In a few months, the skies will subject their storehouses to being silently emptied. For now, the sound of heavenly cascades is more than enough to put all activity on pause and spend a few minutes just listening.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Thursday, August 25, 2011
tricks of the trade
I looked at the raw chicken sitting in my refrigerator the other day and remembered my Wycliffe cookbook that I purchased a few years ago. It contains recipes and cooking anecdotes from those who serve worldwide. I decided to see what I could find inspiring.
Instead, I discovered things like this. How did I get through the last 34 years of my life without knowing this stuff?
Place cottage cheese container upside down to keep twice as long.
To make fluffier omelets, add a pinch of cornstarch before beating.
To remove excess fat from soup, add lettuce leaves for a few minutes and remove before serving or add ice cubes and remove them immediately.
For too much garlic, add a small bunch of parsley for 10 minutes.
To remove unpleasant odors from the interior of the refrigerator, wipe with damp cloth sprinkled with vanilla flavoring.
To deter ants coming in through doors and windows, plant peppermint at entrances. The crushed leaves release the mint oils that drive ants away.
To keep granulated sugar from lumping, place a couple of saltine crackers in the container and cover tightly.
Instead, I discovered things like this. How did I get through the last 34 years of my life without knowing this stuff?
Place cottage cheese container upside down to keep twice as long.
To make fluffier omelets, add a pinch of cornstarch before beating.
To remove excess fat from soup, add lettuce leaves for a few minutes and remove before serving or add ice cubes and remove them immediately.
For too much garlic, add a small bunch of parsley for 10 minutes.
To remove unpleasant odors from the interior of the refrigerator, wipe with damp cloth sprinkled with vanilla flavoring.
To deter ants coming in through doors and windows, plant peppermint at entrances. The crushed leaves release the mint oils that drive ants away.
To keep granulated sugar from lumping, place a couple of saltine crackers in the container and cover tightly.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Monday, August 22, 2011
Back in Black
Even in a city of seven million, 3 a.m. is a quiet time. So quiet, in fact, that I can hear crickets from 16 stories below. They have no idea that their serenades are broken only by intermittent crunches of Crispix mix coming from apartment 1604. My sleep has been dictated by circadian rhythm; after going to bed around 7 pm, I woke up and soon found that I was thinking and planning – a sign that my body is ready to expel some energy. I'll likely be up a few hours and will assimilate to a regular sleeping cycle before the sun comes up. Not bad.
Most of the students have returned. Classes resume on Monday, August 22, with only the freshmen being exempt because of mandatory military training that will last for at least two weeks. Since all of my classes are first-year students, that means I don't start teaching until after most of my colleagues do. I also finish later, but with international flights and an apartment yearning for some overdue dusting, I prefer to have the shifted semester. Plus, freshmen crack me up, and I gladly teach them despite the different schedule and the commute across town to get to their campus.
My arrival at the airport on Saturday night was celebrated by two friends, one being a local taxi driver and the other being a former student whose English name has been affectionately altered by my team to always begin with “Terrific.” Within minutes of stepping into my familiar little dorm apartment, I had to decide if I wanted to go to bed with or without a shower. With my water heater being unplugged for the summer, it was an easy choice. No hot water = no shower. I washed my face, brushed my teeth and unfolded some mismatched sheets.
Within the few minutes of settling down for some needed sleep, I received two messages. One was from Foster. He was already in the dorm of my lobby. I explained to him that I looked and felt like an extra off of “Tales from the Crypt,” and asked for a 24 hour delay. He understood. The second message was from a friend whom we met through our fellowship. He said that he had reserved a karaoke room for us after the service on Sunday, if I was up for it. I laughed out loud. Who else in their right mind would be ready for karaoke less than a day after being awake for 30 hours? I graciously declined, and he was as gracious in accepting my reply. But soon, very very soon....
Most of the students have returned. Classes resume on Monday, August 22, with only the freshmen being exempt because of mandatory military training that will last for at least two weeks. Since all of my classes are first-year students, that means I don't start teaching until after most of my colleagues do. I also finish later, but with international flights and an apartment yearning for some overdue dusting, I prefer to have the shifted semester. Plus, freshmen crack me up, and I gladly teach them despite the different schedule and the commute across town to get to their campus.
