Monthly Archives: May 2015

May9

Non-attachment

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[amazon template=image&asin=0985781408]I’d never really understood the idea of non-attachment. Of course, I’d not done any research on non-attachment or asked questions of someone who would know. I just assumed I knew what it meant and assumed I would never be capable.

While I was reading What It Looks Like by Marta Maranda, I came upon a few paragraphs about non-attachment that cleared my confusion.

Here’s what the author said,

…non-attachment doesn’t mean we should never have people or things in our lives. It is the “exaggerated seeking and clinging” that creates suffering. Most of our mental and physical energy is obsessively devoted to the object we desire. If we don’t have it, we will either do anything to get it or endlessly mourn its absence. If we have it, we live in constant fear of losing it.

Expectations play a large part in attachment. What we cling to is less about having possessions, relationships, and identities than about what we expect them to provide for us. And we expect all that we acquire to make us feel loved, appreciated, or important. It is the dysfunctional perception that is at the root of all attachment. “Whether it is an object or a person, we give it meanings and values that do not exist.

Non-attachment is not detachment. Detachment is a dysfunctional defense mechanism and pain management system that results in mental, emotional, or physical isolation. However, detachment doesn’t just block pain from one’s life, it blocks the flow of all energy, and eliminates any chance of healthy interaction with the people and circumstances that are essential to heal dysfunction. Rather, non-attachment is an act of compassion and healing. There is no conscious manipulation of choices and consequences out of fear. When we relinquish control and release our grasp, energy flows, allowing our lives to grow, change, and heal through all that comes and goes. (p. 333)

May8

Staying Warm

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My #1 way of staying warm while living in my van is to go somewhere warmer when the weather gets colder. For example, in 2014, I left Northern New Mexico at the end of October and went to Southern New Mexico, where I stayed for November and December. In January 2015, I went to Arizona and stayed in various places in that state until I went to the California mountains at the end of April.

People often ask me if I stay warm enough in the van at night. Staying warm at night is not a problem. My bed is raised about two feet, so my body heat isn’t lost to the floor, and I have storage space. I sleep on two layers of memory foam, which is notorious for making people hot. I wear long underwear and socks to sleep when I need to, as well as a hat if it’s particularly cold. I have plenty of blankets, including two sleeping bags and a knitted (crocheted?) blanket stored flat under the memory foam and on hand for any really cold situation.

My bed lies across the back of the van, up against the back doors. On the side opposite the back doors, I have a curtain (a sheet I paid $1 for at a thrift store strung on a bungee cord) that I can pull for privacy. I found out early on that the curtain holds in quite a bit of my body heat. In hot weather, I often have to leave the curtain open at night so I don’t get warmly uncomfortable. When it’s cold out, I’m glad the curtain holds in the warmth.

Once I’m in bed, I’m warm. Sometimes I even get too warm and have to push the covers down for a while so I can cool off in the chilly air.

The problem in cold weather is getting out of the bed, either to get dressed and get out of the van or to move around inside the van (to tidy up or to cook, for example). Sometimes it’s too cold inside even to sit up in bed to read or write.

While I was in Southern New Mexico, temperatures were getting down in the low 30s at night. I researched how other rubber tramps stay warm in their vehicles.

One idea I found on a couple of websites was burning a candle. Candles (supposedly) raise interior temperature in a vehicle by 10 degrees. Of course, one must be careful with the open flame. (I have a lot of fabric in my van—curtains, rugs, blankets, clothing strewn about—so I have to be particularly careful not to catch everything I own on fire.) One must also be careful not to let the candle use up all the oxygen in one’s enclosed space, which can lead to death. This means one must leave a window open at least a crack when using a candle inside a vehicle.

I wondered if leaving the window open—even just a crack—negated any heat produced by a lit candle. However, I was willing to give it a try, so I walked down to one of the locally owned gift shops and bought a small (overpriced, artificially scented) candle. I tried burning the candle a couple of mornings. I (thankfully) did not catch anything on fire, but I didn’t notice feeling any warmer when the candle was burning. I decided the candle experiment was a failure.

At the time, I was staying in an RV park with electrical hookups. I considered going to Stuff-Mart and buying a small electric heater. (I think they run $15-$20.) I decided not to do that because I very seldom stay in my van in places with electrical hookups. Even a small heater would take up precious storage space when not in use, and I wouldn’t use it enough to justify having it.

