Mobility and Continuity

When I told my daughter I'd been located by a classmate via Google, she shuddered. "Remind me not to put my maiden name on things the way you do, Mom. There are lots of people I don't want to be found by."

At 27, my daughter lives in the Cincinnati area, where she grew up, attended college, and married. Former classmates are all around, and she does not care see some of them. During the years I lived in New York, I too drifted away from many of my classmates. I didn't think much about it at the time-- I was getting on with my life. Later, I spent nearly thirty years in Cincinnati, and I've been here another five. At times, both Cincinnati and Johnson City seemed almost different from the Brooklyn of my girlhood as Nanjing or Weihai.

Therefore, it is a wonderful thing when I encounter a former classmate. If I was close with the person previously, as I was with Marnie Mahoney, we may find we have much in common. Even if we don't, it's fun to chat for awhile. Those with whom we grew up occupy a special place in our identity, in our sense of self. How can I explain to people in East Tennessee what it was like to attend a high school with over 5,000 students?

For the Time Being

This is my favorite post-Christmas poem. Enjoy.

Excerpt from "For the Time Being: A Christmas Oratio"
W.H. Auden

Well, so that is that. Now we must dismantle the tree,
Putting the decorations back into their cardboard boxes --
Some have got broken -- and carrying them up to the attic.
The holly and the mistletoe must be taken down and burnt,
And the children got ready for school. There are enough
Left-overs to do, warmed-up, for the rest of the week --
Not that we have much appetite, having drunk such a lot,
Stayed up so late, attempted -- quite unsuccessfully --
To love all of our relatives, and in general
Grossly overestimated our powers. Once again
As in previous years we have seen the actual Vision and failed
To do more than entertain it as an agreeable
Possibility, once again we have sent Him away,
Begging though to remain His disobedient servant,
The promising child who cannot keep His word for long.
The Christmas Feast is already a fading memory,
And already the mind begins to be vaguely aware
Of an unpleasant whiff of apprehension at the thought
Of Lent and Good Friday which cannot, after all, now
Be very far off. But, for the time being, here we all are,
Back in the moderate Aristotelian city
Of darning and the Eight-Fifteen, where Euclid's geometry
And Newton's mechanics would account for our experience,
And the kitchen table exists because I scrub it.
It seems to have shrunk during the holidays. The streets
Are much narrower than we remembered; we had forgotten
The office was as depressing as this. To those who have seen
The Child, however dimly, however incredulously,
The Time Being is, in a sense, the most trying time of all.
For the innocent children who whispered so excitedly
Outside the locked door where they knew the presents to be
Grew up when it opened. Now, recollecting that moment
We can repress the joy, but the guilt remains conscious;
Remembering the stable where for once in our lives
Everything became a You and nothing was an It.
And craving the sensation but ignoring the cause,
We look round for something, no matter what, to inhibit
Our self-reflection, and the obvious thing for that purpose
Would be some great suffering. So, once we have met the Son,
We are tempted ever after to pray to the Father;
"Lead us into temptation and evil for our sake."
They will come, all right, don't worry; probably in a form
That we do not expect, and certainly with a force
More dreadful than we can imagine. In the meantime
There are bills to be paid, machines to keep in repair,
Irregular verbs to learn, the Time Being to redeem
From insignificance. The happy morning is over,
The night of agony still to come; the time is noon:
When the Spirit must practice his scales of rejoicing
Without even a hostile audience, and the Soul endure
A silence that is neither for nor against her faith
That God's Will will be done, That, in spite of her prayers,
God will cheat no one, not even the world of its triumph.

Proud to be in 234

After a late lunch with my girlhood friend Marnie Mahoney, I searched the Web for images of Cunningham Junior High School in Brooklyn, where we attended. There were no pictures, just a Yahoo map. The building was nondescript and utilitarian. We received an excellent education in our accelerated classes, but we detested the place.

Brooklyn's elementary and junior high schools were designated by number. My elementary school, PS 206, had no name. Cunningham's number was 234. An absurd little ditty we sang in assembly began:

Marching along together,
Proud to be in 234,
True to our Alma Mater,
We will be forever more...

We lined up twice a day by classes, with the left foot on a line between panels of schoolyard sidewalk. Hallway traffic moved in one direction, with U-turns allowed only at specified points. Between classes whispering in hallways was permitted except during "silent passings" which occurred at least twice a day. Kids that age get out of hand easily. Order was successfully maintained, and this allowed the school to get on with the business of education. But by today's standards, the regimen was absurd.

