Travelogue 5

The Second school home

Travelogue 10-5

Dateline: Kiev, Ukraine; March 29, 2010—So what is he doing in Kiev when last time you saw him he was at the Great Wall of China. Seems this blog could be more aptly named a bog, as it seems to get bogged down from time to time. It isn’t always because they turn the electricity off, but that happens. Let’s see, we left Don at the second place with his first official warning. But he and his teammates were not alone in receiving warnings. The owner of the second property was receiving threats by the very police department pledged to protect the citizens. For some reason people were not happy. But not all of them fall under this category. One such happy camper came to the school, not as a student, but as a patient.

The first time he saw her, Don had a good idea of what was wrong. She looked like a China doll, great round cheeks billowing over her nose and mouth. Prednisone was the medication and Lupus was probably the diagnosis. He was right. She was on 35 mg Prednisone a day, was weak and achy and her blood work looked very bad. What to do?

Without boring you with the reasons, she was put on a total vegetarian diet with lots of garlic thrown in. She was given two daily doses of Oregano and Thyme oil along with GSE. Nasty tasting stuff. She was also given daily hyperthermia treatments to both boost her immune system and detoxify her through sweating. She would also exercise to tolerance and get small amounts of sunshine.

Those were the physical measures she received. But far more importantly were the mental/spiritual measures. Her mother was a Christian but the young lady, caught up in life and youth, spurned such a “sacrifice.” But now she was up against the wall with the guns of disease leveled against her. It was here her blinders started to come off rather than girded on. We talked much of faith, the power of positive thinking, the assurance of One who can help. She began reading and studying the Bible. On March 23 she had an appointment at a hospital to check the progress of her disease. She already knew that something was different, but never dreamed what the doctors would find. All of her symptoms were gone, everything was back to normal. Of course the side effects of the Prednisone were still sorely visible but we have started her on a very slow withdrawal of that poison. It will take a few months to get back to normal but she and the whole school were rejoicing.

The last blog the school was at its second location and Don had received his first official warning from a country in all his years of traveling. Oh yes, once he and a few others were labeled as smugglers upon entering Canada but that is another story. But the Chinese police were still not very happy for some reason. They began threatening the owner of the property. So he told us we would have to leave. That was Sabbath so on Sunday we were another crossroads. Mark and Paul were out scouring the countryside for another location realizing that, if one could not be found, the school would have to disband. With characteristic good humor, the students and staff packed their belonging and stood waiting in the parking lot for whatever was to come.

About 4 PM Mark and Paul pulled into the parking lot and announced they had indeed found a new place very near the first place. So, in a lone eight passenger van, all the students, staff, luggage and piles of food made the exodus again. The new property was surrounded by fruit trees and filled with trash; the housing that is. What a mess. But not to worry, here came the police.

It was uncanny; they had just arrived and the local deputy pulled up with his female sidekick radiating askance. Seems they are really trying to equalize the gender thing here as there are many female police officer. Don started getting suspicious the officials were unhappy he was there. He had a talk with Mark, offering to leave right away if it might mean the end of this incessant harassment. But Mark wouldn’t hear of it; we were in this ting together.

While the owner of the new property was dealing with the police, his staff were trying to unfoul the living quarters where the school was to be billeted. Apparently the building had not been inhabited by humans for some time and the dirt, litter, junk and vegetative remnants were everywhere. The owner also had other units which were more along the scale of an American motel. Neat, well-appointed rooms with heat, hot water and cable TV. Mark reserved a few of these for the staff but soon the students, those same ones who had endured more than most students could have, drew the line. It could be cold, it could be crowded, it could be inconvenient; but they drew the line on being filthy. By now the police had threatened the new owner and he was working hard to find a fourth home for the school. The school could only stay one night at this location and then move on or disband. Everyone was beginning to get the impression Satan was not too happy with the school and was stirring up much trouble. The owner, a really honest man, took pity on the students and allowed them all to move into the nice rooms for the night for a bargain basement price.

Apparently he had connections with the Chinese army as he was trying to find a place to conduct the school outside of police jurisdiction. That would be on an army base. A base was located and it was as Spartan as Mark had seen. Open squad-bays with outhouses some distance away. Oh yes, and cold showers with plenty of water. Mark asked about the possibility of the three couples having separate rooms but it was repeated, open squad-bays. It just didn’t seem like the right place to hold the school.

