We’re down to about four weeks remaining in Guangzhou, and time has started to behave the way it often does near a departure date: it speeds up while also becoming strangely vivid. The days feel stitched together by errands, meals, bike rides, family time—and that background awareness that soon we’ll be packing, transitioning, and stepping into the next rhythm.
So, in the spirit of Stephen Colbert’s familiar cadence, here’s life lately:
Meanwhile… Emily and I took a wonderful trip to Xiamen, where we rekindled fond memories of our first kiss on Gulangyu Island in 1995. Some memories are like old photographs: they fade at the edges. That one didn’t. Gulangyu still has the same quiet magic, and it felt like we were revisiting a mile marker in a long, good journey. We also ventured into Zhangzhou to explore deeper layers of China’s history and visit the famous Tulou villages—architecture built for community, continuity, and protection. You don’t walk through places like that without thinking about what it means to build something that lasts.
Meanwhile… back in Washington, our modular manufactured house was delivered to our property on Harstine Island, and I followed the entire process through the narrow lens of one security camera and a steady stream of contractor photos. It’s amazing how emotionally invested a person can become in pixelated construction footage. I’m collecting and posting videos of the process on Zurfluh.net alongside these updates—because if we’re going to build a new chapter, we might as well document it.
Meanwhile… Easter came and went, and I felt a quiet ache that surprised me. For most of my life, Easter weekend wasn’t just a date on the calendar—it was a season of activity: youth groups, services, events, fellowship, and the familiar warmth of community. This year was different. It was quiet. Contemplative. I watched Mount Cross Lutheran services online and genuinely missed everyone. I’m looking forward to returning not just to church, but to that shared, steady rhythm that has anchored me for decades.
Meanwhile… PahPah is doing well, and weekend time with her (with Emily) has been good. Weekdays are harder—life has its schedules and constraints—but today I’m biking over to see her. There’s something about arriving under your own power that feels right here. Guangzhou makes it easy to move through a city and still feel human while doing it.
Meanwhile… I continue biking around the city—through Tianhe, along parks, into neighborhoods where I haven’t been before. Guangzhou is endlessly watchable. There’s always something new: a street corner you haven’t turned, a park you didn’t know existed, a small moment of daily life that reminds you this city is not just “developing,” it’s living.
Meanwhile… our twin nephews are studying English, and I’ve become a joyful tutor. My goal is to move them beyond memorization and toward understanding—while reminding myself of everything I’ve learned over the years about language acquisition. One moment made me laugh (and admire their creativity): I caught one nephew writing Chinese characters over English words—not because he thought they shared meaning, but because he was matching characters by sound as a phonetic system. That’s genuinely smart. It’s also a strategy that probably won’t scale. With Emily’s help, we persuaded him to use that creativity in ways that won’t eventually lead him into linguistic chaos.
Meanwhile… I’ve been doing a lot more Chinese cooking. I bought a wok at a local store, seasoned it properly (thank you, internet), and now I have a growing list of dishes I can make without panic. Last night I moved into soups: a winter melon and pork soup, with my own adjustments—carrot for me, sweet potato for Emily. It was delicious and well received. I’ve been told this soup helps fight the impact of hot days, and given recent weather, I’m choosing to believe in its powers.
Meanwhile… temperatures are climbing steadily. I haven’t seen a day below 25°C for a couple of weeks now. The rainy season seems to be taking a breather, except for the occasional afternoon thunderstorm—the kind I remember from both Guangzhou and Shanghai. The sky darkens, the air shifts, the city shrugs, and then life continues.
Meanwhile… the Spring Trade Fair is in town, and I’ve noticed many more foreigners around our neighborhood since we’re close to the conference area. It reminded me of an old saying that still makes the rounds:
“If you want to sell China, go to Shanghai. If you want to buy China, go to Guangzhou. If you want to love China, go to Beijing.”
I don’t know whether I’ll make it to the fair this year, but the energy is unmistakable: the city is hosting the world again, at least for a season.
Meanwhile… today is my birthday, and I turn 66. The double digit feels like it should come with a prize, or at least a commemorative hat. Tonight I’m joining the family for a home-cooked meal, and Emily and I will have a night out this weekend. I briefly wondered if 66 requires a Route 66 road trip—then remembered I’m currently in Guangzhou and the road trip might look more like “bike to the next park and call it destiny.” Either way, I’m grateful to celebrate here.
Meanwhile… I’m beginning to feel the gravity of May. I know we’ll be back, and we plan to retain the apartment, but goodbye is still goodbye. Transitions matter even when they’re voluntary. This will be our first year stepping into the rhythm of annual return, and I’m aware that the rhythm will be both beautiful and bittersweet—the kind of “practice” you get better at only by doing it.
And finally—Meanwhile… the world’s turmoil remains. As we watch war erupt in the Middle East and the daily din of political catastrophe continues to arrive like an automatic notification, I’m increasingly convinced that many of us need to step away from the noise at times—not to disengage from responsibility, but to preserve the clarity required to care well. In the spirit of Easter, I find myself returning to what Christianity is meant to be at its best: love, acceptance, and help offered to all, leaving greed and revenge behind.
This season, I’m practicing a single verb:
陪 (péi) — to accompany.
To accompany family. To accompany a city. To accompany a quieter interior life. Long enough to learn something from peacefulness—and maybe carry that insight back into the fray, with steadier hands.