The last week I was in Southern New Mexico (the week between Christmas and New Year’s Eve), the temperature dropped to 28 degrees. I was lucky because I had gotten a house and pet sitting job. I stayed in a lovely warm house with a nice cat and a nice dog, and I didn’t have to think about heating the van.

During my internet research, I’d read a bit about portable propane heaters. Several van dwellers I read about swore by them. I didn’t rush out to buy one because #1 they’re a little pricey and #2 burning propane in the van causes the same concerns as burning candles.

At the Rubber Tramp Rendezvous (RTR), I talked to people who used propane heaters in their vehicles.

The Divine Miss M had a Mr. Heater brand Portable Buddy heater, which was a popular choice among folks at the RTR. (I don’t know why exactly, maybe I heard someone else refer to the heaters this way, but I call this type of heater Mr. Buddy.) Miss M loved hers, said it got her station wagon plenty warm, but did stress the absolute necessity of leaving a window open a crack when using the heater inside. She assured me that the heater produced enough heat to overcome the cold let in through the partially open window.

I stored the info in my brain file for future reference. I wasn’t in the market for a heater, although on some chilly mornings in the Arizona desert, I would have welcomed a few minutes of concentrated warmth.

At one of the very last group gatherings at the RTR, during announcements, a man said he had a brand new Mr. Buddy heater for sale. He said he’d just bought it from Amazon.com for $69 ($20 less than normal price, I was told) but had found a heater he liked better at the Big Tent. He wanted to sell the heater for $69, plus another $20 or $30 for the supplies to hook it up to a large propane tank. When I went to talk to the guy selling the heater and told  him I was interested in the heater but not the accessories because I didn’t have a large propane tank, there was a grumpy old man already looking at the items. The old man snapped at me that I needed a larger propane tank because it was cheaper to buy propane that way. Rather than snap back at the old coot elder, I just told the guy with the items for sale that the old guy could buy it since he was there first.

Before I could get back to my van, the seller had come after me to say the old guy didn’t want the heater and I could have it for the $69 he’d spend on it. I bought it.

I tried it out a couple of times before I left the RTR (thanks to the bottle of propane Miss M gave me to use with it). It worked great, warmed the van quickly. It was just enough heat to get me motivated to get out of bed and get dressed. I told Miss M that Mr. Buddy was my new boyfriend!

Then I went back to the City and didn’t stay in my van for upwards of three months. Mr. Buddy was packed in a plastic storage tub, and I didn’t think much about him. Until…

It’s cold in the California mountains, even in May. Seems like the temperature starts dropping around 4:30 in the afternoon (16:30, military time) and doesn’t warm up again until the next day around noon. Sleeping is fine. Actually, I sleep better when it’s chilly and I can snuggle under piles of blankets, so sleeping is excellent. It’s the between times that are trying.

I get up early to do a check of the campground, sweep the restrooms, make sure there’s enough toilet paper. I decided I needed the warm motivation only Mr. Buddy can provide, so I’d already planned to unpack him when I heard the high the next day was expected to be only 41 degrees, and there was a possibility of snow. I pulled Mr. Buddy and his propane bottle out of the plastic crate and fired him up before I crawled into bed. In about ten minutes, the van was toasty.

When I got up in the morning to pee, I fired him up again until I warmed up. Oh yes, Mr. Buddy and I are sure to have a long and happy relationship.

I took this photo of my boyfriend Mr. Buddy in my van.

I took this photo of my boyfriend, Mr. Buddy, in my van. The propane bottle fits right in on the side.

Safety Precautions I Follow with Mr. Buddy

#1 I open at least one window at least a crack before igniting Mr. Buddy’s flame.

#2 Because there is an actual flame, I make sure no fabric is near Mr. Buddy’s front.

#3 I never leave him unattended. I DO NOT exit the van or go to sleep while Mr. Buddy is on.

#4 When I turn off Mr. Buddy, I unscrew and remove the propane bottle. Some people don’t do this, but I take this precaution so I know no propane is leaking.

