一向喜歡找碴的我，欣然舉手盤問。

       “語言和文字是活的，” 老師不急不忙的回答。“就跟生物一樣，必須隨著自然環境進化。文字在石器時代就有記載了，可是有幾個人能看得懂？你如果能把它重新寫得簡單一些，人人都看得懂，能被大眾接受，你就有所貢獻。可別寫得我看不懂，那我就扣你分。”

一晃在外漂流三十年，回家探親。發現非但人地生疏，連報紙都不會看了。訊問之下，才知道那是簡體字。

       “咱们是民主国家，可是全国文盲的人民占90%，怎么能主宰国家？文盲首要的原因是文字太复杂了。要扫除文盲，第一必须简化文字。”

       有理！

一晃又是六年，回家见到我的姐夫，他出国时是繁体字，回国时是简体字，对简体字特别欣赏。一见面就给我看一个刚公布的简体字， 说那是“家”。

       我看来看去，不知所云。

       “不像！”

       “你在四川乡下住过。乡下房子里烧饭间的旁边是什么？”

       “猪圈。”

       “家的房顶上面有个烟筒，里面有只猪。”

       “当然。”

       “再看一下这简体字的家。我们国家现在家里不养猪了，由养猪场统筹办理。于是人搬进去住了。”

       “妙！”

两年后，我们又回国探亲。和姐夫谈起“家”。他摇头叹说，

       “哎，人被扫地出门。猪又回家了。”

       “怎么回事？”

       “不被大众接受。”

       “为什么？”

       “猪是宠物了。”

       “制定就制定了，管他接不接受，” 我说。

       “民主。”

附註: 如果這篇短文引起了你對CicLAvia活動的興趣. 那么在這裡讓我告訴你一個好消息, 尤其是對於住在聖佛南度谷的朋友們. 因為CicLAvia的下一次活動將在12/8/2024, 星期天舉行. 而這次活動的主題是: CicLAvia—The Valley, 也就是聖佛南度谷 (SFV). 有興趣的話, 請拜訪連結 https://www.ciclavia.org/ciclavia_the_valley_24 以獲得更詳細的資料.

       When I grew up, I had to take care of the holes myself. The last hole I patched up was during the big rain last winter. I had to spend half a day on the wet roof finding the hole, removing the tiles, patching it up with tarpaper and sealing it with wet tar paste. 

While I was waiting for this winter’s rain to have my work tested, I had a stomachache. Vera took me to urgent care. The doctor felt my tummy with his hand while asking repeatedly, “Does it hurt here? Does it hurt here?... ”

When it got to my bellybutton, the pain suddenly went away.

“You got a hole on your tummy!” He announced excitedly.

“A hole?” I asked in shock.

“Yes. The pain was caused by the fat inside your belly getting stuck in the hole. I just pushed it back.”

“How did the hole get there?”

“Who knows? Ask your mother what you did when she was pregnant with you.”

As I was trying to figure out what he meant, he said laughingly, “I was just kidding. It’s not a big deal. There is no risk to leave it as it is.”

“What if the fat gets stuck in the hole again?” I asked.

“Just push it back in.”

“Can my intestine get stuck in there?”

“Yes, then you may also feel nauseated. You can tell when it makes a squishing sound as you push it back in. You may have a surgery done to have the hole patched up.”

That sounded like what a country doctor would say. So I went to see a surgeon. “It’s just a simple day operation,” said the surgeon. “But considering your age, we normally advise against it. Anything can happen. I understand you are the sole caretaker of you wife. You should think seriously about it.”

I thought seriously about it for several weeks. During that time, I tried to suck in my tummy. I tried to push the fat back into the hole. I tried to wear a waist wrap. I tried to put a golf ball under the wrap… It was a nuisance. I finally discussed it with Vera. 

The surgery was scheduled on September 26, 2024. I was told the operation would be brief and simple. Starting from the night previous to the operation, stop eating and drinking. Then two hours before the operation, check in at the preparation room and after the operation, spend one hour recovering. 

I instantly became the center of attention. Jessica offered to stay with us the night before the surgery and drive me to the hospital on the surgery day. Teh-han flew in from Hong Kong two days before the surgery. Laura and Timmy called from Shanghai. Maria, Theresa and Jennifer all called. Ethan and Matthew wrote me the longest emails they had ever written, and Vera started to lose sleep at night. 

Teh-han checked me into the surgery desk at 7:30 am. I was put on a stretcher and wheeled into the preparation room. I was immediately surrounded by lovely blue angels looking down at me like those white angels floating on the dome ceiling in a European palace. One drew the curtain, one put away my clothes, one asked me a battery of questions, one wrapped up my arm and connected me to tubes, one put patches on my naked body and wired me up, one pumped warm air into my space blanket, one told me she was going to make me feel sleepy for a while and would monitor my heart all through the operation, and one assured me that she was going to be on my side all the time till I woke up. “Call me if you need anything. My name is Susie.” It was an all-female team. Everyone was so pretty and slender. Even the surgeon, who was a man, put on a long blue robe, a shower cap and a mask, like the rest of the team. “The incision will be along this happy face I drew under your bellybutton. It’ll take less time than what will take you to give a lecture in your class.” Then I was put on a mask and wheeled into the operating room. 

Lying there, I could see a big clock on the wall with hands pointing at 9:50. My attention was drawn to a big lotus pot directly above me. It had many lights like a giant fly’s eyes staring at me. I did not feel sleepy like one of the blue angels had said. I could feel someone pressing on my stomach over and over again. While I was waiting to hear the doctor asking me, “Does it hurt here? Does it hurt here?... “ Someone unplugged all the wires and tubes.

“What happened?” I asked.

“All done.”

I looked at the clock on the wall. What had happened between 9:50 and 10:30? Where was I?

Wherever I had been to, Vera’s and Teh-han’s smiling faces in the recovery room told me that I was back on earth. I got up and put my clothes back on. Half an hour later, I walked with Vera and Teh-han into a Denny’s, with an ice pad on my bellybutton instead of the golf ball.

