New Christmas Duvet Covers and Wall Art

I (still) Do

December 30, 2009

Twenty years ago today, Julie and I were married.

Where did the time go? It seems like just a few years ago that I was a deskie at her dorm at Calvin College and she came to the counter to check out a football.

While still dating, we went to Calvin’s Broene Counceling center to take the Meyers-Brigg temperament test (hey, I had no money and it was a cheap date). The councilor who read the oracle bones –I mean, who interpreted our test results- said that I was the one in the relationship who would have my head in the clouds and would be thinking of what could be. Julie on the other hand would be the one who had her feet squarely planted on terra firma. That councilor could not have been more spot on.

I haven’t always been the easiest guy to live with. Julie is a saint. She is patient, loving, and long-suffering. She is a godly woman. She never ceases to amaze me with her wisdom and her insights.

A few years after we were married, we found ourselves sitting across the table from a very godly man whom we had only known for a few hours. When Julie stepped out of the room for a few minutes, he leaned in and said to me “Young man, you married up.”

Less than an hour later, I made one of the biggest mistakes of my married life. In the car on the way home, I repeated what he had said.

Julie has never let me forget it.

But that’s okay. I couldn’t agree more.

Here’s looking at a twenty more years of love and adventure.

-Jack

In the Nursing Home

Chinese Nursing Home part 2 of 2

To break the ice, I asked one of the staff members if it would be alright if I had my picture taken with a few of the residents. So I squatted down between two of the residents and had Annika take my picture. I also took the opportunity to shake a few hands and wish some of our new friends a Merry Christmas. I was hoping this would help everyone –my girls included- to feel a little more comfortable. I’m afraid though that it just made them more embarrassed. I’m sure the reindeer antlers I was wearing didn’t help matters.

I resumed my position on the wall between Annika and Elise. Just in case they weren’t sure whether they were having a good time or not, I leaned over to them and said “Man, this is fantasti . . . .” I stopped mid-syllable. Gasp. When did this happen? When did I turn into my father? Always the consummate promoter. If I was expecting a toothy grin and a thumbs up from either one of them, I didn’t get it. I did get two pair of rolled eyes though.

And then all the residents who were ambulatory were in place and the caroling began. The coordinators from our church had given each of us a small English-language booklet with the lyrics and had given the residents the same little booklet but with the words in Cantonese.

Normally, out of respect to those around me in church, I sing softly. I have been told I could be the poster boy for tone-deafness. But I figured that I was in a room full of people with hearing aids who didn’t know English and who may or may not be familiar with these tunes. My girls are used to being embarrassed by me in public no matter what I do. And our friends, well they would just have to deal with it. I let ‘er rip. I was hoping the residents would appreciate quantity over quality.

After four or five carols, one of the young women from our church read the Christmas story in Cantonese. Normally, proselytizing like this would not be permitted in a government-run nursing home, but this was Christmas time and the telling of the Christmas story was not only permitted, but expected. Our friends’ young sons held up the laminated illustrations that went with the story and slowly swept them from left to right so that everyone could get a good look.

With the story finished, we fanned out and delivered to each resident gift bags that the church had provided. In Chinese culture, it is customary to not open gifts while guests are still around. Gifts are usually opened after the party is over. We broke with Chinese tradition though and sat next to each resident and opened their gift bags with them. Item by item, we showed them the little hand towels, tooth brushes, hand moisturizer, toothpaste and other various sundries we had brought them. While most of them probably didn’t speak much English, we smiled, looked them in the eye, and spoke to them as if the understood every word we said. We made sure to wish each of them “A Merry Christmas” before we moved on to the next resident.

In the back of the nursing home, I noticed that one lady who was either asleep or on strong medication or simply a little out of it, had not received a gift. I tip-toed in. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open. I knelt down next to her bed and quietly said “Merry Christmas. We brought you a few small gifts.” I set her gift bag on her nightstand. “May God bless you.” She didn’t stir. I tried to exit as quietly as I had entered.