My arrival at the airport on Saturday night was celebrated by two friends, one being a local taxi driver and the other being a former student whose English name has been affectionately altered by my team to always begin with “Terrific.” Within minutes of stepping into my familiar little dorm apartment, I had to decide if I wanted to go to bed with or without a shower. With my water heater being unplugged for the summer, it was an easy choice. No hot water = no shower. I washed my face, brushed my teeth and unfolded some mismatched sheets.
Within the few minutes of settling down for some needed sleep, I received two messages. One was from Foster. He was already in the dorm of my lobby. I explained to him that I looked and felt like an extra off of “Tales from the Crypt,” and asked for a 24 hour delay. He understood. The second message was from a friend whom we met through our fellowship. He said that he had reserved a karaoke room for us after the service on Sunday, if I was up for it. I laughed out loud. Who else in their right mind would be ready for karaoke less than a day after being awake for 30 hours? I graciously declined, and he was as gracious in accepting my reply. But soon, very very soon....
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
It's comin' back around...
1. I just placed an order for another pair of boots to take with me back to Harbin. I've worn more boots in the last three years than perhaps in the last decade. If you move to sub-Siberia, winter boots (moreover, well made winter boots) are indispensable.
2. I worked on a newsletter into the late hours of last night. If revisions are minimal, it should be printed and mailed out by August 20.
3. I wake up at 4:00 a.m. on Friday to drive to Atlanta, where I will pick up a dear friend who is traveling for five hours to see me. I met him during my first weekend in Harbin, so it seems only appropriate that I spend my last weekend at home showing him around.
4. I return to China on August 19, landing on August 20.
2. I worked on a newsletter into the late hours of last night. If revisions are minimal, it should be printed and mailed out by August 20.
3. I wake up at 4:00 a.m. on Friday to drive to Atlanta, where I will pick up a dear friend who is traveling for five hours to see me. I met him during my first weekend in Harbin, so it seems only appropriate that I spend my last weekend at home showing him around.
4. I return to China on August 19, landing on August 20.
Friday, July 29, 2011
FYI
I've been invited to speak at Central BC in Warner Robins during both of the morning services on Sunday, July 31. This is one of the most efficient ways to let many on my newsletter list know of the opportunity, if you'd like to come or will simply ask for favor and blessing in that moment. It's an honor to be able to share this part of my life with people who watched me grow up.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
flying the friendly skies
For the last two weeks, I've been in North Carolina, Wisconsin and Colorado. I've ziplined through canopies, viewed a glorious sunrise from a farmhouse attic window, watched Amish girls hang laundry in the breeze and made jokes about my own altitude sickness at 12,000 feet above sea level.
Life doesn't slow down for homecomings, but if that's the price required for reunions, it's worth it.
Life doesn't slow down for homecomings, but if that's the price required for reunions, it's worth it.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Uptown Charlie
Ziplining is always fun, no matter if it's in Thailand or Richland Creek, North Carolina. What's not fun is arriving in enough time to find a place to eat - preferably something local and healthy - and ending up having to settle for chain eateries that could be found anywhere. Aren't the mountains supposed to be full of mom and pop Americana?
We stopped at a restaurant that looked like Applebee's retrofitted with sports paraphernalia. It was called Uptown Charlie's. I saw no Charlie nor anything that was discernibly uptown. Stick with choosing sandwiches served with fries, though, and it won't disappoint too much.
We chose a booth and realized soon after sitting down that we were right beside a baby shower -- a baby shower taking place in front of a mosaic wall of tv screens broadcasting simultaneous sports programs. The women in attendance were all young. Some had small children with them. A few were pregnant. The mother-to-be wore a corsage on the strap of her maxi dress. They all went outside but left behind the presents and the the snacks in the care of boyfriends/husbands drafted for security detail. I had no idea what they were doing out in full sun. Photos, maybe?
My friend forget something in her car, made a quick dash outside to retrieve it and then returned a few minutes later. She looked sad. "They're all out there smoking. Even the pregnant ones."