The next day, Mark and Paul again were out searching and finally decided that since they had a contract with the first place, one that would allow the school to relocate there without police interference, that the school would move back to where it had begun. So once again, one van load at a time, they were all transported back to the guest house. And what a blessing, the power was on. Hot showers, lights at night, a bit of heat in the room. As they were all settling in, glomp!, the power went off again. The village chief sent someone over and pulled the fuses on the main pole. We were home again and in darkness. But the students endured this with great attitudes. Some of the guys began immediately to string wire, hooking all the rooms to the small generator, and before they were forced to an early retirement, there was light in each room. Don left the next day.

Let’s end this blog with the adventures at the Beijing airport. Don arrived plenty early and breezed through security. Aeroflot, the Russian airline he was flying with, were not manning the counters yet so he stood around as the crowd of Russians going home swelled around him. Thankful to be able to use the first class line because of his medallion status, he anticipated no problems.

When finally the staff were in place and the family who had rushed by him had been taken care of, he shuffled up with his baggage, laid his passport, ticket information and Platinum Medallion on the counter, and waited for a seat assignment. But there was a problem; he was over weight. Well, not him, but his baggage. Seems Aeroflot only allows 20 kg check-in and 10 kg carry-on, and he had 33 kg check-in. “But I am platinum medallion, ma’am.”

“Aeroflot does not allow extra baggage for medallion members,” she replied.

“Okay,” he surrendered, “how much will it cost?”

“Aeroflot,” she offered, keeping herself out of the equation, “charges 30 Euro per kilo.”

Now, let’s break that down. A euro is trading for about $1.34, so 30 times 13 equals 390 times $1.34 equals $522, or almost as much as he paid for the ticket in the first place. And there was no talking himself out of this penalty. While huge beefy Russians were checking their 20kg suitcases and waddling their 113 kg bodies happily away, his 68 kg body went over to the side and began digging through his belonging, determining what he could do without.

He had finally found a blue, double-breasted blazer that fit like a glove in a thrift store. It now adorns a happy Chinaman. A bag of macadamia nuts, tamarind fruit, hazel nuts and another kind of nut are delighting the palates of more people. The pile grew, but he was thankful he had left a number of things at the school. Finally, down to bare bones, he drug his things back to the counter for another weigh-in. This time he was only 4 kg over but there was no mercy; he paid 1120 RMB (Chinese Yuan Renminbi) or about $164. After his flight to Perm next week, that should about be the last time he flies Aeroflot.

After paying the fine and receiving his boarding pass, he started for the gates but an old Chinese cleaning lady, apparently spying the pile he had left. Told him, “Jur, chin plou hun che qzit.” “Okay,” he laughed, “come with me,” and led her over to the stash.

Piece by piece, the two nice shirts, the excellent grey slacks (who needs them? they were for the blazer) some books, all the food they had sent him off with, and to top it all off, a black zippered bag to put is all in. The dear old lady seemed as if she had walked into a dream. She stood with the lid to her trashcan open repeating the only English word she probably knew. “Sank you, sank you, sank you,” as each item was added from his discarded largesse. It somehow made him feel better about the whole affair, but he was getting hot. Why?

Well you might call it cheating , but he was wearing a bit more than he had left wearing that morning. Fishing out his Scott-E vest with the 23 pockets, he had placed his large Bible, probably weighing 1.5 kilos at the minimum, in the large pouch in the back, filled his pockets with nuts, put a sweater over the vest and then his jacket over that. It was getting hotter and hotter. But the cleaning lady was happy and he was heading for Kiev.

God bless,

Don

PS. As I finish this blog, I am less than an hour away from leaving to catching a train to Moscow. Another misadventure; I have lost the ticket. It will be interesting to see what God has planned for me tonight. As you might have noticed, I tried writing in the 3^rd person but am not comfortable with that style. What do you think?

Travelogue 1-10 Off to China

Travelogue 10-4

Dateline: Beijing, China; March 18, 2010—The new housing was great. They all settled in and smiles wreathed every face. The “kitchen” still left much to be desired. It was dark and small with a floor that, if you dropped something on it, it was as good as compost. But let not little things deter us.

