'Twas the Night Be-FU Christmas

 

Are you Buddy the Elf or The Grinch?

Me? I’m Buddy the Elf about 350 days of the year. Cheerful. Kinda naïve and annoying. But the Holidays bring out The Grinch in me. While I love Christmas carols and I don’t rob houses, I CAN get puh-ritty grumpy.

I was born on December 25, 1967 on a stormy night in Canada. My parents like to tell me that I interrupted my mom’s Mah-Jongg game when it was “time to go.” Dad couldn’t see the bounds of the road, and they got stuck in a snow drift while driving to the hospital. They (WE!) were fortunate that a neighbor happened by and was able to tow them (US!) out in time, so my mom didn’t have to drop her load on a frozen Saskatoonian prairie. My Godfather was with my parents the night I arrived at the Swift Current Union Hospital. No wonder I don’t have much tolerance for drama. I was maxed out the day I was born.

Am I grumpy because I got a single Combo Christmas/Birthday present all my life? Nah, I’m not much into presents. I used to be sad that I’ve only ever had ONE “birthday party,” which happened on December 10, 1977. I was (almost) ten years old. We went to Farrell’s Ice Cream Parlor and came home, jacked up on SO MUCH SUGAR, to open presents. My best friend, Melanie Morgan, gave me the new Shaun Cassidy “Da Doo Run Run” album. It was da bomb. We made up a dance routine and practiced almost every day. Our dream was to make it onto “The Gong Show.”

I used to LOVE Christmas as a kid and had dreams of sharing these joys with my children. The excitement of a new bike. Writing letters to Santa. Finding stockings heavy with goodies on Christmas morning. My parents are immigrants, so our stockings were usually stuffed with an apple, an orange, a box of raisins, and sometimes a coveted book of Lifesavers or giant candy cane. Look at all that candy! Mmmmm….Butter Rum!

Christmas started getting stressful after we got married with the oppressive demands….I mean, generous maternal invitations….to spend Christmas at respective homes. After our kids started rolling out, this tension escalated and was often flustering. I tried hosting at our house to avoid this tug-of-war, but that just resulted in EVERYONE being cranky….mostly the woman with three small children and this not-well-thought-out idea. You know, the one who doesn’t like to cook or do housework? Whose name might rhyme with Schmisa Schmu? I bet you’ve heard of her.

After we moved to Oregon, this dilemma intensified a million-zillion-fold. We traveled down to California for Christmas for many years, contending with twice-as-expensive airline tickets, SO MANY quick-tempered travelers, and tired children who came home sick Every. Single. Time. ALL WAS NOT CALM! ALL WAS NOT BRIGHT!

This all changed after a fateful trip in 2009. A surprise snowstorm in Portland threw the whole region into hysterics. Meanwhile, the Fu Household was experiencing parallel madness as we prepared to travel with three young children on Christmas Eve. Albert strapped chains on our minivan, and we allowed TWO HOURS to travel to the airport. Now, I know you Southern Californians are like, “ONLY TWO HOURS??” OK, so let me explain ANOTHER reason Portland is a much funner place to live than Camarillo. The airport is an easy 20 miles away. Thirty minutes. And we have excellent food at non-jacked-up prices, so you don’t have to pay $9 for a juice just to prevent utter starvation. And the airport doesn’t stink. IS LAX MADE ENTIRELY OF SEWAGE?? I think.

So I’m in a tizzy and Albert is worried about driving safely and being on time and OF COURSE, someone had to poop right as we were leaving. And OF COURSE this blessed, robustly well-fed child clogged the toilet, which overflowed and leaked through to the downstairs ceiling. My last nerve had already been gotten on four hours ago. I was operating on borrowed nerves! That giant turd shrank my heart to Grinchly proportions. But that was also the day I turned my back on Christmas expectations and pressures from others. And I tell you, it’s been such a relief, and I love Jesus so much more.

We spent every Christmas since then up on Mt. Hood where the air is tranquil and the wifi is unreliable. We skied on Christmas Day where we had the whole mountain to ourselves. A couple of times, Albert was on call and couldn’t ski, so I took the kids myself and came home to a beautiful Christmas dinner waiting for us. There was no need to decorate the house or put up a Christmas tree, because we weren’t even at home! Drama Level: ZERO.

