Another Pic of Andrew

This is a picture of Andrew with a local shop proprietor. This should go with the previous post that talked about how much the shopkeepers like Andrew.

Day 3

Still from previous day:  We heard fireworks this morning. I thought it odd to hear fireworks at ten in the morning. Andrew told me it was a new business opening, and they were lighting fireworks to ward off evil spirits. Last night, on the wild taxi ride from the bus station to Andrew's apartment, I saw a man lighting a rather large fire on the street corner. Again, Andrew explained--he was burning money to appease the spirits of his dead ancestors. It is not an uncommon sight.

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Monday

Slept fairly well, from 10:30 to 2:30, and from about 3:30 to 8:30. We didn't do much in the morning but were at Andrew's school by 11:15 to meet his liaison for lunch.  His liaison, Victoria, is a very sweet lady, who was recently put under water as a sister. Her responsibility is to work out all the situations, and any problems that might arise, for the foreign teachers here. We went to the third floor staff dining room. It was a cafeteria line similar to any college dining room in the states. I chose cauliflower and chicken, and an eggplant dish, with a bowl of white rice. Fortunately, spoons were available as well ask chopsticks. No drink was offered. Andrew had to go back down to the first floor store to get us each a bottle of water. The food was good, spicier than American-style Chinese food. My stomach is still getting acclimated.

 

I am writing this in a coffee shop on the campus as Andrew has a tutoring session with one of his students. He is a good teacher.

 

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I enjoyed watching Andrew work with his student. He had had her to write down ten words she was unfamiliar with, from an American movie she watched this week. She wrote down "dictator" and "equity," among other words, another of which was..."repentance." Andrew walked right through that open door.

 

After the tutoring we went to the building where Andrew has his office and one classroom. His boss was in. I met the boss, Peter, a very nice and friendly man who speaks fluent English and who performed on his classical guitar for us. A student came in as we were talking and Andrew introduced me. Well, then word started to filter out that his mom was here, and one by one or two they started coming in. Some were very friendly; one girl was extremely shy and did not want to raise her eyes to me; Peter told me that that was because she is a remnant of the old China where women were not supposed to be confident but were to keep their eyes to the ground.

 

On the way to the edge of campus, we met a couple who are a brother and sister in the local group. Andrew knows them well. He said the way has not been easy for them. I will see them again at the coffeehouse that serves as a gathering point for the local "family." While we were talking to them, a man came right up to us, stood only about five feet away, and stared at me. Not just briefly, but for probably two full minutes. It was extremely awkward feeling as he just continued to stare. Andrew said he is a migrant worker, and has probably never seen a white woman before. I am not yet used to being the object of indiscreet stares, and really prefer being my anonymous self.

 

Another teacher came over in the late afternoon and after they left to get something to eat, I walked out on the front porch of his residence building. Sitting outside were an English teacher from Ireland, and three students who have just received master's degrees from the University--one from Ghana and two from South Africa. There are very few foreigners in this area overall, but those who are here are very cosmopolitan.

A few pics from China

A few miscellaneous pics from the first day or two:

 

Andrew and his student:

Andrew with his boss:

Andrew' building:

High rises as seen from the train:

OSHA, where are you???

With brother and sister

Workers outside of Andrew's building who just got a new bbq:

Day 1

Doing this from a's apt.  Gotta work fast as Internet is sketchy. 

Saturday night 6/20/14

Well. Had I known what was ahead of me .. . . .

I made my way to the gate at GSP, only to hear that my flight was delayed for two and a half hours due to storms in Chicago. I'm too tired to outline the entire day, but will just say that I went from GSP to Washington DC to Los Angeles to Beijing in 32 hours.

To complicate matters, I thought my iPad was going to be permanently locked down until I could get it home and sync it to Mike's (due to forgetting a password). I had to stand in line for over an hour just to get my ticket changed at Washington Dulles. I had a middle seat on a five-hour flight to Los Angeles. And my luggage was lost at the end, due to all the flight changes, and it took me about half an hour to find and retrieve it, knowing that Andrew was waiting outside and didn't know what was taking me so long.

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I am wider awake now, Sunday morning, and will attempt to fill in a few more details.

