As If God Can See Them From Heaven

On a recent house hunting trip to Dayton, Chris and I found ourselves spending a great deal of time in our car. All weekend we drove around, neighborhood after neighborhood, town after town, trying to find "the one." To save money, we booked a room in the cheapest motel we could find and took the dogs with us on the trip. The motel turned out to be what we presumed was a crack house/whorehouse where the baby mama who cleaned our room lived in the room above us and our room had a collection of overlooked cigarette butts and unmentionables under the furniture.

We took the dogs as opposed to boarding them, first because it costs $25 a day to board them in a place they hate and second because the motel, as luck would have it, allowed pets. I lovingly call the boarding kennel "Doggy Camp" to make it sound more exciting to the girls when we have no other option but to board them. But Chris has taken to calling it "Doggy Concentration Camp" and I think this gives the girls a complex about it. So, when we can travel with them these days, we do.

Now, when I booked the motel room, there was nothing online about pet fees, so I was under the impression it would be free to bring them. All the better. However, when I showed up at the "Whore-A Day Inn", there was a sign on the counter that said, "Please notify us if you have pets with you." So, being the honest person I am, I told the lady about the two small dogs we brought with us. To which she responded, "Are they clean?"

Startled by this concern for sanitation I began to respond that yes they were clean but I choked on the stale cigarette and mildew stench emanating from every corner of the room. The place was really called "The Red Carpet Inn" and I imagined it getting it's name from the amount of brutally murdered dealers and hookers found on the floors of the rooms. After a few coughs and regaining my poise, I said, "Yes, and they are house broken so there shouldn't be a problem but if there is I'll be sure to let you know."

"Okay, because I don't want them to mess up the carpet but if they do, just let me know so I can shampoo it," she said. Then I paid my $3 per dog, per day fees and we headed to our room.
After our first trip out to look at potential homes the next day, we returned to the motel to find two shirtless guys in lawn chairs hanging out in front of the building. They were slouched over a little hibachi grill, beers in hand (cans, not bottles) with their laundry hanging to dry from a nearby tree. Baby Mama heard us pull up from her open window upstairs and leaned out and shouted, "Hey! I put new sheets on ya'll's bed today!" and she gave us a friendly wave.

So, we went in to enjoy our fresh sheets, the only thing in the room that did not smell like cigarettes and mildew, rested up and headed out to search again. Every time we left the motel, we had to take the dogs with us of course because God only knows what kind of havoc they could wreak on our immaculate home away from home. But having them in the car with us everywhere we went proved to be a tenuous experience. The first day was hotter than I expected and although I kept cold water in a dish in the car and the windows cracked with the car parked in the shade, I felt bad for the girls and was concerned about their comfort. We kept them air conditioned as much as possible and got them out for short walks in between looking at houses but eventually I started feeling pretty guilty about the long day in the car for them.

So, when we broke for a bite to eat at a local shake shack, I bought them an ice cream cone which they shared voraciously. After our brief intermission with refreshments, we hopped back in the car and about ten minutes down the road we noticed an unusual odor from the back of the car. Somebody had tossed up the ice cream cone. It laid in a mushy off-white pile in the back corner of the car and every time we turned a corner or came to a quick stop, a paw or a tail would inevitably end up in it. Chris got a look on his face like he was going to hurl himself and began yelling, "Oh God! For crying out loud! That is so gross! God I can smell it all the way up here!" He turned on the AC full blast and leaned into it taking deep breaths as he drove.

He rolled down the windows but this unleashed a tornado of dog hair that had been accumulating in the back seat. So there was Chris, face smooshed into a putrid scowl, gagging and breathing straight from the AC vent while he swatted swarms of dog hair from his face. Occasionally he would make spitting noises which I assumed meant he had gotten a hair in his mouth and was trying to expel it without letting go of the wheel.

Eventually we pulled over so I could clean up the mess, get the girls out of the back for a brisk walk and get Chris out for some fresh air. I didn't have much to mop up the puke so I grabbed a few napkins which had collected in my glove box from the occasional fast food runs, and found a bottle of car scent. The bottle had lost it's spray nozzle so in desperation I just poured the coconut scented liquid onto the spot. We all calmed down and collected ourselves and got back into the car. We were hit by an overwhelming wall of coconut breeze but at least it was better than vanilla ice cream and stomach acid.

