Red Shirt Rally Days 32 & 33: Songkran Respite

 Traveling in a Tuk-Tuk

Nonthaburi, Thailand

People forget, amidst the raucous fun of the water fights, that Songkran (Thai New Year) is a holiday of solemn remembrance, that water is a gift and a blessing to be poured over the shoulders of a Buddha statue and upon the hands of the elder generation. For the moment hostilities between Red Shirts and the government have ceased. Deadly weapons on the street have been replaced by water pistols, hoses, squirters, even bathing bowls have been pressed into service, so dire is the need to have fun; a fun-loving three-day drenching despite the emergency decree forbidding gatherings of more than 5 people.

For Songkran, we decided to stay close to home because of the uncertainty of the political situation, afraid that if we left the city, the roads might be closed either by the government or by the protesters. Jamaicans have a derisive term for people who become tourists in their country of residence, dry-land tourist. Nonetheless, it was either go out or stay at home and be a prisoner of the sort of siege mentality that is now taking over the city. So on Monday, we visited Wat Traimit in Yaowarat (Chinatown) and on Tuesday we visited Koh Kred (Kred Island) in the middle of the Chao Phraya River.

There is a wonderful story about the Buddha statue in Wat Traimit. Also known as the Temple of the Golden Buddha, Wat Traimit has a three-meter (10 foot) tall solid gold Buddha statue that was made during the Sukhothai period. It is at least 900 years old. At the time, the political situation was precarious (nothing has changed) and so, to protect the statue and to prevent it falling into the hands of the invading Burmese, the image was covered in stucco. This hidden treasure was forgotten over time, until a piece of the stucco cracked when the statue was moved, revealing the glint of gold.

We picked up Nicky at his house and went down to Yaowarat to meet his mother, Lek, at the temple. She told us that she and her sister went to the temple school when they were little children. Her brothers were taught separately by the monks, as is the custom. We had also wanted to see the Chinatown Heritage Museum but it was closed Mondays and we didn't know that. Another day, another trip.

Still, there is a lot to see in Yaowarat. There are temples in unexpected places tucked between shophouses and popping up at the end of a dark alley.  We walked down streets and alley-ways, most of the shops were closed for the holiday. I had never seen Chinatown so quiet before. The mantra still stands: if you have it someone will buy it. Just not today.

We went to Lek's store to say hello to her brother and after that we set out again. Lek led us unerringly through a maze of streets and alleys, straight down one of those t-shaped alleys. At the end of the stem was another temple. I could see the goddess Kuan Im (Quan Yin, the Goddess of Mercy in the Chinese pantheon) in her avatar as the Avalokiteshvara (AH-vah-low-key-tesh-wah-ra), with a thousand arms, each wrist tied with sai sin or sacred string. The original multi-tasker, I thought. We were actually looking for lunch, but even good restaurants in Chinatown are secrets.  At the end of the crossbar on the right was a tiny place no bigger than my dining room filled with people patiently waiting to be fed. Unfortunately, all the tables were filled.

Since we were disappointed at lunch, we went in search of Jao Mae Tuptim, the Ruby Goddess Mother, and my guardian. This trip took us into Pahurat, known locally as the Indian Market, which is well known for fabrics and the site of the Sikh temple with its golden onion domes. Right next door was the temple of the Ruby Goddess Mother, dark and mysterious and smelling of smoke. She didn't have multiple arms, just a kind  face, the tiny figure of her attendant draped in strings of pearls,  offerings from her devotees. In 2003, when I first met the Ruby Goddess Mother on the advice of the fortune teller, the temple attendant had pointed out the Avalokiteshvara to me. It now seems that she hadn't wanted to disappoint me for traveling all the way from Bangkok and not see the Goddess. So she had pointed to the Avalokiteshvara instead. After all, the gods (and goddesses) are in heaven and you're praying to the same place. The Chinese religion, I've found, is eminently pragmatic.

Lek and I each shook a prayer canister and a bamboo stick fell out. She got number 13 and I got 20. We found our fortunes in a numbered rack on the wall. Mine said that after a period of adversity, riches will come. Soon. Lek laughed and said, it always says "soon" never says when. As a Jamaican, I can understand that. Soon come.  All in due time.

After our trip to Chinatown, the next day we headed north along the river to Koh Kred. Koh Kred was deeded to the Mon people over two hundred years ago by the Thai king for helping defend his kingdom.  The Mon originally came from Burma and today they are potters, creating a distinctive unglazed orange pottery with highly decorative patterns etched into the clay while it is still soft enough to work.

The day began with a drive to the northwest suburbs of Bangkok, to Nonthaburi. Underneath the Rama IV bridge is a different world of boats selling kway teo rua which you can eat out of a bowl sitting on straw mats spread in the shade of the bridge. From here, we parked the car also under the bridge, and got on a long-tail boat to Koh Kred.

After a 5 minute boat ride, we alighted in Koh Kred. We walked along the raised walkways adjacent to the river and turned inland a bit. It looked like some Bangkok neighborhoods must have looked 60 years ago; pastoral, a bit broken down, but proudly faded.  We passed a disused turtle kiln and a dusty museum where I snapped this picture of a map of Koh Kred.

Outside was a shady stall by a trickling creek, where they still make cafe boran or old-fashioned coffee filtered in a muslin strainer. The lady there told us the history of the island. They are very proud of their Mon heritage and the children go to school learning both Mon and Thai. Very enlightened, I thought. Andy paid 60 baht for his cafe boran and he got to keep his coffee cup, a glazed ceramic mug.

We rented bicycles to bike around the island but the narrow elevated walkways were crowded with children celebrating Songkran, and I was afraid to collide with them, or worse, fall into the river (there are no handrails). I went back to the bike shop and waited for Andy and AJ to come back. Meanwhile, I made considerable headway into Stieg Larsson's  The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. I wrote about it to the Evergreen Book Club, this Google Group that Fei Min and I belong to. It's a busy book, packed with every conceivable trope in the crime thriller genre. But that's for another discussion.

Back at the river again, we were herded into this shed with 50 other people, other dry-land tourists escaping Bangkok for a day. We crossed the river into the city, leaving behind this other world that is a step out of time.

My Limits to Multitasking

This morning I baked a cake. After lunch, I started the Cherry Garcia cookie dough and put it in the fridge to get firm. Between the cookies and making dinner, I took AJ to see the doctor. Tonight's menu included bacon wrapped pork medallions with apple cider sauce, green bean casserole, and mashed cauliflower surprise. Invariably, when I do too many things I forget something. That's why there aren't any photographs.

