Smoke Detector 吸烟

My eyes burn
Everybody smokes
My eyes burn
Everybody smokes
I smoke too
But not as much as you
I do the smoke detector
- Rilo Kiley

Take a breath. Ooohh, maybe I shouldn’t...the kitchen is getting smoky. And it’s not because someone burnt the toast. Someone-- or someones-- is smoking.

Just as no man is an island, no apartment in the Great Smoking Dragon (aka China) is a vacuum. Muffled voices reverberating through the walls and echoing up through the drain pipes. Babies crying. Pianos playing. Electric drills drilling. Toilets flushing. Loogies hacking. Fish and hot peppers frying. Rice cooking or incense burning. Sounds and odors--good or bad, poisonous or innocuous-- waft through the cracks, the crevices, the pipes, and the vents that connect our side-by-side, top-by-bottom homes.

As for the cigarette smoke, I suspect that the smoking son-of-a-gun is our black-gummed neighbor that lives directly below us. Maybe he smokes in the kitchen and turns on the kitchen vent to mitigate secondhand smoke effects on his two young children. Or perhaps he lights up in the bathroom before he brushes his teeth (Question: does he brush his teeth?). In any case, I’m not just blowing smoke. Every evening and most mornings, my home is going up in smoke.

Even if our home were a smoke-free sanctuary, avoiding cigarette smoke on a daily basis would be impossible. China is the biggest consumer and producer of cigarettes in the world. About 350 million of the 1.3 billion Chinese habitually light up [1]. That’s roughly one in four persons. No escaping the food delivery guys scanning their cell phones with one hand and a cigarette in the other. Or the grandpa shuffling along the sidewalk completely oblivious to the effect of smoke on his young grandbaby. Even in restaurants, in which smoking is supposedly prohibited, smokers can still light up in private dining rooms. The smoke, uninvited and knowing no boundaries, drifts to the public eating area mixing with the smells of garlic, seared meat, and rice.

Smoking man is not worried about his lungs

Back in 2015, we non-smokers rejoiced and optimistically hoped that Beijing’s public smoking ban wasn’t just smoke and mirrors. Hitting up the 15 RMB burrito special at a nearby western restaurant no longer meant inhaling fellow patron’s carcinogenic fumes. But it took awhile for smokers to accept that smoking was no longer accepted. The day after the ban went into effect, I saw a brawny baldy (think Mr. Clean but without the pearly whites) abandon his martini and plates of uneaten food in a puff (of smoke) when he was told he couldn’t smoke inside. At a Chinese restaurant, our pleas for fellow patrons to abstain from smoking fell on deaf ears. Meanwhile, the boss juggled money and beer with a cigarette cinched between his lips.

Now more than three years since the ban went into effect, smoking inside restaurants is noticeably reduced. Every once in while, if someone does light up inside a restaurant, I am not shy about telling the rogue to go outside. There’s children here! And holy smokes, the offender is usually pleasantly compliant. the Great Smoking Dragon about ready to bid smoking zai jian? After all, even President Xi Jinping kicked the habit [2]. Ehhh, maybe, but certainly not for a long time. Smoking isn’t a exactly an habit easy to give up, and smoking culture is pervasive. The majority of China is yet unaffected by anti-smoking policies. Currently, only four cities in all of China enforce strict smoking bans. These cities are Beijing, Shanghai, Shenzhen, and Xian [3]. While 2015 and 2016 saw decreases in tobacco sales for the first time since 2000, 2017 and 2018 saw increases over the previous years, likely the result of the tobacco industry’s push back against anti-smoking policies [4]. The Great Smoking Dragon won’t go down without a fight.

So as I close the kitchen door, a futile attempt to confine the smoke, I ponder what smells travel from us to our neighbors. Chocolate chip cookies baking. Banana and pumpkin breads laced with cinnamon. Italian garlic chicken. Indian butter chicken. Spicy pork carnitas. The smells we send up the pipes should make stomachs growl, not recoil in disgust. And certainly, the smells emanating from us do not increase risk of developing cancer. 

You can stick that in your pipe and smoke it.

