Welcome the Stranger

 I was parking my bike just now in what seemed to be the last open spot in the lot at Plaza Renon, and it was a very difficult spot to negotiate, angled in the opposite direction, motorbikes resting on either side. As I attempted various unsuccessful efforts to enter the spot, a young man came along, headed for his own bike somewhere in the lot, stopped on his way, and wordlessly volunteered his assistance. He lifted the back of the bike on my left, scooting it several inches away, and then, as I continued to struggle into the spot, lifted the back of my own bike and scooted it to the right, thus directing my ship in a straight line to port. The man never uttered a word. He just moved on when the job was done. 

And here's the kicker: This is not an unusual kindness. It is a common thing here. And I think that, in general, this would not happen back home in America, for the first rule there is Thou shalt not interact with thy neighbor. The second is like it, thou shalt not invade thy neighbor's space, even if it is in need of invasion. Thy neighbor's problem is thy neighbor's own business. It is a gross generalization, yes; nonetheless, it is my impression based on 55 years of experience in my country of origin. Here in Indonesia a neighbor is a neighbor. There, a neighbor is a stranger.

Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, the scripture says, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.

Well, I'm no angel, but I surely am a stranger, and one sorely in need of parking assistance.

Rain

 Raining again. Raining for the last 3 days. Nonetheless, I don my coat, and then the big raincoat on top of my coat, and head for the cafe. Cannot go without my coffee and pastry. Rain be damned. After a journey through rain, puddles, lakes, and crazed drivers, I am at my customary table with my coffee before me, and a cigarette. It is 28° centigrade and I feel cold. I look up 28c on Google and find that it is around 82f. And yet I am cold. What is happening here? Is the transplant finally complete? Am I Indonesian now? What did cold feel like? What did winter in Oregon feel like? I cannot get a hold on it. I cannot remember it. I remember some facts here and there. The coldest temperature I ever felt in Portland was minus five degrees Fahrenheit. I remember putting on two pairs of pants and a sweater and a heavy coat and a hat with earmuffs and gloves and going out into the snow for just minutes at a time. That's all one could stand. But I don't remember how it felt. I don't remember it in my bones, in my veins. I have it in my head, that's all. A collection of autobiographical events. I don't remember the "winter" here either from year to year. I am always surprised by the severity of the deadly heat. And then by the periods of torrential rain. I know only the present day now. Yesterday is vague, tomorrow is questionable.

Whatever Will Be Will Be

 ... many a family was divided against itself, some fighting for the North and some for the south, some fighting for communism and some for nationalism. Still, no matter how divided, all saw themselves as Patriots fighting for a country to which they belong.

So writes Viet Thanh Nguyen in The Sympathizer, a novel about the end of the Vietnam war. But it sounds like us, doesn't it? We are the Patriots. No, We are the Patriots. You are insurrectionists. No, the insurrectionists are Patriots! And in the course of time, it is all meaningless. Lost in the cold soup of history. Studied by the impassionate scholars of the future.

That which has been is what will be, That which is done is what will be done, And there is nothing new under the Sun.

A Dickens of a Message

There can be no better message to the modern day evangelical type, Trump loving churches than this from Mr. Charles Dickens: 

"There are some upon this Earth of yours," returned the spirit, "who lay claim to know us, and who do their deeds of passion, pride, ill-will, hatred, envy, bigotry, and selfishness in our name; who are as strange to us and all our kith and kin, as if they had never lived. Remember that, and charge their doings on themselves, not us."

Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

 With the weather having been rainy all week, and having turned this evening to just a light sprinkle, and with a bit of a nip in the air (around 26 c, which is about 78 f), I decided to venture out for a holiday season walk to the nearby Alfamart, just past the gas station on the main thoroughfare close by. 

