[Above photo: My tulips with a lilac bush starting to grow in the background.]

23 May 2023

Martha’s Vineyard was lovely, as was Boston, in its urban way. Lilacs are out all over—lavender, deep purple, white, and reddish-purple with a white lip—and their scent pervades Portland. We walked yesterday with the OLLI group through a wonderful woodland preserve and down to Broad Cove Beach. Horseshoe crabs, which can live 20 years and as a species are more than 300 million years old, are abundant there, nestling immobile in the sand as they lay their eggs. Before I realized this, I was nudging one with my finger, assuming it was an empty shell. How rude of me! We then drove to the Audubon Preserve and ate lunch on the picnic tables while wild turkeys sauntered by, seemingly knowing they were safely among bird-lovers.  One side of the parking lot there is a massive wall, 15 feet in height, of lilacs. Swoon. I always associate their scent with Harvard in Springtime, walking to and from classes and the lovely girls all in sleeveless dresses. It still moves me.  I recall using Ed. Pinot ‘Lilas de France’ aftershave as a young single man. I have no idea if it contained lilac essence or just a chemical facsimile. I thought it was so sophisticated.

I stayed with Polly in the North End for a couple of nights. We went to a terrific Turkish restaurant, very unpretentious, in the Alewife section of Cambridge. They make all their dishes from scratch and their baba ghanouj is at least as good as mine, if not better. Most I have tried are not smokey enough. We dined with two members of Polly’s walking group and their husbands, all of whom I liked. We also walked one day along the waterfront to the Institute of Contemporary Art, which is housed in a new building on the harbor. I liked the design better than the Whitney, although it is smaller.  Perhaps because it is smaller and seems to incorporate the water more effectively. Two exhibits were outstanding: Maria Berio, a Colombian artist, who does portraits of young women using a mix of collage and watercolor. The collage paper is made for her by an artist in Japan. The paintings were remarkably expressive. And there was an exhibit of sculpture by Simone Leigh, a Black feminist. Her peices were massive, mostly ceramic, beautifully executed, and very powerful. How she fired them I cannot imagine. Well, I can, but…

Despite dealing with some serious health issues, Jeff and Bonnie were very welcoming. Their home is on 8 acres in Chilmark. It is still quiet on the Vineyard as the summer rush hasn’t started but it is late enough that everything is green and blooming. I got Jeff walking on a lovely path for a mile on two days and he was surprised at how good he felt. Running the Boston Marathon 3x and New York twice, plus just running on pavement for 30 years has left him crippled, limping with a cane with foot drop on one side.  I recall when I was running pretty regularly I read Jim Fixx’s book. He’d seen the light in his 40’s, shed his obesity, and became a proselytizer for running.  His earlier intemperance caught up with him, however, and he dropped dead of a heart attack on a run at 52yo.  I guess the Tarahumara Indians do it from an early age, probably don’t eat a lot of meat, and are genetically and temperamentally suited for it.

I am 5 years too early to have an EV here and at least should have sprung for the bigger battery. When I cruised into a charging station in Braintree on my return from the Vineyard with 14 miles left in the battery and discovered that the charging stations I have previously used there were dead, I was less than happy. On my way south I gave a guy a free charge on my EV Go card, since he couldn’t get his app to work. Karma abounds and another fellow salved my anxiety in Braintree when he told me of a station nearby. I love the car but hate the anxiety of fearing I’ll run out of juice. If the powers that be really want people to buy electric cars—and I don’t honestly think it is a serious contribution to halting climate change—we need to have an extensive and well-functioning charging system in place before we churn out new generations of EVs. Two people I spoke with at charging stations are preparing to switch back to gas or a gas-electric hybrid, not liking the charging situation. We should be aiming at a dense mass transit solution, using lots of electric minibuses and light rail. But try to pry their vehicles from the hands of Americans—-just like guns, I fear, except more so.

I am making much more contact with people here, which I like. It has been a pretty lonely two winters. It isn’t intolerable and I haven’t been significantly depressed, just alone. I do feel envious of my Berkeley friends with intact marriages and grandchildren to love as they age, but that isn’t my lot.

My students in Myanmar are working hard to provide mental health services to the opposition fighters, at great personal risk. They’d be in prison for a long time if caught. We strategize how they can be the most effective. It is surprising how little research on mental health has been done for the US military.  During Vietnam we figured if we gave them R&R periodically it would recharge their batteries. R&R generally meant drinking, using drugs, and whoring in Bangkok or wherever. How about some actual therapy groups to help them metabolize their experiences of killing, supporting killing, and attempting to avoid being killed in a meaningless war?  My students are trying to do that, except their war is desperately meaningful.  The initial hump to traverse is forming a group with enough trust of each other and of the therapist that they feel their feelings can be contained.  When I was in Chiang Mai, I met with 8 wounded soldiers, as I previously mentioned; on my one visit to the group they asked if they could have the group every day!

Here’s an AI-generated joke. “A weasel goes into a bar. The bartender says, “Wow, I’ve never seen a weasel in here before. What can I get you?” The weasel replies, “Pop.” Pretty uncannily unnerving, if you ask me.

[Above photo: A plane at Suvarnabhumi International Airport in Bangkok with a timely message.]

15 May 2023

A murmuration of starlings is quite a sight, swelling and contracting, forming a variety of rounded shapes in the air. Unfortunately, I have only a single starling who visits my suet feeder and aggressively chows down each day on enough suet and seeds to feed a family of nuthatches for a week. As with many aggressive imports, starlings take more than their share, terrorize smaller birds, and breed unconscionably. Still, they are birds and, as such, remarkable. I suppose that green crabs, which are decimating the bivalve (mussels, clams) population of the coast of Maine, are also amazing but I don’t feel the same charity toward them.

Immigration is a huge problem. And will become a larger problem as climate change, violent gangs, arbitrary and tyrannical governments, and lack of economic opportunity force masses of people to leave their home countries for places better suited to human life. Those with whom I have spoken, and it includes quite a few from Latin America, the Philippines, Malawi, and Myanmar, would much rather stay in the countries of their birth with their extended families, terra cognita, and mother tongue. Life, however, is unsustainable in many of their home countries. It isn’t that they move to get rich; they travel afar to survive and to assist their families. Many women in the Philippines work in the Middle East, leaving their children and receiving foul treatment to boot.  It is common for men to leave Malawi, where there are no jobs, and travel to S. Africa where the leftover scraps they can get exceed what they could at home.  In Myanmar, even in peacetime, many were working in Thailand or Malaysia in order to send money home. During the current civil war and economic collapse in Myanmar, people leave so as not to be arrested for opposing the military coup, as well as to try to eek out a living. However, it is a rare person who prefers to take on the exclusion, suspicion, language barrier, and poor treatment they get from citizens of a foreign country to which they travel for subsistence work, rather than to stay at home with wife, children, parents, uncles and aunties, grandparents, siblings, friends, and mother tongue, unless desperation forces them to do so.