While the cookie dough was chilling out, I decided to take AJ to the hospital. He's had a cough for 2 weeks and this will be his second visit to the doctor. It was 3:30 p.m. At this time we'd have to take whoever is available. We got to the hospital, he saw the doctor, and he left the pharmacy with a mister, another course of Ropect, and mysterious instructions to stay out of the sun.

We get home around 5 p.m.  AJ takes Gigi for a walk. I take the ironed clothes from Boong to put away, which interrupts Andy's Scrabble game on Facebook. Do we eat in or go out, he asks. Eat in, I say and I go downstairs. I mentally shift into overdrive. I used to do this so well at 36 but 56 is another story.

Preheat the Sharp Healslo convection oven to 180 degrees Celsius and set timer for 12 minutes. Saute' the bacon but not crisply. Trim and cut the pork tenderloin into eighths. Wrap the bacon around the medallions and pin them with toothpicks. Season with white pepper and fry medallions. Line baking trays with baking parchment and take the cookie dough out of the refrigerator. Heat apple cider and chicken bouillion in 10 inch skillet on medium high heat. Add red wine vinegar and one whole cinnamon stick to the sauce. Turn medallions. Put 12 scoops of cookie dough on each tray and return extra dough to refrigerator. Turn medallions again. Preheating cycle over; pop cookies in oven.

Wash bowls and utensils in sink. Stop to turn medallions. Apple cider mixture is reduced to one cup. Supposed to put in a granny smith apple but forgot to peel, core, and chop it. Put apple back in fridge. Cookies are done. Transfer to racks to cool. Stop to take out medallions and put on plate to drain on paper toweling. Cover loosely with foil to keep warm. Continue putting cookies on rack to cool. Put cookie trays on unused burner to cool. AJ comes back in and goes upstairs to shower.

Remember the green beans and cauliflower. Move cookie trays to counter. Fill a dutch pot one-third full of water and set on burner to boil. Wash cauliflower and separate cauliflower florets. Snap ends off green beans. Cut green beans into 1 1/2 inch lengths. Chop onions. Decide to add minced garlic and stir-fry the green beans instead of making the casserole. Water is boiling; add cauliflower and forget them.

Wash skillet for frying medallions to clear the sink and stove area. All the brown bits go down the drain to collect in the sink drainer at the bottom. Consult recipe for pork medallions that are now cozily tented under aluminum foil. Pour off any fat in the skillet and add 1 tablespoon butter. Too late. Add any juices from the plate the pork is resting on. The paper towel has soaked up the juices. Don't have any apple brandy, shallots, or fresh thyme either. Sigh.

On the principle that garlic makes up for a lot of omissions, I chop up 6 cloves of garlic instead and throw that in the sauce. Sauce now thick and a deep ruby red. Haven't tasted it yet. Remember the cookie dough in the fridge. Preheat convection oven again. Remember to check cauliflower. Not tender enough. Cookie trays cool to touch. Take out remaining cookie dough and scoop 7 cookies out of the bottom of the bowl onto one tray. Put tray in oven. Lick spatula. Yum.

Check cauliflower and decide it is tender enough. Drain. Set up food processor and throw in cauliflower. Drop in a tablespoon butter and dump in about 4 tablespoons milk, salt, and pepper. Process until it looks like mashed potatoes, only greener. Oven beeps; cookies are done. Remove cookies from oven and transfer to rack to cool. Add salt and pepper generously to the apple-cider reduction and put the medallions in the sauce to heat up. Exhale. The guys meander downstairs; somehow they know, without being called, that dinner is ready.

The pork was tender and the bacon crisp. The sauce was interesting; sweet, sour, salty, and slightly peppery. The green beans were crunchy, the mashed cauliflower smooth and creamy. We also finished some leftover tabouleh.

Afterwards, the guys did the washing up.

I went upstairs to write this blog.

Make a Smilebox recipe

Domestic Bliss and Other Torments

Dear Ones:

After a month away it's been a sweet homecoming. The humidity greeted us with a soft wet kiss when we emerged from the terminal building at Suvarnabhumi. Of course, we immediately cranked up the air conditioner and praised the powers that be (EGAT) for a steady supply of electricity. Coming home has also been fraught with (un)foreseen expenses. Since AJ is taking a year off from Hunter College, we signed him up for health insurance as well as got him a one-year membership at our health club. It was cheaper than paying by the day. Gigi was glad to see us. The Silly Mutt agreed that AJ was worth a second sniff. And with that, his acceptance in the household was cemented; she no longer barks at him. As we went about our errands picking up the threads of our former routines, emergencies always happen, especially when you have somewhere else to be.

Yesterday morning, AJ and I were going out to the doctor's so I wanted to prepare a light breakfast for him and clean up a few things in the kitchen. I touched the kitchen faucet lever. The whole apparatus came off in my hand!

Water gushed in a great arc out of the wall missing the sink and spewing onto the kitchen floor, flowing out into the dining room and through the living room right out the front door. I looked under the arc of water, under the sink, to find the shut off valve. There wasn't any. I panicked and rushed out to the soi to try and shut off the main. But there were too many valves. Finally, I did what I should have done at first. I phoned Andy. He said to shut off the pump. I rushed back inside to do as he said. The deluge immediately dried up. That done, he directed me to the shut off valve; it was next to the washing machine. In a previous Letter from Thailand, you may remember that this isn't the first time the faucet broke off from the wall. Lesson learned at the time: never trust Thai plumbing. I vaguely remembered Andy telling me then that he had installed a valve. I had always assumed it was under the kitchen sink. 'Nother lesson learned: Always get visual confirmation.

I put rugs around the breakfront and the piano to protect the two most valuable pieces of furniture from water damage. Then AJ and I left the house to keep that doctor's appointment. Clean up would have to come later. My heart skipped a beat when I saw the open gate. I had forgotten to shut it when I came back in. Where was Gigi? I called her. Much to my relief, she trotted inside when she heard her name. One thing I've never been able to do is to teach the Silly Mutt to stay inside even though the gate is wide open.

The happy postscript to this is that Andy found a plumber who installed a new faucet--wouldn't you know it, it's the same model. More Adventures in Thailand for sure. Andy called me at the doctor's to tell me it was all done and that he had even mopped up the floors. He's such a sweetheart!