Girls could not wear makeup or. Pullovers were considered seductive and were forbidden. Our skirts had to be below our knees. Except for class, boys and girls were separated. Boys ate in the cafeteria. Girls were consigned to the auditorium, unless we paid a dollar and bought lunch there, which most of us could not afford. In good weather, they let us out after lunch, but when it was cold or rainy, girls convened in the auditorium and were made to sing inane Rock and Roll songs.

Singing was led by the "Marshalls," a group of muscular, non-academic girls who maintained order. Marnie and I detested the program; we preferred to talk or read. Once, I was sent to Mr. Wittenstein for discipline because I mockingly grinned at a Marshall during these songs. I was not punished.

Below: link to "Book of Love" a song we were made to sang. I always preferred classical music.

http://www.advancedbreastcancer.org/songs47.html

New name; same address

When I began blogging in May 2006, I was going to China. I saw blogging as a way of keeping in touch with family and friends without writing endless feature emails or clogging everyone's mailbox with pictures. I had read just a handful of blogs and had no understanding of their power. Blogs link us with friends, strangers, and enemies, rendering location irrelevant. They provide a writing space at once personal and connectional.

I hope to travel again, but for now I'm in the US. No longer am I writing a 'China Blog.' I have renamed this blog 'Gannagram,' but its address will remain the same: http://www.rozchina.blogspot.com/ Address changes on the web are a nuisance, as they are everywhere else.

Re-entering the blogosphere

A year ago, I returned from my stint in Weihai. I was in China again for two weeks in March. Re-entry into the life of the university and that of my family took quite awhile. I'd been warned that it all took time, but I was surprised nonetheless. You change while you're overseas, and returning home requires that you change again. This makes it hard to find your orientation to writing, your voice.

In reentry, there is a heightened sense of absurdity. For a long time I felt unable to blog about anything interesting without being negative, critical or tactless. This is changing. I'm back in the blogosphere.

Meltdown avoided!

Our sons pushed off this morning; Emily and Steve leave tomorrow morning after breakfast. There has been no significant meltdown in our family's Christmas this year. My daughter Emily reminds me there is still time. After all, "It's not over 'til the fat lady sings."

All kidding aside, it's been an unusually harmonious holiday, considering what things can be like when our family gets together. Christmas conflict seems to be hard wired into our species. You probably read about the trigenerational murder in Carnation Washington Christmas Eve http://kxan.com/Global/story.asp?S=7545487 Our family is not violent; we're much to boring. We're good at hurting each other's feelings, though. Especially at Christmas.

So what was different this time? Families don't change that much or that fast. I think of the celebration which preceded our family's Christmas. We had guests from across the world. Did the universe approve and send us a gift? It's possible. 'Tis the season, after all.

Family negotiation

The past is never over, as Sydney Carter once wrote. For this reason, family holidays can be tense. When I see my sons this time of year, I remember their first Christmas, when we photographed them inside the Christmas stockings which now hang by the fireplace; and I think of the Strawberry Shortcake bed set we bought for my daughter one year. To our children, this silent reminiscence must be annoying. At times they allude to occasions when I was arbitrary and out of touch. This hurts, for I did my best.

Their energy level is different from mine and Joe's. We go shopping, and in the space of two hours, they visit four or five stores. Left to my own devices, I'd go to one and take a break. Joe no longer comes on these excursions. As I struggle to keep up with them, they obviously view me as feeble. I find their perception unfair. Earlier this year, I climbed the Great Wall of China.

In my preparations, I fixed enough food for a small army. Clearly, our children prefer to eat out. This morning, Ben's and Mike's last at our home, they will humor me by coming here for breakfast. As I write, cinnamon rolls rise in the kitchen.

Above: Emily and her husband Steve.

Below: Ben, Mike, Emily, and Steve.

Now, the real challenge!

Zhao caught the greyhound after dinner yesterday evening. Our children have arrived: Emily, her husband Steve, Ben and Mike.

Now begins the challenging part of the holiday. The rituals are the same: dinner, stockings, presents under the tree. But families can have melt downs unlike anything that can occur with those not so close. To get myself prepared, I have been blogging more than I have in months.

