Immigration

Erhu, a kind of traditional instrument of China, today, in a Thanksgiving party, has a special meaning for rest of us because of its performer—a 70-year-old man.

He is a typical Southern Chinese, short stature, gray hair. Every year, at Mary’s Thanksgiving party, I will see him.

Among the young guests, he and his wife are distinctive. They are quite listeners—most of the time, they are just sitting the couch and appreciating all kinds of performance conducted by the host: Chinese opera, folk songs and English jokes.

Until at the end of the party, when Mary, our hostess, introduces him and announces that there would be a big surprise for everybody, the people become quiet and turn toward him.

He seems a bit nervous—lowers his head and a flush showing in his face. After taking the instrument from a brown wooden box cautiously, he massages the tuning pegs—the main body of the instrument—gently, as if he is talking to an old friend wordlessly. He uses “neck," part of instrument, to scratch the inner string abruptly, and a screech resounds the spacious room. My body feels uneasy due to the acute piercing sound. But we still wait, waiting for an exiting moment.

The song he plays is a classical Chinese song, in which people praise the Jasmine flower for its purity and pretty, created by a Chinese composer in 1950’. At the first minutes, some notes out of tune distinctively, but soon, it backs to the right track. He is enjoying his performance at the moment.

Many years ago, he immigrates into America, living with his daughter. I have no idea how he spends his retired life in United Stated. Does he feel lonely here—a country in which people communicate with fluent English and influenced by western culture?

The only thing I know is that he is truly happy tonight, when a big applause swarm around him. His smiling face shows me that he has enjoyable moment at the moment –be appreciated by both Chinese and American on the spot.   

Buggy Ride

I am fascinated by the scenery showing in the Lancaster County—old tradition blends with modern civilization.

Cars stream along the Old Philadelphia Pike in Bird-in-Hand of PA, flashing by with high speed, which in contrast with several carriages passing by unhurriedly.

“Vroom…Vroom”

“Clip-Clop…Clip-Clop”

“Buzz…Buzz…”

“Clip-Clop…Clip-Clop”

Such an interesting rhythm sounded in a quiet morning like an unexpected nature symphony.

Not far away, several white wooden single houses scattered into a far-reaching field, with dozens of clothes, which are raised to the top of the roof, fluttering in the wind. Various simple colors, such as bright white, dark green and navy blue, are placed side by side neatly, look like dozens of small flags waving in the sky.  That’s the typical way that the Amish dries up their clothing—using nature wind source.

After choosing Buggy Ride—a typical transportation for Amish community—a black wagon with two horses, I set off on a tour visiting the Amish farmhouse.   

I love the feeling when sitting in the carriage. There is no difference from being sat on the back of a mini truck. Two rows of blenches facing to each other, reserving twelve seats for passengers. Our loyal drivers—two horses—seem to know every route that we want to visit, and follow the traffic rule disciplinarily—stop in advance when a car is coming.  

Crossing two-way asphalt road, turning into a narrow country road, our wagon bumps along a gravel path. Along the road, four acres of the dried corps seem to be reaped several months ago.

“That’s my farmland,” said the Buggy driver proudly, an Amish man with a long beard and a light-yellow straw-hat.  

He is a retired farmer, now, working for a Buggy Ride company. Even though the first language is German, his fluent English surprise me and encourage me at the moment.

On the left side of the country road, a white decent house causes me to think of a valuable single family located in Potomac River.

“It built in 1800. And I get it from my parents.” He explains. “We get these houses from generation to generation.” Also, the low tax benefits him to manage his property. On the right side of the house, a dairy farm is the main source of income for his family. “We sell milk to dairy company—forty-five gallon each day.”

At the end of the dairy farm, there is a small room filled with various aluminum utensils used as the container for gathering fresh milk. Meanwhile, the temperature controller, hanging in the wall, is the only thing can be viewed as a modern industry product.

“We keep the freshness of milk by cooling them down and managing the temperature properly.”  The retired farmer said.

“Did you drink your milk?” one of the visitors asked.

“Yes, we drink whole milk and use it to bake cookies”

“You eat a lot of fatty milk, but you are still skinny!" she exclaimed.

“We never worry about the fat.” said our guide in a low voice.

Stepping out the farm, standing between the farmland, we appreciate the scenery showing in front of us. Two inches of the corn stalk still remain in the soil, leaving an unbounded field view into the eyes.

“It is so peaceful and beautiful.” said one of the visitors.

I turned toward him, nodding my head.

“Yes, it is.”

Meditation

The Chinese character shown the picture means meditation.

Stories I heard recently urge me to write about this topic and to explore the subtle relationship between the eastern culture and western civilization.

The first story is related to a lady. Recently, she left her home and plans to live in a simple cottage—a one-window room with a single wooden bed and a desk—for meditation, until—thirty-nine months later—back to her home, which is a pretty house located in Washington D.C.

She is a Chinese ambassador’s wife. The reason urging her to take action is that she has met a Master of Yoga before, and she believes what the Master told her: thirty-nine-month meditation will bring the peaceful and harmonious mind for the rest of her life.

