Happy Birthday to you!
I can't believe that you're four years old now. How is it possible that the little baby I sang that night-night (little Ayden man)song to so many times might just be too big to rock in my arms again? Just like when Angelina turned one, this is the hardest day yet. All I can think of is--what kind of cake will you have for your party? I hope it's yummy but...will you even remember the times Grammy made you a special cake, for the first three birthdays?
I'm so happy that you don't forget me and your Pops when you're growing bigger, going to school, playing...we love it when you call us on the computer so we can see your happy, lively play times & enjoy showing you around the apartment and the neighborhood.
We love it when you call us on the way to school, and tell us what you're doing with Mom & Dad & Kitty Girl. We love to get all of the pictures that your Mommy & Daddy put on their facebook and show all of our students what a big boy you are. We were so happy when you went to Vacation Bible School, and hope that you will see more of the people who love you at the choir church...and remember the first time you went there & heard the amazing bagpipe music for Heritage Sunday.
There are so many "first" things to remember when you have a first grandbaby...but the most difficult first thing is happening today. It's the first time in four years that we won't be there to see you blow out your candles..and the saddest thing that's happened between us and our little Ayden man since the day you were born.
Pops and I sure do love you, and we sure do miss you more today than ever. Forgive us for not being there on your special day...and know that even on the other side of the world, we love you more than you can imagine.
Love,
Grammy
XOXOXO
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Happy Birthday Angelina!
Yes, I know, it was actually yesterday....yes, it's the same day both here & at home right now. But today is the big day, Angelina's first birthday party, and also--the day I most regret being thousands of miles away...so far.
Understand, we didn't live near Angelina at home either...but we went to see her for her baptism, and stopped in for dinner on our way back from an interview once, and she came to see us at Christmas last year...all impossible from the other side of the world.
I'm thankful for my daughter-in-law, who sends me pictures and updates...the last one was so darn cute I'm putting it here for a while, just so everyone can enjoy my grandbaby with me.
I'm thankful for my son, whose deliberate decision to be a great dad is paying off in obvious and tangible ways...like seeing his tiny daughter waiting at the top of the driveway when he comes home. Like sharing a laugh with Grammy when I call, and Angelina is talking away, and she completely stops when he puts the phone to her ear. How confusing it must be in her one-year-old world...."I hear Grammy but she's not here...darn phone must be broken again!"
I'm thankful for the love they lavish on her, and for the financial security she will enjoy...Lord willing...that Frank never had as a little one. And I'm thankful that out of his life experiences, instead of becoming a bitter, grasping man, he learned to work hard, love his family with open arms, and enjoy life together.
We are blessed with their family, even from the other side of the world... nevertheless, it's my most difficult day so far.
I'm with you in spirit, Angelina!
Love,
Grammy
xoxoxo
Understand, we didn't live near Angelina at home either...but we went to see her for her baptism, and stopped in for dinner on our way back from an interview once, and she came to see us at Christmas last year...all impossible from the other side of the world.
I'm thankful for my daughter-in-law, who sends me pictures and updates...the last one was so darn cute I'm putting it here for a while, just so everyone can enjoy my grandbaby with me.
I'm thankful for my son, whose deliberate decision to be a great dad is paying off in obvious and tangible ways...like seeing his tiny daughter waiting at the top of the driveway when he comes home. Like sharing a laugh with Grammy when I call, and Angelina is talking away, and she completely stops when he puts the phone to her ear. How confusing it must be in her one-year-old world...."I hear Grammy but she's not here...darn phone must be broken again!"
I'm thankful for the love they lavish on her, and for the financial security she will enjoy...Lord willing...that Frank never had as a little one. And I'm thankful that out of his life experiences, instead of becoming a bitter, grasping man, he learned to work hard, love his family with open arms, and enjoy life together.
We are blessed with their family, even from the other side of the world... nevertheless, it's my most difficult day so far.
I'm with you in spirit, Angelina!
Love,
Grammy
xoxoxo
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Why my hair is orange, (or), Life on the other side of "If they want to live in our country the least they could do is learn our language"
Having almost certainly overcome last week's food poisoning (my brother Sean said I didn't have to come this far to get bad Chinese food...he can get it right in Rome), I am back on my bike,riding up and down the access lanes of the HaiDian district and every now & then while I'm focusing on weaving in & out of the bikes, scooters, vendor carts, taxis, buses, and people who find the perfectly lovely gigantic empty sidewalks dull and feel the need to walk on the wild side by risking their lives walking in traffic, I stop and wonder:
What must these people THINK when they see me coming?
Say you're an old Chinese guy, out for a ride in the early evening, going the "wrong way" along the bike path because your wife forgot to buy the leeks this morning and she's already begun cooking the beef and you live on the same side of the road as the Merry Mart, so you always use that side for going back and forth for your groceries...you've almost arrived at your apartment complex and here is this forty-something white woman with orange hair weaving around all of the scooter-driving daredevils saying "Seriously?!" when they rub against her rear tire.
I don't know what everyone else thinks, but today's old guy got within two feet of me and laughed in my face.
