Where’s the Beef?

On my way to the U.S., I changed planes in Tokyo. I overheard a family of Japanese-Americans that was returning home after spending a few weeks visiting the eldest generation. The two teenagers weren’t much interested in the home cooking their parents had brought on board with them. Perhaps they’d had their fill of Japanese cuisine.

Dad: Anybody want some shrimp?
Teen: No thanks, I like my food a little more pumped up with hormones.

Can Go Home Again

I wish somebody had taken a photo of this scene: Jip’s mom blessing Jip’s grandma by pouring water on grandma’s wrists. Behind mom, a long line of us touched each other lightly on the back, symbolizing our participation in the blessing. Forming the chain were Jip’s brothers and their wives, and me and Jip.

Jip couldn’t see her linked-up family, but she knew exactly what was going on when I reached over to touch her at the end of the ceremony honoring the fourth anniversary of her dad’s death. Lots of neighbors looked on in main room of the family home, as did five monks, who had just finished chanting and were about to begin eating the meal that the guests had spent much of the previous day preparing for them.

Last year Jip waited until it was too late to say that she wanted to go down to the village for this annual event. I felt badly telling her that she’d have to wait until another time. Then mom surprised me this year when I phoned to say that both of us would be coming. She said it sounded like a lot of bother to bring Jip, and that she wasn’t planning anything too special anyway.

We insisted, explaining that Jip hadn’t really hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye, because we were in Seattle when the real funeral took place. I think everyone was glad we came. It meant that the merit making took place at home instead of at the temple, which translated into more work for mom. But surrounded by her whole family, the smile on her face was just as broad as the one on Jip’s.

Opening Act

At the large Thai Cultural Center auditorium, the twenty or so German musicians who make up the visiting Bach Orchestra of the Leipzig Gewandhaus took their places on stage. All but the harpsichordist were standing.

As the conductor signaled he was ready to begin, I readied myself for the opening notes. But instead of the Brandenburg Concertos, what came our way was a local tune, the song that honors the royal family here.

I should have expected it—like the playing of the national anthem before a sporting event in the U.S., this tradition is common in Thailand. Furthermore, this concert was put on in honor of the king’s sister, who had been a patron of classical music in the country before she died earlier this year.

Partly because it caught me off guard, and partly because the instruments weren’t the ones that usually play this song, it took me a second to recognize it. And then another second to figure out that I too should be standing. But it took no time at all to know that this rendition of it was the most beautiful I’d heard.

The cellos and double bass gave it a weight that made it extra respectful. You didn’t have to be Thai to feel your chest puff out or your eyes get a little moist. The Bach that followed was nice too, but I went home thinking that the highlight of the evening was the opening act.

Surprise Spotlight

I was surprised to pass a slick poster advertising a Disability Film Festival, to be held at a fancy Bangkok hotel. Who would turn up at an event like that?

Turns out that lots of people would, about half of them in wheelchairs. I arrived midway through the second day of this Friday-Saturday event, to find the 34^th floor packed with displays, volunteers, brochures, private luncheons, and, oh yes, even a movie or two.

Maybe somebody with deep pockets has a family member who can’t walk, or maybe somebody needed to make some merit. Doesn’t matter why it happened… it was great to see the spotlight shining on an issue that doesn’t normally get lots of attention here.

I went home with lots of swag and a few contacts. Perhaps some day Jip and I can attend events like that one together.

Three Years On

On this day in 2005, Jip and I arrived in Thailand to start this chapter of our lives. Returning here still seems like the best decision we could have made.

Jip’s moods and overall health have plateaued instead of continuing downhill as I feared they might. She has surprised me recently with how many activities are back on her list again. I often read aloud to her for about twenty minutes before bedtime—two years ago she would have said it took too much effort to listen. At the end of this month we’re going down to her village for the fifth anniversary of Jip’s dad’s passing. Last year she didn’t want to go, so I went alone and represented her.

Consistent, experienced care providers make all the difference. The current team of three women has been together nearly a year. They like Jip and they like each other. Jip can worry about other things besides whether or not her caregivers knows what they’re doing. I’m riding this wave of stability, knowing that it won’t last. In early August I’ll visit the U.S. for a couple weeks.

All this relatively good news is built on the foundation of Jip having had no major loss of physical function or cognitive ability, which also amazes me. We’d been warned for years that heat would be a problem if we ever moved back to the tropics, but the weather doesn’t seem to have led to her disease getting worse.

Well, maybe a little worse. She’s definitely still got spasticity problems … now in one arm as well as the legs. But luckily with round-the-clock care she’s always able to convince somebody to help her “de-stiff” her limbs, so the discomfort doesn’t last too long.

My brain and body are also doing pretty well. I get enough exercise, I finish the book club book before the book club meeting, and I get out of town on a regular basis. None of those things was true for me in Seattle just before we moved.