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I began having trouble with the first 2007 Journal, so started this one as a continuation of the 2007 journal.
Here is David's site, and his current blog, Slow Movin' Dreams. I'm writing here for myself and anyone else who cares to read it. Wouldn't it be nice if someone would read these journals to me when I get old.
~
There is a road, no simple highway,
Between the dawn and the dark of night,
And if you go, no one may follow,
That path is for your steps alone
~
1/3/2008 - Last 2007 post
This brings 2007 to a close. It's been a good year, despite edging toward being "a burnt out case." Actually, I think I pretty much am one. Anyway, looking back at this point, I'm happy and am in better shape physically than I've been in several years. Leslie is doing well, as is David. I spent New Year at Big Bend - a great trip. Here is 2008 journal.
12/28 - strange days, Big Bend, our family
Somewhere around 1990 I met a Vietnamese woman named Lan. The first time I walked into her apartment (off of Grigsby) she was sitting on a bed, facing the door. I knew immediately she was sick – she had that ghostly look that some people have when they’ve been through terrible times. I started taking her to Parkland for the last futile treatments in her last round of radiation, but clearly, she was going to die. She was always quiet, reserved, and it seemed to me that she probably had a past. She had an Amerasian daughter named Suzy, who lived somewhere else and worked in a nail salon.
One day I was taking Lan to Parkland and there was a communication issue coming up – something that it was very important for her to understand (DNR). So we swung by the Multicultural Center (MCC), which had an office on Bryan near Peak. I went in to see if their Vietnamese caseworker could help. The caseworker was sitting at a table with the agency director (whose name was “Sunny” – ain’t that cute) and someone else and they were folding origami paper cranes. I explained what was going on and what we needed – and that I would take the caseworker to Parkland and that they were waiting on us at the hospital so it would all take an hour or less.
Sunny looks up and says, “Oh, I’m sorry, we have a commitment to fold a 1000 of these peace cranes – and they have to be ready for the Peace Festival (or something like that), so we can’t help you today.” I was struck dumb, dizzy with rage. I mean what do you say to something like this? So I just left.
Lan ended up going back to Vietnam to die. We spent a lot of time convincing her oncologist to prescribe sufficient dilaudid for her to take back to Vietnam. It took some help from someone high up in oncology at the medical school, but we finally got quite a bit together. She had at least two months worth, which was about how long she had to live. Before she left, her daughter had a little party for Lan at a Chinese restaurant in one of the burbs. It was pretty sad.
~
I was telling Leslie about this today as we walked along Bryan Street. We talked about some of the weirdness we’ve seen in our day.
~
There were several thousand Southeast Asian refugees placed in in the Fitzhugh/Carroll/San Jacinto area from 1977-1986. I think in 1982 some Cambodian children found a dismembered woman in a dumpster on Prairie Street near Fitzhugh and Bryan. The director of one of the refugee agencies said, “Lucky it was Cambodians – they’re used to it.”
~
There was this man named Suer Kam, who had a terminal illness, something akin to leukemia. He and his family lived at 4400 San Jacinto. We were not their sponsor, but we got them blankets, clothes, food, etc., and took Suer Kam to his appointments at Parkland. I took him to the emergency room the day he died. I remember on the way there offering him a stick of gum and he was so weak he just shook his head. I had to leave and by the time I got back he was dead. Leslie took care of the funeral arrangements and when she called the sponsoring agency to see what they would pay for, the director said, “We can go, maybe a $100.”
Sick stuff – I’m not making these things up, nor exaggerating, embellishing, or anything else. The only thing that is not 100% true is that I've changed the names, except for Sunny's - that one is too good to change.
~
Jeff and I are leaving tomorrow (Saturday) for Big Bend for a 4 or 5 day trek. In the meantime, David will be going back to Houston Sunday. Oh, how fine it’s been to have him home. It just feels so good and natural and comfortable for us all (David, Leslie, me) to be together. A good family and I'm deeply grateful.
12/26 - it’s better to receive than to give, something of deep beauty, re-gifting is better than re-eating, an interesting table
In some respects it was a David Sedaris Christmas, and some of that I don’t want to write about on-line, but I will mention a little, and then something of deep beauty (and then something not so beautiful).
It’s better to receive than to give: My aunt decided it’s better to receive than to give, and without telling anyone her plan, she showed up for Christmas with no gifts. For a number of years she has given mainly to our son and my brother’s daughter, which, of course, is fine. And we have given to her. But this year, nothing - except we gave her something nice from Cambodia. I think it was because she is irritated with me, and how better to act that out than to stick it to my son. It was a strange and perfectly defining moment. Withholding.
Something of deep beauty: We went to Leslie’s sister’s house on Christmas day. There, too, someone took a hit – hard & far more painful than my aunt’s shot at David to get to me. But something else happened.
One of Leslie’s nieces, Jenny and her husband Eric, have two sons, John and Henry. At some point, John was involved in Chris (nephew) and Allison’s daughter, Georgia being hurt a little while they were playing on the patio. Afterward, John was sitting in a chair on the patio, just completely miserable. Without berating him, Eric told him John to apologize to Georgia. Without a word, he got up to trudge into the house to apologize. Mike, John’s Granddad (married to Leslie’s sister Becky) said, in his quiet, undemonstrative way (softly), “Do you want me to go with you, John?” And in the house they went, holding hands. I don’t know how to capture the sweetness of these three generations – John, Eric, and Mike – working it out together and all three of them getting it so perfectly right.
Eric and I had talked a little while earlier, about his childhood and my plans for retirement. Mountain talk, family talk. While we were talking I had the sense that Eric truly got it – what it meant to me and to David when we went to Southeast Asia together in 2005. I mean, anyone would understand that it was a very good thing, but with this young man, I could see him doing something equally or even more defining with his sons. And later I was in the back yard, talking briefly with Jenny and saw her in a similar way – the youngest of Becky and Mike’s children – deep and strong - not acting that way, but being that way.
