Hong Kong, Wedding Style

This is embarrassing.  I know, it's been a short eternity since we posted, but with the New Year comes new resolutions.  One of them is to light up a dark, dark blog.  So, we're posting again.  To avoid the "commitment problem", we're not.  Committing, I mean.  So, I have goals written way inside me, but those will find their way out through implementation.
[The following is not meant to trivialize the truly lovely couple who are both highly accomplished, she from BYU Hawaii in music education and he, a scholarly engineering student bound for a prosperous career.  They were also sealed in the Hong Kong Temple.]

So, the first post is about an event we attended.  Read on...

Dad:  The table sat about 12 – it was round with the traditional “Lazy Susan” in the middle.  (I have no idea what they call it in Hong Kong– maybe “No work Han Fou”)  A metal ball was nailed to the ceiling, where different colored searchlights were focused, making swirling dots everywhere.  I thought I had been swallowed by something large and loud.  I began losing my ability to focus – half of the conversations were in Chinese and the other half didn’t make sense.

Marcie:  It was the 26^th of December in Hong Kong.  As part of Christmas, we were celebrating the marriage of  “Alice and Preston Tam” with 600 of their closest friends.  The invitations apprised us  of the traditional tea ceremony for close friends and that pictures and celebrations began at 7:00 – it was at one of the “posh” hotels sitting alongside the harbor in Hung Hom, about 500 meters from our apartment.  They had imported the stairway from a Disney set – long, sweeping,  pink poofs and ribbons, curving hand rails, balloons, singing chipmunks…

Steve: When I got to the top, I thought: “I’ve negotiated this with Mom in advance – one hour in and out.  This will be easy.  It’s just a big lobby where everyone’s standing around guzzling OJ and wine. ( I had four OJ’s – social anxiety.  This was not wise, but only the first in a long line of mistakes.)   We’ll slip our red gift envelope to Ricky Wong (works at the Church office building and the reason we weren’t elsewhere) and escape down the stairs.”  I was wrong.  The lobby was the prelude – the doors opened on a scene straight out of Dante.  100 grim stewards and –esses, all in no-nonsense black, prodded us inward to our table. We were table 11 – out of 50 something (at $1,500 per table).   Hanging onto sanity and proper etiquette was primary because we were seated with multiple GA’s: Elder Wong, Elder Wan, Elder Watson of the Area Presidency and President Wilson of the HK Temple Presidency.

(Before I make this obviously parenthetical comment, I want to say that our Asian General Authorities are marvelous men and have placed their lives on the line for the Kingdom in a way I have not.  That being said, the fact that their names almost rhyme shows that Our Lord's perfect sense of humor has survived His Glory.  Our 70's are named Wan, Wong, and Juan.  The Chinese staff pronounce "Juan" as "Ron", I suppose to separate him from his Latino counterparts.  I thought that his perfect mandarin and oriental eyes did that already quite well.  It got more complicated when we got a new first counselor in the Area Presidency, Elder Gong.  Wan, Wong, Juan and Gong.  Really?  To dispel confusion the staff have begun to append the areas that they administer to their names.  So, now we have "Elder Gong from Hong Kong" and "Elder Juan from Taiwan".  I've been getting a serious case of giggles in some very sober meetings.)  

Marcie: We began with the program—stage with an MC at one end, massive screen at the other (so redirecting your gaze wasn’t practical.)  MC’s aren’t as funny in Chinese as they think.  We saw slide shows of the happy couple representing each day from their mother’s labor to the day before they got married.  Every member of the family performed  beginning with an older brother clinging to his girlfriend on the stage and, on a 9-tone scale, belting a Karoke style Disney “It’s a Whole New World”.  It concluded with a little sister playing Chopin so fast that the piano got hot.  A live TV feed recorded the couple exiting from a fleet of vintage Mercedes trimmed in more pink ribboon and pink poofs leading up the stairway.  The bride was dressed in her second wedding dress, the white one – the traditional red having been worn earlier at the traditional Chinese tea ceremony, which they recorded, which they played, which we viewed.  They had flown in make-up artists from Hollywood – her skin was so layered, that it looked like porcelain.  Any errant smiles and the whole thing cracks.  “Losing face” would have a whole new meaning.

 

Steve:  Now it’s about 8:30 and the food starts.  The embossed menu, parchment interior, was sitting in the middle and I decided to open it.  12 courses not counting the OJ.   They had depopulated an entire coral reef for this single meal: sea clams, sea urchins, sea anemone, abalone, Grouper face, shrimp (eyes and tail still connected), eel, squid, squd, splish, splash….  The Grouper face was interesting – they put the fish – big head, big tail, open maw, sharp teeth— on the Susan and he rolled by every few seconds and scowled at you.  I’ve gotten used to the fish head –the scowling expression I still don’t like. 

About 9:30 I started to panic a little.  I need to stand, I thought.  If I can just stand, I’ll be Ok.  I tried.  Both upper-thighs went into massive cramps, and I put both arms around Marcie’s shoulders.  People thought I was drunk.  She’s still pretty strong, but isn’t used to carrying me, and we both collapsed back, my legs flipped up against the bottom of my chair.  It was at that moment that the family “wedding party” reached our table.  Bride and groom with upturned glasses, close family, and extended family make their way through the crowd , table by table, where they toast the health, welfare and possible survival of the happy couple.  Everyone stands,  hugs and tells stories, toasts again.  This takes about 16 hours.  My OJ glass was empty and I was in serious pain. I tipped forward, bent over the table, covered the bottom part of my glass with my hand, yelled “Prost” and put the glass to my mouth.   The moment finally passed, although many of the family went out of their way to keep their distance when they walked around me. 