Chinese Word of the Blog: 吸烟 Xīyān (literally, breathe smoke)
English translation: to smoke a cigarette

The smell of are welcome, neighbors


We a Famly 姥爷和姥姥

It’s been a hot long summer
I miss you, it’s a bummer, yeah
We both travelin’
You’re somewhere south of Wichita
I’m up here somewhere under the moon
I can’t see you
- The Flaming Lips and Miley Cyrus

This past October, my parents traveled 5,892 miles from Sacramento, California to busy Beijing, China. They came not to see ancient China’s cultural treasures like the Great Wall or Forbidden City. Nor did they come to witness firsthand China’s rapid development like Beijing’s very impressive, efficient, and ever expanding subway network. Neither did they come to visit me, their second born daughter (that they love so much). They came for the same reason that Chinese grandparents drop everything and move into their kids’ house for a really long time. They came to see their one and only granddaughter, Dumpling.

Every minute they languished on that cramped overseas flight was worth every minute spent with Dumpling. Our little chatterbox greeted them every day with a very exuberant, “Pop-pop! Yaya!” She thrilled them with her new skills like hopping and putting on other people’s shoes. She pointed out colors as if Yaya and Pop-pop couldn’t distinguish green from red. She inherited Yaya’s love of french fries and Pop-pop’s love of weird Chinese food like preserved duck egg and bitter melon soup.

Unlike Chinese grandparents who are happy to camp out in the living room, my parents chose to forgo free accommodations and live it up at the nearby and very posh Holiday Inn. That’s right, the posh Holiday Inn. Beijing’s four-star international Holiday Inn boasts a palatial reception area, indoor lap pool, and a breakfast buffet to boot.

Nearly every morning, Dumpling and I joined Yaya and Pop-pop for stuff-your-face-until-you-can’t-move breakfast buffet. Pop-pop savored more than his fair share of jook (Cantonese for rice porridge) topped with salted duck egg and salt-preserved veggies. I opted for the house-made wonton soup and cross cut french fries. Yaya was all about the hash brown patty and watermelon. Dumpling’s hands down favorite was the yogurt. Seriously, Dumpling could win the toddler version of a yogurt eating contest.

In addition to the hotel buffet, China’s capital has plenty to offer to the culinary savant. After all, eating local fare is an important way to experience different cultures. From Peking roast duck to Xinjiang’s barbecued lamb to Cuandixia’s mountain village steamed fish, the parents got just a taste of China’s various cuisines. Our food tour ended at the newly opened and kid-friendly Boxing Cat Brewing for western food that I can’t prepare at home (like rotisserie chicken and beer). Thinking of that rotisserie chicken just makes my mouth water. Dumpling was so excited to see french fries, she cried “fench f-eye!” for the first time. Then she ate waaayyy more french fries than her fair share.

But Yaya and Pop-pop didn’t have to eat restaurant food everyday. They did get a couple home-cooked meals, one of which included my homemade pita bread. As I told Pop-pop, pita bread has yet to infiltrate local bakeries, so until that happens--I must make my own.

Fortunately, jet lagged grandparents and Dumpling’s sightseeing pace and sleeping schedule are the same. We took it easy, enjoying October’s mild temperatures and blue skies. We didn’t make it over to the Forbidden City, but we hit a couple hot spots like the Bird’s Nest at Olympic Park and 798 Art District. We took one day trip to Cuandixia, a folk tourist village about two and half hour’s drive away. We usually spent the afternoons in the hotel where both grandparents and Dumpling got an afternoon snooze and I snacked on the Yaya’s stash of Big Hunk, Look!, and Almond Joy candy bars.

This is what usually happened sometime between 1 and 4 pm

Pop-pop had done his research and had a few things on his while-in-Beijing bucket list. Unfortunately, eating scorpions in Wangfujing didn’t make the cut, but attending Peking opera did.

After eliciting my Chinese friend’s help and navigating a nearby opera house’s website, I successfully purchased three tickets for 200 RMB ($30) each. Dumpling and birdMAN stayed home and went to bed while my parents and I could have a night out on the town.

