New dawn, new day, new life

Almost six months since my last post, it might be time to get back into it again, right?

After all the things that happened last spring and summer; all the worries, the tumultuous first year back in China behind us, finally getting back into things and realizing that it is not so bad after all; getting a routine down, getting to know new friends – getting a life – there was simply no inspiration and will to write for a while. Not that nothing interesting happened of course, this is Beijing after all, and I’ve realized I can keep myself busy for days trying to remembering it all but I guess it will come back to me after time. And it might end up here as well, who knows?

Coming home after a three week break in Sweden (and a surprise express visit to London) has been great (not counting jet lag of course but there is nothing really to do about that). The kids are thrilled to be back at school, we are all filled with energy, though it is bitterly cold the skies has been remarkably clear, only one single thing has demanded workers in the house so far and not one “that’s China” encounter yet. And the kids have been so busy that I haven’t heard a single thing about “the best Christmas ever!” Though I’ve told them over and over again that we will NOT do this every year and most probably not again next Christmas I think they have what a REAL CHRISTMAS is like imprinted in their brains and soul forever. And yes, it was very nice. I realized how traditional I am and how I think it should be just so, now that we were there, you know. Tons of snow, a weeks’ build up to if/when/how Santa will come, darkness that I had forgotten about (dusk at 3pm, really?), cooking, baking, preparing, wrapping presents in secret, Christmas music, cocooning and candles everywhere.

Now, after eating and drinking constantly and excessively, there is most definitely a new dawn, a new day and a new life ahead. 2013 will be THE year. The year when we will exercise our bodies and brains, find balance and success and most of all have lots of fun.

Heading out to try kickboxing class for the first time, the pollution index shows 428 (hazardous) and I have a headache. Still, the weekend is up ahead, jet lag is finally over and the family will be complete again so life’s good.

Not making sense

I woke up Wednesday morning with a big smile on my face, memories fresh from the amazing experience the night before. 

My husband, who knows me so very well, surprised me with a night on the town, orchestrated weeks before with family babysitters engaged and, not a single word had slipped out from anyone’s lips. I had spent the day with beautiful Mia; a whole day of lunch, a museum visit, shopping and talk, talk, talk and was clueless as to what was about to happen. All I knew was to be ready to leave a 5.30 and to dress nicely.

“It starts at 7pm” said my man and so I knew that it had to be an event of some kind but what?

We made our way into the city and started walking towards the old town. Where we perhaps going on a cruise? A musical event of some kind that I had not seen advertised?

“Let’s wait here for a moment”, he said, and guided me towards the water; the Royal Palace in front of us, the Royal Swedish Opera behind. The grey clouds from the afternoon were slowly drifting away and Stockholm was once again washed in the beautiful sunlight that only exists here.

“Can you see anything around here that isn’t here usually? Look up!” he says and I do, still clueless.

“We are going there!” he continues and points up at the roof of the Opera house and there, tilting almost, sits a class cube, THE Cube by Electrolux. I had read about the concept but had no idea where it was or when and was, of course, jumping with joy and excitement.

(http://www.electrolux.se/Cube/Cube-Stockholm_en/)

Only 18 people eat at the Cube at one time, seated at a long table almost in the kitchen which features the latest in Electrolux design and technology. Our chef of the night was Klas Lindberg, Sweden’s Chef of the Year and boy, were we in for a treat. The city of Stockholm were everywhere around (and under) us, the view spectacular as we were sipping a glass of ice cold champagne before being seated, or rather guided into the kitchen were the first two dishes were served. Or second and third actually, I almost forgot about the ice cold cucumber soup with elderberry that we enjoyed while still on the terrace.

There was one gastronomic explosion after another, all composed with the utter most respect and love for what is in season and lives and/or grows nearby. There were crawfish from the sea quickly pan fried with just a touch of garlic, a “love mix” with tiny new potatoes and bleak roe from Kalix in the very north, the winning beef dish and not one, not two but three desserts – all perfectly combined with the right wine or, in one case, a beautiful ale from Brooklyn Brewery.