But this is Thailand and the adventures continue. Today I went to renew my driver's license. It was the usual bureaucratic tangle lasting three and a half hours.

First I had to produce my passport and my work permit as well as copies of said documents. I was given a number and directed to... watch a video. It was all in Thai, which wasn't helpful at all. As I watched the video, it dawned on me that I had to take a test for color blindness, reaction time, peripheral vision, and depth perception. My number was called. I was given back my papers and directed to this little room where I joined a long line of applicants to take the tests. As we shuffled from station to station, a functionary would sign our papers. At the last station, the papers got the Official Stamp of Approval an impressive four times. I was told to go back to the first window.

Behind the counter of the window, I joined a group of Asians and farangs watching a video on the rules of the road. I could barely hear the soundtrack, but it was in English and so were the subtitles. I realized we must be the Non-Thai Group. I had missed the first six parts (there were sixteen parts altogether) but it didn't seem to matter. After about 30 minutes, we started getting bored. I wondered if the Thai had to endure a similar video torment. If anybody needed to watch this it's the Thai for they are among the worst drivers in the world. The video went on for another 20 minutes. Surely there was going to be a test! There wasn't. Unaccountably, the farangs were disappointed. Ridiculous, they muttered. What was that for? I thought, did you really want to take a test?

I was given back my papers. My attendance at the video was duly noted. I was assigned a new number, and told to go wait at another window where I eventually got my new license. Getting it was the anti-climax. Like Christmas, the anticipation is always better than the holiday. My number was 128. When I sat down the number counter read: 96. By the time the counter read 128 I felt sorry for the poor man in front of me. He was holding a ticket that said 197. Lesson learned: Bureaucracy will get to you eventually.

Walk good,
Jo Anne

Born Again in Bangkok

Dear Ones:

Elizabeth Barrett Browning famously asked, How do I love thee? She never enumerated the ways nor did she do anything so mundane as to give examples. Instead Browning describes the times when you might look at your partner, presumably at the appropriate romantic moment, and think, you are My Only. Most of the time, it is because a lifetime of shared experience, of joy, hope, and sorrow come rushing back to you, and you remember it all with gratitude and recognition. And so it was on a rainy Friday afternoon in Bangkok.

There's a change in plan, Andy said. He had called me on my cellphone at school. Eddie is going to be baptized at 5 o'clock this afternoon. He added, It's going to be a surprise for Phyllis. And by the way, I'm going to be his godfather!

When Andy told me the news I was taken by surprise. It couldn't have been a sudden decision; I was sure Eddie had been thinking about it a long time because he's that kind of person. He doesn't make decisions lightly.

I was about to leave school when Andy called again. Do me a favor, will you? He began. Go home and get me a change of clothes. I have a meeting too so I can't come pick you up. Take a taxi to the church. That's how it is after 30 some years of marriage; you dispense with all formalities.

It had started to rain as I left the school but by the time I got home, it was over. I took advantage of the lull to set off for the paak soi to hail a taxi. When I told the driver my destination in Thai, he said one word in English, highway? I agreed because it's faster. I thought: it never fails. When I want to practice speaking Thai, the Thai will want to practice his English.

We made it through the tollgate when the cab inexplicably slowed. I looked up at the driver. He turned around in his seat and wai-ed. He had forgotten to set the meter until now. When we got to the church in Soi Ruamrudee, I gave him an extra generous tip to cover the cost of the entire trip. By this time, the heavens had opened up again and it was raining hard.

Most of the players were at the church. Or its environs. I met Andy and handed over his change of clothes. I saw Joan Windsor, co-coordinator with her brother Dan of the North Point reunion and intrepid baptism organizer. She was in her decisive pose, right hand to her ear, talking into her cellphone. I learned that Phyllis did not suspect a thing. After visiting the dressmaker for a fitting, Phyllis was with Mimi at Neil's Tavern nearby. And having coffee and cake, I presumed. I was hungry, deliberately saving my appetite for the buffet at the JW Marriott that evening.

Dan arrived with Father Van, Eddie's former teacher at North Point. Now a hale 83, Father was going to perform the baptism. So, I realized, that's why it had to be now, after the North Point reunion, and before everyone scattered to the four winds. Everything had come full circle.

Inside the church, there was another family sitting in the front pew with a baby also waiting for it to be baptized. We didn't have much time. After he had changed his clothes, Andy called Mimi; it's time, he said. Mimi said later that Phyllis was about to drink a steaming cup of hot chocolate. After talking to Andy, she took away Phyllis's cup. Let's make it to go, she suggested. They got in Mimi's car and drove half a block to the church. Still, Father Van was on a tight time line. He started the baptism even though Phyllis hadn't arrived yet. Eddie and Andy huddled in front of Father Van on the altar steps. Behind Father the gilt statue of Christ the Redeemer raised its arms in supplication. Please, God... Listener of prayers and intercessions, witness to baptisms, weddings, and funerals. Titi's funeral was in this church almost two months to the day. Eddie looked over his shoulder, searching for Phyllis. This is for you, he must have been thinking. When are you going to come?

Five minutes later, Mimi and Phyllis walked up the aisle. Phyllis, carrying her cup of hot chocolate, looked puzzled. Eddie was wearing the white and gold coat of the baptism candidate and he was in a clinch with Father Van and Andy. Mimi said to her, I don't know how to tell you this...By the time she had finished, Phyllis was crying. She went to join Eddie at the altar steps in front of Father Van. Widening the huddle, she stood on his left, Andy on his right. And so it was that Eddie was baptized, received his first Holy Communion, and was confirmed all in one afternoon.

Reunions are often occasions for sentimental gestures. Sometimes, the spirit of togetherness is strong enough to compel us to act on a deeply held wish. Indeed, Eddie's decision to be baptized was a grand gesture of faith and love, and I would say, good fortune. How lucky that Father Van was here and the church was available. How privileged that we could be here to share this special moment. Life doesn't skip a beat; it goes on. It's up to us, after the euphoria fades, to carry on with the hard work of building faith and continuity. It's part of the commitment to God and each other.

Walk good,
Jo Anne

I Gotta Crow!