So what did I think of my first ever Peking opera? Costumes were gorgeous. How the singers get their voices to such exponential shrillness is a mind-boggling. But after two hours of “EEEEEEEE---eeee--AAAA---aaahhhhhhh!!!!”, my ears were bleeding from the inside. Honestly, eating scorpions is much more endurable and enjoyable than that screeching cacophony. Maybe Peking opera is like blue cheese or stinky tofu. You just have to develop a taste for it.

Peking Opera = Blue Cheese

Before we knew it, Yaya and Pop-pop’s eight days in Beijing came to an end. They packed up all their loot including a few hand painted ink drawings, postcards, salted dried fish, bamboo cutting boards and various snacks. The morning of their departure, we ate our last stuff-your-face-until-you-can’t-move breakfast buffet, Dumpling ate her final Holiday Inn yogurt, and Yaya took Dumpling for final dip in the pool. Dumpling and I said our final goodbyes. .

So nice that Yaya and Pop-pop came 5,892 miles to see us. And double nice that they left us a stash of Almond Joys as reminder of their visit. But the stash has now they better come back real soon.

As Dumpling says: “Wuv yoo! Yaya! Pop-pop! Buh-Bye!”

Chinese Words of the Blog: 姥爷和姥姥 Lǎoyé hé lǎolao
English Translation: Maternal grandpa and maternal grandma

Dumpling checks out the running ladies of Olympic Park
Houhai has all kinds of shopping
Our big excursion to Cuandixia
Dumpling would like another yogurt
Yaya's cake dreams come true
Salted dried fish found on Taobao
Hot pot is sooo good when it's not hot
Subway is a cheap way to get around
Yaya's happy place: the pool
More buffet please
We A Famly


Dogs are Everywhere 恶心了

Dogs are everywhere
Almost everywhere
That I go
They have too much and then

One night on my way home, I saw an elderly couple walking a cute, furry Chow Chow. Then I noticed that the cute Chow Chow was dropping a deuce right on the sidewalk. Like any good dog owners, the couple waited patiently for Chow Chow to finish his necessary business. Like any bad neighbor taking no personal responsibility for neighborhood upkeep, the woman used a plastic bag to pick up the doo-doo and chucked the bag and all off to the side.

This is a cute Chow Chow, but not The Cute Chow Chow

I stopped and deliberated for about two seconds. Is it my place to correct an older couple? I decided, yes it was. Toting around a curious toddler has made me particularly sensitive to seeing people letting their children and dogs use public areas as latrines. Also, people tell me all the time what to do. Don’t give your kid ice cream because it’s bad for her stomach. She needs to wear more clothes or socks. Since your baby goes to bed so early, you should teach English at night and make more money. Shave her head so her hair grows faster. The list seems endless.

Don’t I too have a voice? Don’t I too have the right to tell people what to do? I’ve no qualms about telling people to not smoke in restaurants and to wait in line. Is this situation much different? Isn’t public health at stake here?

My blood boiling, I flipped around and said rather loudly, “Disgusting! You can’t do that!"

The old man cocked his head toward me, a cigarette pinched between two fingers and his scraggly eyebrows furled. He was clearly dumbfounded. Well, of course, more explanation was needed. The idea that tossing dog poop and trash around was wrong probably never occurred to him. Meanwhile his wife and Chow Chow had continued their jaunt down the street, leaving the man alone to deal with the crazy foreigner.

“You can’t leave dog poop there. Children walk around here. They might touch it. That’s disgusting!"

Another pause.

So I continued making my case, “There’s a garbage can right over there.” Literally, about five steps away was a garbage can. “It’s really no added inconvenience to you to throw the dog poop away.” (Just so you know, my Chinese does not sound so well-spoken as this translation into English.)

He looked at the grassy area, mulling over a response. Ah! He had it. He raised his hands as though encompassing the expanse and said, “Oh, but this whole area is a garbage can.”

Oh no he didn’t! This is our neighborhood. This area, even though not beauteous, is where literally thousands of our neighbors--babies and groceries in tow-- pass through every day. Our neighborhood! Isn’t this communist China? Communist as in community? Don’t we--as a community--all share a piece of responsibility for public health? And does this man think we all want to deal with his Chow Chow’s excrement because he is too lazy to take five steps to the nearest garbage can? Does he think we all want to live in a garbage dump?

