Your French Catholic Canadian Aunt is Knitting a Sweater

Hello, ni hao!

This how cheerful, brave strangers between the ages of 5-100 greet me in the street or at the park. For those under the age of five, it more often goes like this:

Grandmother (in Chinese, other than 'hello') to child: Say hello, ayi! Nihao, hello, ayi!

Little child, too cute for words: *Stares at strange-looking person.

Grandmother: Nihao, hello, ayi!

Little child, in tiny murmur: hello, ayi.

Me: Ni hao, hello! *Grins at cute child and also from embarrassment.

Of course, if I'm generally stationary, say, sitting on a bench in the local park, knitting, this is a Language Practicing Opportunity Not to Be Missed. Just yesterday, as I relaxed in the warm early evening air, a perhaps-5 year old was coached by grandma through telling me about his nose, and his two eyes, but clammed up about his mouth. I half-felt like teaching him "Head and shoulders, knees and toes" but I blanked on the words. I would be more concerned, but a few days ago I called an airport a "plane station" so I know I've got bigger English language issues at the moment. Looking back at my posts, I see this is an ongoing problem. I called a power drill an "electric screwdriver." This is descriptive, but not exactly common phrasing. Perhaps it was the low-cost version of a sonic screwdriver?

Slightly more annoying are the college-aged/twenty-something adults who decide you are a perfect opportunity to practice English. First of all, it's a breach of my language pledge, but more importantly, hello, stranger. The best way to avoid this is to reply, in Chinese, "oh, I'm sorry. I don't speak English, I'm from France." This may be ridiculous -- how many internationally-traveling French people do you imagine have never studied English? But, your newest Chinese friend might not know this. This way, you also avoid being asked about Obama, Iraq, or general American politics. If by some chance, your speaking buddy also studies French and is suddenly thrilled to practice that language, you can probably remember enough French to comment about Sarko's handling of the economic crisis. Of course, if you're fine with a conversation, or you can manage to switch it into Chinese, but still don't want to discuss Sino-American relations, you can always claim to be Canadian. Be sure to be polite, though. We can't go and give Canadians a bad name.

So there I was, sitting and knitting, listening to headphones -- aren't they a universal "don't bug me" sign? apparently not -- when a 27 year old man decides to take a break from his evening run to chat. Thinking back, he told me his age, his relationship status, and his current feelings about the state of Chinese government, but not his name . . . anyway. My silly mouth managed to give away that I spoke English before my brain could catch up. So I told him I was Canadian when he asked. Then we preceded to have a conversation about Beijing rent rates (they're through the roof -- he's 27, has a good job, and still can't afford to get married. Girls just won't date a man with no money. Is that true in Canada? ...Um, I think that's true everywhere.) and how he's lost heart in the Chinese government. There's so many problems, you see -- rent, education, health issues, pollution, elder care, population, every other topic our textbook has mentioned. How is one supposed to respond to Chinese dissing their government? Where's the unity? Are you secret police, and if I agree with you, will I wake up tomorrow in a detention facility? So I settled with 'all countries have their issues.' Then we discussed my Chinese language learning. I hate the question "what can you say?" I can say a lot of things, but it generally works best if you ask a question that I can answer, first. For instance, we could probably have had this whole conversation in Chinese with relatively little difficulty. Off the top of my head, on the other hand, I can respond "what do you want me to say?" Witty, self. Very witty.

All that explains, dearest eldest sister, why Oxygen is accidentally two rows short. I got distracted.

Knitting in the park is its own hazard. Chinese grandmothers will come to talk about it (much like if you knit in public in the US, actually). Since you're knitting something with a two color pattern in stockinette stitch, everyone asks, "Oh, are you knitting a sweater?" Well, no. I'm knitting Group 16 of the periodic table of elements, as part of a blanket. Let's see... I don't know the Chinese for PTE, translating Group 16 directly would probably make no sense, as would 'I'm knitting air,' so I said "It's a blanket." This got some seriously surprised reactions. I know what's in my hands right now is only about four square inches, but come on. A knitting project of a thousand rows begins with a single stitch, you know. I think I need that on a button, or something. Today, knitting in the park, I gave up. When someone asked me if I was knitting children's clothes, I just said yes. So look for it for Fall Fashion 2009: The sweater with oxygen on the front, sulphur on the back, and sleeves of selenium and tellurium.

To explain the rest of this post's title, I should remind you all that 'ayi' means 'aunt.' It's a respectful term of address, and I'll get used to it, even if it makes me feel old. As for being French Catholic, well, when I was at St. Joseph's on Wangfujing, a passerby asked me if I was French Catholic. I would have understood being asked if I was Catholic, as I was a Westerner visiting a cathedral, but why French Catholic? Who knows.

Well, it's time for some more knitting and perhaps some questionably legal television online. My dear sister graduates in less than a month, and there's still quite a few elements to go. More pressingly, I think I'm going to run out of red for the gases, and I haven't seen anything like a yarn shop hereabout. Is that a legitimate excuse for not meeting my deadline?