Fear 101

My cousin Dave is one of those people that somehow knows a lot about a lot.  Frankly, I’m not sure where he gets most of his information.  But, no matter his sources, I’ve yet to be disappointed with his knowledge and advice. The man is a carpenter by trade, but has interests that run the gamut.   For example, he wrote a book on investing in the penny stocks; he has read most of the Bible; and he has a good understanding of  Phobia Exposure Therapy.

Exposure+TherapyYou read that correctly.  Exposure Therapy.  And wouldn’t you know, this turned out to be really helpful when I announced I was moving to Thailand.  Truth be told, I didn’t do a lot of research about Thailand until AFTER I was hired by my school.  So, it wasn’t until  I had signed my contract, quit my job in the States, put my house on the market and given away our piano, that I realized that Thailand is full of…..snakes.  And not just little garter snakes. No no. Real snakes. Cobras, Pit Vipers and Pythons. Sea snakes. Kraits and Keel backs. Of the over 300 snake varieties in Thailand – more than 35 are venomous.  

While everyone should have a healthy fear of venomous snakes,  I definitely had an irrational snake phobia. Just talking about snakes would make my palms sweat and send my heart racing. I would beg to discontinue any conversation on the topic.  In snake prone areas, I would avoid any possible sighting by simply staying indoors. I never watched the snake scenes in Indiana Jones movies and never looked at pictures or watched You Tube videos of the creatures.  I didn’t want to hear about anyone else’s sightings. And, I NEVER went to the Reptile Man’s annual assembly at the boy’s elementary school.  (“The #1 Rated School Assembly performance in the Pacific Northwest!!”) So, you can imagine my feelings when I realized I was moving to a place actually famous for it’s snakes.  

But, I was determined.  I wanted to beat this stupid fear and have it behind me.  I wasn’t going to let something like this stop me from exploring the world.  I was done with being afraid of snakes. But, it isn’t that simple to just erase a phobia.  As a counselor, I actually have training in Exposure Therapy.  So, I started.  Me the counselor. Me the client. And, that worked for a while. I created an “exposure ladder” which is a list of tiny steps in which I exposed myself to all things related to snakes.  First, I just thought about snakes for a few seconds at a time followed by a relaxation exercise. I moved up to saying a few words about snakes and looking at pictures of snakes.  It was working.  I became less prone to unbearable anxiety with these first small steps. But, there is a limit to self-therapy.  I needed a little nudge to move on. I was going to need help.  

So, somehow the whole thing came up in conversation with my cousin Dave.  Can’t remember how.  Beer was probably involved.

I told him what I was doing and he said, “Well you know, you gotta put your hand on the pictures when you look at them.”  I looked surprised. “What?” He continued. “Well, there’s that whole brain thing where your hand will send a signal to your brain that the picture isn’t a real snake.  Then, your brain won’t act like it’s an emergency. You won’t panic. Then, the next time the picture won’t start the anxiety.”

So where the hell was I during my graduate level classes on the subject?  Clearly, this man could help me. So, with his advice, I went from pictures to videos pretty quickly.   And then, I was ready for a big step.

Just a few months before our move to Thailand, Rick and I were going to move some furniture out to Dave’s place in Gold Bar, Washington.   A couple days before, Dave had called and said, “Hey. You wanna go see the Reptile Man exhibit when you’re up here?  You know. For your phobia.” Yep.  The one and only Reptile Man had his permanent exhibit about 10 miles from Dave’s house.  Same one of elementary school assembly fame. “You can see the venomous ones and put your hand on the glass terrarium.  If you’re feeling like it, they will let you hold a Python. I’ll be there if you want,” Dave suggested. Oh man. I was scared but I had to do it.   So, with Dave by my side, I went to see the Reptile Man exhibit.  We walked from one glass case to the next where I would put my hand on the glass and look at the snake for a minute or two.  No real anxiety. My stateside therapy was complete.

Fast forward to Thailand.  No snake sightings. Not one.  Well, I saw a dead one on the street.  I saw pictures of the baby cobra that a friend found in his house; heard about the cobra in the preschool play yard at school; heard about the python and the monitor lizard fight behind my friend’s restaurant.  Lots of stories. I did go to the  Queen Saovabha Memorial Institute, also known as the Snake Farm (famous for the extraction of  venom to make anti-venoms) here in Bangkok and saw lots of beautiful snakes in captivity.   But, no wild snake sightings.

