Opening new doors in uncertain times, and. a lesson from Grandpa...

My two daughters at a colorful door in Greece. 

A few years ago on a trip to Madrid, we unexpectedly stumbled onto a Spanish artist's home and museum. His name is Joaquin Sorella and is pretty much unknown outside of his native Spain. He was an Impressionistic artist who was fascinated with light and very much influenced by Monet. On the day I discovered him, I was riveted by his luminous paintings. Somehow the light and sun in his paintings filled me up and gave me remembered warmth. In case you want to read more about Sorella, here is my blog: Joaquin Sorella: Painter of Light

Since I have spent some time painting, I was interested in what he had to say about how to navigate a painting or how to start the process on the canvas. A quote in his museum describes his approach to painting, "You do not need to know what your picture is eventually going to look like. Just watch the picture that is coming and emerging. It will come together, and you will be happy."

If I could make an analogy to art and life, it would be that we need to be more comfortable with the paintbrush or tools we have been given and blessed with. Life does not give us a manual for all our decisions. Will the painting be executed in the exact way we intend or want? Probably not. But we have it within us to make a grand, glorious, and gorgeous masterpiece--if we choose--much more beautiful than if we painted it by ourselves. If we push aside our tentativeness, we can open doors that bring us to places where darkness falls away and light descends in the crevices. 

I have to say in the painting (my son with autism) and I do together, we have gessoed a lot. Gessoing means you use white, thick paint (gesso) to cover part of the painting you do not like or want to be there anymore. Sometimes we have gessoed the entire canvas several times--starting over and over again. As I have taught young teenagers art, I reassure them with their discontent about their painting, "You can begin again. Nothing is really permanent." They look at me sometimes with a surprised or incredulous look and say, "Really? I can do it again?" The answer is yes, Just gesso what you don't want and start over. It is a liberating thought for them. And it holds true in our lives too. If we don't like the colors, perspective, or texture we have been using, we can change it. Another door can open. We don't have to stand outside dissatisfied and unfilled. There is a rescue on the other side of the door.

We need to be nimble and willing to see with new eyes. The process requires a tenacious determination to understand when and where we need to go in another direction--just like a painter works on different parts of the canvas. Perhaps we need to stand back and pause a moment at our emerging masterpiece--to recalibrate, recharge, and look for what is missing before we pick up the paintbrush again. Pausing to see the perspective is important as we live in the process of becoming. Perhaps we need to try another brush or mix a new color of paint.

One of the great friends of my life was my father-in-law, Hyrum Smith Shumway. He was blinded about six weeks after he landed on D-Day in Normandy, France at age 22. He helped to liberate several French villages that still celebrate and revere him today as he tried to lead his group of soldiers across France to Paris. He was young, fearless, and strong. But he was uncertain as he fought in France that he would ever go home again. However, he hung on, believing and having hope--even when he was blinded--that God had a purpose for him. He was brought to a make-shift hospital in Normandy, and then secretly taken across the channel to a hospital in England. Months later he sailed to America on the Queen Elizabeth ship with other wounded soldiers. For the next two years, he would be in rehabilitation in America. 

It is interesting to read his autobiography and see the developing character on the canvas in a young man who had experienced tremendous trauma. I am sure as he looked at his life, he saw so many doors closed to him that were beckoning before his accident. The emerging person, like a painting in progress, was taking shape. He later said that when he was lying on the ground after the landmine exploded next to him, that he wasn't sure he was going to live. He knew his life was in balance. But he said a prayer, and begged, "God, I want to live. I think it is possible because I took a breath. I want to live." 

At the time he was laying beside a hedgerow in Normandy, he did not know in his darkness that blindness would be his fate for the next 67 years. From his words later, he wrote that he became discouraged and frustrated with all the doors that seemed slammed shut for him.  It was a blow like a hammer to hear in an English hospital that he would have a permanent life of physical darkness. He had wanted to be a doctor and knew the dream was over. Nightmares of battles and warfare stalked him for many years. However, little by little, or brushstroke by brushstroke, he repeatedly turned to God in the uncertainties and darkness.

