Have It Your Way
If I sit down and just start writing, no telling what words will end up on the screen. The blog screen tends to inhibit such free flowing creativity, however, by its demand that you start with the Title of your post. How do I know what the Title is? I always think. I haven't written anything yet.
So today I decided to rebel. I will do it my way. Having said that, I headed for the kitchen for another cup of coffee. The gold Buddha that I bought about a week ago caught my eye. It is sitting, well, standing, on the built-in counter in our home office. I told Ping about him last night when we talked on the phone. Ask Cici to take a picture of him and send it to me. Then I can tell you where to put him, she told me.
I could write about the Buddha, I thought as I poured my coffee. But someone who reads about it might be offended, was the next thought that flashed through my mind. Someone who has a different faith. But I am not trying to influence their beliefs, I thought. They can believe whatever they want, no matter what I write. They can have it their way. It was at that moment that the Title to this post came to me.
Yesterday I took Cici to eat lunch with me and my friend from Dallas who was in town. This is the friend who makes a cameo appearance in our book at the dinner Ping and I had with him four days after the girls arrived in America. Remember? At the Malaysian restaurant where the server spoke Ping's hometown dialect. We took Cici to a little Italian restaurant not far from the office. The food there is quite good, with many things on the menu.
So what did Cici choose to eat? Pizza. It was a home made pizza with a very thin crust and Italian flavors and toppings. She ate a little over half of it at lunch and took the rest back to the office. Around 4:30, she reheated the rest of the pizza in the microwave and ate it. She did agree to eat a salad at lunch when the server asked her if she wanted one. This feels funny, not eating with chopsticks, I told Cici as she folded a pizza slice with her fork. You can't eat pizza with chopsticks anyway, can you? My friend asked. Cici always does, I told him. And she does it quite well.
We will try again today to have Cici's braces put on her teeth. Then we will have to decide if she will be a flutist or a drummer in the band this year. Can you keep a beat? My friend asked her when we talked about this at lunch. She nodded yes. She was the drum majorette for her school band in China, I said. But she made us swear not to tell the band director at her school about this, because she doesn't want to do that again.
Have it your way, we told her. Your secret is safe with us.
So today I decided to rebel. I will do it my way. Having said that, I headed for the kitchen for another cup of coffee. The gold Buddha that I bought about a week ago caught my eye. It is sitting, well, standing, on the built-in counter in our home office. I told Ping about him last night when we talked on the phone. Ask Cici to take a picture of him and send it to me. Then I can tell you where to put him, she told me.
I could write about the Buddha, I thought as I poured my coffee. But someone who reads about it might be offended, was the next thought that flashed through my mind. Someone who has a different faith. But I am not trying to influence their beliefs, I thought. They can believe whatever they want, no matter what I write. They can have it their way. It was at that moment that the Title to this post came to me.
Yesterday I took Cici to eat lunch with me and my friend from Dallas who was in town. This is the friend who makes a cameo appearance in our book at the dinner Ping and I had with him four days after the girls arrived in America. Remember? At the Malaysian restaurant where the server spoke Ping's hometown dialect. We took Cici to a little Italian restaurant not far from the office. The food there is quite good, with many things on the menu.
So what did Cici choose to eat? Pizza. It was a home made pizza with a very thin crust and Italian flavors and toppings. She ate a little over half of it at lunch and took the rest back to the office. Around 4:30, she reheated the rest of the pizza in the microwave and ate it. She did agree to eat a salad at lunch when the server asked her if she wanted one. This feels funny, not eating with chopsticks, I told Cici as she folded a pizza slice with her fork. You can't eat pizza with chopsticks anyway, can you? My friend asked. Cici always does, I told him. And she does it quite well.
We will try again today to have Cici's braces put on her teeth. Then we will have to decide if she will be a flutist or a drummer in the band this year. Can you keep a beat? My friend asked her when we talked about this at lunch. She nodded yes. She was the drum majorette for her school band in China, I said. But she made us swear not to tell the band director at her school about this, because she doesn't want to do that again.
Have it your way, we told her. Your secret is safe with us.
Comments