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Meanwhile in Guangzhou: Four Weeks Left, A Wok, A Birthday, and the Practice of 陪 (péi)

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.

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Modular House comes to Harstine

I’ll be posting videos here in the next few posts showing the delivery and setup of our Palm Harbor Homes modular home – 59’ x 27’ – or about 1400 sq ft of house overlooking Pickering passage. Here’s the cement pour…

Cement Pour – March 31, 2026
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Back in Guangzhou: Green Streets, Fireworks, and the Quiet Work of Love

I arrived in Guangzhou on February 12, just before Valentine’s Day, and being reunited with Emily after six weeks apart felt like the end of a held breath. We had done what couples do now—FaceTime, quick messages, little digital check-ins that function like brushing someone’s hand in a crowded room. Somewhere in the middle of that, I started a ritual: a daily love note with a song attached, usually something I’d been listening to in the shower. (If you want the most honest soundtrack of a person’s day, it’s probably in the room with the worst lighting and the best acoustics.)

The drive into the city surprised me in a way I didn’t expect. The familiar smells were there, yes—Guangzhou has a sensory signature I don’t think I’ll ever lose—but what stood out most was the green. Guangzhou doesn’t do winter the way my body expects winter to behave. Things keep growing. Even before spring brings the flowers that become so central to Chinese New Year—flower streets, family purchases, celebratory blooms—the city already looks alive.

With the New Year approaching, there was visible “manicuring” happening: plants tended, streets prepped, a subtle sense of readiness. After a long flight and a transfer in Hong Kong, that calm greenery felt like a kind of welcome.

Then the season shifted into its annual gravitational pull. Lunar New Year arrived quickly and, as it always does, reorganized priorities without asking permission. This year welcomed the Year of the Horse, and the preparations were evident everywhere. The first night of the 15-day celebration, fireworks erupted around us—sharp light and thunder in every direction—followed by family dinners stacked one after another.

I enjoyed it in every possible way. Not just the food, but the belonging. Meals are how this family measures time: not with minutes, but with dishes; not with efficiency, but with presence.

And yet, even in the brightness, there was a quiet absence.

One aunt had recently passed away after time in intensive care, and as tradition requires, that wing of the family could not participate in the celebrations while they mourned. The effect was larger than I would have predicted. The family chats—normally playful, full of jokes and those WeChat red envelopes that send a few yuan back and forth like confetti—went still. People avoided the streams, careful not to let cheerfulness collide with grief.

Some of my favorite people are on that side of the family, including two cousins who were the life of our Chinese wedding back in 1996. They bartered theatrically for my wife’s hand and ran the wedding games with the kind of joyful mischief you can’t manufacture. Their absence pulled my mind toward another truth: close family connection is precious, and it can thin quietly over time—not necessarily from conflict, but from distance, time zones, missed seasons. It’s not unlike what I’ve felt with my own family back home.

Meanwhile, Guangzhou continues to develop in ways that are hard not to notice. It feels cleaner and more walkable than I remember, healthier in the air and rhythm, while still retaining the charm of open fresh-food markets alongside modern grocery stores. The city manages to hold both: tradition and convenience, old texture and new systems.

And the systems are striking.

Everything has gone electric. Scooters are electric. Bicycles are rentable from the street with a QR code and cost only a few yuan for a long ride. A large share of the traffic is now electric vehicles, in all brands and varieties. And cash? I haven’t used it once. Everything is a scan. Street merchants do it too: you pick apples or flowers fresh from the farm, they point to a QR code hanging from an umbrella, you scan it, type the price, they receive a notification, and you’re on your way.

Watching this, it’s hard not to zoom out. In many places, daily life feels increasingly strained—politically, socially, emotionally. As we all watch war erupt in the Middle East and the constant din of catastrophe arrive on schedule, I find myself thinking about how much we all need a break from the noise—not to stop caring, but to stop being consumed by it.

Guangzhou, for me, will be an oasis for a while. Not an escape. A different posture. A chance to experience peacefulness and see what it teaches.

On the home front, Emily is working as a long-term substitute teacher at the American International School of Guangzhou, and I’ve stepped into a new role: house husband. I’m slowly taking over more of the cooking and cleaning. I’ve found ingredients for chocolate chip cookies and made a batch (small victory, big morale), cooked shrimp scampi and fried chicken, and we hosted a family meal in our apartment—Emily’s mom (PahPah), her brother Joe (Wei Bin), his wife AhFei, and our twin nephews, David and Andy.

We mixed Western and Eastern dishes—BBQ chicken wings, black rice, potatoes seasoned with olive oil and spices—an edible reflection of the life Emily and I have built: two cultures at one table, not competing, just coexisting.

We’re here partly to help care for PahPah, keeping that part of the story light and respectful because care isn’t a spectacle. But I will say this: a small bridge opened that I didn’t expect. Using translation mode in Cantonese, I had the closest thing I’ve ever had to a direct conversation with her, without Emily needing to translate. Yesterday I told her I could come spend the day with her while Emily is working, and she perked up at the idea.

A word came to mind that fits this season better than most:

陪 (péi) — to accompany.

Not to fix. Not to solve. To be there.