The actual flight to Beijing ended up being on Air China due to the changes in the itinerary. That was an experience in itself. The plane was huge and there were about a dozen attendants. All were young girls, except for two in slightly different uniforms who were slightly older and appeared to be the supervisors. It was a throwback to flights when I was younger. It is obvious that "equality" was not part of the job description-- no middle aged men attendants like you get on some US flights. The girls were extremely well dressed. The cabin was immaculate with a pillow and blanket at each place. It was like they looked at US airlines and said "How can we do this better?"

There were two meals served. The breakfast one was especially interesting--it was an unusual mixture of east and west, as well as all three meals of the day. It was rice, beef, and vegetables, potato salad with little pieces of ham, a dinner roll, fruit, and a container of yogurt!

After figuring out the luggage (I finally just walked into a hallway marked "employees only," found the storage room, and saw my bag and took it), I went through customs easily, walked around a corner, and there was Andrew waiting. We had a wonderful reunion after ten months.

We got a taxi and went to the hotel where he stayed, and I was supposed to stay, the night before. I was able to get a nap, but deliberately kept from sleeping too long. We checked out and headed for the train station. That was my first real introduction to China. People milling about everywhere--yet A. said if you can see the ground where you are going, the crowd is light. Just masses and masses of milling people, dressed in every conceivable combination of clothing, finding trains and food and maybe just walking about for no reason at all. We got a lot of stares. We only saw maybe a half a dozen other white people. Everyone else is Oriental.

We boarded our train in the throng of people--A. says get used to having your personal space invaded--and had window seats for the six-hour ride to his city. Loved seeing the sights. Everywhere were huge high rises--some nice, some hovels--followed by open fields. There were people working in every field--all agriculture is done by hand. We saw lots of cornfields and a few rice paddies; fields of various products everywhere. As Andrew says--it takes a lot of food to feed a billion+ people.

I got stiff and decided to walk back to the "standing car," where standing riders and others went to stretch. (People can buy "standing tickets" and then they buy little folding chairs and just find a place to sit anywhere they can find a spot.). And that was a shock. As soon as I walked into the car, all eyes came up and watched me walk through the car. Tall middle aged white women are a very uncommon sight. It was very unnerving, as they have no qualms about staring. I finally just started smiling at people, and most smiled back. Welcome to China.

We had to get a taxi as our ticket let us off at a new station that Andrew is unfamiliar with, and didn't know how to get to the subway/elevated system. Frankly, I don't know if I could have negotiated another public transportation situation at that point. We got a crazy taxi driver. He wanted another fare since he was driving all across the city, so he drove around and around, AGAINST the traffic. Andrew said he's never seen anyone do that. The driver was unhappy with the fare we had negotiated. Finally Andrew said--OK, 80 RMD (the money) and he took us. He cleared his throat and spit out the window 19 times. (Yes, I counted.) He let us out at the university where Andrew lives, and we had to walk down a dirt path becausethe road is being worked on. The lighting was very poor. I was extremely relieved to finally get there. Showered and climbed into bed after 53 hours. Andrew is kindly sleeping on the floor so his mom can have his bed

Sunday

I slept nine hours, only awake for about a half an hour around 4 am. I awakened to the sound of Andrew leaving to go to the market for eggs. He also got fruit--oranges, apples, and cherries. He made me some scrambled eggs in his tiny kitchen.

We went for a walk that extended into a short tour of his living area. The shops and market are nearby and I got initiated into a piece of the culture. The market where he buys meat is especially interesting. The fish are alive. You can't stop and look too long at any of the stalls or they expect you to buy. The vegetables in the vegetable stalls are a lot like home--cabbage, carrots, cauliflower. There was an interesting vegetable that was a cross between cabbage and the bottom part of a celery stalk that was also on my trays on the plane. There are cherries that look like Bings but are light colored in the center. I will take the camera and get pics at some point.

Shops like to have English names. There is a new small bakery called Memory Bread.  (A tray of bread slices in the bakery is labeled. "Bread flavored.") There is a smoothie/drink shop called "It's Time To." No correlation in name and product...but it's English.