By the end of the day, we were becoming desperate to make the best of our situation. We still had not found a house, the car smelled like a tiki bar had overturned on us, the dogs were getting restless and shedding profusely and Chris and I were losing our sense of humor. That's when we noticed the stars. "Do they mean something? I mean are you a member of something if you have one on your house?" he asked me. "You mean like a cult or a secret society?" I said with a laugh. Apparently since I was the only Ohioan in the car, I assume he thought I had some inside information on this peculiar mystery. As if there is like an underground society of rural Ohio housewives who obsessively decorate in rustic decor. Although I have witnessed an inordinate amount of Ohio homes covered in wooden carved ornaments and fabric decorations, it's not like I have a membership.

Anyway, we've not seen the stars anywhere else in the country, so far. They come in all shapes and colors and some even have the American flag painted on them. Either way, it is uncanny how many houses you will see in Ohio with a star nailed to the side of them. We supposed that in the tradition of the fashionable goose and the porch flags that let everyone know what your favorite thing is, these metal 3-D stars are the next big thing in outdoor home decor.

So, we made a game out of it. As we drove through the neighborhoods, every time we passed a house with a star, we'd punch each other in the leg and yell "Star!" Houses with multiple stars got a punch for each star they had and American Flag stars automatically got a double punch. Whoever spotted the star first and got their punch in won that point. We were having fun with our stars and were perfectly content to entertain ourselves at that level when suddenly the residents of Troy, Ohio raised the bar.

By Saturday night we were still driving around and it was getting dark. That's how we were able to spot them. Like beacons lighting up the houses as if the family's were hoping God could see them from Heaven, these three foot arrangements of multi-colored lights hung proudly from porches and outside walls. Chris did a double take and blinked a few times before hitting the breaks and exclaiming, "Are those rosary beads?" I turned my head quickly to adjust my sight on what he was looking at. Sure enough, there hung in all their glory were large looped strands of lights with lit up crosses hanging from the bottoms. Giant rosary bead light arrangements.

"Are those seriously freaking rosary beads? Are you kidding me?" Chris was incredulous and began laughing in amazement. I too was shocked by the sight and began laughing hysterically. "That's awesome." Tacky took a higher level in this little town. Once we saw one, we began to see them everywhere. Around every corner another house lit up like a Vegas chapel. There was no special occasion, it wasn't Christmas, but for some reason, the God-fearing townspeople of Troy decided to Hail Mary their homes with the proudest display of religious fervor I've seen since the days of Tammy Faye. We paused for a moment, slowing the car down to a gentle halt and sat staring in a moment of silence at this statement of devotion. Our cheeks basked in the glow of the multi-colored bulbs and for a brief moment I was almost touched.

I thought to myself, "Wouldn't it be nice if I could find myself a set of these giant rosary beads to light up our motel? If God really can see these from Heaven, well those people need all the help they can get." Then I thought, "I wonder if Jewish people put giant lit up Stars of David on the outsides of their houses?" But then I thought, "No, that would just be asking for it. They probably just stick to the yearly understated mennorrah and call it a day."

Anyway, we left feeling like our weekend in the car and motel was like a visit to Soddom and Gomorrah; animals and vomit, hookers and cults. It was just too much. Seeing the calm yet slightly creepy rosary lights was like a north star guiding us back to Bethlehem. We were going to survive this trip with only slight trauma but also with a renewed strength in pursuit of what will one day be our home. And when we find that home, I might just hang a small set of rosary beads on the wall to remind us of our suffering.

Appalachian Customer Service

I have found that one of the greatest cultural experiences money can by is a trip to your local Wal Mart, pretty much any where in West Virginia or Eastern Ohio. Customer service is of a unique quality that, while I would not say is particularly good or professional, it certainly is entertaining. And there seems to be personality profiles of your local Wal Mart staff, which can be found almost as if they have been cloned, at just about any store location in the valley. Let's start with my favorite, "The Hon Girl." You know her. She's the one who calls you hon, several times throughout the process of your purchase. "How you doin' today, hon?" "Did you find everything you needed today, hon?" Sign here, hon." "Here's your receipt, hon. You have a nice day now." It is her understanding that she is being friendly and polite by giving you such an endearing nickname. You are supposed to feel like family by the time you leave the store. And, if she were at least middle aged, with grey or white hair and looking like she has at least one grandchild, this would be somewhat comforting. Especially after you just braved Wal Mart on a Sunday after church lets out.

