When a Pin Becomes Reality

It all began about two months ago. I discovered Pinterest and my life would never be the same. I wish I would have thought of it first, a vision board for every aspect of your life complete with links to help you make it come true, perfection.

I was going mad with pin fever, pinning this recipe and that outfit, amazed by all of the things one can do with vinegar and lemons. I was fantasizing about the amazed faces of all of the people I would make this delicious food for, and how I would thank them for their compliments. Except, no one cared about the food I hadn’t made, and that wasn’t enough to keep me motivated, so I kept daydreaming.

Something changed the other day, but we will see how long it lasts (I really think it’s by subconscious trying to get me in gear for the new school year). Maybe in a way, it helps me feel closer to home.

Today I tried a total of 4 ideas that I had from Pinterest or that were inspired by it, and I experienced varying degrees of success.

As Thpyoon Haikou swept through the city, I hunkered down and made some dreams happen.

#1-Twisty curls

So, the night before I tried what I thought I saw were the directions for coiled curls that you leave in over night. I made sure and twisted them really tight so that they would be really curly. As you can see, my results are horrifying. Need to read instructions next time so I don’t look like Shirley Temple after she’s all grown up and had too much to drink.

from: …love Maegan

#2-Pizza Rolls

I was thinking about pizza rolls because I had some pastry crust dough that I had been in the freezer forever and I wanted to use the vegetarian pepperoni I had made the night before. It was petty easy and surprisingly tasty! I used Vegan Dad‘s recipe and changed a few things. I didn’t have crushed red pepper or the different colored peppercorns. I just used loads of black peppercorns.

I cut the pastry dough into 6 triangles, and filled them with pepperoni. Then, I rolled the cheese starting on the small end to the large end. Sprinkle with garlic and Italian seasonings and then bake at 350 F for 10-15 minutes. We dipped them in marinara sauce and said, “mmmmmmmm” while the animals slept peacefully.

#3-Homemade Wheat Pasta

I recently bought a pasta maker on one of my recent, I am going to cook dang it! shopping trips. I was excited to use it. I looked up a simple recipe on Food.com and went to work. The kneading took 20 minutes and I was definitely sweaty because of it, but the process was pretty exciting. After about one hour of drying them on the clothing dry rack (which was covered in plastic wrap, of course), it was looking pretty awesome. Some went in the freezer for later. I will have the verdict on the pasta after we eat it. I am pretty excited.

#4-Funky Nails

Out of everything I did today, this one drove me the most crazy! It’s a lot of work looking this cool and doing it yourself. I managed to salvage a few that I messed up with the tape I used, and after an outer edge polish removal, I think it will look quite nice. I just don’t know if I want to do it again!

So, tomorrow I will start a new job at a new school. I wonder if I can keep all of this actual doing of things once the year gets busy? I have learned today that although pinning is awesome, it feels much better to do than to dream.

Until next time, “Happy Pinning!”

Grassland Disco: A Honeymoon Adventure in Inner Mongolia

Days 1 & 2

It had been almost two months since our wedding and we had returned from our family time in America to our home in China. We had spent the last month eating all of the best of bad food that the States have to offer and spending some much needed one-on-one time with our families. I was so happy to see everyone, and I was also happy to be home. And to finally be going on our honeymoon.

We have spend many hours lazing away by the beaches in Hawaii, India and South East Asia. It was time for something different, completely. So, in true B & L style we opted for the adventure packed, grassland dancing, yurt sleeping, camel riding glory that is Inner Mongolia.

We traveled around China somewhat for the first two years we lived here, but not enough. This place is astonishingly huge, with so much diversity in the landscapes of nature and people, we had to see more of it. I was glancing over the travel ads in That’s Shanghaiand saw something for the Nadaam Festival in the grasslands of Inner Mongolia. One look at the itinerary, which included being able to watch the horse races, wrestling matches, and archery competitions and B was hooked. So, it was like most things in our relationship; not…well, normal.

We packed our backpacks and cameras and set out for Hohhot, the main city in Inner Mongolia where we were met by our fabulous guide, a young bubbly woman named Chelsea, and Chun Shifu, our stalwart driver.

In the city we saw an important military office from days long gone, the newly refurbished Temple, and the forgotten Five Pagoda Temple. We ate a truly tasty lunch of a delicate soup with mushrooms and flowers with homemade potato noodles and Bryan munched on mutton, the specialty of the area.

As we walked through the city and the vibrantly colored temples, I felt waves of excitement and spirituality. The people wore smiles on their faces as they listened to stories of a great man who unified the fighting groups with the peaceful practices of Buddhism while others nodded solemly while soaking in the stories from the turbulent reign of the last emperor and his tiger of a mother. There is a feeling you get when in these places that is unlike any other. It creeps into the base of your spine and prickles your neck, making hairs stand on end. The energy is electric.