Sated, happy and completely satisfied we strolled over to the Grand Hotel for a night cap before heading home in the night.

I woke up on Wednesday morning with a big smile on my face, memories fresh from the amazing experience the night before and decided to check my emails, as always in the morning…

…and learned that a friend from Beijing had suddenly, un-expectantly, passed away in her sleep while visiting with friends in the United States. She was a healthy, fun-loving, sweet woman who leaves behind a husband and three children and many, many friends and members of family; all wondering what just happened?

Rest in peace, sweet Nickie, we will miss you.

Did we have to cut his penis off?

“Mommy”, my son asks me at 6.45 one Friday morning, “why did we have to cut Shakespeare’s (the cat) penis off?

Not exactly how I had planned to start my morning but whatever, let’s tell them about the birds and the bees, the teeny tiny fish like swimmers and the eggs and get it over with. Luckily the cat was present and we could inspect his tiny testicles, all black and fuzzy and very cute like hairy black licorice balls and explain that his penis was in fact still present, the tiny little tube connecting the two (three) had been cut off, and my son didn’t get the urge to check out his own balls, not once. Thank you for that.

So what brought this on, one might wonder. Well, I had stumbled upon three abandoned kittens at the pet store available for adoption and I was so close, so very close to bring one home with me. I thankfully soon realized that it would be bad idea to introduce yet another stray kitty into our household; Shakespeare would not appreciate getting even more competition for our affection, his patience is stretched as it is. But it is so hard, so very hard, to be strong when there are so many animals around looking for home and when I explained to the kids about the kittens, and how Shakespeare had been even smaller when I found him; the penis question followed.

The lesson in baby making continued a few nights later when we were at school for Science night; or Elementary Science Safari as it was called. All teachers and helpers donned safari outfits, hats et al and both cafeterias and the lawn outside were full of activity. We made slime (didn’t work so well…), a bird feeder (oops, how are they supposed to get to the seeds?), played with magnets, ran a save-the-planet relay, pledged to save energy, touched cow intestines including an eye with eyelashes still attached (not to be recommended before dinner) and asked the scientists (5th-graders who we all know are the smartest people on the planet) random questions. Amanda picked the following question:

“Do all eggs become chickens?” of course, back to the baby making!

“Well… aumm…hrrmmm…” the very young scientist mumbles, red in the face, while glancing at his peers, his teacher and myself.

“No worries” I tell him, “go for it, they already know it all.” I continued, a little bit smug. I’m Swedish! We are open about all these things, right? No hush hush here, naha!

And a sigh of relief goes through the whole scientist crowd, pleased that they do not have to, in front of both their teacher AND a mom, explain the whole circle of life to a first grader. Not that he goes into detail when giving his answer to the question, actually the explanation was very scientific and proper but still, how embarrassing.

Still, I’m not sure how much they actually grasped about the whole issue. One day later Amanda asked me why she had a hole in her tummy and is that, in fact, where the babies get inside….

Like

Eight months in China has cured me of my Facebook addiction. I no longer feel the need to share mundane everyday things with the world, nor do I have to “Like” what others do and don’t do all the time. Don’t get me wrong, I am still a big fan and I do go through the obstacles to log on to Facebook several times a week but I’ve become much more selective of what I share. Pretty interesting since what is happening here on an everyday basis is pretty shareable; lots of crazy, ridiculous things occur each and every day.

Like today when I went with the first graders on a field trip to the National Zoological Museum of China to study the bugs they have learned about in class.

The visit begins with a movie in 4D, yes, you read it right. The movie was completely logically about a dolphin. Well, why not? Though it was all in Chinese, of course, it was pretty easy to follow: Baby dolphin loses his mother and is chased by a shark, makes friends with a turtle and something else….hold on a minute….reminds me of some other movie… Never mind, 4D meant that throughout the movie we would get sprayed with water or puffs of air would appear from the chair in front and suddenly the chairs started shaking, all pretty randomly but then again, I couldn’t quite follow the dialogue. Amanda got scared and started crying and ended up as close to my lap as possible without actually being on it (so embarrassing!).

