loving winter

haunted

after two trips to china, i have many images seared forever in my memory- the snaking of the great wall over the hills outside of bejing, the large image of mao overlooking tianamen square, the sight of freshly butchered pigs on the back of a bicycle in a narrow market alley. but by far the most haunting of all of my experiences and images was on my first trip to china the day i visited ruby’s orphanage.

to see, smell and experience an orphanage in china is something that marks your heart forever. to know that there are hundreds if not thousands of them , scattered about the cities, counties and towns in china is sobering. tucked behind gates, down rutted roads, amidst the bustle of the city or in the middle of a small country village they are there sometimes in full view and sometimes hidden. if you look at a map of china and locate changsha, hunan ruby's home town, note the size of the text print and dot on the map. know that her city was a small one by chinese standards and at the time i visited it had a population of 6 million. now look again at the map and see all the cities in the same size text or larger . the mental math is mind boggling.

the chinese are notoriously secretive about the actual numbers of orphanages and orphans in china. the ordinary citizens of china do not really have a grasp on the orphan situation, most believe that the abandoned babies who end up there are left by ignorant peasants who stealthily enter the city in the dark of night and leave blanket wrapped bundles on street corners, in markets, in doorways and behind bushes.

it is a harsh reality to know that both of my daughters were abandoned or as the chinese say “left forsaken”. i marvel when i look at them playing, sleeping , reading , splashing how different their life is that what it might have been if they had stayed in china with their birth families . but what haunts me the most is what their life would have been like if they had remained in thier respective orphanages.

the day i visited changsha number one, it was raining lightly. we entered the building and were taken to a meeting room where we each got some sort of plaque for making a donation to them. after that we were taken on a tour. it wasn’t really much of a tour- just a look at the playroom and a room where we were told that all of our babies lived ( i have reason to believe that ALL parents who visited were shown the same room and told the same thing).changsha number one is not known for its truthfulness. we were not supposed to look around or interact with any workers or kids. we were strictly forbidden from photographing anyone.

ruby fell asleep in the sling and i took her to an anteroom where there were about 20 toddlers and 2 caregivers. half the kids were in potty chairs and one person was doing pony tails. the rest of the kids were roaming the room. most wearing grubby clothing, and mismatched shoes if they had shoes on. there was a little girl with wavy hair who i have not been able to forget. she was about 2 and had the saddest face. she obviously had some sort of facial palsy and her tearstained cheeks were uneven with one side motionless and droopy. when she looked into my eyes, my heart froze for her. i was sure that no one would be adopting her and she would stay there for the rest of her life. i think about her often and wonder what her fate has been.

knowing that there are hundreds if not thousands of orphanages in china, each with children who will never leave, is a heartbreaking thought.

a man in carharts

i’ve always been a sucker for a man in carharts. there is something about the rustic nature of the twill cloth gracefully hanging from the be-hind of an attractive man that zings me. friends who know me well don’t ask if i am dating anyone (its been years for that) but rather , whether i have met my carhart man yet.

i suppose i am attracted to the rugged potential of the men who chose to wear carhart or filson, instead of suits or typical northwest gear of fleece and Levi's. sometimes they are wavy haired, dreamy eyed men. sustaining the fantasy of the outdoor boy who is intelligent as well as cute.

my catholic -school-boy -beau wore a carhart jacket. i have fond memories of walking on our college campus at night in the fall with my hand wrapped in his, tucked into the pocket of that jacket. my guitar-playing-biology-boyfriend wore levi’s but he probably would have discovered carharts eventually. my-hiking-kissing-in-the-meadow-man wears carharts and a filson vest. when i bought the ranchelow in 2003, i was dismayed to learn that one of the houses next to me was a rental. when saw the two carhart wearers there , i got over it.

not too long ago i was shopping at new seasons by myself ( a rare thing these days.) in the produce isle i saw a blond blue eyed man in a pair of tan carharts and it was all i could do to not follow him out the door to his car (? truck) and beg for his phone number. i refrained but it made me smile a secret smile of lust and reminded me of all the men i have loved who were carhart wearers.

snow

pete

when i was growing up,we had a big brown photo album filled with family pictures. some were formal studio shots and some were snapshots taken on an old brownie.

one of the first photos in the big book was a studio shot of me, my mom and my dad. followed by more studio shots of me and my sister posed and looking adorable. wearing seersucker summer suits and pony tails, wearing red velvet christmas dresses with satin bow’s.

long before the days of “scrap booking” my mom would identify who and what were in the photos in her graceful left handed cursive. being the oldest, there are more photos of me than of my sister or brother.

there ase so many i love: a series of me with my grandmother- we are sitting on a blanket in the summer. i am chewing on a string of teething beads sporting a cupie curl on top of my head. a set of all three of us poised on a chair, holding our kitten “clyde” the vestiges of serious tears streaking faces. we have matching dresses and pixie cuts. one of the most interesting is a shot of me and my sister in the bathtub. we are both posing with our rubber toys-hers looks like a frog or duck and mine is a tiny nurse.

there are photos of me with the grandpa green who died when i was six. in one i am about 15 months old, sitting on his lap clad in t shirt and diaper. we are in a shinny leatherette chair, he is unshaved and wearing a wife beater t-shirt. i am unsure whether i remember him or if i have created memories of him based on the photos in the album.

i’m sure that i don’t really remember “pete” but these photos show me at about the age of two looking delightfully happy with my pal at our house in pullman.

a few years ago my mom presented them to me for christmas in a little frame, i have them on a shelf in the living room next to the photos of ruby and hazel. reminding me that childhood is precious and memories are made many ways.

splashin'