so mom knows where I live

For a few days we thought maybe we'd have to move out of this apartment. And if I haven't made it clear, I love this apartment. Especially in the spring. And summer and fall. The big open air windows. The street down below. I literally can lean over the balcony railing and look down upon the vegetables that I might consider making into dinner. The landlord's mother, who was going to move in, will now stay with another daughter. I am left with relief, and an even deeper appreciation for this place.

The view from the front balcony (and some cinnamon rolls).

为了梦中的橄榄树

There are (relatively) cheap new apartments way out in the middle of nowwhere going on sale at the end of this month and ZX's parents want to buy one for him. Which is pretty normal; parents buy apartments for their kids if they can afford it.  But ZX's mad about the high prices of the housing market in general and says even if he had the money, he wouldn't buy a house, on principle. And he doesn't want them to buy one for him. You could start ten businesses with that money, he says.

And when we meet HF (who buys and sells houses for a living) for tea in the park, he's on our side. Don't buy a new house, he says. There's the added cost of the interior decoration, and the location's terrible. Buy a used apartment downtown - a good location, and already decorated, for a sixth of the cost. 

When they ask me what I think, I say, "I'm a wanderer, what do I want with a house?" At the price we're renting now, it would take us 100 years, literally, to make even a low-priced apartment pay off. And for now we're happy with our open-air, plaster-peeling, pull the lights on with a string little place. Homemade strawberry jam tastes just as sweet here, and it's still no chore to squeeze by him to get to the sink.

I would've bought all the lemons for one picture

The bagels turned out less than perfect. But they're bagels, I tell myself. My first try. And look at the oven I have to work with! A real bakery with a real oven, ZX and I agree, is going to feel like heaven after three bagels at a time in the boiling pot and the baking pan.

Meanwhile the freshman are so easy and fun that I'm asking for more classes. Willingly hanging around after the bell with patient smiles and the expected advice . . . but in the end I sail back into my anonymous life in the city. Where every day people I meet - the McDonald's workers waiting in line in the women's bathroom, the teenage girl and her father come to Nanchong to visit relatives, the girls selling dried snacks on the street - are friends for a few minutes. But it's not like I can invite them over for dinner.

On the busy market sidewalk this evening, one basket held less than ten lemons, and some ginger root. Behind the basket, the seller sat, but he was half-turned away, fully absorbed in a game of chess (or something like it) with another old man. Normal street activity. Like the crowd of seven or so clustered around the regular game down the street. They'll be there all day, only thin out later in the evening, and the die-hards will stay into the wee hours of the morning. Down the street they've got a real board though, and stools, to go with their real players and their real audience. Here behind the lemons there are just a few scratched lines on the sidewalk, and torn bits of lemon and orange peel to serve as pieces. Just two old men, but no less a game of chess.

in my new life, I blog every day

The apartment is smaller than I remember, but there's a freezer full of xiangchang, and it's so good to be starting the new life, finally. By this second morning the suitcases are unpacked and coffee is going. I set the school desk out on the balcony where the sounds of the street almost manage to overpower iTunes at full volume. Classes could begin as early as tomorrow, but I haven't been in touch yet with Y at the foreign affairs office. ZX's mother says I can buy whole wheat flour from the little cart at the gate of this building. She calls ZX's cousin back to try to convince her to come to the house to see us. We laugh at her enthusiasm, and again later, when SanJie calls us to say we should go out instead. She and her husband are near forty, roosters like me, but look so much younger. Except for his eyes, where you can see the work harder than he wants to at his research job with the oil company. They were classmates in elementary school. They live in Shandong but come back each Spring Festival to see their parents.