29 November 2020
[Above photo: The remains of our Thanksgiving champagne, placed in the freezer to quickly chill and, then, forgotten.]
On Friday I called a Grab to take me to my physiotherapy appointment. It is my 4th with Hugues Tierny, a tall, friendly Frenchman who has been here for 6 months. Because I spent cash buying a sound bar for the TV and an office chair for my Zoom broadcasts, I knew my wallet was thin. Checking it in the cab, I had less than half the cab fare (which was about $2.50). Yikes! I asked the driver to stop at an ATM. He did, and I tried 3 machines but none would yield cash. Back in the cab, I asked him to go to an AYA Bank ATM. He stopped at one but it was broken. A woman at the group of ATMs motioned to me that there was one up the street. Off I hustled on foot, as the cabbie waited. I couldn’t find it and returned. As I started to get into the wrong cab, another driver came and attempted to pry me loose. It turns out I hadn’t seen his face and he was, in fact, my driver. After explanations and apologies, I hopped in his cab and he drove me to Samitivej International. I asked him to wait and I went inside, late for my appointment. Hugues was sitting at his desk in the consulting room. I said, “I need to borrow 5000 kyat.” “OK”, he replied, and handed me a note which I delivered to the cabbie, who was happy to get the tip.
Then, in the middle of my treatment, Hughes excused himself and met a little Frenchman bearing fresh brioche in a paper bag. It was Antoine, of Antoine’s Breads. “He bikes all over town, delivering these. He doesn’t charge for delivery and doesn’t charge enough for the bread. Here, you have one. It will go well with a cup of coffee.” And, “Do you need to borrow more to get home?” I didn’t, and directed the next driver to an AYA Bank ATM near my house. I split the brioche with Kelly and ate my half with sweet butter and a cup of coffee, listening to a local guru from the Asia Foundation give a talk about the recent elections, the NLD victory, and the necessity of not viewing it all in a binary fashion.
I think my arm may actually be getting better, given my daily exercises and Hugues’ massage/acupressure ministrations. As he bore down on my tight left middle trapezius with his thumb, I sighed, “Ah, that’s the spot.” He retorted, “You are a masochist?” with a heavy French accent.
David Brooks wrote an excellent opinion piece in the NYT about the mollusk-like adherence of the Base to DT. He thoughtfully points to their anti-intellectual, anti-scientific, hyper-religious leanings as based on fear, insecurity, and a sense of being scorned and not special. It all makes sense to me and I thank him for it. We must restore economic opportunity to them, as well as our respect for them, if not their beliefs. Not easy to do. There is so much to learn to be a useful citizen in this world!
The quick acceptance of conspiracy theories certainly can give a person a smug sense of superior “knowing”, as well as an explanation of sorts, providing a reassurance of control in an increasingly complex world where large, anonymous forces play a central role in our experience. It also can provide a likely opponent and target for hatred and grievance, always useful. Freud’s thoughts about religion in The Future of an Illusion partially illuminate this puzzle for me. Basically, the world is a scary place, filled with uncertainty, illness, savage animals, savage, sexual humans, and dangerous, destructive natural phenomena. Religion is an illusory attempt to bind humans together in collective cooperation, to lend a sense of safety and meaning to our existence (especially our suffering), and to calm our terrors. In a sense, conspiracy theories provide a similar succor, including a sense of special knowledge unrecognized by other, “naïve” people. It is a very seductive draw in these days of pandemics, global warming, job insecurity, immense wealth inequality, mediocre education for many, and corruption at the highest levels of government.
We have finally finished the pecan and pumpkin pies . My apple pie was a distant third; it is difficult to compete with those two at Thanksgiving. We’ve also eaten all the dressing and mashed potatoes. Since there were going to be two others bringing potatoes, I punted on the Hasselbeck potatoes and shall make them another time. The turkey was delicious and it was easy to revive my interest in meat. I whisked while Jose wafted in flour and we made a terrific gravy. The dinner was lively and we spent most of the time taking turns talking about things we were thankful for, which was pretty easy.
However, I am in a state of missing family and my close friends. I suppose it is because of Thanksgiving and revisiting memories of uniformly happy past celebrations . I’ve forgotten the unhappy ones, just as a woman must forget, I imagine, the extreme pains of labor and delivery if she is to get pregnant again.
Speaking of which, Laura Spiekerman and her husband Nick (and her mother, Martha Chase, and their dog, Ruby, and Martha’s dog, Stevie—it takes a village to raise a child.) just gave birth to a healthy baby boy, as yet unnamed. I don’t know Nick’s parents and don’t recall the name of Martha’s cats or I’d include them in the list. Congratulations to all!
This relative isolation is tedious. At brunch today with Jose and Irene, after a 2 week hiatus, we explored the legacy of David Livingston, the Scot physician, missionary, and explorer, who was the first European to cross Southern Africa coast to coast, among other exploits. I remembered him as an anti-slavery zealot and for founding his mission in Malawi, since moved to Livingstonia as the falciparum malaria at his two lakeside sites killed an inordinate number of his followers, the Lord’s work notwithstanding. Irene, who is a Scot, remembered him as seriously flawed. As we discovered, he was a great promoter of British colonialism. Then we moved on to “Was there anything good about Hitler?”. He was into physical fitness, promoted education for youth, led the first anti-smoking campaign, built the autobahn system, and developed an automobile for the people. Our appreciation for his love of animals was tempered by the fact that he tested one of his cyanide pills on his beloved German shepherd, Blondie, to make certain it would work for him. It did for Blondie. Then we were on to the “dark side” of Mother Theresa, who was felt not to actually provide much medical care for the ill, had positive relationships with the Duvaliers of Haiti and Enver Hoxha, the autocrat of Albania, and did last minute conversions (?forced) before death of those who had in healthier times resisted the same. Plus, there was her colonial stance of a white woman bringing care cum religion to the brown masses. There was much laughter as we developed each character.
And now, The Donald whines off into the sunset—I have no fear that LB (Lazybones, Lardbottom) will run in 2024. Maybe Tom Cotton. Or Pompeo. Even Pence, an exemplar of the smiling zero. C’mon folks, let’s include character (with kindness) and acceptance of science as a fundamental bar all viable candidates must step over. Support of the Constitution. Operate within the law. The President’s cabinet can supply the brilliance and the detailed plans. We don’t need a president as a buddy, we don’t need nicknames, and we don’t need a messiah. We need a basic level of competence, of decency, a concern for everyone in America, and a genuine interest in caring for others, including lending a hand to the most vulnerable.
One very important thing that we’ve lacked in the past 4 years is inspiration from our leader’s actions to become better people.
A Psychiatrist in Myanmar 