Jian Ping's column
A Nice Treat
A Nice Treat
By Jian Ping
I was recently invited to talk to a women’s book group in Hartland, a suburb of Milwaukee by Karen,
my friend Mary’s mother. On a sunny Wednesday, Mary took time off from work and gave me a ride to her
parents’ home. As we got closer, she took a scenic drive and showed me Beaver Lake—her parents’
home is located along its shore. I could see the glistening water through the thicket of trees between the
lake and the road. Beaver Lake, on which Mary had spent endless hours cruising and water skiing,
appeared larger than I expected.
Karen came to the door to meet us. She wore a burgundy silk top and her hair was tied back with a
matching red ribbon. She looked much younger than her 80 years. Two of Mary’s relatives, Peggy and
Ross, were there as well. We chatted over a table of veggies, cheese and crackers in the living room. I
soon learned that one of Peggy’s sons and her daughter-in-law were published writers. Later, Mary’s
father Bill returned home from his golf outing, proud of his winnings of $11. “Better than losing 50 bucks,”
he said, laughing. He took us to his Golf Club for dinner along Beaver Lake. I enjoyed a hearty meal of
lamb chops, my favorite, and lots of laughter over our conversation—it was home away from home for me,
and later, I joked with Mary to ask her mother to adopt me as her Chinese daughter.
Soon after we came back to the house, Karen and Bill retired for the night. Mary and I sat in the
I was recently invited to talk to a women’s book group in Hartland, a suburb of Milwaukee by Karen,
my friend Mary’s mother. On a sunny Wednesday, Mary took time off from work and gave me a ride to her
parents’ home. As we got closer, she took a scenic drive and showed me Beaver Lake—her parents’
home is located along its shore. I could see the glistening water through the thicket of trees between the
lake and the road. Beaver Lake, on which Mary had spent endless hours cruising and water skiing,
appeared larger than I expected.
Karen came to the door to meet us. She wore a burgundy silk top and her hair was tied back with a
matching red ribbon. She looked much younger than her 80 years. Two of Mary’s relatives, Peggy and
Ross, were there as well. We chatted over a table of veggies, cheese and crackers in the living room. I
soon learned that one of Peggy’s sons and her daughter-in-law were published writers. Later, Mary’s
father Bill returned home from his golf outing, proud of his winnings of $11. “Better than losing 50 bucks,”
he said, laughing. He took us to his Golf Club for dinner along Beaver Lake. I enjoyed a hearty meal of
lamb chops, my favorite, and lots of laughter over our conversation—it was home away from home for me,
and later, I joked with Mary to ask her mother to adopt me as her Chinese daughter.
Soon after we came back to the house, Karen and Bill retired for the night. Mary and I sat in the
| Jian Ping |
screened porch and read into the night. All I could hear was the buzzing cicadas. No
squeaking of speeding tires or humming traffic. As I commented to Mary how quiet
and peaceful it felt, I heard a rustling in the bushes next to the window. Mary smiled,
saying it must be their neighbor’s dog. Sure enough, a thin, furry face of brown and
white popped up above the screen, but disappeared after a quick peep. “He will be
back for a biscuit in the morning,” Mary said.
I sat alone in the dark for half an hour after Mary went to bed. Flood lights lit the
backyard, highlighting the green lawn and the leafy bushes. I swung back and forth
on the cushioned, comfortable chair, savoring the undisturbed beauty of the night.
Early in the morning, I sneaked out of the house for a run. The sun was about to
rise and the morning air felt fresh and cool. I followed a paved trail and ran around a
nearby newly developed subdivision—all enormously large houses, some still under
construction. These customized houses seemed to compete for size and
ostentation—certainly no sign of recession here. When I made my way back 50
minutes later, I ran directly to the lake behind the house and was pleasantly
surprised to find the water warm. I decided to get into my swimsuit and take a dip
into the lake.
squeaking of speeding tires or humming traffic. As I commented to Mary how quiet
and peaceful it felt, I heard a rustling in the bushes next to the window. Mary smiled,
saying it must be their neighbor’s dog. Sure enough, a thin, furry face of brown and
white popped up above the screen, but disappeared after a quick peep. “He will be
back for a biscuit in the morning,” Mary said.
I sat alone in the dark for half an hour after Mary went to bed. Flood lights lit the
backyard, highlighting the green lawn and the leafy bushes. I swung back and forth
on the cushioned, comfortable chair, savoring the undisturbed beauty of the night.
Early in the morning, I sneaked out of the house for a run. The sun was about to
rise and the morning air felt fresh and cool. I followed a paved trail and ran around a
nearby newly developed subdivision—all enormously large houses, some still under
construction. These customized houses seemed to compete for size and
ostentation—certainly no sign of recession here. When I made my way back 50
minutes later, I ran directly to the lake behind the house and was pleasantly
surprised to find the water warm. I decided to get into my swimsuit and take a dip
into the lake.
I ran into Mary in the hallway when I entered the house. “Join me for a swim,” I said,
feeling excited by my discovery.
Mary smiled, saying she’d rather swim later when the sun would be high and the
water “really warm,” but I couldn’t resist the allure of the water and quickly changed into
my swimsuit. “Please come get me if I’m not back in an hour,” I told Mary.
Beaver Lake seemed to be asleep. Nearly every house along the lake had a private
access to the water, complete with a dock and a boat. But there was not a single soul in
sight. I jumped into the shallow water and swam toward the middle of the lake. Through
my goggles, I could see swarms of small fish darting from my intrusion and disappearing
into the vegetation on the bottom. As I picked up speed, my body warmed up and got used
to the water temperature. I selected two boats across the lake as my benchmarks and
swam back and forth, a long stretch. It was so wonderful to press forward or backward
without worrying about hitting the edge of a swimming pool or flipping around every half a
minute or so. As I was about to make another round, I heard Mary calling me from the
shore. I could hardly believe an hour had passed so quickly.
feeling excited by my discovery.