And then, as if the calendar wanted to tie everything together, Emily and I celebrated 30 years on March 8—the same date as our Chinese wedding day: March 8, 1996, over 200 guests back then, split between family and school acquaintances. This year we ditched the crowds and did just the two of us: a romantic meal at the Conrad Hotel, then a walk back across the Canton Tower pedestrian bridge, followed by a waterfront walk home.

Thirty years later, love looks less like a grand event and more like the quiet work of daily commitment. Showing up. Feeding people. Crossing bridges—sometimes literally. And learning, again, that peacefulness isn’t passive; it can be a path to insight.

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Here I am – Never felt so at peace…

Emily in Lagos, Portugal

Feeling very satisfied and at peace in the moment, mid way through our travels. I can’t begin to describe how this is achieving the hopes I had of making a transition that would open my mind and heart to the next phase of life. I’ve used many metaphors – re-fire, re-something, write the next story/chapter – but, none of these really captures the feelings that flow through me. It’s the opposite of mid-life crisis, the feeling that I’ve finally achieved something of note, that I’ve completed something. This transition is joyous and fulfilling.

It is still encumbered by a bit of foreboding, but the horizon looks bright despite the motif of waning days. I like to think I’ve still got three decades in me, but only time will tell.

I’m disconnecting from the news a bit. Nothing good there except when leaders band together against tyranny. But, the momentum of pushback is not there yet. Despite this, I remain hopeful – particularly for my friends in Ukraine, but also for any who are experience loss and pain. My thoughtful escape in the moment still inspires prayers for a better world that is focused more on the plight of others and not on the comfort of selfishness.

2nd half of my prodigal journey is coming with a sojourn through France with my close friend and a final stop in the North Atlantic and Iceland before heading home to Seattle/Tacoma.

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Here I am… – the explanation

All of our luggage!

The journey of retirement begins!! I came to believe some time ago, since I had announced my end date almost 18 months earlier, that retirement for me would be moderately challenging. In order to make this transition, I decided to follow a few dreams.

First, was to pack in only carry-on luggage. Emily and I committed ourselves to minimizing (kind of like the tiny houses we have been looking at over the years) and find a way that we can both travel with carry on bags. We did some experiements with this and loved it. In particular, not needing to stand in lines at checkin counters was brilliant. We did a couple of test runs with this limited baggage approach and have things down now with only a few adjustments left to implement. But, we set out on a summer journey with just what you see in the picture. We have now done plane, train, bus, and auto with our two bags and backpacks.

Second, I have had a dream to travel with family and friends during this transiton. Dream came true when first my sister, daughter, and my daughter’s boyfriend confirmed they would come to Warsaw for my retirement celebration in Warsaw. Then, shortly after, my great friend Randy and his wife Sandy confirmed not only that they would be coming to enjoy the retirement with us, but would be traveling through Europe for the summer (more on that later). Finally, while he couldn’t come to my retirement, my son and his girlfriend confirmed some time in Europe that their jobs would allow and we will be meeting up in Lisbon shortly.

Bottom line, I now refer to this as my wonderful summer game of Where’s (you fill in the blank). Right now I’m playing Marco Polo with Randy as he travels central Europe, while I headed north to find my Sister in Norway. My daugher did time in Warsaw and Krakow with me, but then took her boyfriend to Dublin only to return to a nice family time together (and a wonderful golf game with friends from work and Erin’s boyfriend joining in – cigars and all).

So, now, as I write this, we will be playing “Where’s Jaisen?” and going to find him in Lisbon to spend 11 days. After that, it’s “Where’s Randy and Sandy?” time, likely taking us to the south of France.

Finally, I still want to get in one dream trip. This dream goes like this – I head to the airport with my trusty companion at about 7a. We sit down in a cafe, preferrably with the departure board nearby. I picture us enjoying a nice coffee and then looking up at the board. Slowly, I pull out of my pocket two dice. We roll the dice (or otherwise make a random selection) and pick one destination from the departure board. We immediately get online or head to a ticket counter to get seats on that flight. While waiting for takeoff, we lookup AirBNB or Booking.com accommodations and head for security to take our random destination flight? Sound crazy? It may, but I believe that random chance is worth considering as part of this retirement journey and all things are possible.

After this we made the decision to make our final destination the wonderful country of Iceland, which has two great features. First, it is a wonderful northern adventure that we have always wanted to visit. Second, they have direct flights to Seattle which is our final destination. And, I have a vision of watching some truly volcanic activity (not of the political kind) before stepping back into the Pacific Northwest to stay for awhile. So, homeward bound we are, and the journey will be long and adventurous.

So far…

  • Fjords in Norway
  • A cable car and sojourn with goats while building rock people
  • Swim in the Norwegian Sea in Oslo
  • Sautéed Reindeer over mashed potatoes with Lingonberries
  • Island hopping ferries in Helsinki
  • A Lutheran Church on an island that doubles as a Lighthouse
  • A Russian fortress that became a Swedish fortress that became a Finnish fortress

So, let the adventure continue. Adventure is the launchpad to what comes next. I’m ready to keep going. I’m ready to go wherever I’m able.