So, during a hike when the boys were here in December and our Karon guide asked us, “Do you want to see a Green Mamba?”  I was surprised. “A snake?” I asked. “Yes.” he said. He had seen it on his way to meet us. I asked him if it would be safe and he said  “yes” and I said “yes”.  About a mile into our hike, the guide smiled and pointed at a branch about 5 feet away from us. On it, the biggest green snake I had ever seen. I would never have spotted it on my own.   It was beautiful! Clearly, it had just eaten something and was not going to be moving anytime soon. I looked at the snake with a bit of caution – not paralyzing fear. Now, I’m not sure it was a Green Mamba, as they are native to Africa.  It may have been a green Pit Viper. Either way, highly venomous.  It was one of the most memorable moments of my time here.

IMG_4050

I was calm enough to take the picture! Thanks Dave.

I’ll bet that when the guide asked me if I wanted to see that snake and I if I had said “no”, we would have just walked past it and I would never have known it was there at all.  It was highly camouflaged in the tree. It made me wonder how many snakes – or other wildlife – I have walked past without knowing.  Or not wanting to know.  Like many things in life I suppose.  Looking intentionally at the life around us isn’t always easy. Facing your fears isn’t easy.  Being engaged isn’t easy.

But, it’s magnificent.

Thanks Dave.  Definitely owe you one.

 

Advertisements

Blackberries

IMG_2979

Chuck and me. August 2017

Blackberries don’t grow in Thailand. It’s something I miss about late summer in the Pacific Northwest.  My family will tell you about the ritual torture of blackberry picking “excursions” which involved Tupperware containers and long sleeves ending in at least one of us needing to be disentangled from thorny tentacles. The end result?  A freezer full of blackberries to make jam, pie and cobbler for the rest of the year.  I miss this seasonal tradition.

But, unexpectedly, here I am.  Back in Washington state.  I’m not in Thailand.  Instead, I’m standing in my brother-in-law, Chuck’s, backyard staring at the incredibly ripe, dusty scented blackberries on his bush.  I’m not an idiot. So, I grab a Tupperware and start picking.  Seize the moment.  

And it’s a lovely moment.  Warm sun on my back.  Scout and Sandy giving me dog grins and running around the yard.  That familiar blackberry smell that feeds my thoughts:  “Fair’s just around the corner.  So is school.  Watch out for dog poop.  What’s that sound in the bush?  Oh, a squirrel. That’s why the dogs are barking. Wonder if Chuck likes cobbler?  Well, we will find out.”  I fill the Tupperware and head to the kitchen.

Unfamiliar kitchens can be challenging, but my nephew, Mitch, walks in just in time. He explains the oven, locates a pan and I’m set.  I haven’t spent much time alone with Mitch since he was a little boy.  Now 18, he has become a wonderful young man.  We talk and joke around until he goes to work.  

As the smell of the blackberries start to envelope the house, one of Chuck’s sisters, Janet, asks, “Are you cooking something?” I react. “Oh shoot!  Yes.  Cobbler.  I couldn’t figure out the timer!”  She bursts out laughing.  I’ve never had the reputation as a solid cook in this family so no one is really surprised by this.  But there is considerable surprise when I pull it out of the oven.  It’s gorgeous and the smell is incredible.

It even gets Chuck’s attention. “Did you make that?” He asks with a little disbelief.  “Jeez, Chuck. Yes, I made that.  Don’t act so startled.”  He slowly grins.  I’m so glad to see him smile.  

When his pain is bad, I try to sit nearby and not talk.  When he’s doing better, we watch TV and joke about whatever.  I make chicken salad sandwiches and vacuum a little.  I try an edible (it’s legal in Washington) and Chuck thinks that’s funny.  In fact, a few of us try the edibles and  it is especially funny when another one of  his sisters dishes her salad right on top of her spaghetti noodles.  That gets a belly laugh!

It’s just a few days before I need to return to Thailand and my job.  I’m sitting next to Chuck and we’re watching Grace and Frankie, my new favorite sitcom.  Staring straight ahead, Chuck takes my hand and says, “It means the world to me that you are here.”  We sit and cry quietly together.  Finally, I say, “I love you Chuck.” And he turns to me and says, I love you too.”  I know it is true.  And it means the world to me.