Dear Ones:

Here's some upbeat news! Taranee has just been awarded a fellowship. You can read about it at:

http://tinyurl.com/d9ppjw

If you're not confident that this is a legitimate URL (because I used tinyurl.com) you can preview it at:

http://preview.tinyurl.com/d9ppjw

Walk good,
Jo Anne

Vuttichai Wangsatorntanakun 1958-2009

"I must say--and I salute him--he is a fighter and a true gentleman."
Professor Shimon Slavin, Titi's doctor

Dear Ones:

How do you write a conclusion for an unfinished life?

We discovered Titi wrote one, or tried to write one, himself. He left behind a diary and a list he called "Contract for Life." I remember giving him a blank book at Christmas, in case he wanted to write things down. He shook his head; he would never use it. To him cancer was a temporary setback and once overcome, then he would simply resume his life. Now I see he had indeed changed his outlook.

Instead of a book, Titi recorded his diary in his iPhone Notes. At first, it was a way to remember his stem cell protocol in Tel Aviv. Gradually, it evolved into a diary. He writes fervently about each tentative triumph-- "Thanks to God", he exults-- and matter of factly about every setback, especially the parvovirus that destroyed his first transplant. The diary stops after February 14th and then on March 22nd, two days before he died, he tried to pick it up again. There are only two enigmatic words, one per line: "Re Set." Nothing more.

Nowhere in the diary does he show that he ever once considered death a possibility. His Contract for Life, written before Valentine's Day, was a cryptic 10 point list of things to do. The Contract was his way of saying if he got the chance, he would live life intensely and gratefully. The first point was, "Like brothers and sisters." I noted the awkward "like" rather than "love" for I assumed it was a verb. Or did he mean he would treat everyone like brothers and sisters? "Equality for all," he tapped on the keypad. "Family relationship." Two other points seemed to be personal reminders to be more patient, but mostly, he appeared to feel the need to live more spiritually. Then he added, "never break promises."

Up until the end he displayed a relentless optimism. A co-worker said that Friday before his condition deteriorated, he was making plans for coming back to work. However, the end came quickly. Maybe it came as a surprise. Lek said, I never got to say goodbye. He never got to do all the things he promised. His tenth point in the Contract was poignant, his true number one, "Forever the Two." Lek and Nicky would always be in his heart.

Walk good,
Jo Anne

Catching Up with the Wangs

Dear Ones:

Tests showed that Andy's DNA is in Titi's bone marrow. The engraftment is a success but not stable, according to the doctors. So Andy flew out to Tel Aviv on Thursday night to donate a booster dose of stem cells and bone marrow. Titi has started to lose his hair and has begun to look very much like his old man, a resemblance none of us had noticed before!

Before going to the airport, we stopped at Mama's house to pick up a care package for Titi and Lek. A 35 kg care package, in fact. When I saw it I knew we had to do some serious sorting and packing. Mimi and Nu, Lek's sister helped. Luckily I have had 15 years' experience in Canada packing life's essentials for Thailand, including a bicycle for AJ, complete with training wheels. So I could understand the thought behind the care package; these are essentials from home without which life would be so unlivable. But even I was taken aback at the size of this thing; this was a severe case of homesickness combined with Asian pack-rat mentality. Starting with goose from Andy's favorite chicken rice shop, there was an electric hot water kettle (no Chinese-Thai home could manage without one), Essence liquid laundry soap, Darlie toothpaste, Sara Lee frozen pound cake, Oishi gyoza dumplings, chrysanthemum tea crystals, powdered Ovaltine and Milo, Coffee Mate packets, fried pork, white pepper powder, assorted condiments, assorted snacks, and dried noodles. Rounding off the contents were four fresh limes and honey--for Titi's sore throat. I guess you can't get limes and honey in Israel either.

I managed to whittle down the contents of the Care Package to just over 20 kg. In Andy's own bag were silk purses for the nurses and ear-loop surgical masks for Lek (she hated the tie-behind type in Israel). Altogether, Andy's total check-in luggage weight was 30 kg. Flying El Al coach he could not exceed 20 kg, said YJ, who had checked the internet. Andy took pity on Titi and Lek, who he was beginning to imagine, were starving and under siege in the Promised Land, and decided, I'll pay the overweight. Whereupon, Nu promptly stuffed three more tubes of Darlie toothpaste into Andy's bag. In for a penny, in for a pound. I like her thinking.

I said goodbye to Andy at the curb at Suvarnabhumi airport and left him to do battle with the dragons at El Al ticket counter. It's better if I don't watch. I can't stand to see grown men succumb to the discreet charm of Andy Wang. El Al as you know, is the most security conscious airline in the world. What is equally well known, is its maddening propensity to stick to the rules; that is, ignore wheedling, pleading Thai with overweight bags. As he had arrived early, Andy was first at the check-in. He met a balding Israeli ticket agent who observed, you've got a brother in hospital in Israel, don't you? He did it to throw Andy off, I think, but Andy is reckless. In other words, he has chutzpah. He shot back, how did you know? Are you Mossad? The man laughed, but he didn't confirm or deny it. Andy suggested, give me a break, okay? Except for being forced to check-in the infamous electric kettle, he didn't have to pay a single baht on three pieces of checked luggage.

I was nearly home from the airport when Mimi called me on my cell. She said Lek called from Tel Aviv to say that P'Andy doesn't have to bring the surgical masks. I laughed. The combined weight of three packets of paper masks is negligible. Forget it, I said, he's gone. It's typical of Lek, though. She will sacrifice her own comfort instead of Titi's. It's not mere heroism because this is something women do routinely.

There's more good news. Titi might not need Andy after all. Since the doctors stopped Titi's meds, his blood counts have shot up. It's infuriating but they might have waited before sending for Andy. On his doctor's advice, Titi called Andy at one a.m. on Tuesday and his immunologist followed up with an e-mail filled with so much gravitas and concern, Andy changed his reservation at once. His original plan was to fly out on the 11th. Of course, he's filled with hope for Titi, but it's not fair to make him drop everything to fly out there. That's power. No wonder doctors think they are God.