We went to the Meeting of Andrew's group on Sunday afternoon. It was a time of sharing and singing and eating as well. Later the group went to the volleyball courts, and I saw how it works. I met a young Sister who came to play volleyball. During one of the games, another group of about four young girls walked by and waved excitedly--turns out they saw their teacher and were waving to her. One of those girls stayed and played as well. I noticed that the teacher made a specific attempt to make sure that the student met the Sister. Nothing may ever come of it, but then again, maybe it will. The teachers here play a key role in connecting people to the groups of brothers and sisters who cannot speak openly in these surroundings.

Sent from my iPad

Long trip--not near over yet

Well--if a United employee at gsp had not missed that the Air China flight was NOT confirmed like she said it was--after the Chicago flight was delayed 2 1/2 hours and I was rerouted thru DC--I would not be sitting in Los Angeles right now and waiting six more hours before another 12-hour flight!!

And LAX is the most poorly marked airport I've ever been in. Not to mention the most poorly designed. Followed by Washington Dulles as far as the signage/information go.

It will be a miracle if my luggage catches up to me.

Aunt Louise

My sister says that every child ought to have an Aunt Louise.  She's got a point.  Aunt Louise not only had all the character qualities of a good aunt, she also had a trump card.  She was in charge of a complete retail toy department.  Every child's dream.

Aunt Louise was the third sister of the triumvirate of Grandma Hemmer, Aunt Hulda, and herself.  She worked uptown at the local hardware store as the bookkeeper and toy buyer.  When we visited in the summer, we were masters at "working" Aunt Louise.  We'd gaze lovingly at whatever our hearts were currently fixated on, and we usually got it, or at least a good lead on it for Christmas.  I think she knew we were working her over, and she knew she was allowing it, but she didn't mind.

She had a standard routine.  She walked up the brick sidewalk to town, to get to work by 8:00.  We walked up about an hour later, with $2.00 from Grandma, to go to the bakery next to the hardware store, for donuts so fresh and hot that to say that they melted in our mouths was not a cliche.  We'd stop and say hello to Aunt Louise briefly then, but saved another trip for later in the morning or the early afternoon.  That's when we'd turn on the toy psychology.

At noon, Aunt Louise walked the three blocks home for lunch, then went back to work from 1-5.  Often we would walk partway back toward the store to meet her on her way home at the end of the day.

Aunt Louise visiting us in Alabama; this is right before a piano recital.

Aunt Louise would work in her extensive flower garden during the summer evenings as we played with the old-fashioned pump or found other amusements. She was a master flower grower, and her roses in particular were exquisite.  I still think of Aunt Louise every time I smell petunias.  She always let us "help," or at the very least, she never made us feel like we were in the way.  Sometimes, as dusk approached, we would drive up to "The Whip" and get ice cream cones.  If she was feeling really generous, we'd get them dipped in chocolate.

She also sewed - not so much for herself as for others.  And I can't get away from talking about these aunts and Grandma without saying more about their World Relief efforts.  At the time, having fifteen or twenty women come in every other Friday night was just a fun activity for me, but looking back, I see what effort it represented.  They really put out the knotted blankets, stuffed animals, and other stitched items to be donated to the poor and needy.  These women "did what they could" just like Mary in the New Testament (Mark 14).  Like so many other things I realize about the four women just written about, adulthood puts their actions in a much different perspective.

She was a faithful caregiver to her sister after Aunt Hulda's stroke.  I can't imagine the extra pressure that that must have put on her.  She was always cheerful about it.  That, too, now speaks volumes.

There was one final item about Aunt Louise's lunch hour routine that I have never forgotten.  After eating her lunch, she would sit in her chair in the living room, pull out her Bible and devotional, and spend about fifteen minutes reading and meditating.  We didn't bother her.  She never said a word about doing it; she was never interested in impressing us with it; she just did it.  Faithfully.  Quietly.  Aunt Louise didn't talk a big talk.  Aunt Louise walked a big walk.

Aunt Louise was the last of these four women to pass away.  I was unable to go to her funeral - one of the children was sick, and it was just not practical at the time.  But I did listen to the recording of it.  One of the ministers who spoke reminisced about how as a young boy he cut the grass at their home, and Aunt Louise always paid him generously - and brought him a sweet roll and something to drink.  If she asked him to do extra work, she paid him extra money.  He didn't miss this.  He told the people at the funeral that Aunt Louise's Christian example was one of the things that caused him to think about his life, and consider whether he needed to make some changes - which he eventually did.  She played a part.