Our former Maine governor, who was openly and unapologetically racist, allegedly said in a radio interview that the crime rate in Lewiston, where Somalis immigrants have settled, had “gone through the roof” since their arrival.  To the relief and amusement of many, the Lewiston Chief of Police said, “To the contrary, the crime rate has decreased significantly since the Somalis settled here.”  In a series of studies, US citizen communities have a considerably higher crime rates than socio-economically matched immigrant communities. Reports from the media, even if factual, are often misleading, amplifying the “danger” of this immigrant group or that simply by differentially reporting it and not giving equal time to our home-grown criminals.  Then there is the Donald with his “Mexican rapists and murderers”, the blanket exclusion of Muslims, and the “massive George Soros-financed  caravans moving toward the Mexican border”, which statements exaggerate, or completely contrive, danger. The induction of fear of “other” groups is a common technique of mind-control used by dictators throughout history: Gays, Jews, Armenians, the educated (China and Cambodia), Hutus/Tutsis and so on.

It is inevitable that we are going to see huge shifts of population in the next half century, masses of people moving away from untenable living situations like we have never previously experienced. And since they are people, like us, who want safety, education for their children, jobs, food, shelter, medical care, and the rule of law in a stable society, we cannot dehumanize them as rodents or aliens without dehumanizing ourselves equally. We had best attempt to develop a unified approach toward them that does not include, for example, separating children from their families as a means of dissuading them from coming.

The problem of illegal migration from Mexico has been with us for a long time. It has well-served farmers who have wanted and needed cheap labor.  They would not have been able to get their crops out of the fields and to market without the farm workers. But we have been very ambivalent toward them and excluded them from collective bargaining agreements that covered all other unionized workers.  Only after many years of struggle were Cesar Chavez, Dolores Huerta, and the United Farm Workers able to secure those rights. We have been unable to formulate a coherent and humane policy regarding Mexican laborers through many administrations, both Democrat and Republican. We have wanted to use their labor each planting and harvest season but have not wanted to accept them as citizens of our country. It is hypocritical and unfounded to throw eggs at Joe Biden for his current immigration failures unless we are simultaneously willing to acknowledge our own complicity, and that of every preceding administration, Republican, Democrat, and Trump, to resolve this issue. I cannot think of a way to do it but I know we’d better have some basic principles to guide us as we formulate our immigration policy or we will be no better than Stalin, Hitler, Mao, Milosevic, Pinochet, Pol Pot, and numerous other cruel tyrants who dehumanized and killed large groups of people.

For me, it’s about what kind of a world do I want to live in and how do I want to view myself.  Will it be one where we try to keep everything static because it feels safe and comfortable but for which I must pay a huge price in my humanity and my awareness of the suffering of others?   Alternately, can I accept that the world is inevitably changing and can I personally accommodate and support those shifts so that I have a richer, not a poorer, spirit in order to feel proud, not ashamed of myself?

Immigrant energy is a lot of what has made our country great. Providing dignity for all is much more likely to result in peace and prosperity than demonizing or, even worse, humiliating or ignoring the existence and plight of others less fortunate.  I’ve lived in places where life is barely tenable and have seen the corrosive effect it has on those who are caught there.

When I lived in Berkeley I used to interview Harvard College applicants together with a Radcliffe graduate of my generation, an internationally-acclaimed architect.  She and I were astounded at some of the foreign-born kids we met. We were both floored by a particular girl, an Afghani, who had cowered in basements during the Soviet invasion of her country, unable to go to school. After two years in the US, at 16 yo she won a state-wide oratory contest, speaking in English. She was valedictorian of her high school graduating class and had participated in all manner of humanitarian good works by the time she was 18yo. She was a lively, friendly, bright, hard-working girl who had what we labelled as “immigrant hunger”.  Do we really want to miss out on harnessing her motivation and capacities, living as we do in an increasingly competitive time in which democracy and tyranny are vying for supremacy among nations?  And do we want to lose the power of all the other immigrants, the great majority of whom want to establish themselves as honest, hard-working Americans?

I certainly don’t know how we’ll manage these changes, but I hope we will do it in a way that preserves our decency and the immigrants’ dignity.

[Above photo:  The view from our riverside hotel bar in Vangvieng, Laos. Note, please, the steepness of the hill in the distance. And the smog from burning the rice and cornfields in preparation for planting.]

7 May 2023

It has been 40F, gray and drizzly, for 5 days since my return and, then—boom!—it is now sunny and 70. Summer, I think, has arrived. I’ve got my bike ready and drilled a lag bolt into the floor of my back porch so I can anchor it. I also bought a small tarp and have tied it cleverly so the bike will stay dry. The porch is covered but rain comes in on the wind.  I’ll join an Appalachian Mountain Club group —car camping with day rides—in Schoodic, an extension of Acadia National Park on the mainland, over the Memorial Day weekend. Acquaintances we met cross country skiing at one of the AMC huts alerted us to it; the group has done it annually for years.

The $800+ plants I bedded last fall are all foliating and the forsythia is covered with bright yellow blossoms. Many of my bulbs are blooming, including jonquils, crocus (I mostly missed them.), and tulips. My Japanese cut-leaf maple—of which we had a glorious specimen in our yard in Berkeley—is fledging and even the lilac that seemed to die when I planted it is now leafing vigorously. I’ll fertilize and mulch them and hope for the best.  Remarkably, all of my indoor plants survived my neglect of 5+weeks, excepting a maiden hair fern which was pretty fussy anyway.  I’ll stick a few herbs—-basil, parsley, mint, and cilantro—in a large pot I inherited. I may get more ambitious with vegetables next year.

Both of my bird feeders flew off their branches while I was gone, likely in a gale. One has vanished but the other perched on a lower branch from which I retrieved it. It is now refilled with seeds/suet and hanging in front of where I work.  I hope the Downy Woodpecker couple re-discover it soon.

Even as I take some pleasure in Clarence and Ginni’s troubles, it is disturbing how much corruption is being unearthed. We may yet see something on Hunter’s laptop, although many of us have had a child with mental illness, which Joe certainly seems to have. It needn’t incriminate his father.  John Robert’s wife’s millions from wealthy GOP donors are troubling and is perhaps one reason he seems less than eager to face Congress about the Thomas’ transgressions. I am sure the Supreme Court has been corrupted previously; it is just troubling when it happens while we are watching.

Another mass killing in Texas. 199 massacres since January 1 this year. More guns are not going to help, as in arming “protectors” in any setting. The 2^nd Amendment to the Constitution says: “A well-regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.”  That’s it. We have a right to them in order to maintain a well-regulated Militia, for which we have the National Guard in each state filling that bill; guardsmen are all able to be armed. Nowhere does it say everyone has the right to keep guns, as many guns as they want, at home, let alone open or concealed carry in a bar. I began, for the first time, to think about moving permanently to another country. We seem so unhinged about gun rights, man-made climate change, vaccinations, a woman’s right to control her own body, the variations of human sexuality, Anthony Fauci, and, especially, notions of what “Freedom” actually means.

To me it means the freedom to believe, think, and speak as I wish, with the corollaries that I can dress and act as I choose within the constraints of the Law. The Law, then, is to ensure my freedoms and yours, and to provide safety, regulate commerce, property rights, etc.  Freedom from fear of physical attack would be one type of freedom. “Freedom” to maintain a stock of weapons that are designed primarily to kill and injure other human beings conflicts with my safety. Your freedom not to wear a mask in public during a pandemic infringes on my safety, as well.  Both of these examples trump, sic, your right to behave as you wish.  You have a right to practice your own religion, as do I. You do not have a right to impose your religious beliefs on me, no matter how convinced you are of their exclusive truth.  If my religion is Islam, Bahai, Animism, or hiking in nature on occasional Sunday mornings, it isn’t inferior to your Christianity and thus subject to your domination.  A lot of people, tens of millions, in this country wouldn’t agree with me about most or all of the above, which I find puzzling and troubling. We’re not talking about stick shift vs. automatic or even Chevvy vs Ford here.

