Visits

Friday, May 3, 2019

A Reminder

I wrote this little bit two years ago, of which I reminded when it showed up on my Facebook feed this morning. I will say nothing more just now because I know I will want to weep, and the time for weeping has passed. The time to rejoice, and for peace, has come. Rest in peace, my son. God bless your precious soul. 

I threw you in the air and caught you. Five times. Ten. Again. Again. You could not walk yet, but you could fly. This was the moment caught in time, and scattered from there to here, from beginning to end, fully formed in every instance. Flying, laughing, eyes bright like silver, wide and deep and glowing and gleaming, like only a baby’s eyes can be. You were within me, then. You came from within your mother, yet somehow ended up in me. Flying together. Again, again. Such love surpasses everything.


Sweet Tooth

As has become my habit, I took a brief walk early this morning despite the stupid furnace in my neck and head, itself stoked by an already hot, humid day here in south Bali, and ended up on this occasion at the warung of the ancient old lady who sells fruit. We had a nice conversation and I bought five mangis (mangosteen) and three jeruk (oranges). A cute little white puppy who lives next door to the warung continually cavorted about my feet and it was revealed in due time by the ancient fruit seller that what he wanted was a sweet bread. This is a little bun filled with what they call kacang hijau, or green peanut sauce), and it indeed proved to be his favorite snack. Sweet tooth, like any other toddler! 




Thursday, May 2, 2019

Another Night, Another Day, Another Stroll

Not such a bad night last night. I didn't die or anything. Which is a plus, I guess. I actually found a way to increase the air stream just a little bit on the shitty little AC unit in my room so that I can almost feel the air now if I sleep with my head at the foot of the bed, nearer the unit. Really, the damn thing is just pretty much for decoration, I guess. The meds that the doc most recently prescribed seem to be helping just a little bit, although I am beginning to suspect tha.t the steroid spray may be more harmful than helpful. What still bothers me most is the intense heat in my neck and head, and I still don't have any idea what that is about. 

So in keeping with my idea to just force myself out of the room, I went on a little stroll this morning. It's difficult to find a good route, because most streets soon end in dead ends and you have to just retrace your steps back home again. But I snapped a few pictures, which I have posted below. It was still quite early and there were very few people to be seen, but quite a few dogs. The dogs in general kind of seemed to be thinking, "What's up with this weird guy so early in the morning? Best not to bark or disturb him. You never know what people like this are gonna do." 




Wednesday, May 1, 2019

May 1, 2019

I woke up at 4 o'clock this morning fairly certain that I was about to die. Short of breath, fast seeming heartrate, intensely hot neck and head, hot calves too, a thickness in my throat. I got up and tottered about, feeling strangely confused--like the worst of MS confusion. Tried to work the fan with the phone, tried to check the phone with the fan controller. Headed back to the bathroom and fell down on the way, thanks to the classic MS knee buckle. 

And I thought: 

I'm not scared of dying
and I don't really care, 
If it's peace you find in dying, 
well then, let that time be near.

And truly, I'm not scared of dying. I just wish one could do it without having to go through the prefatory suffering. 

Blessed is the man who dies suddenly, who dies in peace, who simply goes to sleep and does not wake up.  

I had seen the doctor yesterday and, presuming this infection is in the sinuses, she had prescribed a steroid nose spray along with the usual allergy pill and a new antibiotic. Clearly, this was not working out well. 

Having cleared my mind to some extent after some time, I decided to take a swim and lie in the sun, entertaining the conceit that somehow the vitamin D from the searing tropical rays would solve the whole problem. It didn't. Although it did make me very much hotter than I already was. 

Came back to my room and ate a plate of spaghetti, which Louis had prepared for me the other day, and then felt nauseous and like the spaghetti was stuck halfway down my throat. I laid down and fell asleep for a time. Not sure what I did after waking up, but at some point, I decided that a trip to the beach would cure me. Just get that good old ocean air, you know. Do the things I used to do, enjoy the things I used to enjoy. 

So, through a Herculean effort, I forced myself to get dressed, got on the motorbike, and headed down to Mertasari Beach. There, I took off my sandals, walked into the shallow surf for a while, walked back up to the oceanfront path, fell down again, and stopped in to my favorite old beach warung for a Bali coffee and a plate of fruit. Then I decided I had better go home. 

And I haven't died. Yet. 

Not looking forward to the night, which is now, suddenly, upon me. Not looking forward to tomorrow. No longer entertaining February's innocent expectation that there would be some simple solution to a seemingly simple problem. Not looking forward to throwing more money at non-solutions. 

Monday, April 29, 2019

Bakso

I had not seen Viana for quite some time. Perhaps it was because my door was often closed and my curtains shut and my lights out. Not that this had anything to do with Viana, but has just been my preferred mode for suffering with the incurable throat plague. While not up to being very pleasant or entertaining, I had kind of missed the little tyke nonetheless. Well, she came flapping to the door this afternoon (she always flaps). 

"Hi, Meester!" she says. 

"Hi, Viana. Where have you been lately?"

Her recent whereabouts are of no interest to her. 

"Meester, you want bakso?"

"Bakso? Why? Do you have bakso?"

"No."

"Who has bakso?" 

"The bakso man." 

"Ah!" 

"You want?" 

"Do you mean to say, Viana, that you want bakso?" 

"I do if you do," she agrees. 

Lol.  

And so she buys us two orders of bakso from the bakso man, 5000 Rupiah apiece, her portion of which, I suspect, she will like Wimpy in the old Popeye cartoon, gladly pay on Tuesday. 