Re-gifting is better than re-eating: About 3:30am today Leslie was awakened by Buddy retching. She was too late to get him out of the house, so he threw up on the living room rug. What came up was mostly chunks of the bone he had eaten earlier (his Christmas bone), and by the time she got back to the living room with paper towels, etc., he was re-eating one of the chunks. So it's 3:30 in the morning and Leslie is wrestling with Buddy, trying to get the chunk of bone out of his great big, muscle-bunched pit bull mouth (thinking that if he ate it sooner or later she would see that little beauty yet again) all the while trying to not step in the barf. What a cute little doggie we have. Wait! Stop the Presses! The bone was Buddy's Christmas bone, so actually, he re-gifted and re-ate!
Now here's an interesting table. It shows what was in the C-Rations we had in Vietnam. My favorites were beans & wieners, meatballs & beans, & boned chicken, though I ate a lot of eggs, water added with ham because I could tolerate it and people would just give it away, so I could use other stuff to trade for the coveted fruit cocktail, pears (mmmmmm, pears), and pecan roll. Sometimes you could get together some pears and pound cake for a true feast. Crackers with peanut butter were okay, but even I wouldn't eat the "candy disc, chocolate" - or the ham & lima beans ("ham & mfs" as everyone called them). Beef steak (it was a steak, alright), ham, turkey loaf, beef/potatoes/gravy were okay if you were really hungry. I don't remember meat loaf (lol - are you kidding me. How bad would that have been?) or spiced beef. The caraway cheese always irritated me - who eats caraway seeds? But I liked the pimento cheese. I loved the cocoa and jam & cookies. The bread was lame. I ate a lot of fruitcake because I was one of the only ones who would, so there was always plenty of it. I almost always had a bottle of Tabasco. (Writing this journal is sufficient unto itself, but if it turns out that someone reads this to me when I'm old, please read all the ingredients below - Thanks.)
B-1 UnitsMeat Choices (in small cans): |
B-2 UnitsMeat Choices (in larger cans): |
B-3 UnitsMeat Choices (in small cans): |
The Accessory Pack had a plastic spoon, salt & pepper, instant coffee, sugar, creamer, 2 Chiclets,
cigarettes - 4 smokes/pack like Winston, Marlboro, Lucky Strike (my favorite three), Salem, Pall Mall, Camel, Chesterfield, Kent (nasty things), Kool (Winnie the Penguin says, "Smoke Cooool!"), matches, & Toilet Paper. We all carried a "P-38" can opener and usually had heat tabs or C-4 to heat things.
12/17 - beginning to think about traveling
Thoughts on Asia: Hong Kong, of course, for 5-6 days. Pacific Coffee on the Peak, Leslie's noodle shop, Macau, CK hike one day. Fly to Bangkok, stay a few days. Bus to Phnom Penh & stay a week to see Samnang et al. Bus to Saigon, stay a few days eating, buy backpack, etc., train to Nha Trang (stay Hanno's), Danang, car to Hoi An (or maybe skip Hoi An), bus to Hue (week - nothing to do in an amazing city in Vietnam - we're in heaven), train to Hanoi, fly Chiang Mai ($360 - Thai) stay awhile, back to Bangkok, back to HK. And how about this: Bangkok to Jakarta and on to Bali is less than $200 RT - but these just notions - haven't talked with anyone yet
Thoughts on backpack/road trip: Next week, Jeff and I going to Big Bend. This spring, Dave and I are going to Big Bend State Park for a 4 day loop. (Summer) Dallas - Grand Canyon just to have a look, Bishop Cali (east Sierras) and then 10 days in Sierras (Evolution Loop), up through Nevada to Cali and on to San Francisco for a few days and then Yosemite for 6-8 days, back to Dallas OR from Sierras head over to Wyoming to Winds for 10 OR to Colorado for Maroon Bells for 7 days and then south ... see grid in backpack page for possibilities. Spring start Grand Canyon 5 days April, Cali coast (Big Sur, Lost Coast) Ap-May, Yosemite 2 weeks June,
Traveling: Places to go: Boston area, New England; Cali and Pacific NW, Big Sur, SF, Lost Coast, Vancouver; South, Alabama, Georgia, Carolinas, Virginia - in part it depends on where David ends up in school.
12/15
From his first Christmas on until he was about 6, I took David out front riding on my shoulders to look at our Christmas lights most nights.
I went by the clinic today (Friday) on the way to work. Leslie was in the hall, sorting out the patients – which means that she was deciding who would be seen today and who would not. She doesn’t just turn people away, but this is the worst job in the house – one that weighs on those involved. It would be easier to just give numbers, but Leslie is adamantly against that – philosophically and in terms of basic community health concepts. So, one by one by one she was sorting them in, sorting them out.
I was thinking, as I decrease my volunteer involvement with the clinic, that (of course) there are unintended consequences …
It’s like going into the mountains – you hike and climb and get really tired and sore and as you keep going and time passes, things happen – you begin to experience the deep beauty, like sunrise in the mountains, looking across the distance from a mountain top, stars – shooting stars – in the desert. Awe-inspiring – but it seems that so many of these things require work, pushing limits.
So the unintended consequence of decreasing clinic involvement is that without the daily struggles/ downs/bads the daily beauty/ups/goods are less accessible. And more than this is that we’ve worked together for most of the past 25 years – I mean in addition to the way one might expect us to work together, as partners, parents and so on – I mean we’ve done this work with refugees and immigrants as complete partners. It has been the most amazing and joyous ride – nothing less than a blessing. But no matter what, I’m tired.