I finally made it to my feet and hobbled to the door where I walked back and forth in the Mezzanine to ease the cramps.  The little black-uniformed youth kept trying to escort me to the bathroom or back to the dining hall.  My problems were far above intestinal .  Sanity has never been my strong point and I was losing what little grasp I had at reason.  After I could walk in a semi-upright position, going back in was the one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

My companion to the right was President Wilson, counselor in the Temple presidency, a cherubic man – white hair surrounding a darker friar spot on the top of his head.  I babble when I’m nervous, not planned, meaningful discourse.  Just talk.  My jaw starts aimlessly flapping and I provide sound.  Free will and intent are just memories.  It’s like watching an avalanche – it just happens.  I can remember President Wilson’s round eyes in his blank face – obviously thinking that I must’ve been just released from a mental facility.  I don’t even know the subject of what I was saying – I dimly remember saying something about Sudoku, naked triplets and conjugate pairs.

Marcie:  Now it’s about 10:45.  The stewardii pick up the pace a little.  We’re only on course nine and people are going to have to make the midnight buses.  11:00.  They’ve turned their measured walk into a half-run and they’re carrying more servings on the platter.  11:15.  The crowd is getting restless and we’ve started on course 11.  11:30. For the last course, Chinese Petit  Fleurs.  Our waiter frisbeed 12 dessert plates around our table like a seasoned card dealer.   People have started to leave and they’re being handed their dessert as they’re walking to the door. 

Steve:  Me, I’m glazed.  Not just my eyes. Me.  I’ve drunk so much fresh-squeezed orange juice, I slosh when I walk.  And I’ve mixed it with a dozen kinds of sea food.  Gastronomic events of epic proportions lie in my immediate future.  With Moses, I murmur, “Let my people go” and limp through the swirling lights, head pounding and eyes dim.  The walk home by the slightly stinky Victoria harbor was quiet. 

I thought about survival.  I thought about endurance.  I thought about the skyscraper lights across the harbor reflecting on the water.  Heaven, I decided, is quiet.  Christmas should be quiet.  In a “better place” we’ll smile about earth-cacophonies, the things we worried about here, the things that were so important and now fade against the tranquil realities of the eternities.

Gathering, Tagalog Style

By the way...


The images off to the left and right are mosaics of some of the images that we saw in Macau.  These are the amazing pictures they make ON THE SIDEWALK with tile.    I can just see the job description for these sidewalks -- "make a sidewalk with sea creatures, boats and fish."  Now I could go back and insert them in the last blog where they go, but I need the pictures here anyway.


A Church Meeting a Day Keeps the Devil Away....

We talked in the everyday branch last week -- this is for the sisters who can't get Sunday holiday.  Church starts every day at one and goes until four.  The same talks are given every day -- the branch president has earned his exaltation through glazed eyes and church, Groundhog-style.  The nice thing is that if he works it out right, he can sleep through four/fifths of each talk every day, and by the end, still get the whole thing.  It's "Second Chance for the Weary" Church.  The problem is that the talks starts sounding pretty "samey" (using Marcie's word)  -- it's the "Did-I-Just-Say-This-Or-Did-I-Say-It-Yesterday" syndrome.

So, of course, to satisfy my natural perversity, I am going to write the talk here.  You can skip it.  But if you do, you'll miss two jokes and one major announcement.

The Lord gathers purposefully, intently.  We are not where we are - our families, our places of worship, our jobs - by fortuity or the lack of it.  We have been gathered by a just and deeply-linked God to face the custom-made challenges and joys of our lives.  Happy or unhappy accidents are fictions of the unfaithful.  We are where we are and we and the Lord must claim responsibility.  At the very core of reality, responsibility and free will still bear sway.  The subatomic quark is not immune to the beckoning of an ever-present and kind God.

We can, and sometimes do, refuse to be gathered.  The Lord compares me to an ox - I had thought a more likely comparison might be a hummingbird or an eagle, but I guess the ox works too.  The ox is a gelded bull - a steer taught to labor.  It can survive almost anywhere, even on prairie grass and sagebrush.  It doesn't like to work hard and can not be guided by rein and bit.  So, a driver walks by the ox and prompts him to proper direction with a sharp stick, a goad.  Some oxen kick back at the pricking of the goad.  I do sometimes.  But that doesn't stop the pricking.    (Jesus to Paul:  It is hard for thee to kick against the pricks.)  Eventually, we plod down the right path or rear up in full-scale revolt.

The 43rd Section of the D&C:  "O, ye nations of the earth, how often would I have gathered you together as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, but ye would not?  how oft have I called upon you by the mouth of my servants, and by the ministering of angels..."

I must've been a mischievous child or, at least, I have the memory of being a mischievous child.  In Downey on my grandfather's farm, he kept animals and we had a barnyard.  The chickens that we had were not pristinely kept in cages, but wandered the corral.  My grandfather made sure that spring was accompanied by fertilized eggs under a heat lamp.  The chicks hatched and for a couple of weeks we had little yellow balls of fluff wandering around.  If I ran into the corral and yelled - which happened occasionally - the hen would raise her wings and all the chicks scurried under; then she lowered her wings.  They were gathered - for protection and safety, possibly for companionship.  So we get gathered - the Wings (with healing in them) are outstretched and we often simply refuse to come.  The world is collapsing about us and safety is just a faith's-leap away.  We are mesmerized by some little sin and scurrying under the Healing Wings just doesn't seem to be worth the trouble.


Christ says again in the Americas after the destruction and the calamities that presaged His coming:  "And again how oft would I have gathered you as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, yea, O ye people of the house of Israel, who have fallen; yea, O ye people of the house of Israel, ye that dwell at Jerusalem, as ye that have fallen; yea, how oft would I have gathered you as a hen gathereth her chickens, and ye would not."  He says it three times, obviously and simultaneously feeling the pain and retching despair of those still alive.


Those safe in Zion, members of the Kingdom (not perfect, some not even very nice) can count some of the reasons they have fled under the Wings of Christ.  


Why are you here?

