First, a follow up and correction of sorts to my last post about giving apples to the teacher at Christmas. I didn't know what I was talking about -- turns out people give apples to lots of people on Christmas Eve, not just teachers, and this is because:   the word "苹果 (píngguŏ) apple" has a similar pronunciation to the word "平安夜 (Ping’ānyè) Christmas Eve". Hence the apple has taken on the symbolism of good luck and a happy future.

The apples here are positively delicious, by the way. We got so many apples that our apartment is pleasantly apple-scented. But unfortunately, all the apples I got did not prevent me from coming down with the 'flu at the worst possible time; Christmas night, the day before an extremely busy and important day of teaching. Earlier this year I kept on teaching through a bad cold and a bout of laryngitis, but fever is a symptom that I cannot overcome; I just have to go back to bed until it's over. So I missed out on a Christmas party with some middle school kids that I was really looking forward to, and on my last lessons with the group of doctors that it has been my pleasure to teach for the last three months. Now and in future posts, I think I'll refer to this group of people as "The Doctors" to make it clear I'm talking about a specific group of doctors.

We're not going to have a White Christmas, but it is cold enough. We're all wearing our coats and mittens in the classroom, so I tried to warm things up a bit by playing a fireplace video on the monitors. Today (Christmas Eve) many of my students gave me a cute little paper gift box with an apple inside. They've taken "an apple for the teacher" and turned it into a Christmas tradition here. I've got a lot of apples, some pretty handmade artificial flowers, and many cute and warm notes from my students. 

Tomorrow is not a holiday in China, but in the interests of cultural exchange, I'm showing my students "How the Grinch Stole Christmas."  The Boris Karloff cartoon, that is, not the Jim Carrey movie. And afterwards, we'll be Skype-ing with family and friends.

"Be sure to eat dumplings today!" One of my students said as she left the classroom.

In my ignorance, I assumed that the Chinese didn't do anything to mark the winter solstice, but of course they do -- it's called Dongzhi (winter's extreme).  And of course the festival is associated with a special food.  In southern China, it's glutinous rice balls. Here in the north, it's dumplings.

Dumplings are associated with family togetherness. Several people have asked me if I know how to make dumplings, and no, I have never tried to make them from scratch. They've offered to teach me, as at this lovely lunch in a colleague's home, but learning how to make dumplings is low on my list of priorities, and will always be several steps below "clicking mindlessly around the internet for hours," so it's never going to rise to the top of the list. One exception would be, to make dumplings together while chatting and catching up on the news. And perhaps that's how dumplings are associated with family togetherness -- reunited relatives can chat while rolling out the little circles and filling them.

Because I did a lot of blog reading before I left for China, I was prepared for the fact that Chinese classrooms are not very well heated in the winter. My students are reluctant to leave their morning home room class on the sunny side of the building for the language lab room where I teach. The radiators put out very little heat and the single pane windows are drafty. An under-powered steam system (that's steam escaping from a man hole cover as students walk to class in the morning) can't keep the buildings, which were built to a lavish scale, at anything like room temperature. Even Jimmy Carter would be nudging up the thermostat. 

Ross and I can retreat to our nice heated apartment, but the students take all their meals in the dining hall, which is very cold, then go to a cold classroom. They must return to their classroom in the evening for two hours of study time. Their dorm rooms aren't toasty warm either.

Add to this the fact that they don't have running hot water in their rooms -- they have to carry hot water from the dining hall in large vacuum flasks up many flights of stairs. All in all, a situation that few North American kids would put up with. 

Oh, and the laundry. There are no dryers, so we dry our clothes indoors or outdoors. Clotheslines are strung up overhead in the dormitory bathroom and we can also hang our sheets up outside. Ross amazed and impressed the folks around here by going around in short sleeved shirts in November while the Chinese were bundled up in sweaters and winter coats. My winter coat is in Canada so I've been managing with layers, sweaters and mufflers. It's still not as cold as Canada and there's been no snow.

Best thing about winter in Zibo -- we're further south than our hometown in Canada, so we get an extra hour of sunlight every day! It's made a difference!

Ross noticed these roses in November in front of the city archives building It's a big building but consider that people have lived in this area for 5,000 years. Below, the hard-working army of maintenance workers rake leaves and prune the ornamental trees.