Critical Thinking

I’m taking the older daughter to the movies tomorrow night for a little daughter-daddy time away from the rest of the family (read new little sister). We are choosing between X-Men: Days of Future Passed, and The Amazing Spiderman 2.   K wants to see both of them, which provides an immediate quandary: how do we choose?

I tried to explain to K the law of super-villains in super-hero films (fewer is better), to which she responded, “I like more bad guys.  It (sic) makes it more interesting.” Then I pointed out the Rotten Tomato scores of each movie (AS2: 53%; XMDFP: 91%), to which she rejoindered the  “Lone Ranger Exemption”–a movie universally panned that we all enjoyed (except for the heart eating). In the end it will come down between a “J Law”/”A Gar” choice (pop heroine/hot guy), and Daddy’s vote (3 Villains vs Peter Dinklage).

And so the question: what makes it good?

I went to see Godzilla last week.  How could I not?  I have a familial obligation to watch these sorts of movies, and fondly remember watching many of the original “Showa” series on Channel 17 with my father and brother.  Was the new one any good.  Well, no.  It was fairly awful.  Anthony Lane in The New Yorker summed it up when he wrote: “[Here’s] what the perfect “Godzilla” should be: no character development, no backstory, no winsome kids, just hints and glimpses of immeasurable power—enough to make you jump and twitch and leave you sweating for more. ” This Godzilla was ponderous and full of kids (and even a dog) who were threatened by the “immeasurable power.”  Nonetheless, the critics graced it with more positive reviews than negative (RT 73%). Let the Kaiju roar and destroy and thrill; we can apply the allegory ourselves, thank you.

I went to see Celtic Woman last night, and by all accounts this is a profitable franchise, right up there with various “Tenors” traveling shows.  It is, in the main, schmaltz and ersatz Irish-ness.  That said, the majority of popular performance rarely rises above the level of schmaltz and ersatz authenticity.  I mean, go ahead, pitch “Amazing Grace,” “Danny Boy,” and “You Raise Me Up” in one show and the crowd will moisten appropriately and come back in two years for more of the same. I get it, and I’m a little glad that the rousing barroom ballads of my middle youth (Carnsie’s, Binghamton) were exempt from the CW  treatment. No Tim Finnegan (which is just as schmaltzy and ersatz in its own bawdy, jaundiced way as well–and this may be the heart of true Irish-ness). Nonetheless there was enough bare-footed fiddling and dancing to satisfy the family.

Still I can’t help but wonder how we decide what is good.  A former colleague bowed to vox populi, and can understand that in theory.  In practice I get a bit more insistent.  But that is for another day.

The Schedule of Life at Home

Those of you who know me know I lead a fairly busy life. I work 3 part time jobs, none of which is really part time. I have 7 day work weeks, and this makes me, by all accounts, fairly normal in the working world.

I enjoyed the time in China getting my daughter, in large part, because I was not working (or only working a very small amount), and I had scads of time to spend with my family. My only limits were sleep related during the initial bout of jet lag.

Now, at home, I am back of the world of work commitments. I went to work within 24 hours of arriving back at home. Jet lag would have to wait for days when I could afford a satchel full of half hour naps while my circadian clock got back on track.

I cannot say that my work schedule is fully appreciated by those with whom I live. Work often gets in the way of spontaneous outbursts of family activities, and if I beg off for prior (paid) commitments, I get more than a little of the hairy eyeball. I understand why, and I desperately wish for more time.

However, the paycheck helps the family world go around too. Our China expenses reached well beyond 30 thousand dollars, and that doesn’t even fully take into account the money we had spent on the previous plan that fell through when the adoption agreement between Vietnam and the United States four years ago. Yes, a small chunk of that will come back to us when we do taxes next year. Nonetheless, money does not buy happiness, it only opens the door to the park. Happiness comes when you play inside.

So, I look forward to a few months in the summer, when I get to be Superdad. And while I bemoan the current situation, I plan for some time in the park–as much as I can get.

First morning home

Shi Hui runs out of her bedroom, and immediately charges into a chorus of “Mao! Mao! Mao!” Which, of course, means “Cat! Cat! Cat!” She runs after them holding a doll, which she uses to make furtive petting motions in their general vicinities. Our deaf cat is especially able to manage her affection, but the two youngest cats run away. Shi Hui gestures toward them, “Mao!” She commands. They are unbowed.

Finally, after breakfast, my wife unboxes a set of older Barbie dolls. Concentration and quiet happens. It’s time for laundry and mail and a thousand other chores as we settle back into our lives at home.

Comfort Zones

I have a dread of missed flights. I get no adrenalin rush from the just made flight–mad dash to airport, gate, plane. I prefer to be early, painfully early to hear most describe it.