Back in them main room, one resident in a brown striped blouse had had a scowl on her face the whole time. Even the gift bag hadn’t helped. In fact, it seemed to be causing a conflict between her and the lady next to her. The lady in the brown striped blouse kept trying to push her gift bag onto her neighbor who didn’t want it.

We had just enough time to sing one more song. I noticed that during our closing song, Julie was smiling at and sing to the lady in the brown striped blouse. I never really thought of “Angles We Have Heard on High” as a clap-along-kind of song, but halfway through, our friend in the brown striped blouse started clapping along. Julie didn’t miss a beat. She joined right in. By the time the song was done, half the residents and even some of the staff were clapping along.

We finished by going around one last time and wishing each one of the residents a “Merry Christmas” and a “God loves you.”

And then it was 2:30 in the afternoon and it was time to go find a dim sum restaurant.
Singing Christmas carols in a Chinese nursing home was a real highlight.

In fact, it was dee-luxe.

Chinese Nursing Home part 1 of 2

My dad is a pretty optimistic guy; he’s a glass-half-full kind of fellow. Over the years, we kids have catalogued a few Roger-ism. Just in case we weren’t sure whether or not we were supposed to be enjoying ourselves on whatever family excursion we found ourselves, Dad would narrate, “Oh this is deee-lux.” Always the consummate promoter.

When we were on vacation sitting on a park bench cutting up that $11.00 brick of Mackinac Island fudge into bullion-cube sized pieces, we could pretty much count on Dad to chime in with “Oh, this is a real highlight.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I am always looking for unique opportunities for our family here in Hong Kong, so you can image my excitement when I saw in our church bulletin that they were calling for volunteers to do some Christmas caroling in local nursing homes on the Sunday before Christmas. I immediately put it on our family calendar. In pen.

I knew that I had a bit of a sales job ahead of me to get my family on board. I'm sure that they had other things they would rather do. But hey, how often do you get to visit a Chinese nursing home?

I not only managed to get my family on board, but I convinced the neighbor family to join us as well.

It turned out to be a good thing that our two families showed up because our Church had committed themselves to two nursing homes and without us they would have only had seven people. Our two families were assigned to one of the nursing homes and we were joined by two young Chinese women from the church who knew where to go and knew how to speak both Cantonese and English.

I never would have found the nursing home. While it was right on the main road, it was in a tall, non-descript building that looked older than it probably was. I assume the staff was expecting us, but when we arrived, they had to scamper around to accommodate us. The ten of us pressed ourselves against a wall and tried not to get in the way as the staff pulled together plastic chairs to create a make-shift theatre.

The entire nursing home –-which appeared to house about fifteen residents-- only took up a fraction of the fifth floor. The nursing home was essentially one big room that was subdivided into little cubicles. Most residents slept in beds that were behind shoulder-height dividers. A few residents –the ones who appeared to be most in need of care- slept in semi-private rooms with a door that closed. The nursing home was clean and bright, but it was old and anything but high-tech.

With the help of the staff, the residents slowly started to shuffle into the main room. The residents seemed a little indifferent to all of the hubabaloo, but the staff seemed to be showing some enthusiasm. If nothing else, we visitors promised to break up the monotony of a quiet Sunday afternoon.

I had no idea where they came from, but a bag of really inexpensive Santa hats suddenly appeared. One of the staff members went around putting the hats on the residents. At first I cringed. Oh, that really is necessary. You don’t need to do that on our account. But none of the residents seemed to mind. Besides, it did make them look kind of festive.

As we stood there, lined up against the wall, waiting for whatever was going to happen to happen, I couldn’t help but feel as if my girls and our friends were thinking “Man, VanNoord what have you gotten us into? This is awkward.”

