A Baby, Scheduled for the Year of the Monkey

Holy.

   That escalated quickly. It was yesterday, right. It feels like it was yesterday. You know, when Jacq and I were standing in front of all of you, saying the things and the toasts and the fumbling through my hastily written notes. It wasn't actually yesterday, but 1 year, 7 weeks, and 6 days ago.

   And it will be 10 weeks and 4 days (at the doctor's best guess) until little J.R. comes along.

Holy.

   In preparation for the baby, we're having a party. You've likely arrived here because you got something in the mail. And, if you're here, we'd love to have you there - at the place and time that's listed on the thing you got in the mail.

   (I don't know that information yet, but I will know it soon - I'm sure.)

   [Perhaps you can let me know]

   First of all, we're so happy to celebrate this with you. The wedding was so much fun, but went by so quickly that it was hardly fair. Jacquie and I are honoured to have you in our lives, to lean on you for help, advice, the odd borrowing of a vehicle - you know, the things.

   We have registered at two places, and I've listed the links below. If you'd like to get J.R. a welcome-to-the-world gift, you are quite welcome to, of course we're happy to have you come, hangout, play a game or two (I've recently become addicted to Pepper), and just generally laugh a whole bunch.

   Both images, when clicked on, will take you to the websites. If you need to, they may ask you to search for the mother - searching for "Sturm" should do the trick.

   A Note On Snuggle Bugz - There's a glitch in their system. If you click on the picture to get a closer look at the item you will be taken out of the registry. The site tells you this with a cute baby staring at you with love, but clearly judging your soul. You can have a closer look at the item out of the registry, however to purchase it off the registry simply hit the back button on your internet browser and you'll be back where you need to be.

   A Note On Babies-R-Us - It's way easier.

             

   We love you all very much, and we look forward to seeing you at the time and place.

   Saludos, y un grande abrazo de oso,   

   Bird, and the Lady J

Kiwi and Cream

I have a nice coffee mug that marks the season, and a pretty sign above the coffee shop door. My thoughts drift between wedding planning and classroom planning (neither of which will ever be completely finished) and I have trouble settling on one story to put to paper.

Luckily, I don’t stare at a blank page for a living.

I am getting married in the summer. I am getting married to a girl who was stalking this website since before I knew her. She makes me happy just to be in the same room, just knowing that she’s there to take my side when I need it, or to be my opposition under the same circumstances.

Basically, she’s pretty great. The most great.

Luckily, the wedding I’m thinking about planning is the same one she has been thinking about planning (and the same one her mother, my mother, her friends, and my sisters have been thinking about planning). We are doing all these things that I never knew where important - assembling a list of people who should be there that day, picking colours, finding locations, reworking the list again and again … all the things that must have happened at every other wedding that’s ever happened, and all things that are as new to me as kiwi.

(Apparently it’s a colour)

Ever other wedding I’ve ever been to is starting to make a whole lot more sense. Dinker, a friend from high school, said to me while we were getting ready for his wedding that someone had told him that ...

“you’ll never look at another wedding the same way again”

 I had started that conversation with something super insightful like... 

“So, there was a lot of planning went into this party?” 

Well done, twenty-four year old me. Well done.

Of course, that wedding was amazing, as have been all the other weddings I’ve attended, as will the future weddings that I’ll (hopefully) attend. They all are … sorry, most are. I heard about one wedding from around home where the groom was given a black-eye on the special night. I don’t know the specifics, but I assume it wasn’t on the programme.

So there’s a goal to have … no black eyes. That’s a measurable accomplishment, too. At the end of the night, as long as the ratio of grooms to black eyes is less that 1:1 it’ll be cause for celebration. 

It’s something we can put on the invitations.

o   attending, with bells on

o   attending, with gloves dropped 

o   not attending; heard about the bells; will jersey him at the bachelor party

For Dawn Marie,

We saw snow. I had been a long time since we’d seen snow outside of Canada, and certainly not over Christmas. We visited my niece (and her parents, but they weren’t the reason we went) in Calgary last spring and we saw snow then … but we haven’t seen it during winter break for three years.

I went nuts. Completely bonkers.

I had been cooped up in the apartment for what seemed like an eternity, and seeing the ground covered with white fuzz was enough to get me running from window to window taking in as much as I could. I had put on my coat and mitts before I finished convincing my roommate that we should be out there making a snowman.

But it’s cold out there, she said.

Yesbuttheressnowandwecanbeoutthereinit, I said to the door of the elevator as I was on my way down.

We didn’t get to make a snowman, all I could muster was a fistful of snow - had I made one it would have looked like a mothball man. We thought about snow angels, but we knew what the ground looked like before the snow covered it; there was a good chance that our angels would be brown. In the end we took a nice brisk walk and threw some snowballs at each other (well, I threw them at Jacq).

The snow was gone again in a few hours. I don’t imagine we’ll get snow again around here, but if there is I’ll make more of an effort to collect enough snow for even a little, action figured sized snowman.

We’re told that the Great Wall gets snow in February. Perhaps I’ll make a snow angel then. My mother-in-law-to-be will have to pack her warm things.

