ABSURDITIES - USA vs Asia

AMERICAN LIFE TODAY

Or how rules and regulations are making life miserable for many Americans

               Do I think there should be a “baby on board” law to ensure that parents put their young children in regulation car seats in the back rather than on their laps? Yes.  My mother told me that when I was still a baby (this was in the 1950’s), my father was driving and I was sitting on her lap. I had just lain down flat to go to sleep when the car was rear-ended. My mother’s body folded over me – if I had been sitting up, I might have been crushed. This recently happened to a father in Hawai’I whose child died in his lap – and who will spend the rest of his life regretting that he did not follow the child-seat law.

               But do I think that I should be terrified of being arrested for jaywalking or hanging out a convenience store or smoking in a bar? Do I think that the over-worked and underpaid police forces should be constantly on the lookout for infractions of the law? Or that decent working people should be constantly thinking about whether or not they have a non-working horn on their car or if they have left a shopping cart in the wrong place?

               Legislators and politicians have attempted to “idiot-proof” American society.  Long ago, it reached a point of absurdity.  The USA is one of the most regulated countries in the world; it is often called “the most litigious society in the world;” lawyers make millions and the courts have backlogs of years. My point here is that I believe the country is over-regulated and that situation has led to a rampant and destructive paranoia. And it hasn’t stopped the unfortunates, the idiots, and the few bad apples from accidents and injuries.  

Medicines that could save lives are denied because of side effects caused by improper use; obstetricians refuse to deliver babies because they may be sued. There needs to be a better, more reasonable balance between law and order, between care and prevention and trust in common sense -- otherwise it seems American life increasingly resembles the paranoid worlds of the old Soviet Union and Nazi Germany.  We are afraid at a time when we need courage. All the laws in the world offer no protection if we live in fear.

 

nagoyahoo.com

               This thought first struck me when, in the early 1990’s, I attended an outdoor performance of ukai in Kyoto, Japan.  As the sun was setting, friends brought me to a crumbling cement pier beside a river on the outskirts of a city known for its preservation of traditions.  As we drank our “Calpis” yogurt drinks purchased from a street-side vending machine (showing trust that customers will help themselves and not harm the machines), little boats began to move out on to the river .

               Each boat held eight passengers and a cook / guide / sailor who anchored them just above a cement waterfall, where they swayed a little precariously in the torrent.  On an open charcoal grill, the cook prepared a feast of seafood and vegetables.  Bottles of beer were opened and passed around. Clearly, a good time was being had by all.

               As the evening darkened and the passengers set down their chopsticks, a larger boat coasted out from the dock to just below the waterfall. On this boat were several strapping men dressed oddly in grass ‘hula-type’ skirts.  They uncovered cages and brought out pitch black cormorant birds with gold rings around their throats. Stars popped out above us. The men loaded wood into steel baskets that were suspended from cranes. Teetering on the bows in their grass skirts, they set fire to the wood, then swung the baskets out over the water.

               At once, fish began to jump from the water, attracted by the firelight. Now the cormorants went into action, diving into the river and coming back to the boat to present their catch to their masters. The fishermen chopped bits of fish into bite-sized pieces and fed the birds their reward. They dove back into the river to fetch more fish. The fishermen tossed the rest of the fish over to the cooks who grilled them fresh and served the passengers.

This tradition of ukai  cormorant fishing has been practiced in Japan since at least the 8^th century.  It can still be seen at Arashiyama and Uji near Kyoto, at Gifu near Tokyo, and according to the Visit Kansai website, at a total of 12 locations around the country http://www.visitkansai.com/attractions/uji.

               The boat passengers and pier-side watchers all applauded loudly as the program drew to an end and the boats prepared to return to shore.  I got up from my perch on the crumbling concrete pier and was suddenly struck by two thoughts.

First, as my friend informed me, this tradition of cormorant fishing at night by firelight is yet another example of how  Japanese culture has both preserved and developed over a thousand years and how it stems from the even earlier 5000-year old Chinese sources.  Western – and especially my own American culture – is only a few centuries old.  Are we toddlers by comparison? On what basis can we say something that has been practiced for centuries is “wrong?”