Mötley Crüe

Fifteen years ago, friends of ours moved back to the Midwest after a decade in Southern California. Knowing how fast-paced and transient life in Los Angeles can be, I asked them if it was hard to make friends. They said it was actually quite the opposite. Because so many people in Southern California were transplants from other parts of the country, they explained, none of them had their extended family around. They found that they ended up spending their holidays together and sharing each others’ hardship and joys.

I think that I’m starting to understand what my friends were talking about. Christmas is supposed to be a time for family; but when you’re 12,000 miles away from Grandpas and Grandmas, uncles and aunts, you make due.

The Friday before Christmas, we had a party with the four families from the Seventh Floor. The kids spent the afternoon cutting out paper snowflakes, making red and green paper chains, and hanging them up. One family moved their tree into the common area, we all brought a dish or two to pass, and the kids brought gifts. We had a big potluck Christmas meal together and then watched the kids open the gifts they had bought for each other.

On Christmas day we accepted an invitation from a family who also teaches here at ICS. After spending Christmas morning together as a family opening presents, we rode the train to the other side of the New Territories. Our hostess made a turkey, a ham, stuffing, and all the Christmas fixings. It was just like Grandma used to make –except for that plate of sushi on the table. Our hosts had also inviting over another American family who were visiting from Indonesia where they live and teach. We had never met them before, but when you're part of an ex-pat community, I have found that you tend to become friends pretty quickly, especially when you are relaxing in someone’s home on Christmas day.

On both occasions, it was a pretty rag-tag band that we had hobbled together and it was certainly no substitute for Grandpa and Grandma, cousins and uncles and aunts. But it sure was nice to have a place to belong and someone to celebrate Christmas with.

-Jack

Making Gingerbread With the Neighbors

No Opening Those Stocking Ahead of Time

Under the Tree

Merry Christmas from the VanNoords

In the courtyard of Interntional Christian School where we work and attend school.

Roasting Chestnuts

For over forty years, I have listened to, hummed along to, and even sang along to the Christmas classic “Chestnuts Roasting Over an Open Fire.” What could make for a more all-American Christmas than roasted chestnuts from an open fire? Well, actually, a lot of things it turns out. I had never actually had a roasted chestnut before.

That was true, until ironically, I came to China. Vendors roast and sell them on the streets here.

I figured I’ve enjoyed the song so often, it was time to try one.

I bought a small brown paper bag’s worth. They come in a shell which is soft enough to peel.

Inside is a nut the size, texture, and color of a lima bean.

They are okay; warm, slightly buttery, a little bitter. Not sure they deserve their own song.

I think the cashew would be much more worthy.

-Jack

A: Knock, knock

B: Who’s there?

A: Cash

B: Cash-who?
A: No thanks, I’m allergic to nuts

Christmas in Hong Kong

Ghost of Christmas Future

Every December, the Culture Wars in America heat up over how Christmas is commemorated in the public square. In fact, this perennial acrimony has acquired its own name: The Battle for Christmas. Focus on the Family has a website that rates retailers by their Christmas-friendliness so that you can avoid the stores that are the most egregious in offering “Holiday sales” and you can reward with your business those retailers that display “Merry Christmas” in their windows.

As the ACLU and self-appointed separation-of-church-and-state killjoys continues to squeeze any semblance of religion from the public square during the yuletide season, it seems possible that in the not-so-distant future, Christmas in America -outside of or our homes and churches- will be reduced to reindeer, snowflakes, shopping, tinsel, and the big guy in the red suit.

Alas, I have seen that future.

If the over-used term east-meets-west ever applied, Hong Kong is it. As a truly international melting pot, Hong Kong has had the luxury of cherry picking from the world’s cultures including Thai food, Pakistani tailors, and double-decker buses.

And cherry picking is exactly what Hong Kong has done with Christmas. When it comes to excessive, year-end consumerism, Hong Kong gives The States a run for its money. Gaudy decorations, Christmas music, and sales, sales, sales are everywhere these days. Christmas has come to Hong Kong.

Well, kind of.

