I have taken pictures with the idea of posting them here.  But, alas, I find the message, “the file is too big to upload.”  I do not find enough time to understand the details of the process.  Also, I have posted pictures here, but they appear only in the files available to me, not to the reader.  Pictures tell a story, and words paint a picture.  For now, we must be content with the words.

“Squalor” is a word that often came to mind as we walked from our apartment to our campus.  I looked it up to see what the dictionary said it meant.  “A filthy wretched place” was what I found.  I pondered whether this word then was accurate for what I saw.

Certainly “filthy” applies to garbage piles on the street, urine in puddles, and cigarette butts on the sidewalk. In spite of all the work the women with the brush brooms do, and in spite of all the collecting the scavengers do, the streets and sidewalks are still always dirty in my eyes.  The babies don’t wear diapers, but slit pants.  I often see the grandmothers holding the babies out from their own bodies so the babies may freely pee on the sidewalk.  The scavengers tip out the garbage from the cans, pick through it, and leave the rest in a pile beside the can.  I gather others pick it up because the volume is kept to a minimum–we see the same amount day by day.  Many men are smoking, it is the social connection in China.  Drop the butts on the sidewalk, it’s the acceptable thing.  Women don’t smoke in public unless they are prostitutes advertising availability.   No one cleans up after the little dogs that run around.  The barber sweeps his floor, and dumps the hair on the sidewalk.  I don’t know the words for the smell.  So, no wonder “squalor” came often to my mind.

“Wretched” however,  does not apply.  It means, “unfortunate, pitiable, miserable.”  To qualify for “squalor” then, the place must be beyond dirty, and the people must be sad and discouraged. I see the two streets I walk to get to school as vibrant and prosperous.  There are at least three hair salons, large shops with maybe ten chairs, all full, playing modern upbeat music, and happily selling glitz and glamor.   There are several smaller shops, not quite so “ritzy” but they all charge the same price for a simple cut.  The price?  Fifteen “quai” or a little less than three US dollars.  There are many restaurants, some upstairs, some down, but all doing brisk business, especially in the mealtime hours.  A few of them sell hamburgers and french fries, the rest, the normal Chinese food, noodles in several styles, dumplings, pork and chicken in many guises.  Fruit vendors are plentiful, and people selling a  food–I don’t know what it is–it looks like little red balls on a stick.  Many students walk here to buy breakfast, lunch, and dinner, instead of using the campus dining hall.  Until a few weeks ago, there were many food vendors in the cross street besides the established restaurants.  Food scraps are simply dropped on the sidewalk or street.  There are some dogs running around, and a few cats, eating the scraps.

Clothing stores offer a range of prices and quality of goods.  Some are what I would call “high end” and I wonder how the students can afford these.  Then there are general stores selling snacks, fruit, laundry supplies, stationery, and things that students need and want for dorm life.  And it seems to me that every few doors, there is a hotel.  These also apparently have enough business to stay open.  We gather they cater to people attending conferences, business men conducting meetings, and students getting together. None of these businesses is very large, nor are the buildings separate.  It is as if there is one large building on the entire block.  Each business is about as wide as an extra wide garage door and the walls that support it.  In fact, that is the kind of door that opens or closes the business. Upstairs there are more businesses, and apartments that house the people who own the businesses.  On the lower level, there are more shops, what we might call “boutiques.”

Little children stay with their parents who own and operate these businesses, so they run around on the sidewalk in front of the shops, or sit in their mother’s or grandparents’ laps.  The “sidewalk” is not a narrow strip of concrete, as we know it, but rather is a wide brick paved walkway between the shops and the street.  Motorcycles, bicycles, and cars are parked on this sidewalk, along the street edge, under the trees that have been planted at regular intervals. Some of these vehicles, in each category, are quite expensive and well kept.  At night, all the buildings are decorated with neon lights and the ordinary lights inside.  Music blares from modern high-tech equipment, and horns are honking as people vie for position on the street.  The street is alive with fashionably dressed students, business people, grandparents and babies, the sweepers and scavengers, the “officials”,  children running around, and the dogs and cats, and birds in the trees.