But we couldn’t escape ALL of the Christmas hullabaloo that emerges around August as stores begin displaying Holiday merch. By the time December rolls around, everyone is a wreck. “I have to buy presents! I have to decorate my house! I have to cook food! I have to go to parties!”

GUESS WHAT. You don’t HAVE TO do any of those things! It’s super cool if you LIKE it, but it sure looks and sounds like most of you don’t.

I quit putting up Christmas trees after we started spending Christmases on Mt. Hood and my kids lost that lovin’ feelin’. Too much work and complaining for two weeks of a pretty tree that nobody looked at. Plus the dogs got confused and kept pooping in the living room.

A few years ago, I decided to adorn our fake ficus with a single strand of lights. We needed somewhere to put our presents. And I like the festive, minimalist decor. This didn’t entirely allow me to side-step aggravation, however, as I whacked the back of my head on the fireplace mantle this year. Imagine how many injuries I might have sustained if I spent more than 10 minutes decorating for Christmas!

Christmas is about Jesus. And I love Jesus. But *news flash* CHRISTMAS IS MADE UP. Who established the rule that we had to celebrate Christmas on December 25? Jesus wasn’t probably even born on that date! And while we give gifts to express love and maybe remember the Three Wise Men, they didn’t trample each other on Black Friday or take out loans to give more gold than they could afford or fight each other to get their hands on the hottest Frankincense and Myrrh. Pssst! You are allowed to give gifts to your loved ones ANY DAY OF THE YEAR. Jesus’s birth was celebrated quietly with a great deal of love and enthusiasm but very little fuss and stress. Except for maybe Mary. Because DUH. Birth.

I want to slow down and enjoy my nice family. I want to have the energy to savor time with the people I love most (who usually come bearing wine and sour cream coffee cake). I have enough anxiety throughout the year, and I’m ONE HUNDRED PERCENT CERTAIN that Jesus wouldn’t want unreasonable and unnecessary expectations piled on my beloved soul. It is my intention to celebrate the birth of Jesus every day of the year, not just on the contrived day that someone told me to.

There’s so much pressure to spend money and BE MERRY. What if it’s 1983 and you wake up on Christmas in the hospital with pneumonia? Or you are in 7^th grade and you have had it UP TO HERE with the whole world and you spend most of Christmas reading a book in your bedroom with the door closed right around 1979?

Some Christmas days you are not in the mood. And some Christmases are extra sad for a whole lot of people. I already feel like a weirdo when I don’t participate in all the commotion. I imagine that the pandemonium can make some feel extra left out and extra sensitive and craving a little extra chill.

As our children grow up and and parents age, we no longer celebrate on Mt. Hood. We are in another stage of transition and will figure out something new this year.

I wish you peace, laughter and love this Holiday Season. Thank you for reading!

An excellent Combo Christmas/Birthday present would be for you to subscribe here to get new blog posts delivered right to your email inbox.

Wanna race?

An older lady friend shared a picture with me of her grandson and new girlfriend. She was NOT happy about the picture. “Look at his new tattoo! It just ruins his perfect skin!" It was sweet and very funny. New trends often shock even me; I can see how modern styles might seem absolutely scandalous to a woman almost 40 years older than I am.

Then she went on to express her displeasure with the new girlfriend. She told me she’s a nice, young lady. Very smart and polite. But, you see, she’s black. And her grandson is blonde as blonde can be. And back in my friend’s day this coupling just never would be. Although she expressed remorse for her opinion, she also reasoned that it was just the way she was brought up. She was not happy about the new girlfriend.

Now let me start by saying that I LOVE this woman. She is smart and sassy and brings me joy with every encounter! I also appreciate that she felt free enough around me to express these opinions, knowing that I accept her just the way she is. But I couldn’t help but wonder how she would feel if her grandson started dating my daughter. She's not black. But she isn't white either.

She was jabbering about a bunch of things, and there were other people around, so I didn’t ask her this question that was swirling in my mind. I tried to clarify that I actually understood what she was saying. Have you met this young lady? Is she kind to your grandson? Is there something that she has said or done that you don’t approve of? But alas. After all that clarification, it was determined that she didn’t like that she was b-l-a-c-k. She mouthed the word silently as if it were a profanity.

