An Envelope of Appropriation (#385)

No white woman appropriated the Chinese custom of giving lucky money (“lai see” in my husband’s Cantonese-speaking family) as fast as I did when I married Andy. All my debutante mother’s admonitions against giving money as a gift? Gone the second I realized that a pretty red envelope with gold designs was the perfect way to class up cash.

Cash is much more practical than gift cards. You can spend cash on anything, or save it. But gift cards? There’s NO WAY you ever spend the exact amount on the gift card. Corporations profit from expired cards, damaged cards, unredeemed balances, and sometimes fees. Starbucks, for example, gets about 10% of its revenue from unredeemed cards (from everyone except my husband and Coffee Kate). Stick it to corporate overlords and give cash instead!

I have countless nieces and nephews (thanks to over a dozen siblings, half-siblings, step-siblings, ex-step-siblings from various parental units’ divorces and marriages) who get lucky money on their birthdays. Our son Dalton has lobbied for cash gifts since he learned what money was (age 3). Dalton’s friends and coaches, even the non-Asian ones, learned to look forward to seeing red when they open a greeting card.

I buy my red envelopes in bulk. Yes, I know that most actual Chinese moms, like my MIL Sunny, get them for free from the bank when withdrawing cash for Lunar New Year or weddings or birthdays (stamped with the bank’s logo, of course, BUT IN GOLD). Back when Andy and I got married, however, our bank didn’t have red envelopes. I bought a variety of designs online: the nieces on the swim team got fish, the nephew who demanded orange juice got oranges, and the nephew who loved pink got red and pink peonies. I even splurged on some bigger, more rigid envelopes for weddings (the better to keep shiny new bills crisp and unbent).

While red envelopes haven’t gone mainstream in California (yet), there’s a Hawaiian custom that has: graduation leis. I’d never seen a graduation lei on the East Coast, but when I got my MFA in Los Angeles, flower leis were everywhere. Since then, high school graduations have morphed into a lei arms race in California. There are real flower leis, fake flower leis, candy leis, money leis, and even Happy Meal leis.

I’ve been at graduations where the leis are piled so high all you can see are the graduate’s eyes. Not one to miss out on the fun, I created a lucky money lei by braiding red yarn and gold ribbon, punching holes in red envelopes (with cashed tucked inside), and then attaching them to the lei with artificial daisies. (Then I warn the recipients to guard that lei with their life.)

SoCal high school graduation leis (mine has the red envelopes with flowers in the center)

When Andy’s nephew graduated, I had his lei all planned out: a kukui nut lei (to acknowledge his family’s history in Hawaii) with lucky money attached by red and gold ribbons. I sent Andy a reminder to leave work early and pick up cash on the way home. Lucky money is, ideally, the largest denomination of bills possible. As my husband is notoriously frugal, I texted him specifics: “I have 3 red envelopes on his lei, and, YES, each should be no less than a fifty!”

Andy brought home a bunch of crumpled twenties.

The ancestors wept.

The white wife insisted on stopping at an ATM that would let her choose hundreds. She may have also berated him the whole way there: “What is wrong with you? I’m not even Chinese and I know anything less than a hundred is shameful!”

Andy’s response was a shrug and, “It’s not like I got cash when I was growing up.”

“But when your mom gives Dalton lucky money, it’s always new, crisp hundred-dollar bills!”

“Crumpled twenties spend the same,” was all Andy said.

Until I returned from the ATM with a pile of Benjamin Franklins.

“How many hundreds are you giving him?!” he huffed, accelerating out of the parking lot with significantly more speed than necessary.

“You had your chance to get him fifties and you blew it.”

“But it’s only high school! And he’s got two younger siblings. You’re setting an expensive precedent.”

“Listen, Scrooge, I’m not giving him all of them. I had to get extra bills in case the ATM gave me old or ugly ones,” I explained. “See? This one is folded up in the corner. I can’t use that. And this one is creased! Only pristine bills make the cut.”

Andy remained horrified over the amount of lucky money in that lei.

Same as my southern ancestors, I expect.

But I like to think the Chinese ancestors were as pleased as our nephew.

Me assembling the #1Wong Nephew’s lei on the freeway.

 

Lunar New Year & Stuff (#382)

Gung hei fat choi!

For those unfamiliar, it’s New Year’s Day. At least in most of Asia. And since the western new year started off so badly, what with fires and the inauguration of nazis and shit, we’re gonna hope the Asian New Year starts a little better. (Maybe with a plan for actual resistance, Democratic Party?) At least this week we’ve had rain and clear air.

But back to Lunar New Year (which we use in SoCal because it’s more inclusive than “Chinese New Year”). Since my Chinese American husband didn’t grow up celebrating many holidays, I only recently learned that the traditional Cantonese New Year greeting  of “Gung hei fat choi” translates as “Hope you get rich.” I discovered this via Ronny Chieng’s hilarious stand up special, which I promptly showed to Andy. Andy laughed until he snorted and said, “Can confirm.”

The cultural emphasis on money is probably one of the reasons why my husband is so focused on saving money. He made coupons a huge part of my life. He spends hours making sure we have the best deals on the internet, cell phones, streaming services…and always get free new iPhones with them.

There are only two things Andy hoards: information and money. Everything else? Purge! He’s constantly trying to get rid of stuff in our garage. After our first two cats died, he tossed all their stuff. Then he threw out storage containers that had curtains from our last, bigger house.

Once we got Boss Cat, I had to buy new scratching posts, litterboxes, bowls, etc. When Andy moaned over the cost, I reminded him that it was his fault. And when Boss Cat promptly shredded some curtains and I discovered Andy had purged the old ones, I pointedly said, “Oh, too bad I have to buy more! They’ve gotten so much more expensive.”