Second, there was nothing in the entire performance that would be LEGAL in the USA. OSHA would shut down the whole program for inadequate seating on a dangerous pier. No inspector worth his salt would allow boats to be anchored at the top of a dangerous-looking waterfall.  Barbecues and wooden boats don’t mix well, and the potential was there for the grill to spill hot coals on the passengers if it tipped.

Worse yet, as most Americans would probably agree, wearing a grass skirt while starting a fire is never a good idea, nor is standing on the edge of a tipping boat. And the ASPCA and PETA would be up in arms over the cruelty to the birds.

I have lived overseas now for almost 7 years and just returned to Asia from a few months trip back to the US for the first time in years.  Being back in Asia has given me a huge sense of relief and release. While in the US, I became increasingly aware of the many “DON’TS” in American life. People grabbed me when I attempted  to cross an empty street and warned me I could be arrested. Cashiers looked askance if I approached their counters from the wrong side. Police sirens screamed through the streets day and night. Things that are simple in Asia – getting a prepaid cellphone number or getting an internet connection were bewilderingly complex in the US.

In the air – and on ads everywhere – there seemed to be a clear message of my personal failures. I failed to wear the right clothes, drink the right soda or fancy coffee, eat the right healthy foods, or respond to the authorities –  officials at the motor vehicle department when I went to renew my driving license, doctors when I went in for a checkup, police when I called them because after a month of listening to a baby scream as though being tortured – in quite the expected ways. American society seemed to me to be wearing a giant frown. No wonder so many people I met seemed depressed or crazy.

And the prices were ridiculous. I went to the neighborhood convenience store to get food for breakfast: a half-gallon of milk, a quart of orange juice, a dozen eggs, and 1 pack of cigarettes (yes, I still indulge). Grand total: $26.00. Back in Asia, the same would cost $6 - $10 max. More than anything, I hated the feeling that I was being reduced as a person and valued only for the amount in my bank account – which was rapidly emptying.  

I have lived in a variety of Asian societies where I see people living a pretty good if subsistence life. They may be only paid 3 ringgit or 35 baht per hour but they wear a smile and clean clothes. They are proud of their country, their family, their cultural group or their school, their temple or mosque or church. Even the lowliest seem to have found some dignity as participants in a group that values and supports them in various ways. Across the board, I am treated better here than at home – perhaps in part because as a foreigner it is expected that I have deeper pockets but also I seem to be esteemed for my age and education, for my acts of kindness and honest smiles which burst through the barriers of language and culture.

The longer I step outside my own society, the more I am dismayed at its essential flaws.  Violence, murder, perverted love affairs, and the tracking down of criminals dominate the entertainment. Advertising bombards the country with propaganda about what people should do – or buy. The news is all bad – the shuttle flights have ended and there’s no new goal being promoted, the housing market has tanked, there are no jobs available, the president has failed to turn the stock market around.  

Blame and shame show up in so many of the conversations I have had with my fellow countrymen, and worst of all is the sense of hopelessness. For every effort to start something new, or take another approach, there is a reminder that this or that is against a regulation or a law. Big Brother is watching, and the criminal element is stealing our identities.

America, so many seem to be saying, has lost its edge and therefore, we should all just surrender and despair at our individual failures to buy the right thing. People seem cynical, distrustful, despairing. Makes me wonder what has happened to the “American fighting spirit?” I just hope and pray that Mr. Obama’s “Yes, we can!” message can catch fire again over some cause that unites the country. (Pres. Kennedy got us all caught up in the "race for the moon." Later, it became "the race for space." It seems so sad now that the Space Shuttles are grounded that there's no new frontier being touted for us to conquer...)

I retain some faith in the intelligence and problem-solving ability of our current president but I think he is fighting formidable apathy. With all the brain-power in the country, we need to educate and support each other so that we can overcome despair and revive the energy needed to save ourselves. I am encouraged by the TED talks, Tim Ferriss’s “Four Hour Work Week,” Jack Canfield and others offering “Chicken Soup for the Soul” – but wonder if that American soul has become so damaged by the constraints imprisoning it that it may waste away in jail until it dies.

In contrast, it has been my experience here in Asia, that even the humblest person has a sense of hope for better days.  Even more, people just choose to enjoy themselves now and not worry too much about the future (which of course, leads to people not showing up for work, lying or cheating to get time off and put unearned money in their pockets).