But too often, "the Hon Girl," is not a granny. She is instead a young girl, usually at least 10 years your junior, likely with no formal education to speak of. In this instance the "hons" are terribly condescending and "The Hon Girl" ends up grating on your last nerve rather than making you feel coddled and nurtured. She comes across sounding as if she has earned some superior status in the social stucture, like she is wise and learned and you, you poor thing, need her gentle hand holding in order to navigate the daunting process of putting your items on a conveyor belt and then swiping your card through a machine. "Whew! That was way over my head! Thank God you were here to guide me through that."
"No problem, hon."

Another personality I have come to feel kindred to is "The Sharer." She's the one who feels the need to discuss, either with you or with another employee in front of you, the drama which is going on among the staff. She'll either talk to said fellow employee, talk to herself, or tell you directly how she feels about whatever injustice is going on.
"I swear. Some people. She thinks just because she's pregnant, she should get extra smoke breaks. Well, I've been here since four and I'm taking my break whether she likes it or not. My feet swell too!"

Sometimes she complains about the customer who was ahead of you. "Some people can be so bitchy, you know? I tried to tell her she can't purchase a six pack with her W.I.C. card but she got all pissed off about it. Whatever. They gotta pay me more than seven bucks an hour to put up with that shit. Did you find everything alright today, hon?"

One of the best personalities, however, is "The Manager." This name gets quotations because so many times you'll find a manager who does not really know how to manage. They have the keys to all the registers and they know how to fill out all the paperwork and to tell the employess when to take their breaks but beyond that, they're at a loss. As for professional communication skills, well really you're just asking too much. Take today for instance. I went to Wal Mart Express Tire and Lube to get my oil changed. During the "express" hour that I waited for them to get started on my car, a very disgruntled man wearing a red plaid flannel shirt and work boots came tearing into the customer service area yelling about the tires on his truck.

He flung his arms around and raised hell, apparently because he was disputing the tread measurements on his tires for an inpsection. The employee doing the inspection claimed they were too low and would not pass. He adamently disagreed. Finally, a "manager" came over to intervene. After about a few minutes of trying to explain the law and the rule for tire tread, the irate man caused the manager to blow. Within five minutes the two of them were in each other's faces, pointing fingers and screaming at each other.

"You watch your mouth sir!" said "manager."
"They do not need to be replaced, they're just low!" said irate man.
"Sir do not talk to me that way! I'm the manager!"
"I'll talk to you anyway I want and don't point your finger in my face!"
"Get out!"
"You touched my face! I'm calling the cops!"

You can guess how this episode ended. After the irate man was "managed," two police cars showed up, statements were taken, the irate man was banned from Wal Mart and "manager" stood outside smoking cigarettes and discussing his side of the story with other employees for about twenty minutes.

Again, if you're on a budget, as so many of us are these days, go to Wal Mart, not necessarily because they're prices are so low, but because it is the cheapest form of entertainment you will find and its unque cultural quality is unsurpassed.

Turds in a Circle

The other day, I was walking Maggie and Mandie on our daily route through the neighborhood. Now, people acquire dogs for a lot of reasons. They're man's best friend, a robber's worst enemy....I originally got my girls to fill some need to have something to love and care for. I never anticipated the comic relief they would give to me. As we walked down the street at our usual stop-and-go gait, Mandie paused for the fiftieth time. She sniffed the grass, pivoted a few times--- once left, twice right---and then curled her butt up underneath her until she resembled a hedgehog. This is the dance. The poop dance.

The problem is, my girls have doggie ADD. A good dump requires focus, meditation if you will. But at the slightest bark off in the distance, Maggie and Mandie are railing in a chaotic bark-at-the-wind style. "Where is it coming from?" They seem to say frantically. "I don't know but we must sound the alarms until we nail the sucker!" This is what took place in the middle of her crap, disrupting the ritual. Mandie continued to pooh but pivoted in a full circle as she did so, all while raising her head to the sky and barking out in protest of the mysterious culprit.

When she finished, she walked away from what resulted as a miniature turd Stonehenge. Staring at this sculpture in amazement, I found myself almost proud. I never have a camera when I need one! My dog is an artist! Mandie continued to bark in her broken record, medium tempo as she kicked back her legs, spraying Turdhenge with a grass storm. Meanwhile Maggie inspected Turdhenge, obviously for its authenticity, and then we moved on down the road.

