living

This past Sunday – as it was such a glorious day – we visited Si’de Park.

I’m always hesitant to say much about this park for fear the hoards at Chaoyang Park will suddenly realize they don’t need to be packed like sardines into the same green space and our quaint neighborhood park will be overrun by the masses – but that’s a risk I’m willing to take.

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Bringing up a child in a foreign land has many advantages. To me, the major one is that they grow up learning another language without trying to.

My child was born here, has been to Chinese schools since kindergarten, and at nearly 7 years old speaks Chinese and English equally well.  His Chinese is, of course, far better than mine, his tones are spot on, and he has no trace of a foreign accent. While I can still stamp my authority on him, I find myself constantly reminding him that my English is still better than his.

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To stink, or not to stink: that is the question. Whether ‘tis nobler in the nose to sniff the slings and arrows of olfactory offenses, or to take arms against the seeping of sewage fumes, and by opposing end them? To die would be better than to live with the stench of it. No more! Hamlet may have been driven mad by poor plumbing, but I would not live so.

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The round, surly-looking girl greeted me at the door. She would have looked so pleasant, if only she smiled.

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