Much later, after he had learned to push and tug at some doors to be opened, he succinctly summarized his life, "I might not have sight, but I have insight." Indeed, he was happy, even joyful with his life,  and radiated an uncommon cheer I have seldom seen. His life was a masterpiece--created with ambiguity and darkness. With uncertainty and new doors, grasping for his answers, he found light. He continues to teach me that sometimes as we turn to the darkness, (and we must know darkness to know light), the light is switched on and dimness disappears. Yet, most of the time, our questions are answered by the sunrise/sunset variety. The door opens ever so slowly, little by little, impression by impression, and then we create a beautiful masterpiece.on our canvas of life. 

                                

                       My father-in-law,  H. Smith Shumway, who learned how to be certain in uncertainty. 

Thanks, Grandpa, for your example in complete darkness and in uncertain times. It makes me remember to pause, stand back, and see the whole perspective--to not be afraid to open unknown doors. And as Joaquin Sorrella said, the beautiful masterpiece we wanted all along will come.  

         A few favorite doors of mine... What doors are you planning                                                on opening soon?

     

The Alhambra in Spain

 Marrakesh, Spain

                                                             

                                                  A farmer's shed in Sierre, Switzerland

                                                           

                                            

                                   In front of Rembrandt's house in Amsterdam, Holland

                                                        

                                                  With this door, I received a new son...

                                                                 

                                                             The portals of Egypt

                                                                     

                                                                     Egypt beckons...

                                                  

                                                  At the  Shiek Fasel Musem in Doha, Qatar

                                                                

                                                         Notre Dame, Paris France

                                                                         

                                                                      Sofia,  Bulgaria

                             

                    Normandy, France--talking to an eye witness of World War II on his farm who knew                                                                                  Joseph's father. 

                                          

                                                           At the art barn, Teton Valley, Idaho

                                            Henry David Thoreau's house at Walden Pond, Massachusetts

                                                              

                                                       Shakespeare's house, Stratford, England

At Shangrila, China, on the border of Tibet

                                     Paris Temple for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints

         

                                          Meeting new friends in Doha, Qatar at their home

                                                     A welcome door in Stockholm

        Some dear French friends in Normandy who have taught us about the French generosity of spirit.

The colorful houses of Capetown, South Africa

The Ypres, Belgium cathedral that was burned to the ground in World War II, and then was built up again.

Beijing hutong or house. Red banners are put on the outside of houses for the New Year saying the family wants peace and prosperity. Often, they are left up all year long.

                              Shoes being left out of a mosque in Doha, Qatar during the prayer time

 

Istanbul, Turkey

My mother giving our sons a pioneer tour in Pleasant Grove, Utah

                         Doha, Qatar (This was not my house when we lived in Qatar). Ha!

                                                                            Marakesh, Morocco

One of the reasons I love the Middle East and North Africa so much was their rich motifs and designs. I was endlessly fascinated by how they fit geometric spaces together.

                                                                    Lake Como, Italy

   

                                                                        Lake Como, Italy

Marrakesh, Morocco

                                                                   Budapest, Hungary

                                                                   

                                                                       Seville, Spain

                                                            

                                                                The  Alhambra, Spain

 

                                                                        Marrakesh, Morocco 

Aix-de-Provence, France. What a door! I wonder how many times this door has been opened?
     

 

Our Doha house door, and our little, delightful neighbor who would always visit us to show us his artwork (even at 7 am) Of course, I adored his every effort. He was often rewarded with small gifts. I could never resist his dimpled smile. 

  

    My grandmother's house in Springville, Utah. This door opened to a magical and enchanting world--a                                 place where childhood was sacred and joy was always to be found...

Learning Another Language: The Thrill of Gathering Words...

For twenty years I studied Italian as if I were swimming along the edge of a lake. Always next to my dominant language, English. Always hugging that shore. It was good exercise. Beneficial for the muscles, for the brain, but not very exciting. If you study a foreign language that way, you won't drown. The other language is always there to support you, to save you. But you can't float without the possibility of drowning or sinking. To know a new language, to immerse yourself, you have to leave the shore. Without a life vest. Without depending on solid ground.      --Jhumpa Lahiri from her book In Other Words (a wonderful book about learning how to learn a language that you love).

This is an older woman from Yunan, China, near Tibet, who was willing to talk to me--another older woman. 😀   She told me she had never been able to go to school, but she knew how to farm. Her favorite thing to do now was to let everyone else work since she was old. She liked to watch her grandkids while everyone else worked in the fields.