Happy

I am happy that I've brought my guitar with me.

I suppose there's no story in that statement yet, but it's a truth that I hope will make a story.

I've been able to play it, the guitar, in public on a couple of occasions since arriving here. Both times were on the same day, and both were the first since I lived in London while going to school.

Not the big London, the Ontario one.

In London a couple of people I knew would get together and let me play poorly with them. One had a masters in music, another guy had recorded an album (I think, but I may have invented that just now) and another guy just loved to play simple songs.

In China, we had a BBQ with the school staff, which was actually a sort of picnic catered by a hotel under the disguise of a small wedding. The Chinese do BBQ differently here, it seems. I had sat in on a couple of rehearsals with other musically inclined people earlier that week, in preperations for a sort of singalong. After twenty-one seconds I concluded I was amongst many people who were much better at being musically inclined, no one seemed eager to play simple songs that could make me look good, and that I was in need of a new word for what I did with music.

(I actually don't need a new word, the word I do use is play-poorly-and-only-for-m'Lady.)

I was pretty scared by everyone there, so I sat on a bench just out of the circle playing just loud enough for people not to notice that the guitar I held was embarrassingly out of tune.

I like playing guitar. It makes me happy. Even in this moment, out of tune, and barely contributing, I was happy.

A friend of mine whom I got to know in Mexico asked (nearly two years ago) if I played anything, and followed up with "how long?"

The answer I gave was
"seriously for about two years".

Seriously, I said seriously.

I hope you have rolled your eyes at old me. I do. Every time I remember that moment, including the moment after I said it, and them moment just now as i remember saying. That moment immediately after was super strange for me. I knew what I meant to say, which was something closer to "on and off" or "not very much" or "I can hold it in my arms thusly", but I didn't come out with any of those. Instead I said

" seriously for two years"

Who the heck was I? Certainly not anybody about to open to a concert hall, or a guy with a cool, sharp, rock star nickname.

Hell, I don't even know most of the names of the chords I play.

But to Matt-with-the-hat I said
"seriously for two years"

and, rightly, called me on it.

"seriously, eh?"
(He didn't actually say eh, he's an american. I honestly can't remember what he said instead)

"well lah di day"
(which I am sure he didn't say either, but the tale must go on).

At this point I was pretty ticked at myself for botching this first impression, and making a complete dork of myself. I was also ticked at Matt-with-the-hat for calling me on it, but it wasn't a genuine or justified ticked since I deserved it, and was actually just mad at myself and not him at all.

I should have said "I'm happy when I play my guitar", that's what I hopped what I actually said sounded like.

It's how I felt sitting on the bench with an out of tune guitar with people who are better at being musically inclined, even though I wasn't helping to make music; in fact I may have been making it worse cause someone came over and offered to tune it.

And at the bbq-wedding, when I sat just out of the circle and played in my play-poorly-only-for-m'Lady sort of way, well enough that one of the school maintenance crew came over to top off my drink, I was happy.

And later on the bus ride home when the topped off drink and I stood in the isle of the bus and sang and played Wonder wall, I was happy.

Because I'm glad that I brought my guitar with me, because playing guitar makes me happy.

When There's a Knock, Knock, Knock at the Door

knock knock

we aren't expecting guests, I said to myself. That can't be our door.

knock knock knock

that's definitely the other door because we are not expecting guests because no one knows we live here

knocknocknocknocknocknocknock

that is our door


now what?

~ ~ ~

We had moved to China three days earlier. We travelled from Toronto to Qingdao in a little more that 36hrs. It should have been about 20hrs but the planes had been grounded leaving TO due to bad weather.

We spent the night in Shanghai when we should have caught our connecting flight. It wasn't a big deal, and the airport was really helpful. They spoke a bit of English and helped us with where to bring things. There was an eager little man running ahead of all the other travellers stranded in Shanghai because of the Toronto rain.

36 hrs of travel takes a lot out of a person. On top of that, there was a 12hr difference adjust to. It's been five days now and we're feeling alright, but with just 3 days of China under my belt I wasn't ready to deal with a knocknocknock at the door.

Besides, no one knew we lived in this apartment.

~ ~ ~

knocknocknocknocknocknocknocknocknocknocknocknocknocknock

my oh my. you are a persistent one

I opened the door because that's what one should do when there's a knock, knock, knock at the door. On the other side there was a small Chinese woman who was on a mission. I knew she was on a mission because before I could ask her in English if she spoke English (because I don't know the Mandarin for that) she was in my kitchen.

"Can I help with something?"I asked, in English

"Something something something" she said, in Mandarin. This was followed by a blank stare, to which I replied my own blank stare, but I raised her two eyebrows.

"Something something something gas something"

"Wait. What? I got part of that." I replied. "Say it again".

Blank stare.

The part I had picked up had been in English, but that didn't sink in until much later than it should have.

She stared back at me, still clearly on a mission because she had started opening cupboards. Cupboards that I hadn't even found yet.