Mama Rides “Street”

Lazy Sunday morning.  I glance up from the couch to see Rick walking down our stairs.  He looks a little down.  “Hey, you o.k.?”  I ask.  “Naw.  I’m grumpy and I’m bored.” he says as he stares at his phone.  I ask the next question as I silently brace myself for the answer.  “So, what do you want to do?”

“Well, I figured out how we can ride our bikes to that park Jeff told us about last night. You know, the one with the beautiful bike path.”  O.K., I’m thinking.   That park is 10 kg from our house – which in most cases is no problem.  Except, here in Bangkok, there are serious obstacles for a bicycle.  Obstacles that require laser sharp concentration to avoid; obstacles that change from day-to-day; obstacles that move and shift in the moment; obstacles that require major upper body strength.  This is not a cute little pedal to the park.  Oh no.  In order to GET to the beautiful bike path – we have to ride “street”.

If you are unfamiliar with this term, riding “street”  basically means you use  “trail” bike techniques in a city.  For example, launching off or jumping curbs or “gaps”; navigating technical turns around obstacles; riding in places not meant for bikes like staircases, narrow ledges or rails. Pushing the physical limits of the bike and the human riding it.  Fifteen year olds do this – on their BMX bike.

“Alright.  Let me change into my bike shorts”, I sigh.   I grab my gloves, a water bottle, hat and sunglasses, wallet and phone.  We are out the door in 15 minutes.

We’ve got a series of navigational challenges today.  The street market, the sidewalk, the Khlong path and two 6 lane roadways. A few new features to consider as well: Sunday morning market traffic and unfamiliar soi dogs.  

The Street Market:  Unusually busy this morning.  So I throw it in a “hard” gear for super slow riding and increased control.  Hands on breaks.  Ready to step down.  This is stop and go.  Old lady on the left. Sharp turn through narrow opening between Durian cart and parked motorcycle.  Little kid straight ahead.  Brake hard – foot down.  Smile and say “ahhhhh” to the mother of the little rascal.  Motorcycle behind – go slowly straight ahead – do not swerve – or you will get hit.  

The Sidewalk:  There are three types of obstacles on every sidewalk in Bangkok.  “Lips”, “Left/Right” and “Crappy”. “Lips” are everywhere.  These are little steps up or down that have been created by the settling of the sidewalk.  Even walking, these “Lips” are a hazard – especially for toes.  “Left/Right” requires that you go left and right as if you are weaving through a series of cones.  This is pretty common.  Trees, benches, random poles, stairways, etc. create a gritty slalom course. Some of these objects are placed purposely to keep motorcycles off the sidewalks. Some of it is just bad planning.

IMG_3703

Example of “Left/Right obstacle. Rick is swerving left here.

“Crappy”, are areas of cement sidewalk, that through heavy use and natural settling, are simply put, in “crappy” condition. The jagged, jutting and missing cement pieces create the perfect opportunity for launching off or jumping “gaps”!  I’m always so happy to see this particular obstacle.  Navigation requires hyper concentration and control.  Hit it wrong – and you’ve got a flat.

 

The Khlong:   Rick yells, “Turn left” and I’m like, “Where?”  He’s standing next to a three-foot wide opening by an overpass that leads to a narrow bridge over a Khlong (canal).  There are so many little narrow paths that run along the Khlongs and down side streets.  Most don’t have guard rails.  Just a raised cement path, about 2 feet wide, on stilts, over water.  And not the nice blue waters of Pinterest Thailand.  No.  This water is filled with Monitor Lizards, garbage and weird stuff.  After hearing about another cycling friend that got run off  a Khlong path by a motorcycle, I often just walk my bike.  I do not want to go swimming with a Monitor.

The Scary Busy Road:  Some roads are best avoided altogether.  These are the scary busy roads with tons of traffic going 30-70 mph.  Therefore, we simply carry or “portage” our bikes over one of the numerous pedestrian overpasses.  Today, I did this 4 times up and 4 times down.  Good for upper body strength.  Yeah.

Siri Doesn’t Know Shit.  According to Siri, we should be able to cross a bridge that takes us directly to the park.  However, Siri doesn’t live in Thailand and hasn’t taken into account a large industrial complex that was quickly built-in the last two weeks.  Maps provide loose guidelines more than anything here and that  little blinking dot indicates that we are definitely HERE and at least getting close. So, we ride through a construction site (no hard hats needed in Thailand) and under an overpass only to meet up with an aggressive Soi (street) dog. Great.  So, using the same safety strategy as you would with say, a cougar, Rick jumps off his bike to get the bike between himself and the dog.  I do the same and we run/walk our bikes quickly past while not making dog eye contact.  Back on our bikes we pedal standing up, as fast as we can, like a couple of ten year olds.  