I step outside my own society in pursuit of something different, hoping for something better. The reality is, at least for now, I prefer life outside.

Copyright 2011, TF (teviothome@gmail.com)

The Woman Traveler's Essential: a White Scarf

I set out tonight onto the streets of Bangkok dressed in black – the color of night. Noises of motorcycles and taxis grumbled behind me. Suddenly a roar of sound and a silver car swept by. I sidestepped just in time. Next stop, a scarf shop run by a talkative and friendly Indian family. “I am looking for a white scarf,” I said, as they piled scarves of many colors on to the huge display table. They dug deeper and found one of purest white in the softest wool – a large Pashmina.

Why a white scarf? Through years of traveling, I have found a white scarf to be the one necessary travel accessory. In Thailand, it is considered hi-so (high sophistication) to turn up the air conditioning to freezing in taxis, on buses and trains. In the first class cabin on an overnight train ride north to Nong Khai (and on to Vientiane in Laos PDR), I shivered sleeplessly. Tightly gathering the white scarf around my shoulders, I made it through until dawn when the conductor allowed me once more to open the door.

Need to single out a taxi from the rush in Bangkok or Kuala Lumpur? Wave a white scarf. That might work in New York as well. Waiting for a friend at the entry to a subway on a rainy night when hundreds huddle beneath a small overhang? Wear a white scarf and they will find you. Crossing a crowded train station in Canton (Guangzhou), China, you stick out like the proverbial sore thumb but people scatter to let you through – and no one dares to touch you. Need to command attention teaching in a classroom or need a moment to remember the next thing you will discuss when lecturing, take your time adjusting your scarf. Look up and you may see eyes following your movements with fascination.

In a backwater town in Egypt, I dressed carefully in layers to cover nearly every inch of skin before heading out to buy bread in the daily souk market. Married women in the town of Edfu dressed head-to-toe in stark black shifts with colorful headscarves wrapped to disguise their too dangerous hair. Before leaving the housing block, I covered my blondeness with the white scarf, then wrapped the ends around my neck. There is something delicate and feminine about the way a scarf drapes about the neck that turn the ordinary women into beauties. As I age and droop, scarves endow an artificial youthfulness.

I like the colors, textures and patterns of scarves. Picking through a rack of jewel colored cloths is a sensuous pleasure. Simple souvenirs, they make wonderful gifts and nothing is lighter to pack and carry away than a silk scarf. There is always room for another scarf in a suitcase.


I was initiated to the mysteries of scarves in Bali at the Elephant Caves. To enter, you must wear a scarf banded about the waist. Other tourists came bare-shouldered which was also considered inappropriate. A second scarf on the shoulders masked the offending skin. In Japan, I learned a Kabuki buyo dance involving manipulating a white scarf, folding it in origami shapes and tossing it coquettishly. In the Gobi desert of China, I was welcomed by sequined dancers with the presentation of a white scarf.

Now when I wander down into the mostly Muslim town where I currently live, I try to combine comfort and cosmetics by wearing a scarf and changing its angle to suit the situation. On the street, thrown over the shoulder of a thin-strapped dress seems to suit the Chinese and Tamil merchants. Entering a clothing shop owned by a Malay couple, I picked over the batik sarongs from elsewhere in Malaysia and Indonesia, and the brilliantly colored scarves in chiffons, linens, cottons and silks. I was wearing a pink top that day and the shoplady picked out a finely patterned pink scarf and draped it over my head. I laughed delightedly. She then proceeded to take off her own tiny jeweled pins and pin me the veil to my dress at the shoulders in front and back. Graceful glass butterflies, tiny gold dragonflies, sturdier silver and gold balls for scarf pins, earrings, cuff links, and more now offer their intrigues.

A scarf speaks of exotic places you’ve been or dream of visiting: the authority given by the checkered men’s scarves worn in the Middle East with a band to hold them on the head, the casual elan of the Indian woman who tosses a scarf in front of her neck, its ends wafting behind her as she walks. Nothing else has quite the aura as an ornately woven scarf made in some rarely visited village somewhere in northern Laos. Scarves can be items that museums put on pedestals, millionaires on their walls. Lay one lengthwise on a dining table and you have a feast. Arrange a chest of drawers or sideboard with a scarf as background to perfume bottles, tiny figurines, perhaps a candle or incense holder. Instantly, a pedestrian furnishing becomes an altar or shrine to the gods of the world.