1. You are here to be safe, to be protected by a determined God, from the chafing, abrasive, corroding influences of a world being managed by demonic minions.
2. You here to be nourished, fed feast-full with scripture and the spoken word.
3. You are here for companions, who are interested in the health of your soul, and would comfort you.
4. You are here to be active - The Kingdom of God is built through Doing, through Power.  Satan's most attractive temptations sap strength, bleed power.  Consider the addictions - they're just draining.
5. You are to be Chosen, to be of the Elect, to be Heirs.  The 29th sections says "it is his good will to give you the kingdom."
6. You are here to rejoice.  Under the Wings of Christ is a joyful place.  The dreariness of the world belongs out there.  Hell is dreary.  Hell is cold.  Hell is quiet.

The "together" of "gathering together" may not be as obvious but it is as important.  I have often thought about the necessity of a brick-and-mortar Church.  It surely would be as simple - and cheaper - to issue each member an iPad (Could I ever get a deal on 14 million iPads!!)  and have them tune in to a group broadcast every Sunday.  We'd get Church at home all year long -- no need for expensive meetinghouses, hours spent commuting, meetinghouse maintenance expense, dressing up, bathing.  You just saunter to the living room, switch on the iPad or TV and, voila, instant Church.  Sacrament talks would always be perfect, given, of course, by the Twelve. Sunday school lessons would be presented by professors of FARMS and BYU.  Ancient Hebrew scholars would unravel the Old Testament, Priesthood lessons would be prepared in advance and only a single handmade lace tablecloth would suffice the needs of the Relief Society for the entire world.  Tithing would be paid by credit card, online.  Most coordination meetings would be unnecessary - testimonies could be done on Skype, Nursery duty would be forgotten, because all the un-housebroken would be residing at home working only on their parents' mental demise.  Why don't we do this?  Economy of time and money would seem to demand it.

The reason is the "together" part.  When we are in close proximity to each other, we feel each other's spirit.  I know when you're black and grieving and you know the same about me.  When embers of a fire are spread, they die.  When they are gathered they burst into fire.  That spiritual flame is worth all the money, all the time, all the trouble, all the stumbling of imperfect saints, all the wailing of the babies, all the white hair of all the bishops and branch presidents.  We worship better when we are physically together.  I am more easily edified when you are in front of me.  I am more easily quickened when you bear your testimony in the same room with me, right there.  Your grief and pain becomes corporate when you are beside me.  I feel it beyond my own cognition and I grieve with you.  I know you when I can look into your face undigitized.  And I can give you every opportunity to know me, to apperceive my unrestrained certainties, my joy of Christ.

There are no accidents.  We don't drift on winds of chance.  We have more than hope and less than dread.  We are called as children of Christ, together and personally.  He knows us and guides us with all the intensity of a fierce love.  That is my testimony.

Oh.  You can probably find at least two jokes back there.  And I lied about the announcement.

I seem to always be on a lighter note, but.... on a lighter note.  I have encountered Octopus Salad and come off conqueror.  There's a little Italian place over on Jaffe Road called Antipasto and we stopped there one evening a couple of weeks ago.  They had a set lunch (like a Blue Plate special, only not Blue, No plate, and sometimes not special) of Octopus Salad, pasta and dessert.  I bit.  When you think of Octopus salad, don't you think of a big green salad with strips of calamari sprinkled on top?  I do.  Uh...I did.  The salad was on a small plate, four small leaves of lettuce in the center and seven little red octupi dancing around the edge.  They looked like something out of Fantasia.  These little guys were cute -- baby octopi grilled in chili sauce.   It's not that I have a problem eating baby octopi tentacles.  I just don't want to bond with my food before I eat it. But I finally got it down -- baby tentacles and all.  I figured thay really had no good place to go, and my stomach was as bad as any.


We love you all,


Elder and Sister Alley

Macau and a Memorable Baptism

This weekend's experiences ranged from the sublime to the( over-the-top) ridiculous.  President Anthony Perkins had encouraged, (by  giving permission) to the senior couples to go to Macau for the Saturday water show, with the advise to "avoid the casino pits".  I had no idea that Macau was the center  of  "casino pits", with the potential of becoming the  Las Vegas of the China Sea-South Eastern Asia Area, so,  we took his counsel to heart.

We took a "ferry" which, to my disappointment, exceeded speeds up to 60 mph (it was called a Turbo Jet).  I had entertained visions of being out on the water, feeling the salt spray against my humid body,  enjoying, albeit briefly, the distance from the heat and noise of the city.  As it was,  boarding the ferry,  I had the sinking feeling that I had been dead wrong;  the interior looked suspiciously like the interior of a plane.  The air bag and  printed  "instructions for emergency evacuation"  in the side pocket did not bode well for a "nature trip."

We covered a 55 mile trip to Macau in about 45 minutes (that does not include the hour walk to the pier, or the trip on the "Ling-Ling" (trolley) to access the pier).  After disembarking, we spent the afternoon exploring the early ( 1550's) Portuguese influence on the culture and the architecture via the ruins of the Mount Fortress, built by the Jesuits in the early 17th century.  The Fortress constitutes the city's principal military defense and offered a panoramic view of the city.  On its west is the Ruins of St. Paul's,  the historic monument of the Centre.  I brought a picnic lunch which was eaten, but not shared by Dad and I because he left to see the fortress and I opted for the Macao Museum.

It houses three floors of artifacts representing the cultural exchange between the Chinese and the Portuguese, including Chinese opera, Chinese medicine, Chinese puppets,  their infamous firecrackers ( guaranteed to burn brighter and explode w/ more fierceness than any other), marriage traditions/clothing and Macao myths.  Dad enjoyed circling the perimeter of the fortress and viewing all 57 of the cannons mounted at intervals along the top of the wall.

The most spectacular and absolutely unique feature of Macau are the original Portuguese-laid black & white tiled sidewalks with themes from the sea, i.e., squid, fish, boats, undulating waves, nautical equipment et. al.  ending in a large fountain at the entrance to the old Portuguese buildings.

