Sometimes I just want the magic.

On Monday, I went to a reading by Antonya Nelson and Deborah Eisenberg and our amazing reading series here in Houston.  I'd read Antonya before, but not Deborah.  Both are highly awarded teachers at top notch MFA programs.

It was interesting, but one thing they said has been tossing around my mostly empty brain, and that was that when they write a short story, they depend a lot on the elliptical paragraphs, letting the reader's imagination fill in what happens between scenes.  As a writer, that interests me, because one mistake that I often see is the "too much detail" blocking.  No reader wants to hear every little thing that happens. (and then she drank some coffee, and then she went to the bathroom, etc)

As a reader, I feel the opposite.  Both of these "literary" writers write fascinating stories but they almost always leave me feeling like the story isn't finished.  I know it is because I'm supposed to focus on the characters and the meaning and that the story is indeed finished, but as a reader I'm not satisfied. Chalk it up to cutting my teeth on romance novels I suppose, where everyone lives happily ever after.  Or mysteries where we always discover who did it and why.  But those are questions often left unanswered.  We instead go inside the brain of the perpetrator, and learn that he has a long held secret, or something that makes the story about that, but not the plot itself.

Then I was thinking about the play I have tickets for on Friday.  Anything Goes, just a simple musical with lots of music.  I thought about asking my old writing group friend, because he is very much "into" theater... directing, writing plays, etc.  And decided against it for the same reason... I don't want to go to a play with an expert to tell me what they did well, what they screwed up. 

Sometimes, I just want to be entertained. Sometimes, I want to fall into the story, whether it be written or performed, and lose myself.  I want to suspend my disbelief and quit worrying about the technique.  I just want the magic.

Day 5 of the 13 day solitary confinement.  I thought I'd go this weekend and hang out with my kids... two of them live here in the city with their spouses.  Both were gone last weekend, and surprise, they are all out of town this weekend too.  I feel like this is trial by fire.

The dogs are loving it though.  They are getting two walks a day, extra training with cheese (I'm very bored!) and all my attention.  I groan a little at the thought.  I'm becoming one of those women. Even the cat is enjoying the "rest"... here they are "watching football" last weekend.

Watching Football

Today, I have training to be a clerk for the Nov 4 election.  All i do is check id, give instructions, etc, but the Powers That Be think that requires two hours of training before every election.  I'm interested this time because the Texas Voter ID law got struck down last week.  In fact, Texas isn't doing so well in the Supreme court... They also suspended the mandate that ordered all abortion clinics closed and are on the wrong side of the gay marriage rulings.

let's do something!

The dogs got groomed after that shaggy shot, and are now saying, okay, we are bored too. How will we spend today?

August in Michigan

Doodles watching sunset, August 2014

Sunset worth watching. South Haven, August 2014

And then there was the whisky....

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Lickleyhead Castle

If you’ve been following along here, you may wonder whatever happened to the rest of the China trip?  And as often happens, I lost interest in transcribing the trip journal when it was time to pack for the next trip!  As summer progresses I’ll try to fill in some of the blanks, but after spending two weeks in the UK, enjoying the people of Wales, England and most especially Scotland, I fine I want to wallow in the memories of this wonderful, once in a lifetime, trip with all my kids.  Including the ones by marriage and “close association.”  Mothers will tell you that those are magical moments, and it probably doesn’t matter where they occur.  To have them together in magical Scotland, in a 15^th century castle with lovely tangled grounds all around was a fairy tale.  And then there was the whisky….

self explanatory

Strathisla

China 3: The Great Wall

It is totally unfair to leave you hanging, stuck in the new hotel whose towels were so fuzzy that the gentlemen who showered but didn’t shave came to dinner with lint all over their faces. The problem, of course, is transcribing my handwritten journal, which contains things like what to do with my writing, weird dreams and other flotsam that surface when you just hand write journals in morning, or middle of the night pages.  I’m not great at self-editing, but it is time to get over that hurdle…

The Great Wall of China is a protective barrier from the warring tribes to the
 North. Beijing is in a valley, so the Wall traverses the mountains.