Frankly, it was a little scary...I was hoping it was friendly but the laugh definitely had a tinge of maniacal.
It made me think about communication, hair color, and why "they" don't learn "our" language.
About a month ago my roots were getting pretty obvious so I asked the cute Mandarin teacher in our office, whose hair and nails are always perfect, where she gets her hair done. She told me about her salon and even went there on her lunch break to make an appointment for me. I was very excited as I walked into the upscale shop & was greeted by her very fancy stylist...whose name I cannot remember and could not pronounce correctly when I knew it...and it became obvious in about half a second that he doesn't speak English. Between my friend on the phone, a moderately good English speaking "interpreter"/stylist, and several very interested other patrons, I managed to be seated, draped, and given a book of swatches to choose my color from. I tried to ask them to use the color Dwayne sent with me from Albany....no good. I asked them to simply match the color as best they could...no good. Finally I picked something very close to my usual and said, "this one looks OK."
The "interpreter" said:"Do you like red? Because--it will be red."
"Sure, a little red is OK..."
It looked like my typical brown with a bit of copper to me...
By the time I left the place I had a really great cut...and orange hair. It later occurred to me that the swatches must be what it looks like on black hair...strip the black down to mousy brown, and you get my exact shade of pumpkin.
Sophie(the Mandarin teacher) said:
"I think maybe next time I should go with you."
Just after the maniacal old guy, I was passed on the path by the Merry Mart van, which caused me to utter my usual Merry-Mart-Van curse ("Stupid freakin' Merry Mart Van")...a residual of one day before bicycles, when AJ & I went shopping on the way home from work and, loaded down with huge sacks of groceries, attempted to catch a ride home on the Merry Mart Van which, the signs assure us, is a free shuttle for Merry Mart customers. Upon arriving at the Merry Mart Van holding area, I tried out my Chinese skills on a man leaning on one of the vehicles, asking him if his was the correct shuttle for our apartment complex: "Yicheng Dongyuan ma?"
This guy also laughed. And pointed down the road in the direction of our building. We never did figure out whether it was his attempt to get the lazy Meiguoren (Meiguorens?) to walk the (extremely long)block home, or if the shuttles were done for the day...it was like 9:30..
Anyway all of this (mis) communication has really made me think about people who say "they really need to learn our language".
What if...they're trying to?
What must these people THINK when they see me coming?
Say you're an old Chinese guy, out for a ride in the early evening, going the "wrong way" along the bike path because your wife forgot to buy the leeks this morning and she's already begun cooking the beef and you live on the same side of the road as the Merry Mart, so you always use that side for going back and forth for your groceries...you've almost arrived at your apartment complex and here is this forty-something white woman with orange hair weaving around all of the scooter-driving daredevils saying "Seriously?!" when they rub against her rear tire.
I don't know what everyone else thinks, but today's old guy got within two feet of me and laughed in my face.
Frankly, it was a little scary...I was hoping it was friendly but the laugh definitely had a tinge of maniacal.
It made me think about communication, hair color, and why "they" don't learn "our" language.
About a month ago my roots were getting pretty obvious so I asked the cute Mandarin teacher in our office, whose hair and nails are always perfect, where she gets her hair done. She told me about her salon and even went there on her lunch break to make an appointment for me. I was very excited as I walked into the upscale shop & was greeted by her very fancy stylist...whose name I cannot remember and could not pronounce correctly when I knew it...and it became obvious in about half a second that he doesn't speak English. Between my friend on the phone, a moderately good English speaking "interpreter"/stylist, and several very interested other patrons, I managed to be seated, draped, and given a book of swatches to choose my color from. I tried to ask them to use the color Dwayne sent with me from Albany....no good. I asked them to simply match the color as best they could...no good. Finally I picked something very close to my usual and said, "this one looks OK."
The "interpreter" said:"Do you like red? Because--it will be red."
"Sure, a little red is OK..."
It looked like my typical brown with a bit of copper to me...
By the time I left the place I had a really great cut...and orange hair. It later occurred to me that the swatches must be what it looks like on black hair...strip the black down to mousy brown, and you get my exact shade of pumpkin.
Sophie(the Mandarin teacher) said:
"I think maybe next time I should go with you."
Just after the maniacal old guy, I was passed on the path by the Merry Mart van, which caused me to utter my usual Merry-Mart-Van curse ("Stupid freakin' Merry Mart Van")...a residual of one day before bicycles, when AJ & I went shopping on the way home from work and, loaded down with huge sacks of groceries, attempted to catch a ride home on the Merry Mart Van which, the signs assure us, is a free shuttle for Merry Mart customers. Upon arriving at the Merry Mart Van holding area, I tried out my Chinese skills on a man leaning on one of the vehicles, asking him if his was the correct shuttle for our apartment complex: "Yicheng Dongyuan ma?"
This guy also laughed. And pointed down the road in the direction of our building. We never did figure out whether it was his attempt to get the lazy Meiguoren (Meiguorens?) to walk the (extremely long)block home, or if the shuttles were done for the day...it was like 9:30..
Anyway all of this (mis) communication has really made me think about people who say "they really need to learn our language".
What if...they're trying to?
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