Beaten by the sun and humidity and the walk on the ancient stones, we boarded a bus marked "City of Dreams",  which promised a free ride to the venue for the Water Show.  I had no idea what  "The House of Dancing Water" performance actually entailed. I soon found out when  the show opened with a large cadre of spectacular, finely tuned/toned Chinese gymnasts who began the show with high dives from a nondeterminate height (it was too distant to estimate!).  The entire evening was woven around the pulse of very loud drums, blaring music (mostly  based on a 7 tone scale) and a  loose, fragmented story of unrequited love, fierce warrior battles played by diving soldiers in the eternal struggle between good and evil. It was "Dante's Inferno" against the backdrop of China, coolies and ancient/traditional themes.

The gymnast/dancers, arrayed in stunning gold/silver costumes,  spent the performance besting themselves with each subsequent act.  It was an entire evening of sequential  "can you top this-es!?"   The show included   water stunts: fountains, flashing lights, rain storms emanating from 150 ft. above our heads, the stage floor going from water to solid and back again, dives from 100 ft., motorcycles doing flips over, around and above each other, an artificial giraffe, powered by people on stilts inside the paper mache animal,  walking about by the edge of the water, cage's with people going under the water (and not coming back) and a Masai warrior who was so limber even his eyebrows were double-jointed.  He folded up into a box that wasn't even two foot high.   I think it was intended to be a Macau version of the Las Vegas "Cirque de Sole" that I have heard about.  Now I never need worry about  queuing up for tickets to that;  I have "seen it all" as the saying goes.

The best part of the weekend was Sunday and a sublimely sweet baptismal service with a Phillipina woman who has been attending Church for just a few weeks while being taught by the Elders.  The Phillipina sisters are such good missionaries, take the mandate so seriously to spread the Gospel, that they should be air-lifted to the Wasatch Front to show us "how it is done".  They exhibit very little reserve or shyness when it comes to sharing the Gospel and they, in word and deed, actually feel the urgency to get it shared with as many as possible.  Their spirit and enthusiasm for the work is contagious and we are all blessed by their shared commitment as they work together to "find" those to teach.  They simply won't come to Church without bringing someone, so we always have investigators.  I believe this is the fruition of the vision of The Brethren when they discuss the most efficacious way to share the true and restored Gospel.

All of this happened, of course, while you were listening to the Conference addresses which we are still waiting for.  One advantage of being Hong Kongian is that we schedule the conferences when we want (11 to 1, and 2-4 on Sat.  5-7 for Priesthood.)  Love you, miss you.  Mom (and Dad)

Horns and Tales

A car-horn in Hong Kong is not an accoutrement.  It is not even a safety device.  It is a "Necessity of Face."  Automobiles aren't vehicles of transportation -- they are just a necessary appendage of the Horn.  When drivers meet at the local fill-up station, they don't boast about horsepower, or new leather, or car finish.  They boast about horns.  One says, "I have a 96-Decibel Oompahafen with brass finish."  The other retorts:  "It's nothing like my Technolog-Scream-o-puffer.  It can deafen at 200 meters."

When you cross in front of a moving automobile, they have the legal and moral right to bump over you and drive merrily on their way.  They don't because of the amount of paperwork it would cause.  So they lean on the horn.  They don't toot.  Toots are consigned to the world of flatulence.  They lean and keep leaning until you run screaming down the road holding your hands to your ears, or until you pass from sight.  Why not one short blast?  Why do they believe that Sustained Sound will move you faster?  I don't move fast.  Ask my wife.  The best I can do is increase my shuffle a little.

Marcie:

They also perform special cacophanous numbers during nocturnal hours when you're striving for REM sleep.  You can be entirely in dream-state and still be completely awakened in seconds by the  olympic horn competition on Hennessy Road.  Each horn has its own tone and timbre like an instrument in a symphony orchestra.  They never blare in thirds, only in dissident tones that imitates Miss Brill  scratching with her chalk during an arithmetic lesson.

I am just coming up on the completion of having taught a 6-week course to the Phillipina sisters on Money Management and Women's Empowerment.  The stories I could tell about the victimization of these generous women loaning money to a friend would rend your heartstrings.  Many of them are nearing their forties and have worked unendingly to educate their older brothers (all the way through college).  The sacrifice is shameful as they have not yet had a chance for school because they are insuring their siblings' success.  Sadly, many of the siblings are living on the domestics' money and have no intention of finding work; life is too sweet.

Steve Again:
Off to the left is a picture of the graduates of a welfare project in Cambodia.  All these young people were "landfill children" -- finding a living by sifting through the garbage and food in the landfill.  The Church created a baker/chef school.  The bread they produce during their course goes to the poor.  The graduates are highly sought after -- it's a great success story of saving people -- one of the stories we're using for our websites.

Both the branch president and the ward clerk are traveling, fled to distant parts.  There is loneliness and there is total abject destitution.   This is the abject kind -- the sisters keep asking me things they think I should know.  This is a problem -- I have one of those kind, half-grey, half-bald heads -- but that doesn't mean there's a lot of action inside.

 I have stewardship over the branch and my intent is to have it still existing when they get back, but there is no guarantee that will happen.  Yesterday, they celebrated the 169th anniversary of the Relief Society, complete with individually crafted bookmarks, and amazing large sign, a meeting that went over by 40 minutes at which both Mom and I spoke, and a baked chicken dinner.  I managed to double-schedule myself -- I was supposed to be teaching a Priesthood lesson at the same time I was presiding at the RS meeting.  I hear the brethern had a testimony meeting.  They probably gave their testimonies with clenched jaws, since their teacher wasn't present.  I didn't have time to warn them that I wasn't going to be there since I was late to the RS meeting -- these sisters think they can't proceed without the priesthood (only sisters from the US think the priesthood isn't that necessary)-- so I was holding up the entire meeting.  When I got there, they pinned a corsage on me and swept me to the front, where I sat and ran the podium for most of the meeting .  Running the podium was the apex of my contribution to the meeting -- that and smiling benignly.

I wanted to send you a copy of last month's Media Newsletter that Marcie and I edit.  But I don't know how to do this -- maybe I'll send it to my children and if anyone cares, they can ask them.  I think upgrading the electronic media capability of the Church in Asia is like turning the Titanic.  It just takes a while.  People want to help and make things better but getting everyone on the same page is a little like herding cats.