Two house fiches are building a nest in the tree next to me. Their industry!  It has been lovely to watch the geese flying north. This dormant, if not barren, landscape is quickly coming to life. Oh, the finches thought better of it—location, location, location—and flew off.  There is a huge bumblebee hovering around outside my window. Is it a bee or a drone? I made an obscene gesture and it flew off, confirming that it was a……….what?

I’ll go shortly for a walk with a friend near the Scarborough Marshes.

[Above photo:  A mangrove tree at the south end of our beach on North Surin Island.]

3 May 2023

Returning from Asia with great fatigue recalls a terrifying time to me, for in 2008 when I came back from teaching and scuba-diving in the Philippines it was fatigue that signaled my lung cancer. This time, however, I suspect it is because I have not slept well for awhile and just completed a 25 hour plane and airport ordeal returning from the other side of the planet.

My flight from Bangkok to Boston included three planes, massive amounts of time sitting, and one near-missed flight. Our plane from Seoul left over an hour late and my connection in Minneapolis was already tight.  I had to retrieve my checked suitcases and pass them, and myself, through Customs. I saw friends from the first leg of the journey ahead of me in the Passport Control line and they encouraged me to cut, which I did. Delta had already booked me a hotel for the night and a flight out the next day, assuming I wouldn’t make my original flight. Intrepid traveler that I am, I dumped my bags on a conveyer belt and raced to the departure terminal, commandeering an electric transporter en route. The driver was only too happy to press pedal to metal and we sped along, warning sluggish travelers to get out of the way. I was the last on my flight and they secured the doors 7 minutes later.  Arriving in Boston at 12M, my luggage had made it aboard, as well, to my surprise. Of course, I took a taxi in the pouring rain to the Hampton Inn Logan Airport (Chelsea) instead of the Hampton Inn Logan Airport (Revere), where my reservation had been secured. Manuel, the Uber driver, happily shuttled me to the correct hotel and we chatted away in my primitive, dusty Spanish. He likes California much better than Boston but has found it much easier to make a living in the latter.

After a wonderful visit with Kelly and Liz in Laos, I flew to Phuket and hopped a ride up the west coast to Khao Lak. My hotel, at $35/night, was a lovely spot near the beach. The room faced inward toward a large garden area with two fancy swimming pools. A later comparison with the bleakness of the $180/night Hampton Inn (Revere or Chelsea) left me wondering, again, how working people can make it in the US. Barely and with difficulty for many, I’d guess.

A lorry gathered me and others in the early morning and drove an hour up the coast to Kuraburi Pier, where we collected snorkels, masks, and fins and boarded a speedboat for Ko Surin Nuea. The Surin Islands, a National Park, are 5 be-jungled bits of paradise 2 hours offshore—and this boat ran 4 250hp Honda outboards. To sum up, we snorkeled 4x/day at different spots, slept in tents 3 feet from the top of the beach, and were fed 3 wonderful Thai meals per day. Our island was filled with wildlife—the monkeys and monitor lizards, up to 4’ long, were the most striking to me.

The snorkeling was variable. Some of the coral was bleached and dead whereas in other areas it was colorful and flourishing. In the latter areas I swam constantly through columns of brightly colored fish. The undersea is endlessly fascinating for me. I saw different fish each time, all strikingly patterned and colored. Schools of larger and smaller fish passed by calmly. Often small groups of the same kind of fish would feed with excitement in an area, then move as one to an adjacent spot. Our snorkeling was generally in 45 minute periods, after which we’d return to the long-tail boat and head for yet another area, not unlike the fish. I began to fantasize about scuba diving on a subsequent trip to the Similan Islands, a near-twin set of islands to the south, renowned for its diving sites.  Maybe I’m not too old, maybe it wouldn’t be excessively risky.

A highlight for me was a Dutch grandmother and her 13yo granddaughter on a birthday trip for the latter. Sonja’s husband, who apparently loves to travel, didn’t come on this trip. Sonja works to help immigrants in Friesland (N. Holland) acculturate. Veerle, a perfect 13yo emotionally right on target, swims on a water polo team and is powerful in the water. She was assembling a clever video for a report to her class when she returned. We shared meals, talked a lot, and slept in adjacent tents on the beach. It was the end of the season; monsoon rains cause the crystalline water to become turbid so the area closes for 4 months at the end of April, giving everything a chance to breathe and recover.  The tents can accommodate 500 people at a time; there were less than 50 during our stay.  Full house would be a nightmare but we were so widely dispersed that it felt almost deserted.

After returning to Bangkok, I discovered that Kelly and Liz were there to send him off to California. His brother was retiring as a successful film guy and Kelly was crashing his party as a surprise. We had a delicious supper, including curried soft-shell crab, together at Steve, a café overlooking the Chao Praya River. Then I returned to Irene’s apartment, finished packing, and prepared for a 6AM Grab (an Uber-equivalent) ride to Suvarnabhumi International Airport and the beginning of my return odyssey.

I am going to explore creating a business. It is nigh-impossible to get funding as an individual and I am not currently affiliated with a university. So my choice is to start a business. A non-profit in the US requires a lot of paperwork and some $. A business in Thailand, because of an amity agreement with the US, is easy and inexpensive to set up. And, I am assured, would facilitate my attraction of funds to underwrite further training programs I might want to do.  At this time, there is apparently considerable money available for training in mental health. It seems like a good project for the summer.

We are certainly at a number of major inflection points in our history. Between worldwide authoritarianism, AI, and climate change, it is a great time not to be in charge!!  For fun, ask Perplexity AI to write a paper on, say, the lobster industry, including the challenges to it and measures to preserve it, with annotated references.  Wham, it is pretty darned eerie how quickly and effectively AI programs can churn these out. Scary, even, in the “wrong” hands.

[Above photo: Rural Laotian child’s drawing: “Hello” from the Americans!]

25 April 2023

How we loved the Tom Lehrer songs in the ‘50’s! “Be prepared.” “Charlie and the MTA” And all the others on that 33 1/3 album. I always wondered, but never actually tried to research, why the rpms of LP records weren’t 25 or 30. I guess I can ask Perplexity or ChatGPT.

I returned from visiting my friend, Kelly, and his terrific pal, Elizabeth, in Vientiane. After a couple of days there, we took the new bullet train to Vangvieng, a little riverside village now transitioning to tourism. The train, built by the Chinese who are taking over Laos, continues to the Chinese border in Yunan. There are hikes and treks and rivers to kayak and caves to explore and all manner of fun outdoor activities. Driving there in Noum’s taxi took 1 ½ hours; the train took 58 minutes and was smooth, quiet, comfortable, clean, and cost about 1/3 the price. Again, it makes me sad that the auto (Ford) and petroleum industries (Rockefeller) so killed rail travel—-both light and long-distance—in the US. Once the infrastructure is in place, it is economical, quick, and much more environmentally friendly than air or vehicle, both for freight and passengers. Train travel is magic, also.

We stayed at a gorgeous riverside hotel with a large interior garden and swimming pool. The décor was teak furniture and traditional Hmong fabrics, simple and stunning. The food was excellent; Kelly and Liz avoid meat, so I did too. We ate like royalty.