I saw a photograph today, taken at Khe Sanh – showed the Witch’s Tit – one of the (better shaped) mountains rising up above the base to the west and north. It wasn’t cold (as witches are reputed to be – “as cold as a witch’s …"). It was hot, hot and extraordinarily dangerous (There’s no place in Iraq as dangerous as that place) – death in the mountains – when I hear, “these mist-covered mountains …” it sends chills through me. I was with 1/9 and we were in the hills around Con Thien northwest of Khe Sanh. But I hung out some at Khe Sanh and I was in them forests and mountains. Photo: Con Thien - thanks to Vets With A Mission
I was at Dong Ha and was wanting to go to Khe Sanh to hang out with Jeff and whoever was left of 1/26. I was at the airstrip (or was it Phu Bai?) looking for a plane or chopper into the base and someone told me that a C-123 starting to taxi away was going to Khe Sanh. So I ran up to the side door to get on and the guy pulled me up into the plane. Whew! It stunk of aviation fuel and that's exactly what it was full of in 55 gallon barrels and I'm flashing on the fact that there is always someone using a heavy AA machine gun to shoot at planes landing at Khe Sanh (guns set up to fire at planes coming in from either way). You know, it's not really a major deal for bullets to go through a plane - but if they hit a person or engine or something explosive or flammable, well that's bad and of course this whole plane was flammable. But we were already taking off - it ain't enough that I'm hiking around in these bleeding bloody hills literally from one gunfight to another and now I'm riding in a giant torch. As I recall we did some pretty serious juking coming in - Hold On!
We didn't make it to Texoma - icy, icy weather and then his cousin died so he's away to Illinois and we'll go somewhere after Christmas. The major upside is that David is in town to go to Robin's graduation dinner, so I was conflicted about leaving as he came in. So I'm happy.
12/9 - Wandering all over the place
Once in about 1972, in the fall we were driving on a narrow street near where we lived in the McKinney/Cole area and the leaves were dancing across the street like magic & I saw them like that again today over here in Old East Dallas.
David’s quartet, the Dolce Quartet is playing in front of a boutique chocolate store …
Jeff and I heading off next Friday for a short (3 day) trek near Lake Texoma. In my account of my (personally momentous) Big Bend trek I wrote … Sitting on the ground, leaning against my pack with my legs straight out I feel like I’ve been sitting like this forever. Nevermind, it’s just a flashback. I wish Jeff was here. How many times did we rest like that with our weapons ready?
Jeff told me that when he got to MCRD they were standing in the yellow footprints and there was a DI sitting behind a little table and he told the recruits to double-time to a single line in front of the little desk. The first man moved so fast and precipitously that he ran into the desk and the DI – who, along with several others immediately began beating the man. When they realized Jeff was laughing they went to work on him too. That’s a funny story, by the way.
This journal is about my life, not my work, so I’ve written very little about work here. I was thinking last week, maybe about time to let people in on a few secrets (as if anyone from there was reading this – your loss). The context is founding and building Texas’ first hospice, envisioning and (in partnership with many others) creating Texas’ first COPC – the East Dallas Health Coalition, building the Agape Clinic into a perfect jewel of a service-learning community health mission clinic, showing many students and others The Tao - The Way of community health, writing some, and over the years, providing high quality care to a lot of people. So that’s the context and here’s the secret: since 1977, when I was in Al Shapero’s graduate design seminar in the UT Business School I have put ~10% of my energy into the things that other people at my jobs (seem to) put nearly all their energy (roles, schedules, goals & objectives for doing the same thing over & over & over – AAARRGGHHH). My focus is on human needs, suffering & so on AND what can be done in the context of teaching. I've put enormous energy into what can happen and how to make it so/action – for 30 years I’ve thought about and worked for little else (in the context of work) + I've met my personal goal of making it to more than half of the meetings (planning and writing time for me). You could say that it’s like the Parable of the Talents (Matthew 25).
An insight/secret to success: can't do trivial pursuits and much else - have to decide where to put your energy and then go for it as hard as you can (but you have to deal with all that other stuff).
I took a shot today. A shot of what? Gall? Spite/revenge? Yes. Years down the road (if I’m lucky and still alive), I’ll look at this and wonder, what was that about? You could say it’s like Positively 4th Street (You’d know what a drag it is to see you). I didn't even know there was conflict until it was over.
The New Store (a wooden ship). I had this store in a house on Sears Street off Lower Greenville. In the front was where I made things out of wood, like tables, bed frames, walls, shelves and so on. In the back was a little showroom with oriental rugs, a wall made of interlaced wood, several beds, tables, shelves. One day I was taking an after-lunch nap in the workshop and heard someone say in the loveliest voice, “Hello.” It was Laura Joplin, Janice’s sister, whom I knew from David N’s place in Oak Lawn. What a contrast between Laura and what I've heard Janice was like.
Leslie and I have been eating every weekend at Pho Bang in Garland – THE best com tom suon (pork chops, rice with fried egg on top, cucumbers, etc.) in Dallas. Last week in Pho Bang there was the world’s worst singing group, 3 Vietnamese, one with a guitar (one chord, the wrong one) and all singing Feliz Navidad. When we were leaving I ran into one of Shirley D’s and Ron C’s former scouts – Ly, who looked great – grown up and all – yet still, in my mind, a sweet shy girl. We talked for awhile and I told her we got an email from Dung (pronounce Yung), who is in Minnesota … “I am doing good as long as I don't go outside. I am in Minneapolis right now and it's so cold.”
So that’s my world – Leslie, David, Jeff, Ron, Shirley, Ly, Dung (how could she know what magic we see in her emails). Why then would I give more than a passing glance to …
No, I do not feel that good when I see the heartbreaks you embrace, If I was a master thief, perhaps I'd rob them.
And now I know you're dissatisfied with your position and your place, Don't you understand, it's not my problem.
I wish that for just one time you could stand inside my shoes, And just for that one moment, I could be you.
Yes, I wish that for just one time, You could stand inside my shoes. You'd know what a drag it is to see you.