Leaving Dianbai

I was five when I left my home town of Dianbai 電白, a small town in South Guangdong. It was over seventy years ago but I still have total recall of what happened on that trip. I also remember vividly every detail about the sights and sounds of my time growing up there.

       In 1949-1950, there was much turmoil and uncertainty in China. My parents were not around. My mom died of illness and my family had lost contact with my Dad who was fighting in the army. My grandparents decided that it was best to send me and my infant brother to join my Dad’s older brother, First Uncle, in Hong Kong, where he was a successful engineer.

Grandfather hired three bicycle couriers for our first leg of the trip: One courier took me on his bicycle. I sat sideways on the bicycle frame in front of the courier. On the second bicycle, my little brother was strapped to the nanny’s back. They sat on the cargo rack behind the courier. The third courier took my Sixth Uncle, a teenager who was supposed to make sure we all arrived in Hong Kong safely.

       In my five-year old mind, this was a grand adventure. The bicycle bumped along some muddy country roads and cold slush sprayed on my face. I yelled out with glee.

       The bicycle couriers dropped us off in a town some distance away. The next part of our journey was travel by bus. Just before the bus arrived, my stomach started gurgling and I had to find a toilet. “Ai Ya! You are making us miss the bus!” yelled my Sixth Uncle. He was very upset. When we came out of the bathroom we discovered that the bus had left without us!

       After some scrambling, Sixth Uncle managed to convince a truck driver to take us to the next destination. It was a flatbed truck. He and the nanny, with my baby brother on her lap, could just about fit in the cab next to the driver. That left me to sit on top of the cargo on the open truck bed. They tied me down with my back leaning against the cab so I wouldn’t fall out. On each side of me they tucked in large heavy sacks. I thought I had the best seat, facing out to the wide open road. All the sights were out there for me to see.  Bamboo groves and woodsy hills rushed by. Every bump and every turn was a thrill to me.  At one point I looked on the side of the road and saw a big bus, upside down, at the bottom of the ravine.

       Many years later, when I recounted this scene to my brother, his ears perked up and he started asking questions. Sixth Uncle said, “I could not see anything sitting inside the cab!” In hindsight, that bus could have been the one we were supposed to get on. My stomach trouble might have saved us!

       We eventually made it to the train station.  While we were waiting for the train, Sixth Uncle handed me a popsicle. Having never seen one before, I took a big bite, and jumped up in shock. It was COLD. I looked around and saw the nanny holding one with smoke rising up. “That one must be warmer,” I thought. “I want that one.” Nanny said, “Sure, we can trade.” We traded and I took a big bite. I yelled out again, “Oh No! It is cold too!” What kind of a treat is that, a cold popsicle?

       The train took us to our final destination, Hong Kong, where I went to live with my First Uncle, his wife, and my cousins. I lived with them from five years old until I finished high school and came to the United States. They raised me and were my Mom and Dad from five years old.

Early Childhood in Dianbai

       I will never forget my early years growing up in Dianbai. I was born in 1944. Both of my grandparents were considered well to do, they were land-owning families. My biological father was the second son while my adopted father/uncle was the oldest brother. Unlike his older brother, my father was not so keen on studies, so he joined the army. Life in the military during war time took my father far away from home. As a dutiful daughter-in-law, my mother lived with my father’s parents. A strict step-mother-in-law was there to make sure my mother took care of household chores all day long. With no husband to turn to for support, my mom was unable to give proper care and attention to me, her young son. She decided to send me to live with her own parents, my maternal grandparents. They happily took me in. I can still recall the large two-story house they lived in. The home was elaborately decorated with carvings and artwork and surrounded by tall walls. There were doormen stationed at the arched gateway and marbled steps led down to a courtyard. Another flight of stone steps led up to the main hall. Many years later when I returned in search of my Grandparent’s house, all of these splendors had vanished.

       Grandma spoiled me. I remember sleeping in the same bed with her. At bedtime, she would tuck me in, spread open the mosquito net, and then used a small kerosene lamp to zap out any mosquitos she found inside the net. Then she lay down next to me and gently fanned me to sleep. Sometimes she was first to doze off. When I felt the fan slowing to a stop, I would give her leg a little kick until she started fanning me again. One time after a giant typhoon, I woke up to find water sloshing about at the bottom of our big bed.  Grandma waded in to scoop me up and moved me to safety.

       I remember that my Grandma made me wear pants with an open behind. These open seat pants were common for kids who were not yet potty trained. I noticed no other kids had to wear them and when I sat down on the steps my bottom felt cold. I complained to Grandma and asked for pants like all he other children. She nodded, but the next day I went out and sat down, “Wow, still cold!” I hollered and ran to her and said, “You promised to change me out of these pants with holes!” That finally got her to listen. 

       The house stood above an expanse of farmland. Dirt paths crisscrossed across the rice paddies. I remember seeing the herd of water buffalo rambling along the path to return home in the evenings. If I stood on the path I had to carefully turn sideways to avoid the large water buffalos because some kids got bumped off the path into the muddy rice field by them!

I used to tag along with other kids. One time we played in a small stream and made waterwheels. I got too close to my cousin’s wheel and messed it up. He got mad and whipped a stick at me. It slashed my face and I bled. I cried out loud and ran all the way to Grandma. Many years later I visited my old home town, a man said to be my cousin came up to me. He circled me and eyed me up and down. I asked him, “What are you looking at?” He replied, “I want to see if you still have the scar. I never forgot about slashing you and making your bleed.” Bless him for having carried the guilt for all those years!

       We had a big dog named Ah Long. I often climbed on his back like he was a pony. One night while in bed, I heard loud barking and yelping by Ah Long. By the time the grown-ups got up to check why Ah Long was making noise, they saw a shadow of man scrambling up the wall. Someone shot at the intruder with a rifle but missed, and he got away. Ah Long was lying in a puddle of blood, with a knife stuck in his chest. We figured the thief must have had an eye on Grandpa’s antique collections. The antiques were safe, but Ah Long gave his life to defend his master.