… And take you to the Great Wall.  Before we got there, there was a stop at a Jade Market… not a market at all but a full display with demonstrations and lectures on the importance of Jade in China, complete with a 15% discount in the massive showroom.  Anything from the tiniest pendant to the most massive sculpture could be purchased there.  This was not a dusty backstreet market, but a glossy, high-end jewelry complex, with the prices to match.  Even if I could have fit my normal western hands through one of those pretty bangles, I balked at the prices.  Evidence that I don’t buy my own jewelry I guess.

They did have one thing that I couldn’t get enough of. Cold bottled water, and bathrooms.  Between the heat, the jet lag, the walking and the stress of unfamiliarity, I was badly dehydrated.  A few minutes in the air-conditioned showroom, about a liter of water and freshening up, and I was revived.  We ate one of many lazy Susan generic Chinese (meaning I don’t know what the dishes were, not that they were simple or interchangeable!) lunches, and then back to the bus for the hour trip to The Great Wall.

Our group had melded by then, so the chatter on the bus was amiable and Kevin entertained us with tales of the Wall.  He explained to us that Mao had declared that anyone who climbed it was a hero, and there were artisans just waiting to inscribe our names on bamboo for us to take home and proudly display. (for, yes, a price! Does this sound like capitalism to you?) He went on to explain that he’d had a 92-year-old woman from Texas who’d achieved the honor, and then quietly added that even on step up the wall counted.  No need to scale the whole thing.

The Great Wall spans some 4,000 plus miles, with parts of it dating back to the 5^th century BC.  While the guidebooks and some of our comrades who’d seen the Wall before insist there were cable cars to the top, we didn’t see them. There are several access points to the Wall, and each has its share of coffee shops, tourist facilities and yes, bamboo engravers.

tourist village

I don’t know which access point we visited. I only know that the only way up was stairs.

Those who know me know I’ve babied bad knees for about ten years now, and though I CAN do everything, some things hurt. So seeing twenty stories of stairs was a little daunting.  

just a few...neverending... stairs...

 I encouraged my husband to go on up (silly for him not to!) and at my snail’s pace, climbed about five of the towers.  It was nothing short of spectacular. The wind that came with the heat, blowing I guess from the desert, cleared the pollution from the sky and the views were wide and magnificent.  Going up was the challenge I expected. A young man, about 19 I guess, in color coordinated Nike clothing, and a Malaysian woman in full Muslim dress kept me company as I rested between towers. They were afraid I was there alone.  At that point, I guess I was, but it was sort of like being alone at Disneyworld.  Everyone seemed happy.

Next time I'll find the cable car...

 Going down?  There has been no effort to preserve these ancient steps from erosion, and those early builders didn’t give much thought to ergonomics… or equal stairs.

 One stair would be the height of a single brick. The next, six or seven.  I pushed myself, because of that 92 year old, and the bi…er… elegant lady who climbed the wall in six inch heels… and I was fine, until that eight brick drop with the divot in the lower stair turned my ankle.  I was still fine, but I was finished. I focused on taking pictures, enjoying the love locks… 

locking love...there are stories of lovers who are actually part of the wall.

yes, here too, and waiting for my husband.  He made it nearly to the top, and took the pictures to prove it.

Later, he found cold soda in the mini bar to ice my ankle, which wasn’t all that bad.  No ice to be found in the hotel.

lots of locks

It actually was stormy looking...

The meeting started the next morning, which meant the “Accompanying persons tours” began. I only went to a couple of them, because we had other obligations and by then, I was tired of being a professional tourist.  I’ll recap those in the next entry, and then we can move on.

Magnificent

China 2

Where Emperors take solace

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At 9 am we gather in the lobby. There are 24 of us and we are led by a man who seems to be about 21, but whose black hair is peppered with gray.  From the things he told us, and he tried to be open with all our queries, my guess he was mid thirties, married, but no children yet.  Though he does own his house, just outside the fourth Ring Road, and considers himself very lucky.  His English is good… the only nod to it not being his first language is that he occasionally leaves out his prepositions… “Wait me” instead of “Wait for me.”