And like most everything here in Thailand we suddenly end up where we want to be-but, not quite sure how we got there.  The park is lovely.  Shade and benches.  Romantic couples lounging about and old men slowly walking as they  contemplate the trees.  We ride around a man-made lake on the perfectly groomed path.  Level, wide, no motorized traffic.  We sit and stare at the still water enjoying the silence that is interrupted only by birdsong.  An oasis.

After 10 minutes I turn to Rick.  “Ready?” I ask.  “Yep.” he nods.  Time to head back to through the urban jungle.   Settling back on our bikes, Rick turns to me and grins.  “Let’s go back a different way.”  I grin back.  “You know where you’re going?” I ask.  Rick just smiles.  Looks like another adventure.

IMG_3663

Badass.

The Great Leap

Screen Shot 2017-06-25 at 7.31.54 PM

Puerta Vallarta,  Mexico, 1989.  “Hey mister! You wanna Scuba?” Almost asleep on the beach, I look up to see our friend Mitch, negotiating a Scuba adventure.  “What’s your name, mister?”  asks the deeply tanned dive guy.  “Mitch”, replies Mitch.  “Feeeesh?”, the diver repeats with a half smile.  We all burst out laughing and sign on for the next day.  For our friends Barb and Mitch, this is no big deal. Mitch was a master diver and Barb was married to a master diver.  Both experienced.  Me?  I knew how to swim. So the next day, I don a mask, fins and tank and jump into the Pacific Ocean with the knowledge that only a 27 year old has – the unwavering knowledge of immortality.  And, apparently I was right because I lived to eat the scallops we gathered and sit on some beach where we drank buckets of Corona with the diver and two boat guys and sang “Gloria”  accompanied by Rick on a beat up, out of tune guitar.  Perfect.

On return to the great Pacific Northwest, we officially certified.  But, the Pacific Ocean in Washington state is VERY different from the Pacific Ocean of Mexico.  That, and a couple adorable children that required all of our attention and every penny we earned.  Clearly, our Scuba careers were doomed.

191889_10150123755103355_34421_o

Sorry. Gotta put a cute picture of us when we were busy with these two!

Fast forward – Thailand, 2017.  Sitting in the school canteen, I casually ask my friend Richard, “What did you do over the weekend?”  His reply changed the course of the next several months.  “Oh, I went to Pattaya and did my Scuba certification” he said, referring to a city about 2 hours from Bangkok. I perked  up.  “Really?”  I quickly gathered the necessary information from him, emailed Rick, and we were signed up for the class that night – for the following weekend.

Pattaya is – well – different.  We arrived on a Friday evening to an area called Jomtien.  It’s mostly populated by Expats here on the generous Thai retirement Visa.  (Must be at least 50 and show evidence of a substantial savings account.  Renewable yearly for a fee.)  Apparently, this was a popular R&R location during the Vietnam War.  What has lasted from that era is the innumerable number of “comfort” men and women available for hire. So we gawked and wondered about the individual stories that brought all of these people together.  Without exaggeration, it is mostly older Western men with young Thai men or women.  I hoped that everyone involved in these arrangements had clear and open expectations.  

IMG_2324

Pattaya. After 33 years, we each fully understand our “arrangement.”

The next morning we met our instructor, Noc.  Small and sturdy, she walked us through our written exams (during which I panicked on the math and she patiently calmed me down); our pool work (where she admitted she wasn’t sure I’d make it at first – after the math ordeal – but, was pleased I could swim); and our open water checkout dives (where I became dehydrated and learned that if you throw up under water, it’s no problem).  We were certified!

If you’ve never had to breath underwater, it’s important to know a lot of stuff about – well – diving.  Our first few dives were basically all about staying alive.  My heart would race with anxiety each time I made that giant step off the boat and into the blue unknown.  Constantly checking my air supply, hand on my regulator to make certain it didn’t slip out of my mouth and simply trying to control my buoyancy occupied every brain cell.  Lucky if I noticed a tiny fish, I was jubilant upon completion of each dive.  I had again survived!  I still wasn’t sure I liked this Scuba thing.  It took the first 10 dives to begin to feel even remotely comfortable.