Donning my unnecessary coat and hat for the sake of mood, I set off up my street, past the line of conspicuously less than gaily adorned houses, along the rows of humming air conditioning units, tuning up no doubt for a Christmas choir performance later that night and, turning the corner at the top of the street, came upon a lake where a road used to be. 

This was no snow drift. This was not wintry ice. No this was a muddy brown lake that had conquered the entire road between a fence on one side and a gurgling irrigation ditch on the other. 

What to do? Turn back? Never! I am not the sort of person who turns back. I always move forward. So I waded that murky winter marsh, not to be stopped by foul conditions. (I'll wash up later). Over the river and through the trees to the Alfamart we go! (I'll check for leeches when I get home).

From there on it was smooth sailing and I sloshed into the store with no further trouble. 

I had come for a bag of caramel corn, a pack of cigarettes, and a fly trap if I could find one. You see, at this festive season of the year, the air here is filled not with flurries of snow but with flurries of small, exceedingly annoying flies. These flies do not behave in the relatively polite manner of regular flies. These tiny seasonal flies land on everything, buzz in your ears, fly into your eyes, try to crawl up your nose. And of course they love the dinner plates. 

These flies are rather slow compared to other sorts of flies, and so they are swatted dead more easily. But what use is that if they happen to be sitting on your broccoli, or investigating your seafood pasta?

Unfortunately, I found no fly traps at the Alfamart. And this is the second store I've tried today. The things must be selling like Christmas lights these days. 

The vast brown lake had not moved on my way back home, but on this crossing I came upon a man traveling toward me on his own way and we smiled cheerily and greeted one another merrily, amused at the chilling challenges of our separate sojourns.

God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay.

This Happens Every 6 Months.or so, Give or Take

 I had been aware for a while that I would need to see the doctor soon, as my prescription medications, alprazolam and clobazam, were running low. These are for neuropathic pain and anxiety. It's just that seeing a doctor is low on my list of favorite things to do--somewhere in between eating raw garlic and jumping off a cliff. 

When I finally got around to contacting the doctor for an appointment, I found to my surprise that the doctor would be gone for a year. I'm speaking of the doctor I have most commonly seen. So I called my backup at a different hospital, and made an appointment with him. 

Aside from the need to refill two medications, I had a few complaints I wanted to discuss. 

I started with the medications, got that done for the next 6 months or so, and then said "Doc, I'd like to discuss three problems I'm having. The first is that my entire body is painful."

I anticipated that he would laugh, or chuckle, or at least smile, but his face maintained the expression of a Sphinx.

So I laughed for him. 

Seriously though, my shoulders hurt, my back hurts, my hips hurt, and my legs hurt. 

"I'm thinking this might be arthritis," I suggested. 

"Hmm, that may be so," he said. 

I remembered then that this particular doctor was always receptive to my self diagnoses, which seems good in one way and not so good in another. Good in that it makes the whole doctor appointment thing simpler, not so good in that I really have no idea what I'm talking about. But there is always the hope that he will prescribe a magical medication that will return my state of health to that of a man 20 years or so younger. 

As it turned out, he suggested that I take low dose ibuprofen, a suggestion which I could not help feel someone disappointed with. Really, ibuprofen? That's your prescription for full body pain? 

Or could it be that full body pain is normal in a 71 year old man?

Hmm. I think I'm going to need more of those anxiety pills. 

I must say though that the low dose ibuprofen has helped.

Other than that, he ordered some blood tests, which turned out okay, showing as usual borderline diabetes and some minor cholesterol problems. I'm already taking medication for the latter, atorvastatin and cardio aspirin, but I've been kind of a bad patient in that I have continued to eat sweet snacks such as cookies and cinnamon rolls and ice cream. My bad. So I am trying to exert some self control now. As long as it doesn't include quitting cigarettes.

Car Wreck

 As with the last Trump administration, this one promises to be another car wreck, only a bigger more gruesome one this time around, a gigantic pile up. It's one of those things you want to turn away from, and yet you can't stop yourself from watching.