CHINESE NEW YEAR 2026

My apartment mate, Canto American, is dozing in her bedroom getting over the flu. I'm in the teevee room where the computers are, adjacent to my own digs, and wondering how it got so buggery cold. Only a few days ago we thought winter was mostly over, and then something blew in from the Pacific and nixed that idea. High forties, bouts of torrential rain, wind.

In observance of Chinese New Year, the apartment is only a little bit cleaned. My apartment mate would have done more, but she has the flu and feels off. Being a Dutch American who is not particularly neurotic about these things, I am not obligated to do anything. We are not written into the annals as a traditional part of the festivities. Although many of us remember the streets of the old quarter in Batavia nearly knee-deep in red scrap from the fireworks, and the sense of celebration. We weren't there, of course (being Dutch American), and most of us including myself were born long after the Orang Belanda had been forced to depart.
But still. It's a literary memory. With emotional resonance.

Here in San Francisco I particularly remember Chinatown sounding even from several blocks away like a warzone for over two weeks before Chinese New Year till up to five weeks afterwards. It was glorious. Then the city clamped down.
Less noisy, shorter period.

The illustration shows "happy new year" (新年快樂 'san nin faai lok') right to left in the script of over twenty centuries ago. Which I did this morning, because I like that style of calligraphy (古代文書法 'go toi man sü faat').

At least the house smells clean; I haven't been able to smoke inside for five days. She took Friday off because she was sick, yesterday she had off because of Washington's birthday, and she scheduled today off because of Chinese New Year. Plus I was at work for much of that time anyway, so it wasn't a big deal.

I did do some minor cleaning. And I got a haircut recently so at least I look presentable. I do not know if she did, but she looks very presentable all the time anyway, even when she's padding about in jammies and grumpy from the flu.

So to a very limited extent we're ready.


As an unmarried person I should be getting red envelopes filled with money rom the clan elders, as a subtle reminder that this time next year I really should have changed status in that regard, but having been born white, Dutch American, and with no extensive network of close relatives deeply concerned about me contributing sons and grandsons, that never happens.
On the other hand I can gaily ponce around without being overly concerned about proper observation of all the protocols, occasionally happily surprising people by uttering appropriate festive greetings in impeccable Cantonese, and stay quietly on the sidelines enjoying the spectacle.

One minor problem. One is supposed to not wash on the first day. It's bad luck. But as a Dutch American pipesmoker you must assume that I might be a bit whiff if I did that.
It is best to no matter what not be offensive.
Happy New Year.



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