When we got back to the house, Chris was making dinner. The girls raced into the house to check on his progress. He was making spaghetti. As the girls begged and danced around his feet, he reached into the pot and pulled out two wiggly noodles. He placed the sticky pasta in their hair on the sides of their heads.

Both of them furiously threw their heads to the side trying to grab the noodle dangling off their ears. And each time the noodle flung simultaneously in the same direction. Looking like two dogs with the same nervous tick, they persistently chased the noodle that swung towards their face and then away, just out of reach of their mouths. As we hollered in laughter at this ridiculous display, the two continued to chase their prey.

Eventually, Mandie, the one who would be thrilled to be fed 24 hours intravenously, got wise and decided to go after Maggie's noodle. She waited for it to swing toward her and then she snapped at it like a crocodile. Once she caught it, she began to tug at it, jerking Maggie's head to the side. By this time the noodle was wrapped up in Maggie's hair and it looked like Mandie might take her ear along with her noodle. Chris was on the floor. When Maggie got over the shock of what was happening to her head, she realized that this strategy was much more effective and she went after Mandie's noodle. The two of them were intertwined like two mating eagles, tugging and nibbling on each other's heads. They turned slowly, choreographing their moves so that each could get substantial bits of the furry pasta.

Finally, the episode was over and the noodles were sufficiently retreived from their heads. Chris and I filled our plates and went off to battle the ravenous beasts as we guarded our dinner. Art, dinner and a show all in one evening. Who knew we would be leading such rich lives?

China the Beautiful

Well all good things must come to an end. My time here in China has been so much more than I ever could have expected. As much as I miss Chris, my dogs, my family, my friends, I have to say I have found a home here in the People's Republic. This country is beautiful, filled with culture, full of kind, considerate people and just simply a great place to live. This is what I've been missing by living in the U.S. While writing in this blog, I've pointed out some things I've found to be funny or different, using my sense of humor to portray them. Well, here are some other things I've noticed about China and its people that are different from life back home in the states:

1. Chinese people do not suffer from exasperation when people bump into them or cut them off.

2. Chinese people, especially women, take great pride in looking nice and take every opportunity to wear fancy shoes or pretty dresses every time they leave the house.

3. China has a deep and rich culture and the people are proud of it, praise it, protect it and keep it alive in their daily lives.

4. Older Chinese people are very fit and active. They play games, dance, sing songs, do art..... all to keep themselves and their culture alive and well.

5. Television is not a part of daily life. People are out and about most of the day and evening.

6. Children are not overprotected because they are disciplined well and cared for by their families.

7. Large groups of people go out to eat or share outings together frequently. There is a strong sense of friendship here and food is shared by everyone at the table.

8. Chinese people communicate with each other so as not to harbor ill feelings, hold grudges or argue. They have a very healthy level of communication.

9. Chinese people work hard and do not have a sense of entitlement. They earn their way and they do not complain about their "rights."

10. Chinese people are thankful for the simplest things. They do not weigh themselves down with feelings of privilege, nor do they focus on what they don't have.

11. Chinese people do not get their pants in a twist when their government makes decisions that are clearly good for the overall public. They use common sense where these policies are concerned and don't protest in self righteousness.

There are so many more, but to be honest, I think I'd lose a lot of American readers out of boredom if I kept going. The bottom line is that if the United States and its people honestly believe they are the greatest nation in the world, they really have a lot to learn. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the great things about the U.S. and what the founders went through to make it a reality. But believe me when I say, our country has gone desperately astray.

It would do our country good to pay attention and learn from what countries like China are doing. The arrogance of the United States is really getting old and I'm not surprised that people are losing their patience with it. Here's a perfect example. The other night we celebrated opening ceremonies here in Beijing. It was a night that has been held in the hearts of every Chinese person for at least the last year but probably a lot longer. They have looked forward to this night with all their hopes and dreams and when it finally came they were elated. There was an energy in the air that I have never sensed before in my life.

Well, our group of American students went to Hou Hai to celebrate this occasion. There were parties going on all over the city but this was our favorite place. When we first got there, the entrances were blocked by strict security. It looked like no one was getting in without proper documentation, whatever that was. But we, the white Americans walked up to the military guards and without words or hesitation, they lifted the ropes and let us in. Of course the overprivileged Americans did not even notice the courtesy they had just been granted. Instead, they acted like they deserved it.

