out of the gray

There's something nice about repeating to yourself,“It's my day off. It's my day off,” as I did all day yesterday, and then spending the day like it really is something special. The whole afternoon in SPR, which still has a warm place in my heart from the early years. The manager still calls me by name, and they still sell great big espresso drinks for (foreigners-only) nine yuan.

Karen and I with our vastly different personalities, still find plenty to connect over. I am excited to tell her about the new hot spring resort on the top of Fengya Mountain, knowing it's her kind of indulgence. We sit in fat sofas beside the window, ignoring the cold, gray, half-rainy day. She's just come from three weeks in snowy Lancaster, PA and says the fresh comparison make Sichuan winter seem all that much worse. Her mother had complained while she was home about one overcast day, and Karen replied, “Mom, this is what it's like everyday where I live.”

I'm grateful for how the weather matters less to me now than it once did. I still grumble at the dark, damp winters, don't get me wrong, but I am capable of going out, getting things done, and being happy even, when it's gray and cold. I add layers, put up my hood. I eat more, sleep longer, and spend more time on the computer . . . guilt-free. And when sun shines in Nanchong, or I have a few weeks in Virginia, the beauty is all that much more startling. I expect Vancouver rain to be more than tolerable, backed by mountains and pierced through with sunshine as I've heard it is.

sabbath fruit

What I'm still working on, is the quality of life bit.

I am blessed enough to still love the work -

the beauty of the labor and of the final product -

even on the long days.

What I'm still working on, is the quality of mine bit.

Like if I were to squeeze a glass all for myself today

because the oranges are across the street for 2.55 a kilogram

because they're all health and sweetness and, yes,

beauty that's for me too.

how I'm becoming old fast

I keep laughing to myself about how back in October when the bakery got unprecedentedly busy during National Day week, a 700 yuan day seemed like something special . . . like we'd SERVED SOME CUSTOMERS. I would come home at night and soak my feet (which would still hurt in the morning), and think with awe of all the money we were making. At this point, of course, 5, 6, and 700 days seem normal. And then suddenly, last week we're breaking 1000, which is a new unprecedentedly busy, and it's all the three of us can do to keep up. I lock the door around 11:15, and am usually back by mid-to-late morning. My feet hurt sometimes when I wake up. Sam's mom tells me to soak them in hot water and ginger before I go to bed. Maybe I will tonight.

Earlier when I strolled out onto the street to breath some cool air, I started chatting with the woman who sells soy, peanut, and other-bean milk. She said, as a way of making conversation, "haven't closed yet?" "nope" I said, and asked her what time she normally closes. Depends on her mood, turns out. Yesterday she closed at six in the evening. You know, when you're just not in the mood, right? But then the customers are there the next day, asking, "where were you last night?" and doing business is supposed to have an element of freedom, but it sure doesn't feel like freedom! At this point I'd joined in and we were laughing back and forth about how tired we get, closing late and opening early (though she starts early for real, not 9 or 11 "early" like we do.) How it's hard getting out of bed in the morning, especially in the winter.

On Sunday before ZY left, the three of us turned about eight would-be customers away and kicked another two out early so we could close and get to the massage place by 10. It was worth it, giggling between ZY and TL, with the massage workers, who know my history in Nanchong. That and having all those hours of hunching over the coffee machine worked out of my shoulders.

on my own

Yesterday it was just me in the bakery since ZY was taking the graduate entrance exam and TL home to make food for her, support her emotionally and such. MY, our beloved part-timer of three months has gone home for the holiday, and neither QY nor ZJ are available this weekend.

But deep in the cold, dark days of winter in Nanchong, the bakery is not a bad place to spend the day. I am not busy now. English classes ended before the new year, and I finished up with my last class of 7-10 year olds last Sunday. But the long Saturday and Sunday with Sam my only responsibility outside of the bakery - feels a bit surreal. The slow morning. Unexpected conversations with Katrina and Riaz, one podcast while I worked on gluing together cloth and cardboard menus, and then the steady flow of people and cakes and coffee from 3:30 til closing. I must have steamed thirty pots of milk at our little espresso machine, leaning against the counter, until I saw nothing but the swirl of the milk and foam. When I woke up this morning, I knew I had dreamed of doing dishes.

Katrina, a student I taught in church English classes when she was fourteen, is now a college freshman, studying English, and distressed about how little she's learning in class. She was waiting for me when I came to open the door in the morning. She talked for an hour or so about teachers who play movies instead of teaching class, and classmates who prefer it that way. She says she's one of the rare students whose spoken English is better than her written, but she has no opportunities in class to speak. She wasn't really asking me for anything but to listen (which is always a relief). I lent her some of the simpler, more fun novels that foreign teachers have left in the bakery, and she came back in the evening to wash dishes - which turned out to be a small miracle in an of itself. I might have thrown up my hands and walked out if she hadn't been there - it would have been that busy. Thank god I volunteered those first few years at the church, I told Justin when the night was over, and somehow all the customers got their coffee.

stupid rules

I met on the corner an old colleague, a girl I saw almost everyday back in 2007 during my last semester at the medical college. She might be a year or two younger than me, but always acted like a little girl. She giggled a lot, maintained excellent rapport with all of the students, and was famous for her love of Japanese cartoons. I remember her actually patting my cheeks in unexpected enthusiastic affection.

I barely recognized her today as we walked towards each other on the street. Her face, which used to be pleasantly plump and pink, was now thin and a little sunken. But when I'd stopped her I still followed form and said, "Long time no see! You're so thin!" and meant it as a compliment.

She seemed please, did a little half-curtsy in her long down coat, and responded with, "Yes, but not thin enough. I have to keep working hard. What are you doing over here?"

You haven't heard that the bakery is over here? I asked, and she had, sort of. "So how are you?" I asked, genuinely excited to see her.

"I'm still searching for a partner," she said, and shook her head to show how hard the search was.

"Take your time," I said, and she laughed a short laugh. "It's important to find a good person; you don't want to find the wrong one," I insisted.

"The main thing is my mother is giving me lots of pressure," she admitted. "I really wouldn't care, but she is in a hurry, and pushing. So I came out here to go shopping and forget it all." She signaled the end of the conversation and moved a bit in the direction she had been headed.

"Well, good to see you," I said, and that was that. I walked on feeling sad for her, and the other women like her stuck suffocating in this town with it's (mostly) crappy men and rigid expectations.