Someone has said "You should be a witness for Christ at all times.  And if necessary, you should use words."  Aunt Louise didn't need words.  She was an outstanding example of Christianity in life and deed.  And that was enough.

Grandma K.

News flash:  I was Grandma K.'s favorite grandchild.  She never said it in so many words, but I always knew it.  She was always delighted to see me and paid me attention as if I were the only child in the world.  However, unfortunately, the other 21 grandchildren all felt the same way.  I've had several of them tell me that they thought they were her favorite also.  That's just the way she treated us - 22 individuals, each of whom was the most important person in the world to her.

Grandma K. was my dad's mother.  She reared six children over a period of forty years - her youngest was born when her oldest was serving in the Navy during World War II.  As children, my siblings and I loved going to her house.  Some specific memories:  Playing with her old-fashioned telephone.  (Her number, until Ma Bell finally took over the small-town phone company, was 4-Blue.)  Setting up cots in the living room for cousins to sleep on.  Playing airplane on the stairs.  Investigating the basement and pounding on the really old manual typewriter down there.  Drinking Pepsi and eating pretzels after Sunday church.  Being at huge family Christmases where everyone got all their presents and then tore into them at once - then all the gifts were displayed on the dining room table.  Taking a bath in the huge claw-foot tub in the huge upstairs bathroom.  Eating with pearl-handled forks and knives at the kitchen table - and the knives were fat and rounded at the ends.  (Interesting the little details a person remembers about her childhood.)

Grandma K. was a great cook.  There were differences in the foods that each of my grandmas presented out of their kitchens, but both were outstanding cooks.  I especially remember Grandma K.'s cubed steak, her apple pie, Gridley cheese, and smooth cottage cheese.  I also remember her Christmas candies and cookies.  My dad and sister liked her chocolate cookies, but I preferred her fudge (to die for) and chow mein clusters.  

I stayed with her on the weekends while going to school for a year in Illinois.  She always had good food prepared; she always had a bedroom ready; and she always was delighted to see me.  We would sit in her den and watch Lawrence Welk shows while she did needlework - tatting, embroidery, or crochet.  Once I was really sick with strep throat, and she took me to her doctor, got the medicine, and took wonderful care of me.  I never forgot that.  

At that time, she had been a widow for about 17 years.  She still talked lovingly of Grandpa K., and how much she loved him, and how much she still missed him.  It seemed to me, an all-knowing 19-year-old, that that was practically a lifetime ago, and how could a person still miss someone who had been gone for 17 years.  Now, with the perspective of my own age, the length of her love and sorrow seems much more realistic.  It is very nice to know that they had a deep and abiding love.

Grandma K. with my dad, in her den

There was something about the way Grandma K. carried herself that was very reminiscent of the beauty of the olden days.   I remember once when we were in the car, getting ready to go to church, and Dad was helping his mother to the car over the icy patches on the sidewalk, as she daintily held to his arm.  I remember saying to my mom, "Grandma is really pretty, isn't she?"  Which Mom affirmed  quickly. 

She had a lovely soft-spoken way of talking, and she would tilt her head and smile as she said something.  She had fun phrases.  She'd say "Well, forevermore!" And, if there was a young couple in love, she'd say that they were "dippy" about each other.

She was a good letter-writer.  She gave presents to all her grandchildren at Christmas until infirmity prevented her from doing so.  She loved us all.  She didn't need validation from the outside world to feel like she was someone important; her family, her community, and her Lord and her church, made up her life.  

Grandma K. passed away in 1992, and I took my then-9-month-old daughter with me on a plane to  her funeral.  She was a wonderful woman, and I miss her.

Grandma Hemmer

Grandma Hemmer, my mother's mother, didn't talk much.  She was too busy working to have a lot of time for small talk.  I have very few memories of her not working at something - work was  her life.

That's the way it is when, in a three-year span, you go from being a bride, to being a widow with two children, in an era when there was little help from outside.  In the Depression, no less.  When her husband died in a tragic accident, leaving her with a two-year-old and a two-month-old, she had to move back in with her own mother and sisters, and go to work.  She did housework and worked in a canning factory.  When she was older, she began working in a school as the cook, which is the job I remember her doing.