I said that frequently.

After we lost our dogs Woofie and Fey to various cancers, Andy carefully boxed up their bowls, toys, leashes, and collars. He even sacrificed precious garage space for their bagged-up beds. Months later, we had all the amenities ready for our new dog Tankie. Tankie loved his beds and dog-proof soccer ball; Andy loved the lack of a canine cash outlay.

Our son Dalton, unfortunately, takes after both of us. He likes money AND stuff—especially stuffed animals. He refuses to donate any of them, despite being a teenager.

Some of the lesser stuffies relegated to the garage

Much to Andy’s dismay, the garage had to make room for a storage container of stuffies once Dalton started playing the tuba in middle school (the stuffie army AND the tuba could not all fit in the kid’s bedroom.)

Then Dalton got a surfboard. Andy quickly figured out how to secure it in the rafters of the garage.

Dalton recently spent his Christmas/lucky money from Andy’s mom on a snowboard.  This put Andy in a quandry: we will ultimately save money by not having to rent snowboarding equipment, but now there is more unpurgeable stuff in the garage.

Andy is currently eyeing Dalton’s tub of stuffies speculatively.

I’m not entirely certain that Dalton’s stuffed snake* is going to make it through the Year of the Snake.

And with the fascists in the White House?

I’m not exactly sanguine about the rest of us, either.

*Dalton also has a stuffed tarantula and Komodo dragon, though stuffed tigers dominate.

What Bugs (#338)

My Chinese American husband doesn’t see dirt. At least, not in our house. He’s got a whole dirt manufacturing thing going on in our yard with multiple compost piles, but can he spot an errant leaf or Lego on the floor and pick it up? Haha, no. Not even after he’s experienced multiple late-night Lego fire walks into our son’s bedroom.

Back when we were dating, Andy would get mad about his roommate leaving crumbs on the kitchen counter.

Now that we’re married? Andy leaves crumbs on the kitchen counter. Continue reading What Bugs (#338)

Cold Wars (#334)

My Chinese American husband grew up in tropical Hawaii. When he moved to Los Angeles, his mom sent him with an electric blanket.

Years later, I laughed over that blanket before donating it to charity. I grew up on the East Coast, spending many holidays in New Hampshire. “Southern California is not cold,” I told Andy.  “Twenty below on a chairlift is cold.”

The disparity in our experiences was highlighted during vacations. I ignored Andy’s advice and ran up a sand dune barefoot on the island of Kauai, yelling, “How hot can it be?”

Answer: “Hot enough that you wind up whimpering with ice packs on your burning feet.” Continue reading Cold Wars (#334)

Candy Dispenser (#328)

Halloween candy is tricky. If you buy a bag too early, it’s hard to resist diving into it before doling it out to trick-or-treaters. Next thing you know (or at least the next thing I know, possibly my readers have better self-control) you have to buy another bag. Wait too long to buy your candy and all that’s left is the sweet orange wax (i.e., candy corn).

My Chinese-American husband isn’t a fan of holidays or spending money. We’ve compromised on the Halloween candy: one giant bag of the good (chocolate) candy from Costco. Except that twice Andy waited too long to buy it and Costco ran out. (Costco is like that. You’d better buy that ski parka in August if you really want it.) Andy was forced to buy several smaller and more expensive bags to fill my witch’s cauldron. Since then, Andy’s always gotten the candy at least two weeks before Halloween. Continue reading Candy Dispenser (#328)

Gifting East: Christmas Edition (#311)

Shopping for anyone from a different culture is tricky.

Shopping for your in-laws is tough.

Shopping for your Chinese-American in-laws?

You’re fucked worse than The Martian. Continue reading Gifting East: Christmas Edition (#311)

Hand-Me-Downs & Halloween (#266)

There were two great things about being taller than my older sister by age five.

  • She couldn’t beat me up anymore.
  • I didn’t have to wear her hand-me-downs.

Instead, I got a new dress for the first day of kindergarten. My parents actually asked what color I wanted. I wore that dress at least twice a week until my growth spurts made it into a crop top. Continue reading Hand-Me-Downs & Halloween (#266)

Top 10 Reasons To Have Babies…Refuted (#204)

My husband wanted a baby.

Meanwhile, I literally had a whole list of reasons NOT to have a baby.

But in the interests of fairness, I interviewed and studied various parents. I came up a list of reasons why (other) people want children…along with reasons why those reasons are screwed up. Continue reading Top 10 Reasons To Have Babies…Refuted (#204)

Winner, Winner, Olive Dinner (#185)

My Chinese-American husband and I live in Los Angeles. Since my husband is an excellent cook, we don’t go out that often. But when we do go out? There’s always a new Japanese, Indian, or farm-to-table restaurant to try. Andy’s up for anything, which is nice. Most of my white girlfriends won’t even consider sushi. And my friend JM will only go to one restaurant — the Corner Bakery.

When my in-laws visited, my husband and I cooked for them for weeks. Near the end of their visit, Sunny announced that they would take us out to dinner.

I cheered. “Yay! What kind of food would you guys like? A new bistro opened in the Village, or you could try our favorite sushiya in San Pedro.”

Sunny said, “Is there an Olive Garden nearby?”

I sighed. “Of course.” Continue reading Winner, Winner, Olive Dinner (#185)

Lucky (#180)

Once upon a time, Andy headed off to Las Vegas for a bachelor party. When he came back, I asked how many strip clubs they’d hit.

He said, “None.”

I said, “Liar.” Continue reading Lucky (#180)