Despite the effort by retailers to pull out all the stops, for the life of me, I cannot find a manger, a stable, a camel, a wise man, or a shepherd in the stores, in the malls, or on the side of a bus. It’s all candy canes and garland and snowflakes.

Outside of our homes and churches, the secularization of Christmas in Hong Kong is complete.

And I am happy to report that we are all a-okay, thank you very much.

I have no idea what the future holds for American culture and the commemoration of Christmas, but here is what I do know. If -worst case scenario- Christmas in the public arena gets stripped of all religious meaning like it has been in Hong Kong, we are all going to be a-okay. The gospel message is alive and well throughout Hong Kong despite the lack of nativity scenes in shopping malls and office building lobbies.

So if the ACLU succeeds in telling your town hall they can’t display a nativity or your local library that they can’t have a star atop their holiday tree, join hands and take a deep breath. We are all going to be just fine.

As Hong Kong has demonstrated, it’s possible to have a completely secularized “Holiday” taking place in the public arena and to still have the gospel message surviving and thriving.

-Jack

The girls were assembling the used three-and-a-half foot Christmas tree Julie had purchased back in October. I was saying to the girls how sad it was that we had didn’t have any of our ornaments from home. I started to reminisce about some of our favorites: the little antique red ball, the sparkley orange slice, and of course the glass pickle.

The girls were just starting to get a little sad, when Julie called them into our bedroom area because she needed their help with something or other.

The girls walked around the big wardrobe that doubles as a room divider and there laid out on the bed were some of their favorite ornaments from home including the red ball, the orange slice, and the glass pickle. The girls started jumping up and down.

Also laid out on the bed where their Christmas stockings.

Last January, eight months before we were to leave for China, as we were packing up the Christmas decorations, Julie had the where-with-all to set aside a few of the girls’ favorite Christmas things in anticipation of packing them and bringing them to China with us.

Julie is such a good mommy.

-Jack

American Hairlines

If you ever find yourself in the Shatin area of Hong Kong and are in need of a haircut, here’s what you do. Exit the Shek Mun train station and head west. When you hit the river, turn left and keep walking, you should see the Star Floating Seafood Restaurant on your right. Go until you find yourself under the first of several bridges.

Every day from the hours of 1:00 til 7:00 you should find a little old Chinese guy under the bridge. He has a chair, an apron, scissors, and a pair of battery operated clippers.

He will cut your hair for you for HK$25.00. There will be some really grating Chinese opera music playing on a cheap transistor radio. He speaks absolutely no English.

Don't go at the very end of the day. You run the risk of having his battery operated clippers run out of power mid-haircut.

If a little old lady in a burgandy sweater wanders by and appears to be friends with the barber, don't ask her to take your picture while you are gettin your hair cut by The Guy Under the Bridge. She has never held or used a camera in her life.

Expect to get the thumbs up and a smirk from any westerners who happen to walk by.

My father started his career as a barber over forty years ago. As you're getting your hair cut by The Guy Under the Bridge, please keep my father's advice in mind: The difference between a good haircut and a bad haircut is about three days.

HK$25 is about US$2.80

-Jack

Overseas Teaching Positions Available

International Christian School where Julie and I work generally functions with two-year teacher contracts. So theoretically, in any given year, half of the teacher’s contracts are up for renewal. Before we all went home for Christmas break, those teachers whose contracts were up, had to declare their intent. Most of them are returning, but a few of then -for a variety of reasons- are not.

Moving a family half way around the world, learning to navigate our way round a new country, and starting two new jobs has been challenging. But at the end of the day, we are so glad that we accepted this challenge. Hong Kong rocks and ICS is a great place to work and a great community to be a part of. We are able to live comfortably on the salary they pay us.

If you know of any teachers who might be interested in an overseas experience at an explicitly Christian school, please pass along the following information. Feel free to have them email (jjvannoord@yahoo.com) me with questions. Of course, you can always route them to our blog.