Above: Ben and Mike

Below: Emily and Steve

How I learned about Christmas

I grew up in a Jewish section of Brooklyn. Christmas was not a holiday celebrated by my Jewish family, though we were quite secular. My early images of Christmas came from television and things people wrote. In Mr. Kent's seventh grade English class at Cunningham Junior High School in Brooklyn, Marnie Mahoney wrote an essay about what her family did on the holiday. So unusual was its content that she was asked to read it to our class. It was very detailed, and my early knowledge of Christmas customs was based on her composition.

Marnie and I were good friends, but we have not seen each other for upward of forty years. Some months ago, she googled my name, wrote a brief email, and we had a brief exchange. I thought of her when I was stuffing stockings, and I wrote saying I remember her essay. As a professor of law, Marnie does more technical writing these days and does not remember the essay.

Turns out that Marnie and her husband have a house in Asheville, North Carolina, an hour's drive from here. So when the kids go home this holiday, we're getting together.

Tree guests

Christmas afternoon, our Chinese guests showed us how to make paper ornaments for the tree utilizing the Asian art of paper folding. The Japanese call this art origami; I cannot remember its Chinese name. Both nations claim to have invented it.

Let's hear it for reindeer!

Santa does his work in the context of a complex organization, which is dependent on the efforts of many elves and reindeer. I hope Santa realizes this.

Friends

Usually, holidays are spent with families, and that makes the enterprise more nuanced and complex. Christmas is different when spent with friends. You make all the preparations, but there is not the history, the strong emotional ties. But also, there is less likelihood of conflict.

Above: Yinguan and Joe, the latter in his reindeer antlers.

Below: Dennis and Marie Cope

In the kitchen

On Christmas, I spend lots of time in the kitchen. It's one of the few times I get to bake, these days. Joe is in charge of the cookies for the most part, and these can be done ahead, but breads and coffee cakes should be made up fresh. Zhao and Leonard Li were interested in helping, which I much appreciated.

With so much activity in the kitchen, Butter, our orange tabby, retreated from his accustomed perch on the counter top and took up residence in an Amazon box.

Santa Turf

When the Gann family Santa went down to the family room to fill stockings, she noticed something curious. Two of the stockings-- Roz' and Joe's-- already had presents in them. These appeared to be from China. How was this possible?

Leonard Li offered an interesting hypothesis. He thinks the unidentified presents were placed by the Chinese Santa Claus, who arrived earlier, because China is thirteen hours ahead of the U.S.

The Night Before Christmas

Before leaving for church, we labeled our stockings with our names. We wrote our names on our stockings in English and Chinese, the latter with the help of our guests. Dennis and Marie have Chinese names, now. Joe read us the Clement Moore poem, "A Visit from St. Nicholas," commonly known as "The Night Before Christmas."

Christmas Crackers

The descriptions of Christmas crackers in English novels always confused me. In my mind, 'cracker' denotes something edible and crunchy, like a saltime. But apparently English crackers explode, at least at Christmas.

After dinner last evening, my confusion was finally put to rest. Dennis Cope, native of London, brought over a box of Christmas crackers, sent by his brother. They are actually low voltage which contain tiny amounts of explosive. They open with a loud pop, offering crowns and small toys-- kind of like a pinata. Inside my cracker was a shoe horn. Zhao got a silver yo-yo.

We were lucky to have these Christmas crackers from England. While their explosive force of was not enough frighten the cats, no one would want explosives on a plane or travelling through the mail these days, whatever the amount. Marie Cope said she'd seen them at Bath and Body Works, so apparently you can get them over here. They're lots of fun.

Deck the Halls!

Joe put up the tree a couple of weeks ago, but except for the lights, we left it untrimmed until Christmas Eve. By then, the Chinese members of the crew had assembled-- Leonard Li and Zhao from Troy University in Alabama; Yinguan, my graduate assistant and her friend Jing. They put the finishing touches on the tree.

It's always interesting to go through the ornaments we've accumulated over the years. They aren't just decorations-- they are artifacts of our life. Along with the generic glass balls of past years: embroidered cloth ornaments made by Joe's mother in the latter years of her life; beaded candy canes and clothespin reindeer made by our children in grade school. A silver ornament inscribed with the name of Jan Lenz, my daughters first grade teacher. On it is a date: 1986/

Go Greyhound!

This Christmas, our home will be full of international students. Some from Johnson City, some from further away Our kids don't arrive here until December 26 as they're going to Cincinnati first.