       I have memories of my mother from when I was very young, before my brother was born. I remember getting new shoes that she hand-sewed for me, making me the envy of the cousins. She also hand-made me toys such as delicately painted eggshells, strung up with colorful silk threads, for me to carry around. Once she handed me a freshly laid egg from our own chickens. It had a hole in the top and the bottom for me to suck out the inside. I went outside to show off to my playmates. While tilting my head to suck on the egg, I tripped and took a tumble, dropping the egg.  I hollered all the way home. Mom looked at me, chuckling, “Now you have learned not to run with eyes looking up!”

       My most vivid memory I have with my parents is also the last time I got to spend with my Dad as a child. It was 1949 and he was on leave for the birth of my younger brother. I recall when he took a chicken, killed it, pulled out the feathers, and made a pot of soup for Mom. To this day, I can still remember the smell and taste of that bowl of steaming chicken soup. It was the best I ever had in my life!

       Mom was in poor health after giving birth and was unable to nurse the new baby. My brother was sent away to a nursemaid in another village. I remember Dad taking me on foot to visit him. He lifted me up to his shoulders for the long walk. I could see far and clear from up on his shoulders. I remember noticing little red crabs scurrying around a sandy river bank. They went into hiding as Dad and I strode by, and as soon as we went past, they quickly came out again. My dad talked to me and told me stories the entire way. 

       Dad had to report back to duty soon after he saw my little brother. I did not see him again. My mom died from illness shortly thereafter. When I finally visited my Dad in Taiwan a few decades later, he tried to apologize for not being around when I grew up. I told him there was no need to apologize. I told him about my good memories of him and related word for word a story he told to me when I was young. He was a good father and I had a wonderful childhood. I will always treasure my childhood memories of Dianbai!

Liszt was our favorite. Listening to his rhapsodies played by Hungarians in Hungary, what a treat! The musicians’ passion and enjoyment were obvious and seductive.

Being Hungary’s father of music, Liszt might well be the most adored man in the country. His name was ubiquitous. Throughout Hungary, there were Liszt Square, Liszt Plaza, Liszt Hall, Liszt sculpture, Liszt plaque, Liszt school, Liszt Museum, etc. You name it.

In the beautiful Pecs, a UNESCO World Heritage City, there was a bronze statue of Liszt leaning against the railing on a museum balcony. With flowing long hair and an unkempt appearance, he looked poetic with flamboyance.

Last night, we went to the Budapest State Opera House for Rossini’s La Cenerentola, which was a Cinderella story. The 19th century opera house, opulent and ornate, was full. The presentation had a 20th century twist. On stage, the horse carriage became an automobile, and the fairy godmother was replaced by a male magician. There was humor throughout, and the audience chuckled along all the way.

The Gypsies started playing “As Time Goes By”--romantic with a bit of sadness. We were moved. “Are we in that Casablanca cafe?” Where were Ingrid and Humphrey? “Play it again, Sam!”

The “Fiddler on the Roof” followed. Gyrating with the rhythm, the violinist had become the country fiddler himself.

The Hussars was now filled. The Gypsies moved on to other tables.

La Cenerentola ended in a standing ovation. It was approaching midnight when we walked out of the opera house. The tree-lined boulevard was still lively with pedestrians. The autumn crisp was in the air. A wonderful time for a stroll.

Along a back alley in Prague’s Grand Old Palace, the Golden Lane is a row of miniature houses glued practically to the palace wall. They were the temporary housing for the craftsmen during palace construction. Albeit being temporary, they have survived through centuries. Even though these miniature houses have been converted into gift shops, souvenir hunters must pay admissions to get in—because they are so cute and colorful.

With 12 of those doll houses crowded with shoppers, I didn’t know why I entered this one. And there she was. In this lily white country she may be the only Asian-faced vendor in the palace, while there was nothing special in me because I was, perhaps, one of the hundreds of daily Asian visitors. She dropped her customers, nevertheless, and started talking to me. 

I gave her my family history and my current situation in the U.S. She, not exactly an Asian, turned out to be a descendant of the Mongol conquerors who have settled in present day Dagestan near the Caspian Sea since the 13th century—after a triumphant military campaign led by a Genghis Khan’s grandson. Her people, now surrounded by Muslims, managed to have their language, culture, and Buddhism still maintained.

Hundreds of years of separation from other Mongols, and thousands of miles away from the Mongolia steppes, she and her people have survived. She told her story as-a-matter-of-factly. I came to understand the Mongol-nomadic spirit better now, “Home is wherever you are.”

We hugged. Feeling a bond between us, we declared ourselves cousins of each other. 

蝴蝶琴是小型的揚琴，托了師傅訂做的，手工精巧，前緣的小暗屜裏藏了兩支琴竹，和一個袖珍調音銅槌。記得爸爸的老友朱伯伯聊起，「你爹去世以後，你們母子家徒四壁，有幾次沒有米下鍋，只好把揚琴送進當鋪，你非常捨不得。」爸爸回答，「是啊，每次都虧你跟家裡要零用錢，借給我贖琴，才能保住！」

我從來沒有見過爺爺，他的形象只能從手邊一張舊照踹度：這張家居隨影，沒有一般照相館拍的那種拘泥嚴肅的架勢：剃了光頭的他，身穿淺色長袍深色馬褂，眉開眼笑，懷抱一個嬰兒，大約個把月，他右掌捏著小手，左掌握住小腳，手勢親暱，這孩子不知是不是幼年的爸爸？

抗戰結束，爸爸大學畢業，生了場大病，復原後，就從福州渡海到台灣療養、覓職，身邊除了一小包衣物書籍，就是這台琴。次年，身為未婚妻的媽媽陪著奶奶去投奔他，不久成了婚。媽媽回憶，「新婚之夜，幾位好友來鬧洞房，起鬨要新郎新娘表演，於是你爸拉二胡，我彈揚琴，表演了二重奏。」這種情景，在我們接二連三出生後，就很少再現，蝴蝶琴裹了條緙絲圍巾，高高放在爸爸書架頂層。