Exasperated, I heaved, “Do you like your place (as in location)?” I admit, this sentence really showed my lack of Chinese fluency. I wanted to say, “Don’t you care about your neighborhood that you live in?”

Despite my awkward Chinese, the elderly man got the point. He chuckled, “You are right.”

I shifted my weight and crossed my arms. I wasn’t leaving until I witnessed proper poo disposal. The elderly man leaned over into the grassy area, extracted his Chow Chow’s filth, walked five stops to the nearest garbage can and chucked it.

Satisfied with the poo disposal, I emphatically shook my head uttering out loud, “Disgusting!” as I walked away.

So what did I accomplish? At least one additional poop was properly disposed. Perhaps, just perhaps, the elderly couple will think twice before leaving their Chow Chow's doo-doo in public places.

Unfortunately, even if this one couple forever change their ways, their change is like emptying the ocean one bucket of water at a time. There are about 20 million other people that need sanitation reformation. I can't tell you how many times I've watched children and dogs pee and go #2 in the same vicinity as crawling babies and playing children. I haven't mustered up the courage to tell a grandma to have her baby pee in a bush instead of on the floor two feet from where Dumpling is playing.

But I might soon enough.

Chinese Word of the Blog: 恶心了! Ěxīnle (literally, evil heart)
English Translation: Disgusting!

Where the offense happened. Does this look like a garbage dump?

Where the children play and pee.


I'll Never Find Another You 青梅竹马

There is always someone
For each of us, they say
And you'll be my someone
Forever and a day

-The Seekers

Our marriage is like green plums and a bamboo horse. No, I'm not talking about under ripe fruit and animal statues. I'm talking about love, baby.

I first laid eyes on my husband when I was thirteen years old and he was fifteen. birdMAN was wiry, sporting a 90s skater look, reminiscent of Leonardo DiCaprio as troubled preteen in 80s/90s sitcom Growing Pains. I had frizzy long hair and wore long hippy skirts. We were just two green plums.

A few years later, we ran around with the same circle of friends. We went to movies (You Got Mail and The Wedding Singer come to mind), bowling, snowboarding, or just hanging out at our houses. Just innocent fun, like a child rocking on a bamboo horse.

Fast forward a few more years to September 30, 2001, the day these plums got hitched. We were barely old enough to (legally) drink alcohol, but according to the state of California, old enough to say "I do". Seventeen years! If we had kids earlier, we could have a teenager. Instead, we went to school, worked full-time, bought a house, sold a house, moved to China, and then had a baby. Now these green plums have gotten a bit riper, softer and purple.

So like I said, our marriage is green plums and a bamboo horse. That's love, baby. Seventeen years of marriage done and done. Only forever to go.

Chinese Saying of the Blog: 青梅竹马 Qīngméi zhúmǎ (literally green plum, bamboo horse)
English Translation: childhood sweethearts that grew up to became a couple

A picture for every year. Watch us go from green to purple plums.

I do! September 30, 2001
2002 A picture of a picture. This is before the
days of digital cameras.
2003 This is the only picture of us at my sister's wedding. Why
did the professional photographer not take a decent picture of us?
2004 Fairfield, California
2005 - Kona, Hawaii 
2006 Disneyland, California. birdMAN vowed never to go back
and we never did. But if Dumpling has her way...
2007 San Diego, California
2008 Ashland, Oregon
2009 Napa Metric Century
2010 Tiger Leaping Gorge, Yunnan, China Our first trip to China.
We had no idea we would end up living here for so long. 
2011 Sausalito, California
2012 San Francisco, California
2013 Chiang Mai, Thailand
2014  Great Wall at Gubeikou, China
2015 Lombok, Indonesia
2016 Beijing, China and pregnant with Dumpling
2017  Beijing, China
2018 Atlanta Georgia. Three's a party!
2018 Dumpling celebrates with a fried bread stick
And a ricotta and mozzarella stuffed concoction at our
favorite Beijing Italian restaurant, Bottega
We love food!
Seventeen years: the Cheesecake Year


Up Above the Daily Hum 九月份

When is this all over
When does the next one begin
Happy on the pull of the past
Just before the future comes
Hoping for the rush of some experience
That could elevate me
- The Flaming Lips

This is definitely not Beijing

Beijing’s September started off with a bang. And when I say bang, I mean it started off with rain. The fall season has thus begun. People are wearing light sweaters and the children socks. Body odors aren’t so repugnant, and the sky breezes pollution free and blue as a gleaming sapphire.