Recently, Rick and I did our 15th dive, and our 5th with Yann, our French divemaster, while on Palawan –  an incredibly beautiful island in the Philippines.   It’s the low season, so it’s  just the three of us.  After two dives in spectacular coral and spotting 5 reef sharks, and a meter long turtle – he says we are ready for a drift dive.  We set in and off we go – floating in suspended animation and allowing the current to scoop us along.  Amazing. Plus, more sharks, and an eagle ray.  I almost forget about breathing.

Back on our small Banca (a Philippine boat that has outriggers on both sides that give it a decidedly “spider” look), we eat our sandwiches and talk.  Yann tells us that he just “discovered” our last dive site a few weeks before.  Unfortunately, another site that he used to go to has been recently decimated by dynamite fishing. If you are unfamiliar with this illegal practice, fishermen detonate explosives underwater as a means to catch fish.  Killed or stunned by the shockwaves, the fish float to the top where they are gathered up in nets.  Unfortunately, everything in the radius of the explosion is killed.  Including the coral.  We have seen these large areas of dead coral – grey as ash with no noticeable marine life.   I ask Yann if he’s ever heard the explosions.  He nods gravely, “many times”, he says. “But it is worst when you feel the shock waves while diving.”  He taps his chest.  “You can feel it here.”   We silently take in his double meaning.

So far, we have seen sea turtles, stingrays, eagle rays, reef sharks, moray eels, lionfish and the incredible manta ray.   I saw a dugong (very shy creature – much like a manatee)  off the bow of a boat in Indonesia.  We swam with Dory and Nemo and all their little friends. We have seen indescribable coral reefs in Thailand, Indonesia and the Philippines.  Every dive is a new adventure into an untamed wilderness of incredible beauty.  And maybe because of the knowledge that only a 54 year old can have – that I am, indeed, mortal – it’s all the more wonderful and sweet.

And for this, I have two old friends to thank.   Barb and Mitch.  I never would have made that first great  leap in Mexico without them.  Thanks for high adventure, stupid choices, crazy laughter and unforgettable memories.  And, thank you for reminding me to say “yes” as often as possible.  I have never regretted it.

 

 

 

 

Hail Plastic!

IMG_2632

Shoes are always removed before entering a Buddhist Wat. Here is a great sample of some typical plastic shoes.

Before I came to Thailand, I had tremendous disdain for plastic.  Anything made of plastic was “cheap”, shoddy and downright tacky.  And, the tackiest of all plastic items?  The plastic shoe. Are you kidding? From up on my high horse, I could clearly see the faults of these synthetic fakes:  they don’t shape to your feet, they don’t breathe, they cause blisters, but worst, they look like, well – plastic. “Give me leather or give me death!”, I would holler from my saddle.

Then, it rained.  

I’m not sure I have adequately described the rain here yet. As a Pacific Northwest girl, I am pretty much a rain expert.  That is, the Chinese Water Torture style rain –  a slow, continual  stream of water dripping, dripping, dripping.  Endlessly.  

I wasn’t prepared for the sudden torrential rain with thunder and lightning that could dump a month’s worth of water in one hour – and then, just as suddenly stop, leaving up to 12 inches of standing water on roads and sidewalks.

And while you can sometimes get away with “waiting it out” in a convenient location, that’s not always possible.  When it rains like that here –  you’ve still gotta go to work. Or ride another quarter-mile to get home, or get your grocery bags to the taxi.    Hail the plastic shoe.

IMG_2693

The REI Leather Collection. The pampered Birkenstocks haven’t even left the house.

First time it happened, my $100 all-leather Keen walking sandals (Jeez, I am SO from the PNW) got so stretched out I could barely keep them on my feet. Take off your shoes, you say?  YOU take your shoes off in dirty, critter invested flood water!

Well, at least I could use my Chacos, right?  Admittedly, these are my best REI shoe purchase for Thailand.  They are rubber soled (e.g.plastic) but the straps are a woven fabrics that gives them that natural, hippy flair that from my high horse, look just right. And they are pretty good for light hiking.  But, get them wet and with the high humidity, they still quickly grow mold and mildew. Nice.  

