Category Archives: -Claire Murray

Chinese Voices

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I just finished reading Unbound Voices by Judy Yung. The book tells the stories of first and second-generation Chinese women living in San Francisco’s Chinatown between 1850 and 1945. What makes this book so riveting is: Each woman tells her story in her own words. I was very moved by how each one expressed herself.

If the woman speaks in English, Judy transcribes exactly what she says and the way she says it. She doesn’t correct for language, sentence structure or word choice. If a woman spoke in Chinese, Judy translated her words the same way.

This is from an interview Judy had with her mother in the 1980s. It was conducted in Chinese: “When I became pregnant with your third sister, I said no matter what, I was not going to have the baby in Menlo Park. It was a matter of life and death. I told your father, even if you don’t want to go to San Francisco, I am leaving. There were two Chinese women obstetricians in the city and I was determined to have my next child in a hospital.”

Judy is second generation Chinese. She grew up in San Francisco’s Chinatown in the 1950s and went to an American public school each day and afterwards to the Chinese school. In Chinese school she learned the Chinese language and history and read Chinese classics. This was very helpful to her when she interviewed the women for this book. She was quickly able to establish rapport and trust because she spoke the language and knew the culture. The women trusted her to tell their stories.

The book begins, around 1850, with women telling how they came to Gold Mountain (the Chinese name for America). Some came with their husbands, others followed them later and some were left to live their lives out in China while their husbands remained in America and remarried. The latter were called Gold Mountain Widows.

This is from an interview Judy conducted in China with Kwong King You, a retired doctor, age 75, in 1982. She was a “sau saang gwa” (Gold Mountain widow). She hadn’t seen Ah Fook, her husband and the father of her children, in 40 years. She’d heard that he’d remarried in America and wanted to see him one last time.

“When he first left, I was very upset and wanted revenge, at least until I reached the age of forty-five. My colleagues kept telling me not to be stupid. If he remarried, I should remarry. I used to cry tears from my eyes down to my toes. It’s been such a hard life…There’s always hope that he might change his mind and come home…My hope is that he will someday return. I will always welcome him back. My mind would be put to rest if I could just see him one more time.”

Judy’s interviews cover the period from 1850 to 1945. I was intrigued by the way she conducted them. For the most part, she went to the women’s homes or the homes of one of their descendants, chatted, asked them all the same questions from a list and let them talk. It was only after the interview was finished that she asked them to sign a consent form. This was so they would have enough time to get to know her and decide if they were willing to let her tell their story.

At whatever time the women came to the Gold Mountain, it was very difficult. Congress had passed a number of laws, especially the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882, to keep them out. Once their ship docked in San Francisco harbor, they were taken to Angel Island and interrogated for a few days, weeks or more. Their answers had to match exactly the answers their husbands gave when they were interviewed. Otherwise the women would be sent back to China on the next ship.

To make sure their answers did match (i.e. the number of houses in the village or where the room they slept in after they were first married was located in the house, etc.), each husband prepared a coaching book for his wife. She was supposed to study it on the voyage over and then destroy it.

In the second half of the nineteenth century, many of the women were tricked. Instead of being married when they arrived in San Francisco, they were sold into prostitution. A number died, some were able to buy their freedom and Methodist and Presbyterian women rescued others.

The Methodists established the Methodist Mission Home in 1871 and the Presbyterians established the Presbyterian Mission Home in 1874. Both places gave the women a place to stay, taught them English and helped them find a Christian husband or job, other than prostitution, to support themselves.

More and more women arrived in Chinatown. They made homes for their families, worked and participated in community life. Because of them, life was better for their daughters. The daughters went to American public schools. Some even went to college. Because of this they were able to get good jobs outside of Chinatown that paid more. The terrible discrimination of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries gave way to the tolerance and friendships you see today.

No longer are the Chinese forced to live in Chinatown. They can and do live all over San Francisco, in every neighborhood: Downtown, in the Marina, Pacific Heights, out by the ocean and in many other neighborhoods.