Early the next morning we headed out into the grasslands, rolling hills and wild flowers waved as we sped past, and soon the automobile narcalepsy took over and I woke up near our home for the night. We were greeted by brightly and traditionally clothed young men and women who wore blue scarves draped over their arms as they offered us baijiu. We were instructed to dip our ring finger into the liquid, as Genghis Khan once had done to test for poison. Then, we flicked some to the heavens, some to the Earth, and swiped some on our foreheads. Then it was time to drink. I had spent a record two years avoiding baijiu in China, but I did not want to offend tradition, so down my hatch it went. It was not at all the fiery, unpleasant gag reflex inducing concotion I was expecting, it was actually a bit pleasant.

There was an afternoon of eating, wresting and mushroom picking in the abundant fields and then a horseback ride. I should have learned by now that I should not go near horses, let alone ride them, but I never learn. After a short ride around the area, my nose was a faucet and my lungs were wheezing. I nearly stepped on a toad while going into our yurt and fended off a healthy looking spider after that. As I swallowed one more Benedryl I asked myself what the heck I was thinking coming here like this, for my honeymoon no less!

I returned to the dining yurt and watched as the big group across from us and became more and more red and hysterical as the clear liquid escaped from the biuju bottled and into ther laughing bellies. The music began, I wasn’t asthmatic anymore, things were looking up.

About a half an hour later we were ushered to a stage area that was lit up with disco lights and surrounded by high wattage speakers echoing with the exuberance of traditional Mongolian music. The guests laughed and yelled and warmed themselves by the fire. We found some soldiers among us, having a much needed night off, and also learned that the rambunctious group was from one of the country’s leading oil companies. And there we were, two foreigners in the midst of it all. It was pretty amazing.

Things only got better as the music resumed. The baijiu was in full effect and Bryan and I were roped in to many a photo and dance. Soldiers gyrated to the beat and encouraged B to take his shirt off as one of the oil group guys incessantly tried to parade me around the concrete technicolored flashing dance floor, moving his arms this way and that in a zig zag fashion while I tried not to trip over him. At one point we were dancing around the fire in hora fashion. Hands clasped together, feet moving frantically sideways as the music’s beat sped up to meet that of our racing hearts, and in the center of it all was my funky dance partner standing in front of the fire, praying. I took a picture of that moment with my mind and hoped it would last forever.

After a bit more dancing, fireworks, and singing, we watched the last of the sky lanterns sparkling and full of wishes fade into the sky. We said goodbye to our new friends, and headed to the dimly lit yurt. After escorting a few unwanted creatures outside, we put some toilet paper in our ears to avoid them from trying to find new homes in our nice, warm heads, and kissed goodnight. Romantic? Not for most people, but for us it was absolutely perfect.

Getting Married in Shanghai

When B and I first got engaged in Thailand in 2011 the plan was to elope there the following year, just the two of us. I had researched the best elephant wedding ceremony companies I could find and was quite excited about the idea of having such an adventurous start to our life of matrimony.

A couple of months later, back in China, we finally made it to Hongkou. Interestingly, Bryan’s grandmother and her family had made it there as Jewish refugees on one of the last trains out of Germany. Their travels were arduous, taking them across Russia and into China. In Harbin his great-grandmother was hospitalized and a 14 year old Nelly stayed by her side as she recovered. The remainder of her family made it to Honghkou in Shanghai and started their new lives in a foreign country. Life was not easy there, and although they had escaped the Nazis, they could not escape the other hardships that came along with living in another war torn zone.

Once in Shanghai, Nelly met Max, a handsome U.S. soldier that was stationed in Hongkou to help the refugees. The United States had turned away countless refugees away from its shores, and instead sent men to represent the U S of A in a little corner of a big city. It was there that Nelly and Max met and fell in love. The rest is history.

I love this story and as we walked along the refugee area, on Zhongshan Lu where his grandmother lived in cramped conditions waiting for freedom, among the red bricks of the former Ohel Moshe Synagogue, I became bleary eyed and thankful for this place. If it were not for this refugee…I blinked back the rest of that thought and the tears that came along with it. We drove away from the well preserved history of Hongkou and down the shiny blocks of new Shanghai, and I asked B, “Would you want to get married here?” He was surprised and said, “You would do that?” Of course I would. I could not think of a place that would hold more meaning than the place that saved his family’s life. It was decided. We were getting married in China.

