In the afternoons on any given day, it is not unusual to run across groups of elderly Chinese in public places, standing in formation, going through the flowing forms of tai ji (or tai chi, as we call it for some reason). I had an errand to run this afternoon, faxing paperwork to the PC office. En route, I came across just such one of these groups. Approximately twenty people, they were men and women of varying ages, though none were younger than 50, I'd bet. A few even had the snowy white hair of the very old and respected Chinese. Whether by silent agreement or some universal tai ji code, the old folks always dress in red. Or at least they dress in as much red as they own--some are resplendent in glowing, candy-apple red sweatsuits, others are more muted in a maroon sweater and trackpants with a red racing stripe. They generally flow through the forms to music, of an airy, Old China variety--lots of wood flute and erhu, the ancient Chinese instrument that sounds like a banjo-violin hybrid, if you can imagine that.

Both on my way to the office and back this afternoon, I pause a few moments to take in their solemn and peaceful exercise. If I let my eyes lose focus for a moment, watching, they seem a seamless wave in motion. Their arms lift and sway, as they bend and step together. But when I re-focus, I see again their quirky individuality. Some are more novice than others. Some glance about as they move from form to form, checking to make sure they are correct. The leader, from whom everyone takes their cue, is a woman who, if she were not at the front of the group, would not immediately seem to be in charge. Shabbily dressed in a faded red men's cardigan, she wears coke-bottle glasses and a too-large yellow baseball cap on her head, with the bill turned upward. Yet after only a minute of watching, it is clear that she is in perfect mastery of the forms. Her presence is calm and confident, and she seems to look at nothing as she moves.

The Chinese elderly are truly fascinating to me. As a generation, they straddle the transition from one of the most terrible times in the nation's history to the near-total rebirth of China as a society. And while I am told that they rarely speak of those awful days in the still-remembered past, I feel I can see it living in their eyes. Maybe that is why, as they walk slowly along in a China that is developing and changing at a bewildering pace, they retain an air of unflappablilty. Or maybe it is just the tai ji that keeps them so calm. Maybe one day I'll ask.