Living in Shanghai, one of my favorite activities was going out on foot and enjoying the city.
Rather than the sweatshirt and jeans I had been so accustomed to wearing on off days back home, living in Shanghai taught me that leaving the house correctly meant hair done, nice shoes, smart outfit.
Because I am one who likes to use time wisely, I kept lipstick hidden away by the elevator, so I could take care of that little task during my wait. My building’s elevator doors were mirrored, so imagine the looks I received when doors opened unsuspectingly to a lean-in and pucker.
One morning I left the apartment with a list and a plan. It was early spring and one of those days when the weather broke, warmth filled the air, birds hung in cages from balconies and sang so sweetly. One of the birds of choice among the people of Shanghai is the canary, whose song carries above the street sounds of traffic, outdoor cooking, and people shuffling. This day was one of those lovely early spring days when I could enjoy my walk in a new outfit – a green and white blouse – sans coat or jacket.
I don’t know when the malfunction that defined that day occurred, but at some point it did, and it would have helped to have a little more Chinese in my repertoire, or just a keener eye to notice the obvious cues around me.
My first stop was the knitting shop. I enjoyed everything about this tiny little alcove of curiosity. Yarn and fibers are my passion. The shop on Pucheng Lu held a cornucopia of colors and fibers stuffed on shelves all the way up one wall; I had to dig around to find my choice of yarns. I loved it.
I pulled out a knitting magazine from back home, showed the shop owner and pointed to the picture of a pattern that called for a silky fiber. I perused the dusty shelves crammed with everything from scratchy wool to cashmere.
To visit a knitting shop brought joy to my heart. No matter that we did not share language, but in the tiny, untidy shop sat women, usually older women squatting on tiny stools just about eight inches off the ground. Watching these ladies with knitting needles was a feast for my eyes. They gossiped, laughed, and looked after babies, all the while not missing a stitch.
The shopkeeper’s husband often stopped by and helped in the shop or passed time with his friends on the front steps. In the evenings, he often played games with the other men on makeshift boards propped on stools.
On this lovely spring-preview day, I perused the shelves, while the shopkeeper examined the picture. I would choose yarns, feel them, hold them against my arm, smooth them on my face, and the shopkeeper would scrunch her face, shake her head and say “bu hao.” No good. So, deferring to the expert, I would venture on to the next shelf. We selected an ivory silk fiber; I paid her and continued my errands while she rerolled the yarn into a neat hank.
My malfunction. Where did it begin? I can only guess, but this outcome was the last thing on my mind of such a glorious precursor to spring.
At the vegetable market, the chicken man seemed to look at me funny, which was not unusual, given the many shopping faux pas I made on a daily basis. I strode on to my favorite vegetable vendor who complimented, through hand gestures, my green and white striped blouse. I thanked her profusely in Chinese. I bought my bell peppers – where green, yellow, red, and orange are all the same price –and handed her the money. As she continued to point to my blouse, I, again appreciated the compliment, and thanked her again, both for the vegetables, and the compliment.
As I ascended the steps to pick up my new yarn, the men who had abandoned their board game for a leisurely smoke looked at me and averted eye contact. The ladies in their knitting circle all looked up at me with narrow eyes. Before handing me my bundle, the shop keeper tried to tell me something. It must have been yet another compliment, I thought, until I looked down and saw two buttons had burst from my blouse.
The borrowed sweater could not cover my blushing face, but I had to laugh at my many “compliments” that day, the lovely sunshine giving me no need for a cover, and thoughts of who will be more embarrassed the when I go to return the sweater.
Resilience: the ability to roll with the punches, and find the humor in the end.
No comments:
Post a Comment