Mary smiled, saying she’d rather swim later when the sun would be high and the
water “really warm,” but I couldn’t resist the allure of the water and quickly changed into
my swimsuit. “Please come get me if I’m not back in an hour,” I told Mary.
Beaver Lake seemed to be asleep. Nearly every house along the lake had a private
access to the water, complete with a dock and a boat. But there was not a single soul in
sight. I jumped into the shallow water and swam toward the middle of the lake. Through
my goggles, I could see swarms of small fish darting from my intrusion and disappearing
into the vegetation on the bottom. As I picked up speed, my body warmed up and got used
to the water temperature. I selected two boats across the lake as my benchmarks and
swam back and forth, a long stretch. It was so wonderful to press forward or backward
without worrying about hitting the edge of a swimming pool or flipping around every half a
minute or so. As I was about to make another round, I heard Mary calling me from the
shore. I could hardly believe an hour had passed so quickly.
| If you want to make a difference in the lives of our residents, visit our website to view and apply for our current openings. www.oakwoodvillage.net Oakwood Village is a Lutheran church-sponsored, not-for-profit, locally operated organization consisting of two continuing care retirement communities, Oakwood Village East and Oakwood Village West, in Madison, Wisconsin. EOEd organization consisting of two continuing care retirement communities, Oakwood Village East and Oakwood Village West, in Madison, Wisconsin. EOE |
Karen was sitting at the breakfast table when I came down after a nice shower. “It’s only 65 degrees out there,” she said. “Didn’t you feel
the cold?”
“Not at all,” I said enthusiastically. “It’s so beautiful and peaceful!”
Mary drove Karen and me to Suzie’s, a book club member who was hosting the 10 A.M. event. The contemporary house was open and
bright, with its backyard facing another lake. Many members had arrived, and among them, two brought their adult daughters. I soon learned
several of them had visited China and one had an adopted granddaughter from China. Since they had already read my book, Mulberry Child: A
Memoir of China, I proceeded to show them some images of the Cultural Revolution and invited them to ask questions at any time. We had a
lively discussion. Eventually, Karen had to cut in and remind everyone that it was a quarter to twelve and we needed to wrap up. I signed
copies of Mulberry Child for the members and continued to chat with a few until Karen and Mary urged me to leave—we planned to grab a
few sandwiches on our way back and have lunch on the lake. We didn’t have much time left since I wanted to take the 3 P.M. Amtrak train
back to Chicago.
I was impressed that Karen, at 80, walked down the slope to the boat with us without any difficulty. Mary skillfully steered the boat out of
the docking area and cruised at a leisurely pace around the lake. A young man was waterskiing in the middle of the lake, gracefully jumping
and turning at high speed, and another was riding a jet ski, leaving a wave behind him. Other than that, no one else was on the water.
“School is still out,” Mary said. “I’m surprised not many people are out on the lake today.”
I was glad the lake was not crowded with people and boats. The sun was shining, yet on the water, it felt cool. A gentle breeze created
small ripples on the surface of the water, making it sparkle as if beckoning to us. It dawned on me why so many people preferred to have a
the cold?”
“Not at all,” I said enthusiastically. “It’s so beautiful and peaceful!”
Mary drove Karen and me to Suzie’s, a book club member who was hosting the 10 A.M. event. The contemporary house was open and
bright, with its backyard facing another lake. Many members had arrived, and among them, two brought their adult daughters. I soon learned
several of them had visited China and one had an adopted granddaughter from China. Since they had already read my book, Mulberry Child: A
Memoir of China, I proceeded to show them some images of the Cultural Revolution and invited them to ask questions at any time. We had a
lively discussion. Eventually, Karen had to cut in and remind everyone that it was a quarter to twelve and we needed to wrap up. I signed
copies of Mulberry Child for the members and continued to chat with a few until Karen and Mary urged me to leave—we planned to grab a
few sandwiches on our way back and have lunch on the lake. We didn’t have much time left since I wanted to take the 3 P.M. Amtrak train
back to Chicago.
I was impressed that Karen, at 80, walked down the slope to the boat with us without any difficulty. Mary skillfully steered the boat out of
the docking area and cruised at a leisurely pace around the lake. A young man was waterskiing in the middle of the lake, gracefully jumping
and turning at high speed, and another was riding a jet ski, leaving a wave behind him. Other than that, no one else was on the water.
“School is still out,” Mary said. “I’m surprised not many people are out on the lake today.”
I was glad the lake was not crowded with people and boats. The sun was shining, yet on the water, it felt cool. A gentle breeze created
small ripples on the surface of the water, making it sparkle as if beckoning to us. It dawned on me why so many people preferred to have a
Jian Ping with Amy in New Zealand
| Beaver Lake in Wisconsin |
second home in the country. The beauty of nature and the peace of
the surroundings were so soothing and serene.
What a wonderful treat I had—receiving the warm hospitality from
Mary’s parents, indulging in Mary’s generous friendship, and
making connections with my readers!
Thank you! Thank you all!
Jian Ping is author of “Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China. “ For
more information, visit www.moraquest.com or www.mulberrychild.
com. Jian Ping’s blog, which she keeps with a couple of other
authors, is at www.smearedtype.com.
the surroundings were so soothing and serene.
What a wonderful treat I had—receiving the warm hospitality from
Mary’s parents, indulging in Mary’s generous friendship, and
making connections with my readers!
Thank you! Thank you all!
Jian Ping is author of “Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China. “ For
more information, visit www.moraquest.com or www.mulberrychild.
com. Jian Ping’s blog, which she keeps with a couple of other
authors, is at www.smearedtype.com.