爸爸去世後，媽媽說，「有什麼想帶走的，儘管拿吧。」我就挑選了這台蝴蝶琴，小心翼翼的提上飛機，越洋帶回了洛杉磯。

又過了十多年，一次幫媽媽整理舊物時，她出示了個辭典大小的棗紅木盒，抽開盒蓋，掀開一塊深紫絨布，躺著三冊薄薄的線裝書，內容是文言文和詩詞，還有一行行工工尺尺之類的符號，書頁用縫衣線裝訂成冊，封面自製的，毛筆標簽寫著：「養正軒琵琶譜卷」下款是「友仁題」，這是爸爸的字。

媽媽說：「日軍佔領上海，妳爺爺離開的前夕，把這套他珍藏的書拆散，分裝入幾個信封寄回福州家裡，可能是怕郵寄中如有不測，起碼可以保留部分。」想起爸爸說過，「當年我還是中學生，被召去警局問話，他們檢查來自上海淪陷區的信件，發現這些印了神秘符號的紙頁，懷疑是情報密碼，我再三解釋，說是國樂古譜，總算讓我領回家！」

爺爺抗戰初期，與上海法院的一批同事逃亡後方，中途受到日軍攔截，全體被處決，他終究未能回到家鄉。中日戰爭結束後，民國政府刻了一個紀念碑 「殉職完忠」，後面列出十一位犧牲者的姓名，吳季同就在其中，這塊碑至今仍收藏在金華。

「可以給我嗎？」我問，媽媽點了點頭。我觸摸著泛黃的薄紙，如獲至寶：書冊縫製的針腳稀疏參差，看得出用針線的是生手；封面上貼的仿篆題字，筆觸認真、但顯生怯。我恍惚看到少年的爸爸，在微黃的燈下，小心翼翼的把散頁拼湊成冊，穿針引線，慢慢裝訂，然後研墨潤筆，一勾一劃的寫下書題，署了名，剪貼了做成封面。

爸爸曾一再提過，所有我送給他的禮物，他最中意的，是魯迅那幅對聯，「橫眉冷對千夫指，俯首甘為孺子牛。」爺爺在他心目中，就是這副形象。爸爸自己不也是如此嗎？他對外的形象是耿直不阿，不奉迎，不畏權勢，在孫輩面前，他又是個活趣生鮮，會變魔術、教下棋、愛講笑話的酷外公；孩子小時候，我帶他們回台北探親，爸爸就喜孜孜的帶他們上遊樂園划船、開碰碰車、逛動物園，孩子走不動了，就一把扛上肩背著走。

爸爸雖然是物理教授，他畢生酷愛音樂，曾自學多種樂器：大、小提琴、橫笛、琵琶、鋼琴都有兩手，但特別偏愛二胡。夜深人靜時，家裡經常琴聲裊繞，無論是出於唱片還是他的手指、國樂還是西樂，都能讓我感受到一種祥和安寧。我們小時候，爸爸鼓勵我們每個人學一種樂器，特別請了老師，我和二弟彈鋼琴，妹妹和大弟拉小提琴；我們練琴時，他常坐在書房裏，半開著門，顯然在聽，即使我們手下敲釘拉鋸般生硬，也極少出聲批評。遇到節慶生日，如果我們願意湊在一起合奏一曲，他就眉眼舒展，點頭微笑，好像無比享受。他說過，「讓你們學樂器，沒有期望什麼，只希望音樂能成為你們內在生活的一部分。」就這樣，雖然我的鋼琴技法從未超越過初級程度，但這一生，音樂一再為我帶來喜悅和激勵，也提供過無比的撫慰，我的弟妹們跟音樂也都結下了不解之緣。

我雖然沒學會彈蝴蝶琴，也讀不懂刀尺譜，但觸摸著爺爺的這些物件，好像擁有了他通過爸爸傳下來的精神遺產，也代表爸爸無價的贈禮，心中就浮現著一種莫名的滿足。

南屏村位於安徽黟縣城西南4公里處，距離婺源不遠。是一座有千年歷史，相當規模，卻又少為人知的古村落。遊人不多, 更少了商業氣息。

村南有一座形如屏障的南屏山。卻不知是村因山而得名，還是山因村而取名。村莊外圍都是農田, 大約要在田間小路上走十多分鐘才算進入村子。

最先要面對的是拐彎抹腳, 縱衡交錯的72條巷弄, 外人一不留神就會迷失了方向，所以南屏村也被人起了個名字，叫「迷宮村」。 

全村人口不多, 卻有著300多座明清古建築。 蜿蜒的小溪, 蕭瑟的垂柳, 古老的石橋, 紅色的燈籠，綠色的苔蘚，狹窄的巷弄,  斑駁的牆壁, 曲折的小徑, 灰石的台階，大小的祠堂, 古舊的木門, 走在其間, 就像是在桃源深處憑弔古人曾經的風采.

請點擊此處欣賞南屏村古樸的人文風景

和大我十歲的姊重新見面，著實太興奮了！從我嬰孩時期，她就是我的「紅膏藥」。她到哪裡，我就黏到哪裡。記得每次過年過節時，我最盼望她從台北的工作地點回到家了。而她最高興的事就是幫我打扮，從頭上的紅緞帶髮夾，胸前的白琉璃魚胸針、花花綠綠的小洋裝、到白襪紅鞋，無不一一親自為我點綴。然後興高采烈地牽著我的手到處去獻寶。從我記憶起，她不知有多少次被誤認為是我媽媽。

我母親43歲、父親55歲才生了我這老幺。小時因為家裡貧窮，再加上媽媽一共生了十胎小孩，有的夭折、有的迫不得已送給有愛心無子女的夫婦扶養。我小時因為太愛哭，母親有意把我送給鄰居撫育。當時大我八歲的五哥迫不及待地跑到學校告訴我姊，我老姊馬上飛奔回家，把我偷偷抱到外面藏起來。我就這樣幸運地被留下來了。我姊對我說這個故事一百遍都不只，我永生不忘姊的恩典。