Since I live in China (for the second time), I have accepted a fact: I must surrender myself to not being as eloquent as I want to be when I speak Chinese. However, sometimes I surprise myself, and a Chinese person will generously compliment me. There is a temporary boost of confidence (The moments are lasting longer now), but I inevitably know I will soon be humbled again. It is a daily rhythm. I guess I thrive on the tension of living in elation and struggle--or between the two.

I thrill in finding the right phrase, the best word, and being understood in another language than my own. My scribbled collection of words in various notebooks of Chinese, Spanish, Arabic, French, Cambodian, Vietnamese, Thai, Tagalog, Hmong, Italian, German, Swedish, Hebrew, Swahili, Hindi, and Icelandic have given me layers of great joy. Each language represents a chapter in my life, a place where I have lived or have a tie. I am by no means fluent in most of them. They are all on various levels. Chinese is currently the one I am most proficient in, but I am not afraid to pull up my old notebooks and experiment with the old cherished words from my language basket. 

Sometimes my memory evades me of a chosen word. The moment will lapse, but I determine to grab it up next time--for another befitting occasion. Words have given me the power to get out of scrapes (like how to deal with some new rules at the gym or a misunderstanding at a traffic light), make new friends, explain the swirling emotions of life, and buy basil and cumin at the Chinese market. Words soften hearts and can turn fear and skepticism into understanding--even laughter.  Every day I try to work at it.

Once and a while there is the trepidation of crashing on this language journey (and I have many times). For about a week I was interchanging transportation and communication with each other, smugly thinking I had grabbed the right word. I had a few confused looks, and finally, someone corrected me. Just this week I was trying to say 'complain', and I was using the word 'persecute'--way too strong. Luckily, I was corrected by a kind Chinese man. Learning a language means you have to be willing to take the corrections and submit to being a child again.

Sometimes the whole language process just makes me want to be silent, and not give away any more words for a while. Yet, often, very often, I have the joy of seeing the most beautiful views--jabbering for hours and connecting soul-to-soul--all while speaking this language that has intrigued me since I was in college. I marvel that the other person is interested in the words I give away to them. They nod in agreement or even laugh. There is a surge of aliveness that lights up my brain and soul. I walk away, resolute to taste the same euphoria again the next time.

Charlemagne said, "You get a second soul when you learn a second language." A Czech saying boasts that for every language you learn, you have lived another life. Duolingo, the famous app to learn languages, states that just one person who begins to speak another language is like a small candle--a spark that is ignited somewhere in the world. With that one lone person, conversations can transform and explore new shores--even breaking down entrenched walls. People soften when they see another person vulnerable enough to try and utter and sputter their language. There is a connection that just does not happen with Google Translate or a translator. But it takes patience on both parties; both have to be willing to watch the flower bloom.

Sometimes even if we just learn a handful of words in another language, windows open that otherwise would remain latched shut. I have been surprised with just a little effort to learn a few words and phrases--that it can mean so much to people. Friendships and connections expand; relationships are enriched. Truly, the world is a better place when we try to twist our tongue in another direction--to grasp the unfamiliar and unknown. Besides, it shows we care enough to learn someone else's world. We become a new person because we talk to people we would never have ventured to cross the aisle to speak to. 

If I think about the person who triggered my love for language, it would be my father. He was not a recluse scholar of linguistics. Yet, his love of people, geography, maps, history, and languages merged together. People from other cultures intrigued him. He longed to understand their beliefs, hobbies, family history, what neighborhood they grew up in. Dad could speak some Icelandic, and understand more--after growing up listening to his parents. Since he grew up in San Diego, he studied Spanish, and at intermittent times for the rest of his life. He resolutely, with no self-consciousness joked and spoke to his Hispanic friends--and any others who cared to converse with him. Was he fluent? No. But he occasionally gave talks to large audiences in Spanish and hired employees who he practiced his intermediate Spanish on. Making a mistake was not important to him. His aim was only to communicate the best he could--to share stories.  

