Thanksgiving: chopstick-friendly. My living room is about 7.5 meters long and 4 meters wide. It serves as living room, dining room and home office, so it’s a bit cluttered. All the same, I invited the entire English Department at Lian Da to come over for Thanksgiving Dinner on Nov. 23. About 30 people arrived, including my new Amity colleagues Gunnel and Per-Martin Hjort (from Sweden) whom you’ll see and recognize as westerners in the photos, plus Rae and Ruth. The roast chicken and stuffing were a big hit, as were mashed sweet potatoes seasoned with apples and spices (Ruth’s contribution). The pumpkin pie that I’d labored over was less popular than I expected (often my Chinese friends gravitate to the sweets). It was a divinely-inspired time for fun and fellowship. Somehow, everyone fit into the room. And, if you’ve ever struggled with a plate balanced on your knee, knife and fork in hands, at a buffet meal, take heart. Chopsticks are the answer. With a plate full of good food in one hand and a pair of chopsticks in the other, the balancing act becomes easy and graceful.

Ever the teacher, I seized Thanksgiving as a time to bully the freshman students to practice the "th" sound. It doesn’t occur in Chinese, plus sticking out one’s tongue is considered very rude in Chinese culture – so it’s an endangered speech sound. They had the prompt, "I am thankful for __ because ___," for their speaking activity. From my totally unscientific survey I can tell you that these students are thankful for their grandparents, parents, teachers, friends and classmates, for all of the best reasons ... and also for Mao Zedong and the Communist Party of China for giving them a wonderful life and abundant opportunities.

Commercial Christmas hit the streets in Lanzhou as predictably as if there were a Black Friday here. Meanwhile, at church, crates of holiday decorations were stashed in corners of the nave on Advent 1 Sunday, and Christmas hymns have begun to figure in singing rehearsal before mass. I’m beginning to feel merry in spite of myself. I know, you say, it’s a penitential season, and rightly so. But preparing the way can’t help but be fun. I have set out the nativity figures one of my sisters so kindly provided. (Apparently the creche at home isn’t a custom even among Christian Chinese, so there aren’t any sold here.) And I bought a chunky red pillar candle in a Buddhist market stall. On the way home with my purchase, I met a Chinese colleague who informed me that the cheerful-looking golden characters on the candle commemorate death. Oh, well. I’ve just turned the candle around to hide the characters. (The Advent poster is on the front porch of the Catholic Church.)