Merry Christmas 2016

Merry Christmas 2016

Once again a year has slipped by in the blink of an eye. There have been sad times, glad times, peaceful days and tough days, golden days in the great outdoors and warm days with family and friends, on the go or at home. And here we are, still upright and looking towards 2017!!

Elaine:

I got tired just trying to remember all the travel this year.  I will tell you about some and Bruce will relate other journeys.

We went to Kauai twice this year…how lucky is that? The first trip was for two weeks with our pal Gail in January.  While there, we also met up with Michel and JoAn Maurer and two different cohorts of theirs for hiking; and eating, of course.  Our second trip in November was primarily to attend a writer’s conference on Kauai, but we did sneak in an extra 11 days to venture to Molokai (again with Gail). Our first visit to this sparsely populated, laid-back, down-home island was an insight into what Hawaii must have been like fifty years ago before the influx of tourists, plastic grass skirts and Roberts of Hawaii busses lined up at every lookout.  Not much to do on Molokai other than to appreciate the warm air, spectacular vistas and seascapes, lounge by the pool and in the hot tub and…you got it…to eat!! We did meet an “elder” who is the keeper of the history of the Halawa valley and ancient Hawaiian culture. Bruce walked up to the waterfall through the valley…while Gail and I nursed our ancient hip (mine) and back (hers).

After the first trip to Kauai in January, we headed off for our annual two-month sojourn in Hoi An, Vietnam. This year the highlight was having two special young women join us. Bruce’s granddaughter Keryn came to do some work in nutrition with both Reaching Out and Children’s Education Foundation. Ann Wittmeyer, the daughter of a Vietnam veteran came to walk in her Dad’s footsteps. Bruce was happy to guide her to Nha Trang where her Dad had served.  Ann also joined us in our humanitarian work, lugging huge suitcases full of gifts from her colleagues in Buffalo, New York.  With Ann, we visited the Hoi An Home for the Aged and the Kianh Foundation for disabled children. Ann was also very generous with gifts of cash to local children of disability in An Bang.

May found us in Whitehorse, YT, where Gail and friends had arranged a whole week of book events for us; a CBC radio interview, an evening at the library, a book club presentation and two dinner parties. “Whitehorsers” are a warm and welcoming bunch and the surrounding area is beautiful.

Sesame, our 12-year-old Vietnamese “grandson” arrived for the summer in late June. It was such fun. We explored every beach on the island, had adventures to the IMAX theatre in Victoria, the Shaw Ocean Center etc.  Sesame also signed up for sailing lessons at the club, two weeks of sailing, in colder conditions than he is used to. He was such a good sport and seemed to really get the hang of it. Bruce was also able to rekindle his old love of model trains. They set up a layout in the garage and spent many happy hours there together.  At the end of July, Sesame’s mother Quyen and his little brother Gao arrived. Full house and more adventures! We did everything “Salt Spring” and also ventured off-island to the forestry museum and to Duncan to have a bowl of pho. The boys loved all of the cars and going through the car wash!!! It was delicious having them here and watching them absorb Canadian culture.

I will now cede the computer to Bruce for his “two cents.” Happy Christmas to you all.

Love, Elaine

Bruce:

2016 was a mixed bag for me. On the positive side were the travels and adventures Elaine described above. Add to that a trip to old Savannah, Georgia in April to attend a reunion of the survivors of Company A, 4^th Battalion 23d Infantry – my fellow Vietnam veterans. Our numbers are thinning but each annual gathering is a time for renewal of the bond that lasts a lifetime – the brotherhood of soldiers. This year was special because it marked the 50^th year since the battalion first deployed to Vietnam from Hawaii.

I almost burst my buttons with chest-swelling pride in April when the novel on which I had worked for two years, Finding Lien, was released by Black Rose Writing of San Antonio, Texas. Not a bad achievement to publish a work of fiction with a strong social message when one is in his 70’s. I wonder how many more I have in me. Actually, I’m working on a sequel now and, with luck, will see it in print in a couple of years.