"Maybe that's why we couldn't find anywhere else to eat," I said. "Maybe no one else is gonna pray for those families today."
And so that's what we did.
We stopped at a restaurant that looked like Applebee's retrofitted with sports paraphernalia. It was called Uptown Charlie's. I saw no Charlie nor anything that was discernibly uptown. Stick with choosing sandwiches served with fries, though, and it won't disappoint too much.
We chose a booth and realized soon after sitting down that we were right beside a baby shower -- a baby shower taking place in front of a mosaic wall of tv screens broadcasting simultaneous sports programs. The women in attendance were all young. Some had small children with them. A few were pregnant. The mother-to-be wore a corsage on the strap of her maxi dress. They all went outside but left behind the presents and the the snacks in the care of boyfriends/husbands drafted for security detail. I had no idea what they were doing out in full sun. Photos, maybe?
My friend forget something in her car, made a quick dash outside to retrieve it and then returned a few minutes later. She looked sad. "They're all out there smoking. Even the pregnant ones."
"Maybe that's why we couldn't find anywhere else to eat," I said. "Maybe no one else is gonna pray for those families today."
And so that's what we did.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Sung-il
I met Sung-il just a few weeks before leaving Harbin for the summer holiday. He was sitting outside the library one evening and saw me walk by. I was doing what I usually do in the evenings of spring and summer: taking a good long walk around campus. More often than not, my ipod is my companion, and I don't hear much beyond whatever song is piping its way into my ears. I never knew he was trying to catch up with me until he appeared in my peripheral. A person just knows when someone is matching pace in order to be noticed.
I turned my head, pulled out my earbuds, and raised my eyebrows in a signal of acknowledgement. I never quit walking, though. I wasn't nervous; after all, a white person in Asia often gets requests from students to engage in conversation for brief English tryouts. "Hello," he said. "Hello," I countered. "Where are you from?" he asked, his pupils dilated in curiosity. "Guess," I said.
"America?"
"You're right."
"Can you guess where I'm from?"
I inventoried him for a few seconds. He was undeniably Asian - straight black hair, dark almond eyes, flatter nose, angular cheeks and jaw. But his build was taller, his shoulders broader than the average student at HIT. The veins underneath his arms gave him a more rugged look than I was used to seeing among males on campus. And by virtue in approaching someone he's never met, he had given me doubt about his nationality ever being Chinese. Still, I couldn't completely eliminate it, either. So I compromised:
"You're either Chinese or South Korean."
He beamed. "South Korean!"
"Ah," I said in satisfaction.
"Are you a teacher here?" he asked. I affirmed that I was. He asked if he could talk with me for a few minutes. I saw no harm in it since I was out in a very public space with plenty of people around. Plus, he immediately struck me as an atypical South Korean exchange student; his fellow countrymen keep to themselves. They compose a good majority of students who live in our dorm, and they travel, live, eat, shop and do almost everything else in a pack. I'm skeptical that they make much progress with their Chinese; they're always speaking Korean with one another in the hallways and elevators. His curiosity about me, in turn, sparked my curiosity about him, and I thought it might make for an interesting evening walk.
“My English name is Jack.”
“You don’t look like a Jack.”
He smiled, presumably because he was thinking that I wouldn’t be able to overcome his Korean name. I asked him to say it for me.
“KANG. SUNG. IL.”
I listened intently, repeated it to perfection and have never called him anything else.
By the time my departure date had arrived, he had spent nearly every evening walking with me. He had also joined me and my friends for meals, ktv, bowling and badminton. There was never a reason to wonder about his motives. He is planning to spend the following semester in Australia and severely needs all the English practice he can get. It was no inconvenience for me to have a conversation partner for my nightly walks, and as our conversations – like our walking – turned and winded, I found myself cheering for him.
Sung-il is the second child born to two South Korean parents. His father was killed in a car accident when he was very young, and his mother has never remarried. She now works as a waitress, or at least that’s what his English led me to believe. Sung-il’s sister never went to college, but she has a good job at a major electronics company. She has helped to subsidize his education. His goal is to be CEO of a company that liaisons among South Korea, China and the US.