The classroom was a dream. He has spoken in many places. Under trees in Africa, in dry rice fields in India, in cavernous halls of Eastern Europe still echoing with the Hymn of the Soviet Union, in simple classrooms of many medical missionary schools, but this was special. A raised dais kept him in view of each student. A static-free PA system with which to project his unintelligible words to the last uncomprehending ear. A projector screen recessed on the dais with no windows nearby spilling sunlight across the Keynote images. And most of all, it was wonderfully warm. Not “take off the jacket and sweater” warm, or “leave the long handles in the room” warm, but “can’t see my breath warm.” And of course the classroom full of smiling and expectant faces. It was a great place, until…

The very day they all arrived, the police showed up. Now, you need to understand, they had just moved about four kilometers, passing the second police station where the happy hour had been spent swilling tea with the chief. So, how does one spell totalitarian? George Orwell must have visited China, or the Soviet Union, to come up with the shocking society we read about in 1984. There were problems again.

The second day, he was called to the restaurant. Oh yes, the restaurant. As part of this new school, there is a restaurant. It is like a large greenhouse with a man-made stream bed meandering the length of the floor. Smaller semi-private dining areas line one side with large round tables surrounded by eight chairs with a large lazy-susan in the middle of the tables. On the other side of the restaurant are the same tables and chairs without their oriental screens separating them from the rest. Whereas the place is closed, people still come and eat there. Chinese people eat just about anything.

One day as he was sitting there with his dinner of rice, steamed vegetables and buns, a group of ladies were gathered around the next table preparing to eat their noon meal also. Being a people-watcher, he languidly ate his meal while enjoying the culture unfolding around him like a fashion buyer sitting just below the runway. A shallow bowl was brought in and placed before these Chinese matrons, as well as a small jar of toothpicks.

It was like a feeding frenzy. The contents of the bowl, which appeared to be small dark nuts, were amazingly attractive to these gourmets. Grasping one of the diminutive morsels, they would poke a toothpick in, spear whatever it was, extracting it neatly and gobbling it down. Asking his tablemates what was the delicacy they were enjoying, they told me they were snails. Oh yum! And me stuck with rice, deliciously steamed and seasoned veggies, and some almonds on the side. No, he ate durian in Malaysia, but no snails in China.

Back to being called to the restaurant. He was told to bring his passport with him. This is never a harbinger of good things, especially here in China. Sure enough the local police were paying another call. One of the men spoke very good English and naturally did all of the talking. But this time it wasn’t the police filling out the forms; this time he had to, as well as Wai Fong and the members of the staff from Hong Kong. Seems that, even though Hong Kong was surrendered to China in 1997, its citizens are not recognized as Chinese by some police districts. This was one of those districts and therefore they had all violated a cardinal law. When a foreigner comes to China, one of the first matters of business, “before toilet” as they learned, was to register with the local police department. It must be within 24 hours. The school had moved on a Wednesday afternoon and it was now Friday morning. We were illegal aliens, and in China illegal aliens cannot obtain food stamps, free medical care, drivers licenses or welfare. We all had to fill out a confession. The hapless American explained in his confession that he assumed he was in the same police jurisdiction and therefore was still under the first registration. He was informed that first, was no longer in the same jurisdiction and second, registration was based on your physical location. They want to know where you are at all times.

This was the first warning. The policeman, who by the way was very cordial, said the next time we violated this law it would cost us 500 RNB and should such behavior continue, it could result in their deportation.

But still the new place was much superior. It was nearer the mountains, of which China has many. They are not like the ancient, smooth mounds America has in the east, nor its craggy granite peaks of the west. Chinese mountains are snaggled dragon’s teeth, rising menacingly one uneven row after another. Abrupt and sharp, they are as evocative of China, thanks to National Geographic, as any landmark here, second only to the Great Wall.

Now, he has felt the cool mists rising from Niagara Falls and been drenched by the cloudless rains of Victoria Falls. He has seen Half Dome at sunrise, explored the cathedrals of Europe and strode Red Square past Lenin’s hopeless remains. He has explored the bowels of the Shrine of Kamakura, been chased by a lion at Hwange, flown a plane, sailed a boat, shot the rapids and rappelled down cliffs. And now, after all these years of wondering, he has touched the Great Wall. Like the raised scales of an ancient Stegosaurus, it traverses the undulating hills and mountains for 2,400 kilometers, from Kansu Province to the Yellow Sea north of Beijing. Begun 200 years before the birth of Christ, this marvel of construction is massive. Each block was chiseled to exact proportions by an army of workers. No haphazard work here, no way. Each exposed stone is slightly tapered so the wall rises at a very slight angle thereby foiling nature’s attempt to throw it down. Not saying the whole gray granite guardian of the northern frontier has weathered the ages unscathed. There are some sections in poor repair. There is but one Rock unaffected by elements of nature or the arms of men, and that Rock yearns for these people.