A trip to California in June to see my kids and grandkids was also a highlight. Unfortunately, I arrived at a time when my youngest daughter Vicki was in the ICU at Natividad Medical Center in Salinas. It was the last time I saw her alive.

So, on the negative side of the ledger for me were several sad events. The most profoundly crushing occasion of my recent years was the loss of my daughter to the unholy trinity of mental illness, homelessness and substance addiction. She died of acute liver failure on the day after my 74^th birthday. Elaine and I made another trip to California in September to conduct a family gathering in memory of Vicki. That was a bittersweet moment, filled with remembrances, warmth and embraces from our family.

Another cheerless day was in June when I signed papers transferring the ownership of my beloved sailboat, Mahalo Nui, to a new owner. Regrettably, it was time. I found I was only using the boat about ten days a year for the past two years and just couldn’t justify the expenses of moorage, maintenance and insurance. The new owner has, however, promised me the use of the boat whenever I want.

The final heartbreaking episode of 2016 for me was the calamity that occurred on November 8^th.  As would any thoughtful person, I worry about how the US election is going to shape the pathway to the future, not only for America but for the planet and the global community. It is my hope that the American people, every one of whom knows by heart the covenant that ends with the phrase, “… with liberty and justice for all,” will use their voices to hold the new government to that standard. 

Best Wishes and Happy New Year to all.

Bruce

Saying Farewell to an Icon

Pat Conroy's writing has enriched the lives of thousands of readers. His sumptuous prose and captivating characters (many based on his own difficult family members) enthralled his audiences. He wrote elegantly of Beaufort, South Carolina where he grew up and where he chose to settle as an adult. The lush Lowcountry with winding waterways, abundant wildlife and rich Gullah culture were his inspiration.

Pat's writing has influenced our appreciation for Beaufort and the Lowcountry. We have explored the islands featured in many of his books and have grown to love the art, music and food of the Gullah people.

Pat Conroy died on March 8th of this year. We had always fantasized about bumping into him on the streets of Beaufort, about shaking his hand and having an opportunity to say "thank you" for the hours of delicious reading and an introduction to his Lowcountry; for the peek at the pain and delight of being a human living in the South.

So we made a pilgrimage to his grave today. We knew that he had asked to be buried in a small cemetery on St. Helena Island, alongside the Gullah people whom he had loved and who had loved him in return.

St. Helena Memorial Park, owned by the Brick AME Church, was a little hard to find, down a country road, unmarked and small among the moss covered live oaks.

The adornments on the neighbouring graves speak volumes about the people with whom Conroy wanted to rest through eternity. Fishermen, black sisters and brothers, a veteran of a war which he opposed and someone who loved elephants. He embraced them all!

Conroy's relationship with the military was complex. As readers, we know of the stormy relationship that he had with his father in "The Great Santini". We know about his years of conflict, revulsion, and objection to his  military training at the Citadel in "Lords of Discipline". Yet at his funeral, not only did cadets from the Citadel have a presence, but graduates showed their class rings as he had asked.The camaraderie from those college years endured.

As Bruce and I head towards Savannah and a reunion with the comrades with whom he fought in Vietnam (the war that Conroy opposed), we are contemplating the tumultuous times of our youth, the decisions we all made, the forces which shaped us. 

We are thankful for those who have challenged us to continue to question and yes, eventually moderate as we age. Pat Conroy was one of those.

Vietnam Makes Us Smile

On the main road coming into our village at An Bang Beach, there are two small bridges spanning the sleepy, quiet river tributaries. The first, near the Tra Que organic vegetable farms, is but a lane and a half wide, with a narrow walkway on either side. In the morning light, the images of fishing boats and bamboo fish enclosures, with small houses lining the shores, come alive.