With Andy out of the way, I am enjoying wearing my grass widow's weeds. Up to a point. I usually enjoy my solitude and privacy (the bed all to myself, no golf on tv) for about 4 days before I start to miss him. Meanwhile, I am driving to school Andy's big silver gas-guzzling CR-V (he got a new Proton to drive) because my little Jazz is in the shop. I was rammed last week Wednesday afternoon by a pick-up truck that then took off without stopping. Andy and I spent three hours in two police stations because Phra Khanong said that though we live in their district the accident happened in Prawet. The desk sergeant obligingly filled out a police report, fussily putting two sheets of carbon paper between the pages of a ledger and recording the details of the accident. I did have the presence of mind to write down the license number. Then we took a copy of the report and went to the other police district where the same thing happened. It finally dawned on me that with a manual system to record accidents, the chances of them finding the guy who hit me are nil. The whole thing is Thai psychology at work. It's to make me feel I did something right and to make the policeman feel he's doing his job helping me.

Today, I took a day off from school to go to a gender sensitivity workshop sponsored by the UN. Since I consider myself a feminist, this was like preaching to the choir. But it was not a complete waste. I met an Australian lady there who is married to a Jamaican. According to her, he always thought he was 50% of the entire Jamaican community in Thailand (the other 50% is in Klong Prem prison on drug charges). The law-abiding Jamaican population in Thailand just went up 33%! She says her husband's name is Dwayne Edwards, he was born in Kingston, and he went to Knox College. I looked it up; it's in Clarendon. We will get together when Andy is back in town.

Well, that's all, folks.

Walk good,
Jo Anne

Heroes

Dear Ones,

We talked to Titi and Lek in Tel Aviv on Skype on Friday afternoon. They were in the "clean" room so Lek was masked and we could only see her eyes. Titi was wearing a cap; his hair has started to fall out. But he was in good spirits and able to walk up close to the computer camera to show us his crazy Mohawk 'do. He doggedly pursues wellness, taking each day at a time. Such individual heroism is quiet and unsung. We need heroes to show us how to live.

Yet greedy capitalists have all made the news. Business executives flew into Washington on private jets to beg the government for a handout and paid themselves millions of dollars in bonuses using taxpayer money. Meanwhile, Bernie Madoff stole from the rich to enrich himself and Thaksin's wife divorced him to preserve the bulk of the family fortune since any lawsuit aimed at him can't touch money that is ostensibly hers. We need heroes to remind us the best is still in us.

Then on Thursday, came Captain Chesley "Sully" Sullenberger who saved 155 lives by landing his crippled jet in the icy Hudson River. And on Tuesday next, Barack Obama will be inaugurated as the 44th President after overcoming daunting odds to make it all the way to the White House. Their achievements show that the best and the brightest do reap their own rewards; it's not just because of who you are and who you know.

Walk good,
Jo Anne

A Christmas Letter from Thailand

Hope is that thing with feathers/that perches in the soul/and sings the tune without the words/and never stops—at all. ~Emily Dickinson

Dear Ones:

After school, the air crackles with energy as the seventh graders leave my classroom. Speaking English all day should be exhausting but it seems to have energized them. To my seventh grade language learners, the world is an awesome place for friendships, new experiences, and discovering the intricacies of English. Yet they are sometimes afraid to fail, afraid to reach too high and be punished for daring. They must be prodded and encouraged. For them there are only possibilities. For them, hope is a lively tentative thing, mysterious and exciting.

For some people, though, hope is a thing that is ailing. Broken dreams and dreams that have been put on hold litter the landscape with their jaded finery. You know these people. It is someone who has lost a home or a job. It is someone you know who has cancer. As Langston Hughes once said, their struggle represents a dream deferred. That’s particularly difficult, especially around the holidays. You can’t really express joy when fear is screeching in your ears.

Somehow that separates us into the Lucky Few and the Poor Fools. The Lucky Few may think, How unlucky to be them. So they turn away in embarrassment. Indeed, it must be so, that they are ashamed to have it all: a home, family, food, money, and good health. The Poor Fool does not envy you; only asks you to have compassion. Listen to me. Pray with me, if you can. But don’t pity me for I am richer than you think, for I have hope.

If I am hopeful, surely it’s foolish to hope, because hope is all you have when you are beaten down. But you live to fight another day. If I am hopeful, but it’s foolish to hope, because hope is trying when there is nothing left to try. If you had never tried, you would never know you could succeed. If I’m hopeful, and it’s foolish to hope, because hope is going for a desperate cure even though the odds are against you to begin with. But at least you took the chance.

I’d rather be a fool and have hope. You are not alone, if you have hope. Listen to hope singing.

Merry Christmas to all and Walk Good in the New Year,

Andy, Jo Anne, Taranee, and AJ

In Quest of a Cure

Dear Ones:

This week Andy flew to Israel with Titi to meet the doctor in Tel Aviv who has agreed to perform a haploidentical stem cell transplant where the donor is only a partial match. Lek and Nicky went, of course, and so too did Mimi, the back up donor.

Andy is the donor. The literature says the transplant process is actually more painful for the donor than for the recipient. But Andy is willing to do this; he never had to think twice about it. To give this gift is to give the gift of hope to his brother. I cannot think of a better gift during this holiday season. As Taranee said, going to the Holy Land for a stem cell transplant you cannot get closer to God than that.

Getting out of Bangkok required meeting and satisfying every single expert's conditions; the doctors, the airlines, and security--even the Toilet Police. The first requirement was making sure Titi was healthy enough to travel. That meant getting his butt checked--his hemmorhoidectomy scar hadn't quite healed yet, that he had all his antibiotics and pain medications, and of course, there was El-Al to contend with, the most security conscious airline in the world, and now, probably the most stringent in terms of allowing the critically ill to fly with them. Their conditions: first, the patient's red blood cell and platelet counts must be within normal ranges; second, he must be on continuous oxygen, though he never needed it all the time he was in the hospital. This oxygen machine, which makes oxygen, had to be shipped in from Israel since there was no machine in Bangkok. El Al's final condition: a physician must accompany him on the flight. Of course the family agreed to everything; these are desperate measures to save a life, for without the transplant, Titi has only months to live.

Lek is a marvel at logistics. She orchestrated the move out of the hospital to the airport. She thought of everything, including offering seafood noodles to us as a pre-flight meal. Up until an hour before departure from the hospital, Titi was getting platelets. They look curiously like butterscotch sauce, not like blood products at all. When he left the hospital he was wearing a surgical mask to travel in an ambulance that would deliver him directly to the airplane. Two of the family's drivers carried the passengers to the airport. YJ drove his Citroen van because it was big enough to accommodate all the luggage, especially the two suitcases of food Lek packed for the stay in Israel. With all that she prepared, she could easily withstand a siege anywhere. Among other things, there was a rice cooker and Mama noodle packets. I am quite sure she also packed pork products. Since Israel follows Jewish dietary laws, she was right in thinking pork might be hard to find. To find out about the Toilet Police and to follow what's happening in Israel, you can read Andy's blog by clicking on the link Letters from Israel in the menu bar on the right.