Combining both function and form, a scarf clasped to my mouth has rescued me from the tubercular coughs of fellow travelers on planes and trains. Rounding a corner to come across a burning pile of trash – along the Appalachian Trail or on the soi sidestreets of Chiangmai – a scarf has given extra seconds to cross through the smoke before choking. Scattering sparks have charred holes in prized scarves but neither my hair or skin suffered.

There are dangers of course to the wearing of scarves and one must be careful. The “mother of modern dance,” Isadora Duncan affected long trailing scarves until the day one dangled too far behind, wrapped itself about the wheel of her car, viciously ending her bright life. Less dramatically, you may have a painful tug on your earlobe when they tangle in your earrings or difficulty breathing if wrapped too tightly. You may find fringe stuck in suitcase zippers or the back of your dress. Children in mufflers on snowy days resist their tight wrappings, throwing them off on to the floor, leaving them for you to trip over as you come in from the cold.

Yet, all in all, a scarf is the kind of accessory you can take or leave. I choose to collect them and wear them precisely because they can be both collected and discarded if circumstances call. No one scarf is the perfect accessory for every garment – though the white scarf comes close to suiting every attire. It can become everything from a towel to emergency clothing. It’s very handy to have when you split your pants or your shoes come apart or you skin your knee. You can tie it around a gift as in Korea and Japan, or you can tie it to a pole and wave it as a distress signal. You can even wave it in surrender.

In Mongolia and northern China, welcome is given to honored visitors with the presentation of a white silk scarf. Held draped across two hands, a small cup is filled with the intense alcoholic drink of the region. Manipulating scarf and cup is a trick. White and other multi-colored scarves wave in the wind at Mongol and Tibetan shrines. In Thailand, thousands of trees are wrapped in colorful chiffon scarves in honor of the spirits that inhabit and make the place sacred.

I am forever grateful to my students who have gifted me with scarves in many colors and designs. Wearing a scarf has become a kind of signature style for me when teaching -- emulating the bowties and neckerchiefs worn by some of my favorite eccentric teachers.  I feel more dressed up, more formal -- and there's always something available to wipe my perspiring brow.

Throughout Asia, white symbolizes death and a white scarf hanging to the waist has a melancholy look. Catholic priests throughout the West wear white vestments with scarves hanging from their shoulders , especially  at Easter. White in both New  and Olde England is a spring or summer color -- the white linen suit, the clean white sneakers, the white  flowers poking up through the melting white winter snows.  

There is a universality though divergent sets of meaning to the white scarf. For me, it symbolizes both a way to separate and protect myself from the crowd – and  wearing a white scarf seems to free me to travel through the many cultures that make up our many colored world.

Copyright 2010, TF (teviothome@gmail.com)

Children's Literature - The Story's the Thing

It's all about the story. My story -- who I am today -- still somehow has echoes of the earliest stories I heard or read. Snuggled down under the covers with our daddy reading to us, my sisters and I giggled to the contrariness of the Barber Pole Man who did everything backwards. He was a main character in a book called "Wonder Hill" that my father first read when he was a child and which he kept all his life. My father also told us of the adventures of Jimmy Beaver and his family of beavers and their uncle, Otto Otter. Uncle Otto had a magic carpet and would take the young beavers on marvelous flights to exotic lands. When our daddy wasn't home to tuck us in, my mother began to tell us about the gnomes that lived in the rock under the big pine tree outside our house. I spent hours staring at that rock and imagining their antics. Then, too, there were the fairies that lived in the woods on the hill above our house. To this day, I have a lingering belief that I really did go out one night and dance with them beneath the light of a silvery moon.

On one of the freelance writers' job sites, a client offered the task of creating an annotated list of 100 children's books for kids ages birth to 5 years old. The wheels in my head started turning. I am a little stymied by what you might read to a baby fresh out of the womb but can think of lots of books that were important to me as a slightly older child. In my 'other life' as a teacher of English as a foreign language to students in Asia, it has occurred to me many times that one of the best ways to learn a language is to start with kids books and work your way up -- just as we native speakers did. Reading the books that shaped childhoods may also be one of the best ways to get insights into a culture.