One morning as we approached the bridge on our bicycles, we did so with great caution. A massive tour bus had parked right at the on-ramp, barely off the road. It had disgorged its passengers, who were dutifully lined up over the span of the bridge, backs to the road trying to capture that perfect photograph.  I could not help but giggle, as we pedaled by. I realized that they missed the best shot, on, not over, the bridge. A man came scooting by on his motorbike, arm slung to the rear, balancing a giant porcelain toilet. It tickles us still to see these feats of strength, agility, ingenuity and balance. If you want things moved in Hoi An, you do it by motorbike. Coffins, refrigerators, rebar, groceries, kids, tables, baskets, corrugated roofing, plastic Christmas trees, live kumquat trees, live pigs, dead ducks, vegetables, flowers, stereo speakers. Just when we think we have seen it all, a toilet whizzes by!

If you don’t have a motor bike, you get what you can onto a bicycle, including fishing poles, hoes and shovels, baskets of fruit and vegetables, fowl hanging from the handle bars or plastic piping sticking out both front and back. And if you don’t have a bicycle you use shoulder poles. Most often it is women carrying their burdens by shoulder pole. The load is often as much as fifty pounds. The gait, a rhythmic, bouncing trot, relieves the shoulders from the weight with every step. Our smiles are smiles of awe and admiration for these women, who like their mothers and grandmothers before them, head to market after rising at dawn to pick their produce, bundle their flowers, or make tau hu. Their labors begin before the sun rises and end as the sun goes down and the family dinner has been cooked and served. 

And then there are the moments, if we are open to them, so tranquil and beautiful, that they take our breath away. This morning, as we rode along through a small village into town, we did pause. A neighborhood shrine, which we have passed many times over the years, seemed to have had a facelift. We dismounted and much to our delight, the lotus pond had been cleaned up and blossoms, although out of season, stood amidst the pads. These sacred Buddhist symbols, lush and softly hued, were gentle reminders of the peace we all carry within. The temple too seemed to glow with renewed attention and care. Our smiles in these moments are blissful.

Sometimes the moment is simply being in a narrow lane in the midst of town, where a single old bicycle propped up against an ancient wall is the only thing that we see and for a few heartbeats we are alone and the cacophony of Old Town is suspended.

The best smiles are the ones we share when we have spied something quirky.

"We Born to Service You". The Vietnamese are indeed open, welcoming, helpful and unceasingly cheerful, but I am sure that they don't really mean this!!!

I Live Here

"Toi song o day", I stammered in my incomprehensible Vietnamese. (doy sum oh'o dye...sort of). "I live here," I proclaimed to the market vendor. After 28 days I had finally found some clothes pins but although the sticker thereon said they were 5,000 dong, she was asking for 10,000. 

I pointed to the sticker and repeated "toi song o day," inferring that I should get the local price. 

"No, no, 10,000", she repeated. I tapped on the price tag. Still she gestured, 10,000. I flipped the clothespins back into the display basket and wandered off to get my 4 eggs, one mango and two banh my (small French baguettes).

Then I realized, my god, I had been dickering over a difference of 25 cents on the price of the clothes pins. She wanted 50 cents for the dozen and I was offering a quarter. Sheepishly I went back to the basket of pins and picked up the package. The sticker had been removed. The vendor and her pal across the aisle burst out laughing and so did I. How sweet of them to help me "save face". Sometimes, my Western self, embarrasses me.

Yes, 28 days in An Bang village by the beach and we still have not got the "green light" from all of the parking lot attendants along the strip leading to the beach bistros. Bicycles are prohibited along the beach, so our enterprising neighbours have built parking sheds beside the road. With gusto, cyclists are urged to "park here please", "free parking, buy one water". Every day on our way to breakfast or to set up shop in our bistro office we try, "toi song o day". About five of the women now smile and say "Chao boui sang" or "Good Morning"...the men however still flag us frantically, and even blow whistles to intimidate us and impress us with their official capacity as self-appointed traffic wardens.

Most of the 28 days have been grey, cloudy and very cool. Walks along the beach have been few and on a few nights,  I have crept into bed with all my clothes on....my Canada clothes...fleece and long pants. Sitting on the patio in the evening has been a time to wrap up.

Our presence in this village allows us to be part of all that transpires in the community; funerals, blessings of the fishing fleet and children's concerts. One evening we ventured down to the corner where the local kindergarten was having a celebration in the village square. All day, workmen laboured installing a temporary stage and huge sound system. When we arrived the music was already thunderous and the little mites from the nursery school were being ushered onto the stage. Decked out in their best interpretation of rock stars they hovered stage left until it was their turn to take stage centre. The girls seemed to have all the moves figured out, pushing the boys around. 