The buses are city buses, old and high off the ground. The stairs challenge my knees and I find myself pulling up with my arms, and using the door frames to slow gravity to get out. The air is desert air and I am always thirsty; my lips are always chapped. I gave up wearing mascara after the first day...it was washing into my eyes with sweat, but otherwise not coming off at all.

We forget that we are old and less fit than we should be. We expect to race through these tourist sites and find secrets from tour guides because, well, that is what we do. Instead, we search for bits of shade and places to sit for a while. 

“Kevin” Yang is our tour guide. All the Chinese people we have met, who have any direct encounters with us, have been given an “English” name.  We ask, and try to use their Chinese name, and even joke and ask them to give us Chinese names.  They seem to be always looking over their shoulders, to see who hears.  I never convinced any of them to give me a Chinese name, but one did take my English name and apply Chinese accents to it.  I got the feeling it was to make me let it go.

Kevin with Orange Flag

Kevin is a young man whose university degree is in English and it is easy to see that he wants more from life than to lead tourists around. The reality is that this is a good job and he and his wife are saving money to have a baby. He tries to explain government policies to us, things like the one child policy and the requirement that children care for aging parents, but I can see that he is saying what he is supposed to say. He would be a good father to many children, and it seems clear that one is all he will have.  It isn’t illegal to have more than one child, but parents must pay fines as well as fees for education and medical care and citizenship, to make that child a “person.” In China today, for him, that is about 42,000 US dollars.

Tiananmen Square

He takes us first to Tiananmen Square, where Mao is entombed in a crystal casket and museum like building. People still line up, nearly 40 years after his death, in an hour plus long queue. We pass. Kevin talks about the other government buildings on the square and points out the Russian influence. He tells us that by the time of Mao’s death, the Russians were no longer the friends of the Chinese and wouldn’t tell them the secrets to preserving Mao’s body the way the Russians have preserved Lenin and Stalin. Suddenly headlines from my youth are waking up and I need to remind myself of things like the Red scare, the Domino effect and the Vietnam War.  I was a student of political science in the seventies, and merging the facts and conclusions I reached as a student with reality gives me a bit of whiplash.  I try to conform the monsters of Communism to this orderly, seemingly open environment, the elegant and luxurious hotel, and once again I get the sense that we are only seeing what we are “supposed” to see. 

Gate of Heavenly Peace

The Chinese eventually got the preservations information from the Vietnamese, (who apparently got it from the Russians.) I remember the fall of Saigon. Yet there we stand in post-cultural revolution china.

We parade across Tiananmen Square, ducklings following Kevin’s orange flag.  He points out the monuments and buildings and makes brief reference to "the photo" of the student and the tank in one corner of the largest public square in the world.  He adds that despite the photo, there were really tanks and students all over the square, a massive uprising, and a massive response.  My reading has shown that there are no hard numbers even now of the people killed in the massacre in 1989. I wonder if Kevin was here then. He seems ready to share his China with us ...he doesn't seem oppressed...except that there he is, leading a bunch of western tourists over what should have been the most sacred places in his city.

Forbidden City, Outer City.  Politics here

At the end of Tiananmen Square is the Gate of Heavenly Peace, where a portrait of Mao Zedong (Tse-Tung when I first learned it in high school) is hung over the entrance to the Forbidden City.   Entry into the Forbidden City is no longer limited to Emperors and their entourage, but can now be gained for 60 RMBs, or Chinese Yuan: equal to about 10 USD.  While beautiful, and carefully restored for color and site, the City shows the wear of thousands of tourists tramping through and touching, as well as the extremes of weather.  Paint is constantly restored to keep colors true, but I didn’t have the sense that jade inlays and gold leaf were authentic. 

On the way to the Dragons. Dragon = Emperor

Conquerors took gold rubbings on their swords here

Ours was a quick trip through, climbing what felt like hundreds of  stairs for views (just wait til we get to the Great Wall!) of the halls of both the outer city and the inner city.  It was very hot-- in the 90s all day.  No water breaks from Kevin, and when we finally reached the inner city, he sent us to our first bathroom of the day… but they were the standard,  less than fragrant, Asian toilets.  I am not particularly a girly girl, but I have my limits.  Being raised in the USA leaves me with prejudices, and my body was willing to wait.  Thank goodness. Not only did it smell bad and require squatting, there was a long line.