初高中寒暑假，我都到台北住我姊家。姊會每天帶我到她服務的大機構，把我丟在圖書館裡。我就在此猛看世界名著，培養了我對文學的愛好。高中時，她還託了一位上校，在中午時和我談了一個小時的英語對話，做了我後來上靜宜文理學院主修英文的基礎。高三時，她同事唸北一女的妹妹首次帶我到教堂。愛音樂的我，馬上被詩歌的優美及寧靜感震撼住了。上了整個夏天的週日禮拜，我就受洗成為基督徒。這個決定培養我了我終身靈性上的生活。

我從蘭陽女中高中部畢業後，考上了靜宜學院的外文系。雖說這是我夢寐以求的大學生活，但因父母早逝，這個私立學校的學費及住宿費不貲。我姊聯合幾個哥哥商議把老家的房子租出兩間房，好讓我唸完四年的大學。從靜宜畢業後，我雄心勃勃地想一人到美國去闖。我申請到一所芝加哥的大學，也是姊給我建議和遊說四個哥哥幫忙我籌備第一學期的學費，好讓我初來乍到一個陌生地，有個喘氣的機會。

正如眾所皆知，留學生的孤獨、寂寞、勞累、及苦悶的生活，大家應當都身歷其境地嘗過。兩年半我結婚後的移民小家庭之辛苦奮鬥，不言而諭，你我也皆知。那些年我所有的牢騷和委屈也用長信全訴諸一輩子待我有如母親的長姊，她幫我度過了無數的難關。

這次返台，我和老姊再次地重溫九年前我們一同踩四輪車的愉悅 (請看視屏) 。我們每次見面，必暢談不止，笑聲不斷。回洛杉磯後，我看了這段兩老姊妹花又興奮、又快樂的踩車視屏接近30遍，每次都把自己笑得合不攏嘴，心中充滿了極度溫馨的感覺。將來還有多少機會能經歷到如此親密揪心的體驗呢？多麼珍貴的回憶啊！

請點擊此處觀賞 2024 Silda & Sister.MOV 

中国各地正在举行春节庆祝活动，烟花四起，人们正在登上火车回家，家人聚在一起打扫家园，龙年庆祝活动快到了。

你可能已经读过很多中国文化大革命的故事，许多故事令人心碎，许多人吃了苦。

很少有故事包含外国人，我知道一个故事，想跟你分享。

有个在北京大学的老外学生被他的同学邀请去桂林过春节。这位老外搭乘了一趟南行的火车，加入了挤在车上的中国人群，试图回同学家过年。

当这个老外抵达桂林时，拜访了他同学的家。认识了同学的父亲、母亲和爷爷，一起喝茶，聊天。

老外听到了，爷爷是抗日战争时期的一名飞行员：他曾在美国接受飞虎队的训练，他在与日本人的长期战斗中流血.。

在文化大革命期间，爷爷被派到农村去劳动改造，家庭受到了十年的苦难。

同学以为把新老外朋友介绍给家人会给他们带来喜悦和幸福，但结果却唤起了痛苦的回忆，以及对引发新麻烦的恐惧。

同学很难过地告诉他的外国朋友，“你不能跟我家人一起过春节，对不起。”

这位老外理解，并且不想给他的朋友或家人带来任何麻烦。

那年冬天，桂林很冷，而且当时江南还没有暖气。 整整一周，烟花在街上白天和黑夜里不断爆炸。老外想到：独自过年是很悲伤和寒冷的。

为什么我知道这个故事的呢？因为那个老外就是我。

11/25/2023   婺源  徽州古村燈籠柿之鄉 安徽歙縣上豐鄉姬公尖

姬公尖（姬川村）是一座隱藏在深山尚未被人所熟知的小山村，以盛產一種形狀類似燈籠的柿子而聞名。每年秋天，家家戶戶的房前屋後和坡地上到處是掛著黃澄澄果實的柿子樹。到了深秋時節，天氣已經偏涼但還未冷，太陽仍有著飽滿的氣息。鄉民們將採摘下來的柿子削皮洗淨，用繩子串在一起，在漫山遍野的樹枝上高掛，在房前屋後的支架上晾曬。燈籠柿黃澄澄、紅彤彤一片，成串掛在自家院中，如一串串在白晝時分依然閃著燈火的小燈籠，“燈籠柿”也由此得名。

請點擊此處欣賞姬公尖美麗的風景

11/26/2023  婺源   晨景，傘場，紙傘製作，甲路小村

油紙傘在現代匆忙的城市生活中已經不多見了。似乎已經成為了一種裝飾品.只是提起油紙傘的時候,腦海中總會浮現一幅水墨畫；在落著細雨的拱橋上，穿著飄逸古裝的女子,撐著油紙傘，由遠而近，由近而遠。留下的是美麗而令人綢帳背影。

傳統油紙傘製作工藝還蠻複雜的，削傘骨、鋸葫蘆、組合傘架、煮曬傘架、裝傘鍵、裱皮紙、傘面題畫、修卷傘頁、漆桐油、穿飾線、套柄錘和結傘頂等，有近30道工序，每個環節相扣。由於大量的工序離不開雙手，至今仍難以進行機械化生產。而位於由甲路古村的傘場就成了一個傳統油紙傘傳教與生產基地。

請點擊此處觀賞   晨景，傘場，紙傘製作，甲路小村

11/26/2023 婺源   姚家村, 打𫃎糬, 竹編, 夜

好山好水好村落。 姚家村並不是個很出名的旅遊景點。 也是因為這個原因，少了很多商業的氣氛，也讓我們有機會參加了村裡打𫃎糬的風俗慶典。 村裡新的建築比較少,所以斑駁的牆壁和未加修飾的巷道，充滿了古樸的味道。