Of course, we miss all of you.  The weather is getting warm here as it is there -- we should hit 80 next week.  The problem is that it is HUMID.  I have been told that we can go to shirtsleeves after conference.  ...another reason to enjoy conference.  I've decided to chop off some of the sleeves of my white shirts-- I'm not the perspiring type, but here in HK, I sweat just like the next guy.  (My deodorant says:  Swagger turns unfresh men into legends of confidence.  That's me:  legend of confidence.  You'd have to bathe in the stuff though to stay dry.)  We love all of you and think of you often.  Thank heaven for pictures and videos.  We sit at the computer and think about kids and grandkids.  I mentioned Megan and Kristen in my RS remarks.  We're glad and proud  for you/of you.    Sister Marcie and Elder Stephen Alley

A Voice From Hong Kong....A Little late

KONG HEI FAT CHOY!  (That was actually for last month, but since I forgot to use it, I thought I'd try it here.)  That means Happy New Year and Much Money or something like that.  Those four words comprise about 40% of my Chinese Vocabulary.  (Little kids say "Licee.  Licee."  after you say that.  That means "Give me the red envelope with the money in it, you large American bozo."  Obviously, their language is more efficient.)  Anyway, they have the right idea -- a big four-day holiday at the first of February.  Things shut down for Chinese New Year -- they roll up the tram tracks and all go home.  Wan Chai becomes deserted -- you can swing both arms walking down the street.

Marcie thought I should write a little about our spiritual experiences.  So...  I'm in the branch presidency of the Island I branch -- (Hong Kong is the island.)  Our branch is Filipino sisters except for a couple of missionaries, the branch presidency, and displaced males who wander in once in a while.  They have all the great things and strange things of the rest of the female world.  They're very organized and spiritually lit.  They also get their feelings hurt.  They're happy and talk a lot.  They also are aware of how long each sister has been in her current calling, etc.

One of my favorites is Sister Maritess.  She stands at 4'6" if she stretches.  She's our missionary committee coordinator.  She's divided up the branch missionaries (10 of them) into five companionships and color-coded them (pink, orange, green -- you get the idea.)  She has them go "finding" on Sunday morning before Church so they can drag the investigators to the building.  She requires weekly reports and has them report orally in the weekly correlation meeting.  Today she said that a few weeks ago she was feeling bad because all the other companionships had an investigator.  (She has no companion.)  They were at the World Wide House over in Central where all the Filipinos hang out.  So she left with the full-time elders and went to Blackman Square.  Just after arriving a young Filipino woman came walking down the path towards her.  She gave a big smile (given her size, it's the only thing big she can manage) and said, "Hi, where are you going?"  (That starts "Magadang Umaga..."   I don't know the rest.)  The young lady said that she was going to Church.  Maritess said, "Why don't you come with me and we'll both go to Church?"  She did.  Her baptism date is set for the 27th of March.

The sisters in the Filipino branches baptize as much as the rest of the mission put together.  They feel apologetic if there isn't a baptism scheduled.  They gather like chicks around each new investigator -- we're having to preach about reverence because they really like V O L U M E ! ! ! !    When they say " I like you" they want it to be loud, so there's no mistake.  I don't know what their job is in the next life, but it's not going to be any of that still small voice stuff.

My goal is to start writing every week - it won't be very long (as this is not very long) but it will be more current.  I'm including an apt picture -- not a great pic but you can see what our place is like.  The picture of the couch (a short couch) with the dragon above it and a view into the bedroom (where the bed occupies the entire room) - -- anyway the picture above is of about 60% of our apartment.  We have about 450 square feet and about 50 oblong feet.  We average about 150 sq. ft. per air conditioner and that little unit by the couch is a "moist-air-sucker" -- de-humidifier.  On a dry day we get about two gallons every six hours.  Don't ask about wet days -- .  The blue glow out the bedroom window is the Hong Kong street glaring at us.  If New York is "the City that Never Sleeps", Hong Kong is the city that "Never Stops Growling."  The tram wheels aren't articulated so they scrape against the tracks as they go around the corners.  All night.  Every night.  Each and every night. " Blaring, city living is one of the things I lay on the altar of sacrifice because this is alien in terms of noise, congestion, air-quality, untoward smells (open grate sewers ), bumpy stone streets and the like."

Marcie:  We've had a burgeoning battle with a mold population that must have been proliferating long before we were born.  Each night when we retired for the night, I'd remark to Dad that it smelled like we were sleeping in a cave, that I could detect the moulder of decaying leaves/dirt, something detectable but not defineable.  For the past four weekends, aside from baking our whole wheat bread (from our Mainland China whole wheat flour which is probably loaded with cadmium, and other metals from the belching manufacturing furnaces of the Mainland), doing our wash, cleaning our bathroom et. al., we have been in constant "scrub mode."

Dad researched the best combatant cleaner for mold and found that it's vinegar; we loaded our shopping cart with litres and litres of the stuff and have been spraying every inch, including ceilings, behind our moving closet, and just about everywhere.  We have then scrubbed each area inch by inch to remove any spores.  After weeks of this, I remarked one night that I could still detect it.  Dad thought I was crazy (rightly so) and so I did some investigation on my own and found a huge mold colony on the back of our night stand and another (after lying down on the bedroom floor and squinching under the bed like a car mechanic) on the underside of our box springs, including the wood support struts..  Needless to say, I'm a good sport but draw the line on sleeping on a bed of ancient mold spores.

The thinking is that our apt. was uninhabited for months before we arrived, and w/o the humidifier on full bore day/night, it's  impossible to win against it.   I applied for a mercy grant of another bed and it was approved after the "Materials Management Dep't." found another used, but mold-free box springs.  It's been installed and it's the first good night's sleep we've had since arriving.  It was a pretty funky scene and reminiscent of "How many Poles does it take to screw in a lightbulb", when six Chinese "helpers" arrived at the apt. ready to set up the bed and de-install the moldy box springs.  There's only room for one person in the bedroom at a time so they all congregated in the door jamb talking (the tonality of the Cantonese language makes it sound like they are really MAD..angry) away like a gaggle of hens, opinions flying everywhere, shaking their screwdrivers for emphasis, and a singular man put the bed together, by himself, grunted and groaned over every turn of the screw, against the back drop of the din of his helpers trying like crazy to insert themselves into the experience.