Sung-il is a Chinese major, which is why he is at HIT. Rather than live in the dorm where we reside, he chose to live in another dorm to get away from the South Korean contingent. Instead, he roomed with guys from Taiwan and Hong Kong. He also chose to spend much of his free time studying in the library. I later found out he was asked to be the representative of his class. During our short weeks of befriending one another, he attended the Sunday services with me and my usual group. His aunt is the one in his family who introduced him to faith. He has been like-minded since the age of 14.
Once he graduates, he will serve a mandatory two-year service in the national military. In South Korea, it is required of all males, regardless of education or status. Before being conscripted, he wants to spend his last semester of student freedom doing something worthwhile, so he has chosen to move to Australia, where he knows only one person. He has no place to stay and no job. He will fly into Sydney with enough money in his pocket to keep him afloat only for only a short time. Finding employment and accommodations are immediately crucial. His sister has purchased his plane ticket with the warning that he must not waste his time there. From what I know of him, I don’t think he will.
His English is filled with comical errors, but his personality wins over almost anyone who talks to him. The energy that percolates inside of him sometimes comes out when he walks; there is a discernable bounce to his steps. When he talks, it seems as though he uses his whole body. His face contorts, his eyes brighten, his voice explodes in exclamation and laughter, his arms flail and he inserts random stretching techniques into his gate. Talking to him may very well burn as many calories as walking with him.
And did I mention he will dance at the drop of a hat? In front of old Chinese couples leisurely practicing waltzes in park courtyards? And then combine that with singing Korean pop songs in front of the very same people? I was only momentarily embarrassed. More than anything, I admired his zeal.
And now, he is preparing to go to Australia. I don’t know if we’ll lose touch; I’m not hopeful that a friendship of only a few weeks will be sustained throughout the next months’ worth of adventures, but I do hope and pray for his success and that he is not exploited by people who prey on his unfamiliarity of his new surroundings. His intrepidness and determination, though hidden behind a veil of playfulness, are the kinds of elements that have steeled many men for answering calls of eternity to go and serve and sacrifice. If my pessimism comes to naught, it will be a delight to be audience to the next chapters of his life.
I turned my head, pulled out my earbuds, and raised my eyebrows in a signal of acknowledgement. I never quit walking, though. I wasn't nervous; after all, a white person in Asia often gets requests from students to engage in conversation for brief English tryouts. "Hello," he said. "Hello," I countered. "Where are you from?" he asked, his pupils dilated in curiosity. "Guess," I said.
"America?"
"You're right."
"Can you guess where I'm from?"
I inventoried him for a few seconds. He was undeniably Asian - straight black hair, dark almond eyes, flatter nose, angular cheeks and jaw. But his build was taller, his shoulders broader than the average student at HIT. The veins underneath his arms gave him a more rugged look than I was used to seeing among males on campus. And by virtue in approaching someone he's never met, he had given me doubt about his nationality ever being Chinese. Still, I couldn't completely eliminate it, either. So I compromised:
"You're either Chinese or South Korean."
He beamed. "South Korean!"
"Ah," I said in satisfaction.
"Are you a teacher here?" he asked. I affirmed that I was. He asked if he could talk with me for a few minutes. I saw no harm in it since I was out in a very public space with plenty of people around. Plus, he immediately struck me as an atypical South Korean exchange student; his fellow countrymen keep to themselves. They compose a good majority of students who live in our dorm, and they travel, live, eat, shop and do almost everything else in a pack. I'm skeptical that they make much progress with their Chinese; they're always speaking Korean with one another in the hallways and elevators. His curiosity about me, in turn, sparked my curiosity about him, and I thought it might make for an interesting evening walk.
“My English name is Jack.”
“You don’t look like a Jack.”
He smiled, presumably because he was thinking that I wouldn’t be able to overcome his Korean name. I asked him to say it for me.
“KANG. SUNG. IL.”
I listened intently, repeated it to perfection and have never called him anything else.
By the time my departure date had arrived, he had spent nearly every evening walking with me. He had also joined me and my friends for meals, ktv, bowling and badminton. There was never a reason to wonder about his motives. He is planning to spend the following semester in Australia and severely needs all the English practice he can get. It was no inconvenience for me to have a conversation partner for my nightly walks, and as our conversations – like our walking – turned and winded, I found myself cheering for him.