Day one we climbed to a viewpoint. It was as persistently steep as anything I’ve ever climbed—it felt nearly straight up. I was in flip-flops, of course, and Liz is a distance runner and considerably the youngest, so we watched her, in the distance. It was pretty much like climbing a ladder—of which there were a couple— or the Eiffel Tower for 25 minutes straight, rapidly. We later went into a cave and went to “Blue Lagoon #3”, a pretty Chinesey name, I think. It was a huge and long and deep pool where the river had been dammed. There was a tower to climb and although we each tried it, mostly we watched the young, firm of flesh, and beautiful as they played. From the top was a long swing, after which one dropped into the pool or, alternatively, a zip line which carried you a bit further for the drop.  I realized from my urges that if I were 20 years younger, I would have attempted a flip at the end of the arc.

The next day we visited an immense cave which ended in an underground river. There were no inner tubes, so rather than swim out, we merely retraced our steps. Then we kayaked down another river for hours. I am unable to enjoy paddling a sit-on-top kayak; I just don’t have the musculature to do it without a back rest. My arms are strong but after 15 minutes I’m a painful mess. So I kneel in the boat and paddle. That, without knee or foot pads, is something for several hours. I am so stiff 2 days later that I can hardly descend stairs.

The views, however, were amazing. The countryside is filled with dramatic shist peaks, going straight up a few thousand feet. We saw families sitting up to their waists in the river, having picnics, all in plastic chairs around a plastic table whose surface was 3” above the water. And ingenious fish traps—-a square is formed of timber bamboo lengths, a net is dropped to the bottom below it, and leaves and branches are placed in the square. After a couple of weeks, the net is abruptly raised, filled with fish. A man was wading down along the edges of the river, carrying a 20’ pole with a fine-mesh net on the end. He was looking for nests of ants in the trees and he would harvest the eggs, which are a delicacy. There were cattle and water-buffalo along, and in, the edge of the stream and rice paddies, now dry, were visible on each side. Occasionally there would be a hotel or a bar with huge speakers blasting rhythmic Lao pop for the patrons who sat and chatted and drank BeerLao on the rafts moored to the riverbank. Small children swam like fish. We saw a man catching small fish with his bare hands and putting them into a bottle which his child held.  The experience felt like we were watching a transition from a simple agrarian way of life to a more modern, noisy civilization. Laos is lovely, although Vientiane is pretty…..meh. We did have a spectacular meal in town at a small place in a colonial house run by a Laotian woman whose husband is a British wildlife photographer, both published and accomplished.

We went to the COPE museum in Vientiane. It was built to memorialize the US bombing of Laos during the American War in Vietnam and the NGO/Laotian medical/physical therapy/prosthesis response to limbs lost. We dropped 2,000,000 tons of explosive devices in 580,000 bombing missions, the equivalent of a bomb dropped every 8 minutes, 24 hours per day, for 9 years. Each of the cluster bombs held 648 bomblets, shrapnel explosive devices the size of a Valencia orange. 270 million bomblets were dropped, of which 10-30% remain unexploded. Beside the immediately injured and killed, children and families continue to lose lives and limbs to these wantonly-dispersed weapons. And why were we fighting in Vietnam and secretly bombing the daylights out of Laos? Until Daniel Ellsberg released the Pentagon Papers, the bombing of Laos was known only to military and high-level politicians. Not so much different from Russia, in terms of war criminality, I think. Russia at least feels threatened by Ukraine on its flank; Vietnam was far, far away from the US.  It is so easy to feel less troubled by our invasions than by the invasions of others.

Now I am in Bangkok, preparing to leave in an hour or so. My Mai Sot refugee camp sortie fell through—it is often difficult to get permission to visit these, even on humanitarian missions, I’ve learned. I’ll somehow get to the Surin Islands in the Andaman Sea, stay in a tent on the beach for 2 nights, and snorkel for 3 days. It is reportedly beautiful, and I may take a charter on Day 2 to visit the nearby Similan Islands for snorkeling, as well. I am wary about scuba diving anymore; both my age and my prior lung surgery give me pause.

When I returned from Vientiane, I wasn’t in a rush, so I took the Bangkok Sky Train. It was smooth and without traffic but I had to negotiate 2 transfers and waiting for each train was slow. It will be much easier going to the other airport in an hour, with only one transfer.  Also, I now have a sense of how it works. The BTS, or Bangkok Transportation System, is an amazing people mover and so pleasant and cheap. I’ll save $50 or more using it in place of taxis in the next week going to and from airports. And it is much more fun!!

Tucker getting fired doesn’t really give me much pleasure. Old Rupert  and Lachlan are still going to spew out their poisonous falsehoods, as they sell well. They really are analogous to the Russian oligarchs. But I am interested in the succession of DT’s legal challenges as they appear to be developing. Joe Biden is too old and we want a fresh face but looking at the amazingly forward-thinking legislation he has managed to squeak through Congress, I feel it is much better him than anyone on the other side, the right-to-life-supply-side-book-banners. Supply-side economic policy is such a tired card to play.  We all know that giving the rich more money doesn’t make life better for the poor and the working-class. It just makes the rich, richer. If they would just be honest about it and say that they believe the rich should have more than their share of the wealth, it would at least harmonize with their motives. It likely wouldn’t sell as well with ordinary people, however.

Now Gretchen Whitmer, that is a woman I can feel very good about and I’m not sure why she hasn’t been put forth. Michigan surely doesn’t want to lose her to the national stage!

[Above photo: Dogs draped on the stairs of the Doi Suthep Mountain monastery (at 1650 meters) after a hot day. Were they straying monks in a past life?]

16 April 2023

I have concluded the course. I had a fine time and learned a lot, as did the students. During our final wrap-up, one of the students said it was the happiest two weeks of her life. Others expressed their appreciation and desire to continue learning about working with children and families. Yet another noted that my opening exercise, in which I asked them each to sequentially make an animal sound for a minimum of 10 seconds, helped her to relax and join in the emerging group formation. I also asked each of them say something about who they were and requested that they write for 10 minutes about what they wanted to get out of the two weeks. I howled like my daughter’s dog, Oscar, when he’d hear a siren. Everyone participated amid mild embarrassment and laughter and we were off.

We developed into a safe and supportive group. For me, it was akin to living in a sorority house without the anxiety and backbiting competition. Women wandered around in pajamas, bathroom doors (and we had, I believe, 8 bathrooms) were open while faces were being washed and teeth brushed. I maintained good boundaries and everyone seemed pretty relaxed.

In a bit of good luck, we secured a Burmese woman who was concerned about her 8yo son. Complicating the relationships were that the father is in the military, the mother is in strong opposition to the military coup, and they are divorcing. The boy and mother came 4x; the father is still in Burma.  One of the students saw the child in play therapy while the other interviewed the mother. Both did remarkably sophisticated work. We set up a phone-camera and live-streamed and recorded the play sessions via Zoom with a computer upstairs where we all watched. The morning following each session we spent a couple of hours discussing the parent and child interviews, the latter assisted by the video-recording. It was a crucial addition to the workshop and provided wonderful teaching/learning moments. And the mother noted on the last day that her son’s aggression had decreased markedly; he really melted into the relationship with the therapist.