While writing this post, I remembered another idea for getting/staying warm. I learned this one years ago from a New Englander in New Orleans. Drinking or eating something hot is a good way to warm up from the inside. However, when I’m cold first thing in the morning, I don’t necessarily want to crawl out of my warm bed to heat water for tea.

img_2813For my birthday, my host family gave me a Stanley thermos. It keeps water hot for a long time. I used it while working the essay scoring job so I’d have hot water for my lunch. I’d heat the water in the morning, put it in the thermos, and the water would still be hot enough at lunchtime to prepare noodle soup (ramen noodles and the like). One day I didn’t use the water for lunch, and the next morning (24 hours later) when I opened the bottle, the water was still very warm.

So this is my idea: Before I go to bed, I’ll boil water and put it in my Stanley bottle. I’ll put it next to my bed, along with my mug and a teabag. When I wake up in the morning, I’ll pour myself a cup of hot tea before I even get out of bed. Sounds lovely.

 

I did not receive any compensation for the endorsements of the products in this post. I wrote this post after I already owned the products. I just like ’em, and I think my readers might like them too.

If you click on either of the photos below, you can shop on Amazon through my affiliate link. If you do your normal Amazon shopping through my affiliate link, I receive a commission from your purchases at no cost to you!

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May7

You Are Here Now You Are Here

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I took this photo of the sculpture embedded in the sidewalk at the the light rail station at McDowell and Central in Phoenix, AZ. As I was setting up the shot, I wondered how many people merely step over it several times a week, without thinking, Yes, I am here now. I’m here on this sidewalk. I’m here at this light rail station. I’m here in downtown Phoenix. I’m here in Arizona. I’m here in the United State of America, in North America. I’m here on this planet, in this galaxy, in this universe. I am HERE. I am here NOW.

I tried to find the name of the artist who created this piece. I can’t say I did an exhaustive search. I did find propaganda from Valley Metro in 2008 saying that the artist responsible for the art at the Central and McDowell stop is Michael Maglich. According to http://www.valleymetro.org/images/uploads/lightrail_publications/METRO-Art-Book.pdf,

Flanked by the Burton Barr Public Library and Phoenix Art Museum, the McDowell station was a perfect match for local artist Michael Maglich. A generous man, brimming with curiosity and wit, Michael envisioned A Thousand Points of Reference as a celebration of the diverse possibilities available to the institutes’ patrons as well as the nearby neighborhoods.

However, the brochure does not specifically mention the piece I am sharing today.

I hope this piece gets people thinking about their place(s) in the world.

May6

Update on the California Adventure

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On Sunday, April 26, I arrived at the campground where I’d been told to report. Within a couple of hours, I met the boss and was told there was no training the next day. She seemed unsure as to why I’d been told to arrive a week before my training, although she said she could put me to work. (On the voicemail I have saved, the woman who works in the office said she’d just talked to the boss who said I should be at a specific campground for training on the 27th.) No one has explained why I was told to arrive a week early. The boss was certainly not expecting me.

On Monday, April 27, my van wouldn’t start. I flagged down an elderly man who was hard of hearing, and he used my cables to jump start the van. I drove into town (where I was headed anyway) and proceeded directly to the Car Quest auto parts store. Thankfully, I had a small monetary cushion, because I used that money to pay for a new battery.

The battery in the van when I bought it had been doing weird shit for months. I’ve had to have it jumped six times since I bought the van last July—six times the battery was dead for no obvious reason. When I started the van, it kind of stuttered before starting, and it often died when I tried to back up immediately after starting it. I had it checked out at a Car Quest in Southern New Mexico—they charged it for eight hours, then checked it and said it was fine. But I decided I can’t be having a dead battery out in the woods, so I bit the bullet and bought a new battery. Now the van starts right up, no stuttering, and no dying when backing up. Am I glad I had to spend my money cushion on a new battery? No. Am I glad to have a new battery? Yes.

I spent small parts of Tuesday and Thursday filling out paperwork and getting some training for the job (from the women who gave me the message to show up early). I also spent a couple afternoons that week at the Burger King in town (WiFi, an electrical outlet, and free refills on sodas) writing and mostly catching up on email. I explored a pioneer cemetery and the local history museum.

On Friday I was finally taken out to the campground to work temporarily. The camp hosts of my temporary campground had not arrived yet. I don’t know why. However, the company was having yurts built in the campground, to they wanted a staff person around to keep an eye on materials and supplies after the builders go home. They decided I would be the staff person on duty. Since I’d be at the campground anyway, they decided to open it to campers two weeks early.

