Today is May 1st, International Labor Day, where all the workers in virtually every country in the world (not the USA!) are honored. We have the day off! We also had yesterday off, and would have had Sunday off too had it not been for a school activity with kids and parents.
China, however has a strange way of providing holidays for its workers. Students and many employees will have to work on a Saturday prior to and a Saturday after a holiday period in order to make up for lost days. In the case of this holiday, since they gave everyone an extra day off, we all had to work Saturday. It actually feels less like a holiday and more like a weekend with the days moved around.
I don't like these holidays. We used to use the phrase "Indian giving" for something like this. If you were going to give this practice an ethnic slur, "Chinese giving" might be more appropriate. Come to think of it, when you consider the land taken from American native people, then reservations granted, then taken away also, "White man giving" might be the most accurate term.
Whatever you call it, it's a sucky way to administer holidays.
I teach a small class of high school kids on Saturday nights. They requested that I teach them some American slang. I found a couple of good websites that had some pretty comprehensive lists along with the meanings. I did some cutting, pasting, and editing, along with some extra definitions. Among the slang words and phrases were the words "gonna" and "gotta". These are actually taught in English classes in the public schools here, but what isn't taught, and what was also excluded from any slang lists I found was the word "ahmunnah", or "uhmannuh". As in, "Uhmunnuh have a beer." Or "Uhmunnuh go to bed". Or "Ahmunnuh give you a big kiss". It's a common word that I use frequently, except when I speak to my Chinese friends and colleagues, when I have to speak in a form of English that is more comprehensible to them, and I say, "I'm going to....."
My Dad died last month at the ripe old age of 83. He lived a good life and had many admirers and loved ones. It's tough being so far from home when something like this happens but we were able to get back for a couple of weeks for the memorial service and some quality time with those dearest to us.
His memorial service was very much like him, a no nonsense, fun loving, unconventional human being. In the hospital he had written his own homily, because he never had patience for meandering sermons, since he was a direct and to the point kind of guy. He had no problem letting the priest know if he yammered on too long, and I think the priests that were fortunate to say masses for Dad benefited from his advice. I'm sure fellow parishioners were grateful as well to this old guy sitting in the front row, frequently glancing at his watch whenever the sermon went over 8 minutes in length. Here is his homily:
After the mass there was quite the wake and reception. There were 4 whole beef briskets that my Mom and I took 2 days to prepare, and large catered Mexican feast and plenty of alcohol. He had requested that his favorite poem be read, "The Cremation of Sam McGee" by Robert W. Service. It was always one of my favorites too, and I had the honor to read it:
"The Cremation of Sam McGee"
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he'd often say in his homely way that "he'd sooner live in hell."
On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see;
It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.
And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."
Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
"It's the cursèd cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet 'tain't being dead—it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains."
A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.
There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last remains."
Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows— O God! how I loathed the thing.
And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.
Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May."
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."
Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared—such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.
Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.
I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside.
I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked"; ... then the door I opened wide.
And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close that door.
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm—
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm."
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
I also sang a few songs with my brother in law and a friend. Here are three of them, done by people more talented than myself:
150 people attended this service on a rainy, cold day in March. It was snowing a little higher in the hills. There would have been many more, but he had outlived many of his good friends and all 5 of his siblings. He will be greatly missed, and heaven has become a much more interesting place.
The Renminbi (Chinese: 人民币) is the official currency of the People's Republic of China (PRC). It is the legal tender inmainland China, but not in Hong Kong and Macau. It is abbreviated as RMB, and the units for the Renminbi are the Yuan (元), Jiao(角), and Fen (分): 1 Yuan = 10 Jiao. Banknotes range from one jiao to one hundred yuan, and vary both in size and colour. The distinction between the Renminbi and the Yuan is similar to the distinction between the British Sterling and Pound. Renminbi refers to the whole Chinese money system whereas Yuan is the base unit of Renminbi. Yuan is used to denominate bills, and is the unit in which prices are measured.
