Faceplant

 I've mentioned here before that I have a problem with the right side of my body. A neurologic problem combined with spinal disc problems which has caused muscle atrophy in my arm and leg so that the right side is significantly thinner and weaker than the left. This causes problems with gait of course, which is exacerbated by balance problems arising  from MS in general. My right foot tends to drag while my right calf freezes up. This combination of difficulties sometimes results in a fall. 

Which is what happened today. 

I had stopped by the cookie store on Jalan Danau Tamblingan, dismounted from my bike and was stepping up the curbing when my right foot failed to raise itself sufficiently high. The forefoot caught on the curbing and I pitched forward into a fall. A full body fall, you know? A total faceplant. 

Now the interesting thing I want to mention here is not the fall itself but the reaction of the people nearby. The bules, i.e. the white people, the tourists passing by deftly stepped around me, such that they wouldn't step on me, and went on their way, while the nearby Indonesians exclaimed "Oh no!" and rushed over to where I lay. Two motorbikes stopped by the curbing. "Kamu ga apa-apa Pak? (are you okay, sir?).

I experience a combination of embarrassment and amazement--amazed still, even after 15 years here, that people care. Some people care. Certain people care. 

And it strikes me that this is in large part what we have lost in the West--a common sort of civility, a shared concern, a sense of community. They move aside, they turn their eyes away, they don't want to be involved. He shouldn't be so clumsy. Maybe he's drunk. In any case, it's his problem, not ours.

Of course I'm okay. I cut my forearm and a couple of fingers, and it looked worse than it really was, given that the blood thinner I have to take makes me bleed very easily and rather excessively.

Injured, embarrassed, but thankful, and newly appreciative of where I am.

Satu Terbang dari Sarang Burung Kukuk

Often, or I should say usually, a trip to the Gramedia bookstore is frustrating and pointless. I have never seen so many stacks of rotten books that no one would want to read. Well, no one except maybe a teen girl who is into girl meets boy stories. One need not even pick these up and look at the description. It is clear by the picture on the front of the book. Most often one comes away with nothing, or on other occasions he picks up a book that he hopes will be worthwhile, but is disappointed upon actually reading the book. This happened with The Mysterious Island, an old Jules Verne novel. They have a number of these translations of Western titles, you see. I actually read and greatly enjoyed some Jules Verne as a youngster. Journey to the Center of the Earth, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. But folks, the Mysterious Island is terrible in any language. Not terrible in a good way, but terribly boring. I got only as far as 200 pages or so before I quit the lousy thing and took it for a donation to the used bookstore. 

Nonetheless, on my last few visits I have found some quite worthwhile reading. I found an Indonesian translation of The Grapes of Wrath for instance, which I have already spoken of here. I also found intermezzo, by Sally Rooney. I had previously read Normal People in English by Rooney and was not a fan. But I found Intermezzo engaging, despite it's very dense prose. It can be daunting to look at pages of solid print without interruption, especially in a foreign language, but I forged through and, as I've said, was glad of it. 

Now most recently I have found an Indonesian language version of Ken Kesey's One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest. Of course I read this in English many years ago, and, like everyone else, I have seen the movie (several times, like many of us); nonetheless, the novel is fresh and greatly entertaining. It is somewhat difficult to detach oneself the picture of Jack Nicholson in the role of McMurphy, because while his performance in the movie was amazing, the character of McMurphy is a bit different in the novel. For one thing, he has red hair 😉

I also read recently about a novel by Olga Tokarczuk called the Books of Jacob based on the weird life and times of 18th century self-proclaimed messiah Jacob Frank. This interests me because it reminds me of a another self-proclaimed messiah, whose name I have forgotten, that my son, during a certain period in his life, was rather obsessed with. I would like to know more about it, more about what he saw or understood or misunderstood, whatever the case, as this messiah seems to have had many things in common with the other. I find that the PeriPlus bookstore here in Indonesia has this title, and I am tempted to order it; however the price is 500,000 rupiah, which is not cheap. I wonder if anyone out there is familiar with this novel?

Photos 2

 I find in trying to add photos of Hong Kong to my previous post of Hong Kong photos, that once again my blog will not interact with my phone, this time in edit mode. So hell, I'll just make a new post with some more pictures.

Popcorn

I actually got popcorn today to watch the massive protests across the country along with Trump's deserted birthday parade 😅

Photos

I finally figured out how to upload photos from my phone to my blog. Here are some from my trip to Hong kong. But I still don't know know how to change or add pictures on the sidebars, because my phone is not communicating with my laptop.

Medical Report

 I was trying to keep track the other day of all the health problems I have had in the last couple years, for posterity, ya know, and I came up with this list: 

1. Lacunar stroke

2. Sinus infection

3. Eye infection

4. Eye virus

5. Hernia surgery

6. Stomach virus

7. Multiple herniated discs in back and neck

Impressive, isn't it? I reckon bad health is the one thing I've done well in life. 

I'm doing physical therapy for the back problem, but it's a real drag. Not the physical therapy, but the back and neck pain. The physical therapy is mostly pleasant, but I don't know that it is helping much. 

Okies

They say the damn Okies are filthy and stupid. They have no morals. They are sexual maniacs. They are thieves. They will steal anything. They don't understand the concept of possession.

--The Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck

Remind you of anything? Does a word come to mind which might replace Okies in our present day conversation? 

How about this: 

They are killers and rapists. They are lunatics, released from jails and asylums, criminals, the the worst of the worst.

Bad hombres.

Most of all, they are not us. 

Hungry, desperate, ragged, pitiful, and hopeful, they came in the early 1930s from the dust bowl, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Kansas, Missouri, Mississippi and elsewhere, out of financial ruin, looking for a better life, looking for honest work, dreaming modest dreams, only to be rejected by those who already possessed the dreams, for greed knows no greater foe then the want of others.

They came a thousand miles over their own trail of tears to find that the doors of bounty were locked against them and that the green paradise of California and all of its fruits were not to be had by the likes of them.

Killers, rapists, thieves, criminals.

Farmers, harvesters, mechanics, laborers.

Men, women, children, babies.

Suffering, hoping, dreaming, starving, dying. 

Go back where you came from, they were told. Or by God we will send you back by force.

Because you are not us.