So, I have put the word “squalor” on the shelf beside “misery.”  These words do not apply to the streets I walk daily.

In the first week of classes, I asked my students to list their goals for the class, then we discussed those goals in groups and finally combined them to make a list in each class.
Most of the goals were predictable, such as “improve our oral English”, “improve our pronunciation”, and “speak English fluently.” But a few goals apply beyond the classroom and into life itself.
“Be Active, Brave, and Confident” is a motto for all situations. “Express ourselves clearly” certainly will help in communication.
“Broaden our horizons” is a goal worth remembering.
“Think in English”—Think in any language—always helpful. “Improve our listening skills” — helpful in all of life.
“Make happy memories” — a valuable plan.
And, best of all, “Speak more wonderful sentences.”
May we all think first, and then speak — wonderful words, wonderful sentences, wonderful life.

I’ve asked my students to submit culture questions so that my presentations will be of interest to them. One of the best so far is, “What is the biggest difference between Chinese and American culture?”
Anyone who has lived in and/or visited both countries. please leave a comment. Thanks

I have a friend named Elaine who is known in her circles as a humorist.  My sisters and I attended one of her speeches and laughed until tears ran down our faces.  Elaine told me that she didn’t set out to be a humorist, but that when she spoke of her daily life, people laughed.

A few years ago, some new shoes became available.  They were athletic shoes and the heels had little springs in them–shock absorbers.  I wanted these shoes.  They were light weight and appeared to be comfortable, the perfect thing for a lot of walking.  The first store didn’t have them in my size and suggested I go to the outlet mall.  I did find them at the outlet mall, but the only color was bright yellow.  I bought them and brought them home with the idea of thinking it over.   I took the shoes to Elaine and showed them to her.  We talked for some time about the pros and cons of those shoes.  Finally she said, “The thing is, I would probably wear those shoes.”  Eventually I took the shoes back to the store, but I stored away Elaine’s comment.

I thought of Elaine a few days ago as I was pausing in my ascent to the fifth floor of the teaching building.  I saw several students wearing bright yellow shoes.  “Must contact Elaine,” I thought and proceed to class.  A student came to me with a request, and I asked her English name.  “Elaine” she said.   “Must contact my friend,” I thought, and proceeded with class.

At the break in class, I went to the restroom, but it was crowded, so I decided to wait for the longer break between classes.  At that time I went to the restroom and it was still crowded.  I went down one floor, checked that restroom.  Still crowded, so I waited in line.  The process in a Chinese restroom is to wait in front of a particular stall until it becomes available, so that is what I did.  I went into the stall and felt water dripping from the ceiling.  Not an option to leave that stall and wait for another.  I turned around to avoid the ceiling drip and prepared to squat facing the pipe instead of the door.  I squatted and felt water spraying in my face.  The pipe that holds the flush handle was leaking at an alarming rate.  But no stopping now–I turned my face away, only to feel more water from above.

I was upset until I pictured Elaine bouncing around on stage wearing bright yellow shoes telling this story. Those little shock absorbers would help in the squat.  Elaine would use the story not to discuss plumbing problems, but to illustrate grand ideas: rushing water, living water, abundant life.  Thanks, Elaine.

Our Daughter sent this photo of “a few days” harvest from my garden at home. For the first time in my life, my garden was quite prolific, and I was not there to eat it. But this is life, we eat from the gardens others have planted; we rest in the shelters others have built; we work for a purpose greater than ourselves. What joy!

