Summer of Service

My favorite line of Andrew's recent Great American Novel blog entry, as Dan has dubbed it, is "As Leslie put it, squatting in a row right next to 3 other people peeing into an open trough doesn't exactly encourage dilly-dallying." But there's a long list of next-favorites. I think he did a great job describing the weekend in all its wonderfulness, for lack of a better (or actual) word. I think too though that we all could go on and on and on even further. For me, it was one of those shocking OH SO THIS is what it's like moments. The people we met over the weekend, particularly Sarah's family, were incredibly generous and warm. Passing mountains on the walk to the shower, eating watermelon quarters against a balcony that overlooked rice paddies and corn fields, and playing basketball at night around, between and behind an old woman grinding soybeans along the 3pt arch all make my list of things I never thought I'd do in life, but simultaneously vaguely imagined one might do in a movie set in Asia. I like Rory's way of putting it a lot; if your life could be a movie, these would be some of the scenes.

Despite how incredible the weekend was aesthetically and culturally, on Saturday while we were at the village well, a conversation I overheard between Leslie and Sarah shook up the largely romantic perception I had had up to that point of what living in the Chinese countryside meant. There were almost 10 little kids, mostly boys and mostly shoeless, running around in the well, splashing, climbing the wall, and eating big slices of watermelon that a neighbor had put out. They were definitely the kind of kids you entertain the thought of kidnap for - adorable, big grinning faces with missing teeth and cemented-in dimples. They took us down the street (one of the cutest little girls I have seen in my life escorting Leslie by hand) and Chris and I played ball with them for a little outside the former governor of Hunan's boyhood home. Then they showed us the fruit and tobacco fields and the water buffalo used to plow the fields and we went back to the well. When we got back, Leslie asked about what their parents did by way of occupation, since the adults at the well taking care of them, one man and one woman, looked to be their grandparents. Sarah told her that the parents leave for the salt mines in GuangZhou (sp?) after they are born and will be gone for stretches of three or four years at a time, sending money home during this time for the children and visiting maybe once during that period for a holiday. The grandparents then, 60 or 70 years old, care for all of the children during those times while maintaining the farms. When we first got to the school-house where Sarah lived and found our room with just a fan, an outdoor shower and a couple of beds and mattress pads on the floor, Leslie said something along the lines of how wonderful it would be if we could all simplify our lives so much. I agree with this completely and felt the same way over the weekend but also felt after this conversation that I am not able to imagine the hardship of a typical Chinese person's life in the countryside - I definitely had a feeling after that conversation that it is not simplicity of the Walden variety, but a more necessary simplicity - one where all possible corners that could be cut have already been cut.

This week so far, back in Jishou, has been equally exciting and "bloggable," a new adjective around here. I've had a couple more scenes from my movie, I think. Betty and I have been working to get the Literary Magazine up and running and I'm so so so excited about it. Working with the students on their writing and teaching them about American poetry are definitely up there with my favorite teaching moments. One night I taught some of the students that stayed after a magazine meeting the Robert Frost poem "Fire and Ice." Within half an hour they had memorized it: "Some say the world will end in fire/Some say in ice/From what I've tasted of desire/I hold with those who favor fire/But, if it had to perish twice/I think I know enough of hate/To say that for destruction ice/Is also great/And would suffice." We had an incredible discussion afterwards on why Frost chose to compare fire to desire and ice to hate. One student asked if the poem was written after 9-11 because of its discussion of hate and I told them no, which led into a discussion on the universiality of the emotions hate and desire. It, was, awesome.

A couple nights ago I put the writing prompt up on the board: Write a letter to a human pretending you are a shoe. I will include one of the responses I got so you can get a sense of the things they're coming up with:

"Dear Bob,

I haven't talked to you for a long time since you got your girlfriend Bo. Hope everything goes well with you!

Honestly speaking, Bob, I really have been feeling very sad these days. I could bear everything you did on me in the past. I didn't care that you step on me, that you hurt me seriously everyday. On the contrary, I only took this as my responsibilities. But now, Bob. After Bo being your girlfriend, you became worse. You still step on my everyday. But you don't concern me anymore. You never give me bath now. So I always very dirty and all my friends laugh at me. What's worse, there are dirts, bad insects, mosquitoes and other sick things in my stomach at nights. Dear Bob, I'm almost going to die!

Help me! My dear owner!

Best wishes to you and give my best regards to your girlfriend.
Sincerely,
Honest shoe"

Betty and I are going with Larry, one of the students, this afternoon to a printing place to find out about cost/scanning/covers/publication time and all that good stuff so we can make sure the students get a copy of their work before the program ends. We will be sure to bring the work home too so you all can read it for yourselves. Thanks for bearing with me on this long entry, all my best to everybody out there, and lots of big hugs to mom and dad if they've figured out what a blog is and how to read one.

Lisa