Outer City

Detail

some of the Concubines Quarters

Climbing to Inner City

The things about the inner Forbidden City that stayed with me were silly things probably: the Emperor never allowed any “intact” men inside the inner city, where he, his empress and his up to twenty thousand concubines lived--that way he knew that all children born were, in fact, his.   

Being the son of God, it was his duty to have sex with as many women as possible.

Inner City had different meaning then. The color yellow was only used by the emperor.

Beautiful rock garden.  Sweaty tourist palm destruction

But he was also fearful. No one was allowed to know which of the 9,999 rooms of the inner city where he slept.  Assassination was a problem for dynastic Emperors.

If a door could forbid entry, this would do it.

Despite the heat, and my admitted weariness with Chinese historical trivia at this point, The Forbidden City is beautiful and I’m glad we went there.  Unlike India, where faith is worn in all aspects of life, we saw no one worshipping. The Forbidden City, once 
 the holiest of holy places, is now a place for tour guides with orange flags, and throngs of people, some attracted merely by the name.  Don’t we all want to see that which we are forbidden to see?

China, May 2014, part 1

Twenty-five years ago today, an uprising referred to simply as Tiananmen Square resulted in the deaths of unknown numbers of protestors.  Despite economic encouragement that looks very much like capitalism to me, China is still not a place where dreams flourish.  It took me 9 days to figure out what it was that bothered me so much about China, where the streets are clean and even the terrible traffic has an order about it unknown in most of my world.  But what seems to be missing is unfettered joy. And children.

Day 1

The flowers were gorgeous. They were planted the night we arrived.

Yes, it is 4:25 am and we are up...talk about having days and nights mixed up! It is a 13 hour time difference from Houston and without full internet access, that can be annoying. I can't access Facebook or Twitter or YouTube, which I expected, but I also can't get the New York Times and Gmail intermittently.

No calories in Chinese food, right?

A French Chef adds pastries to the buffet

 

 

 

Security in formation, early morning at the hotel front plaza

It is a beautiful hotel. Our room is a lovely suite with the decor similar to the Copacabana in Rio or even the Savoy in London. Dali sculptures and acres and acres of gardens surround the place.

Dali Sculpture at the hotel entrance

Plaque

But. Cab drivers don't speak English and the hotel is 3 hours from the airport...way out in the suburbs. There isn't even a gift shop...the one buffet restaurant, a more formal traditional Chinese restaurant and a small bar with limited offerings being it. No spa, a small gym with about 10 pieces of equipment (listed in the hotel directory as "entertainment") and guards all around.

There are two channels on TV that are in English, and they are, as you might imagine, somewhat slanted in their coverage. Ever sensitive to the IP issues, my husband says they all feel like knock off shows. In fact, there are a lot of second looks being given as we notice things like that...on every table in the restaurant there is a little container of "tooth ticks"...  As a tour guide is to remind us later in the week, the Chinese are very good at copying things.

 

Tooth Ticks

Today, at 9 am, we board a bus to the great wall, the Forbidden City and Tiananmen Square...this is the quick overview for the people who have to do business the rest of the week. "Accompanying persons" get to see a bit more...we'll see how that goes.

I finished one novel on the plane. I loaded about six on kindle before I left because I was concerned that I might not have access to the system in China, plus it costs more for international downloads.  The FBI encouraged the business people not to bring their computers as it is very common for the hard drives to be stolen or all the information that can be gleaned from any file in the computer, or to which the computer has access to, to suddenly wind up in the hands of the Chinese competitors.  So that’s no laptop, no access to social media and no drinking the water.  We'll see how many are unread when I get home. I brought a notebook to write with and have about 5 pages from when I first got up. I can't believe there aren't more Chinese writers ...but my sense is most people don't even get to see their own Historic Sights. I asked one woman (kept myself from saying girl though I've seen no one who I would guess is 20...) what her favorite place to see was. She told me she likes to play tennis, but there is no time.

Then there are the gas masks in the closet,

only two gas masks ...

three pages of detailed instructions in case of fire (which include filling the bathtub and using the ice bucket to sprinkle water on the flames...). I assure you we will not stay and follow those instructions in case of fire.