So here's the challenge:  Can you remember books that you read or had read to you as a child? Do you think they have resonance for you today? Have they shaped you in any significant ways?

There's an amazing website called the ICDL -- International Children's Digital Library -- that has more than 2,000 'kids books' online -- there for the reading! Or re-reading! ("Children's Literature" doesn't have to be only for kids!).
http://en.childrenslibrary.org/

From the time I could read, I often spent the night in my father's library. He put a very comfortable bed in there -- sometimes I wolfed down 3 or 4 books a night. To this day, I am a night owl. My father collected first editions of children's books, picking them up at library discard and tag sales. Because he knew so much about books, he was able to form a fabulous library from 50 cent and $1 finds -- including a complete set of first edition Horatio Algers. His collection was especially strong on the Edward Stratemeyer boys books turned out in the 1920's by a syndicate of writers. Later I was to read an account of the syndicate in a wonderful biography called "My Father was Uncle Remus."

Here's a further challenge: What was the first book you ever read on your own?

One of my first books was the story of a little yellow duck named "Ping" who lived in China. When I finally went to China, I told my students there how the duck lived on a junk and would go with his family to the fields every day, then back on to the boat each night -- and how one night Ping didn't hear the whistle and was left to adventure in the dark. When I was four, I had told my parents that I would go to China to see Ping. It took me some 46 years to get there, but I did! My students got the message: dreams can come true!

Here's a partial list of books that I remember from childhood --  "for your reading pleasure..."

Wonder Hill
The Story of Ping
I Can't, Said the Ant
The Children's Homer
The Children's Shakespeare
Rudyard Kipling, How the Camel Got His Hump and other tales
Hans Christian Andersen's stories
The Brothers Grimm's stories
The Perrault stories
Andrew Lang's (colors) Fairy Books
Aesop's Fables

Goldilocks and the Three Bears

The Snow Queen and other Tales

Jorinda and Joringel

Baba Yaga

Dr. Suess Horton Hears a Who

How the Grinch Stole Christmas

Babar and the Elephants

Eloise, Eloise in Paris

Cinderella

Jack and the Beanstalk, Jack the Giant Killer and other Jack tales

Water Babies

The Wind in the Willows
Toon Tooney Pie (Pakistani stories, illustrated by my mother)
Little Black Sambo (now considered non-PC but memorable)

Margaret Sidney, The Five Little Peppers and How They Grew

Anna Sewell, Black Beauty

Snow White and Rose Red

Pinocchio
The Blue Willow Plate


Series:
The Little Maid series -- Little Maid of Nantucket, Little Maid of Fort Ticonderoga, etc. - about fictional little girls living heroically through the American Revolution

A.A. Milne, Now We Are Six, The House at Pooh Corner, etc.
Victor Appleton, Tom Swift  - 1920's inventor series (continued by other authors)
Don Sturdy - boy explorer at the North Pole, etc
The Bobbsey Twins

The X Bar X Boys - they lived on a ranch

Baseball Joe
Frank Barbour Football series
Horatio Alger series
L. Frank Baum (and later authors), The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, The Land of Oz, Glinda of Oz, The Scarecrow of Oz, The Tinwoodsman of Oz, etc.
Marguerite Henry, Misty of Chincoteague (and her many other horse books)

Bits and pieces (whatever happened to encyclopedias!??)
Compton's Encyclopedia
The Popular Mechanics Encyclopedia
Encyclopedia Britannica
Good Housekeeping Magazine
The Story of Your Body (Your Skin, Your Respiratory System, etc., illustrated by my mother)












The Five Little Peppers and How They Grew








Copyright 2010, TF (teviothome@gmail.com)

Teviot's Home: The Christmas Spirit in Asia

Teviot's Home: The Christmas Spirit in Asia: "Christmas in AsiaThere's the religious holiday and then there's the secular celebration -- Christmas is for everyone! One thing I like most..."

