paper cranes while in the middle of a dance.

Since Chinese New Year I have enjoyed doing origami.  So I asked Katherine how to make a paper crane and if I could help. Of course she said she would teach me and that I could join because she is one of the most nicest people in my year, and of course she needed as many people as possible.  So when I got home I went straight to finding my origami paper and trying to make them. Because I forget things easily I could only remember some of the steps so I went online and found out how to make it, here is my finished product:

P.S. my mom did all the captions, the pictures i took

'How YOU doin'?

Which way is south?

Shouldn't have had that third pint...

Hey, get your wing out of my face!

Welcome Home

After a week away in China visiting sites for CIS’s China Center, living out of a suitcase and ingesting tableful after tableful of lavish government-official-hosted banquet dinners I was so happy to arrive safely back home.

Never before this trip have I had the privilege of being served such an abundance of whole, sea cucumbers in such quick succession.  I just want to know — how can something with such an inert name have such a malevolent, toadish demeanor?  They look like spiky, weaponized penises and have the texture of what I imagine over-cooked penises would have  — slimy mouthfeel with a spongy, disintegrating ‘give’ — it’s what I assume eating boiled silicon caulk in brown Elmer’s glue would feel like.

Imagine these on a plate, in a puddle of brown goo. DEE-LISH!!!

It’s my personal opinion that many more foreign deals would be successfully concluded if sea cucumber were stricken from the menus of Chinese official banquets.

So you can imagine how I felt when I came home to this:

For Andrew, "Food = Love", whether giving OR receiving.

Just so you know, this is the leftover of what Auntie Lisa bought him for snack today after drama practice — what Auntie Lisa was doing buying him an entire bagful of Jalapeno Cheetos, I don’t know.  Andrew claims that he was going to eat just some and bring the rest home to share with his siblings — but decided that he was going to save it all (all the leftovers from his snack, I mean) for me.

Now that’s love.

Those of you who are sharp of eye may also recognize the See’s bag hiding behind the Cheetos.

Inside the See’s bag is a pound of Nuts and Chews — my favorite.  That’s from my husband, but I suspect he’s expecting me to share.