My take on Advice from Mom.

 Around mother's day, there is a lot of advice floating around.  I wanted to do my own list. Much handed down from my mother.  Some learned the hard way. All? take it or leave it!

1.     Regarding babies? If their tummy is full and their bottom dry, they are ok.

2.     Don’t go to anyone’s house as a guest empty handed.

3.     Say yes whenever you can. Mean it when you say no.

4.     Exercise. Just do it.

5.     Your spouse deserves your respect at all times.  You picked him/her.  Make sure what you say reflects your good choice.

6.     Violence is best left to tv, video games and literature.  Don’t let it poison you.

7.     Sit up straight. You will feel better.

8.     Drink a glass of water for every alcoholic one you consume, or just go with club soda.

9.     Always tell the people you love that you do.  Even if it sounds like routine.

10. No one will love you like your mother and father. You will love no one like your child.  Trust me on this.

11. When you feel like smacking someone you love the most, hug them hardest.

12. Make your bed everyday.   Even if you will be crawling back into it. Even if no one but you sees it. It shows your respect for yourself.

13. Keep journals.  It is a form of meditation. And great perspective.

14. Stretch.

15. Nap.

16. Try new things. You were born with a sense of adventure.  Enjoy it.

17. Family matters. Take care of each other. 

18. Animals learn from how they are treated.  Don't forget that people are animals.

19. Your time is only worth what you value it to be. Everyone has the same 24 hours.

20. Give back.  You’ve been lucky.  Not everyone has.

Crazy Dog Lady

If I hadn't specifically checked, I'd assume it was the full moon, because the dogs can't settle down this morning. Or they couldn't, until I finally moved the computer back to the office and opened a file to write. It's as though they know I've made commitments to myself and they are frantic for me to follow through. Dogs.

I read Mary Oliver's Dog Songs last night. She writes like she's an old friend, and I loved the book. I suppose people who love dogs and have known them as best friends would also feel that way. One thing she talked about that made me a little sad was how dogs on leashes walking the sidewalk are not real dogs. That dogs need to run free. I confess that my dogs don't get that privilege. I'd like for them to, but they just don't have any common sense. I take them to the beach and they would run forever after the gulls and pelicans and my voice calling them back would be lost in the wind. They'd run so far I'd never catch up to them. I take them to the dog park, but they hover next to the little dog weight limit (twenty pounds) ... he is a little over, she is a little under, so they are not safe from admonition in either section. The big dogs would have them of course, but the little girl simply cowers in fear, and begs me to hold her. The big boy looks tine amidst the Great Danes and German Shepherds and Boxers. He tries to play, but the big dogs don't take him seriously.

It makes me long for the fields back in Iowa, where we used to take the dog of the moment and let him run. But that dog was Barney, the black lab, and he would not run so far that he couldn't hear me, and would always come back. Or the dog-friendly beaches of Michigan, but that was Millie, the golden retriever, and she'd jump into the cool water and swim until the humans had to go home. You could throw a ball from Michigan to Chicago, and Millie would bring it back to you. And it makes me remember sadly my Scout, the Border collie who never needed a leash, so long as you had a ball or a stick. She was not letting those "sheep" out of her sight.

But my dogs now, sweet little stuffed animals that they are, half golden retriever, with their common sense, and retrieving and swimming, and half poodle, also swimmers and retrievers, with a good dose of clever thrown in, exhibit very few of the traits of their parental breeds. I toss a ball for them and they look at me like I’m crazy. I take them to the beach, either the cool fresh water of Michigan or the sensuous salt of the gulf, and they love to look at the dead fish, and chase the birds, but they are very much not interested in going in. The little one hides behind my feet, the big one pulls away.
But they love to run around their fenced yard, love to walk on their leashes with me wherever I want to go (except please not that new park, they get cockle burs there!) And they don't shed, love brushing and they love my husband and me. They know our kids on sight and love them too, even though none of them live here. And strangers? They will do their tricks... one legacy from their poodle dad... and smile sweetly until anyone who meets them loves them back. I think that is their equivalent to off leash time, or maybe they are really not dogs, but stuffed animals come to life.

