Flurries swirled around the car in billowing eddies. They would shroud everything in a mist of white for a few moments before pulling back to reveal the houses, fields and trees that surrounded us, and then close in again. Cars became wraiths as they blinked in and out of sight. Traffic slowed until it became a slow crawl of ants laboring through the drifts. It was a harrowing drive to work today.
Sometimes I feel like I'm stuffing myself through the narrow end of a funnel. There is, of course, a context for this. With the start of a new year and having returned from a very sensory trip, it's time to start rolling up the sleeves and jumping back into the "everything I want to do/ accomplish" pile. I usually have six to ten major things circulating in my head at any given time, with other ideas surfacing and being added to the "to do" backlog.
It is sometimes difficult to keep oneself motivated if some of one's "deadlines" are self-generated. But I've found a system that works for me. Apart from spending extremely limited time in front of the television (which, as we all know, is a work-hazard), I make a list of daily goals and just take it hour by hour, day by day. As I tell my music students, it's much easier to swallow a small mouthful than a large one.
And the funnel thing? Sometimes it's a challenge to keep oneself rolling, especially if what one really feels like is a nap or to curl up with a good book (which, as a writer, is also essential)! But if one can force oneself through the tube, it definitely opens up on the other side.
Digital oil illustration
The trip was a fantastic holiday treat. We even made it home in time for Christmas, and in time for me to fix that special dinner (which I started on Christmas Eve as soon as we got home from the airport.)
Now it's the New Year. Time to re-buckle down. There are new stories to dream and write about, new creations to paint, and ongoing goals to work on.
We wander the streets, looking for new experiences. The air is a myriad of smells. Vehicle exhaust mingles with the smell of bodies. Scents from small street restaurants push through the crowded air along with that of raw meat. Cigarette smoke is pervasive.
As we weave through the maze of people, vivid pictures burst into the shutter of our minds. Whole goats, sliced in half and still sporting their horns, hanging outside meat stalls along with the ducks and chickens. Fish, still alive and flipping so desperately on a tray that they manage to propel themselves off of it and into the gutter, where they continue to wriggle.
A baby standing in a cardboard box playpen, empty except for a few soiled bits of paper.
Rows of barbecued sparrows.
In between these sights are the classy shopping malls and glossy high-end stores.
Our trip to China includes a tour to two of our Great-uncle and aunt's manufacturing plants as well as one of their mansions. Suffice to say that everything is jaw-droppingly vast and elaborate. We are only there for two days. Due to an immense hold-up at the border, we are unable to see the school our Great-uncle has founded, or his birthplace. It is a disappointment.
We take the opportunity to do more exploring upon our return to Hong Kong. We are now more street savvy, and manage to find our way onto a couple of harbor-side walks.
We also discover rows of bustling street markets. They are vibrant mini communities that become increasingly inhabited as the day progresses. Vendors hold conversations amongst themselves and potential customers. Grocers yell out to the crowd in abrasive voices, hoping to attract attention to the food piled around their stalls.
The next morning consists of an early buffet breakfast. We roam around, filling our plates with everything from fruit we have never before seen (slices of whitish gray, with kiwi-like seeds everywhere and a dark red fruit that resembles something between an apple and a pear, but tastes like neither), to chow mein noodles and Canadian bacon.
Eight coaches are waiting to take our group to China. We pile on to our respective buses and stare avidly out of the window. It takes about four hours to arrive at our destination. Along the way we see a man bicycling live chickens to market. Oyster farms start covering the water. Dogs roam the streets. We try to take in everything.
We have the day mostly to ourselves, since the festivities don't start until the following morning. It's the perfect time to make our first foray onto the streets of Hong Kong.
We decide to explore the hotel, first. It's a grand, sweeping place.
It's 4:00 am local time when we arrive in Hong Kong. There is a coach assigned to take us to our hotel - the Grand Hyatt H.K. There's no one else on the bus...just us.
We hit the pillows as soon as we get to our room. It was an excellent flight, but the plane seats were not at all comfortable to sleep in. They didn't tip backwards. Instead, the front of the seat slid down so that you were hunched up like a croissant.
Later that morning, we ease the curtains back. The harbor lies before us, gray and misty, bordered by tall buildings.
Christmas Eve, and it's snowing ever so softly as the plane lands. The lights from the ground reflect off the bottom of the aircraft - we can see it through the outside camera.
There are mixed feelings as the plane touches down. We're happy to be home, of course. Happy that we can spend Christmas Day at home with our beloved dogs Icewind and Keani. But also very sad to have left Hong Kong. The sensory images are already fading. It feels as though we are waking up from a dream.