The Master was born in Nepal, in which she cured her panic disorder when she was thirteen years old. The secret was thirty-nine-month meditation.

Living in a tranquil place for one and half years, without any disturbance of an outer world, focusing on one’s heart until find out the peace of mind, is the philosophy of this kind of particular meditation. It seems impossible for people existing in a modern society.

However, it is worthy of trying.

Nowadays, the Master became the youngest Yoga practitioner in the world, advocating people all over the world to find peaceful heart by practicing the meditation.

Without enough evidence, the story sounds weird. Fortunately, in 2005, one of the universities of America conducted a scientific test, in which the researchers try to explore how the meditation affect human’s body. And the Master was one of the attendees participating in the investigation.

The result was surprising.

In a simulated dreadful environment, the Master concentrated on her peaceful mind, she transcended her phobia, and the data shows that she is the happiest person in the world.

Recently, meditation is prevailing in the western countries. Steven Jobs, the co-founder of the Apple Inc, was one of the examples of this. It was said that Jobs had fascinated with meditation many years in his lifetime. Practicing contemplation caused him to realize that practicality must be given top priority for any personal computer design; as a result, he invented the iPod, iPad and iPhone, which are fashionable worldwide.  However, the bad news was Steven Jobs was so captivated by meditation that he delayed his cancer treatment in time. 

Controversial though the meditation is, more and more people still assume that meditation has positive influence on the human body.

Happy Meal

Since my son enrolls in preschool daycare, every year, I will get an invitation before Thanksgiving, which held by the school. 

All of parents will be inviting to join this party, sitting the kid’s kitchen, eating food with kids and stuff.

Imposing pictures will be showing in the cafeteria in this particular day. Several teachers, including director of the school, in same floral apron-skirts, go between the eight rows of tables back and forth, severing all kinds of food for kids and parents enthusiastically.

They pass the food on each table—pinkish roasted turkey, dark green fried string beans, brown gravy mashed potatoes and purple crystal-like cranberry jelly, which came from the kid’s daily menu, decorates the plate like a kid’s colorful painting—playful and enjoyable.

It causes me think of graffiti-style painting, one of featured entertainments in the school. Putting on the blue overalls, mixing red, yellow, green or other colors together, every kid becomes the boldest painter in watercolor history. Using most fashionable tools in the world—two little hands—blend various colors into a 12x 18 inch drawing board, they create a world in a riot of shade.

The colors may not are same professional as a PANTON color system of Adobe InDesign; however, the colors always shock me when I see it at the first glace, since it is the most straightforward imagination how ingenuous kid touches this world.

Today, in the Thanksgiving party, the colors still impress me. At every rectangle table, autumn color can be found everywhere—scarecrows standing at the center table, in grass-green or orange-red overalls; mini pumpkins speckled with golden powder sitting beside the dishes cause me think of a feast happened in a fairy story.

Sitting among the kids and teachers, I enjoy the food and the hilarious atmosphere. Toward end of lunch, loud noise appear —a girl, in purple dress, is running out the cafeteria towards to hallway and two of five-year-old boy are chasing each other, the same happy as usual when they finish their lunch here every day.

I am happy too—it is the only chance that somebody treats me like a kid.

Lego Game

The Lego is one of my son’s favorite toy games recently. Four hundred of individual pieces can be assembled all kinds of patterns.

The one showing above took him almost two hours to finish. He was so absorbed in doing his job that totally forgot his dinner was ready.

After working on it incessantly, without any break in two hours, he showed me his result—a splendid palace—with a relived smile on his face.

In his project, a king was sitting in his palace, surrounded with beautiful garden and exotic buildings.

“Mom, do you think the King will be happy?”

“Yes, of course, because you built a palace for him.”

“No, I didn’t build a palace. I built a home for him.” He said with happiness.

When saw the toy King at the first glace, he had a thought of building a house for his toy, because he believed that home would be a best place for a lonely person.

Young though he is—only four years old this year—he has already had an idea that home is the safest and happy place in the world.

What’s the happiness? I’ve always thought about this issue. For my past ten-year TV presenter career, I mistakably considered the fame and wealth as the important things in a material world. I pursued the success of my career, sacrificing any spare time for the job. Nevertheless, I didn’t feel happy—all I had were exhaustion and anxiety.

Kid’s world, however, revealed me a simple truth: nice is easy. A cozy and warm home is the source of happiness—that is the best way we can be enjoying the beauty of life.  

Along the Silk Road...

The picture showing above is one of the stage scenes of a Chinese dance drama—“Along the Silk Road”—which will be performing in Eisenhower Theater of  the John F. Kennedy Center on December 9^th - 10^th, 2011.

I am excited about it since this is my second time hearing its name.

Ten years ago, when working in TV station, at one time, I chatted with one of my colleagues during the lunch break. She was an obsessed fan interested in entertainment business.   

“Did you hear about the Yanyun He?” she asked enthusiastically.

I shook my head.

“Do you know who she is? She is the leading actress of the “Along the Silk Road.” She spoke slowly, emphasizing the every words of leading actress for me. Her eyes were full of admiration, as if she was talking about a heroine in the dance history.