To be perfectly honest, I GET where she is coming from. My parents would definitely have had a problem if I had dated a black man….or any race other than Chinese for that matter. It IS a generational difference. My (not Chinese) sister-in-law is just about the PERFECT MATCH for my weird, annoying, gross little brother. And although she’s a comfortable part of our family (well, as comfortable as most daughter-in-laws are gonna get, amiright???), it was a struggle for my parents to get past the notion that, NO. Sandi WILL NOT BE EATING TURNIP CAKE WITH US. But just because it’s HARDER to conquer your intolerance doesn’t mean that you just roll over and proudly accept it. It is probably not unhelpful that my mixed-baby nephews are just beyond beautiful.

To be clear, I have prejudices of my own. Everyone does! It’s impossible NOT to gather ideas based on appearance about a person you do not know. All ideas are shaped by experience and upbringing. But I try to be aware of my pre-conceived ideas about people, pause for a reality check, and give everyone a chance. These days I find that most of my prejudices are not race related but more subtle. For instance, I am reflexively suspicious of very tall men with slicked-back hair. Sneaky and manipulative for sure!!

And I have an innate mistrust for women who are very thin or who look perfect all the time. My instinct is: There is DEFINITELY something wrong with her! What kind of person doesn’t eat? And what kind of person spends SO MUCH time and energy and money on clothes and hair and makeup?

Does that make me racist against slender, put-together women or men who make me offers I can't refuse? I guess! Because like my friend who is uncomfortable with her grandson's new girlfriend, I hold unintentional stereotypes about certain people that have ZERO basis or truth. Appearances so often get in the way of accepting and truly knowing another fellow human soul.

HOWEVER! I have gotten to know a smattering of guys with slick hair and enough thoughtful and smart beautiful, willowy women for my mistrust to loosen. And therein lies the secret. Breaking down these walls of bias requires so much....and yet hardly anything at all. All it takes is to MEET a person and GIVE THEM A CHANCE. After getting to know them, you might figure out that they are not so different from you. Sometimes that's really hard, because there are all sorts of terrible people out there, so it's going to be hit-and-miss. And sometimes fear, embarrassment, or plain old unavailability get in the way. Where I live, there are NOT many "other kinds of people."

There is a woman at my gym who talks to me frequently. I used to think she was crazy, because I never understood what she was talking about, and she would drop names of people I didn’t know:

She: Oh, hey! Shelley came back from her trip!

Me: Who?

She: Shelley! She’s back from Brazil!

*She* probably thought *I* was crazy, because every conversation ended with my confused questions and baffled stares. But this past week, the mystery was solved!

She: Did you have a good workout today? I was in the back.

Me: Oh, you saw me in the yoga class?

She: No! I was lifting weights. Wasn’t that you up in front? I saw you up there.

She’s not crazy; nor (debatably) am I! She’s getting me mixed up with someone else! There are just a handful of Asian women at our gym at any given time, and now I look carefully at each one, wondering which one she thinks I look like.

Our family is readily recognizable up here in Oregon because there just aren’t that many Asian people around. And I’m often alarmed at how frequently we are mixed up for other Asians. There are a couple of other Asian families in our church, and I was approached one day with compliments about my son’s violin performance. Know how many Fus play violin? Zero.

She: I loved your son’s performance this morning!

Me: Oh, yeah, I loved it, too. But that’s not my son.

She: What? I’m talking about Matthew.

Me: Yeah. My sons are Alex and Chris. Matthew is Karen’s son.

I could practically see the explosions in her head. Alex? Chris? Matthew? There are THREE Asian boys in this church? And Karen’s son? AREN’T YOU KAREN??

This provides me with a convenient opportunity for a lucrative criminal career! I could go on a swank crime spree and nobody in the Portland Metro Area would be able to pick me out of a police line-up. 

SO. My point is that sometimes "other kinds" are just not available for you to meet. And then sometimes, you don't know how to BE. Lots of people are worried about getting in trouble these days, but being overly cautious can backfire and come off as condescending, too. If your words and actions come with an intention of love, you'll probably be fine. Even if you make an unintentional gaff. 