The campground is much bigger than the one I’ll be working at for the rest of the summer. This first one has 32 sites, plus five or six large group camping spots, compared to just ten sites at my campground. I’ll be parking on one of those sites, so I’ll actually only be responsible for nine camping spots once I’m out there. Although I’m only expected/allowed to work five hours a day here, the first couple of days kicked my ass. Just the walking was wearing me out. At night, all I could do was eat dinner and read a bit before falling asleep early. On the first two nights, I was in bed before it was dark out. When I woke up in the morning, I did not feel recovered. It was very depressing, and I wanted to give up.

On Sunday, I was given a golf cart, and that helped a lot. At first I was scared of the golf cart, but when I told the guy who delivered it that I’d never driven one before, he told me it was just like driving a car. And then I realized, yes, I drive a giant van, I should be able to drive a golf cart. And you know what? I can drive it! (And it’s fun!)

In van driving news, I am able to back into my campground host site. Granted, it’s a pretty big area, and I don’t have to be in one strict spot (like between lines or on an asphalt slab), but backing in is a HUGE step for me. I’m learning!

I did see my campground on the way to the temporary spot, and I love it! It’s so cute! It’s ½ mile off the main road down a dirt road, and there are lots of trees and a meadow. I can’t wait to be there.

I’ve had mixed feelings about being out here.

On the one hand, the landscape is absolutely stunning, and the wildlife is incredible. There are mountains, a river, and tall trees. There are many ponderosa pines where I am stay and they are soooo tall. I saw four deer (two mammas and two youngsters, I think) in the campground the other morning around 6:30 when I was making my rounds. That afternoon, I saw the biggest chipmunk I’ve ever laid eyes on—it was the Arnold Schwarzenegger of chipmunks. One day I saw a blue jay so blue I gasped. One night as it was getting dark, I heard a sound I thought was the panting of a dog or maybe a bear about to attack, but it turned out to be the sound of the flapping wings of two low-flying birds.

On the other hand, I’ve had moments of intense loneliness. I feel very far away from the people I love. When I see co-workers, it’s not for very long, and I haven’t found any common ground with any of them yet. Anyone who knows me won’t be surprised to hear that my favorite prat of the job is welcoming campers and talking to them while I’m filling out their paperwork. I hope I’m not coming across as desperate for human companionship, although I do feel a bit that way.

It’s been cold hour here at night; the temperature starts dropping around 4:30 in the afternoon (or 16:30, for those of us currently using military time). Once I’m snuggled in bed, I’m warm, but 12+ hours in bed gets uncomfortable, and it’s difficult for me to get out of bed in the morning when it’s cold. Fortunately, I don’t have to be out and about at any particular time, although they do want us to a “sweep and hang” (sweep restroom floors and make sure there’s enough toilet paper) early in the morning. I do have my propane heater, but it’s still packed away. I think I’ll get it out so it’s easier to get a blast of hot air to get me going in the mornings.

I’m also bummed out because every time I drive on the tightly curving mountain roads #1 all my neatly stacked plastic crates tumble all over the back of the van (but it’s easy enough to put everything away again) and #2 I get car sick. I suffered a lot from motion sickness as a kid, but as an adult in a moving vehicle, as long as I don’t look at the floor (like to tie my shoe) or turn around to talk to someone in the backseat, I’m fine. And I’ve never before gotten even a twinge of motion sickness while driving. But these roads are something else. I’ve driven on curvy, twisty mountain roads in Tennessee, Kentucky, North Carolina, and New Mexico, but none of those places compare to the sheer number of miles made up of tight curves I’ve been experiencing.

In the last week, I’ve thought many times about quitting and going back to New Mexico, but I realized that while New Mexico would familiar, it wouldn’t necessarily be better. I’d still be dog dead tired at the end of the day. I’d be hot instead of cold, and also windblown and dusty. I’d still be lonely a lot, because when I’m working I don’t do much socializing because I’m tired and concentrating on making money. So running away to New Mexico doesn’t actually seem to be an answer.