Half a world away from Israel, Thailand's governance is in quest of a cure for what ails it: a lack of credible leadership. We have our fourth prime minister in a year, the 27th in a direct line of prime ministers dating back to 1932. The opposition Democrats were able to cobble together a coaltion to form a government. Abhisit Vejjajiva is a soft spoken pol born in Britain and educated at Oxford. Of course, the western-educated literati think he is just fine. But he is not PM of Britain. Aware that he has his skeptics, especially in the Thaksin strongholds of the north and northeast, he thought it politic that his first walkabout should be in the Isaan region. To complete just one term in office he needs to be a man for all political reasons.

I have stayed behind in Bangkok because AJ is coming home this week. YJ and Mikey also stayed behind. YJ has the additional responsibility for the two old ladies at home: Mama Wang and Mama Hong. Mama Wang is no trouble, a gentle soul with a sometimes clear-eyed gaze that pierces the veil of Alzheimer's; unlike Mama Hong, full of fight, who sometimes takes the notion that she wants to go home to Taiwan now. She's frustrated by the lack of mobility compounded by the inability to speak either Thai or English.

It will be a quiet Christmas and New Year's without Andy and Taranee. Andy and I will also miss two anniversaries we have always spent together; the day Malika died and our wedding anniversary. Lek, bless her, with all that she had on her mind, even remembered to shop for a gift for our anniversary-cum-Christmas. She gave us a soy milk maker. She remembered that I once asked her how she made the soy milk for Titi, and she knows Andy likes it too. You're never too busy to show you care to the people you love.

Walk good this Christmas and the New Year too,
Jo Anne

Resolution?

Dear Ones:

An immunologist in Israel has agreed to perform the stem cell transplant for Titi. How do you fancy Christmas in the Holy Land?

However, Titi has developed a hemorrhoid and the doctor here is concerned it may become a source of infection as his immune system becomes compromised. Titi's white blood cells, which deal with infection, have been crowded out by the cancer cells. It's important for him to be in a healthy condition for the transplant, so he has had a procedure to take care of the hemorrhoid. Now he's a real pain in the butt!

All he wants is his life back, he says. Lek says she wants him back the way he was. Nicky needs his father. Cancer has taken over their every conscious moment. Sleep is blessed oblivion. I don't tell them that things will never be the same again. If the transplant is successful, survival will be on a day-to-day basis. In effect, cancer becomes a time-marker. There is life Before Cancer, and then, life After Diagnosis. You wonder how much you can take without breaking, and it surprises you that you can still bend, even with all this weight.

On the continuing political crisis: the courts decided that the ruling People Power Party is guilty of electoral fraud and must be dissolved. That means Somchai Wongsawat is out of a job after 77 days as Prime Minister. His deputy is Acting PM. Still the country faces a leadership crisis. The next-in-line for the Prime Minister's post is not well-known for having iron-clad moral leadership skills. So far this year the country has gone through two prime ministers, is currently on its third, and about to get its fourth. I wonder if that qualifies as a Guinness world record?

The People's Alliance for Democracy (PAD) has announced it will now graciously depart from Government House and the two airports they have occupied. They have reached their objective, they say, even though it was a judicial "coup" of the pen that removed Somchai from office. It was an opportunity to save face, I suspect. A recent public opinion poll says most respondents think the PAD have "embarrassed the country." To understand this comment you have to realize that in Thailand a collective consciousness is valued. The actions of a few can have repercussions on social harmony. So it is important to balance how much boat-rocking you can do without actually inconveniencing the other people sitting in the same boat. It's not easy.

A lot of people were inconvenienced. They say 100 flights are leaving Suvarnabhumi each day to move 350,000 tourists stranded in Thailand. Taranee's flight home was cancelled just 3 days before the PAD announced they would withdraw from Suvarnabhumi. She immediately started looking at flights again. Incredibly, a seat that cost US$1,500 two weeks ago is now $4,300. Go figure. It looks doubtful Taranee will come home for the holidays.

At home, the nay chang is proceeding with the home improvements at a brisk pace. The repaved front yard looks pretty good. Today he installed a big new window to enclose the laundry area. I will still get plenty of sun out back but without having to contend with anything that flies, climbs, slithers, and crawls. I won't miss the tokays too much.

Walk good,

Jo Anne

Waiting

Dear Ones:

It's now confirmed that Titi's particular leukemia is what we feared; that untreatable mutation his doctor warned us about. His only recourse is a stem cell transplant. Though no one in Thailand has ever done a stem cell transplant of this type, Titi is willing to try it. He has refused to go to the States where he says, he will only be a number to the doctors there. So he has asked his cousin, a doctor at Ramathibodhi Hospital, and his classmate, the head of the hospital, to help put together a team of specialists. His hematologist found a donor in Taiwan so we are waiting for everything to be assembled. Meanwhile, Titi is getting weaker and he is fighting an infection.

Since I last wrote, there have been many thoughtful messages from family and friends who offered their support. Some of that support has even come from strangers and we are immensely grateful for their kindnesses. One such kindness was from a woman who is undergoing CML treatment herself. She offered to send Titi a supply of Gleevec (imatinib), because it worked so well for her. I was very touched by her offer of help but unfortunately, Titi's CML is Gleevec resistant.

It is peculiar how I feel; both abandoned and excluded. Abandoned, because medicine can do nothing more than offer a distant hope. The doctors leave us alone for other patients they can help. Excluded, because Titi is not a member of that select group of lucky survivors who can put cancer behind them. Curing cancer is such an uncertain business, and there are no guarantees.

Meanwhile, the political circus has reached new heights of brazen behavior. As you've no doubt heard on the news, the People's Alliance for Democracy (PAD) has occupied Suvarnabhumi Airport, halting all flights in and out of the country. Our school principal went to the Philippines for a conference on Monday. She cannot get back in the country. Two Canadian friends who are visiting Thailand are in a similar predicament; they cannot leave. The Malaysians from Proton who came to Bangkok for the Motor Show are also stranded.

