Years ago I ordered a pair of chi-gong balls directly from China. I do not remember any longer how I got the address of the factory that made them, but I remember that I ordered the largest pair that was on offer at the time. Made of solid steel, they were the heaviest of chi-gong balls, too. Having paid with a money order of some kind, I got the balls surprisingly quickly—say, three or four weeks. All the other balls I had bought in Hong Kong, Guangzhou, Shanghai, or Beijing shrunk into oblivion with my new toy. It is still within my reach after so many years. Resting in a wooden bowl either on my kitchen counter or on my dining-room table, they are always available for a quick twirl. And that is the trouble with my chi-gong balls, for many of my friends and acquaintances pick them up, too. Foolishly, as it turns out, for most of them end up by dropping one or both of the balls on the floor. To my shame, I do not have the heart to tell them in advance what is liable to happen. Shrinking in silence, I only wait for another awful thud followed by profuse if pointless apologies.