K: "It takes a village...

... to raise a child," or so says an old proverb from somewhere with villages. Apparently, it also takes a village to clean a fish. For how we acquired a whole fish, see Wander Life. Our fish spent the night in a plastic bag on a windowsill and then moved to A's fridge before we took him out to clean him up so that he would be allowed at the dinner table. A has cleaned many a fish in her life which is a fish or two more than N or I have cleaned... caught them? you know it... cleaned? not so much. It was an educational experience. 

We set up with our cutting board, knife and water sprayer outside our apartment stairwell next to the dumpster and about the time we had the fins off and the body cavity open, we had onlookers: "Where'd you get the fish? You caught it yourself?" and then advisors: "The head is the best part! You should have cut the tail off further down; look at that waste!" and finally an all out overtaker: "That will never work. This is the way you get the scales off. Oh nevermind, I'll do it myself." They watch, scold, take control because they care, and the way we show we care back is to allow them.

The woman who descaled our fish, and then insisted on cleaning up after us - "You go get that fish cooked! And don't forget the spice!" - is our beloved Bike Lady. (We gave her the fish head in thanks for her unsolicited help... it was the least we could do.)  She and her husband manage the bike shed in our apartment complex, and they live in a little cement room in the back of the shed. Though we're quite limited by language, a very sweet relationship has developed between us in the past couple of years that we’ve been neighbors. For example, one evening a couple of weeks ago, Bike Lady came knocking on our kitchen window because she wanted to get our knives sharpened for us. She had heard that the last time we had them sharpened, the man cheated us for eight times the price we should have paid. (We knew, but it wasn't a battle we were willing to fight.) Turns out we didn't have to because word gets around and our neighbors are quite protective; his face has been thoroughly rubbed in his mess, and though we can't help but feel a little gratified, if we could, we'd leave him a little more face than that.

We have recently been observing Bike Lady learn to ride a bike. Now, that's irony at its best. Not only did she manage to live life in China (still firm holder of the "biking capital of the world" title), but she has also been managing a bike shed for who knows how many years. I worked my brain for awhile trying to figure what else she could be doing by clumsily peddling one revolution before putting her foot down on the ground to catch herself from falling. Is she fixing it? Is she testing it? Wait a tick… is she learning to ride it? Sure enough. I went out to take a picture of her pushing herself along. Laughing, she slapped me on the shoulder and said, "Wo bu hui." I'm not able. At least she gets the joke.

Maybe this is my chance to join the village... "No, Bike Lady, this is the way to ride a bike."