Anyway. Dog Songs, by Mary Oliver. Easy, quick little book of poems and sweet sketches.

Easter doodles

I have been busy with company and am traveling now, but hope to be able to catch up with the poem a day before the end of the month.  In the meantime, the puppies want to say hello!

It is also Poem in your Pocket day.  I'm embarrassed to say I'm not dressed yet...  I may have used this one last year, so I'll check later.  But it's handy and I'm in a hotel, so it's going to have to do for now.




Waking

by Stephen Dobyns

Waking, I look at you sleeping beside me.

It is early and the baby in her crib

has begun her conversation with the gods

that direct her, cooing and making small hoots.

Watching you, I see how your face bears the signs

of our time together—for each objective

description, there is the romantic; for each

scientific fact, there's the subjective truth—

this line was caused by days at a microscope,

this from when you thought I no longer loved you.

Last night a friend called to say that he intends

to move out; so simple, he and his wife splitting

like a cell into two separate creatures.

What would happen if we divided ourselves?

As two colors blend on a white pad, so we

have become a third color; or better,

as a wire bites into the tree it surrounds,

so we have grown together. Can you believe

how frightening I find this, to know I have

no life except with you? It's almost enough

to make me destroy it just to protest it.

Always we seemed perched on the brink of chaos.

But today there's just sunlight and the baby's

chatter, her wonder at the way light dances

on the wall. How lucky to be ignorant,

to greet joy without a trace of suspicion,

to take that first step without worrying what

comes trailing after, as night trails after day,

or winter summer, or confusion where all

seemed clear and each moment was its own reward.

More Poems for April

 Prompts from Writers Digest April Poem a Day Challenge


 Self Portrait

Most often I think of myself as
Times New Roman, 12 point font.
With occasional italics or bold
But I’m not an underline type.
As for the exterior
I’m more of a shadows person,
I even walk behind my dogs

But that doesn’t mean I don’t
Know how to Shine
With the glow of hard work
Or the brilliance of joy
Or the polish of Uptown.
I’m a chameleon,
Just tell me what you want me to be.

April 15

The calendar pages scroll forward,
Not like the past when I could x them off
Black marker on paper. Everything now is
Digital.

I put the numbers in the program
Nothing judgmental. I’m just a monkey copying
From W-2 to 1099 and the
Program tells me what to put where.
I don’t need to understand anymore.

But when it gets to that crucial
Tax Due line
I want to pull my physical hair out
And go back to the days
When a little finesse
Could be a tax shelter.

Night

The train whistle is more a blare
Then metallic pounding, wheels on rails,
I know it is midnight
and I’m still awake.
I swallow and my throat sticks together,
All the moisture in my body evaporates,
I’m still so hot.

The shadow at the doorway looms,
I pretend hard I am asleep.
He walks into the room anyway. 
“Are you awake?”
He strokes my hair
and I know
I’ve run out of luck.


Prompt: Violence or Peace

Evacuation

It started with a calm day, hot, humid, summer.
But there was more: an anticipation. A sense of
What was coming.
Get ready, we were warned.  Run from the rain
They said, but hide from the wind. 
We waited until the last minute
When paranoia and the eerie empty feel of the streets,
And the closing of the texmex place around the corner
Prickled our fear.

So we packed up.
We took the dogs and the cats and
Our youngest son, still at home.
We stacked in all the photo albums
And the plastic box with passports medical records
And birth certificates.
“Should we take both cars?” I asked.
“We have insurance.” He said.
It is just stuff and
Stuff is replaceable.

The wind came, and not finding us,
Twisted the trees and played tiddley winks with shingles.
And the rain came, and couldn’t catch us,
but still the carpets were soaked and smelled bad.
Green slime filled the sparkling pool
While the temperature climbed
But the linemen couldn’t.

So we lit candles and perspired
And taught our kid to put together puzzles
Since his beloved Xbox took power.
And when we finally got news
And the count of the dead
We learned that the surge had swept away
Houses, streets, whole villages.
But they didn’t say what everyone knew
That no one would ever know the real number,
bodies might never be found.
Mostly the old ones, who knew that evacuation
Could be like war.