One day in October 2001, I made my way to Heathrow airport to pick up the son of a family friend. This was in the days before Chinese students had started coming in numbers to the UK and a tall, skinny Chinese youth standing at the airport exit was quite noticeable.

Du Zhuang, frail and as insubstantial as plasterboard, was pushing his suitcase with one hand, and holding his phone with the other. He was not looking around, but listening to the person on the other end with single-minded devotion. On his face was the serious, almost devout, expression of someone receiving an edict from the emperor.

It was only when I was standing right in front of him that he finally looked at me, and smiled. In those days, Chinese people did not hug or exchange pecks on the cheek, while shaking hands was for grownups only.Instead, Du Zhuang passed me his mobile phone, saying, “My mother’s been waiting to speak to you!”

Hearing her shout down the phone it was as though she had jumped out in front of me. I will never forget his mother’s first words that day: “Xinran, my son is in your hands now! Remember to help him to open his suitcase, he can’t do anything!”

Source: China’s little emperors – the children without siblings | Life and style | The Guardian

I was showering this morning when I realized that the water pressure isn’t what it used to be. There is no cut-off valve for the shower (or at least, any accessible valve), so I began to wonder what might account for the weak water. It’s true that a pipe from our water heater busted last fall but that was fixed up better than new by our ace plumber, Allen Baker. There was no other water running in the house at the time, so what is left?

Then it hit me (an idea, not the water). Last year, we were on the end of Tonsler Drive and the end of the water line. When the new Oakwood North subdivision went in, it extended this water line. I didn’t notice any drop in pressure initially since the homes were only slowly becoming occupied. Now that the neighborhood is almost built out there are now a lot of morning showers competing for the same water pressure.

It reminded me of the scene from There Will Be Blood: the new neighbors are drinking my milkshake!

Scott Greenough

I have been preoccupied for over a week as my close friend Scott Greenough has been battling for his life. He’s in the hospital now with terminal liver failure and everyone is concerned that he might not make it.

I set up a Caring Bridge site for Scott last night for his friends and loved ones to share their thoughts and follow his progress. You can check it out here.

Please keep him in your thoughts and prayers!

Update: I have created a separate blog for updates on Scott. See the Scott Greenough page.

The family and I were spending a few hours trekking around Raven Rock State Park yesterday when we encountered three senior citizens who were obviously NC natives. They had made their way down the steep stairway to the base of Raven Rock and were looking for someone to take their picture.

“I’ll be happy to take y’alls picture,” I said as they handed me their iPhone. “Y’all just stand together right there.” I snapped two photos of them and grinned as I handed their phone back to them.

When we had climbed the stairs and were out of earshot, Hallie gave me a quizzical look and said, “you were totally Southern back there!”

“Well, that’s how I was raised!” I said as I shrugged and laughed. It doesn’t occur to me that that’s not how I act all the time. I see good country folks and can’t help but slip back into my Southern accent.

I guess the South our kids are growing up in is different than the one I grew up in. I suppose that’s a good thing, them being around people from different backgrounds. Even so, I sure hope I never forget where I am from, and how to speak properly with the good folks who’ve called North Carolina home far longer than I have.

Over the past few weeks I’ve gotten a taste of what life must be like for a hand model. Well, except for the fame and money part, of course.

I bought a lifecasting starter kit for my birthday. The problem of having a January birthday is that one’s skin is rarely in good shape from the bone-dry winter air. I’d been waiting a while for the cracks in my knuckles to heal. When they finally did, I managed to slice my right index finger when I was repairing the dishwasher last weekend. Fingertip injuries take a surprisingly long time to heal!

Ever since the dishwasher injury I’ve been overly careful with my hands, paranoid that I’ll cut myself again and have to delay casting my hand another week or more. On the other … hand (sorry, couldn’t resist), it’s been a good realization that the perfect body is a myth. We all have flaws that we conveniently overlook.
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I became fascinated yesterday of a relatively-unsung North Carolina hero, Malcom McLean. It’s not much of a stretch to say McLean more or less revolutionized world trade with his invention of the standardized shipping container. Not bad for a truck driver from Maxton, NC who only had a high school education.

Someone ought to tell his story.