I have a very dear friend who asks me tons of questions about how best to speak to and act around people of other races. And it’s fine to ask questions IF YOU KNOW ME. It is not my job to be your culture teacher any more than it is my job to buy you lunch or to drive your kids around. HOWEVER, I am usually very happy to exchange favors and authentic conversation with friends. With strangers? Not so much.

I’ll tell you my perspective if you are trustworthy. But I cannot speak for all Chinese people. Some of you dear readers MIGHT have noticed that some of my ideas are a little…..unusual. My dad would call me “irregular.”

I don’t really recommend asking anyone for race communication tips unless you’re already friends. Most non-white people have spent a lot of time and energy trying to blend in out of necessity. And when you ask me to be Chinese just to satisfy your curiosity or to fill a spot in your little International Celebration, I get a little peeved.

So how do you go about making “other kinds” of friends? It’s not rocket science. Just smile and say hello like a regular human. But for the love of Pete, DO NOT COMPLIMENT MY ENGLISH! I had this interesting encounter with a very nice, young, black man:

VNYBM: You have a beautiful smile!

Me: Thank you! That makes me feel great!

VNYBM: Oh, my gosh! Your English is so good!

Me: Um, thanks. YOUR English is ALSO so good!

Why do people do this?? And is it only for Asian people? I did not expect that young black man to start jabbering to me in some African dialect or with any kind of accent! It's SO WEIRD. I have even gotten compliments on my English FROM ASIAN PEOPLE! I do not understand this. My Chinese is atrocious. English is what I speak. OF COURSE it's excellent. DUH.

So, yeah, I was a little taken aback by my dear older lady friend’s comments. But it’s fine. We are all on a journey and nobody has got it all right. Everything takes awareness and practice! Perhaps her attitude toward other races will stretch and soften slowly over time as I learn more about what makes her tick. Or maybe not. In the meanwhile, I’ll keep chipping away at my own pre-conceived notions of older white women. I’ve met tons of the most lovely ladies, and my trust is slowly growing.

What pre-conceived ideas do you struggle to overcome?

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Won't Fu Be My Neighbor?

We have a New Fu Neighbor! My Father-in-Law moved into his new digs today. Once again, he’s about five minutes from our house. You see, when we lived in Southern California, he and my MFIL were also about that same distance from us. Then we moved a thousand miles away in 2004. Almost immediately, my in-laws began looking for senior housing in Oregon. I was terrified.

When they began visiting at Christmastime, I suggested bringing them to see the Zoo Lights. Strolling around outside at night up on that windy hill in December is a True Oregon Experience, especially for those who have lived in Southern California for fifty years. “Is it ALWAYS this cold here?” Yes, MFIL. Definitely. Most of the time, it’s EVEN COLDER here! You would NOT like it AT ALL.

Every year for about five years straight, my in-laws would come to Oregon and tour the local senior living communities. After a while, I started to relax thinking it was just not ever going to happen. They even put a down-payment on one place, but there was little more said about moving to Oregon over the next several years.

Then my MFIL passed away about two years ago. Over those same years, my FIL also started getting kinda shaky after he had a little stroke. Albert was taking off work on very short notice to travel to SoCal for emergencies. During the in-between-emergency times, Albert was travelling about once a month just to check on my FIL. It was taking a toll, and senior living communities were being *ahem* STRONGLY suggested. About a year ago, my FIL FINALLY agreed to move, and he wanted to be in Oregon near us and the grandkids. So Albert and I got investigating.

Ho-lee smokes! Who knew how uh-may-zing senior living communities are these days?! Beautiful accommodations, famous chefs, top-notch amenities and staff! Touring a lovely indoor pool in one place, we saw a few residents enjoying a glass of wine while soaking in the adjacent hot tub. IT WAS ELEVEN O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING!! I suddenly got excited about my FIL moving to town. He’s going to be living in style, BOI-I-I-I! If you can’t find me, I might be at his super swaggy bachelor pad soaking in the hot tub or hanging out at the rooftop wine bar. Not. Even. Joking.