When we got to the bar where we had chosen to spend our evening, we found many Chinese people already there. Each bar had a huge screen to watch the ceremony and all of the bars were open to the outside but most of the seats were taken. The Americans walked in and sat down and were served drinks at a fraction of the cost while the Chinese all had to pay 500 kuai for a table and pay more for their drinks. This again went unnoticed. As the time came closer for the start of the ceremony, the Chinese got more and more excited but the Americans got more and more drunk. They were loud and obnoxious, belligerently drunk.

The Chinese kept looking at them and were getting restless because it was hard to hear the event they had waited so long to see. But they never complained. They wouldn't. They are too polite. The Americans on the other hand never recognized anyone else but themselves and were yelling and carrying on as if they were the only ones in the bar. You see, the concept of rights is so deeply ingrained in American culture that it has actually become a problem. Americans totally lack the ability to recognize others and how their "rights" affect other people. It does not even occur to them to consider other people.

As if things could not get worse, when the America team finally came out, the Americans in the bar dialed it up a few decibals and then began to scream "Fuck Bush!!!!" "We hate Bush!!!" That's great Americans. Good for you. It's your right to say you hate your president. But guess what? Tonight? It's not your night. It's not about you. It's not about your sentiments about your country's politics. It's not even about politics. This night is about the Chinese people. It's THEIR night. And they waited a long time for it. If anyone "deserved" anything that night, the Chinese people deserved the right to have their moment, to have it in peace. This night is about the athletes and their dreams. This night is about good will.

I'm saddened by the display but even more saddened by what it means. It means that I am a member of an elite group of people who do not appreciate what they have and will shit all over everyone else just because they can. If you want to talk about what people deserve, Americans don't deserve half of what they have because they don't appreciate it and they haven't done shit to earn it. At least not lately. The only Americans who can say they've earned anything are the military and veterans and even though lately they've had to fight under the very seriously flawed policies they work to protect, they are the only ones who have earned it. Too bad their job is to protect a bunch of assholes who think they can lay around all day being entertained by their television and complain that their job is unfair.

But on a lighter note, I'm glad I did this. It was an education, an enlightenment and now at least I know that although I'm an American as it is defined today, I can work hard to redefine what it means to be an American and I can try to leave this world better than I found it. The Chinese people do that everyday. I've learned a lot from them. For thirty years I've learned about my rights but for six weeks I learned how to treat other people. I guess I'll let you decide which is the more valuable lesson.

Be Careful of Head

So, I mentioned before that awkward translations and language gap SNAFU's tickle my funny bone here in China. Well get a load of this. First, imagine a Chinese Snow White---very pure, innocent, gentile, feminine. This is my teacher Gu Laoshi. She wears a lot of pink, silk and lace and always has her hair up in librarian fashion. Her voice is soft and sounds like scoops of bubble gum ice cream on velvet pillows. Get the picture?

Okay, well the other day, we were having a language gap discussion in class---Gu often asks us how to pronounce certain English words because she is trying to improve her skills, too. Halfway through what started as a completely appropriate chat, she abruptly turned to the board and chalked the words "beach" and "bitch." In her newborn kittens-voice she says, "Bitch... bitch. They sound same. I don't know what you say."

Shocked, we slapped our hands over our mouths, blushed and giggled like small children. Then, while we were still blacking out over this innocent display of vulgarity, she turned again and wrote the words, "sheet" and "shit." She pointed at them with her cotton candy fingers and said, "Shit....shit. They sound same to me. I get confused. Like when someone say they put shit on the bed, I think oh, that a surprise, hee hee hee."

By this time we had fallen out of our chairs and were howling with laughter. Giggling as sparrows tweeted around her head and bunnies gathered at her feet, Gu Laoshi decided to give us a lesson on how to write these naughty words in Chinese. This was just too much. Our teacher, who is made of angel feathers and lotus blossoms, scrawled profanity all over the board like a juvenile delinquent spray painting an underpass wall.

Long story short, I now know how to write dog shit, bitch, piss and ass. I hope it's not on the test. After class, as if the day couldn't get any better, we went to the mall for lunch. As we were coming down the escalator, there was a sign over head that was translated to English as "Be Careful of Head." Chinese people may look innocent, but don't let them fool you. They are an ornery bunch.