When I was learning Spanish in middle and high school, he would practice my r's with me and then exclaim, "Isn't that fun? I like how that word just rolls off my tongue." I would think to myself, "Yeah, that was fun."And it made me want to go and see if I could speak more with someone who really spoke Spanish. Whether he knew it or not, my father was giving me not only permission, but encouragement to get outside of not only my own language boundaries but cultural and geographical as well. He made it seem fun to learn a language. From him, I learned that even if I stumble and make some blunders, it is ok. I am grateful that my dad taught me how to be curious about language, but also to try and connect language with people. 

Find a teacher, mentor, or tutor who you are not afraid to see you struggle or even fail. The best teachers (and friends) know how how to encourage and put you back on the ladder again if you fall off (and we all undoubtedly will). Indeed, making mistakes is part of the journey when we try new things--a new sport, musical instrument, or anything else. To feel comfortable around that teacher or friend when we struggle is critical as we gather our words.  

Contrary to what some people may think, learning another language does not have to be the luggage you pack and carry around from childhood. Some of my great heroes are some American friends who started learning Spanish in their early 60's, and now approaching their 80's, just spent a year doing service in Columbia. It is powerful and compelling to find passions much later in your life--to connect with people and communities you would never have known. There is always the humble possibility of sounding like a child, but also an undeniable exhilaration that you are on an incredible journey--a trip you would not have wanted to miss. And sometimes the travel won't even require a suitcase. It is just pulling out a new word from your word basket...

   Some stories on why I keep on collecting words...

I love this picture of my dad because it totally captures his personality, and how he could get to know someone--even if he did not speak their language. I think I taught him a few Arabic words, and I know these men do not know much English. But it never mattered to him. When Dad came to visit us in Doha, he was always "talking" to someone--a fisherman, guard, cashier, my neighbors. One day we wondered where he was and he had just gone to the mosque next to our compound with a new friend. His secret? He was endlessly fascinated with people. 

When we were in Stockholm, my cousin taught my son with autism some Swedish. He loves nothing better than to converse with others with their language. I have learned not to doubt his efforts, memory, and even proficiency. With a few words in his own basket, he climbed on the train in Stockholm and proceeded to converse with the 83-year-old woman across from him. She cheerfully replied to his comments and then realized that his ability had abruptly stopped. I remember her smiling, and then beginning a most fascinating conversation, in English, about being a child in WW2 in Sweden. Twenty minutes later, none of us wanted to get off the train because we wanted to hear more of her stories. Without my son and his willingness to try with his small little basket of Swedish words, we would have missed out on a most memorable moment.

 One of my fondest recent memories of a language immersion experience; For two days, Vicki and I scootered around Yangshou, Chou--laughing and talking while we saw the beautiful rice fields and mountains near Guilin. These were hours I was glad I could speak and laugh in Mandarin with a most delightful person, who then graciously invited us to her home. She is married to the fourth son and lives on a street where they all live their families next door to each other. I was grateful she gave me a glimpse into their village life. But the best part was our conversations winding around the rice fields on the scooter. She has a terrific sense of humor, and mostly we just laughed.

 My mom just attracts children so this is her with some of my Arabic language experts who would teach (and sometimes laugh 😀) at my rudimentary Arabic. I never became conversant, but I could say some things when I needed to--especially to our art students who my son and I taught. 

                                               Some of my favorite Arabic tutors in Doha--my neighbors. 

    A funny moment in Lijang, China, in Yunan province, where all the ladies in the market wanted to sell me some carrots. I knew I could not bring them all home so I picked the one that looked the oldest and brought her carrots.

These two lovely ladies are mother and daughter, the mum being the mayor of LeTronquay, France in Normandy. It is the village that my father-in-law helped to liberate in WW2 after he landed on D-Day. Her daughter then came to stay with us twice in Doha. Because of some friends in France, I swim around the "language lake" in French. Some day I need to take off the life vest. 

 This is a Cambodian family I met when I worked in refugee camps in Thailand. I later reunited with them in the United States. They are one of the reasons I decided to learn some Cambodian. I can't remember much because I have not spoken for a long time. But I still remember the thrill and joy when I saw the Cambodian refugees see that I was trying to speak with them. 