Albert was so overwhelmed with all the ingredients required to relocate a parent who’s been living in the same place for FIFTY YEARS. On top of all the logistics, my FIL is probably one of the most argumentative, STUBBORN people I’ve ever met. And I mean that in the most charming way. He’s quite a character. And he can’t hear for shit, so it can get puh-ritty whacky when he’s around with just a ton of nonsense yelling. MEAT CROSS?? YOUR CHEEKS ARE LIKE SUNSHINE! Ummmm.....Exsqueeze me? Baking powder??

My dog would get super nervous every time Albert talked to my FIL on the phone, because there was SO MUCH YELLING. Buddy would stare at me with concern or scratch at the door to take refuge in the backyard until the conversation was over. Look at this poor, stressed out little face.

Albert has been working diligently on this very big job of relocating a parent. It has been really tough on him both physically and emotionally. A while back, I offered to help furnish the new place just to take that task off his hands. Except I do not really know how to do that. I cannot be within about 100 feet of a Home Goods store without breaking out in hives. Thank goodness, my smart and talented BEAUTIFUL ANGEL friend SAVED MY LIFE! Allie is a designer with impeccable taste. She took the kids and me shopping for furniture one day. ONE DAY was all it took and *POOF* like magic she had this place scoped out and put together! She was so graceful with this overwhelming task that threatened to knock me out cold. It was a joy to watch her work! Here’s an actual video of me in any store:

After eight long months, move in day was scheduled for Thursday, November 21! But as usual, construction snafus arose and pushed that date back. However, Allie and I donned some construction vests and sneaked in to get some things in place.

*Shhhh* It only took about one hour before we were discovered and summarily kicked out. We are terrible criminals in the most adorable sense.

Allie had arranged all deliveries and set ups, and the staff at The Springs were super helpful and accommodating, receiving all the furniture and making sure things were placed as planned. I pulled up my car full of stuff and was swarmed by about a dozen helpers who unloaded the car and carried it all to the apartment! Someone was always right there to take care of everything I needed. Seriously, I felt like Oprah.

Moving day was rescheduled four days down the road for Monday, November 25. Albert was on his way to the airport to travel to SoCal to pick up his dad when we got the email that there would be another delay! Albert’s dad would really be most comfortable waiting at his home in SoCal for construction to be completed, but Thanksgiving weekend was upon us. Changing plans to spend Thanksgiving in SoCal at this point would be a nightmare. A VERY EXPENSIVE nightmare!

Fortunately, things fell into place. Albert’s dad decided to come up early, and The Springs treated him to a room at the Residence Inn. He could have stayed at our house, but we don’t have bedrooms on the main floor, and stairs present a complication. Plus, about ten other future residents were staying at the Residence Inn as well, so my FIL was very happy to be there. As a matter of fact, we couldn’t even get a hold of him for the first couple of days until late in the evening! He had been hanging out in the lobby, eating free breakfast, reading his free newspaper, and enjoying free happy hour drinks and appetizers with his new friends.

Over Thanksgiving weekend, we had the opportunity to visit his new place with the kids who were home from college. My FIL walked all around his new place and said, “This is nice.”

Audrey whipped her head around and gave me a stunned look. We all had our mouths open! The biggest compliment we usually hear from my FIL is, “It’s fine,” or “It’s OK.” RARELY is anyone graced with a legit approval.

It took a while for him to inspect the bathroom. After he emerged, he proudly announced, “I REALLY used the bathroom.” Officially christened. It really does look great. Just hold your breath when you look at the bathroom.

In the end, we moved him in this evening about ten days later than planned. After all my encounters with the staff, I am confident that he’ll be treated like a rock star. He can order his cheeseburger….with no cheese….and all the Oprah Helpers will happily oblige. Over Thanksgiving weekend, my FIL informed us, “My tummy is getting rounder, but my butt is disappearing.” I hope he will spend some time at the gym with their state-of-the-art equipment and fancy training staff.

Here’s a picture of Albert and my FIL at dinner this evening. They ate at the pub. “This is where the bar brawls will happen,” my FIL explained to me. Mm-kay. This elderly California transplant is already doing his part in Keeping Portland Weird.

As always, THANK YOU FOR READING!
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