So I’m down to another pair of leather Keens.  I’m hiking in high humidity.  No rain but very hot.  Feet feel great until the end of the day.  Itchy feet.  Dang.  Swollen?  What? Worst heat rash of my life.

I have sequestered my beloved Birkenstocks to indoor duty.  They will never go outside here.  Too risky for these iconic shoes.

And there is another issue I hadn’t anticipated.  Style.  Thai style is not Pacific Northwest, natural fiber, flannel and beanie style. Nope.  It’s more Southern Belle meets Hello Kitty.  From super cool to super cute.  I was starting to look weird.

So, REI, I am sorry to say, I’m moving on. Everyday footwear like jewel bedecked flip-flops  or flowered wedgie sandals are found at Big C for a few dollars.  For my better quality footwear, I shop at the Croc store.  Every style and color  imaginable in plastic from the classic Croc to a simple black plastic pump.  Get dirty? Hose’em off.  A little mold?  Hose’em off.   Because whether you are out to dinner or grocery shopping, a sensible woman is always ready to walk through a foot of flood water.

IMG_2020

A sensible woman.

 

 

 

 

Pirate Gratitude

“I guess I’m done being afraid.” This thought struck me as I boarded a tiny boat with 8 guests, two guides and two boatmen.  We had arrived in Labuan Bajo the day before.  This small town on Flores Island in Indonesia, has seen the fast influx of backpackers heading either to sea or to the jungle.  It reminds me of the “ports of call” depicted in pirate movies.  Booze, women, fishnets.  Smell of garbage and gasoline.  Unpaved roads with deep ruts cut by monsoon rains.  A rugged frontier town ready to make a buck.  Remote.  Rough.  

Welcome Sign Luanbajo

Selamat Datang or Welcome  to Labuan Bajo.

But today, as we head out to sea toward a group of isolated islands between Flores and Salawesi, “remote” takes on a whole new meaning.  There is nothing but sky, water and hundreds of unpopulated islands.

Time for our safety briefing.  Simple.  “Life jackets in the back.  Follow the captain’s orders,” explains our guide, Mikel.    The captain grins, takes a drag on his Lucky Strike, and salutes us.  And we’re off.  Adventure on the high seas!bow of boat

Today we are snorkeling our way toward our campsite.  We see a Dugong off the bow.  These giant sea cows are much like a Manatee.  Paul, our “guide in training”  says we are very lucky.  He is disappointed that he missed it.  And then the turtles!  The joke is that every time I use the head, a turtle will be spotted. I missed seeing three of them this way.  But there were plenty more of them.  Along with the dolphins, porpoise and sailfish. And then the giant turtle we spotted while snorkeling.  Easily a meter long.   One friend saw a shark.  Me? Not so lucky.  

IMG_2563

Bungalow #1.  On my way to the outdoor shower.

Arrive at our campsite as the sun is setting.  Little open air bungalows with mosquito netting.  Solar powered lights.  Dinner at the canteen and planning for day two.

Komodo Island for the infamous Dragons.  Apparently, these creatures were hunted almost to extinction.  Then, the government banned all people from the island for four years and now it is a national park.  You can only visit with a park pass and must have a guide with you.  

Our guide is bravely armed with a big stick.  Oh good.  That will do it.  Our first encounter is with some VERY old Dragons that have the pensioner responsibility of entertaining the tourists.  A stick was more than enough protection from these old geezers!  Still, they are amazing creatures.  

We head  back to the boat for more snorkeling and this time diving.  

I’ve seen pictures of Manta Rays, and have never really thought much about them. So when I jumped into the water and found myself next to a five meter wide gentle giant, my mind was blown!  Indescribable.  We did a short “drift” dive and found ourselves underneath the Mantas.  Then we snorkeled and watched them from above.  Swimming in schools of 3 to 10, we saw them in their feeding “station” and their “cleaning” station.   Everyone on board, including the captain, jumped in to experience this incredible moment.  

And then suddenly it was our last day.  A lovely hike on Rinca Island produced a wild Komodo. OK, I was worried that the stick wouldn’t cut it.   We also saw a baby – just a little guy at 4 feet long.   More snorkeling.  And a long, leisurely sunset cruise back to Labuan Bajo. Not a single light on the dozens of islands we pass.  

Sunset off boat

No filter.  Really.

The solitude is broken when we head into the crowded port well after dark.  We “raft” up and haul our bags across three boats just to reach the dock.  We say our goodbyes and move on.

