Tonight, we invited a Chinese student for Christmas Day supper. She's not a Christian, which is not to say, of course, that she's unchristian. From her hometown across the bay from Shanghai, the occasion of the holiday is enjoyed as more of a chance to enjoy time with family and join those silly Engrish in a celebration.
I asked her what religion she professes, and she replied her heritage is Buddhism as those from many Far Eastern (or Near Western) traditional cultures. I considered for a second that some might 'accuse' her of being an atheist, or even pagan. Those words, like agnostic are used in the context and usually insulting manner by those that call themselves Christian as a 'fault' comparatively by those that aspire to call their ownselves Christian, quite unfairly to those that choose to believe in another religion.
My faith is something in my heart not in whether I take Communion as a wafer, or a piece of bread, or a Triscuit, but in my belief system a transubstantiation to the Body and Blood, not rituals but acceptance of God’s love within me and my life and can not be taken away by deliberately changing my belief as a result of someone elses' persuasive abilities.
I wonder at the evangelization goal of Christians for those that already passionately believe what they believe. It is unfortunate many Christians believe that those not of a particular religion nor choosing a Christian affiliation, might consider other cultures primitive, equating their own Christianity as the highest form and most civilized of religious belief systems. Christmas is a good time to reconsider ones' personal beliefs.
I choose to continue to believe what I've believed from my childhood upbringing, perhaps, as testament to pragmatism, or refusal to update confirmation in early adolescence. I've come to realize that the church of my childhood has many fundamental beliefs reflecting rational utilization of universal truths. And, much of the religion builds on dogma expressed in symbolic concepts and terminology which underlies an intent of speaking for all across the spectrum as a set of catholic beliefs.
I could no more deny their entirety as deny my heritage, than think that wishing is a rational way to do business. It might make things easier if we were all to believe Jesus Christ as the son of God came to lead and live with us, but that is an acceptable Western tradition, no greater or lesser than any other belief system that advocates for equality, order, respect, a time before and afterwards, and striving to live for a higher purpose.
Tonight, we had sukiyaki for supper. Not Chinese cuisine, but a pleasant alternative. From the night before, slivers of beef had been marinating in brown sugar and shoyu. Cubed tofu and konnyaku, shirataki strands, sliced bamboo shoots and mushrooms awaited the deft hand of a chef, and the hokusai (or napa) was set out for my husband to cut when he cooked the meal. I remembered the taste of gobo root other times we'd prepared the dish, so bought 6-7 stalks, but realized on the fresh smell when peeling it that we only needed a half a store-bought root cut into matchstick pieces for flavor.
While watching a movie set up on the dining table, my husband cooked a meal in the wok on the electric wire, cabbage leaves overflowing the top as the liquid of it and the other vegetables were released in a flavorful blend at the bottom the wok. Sukiyaki served in bowls over hot steamed rice and the 'soup' ladled in. It was delicious. Mango ice cream and a strawberry for dessert. Three color Jell-O of green lime, vanilla puddington, and red raspberry layer on the top. Our Chinese friend learned to cook a very simple Japanese dish, and how to make gingerbread cookies for a traditional holiday custom.
Older son showed a movie about a train trip from Shanghai to Tibet on Discovery Channel which was quite impressive because of the landscape the route traveled. It seemed as if passenger could look out their windows to see Denali within shouting range passing by on the way from south to north, or say, observe antelope and moose of northern Colorado on a train trip paralleling the Trail Road to the Snowies.
So, these pseudonyms I've used altogether might give an idea of who I am in the way of Shakespeare with his analogy to a rose; opinionated, for sure. Coming up with a false name is as creative an exercise as anything else possible for an older person who hasn't time to devote to writing poetry, nor wherewithal to retire and reinvent oneself as a composer of music. If I were to retire now, I doubt at age 65 --in 13 years, I would be anywhere close to approaching the musical genius of Felix Mendelssohn, a child prodigy who took less than 15 years to develop expertise in providing outward musical expression of his innermost inspirational muse. His sister Fanny didn't take too long, either. Of course, Wolfie took less time than F. M-Bartholdy. There's no accounting for true genius. One cannot expect that the idea of even a sniggle of genius will come into play after 50 years of 'life experience', without the fresh egotism, fortitude and invincibility of a child.
One of a favorite anonym used is Mabel LeBeau; first at age 10 or 11 years old, just to have a nom de plume for an alternate identity. Alternate identities such as virtual identities have evolved into an entirely different concept than that of my childish imagination. At the time, Mabel was an old-fashioned name that sounded grown-up and mature, and easy to roll off the tongue. Unfortunately, over the years it's evolved into a allonym not easy for me to look at without any degree of irritation at the obfuscation it engenders, entirely devoid of any hint its user attempts to hide a flibbertigibbet personality.
Perhaps, if Mabel was spelled Mable, Mabyl, Maebelle, Mabol, Mabyll, or even Maybo, the name mightd seem less plain and utilitarian. However, the alternate spellings would probably throw off a spurt of enthusiasm every time I saw it in my mind, distractingly to refocus on what a person with the name 'Mabol' could stand for. It's far easier to work with black and white persona, when trying to fit into the image of Mabel rather than Mabo, to imagine a person named Mabel wearing plain blouses or polo shirts of polyester, Tencel(R), rayon, or poplin with 3/4 length sleeves, worsted wool skirts, and cotton underwear or that the opposite, 'anti-Mabel' prefers traveling to faraway places wearing paisley silk shawls, and simple chartreuse Ponte Di Roma dresses and leather heeled mules.
LeBeau is a throwback to a French Canadian heritage. With a meaning 'the beautiful' in French, it's more a nod to the commonality of anglicized 'Bo' as a surname in cajun country, an ancestry one cannot deny even as it's never been researched or specifically developed.
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