One of the activities of daily living I enjoyed was to refill our 6 litre jugs at the Asia Water Reverse Osmosis machine on the road just 50 feet from our entrance. For 5 Thai baht, about 1¢, I could quickly and conveniently refill 2 of them, sparing the world from the plastic junk caused by drinking from large numbers of small individual bottles. I bought a funnel for a few pennies so we could easily refill the small bottles.

Because of recent Thai visa restrictions for the Burmese, half of the participants departed for Myanmar on the morning following the last day of training. I took the others for a cool drink that afternoon at Fern Forest, a lovely, tree-shaded patio restaurant. The owner was a pastry chef, so we ordered 4 deserts to split, along with our passion fruit/mango smoothies or whatever. The deserts were so good we ordered a few more and then we all skipped supper!

In the spirit of being flexible, I have re-routed my trip. I’ll now visit my friend Kelly in Laos for 5 days. I’ve never been to Vientiane and am told it is small and lovely, set beside the mighty Mekong River, with wonderful coffee and French-inspired food. Then I’ll fly to Mai Sot on the Burma border, as planned, to help 2 therapists work with some refugee-camp children and their parents. Finally, I can change my plane ticket at no charge and may go to the Similan Islands for snorkeling for a few days before returning to Chiang Mai to house- and animal-sit for Jose and Irene through May while she looks for an apartment to buy in Glasgow and he returns to Pittsburgh to see his 90 yo father who has Parkinson’s Disease and seems to be on the verge of passing.  While I want to get home and see everyone there, they are in a quandary about how to care for their dog and 2 cats for 3 weeks. Their place is lovely, there will be a new motor scooter (with helmet) and a swimming pool, and I can enjoy the area as the air clears from the rice and corn-field burning.

My additional motivations are to use the time to do some writing and to arrange to speak with people here at Chiang Mai University Faculty of Medicine about how I may be of use to them were I to return here twice a year.  Jose is multitalented, being an entrepreneur, an attorney, and having many years of experience leading humanitarian organizations in Sri Lanka and Myanmar. He suggests that mental health donor organizations won’t give to individuals but are happy to give to someone either backed by a university or who has a private business. The latter is possible, as there is an “amity clause” in Thailand allowing US citizens-only to wholly-own a business here. Every other business must be at least 51% Thai-owned. I might start “Psychotherapy Training and Consulting Ltd” or some such. My interest is covering my expenses and allowing me to run a few workshops a year, training therapists to work with children, adolescents, and their parents. Who knows? It is fun to think forward and to have a project.

My sister-in-law, Susan, and I have been communicating about the extreme polarity in our country. She hit the nail on the head for me when she noted that the Base “feel disempowered, unheard, and helpless to maintain the values they believe are important.” I’ve known that but somehow its truth struck me and how those who have little education and/or few job skills likewise must feel frightened about their economic futures. There are many other, often cultural, elements, as well, of course. “Jews will not replace us.” Negative references to Black, Brown, and LGBTQ persons. And the adulation of someone who seems so unmoored from any commonly accepted morality and for whom honesty isn’t a serious consideration. All of us do have to hold our tongues and try to listen to what is beneath the surface or we’ll further self-destruct, as we seem to be doing currently. Nevertheless, we must regularly confront dishonesty and corruption when we observe it.

Appropos, it did give me some schadenfreude to learn of Representative Cameron Sexton’s deceptions re. his place of residence and charging $90,000 plus change to the taxpayers of Tennessee for a regular commute he never made. He, as the Speaker of the Tennessee House, recently led the effort expelling two Black legislators who disrupted House business in order to lead a call for gun control after 3 children and 3 adults had been killed in Nashville by a shooter with a military-style AR-15. “Our thoughts and prayers” indeed. Politicians are a singular lot.

While there are some conflicting statistics, confounding variables, and strong opinions, it seems pretty clear, and is common sense, that restricting gun ownership decreases the number of gun deaths. We, the only country in the world where there are more privately-owned guns than the number of people (including infants), are in the thrall of some craziness about it.  Gunshot is the leading cause of death of children and adolescents in this country. In 2020 over 45,000 people in the US died of gun violence, surpassing the number dying in automobile accidents, despite the billions of miles driven.  The Vancouver, BC-Seattle gun study offers strong evidence in favor of the restriction of gun ownership. During our prior assault weapons ban the annual number of deaths from mass shootings averaged 5.3; after the ban was lifted, it rose to an average of 25. While the majority of gun deaths (54% in 2020) are suicides, 1/3 of murders by gunshot are of a family member, at times inadvertently. 85% of suicide attempts with a firearm are fatal, whereas only about 15% of suicide attempts by other means are fatal. And on and on. Want to shoot a deer? A 30-30 or a 30.06 is your best companion, not a semi-automatic military-style weapon. You might want to give the Bambis a sporting chance and use a bow and arrow!  

Of course, Armalite, Colt, Daniel Defense, Wilson Combat, Larue Tactical, Ruger, Winchester, Remington Arms, and others are making money hand over fist selling AR-15-style and other weapons and would likely reject (without solid evidence) the entire above paragraph using their industry mouthpiece, the National Rifle Association. It seems to me to be a pretty strange “hobby”, collecting guns designed not for hunting but primarily to kill humans.

After my (and my daughter’s, I confess) dog, Oscar (op cit) died, I continued the walking circuit we’d used for years. It went up and down series of poorly lit staircases in the South Berkeley foothills. I’d do it in the evening before bed, as I did with Oscar. One evening I felt apprehensive since it was dark and there was no one else about so for the following evening’s walk I carried my French Opinel wood-handled folding picnic knife in my pocket. The entire time I worried if I could get it out, unfold it, and twist the metal blade-lock in order to ward off an attacker. It ruined my walk. I realized that carrying it made me think a lot more about being accosted, which I never was. I stopped carrying a weapon. I wonder if those who keep their guns at the ready—For what use is a gun if not at the ready?—trouble their journeys through this life with unnecessary worry.

[Above photo: Six of the 13 students, on a Friday evening outing.]

8 April 2023

Week 1 of the workshop has concluded. It went very well and the students, all at different stages of learning and ability, have taken to it.  The major surprise to me is that my little daily lead-off, “One thing I learned yesterday.”, has often turned into a 2 ½ hour exercise. They use it not only to recount aspects of the previous day but, more importantly, as an opportunity to reflect on themselves. Sexual abuse, beatings, and other forms of personal parental, relative, and schoolteacher betrayal are recounted with strong feelings, demonstrating to me and them the power of a trusted group and the desire we all have, at some level, to expel those splinters from our psyche. Several of them volunteered yesterday that it was the most valuable aspect of the training. I agree, as it allows me to help them see how our experiences and feelings contribute so much to how we conduct psychotherapy, with both adults and children.   It makes me very happy that we have created a trusting group.

We generally order food in. I know this sounds like it would be incredibly expensive but it actually is cheaper than buying all the ingredients, including seasonings and relishes that they add for flavor, and cooking ourselves. It is such fun, sharing meals and clean-up, especially because they are so trained by their culture that they prepare plates for me, wash my dishes, etc. despite my protests which have gradually become more feeble.  I carry large containers of water from the 7-11 nearby, continue to buy them small things for their toy kits as I come across them in my wanderings about town, and pay for pretty much everything—house, food, taxis, outings, etc.

