No rest for the wicked

Couldn’t sleep past 5am, so I headed out to the park around 6:30. The sun was already up and the park was busy as usual: tai-chi, sword dancing, fan dancing, dog walkers, daily gossip parties, basketball, and older folks sitting and watching it all. Mr. Weng was there near the exercise bars, so I delivered the first of our gifts: some Canadian Maple-flavoured tea and some dulce. I’ve never eaten dulce but apparently it’s Canadian and in Taiwan they love seaweed, so we’re guessing it’s a safe bet for a gift. Our cultures are so different and there’s so little that’s distinctly Canadian that it’s hard to find “Canadian” food that they’ll actually enjoy. Plus, 99% of the Canadian souvenir stuff and clothing says “Made in China” on it, so finding good gifts was a small challenge. I think we did alright though; we’ll be delivering the rest over the next few days as we see our friends again.

The people in the park said I was black. Never had that before. I could hear one of them talking about “the foreigner from Canada” but had to ask Mr. Weng what they were saying.
“He says you are black.”
“Brown.” [points to my face and arm]
“Ah, brown from the sun.”
I’m guessing suntans are generally a bad thing here, judging from the number of umbrellas in use on sunny days.

We taught an English action song to about 40 kids at a VBS yesterday morning, and we’re doing the same thing again this morning (“No rest for the wicked” as my dad likes to say). Yesterday was “I am a C-H-…” I was worn out; we were still jet-lagged and we made them spell the letters with their bodies while they sang the song. I can’t spell that fast, or dance, but we all had a good time and it had something to do with English so our assignment was accomplished. This morning in just over an hour is “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands,” so I’d better get in the shower.

7 thoughts on “No rest for the wicked”

  1. Hey there black man. That’s prettyy cool, you can change color just by moving from one culture to another. It reminds me of how we learned that in different cultures they perceive color completely different.

    So what is dulce? I’m curious.

  2. Dulce is dried seaweed. It’s an east coast/Newfie thing, I think. I wouldn’t really know though… never been further east in Canada than Niagara Falls.

  3. Chou-chou got some cat nip and a couch-alternative scratch toy. She was a little nuts when we first showed up – not much attention over the summer – but now after a few days she’s almost back to ‘normal.’

  4. I’m guessing he meant “black man” as in mixed up his English colours – not “black man” as in James Brown. Not that I’d mind – that’s kind of cool actually, but I could never pull it off: I’m not just white – I’m a white Canuck.

    By the way Greg, just the other night me and Ryan were laughing about that night you and Shea argued over who was the Supreme High Brieflessness and he ambushed you with a shot of carpet cleaner to the face when you attacked him the dark.

    Grandma – you’re from out east. What’s dulce?

    Kelly – Jessica didn’t tell me about the upgrades until it was too late, but we had a good thing going with the whole row to ourselves.

    Josh – do me a favour and salute the MC Patriarch for me (you can say hi and we miss you to everyone else). It was so great to see everyone, and especially cool to see Nelson doing so much better.

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