2010-2011 Openings:

-Kindergarten Teacher (3 & 4 year olds)
-Lower Elementary Teacher (P1-G2)
-Upper Elementary Teacher (G3-5)
-Elementary PE Teacher
-Elementary ESL Teacher
-Secondary Music Teacher (Strings & Choral)
-Secondary Special Education Teacher
-High School Social Studies Teacher
-High School French Teacher

More information at http://www.ics.edu.hk/

-Jack

Our Very own Park N Shop

We are feeling pretty settled in to life in Hong Kong. It hasn’t always easy. Showing up three weeks late and missing new-teacher orientation didn’t help.

One major milestone was when we figured out how to order groceries on-line and have them delivered. Hauling a week’s worth of groceries home on the subway is not a good time.

About a month after we moved here, people started to move into the brand new estate buildings (apartments) that we look out onto. At the base of the two apartment towers is a free-standing building that stood empty of the first four months we were here. We didn’t know what it was supposed to house. We dared not hope.

Then about three weeks ago, electricians, carpenters, and painters descended upon the interior.

I am happy to report that our very own Park N Shop is now open for business.

Granted, it’s a small grocery store, but it’s a whole lot better than a 7-Eleven. The other day, I forgot that it was my turn to bring a yummy snack to our eighth-grade team meeting. No problem. I dashed down the Park N Shop. I was back in four minutes.

Our new Park N Shop has been open for business for less than ten days and we are already wondering how we ever got by without it.

Park N Shop, I love you.

-Jack

Red Bean Cakes and Sticky Buns

Getting Home from Shenzhen (part 3 of 3)

We finished up our KFC and got back onto the streets of Shenzhen. Annika made me carry the Straw Hat. We had emerged from the subway into a heavy-duty commercial area and there was not much to see except for concrete skyscrapers. We were hoping to see a section of the sprawling Shenzhen that had a little more flavor and character.

I stood on the street corner and looked down each of the options. I tried to read the city by watching the people. I saw a guy riding a bike with ten five-gallon water jugs attached to it coming toward us. From the right, I saw a group of three fashionably dressed young women. Across the street we a group of shool boys in uniform.

“Well Annika, what do you think?” She took a moment, looked at the options, and pointed down one avenue “Let’s try this way.” We repeated this process three or four times over the next ten minutes. Our urban intuition must be improving, because we turned the corner and we found ourselves in an older section of town that was bustling with street vendors and shoppers.

We picked one particularly lively alley and ate our way from end to the other. We bought a sticky bun from one vendor and sweet red-bean cakes from another.

The afternoon light was threatening to fade and our packs were becoming increasingly heavy. It was time to get back. It is my usual method to wander a city, get myself completely lost, and then jump in a taxi to get back to the station or hotel. It’s a stategy that had served me well in the past.

We waved down a taxi and hopped in. It only took us a moment to realize that we had found the one taxi driver in Shenzhen who spoke absolutely no English. He kept asking us in Cantonese where we wanted to go. I pulled out my passport and found the word “Hong Kong.” I traced my finger down to the Chinese characters that more or less matched up. I pointed at them. It didn’t seem to help. He kept asking me more questions in Cantonese. We were all getting a little frustrated.

I looked at him in the review mirror and said “Look buddy. Look at my face. Do I look Chinese? Where do you think I want to go? Take an educated guess here. You can do this.” I pointed forward indicating for him to just start driving. I figured we had a 60% chance of ending up at the train station where we needed to be, a 20% chance of ending up at some international hotel, and a 10% chance of ending up at an airport.

He started to drive. Because we had taken the underground subway, nothing outside the taxi window looked familiar. Ten minutes later, our driver pulled up to the curb outside a large municipal looking building. I looked up and -sure enough- in large letters it said “Shenzhen Train Station and Border Crossing.”

See, I knew you could do.

I paid the driver and gave him a large tip.

I am such an bad American. It's a good thing I have that large Canadian maple leaf sewn to my backpack. I sure would hate to give my home country a bad name.

