So How’s Jip Now That I’m Back?

Jip managed fine in my absence, all things considered. She was grouchy for about a day. Then she figured out that without me around, she could push the envelope on a few obsessions that she knows I don’t approve of. I suspect the caregivers spoiled her by letting her brush her teeth for as long as she liked, and by putting up with an endless clothes selection routine every time. With that kind of pampering, what’s not to like about having your husband out of the country?

Lately she acts like a rebellious teenager. She tells people what she thinks, stays up past midnight, demands that her parent (more and more my role) stays out of her business. I have to hand it to her—the strategies she uses to stay in control of her life are remarkably inventive. I often wish that creativity could be channeled into other pursuits as well.

Like what? People often ask whether she would enjoy listening to books or monks on tape. A few years back, when she first dealt with low vision, she used to spend a couple hours a day with recordings, or listening to people read aloud. Now her attention span for that kind of thing is limited to about five minutes. Occasionally she’ll agree to let me share some of the email messages and letters I’ve received; rarely, she’ll ask to answer one

Her vocation remains exercise, which she does between 5 and 8 every afternoon, rain or shine. She also averages three hours daily on oral health care, which I suppose makes it her avocation.

This is our life.

Back Home

When I taught school I used to always observe my feelings carefully during the first few days after returning from a long break. I figured that if I wasn’t happy to be with my students after relaxing with friends and family, then perhaps I should consider a change (new grade, new school, new career?) during the following school year.

That system worked well as a gauge for how much I was enjoying my current setting. By that measure, I’m in a very good place at the moment. Coming back to Bangkok feels just right. As I jogged down our little street on the first morning following my arrival, I found myself drinking in all kinds of delightful little details of Thai life.

I’m not taking anything away from the U.S., which was lovely and battery-charging and blissfully free of humidity.

It’s just that it feels great to be back in the Big Mango. People are smiling and sauntering. Dogs are lying on the sidewalk. In my head is a list of dishes I want to order at my favorite eating spots.

Nonstop

Sprinting around America for the first time in many years reminds me of returning from college over my first Christmas break. So many friends! So few responsibilities! So much hanging out! Not really doing anything, but getting so much done!

In this case I returned to college, for my 25^th reunion. (Note how young we all look.)

Then I spent a week catching up with more than 35 family members as they whirlwinded through our favorite haunt in Michigan.

Quality and quantity time!

Now I’m in Seattle, working the phone. A nice bonus of passing through on short notice is that people make room in their schedules. If I still lived here, and I were to call about getting together, most likely I’d hear, “Sure, a couple months from now we’ve got a free evening.” But when I say, “I’m here till Sunday,” then suddenly the calendar opens up.

One Down

Yesterday a caregiver quit. She’d been on the job just over a week.

Jip’s brother Chao assured me on the phone that the remaining two are confident they can manage without replacing her. Jip likewise says she would rather not look for a new person until I get back.

I was surprised we lost her. This woman was the one who called in sick on her second day (she explained when she returned that she hadn’t wanted Jip to catch her cold). I had also ridden the bus with her once, after she’d worked the night shift. Her agency was located close to my office.

On the bus she and I had talked about food (the Thai equivalent of discussing the weather). We’d gotten to know a little more about each others’ families. She had even convinced me to drop by the agency and meet some of her fellow caregivers.

I thought, “We’re bonding. This is fun. She likes Jip. This is a keeper.”

Shows what I know.

First Impression

Getting on a plane for the U.S. seemed an unlikely prospect a few days ago. But suddenly there I was on the runway in Bangkok, listening to the cabin crew’s spiel. It hit me that I hadn’t told my friend Sarah that I had a long layover in San Francisco. Maybe she’d be spontaneous enough to drive out to the airport there after work for a chat! How could I get word to her?

No problem—my fancy phone knows how to send email. I zipped off a message, my seatmate covering for me as the no-electronic-devices police came down the aisle. Next I had to figure out if she got the message.

The phone didn’t work anymore in San Francisco. I saw a guy using a laptop and asked him about wi-fi access for my own computer. He said that if all I wanted to do was check my email, it would be simpler to just use his machine.

After he saw me write down Sarah’s cell number (she’d gotten my message, and was looking around for me), he offered the use of his phone, too. By then the guy and I were technology buddies. As we sat there, waiting for Sarah to walk over to that part of the airport, he held up his phone and said, “you want to watch some TV?”

“On your phone?” I said.

“I got 500 channels.”

Up till then I’d been pretty proud of the neat 21^st century trick I’d just pulled off—imagine arranging a same-day meetup, from halfway around the planet, without speaking a word! But now this guy’s gadget was kicking my gadget’s butt.

We watched the Dodgers game, live from L.A. They were playing the Mets. The screen was pretty small, so he plugged the phone into the laptop and voila! Now we could pick out the players’ names on their uniforms and everything. He noticed that I kept looking up, checking for Sarah.