 I had a good laugh after they left because they brought all the crud in on their shoes from the Wan Chai streets, added nothing to the installation except their cultural color/charm and left like they had ALL just crossed the plains, demonstrating  as they left, the pangs and sounds of much exertion.  It was a hoot.  As I write, I think I can say that we have finally vanquished the critters.  

At the behest of Pres. Perkins and the Asia Area Media Committee, we have just completed a Newletter which we've named the "In-Site".  Michelle Wright, our half-day gift from God serving here as an aid to the public-affairs department, and Steve did the layout in Microsoft Publisher.  It turned out pretty well and will serve as monthly assistance to all the country media committees.  We included a great quote from President Hunter:  "The role of technology in this work has been accelerated by the Lord himself, who has had a guiding hand in its development and will continue to do so.  However, we stand only on the threshold of what we can do with these tools.  I feel that our most enthusiastic projections capture only a tiny glimpse of how these tools can help us -- and of the eternal consequences of these efforts."  Great quote.  I consistently have the feeling that the only way we can reach the billions of Asian people is through inspired, interesting, websites, blogs, posts, tweets, facebook stuff. etc. etc.  Many people won't listen to the missionaries -- they don't even know who they are, but they're happy to click around on a website or read a blog.  (As you are doing right now...)

Dad and I wrote an article stating the purpose of the monthly newsletter which, in part, affirmed our dedication to three means of helping the Gospel spread digitally:
1."  To Inspire:  as disciples of Christ and members of the media committee, we are dedicated to proclaiming the essence and effects of committed Gospel living both to members and those not of our faith.  We believe that the Kingdom can and must also be built digitally, and that the qualiaty and reach of our work is a statement of our devotion.  2.  To Inform  (we listed lots of plans for training for website people and Liahona editors).  3.  Support:  a couple of paragraphs concluding w/ our stated commitment to give mutual aid--we have the resources of our media community  as well as those of the Lord to complete our labors."It has been challenging to put it together, getting articles written and publishing it but I am most pleased with Dad's name for it as a website and Liahona support newsletter:"In-Site".  Just so ya' know.
We send our love and reaffirm our testimony of the restored Gospel, the reality of the Holy Son of God, even Jesus Christ and our Father's desire to save His beloved children, no matter their location on this troubled planet.  Elder and Sister Alley aka mom, dad, marcie & steve

A New Year ... Again

Of course, I am cheating.  Most of this blog was read to my children at Christmas.  Because I'm in a strange place and wondering what "strange" is all about, I decided to chronicle some of it.  Since I am stranger than most, it works.

A Strange Land

Two generations ago Robert Heinlein wrote a book called “Stranger in a Strange Land.”  The book became a cult phenomena for the “flower” generation – it was a strange book, and therefore fit the theme of the book perfectly.  Of course, the original expression comes from the Bible, as all good concepts do, when Moses said that he was a stranger in a strange land (having left Egypt) and called his son Gershom “a sojourner there.”  The concept is foreign-ness, strangeness – one of Orson Scott Card’s favorite topics.  I suppose we are all “sojourning” and there’s a few things here that make me feel stranger than I do at home, although I’m pretty strange there as well.

·         Language.  And I don’t mean Chinese, although Chinese makes me crazy, too.  We have a member on the staff at the area office whose name is Sally Ng.  Ng is pronounced “mmmm”.  Now I understand why they call her “mmm” instead of “nggg” (which sounds like something you say when your mouth is full of dental implements and you’re being stuck with a needle full of Novocain.)  “mmm” sounds delicious, instead of a cry of oral pain.  But if they went to the trouble to Romanize the character, why not spell her name Sally Mmmm.  Dumb.  It’s English that’s really driving me wild.  Everyone speaks English, or at least they claim they do.  (Last night in the cab, Marcie said to the driver, “You have such good English.”  He said, “You do too.”)

We went to the branch party yesterday, which is more like a party-thon.  These young Philippine women have nowhere to go, so they have come to the chapel to have fun and that is what they’re going to have for as long as it takes to get there.  The leader gets us all up on our feet and yells into the mike, “We’re going to have a groping game.”  Marcie turned to me and said, “I don’t think we can play this and continue to be members in good standing.”  Then the lady at the mike yells, “Grope yourselves into threes!!!”  Just when I think that is pretty violent groping, I realize that it’s a grouping game.  Oh. OK.  We can do this. 

Some of their mis-anglicazations are serendipitous.  They aren’t just grateful, they’re so much grateful.  This is in prayers, testimonies, talks.  And it says how they feel – and they don’t have anything – they work like slaves for 500 bucks a month, but they’re "so much grateful."

·       Cars.   Yes, this is Mom in front of the Lotus window on Gloucester Road.  Marc and Ben would have a hey-day here.  I don’t recognize a lot of these mechanical marvels creeping around the crowded Hong Kong streets.  And it’s not because they’re Maserati’s and Lotuses (Loti?).  How about the Toyota Alphard, or the Vellfire or the Harrier?  Why do the Chinese have these and we don’t?  I feel like someone who hasn’t been called for a second date.  They’ve even put the steering wheel on the other side for them.  I even included a second shot of the yellow Lotus with it's tail up...Hong Kong charges 100% taxes on cars -- their way of reducing traffic on the streets.  All it does is fill the streets with rich guys swerving between all the taxis.

