Chinese Emperor Shen Nung would only drink boiled water. Traveling with his miltary, in a far-away region, they stopped and rested. Servants boiled his water, as usual, and some dried leaves from nearby bush floated into the steamy liquid. The emporer drank and was quite refreshed. The brownish water, tea, was born.

Although many varieties exist, it is the polyphenols that provide health benefits.

Many celebrations in China require it:

• Family gatherings
• Wedding day - the happy couple serve the elders, and red envelopes are exchanged, in a gesture of goodwill.
• Apology accepted - during an apology, tea is served by the apologist, a sign of respect.
• Respect - employees serve bosses, children serve parents, etc.

You do not refuse tea in China. Like me, you might toss it out a window if it comes from questionable water sources (out of the host’s view), but you do not decline.

During the New Year, people give red envelopes to family members. A small (or large) amount of money is inside. This gift is intended to bring good luck for the coming year. The red envelopes are also given when visiting a friend’s or family’s newborn. One is expected to include enough money for the parents to purchase two chickens.

Many months ago, I place a red envelope under the delicate bedclothes of a baby in Yiang Jiang. The sight of his beautiful round face pulled me back in time, twelve months prior, when I was staring into the smiling face of my little boy, tucked inside his swaddle blanket. I hadn’t slipped a red envelope under his head; instead, I’d placed a single, tiny sunflower in the middle of a dozen long-stem red roses. The roses enveloped the brighter flower, and seemingly protected it from the outside world. Still, the roses allowed admirers a glimpse of the baby sunflower.

“I don’t understand,” said my mother-in-law, a transplant from Egypt. “Why do you put the one flower in the the pretty roses? It doesn’t look right.”

“Because,” I replied, “My little Adam is the bright, shining star, surrounded by the people who love him.”

She frowned, and looked at my little boy, gingerly held to his mother’s breast, and then to me. “Oh!” she yelped, and held her mouth, afraid to wake the child. “Oh– the sunflower is Adam, and we are the roses.”

I smiled and nodded. She hugged me and said it was the most beautiful bouquet she had ever seen.

Gary called.

“Been working with the National Visa Center. They’ve been trying to snail mail the form I need for the next step. In the visa process. To get Hong over here.”

“So how long’s it going to take?”

“I’ve been waiting since November for the first form, and they’ve mailed it twice, but it’s been returned to sender. Twice.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t live at that old address. The post office won’t forward it.”

“Well then just give them your new address.”

“Well yeah, I did all the changes at the post office, so I can get the paperwork.”

“Mm-hm.”

“And it’s put everything back two months. It might not be until July ’til I get my girls here.”

“What does the Autumn Moon Festival mean, anyway?” I asked Mr. Johnson. 

“Do you want to know the story behind it, is that it?” he smiled.

“Exactly. People eat moon cakes, have parties, burn incense, what’s it all about?”

“The moon is a beautiful woman.” Mr. Johnson stood and stretched, and then continued painting glyphs on the coarse, beige stencil paper. “And the earth, that is the boy. He loves the girl, but she is always circling, just out of reach.”

I frowned. “That’s it? It’s just a moon and earth thing?”

“You are missing the point. It’s the balance between them that allows space for love. It’s like yin and yang. People focus on the black and the white, and miss the point. Yin-yang is about balance and harmony. The line between is the ultimate meaning of the symbol.”

“So the meaning of the Moon Festival is balance and harmony?” I asked.

“Exactly.”

So now it’s getting toward the end of the editing process, and the pressure is on! Gary and I reviewed the artwork for our book cover, and it’s absolutely perfect– I’ll post a copy later.

I’m heading back to my favorite writing haunt, the Visitor Center conference area at Forest Park. I plug in the laptop, put my headphones on, and write to the sounds of George Winston’s piano. Wish me luck as I head into the final stages of publishing this book.

Yesterday, I poured over my laptop, scanning my editors’ notes. I was halfway through a chapter six revision, and suddenly it hit me– I had found the heart of my novel. I don’t want to give away too much, so I won’t elaborate, but it was the romance angle I’d been looking for. Within this ghost-, mafia-, business-, spiritual-, and romance story, I had been too focused on the main character’s anguish, on his pain. After reviewing my China trip notes, I realized how hilarious many of the situations were, and I have integrated those within the first chapters. Man, does that make a difference in the way it reads!

But back to the romance. I didn’t want a Harlequin-esqe storyline, but I didn’t want to be too cool and calculating in my description of the romance between Ben (maybe it’s Tom now) and Hong. After living with my coauthor and his wife for nine days, and seeing their relationship firsthand, I have found the balance between soppy sugary romance writing and the aloof style of many modern romance storytellers, you know, the “I’m really just too cool to feel these feelings” kind of thing.

So within Gary and Hong’s dialogue and infrequent miscommunications, I found the warmth between them, and that’s what I injecting into the novel. Tonight, I’ll be revising the last third of the story, and then it’s back to our editors for the final round of editing.

We will run our first thousand copies in mid-November, and keep our deadline of a December 15th release. Cross your fingers for me.

After a full week of decompression, I think I’ve finally shaken the 11-hour jet lag. And although I’m so happy to be back home, with my wife and baby boy, I do miss the utter chaos of Hong Kong and Shenzhen, the crazy cab drivers who ignore lanes and take stoplights as suggestions. I also miss the fantastic foods.

After bragging on the Cantonese food Gary’s wife, Ting, whipped up, I’m already looking through the yellow pages for a Cantonese restaurant. I haven’t found any yet.