Chinese money is pretty. The 100 yuan bill is pink! It has a picture of Chairman Mao on it, which I think shows a certain sense of history and flair lacking in today's Russian and German money. It is also the largest denomination. It is currently worth about $15.87 American. It works fine for the common laborer or shop girl who make 800 a month, but it becomes kind of cumbersome for the newly minted wealthy folks of today's China. A person paying cash for a new car, which is a common occurrence, needs another car just to use the trunk to transport the purchase price. Boxcars are required to move illicit wealth about!
At the same time, taxi drivers and small shop owners become incensed when having to make change for a hundred. So we all walk around with wads of smaller bills just to keep daily commerce convenient. I asked a friend who works in a bank if he foresaw a larger bill in the future, perhaps a 500, or 1,000. He said he didn't because counterfeiting is a concern.
This is problem here. Any time you give a clerk a 100, they hold the bill to the light to see the ghost figure of Mao that appears. There is also a holographic strip. I once got a counterfeit 10 yuan bill which was a little sad. Why would someone risk harsh Chinese penalties to produce such a small bill? Insecurity? Kind of like using a Glock to steal some kid's lunch money.
Speaking of banks, they have service that makes most American DMV offices seem warm, fuzzy and hyper responsive. You can wait hours to do a simple transaction. I believe that it is because it is difficult to find people with both the skill to perform accountancy and the strength to move wheelbarrows of pink 15 dollar bills around. They also are protected by 2 inch bulletproof glass, which tends to make one feel impervious to the needs of one's fellow person.
This is a part of the village where the Lantern Festival festivities were happening. My boss's brother in law came from this place. Most of the village is actually quite modern, with paved streets and houses with modern amenities. There are also a lot of homes where nobody actually lives, like the place we had our dinner. The families have moved to the city, but still return for holidays and to maybe get a little peace and quiet.
Farmers in this part of China are more prosperous than in the rest of the country. There are three distinct growing seasons and many have turned to aquaculture. This region is said to be the top shrimp producer in the world. Many shrimp farmers are quite wealthy.
However, farming is hard work, many villages are primitive, and city life has its attractions. This article in China Daily discusses how farm and village life are changing. Many villages are populated by mostly old folks as the young people head to the coastal cities to work in factories. Some younger people are leasing the fallow fields and employing more modern farming techniques. They are finding success and are able to do much better than they ever would in a factory job.
We were invited to a holiday dinner on the only nice day during the entire Spring Festival. Lucky us! Our region is known for its seafood, and that's what we had. There were snails, clams, squids, steamed fishes, shrimp, crab, oysters, and type of shrimp I'd never seen before. The shell was very thick and thorny. It looked like a giant, nasty tater bug. The boss's mom showed me what to do with this monstrosity. First you bent it back and forth, taking care not to get poked by the thorns. Eventually the meat loosened up enough to pry out. You were then rewarded with a cross between lobster and crab, well worth the pokes from the thorns! Grandma ate about half a dozen of these huge things, about 20% of her weight, I think.
My Spring Festival holiday weather this year was one dreary, cold, wet, windy day after the next until the last day. It started out foggy then the sun burned off the clinging, wet crap to give us a grand, hot day, just in time for Lantern Festival, which is on the first full moon of the lunar year. We went to a nearby village with some friends for a feast and festivities. The villages have the best parades, in fact the only parades, since the city seems incapable of doing much more than bustling, gridlocking, and littering.
The parade was a noisy, boisterous affair with floats, firecrackers, dragons, gods in fancy carts, and kids made up to be traditional characters, gods, and goddesses. The kids are made up early in the day and sit on their uncomfortable perches for a couple of hours in the hot sun prior to the parade. These are generally village kids chosen, no doubt, for their ability to sit still without whining or fidgeting, something most of the modern city kids seem to be incapable of, in spite of the the greatest efforts of Tiger Mothers.