7 of us took two taxis to the zoo, where we boarded a red jitney which drove us to the top of a nearby mountain. It was a long haul, up, up into the clouds. There is a lovely monastery at the top and a viewing deck which overlooks the city, far below. Although the air is considerably better than it was, it still is somewhat smoggy.  The temperature at those heights was perfect at sunset. We stood and chatted and took photos and walked around the pagoda, listened to the monks at their evening chants, and enjoyed the mild evening breeze gently caressing us. There were some artificial pools that frogs inhabited and their croaks, plus the local geckos’ squawks, added to the atmosphere. We then descended the 300 steps to the parking area and took the jitney to an organic restaurant for supper, each dish of which was delicious and shared. Next door was an over-the-top ice cream parlor and we all had cones. I do love each of the students in the way you can if you have close familiarity and begin to hear the details of their struggles.

One evening I accompanied 2 of them to a Burmese hostel where 9 wounded opposition “soldiers”—in quotes since they appeared in their late teens and don’t have uniforms or weapons—were staying, awaiting surgery to repair and improve the effects of their injuries. One of the youths was totally blind; I hope he only requires corneal transplants to restore his sight. It was moving to see them engage as a group with the two psychologists; these are boys from villages who have probably never had more than 3 or 4 grades of school. One appeared to be very traumatized, dissociating and unable to talk much. I’ve not worked with soldiers before, especially those wounded. All of them were champing at the bit to return to the fight. Their cause is just, as is that of the Ukrainians, and I have to believe they will prevail. But at what cost?

I may go with a couple of my students to a border area after the workshop to help them think about how they can be maximally useful with refugees and opposition soldiers. I’m tempted to cross into Burma to visit the armed camps but shall not; mostly, I am worried that since I am White I’ll stand out and jeopardize my students who can blend in as villagers.  The Thai government, being a military dictatorship backed by a monarchy (with a 65yo playboy King who mostly philanders about in Berlin—so much so that the German government said he couldn’t stay there the majority of the time if he was the king of another country!), has not been sympathetic to the Burmese opposition.  Thai police often arrest wounded Burmese fighters who are brought to Thailand for medical/surgical treatments and return them to the Burmese military, which means long imprisonment or execution.

Speaking of bad guys, the dinosaurs in the Tennessee legislature haven’t gotten the word that racism is no longer in fashion in most parts of our country.  Nor are semi-automatic weapons which are regularly used to kill children and teachers. We have more than 1 “mass shooting” a day in the US since January of this year. I hope that some of the international corporations in Tennessee, as well as members of the wealthy music industry based in Nashville will speak up loudly about this. The lack of shame of these fools; the GOP line is so antediluvian, constantly trying to drag us back to our racist roots. “Woke” just means thoughtful about the injustices that we have done, and are doing, to minority groups—Blacks, Hispanics, Asians, Gays, Lesbians, Transpeople, etc., seemingly anyone who doesn’t look or act like “us”.  Being intentionally blind to those injustices is “Not Woke”.   Ron DeSantis’ Florida, “Where Woke goes to die.” prefers to ignore and live in ignorance of those facts of our past and present, as well as to prevent others from learning, teaching, or talking about them.  How cruel and lame, to attempt to appeal to people’s baser, tribal natures. It is a summary of Trump’s shtick—to induce fear of “the other” (For example, the scary migrant convoys in Mexico funded by George Soros, dog-whistle for “Jew”, heading for our border.) create division, and then exploit it for personal political gain. It’s not going to work in the long run, as most people are accepting, tolerant, and support fair treatment of minorities, gun regulation, and a woman’s right to choose, unlike the members of his Base. Talk about painting themselves into a corner. And Clarence Thomas, no big surprise there.

I continue to be intrigued by The PathTo Power. My god, Johnson was driven!  Childhood poverty and estrangement from his failed father seemed to propel him beyond human capacity at times. Caro’s description of how hard he worked, how diligent he was at pursuing victory, and how fiercely he drove those who loyally worked for him sheds new light on him for me. I just remembered he was a kind of boorish Texan who showed his gall bladder scar to all and who gave dictation while sitting on the toilet with the door open.  He escalated our involvement in the American War in Vietnam (Vietnamese correctly call it the “American War”, not the “Vietnam War.” We did, after all, invade them, not the other way around. Just as the “Iraq War” is really another “American War*”. *In Iraq.)  He also managed to push through the Voting Rights and Civil Rights Acts.  Immensely talented, an ends-justify-the-means politician, his focus was on accruing Power which he managed to use for great good and great evil, I suppose the result of lacking a moral compass to guide his incomparable energy.

[Above photo: Fever dreams. ]

2 April 2023

[I’m including the paragraph below to lend perspective to my kvetching in last week’s post, for which I felt embarrassment. I added it after the fact but likely no one saw the edited version.

Despite the inconveniences of the trip from Portland to Bangkok, it is pretty miraculous. At least 50% of those embarking on such a journey 200 years ago wouldn’t be expected ever to be seen again: wild storms, contagion, tropical diseases, scurvy, hostile crew or natives, wild animals, poor navigation, and so forth. Imagine travelling north from Boston, over Hudson’s Bay, traversing northern Canada and southern Alaska, south along the east coast of Kamchatka Island, crossing north over Honshu Island to Incheon. Then 5 hours more, mostly over eastern China. All in less than 24 hours. Given all the ramifications of air travel, including its immense carbon footprint, I’m unsure if it is a good thing or not. But it is something.]

”Steve’s” is a wonderful open-air restaurant right on the Chao Phraya River in Bangkok, a 25 minute walk from my hotel. It is filled with Thai, which is a good sign for the food quality. It is not easy to find, tucked away down a couple of alleys behind a large temple. I met Kim, who arrived on the back of a motorbike taxi, there for a memorable feast. She was my landlady in Portland, a late-30’s daughter of a Maine dairy farmer who went to Dartmouth and then did graduate studies in International Development. She worked for the UN for 6 years in China and 5 in Thailand. Now she’s back for 8 months, helping with sustainable building design in Cambodia and Indonesia. But her boyfriend is in Montreal with an ailing father and she is both lonely and unhappy with the job. She must work with other groups within the UN and finds some of the crucial players pretty incompetent and not accessible to change.  I know it isn’t an unusual situation, partly because a UN job often pays better and has better working conditions than much else in developing countries and people are loathe to admit a lack of knowledge lest they lose their employment. One job often supports an entire extended family.

We are so incredibly fortunate, being white, educated, and living in the richest country in the world. It is too bad that consumerism is such a massive engine for development, possessions displacing relationships, including with oneself, as deserving the most of our time and focus. “In getting and spending we lay waste our powers.” William Wordsworth. We are so easily manipulated and marketed to, yours truly included.

I’m in Chiang Mai, ensconced in our rented 5 bedroom house with 5 of the 12 students. The other 7 arrive this evening. I flailed about yesterday morning, trying to get “Candy”, the proprietress, to send the directions, the address, and the entry code to the house. Previously she’d answered my emails instantly after I sent them.  Once when I was jet-lagged and awake at 4AM I sent her a query and she responded immediately. Was she in another time zone, I wondered?  This time, the day we were to move in, she didn’t respond to 4 or 5 entreaties by me over 3 hours. I thought, having just been scammed by the fake TSA website, it’s happened again. My final ask was “Please let me know if this is a scam so I can move on to make other arrangements.” By then I’d found another, lovely place nearby. She finally replied, apologizing that she’d been in a conference all morning. When I finally went to the house, I found one of my students pulling up and we tried the gate code together. It didn’t work. I called “Candy” and she apologized again; it was a # not a * after the numbers.