My family does not operate this way. Time is more, well, flexible for them. We have missed a flight, once, heading home from Las Vegas.

So, traveling with us is a mix of comfort zones: on one hand, I hate to be late; on the other hand, they hate to wait. Not quite a “which way do you put the roll of toilet paper on the roller” level difference, in so much as it is not a daily occurrence. But every so often it provides a little extra frisson.

Real Feel 106

On our last day in Guangzhou, the clouds dissipated, and the temperature soared from the spring-like mid 70s to a summery 88.

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Today, we are thankful for the pool, for sunbrellas, and for a few quiet hours before travel to Hong Kong and the other side of the world.

Travel Magic

When we left New York (JFK Airport) at 1:30 am on Friday, we landed four hours later (5:30 am), but on Saturday in Hong Kong. Tomorrow when we leave Hong Kong at 9:20 am, we will arrive back in New York at 1:05 pm on the very same day. Of course, our “4 hour flight” will last considerably longer, just as our 28 hour flight nearly two weeks ago lasted considerably shorter.

Katherine helps put this all in perspective, one way or the other, “We will be on the plane a long time.”

Language

So, we came to China with virtually no Chinese between us. We have a couple of translation programs that work fairly well going from English to Chinese. Other way? Not so much.

I can ask, “Does little sister want to go swimming?” or “Do you like apples?” We work on a thumbs up/thumbs down system. I can show her our house on Google Earth and tell her, “We live on the second floor” or “That is your room.” There is much nonverbal communication. Katherine asks how I know what Shi Hui is saying. I tell her, “I don’t, but I can tell what she is feeling.”

And for the most part, our new daughter has a demeanor of which anyone would be jealous. She laughs often. I tell her “Little sister likes to laugh a lot,” and follow it up with, “Papa likes to laugh a lot, too.”

Until tonight. I do end of the day duties. Routine, routine, routine. In the middle of The Cat in the Hat, right before Thing One and Thing Two make their appearance, a cloud settled on the girl, and she started crying. Patience, and a smattering of questions, “Are you scared?” “Do you miss your friends?”

And I wish she could tell me her story in a language I understood, and I wish I could understand the language she speaks. But in some small way, I know it doesn’t entirely matter. Even if we did speak the same language, would I really undress how she felt?

I think I can understand around how she feels. I can imagine, and also recognize that there are failures and gaps in my imagination. I can run to the bathroom, and come back with a handful of tissues, and can sit with her, and ask questions, and show her pictures of the flowers her mother planted in front of the house where she will live, and tell her that in 2 days we will be home. She clicks on that translation again and again. Maybe, maybe, that is what it takes for now.

The Restaurant Three Blocks Away

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We only ate out of the hotel four nights. Rain and relative ease (otherwise known as a menu in English, even in the Chinese Restaurant) kept us in, but three blocks away the food was about half as expensive and twice as good. Tonight we revisited some favorites: sautéed eggplant cooked in a clay pot; sautéed green beans; barbecued pork; stir fried vermicelli.

This was not a highly recommended restaurant in Lonely Planet, or any another guide, but the flavors were dense and distinct, and the dishes were fairly complimentary. The portions were satisfying without being overwhelming. And after our third visit, we were treated like friends.

We learned that the new daughter does not like shrimp, scallions, and Szechuan peppercorns. Katherine points out that there is no Lo Mein, Moo Shu, or General Tso’s tofu (favorites at home). Go figure.

I recognize that we will be hard pressed to replicate these tastes and flavors back home. But we will look!

Last hurdles

Tomorrow morning we head to the US consulate in Guangzhou to apply for a visa for our new daughter. The consulate in Guangzhou is the final stepping stone for anyone in China who wants to immigrate to the US. Every family that adopts a child anywhere in China goes through the consulate in Guangzhou.

We are somewhat fortunate that Shi Hui is from Guangdong province, and that all are in country bureaucratic hurdles took place in this same city. Yes, that meant we were not traveling about the country and that we did not see more of China, but to be honest, the sight seeing opportunities were slim. We were otherwise occupied.

So, tomorrow at 8:30, we head in passports and application in hand, and we should receive Shi Hui’s travel visa by 3:30 on Tuesday. Fingers crossed for a smooth morning.

Enough already with the rain

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We have seen versions of this sky every single day since we arrived except one: the first day. Guangzhou is a port city, nestled into the head of the Pearl River delta. In this way, it is not so different from Philadelphia, the city in which I grew up. It is also a southern city, more like Tampa in its seasons (9 months of summer).

The rain is not ever present, but always at the door, and could come in at any hour, and stay, like an uncle, for 10 minutes or 10 hours. I look forward to some sun.