It was cute but also disconcerting. As the music pounded, these tiny people wiggled and gyrated, the girls coy, the boys "cool" and we wondered about the messages that they were being given. Teasing, taunting, flirtatious...at four years old!

We choose more sedate celebrations with the family. Sunday brunch at a hotel which serves a wide array of Western and Asian dishes. We wander through the line and pick as many delicacies as we want, eating too much, but enjoying a peaceful time together. Here we are last Sunday with Bruce's granddaughter Keryn.

Surely the best indicators that we live here are our bike rides on the lanes of our village with the grandsons Gao and Sesame.

"Trung Toi Song Oday"  We live here.

Well Hello

This morning I emerged from the shower into the one main room of our little house to dry off and dress. There, standing right on our deck, was a strange man. "Oops," I yelped. "Could you see what that man wants please, Bruce?" His head was down at the computer keyboard, so busily writing away at his new novel that he had not noticed our visitor.

"Xin chao," greeted Bruce. "Hello, hello".

"Xin chao," said the man, helping himself to a chair, puffing away on a cigarette. He seemed very unperturbed that there was a very nervous, fat, white woman in a black brassiere and little else scurrying for cover five feet away.

As I quickly dressed our unexpected visitor sat nonchalantly smoking while gazing out at our garden.

By the time that I was decent enough to go out to investigate Mr. Somebody had wandered back through a break in the hedge to the house next door. He must have assumed that the whole neighbourhood was invited to the ancestor worship that was going on or perhaps our chairs simply looked more comfortable.

The patriarch of the family next door died one year ago and, following tradition, there will celebrations and worship for his soul for another year. His widow is an amazing 98 years old and because her son is our landlord, she comes over every morning to tend our lawn. I am in awe of her agility and a little ashamed that I am often scanning the Net whilst she labours.

The other day walking through the lane beside the Reaching Out Tea House on our way to the craft shop I heard a little voice, "Hello, Hello".  Looking down, I saw the sweetest small boy waving vigorously. I waved and returned his "hello", took his hand and off we strolled. No shyness, no worries. My fantasy of taking home a Vietnamese child was taking shape! Out came Bruce's camera but the boy's father appeared out of nowhere, also with a camera in hand.

"Hello, hello, you want tau hu?" You bet we did! This delicious tofu and ginger treat is peddled on the streets and at the beach. The vendor carries all of her supplies, the fresh tofu, the sugary sauce and the ginger, the bowls and spoons for serving, in baskets on her shoulder poles. She serves the tau hu and then waits discreetly nearby while we slurp it down.

Hiep, her husband and daughter Su My stood on our doorstep. "Hello, Hello. We come to invite you to our house. I will cook cau lau. You come at 7 am for breakfast...7 am western time....that mean on time...Vietnamese 7 am is mebbe 8 o'clock."

Cao Lau (cow and low as in "cow") is a Hoi An specialty. The noodles are thick and the broth is made with water from wells known for their purity.

We knew that this was an honour and off we went the next morning....arriving "just a little bit late". While Su My still slept under a netting at my elbow, we were served the soup in the traditional way. As both Bruce and I rolled over and groaned to a standing position, Hiep said, "Sorry, I know that it is hard for you to sit like Vietnamese, but I wanted you to do it...part of being Vietnamese and enjoying our meals."

The grimace on Bruce's face shows how much he loved sitting on the floor!!!

"Hello, Ong, Ba you there? Are you ready for your Vietnamese lesson?" Grandson Sesame hollers over the fence after school each day to see if we are up for the challenge of improving our Vietnamese vocabulary. Sesame is a patient and encouraging teacher and is able to help us get our tongues around the difficult sounds.

So many "Hello's". Even toddlers who are speaking their first words offer a "heh yo" as we ride by on our bicycles through the village. A welcoming and warm people these Vietnamese.