Sung-il is the second child born to two South Korean parents. His father was killed in a car accident when he was very young, and his mother has never remarried. She now works as a waitress, or at least that’s what his English led me to believe. Sung-il’s sister never went to college, but she has a good job at a major electronics company. She has helped to subsidize his education. His goal is to be CEO of a company that liaisons among South Korea, China and the US.
Sung-il is a Chinese major, which is why he is at HIT. Rather than live in the dorm where we reside, he chose to live in another dorm to get away from the South Korean contingent. Instead, he roomed with guys from Taiwan and Hong Kong. He also chose to spend much of his free time studying in the library. I later found out he was asked to be the representative of his class. During our short weeks of befriending one another, he attended the Sunday services with me and my usual group. His aunt is the one in his family who introduced him to faith. He has been like-minded since the age of 14.
Once he graduates, he will serve a mandatory two-year service in the national military. In South Korea, it is required of all males, regardless of education or status. Before being conscripted, he wants to spend his last semester of student freedom doing something worthwhile, so he has chosen to move to Australia, where he knows only one person. He has no place to stay and no job. He will fly into Sydney with enough money in his pocket to keep him afloat only for only a short time. Finding employment and accommodations are immediately crucial. His sister has purchased his plane ticket with the warning that he must not waste his time there. From what I know of him, I don’t think he will.
His English is filled with comical errors, but his personality wins over almost anyone who talks to him. The energy that percolates inside of him sometimes comes out when he walks; there is a discernable bounce to his steps. When he talks, it seems as though he uses his whole body. His face contorts, his eyes brighten, his voice explodes in exclamation and laughter, his arms flail and he inserts random stretching techniques into his gate. Talking to him may very well burn as many calories as walking with him.
And did I mention he will dance at the drop of a hat? In front of old Chinese couples leisurely practicing waltzes in park courtyards? And then combine that with singing Korean pop songs in front of the very same people? I was only momentarily embarrassed. More than anything, I admired his zeal.
And now, he is preparing to go to Australia. I don’t know if we’ll lose touch; I’m not hopeful that a friendship of only a few weeks will be sustained throughout the next months’ worth of adventures, but I do hope and pray for his success and that he is not exploited by people who prey on his unfamiliarity of his new surroundings. His intrepidness and determination, though hidden behind a veil of playfulness, are the kinds of elements that have steeled many men for answering calls of eternity to go and serve and sacrifice. If my pessimism comes to naught, it will be a delight to be audience to the next chapters of his life.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Leavin' on a jet plane
I left Harbin this morning in the care of my taxi-driving friend while the sweet and familiar faces of about four friends became a mural through the passenger window.
I am at the Beijing Airport for the next two hours, then boarding a flight that will take me to Chicago and then Hotlanta.
I've already been to Starbucks. Enjoyed a sandwich that, while bland, was still a CHICKEN SANDWICH WITHOUT THE LIKES OF CORN AND KETCHUP. Proof that I haven't completely outgrown my western palate.
I am now sitting at the gate and distracting myself with the complimentary wi-fi and the unexpected company of a dear friend whom I've known since my first year of teaching. She and I met at training and spend time together every year when we congregate in Thailand. She is on the same flight, two rows away.
There are so many foreign faces here, and by "foreign," I mean "my kind." I never cease to be amazed in travel.
I am at the Beijing Airport for the next two hours, then boarding a flight that will take me to Chicago and then Hotlanta.
I've already been to Starbucks. Enjoyed a sandwich that, while bland, was still a CHICKEN SANDWICH WITHOUT THE LIKES OF CORN AND KETCHUP. Proof that I haven't completely outgrown my western palate.
I am now sitting at the gate and distracting myself with the complimentary wi-fi and the unexpected company of a dear friend whom I've known since my first year of teaching. She and I met at training and spend time together every year when we congregate in Thailand. She is on the same flight, two rows away.
There are so many foreign faces here, and by "foreign," I mean "my kind." I never cease to be amazed in travel.
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