It was very cold at the Wall, and very cold means it was almost unbearable. Now, Don isn’t exactly a wimp. Cold has never been a major problem for him. Hey, the mercury drops, put on more clothing. Ergo the problem. Packing at the last minute, which is his wont, back in Alabama, he packed from his present frame of reference which was Alabama. You would think he would learn after all these years. Late February in Alabama is early spring. A sweater and jacket is fine…for Alabama, and that is what he packed. A sweater and jacket are not fine for China in late winter. Remember that if you travel to China.

More changes coming up. Read about them next blog.

Blessings,

Don

The class.

Some of the patient, happy, eager students. Some traveled over four days to come here. Some resigned jobs. One is a doctor, one a university professor. You can catch a view of the mountains behind. Very beautiful place.

First school site

You can't see the mountains in the background or feel the cold seeping into your bones, but this is the first site of the school just outside of Beijing. Over 50 people living, studying, cooking and eating in a "motel" which would comfortably house upwards of 20 people.

Have patience, I will figure out, with the help of my daughter I am sure, how to post more than one picture at a time.

Blog 10-3

Travelogue 10-3

Dateline: Beijing, China; March 19, 2010—Moldova is a communist country, but only because their brief fling with capitalism did not markedly improve the lives of the people. How could it? The same people were in power, only wearing a different mask. But China is different; it is all the way communist while at the same time becoming quite adept at capitalism. And bubbling away in this incongruous stew is an ample helping of graft and greed. We have been the victims of this here a few times.
Now, a person would think that in such a totalitarian country, it would be hard to get away with any underhanded shenanigans. I remember back in the 50’s we had three yearbooks in our home, setting forth the biggest events in the previous year. I used to love perusing those volumes, looking at the pictures of unknown people and reading of places I could only dream of seeing some day. Two pictures stand out in my mind. One is of an open-air tribunal, a circle of villagers around a table behind which sits an arrogant young man in uniform apparently lecturing the hapless and totally dejected “criminal” standing in the heat of everyone’s critical gaze. His crime as noted in the yearbook? Exploiting peasants on his 2/5’s of an acre of land. The next picture is of his punishment. Kneeling in the dirt, his arms tied tightly behind him, his head hung in hopelessness, he awaits the bullet from the rifle of the soldier standing behind him, aiming in the middle of his back. I have often thought of that poor man so long ago. And I wonder now how exploitation is any better than what we have been exposed to; extortion and harassment.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy it here for the most part. So far I have gone through a detailed visa process, registered in two police precincts, been interrogated by a Religions Friendship Committee representative, and received my first official warning by another police precinct. The first registration was the first day and I stood behind the glass while a scowling policewomen scrutinized my passport and filled out the requisite form. The second registration went better. The daughter of the woman from whom we were renting a guesthouse for the school, accompanied us to the station. This is quite a gal.
Having spent seven years in Canada going to university, she speaks flawless English, and I mean flawless; she doesn’t even have the Canadianese “ay” after most sentences. As a matter of fact, she almost sounds like she is using Val-speak, a California dialect. She is a friend of the police chief and while the policewomen were trying to figure out how in the world to register an American, our Val-speaker took us into the police chief’s office and we spent an hour talking and drinking tea. He showed us the fine art of making a good cup of tea and that needs to be the subject of another whole blog.