I just finished reading a book of first-person accounts of single women homesteaders in Montana in the early days of the 20th century called Montana Women Homesteaders: A Field of One’s Own, edited by Sarah Carter. I am finding inspiration in those tough, determined foremothers. Many of them lived alone in tiny shacks, with no electricity, often with no water on their property, sometimes with no neighbors for miles and no transportation. They depended on their neighbors, but they depended primarily on themselves. The loneliness was intense, the labor backbreaking, the weather destructive. Often the crops didn’t grow, the garden didn’t grow, and they had to work additional jobs for survival. One woman mentioned hurried to do her own chores on her claim each morning so she could walk six miles (and later six mile home!) in order to earn cash doing laundry for other people.

I’ve got so much more than those women did. Surely I can be as strong.

May5

This Is Love

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The man in the photo is Pigpen (legal name: Ronald Charles McKernan). He was the front man for the Grateful Dead from the beginning in 1965 until shortly before his death from gastrointestinal hemorrhage in 1973. He was a keyboardist, a harmonica player, and most of all, a blues man. Although he grew up in San Bruno, California, he had the voice and persona of an old black man who’d lived a hard life in the rural Deep South. The Grateful Dead started as a jug band (Mother McCree’s Uptown Jug Champions), but with Pigpen at the helm, they were quickly singing the blues. If Pigpen wouldn’t have died when he was 27, the Dead would have surely been a very different band.

If you hang out with large groups of Dead Heads, you’ll see stickers and t-shirts that read, “I Miss Jerry.” Fair enough. I miss Jerry too (even though I never saw him perform live). But most of all, I miss Pigpen. (Somebody could make some money selling “I miss Pigpen” t-shirts and stickers.)

While I was traveling with Mr. Carolina, we had no music. My van had no radio. Neither of us had a laptop or a tablet or an MP3 player or a music playing phone. When we picked up the Okie and Lil C, we got a little relief. Lil C had a phone onto which he could download music. I mentioned how I had really wanted to listen to “Estimated Prophet” while in was California, and those sweet boys got it onto Lil C’s phone for me. Mr. Carolina and I listened to it while stopped in a gas station parking lot, one ear bud in his right ear, the other in my left.

Fast forward a few weeks, and the Okie and I were in Asheville, NC. We’d left Lil C at his mom’s house in Kansas City. I decided I wanted to go to Arkansas to dig quartz crystals. Mr. Carolina decided he wanted to dig quartz too, then convinced The Okie to travel to Arkansas with us. From there, we went to Asheville and on the Monday before Thanksgiving, we delivered Mr. Carolina to his brother so he could spend the holidays with his family.

The day we dropped off Mr. Carolina? That was one of the saddest days of my life. We’d been together every day for a month and a half, and every day with him was a joy. Whenever I was stressed or upset, he’d remind me to breathe or hand me a flower. He never let me pump gas; if I was by the gas tank about to pump, he’d jump out of the van and run over to help me, take the nozzle right out of my hand. Whatever he had–food, money, friends, shiny rocks, weed–he was ready to share with me (or whoever else was around and in need). He always had a sweet, long, tight hug for me. He always thanked me for anything I did to help him. When we left him with his brother in the parking lot of a convenience store on the edge of Asheville, I felt as if I were leaving the nicest part of my life behind.

So the Okie and I were in Asheville. The Okie was a sweet kid, with emphasis on the kid part. He was 19 and acted it. He interrupted me whenever I spoke. (One day in exasperation, I snapped at him, “Do you interrupt me all the time because I’m a woman, or do you do that to everyone?” He claimed he did it to everyone.) He asked to drive the van (a lot), even though he didn’t have a license. The one time we let him drive on a deserted country road, he drove too fast, even though Mr. Carolina mentioned more than once that he needed to slow down. He acted as if he knew everything about everything, even when he didn’t know much about anything.

I had a lot of compassion for him. He’s been born to a young mom who ran off to California with him when things didn’t work out with his dad. When she got a new boyfriend, she shipped the Okie back to Oklahoma to live with her mom. After a few years, Grandma sent the Okie to live with his dad, a cop. That didn’t work out so well, and the Okie started getting in trouble and running away from home. By the time he was 15, he was living in St. Louis, hooked on heroine. He was clean when he was with us, but his emotional scars were obvious.