We moved in and although it is stark, it is clean, modern, and functional with seemingly thousands of bathrooms and showers, excellent wi-fi, and enough seating and beds for us all. We ordered delivery of some food, two of us walked to the nearby 7-11 for beer and salty snacks, we ascertained that I could use the massive tv in the dining room to project my PowerPoints—sorry to have schlepped the projector—and everyone sighed in relief: for me, that we were in and all systems seemed to be “Go!”; for them, to be in a peaceful, not-conflict, zone and who knows for what other reasons.

The night before moving in I visited my friends and neighbors from Yangon. We ate, partied, and played poker together regularly for the last year I was in Burma. Their house was a lovely multi-level affair filled with old teak furniture and beautiful carpets. Now they are in a rural area outside of Chiang Mai in a gorgeous house with a pool, backing onto a mountain. We talked late and I ended up spending the night, retrieving two cartons of books and a suitcase of toys that I’d left behind in Yangon and which joined their moving shipment. Their previously traumatized, overweight, lethargic, and very unfriendly dog, Ollie, is now svelte, energetic, and almost-friendly, the magical result of treating hypothyroidism. Jose and Irene generously volunteered their pool if I wanted to bring the students out for an afternoon. 

The air pollution has been wretched, that for which N-95 masks are designed. Each morning the sun has looked indistinct, orange, and blurry. Temperatures hover in the 95 range. With the smog, the heat, and the noise of motorbikes buzzing by, it feels apocalyptic in the center of the Old Town, where most of the tourists are wandering about, looking dazed by 11AM.  If I didn’t have a task, I’d have caught the next plane out. The air has improved significantly overnight.

Today I rose and hailed a cab for the Jing Jai Farmer’s Market, which is known for great food and crafts. I joined two 50ish Thai sisters at their table and enjoyed eating delicious sour pork steamed in bamboo leaves, satay grilled chicken, and sausages.  I’ll catch up on my veggies later! I am happy to discover that it is, after all, mango, mangosteen, and durian season, which is a real treat.  The course begins tomorrow morning and I found 12 cute crocheted dolls at the market, the final objects to complete the toy kits I’ve prepared for each student. It’ll be good to get started with the course proper, as I’ve been anticipating it for months.

I found a terrific copy/printing store—they do this well in the developing world—and had them complete the scanning I began in Portland, as well as printing some papers we’ll read and discuss. At the end of the course I’ll share all my PowerPoint presentations with them, as well as give them digital versions of two texts on play therapy. It’ll be a start.

It is difficult to understand why our Attorney General has been so sluggish in investigating and indicting DT. Here we are, well over two years since the attempted coup he encouraged. I am fearful of hoping that Merrick Garland has really gotten the goods on the guy, given his pace and our disappointing experience with the Mueller Investigation.

[Above photo: Snowy Maine, near Moosehead Lake. More specifically, the outflow from Roach Pond #2.]

26 March 2023

I want to note that March 23 was a palindrome: 3.23.23.  Take that, sleepy grammarians! We like to talk about Bill Gates and Edwin Land and others dropping out of elite colleges in their early years and moving on to great success. Let’s not forget that the lad who first started the Oxford English Dictionary was 14yo when he dropped out of school. He collected massive amounts of information, storing it in a shed on his parent’s property, which he named the Scriptorium. I vaguely recall reading Simon Winchester’s fascinating book about it some years ago; even “fascinating books” stay accessible in my brain’s filing system only so long. The OED father’s name escapes me, even though I read it 2 days ago in the Times! Names are a real challenge after 80. Ha, for me after 60— or possibly 30!

I’m happily en route to Chiang Mai. The first leg of the journey was ill-fated. Today is Sunday. Saturday at 6:45AM I received a call: “This 57 Moody Street? Portland taxi outside.” “I’m sorry, it is for 6:45AM on Sunday.” Silence. Then, “I’ll have to talk with the dispatcher about that.”  This morning at 6:45 I called to learn he’d be “5 minutes late, if that.” At 6:55 I called again, “I’m sorry. It should be in about 10 minutes. We only have two cabs this morning.” “I have a bus to Logan for an international flight.” “When’s your bus leave?”  You get the gist. 25’ late he arrived, pretty silent. When my steam cooled we had a nice chat about how polite Maine drivers are. 

The bus was quite full. I sat next to a sweet guy, a senior from Bowdoin, who was carrying a large tube. “I’m going to the American Chemical Society meeting in Indianapolis to present a poster.” He’s from north of Minneapolis, a chem/physics major who is doing research on photo-sensitive chemicals that become acidic when exposed to light. He had that earnest, honest, direct but mildly self-effacing way of many Midwesterners. Not self-effacing, actually, just not tooting his own horn as is so common in educated coastal circles. Concord Coachlines gets my applause with a non-stop from Portland to the Boston airport, which has many more flight options than where I live; 1 1/2 hours of smooth, stressless travel for $29.

I, finally,— after getting scammed out of $140 (which was taken in Brazilian reales) by my entering a phony website—got my TSA precheck. It is worth all the 7800 pennies it cost!! As well as the $140, which I may get back. I slipped through security at Logan, having to remove only my Uniqlo down jacket. Why are you wearing that to Thailand, where a cold day is 78F, you ask? Because it was still in the 30’s here in the early morning when I left. Besides, this is light, compacts to nothing, and will be a handy pillow on the plane. Imagine hauling a pea coat around Thailand!  If people have the chutzpah to scam off of Homeland Security—not just Visa or PayPal—not much is safe. Especially for we gullible, internet-naïve elders. This is the second credit card I’ve had to replace in 6 months. Rather than send this from an unsecured wi-fi network in the airport, even with a VPN, I’ll wait until I get to my hotel in Bangkok.

I am very excited to be off. When I accept a large teaching assignment, I always imagine I’ll be found lacking but it generally is the opposite. Many years of psychoanalysis didn’t alter that, although at least I can anticipate my worries, step back, and know that it is a figment of my early introjects.

I’m going to find a bite to eat as it says Korean Airlines serves only supper on the plane and there is a bao place somewhere in the airport. It’s only 11AM but I had breakfast at 6, so I’m hungry again.

2 days later

Incheon International Airport in Seoul is ultra modern and IMMENSE. The exercise negotiating it would be welcome except that I had a tight connection—my Bangkok-bound plane would board 35 minutes after my plane from Boston landed. As Fate played her cards, the Boston plane couldn’t find a gate at which to discharge us and we sat on the tarmac for 40 minutes. Then Incheon’s size became a true obstacle, as Gate 242 was miles away. And all the food that Korean Airlines had filled me with over 15 hours—many meals and snacks and I skipped the last meal entirely—was creating a certain urgency in my nether parts. And I’m thinking my bags will never get transferred and I’ll have to arrange them to be delivered the following day. I trotted—cannot honestly say I ran—for what seemed like forever.

It all worked out, as the plane to Bangkok departed 1 ½ hours late! Hurry up and wait! I got to bed at 3AM, was wired and read until 4. The Path to Power, Caro’s account of Lyndon Johnson’s start in the Hill Country of Texas is gripping, even at that hour.  