An hour later, Annika and I were through immigration, on the local train, and on our way back to our apartment.

Note: Julie, I am sorry that you are finding out about this for the first time via the blog. Sweetie, you know that I make half of this stuff up anyways, don’t you.

-Jack

On the Streets of Shenzhen

Wandering Schenzhen (part 2 of 3)

No plan. No map. No idea where we were or where we should head to first. Now this is the way to explore a city.

Annika and I took five minutes to figure out the Shenzhen subway system and then got on board the train. We arbitrarily got off three stops later, made our way above ground, and started our urban exploring. We had emerged in a pretty non-descript commercial area with lots of concrete and eight lane highways. God bless Annika, she was being a real trooper. We had just spent a week on the Mainland so Annika was pulling her wheeled suitcase and I was wearing my large thirty-pound backpack. We took turns carrying the large-brim straw hat I had bought in Yangshuo.

It was approaching noon, so our first order of business was getting some lunch. After a week of Chinese food, I asked Annika if she would be up for some McDonalds. Absolutely! We walked for a few blocks, turned a couple of corners and there it was: KFC. Close enough? I asked. Close enough, she said.

While eating our extra-crispy chicken sandwiches, Annika noticed the locals at the adjescent table were pointing at my straw hat that sitting on top of our stack of luggage. They were talking loudly and laughing. Annika was mortified. She scrolled through her mental rolodex of 53 Mandarin words and came up with “teacher.” What she wanted to say was “No, you don’t understand, my dad’s a teacher and he is buying this for his classroom. He didn’t buy for it himself. He bought it to educate American youth about Chinese culture.”

But what ended up happened was that she just kept pointing at me and saying “Lau-shi” over and over again. Somehow, I don’t think they quite got the full message. I’m pretty sure all they saw was an oversized white boy walking around this major metropolitan area of 14 million people with a straw hat that old Chinese women wear while working in the fields.

The little dollop of KFC mashed potato stuck on my lip probably didn’t help any.

If there had been a hole handy, I am pretty Annika would have crawled in it.

-Jack

The Streets of Shenzhen

Staying behind in Shenzhen (part 1 of 3)

The overnight sleeper train didn’t actually bring us all the way back to Hong Kong, it brought us back to Shenzhen, Hong Kong’s sister city of 14 million people just across the border. While still on the sleeper train, when we were about an hour from the border, I approached my colleague Mrs. Auty with the little speech I had been going over and over in my head since I woke up two hours ago.

“Mrs. Auty, you know that Annika and I were only issued double-entry visas.”

“Oh and I know how the Chinese government really sticks it to you Americans. What are they charging you Americans, these days?” she asked.

“US$125 each.”

“Ouch. We New Zeelanders only pay a fraction of that.”

“So an hour from now when our group crosses through immigration, Annika and I will only have one entry left on our visas.”

“Tsk. Tsk. So unfortunate.”

“Yes, it just seems such a shame to be passing through a major city like Shenzhen and not be able to see any of it.”

“So what I hear you saying Mr. VanNoord, is that you would like for Ms. Wun and I to take our nineteen students over the border this morning so you and Annika can stay back in China and explore Shenzhen for the afternoon.”

“Oh well . . . since you offered . . . “

“That’s fine. It’s a good idea.”

“Mrs. Auty. . . ”

“Yes, Mr. VanNoord.”

“I am down to my last fifty yuan.”

“You need to borrow some money?”

“I used up all my money paying the locals to let me take their pictures and buying straw hats.”

“Here’s 200 yuan,” she said as she pulled money from her hip pack. “No, you better take 300.”

After our sleeper train pulled into Shenzhen, Mrs. Auty and Ms. Wun lead our nineteen students toward immigration.

Annika and I headed for the Shenzhen subway.

-Jack

My Students' Breakfast on the Sleeper Train

Final assorted pictures of Yangshou