Bummer

I went up to Chiang Mai for a few days of r&r, and came back to find Jip had her first-ever bedsore. This discovery was discouraging, although not completely shocking. The books all say that skin problems are common in people who spend long periods in the same position. So far we’d been fortunate, probably because Jip stays pretty active for somebody with her abilities.

The trouble with bedsores is that they take forever to heal, because by definition they are located where the body meets the bed. If you don’t fix them right the first time, they come back again and again.

Happily, Lek’s sister is a nursing professor (she and Jip trained together, way back when). She taught me and the caregivers a few treatment and prevention tips. I also called another of Jip’s nursing classmates, a woman who has come by to see us pretty regularly. Her specialty happens to be older people, who are more likely to encounter this problem. She knew all about some special water-filled mattress pads. The next day she sent us one through a mutual friend who happens to work where I work.

So we’re still well looked after. When we first contemplated moving to Thailand, my biggest hesitation was that we would be leaving behind the remarkable network of caring friends and family who helped us out in so many ways. I still don’t think we’ll ever duplicate that combination of wisdom and kindness. But perhaps slowly, in a way that works for this setting, a group with similar instincts is beginning to form.

Welcomed In

In addition to being my in-laws, Chao and Lek have become good friends this past year. So it was especially easy to feel comfortable at their wedding. Most everything took place above the bookshop that Lek and her father run in a medium-sized town a couple of hours east of Bangkok. When I first walked in, I expected the usual formalities: scurrying for extra chairs, offers of hot drinks along with the standard glass of water, maybe some fish snacks.

But I didn’t count on the warmth of the smile on Lek’s father’s face, as he came forward to greet me. I was reminded of our old friend from the refugee camp days, Papa Louis: the two hands outstretched in a sort of “handshake hug,” the sparkling eyes fed by classic creases, the gift of making everyone feel as though they are the only ones in the room. I will remember that welcome most of all.

The next morning, Chao’s side of the family all gathered down the street from the bookshop, for the groom parade. I really enjoy this custom, in which the groom acts as a kind of suitor, backed by his supporters, who traditionally would be arriving from a neighboring village. A good yodeler brings up the rear, leading cheers that announce to passersby that an appeal for marriage is being made.

(Jip chose to rely on my after-the-fact descriptions, rather than contend with all the unfamiliar voices and obstacles of a fast-paced event like a wedding. She says that if they ever throw a small party in the city, for others like her who couldn’t make it to a mid-week event in the provinces, she’ll make an appearance.)

Once the parade reaches the bride’s front door, traditionally a few pretend obstacles are put up to block the path. A groom must use his wits, and perhaps a few clever bribes, to get past the barriers. Once he succeeds, in essence he is married. No pronouncing by a priest, or smashing of wine glasses—just acceptance by the bride’s father that the visitor is worthy, and can stay.

Clued In

Recently I’ve been to two funerals, a graduation, and a wedding. After the latest of these milestone occasions, the knot-tying of Jip’s younger brother Chao and his wife Lek, it struck me that I had mostly known beforehand how to behave, even though the traditions differ slightly from those in the States.

Not only does being confident about Thai ways feel good, it’s also nice to be included, treated as Jip’s representative, or just as part of the family. Over time I must have picked up enough of the protocol by osmosis that I don’t have to ask too many questions about what to wear and how to sit and when to wai. I’m not saying I’ve gone native, just that I feel less and less like an outsider.

The funerals were for people I hadn’t known, parents of colleagues at work. Most everyone at the office put in an appearance at least once during these traditionally multi-evening affairs. In one case the event took place at a huge temple where many other funerals were going on simultaneously. As we entered, we had to consult a blackboard for a list of which family was using which room.

Jip’s niece Boe graduated from college. I joined her parents, whom Jip and I have seen only once since our arrival back in Thailand, and a few relatives from her mother’s side, for photos in the morning and a dinner at an outdoor restaurant after the ceremony. Boe basked in the attention, especially when a large group of undergraduates surrounded her, linked shoulders, and shouted out a traditional good luck cheer.