My mother, who is not Chinese, was able to stay in her house, out by the ocean, for many years longer than she ordinarily would have, because her good friend, Virginia, a Chinese American, lived across the street. Virginia is about ten years younger than Mom and at that time was still able to drive. Virginia and Mom used to do their grocery shopping together every Thursday morning and then go out to lunch. Where? Why to a neighborhood Chinese restaurant of course.

Swimming

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I love to swim. It lifts my mood and relaxes me like nothing else. I feel good all over. Nothing hurts. It’s the best form of exercise!

The best time for me to swim is when it’s cold outside, the colder the better. I throw on some clothes over my swimsuit, put on my parka and sandals and drive to the health club down the street. Eight minutes door to door, if I get all green lights. If not, then it’s ten.

I swipe my card, put my clothes in a locker, grab a towel and head to the pool. Well, not any pool, but the warm water pool. I can’t believe how good it feels when it’s 32 or 22 or maybe only 2 degrees outside and I walk down the stairs into the warm water pool. It’s like I’ve died and gone to heaven! Not that I’m ready to die yet, but I like the metaphor.

There are two lap lanes in the warm water pool. They’re on the far side by the windows. While the warm water makes the pool so wonderful, it’s the windows that make the experience. They’re floor to ceiling, at least 20 feet high and go across the length of the room. They let in so much light, I can’t help feeling like I’m outdoors in the summer sun even though I’m really indoors protected from the winter freeze.

When it’s really cold like this, the sun always shines, bright and sparkly and sometimes even feels warm when it comes through the glass. If it’s only 35 or 40 degrees outside, the sky is overcast, foggy or just plain yucky. But when the world is frigid outside, the sun ensures that it’s bright and cheerful inside.

Once I get to the lap lanes, I start swimming: up and down, up and down, on my back for forty minutes. I keep looking out the windows. I can’t help smiling.

 

I am so lucky! Lucky to be here swimming laps in this warm bath tub at the exact time I used to be pulling into the garage at work, parking my car and getting ready for my first conference of the day. I am lucky to have a health club that’s so close and convenient and has such an uplifting setting. This whole experience makes me feel grateful for all that I have: family, friends and good times!

Everything is good. Life can’t be better than this!

Costco’s Looking Out For You

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I was so pleased with myself. I felt I had really gotten through. I’d spent a long time writing my letter explaining things. I thought the phone call went well too. But, it was his last remark that stayed with me. Now I wonder…

I live in Ann Arbor. A little over a year ago, Costco built a new store on the southwest side of town. My husband, Michael, and I decided to join. We like Costco because of their products, prices and friendly service.

Once a week, we stop for gas and then go into the store to do some shopping. We have their Gold Star or basic card. One Saturday, near our renewal date, we stopped by the front desk to see if we’d save more money by upgrading to their Executive Membership. The manager in charge was very helpful. He asked us a few questions: How many people in your household? Did you mostly buy gas or food?

Since we are only two people, and considering that gasoline makes up a great percentage of our purchases, we wouldn’t save more money if we upgraded. The regular card was our best bet. We appreciated his helpfulness and honesty.

The following week, when we were checking out, the cashier asked me if we’d like to upgrade our membership. I told her, “Thank you. No.”

She told me we were missing out. With the money we were spending at Costco, we’d get money back at the end of the year if we upgraded. She was “only looking out for our best interest”.

I repeated, “Thank you. No.”

She started in a third time. I thought a little explanation might help. I said we’d already consulted with the person in charge of the membership desk and, in our case, we wouldn’t be getting money back. (At Costco you don’t get money back based on what you pay for gas.)

Michael and I discussed this interchange as we were leaving. Neither of us liked the way she continued to push after I’d told her “no” the first time, let alone having to repeat no three times. We especially noted her remark that she, who didn’t know us, needed to be looking out for our best interests. It seemed a little arrogant.

The following week, after getting gas, we were back in the store shopping. This time a different cashier started in. The only difference from last week was: She was louder, more aggressive if possible, it was crowded, and people on both sides of us as well as behind were listening.  I must have said, “No, thank you” at least six times.

She persisted:

“You really should upgrade your membership. I’m only trying to help you.”