One time when I was in about fifth grade, we made it to Illinois for the Christmas holidays before her school was out, and I got to go to school with her for the last day.  It was a small school, grades 1-8, and one class per grade.  It was a Friday, so she made her usual dessert for Friday's lunches - homemade cinnamon yeast rolls.  Can you imagine, getting cinnamon rolls from scratch, every Friday, in a school lunch!!  I remember helping her with the dough that morning, and observing her and her helper get everything else done as well.

She was a wonderful cook.  I measure the quality of anyone's yeast rolls, pies, and other baked goods against her standard.  People who rave over bakery cakes and other store baked goods (that taste like cardboard in comparison) were not fortunate enough to have a grandmother of German heritage who knew how it really should be done.

Summers, my siblings and I, in various combinations, would spend several weeks with her and her sisters.  I remember well seeing Grandma bent over her asparagus patch, or picking tomatoes, or making applesauce out of the apples we picked up under her tree.  We'd drive out into the country and buy corn on the cob, which she would make for supper, along with creamed asparagus from the garden, cucumbers, and other good foods, which we would eat on the screened-in porch out back.  If my folks were there, Dad would compliment her on her good cooking, and she would nod and smile.  

Sometimes, on hot July mornings, she'd bring out a huge stack of leftover fabric, and we would cut out quilt patches on the big table on the back porch.  Then we'd go down to the sewing machine in the cool basement and sew them together for comforter tops.  My job was to keep the fabric squares coming to her - first a light one, then a dark one.  When ladies came for World Relief sewing every other week to their home, they would knot these comforters along with other sewing projects.  There is no telling how many people in the world were warmed by their efforts over many years.

Also in the summers, Grandma would come to Alabama to take care of us while Mom was in school getting her teaching license.  She cooked and worked just as hard at our house - it was no vacation for her.  And in addition to all that, she would crank out hundreds of rice krispie bars, brownies from scratch, and other treats for the three vacation Bible schools that we were involved in each year.  Not a task for the fainthearted.

In her later years, Grandma got emphysema.  How a woman who never went near a cigarette in her life got emphysema is hard to believe, but she did.  So a constant cough became her companion.  She moved to the Skylines, the church home for the elderly, and God gently took her home in the fall of 1980.  

On one of my beds is a comforter made during her last years, with the other ladies at the home.  It's not fancy, just knotted just like all those World Relief quilts.  Somehow we ended up with it, and even though it's not the prettiest piece of needlework she ever made, I'm very glad to have it, as a final reminder of a grandmother who served God by serving people, by getting the job done.  Elisabeth Elliot says that when you are overwhelmed, just do the next thing.  That's how my grandma, with the help of God, got through life.

Aunt Hulda

For some time I have wanted to do a series of posts about four wonderful women - two grandmothers and two great-aunts - who were a major part of my (and my siblings' and cousins') growing-up years.  If possible I'd like to accomplish this before going to China.

Aunt Hulda, with a painting I gave her for Christmas one year

Aunt Hulda was my great-aunt.  In some ways I did not know her quite as well as the others, because she was not around as much.  When we were growing up, and spending time at "Grandma and Aunt Louise and Aunt Hulda's house," she was only there on the weekends.  She worked and boarded in the city of Peoria, 45 minutes away, traveling there on Monday mornings and back home on Friday nights.  

She passed away when I was 18 - and knowing someone as a child and teenager is not the same as understanding more about that person when you have more of the maturity of an adult.

She was our "clothing aunt." For Christmas and birthdays, she bought each of us very nice clothing selections, which were perhaps not as appreciated by us children as much as they should have been.  Those gifts are much more appreciated now, when looking back in perspective.

Aunt Hulda, I also now recognize, was sophisticated in many ways.  She wore her hair in a sleek French twist and dressed professionally.  She was a valued bookkeeper at the firm where she worked.  She traveled internationally with her friends.  She knitted--not just simple blanket patterns, but very complex sweaters and other things.  She was quite independent for a woman of her era.

And then came her stroke.

In the summer of 1969, in her late 50s, she was afflicted.  I've thought of her and that stroke a good bit recently, because, hard to believe, when it happened she was only about a year older than I currently am.  She was permanently paralyzed on her right side (something that today might have been avoided with clot-busting drugs), and most of her life was dramatically changed - and limited.  

