impressions of quebec

the one thing that amazes me is the effortless bilingualism. coming from a country where the entity exists proudly on paper and stumbles awkwardly in practice we are at once charmed and grateful and exceedingly impressed that the one is authentically mellifluous and the other completely grammatical. that mangled patois that is m. hercule poirot's brand of english is unheard here, nouvelle francais notwithstanding.

i do wish our mandarin sounds like their french and our english is correct like theirs.

je me souviens

the people here say, i will remember. and they make every effort to. they fiercely guard their colonial heritage with all the linguistic and cultural baggage and they immortalize their former taskmasters with much affection and gratitude. there is gentleness and inefficiency that result when you respect your past.

this is so differemt from back east, i tell HOM. over there, our love affair sputtered to an ignominious disillusionment with the japanese occupation. we have not this engaging fondness for our sir's and mem's, although we retain a lingering obsequiousness. mostly we are brash and new and briskly vigorous. plenty of shine but we cut out the depth with independence and development.

wish list

here's what makes for a nice hotel, in my books, and fresh from three in the past week, from the perspective of the budget-conscious middle-aged mom-and-pop traveler:

• non-smoking provision, with penalties on violators.
• firm high bed with orthopedic pillows. forget the down. please.
• free wi-fi, unlimited devices. i'm cheap.
• one of those coffee makers that use the tiny individual pots.
• real cups and glasses. because disposable is just tacky.
• motion sensor lighting in bathroom. loved this one.
• shower stall, not bath tub. a rain shower head is good.

error

the name says beijing. it proudly guards the entrance to the quartier chinois. the sign on the door says  zagat rated. we are ready to be impressed.

what i say is, the zagat reviewer had no idea what good chinese tastes like. 

lonely planet guide

meandering the gardens. lunching in the house of parliament. wandering the lower city. watching the glass blowers. climbing the battlements. swapping food notes with random strangers. hunting out that crepe shop. working up to agonizing body aches.

good sort of vacation? HOM asks me. the best, i tell him. good company great weather no fixed itinerary an entire city within walking distance and only needing to think of the next meal.

date night

great weather. the old city. evening walk. a little bistro. ze accent. good food. french songs. my friend my lover my partner. memories are made of these.

impressions of montreal

• languages spoken are french english and chinese.
• every other street is named after a saint.
• cars. more cars. and then some more.
• the gps has a french accent to curdle your blood.

rite of passage

we leave J2 at her dorm.

is this it? HOM asks me. is this the end of her childhood and our life as we have known it for two decades? will she not come back now except with her family after this? is this it?

if  it goes well, this is it, i tell him. she becomes an adult now. if it goes well, she grows into a mature beautiful adult. if it goes well, this is the good end to childhood and childish ways.

unsung symphony

nobody ever told me sending a kid to college was this stressful. perhaps i didn't listen. or perhaps parents are so shell-shocked they just want to get on with life after that.

that being that monumentally difficult weekend during which you attempt to prophecy what the dorm requires and prepare as accordingly as possible and find out eventually that you fall short anyway,  for which you make your child pack with as close an eye to economy as possible and still find the sum total far exceeding your financial and volumetric quotas, during which you arrive cross-border to find yourself obliged to impersonate a headless chicken trying to set up bank account cellphone account pay school fees and run up smack against. the. weekend. and, naturally, doing all of this and trying to impart your years of accumulated wisdom and finding your advice competing at a disadvantage against the pull of frosh activities and other more attractive offerings. tempers, not entirely unexpectedly, get awfully frayed.

HOM and i totally need a vacation after this.

ghosts

we bring J2 to her dorm. 

it's a tiny campus. several faculty buildings surround the pre-war relic. the ceilings soar effortlessly. the bathroom has mosaic floor tiles. the stairs are double-width and covered with terrazzo. there is harsh white fluorescent lighting. you walk next door to class. 

it feels surreal, i tell HOM. this is k.e.vii all over again, and back to haunt me.

a song of ascents

L'Eternal est celui qui te garde, L'Eternal est ton ombre a ta main droite, i want to tell J2. the sun will not smite you by day, nor the moon by night, i want to tell HOM.

rites of passage and transitions and major life events have a way of coming together in a seething cauldron of uncertainties and forgottens and uncontrollables. 

the LORD will guard your going out and your coming in from this time forth and forever. L'Eternal gardera ton depart et ton arrivee, des  maintenant et a jamais. i need to tell them, as i need to remind myself. through shining success burning stress the warmth of comfort and heat of battle the cold evils of discouragement and machinations and darkest night he neither slumbers nor sleeps.

regard

the road to a friend's house is never long, the old proverb says.

so our friend drives from timbuktu to siberia to send us to the airport in the early hours. in the gardens that i have, the most glorious blooms are friends.

new things

even to your old age, i am He

and even to gray hairs i will carry you!

i have made, and i will bear;

even i will carry, and will deliver you.

isaiah 46:4

go with God, child.

seasons

they that sow in tears shall reap in joy.

- ps 126:5

that bag of seed, my friend, comes from thy best grain.

the comfort thou wouldst receive the succor thou wouldst have

the labor thou wouldst have expended upon thee.

sow them with tears of hunger and longing and pain.

the Lord of the harvest says,

they that sow in tears shall in time know joy.

precious mem'ries 2

they have a surprise farewell party in church for J2 and us. people come and say they will miss us. we appreciate your contributions and your faithful labor, they say. the tears come because i can't help them. not a labor, i say. it was my privilege. it was our privilege.

go with God, an old lady says. God willing we meet again. but i am old, and perhaps we will not meet in this life. she teaches me much, this old lady, about living and loving and not fearing.

precious mem'ries

HOM and i fly back to texas for a memorial service. we meet up with beloved friends. it is like we never left. 

sometimes we wonder if we should have traveled more done more seen more places ticked off more items in our years here. but then we would not have known so many be known by them shared so much and learnt to laugh and weep so well. i have not seen the grand canyon but i have glimpsed hearts. it suffices.

respite

J2 goes off to college in a couple days. she treats me to frozen yogurt. i lend her the cash. she wants to know how to launder her favorite skirt. we trade tips over lunch at Tachibana. we wander the trinkets store and goggle at the kawaii stuff.

we've come a ways, J2 and i. at one time i did not think we would come to this place of easier conversation and active peace. 

blessings all mine

take some photos to remember, HOM tells me.

i take this to remind me that once, for a really brief period,

we had the inestimable pleasure of living

in the midst of unbridled color.

touching the throne

though it seems that your prayers have been in vain/ though your faith the world would destroy/ though your heart should ache 'til it breaks in two/ they that sow in tears shall reap in joy.

- william gaither

somebody needs to include this in the primer for parenting so that hapless parents know they do not weep alone.

the accidental bride - janice harayda (1999)

all i can say is, wit does not guarantee good writing. like a chain of semi-precious stones held together by raffia. 

recommendation: don't.

spent, again

bearing with one another in love.

- eph 4:2

the thing about having your buttons pushed is that some buttons appear to be reserved for some specific persons. and the thing about bearing with one another is that the mutuality cannot be mandated.

homeward bound

after six years.

nice.

if only it wasn't such an expensive home.

so yes. mixed feelings.

water-shed time

God, who gives us richly all things to enjoy.

- 1 Tim 6:17

the antidote to centuries of sino-asian cultural conditioning.

God gives, and continues to give out of his boundless coffers,

out of his own wish, that i may know present delight.