The next year proved to hold obstacles and victories that ended in an amazing ceremony at the Jewish Refugee Museum, or the former Ohel Moshe Synagogue. I will tell the rest of the story here slowly, as to relish the memory of the whirlwind of months. For now I just want to thank the people who provided a safe haven to those forced to flee their homeland. Thank you for opening doors for those who needed it most.

Country Roads

It’s a funny thing, feeling like the place you grew up isn’t really home anymore. I spent nearly my entire life in the same place, Littleton, Colorado. I lived in the same house from the time I was two and a half until I was seventeen. I longed for the chance to get out, to break away forever.

B had the opposite experience. He switched states, schools, and friends many times. He said he didn’t like it then, but now that he is older and wiser, he can appreciate his experience. As it is with all difficult things in life, it had made him stronger. I guess my experience did the same for me. Two people, different histories, same outcome. We ended up just about as far away from home as possible.

Of course at times, China does feel like an inexplicable conundrum that invades, alienates, and exasperates, all the while feeling like a wise, whirlwind romance, mixed with mysterious muse. So many complexities and contrasts. Even though I don’t quite understand it, more and more it feels like home.

Something I was enchanted by recently is the popularity of John Denver’s “Take Me Home, Country Roads”, often played around Shanghai karaoke bars, and often played on the Juke Box in many a Colorado saloon. In China, the song has the same effect on people as it does in America; it evokes memories. Much like the nostalgic songs of village life that are so dear to the millions of migrants in Shanghai, “Country Road” makes even the least home sick person (me) long for the Rocky Mountains, the Aspen trees in autumn and the rush of painting your face blue and orange for a Broncos game.

One day I was riding my scooter home. It was one of the first nice spring days after a long, gray winter and I couldn’t help myself from belting out, “Country roads! Take me home! To the place! I belong! West Virginia! Mountain mama! Take me home! Country roads!” In the middle of my Shanghai debut a man on a bicycle turned to look at me with great curiosity. I kept belting it out while looking right at him. Then, on his tan face hidden by a baseball cap and white medical mask, I saw wrinkles like rays of sun spreading out from his dark eyes. A hearty chuckle escaped from underneath his mask as he joined me in my special moment.

As we start to plan the rest of our lives together, we often talk about what we want for our children. Do we want them to live the way I did, or the way B did? Do we want them to grow up with, or without, having a close relationship with our families? Do we want them to grow up with stability, or with adventure? I’m not sure if one is better than the other, or if one is right or wrong. I just hope that one day when our children hear their Country Roads song that they have a place in their heart that lights up, that feels like home, even if they are thousands of miles away.

Made in China

When I moved to China nearly two years ago I never thought I would begin my married life here. Actually, I never imagined that I would live in China. Now that my wedding day is nearly here, I can’t imagine my life without the land of the Great Wall and dim sum. It has become my home, and maybe someday in the future it will be the home of my children as well.

My fiancé and I moved here from Hawai’i. Shanghai was a stark contrast from the Big Island. We went from sitting on white sand beaches being kissed by turquoise water to fighting for spots on the brightly colored benches of the metro. We once spent our days watching the sun dip below the horizon of the deep blue ocean, now we spend our days underneath the unnatural orange sun of the pollution-ridden sky. We left beauty for chaos and couldn’t be happier. In the middle of all of the frustration, homesickness, confusion, and illiteracy B and I held each other tight and forged a bond that will hopefully lead to forever. Like many things in this world, our deep love for each other was made in China.

Over a year ago B proposed in Thailand, and we had planned to return for an elephant marriage ceremony, just the two of us. Fate has a funny way of changing your mind and bringing things back full circle, and that is exactly what happened to us.

During World War II, B’s grandmother and her family were living in Germany, trying desperately to avoid imprisonment. They were lucky however, and made it on one of the last trains out of Germany to an unlikely safe haven: Hongkou, Shanghai. Many countries closed their doors on those of Jewish faith during the Holocaust. The United States turned away boat after boat of refugees, not wanting to get involved in another country’s sorrows. China, however, opened her doors to those who had no other place to go.

It was there, in Hongkou, that B’s grandfather was stationed as a U.S. soldier. B’s grandmother arrived to Hongkou and there met his grandfather. They fell in love and married at the Astor House. As luxuries were limited during that time, they made her dress out of a Japanese parachute. Out of chaos, fear, and pain came love, devotion, and a new family.

Thinking of this story as we weaved in and out of traffic in the haze of the busy city, I asked B if he wanted to follow tradition and get married in Hongkou to honor the memory of his grandparents. Luckily, he agreed.

Over the next couple of weeks I will do my best to complete the circle. Well, maybe in my case it will be more like an oval. I am not Jewish, and our circumstances are much different than those of his ancestors, yet I am hoping that whoever or whatever lies in the great big sky will bestow blessings upon us.