On Golden Showers, Lunar New Years & Fireworks

Xin Nian Kuai Le — Hou Nian

Happy New Year — Year of the Monkey

I miss China sometimes. I miss the charm of the people even though they hated me. I swear, I had a neighbor one time who shot daggers out of his eyes every time he saw me. On one-rare-blue-sky day in early spring I took advantage of the quasi-fresh air, rolled out the yoga mat in the back garden with my green tea and started on my daily yoga practice. So, there I am in a resting down dog and between my legs I see him hidden behind a sheer curtain on the second floor of his house glaring at me, seething. I’m sure he was a sweet old man. He lived with his son and family in a veritable palace. I was in the palace next door (company’s dime). But he did not like me. Was it the big ass dog? The four noisy kids always running amok without shoes and jackets? Was it because I paid my Ayi (nanny/maid/domestic helper) 100 kuai more per month, therefore throwing off the delicate balance of an already delicate-juggernaut economy? Which, btw, I was happy to do, but also didn’t have a choice if I wanted a maid (and hello, when in Rome and laundry does itself…). The girls, especially the Beijing-ren, wouldn’t work for me unless I paid them more. It was an easier gig working for the laowai plus they got more money. Win-win for the servant class. My neighbors, who often had Bentlys and Ferraris and the family truckster was typcially a BMW five series the wife could toggle around in with their sour pusses. My puss would be sour, too, if I knew the er nai (2nd wife) was sporting around in a cobalt blue Porshe (Boxter, I think, can’t be sure, though) and I had to pick up the kids from violin to take them to fencing in a tank. Shit, I didn’t even have a car…my transpo was a bike named Sally. But I had the audacity to do yoga in the back yard and that was offensive. Granted, I was wearing yoga pants and a sports bra…but still. My yard. My walled garden. Trust me, I’d have stayed in the safety of my own home if there hadn’t been a wall to protect me from peering eyes. Little did I know, there was no escape.

Oh well. I still miss it sometimes. Especially this time of year — Chinese New Year.

You have never seen fireworks until you have lived in China. You have to live there, for at least a full fireworks season to really, fully appreciate how the Chinese to fireworks. The fireworks season begins October 1, which is their National Day and ends after the third week of Chinese New Year…around mid to late February.

Wait, let me back up for a minute. It’s always fireworks season in China, just not the huge public displays. If there is a reason to celebrate, fireworks will be the marker: birthdays, anniversaries, the opening of a new business, the loss of one’s virginity, perhaps.

This whole fireworks thing didn’t help the Smith’s at all because my children are scared to death of them. We’d often be walking down the street, minding our own business, and BAM BOOM BANG out of no where, chaos and screaming kids.

As it turned out, the dog is also scared of fireworks. As, I’ve written before, he is pretty easily spooked, but this one incident I’m afraid took the proverbial moon cake.

I can’t remember if it was the first day of Chinese New Year, or the last day, but, whatever, it was one of those days where there was a HUGE public display of fireworks. We were living in Shanghai at the time, on the 7th floor of a high rise across from Shanghai’s (Pudong-side) version of Central Park — Century Park.

My husband was thrilled that we would be front and center for this amazing display of pyrotechnics without having to brave the crowds. I was a little less enthusiastic, because the kids would be bitching and crying, and it was my ass on the line for that chore.

Lightbulb — husband remembers he has a pair of silencer headphones for business travel, plus a pair of regular headphones for music. Thank goodness the twins hadn’t been conceived…yet.

So, kids are set up with headphones and we’re all watching the fireworks from the balcony. At some point, I got bored and go sit on the couch, and pick up my book to kill time. Benny, the Mastiff, hops up on the couch with me but doesn’t stop there. He proceeds to climb up on my lap and forces me with his snout to look at him. So, there I am, looking square in the eyes at this near 200 lb dog who is sitting on my lap and all of a sudden a series of BOOM BOOM BOOMS go off, Benny’s eyes widen, he lets out a little whimper, and pisses on my lap.

And me without my Ayi…she was off for the three week holiday. I learned how to operate my washing machine that night. Another story for another time.

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