“You know, sometimes I get distracted too, when I’m watching,” he said. “So I just record the show and play it back later.” On the phone. Whoa. Welcome back to the States.

Status Report

This evening, things have calmed. Jip is still not happy I’m going, but at least the hunger strike was short lived.

A curious side effect of this disease, at least in Jip’s case, is that the present mostly trumps the past and the future. She doesn’t forget things, the way Alzheimer’s people do, but in most conversations her focus returns to the hereandnow after just a few minutes. Maybe it’s nature’s way of preventing her from being overwhelmed by the big picture.

Or maybe she’s much more spiritually evolved than I’ll ever be. Strike that. She is definitely more spiritually evolved than I’ll ever be.

Green Light

After watching the current three-person team over the past 48 hours, I feel confident enough to proceed with plans to leave Thailand for three weeks …

...and to tell Jip that I’m going. Before this morning, I had thought I could save her needless worry by delaying this announcement. To be really honest, I was also afraid of her reaction. Jip continues to be unpredictable in both good and bad ways.

For instance, she surprised me pleasantly the other day by saying she’d like to come along to an evening talk at the Siam Society. She’d attended once before, about 18 months ago, when we lived near enough that we could walk over there together. This time the journey required a taxi and a bit more hassle, but she didn’t complain once, and seemed to really enjoy the lecture.

Dealing with a trip to the other side of town, though, is not in the same league as dealing with my going to the other side of the planet. I figured she wouldn’t be too happy about it. I even rehearsed my speech before finally springing the news of my departure.

“Good idea,” she said, after I let her in on the secret I’d been carrying around, “you need some time with your family now and then.”

What? I wrote out talking points so I could defend them … and she agrees with them?

Of course things didn’t turn out to be that simple. An hour later, Jip had thought things over and decided that maybe I didn’t need to return from the U.S. She tried to remove her wedding ring, but she couldn’t get it off. Not long after that, she thought of a few other threats.

Underneath her anger, I’m sure, is fear. What if I don’t come back? What if the caregivers forget the routine? What if … you name it?

Down to the Wire

I must really need a vacation. These days whenever the phone rings, I dread that it will be a caregiver, calling to quit. Or if one of them is a few minutes late for their shift, I begin to worry that they’re never going to show up.

These fears, unfortunately, are founded on experience. Since the departure of our two veterans three weeks ago, we’ve met nine different people. Some stay just a day. Others stay a week and then tell me (rarely face to face) they’ve decided their commute is too long, or their stomach problems are acting up, or whatever.

Hiring this time has been more stressful than usual because my trip back to the States is in doubt. I’m supposed to leave next Monday, but I’ve again had a very tough time finding—and keeping—a team of three who will have spent enough time with Jip before then.

Earlier this week, I was really sure I would have to cancel. We had one person no-show (disappeared without a trace after her first day), one call in sick on her second day (I was sure the “fever” was invented, but luckily she did re-appear), and one limp in 30 minutes late (motorcycle accident).

I took a day off (no choice, really—I’d told the limper, who I thought was my sole remaining employee, to go get an x-ray) and scrambled to find two more caregivers. Jip of course knows that I’ve been working the phones, but I still haven’t told her about my travel plans.

Normally, taking care of Jip for 12 hours is tiring enough—these last few weeks have been a recipe for exhaustion. But yesterday another pair showed up from the agency. One looks good. Maybe I’ve finally got a team that will stay at least the rest of the month. Stay tuned.

Kreng jai

It used to be that I shared both highlights and lowlights of my day with Jip. I knew that when I came home in a low mood, Jip would usually be a great listener and would help to change my outlook with an empathetic reply.

She was also a natural at a type of consideration that the Thai call kreng jai. If you kreng jai someone, you consider their feelings first, before thinking of your own feelings. It means being worried that your actions might inconvenience someone, and thus acting extra selfless.

The Thai word implies more than its closest English equivalent, because kreng jai is also connected to social rules and order, family and group harmony, and the cultural importance of avoiding conflict and maintaining hierarchies.

These days the kreng jai lobe of Jip's brain doesn't work quite the same way that it did, and so I normally keep my bad moods to myself. Yet this past week I came home from a frustrating outing, and for some reason I shared with Jip why my evening hadn't gone so well.

Instead of changing the subject to tooth brushing or some more immediate concern, she paused and said, "John, that sounds like small stuff. I think you can let it go." I was so shocked to hear her thinking of my feelings that it was easy to do exactly what she suggested.

The next morning she even asked me whether or not I was over my annoyance. I'll be living off that highlight for weeks.

Gulf

The book group’s last two selections have been set in India and Afghanistan (The God of Small Things and The Places in Between). Reading them has made me appreciate Thailand more than ever.

I found nearly every one of the characters in these books to be off-putting. No doubt they would feel the same way about me.

Normally, learning about other cultures makes me want to pack my bags and go see for myself. This time, I felt quite content to stay put and continue adapting to the Thai ways.