I feel incredibly grateful to have these adventures.  Maybe I could become a pirate? I’m not afraid.

skull on beach

Happy Birthday, Son

IMG_1607

Who’s the wise one here?

My younger son turned 23 yesterday and I am 7000 miles away.  In many ways, I have Phillip to thank for this.  He has taught me so much about living life courageously.  I suspect he has no idea of his influence.  So, this blog is a gift to my son, Phillip.  Happy Birthday, man!

When you first meet Phillip, you quickly notice he is a man of few words.  But when he does speak – listen!  It’s usually funny and dry or carefully considered.  And, it won’t be said twice.

Choose words carefully.  They are powerful.

The boy is comfortable in his own skin.  Phillip does what he wants and is friends with people who value that.  His confidence is subtle.  No puffing up or strutting about.  Just Phil.  Take it or leave it.

Be your authentic self.

One of the most powerful lessons I have learned from this guy is that being alone is not a problem.  Phillip was one of the first people I knew to fully embrace a level of introversion without apology.   Growing up, my generation was not tolerant of this.  We were social at all cost.

Being alone does not mean you are lonely.

Over the years, Phillip has had some uncomfortable challenge.  A series of surgeries that have interrupted his life at various times.  I have been amazed at his patience and resilience during these periods.

You can endure more than you thought possible.

And here I am, at age 54, getting my life lessons from my 20 something son.  Thank you!  I’m honored to be your mom.

The Dogs

dscn1662

Sleeping wherever.

My day starts at 5:00am and I’m riding my bike to work by 6:15am.  This time of year, it’s still pretty dark at that hour.  But, it has been getting lighter each day and I decided to forgo turning on my hi-tech lights that my safety-conscious husband installed for me.  Not this morning.  Lovely dusky light.  Street lights dimming, sun-rising – the market lights are more than enough to guide my way.

Until I round the corner onto an unlit street.  My quiet mood spikes to high alert when I find myself heading straight toward a large sleeping dog.  I swerve at the very last moment and thankfully miss him.  Damn dog!  Sound asleep in the middle of road. Doesn’t move a muscle.   We know the ol’ adage. “Let sleeping dogs lie.”  Emergency averted.

img_2343

This is the guy. Right in the middle of the road.

Soi dogs.  Street dogs.  Here in Thailand they are everywhere.  I’ve spent some time watching them since we moved here 8 months ago.  I have a low grade fear of dogs based on my encounter  at age 7 with Sweet Pea, the German Shepard owned by Mrs. Spudoni, my piano teacher.   Needless to say, my love for strange dogs and piano for that matter, never really developed.

img_2341

Same spot, same dog. Right by the market.

Congregating around sources of food, (the markets, near scooter taxi shacks, around gates with guards, outside the 7-11) Soi dogs’ personalities run the gamut:  depressed, angry, impulsive, apathetic, bold, passive.  They are more often than not, mangy and flee-bitten and very skinny.  I’ve noticed that some are loners while some run in packs. The loners are very different from the dogs that have companions.   The loner dogs rarely bark.  Often, you can walk within inches of these dogs and they don’t move or even appear to notice you.  They will sometimes look up – but, with the tired, worn face of resignation.  These are the ones lying in the middle of the road, or trotting in front of cars.   I’ve actually only felt threatened by Soi dogs twice since I’ve been here.  Both times, the dogs appeared to be “guarding” a territory.   Perhaps it was because these dogs had some sort of connection with another dog or a human.  I am struck with the commonality between people and dogs.  Disconnected: homeless, alone, sick, apathetic.  Connected: energetic, assertive, loyal, purposeful.

It’s not pretty and it’s not what I think is right.   But, I admire these dogs.  Resilient. Scrappy as hell.   They have figured out a way.   They know who is a friend and who is a foe in the first seconds of an encounter.   They are cautious:  watching and waiting patiently.  And, when you are deemed a friend – a connection – they may offer a quirky dog “smile” accompanied by soft eyes.  These dogs know.

So tomorrow, I’m slowing down and turning on my headlight.  It’s the least I can do.

dscn2168

Scrappy as hell.  Offering a dog “smile”.