Copyright 2010, TF (teviothome@gmail.com)

The Christmas Spirit in Asia

Christmas in Asia

There's the religious holiday and then there's the secular celebration -- Christmas is for everyone! One thing I like most about the holiday is that it honors the birth of a baby -- a reminder that each of us comes into the world pure, innocent, vulnerable, and equal. How our lives work out depends in large part on the circumstances we are born into but the holiday also honors hope. It's a time for remembering love and the value of peace. Perhaps most of all, it is a time when I find myself wondering about my place in the world and appreciating the love I have shared with family and friends.

Christmas has always had a very personal meaning for me because my father  made it the grandest event of the year. We developed many family traditions: decorating the Christmas tree on Christmas Eve, a pinata filled with candy, the telling family stories and reading of St. Luke's version of the birth of baby Jesus, and waking Christmas morning to presents that appeared magically under the tree. 


 In recent years, I have been far from my New England roots spending each Christmas in a different country in Asia. I have lived among Buddhists in Thailand and Japan, Communists in China and Laos, Muslims and Hindus in Malaysia. The funny thing is that everyone I ever asked could sing "Jingle Bells."

You can imagine my surprise when I traveled to one of the most remote areas of China to hear a children's merry-go-round in a park playing "Santa Claus is coming to town" -- in July. This was in a city in the middle of the Gobi Desert called Baotou, the 'city of deer.' I spent 11 months there teaching English -- in a city of close to 2 million, I met only 20 foreigners in the time I was there. 


As cities go, Baotou is one of the newest. Officially incorporated as a town in 1809 (according to Wikipedia), people there told me it was founded in 1949 in an agreement between the then Soviet Union and the newly fledged People's Republic of China, and steel and iron factories were built on a huge flat sandy plain with some swampy, arable areas. The location was chosen for several reasons: the water supply from a nearby bend of the Yellow River (Huang He / Hwang Ho(simplified Chinese: 黄河; traditional Chinese:黃河; pinyin: Huáng Hé; Mongolian: Hatan Gol,Queen river^[]), the arable ground where some farming is possible, and most importantly, the deposits of 'rare earth,' metals that are important in steel production and other technologies. The Bayan Obo deposit (Mongolian: "rich"+"ovoo", Chinese: 白云鄂博, also Bayun-Obo, Baiyun'ebo) has the largest deposits of rare earth metals yet found and, as of 2005, responsible for 45% of global rare earth metal production.<sup>[1][2][3] China now produces 97% of the world's rare earth and most of it comes from Baotou. 



The people needed to run the factories in Baotou were 'imported,' mostly from the northeast areas of China. Most people I met were the second generation of their family to live in Baotou but still had relatives near Dalian. Their lives were very full with work in the factories and performing all the other services that a city needs: the barbers who shaved businessmen on street, the bus drivers that plowed through the sandstorms, the teachers, bakers, the cleaners. I taught doctors and nurses in the main city hospital and graduate students in the medical college. 


Christmas Day 2005 was one of the proudest and happiest days of my life. More than 100 students attended a Christmas party at which each of my classes performed songs and skits in English. A highlight was the advanced class performing Clement C. Moore's famous poem, "A Visit from St. Nick," otherwise known by its first line: "Twas the night before Christmas..." As we began to collect props and costumes for the  show, I realized that Christmas seemed to be everywhere in this Chinese city. Shopkeepers posted wreaths and portraits of Santa in their windows. Students took me to a mall that was lined with Christmas goodies where we found headbands with deer antlers and ears, elf hats, and even a full Santa suit.</sup> 

<sup>On the top floor of one of the (many) hospital buildings, there was a surprisingly well-equipped disco -- replete with strobe and colored lights, and a projection screen. A local bank donated a Christmas tree and decorations appeared out of the woodwork. Many of my adult students brought their children to the party, each carrying a present for Santa's gift exchange. One of the best students, Duran Duran (Meng Meng), played Santa and the children squealed as they each received a present. Mary's karaoke videos of Christmas songs got us all singing. Many learned a new English word, "potluck," and the feast to which all contributed was amazing. As the music grew more romantic, the children settled down as adults paired off to waltz. 


It was a wonderful night -- and a true celebration of the Christmas spirit.</sup>


Copyright 2010, TF (teviothome@gmail.com)