I handed my purchase to the lady behind the counter. She looked vaguely confused, as if she couldn't understand why I would thrust merchandise at her. She looked around. The barcode scanner seemed to invoke memories. With some hesitance, she picked that up and pointed it, and eventually managed to scan the barcode. I gave her money with bated breath, wondering if she were up to the challenge. She popped open the cash register and looked at the till in mild befuddlement. From her expression, she had never seen US coins before. Slowly, consulting the cash register at every moment, she procured two dimes and a nickel for me. A quarter would have been beyond her capacity. I was roiling with impatience, but I dared not utter a word, for fear it would derail her and we would have to start all over from the top. Next came the ordeal of finding a plastic bag, and placing my goods in that. But there are three sizes of bags!

In Taiwan, a clerk will ring up your purchase while she is bagging the previous customer's goods and answering a third person’s questions. As often as not, she will be chatting on her cell phone all the while.

If you are used to check-out service in Taiwan, American clerks can be a trial.

Taipei is noisy, but it's just noise: people don't care that much if their motors are loud, if there is a backhoe tearing down a building, if someone has left a tv blasting away. It's unintentional.
New York is noisy, but it's invasive: a driver honking to get a move on, a policeman shouting at you to get a move on, a boom box invading your space. It's intentional.

a ride in a horse-drawn carriage is more romantic when the horse is downwind.

"I am so happy to see you take a picture with the bulls. I am Assyrian. I come here all the time to see the bulls. They always make me happy. But I always touch the bulls. They tell me, Don't touch! But I say, These are mine, maybe this man you see here is my great uncle!”
In the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Apparently Americans are enamored of raccoons. Young ladies paint black circles around their eyes before they go to prowl the mall.

Just simply couldn't wait...
a little fire to start things off.

「我出生在仰光，Rangoon。1969年排華，就離開了。如果那個時候到臺灣就好了，可是我們到中國大陸。那個時候是文革，所有學校都關了。因為文革，我們都沒有念書，天天打籃球、上街遊行。後來到香港，已經十八歲了，沒書念。在香港工作八年。我來美國是偷渡，從加拿大進來，所以我沒有文化，I have no education，我書只讀了四年。」

LIU has a new 材燒anagama kiln.
Anti\劉安悌 and Eileen.
Yuki is inside the kiln,排窯.

外間
雅之
Yuki Hokama

P F Chang's Chinese Bistro stands unique among the thousands of Chinese restaurants I have eaten in. The reception crew at the door was composed of two blondes and a black. The waiters and waitresses were mostly blonds with a few black people, the busboys all spoke Spanish, and in fact, Ling was the only oriental face in the whole place. I am sure we were the only people speaking Chinese at all. When we were shown to our seats, Ling pointed out that the boss couldn't possibly be Chinese, because the two gigantic horse statues decorating the dining area both had their heads down. (Later inquiry confirmed her suspicion; the boss is said to be American.) First time I have ever seen a wine list on a menu in a Chinese restaurant, or a list of pies and cakes for dessert. Ah yes, the traditional old Chinese apple pie… The 麻婆豆腐 looked and tasted like none I have ever eaten elsewhere: broccoli and dofu. This?

No bowls for the rice, just a plate. Chopsticks came with knife and fork. The lady at the next table, a supercilious expression under an ornate hairdo, swiftly shoveled her chopsticks into her purse. The waiter demanded them back, tapping on the table and insisting, "Where are the chopsticks?" Supercilious shook her head and looked away; husband looked embarrassed. Plastic chopsticks, for crying out loud!

It should be named P F Chang's American Bizarre.

Aboard the good ship P T Barnum,
from Bridgeport, Connecticut, to
Port Jefferson, Long Island.

with Ann, Sidney, Jean, and Eben, as Thor very carefully encircles us in his leash.

Sitting on the floor, Zach very casually places both feet behind his head, smiles contentedly, then looks at me with a puzzled expression and says, "I understand some people can't do this."

crowding Zoe off her chair.

Ann generously gave us her bedroom and backbreakingly comfortable feather bed to sleep in. At around 5 or 6, well before light, I became aware of a presence in the room. The wind was up. The bedroom door, which I had shut, was open, and there was something in the room, moving back and forth. I lifted my head from the pillow. A white blob was floating around the room about a meter off the ground. Nothing else was visible in the predawn dark: ectoplasm? the Ghost of Christmas Past? I dared not stir. I heard a slight sound: scritch scritch. The blob floated back and forth.

Fortunately, Ann had told me that sometimes she puts a cone on Thor's head to keep him from licking that sore on his front leg. He is not allowed upstairs, but high wind frightens him, so he seeks solace from Ann, whose bed we were occupying.

Without waking Ling, I crawled out of bed and tried to eject Thor. He was happy for the attention, but dug in his feet and refused to budge. I stood outside the door whispering, Thor! Thor! trying to lure him away. Ann, sleeping with Zoe, heard me and trundled downstairs with Thor, telling him to stay put.

He was back upstairs in ten minutes, but I had the door firmly shut.

We did a snow dance, but all we got was a little drizzle.

Amy brought Spencer and Avery.

Thor shows off the trophy he won when he chased that fat guy.

I was disappointed that it didn't snow, but at least we had a good Christmas Day snowball fight at Sticks and Stones, Tim's place.
Ann, Connecticut.

coal.