“You don’t understand. I’m looking out for your best interest. Believe me.”

“If you don’t want to upgrade with me, you need to do it at the membership desk. You’ll save lots of money. I know. I can tell by looking at your account here on the screen.”

I swiped our card, got our receipt and we walked toward the exit. She was still talking.

What, we asked each other, did she read on that screen that she felt entitled her to continue harassing us after we’d said “no”?  What did she know about our best interests? She was a stranger.

We concluded, the screen must have said something like this:

“Look at this couple. They’re over 65. Therefore they’re stupid. Everyone knows, as you get older you get stupider and stupider. They don’t know what’s best for them. It’s your duty to save them from themselves. You know what’s best for them. Even though you’ve never met them before or checked out their financial situation, you know how they should spend their money. You can recognize a good deal when you see it. If they resist upgrading, that’s proof of how really stupid they are. It’s your duty to look out for them. Obviously they can’t look out for themselves. You’re only doing this for their own good. You have their best interests at heart.”

We were horrified to think that we’d have to go through this experience every time we checked out. We decided, maybe a letter to the manager of the Ann Arbor Costco store might help.

I sat down to write the letter as soon as we got home. I began by relating several positive customer service experiences we’d had at Costco. I included the anecdote about the front desk manager helping us decide that the Executive Membership wasn’t for us.

I then related the stories about the two cashiers. I wrote what we thought the screen might have said that caused them to act like that.

I asked that whatever the screen actually did say that caused the cashiers to act this way be deleted. The next time we came to Costco, we wanted to have a pleasant experience.

I gave my identifying information and asked the manager to phone.

Two mornings later one of the Costco managers called. We chatted for about five minutes about the letter. He apologized and said he was sorry for our experience. He would talk with the cashiers. He didn’t know what caused them to act that way but he would look into it. He wanted to keep us as Costco customers and to have a good experience when we came to the store.

I thought, “Wow! This is really going well. He’s listening. He’s going to do something. Our next experience should be fine. I must have explained things really clearly.”

Then the manager concluded by saying something along the lines of, “I want you to know that at Costco we’re always looking out for our customers’ best interests.”

Now, I wonder, did I really make my point? Or, maybe not…

A Glass of Water

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Finding something to write about is never easy for me. I get one idea and then another. But, when I actually sit down to write, the ideas no longer seem terribly interesting. So I was pleasantly surprised a few weeks ago when I saw Fareed Zakaria on CNN. The program was interesting and when I sat down to write I had lots of ideas.

Fareed’s program is called the Global Public Square. It comes on every Sunday morning and repeats in the afternoon. I like it because Fareed doesn’t invite on his show the usual talking heads who don’t seem very knowledgeable about what they are discussing. Instead, he invites people who are considered experts in their fields or are high up in government or the head of the country under discussion.

On September 7, this year, he had a very interesting program, part of which was about the brain and water. His guest was Dr. Sanjay Gupta, CNN Chief Medical Correspondent.

Sanjay was saying how, when he first got up in the morning, and while he was dressing, he drank eight to sixteen ounces of water. He does this every day and has been doing it for awhile. He is very pleased with the result: He’s fully awake, energized and focused by the time he leaves for work.

Our brains are 75% water. We sleep all night, hopefully for six, seven or eight hours. During that time we don’t have anything to drink. When we wake up in the morning, we need to hydrate our brain as soon as possible. If we don’t give it water first thing in the morning, it’s impossible to catch up during the day.

I’ve read a number of articles that essentially say: What you don’t use, you lose and that’s certainly true of your brain.

Everyone I know wants to keep their brain as sharp as possible. They don’t want to slow down and lose their “edge”.

Drinking a glass or two of water first thing in the morning sounded to me like an easy thing to do and it certainly was safe. So I decided to experiment. Starting on September 8th, that Monday, I began drinking a glass or more of water each morning while I was getting dressed. And I’m still doing it.

I’ve found that by the time I come into breakfast, I’m more awake, alert, and focused. I don’t have that sleepy “trying to wake up” feeling I used to have. I feel energized. I can’t wait to get started with my day. Best of all, with this water start, I keep my energy longer and seem to have more throughout the day.

