LIVING LARGE (AND LOW)

I’ve never lived in a basement before; I love light and windows and the idea never appealed. But it seems appropriate now as I finally settle down for a spell that I should be settled deep into the earth, the walls of the foundation forming a low shelf that rings my bedroom and the lovely painted (and heated!) floors uneven and cracked in places where I can see and feel the earth’s shifting, its congress with a house that has stood for more than a century.

This is the house:

It was built in 1903 atop Beacon Hill, just off a thoroughfare with views of the Cascade and Olympic mountain ranges on either side. The neighborhood is one I never knew before and though it is sleepy here it’s a short walk down a bridge, alongside highway arterials, to the International District with all its bountiful cabbage and bok choy and from there on into the city. It’s perfect.

The house itself has four upstairs rooms, a mother-in-law studio over the garage, and my own basement suite. Seven of us live here, co-op style, sharing the food and the space, building fires and baking bread. We all feel so lucky to live in this beautiful home with its high ceilings, pine floors, pretty architectural details, and the best kitchen I have ever seen.

The music room

The office/art room

The fire room

(fire enabled)

The kitchen/dining room of your dreams

My basement lair

Tea area and view into office

The grand staircase

There is a calm and a slowness to this house that I have much to learn from. The urgency of books to be read and e-mails to be remains, but it’s easy to forget about all of the screens that demand my attention and drift upstairs to join a conversation or listen to someone at the piano and return to work refreshed. The age of this house and the simple beauty of the spaces makes it easy to imagine all the other ways life was lived here: the niceties of calling cards and parlors and the social claustrophobia of the elite, the circumscribed spheres inhabited by their women, all the fires built and the meals prepared, all the romancing and fighting during the political and sexual upheavals of the second half of the last century.

And there is much more life to be lived in this house, so many hopes and preoccupations to be shared with all the lovely people that are eating and dreaming here now, enjoying the mountains and the fresh air and the ministrations of Zelda the cat.

It’s a good place to be, and a fine place to write. I hope you’ll all come and visit, the kettle’s always on.

BEIJING WRAP-UP: GOODBYE TO ALL THAT

If I had my own place in Seattle now and wasn't still couch-surfing indefinitely I might not feel so homesick for the jing; I must also lay blame on Anna's powerful camera, which captures the wonderful people of the city and the many thrilling and familiar sights so well but omits the stinky air, traffic, crowds, and creeps. Still, I can't wait to go back.

Dogs and dappled light in the hutongs:

I love the insanity of Chinese fashion, forever and ever:

A young fan at the Black Rabbit music festival during Hanggai:

Gold Panda plays the festival:

Grandmaster Flash dominates the audience:

Exhibits at the Beijing Museum of Zoology:

(turtles all the way down?)

A cake in the shape of a Gucci purse selling for about 50 USD:

Man on a bus wearing a decidedly retro Seattle Supersonics jacket:

Food packed for a train journey:

A dumpling feast prepared by my friend and wunder-tailor Linda:

The strangely delicious lychee beer served at the meal:

Q, Yin, and Anna in various stages of scone-consumption/scone-anticipation:

My goddaughter Lucy intrigued and amused by what a strange red haired creature I am:

Lucy with her mother and maternal grandparents:

Lucy on the move:

An attempt to sow enmity among roommates Peter and Yin on my last night in town:

With a few of my fellow bosses at the Treehouse:

Plus Xiao Bao:

My last meal: pumpkin soup and turnip green steamed buns.

Sigh. Even the airport food is better in Beijing.

PANDA DENOUEMENT

It gets a little funny when I meet someone new and must at some point explain why I am called cougar and/or why I wear animal costumes with a higher-than-average frequency when I neither date young men nor attend Cosplay conventions. And so I must tell you now my friends, that if you have never had the opportunity to wear an animal costume YOU ARE MISSING OUT. You needn't have identity issues or strange furry sexual fetishes to see the appeal of encasing yourself in fun fur for an afternoon; only a desire to delight friends and strangers and an appreciation of absurdity.

With regards to my own personal experience I should say also that if your dancing has ever been made fun of, if you have ever wanted to turn a cartwheel but realized you are wearing a skirt, or basically, if you have ever had a body and been embedded in a sociocultural matrix that places upon it, and you, certain expectation and restrictions, then panda suit is your excuse to be bold.

And if you happen to be in Beijing on one of those rare days when visibility extends beyond 200 feet it is a marvelous excuse to go to Jingshan park for some cavorting.

I did in fact come back to Beijing for a few reasons unrelated to this, but this was both inevitable and necessary.

With chief collaborator and photographer Anna.

The kids, unsurprisingly, loved it. Which got me and Anna thinking... if this whole academic career doesn't work out (and even if it does), perhaps I can get a gig on the side teaching Chinese at birthday parties for rich kids whose parents are anxious about the coming century of Chinese dominance.

Reasonable rates. Call me.