He certainly wasn’t accustomed to his friends being generous to him. We had a loaf of bread and jars of peanut butter and jelly that we’d either been given by strangers or had bought with money given to us by strangers. It was for all of us. Whenever the Okie was hungry, he’d ask me or Mr. Carolina if we minded if he made a sandwich. The first few times he did this, he seemed considerate. We explained that the food was for everyone, that he should eat when he was hungry. After a while, his asking permission to eat got extremely annoying. Mr. Carolina started teasing him whenever he asked by saying no, he couldn’t have any food. I thought it was sad he didn’t trust that we really meant to share with him.

So yes, I had compassion for the guy, but he pushed all my buttons and drove me crazy. It was as if I were his 41 year old mom and he were my 19 year old son.

So we were in Asheville, with a huge quartz cluster we’d been given at the quartz mine in Mt. Ida. The thing had to weight at least 50 pounds. The Okie was convinced we could sell it to one of the downtown rock shops for several hundred dollars which I could use for needed repairs on my van. He was carrying it from store to store on his back in a huge Army issue backpack.

As we were looking for one of the stores, the Okie asked an older guy in a tie dyed t-shirt for directions. The guy told us how to get where we were going, and the Okie offered to show him the quartz cluster. The guy was impressed and told us he had a stall in an outdoor market around the corner. The Okie asked him if maybe he’d be willing to trade for some quartz crystals fresh from the Arkansas dirt. The guy said he might be, to come to his booth when we were done at the rock shop.

Unfortunately, we were not able to sell the cluster. We tried at two rock shops, and neither made us an offer, much less an offer of several hundred dollars, as the Okie expected. I wasn’t surprised. The cluster was gorgeous and magical, but it wasn’t perfect. There were a lot of nice points on it, but there was a lot of matrix too. For a rock shop to give us even $200 for it, the buyer would have to feel confident that the store could sell it for $400. I just didn’t see anyone paying that much money for it.

The Okie hoisted the cluster-laden pack onto his shoulders, and we walked over t0 the older hippie guy’s booth. He had a lot of hand painted light switch covers, and several Grateful Dead pins. The Okie pulled out some of the nicer quartz points he had collected. The man accepted them, and the Okie said he’d like to have a Grateful Dead pin. While he was looking at the pins, I asked the man if he was interested in looking at any of my points. He nicely told me he didn’t need any more than he’d already gotten form the Okie. I stood next to the Okie and looked at the pins too, although I certainly didn’t have any money to buy one.  (My pockets were so empty, I’d had to trade some of my points to a street kid for a handful of change to put in the parking meter when we’d arrived downtown.) I was just enjoying looking at them, and I was interested to see which one the Okie would pick.

I saw the one with Pigpen and pointed it out because it’s just not so often that I see anything with Pigpen’s face on it. Everyone knows Jerry, and his face is all over stickers and t-shirts, but Pigpen is harder to come by. (And if your guy is Keith or Brent–the other dead Grateful Dead keyboardists–forget it.)

Also, during our time on the road, whenever conversation turned to the Dead, it had been Pigpen I sighed over. All the boys knew I had a little crush on him, so it was natural I’d be excited to see Pigpen and point him out.

When I showed the pin to the Okie, he put down the one he’d been looking at and told the guy he’d take the one with Pigpen on it. Then he turned around and gave it to me!

I tried to say oh no, I couldn’t, tried to tell him he should pick one out for himself, but he insisted on giving the pin to me.

That is love! He did without something he wanted so he could give me something I wanted.

I’ll never part with the pin. It’s not just the photo of Pigpen or the stealie’s cool glitter background that makes it special to me. What’s important about the pin is that the Okie loved me enough to give it to me.

Thanks to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ron_%22Pigpen%22_McKernan for information about Pigpen.

 

 

May4

Interested in Shanghai? (A Book Review)

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[amazon template=image&asin=1481931512]Today I’m sharing a book review. I won the book, Cutted Chicken in Shanghai, through a First Reads drawing on GoodReads. The author is Sharon Winters, and I wrote the review in January of 2014.