Now, the Religions Friendship Committee is an interesting organization. Note that “Religious” is not an adjective in this case. I doubt the representative was a “believer” nor did he have a taste for those who were. You might paraphrase their organization as the “We Will be Friendly if Your Religion is Kept to Yourself Committee.” He asked me a bunch of questions but made sure I understood they were not friendly to foreigners bringing religion into their country. They aren’t big on imports over here; they major in exports, as you can readily ascertain by shopping any Walmart, and I was made to understand that if I did not abide by the rules, I might well be their next export. Trying to pin me down as to a religious motive, I seized upon a golden opportunity they had unwittingly prepared for me. The Chinese are one of the most nicotine-addicted people I have met. The room in which we were being interrogated was filled with their acrid smoke and a spent butt lay crushed on the floor by my chair. Retrieving it and holding it up for the man to see, I told him, “It doesn’t matter if a man is a Christian, a Hindu or an atheist, this is going to hurt him. I am here to try to keep that from happening.” He and the two policemen with him seemed mildly bored but I am still here. But in truth, that is indeed one of the reason I am here; to help improve the health of the people by teaching this wonderful group of students the basic principles of health.
Things were going well for a while at the school. We, and when I say “we” I mean myself and a Malaysian teacher named Wai Fong whom I have known for years, were all registered and teaching away. Then the water stopped. That was a major occurrence as we had 47 students in three rooms sharing six commodes. It doesn’t take long for the porcelain throne and its environs to become uninhabitable under such circumstances. Seems the village chief has a quarrel with the owner of the guesthouse and was harassing “her.” Fortunate for her she doesn’t live there so we were the only ones being harassed. The second day it was becoming untenable so I violated a rule. Before class I explained to the students the power of prayer and God’s constant care for His children. I asked them if they would like to have a short season of prayer and they were all very much in the affirmative. We divided up in the cramped classroom in groups of two to four and prayed for God to intervene. As we finished, one of the staff leaned over to the sink in the classroom and turned on the faucet. Water gushed forth; and tears fell from many eyes. We saw it as an answer to prayer and a miracle. Water again.
China is cold, especially up in the Beijing area. Beijing has had four big snows this winter and three of them have come since I have been here. The third was wet and heavy and made everything even more cold than it normally is. That is when the village chief, again out of spite for the landlady, but off our power. We heat our rooms with electricity, light our rooms, power our computers and projector with electricity. One day went by, two days went by, the third day came. It was really getting cold and it began that way so it was getting downright frigid. And through it all the students maintained an amazingly cheerful and positive attitude. These are truly remarkable people.
Mark and Paul, the two main leaders of the school, purchased a generator the second day but we could see this wouldn’t be enough to get us through the remainder of the winter and whatever spring would throw our way. But on the third day the landlady told us she couldn’t deal with the situation and released us from our contract. As it turned out, on Sunday Mark and Paul had taken me to another site where they hoped to begin a second, larger school in the summer. So, on the nicest day of my visit thus far, with the sun shinning bright and warm, we packed up and moved the whole school to the other site. What a difference.
In the first school the students slept in bunk beds, 10 to 18 in a room. No closets, no chest of drawers, no privacy, and minimal heat. The new school was a dream. Three person rooms with private bath, a spacious classroom with desks and a raised platform, speakers for the PA system, heat; basically, all the comforts a teacher would expect and desire. The kitchen, whereas resembling a darkened cave, still turned out the most tasty meals. I like all food but if I had to choose a favorite kind of restaurant to frequent, it would have to be Chinese. And here I have it every meal, with no MSG, very low or no salt, no animal products, no oil. Our cook is a master of her craft. It seems as if the less some people have, the more that can do with their little. It is of necessity that make their lives bright because life doesn’t just hand happiness to you on a silver platter. The through the drought, the power outage, the move, the students never wavered. It is a privilege to teach such men and women. But then the next change came. More next time
God bless,
Don