Meet Meek Chi, a Cambodian refugee who walked through the minefields from Cambodia to Thailand. In this picture, she is 82, and I was 22. We were dear friends, and how she could make everyone laugh, I don't know--especially in a refugee camp. But she did. I have never seen a more dedicated, diligent student. She was always on the front row with sometimes about 800 people, looking up to learn like I was a famous professor. We taught the refugees at this time in large airy sheds. Meek Chi was usually one of the first to arrive to show me her numbers and words that she was learning to write for the first time in her life. Because of her, I tried to learn some Cambodian. I wanted to penetrate her world, to understand the funny sounds that came from her toothless grin. Later, I taught in a refugee camp in the Philippines, where she also came. Since we worked in the refugee camp, she sometimes would knock on my door to proudly show me her "schoolwork." I tried to find her in Brooklyn when I moved to New York City a few years later, but I never did. Someday I hope to meet her again where we can laugh and talk together again. 

I met Ashok in Doha who I called my Indian son. He invited us to his sister's wedding. Because of him, I learned a little Hindi and went to India.

This is Sam who was our sailing teacher from Cardiff, England when we lived in Doha, Qatar. In our lapses of time when the Qatar wind refused to blow and the sun just wanted to shine as we tried to sail, he would entertain us with British and American euphemisms. We would roll with laughter at the differences, and then he would mimic the different accents of England. He told me one day he was not good at school and the teachers did not understand his dyslexia. Yet, he could keep us all chuckling for hours about the differences in how we speak English across the pond.

Meet Paulo from Florance, Italy. A few years ago we were in Florence for a few days. He was our taxi driver the first night we were there. I don't speak Italian, but with my old Spanish, we were able to understand one another. It was a mishmash conversation of Italian, Spanish, and English. I will never forget our laughs and stories. In a most surprising way, the third night he took us home again. We could not believe the coincidence that we would flag him down again--with all the taxis in Florence. Words allowed us to have laughter and friendship. Italy was even better because we met Paulo. 

So back to the quote by Jhumpa Lahiri about the lake at the beginning--where we sometimes only want to swim around with our life vest on. Some people, like me, want to have many baskets of words with lots of languages. Others just choose one. But sooner or later, it is good to leave the shore of familiarity and certainty. Here in China, I am having a fun time leaving the shore and swimming to the middle of the lake. 

Children: The Healing Balm To Us All...

When we have conquered COVID-19--and we will--MAY WE BE EQUALLY 

COMMITTED to freeing the world from the virus of hunger and freeing neighborhoods and nations from the virus of poverty. May we hope for schools where students are taught, not terrified they will not be shot. And for the gift of personal dignity for every child unmarred by any form of racial, ethnic, or religious prejudice.   --Jeffrey R. Holland

We live in a world in which we need to share responsibility. It's easy to say, "It's not my child, not my community, not my world, not my problem." Then there are those who see the need and respond. I consider those people my heroes. Anyone who does anything to help a child in his life is a hero to me.  --Fred Rogers

 

Pictured is my husband here in China, delivering another child to this world. He often says he would do it for free. Although the nights and days can be long, his exhilaration for the birth of a new child has never waned. In fact, he has delivered about 24,000 children to this world--singly, in doubles, triplets, and more. Children are the great gifts we are given in this world. Although they might not necessarily be born to us, we need to step up and make the planet better for not only our own children but children all over the world. 

      There can be no keener revelation of a society’s                 soul than how it treats its children.

            --Nelson Mandela

I have been thinking: What can we as adults do for children who are living in 2020? For many, their small worlds collide daily with violence, racism, injustice, sex predators, and poverty. An invisible virus has changed their play (which is real work to them), school, and the adults' lives they live with. Sometimes the challenges seem too looming and large to tackle. But in small, consistent, and ordinary ways, we adults can change the life of a child and relieve suffering. That response is a true indication of our humanity. Wherever we live, children are there--watching us--to see how we respond when they need us most. 

Here are a few ways I thought of. What are your ideas on how to both teach and learn from the children you know?

1) Teach your child to not hurt others with words, actions, or abuse. Remind them to look out for a child or teenager who is sitting alone. Teach them with your example to be respectful of different faiths, nationalities, socio-economic backgrounds, and those with special needs. My dad always taught us there is great dignity in a person who notices the poor, aged, and those who are suffering. Try to give them experiences that bridge them with people who are different when they are very young. As they get older, they will be self-directed: they have felt the joy of knowing another person who speaks a different language, has a different color of skin or worships differently than they do. 