12/1 - Big Bend: Circling, whatever, aren’t you the guy …, how to see a mountain lion, the high point, cold ice wind and snow, my legs are pretty sore and we’re having a good time, randomness … (the beginning of a backpacking page)
Circling: I was in Scouts until I was 13 or 14, so backpacked quite a bit when I was young. I dropped out of high school and ended up spending almost two years (in two stints) in Colorado, Wyoming, etc. rock-climbing (see post 9/8(1) in this 2007 journal) and living outside much of that time. Then I spent 2 years in the Marine Corps infantry and 13 months in Vietnam where, once again, I slept on the ground nearly every night. After that, I said, no more. David and I went to several camps together (we stayed up all one drizzly night, tending a fire – can it get any better?) and we hiked, canoed and biked together – quite a bit, actually, but backpacking (other than through SE Asia together for 2 months), I mean backpacking in the American outdoors sense – no. Now, 42 years later, the mountains call. Continued at a backpacking page) Photo (by Faith) - Snowy day. That's a cloud at treetop level.
11/20 - Big Bend tomorrow
I leave tomorrow at 6pm. David and Chris are leaving Houston tomorrow in time to get here before I leave - this is a good family and I'm already a little sad. Times of separation always bring thoughts of separation - that something might happen. I was thinking about that as I walked Judo on his nightly search for action ... I've been thinking about what I wrote in the dedication to the 2nd edition of my book on terminal illness. With gratitude ...
I lay dreaming that I was near an outdoor marketplace, watching a group of musicians set up to play. One by one, they began to tune, softly. Then in a soft clear voice, a woman sang the words, "Who knows ... where the time goes ... " and at that moment I awoke and said, "To Leslie." A true vision. Dedicated to my wife, Leslie.
When my son, David, was about five years old, I dreamed one night that the end of the world had come. Everything was just slowing, slowing, slowing and I was drifting in space. I knew when it all stopped, that would be the end. David drifted into my arms as a voice said, "Into the arms of his father." It was a calm encompassing peace. Dedicated to my son, David.
I Love You
11/15 - People from all over
Today in clinic people working or seen as patients included Mon (Burma), Karen (Burma), Burman, Khmer, Ethiopian, Mexican, Salvadoran, Vietnamese, American (White, Hispanic, Black), Japanese, French, Filipina - and I'll bet I've forgotten someone. Burma Refugees site (updated, again)
11/14 - Okra soup
We made several home visits today. At one apartment there was a strong smell of cooking - I wasn't sure what. It smelled good and I asked about it. So I ended up having a bowl of okra soup with some unidentified (by me) green plant. The broth was mild, tasty and the okra the same as boiled okra always has been.
In one apartment there was a young woman wearing a traditional Karen top and blue jeans. She was feeding a child sitting on the table, wearing a Batman mask, enjoying his rice and chicken. Now and then a little girl would walk by and get a bite.
11/13 - Bob Dylan & Allen Ginsberg
Walking together in a graveyard somewhere - I guess many people from different generations would say they're glad to be part of their generation. In my mind, looking objectively at the great leaps - highs - lows of my generation, when has there ever been another time like this - the 60s and 70s? The tide has never come in higher, before or since. So, yeah, what a blessing to have been a part of that. When before would two men like these have walked together? Gay and straight, together for the world. Here's to you, Allen. And to you, Bob.
11/12 - Veteran's Day 2007 - Thoughts
My USMC flag flew today, just as it has every day since this war in Afghanistan and Iraq started.
My employer has a holiday called “Day of the Bear” (the mascot), but no commemoration or even acknowledgement of Veteran’s Day. This is incorrect. I couldn't find what was done this year, but things have been done in years past. I just couldn't find anything on the website and do not recall ever hearing anything about it. I used to make bitter sarcastic remarks about this, but no more (now I write the thoughts). I try to stay away on Veteran's Day, but this year was unsuccessful ...
I was in a meeting today and the person sitting next to me said something in a joking way about a one-legged veteran. Sometimes I’m just speechless, which is far better (for my employment situation) than saying something appropriate.
I saw a news piece on TV about an army operation in Afghanistan. Two men were hit, one WIA, one KIA, and another of the troops was filmed moaning and sobbing in the field. What kind of discipline is that? Someone should have shut him up, fast.
Leslie gave me a special Veteran’s Day backrub this morning, so there was one very good part of the day.
Saw a headline and wrote it down: "Mentally Ill Vets Sent Back Into Combat" - LOL - what's your point? What else are you going to do with them and how many in the infantry are not at least a little mentally ill? So many people have no clue what war really is. The whole thing was pretty crazy last I checked.
Keep on Rockin' in the Free World
I've written on my war experiences, but haven't put them on a website. Below is a summary from A Personal Page:
I started at MCRD San Diego, then Infantry Training Regiment & Machine Gun School; Camp Pendleton & las Pulgas for Special Landing Force training. On to Subic Bay & Olongapo in the Philippines (oh, how we partied, like doomed youth); first landing southern South Vietnam (1st casualties); second landing Deckhouse & Prairie for serious battles; Hill 55 & Dodge City (snipers daily, mines, weekly firefights more or less & a few battles); Dong Ha & Hill Fights (168 KIA, but it took awhile); also at Con Thien, Gio Linh, and Khe Sanh, though mostly I was in the boondocks around these places. If there was a sound track to this section it would be Sympathy for the Devil, maybe Gimme Shelter. We won every battle and beat back very attack, but America lost its will and lost the war. All told, 13 months in combat (well, you know, not every day) in the two provinces (Quang Nam & Quang Tri) accounting for 25% of the US KIA (I think there are 20 or more provinces in VN); Danang (in our last formation there were about 30 men of the original company of about 180 men - I guess we were doomed youth), The World. God. I'm alive. From war to this: Stories from la clinica and now this: A return to Southeast Asia.
11/6 - Music
David was 6 years old when he said he wanted to learn to play the piano. We said okay, sure, and through our friends, Gerald and Kristin found a teacher. Our next door neighbor, Jay had put a square plastic piano (about 2' long and 1' high) out on the curb with some other stuff he didn’t want. That was the piano David practiced on for several months until it was clear that he really did want to learn and was willing to practice. We then got him a pretty nice upright from our church music minister. His teacher, Mitta played piano and viola, and when avid’s school started a little orchestra, he took up the viola as well. What a great teacher and friend she was and is. Even today, five years since Mitta taught David, Leslie still handles scheduling her students.