回程還參觀了傳統竹編工藝. 材料處理就是把竹子加工成篾（ㄇㄧㄝˋ）子，然後用蔑刀剖成勻稱的細條，再刮光。

婺源的夜景僅僅包括了旅館前面，小小一段橋面上的夜間景緻，還不能代表繞著婺源沿河的夜間美景。

請點擊此處觀賞 姚家村, 打𫃎糬, 竹編, 夜

长我10岁的大姐，在台北读大学时，是品学兼优的校花。接人待物，亲切有礼。登门好逑者众，包括一两位他系年轻讲师。来者无不上座，以茶相待。每有男士相邀外出，常携我同行。西门町看电影，热天逛街吃冰，冷天喝红豆汤，淡水河泛舟，电影后“葡国鸡饭”晚餐。我没有电灯泡的概念，只觉得何乐而不为？

好逑者众，也麻烦。1950年代，没有电话。有天，三位王姓男士，不约，而同时造访，客厅里场面很尴尬。大姐坐不住，跑到后面，对我们抱怨：“三个王八蛋”。

也不是每位男士相邀，大姐都带我同行。记得大姐赞赏一位美男子，与他外出就从不带我。与隻身来台，工读过日的男士外出，不带我。与后来做姐夫的男友外出，也没带过我。所以那些必需忍受这个电灯泡在场的男士们，值得同情。现在看来，带个电灯泡出行，也是不愿拒人千里的大姐，给那些男士的一个讯号。时隔多年，那些好逑者也各自有不同的事业与家庭。我父亲去世后，有几位过去的好逑者，隻身在台，常来看望母亲，也变成我的朋友。

这一套大姐的Dating Game，由于多次亲临现场，我早已烂熟于心。光阴似箭，弹指10年，西门町还是西门町，没大改变，自己在大学时交女友，也如法炮制。好在女友都没讨厌的幼弟做电灯泡。西门町全版：逛街/吃冰或喝红豆汤/泛舟/电影/葡国鸡饭，輪番使用。最后一次葡国鸡饭，饭毕付账，刚起身要走，跑堂就来收桌子，当我们面，用我们的餐巾和剩茶擦桌子。原来，给我们如小毛巾的餐巾，都是抹布。真恶心！

幼弟之妙，还不止于做电灯泡。早在民国37年(1948年)底，我6岁，全家离开南京，去台湾前，在上海住了两个多月。我的同族大哥，已大学毕业，认为我才刚开始的学业不能中断，把我注册于附近一个学店。没有操场，全校就是座有一天井的两层楼建筑。校长-师生-工友，只讲上海话，我是不会讲也听不懂。同班小朋友，不是大眼/小眼看我这异物，就是视我而不见。老师都是女性，个个都是晚娘脸孔，每位配有一块巴掌大的竹戒尺，上课时，在讲桌上敲得价响，震慑学生。

唯一例外，是位天使般的年轻女老师。教音乐，说国语，从来不碰戒尺，对学生讲话，和蔼可亲。说也奇怪，她课上，没有晚娘脸孔，没有戒尺镇压，学生一样很乖。

后来才知道，她才是送我来这学店的真正目的。一年后，石老师，天使般的江南美女，来台湾，嫁了个北方漢子，变成了我的大嫂。大哥大嫂，伉俪情深一辈子。我父亲早逝，长兄长嫂如父母，给我不少安全感。他们在台北，一直住在温州街的大学教员宿舍，平房，有自己院落。那里是我的根，每次回台，总在附近旅社下榻，以便朝夕与他们相处。大哥大嫂，一直到九十余高龄，才相继去世。

（耄耋老人回首）

林安泰古厝，是位於臺灣臺北市中山區濱江公園的一座中國傳統式的四合院。建於清乾隆48年(西元1783年)，迄今已超過二百年歷史。是台北市現有保存最完整的閩式建築。原址坐落於台北市四維路上，於民國67年遷建於台北市中山區濱江街現址。

第一眼見到林安泰古厝的時候，竟然有著似曾相識的感覺。見到園林和建築被盡心的保存與呵護，當時有了同人不同命的感嘆。而這份感嘆，卻在之後的時空錯亂之下，被顛覆了。

如果覺得困惑不解，那就請點擊下面的鏈接。

「井仔腳瓦盤鹽田」是臺南北門的第一座鹽田。於1818年遷此，是現存最古老的瓦盤鹽田遺址。清一色為瓦盤鹽田，一池連一池。後因人工成本過高，於2002年結束了長達338年的曬鹽業。最後為延續鹽業文化而將鹽場復育，成為台南濱海最具特色的景點。

在這裡可以體驗鹽民曬鹽、挑鹽、收鹽的辛苦。而夕陽晚霞映照在瓦盤鹽田上的倒影，更讓每個人沉醉其間。

如果享受神遊萬里之外，那就不妨點擊下面的鏈接。

San Fernando Valley 

We waited for the rain this year since March so that we could have our cars washed. It sprinkled only twice. Imagine the dust on everything, from cars to tree leaves to weeds. We thought we should go somewhere before the Santa Ana whipped up all that dust in the air.

But being cooped up in our armchairs for so long, our legs were getting lazy. Even going up and down the stairs was a chore. So we joined a country club where the dining room, lounge and library would all ravel with us and the scene of the change of season would show up in the big picture window in our private cabin.  Best of all, we would be free of sales and crank calls for two weeks! 

The plane was full to cramped legroom. I could not but wonder how would a 200-lb 6-ft person fit into these seats? Without noticing the day changing into night, we went through a long 16-hour flights-and-stops and boarded the MV River Aria that was docked on the bank of Pest side of the Danube looking at Buda.

At dinner that night. I could not take my eyes off Martha when she talked. She had all her feelings on her face. Her brother had a smiling face of the elves working in Santa Claus’ toy factory. He was quiet and let his sister do all the talking. Only after a few glasses of wine did he loosen up and poured out his horror experience of the Vietnam war which he had kept inside him all these years. We made our first friends on board. From then on, we met new friends every night at different dining tables.