So, if you’re looking to give yourself an extra boost in the morning, drink a glass or two of water first thing. You’ll thank yourself all day!

 

If you’d like to see Gupta’s interview in its entirety and the portion that inspired me to write this blog, follow this link: http://globalpublicsquare.blogs.cnn.com/2014/09/10/why-sugar-is-worse-than-fat/

Write What You Know

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When I first started writing for Deadwood Writers’ Voices a few months ago, I agonized over what I was going to write about. Then I went to California. There I read some letters that members of my family, who I’d heard about but never met, had written long ago. The letters brought them to life. I could hear my relatives speaking in their own words. I felt that we’d finally met.

I started writing their stories. That was very helpful, besides being enjoyable. I didn’t have to ask myself each month, what am I going to write about? I knew. I was going to write the next part of the story.

Now the series is finished. I need to find something new to write about. This morning I decided to try a different approach. Instead of panicking, I was going to do what all the books said: Write what you know. To be honest, I didn’t have much faith in this approach, but what did I have to lose?

I decided to go swimming. It’s my favorite form of exercise: 45 minutes in the warm water pool going back and forth. I feel so good afterwards, relaxed, happy, stress free. The icing on the cake is I’ve actually lost a few pounds along the way.

It was a perfect day. The sun was shining. It was still cool outside. I felt energized.

I threw my swim bag in the front seat, popped into my car and started driving. It’s eight minutes from my garage to a parking spot at the WCC Health Club.

I drove out of the condo and turned left to go down Dixboro Road. Wow! All I could see on my side of the street was a line of red taillights and not one of them was moving. Ugh! It was five minutes to nine.

The first intersection was exactly one mile south on Geddes. It handles all the cars of people going to work coming down Dixboro and those exiting from I-23 to go down East Huron River Drive to get to Washtenaw Community College, St. Joseph Mercy Hospital and, most important to me, the Health Club.

It’s always busy this time of day but never like this: One mile of taillights and no one moved. This was a first! Then I remembered last night’s storm. The stoplight at the corner was probably out. And, knowing the Ann Arbor police, they probably hadn’t sent anyone to direct traffic. Their philosophy is, “Let them work it out.”

In the distance, I could see the headlights of three cars coming toward me. Suddenly the two cars in front of me made very fast U-turns and went up Woodridge Avenue to my right.

Mmmmm. If I’m quick, I could do the same thing. That would take me to Earhart, which would bring me to Plymouth Road where I could get on #I-23 and go south around this mess to Washtenaw Avenue. Then I could turn up Golfside and, voilà, I’d be there. In other words I could make a circle going west around the whole area, come in from the east side and have my swim after all. It shouldn’t take more than about ten minutes.

Congratulating myself on my quick thinking, I turned onto Plymouth Road and drove across the top of I-23 so I could get on the ramp going south.

“Ugh!” was all I could say. Looking down at the southbound lanes I wanted to cry. No one was moving there either. It was just one long parking lot.

O.K. now it’s time for another brilliant idea and this one better work. I could go south on Green Road, then west a little to Huron River Parkway. I could still make the western circle and I’d be down on Washtenaw, which hopefully would be moving.

Then I looked up. Straight ahead, Plymouth Road was stopped. The light was red. The intersection was clogged. No one was going in any direction and it didn’t look like anyone would be anytime soon.

Suddenly, although the sun was still shinning and the air was crisp, it wasn’t such a beautiful day anymore.

Luckily I was able to maneuver myself into the left lane and turn into the strip mall. I drove past Zamaaman’s, the Korean Restaurant, and turned left past Busch’s. Now I could skip the sea of cars at the light and exit onto Green Road.

Heading south on Green Road, I started to smile again: no traffic. The same was true on Huron Parkway. I just floated along and made a left onto Washtenaw and even that wasn’t too bad.

Best of all, every light was working all the way east to Golfside. I turned left at East Huron River Drive, drove past St. Joe’s and into the WCC Health Club’s parking lot at exactly 9:33. Not bad, only 38 minutes to drive what should have taken eight!