One year for Leslie’s birthday, David learned the complete version of Fur Elise, which he played at a recital. A great day!
After David had been playing viola for about a year, Mitta suggested he try out for a city-wide youth orchestra, the Young Performers Orchestra (YPO), the youngest of the Greater Dallas Youth Orchestra organization. He made it and so every Sunday we took him to a three hour rehearsal at the “old pump house,” a place where they had several arts organizations as tenants. Leslie and I would sit on the floor in an area above and behind where the orchestra practiced. From time to time, David would turn around and smile at us. Talk about a wonderful time.
David worked his way through the GDYO organization until he was one of the younger members of the most advanced orchestra, the GDYO. He became First Chair viola when he was in the 9th or 10th grade, and never relinquished the position. This was a serious orchestra, playing the same versions of Beethoven, Mahler, and Brahms as any orchestra in the world. They were true professionals and were treated as such, with performances at the Meyerson. Photo: David & (sleepy looking) Mitta in front of her house
David moved to St. Marks School in the 4th grade and became First Chair in that orchestra as well. For his senior exhibition, he played the Hindemith Viola Concerto – brilliantly, and also a Bach suite.
In addition to the orchestra, he also played in several chamber groups with others from GDYO. Once again, they played serious music, such as Mozart, Haydn, Beethoven, Mendelssohn and so on. I especially remember Shostakovich String Quartet No. 8 (“In memory of victims of fascism and war”) – intense!
A number of the musicians in GDYO received full music scholarships to various colleges and conservatories. David was not interested in a career in music, so did not apply. He played in the non-music majors orchestra at Rice and still today plays in a quartet. In Phnom Penh he was a regular in a duet at the Art Café near Wat Phnom.
All that great music – and my clearest and fondest memory is David at YPO turning around and smiling at us.
11/4 - Pho Bang, My Elusive Dreams, Melanie Mouse's Moving Day
We ate at Pho Bang today – a great meal of pho tai and com tam thit nuong. The differences between this place and any basic good restaurant in Vietnam are (1) fans are mounted on the ceiling vs. walls, (2) chairs are padded vs. blue plastic with or without backs, (3) aircon vs. not, (4) beef is a little better here vs. there, (5) here is more expensive. We shared a table with a random guy. Ran into a woman I know who has a very shady past. Sitting in there thinking about her and other people there – a room full of outrageous strength. Good time today.
On the way home, listening to My Elusive Dreams (George Jones and Tammy Wynette), tears, both of us …
T: I followed you to Texas
T: I followed you to Utah
G: We didn't find it there, so we moved on
T: I followed you to Alabam'
T: Things looked good in Birmingham
G: We didn't find it there, so we moved on
CHORUS (Both):
I know you're tired of followin'
My elusive dreams and schemes
For they're only fleeting things
My elusive dreams
T: I had your child in Memphis
T: You heard of work in Nashville
G: We didn't find it there, so we moved on
G: To a small farm in Nebraska
G: To a gold mine in Alaska
T: We didn't find it there, so we moved on
Both: And now we've left Alaska
Both: Because there was no gold mine
T: But this time, only two of us moved on
T: Now all we have is each other
T: And a little memory to cling to
G: And still you won't let me go on alone
REPEAT CHORUS (Both)
Both: For they're only fleeting things, my elusive dreams
This song and these singers touch me deeply. Leslie says, “I’d have turned it off (because so sad), but I know you like it … I have all the reality I can handle …” Me listening to the song reminded her of …
Melanie Mouse’s Moving Day – When David was little, Leslie and I had to work. We were able to cobble together a lot of time off, what with my teaching and her going to part time. Still, we had to look beyond ourselves. When David was a tiny baby, a Cambodian woman, Pov Lon (pronounce Po Luon, with Lon being her first name) took care of him while we were working, sometimes at our house and sometimes where she lived – in a back room downstairs in the big house (called “The Mansion” by the Khmer in Old East Dallas) on San Jacinto. When he was about a year old, we moved him to Lakewood Methodist Child Care, a very nice place, where he was happy. After a year or two there were some staff changes that we didn’t like (like a loud person was going to be his teacher), so we moved him to a well-known place operated by the American Association of University Women with the amazing Jeanne Whitt running the show.
In preparing to change, we started reading to David a book titled Melanie Mouse’s Moving Day. It was a book about changes and as David made the move, he would bring the book to us to read. He would cry just a little while we were reading it – our interpretation being that he was using the book as a kind of emotional outlet or reason to cry (he already was working on being strong and in control of his emotions). So maybe this song is the same for me. Photo: Sophea - my Hotel California partner
11/2 - Gear piled against the wall
I’m preparing for a 5 day back-pack in Big Bend over Thanksgiving. I’m fast-walking with a few hundred yards of slow running for 2-3 miles 5 of 7 days each week. I’m getting some gear together, the pack I got in Vietnam in 2005, sleeping bag, tent, boots, freeze-dried food, etc. The last few days I’ve carried a heavy pack (no running with a pack, of course). Feeling fairly strong.
It’s nice to have gear piled against the wall – like so many times before long ago, like in Boulder, Estes Park, and Fort Collins Colorado where there would be anywhere from 2-8 climbers living together in a run-down house or apartment with a living room full of packs, ropes, pitons, boots, etc., with most of us sleeping in sleeping bags on the floor. (Sorry to borrow a phrase), but we lived to climb and climbed to live, working a few weeks here and there, just enough to replenish worn gear – ropes especially, as they were, ahem, our lifelines and were compromised after 5-10 climbs, what with rubbing against sharp rocks, squeezing through cracks, holding weight, and so on. Those were fine times with fine people, living mostly in the mountains and more outside than inside.
And later, in the Marine Corps, going back to the rear, leaving helmet, pack, flack jacket, webbing, weapons, ammo in a pile (weapon always handy – and never going more than about 30 feet from the weapon). It always felt so good taking it all off, so you were wearing just utilities, boots, etc.