After the feature the kids were to be scientists and find answers, draw pictures and make observations about the bugs and insects. A paper and pencils were handed out and we started exploring. I had three very clever and studious little girls in my group so it was easy sailing. Up until the point when a Chinese class, of let’s say 40 students, arrived. Though a little hesitant and respectful at first they soon zoomed in on the classes from ISB, taking pictures, posing, doing the little “v” sign with their fingers while happening, as if by accident, to stand next to a foreign student. Most of the ISB students of foreign origin are used to this, this happens every time they go to the city and there are probably pictures of all members of my family in houses all over China (what they say about the pictures when showing them to their friends back home baffles me; this is my laowai friend that I met in Beijing?).

I’m just curious to know what their teacher of these Chinese students will say when they come back to school with a bunch of pictures of laowais instead of bugs.

The greatest voice of all

The Bodyguard is still one of my very favorite movies and I always, ALWAYS, cry at the end. How is it possible not to? Whitney in the plane, watching Keving Costner all bodyguardyish and stern on the tarmac – not a single emotion on his face but you know, you KNOW, that he is hurting on the inside, and then the music starts. “I-if Iyiyiiiii should stay, I will always be in your waaaaayyyyyyy…” and she runs ….off the plane and into his arms. Ah! So romantic and sad and it makes you wondering? Will they make it? Because while she is stuck with the old, grey guy and he is watching over some priest, will they live happily ever after in her mansion? He is not her bodyguard anymore and the crazy sister is dead so no worries, right? They can hang out, drink orange juice (only), play with his swords and watch samurai movies together. Go to the dingy bar on Friday nights and play old hits on the jukebox. And Fletcher will grow up, learn to swim, and be a normal kid where you play year-long games of chess in a cabin by a lake. If only.

No one could hold a note like Whitney; she would belt out tones so strongly that you’d think the speakers would explode only to shush down to an almost whisper and still be in complete control. And the emotions she conveyed; always getting the message through only to end with that million-dollar smile that would bright up any arena, TV screen or concert hall. It seemed so easy and many have tried to copy her style; some with great success and some…not so good. Karaoke singers love her songs, even though they are so hard to pull off. Must be the liquid courage many enjoy before hitting the stage and grabbing the microphone.  After a few drinks we are all superstars, hey?

Whitney, you will be missed. They angels are lucky to have you in their choir. Ah, who am I kidding? She won’t be in the choir, no way, she will be the soloist singing her heart out; brightening up the heavens with her beautiful voice and person and if we listen carefully, we can still hear her in our hearts.

No sweating it

Some things you take for granted in life. Contact lens solution for example, a variety of such, dental floss, minted, glossy you name it, yeast and deodorant. I had completely forgotten the lack of these items in China. Sure, there is contact lens solution – one kind, obviously not the kind I use and there is dental floss, I think, I haven’t run out yet, but for some reason deodorant is hard to find. I don’t know if the Chinese don’t sweat or if they have some magic traditional ancient herb to use instead but I had completely blocked out that I used to bring it here, back in the day. Therefore, when we knew that we were meeting up with sweet Cory and Joe in Hong Kong in January I took the opportunity and ordered a few items.

As per usual, we partied like rock stars, kids in tow. Great food and delicious wine, beer, sake and Red bull (?) of huge quantities were consumed and we ended our celebration at Aqua where Simon treated us to the best view in Hong Kong and a dessert platter to die for.