Are We There Yet?

The other day, our group went to a mountain range outside of Beijing to go hiking. Our teacher planned the trip for us and therefore chose the mountain we were to climb. Having not seen this mountain, we had no idea what we were in for.

If I implied that the Endless Staircase was a challenge, I am now willing to eat my words. After two hours on a tour bus, we arrived in the mountains, a beautiful spectacle of nature. As we climbed up a winding, narrow road in our oversized bus, we kept passing perfectly good mountains. However, these were not to be the mountain chosen for us. As we drove on, each mountain seemed bigger than the last. I have to say, I started to feel anxious.

Finally, we approached our mountain and wasted no time climbing the hill to our first ascent. It began with a steep staircase of high steps straight up. These steps were basically rocks--- narrow and unstable. It wasn't long before my rear end reminded me it was still back there.

We made it to the top, and my first thought was, "Well that wasn't too bad. Are we there already?" Not even close. The next half an hour was more of the same, steps and paths going up and down through this range. Finally we came to what I called Base Camp One. Here an old man had a hose coming out of the stream and putting water into a natural hole made of rocks. The water was ice cold and he had created a natural ice cooler in which he placed drinks and cucumbers.

Exhausted, dehydrated and sweating like pigs, we begged him for one of his cold drinks. The water was the cheapest at four kuai and all drinks went up from there, as high as seven kuai a piece. By Chinese standards this was highway robbery.

"Tai gui le!!!" I exclaim, making it clear to him that I am aware that he is taking advantage of our desperate state. He knew he had the market cornered on cold drinks, as there wasn't much civilization anywhere close. He immediately responded with an earnest defense of his inflated prices, yelling at me that drinks from the man at the top of the mountain were four times as expensive.

In no real position to argue this point or take the risk of dying of dehydration on the way up, I reluctantly paid four kuai for my water but let him know I was extremely disgruntled by mumbling Chinese words of shame and dismay under my breath. He took my money and looked the other way. We apparently were not going to be "pengyou's" (friends).

After we refueled our tanks with the most expensive water in China, we trecked onward. Let me appeal to your imagination by explaining that the next four hours was the equivalent of doing the stairmaster for four straight hours without a break. The mountain was majestic, beautiful, breathtaking and truly awesome. My knees, thighs and calves were achy, sore, cramping and screaming for me to relent. By this time, we had resigned ourselves to the fact that our teacher had sent us here as punishment for speaking English when we were supposed to be speaking Chinese. At one point we could hear laughter on the path ahead of us and assumed it must be the angels in heaven. We'd climbed so far and so high, surely we had to be close.

After making our way through gorgeous paths and treacherous passes, we came to Base Camp Two. This was basically a small cliff from which you could look out over the whole range. We could see for miles. I have never been so high up in my life. We stopped for a picnic lunch and took some pictures before setting off again.

At this point the group went on without me. I decided to rest awhile longer, taking the time to have another go at a "spiritual" moment. I laid down on the cliff, which was about one square meter of space with shear drops on three sides. I closed my eyes for a bit, taking in the peace of the mountainscape, then decided to read my book. After only a few paragraphs though, I noticed I was being swarmed by mosquitos. Annoyed, I figured one must have discovered me and gone back to the entire mosquito military to announce the need for guerilla attack.

Swatting away, I looked down to find a giant spider had also decided to climb a "mountain"---- me! He was running up my shirt! I screamed, threw my book, which almost went over the cliff, shook him off and jumped up onto my feet. Sighing, I thought, so much for mountain zen, and packed up my stuff to catch up with the group.

After about another hour, I met with them at Base Camp Three. We still had not reached the top and many had gone ahead without us, so we rested and decided to go back down. The way down was brutal on the knees but much faster. When we made it back to Base Camp One, we found our old friend, the Don Corleone of water bottles and cucumbers, and this time gladly paid for his goods. Later the rest of the group joined us and we rested, played cards and devoured the rest of our rations.

On the way back to the bus, a torrential downpour moved in and soaked us all to the bone. Many complained but I was relieved to feel the cool water on my skin. I took my time going back taking in the miracle of this thunderstorm in the mountains. I felt blessed to have the chance to experience both the hot, sunny, clear blue sky as well as the cool foggy rain storm in this magnificent place.

