7-Eleven's are the lifeblood of this city. Even when everything closes down in another week for Chinese New Year, the 7-Eleven's remain open. We pass one every day on our way to school. What is odd about this, is that it is the ONLY convenience store on our mile-long walk to school. At least on our side of the street (there are places in Taipei where there are 7-Eleven's one store apart from each other). So you can imagine our surprise when it shut its doors one day last week. Maybe they're just restocking, I thought. A refurb? But, no, soon the glass was coming out of the windows, men were carting stuff out in plastic shipping crates, electrical was stripped, and refrigeration units were carted away. The floor came up, exposing the rubble underneath. Walls were jack-hammered back to concrete. Two men up on ladders unscrewed the large square 7-Eleven sign that hung perpendicular to the building, and gently lowered it to the ground. The building was nothing but stone and dust, and a bit of iron framework.

What would it become? We wondered as we walked to work each day. One day a floor was put in - stone tile. Cases began being built along one wall. A bakery, I thought, as there had been a few new ones further up the street, and stores seem to sprout in clutches. But, no, it wasn't a bakery. Display racks went it, the glazing went back in the iron framework, a counter of shiny formica appeared. Suddenly there was a new square sign resting on the sidewalk. It was a 7-Eleven again. It was an exact replica of the 7-Eleven they tore out. OK, they switched one counter, the one with the steamed buns and tea eggs with a magazine rack, but everything else was exactly the same. They tore out an entire store, and put it back again. It was the weirdest thing I've ever seen. A friend says it's happening all over town. Does someone have too much time on their hands?

I wonder if they'll have new uniforms.

Megan saw this box of Kleenex. I guess it caught her eye because it has photos of dogs superimposed to look like they are floating on clouds. I'm sure she thought it was rather odd imagery, so she picked up the box and noticed printed on the side of the box was this little poem:

DOG
My pet.
you were my best friend.
my greatest supporter.
my trusted confidant.


So, I guess when someone's dog dies, you buy them this box of tissues.

Woops. Almost two months have gone by without a post from me. Life in Taipei goes on, believe me, but does not leave many spaces for putting down some words describing the experience.

Megan and I just returned from the United States. Weird to go from here to there and back again. When we are here, it is really hard to imagine being there, and, well, the same goes for being there. I remember standing with her in the doorway of my mother's garage, rain falling in the misty darkness, and I said "Here we are - we are in Connecticut, it's cold and wet, and we will have a hard time visualizing this when we get back." Although that memory is still vivid, and the sense of being back in the States remains fresh, I can feel it start to fade around the edges. Taiwan is where I sit right now, and coming back here was like putting an old pair of shoes back on - felt like I never took them off.

But now we are faced with a decision - do we sign up for another year? We have found a comfortable life, granted not one we wish to make permanent, but it's pretty good for the time being. No commuting to work - we walk a brisk mile each way instead. A beautiful apartment in a private neighborhood. Lots of cheap local restaurants where you can eat for twenty bucks. A very prestigious school to work for, plus great kids and good pay. The good pay combined with a low cost of living allows us to save quite a bit of money, and we do.

All of these benchmarks by which we measure a good and comfortable life are placed against family. Our families are on the other side of the globe - we are distant from them, but we do our best to remain close via e-mail and telephone. But the distance precludes dropping in, or coming to visit for a long weekend. Our visits are restricted to twice a year, but are generous at that. Most of the traveling members of my family came for a week or so - we were there for three. When summer comes we are there for a good eight weeks or so.

But it's hard to convince people that this balances out in the end. In reality, we see our family more than if we were to live in a nearby state. We just see them with less frequency. And we lose the flexibility.

Some family members think we should stay. Some even envy our lives. But others want us to come home. So, what do we do? Walk away from a dream life? Or let it last one more year?

We have no answers yet.