It’s snowing. Real, honest-to-goodness snow. At first I thought it was just sleet – frozen rain, half-snow – but as I walked the dog this morning I looked closely and then caught some in my hand. It was white, the real thing. At my request the dog did his business quickly; it was freezing cold, literally 0 degrees C. We scampered back inside the house, into my half-frozen apartment – I only heat one small room – and I made old-fashioned fried potatoes and scrambled eggs for breakfast. Last night it was a delicious vegetable soup of potatoes, radishes, cucumbers, and cabbage, seasoned with chicken flavoring, ground cardamom, whole garlic cloves, ginger, shallots, a couple of dried red chilies, and a touch of soy sauce. I also fixed a huge salad with olive oil and vinegar. I didn’t have to refrigerate the leftovers; the kitchen IS a refrigerator.
The snow is heavier now. I just opened the window and took some pictures. I feel like a kid; I don’t think I’ve seen snow since my brother Kenton and I drove up into the San Gabriel mountains outside L.A. 10 or 12 years ago. It’s now become one swirling mass of big flakes.
I’m reading Lame Deer, Seeker of Visions, the story of Indian rights activist and Lakota medicine man John (Fire) Lame Deer, which I picked up yesterday at the Xinhua bookstore. I also bought the DVD of Pepe le moko, the 1937 French film by Julien Duvivier. It seems to be a foreign film week for me. Funny, in China I’ve gotten used to thinking of myself as foreign.
Time to study for my weekly Chinese lesson.