Lee

I see that good 'ol Robert E. Lee is back in the news again, thanks to Donald-the-student-of-history-and-special-fan-of-Frederick Douglass-rap-songs-Trump, who tells us that Lee was one of the greatest American generals and that many generals (countless, no doubt) in Washington have told him that Lee is their "favorite". (Apparently, military men are inclined to have favorite generals in the way that children have favorite candy bars). 

Well, it's got me to thinking about Lee again, as the Civil War period has long been of special interest to me. Was Lee a great general? Was he the greatest in American history? 

I think not. What Lee had going for him was the great good fortune of facing Federal Army commanders who were incredibly, and dangerously, cautious at best to fairly perfectly inept at worst. From McClellen, to Pope, to McClellen again, to Burnside, to Hooker, and even, to some extend, Meade, the Union Army fielded an opposing general's dream. 

Take a look. In the Seven Days campaign, for instance, McClellen acted boldly at the outset, sailing an entire Federal Army south of Lee to advance directly on the capital city of Richmond (taking Lee quite by surprise, btw). And then he dithered, oppressed and cowering before a tiny force guarding the Peninsula under a less than notable General Magruder, and giving Lee ample time to bring his army south to guard the safety of Richmond. During the ensuing battles, McClellen again, insisting that he was facing an army 2-3 times the size of his own, when it was in fact significantly smaller than his own, panicked and cowered, took to the defensive, made no use at all of the siege guns for which the Confederates had no match, and ultimately, and rather clumsily, slunk back toward the sea. No great prowess was needed from the victor. Rather, the victory was given on a silver platter. Nonetheless, when the opportunity seemed at hand for the final crushing victory--which Lee, a truly devoted killer, sought in every battle--the result was  the unimaginative, even careless, mass frontal assault on an impregnable position at Malvern Hill (something Lee was to repeat later, especially at Gettysburg). 

A great general? Well, not so far. 

At Second Bull Run, much of the success must be rewarded to Stonewall Jackson, who, arriving far in advance of Lee, simply confused and bamboozled clueless General Pope--although, again, however, total annihilation of his foe escaped Lee. 

Fast forward to the return of McClellen and the Battle of Antietam. Here, Lee had invaded Maryland with a woefully inferior force and was quickly caught with his pants down by an again boldly advancing McClellen. Pinning Lee's small army between the cornfields and the Antietam River, McClellen straightaway decided to discard all advantage and attack Lee's position in piecemeal fashion, allowing Lee to shift forces to meet each ongoing threat in turn. In short, Lee could not have survived this battle without McClellen's assistance.

Fredericksburg hardly need be mentioned. This was simply slaughter of World War I proportion, with wave after wave of Federal troops thrown against prepared positions and massed artillery. No foxy general needed, just the order to shoot and keep shooting. 

Chancellorsville, often counted as Lee's great victory, again, as it seems to me, owes more to Stonewall Jackson's imaginative daring than to any grand strategy conducted by Lee. And of course we should not forget the sudden curious paralysis of "Fighting Joe Hooker", who had slyly maneuvered his army around the left flank of Lee's, and then found himself utterly without any idea of what to do next. It was Jackson who conceived and conducted the crippling assault on the hanging right flank of the Federal Army. 

And then there is Gettysburg. And we all know that story, of a battle bumbled into, an accidental affair, not a showcase of grandly prosecuted strategy, nor of tactical merit when it came down to the brass tacks of the fight. Would a great general bluntly assault prepared positions on the right and on the left of the field and then, failing to succeed in that, order an assault on an impregnable position in the center? Sorry, but I can't see the military genius here. 

If anything can be said of Lee, it is that he was greatly admired, almost worshipped by his soldiers, who would have gone to hell and back on his order. As Wellington once said of Napoleon, his presence on the field was worth 20,000 men. This was Lee's strength, and part in the ferocity behind the Confederate soldier's efforts. Because the Union army, or rather its generals, had lost so many battles, it was said therefore that Lee had won them. It was largely an accidental reputation, and not one that Lee could sustain with the eventual appearance of competent opponents such as Grant and Sheridan in the lead of able corps commanders. Lee inspired in his soldiers an almost maniacal will to fight and die to the bitter end. It was an inspiration that was not present in the western armies of the Confederacy, and that, in fact, was where the war was truly lost, by commanders equally as average as Lee.  

Saturday, April 27, 2019

No Good News

I've been absent for the last few days mostly because of the return of the throat plague, and there's really nothing more that would  be interesting to say about the throat plague, especially when there seems no solution in sight. So, in short, I haven't been doing much except lying down having the throat plague. I have no plan for a next step. The doctor at Kasih Ibu wants to do a CT scan of the head, but that doesn't really sound promising to me. Sounds like something that could lead to endless explorations and doctor bills. So I've decided to heal myself instead by swimming and then baking out the disease in the pool chair under the wearing tropical sun. So far the results have been a combination of general wetness and hotness which have made no impression on the throat plague. 

Louis continues to want me to move, as if changing my location alone will bring about a miraculous cure. In fact, she is looking at a place this morning nearby where I'm at now. But it doesn't have a pool, so I could not pursue my ineffective throat cure there. On Wednesday, she took me to see an absolutely horrible little place in Denpasar--so depressing, really, that it defies description. 

Other than that, my activities have been limited just to a couple of exhausting trips to the grocery store in order to keep something to eat in the refrigerator. And sleeping. 

In a letter my son left behind, he spoke of just wanting to be well, of just longing for the daily horror of being constantly ill to end. 

I know just  how he felt.