Jó reggelt kívánok, Budapest! 

“So!” Monica, the guide from Romania for the Red Group, greeted us through the microphone on the bus. “This morning we are going to have a local resident lead you on a city tour. Okidoki?”

“So!” the local guide started her guide with the same greeting. “You will notice that all the buildings in the old city are of the Baroque period, and the horses mounted by the important figures of our nation are of the same height of those throughout Europe. In reality the Hungarian horses were much shorter. They were Asian horses.

“Today, two third of Hungary’s population either live or work in Budapest. Life under Communism was harsh. To buy a car, for example, people could wait for a year. When your number was up, you would be told that there was no car available. Nevertheless, among all countries under this system, Hungary was the most affluent and free. We had a Trinity Rule: free Education, free Medical Care and free Border Control. It has been followed till this day. You would think that people from the other countries would try to come live here. But statistic shows that the country’s population has gone from 10 million a decade ago down to 9 million today. I doubt three years from now this government will still be in power.”

Back on the River Aria, we also had a Trinity Rule: free drinks, wine and soda, free room service, and free meals served three times a day by bow-tie waiters with smiles in different European accents. Our population also went down from 135 to 134. One passenger was put ashore for biting the finger of another passenger. The witnesses were divided in placing the guilt. As for this ship’s future, three weeks from now, she won’t be sailing on the Danube. She would be heading south with the seasonal birds.

Dóbro útro, Bratislava! 

“So! This city used to be ruled by Hungary,” on Day 4, the local Slovakian tour guide told us. Then she gave us a synopsis of the history following the rule of the Hungarians. “In… and in…. then in…. All right? It is now the capital of Slovakia. The population is made up of three major racial groups, Slavic, Hungarian and Roma. By the way, the word Gypsy is considered politically incorrect nowadays. There used to be a large Jewish population here. During WWII, they were all taken to the Nazi concentration camps. After the war, only a few returned. This building is… that building was…. The story goes like this…” There was a story for every building. 

At every turn there was a statue, from nobility on horse to little boy peeing, and, always, there was a folk gossip associated with it that one could not find on Google. “Maria Theresa fell in love with this guy… This statue is…. This man was assassinated by…. That statue there is….”

Then we came to a square. The tour guide said, “There is a WC in the basement of this building.” We got the hint that the tour had ended. “The entry charge is half a Euro. To return to the ship, walk this way… Remember, lunch back on the ship is at 12:30.” 

We did not have Euro. So Daniel paid for us.  

Guten Morgen, Vienna! 

Day 9, November 24, 2003

How could we have endured this cold in an unheated VW bus? We had been on the road for five months. When we got here, the cash we carried on us had run out. It was late Friday afternoon Oct. 31, 1978. The Merrill Lynch office was already closed. We had to wait until Monday to withdraw some money. Luckily we had stocked up enough grocery. We found a spot that had no time limit posted. Temperature was dropping, inside the car was as cold as outside. So we went to explore the old city on foot. We cannot remember how many times we had walked up and down Helden Plaz. Our old beaten ski jackets and Oriental faces stood awkwardly out among the nicely dressed European ladies and gentlemen in fitted spinach-green colored overcoats. 

Forty-five years was a long time ago. There were no tourists but the three of us. 

“This building is…,” the local tour guide pointed to one of the many buildings surrounding us. They were all shaped in cubic block and all had the same stony look, some real some plastered. There were more statues and horses than in Budapest. All the pretty women and masculine men on the ledges of the buildings and standing by the columns were naked. It was cold, How could they stand it? 

“That statue was… That building with its upper part painted in pink used to be… During the 19th Century… His mistress was… She had sixteen children…. He had over 40 children… She committed suicide… He shot… His son died of tuberculosis… She married her cousin…Habsburg... See that window in the orange-colored building? That was… This man on the horse was…That…” 

In two hours, we walked through half of the old Vienna city and learned all the historical gossips about the nobilities in those days. It sounded like they were all related to each other by DNA. 

Unlike the West Lake that embroidered Hangzhou and the mist that veiled the mystic Huang Mountain, how could these blocks of buildings and cobblestones have inspired such beautiful music? Was Cubism started here?  

Guten Morgen, Linz!

Day 11 (November 26, 2023)

It was a gloomy day. A day we had not expected to see on our peace-seeking, cruise. There was nothing to see in Linz. 

Most people had heard of the massacre of the Jews during WWII, but few had seen the places where it was carried out other than in Schindler’s List and Diary of Ann Frank. There was one near Linz. So, we braved the cold, rain and wind, and headed out for Mauthausen Concentration Camp.

From far away, it looked like a military fortress or a medieval castle, standing eerily alone on a hilltop. It rather looked like the Psycho House. At close up, it looked cold and barren. The guide, Marcus, met us at the foot of the hill. As we walked up the slippery climb in rain and sleets, we dropped out of the sight of our Group. Daniel noticed it and came back to walk with us. Thanks for the modern invention of intercom, we could still hear Marcus’s voice coming through the receiver plugged in our ears.

“Imagine, the average body weight of the prisons was 65 lbs. They were forced to carry stones weighing one hundred pounds up this hill. There were no roads then. They had to climb up that narrow steep valley. If one fell, a domino effect would bring down all those below him. The wounded would be left there to die and rot.” 

We could feel their pain in our wobbling legs. We hastened to catch up in order not to be… 

The guide went on, “This was the first and largest concentration camp in Austria to carry out the Genocide of the Jewish people. Functionally it was a forced labor camp. Sometimes the SS would shoot the prisoners for no reason at all.” 

“Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose of forced labor?” Daniel asked. 

“The SS didn’t care, “ said the guide. “They were not human.”

We finally reached the gate.

“This is a memorial put up by some 40 nations to commemorate their nationals killed here. This camp had taken in 19,000 prisoners, mostly captured Russian soldiers. The rest was consisted of Jews, nationals of 40 other countries and Roma. The prisoners were forced to build this camp and worked in weaponry factories. Some of them were rented out to work in private industries.” 