·         Food.  I wrote about the chicken testicles in my blog earlier.  That’s not what’s bothering me – I can put almost anything in my mouth that isn’t moving.  It’s that these eating places are a little close to smells that make your eyes water – the sewers run under the storm grates right by that cute little restaurant which have half-tan ducks piled up on a table.  Not much of the meat is ever refrigerated, so those smells waft around.  One of the places we shop is the “wet” market – you step around piles of skinned porky pigs to get in.  We always go in that exit so we spend less inside.  I can eat Dim Sum with the best of them – I just don’t want to chew the air outside before I go in to the restaurant.  Eating out isn’t the order of the day because of price --- I don’t understand why the food is so expensive if the people are poorer in the US, at least most of them.  You can blow 50 bucks on a plate of “sizzling prawns.”  And you can buy an umbrella for a buck.  Strange.

·         Transportation.  We’ve never had so many ways to get somewhere and had no place to go. 

o   There are double-decker ling-lings – trolleys that cruise around, so narrow you’d think they’d tip.  (Rich folks rent one, have a band and an open bar and cruise around the streets like a land-yacht.) 

o   There are double-decker buses – we’re wary of these because we got lost a couple of weeks ago by missing our stop on the way to the temple.  (Buses go under harbors and through mountains.  Once you get on the other side, people don’t think they or you should go back.  So you’re stuck there – buy property, move in.)  We talked to half a dozen cab drivers; rather than take us back, they turned off their “available” lights.  It was temporarily frightening. 

o   There’s walking with the masses – this isn’t fast, but it’s the preferable way to the office.  Everyone goes their own speed – big people like us can’t do side-to-side.  One breaks trail and the other follows.  If you look determined, there are few little Chinese who won’t yield to a Scandinavian bearing down on them. 

o   There are cabs – these guys normally can’t understand English – they probably don’t do Chinese either.  They just grunt and go, but they’re cheap.  So you may wind up somewhere you didn’t plan going, but at least it didn’t cost a lot. 

      There’s the MTR – Chinese subways, fast, modern, sleek, come every minute or two.  When you exit the MTR, you normally have five or six choices of exits.  From above, a subway station with exits looks like an octopus – so the card that you use for the buses, the ling-lings and the MTR is called – that’s right – an Octopus card.  You can put money on the card at the local 7-11, which is on every street corner and in the middle of the block.  If you pulled 7-11 out of Hong Kong, you would have an economic vacuum only equaled by the Great Depression.

      A Glut of Toilets

     This may be hard to explain.  (Yes, toilets come in "gluts", like a "bevy" of quails.)  The occidental mind takes pleasure in being grouped with someone else.  In the western world we think "Oh.  They already have a bathroom accountrements place in Wan Chai.  We'll go somewhere else."  Not here.  They think, "Oh.  Everyone goes to Wan Chai for the smoothest bathroom porcelain.  We'll open up there."  So Wan Chai is the toilet capital of Hong Kong.  If you want bathrooms this is the place.  Lockhart Road and Hennessey are literally aglow with bubbling tubs and space age thrones.  I think it's the unconstrained open sewers running under the storm grates.    I can't place why, but there's something very ironic about all that. 

      G's and Zeros

      I've decided that one of the real differences between cultures is how they measure their buildings.  So, you have a building with 12 stories, what does that mean?  What is the first floor?  In the States, it's "1".  But, of course, that's a little weird, because you haven't gone up one floor.  You're naming the initial floor you step on, not the distance up.  So, that initial floor here is "G" -- yup the ground floor.  The first floor is UP one floor.  It's like the Mayans and zero.  All of the dumb Europeans didn't know the difference between zero and the null set.  It's distance we're counting when we count floors say the Chinese.  I live on the 11th floor and it's one more than when I was in the States.

·         Christmas.  This is hard to explain – Christmas is an imported holiday here.  The merchants recognize the value of a time where everyone gets presents, but the rest of it is lost in the translation.  You still hear carols, but they’re the Chinese version – they sound like they’ve been recorded by Alvin and Friends – tinny, high, happy, choppy.  You could jitterbug to “O Come All Ye Faithful.”  The sense of solemnity, the snowy-wood-by-evening Christmas card, the silence, the deep sense of family, the sense of “global” light – just isn’t here.  Hong Kong has Christmas decorations – mostly silly – huge displays with round Santas, scary figures, huge oriental teenagers with round faces and eyes (why do the Chinese think of themselves as having round eyes and we think slant eyes?), big Christmas trees, big Christmas lights (some on 100 story skyscrapers outlining greetings and stars and trees and Santa…).  Some wore Santa caps (me too) on Christmas eve – most of them were drunk.  I was not.

 ·      Nutcracker.  Yes, we went to the Nutcracker Ballet.  This was different from home, but good different.  The biggest ballerina didn’t crack 100 pounds.  They have thin elegant arms that are like water grass – barely moving, always graceful, always correct.  The little boy by me kept saying “Merry Christmas” (on command from his mother.)  There were hundreds of children and – except for my grandchildren – they’re cuter than American kids.  Great solemn faces, eyes that would make you weep.  Marcie has had to restrain herself from going into the business of kidnapping.  I have an idea they wouldn’t like our rice, though.

·         Church Service.  Both of us tend to have a little “wild look” in our eyes at the end of the Sabbath.  Today I attended Branch Presidency meeting, conducted a baptismal ceremony for two sisters, attended Sacrament meeting where I passed the sacrament and ran the podium (you know, up for the old white guys and down for the sweet Filipinas), gave the ABL Lesson (After Baptism lesson) to the group of our newest converts, prepared the Priesthood lesson as I was walking to the front of the room and then turned around and gave it, and attended Branch Council meeting where we announced the Branch goals (4 converts a month and 3 brethren – outside the missionaries – present at priesthood.)  Next I met with our Sunday School President (Rexy.  Nice girl.) about getting her some new counselors.  I suggested 3 girls baptized a couple of weeks ago.  She only knew them by their picture and said she’d pray about it.  I didn’t have time to count tithing – do that on Tuesday – or fill out the expense reports and look over the petty cash reconciliation.  We didn’t have a branch dinner tonight – that happens on 1^st and 3^rd Sundays, so I went home early after the meeting with Rexy.  Marcie’s schedule is equally demanding – English classes, financial counsel classes, institute classes, bringing sense to branch music and keeping the RS from going off the track.  This is like going to Church with 100 of our daughters.  Except our daughters have more experience and are less flighty.  It’s great to be the Lord’s hands here – His hands sometimes have the shakes though.