Although I felt this hike in every bone and muscle in my body, it was the greatest physical challenge of my life and I was proud of my ability to do so well. I climbed a mountain in China. In the course of my life, I have smoked cigarettes, consumed enough alcohol to keep the enitre German army warm in the winter, eaten some of the most unhealthy food America has to offer, maintained ridiculous sleeping habits, and smoked enough pot to make Cheech choke with surprise. But I climbed a mountain in China.

I sweat out every bad thing I've ever put in my body and returned to sea level renewed, cleansed and ready to start my life over. At thirty, I climbed a mountain in China, purified my soul and thanked the gods for the gift of my life and for the chance to try again.

The Endless Staircase

A few weeks ago, our student group went to the Great Wall for sightseeing. Not only was it the most breathtaking thing I have seen so far but it made me wonder why, in the year 2008, in the (self-proclaimed) most powerful nation in the world, Interstate 70 is perpetually under construction, the Bellaire Bridge is still waiting to be torn down, Route 7 is falling into the Ohio River and the sidewalk in front of my house looks like someone took a sledgehammer to it just for fun. Of course, these are only a few examples that just happen to be in close proximity to my house.

There are two things the Chinese have down when it comes to efficiency: construction and traffic. Boston readers, take note. This part is for you in particular. Beijing takes the gold for laying down mile-long stretches of sidewalk within an hour, and reducing their traffic congestion by half within a day. Of course, they have an endless stream of migrant workers who come in everyday and sleep right next to their worksite, using their shovels for pillows but nevertheless.....

At any rate, seeing the way Chinese people work causes me to see the capacity to build a wall that once was meant to keep an entire nation of people from entering China. Once on the wall, and feeling the effects of an altitude quite foreign to my lungs, I attempted to climb.....and climb......and climb...... no one bothered to tell me the wall was more like an endless staircase up the side of a shear mountain.

It just so happened we chose the coldest, rainiest day to climb the Endless Staircase (I've renamed it). So as I'm sliding and slipping on steps that have been smoothed to an ice rink like quality from all the foot traffic, I notice I'm not feeling like any oxygen is actually reaching my blood. I stop to look around at the beautiful ancient relic almost completely hidden by fog and mist and think, "Is this how this moment was supposed to play out?" Somehow, I anticipated a much more spiritual experience, but then I remembered I was close to passing out and thought perhaps I should come out of this cloud and return to earth.

I forgot to mention we also chose to go on a Saturday, which apparently was also national go see the Endless Staircase Day. China has about 1.3 billion people and a rough estimate puts the head count on the Staircase around 300 million......and each head seemed to be accompanied by an umbrella. The Chinese loooooove their umbrellas. They love them so much they even use them when its not raining. They say it's "to block out the sun" but their not fooling anybody. Sunscreen was invented like decades ago. I think they just like to show off their umbrellas to each other. It's like a fashion statement to have the coolest or most unique one in town.

Anyway, as I'm sliding down the Staircase and trying to have my moment with one the world's great wonders, I'm getting whacked in the side of the head by every umbrella on the way down. You would think that people who use their umbrella every single day would know how to drive it but the Chinese seem to have no depth perception when it comes to their favorite accessory. It is damn near a weapon and I have the scars in my hair line to prove it.

Just when I'm about to give up on my spiritual experience, I find myself being asked for photos. Me? I'm not even really Arian-looking, but okay, I'll go with it. First, a small child looked at me, pointed up at me and turned to look at her mother with this yearning look in her eyes. Her mother, holding the camera nodded for her to go ahead. She just looked back at me and stood next to me. So, realizing she wants a photo, I kneel next to her and smile. As if she just had her picture taken with Santa Claus, she smiled widely at her mom and then shyly looked back at me and waved as she ran off. Her mother, thanked me about four times and backed away.

After the first encounter, came three more. Small children, young men, families, all wanting their pictures taken with the white American lady. Now I understand how Britney feels. Exhausted from my photo shoot, I look around for my entourage and remembered that I'm not actually a celebrity, I'm just very pale. So I skidded like an elephant on roller skates the rest of the way down and waited for the rest of the group to return to the bus. My moment on the Endless Staircase was not how I imagined it would be, but then again, I also never imagined I'd experience fame.