"Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" ~ Mary Oliver

Tag: friendship

appreciation . . .

coral bells

Sometimes people don’t see eye to eye. And sometimes, trying to explain oneself just makes things worse. That’s too bad because each point of view seems to be sincere and innocent. That is, nobody set out to make things difficult or hard to understand for the other. That’s what’s called a “misunderstanding.”

I’ve had this happen in my family. . . a lot, it seems. I used to chalk it up to a propensity for some people not to be able to admit that they were wrong. Or to take responsibility if they don’t feel that their intention was not amiss but somebody’s feelings got hurt in the process anyhow. Hard to take responsibility when you didn’t mean it in the first place when it turns out you’ve hurt somebody’s feelings.

I come from a place where I’ll take blame before anyone else — even more than my share of blame has been my impulse in the past. But lately, I’ve stopped doing that so much. I’ve come to a place where when I have been sincere and authentic, there isn’t much more that I can do to persuade somebody else different from what they want to believe: about themselves, or about me.

Friendship is made up of a zillion pieces of a mosaic like this. For someone who doesn’t have a lot of friends, my experience is limited. At my age, however, it’s probably more important to be authentic than it is to hold out for friendship. After all, isn’t that what friends are for?




steep hills . . .

DSC_0099I was talking with G. this morning about how sometimes we go through long periods of what feel like hard times. And that life is not simply black and white between happy and unhappy but often grey for much of it.

I know that one of my daughters, who seems truly happy now, went through years of isolation and difficulty, personally and professionally. Another has been having her ups and downs as well. As for myself, my clearest memory as a young child was wanting to hide in the kitchen cabinet under the sink of the big house where lots of us were staying in Shanghai while fleeing from Japanese and Communist armies who were fighting each other at the time. The noisy company of all my cousins was something I withdrew from to be alone in order to Read the rest of this entry »

“braintube”. . .

at cape ann photo, g. evans

I was in the sixth grade when my family moved to Virginia. A boy in the class befriended me for no reason that I could figure out. But I was glad. In those days during the McCarthy era, lots of people looked at anyone from China as a “communist.” The Red Scare was rampant and I felt lucky when I was the butt of racial slurs only once in awhile. For some reason, this boy named J. thought I was smart, even though he was obviously the brightest in the class before I came on the scene. He nicknamed me “braintube,” a salutation that he uses to this day when we write to each other by email, even though we are both grandparents by now. J. is one of the few people that I kept up with from that far back. He worked as a diplomat for the State Department and was posted in various countries, always coming back home with his wife Anne who accompanied him abroad.

In 2008, J. came to a luncheon at a Chinese dim sum restaurant which turned out to be my mother’s last supper with her friends. It occurred in September a few weeks after she had received a diagnosis of cancer in August. All of her friends came to gather one more time. The charm with which he greeted my mother, told us stories and put everyone at ease reminded me once again how much I enjoyed and valued J.’s friendship. My mother died shortly thereafter without pain in early November.

As I thought about that reunion, it occurred to me for the first time that his nicknaming me “braintube” in the sixth grade was akin to parting the Red Sea for me (no pun intended). He was very popular and well-liked when we were twelve years old. And his taking a shine to the new kid–a stranger who was a Chinese girl, no less–made it okay for the others to accept me as one of them. My social assimilation could not have been made easier by Moses! Sometimes it’s hard to tell what strife we might have endured when someone rescues us from potential doom. The thing is, he did it all on his own, maybe not even as consciously aware as I have given him credit for. Maybe it emanated from his southern manners or from his innate diplomatic nature. In any case, it made a big difference in my life! Thanks, J.!