I sent an air ticket to Leonard Li, a former student from Weihai who is now studying at Troy University in Alabama. Leonard helped me in countless ways when I taught in Weihai last year. He wanted to bring his girlfriend Zhao, but she decided to come by Greyhound. I wondered what kind of experience she would have. Turned out Zhao's trip was much better than Leonard's. She left Troy at 3:00 PM Sunday and was in Johnson City by 9:15 the next morning. Leonard arrived at the Montgomery airport at 4:00 PM Sunday. His flight was delayed, and he slept on the airport floor. He finally got here today (Monday) just before Noon. I haven't taken Greyhound in years, but it apparently does better sometimes.

Above: Zhao and Leonard

Below: Butter, principal feline and master of the of the feast

The year of the 3 inch binder

It's been a full three months since I posted. This has been the most draining semester of my ETSU life. I was carrying an overload, and I went to Poland early in the semester. I supervised five student teachers and did a course online for the first time. I wrote a grant for an Ipod and began learning how to do Podcast instruction. The university assigned me to some international education committees. This was only fair, since they released me to go to Weihai last year. And to top it all off, I "went up for" tenure, which means I jammed my evaluations, credentials, grants, certificates, fan letters, and articles between the covers of a three inch ring binder and filled out dozens of forms for the reading enjoyment of my colleagues and superiors. For assistant professsors, tenure is like the holy grail. If you get it, your position in the university is more or less secure. If you don't, you're out of a job. I'll know the outcome in July.

When you apply for tenure, you also apply to become an associate professor. Tenure documents are printed out on blue paper. Promotion papers, on the other hand, are rendered in salmon. It's important to do this paperwork precisely. Otherwise, you do it over. Doing the paperwork was much harder than writing my dissertation, though it took somewhat less time. I think it helps to be organized and very neat, and I am neither. I finally hired a graduate student to assemble the three inch binder. It looked great. I should have asked her to organize the binder of blue and salmon forms, but I thought I could handle this on my own. I was wrong. I had to redo all the forms, because the holes weren't lining up right. The electric hole punch is the instrument of choice for this task, I learned. Note this for times when you're punching holes.

Make a wish!

No doubt you've heard of the Make a Wish Foundation, the organization that grants desperately ill and needy children's wishes to meet their favorite ball player or visit Disney World. I am neither desperately ill, nor needy, nor a small child; but last week one of my greatest (and nerdiest) dreams was realized. I got to present at the Poznan Linguistic meeting in Gneizno, Poland. Much of the time was spent at the conference center, but we did go into town one beautiful fall day to view the cathedral (above).

Some of the world's pre-eminent linguists were in attendance and available for conversation at meals and social events. The noted sociolinguist, Peter Trudgill (1st below), whose work I had long admired, was at my presentation on linguistic accommodation. This experience was both exhilarating and intimidating. I was so uptight that I wore my one pair of dressy shoes-- the ones I bought to wear to my dissertation defense; these are still practically new.

Among the many lingusitic "treats" were Prof. John Ohala's talk on historical
linguistics (2nd below) and Prof. Helen Dry's plenary address on linguistics and technology.

On the Road

The classroom part of our program has ended. Now, with just a week to go, we are taking our visitors on a tour of Philadelphia and Washington. On the way to our first destination-- Philadelphia-- we stopped at Gettysburg.

The mountain says "Welcome"

I am told one rarely finds a large turtle on Buffalo Mountain where the seminar participants hiked Sunday morning. In China, the turtle is a symbol of luck and long life. On this excursion, they sighted a turtle. One of our guests later wrote it was if the mountain were welcoming them.

Wealth of Information

Our visitors were impressed with the Johnson City Public Library, especially the children's room. They told us there were no children's libraries in China. They did not quite believe us when we said we could read about anything. They challenged us to produce something by Mao. And of course, we could. Above: Terry Knight with Guo and Yi in the children's room. Below 1: Guo enjoys the upstairs reading room. Below 2: Mao's little red book.

Play

At its best, American education involves lots of experiential learning and play. The Chinese system, which is great at developing memory and mental discipline, does not utilize play once the kids are out of kindergarten. Our guests professors had read John Dewey, but had not experienced nor witnessed progressive-style education in action. They were fascinated with the exhibits at the "Hands-on" museum, and played with at least as much gusto as the kids.

Through the eyes of others

While I take many pictures, I find my own less interesting than those of our guests. Those who come from faraway see things residents failed to notice. I used to take pictures of grocery shelves in China, so I should not have been surprised when students took pictures of a Tennesse shoe store (below). Above: seminar participants pose by the ETSU carillon.