What would it be like to be an independent businesswoman, able to travel as you like, make your own decisions, live on your own; then overnight go to a state of having to be cared for by your sister and others, in many of the most basic needs of life.  The French twist had to be replaced by a more sensible, much easier to fix, bun.  She had to learn to write with her left hand.  Working and boarding in Peoria were of course out.  After she was somewhat rehabilitated, she was able to go back to her work part-time for several years, thanks to the help of family members who could help transport her back and forth on the days that she worked.  I think now how much of a validation that must have been to her, to be valued enough by that firm that they wanted her back even part-time and on a much more limited basis.  

Aunt Hulda (left) with Aunt Louise, her sister and faithful caregiver

She was not one to give up easily.  I remember seeing her prop a knitting needle in her useless right hand, and attempt to knit, doing all the action with her left.  I remember when she would want to bake, and would corral me to help her - and to my shame I remember resisting having to do that.  She didn't want me to bake, with her doing little things; she wanted me to be her helper.  But she was so limited, and it was so much easier to do things myself, that I was not patient with her at all.  Someday in heaven I need to apologize for that.

One thing that she did for a form of occupational therapy was ceramics.  Here were two older ladies, who'd never done anything in the art world in their lives, buying a kiln, greenware, and all kinds of brushes, glazes, and paints, and creating an entire workshop in their basement.  We loved going to visit and would spend days painting and glazing, and we learned much about the process of ceramics also.  Several times they'd hold an open house and sell what they'd made.  Looking back, it took a certain kind of admirable courage for them to get into ceramics the way they did, and it was as good a therapy for Aunt Hulda's spirit as for her hands.

She and Aunt Louise would come to visit us in Alabama, flying in a day when ADA laws were not in place to aid people like her, when there were very few ramps, only difficult-to-navigate steps in most places, and when getting off a plane meant being helped down a narrow set of outdoors metal stairs instead of just being wheeled through a jetway.  It must have been a huge ordeal, but they still came.  And her spirit was still the upbeat same.

I do remember that in the last years of her life, before passing away rather unexpectedly in November 1976, Aunt Hulda was often contemplative.  I suppose you get that way, when you have to stay put in places - on the chaise lounge on the screened-in porch, on the couch, in bed for the night, and when there is little you can do with your single good hand.  I wonder what she thought about.  Whatever it was, there was never any indication of bitterness or anger at her lot.  Maybe she struggled with it, but she never showed it outwardly.

I think that is Aunt Hulda's legacy.  Lamentations 3:38 says, in KJV, "Out of the mouth of the most High proceedeth evil and good?"  In ESV, that is translated, "Is it not from the mouth of the Most High that good and bad things come?"  One translation uses the word "calamities" for "bad things."  I think Aunt Hulda accepted her lot as one that God had permitted to befall her.   And that was the mark of the gracious Christian lady that we knew as Aunt Hulda.

The Divisions of Summer

Summer always seems to be in three sections for me.

• The first part is the "ahhhhh" phase - from the end of the school year until ML's birthday, June 5.  It's the feeling of - I can't believe it's over; all I want to do is relax.  However, there is still a little bit of residual adrenalin from the school year, which makes me want to clean cabinets, de-clutter, and get a lot done.  That feeling usually fades quickly.
• The time period from June 5 to July 4.  This is the true summer feeling.  School has receded from my memory; I do get things done, but it's summer also, and I enjoy the lack of pressure of having papers to grade and mental preparation to accomplish for each day.
• Then--July 4 to the end.  This used to be just part of the previous section, until a former colleague ruined it for me.  Yes, ruined it.  One day when I was buying something in her business, it was about that time when she said, "Oh, yes, I remember the teaching days.  Summer is great until July 4th.  And it's all downhill from there.  Well, that's how it feels, ever since.  All downhill!!

This year will be different, with my trip starting in two weeks.  This year is pre-trip, trip, and post-trip.  Prepare, travel, and recuperate.

And tomorrow is ML's birthday.  So, according to the usual division - the ahhhh phase is almost over.  Next thing I know, it will be time to go back.  Or so it feels.