·         Electrical.  This isn’t hard to explain:  America – small plugs, big appliances.  Hong Kong – big plugs, small appliances.  They’re a little switch-happy over here.  A switch with light (SWL) for the water heater, a SWL for the oven hood, a SWL for the air conditioners (three of them in 600 square feet), a SWL for the bathroom fan, SWL for the extension cords (which we have a bunch of) and SWL for the water cooler.  They don’t need night-lites.  You can find your way to the loo by the reddish glow.  By the way the toilet is flushed with sea water and has a button for a big flush and a small flush.  The Sister Missionary who explained this to us was quite tactful – I think she had given great thought to the phraseology beforehand.

    

      All in all, there is more that is home than is not.  I was home when I first saw George Mak, our Public Affairs Director at the airport.  I was home when I walked into our meetings.  I was still home when I knew I was still related to all my family.  For that I am not just grateful, but so much grateful.

      

     Christmas, 2010

     Stephen and Marcie Alley

...and so is Christmas

Week 2,3, etc.

December 12, 2010

The best pleasures are always unexpected.  We were told that we wouldn’t have callings in the branch or be going to the temple very often.  So, of course, we were immediately called to the Branch Presidency of the Island 1^st branch (Did you know that Hong Kong was an island?) and we were given a weekly assignment in the temple.  The Philipina sisters are amazing – they have little in the way of possessions (some don’t even have a room in which to sleep, they sleep with the children that they take care of), they have to dry their clothes on  a bamboo stick out the window and yet they still seem so happy and cheerful.  Ebullient is the word.  I feel like I’m going to Church with a 100 of my daughters.

There was a moment today which was descriptive of their spirit.  We were having a baptism (since I’ve been here I’ve taught a baptismal lesson, interviewed someone for baptism and participated in the baptism ceremony) and a special musical number had been hurriedly organized – a guitar and six sisters  who had only practiced a few minutes.  It started and was semi-horrible.  Fright and shyness was taking its toll – the melody was being corrupted by thin attempts to find a pitch.  It began to die out – we’ve all been there, everyone sitting and wondering why time goes so much slower during acoustic pain, waiting for the inevitable silence and giggles.  All of a sudden, someone else joined in and then another and another.  They just refused to let the singers go down in defeat.  The singers gathered courage and began to sing better and soon the entire room was singing.  It sounded wonderful – there aren’t any other voices like those rich Philippine voices.  I’m sure the Lord has a choir of them to welcome us to the other side, because it’s like coming home.  I found myself weeping – they’re so cheerful among a horde of reasons not to be – and they did something important while I was doing something miniscule, contemplating the despairs of bad intonation.

To the left you see the picture of the Wan Chai building.  This picture was taken in the best spirit of photographic propaganda.  There are no trees near the building, no open spaces.  The building faces out onto a busy street – high-profile street, status street – but a street.  The reasons the trees are on the right and left sides of the building is that the Wan Chai police station, done in the communist tradition of ugly light gray and cracked stucco, is on the left and a busy intersection is on the right.  It’s not the ugliest spot in Hong Kong, but it’s not pretty either.  The picture is taken from the convention center plaza, catty-corner to the Church – this area is very well done, but in the wide-and-spacious-building theme.  There are 11 floors in the Church building – the area president lives at the top, we work on the next one down.  There are three chapels in the building and on Sunday they are all used simultaneously.  There is a branch which meets Tuesday through Saturdays because the Philipina sisters who go there can’t get Sundays off.  When the sisters come to Church it’s an all-day deal.  They show up for the block meetings, then do visiting teaching and home teaching, then do RS enrichment, then have leadership meetings, then eat together…  The Church feeds them twice a month because it’s the only time some get meat and vegetables.

To the right we see Sister Shirley Taylor.  She and her husband work with the financial records and do audit training.  She is an angel of mercy and has saved the Alleys on multiple occasions.  (Maybe she’s a Hell’s Angel.  She wears motorcycle goggles at her computer and is the one who introduced them to Marcie.  She claims it helps with dry eyes.)  She’s strange and wonderful, like Sister Alley.  This is their third mission: England, Latvia and now here.   I would like to have her on my side in any battle.  I’ve requested that she stand by the pearly gates when I’m trying to talk my way in.  She and her husband work in the cubicles across from ours – she has escorted Marcie to such shopping meccas as Wellcome market, the Japan Home Center and the wet market.  (In the wet market you have to hold your breath while you’re passing the pig carcasses.  I think pigs are pretty smart – even compared to horses.  If they weren’t such gluttons, I’m not sure I could eat them.)

And this is a shot of our area of Hong Kong.  The Church is to the left and off the frame.  Our apt is to the bottom and off the frame.  But you can see north toward the harbor – we’ve been there once on a ferry to see the Christmas light show. 

 It was basically lasers firing off into the night from the top of big buildings.  I wonder if the lasers have enough power to do any damage.  I imagine some poor goose getting nailed with a bright green light and flailing its way into the South China Sea.

We’re starting to get a foothold on our duties – we attended the Hong Kong PA council last Thursday.  It was great except we went one stop too far – the stop too far put us through the tunnel into the New Territories.  This is like a near-death experience.  People on that side apparently don’t come back to this side.  Cab drivers looked at us like we were aliens when we tried to buy our way back.  Thank heavens for Church organization – the area seventy, Sam Wong, called on our mobile and talked the cab driver into driving back to the Kowloon Wong chapel.  Marcie thought we were lost and about to be cast into Outer Darkness.  But we arrived in time to hear them talk about Church video clips, Family geneology partnering with local universities and a Journey to Bethlehem Hong Kong spectacular.  We got home on the top floor of a bus which wound through Kowloon like a snake chasing a rat, but we were with other couples so we sat back and watched all of it pass us by.  There’s no direct way from Kowloon to anywhere.  From some areas there’s no way at all –not even dimensionally connected.