As a young woman in my early 20's, I worked in refugee camps in Palestine, Thailand, and the Philippines. Every day I felt buoyed up by the sojourn of service. Yet, when I had several small children, I missed that feeling of getting outside my own skin. I decided to do an experiment with my then three children, ages two, four, and five. 

Down the street from my apartment in Los Angeles was an assisted living center. I asked if we could come and visit some of the older people every week, and even if we could be specifically given two older women to visit. My two daughters, then four and five, would dress up every Thursday for the occasion to go to the care center. It just so happened that Josephine, one of the older women, had many teeth missing. At first, this unnerved my four-year-old daughter. But Josephine was not to be put under the rug. She was spry, funny, and spirited, and soon she and my little Annalise had a wonderful relationship. 

Perhaps this situation would not work right now with the virus. However, there are countless creative ways to do with kids to get outside their own circumstances. Some things could be: collecting supplies for homeless shelters, making blankets for an assisted living home, hospital, or ambulance service, baking treats for a neighbor, singing on the front porch to someone, writing some encouragement on someone's sidewalk are just a few I can think of. 

2) Sometimes, if we have forgotten, it is critical to remember how we felt as a child. What were our fears and delights? Running with a kite bouncing in the wind near our side or discovering a new spider web are all memories deep down in all of our memories. As Fred Rogers says and I wholeheartedly agree, "I think it's very important--no matter what you may do professionally--to keep alive some healthy interests."It is important for us to remember some hopefully carefree moments we had as children.-- such as stargazing, fishing, sketching, running through the trees, hiking a mountain until sweat was dripping from our whole body, jumping into a wave, or swimming across a lake. Recalling those experiences that brought joy, exhilaration, curiosity, and love helps us bring similar experiences to others. Tuck magical moments in your adult memory, and try to give it to your child or relative. When we remember the apprehensions and wonder of childhood, we can more easily understand their world. And we create a bond with someone we love. 

3) In these Coronavirus times, figure out what you can do for a child you know. Maybe it is listening to a concert or hearing them read on zoom. Maybe it is encouraging a mother who is juggling the demands of online education and work. That kind of support will definitely funnel to their child/children. Perhaps it is asking to see some of a child's creative outlets--their prized art or sewing project. Giving a child some book recommendations you liked as a child. Or even playing a game online or in-person with a child. If you know a language, you could offer to practice or teach a child another language. These things will not be forgotten--especially at this time.  

My children still remember some Baltimore neighbors who played games and listened to them as they learned to read. There was no pandemic going on, but years later, those memories mean so much to them--that someone else cared besides their parents. 

4) It is important to teach children that we do not live in a perfect world. Dr. Robert Coles (a favorite author) and renowned child psychiatrist said, "We err when we try to create an illusion of a perfect world for ourselves and our children. They are keenly attuned to the darkness as well as the light of life, and they can teach us about living honestly, searchingly, and courageously if we let them." I think children, and for that matter, all of us have learned during these virus times that life can be unpredictable and unfair. And that gives us lessons to learn from and topics to talk about at our dinner tables.

In these times, may we adults, step up to do more for a child in our lives--to encourage them, dry a tear, and support them at this time--and always... We must make a commitment to make this world better for them because sometimes we are the only ones in their lives who will. 

                     One of my favorite sculptures in the whole world. You can see the entire growth of an embryo in Doha, Qatar in front of my husband's old hospital. Blog of Baby Sculptures

 

                                           A little bit of a global perspective:

                                                       Learning outside--African style

                 At a school in Adasarlapadu, India. They had never seen a foreigner, and I happened to be the                                                                    first one they had ever seen. 😀

                                                Encouraging girls to read in Adasarlapadu, India

                                                          A school in Cape Town, South Africa

     Some of my best memories while living in the Middle East--teaching art to children with special needs. They unfailingly opened my soul every time and taught me how creativity can make us more alive. 

                                               Brazilian children at a school in a favela Rio de Janeiro

                                                             Brazilian children at a school in a favela

Find opportunities to bless the lives of children of this world. Here is Sarah, my daughter, on a trip to Ethiopia to bring online education to children in remote locations. 

                         Opening your world to children with special needs. Since I have a child with autism, the people who have conversed, joked, and made friends with him has meant the world to me. 