I absolutely understand her enthusiasm.

As the top-ranking Chinese ballet, in 1982, "Along the Silk Road"  performed in the Teatro alla Scala—a historical theatre, located in Milano of Italy, its fame resounded all over the world. For this reason, the ensemble became the first Asian performance group that had ever entered the supreme theatre of the world.

The drama not only required its leading actress had an appealing face, which conformed with Chinese's aesthetics—graceful and pretty—but it also called for its performer must be an excellent dancer mastering in all kinds of dance movements, such as Chinese Classical Dance, Indian Dance, and Persian Dance. Moreover, the dancer needed to be familiar with the culture of the Ancient China.

Actually, all of the dance movements abstracted from color sculptures and wall paintings made by 3,000 years ago. That was the big challenge both for choreographers and dancers.

One of the typical movements, for instance, asked for its performer to play a musical instrument eccentrically. Instead of holding the tool in front of her, the performer needed to put stringed instrument on her back, using her both hands above the head. It looked like a wonderful stunt showing in the stage.

In addition to innovative dance skills, the drama reflected the Chinese history value.

It told us a story based on a particular time—when Ancient China initiated its foreign trade with some East-Asian countries, such as the Persian Empire, Ancient India and Mediterranean, during the Han Dynasty (206 BCE – 220CE), while the Silk Road appeared.

Thousands of years later, tons of legends left behind the Dunhuang, a city, along the Silk Route, located in far Western China, was on the wane after its period of prosperity. 

All my knowledge about Dunhuang was to envision tons of exotic traders riding the skinny camels were processing in the endless dessert. Desolation blinded my imagination.

Fortunately, the drama could save me from ignorance. It replicated a real world tracing back to 3,000 years ago, with its art treasury and a romantic journey along the Silk Road. Exquisite costume and grand stage-design will lead me into a mobile art gallery, exploring an early Chinese history.

That will be an exciting moment for a holiday season.

Infectious Inspiration

I love Oprah Magazine.

Elegance is the first impression that the O magazine gave to me—neither too fancy nor too monotonous. In fact, a refined tone is flowing in every page, presenting the nature beauty of real life.

Similar to the loads of fashion magazines, such as VOGUE, ELLE and GLAMOR, it has tons of fashion garments exhibitions and cosmetic product sale. The prices, however, listing in the O Magazine, are various, ranging from $50-$500.

It was said that the audience for O Magazine is considerably more upscale than for her TV show, the average readers earning well above the median for U.S. women.

I accept it as true. O Magazine could satisfy the taste of a well-educated person, for its graceful design both in pages and advertising.  It features swash font and elegantely graphic elements—delicate strokes and non-variegated colors— creating a poetic-like literature world. Who is willing to decline an invitation of visual feast? 

In addition to exquisite images , for my view, another attractive part is OWOW—a creative section continuing the positive attitude that Oprah gave to her audiences: to find out one’s self-confidence and a love for life.

October issue introduced fifteen average people, coming from assorted occupations, such as tow surfing practitioners, Chef, prodigious knitter and an Africa-America soloist, telling readers their Aha moments and breakthrough ideas.

Victoria Hale, for instance, a former scientist at a big pharmacy company Genentech, found her Aha moment when she was in a New York City cab. While telling the driver that she was a pharmaceutical scientist, the driver said, “Oh, you have all the money." That word inspired her to launch her vision—started the first nonprofit pharmaceutical company in the United States, OneWorld Health. She plans to sell inexpensive contraception in Western Countries, and then use the revenue to hand out health products around the world to women who cannot afford them.

 

Nobody knows this great idea actually aroused by a normal conversation, between a passenger and a driver. Who is the next? Who knows!

The story inspired and encouraged me to discovery my Aha moment some day. When thousands of people contribute their wisdom and efforts to the society, every day, isn’t it necessary for me to consider about it seriously?

Yes, I need to do so.   

America Impression

Two white tents caught my attention.

 A medium-sized Red Cross patched on their left side, facing in front of me. Though ordinary the tents were, the location they appeared pointed their specialty and significance.

Sunday morning, on October 16, 2011, I showed in the Martin Luther King Memorial Dedication in National Mall of Washington, D.C. I didn’t shock by a huge quantity of crowds—over fifty thousand people spanning all ages and races—gathering together, sitting or standing, occupied every inch of grassland of West Potomac Park. Nor did I stagger that tons of policemen hanging around the different corners of venue for safeguarding.

I surprised that two white tents, set up parallel, about 16 feet intervasl, occupied a spacious room in the grassland, with twisted-rope fences separating them from the center area. Compared to crowds thronging around them, the tents stood quiet and distinctively, and a blood-red Cross showed people their duty was acted as an emergency room preventing injuries. 

That was the most awardable scenery that America impressed me. Whenever attending a big event, I will find the same white tents standing along. Psychologically, it soothed one’s nervousness if  unexpected accidents occurred; furthermore, it delivered a message—a humanitarian assistance will secure every individual traveling here.

My heart was full of appreciation. I feel hospitable. Even though it was a trivial detail of the event, it presented me a thoughtful consideration made by planners—they care about every life living in this land.