Inside the camp it looked like a typical army camp. There were two rows of barracks facing each other, one row of dormitories and, in the other row, there were a warehouse, a kitchen and a hospital. The area between the two rows was designated as "the roll call square".  

We were led into one of the dormitories. There were two separate rooms, a toilet and a washroom. The next room was sleeping quarters. It was bare. It had a raised wooden floor and glass-paned windows. Through the windows I could see a cemetery with tombstones. 

“When there were prisoners, this room was filled with bunk beds with straw mattresses,” the guide said. “There was a small heating stove barely enough to heat up the room. It was so cold that some internees would sleep on top of their dead fellow-bedmates, some would urinate and defecate on their mattresses. Food was brought here from the kitchen. It was watery vegetables, sometimes with a little meat.” 

It reminded us of Auschwitz where we visited 30 years ago with Reno and Iris. Auschwitz looked exactly the same, only larger. There we saw the bunk beds, the straw mattresses and the potbelly stove mentioned by Marcus. I knew the feeling. Our boarding school in China during the war looked similar. Only instead of the wooden floor, we had dirt floor; instead of glass on windows, we had paper-pane. No stove. The winter wind crept right through the cracks. Our daily ration was 20 lama beans per person. We did not even know how meat smelled, let alone how it tasted. Difference was we had a purpose of life, to resist the invaders. I guess, our Chinese dictionary also had a different definition for life.

The hospital now served as an exhibition hall. At the foyer, there were display windows exhibiting old pictures of the camp, Nazi officers, prisoners, IDs with ages and professions and ingots of gold extracted from their teeth. There were neatly handwritten lists of prisoners and of those gassed, We were let through rooms for those whose numbers were called up to undress, to be gassed or to be executed by shooting. 

In the last two rooms there was a steel box of the size of half a cargo container in each of them. “This is the crematory,” the guide said. “Out of a total of 19,000 internees processed throughout the war, the Nazi killed half of them.”

We couldn’t take it any longer. We came out of the hospital to the sleet-swept roll call square. We could see why the Nazi would do such thing to the Russian soldiers. They had shot at them on the front. But what did the Gypsies and the Jews did to them so that they had to do such inhumane thing? We could not but think of the 15,000 innocent Palestinians, mostly women and children, who had been killed in Gaza during the past 50 days, not 5 years, by bombs made in America, with our tax money. What have they done? We wondered how many of those, who were dropping the bombs, were sons and grandsons of the survivors of this camp. Genocide repeated? We were confused.

It started to snow. We found ourselves alone in this desolated place. We were lost. Then we saw a person in bright yellow raincoat walking toward us.

“Are you alright, Vera?” 

It was Ron. He offered his arm for Vera to lean on as we wobbled together down the slope back to the bus.

Cesky Krumlov 

This little town brought us back to humanity. To us, it was the most beautiful and peaceful place on earth. There was no sign of violence, just gossips of town told by our guide. We had visited this town before when we drove through Czech Republic in 2009 with Kwang-nan and Marguerite.

“This is the best restaurant I consider for Czeck cuisine,” the local guide pointed out for us. Thinking of trying the authentic Czeck cuisine, we did not pay much attention to the gossips of town the guide continued to tell.

Dobré ráno, Praha! 

We disembarked the River Aria after sailing on the Danube for 10 days and moved into a hotel. The front desk gave us the wrong key. When I brought it back to the desk, the clerk looked annoyed. “The last digit is 1, not 7," he told me. How would they write 7 then? 

Next morning, we found the whole city beautifully covered with fresh snow. We sat with Walter and Karen at breakfast. 

“Look at my eyes,” Walter said to me. “What do you see?”

“Green eyes.”

“Do you see anything else?”

“No.”

“Do they look Chinese?”

“Eh…”

“My grandmother was Eskimo. She told me her ancestors came from China by walking through the Aleutian Islands.” 

Strange, the local guide for our city tour did not mention anything about their two celebrated composers, Dvorak and Smetana. Instead, she said, “Prague is a Mozart city. Don Giovanni was premiered here in Prague. Since there was no opera house, it was premiered in this play house.” 

For the rest of the tour, she went into the gossips of Praha, “This was the Rosenberg house… lover of Maria Theresa…Then Eisenberg took… and the Habsburgs…” Wherever we went, we never seemed to be able to get out of hearing that name, Habsburg.

It was Day 13. Our legs were dragging slower and slower during the city tour. If Daniel had not stayed behind to accompany us, we could have gotten lost in the Mozart city. Since Vera had to dig through layers of clothes to reach her purse, Daniel paid for all our WC.

Day 14, Nov. 30, 2023

We got up at 3am to catch our flight.

End of the tour. 

Ahoj, Praha! 

兩年前疫情剛起，官員們在驚恐之餘竟然把登山步道也封鎖了，後來慢慢地開放，或者設立單行道，最終才體認到野外的空氣不但清新安全，而且到大自然踏青對被疫情所困的人們來講是一個加強體能以抗疫的工具！我們「雙谷登山隊」的人數乃直線上升超過五十人大關，但這倒也呈現了不少問題。其一，即使在野外，防疫的守則仍然須要遵守，除了戴口罩之外，保持距離也是大家已經習慣的作風，所以大隊只好分成兩個小隊，間隔半小時出發，也才不致於一個隊伍延绵蜿蜒，蔚為奇觀！其二是停車位的不足，使得好幾個受歡迎的山徑不再能使用了，因為現在已經不比當年只需要二十幾個人的停車空間了！

度過艱難的三年，這場世紀之亂的疫情終於結束了，它所帶來的轉變與啟示永久改變了社會的固有生活模式，其中一個最顯著的代表就是拉近了人與大自然的距離，原野從來沒有這麼翠綠，大地也沒有如此芬香，安詳的徜徉在山林的懷抱不就是刼後餘生的幸福樣貌嗎！