 

 

Alone

img_2356

Me and Hickory

About 30 years ago, I was on the city bus in Seattle.  Coming or going to work, I don’t remember.  I do remember the woman who sat next to me that day.  I remember when she got on the bus and she was looking for a seat – our eyes met, and I must have smiled or something because she walked past several empty seats to sit next to me.  And, as she got closer, it was clear that something was wrong.  

Within a matter of minutes she had introduced herself and explained that she liked to ride the bus, to nowhere in particular really.  She said she often rode the bus for hours each day and said it was the only real relief she had found since her husband had died almost a year before.  She talked about his clothes, his habits, their routines as a couple.  Her eyes would quickly well up with tears, and just as quickly sparkle with pleasant emotions from remembering.  And then, she was gone.  Hurriedly getting up and getting off the bus with purpose-driven energy.

After 33 years of marriage, Rick and I have never spent more than a few weeks apart from one another.  And, today he flew back to the U.S. for a month.  As I write this, it seems so silly for me to be feeling the strong emotions I have.  Embarrassed that at age 54 I have never really been on my own.  Embarrassed to be overwhelmed by the prospect of 30 days without him.  Like the woman on the bus, I think about our habits and routines that are as comfortable as an old shoe.  Our unspoken language and experiences known only by the two of us.  Our natural ebb and flow; give and take. Our shared silence and quiet smiles.  Living life with my best friend and lover.  I am haunted by the prospect that if this is what it feels like for him to simply leave for a month, what will it be like for the one who remains when the first one dies?  Because it will happen.  

Today I am alone.  I have decided to sit with my emotions and feel them.  To allow myself to dive into the ocean by myself.  To sit in the bathroom stall at work and cry; to sleep at 4pm; to ache; to smile.

Today, I am alone. 

img_2355

Dinner for one.

 

Thai Massage: It’s Complicated

masaje-tailandes-dibujos1

Rick makes an audible sigh from the cushion next to me.  I barely open my eyes and glance over at him.  The woman is standing on my husband.  Feet nimbly embedded on his thighs, slowly shifting weight from side to side, she works her toes into his tired muscles.  I smile.  Thai Massage.

Typically weighing in at well under 100 lbs, the majority of Thai massage practitioners are incredibly strong and agile.  Take Pan.  The woman who walks on my husband.  Pan is about 4’10”, petite build, and is roughly 70 years old.  On first meeting, you are charmed.  A quiet smile and gracious bow.  “Saw Wa De Ka “she murmurs in quiet tones.  She leads you into a low lit room with lovely mats on the floor and gives you soft pajama-like garments to slip into.  She silently slips away while you change and just as silently returns when you are ready.  So lovely.  She starts with your feet and begins with gentle pressure using her hands.  But what begins as something akin to a Swedish massage, full of feather strokes and light kneading, quickly becomes a full-body encounter  with feet, knees, elbows, thumbs and forearms.

img_2339

Starts out real nice, and then…..

Rolling her forearms across my calves, I love/hate the experience.  I’m reminded of my older son’s description of what he called the “stick”.  As a competitive distance runner, he had a wooden bar that teammates would roll over his tight muscles – as hard as they could muster – to loosen and relax his legs.  Pan’s “forearm stick” technique accomplishes the same and it hurts about  as much as when she does a full plank on top of me as I face the floor.  Toes planted on the soles of my feet,  knees in my thighs and elbows and forearms working the muscles of my back.    I weirdly love it.  It’s almost as good as when I sit cross-legged and she is behind me and puts my arms straight up above my head and literally lifts me off the ground – by my arms  – so my spine can hang freely for a few moments.  I weight about 150.  Little Pan is not a force to be reckoned with.

Thai Massage can be quite social.  Joking and laughing.  Not necessarily silent.  Lots of comments.  “Oh Madam.  You need more massage.  One hour, no good.  Madam needs two hours.  Too tight!! What’s wrong with you?”  Yeah right.  Two hour workout with a hard-body gym rat.  Nice try!

And when it ends, I’m a little sad.  My body feels amazing.  Relaxed, more limber and definitely more “aligned”.   I feel both calm and energized.  Pan kneels in front of me and quietly bows.  “Kap Kuhn Maak Ka.”  She thanks me and slips out of the room.

As I get ready to leave, I ask to make another appointment.  “Next week?”   Pan gives me a toothy smile and nods, “Yes, Madam. Two hours?”  “Yes” I reply sheepishly,  “Two hours.”

God, I love/hate that woman. It’s complicated.