 

I enjoy travel memoirs, especially when the travel happens in countries I will probably never visit, like China, so I was very excited to win Cutted Chicken in Shanghai  from a First Reads drawing. I was a little disappointed when I started reading and found the author is nothing like me. Well, ok, we are both “white” American women, both educated, both writers. Unlike me, Sharon Winters is married to a man whose job took them both to China in the mid-90s. Also, it quickly becomes apparent that Winters and her husband have a lot more money than I’ve ever had. I don’t know if Winters would call herself rich, but she sure seems rich to me. (Some examples: Winters loves to shop and most of her adventures recounted in this book center around shopping. She buys over 150 paintings during her two years living in Shanghai. She also buys countless pearls; at one shop in Beijing, she buys 15 pounds of pearls in one day! Most telling is where she and her husband live. The two of them inhabit a four bedroom, four bath apartment for which the rent is $6300 per month! [Winters is quick to point out that “this price does include the furniture rental.”])

At the beginning of the book, I thought I was getting the “adventures” of a rich, pampered lady, and I didn’t think I was going to enjoy that very much. I kept reading, though, and by the middle of the book, I was charmed.

The aspect of Winters I most admire is her desire to communicate in Mandarin, a notoriously difficult language to learn. She starts studying the language before she leaves the US, and continues her studies as a student at Fudan University in Shanghai. Most importantly, she speaks Mandarin every chance she gets. She speaks to her driver in Mandarin and gets him to correct her homework before class every day. (She also helps him with his English, including teaching him the term “SOL” without telling him what it means). Chinese people are constantly surprised (and usually charmed) when Winters speaks to them in their own language. Sure, she makes mistakes. (Once she addressed her language teacher as “rat” instead of “professor,” then humorously writes, “[f]ortunately, I also know how to say [in Mandarin], “Oh, I’m sorry.”) But she doesn’t let her mistakes stop her from trying again (and again and again), and I highly respect her determination and perseverance.

Yet, some of Winters’ experiences in China perplex me. She is terrified to cross streets because of the thick traffic and lack of crosswalks, so she always gets someone (friend or stranger) to walk her across while she keeps her eyes closed. After two years she still has no idea how to cross a city street, and I want to shout at her to grow the fuck up!

She has a driver, provided by her husband’s company, and she seems to go nowhere without him. She explains, “Because a car accident in Shanghai could cost a company millions of dollars, the company [her husband] worked for assigned drivers to all US employees and their spouses.” It is unclear if Winters is even allowed to go anywhere without her driver. The first of only two times she leaves her apartment alone (yes, at two o’clock in the morning, but only to walk one block to buy an ice cream bar at a kiosk), the night guard at her apartment building narcs her out to her driver, who is very mad at her and tells her she should never go out alone at night. She chalks this up to “the protective instinct men have where women are concerned,” but I wonder if the driver was worried about losing his job or having to answer to some governmental force if Winters had been harmed in some way.

Winters does seem to genuinely like her driver; she calls him her friend and writes that they kept in touch after her return to the U.S., but I can’t help but think that if I were living in Shanghai, I would have wanted to ditch my driver at least some of the time in order to have adventures on my own. If Westerners were simply not allowed to wander off alone during that time period, I wish Winters would have just come out and said that. Otherwise, she looks to me like a bit of a ninny too scared to even take a walk alone.

As I said, Winters shops a lot, and she’s not afraid to negotiate with merchants to get what she considers a good price. I’m always skeptical of Westerners who want to haggle to get even lower prices on what seem like bargains to me. Yet Winters shows herself to be a really sweet person and not a cheap American by her interactions with a “nearly blind old woman” who sells string at a flea market. On several occasions, Winters addresses her with the respectful form of hello, then proceeds to buy all her string at ten times the asking price with no bargaining at all! Winters writes, “Do I feel sorry for her? No. I admire her greatly, and when I hold her string in my hand, I see her face and whisper to myself—a great woman held this string before me.”

Some parts of this book seem to be filler. Winters tells stories about her children, her childhood, and her family history. None of these stories have a lot to do with Winters’ life in Shanghai. Many passages read like a holiday newsletter sent out to family and friends to show them how cheerful and chipper Winters is in the face of this whole new world that is China. I’d rather hear more about the gritty side of China (such as the memorial dedicated to the massacre of over three hundred thousand Chinese civilians killed by the Japanese Imperialist Army in 1937 and having to meet the seafood before eating it at many restaurants.)

All in all, I did enjoy reading this book and learning about one woman and her time in China. I guess I can learn some things from a rich lady too scared to cross the street.