We have five school days off to celebrate October 1, National Day. The word was seven days, but because we have to use next weekend to make up some of the classes, it is really only five days. October 1 was the day Mao declared the new nation — People’s Republic of China. The year? I keep thinking 1949, but it could have been 1950. I could look it up, and so could you, dear reader.
For the Chinese, a holiday means lots of fireworks, but not necessarily days off work. The banks for example, were open. The market proceeded as usual.
For myself, I spent the day in bed, not to luxuriate, but to recover from a nasty head cold. I’m not over it yet, though it has descended to my chest. In the past two years, I can’t remember having anything like it. I guess I’m meeting a virus new to me. In the month we’ve all been here, we’ve taken turns being sick, including the young man upstairs. At all times, one of us has been “down.”
Our good news is that some new teachers are coming this week and next, so we should have just slightly lighter teaching loads. Let us hope that these two adjust without meeting that virus.
It’s considerably cooler the last few days and it has been continually raining. The air is clean now outside, and we have gotten an air purifier for the inside. I was well enough today to do the week’s laundry—we’ll see how long it takes to dry, hanging there on the balcony.
At home, I do appreciate my clothes dryer, but here I have to admit there is something wonderful about that fresh air smell the clothes have when they’ve been hanging outside. It reminds me of my childhood.

Here’s the exterior door to our apartment.  Note that we are “Foreign Experts.”  That is what the words above the door say in English.    We’re on the first floor, to the left of this door.  You can see some pillows airing on the balcony.  This green door is made of iron bars and is locked by an electronic magnet.  At first I felt like I was in a cage, since all the windows are barred also.  I wondered, in a fire or earthquake, when the power is out, how will we escape?  That’s the old Girl Scout training again, always be prepared. Dear Husband  bought a wrench to use in case of emergency, to loosen the bolts that hold the iron bars in place.  Apparently, there are no emergencies here.

A few days ago, the power was out, and that is when I learned that the magnet in the lock isn’t a magnet when the power is off.  So, no worries, if the power is off, just push that iron door open.  What’s all that stuff on the ground?   Stuff that was on the balcony.  We put it out in hopes it would disappear, and some of it has, but the old interior door remains.    Perhaps we could make a picnic table from it?

Drawing from my Girl Scout years, I used an activity known in that old handbook as “Grab Bag Dramatics.”  It’s always a hit, whether in a Scout meeting, a birthday party, or an oral English class.  I put a few items in my purple cloth market bag.  Since I haven’t been here very long, I don’t have many items to use.  I gathered a change purse, a small packet of instant coffee, a plastic folder for holding class work, an old lid from a sauce pan, a small tube of hand cream, a glasses case, and a  white plastic decorative end of a curtain rod.  Since some of the rods in the apartment are up against the wall there isn’t room for the decoration, and thus, some of those are in the cupboard as “extra.”  This item is round at the end that would attach to the rod, then flares out in a cup shape and is capped with another piece with a ball at the end.

I divided the class into groups of 5 or 6, and asked each group to “grab” something from the bag and make up a skit using that item.  First I had to define the word “skit” which means a short play or drama, usually silly or funny, but sometimes serious.

In each class, someone drew the pan lid.  It served in the stories as a beggar’s plate, a dish for water, and an engagement ring, as the top was a circle through which you could put your finger.  In one story, it was a valuable heirloom made of silver.    In each class, someone drew the hand cream.  It served as the clue to a husband’s affair, a new item on the market, and medicine.

And in each class, someone drew that curtain rod decoration, and no one knew what it was.  So, as they asked, I said, “It doesn’t matter, it can be anything you want it to be.”  In every story, it was magic.  In one, it was a cup from which you could drink and drink and drink, but never become intoxicated.  In another, It was a cup which would fulfill your wishes, and in another, it was an heirloom that had been stolen, but because of its magical properties, the culprit was easily found. That item is “magic” indeed, because it made at least 30 shy Chinese students speak boldly in English.

I’ve realized that actually I have 5 oral classes on NEW campus, and 3 on OLD. Then my writing class, for a total of 9 classes, or 18 “hours.” I still haven’t actually counted the number of students, maybe I don’t really want to know.
Today I plan to go to the Kodak store and print the photos of all the students. Then this week, we’ll cut out those pictures and paste them on notecards with names on them. In this way, I can begin to put names with faces in each class. I so admire the principals I have known who seem to know each child in school by name. Of course, those children may be in the same school for 5-8 years, so there aren’t 300 new names to learn all at once. Still, it is an American ideal to know the students by name. It is not a Chinese ideal.