I can't say when the situation will be resolved. Everyone is waiting. On Wednesday November 26 the army chief publicly advised the Prime Minister to dissolve parliament and to call for new elections. He insisted that there won't be a coup. He even suggested the PAD remove themselves from the buildings they have occupied. Since August they have staged a sit-in at Government House and they have also taken over Don Muang, the domestic airport. However, the PM says he is staying put, and the PAD says they're not moving, no how, no way. In the face of such pigheadedness, I am trying to decide which is the larger principle at work here; trying to best serve the country or their own interests.

Walk good,

Jo Anne

Alternate Routes

Dear Ones:

On Thursday, I came home from school in a heavy tropical downpour. As I entered the tollway, it was slick with water and my windshield wipers swished water away furiously. Still, visibility was poor, and I wondered since I couldn't see the road ahead clearly, shouldn't I get off at the nearest exit? Then I thought, I'm committed. There is no exit between here and Srinakarin Road. There are only alternatives: Suvarnabhumi airport, Bang Na, Onnut. I thought how apt this metaphor is for traveling the cancer road.

Titi has been tolerating the chemo surprisingly well. This is the beginning of his second week after chemo and so far so good. His counts have been steadily dropping but, amazingly, he's not as weak as when he was first admitted to the hospital after three weeks on the sprycel. For exercise he paces his room and the doctor has said he can walk the corridors outside the sterile room provided he wears a mask. The chemo is coy. We can't see what it is doing inside. Every day, he wonders--is this IT? What could happen to me today? To him each new day is an apprehensive event. I cannot imagine what that fear must be like. No one talks about it but it is on all our minds. Patrick, Andy's cousin in Washington, DC, has given us some new leads to pursue and a doctor-friend of his to contact. Possibly, Titi could join a study for a new experimental drug in Singapore. We haven't exhausted hope yet.

I greet Titi, how are you? In reply, he hands us his complete blood counts to read, but it lacks syntax. It is another language; terse, encoded. Anisocytosis. The medical jargon puts me off. Coincidentally, I have just finished reading Bloodletting and Miraculous Cures by Vincent Lam, a Canadian doctor. One of the characters, Dr. Chen, cures a woman's hiccups by having her drink rapidly through a straw while pressing on the tragus of both ears. (The tragus is the triangular fold of flesh in front of the opening to the ear canal). It works. A miracle. But he can hardly explain why it works. It reminds me of the children I teach; some of them do well in spite of me. At the parent-teacher conference last month, a parent asked solemnly, Will my child pass the test to transfer to Ruamrudee? We are a feeder school for Ruamrudee and there is nowhere else these parents want their children to be than at Ruamrudee. But there is no method to make such a miracle happen. It can't be cured like the hiccups. The students' parents cautiously negotiate the intricacies of their children's education in English, and I try to keep the jargon to a minimum; they are also ESL. In reading Lam's book I felt like a visitor to another dimension that is at once familiar (it's Toronto) yet strange (it's a hospital). It makes a glossary absolutely necessary: PEA, lytes, and my favorite, bigeminy. By the way, none of these terms have anything to do with a green vegetable, a light fixture, or a mia noi (minor wife). Professions, like disease, keep the uninitiated at arm's length.

Meanwhile, Mimi manages her mother's care with awesome efficiency. I think it's because she knows how to delegate, and if she doesn't know something, she knows someone who does. She's one of those people who communicates by the FWD. You don't hear from her but she's got you on her mailing list. Her speciality is the health warning. It is risky to send health warnings to the techno-literate. We will invariably want to show that we know more than you. The latest FWD was a cancer scare about bottled water "from Johns Hopkins." I recognize the tactic. Use a famous medical research facility to lend credence to the so-called warning. According to the article, PET bottles leach chemicals into the water when the plastic is heated or frozen. I immediately went to my favorite urban legend website, Snopes. com and checked it out. It discredited the frozen bottle issue. I asked Titi, who has a master's degree in chemistry, and he said that we shouldn't keep PET bottles in the car in hot weather because heat causes chemicals in the bottle to leach in the water. Like all urban legends, there are half-truths that suck you in. I've linked some sites of interest to my blog so you can check them out yourself.

Sometimes I wonder if I have forgotten anything. I feel like I have so many balls in the air and I'm afraid to drop one. In addition to all this, we decided to go ahead and renovate the front of our townhouse. Six months after the new road was built, the Nay Chang has finally arrived at the end of the road. Literally, for he is now in our cul-de-sac. The road improvements prompted a flurry of home improvements. And as a result, the Nay Chang's business is roaring. Starting at mid-soi, Nara and Reto put in a new driveway, tile bordered with a gravel slurry. The neighbors disapprove of their design; the slurry will turn black, they say. No good. Everyone is now an expert on home improvements! Across from Nara, Mrs. Chang and her next door neighbor poured cement for their new driveways and rebuilt the common wall. Mrs. Chang lives in Taiwan now and makes infrequent trips to Bangkok. She left her front yard dull cement. Why spend more money since I'm hardly here, she reasons. But she will not sell her house. Her neighbor however, decided on mosaic tiles and columns for an added Moorish effect. The workmen worked their way towards us, to the herbalist next door. Though he lives in China he will come back, he says. Someday. Mrs. Chang and the herbalist think alike. Even I understand them. We Chinese need these havens. It is programmed in our genes to make sure we have a place somewhere in the world where we can feel safe. But safe from what?

Now that we have the Nay Chang's undivided attention, we negotiated his time, his fee. Over the weekend he got his advance from Andy and immediately went on a walkabout. He said he had to go to a wedding up country but he will be back at the end of the week. True to his word, he came back on Friday. I met his wife, his business partner, when I came home from school that afternoon. Her name is Oy, and it means Sweet. The Thai never use their formal given names, preferring nicknames. Andy tells me the Nay Chang's name is Ma, which means Horse. I am afraid to say it because if I get the tone wrong it might be Come instead, or worse, Dog. To be called a dog is an insult to a Thai so I've decided it will be safer to call him Nay Chang, which means Mr. Fixer. If I happen to mispronounce chang I would only be calling him Elephant, nothing worse.

Living here is necessarily filled with such calculations. What we can afford to renovate. What to call the Nay Chang. How well we can manage cancer. There are many alternate routes. The important thing is to keep moving, don't get stuck, and don't drop the ball.

Walk good,

Jo Anne

What's worth fighting for?

Dear Ones:

My cell phone rang just as I arrived at the Pattaya Bowl.