May3

Ice Cream Economics

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I found an old notebook in which I had written down some dreams. Here’s one that I had on September 4 or 5, 2013.

Chocolate Coated Ice CreamsI was hanging out with Mr. Ess in a crowded touristy area. We had six ice cream bars. I wanted to eat them, but wondered if I could sell them for $1 each, then reinvest the money in popsicles. Mr. Ess was telling me about a guy he knew who made a woman a hat out of cactus. Whenever the hat fell apart, he’d make her another one out of fresh cactus. I was only half listening, contemplating ice cream economics, and I said, “That must have been cool.” Mr. Ess said, “Fuck no!” And then we laughed.

 

Image thanks to https://www.pexels.com/photo/chocolate-coated-ice-creams-749102/

 

 

May1

My Solar Lamp

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IMG_2043This is my solar powered lamp. I made it myself.

I had a cheap solar powered outdoor light that I never used in a yard; I used it in my van as a nightlight. I’d leave it in the sun all day, and by dark I had a nightlight that lasted almost until morning. It wasn’t bright enough to read by, but it provided me with enough light to find my phone or my keys in the middle of the night.

First the long part meant to go into the ground broke off. After rolling around on the floor of the van for a while, the plastic protector around the tiny light bulb broke too. I thought I had nothing but a piece of trash, but for some reason, I didn’t throw away the chunk of plastic housing the light bulb and the solar panel. I stuck it in the pocket on the van door and forgot about it.

While I was cleaning the van at the Rubber Tramp Rendezvous, I found the light bulb/solar panel combo. I thought I’d drop it off at the free pile in the event someone could use it for something. Then I thought, maybe I could use it for something. I thought about how I could use the light and solar panel to make a lantern.

My first idea was to glue the bulb/solar panel piece into a mason jar. I knew the solar panel had to be able to receive sunlight in order to charge the battery inside. So I thought I’d turn the mason jar upside down so that the lid sat on the table (or floor or whatever surface of my choice) with the light bulb facing down and the solar panel facing out of the glass.

The next time I was at the Quartzsite Salvation Army thrift store, I took a look at the mason jars they had for sale. Nothing seemed right. Then I saw a sturdy, thick glass mug for sale for a quarter. AHA!

IMG_2044     This is what I see when you look down into the mug as if I were about to drink from it. The light bulb is facing up, but when the mug is flipped over so the sun can reach the solar panel, the light “hangs” from what is then the top of the mug. The glass allows the light to shine out of the mug.

This is the solar panel glued to the bottom of the mug, facing so the sunlight can reach it.     IMG_2045     The original cost of the yard light was 99 cents. Even if you add that to the 25 cents the mug costs, plus a penny’s worth of glue, the lamp only cost $1.25, But when you figure I was about to toss the solar panel/light bulb, and I already had the glue, this really only cost a quarter, and kept two items out of the landfill.

IMG_2079     Here’s my solar lamp lighting up the night.

May1

Crafty Monkey

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I found the sock monkey in a thrift store in a small New Mexico town. It was the Christmas season, and because the monkey was wearing a Santa hat, it was on a table with trees and lights and ornaments. I paid less than a dollar for it, not even sure why I wanted it.

I wish I had taken before and after photos.Unfortunately, my camera was no longer reliable, and I had pretty much stopped even trying to get photos.

The first thing I did was cut off most of the Santa hat. Then I folded the ends in and sewed them to make an entirely different looking hat. (Yes, it’s true, the hat is a bit lopsided.)

Imagine that the monkey in this photo was once wearing a Santa hat, which I then turned into the hat is now actually wearing. I took the photo of this monkey.

Imagine the monkey in this photo wearing a Santa hat. I turned that Santa hat into the hat the monkey is now actually wearing. I took the photo of this monkey.

The next thing I did was make a dress for the monkey. I went back to the thrift store and found two squares of red felt to use in the dress making. I cut out two (mostly) matching sides and sewed the monkey right into the dress. I also cut a hole in the back of the dress so the monkey’s tail could be free.

I cut a small circle from the felt to add a bit of decoration to the monkey’s hat. I sewed that right on.

The last thing I did was make earrings for the monkey. (Unfortunately, they are not so apparent in the photos.) I used tiny red beads for the earrings.

That’s how I turned a Santa monkey into a lady monkey.

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