Blog 2-10...at last

Travelogue #10-2

Dateline: Beijing, China; March 4, 2010--China at last. It was one week ago today that I arrived in Guangzhou (pronounced ˈgwä ng ˈjō, once called Canton), a populous city due west of Hong Kong. This was to have been near my destination of Shenzhen, which is within the Guangzhou province. Having been to Hong Kong with the Marines back in ’74, I was really hoping for a bit more China under my feet. As explained in Travelogue #1, my wish was granted and the school was moved to XXX, a small area outside Beijing. But Guangzhou made its impression on me nonetheless.
A Chinese friend of mine from years past lives near Guangzhou with his wife. His wife has tuberculosis. Needing some special supplements, my friend had them shipped to me in Alabama and I carried them from there. Among these supplements were four large bottles of Vibe, a souped-up vitamin/mineral nutrient concentrate which is both expensive and very useful in such a case as it was intended.
The flight from Los Angeles to Guangzhou was to have taken about 15 hours but for one reason or another it took a bit longer. After finally arriving and collecting my baggage, I cleared customs but found no place to recheck my luggage for the flight to Beijing and time was running out. Little did I want to be left behind in Guangzhou. Leaving the secure area, I started looking for a China Southern ticket counter. Happening upon a very busy, very crowded series of counters, I hoped I had found my solution. Big people, little people, suitcases, bags and boxes were everywhere. It seemed like the proverbial Chinese fire drill. The queue was going nowhere so I sought out another more promising looking counter, one with a sign in English which offered “Special Assistance.” The sign was the last of the English as none of those who heard my plight understood any more of my words than I did of their offers of condolence or assistance. Someone wrote down gate number C-116, that much I could recognize, but I protested, pointing to all of my luggage, that I needed to recheck it first. They in turn pointed to C-116 and made urgent, you’d better hurry sounds.
Thanks mostly to the USA, most airports now have the same security standards, one of which prohibits liquids of more than six ounces from being carried in carry-on luggage. Problem here was all of my luggage had become carry-on luggage. With great sadness I saw my four large bottles of Vibe disappear to wherever all those bottles, cans, containers and sharp instruments disappear to. There were many other smaller bottles in my luggage but they let all of them pass, bundled me into an electric cart and sped me off to C-116. Before we arrived, we have to pass the hall troll. The woman in uniform told me, “Zhou nichoz conflam flam,” or words to that effect. She and the driver fixed me with anticipatory stares. “I haven’t the foggiest idea of what you want,” I replied back. Fixing upon a solution to her dilemma, she she whipped out a 10 yuan note and waved it at me. So, it was money she wanted. I quickly pulled out a $5 bill, figuring that would surely trump her 10 yuan, and handed it to her. That seemed not to meet her immediate needs and she and the driver both began explaining the virtues of coughing up the requisite fee for the hall troll. So I opened my wallet, exposing a variety of bills, intending to pull out a $10 bill, surly matching her note. But she spied something better and pointed at a $1 bill and held up two fingers. She could have had $5, but took only what was needed, or an approximate amount. As it turns out, a dollar is worth about 6.75 yuan. It is always gratifying to meet an honest person, especially when I make myself such an easy mark.
Paying the two dollars, we sped on to C-116. All the passengers were already on board. I am that one that holds up the entire airline industry. What chagrin. I like to be an hour or two ahead of schedule and here I am, the last one. And making matters worse, I am doing what rankles me when I see others doing it. I am not just carrying on my carry-on luggage. I am lugging all of my luggage. A rolling duffle, a smaller duffle and a small carry-on suitcase. Of course I am the main attraction as every almond eye is strained to ssee this round-eyed apparition, struggling down the asile with all of my possessions. Business Class was completely empty and so the stewardess allowed me to stow my belonging up there, and then escorted me back to steerage, which was full. And thus the last leg of the journey to my destination was begun.
Being met in Beijing by my contact and two other gentlemen, I was escorted to a van and driven to one of the SDA churches here in this huge city. Soon, after years and years of waiting and dreaming, I was sitting in China, around a simple table in a brother’s home sharing a feast of steamed grains and vegetables with twelve newly found brothers and sisters. We gathered around a small stove in the center of the one room that serves as home for this family of four. How good it felt, how warm it was, how great were the promises of what would yet to be.
There was a good reason to enjoy the warmth of that little stove. It is cold in Beijing this time of the year, very cold. I did not notice it driving in from the airport, but later, as we drove out again, I could see those were piles of snow alongside the road wearing a black mantle of coal soot.The soot, and the exhaust from ten thousand diesel trucks, spreads it pall over the land. The little stove that was providing blessed heat to warm the body and heat the food, was fueled by black cylinders of packed soil impregnated with coal dust. Each is a bit larger than a small container of rolled oats with dime-sized holes running top to bottom. They glow red and inviting when in the heart of the stoves, and once spent, are but brittle yellow-tan ruins of yesterday’s heat lying aside todays frozen roads. Did I mention it was cold in China?
Now, some of you may be wondering why this is the first blog you have received since I left the USA. Good question. As is always the case, I am busy. This time it is converting all of my programs into Chinese, complete with Chine people. Then there is the internet. The place where we are holding the school purports to have Wi-fi, but it doesn’t work on my Apple. Then there is the power, which is on again, off again. Frankly, today is Tuesday, March 17, so you can see I am a bit behind. But I have purposed in my heart to write one hour a day, some on the blog, some on poetry, some answering emails when I receive them.
So, catch up in the next few blogs.
God’s blessings,
Don