And later, traveling in Southeast Asia, but not much in the way of gear – backpack or roller, day pack – but always enjoying seeing it against the wall in a guesthouse in Luang Prabang or wherever.
So my legs are staying a little sore, but my stamina growing.
10/30 Another Saturday, letter from Phnom Penh, walking, memories, refugees
It’s another Saturday in Dallas. Coffee, hang out in bed for awhile. Go for a fast walk & slow run. Breakfast at the Garden Café with my friend Ron. Coffee. Run a few errands. With Leslie - bun cha for lunch at Nam Viet, around the corner from the place we more often go – well actually we go every week to BistroB a newer, bigger, just generally happening Vietnamese restaurant. Talking about retirement - together. Go by Teh Shan’s apartment to set up appointment for prenatal clinic Monday. Home, relax, take a nap, hang out on the internet. Nora brought a dozen of Ofelia’s tamales y salsa by earlier, so supper is covered.
This from Mony (center of photo) in Phnom Penh:
Salutation y'all!
My family and me are very glad to see your mail and I know that you're fine. Every body also misses you especially Sophea talk active girl. I'm also busy in my school because I must study the technical word especially in biology, physic, chemistry are extremely hard subjects. My grandfather's health is normal like you know. He also sends regard to you and to Mom and Dad and Brandy too. The book I read is not like before because I'm busy to do my homework. Please send me the photo ( Brandy too ) because every body wants to see your face and your room too. Send also to Brandy that I miss her and Sophea "Yes no okay" want to talk with you because Sophea learns a lot of conversation now. I think you usually write to me when you've time. Did you see my photo in graduation day and I wear the gown? My grandfather wants to see also you wear the gown in your master degreed in law. The way seem long but the sky is bright to you, to me and Brandy in the aim.
Sorry, the time is short I've to go to study and to do my homework I wish you good luck good health long life and happiness in your life.
Love, Mony
Today, Monday, my legs were sore from walking/running and I decided to not go for my usual walk/run (90% walk/10% run - okay, I lied, it's 95/5). Then as the afternoon waned, changed my mind and headed out. I was walking along where the railroad tracks used to run, where David I spent so much time when he was little. Much of the time he would ride on my shoulders. Later, when he was around 4, he rode less. He liked to push on through the underbrush on the tall steep berm near the creek (not an easy walk by any means). Great fun. Today, a cool, slightly misty and very quiet evening along where those tracks ran, remembering, oh what a life. Later, on the way back, tiring and to keep up the pace I turned on the iPod and one of the songs was Pink Floyd,
On the Turning Away
On the turning away
From the pale and downtrodden
And the words they say
Which we won’t understand
Don’t accept that what’s happening
Is just a case of others suffering
Or you’ll find that you’re joining in
The turning away
The song touches me because tomorrow, Leslie and I are starting the day at 6:45 meeting with several people from an organization. We’re meeting about this (from my long letter to that agency – the XYZ agency):
- XYZ should treat all refugees with humanity and dignity. Intimidation of and trash talking about refugees is unprofessional and unacceptable.
- XYZ should transition refugees into mainstream services so that when their eligibility for refugee services comes to an end they will be able to obtain health and other services.
- XYZ should begin cooperating with community groups that are trying to serve refugees, including community groups with whom XYZ does not have a financial or other relationship.
Of course we'll be addressing specifics, like that there is no mental health care, no well-woman care, etc. Lord, will it ever end? NO.
The way seem long but the sky is bright to you, to me and Brandy in the aim
10/26 - We're running a little late
Leslie calls a few minutes ago and says, “We’re running a little late. We were getting ready to leave and a mother came in with her little girl who was just sobbing from pain in her ear. Jacque said she’d stay and take care of her if we’d stay with her, so I’ll be home in a little while.” Why? You can’t take care of everyone – why didn’t the mother bring the child in earlier – it’s not like it really makes any difference – she could go to the ER – now we’re running late – blah blah blah. Why indeed. Actually, I don’t know. It’s like it's just what we do, what we choose to do. You can dress it up with religion, scripture, ethics, philosophizing, whatever, but in the end, it’s what we do. And the "few minutes" turns out to be just moments short of 2 hours. So here’s to you, Jacque, and to you Leslie, and to you, Nora (on your way to Parkland to pick up an old abandoned woman). Choose to choose
The roses are blooming. In the front yard we see American Beauty, Maggie, Don Juan, Buff Beauty, Perle d'Or, Marie Pavie, New Dawn, a few Cecille Brunner(!), and even Old Blush. They don't seem to be as fragrant in the fall as in the spring & summer, but a rose is a rose is a rose. The garden is amazingly overgrown. Two months gone in a very rainy summer and I never caught up. If the house was smaller, you'd think a Hobbit lived here. Hmmm, maybe that's what I'll do when I retire - become a Hobbit. My Cottage Garden site. Rose photo: Perle d'Or.
10/23 - Semper Fidelis is Latin for Always Faithful
My young friend, Chris joined the Marine Corps last week. It was for him that I wrote the boot camp memories – I knew he was going to go. I think the only thing slowing him down was his attempt to bring his mother along, decision-wise. Of course, being a mother, she wasn’t likely to agree, but there you have it. Leslie tried mightily to dissuade him and I tried as well. But I knew.
Chris will be a good Marine, no doubt about that. He already has shown toughness and loyalty – he was the one who showed up to help us bury our good old golden retriever, Goldy. He was the one who took care of his Dad when he was dying (Chris’ Mom helped a lot, too, but she and George were long since divorced - but she hung in there). Chris is basically a real solid guy with pretty obvious mental toughness. Actually, his father was pretty tough too – so many physical problems and he kept on trucking. I remember once we were on a giant water slide at a camp in East Texas and George got hung up on the way down and someone ran into him full speed – slammed into him really hard. George (>60 years at the time) never turned a hair – just kept on.
