Yi Jia

That's what the Chinese call IKEA.

I'd never been to an IKEA before.  I tried once when we lived in Houston. 

Mike would rather have had his balls waxed than go,  but I hounded and hounded him because it was, after all, the Grand Opening weekend! We drove around for what seemed like an hour but, in reality, was probably only fifteen minutes looking for a parking spot. Frustrated... Mike started to drive away, which as you can imagine put me in a mood, a huge fight ensued, we drove home in silence, and pretty much stayed that way for the rest of the weekend.

When the news came, a few years back, that they were building the first IKEA in Kansas City... everyone in town seemed to be in a flutter over it. Not me and Mikey. Nope... not a word was spoken.

I thought I knew what an IKEA represents. Furniture for young people who don't know any better than to buy small boxes filled with heavy boards and not enough screws in the box to put the crap together properly. I know there's a market for that stuff but I ain't it. I have a "no putting it together" rule... it's probably, at least partly, responsible for Mikey and I turning the bend on 25 years of wedded bliss.

But here in China, the very things IKEA sells... household goods... are very expensive. And not always easy to find. So I gave in and hit the Subway, this morning, for the 50 minute journey. Sans Mikey.

Shelby came with me instead and as soon as we stepped into the monstrosity of a store we realized we'd both not eaten anything yet today. Having heard horror stories on getting stuck in the "IKEA Que", we both thought we'd better grab a bite before one of us got cranky.

This was the line for the cafe; they were an orderly bunch.

And yes... I know it's cliche... but I got the Swedish meatballs! I hope they don't taste this way everywhere because I was highly disappointed. They weren't inedible... but I wouldn't be hanging my brand on these puppies. Pun intended.

But they did serve French wine... which I indulged in. And the total for both Shelby's and my meal was 72 RMB, which is under 11 bucks. So there's that.

But then shit got weird. Real weird.

At first we were annoyed because Shelby really wanted to see that chair he was snoozing in. But he had his earbuds in and we could not raise the dead.

I wanted a better look at this couch but there was an entire family lounging on it.

Was something in the fucking meatballs? Get UP people... you don't live here!!!

And this gal on the left... she WORKS there!!!

And then there was this. A rumpled mess of a showroom in the bedding department.  Or was it?  I needed to go around to the other side for a closer look.

Holy shitballs... are you KIDDING me?!?  This chick is fast asleep IN an IKEA showroom bed! At least she had the common decency to take her friggin slippers off!!!

I. Was. Done.

I wouldn't sit on anything, I didn't want anything... I. Was. Done.

Ironically, there was a young woman beggar on our subway ride home. She went from person to person to person... no one gave her a Chinese cent.

She didn't actually make it as far as Shelby and me. I probably would have given her a few RMB but  someone had chased her off at the next stop.

Too bad. If she'd been at the IKEA subway stop she could have at least gotten a good day's rest!

I have some solid advice for the rest of us too. Never, ever, ever... buy the floor model of anything at an IKEA. 

I thought I knew what IKEA represented but I was mistaken. Here in Beijing, at least, it's a place for rest and relaxation. 

Damn squatters!

Chanel(ing) my Mom

Everyone’s mom smells like something. Grandmas do too. My mom smelled like Chanel No. 5.

She didn’t smell like that every day, of course. Only when she and my father went out, or had friends over, for one of their swanky dinner parties. Some of my earliest memories are of my parent's parties back in New York.

For as long as I can remember there was only one scent mom wore… Chanel No. 5. I didn’t particularly like how it smelled, especially when I was younger; it can be overpowering. But as I began to grow older, and undeniably more and more like my mother, I became somewhat obsessed with this fine French perfume. It wasn’t about the smell for me… it was what it represented. And, I guess, who.

I coveted my mom’s bottle of Chanel when she passed away. And sometimes, when I’m missing her so badly I can’t breathe, I put a dab of her perfume on my wrist and it calms me.

I’ve always, for my adult life at least, wanted something Chanel of my own. But I’d never ask for it. It just didn’t seem right and I couldn’t really put my finger on why.

Then, a few months before Christmas, I saw this post on my mom’s neighbor… and now my friend… John’s Facebook page. John is a wood-turner and creates the most beautiful and thoughtful pieces. Read the comments section on his post and you’ll see where this is going.

I had also coveted a piece of Sycamore wood, from a tree felled by a nasty storm, in Mike’s dad, and wife Dolores’s, front yard last fall. I’d been looking for something special to do for Mike and the kids since Pops died… something personal.

When that tree was being cut up and hauled away, at the exact time I showed up in Great Bend Kansas to help Dee with a project, I knew I needed a piece of it to take to John. He made three “Finders-Keepers Penney Jars’ for them… which we adore!

And he made this perfume pen for me.

How the perfume pen works is, you dip the wick, for a lack of a better term, in the perfume and it absorbs up into it.  I didn’t want to bring mom’s whole bottle of Chanel No. 5 to Beijing with me… I can’t risk something happening to it. So this is perfect; I dipped it right in and now I have her favorite scent, and some of my best memories, right here in China with me!

Today I went to the Pearl Market with my new pals Shelby and Bianca. This market, like most all the others, sells everything imaginable! I bought a lovely silk table runner and a few other textiles, to spruce up the apartment which is in dire need of a pop of color. We meandered though several other shops and bought a few trinkets from them as well.

But then we stumbled upon this… Chanel nirvana!

I am home now, Chanel(ing) my inner mama and all of a sudden I get it; Chanel was my moms. It was part of her identity… at least to me… and I had no right to it. And, because she left us so suddenly and unexpectedly, we were never given the opportunity to divvy up her legacy between those she left behind. But I’m quite certain she’s saying this tonight:

Chrissy gets Chanel.

I can only hope I wear it as well as she did; I love you mama!

Thank you, Lord

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

These were the first words I spoke this morning. My head was not even off the pillow yet; my eyes had just popped open in a way they don’t normally function at 6 in the morning.

Nick was home; his plane had landed in KC while Mike and I slept in Beijing. I awoke with an overwhelming feeling of peace and gratitude. Yep… my boy was home from Chile.




I’m grateful for countless things in my life. So much so that sometimes I wonder if the good Lord above isn’t tired of hearing from me. “Alright already, Chrissy, I know, I know!” But I just can’t help myself… I can’t.

But this day, in particular, I’m thinking about these kids.



I’m so thankful for their friendship and devotion to each other; they make me want to step up my game as a friend to others.

And I’m thankful for this huge bundle of pure joy and exuberance; don't be fooled by the tiny little package she comes in!



Belen… you are a gift to our family. Please pass along our thanks to your Grandpa Toto, and your Grandmother Monica, for opening up their incredible “Avocado Farm”, and their hearts, to Nick and Ben.

Pablo and Monica… you have an incredible daughter and this trip would not have become a reality had it not been for the two of you supporting Belen’s dreams and welcoming our kids into your home and hearts! We will be forever grateful.

And this kid…




Benjamin. This photo encapsulates you and Nick’s friendship perfectly. I know the two of you have many, many, more grand adventures ahead and as his Mama… there is no one I trust more than you to always have my boy's back. Love you, kiddo.





So for any of you out there who are waiting for someone to come home safely, or waiting on test results, or hoping to win the bazillion dollar Powerball this week so you can do really good works in the world… don’t forget to have a chat with the big guy upstairs; he's a really good listener!

And come on... he creates beauty (and kids) like this!





Thank you, Lord.

Thank you, thank you, thank you!

*Disclosure: China internet, I’m finding out, is wonky; Blogger in particular has some issues. So some of my posts, though written in a timely fashion, are not always posted that way.