Teaching children to have friends who have different backgrounds is so important. One of my favorite sights is to see children gather from various backgrounds, playing, creating, and letting all the walls fall down--if there ever was one. 

And to finish off with Robert Coles again: "I think we chronically underestimate the wisdom that resides in children. I know children who don't know how to read and write, but they know how to use language enough to ask profound questions. Children tell us about the origins of human spirituality because they ask questions about the sky, the earth, what is happening. These are fundamental moral and spiritual questions. Where do we come from? Where are we going?" 

I propose the children in our lives can heal us--bringing us astonishing joy. They can heal us from our petty skepticism, and give us hope when the world looks foreboding and uncertain. Children can make us feel alive again when we forget the magic of clouds and puddles and will show us how to chase a butterfly again. In these times, and in all times, some of the most important moments of our lives will be when we listen to a child. 

China: The Delectable Dumpling

Dumplings are better than flowers.   --Japanese proverb

           Nothing is tastier than a dumpling.  --Chinese saying

Dumplings, the festive food of the north of China are the mainstay of every table here. In the south, rice and noodles are more prevalent than dumplings. But in the north of China, the dumpling rules. Basically, there are about seven different kinds of dumplings, and they are divided into two categories--the dainty potsticker variety, which can be boiled, steamed, or fried, and then the bun-like variety that has a breaded covering. My own preference is the jiaozi:"--the potsticker variety. Perhaps it is because some of my favorite memories in both China and Taiwan have been at friends' homes preparing the delectable dumpling.

It is said that it was 1,800 years ago that the first dumpling was made in China by Zhang Zhongjing. He was a doctor and saw many people with frostbite so he decided to make a dinner to take to his patients so they would not be cold anymore--to bring in the new year. 

Dumplings are made from pork, chive, or fennel--often with cabbage, celery, or carrots. They are mixed sometimes with shrimp, beef, eggs, and mushrooms--just endless varieties. One restaurant here in Tianjin boasts of having 100 kinds of fillings in their dumplings. Here in the north, they are served with vinegar, fried red pepper, soy sauce, and often a clove of garlic. 

We found the most wonderful restaurant with jaudze (potsticker or dumpling that is steamed, fried, or boiled. (My personal preference is steamed).  They also had baudze (bread-like dumplings). Message me if you live in Tianjin--just an ordinary-looking "nosedive" little restaurant near the Haihe River... But they know how to make a dumpling!!!

                      If you happen to be in Tianjin, China, this is the best place we have found--bar                           none. It is not a fancy place. Some people might think it a dive, but it is my                                favorite. 

At our favorite little place where they steam the dumplings in small baskets.

Delivering them to our table--about nine in each basket. 

The best dumplings, however, are when you get invited to someone's house. And then you find out their personal family secrets and ways to make their own kind of dumpling.

Some of my most special memories of being in Asia have been when friends invite you to their homes. The hostess and guest's roles merge and blur--you are just good friends making your dinner together. 


Our first invitation to make dumplings when we first arrived to Tianjin. Somehow that first invitation to rub shoulders together, and roll and fill dumplings made me feel more welcome to my new city. It is a grand treat to be invited to make dumplings together. Never underestimate a dumpling invitation!


Many kids, both boys, and girls are trained early on how to make a sumptuous dumpling.

How to make a dumpling

1)

 Get the filling ready

2)

Roll the dough and cut into small cookie-like slices, and then flatten them, making them almost transparently thin. 


3)

Put filling in, about the size of a small teaspoon. 

4)

Fill the dumpling, and then pinch them on the sides, and then on the fold, making a little crescent moon.

5)


This is the beginning of the memory-making--gathering around to fill the dumplings with loved ones. 

6)

You can steam, fry, or boil the dumplings.  

Restaurants in Northern China: The Focus is on the Dumpling

At a restaurant in Tianjin. The steamers are then given to each table.

The special dim sum dumpling that was supposedly invented outside of Shanghai--existing of 23 "pleats" in a very thin whole wheat wrapper. It has a little bit of a fragrant soup that stays in a puddle in the dumpling and then explodes in your mouth. 

Dim sum has a plethora of fillings--mutton, pork, chicken, and seafood. 

More dim sums...

                               These dim sum had a chocolate filling. I had never tried that before. 

And sometimes, you are lucky enough to have friends who just bring you dumplings!