Chris has about a month before he ships out to MCRD San Diego. It’s nice to think the war in Iraq will come to an end before he completes all his training. But this war is going to last a long time, whether in Iraq or Afghanistan, or wherever. The enemy is determined, so here we are in a war some call a clash of civilizations. More accurate I think to call it a war for civilization.
Chris, I’m proud of you. You’ll be a good Marine and a credit to the Corps.
10/18 - 38 years! Brokedown Palace
Today is our 38th wedding anniversary. And after all these years, here we are, working together – 46 patients today. So yeah, it’s good. Together (in so many ways), still, after all these years. And not just still married, but still strong, still fighting for human rights, still helping our brothers and sisters. Amazing to have a relationship like this. This and David are the Great Blessings of my life. Happy Anniversary Leslie. I Love You!
When I was a student at Baylor, one of my teachers (Dorothy Pettigrew) asked us each to envision and write about where/what we might be in 20-30 years. I wrote that I could see myself in a white van, helping my brothers and sisters with health problems.
My current situation isn’t far off that mark. Of course the church where the clinic is doesn’t have wheels and it’s a lot bigger than a van, but still, here I am (with Leslie!), helping my brothers and sisters … who would have imagined that they would be Khmer, Karen, Mexican …
Leslie said (paraphrased) – no matter how tired I might be (careerly tired, that is) - I should remember that it’s not likely to get any better than this. Working with Leslie. The students and I working together to encourage, to en-courage the Karen refugees so new and so lost here. And other parts, too. Aaron coming on at la clinica. Daw Li. Tammy helping out (this afternoon she saw a patient I’d seen earlier in the day and asked to come back for Tammy to evaluate what I thought was a thyroid tumor – but no, it was probably a sentinel node – and though the news is surely bad [worse than a thyroid tumor], we caught it maybe early enough – we were a place to turn). Burma Refugees site (updated)
10/11 - Boot camp
(Marine Corps Recruit Depot - strong language, racist language, sexist language, violence warning - Get Some!)
For the longest time I almost never thought about boot camp except in momentary thoughts because – the best I can say it is that boot camp was part of a lead up to the war and the war was everything. But I read something about training by a man in the Black Watch and thought, hmmm, training, not an insignificant experience …
To get to San Diego Marine Corps Recruit Depot I flew to San Diego via whatever airline they put me and 10-20 other recruits on. There was a bus waiting for us and we swaggered like the Texas yokels we were, onto the bus. When everyone was on, a bored corporal got on and gave a little speech about how we were the property of the United States Marine Corps and we were to keep quiet and keep our eyes to the front, blah blah. But there wasn’t really anything remarkable about the ride. Guys would look at one another and kind of snicker nervously.
The bus got to MCRD well after dark. A sergeant got on the bus and started screaming at us to shut the fuck up you shit-heads and you assholes better listen up and so on and so forth and we got off the bus (not much swaggering at this point - what have I gotten myself into!) according to his instructions and there were the yellow footprints of legend. Each of us was required to stand on a set of footprints at what passed for attention. It seems like it was foggy or misty and the lights were bright and there was a drill instructor standing off to the side. He was black and looked like every other DI, completely squared away and he was looking at us with a kind of special meanness and contempt. I remember thinking, I hope that guy isn’t my drill instructor. Of course he was the one who marched some of us through that first long night and the one who awakened us the next morning, shouting and pulling guys out of their racks. Of course he was one our DIs.
I don’t remember the sequence of the next events – maybe head shave first, then shower including chemicals (except I seem to remember going to sleep with hair down the back of my neck), then go through the process of drawing utilities, etc. But maybe that happened the next day, who knows. Sometime after midnight we were marched to a Quonset hut where I fell sound asleep, exhausted. The next morning at maybe 0400 the DI awakened us for the first full day of boot camp.
At some point the first night or first day we were marched through a supply shed and measured in the most general terms (except they did take care with measuring our feet) and issued boots, shower shoes (flip-flops), utilities (same as fatigues), underwear, socks, footlocker, scrub brush, and a few other things. Of course we all looked like original sad sacks, with ill-fitting, rumpled fatigues and utility covers (hats) pulled down to the tops of our jug ears and black, brown and pasty white skin. Our stupid appearance and inability to even stand at attention, much less march inflamed the DIs who started getting really crazy. They would get right in our faces like in a movie or something except that it’s not much fun in the real world, screaming abuse and woe to anyone who flinched or looked away. Then it would get physical, though I never saw anyone really beaten by a DI - just kind of roughed up. Now, in the post Abu Ghraib angst, we were probably being (gasp) "tortured."
I remember on probably the second or third day that we were marking and stowing our gear in the footlocker in the precise Marine Corps way of doing things. By now I knew that the only acceptable answer to any question or statement was, “Yes Sir!” The DI I described earlier asked me something and I said, “Yes Sir!” – but with a southern accent like “Yes Suh” or something. That infuriated him and he started calling me a redneck cracker so on and so forth and made me do push-ups until my arms were quivering and I collapsed and then it was “50 more!” As it turned out, this DI seemed to hate those of us from the South and black guys about equally. Maybe he hated us even more than he hated know-it-alls. But sooner or later, everyone came under his bad spell.
Most days were something like, reveille, get dressed, make rack, police area, PT, breakfast, marching, class, marching or PT, class, lunch, run (especially if the food was extra good), combat training, some kind of random something like vaccinations, supper, clean gear or related, marching, police area, formations and abuse, and finally sleep. It was exhausting. Really a test of will and strength – and most men made it. A few were sent to the “fat farm” for additional PT and weight loss regimen (and then joined a new platoon). A few disappeared to wherever disappeared people went.
In those end of day formations there were all sorts of opportunities to screw up and end up in the sand pit in front of the DI’s barrack. It was difficult to meet the standards of the DIs in inspection. We would be at attention in formation and the DI walking up and down in front of us and he could always “hear your eyeballs move” and would catch men looking somewhere other than straight ahead. Into the sand pit for endless pushups. One guy was able to do just the slightest intake of breath – just enough for the DI to sense, but not enough to actually get busted.