Bangkok feels much as I left it, 2 years ago.  The third 7-11 I walked to from my hotel had SIM cards but it was a challenge to sort and have it installed. It is surprising how much “Hotspot” sounds like “Passport” when filtered through a Thai accent and my presbycousis, repeatedly.  The street markets have papayas and guava but I see no durian, mango, or passion fruit. Two of my 3 friends who live here are away and I’m awaiting an email response from the third for supper together tonight. I’m off to Chiang Mai tomorrow evening. My hotel, Villa Phra Sumen—now known as Villa Bangkok—, is attractive and quiet, with a tree- and plant-filled courtyard in back and a small pool.  People are lying around in the sun. For it is warm and sunny, a tropical warmth that gets into you just as the Maine cold chills your bones. It’s nice to be back.

Despite my kvetching about the inconveniences of the trip, it is pretty miraculous. At least 50% of those embarking on such a journey 200 years ago wouldn’t be expected ever to be seen again: wild storms, contagion, tropical diseases, scurvy, hostile crew or natives, poor navigation, and so forth. Imagine travelling north from Boston, over Hudson’s Bay, traversing northern Canada and southern Alaska, south along the east coast of Kamchatka Island, crossing north over Honshu Island to Incheon. Then 5 hours more, mostly over eastern China. All in less than 24 hours. Given all the ramifications of air travel, including its immense carbon footprint, I’m unsure if it is a good thing or not. But it is something.

The man, as his niece said, is very dangerous. As he feels cornered, he focuses on violence and links his troubles to his minions: “That Bragg is an animal! But they are really after you—you better believe it. All these guys—the FBI, the Justice Department—-they are the most corrupt government ever known in the history of man. ” [Not that he’s the most corrupt ex-president ever known in the history of this country.]  And, “We don’t have to fear Russia or China; the biggest danger to us is our government. The corruption is of a scale never seen before.” And so forth. Sounds like a little projection to me. Better known in the trade as the old bob and weave.

[Above Photo:  The 12 bags I sewed which I will fill with toys as starter kits for my students. ]

19 March 2023

It is, again, a lovely sunny day in Portland. I awoke this morning to note the sun projecting the shadows of tree branches onto my blinds, moving gently in the breeze. My mother’s first memory was lying in her crib and seeing the shadow cast by tree branches on the ceiling of her nursery on Walnut Street in Brookline. It was her birthday on St. Paddy’s. She would now be 120yo!! And like a fine wine, she gets better as I age.

I walked in high 40’s sunshine the other day, noting the crocus out (Don’t you love them in Runaway Bunny?) and the old brick sidewalks wavy, like the bay, from seasons of frost heaves and thaws. Even though I know that the size of garbage dumps determines the seagull population on the East Coast, those few mewling from the tops of buildings by the harbor as I walk along Commercial Street recall Portland’s nautical beginnings.  I suppose the stream of massive cruise ships, up to 900+feet in length, that put into the harbor during the warmer months is a continuation of the same, but it lacks the spice and adventure of the age of sails. Portland has the only extant tower in the US, a few blocks from me on Munjoy Hill, where signal flags were used to announce the arrival of sailing cargo ships. I suppose the quicker the merchants could get to them, the greater the profit from transferring and selling their cargos.

I went with a friend to 1 Longfellow Hall last night and saw various combinations of local folk and bluegrass musicians strut their stuff. And could they!! There was some fine picking, strumming, and singing for 2 ½ hours. It was so enjoyable and impressive. I’m used to the Freight and Salvage in Berkeley—“The longest continuously-operating acoustic music venue west of the Mississippi”—and  I’ve heard some remarkable music there. It is glorious to have access to a similar quality here. I wish I had the talent and persistence to have developed skills to allow me to join in. It looked like such fun for them to play and perform together. It raised my spirits, and they were already pretty high.

For it is only a week and I’ll board a direct bus for Logan Airport in Boston, then a Delta flight to Seoul, and, finally, a Korea Airlines flight to Bangkok. I’ll stay there for a couple of days to see friends and catch my breath. Then a puddle-jumper to Chiang Mai and on April 2 will begin the workshop. Most of the activities, curriculum, and PowerPoints are done, my suitcases are ready to pack, and I have my tickets. It’ll be wonderful to see my students, share some of my experience and knowledge, and learn from them. Twelve of them, all women, will squeeze into 4 bedrooms; I’ll take the 5^th.

After it all I plan to travel a bit, perhaps to a small island in the Gulf of Thailand where the  snorkeling is supposedly superb. Or somewhere on the edge of the Andaman Sea, a deserted beach with warmth (too easy this time of year!), sea, and undersea life. Hiking in the tropics is a challenge, although I really enjoyed the rainforest trek I did 2 years ago in Khao Sok National Park, leeches included. Now, however, I’m ready for soft warm breezes, some coral and sponges and brightly-colored fish, and digging into a good book.

Speaking of which, I’m finishing Robert Caro’s Working.  It has held my interest like nothing I’ve read in years. He talks about his method and the immersive intensity with which he pursues his truths. He confesses to being in the grip of himself and having no real alternative than to be as thorough as he has been, taking 6 or 7 years of full-time labor to complete each volume. I read The Master of the Senate some years ago; now I have ordered The Power Broker about Robert Moses’ 40 year reign in NY and The Path to Power, the first of the [hopefully] 5 volumes on Johnson. The latter will be about his origins in the lonely and impoverished Hill Country of Texas, west of Austin. Caro’s agenda is to convey to the reader his deep experience into the complexity of his subject. And are Johnson and Moses complex! Wonderfully amazing and terrible people, simultaneously, both wanting to win at all costs and happy to bend the rules. What rules?!  They each had remarkable accomplishments, which partially redeems them. His writing is intriguing, like an anatomy atlas, richly describing layer after layer. It grips me, cutting so close to the bone it strips off the periosteum at times!

The poor Russian conscripts, sent out as cannon fodder with little training, WW2 armament and clothing, and no ammunition to “soften up” the Ukrainians for the Russian Spring offensive [which will be very offensive]. They are dying and being wounded at a breathtaking pace, it seems. Some are video-recording protests with their faces covered, if the Times can be trusted.

Tropical Cyclone Freddy has been tearing around the Indian Ocean for 35+ days, a record. It came ashore in Madagascar and Mozambique, creating devastation. As they were mopping up, it came ashore again, crushing them, and extended into Malawi, devastating Blantyre where I lived for 2 years. Landslides, houses collapsed, cholera, roads and bridges washed away, and 325 dead—likely many more. I think about the lower areas, like Chikwawa, which must be gone, completely. It recalls Tropical Cyclone Nargis, which reared out of the Bay of Bengal in 2008 and destroyed the Ayeyarwady Delta region of Myanmar, killing an estimated 138,000 people. Did you ever hear of it? I hadn’t until I was living in Yangon. Nature may be an impartial force, but the poor always suffer more.

The suspense surrounding Trump’s various possible indictments feels like an orgasm too long delayed. They may be anticlimactic when they finally come.  People still love him. He reminds me of a carnival barker or, better, Crusty the Clown on the Simpsons. He is a loutish would-be autocrat and sounds illiterate but is mildly entertaining even so. However, there is the constant drumbeat of an underlying evil, born of his narcissism, that wants to win at any cost without commensurate redeeming accomplishments. Unless stirring hatred and dissent counts.

Todays’ post will be brief, as I want to get out and about while the sun shines, even if the wind has picked up.