It finally occurred to me that she wanted to read the gas meter. I don't remember what it was that helped the thought occur, but it did finally occur to me. This thought would have occurred to me sooner had I have read the welcome packet that I had been told to read. The person who both had told me to read the packet, and knew how to deal with this situation, was sound asleep in the next room busily incorporating the sounds from the kitchen into her dream.

The person who knew later remarked how curious a practice it is when people knowingly use a language that the other person doesn't understand just to be communicating something.

She also later told me again to read the packet.

My mission lady had found the meter, scanned it with a reader that I am confident she didn't have with her when she came in the door, and was walking back out the door saying

"Something something something something something"

raise of the eyebrows

"Something something something gas card something"

man. I have got to start taking language classes




I have not read the packet yet

A New Look, for a Big Move

August first is the day we leave for China. We'll be there for two years. Often when I've been living in a new place I made a new banner, however I don't think I recorded what the old one looked like. There was one for Ireland, Italy, and perhaps ones for Stratford and Brantford, I don't remember for sure.

Irregardless, here's an idea of what was ... and what will be.

Thanks for reading.

--b

Those Guys

On the Saturday we started our trip we met our host at a Sorianna (grocery store chain) in Monterrey. We arrived well before Everardo did, so we did what any two guys who had just spent their first ten hours of a road trip cooped up inside a small car - we tailgated.

On Canada day we had purchased a couple of folding chairs and worked on the car. Each of the chairs came with a six pack, so we worked on those, too.

Roberto, my mechanic, came over to help out. He installed the faulty part (not his fault) that would eventually need to be changed and replaced while we were en route to Monterrey. This part would also cost us all the cash we had on us and therefore we wouldn't have any money for food along the way.

But it was Canada day, we had new chairs, and none of this had happened yet. We were content.

When we arrived in Monterrey, which is a frighteningly large city, we went straight for the AC inside the grocery store. Then, we just stood there for a while. There was food, it was cool, and the sound of wind rushing past our ears had started to fade.

There was not leaving this place. Not for a while.

We picked out all the essentials; two bananas, bag of chips, Gatorade, apple strudels, carrot cake, and lots and lots of cash.

The only we didn't get through was the cash.  The rest we ate while sitting in our folding chairs and watching the locals watch us. Two guys who clearly don't know what they're doing.

Everado showed up, smirked, and raised his eyebrow. He didn't even ask if we were the right guys.

We clearly were.

Road Warriors

Nick is having a hard time keeping his sanity. He has created a game where he notches an arrow and explodes the car in front of us. Another variation is checking the wind direction, adjusting his scope, and shooting out the tires of vehicles around us.

It's all in his head. Clearly. They wouldn't sell us firearms that would do that kind of damage.

We tried.

(No we didn't)

Other times he dramatically honks the horn at other drivers. Most times it's for interested waving drivers, or kids in backseats waling on each other. However the off time it's to try and scare people.

It never does. Cheech's is out honked by bicycle horns.

Driving down the center of the highway and 'bah-bah-bahing' as the white lines disappear under the hood is another FAVOURITE.

Chris, the headlight cover

We met Chris today. Chris speaks with his arms crossed for the most part. Not in a way that closes him off to conversation, but in a way that allows him to use quick hand movements to reiterate a point.

Such as "are you here about my cousin's car you know the old Pontiac with the rear shift it's the one with the new tires it's over here I can show you." He had gestured towards the car fifteen times during this interaction.

We were not talking to him because we were looking at his cousin's car. We didn't know his cousin had a car. We didn't know Chris. We wanted to speak to the people who ran the wrecking yard.

So I asked him "is this your wrecking yard?"

"No"

Insert significant confusion here.

We were clearly at a wrecking yard. He came up to us as if he knew what he was talking about, which, moments after meeting him, it was quite clear that he did not have any clue whatsoever.

Just as confusing, Chris was speaking to us as if we had had a coffee with him that morning, a beer the night before, and we coached little league together.

"Do I know you?" I asked, immediately wondering why I'd asked that since I was completely sure of the answer.

"Yeah you do I'm Chris"

Chris and I were tight.

Chris had a tattoo on his right arm. We could see it between gestures. It was a tattoo of his first name. It was helping him as much as it was us.

"Does anyone here work for the wreckers?" I tried.

"Yes" he answered, clearly still thinking about his cousin's car.

We waited patiently for the rest of an answer that never arrived.

I looked at the trailer behind me labeled 'office'. It gave me an idea.

"Is there anyone in that office, Chris?"

"Yeah a bunch of women"

Is that so, I thought to myself wondering why we were even bothering. The gaping hole that remained after the headlight cover had flown off Cheech 20 minutes earlier no longer seemed important.

No longer speaking to Chris was becoming an increasingly important one.

So I turned around and walked away. It was our only choice. The conversation was clearly going to continue in this way for the rest of time, and we still had to talk to the 'women' inside, have them not find what we need, get back on the road and find the lost cover for ourselves.

There was no more time for Chris. Besides, he was late to tea and one does not keep the mad hatter waiting.

We have named the recovered cover Chris.