Not only was it lovely seeing them again, and their friends, they came equipped like the Santa we never saw on Christmas Eve. Oh the joys of not having to economize with deodorant. Being able to sweep my underarms not only once is a delight, for me and for my surroundings. When visitors brought gifts from home during our years in the states it was a treat, now it becomes a necessity. Because what to do when the yeast sucks and you have a friend you haven’t seen for 15 years coming to town for business? You order 40 packages and invite him to dinner. That’s what you do. IKEA used to be every Swedish expat’s lifeline but sadly, they only sell their own brand these days. IKEA Daim and IKEA bilar? NO thank you very much. Bad decision IKEA, really bad decision.

Now my parents are coming to visit very soon and the list is beginning to take form; candy of course, the salty black liquorice one that only Swedes like and that we therefore do not need to share, contact lens solution – the good kind, pain killers, sea salt, Wettex – a super absorbent kitchen towel and even more yeast which I will use as hostess gifts when (if) we are invited to dinner parties and such. Better than flowers.

Amanda has been home from school since Friday nurturing her cold and she happened to be around when I Skyped my parents to give them the first draft of their shopping list. As always, Amanda gets a little shy and sad when Skyping with people that she misses but after some coaching and probing my mom gets to it and asks her if there is anything special she would like from Sweden (not that she has any emotional or epicurean preferences to Swedish foods, she has never lived there after all).

“Well” she says eventually “a dog, I want a dog.”

O shit, kill me now. When will she understand that as long as we have the crazy cat (who I hope will live forever) there won’t be a dog. But perhaps I should be thankful; when my sister was the same age all she wished for every birthday and Christmas was a live monkey or a live lion.

“Hmmm…” my mom replies after having turned away from the computer so that Amanda won’t see her laughing at her request, “That will be difficult. Will some KEX choklad (Swedish wafer chocolate) do instead?”

“Ok” She happily agrees “Can I go watch TV now?”

Phew, crisis diverted, for this time.

All fake

Last night, as we were eating a by my standards very meager birthday dinner, chicken soup with noodles on the side as per request by the sick birthday girl, suddenly Marcus 8 ½ years old announces:

“I don’t think Santa is real.”

“B b b but why?” I manage to say, very confused as to where this is coming from.

“Nah” he continues “I think it is just mommies and daddies who buy the presents and say they are from Santa.”

“Only the real Santa leaves the presents by the tree when you are sleeping!” Amanda chirps in with her raspy voice with near desperation as an undertone.

“But what about when we have seen Santa”, I continue. “At little Sophia’s and Izzy’s houses and at the train park (a “professional” for-rent Santa, very real-like except for the one party we attended when he carried a jeweled staff and reminded me of Liberace)? And what about when we celebrated Christmas in Sweden and suddenly Santa showed up with all those presents?”

“No” he persists “It’s all fake, they were just people dressing up.”

How am I going to save this, I’m thinking to myself. Their belief in Santa has explained so much at Christmas time; his superhuman ability to be at so many places in such a short amount of time, how he can see and hear everything, how we can use him as a threat AND a motivator for good behavior.

“I don’t know what you are talking about” I carry on “Amanda, you don’t believe what Marcus is saying is true, do you? Don’t you think there is a real Santa?”

“Aauuummm….yeeessss, but I also think there are fake ones, like when Grandpa dressed up when they visited us in America.”

She is clearly confused by now. Not only is she sick on her birthday, her daddy is away un-expectantly and she had to postpone her birthday party now, suddenly, her brother tells her there is no Santa!

“Marcus, why don’t you think there is a Santa?” I say trying to save the situation.

“Haha! I’m just kidding; of course there is the real one!”

Huh? What just happened? Has he figured it out? Did he chicken out at the last second and tried to save the situation or was he just being nice to his sister? I don’t know and I won’t find out until December but I do know that Christmas this year will have to rock. We have to find the most amazing Santa and he will have to come flying through the sky somehow and have a real beard AND a fat belly, the right laugh AND lots of presents. And there will have to be snow. I guess we have no choice; we will have to spend Christmas in Sweden this year where the REAL Santa is from.