The cooling temperatures are a welcome respite from Beijing’s muggy summer. We heard that July in Beijing was particularly insufferable. Rain poured for two weeks straight during which the sun refused to show up even once. Additionally, the heat and humidity were so intense that nobody left the sanctuary of air conditioning.

While Beijing cooked like a baozi (dumpling) in the steamer, California charred like a Kalua pig in the BBQ pit. Devastating wild fires ripped throughout California, leaving thousands homeless and the skies shrouded in soot. It was here in California’s dry inferno, the three of us spent the summer. My brother-in-law joked that California’s air pollution made us Beijingers feel like we were right at home.

We did feel right at home--but not because California air pollution was on par with Beijing’s notorious pollution. (Side note: smoke is waaaayyyy worse than car exhaust air pollution.) We felt at home because 1.) California is our home and 2.) we stayed at Moomoo’s house, and Moomoo makes you feel at home.

As if the nightly gourmet dinners (e.g. beef bourguignon), daily delectable breakfasts (blueberry pancakes), and King-sized bed with a private bathroom, weren’t enough, Moomoo scheduled another week in yet another Magnificent Beautiful House in Lake Tahoe. Seven grandchildren ran amok throughout the house. Dumpling was besides herself surrounded by her cousins and endless bounty of Haagen dazs ice cream, avocado and corn chips.

Otherwise, we did what we always do when we summer in California: we catch up with friends, ooh and ahh at how the kids have grown, swim, and eat lots of cheese and barbecued meat. In addition, we squeezed in a few side trips: one to Georgia to visit my sister and her husband, and one to beautiful Monterey Bay with Yaya, Pop-Pop, and cousins Caden and Zephram.

And just like that, just as the smoke began to clear, our summer elapsed into the clouds. We said, “See ya, California!” once again, and said “Hello, Beijing!” Yep, back to steamy Beijing. Back to air drying our clothes and towels until they are stiff as boards. Back to hand washing every single dish. Back to speaking Chinese as clumsily as a carsick clown on a tightrope. Back to reality.

While I ached for American conveniences like a dishwasher, Dumpling eased right back to her Beijing life like Cinderella’s foot in her glass slipper. She gleefully ran around the apartment rediscovering her toys. She skipped around Merry Mart waving to the workers like they were old friends. She perfected her slide skills with as much finesse as a Cirque Soleil acrobat.

So here we are more than halfway through September enjoying blue skies and mild temperatures. We’ve stopped dreaming about leaving China. We are back to our Beijing life, and we are OK will it. birdMAN is again teaching high school math, and I follow Dumpling around and talk to ayis at the park. Life is functioning at a comfortable normal. And we still have plenty of room to drastically improve our Chinese skills. Maybe we’ll stick around a little (or a lot) longer.

Perhaps, just perhaps, Beijing is home.

Chinese Word of the Blog: 九月 Jiǔ yuè (literally, nine month)
English Translation: September

Grandma makes us dinner. We're not in China, but we still get Chinese food.
Eating good at Moomoo's

Dumpling can't believe her eyes. California has so many french fries.
We only dare to wear white, pretty dresses in California. Here you can wash with hot water and use a dryer.
Hi Lake Tahoe! Our old friend.
Cousin Sabella's excitement is contagious!
Post nap grumpies. She slept through ice cream time.
California = Haagen Dazs heaven
Ohh and ahhh, how the kids have grown!
Good times with our long time friends.
Dumpling feels at home
Checking out Monterey Bay Aquarium
Keeping cool at the California coast
Sacramento Zoo excursion
Back in Beijing, and the weather is fine!