Those ways are just different enough from the ways I grew up with to be interesting, but not different enough to be unattractive. But India and Afghanistan strike me as just a little too weird.

I know these countries are big places. Like the U.S., probably anything you say about them is true somewhere. But as long as I’m generalizing shamelessly, let’s look at conflict resolution. Here in Thailand, people often go so far out of their way to avoid disagreement that problems linger and fester because nobody wants to address them.

I’ll take that approach over an attitude that turns even small stuff into a fight. Nearly everyone in the books went around shouting, or preparing to take revenge. Me, I’d rather tiptoe.

Or consider an everyday event like meeting someone you haven’t seen for a while. In The Places in Between, the author describes normal people reciting long prescribed speeches that sound to me like high-level diplomatic protocol. I know that kind of drill probably isn’t as common in real life as it appears in the book, and I know Americans’ impatience with decorum and formality makes problems for them in many parts of the world. Nonetheless, I prefer just putting my hands together in front of my face, as the Thais do, than going through a long spiel every time I run across a friend.

Just one more reminder that the world needs to do lots more cross cultural communication. Next month our group tackles Nine Parts of Desire, about Muslim women. The gap between the cultures described in that book and the one I live with here is even wider than the ones in our previous titles. No doubt this medicine is good for me, but I’m still glad Jip and I met where we did.

Dubious Dessert

Last year the New York Times profiled an American expat in Bangkok who explained his permanent move here by saying that he “didn’t want to live anywhere they didn’t have durian.” I read that and thought, I can think of better reasons to live in Thailand.

But that was before my recent conversion. This year’s durian crop has shown me the light. (Durian, for the uninitiated, is a seasonal fruit that, as the locals say, “smells like a toilet, tastes like a dream.”)

First I had to get past its appearance, which is best described as a cross between a medieval weapon and a sea creature. Then there is the odor: rank enough that many hotels in SE Asia post signs banning durian on their premises.

Even connoisseurs prefer that the fruit not appear on the table until the other parts of the meal are finished, in order not to mix smells. I learned this the hard way the other day, when my cafeteria companions strongly encouraged me to sit elsewhere. I had shown up with a tray that included both a main course and durian for dessert.

At first the flavor was so different from anything I’d ever eaten, and the texture so un-fruit-like, that I gave up trying to acquire a taste for it. But this year it hit me that durian’s closest American cousin is cake frosting. If you hold your nose and close your eyes, you might easily imagine that you’re eating one of those roses made of frosting that appear on the corners of some big birthday cakes. Not for sissies.

Bribes and Other Dirty Tricks

As the outgoing caregivers train a new set to replace them, the apartment is awfully crowded. I returned home the other day to find six women in the kitchen. Clearly the situation called for me to vacate and go for a run.

In an ideal world this changeover would be happening a couple months from now, after I return from a planned trip to the States in June. In fact, I tried to convince our departing duo to stay until I got back, using an assortment of carrots and sticks.

When they held to the end of May as their planned departure date, I even resorted to divide and conquer tactics. I suspected that one of them cared more about money than the other, and so I took her aside and suggested that she could let her cousin go home ahead of her, then follow in July as a relatively rich woman.

She thought about the offer but ultimately passed, perhaps concluding that it served me more than it served her. And so Jip will get good care from good people while I’m away, but they won’t be the people who know her best of all.

This rundown of our rehiring is really just the Cliff’s Notes version. To understand all the gruesome details of putting together a new care team, you’d have to buy me dinner and stay all the way through dessert. Let’s just say that this tale has many layers. Sometimes I need to go for a run just to clear my head of it.

Lineup Change

Our caregiver scene has been complex ever since I tried to expand the team to three people. For one reason or another, we can’t seem to find, or keep, anyone as reliable or competent as the initial pair. But at least that pair has stuck around, meaning that most of the time Jip enjoys consistency, something she cares about more than almost anything.

These two cousins have evolved a gentle way of deflecting Jip’s angry moments. They have a large reserve of patience, which lately is the most important job requirement. Sadly, they announced recently that it’s time for them to move on. They say they miss their extended family and want to return to the village.

For the moment Jip is saying good riddance, grumbling about “those two from the north … mutter mutter mutter … sick of them … mutter mutter … always talking in their language ….” To me this talk sounds like that strategy many of us humans employ when faced with losing what we really care about. We convince ourselves that it was never all that important anyway.

Yet these are people who have spent many more hours than I have with Jip during the time we’ve lived in Thailand. They can read her mind. When they’re around, there are no surprises (ideal for us, but maybe a little tiresome for them). I suspect that the minute they leave, Jip will change her tune and start to sing their praises. I miss them already.

Umbrella Farm

Wet weather here the past few days, especially during commuting hours. Even if only to get from the parking lot to the office door, everyone has needed an umbrella. They then plant them on the stair landing to dry, as pictured above.