When I saw that it was Andy I held my breath. I was on a school trip and he would never have called unless it was important. It must be about Mama, I thought. My mother-in-law is in the end stages of Alzheimer's.

I was in Pattaya with my seventh graders and the rest of the RIST middle school. We had just arrived at the bowling alley in two buses. Six teachers and 57 students streamed out onto the sidewalk and gathered in tight little knots in the lobby of the bowling alley. It was October 3, 2008 shortly before 10 a.m. The day was sunny and it promised to be another hot and humid day in Thailand.

I steeled myself and answered the phone, certain it was bad news about Mama.

Instead he said, "It's Titi," referring to his younger brother. His voice sounded normal. Even casual.

"What's up?" What could be so bad?

"Titi has terminal leukemia," he said to me. "He needs a stem cell transplant."

I don't remember what I said in reply. I know I was in shock. Ten words. It's funny what you remember on the day you hear unexpected news. Mars, the activities coordinator, screamed at the students above their noisy chatter to go and rent their shoes. It's effective because every single student sauntered obediently to the shoe counter. Mars has none of the lower vocal registers so this makes the children afraid of her.

I wandered around the bowling alley taking videos of the kids giving each other high fives for strikes and pouting when the ball rolled disobligingly into the gutter. Meanwhile, another part of my mind was digesting the information. I was thinking, this can't be happening again. I went through this crucible before, how can I be tested again? That familiar feeling of dread crept over me. First, there is the disbelief. I must be dreaming. I will wake up soon.

I texted Andy. Did you say Titi??? He texted back. Yes.

After you get through the disbelief, you find yourself wondering, how did I miss this? Titi knew in December, after his company physical, that he had an elevated white cell count. According to Mimi, no one, incredibly, advised him to follow up. He did not know it was so serious because he felt fine. So he did nothing. But Mimi is an unreliable witness. She always protects her little brother; she insists it was not denial. So it wasn't until he had seen his family doctor in April that he was diagnosed with leukemia. Even Lek asks, why did he wait so long? Titi did not tell us, for the lamest, most idiotic reason: he didn't want to bother us. Bother us? Andy and I know that any recriminations now are meaningless. The important thing to do now is to help him get well again. Attitude is everything.

Initially, his hematologist put him on an experimental drug which worked wonderfully, but now his leukemia is no longer responding to it. He went from the chronic stage of CML (Chronic Myelogenous Leukemia) to the accelerated stage to the acute stage called the "blast phase" in a matter of weeks. Titi now needs a stem cell or bone marrow transplant. Andy and his sister Mimi readily submitted to tests to see if they would be compatible donors. They were extremely disappointed to discover they were not. The odds of survival are terrible, even with the transplant. But I know from Malika's experience, that getting hung up on the numbers is not productive. We have to take each day as it comes.

Now Titi is in a sterile room at the hospital just 5 minutes from his house. To enter this room, all visitors have to be masked and gowned. On Sunday, he began a week of chemotherapy in an attempt to get his leukemia back up to the chronic stage. We are hopeful. Meanwhile, the hematologist is consulting the donor registries in Asia to find a match. A sample of his blood was sent off to Italy last week to find out if it is a particularly virulent mutation of CML.

Lek and Nicky stay ovenight in the family suite next door to Titi's sterile room. The suite is equipped with its own bathroom and is furnished with a sofa (not a bed, unfortunately), a table and three chairs, a microwave oven, a TV and a refrigerator. There is an IV stand for hanging up the hospital gowns. Most of the comforts of home.

Nicky is a resourceful child. He has brought a ping pong paddle and an orange ball to amuse himself. He tries to see how many times he can hit the clock on the wall with it. He plays magic tricks with his uncles, and when he's bored, plays with his Gameboy.

Lek weeps, looking drawn and tired. Her brothers and sister and some of their children have come by the hospital to offer their support. She is afraid. Afraid that Titi has given up, she says. She will not say aloud what is really her greatest fear. It might come true.

Everything has happened so quickly no one has had much time to adjust. Indeed, we are riding the cancer roller coaster. A familiar ride, as it happens, for Andy and me. At this time of year, Malika's spirit is so very near, I feel her gentle touch. She would have been 26 years old at the end of October. I am surprised to find my memories have grown dim, but the emotions have not lost their edge. A long time ago, we found another hospital a familiar place, where we laughed, cried, hoped against the odds, coped with disappointment, winced at the doctors' relentless honesty, and learned to accept with gratitude the kindnesses of strangers. In this replay, nothing has changed substantially, only the drugs are different: imatinib, dasatinib, and sprycel. Melodious names, magnificent sounding, filled with hope--for other people.

Titi, the center of all this concern, looks fine. He complains only of feeling weak and sometimes dizzy. When he was admitted to the hospital on Wednesday night, he had fluid in his lungs, probably because of the sprycel because all tests for infection have been negative. He has a good appetite. Lek's cook makes special food to bring to the hospital, food that will build his strength up. Titi does not wish to read, do crossword puzzles, play Scrabble, or do any of the things Andy and I enjoy as diversions. Lek's brother suggested relaxation through meditation but Titi would rather medication. Inexplicably, he zonks out in front of the TV watching cable or bad action movies on DVD. We have fallen into a routine when we go into the sterile room, masked and gowned. Chat awhile, then all conversation ceases as we watch the TV screen in comfortable silence. One of the videos starred a moving tree stump that looked a lot like Steven Seagal trying to emote his way through Bangkok. Ah well. One must humor the patient.

The political circus that I wrote about in the first blog has continued. Joining the PAD protests is Chamlong, a former Bangkok governor who has better street cred than the pampered businessman Sondhi; Chamlong led the May 1992 demonstrations against the junta. Since I last wrote, Samak had been forced to resign for violating the constitution. To everyone's consternation, his party immediately re-nominated him and he accepted. However, he was supposed to decline; the re-nomination was to save his face. (Remember, this is Thailand.) When the time came for parliament to confirm him, none of the coalition party leaders showed up for the vote so there was no quorum. Amazingly, the rule of law sometimes works here. Samak down--and out. Nevertheless, the PAD continues their protest because Samak's successor is Thaksin's brother-in-law. I had started to write a follow up blog about it which I had titled "What's worth fighting for?" All that seems irrelevant now. I decided to keep the blog title though, because for us, this battleground has shifted.

Walk good,

Jo Anne