We had some training in hand-to-hand combat, with and without weapons. The without weapons training was rudimentary – all I really remember was the, “don’t put your toe jam on the mats” talk. I’d never heard of toe jam before – what a concept. Bayonet training was taken seriously by all. We used poles with padded ends in place of bayonet and butt, but people were hurt.
Back to the DI who didn’t like blacks and Southern whites, but then everyone else just a hair behind … one of the black guys in our platoon was older (what, like 23?) and kind of soft around the middle and the DI especially didn’t like him – and he did actually struggle to keep up. During bayonet training one day, the DI stopped his fight and asked (no doubt, wtf) is that wet stuff on your ___ ___ boots. It was blood. The man’s feet were bleeding up and over the tops of his boots and it was like, yeah, Sgt. badass, here’s tough and strong for you. My recollection is that we all were strengthened by this. But I can’t be sure. It may be one of those redemption attempts that people make up. Some things I’m sure of and some I’m not.
One night someone in a nearby platoon cut his wrists. They awakened us all and marched over to that platoon and through the barrack where he lay on the floor, bleeding and us looking at him. He was an example to us of everything contemptible. Harsh, but how can you go into battle with someone who can’t hack it?
We had some free time on Sundays. Reveille was a little later, maybe 0600 and breakfast not as rushed. After breakfast we got ourselves completely squared away and we were marched to church. I liked church because I could actually doze for a few minutes. But the major free time was when we each sat on an overturned bucket all of us lined up in two rows facing one another on each side of the walkway that ran through our platoon’s barracks. We could actually talk while we shined boots, cleaned weapons and other such fun, time-off things. One Sunday they ran us to the fence that separated Marine Corps and Navy Basic Camps so we could see the slovenly Navy guys with THEIR HANDS IN THEIR POCKETS! The dirty bastards. Yeah, lol, we had a good time on Sundays!
Someone managed during church to get to a vending machine and bought some candy. How did he do that and how did he have money? So a couple of us were in a corner, checking out the contraband and someone said something about a candy he called, “nigger toes.” A black guy said, “What?!” And the other one repeated it and said, “Well, that’s what they are.” So anyway, they went at it fist, tooth, and nail and then they both paid the equal opportunity boot camp price – no sleep, PT, and short rations (they can’t actually withhold food, but they can exercise you until you’re exhausted then give you a few minutes to eat and then run you until you vomit) until they were staggering.
Once (and it was kind of funny and stupid even then) they marched us to the psychiatric unit. We stood in formation outside while the DI harangued us about “draft-dodgers and cock-suckers” – which in their opinion was who ended up in a psych unit. The person who attempted suicide I guess would be in the draft-dodger category, maybe even both.
In about the next to last week we went to the MCRD Rifle Range for a week. I think we got there via a forced march along the beach (I know that’s how we returned). The Rifle Range was pretty good. I remember with intensity that we would stand in formation after breakfast and “the smokin’ lamp is lit” – so the smokers could smoke one cigarette and I would stand at ease, staring off to the highway in the distance, watching the cars with their lights shining in the dark and thinking about being in one of those cars, on the way to or from breakfast, smoking a Winston or a Marlboro (a Winny or a Marly), warm, relaxed, listening to the radio, the dashboard lights …
The Marine Corps has several basic positions from which a rifle is fired on the range: standing, kneeling, sitting, and prone. They all involve the use of the rifle’s sling, and are all uncomfortable. Part of the rifle range is being forced into the most effective firing positions, so in the sitting position especially, you are forced down into a pretty unnatural position. But young bodies are flexible and we all eventually made it into position and learned to shoot with care and accuracy.
I was a good shot, but on Qualifying Day shot poorly and fired one point below Expert, qualifying as a Sharpshooter. I was unhappy, but at least I wasn’t among the few lowly “non-quals.” Oh, the shame of that! On the way back to MCRD, the non-quals had to double-time in the ocean while the rest of the platoon trotted carefree along the beach. Being a non-qual was even worse than having a dirty rifle – though the two may have correlated.
Why is boot camp – Basic Training – this way? I guess because it’s part of a system that works well in turning out quality warriors. To be a Marine you have to be truly tested. War is serious business and you understand how completely serious and irrevocable it all is the first time in battle or the first time someone is killed.
I think my first mess duty was either at the end of boot camp or beginning of ITR – Infantry Training Regiment. It wasn’t bad at all. I liked working in the reefer (walk-in refrigerator) because you got to be kind of alone and once they had strawberries and whipped cream, each in huge jugs and I was eating first strawberries, then whipped cream then strawberries, then … until I could eat no more, and in those times I could eat a lot. Got some stout abdominal cramps out of that one. I also liked working in the trash – which was all brought to a little house thing with a wall half-way up and screen up to the roof. So we could hang out some in there, sneak a smoke, take it easy. Who cares what the garbage men are doing - they ain't nothin' but garbage men, anyway?
Someone was putting food into the “buffalo chopper” – institutional whirling thick blades in a hole in a sink to chop almost anything and he turned to the side and his hand went in deeper than it should and he wasn’t using the push block or steel glove and it took 3 or 4 fingers right off. Other than that, mess duty was mostly good.
In the end we marched proud and strong on The Grinder past the past the MCRD Officer and Staff NCO Corps and some parents. The DIs called us “Marines” and “you people” and it felt mighty good. We were Marines – more testing and training to come, but we were Marines.
10/5 - Refugees & related, Saturday
I worked a little late last night and when I was done I flashed on things I do/be: father, husband, refugee worker/human rights activist, lover, Christian, hospice expert, teacher, boddhisatva, traveler, ________, Marine/gunfighter/warrior, rocker, gardener, and more than that (the blank doesn't signify - just that I know I forgot something). And I'm thinking, how does this work? How am I doing this? How come, if I'm all this, I'm still ......
I've been thinking about mortification. It started when a woman I know and like was tel