Errrors! Why are you asking me? a fine whine; great friend

I know my blog often contains misspellings and grammatical errors, but I try to re-read to check for such mistakes. I had my former president's name misspelled with double "r" in Barack in my last blog; once I said a beer was a "Belgium beer" instead of Belgian beer; and I always leave out words, usually articles and prepositions: "May he rest peace." Someone once commented that I needed a proofreader. Hell, I just like having readers, whether they proof or not. Why do I mention this? Well, the Barrack [sic] error made me sick. Obama is the president I most admire and respect, and in in my opinion he's by far the best president in my lifetime. Yes, even better than Dernold Tramp ... uh,  Donald Trump. So I apologize to the greatest president of my generation for the second 'r' and I apologize to my readers for the many mistakes in this blog. I guess it's extra embarrassing for me because I worked in the newspaper industry as a writer and editor for more than 30 years. The mistakes I always made and make are no doubt why I was "let go" from my last newspaper. But hey, I'm a 64-year-old man with the mind of a 93-year-old. I've got wretched eyesight -- always had and always will. On the bright side, people tell me I don't look a day over 65.

* * *

My daughter Joanna loves the book "I Want My Hat Back" by Jon Klassen. In the book, a rabbit steals a bear's red, pointy hat. The bear asks other animals, including the rabbit who's wearing the hat, "Have you seen my hat?" The rabbit responds: "Why are you asking me?"  The bear also uses this line at the end of the story. Well, my daughter seems to have an excellent memory. Joanna cried when I tried to give her vegetables at dinner, so I pointed to a poster on our kitchen wall showing a boy eating vegetables, and asked her if she thought the boy cried when he ate his vegetables. Her response: "Why are you asking me?"  I guess I'm raising a flippant, clever daughter -- and I love it because she's always quoting lines from the books I read to her. However, Joanna's love of sweets is unparalleled and she'll rant "I want candy." Phuong's sister-in-law has a small store in her in-laws' living room, and of course the store has lots and lots of candy. This fact isn't lost on Joanna, who always wants to "visit" her grandparents and cousins and candy. Phuong had her two permanent front teeth and two molars pulled out because of a candy addiction. I'm a jerk with Joanna about things like her candy obsession and her constantly chewing on pieces of plastic  -- I get more upset than I probably should. Sorry, that's in my DNA.

* * *

-- The whine of the White Monkey, like a  Pinot Blanc from Alto Adige, Italy, improves with age. First, I'll whine about people burning trash every day. It continues to fire me up, so to speak. I wake up at 6 a.m. daily to the smell of burning paper, cardboard and plastic. I'm told I'm negative and say horrible things about people. Maybe I'll stop when people stop being idiots and doing stupid things, like squatting in front of a fire and feeding it plastic bags, construction material and paper. The trash trucks come every other day.

-- Secondly, I was with Joanna buying three Snickers bars, one loaf of bread and lettuce at the little VinMart store on Vo Thi Sau street  during our walk. The clerk rings up the candy bars and is about to ring up the other stuff when two Vietnamese women come up behind me with a ton of groceries -- more than I'd ever get in this store. So the clerk cancels my order, and starts ringing up the women's groceries instead of mine. I explained to the clerk that I was in line ahead of the women and that what he did was racist at worst, stupid at best. I pushed my candy bars, bread and lettuce toward the clerk and said I'll never return to the VinMart on Vo Thi Sau near Hancook restaurant. The staff apologized and then laughed at me as I left the store holding Joanna.

-- Finally, people here don't get the concept of a line or personal space. I'm at the checkout at Mega Market supermarket and the clerk is about halfway through our huge load of groceries. The guy behind us wasn't buying much, so after he put his items on the conveyor belt, he came and stood in front of me at the counter where my groceries were piling up. You pack your own groceries at Mega Market, but I couldn't pack them because the guy was standing right where I needed to be. I said "excuse me" politely and the guy turned his head away from me. Honest to God, I had to hip-check this idiot to get to my groceries. Incredibly, a woman with a small order behind the idiot moved up to stand next to the idiot. I'm banging hips with the idiot and rubbing asses with the woman just to pack my own groceries. The clerk made a half-assed effort to ask the idiot and ass-lady to move, and even another woman in line rolled her eyes at the boorish behavior of Thing One and Thing Two. After packing, I heartily shook the hands of the idiot and ass-lady, thanking them profusely for their patience. They laughed.

Cheers to a fine whine.

* * *

My great friend Andy is coming to visit us in Bien Hoa in a couple of weeks. I've got some really special activities planned for him -- shopping at the VinMart on Vo Thi Sau, where I'll never return, going to Mega Market to pack groceries, and waking up early to smell the fresh air. Actually, there are a lot of wonderful people here I want Andy to meet; there's excellent food to sample; and we'll visit some nice local sites as well as museums in Ho Chi Minh City. And most of all, I want people to meet and interact with Andy. He's one of the brightest and most considerate individuals I'll ever know. It's important to me that people in Vietnam realize that all Americans aren't as sour as the White Monkey. 

Holiday message; Joanna yelled at; games; 2 left feet

My Christmas message this year is a simple one: Have patience. My wife is the embodiment of this virtue, and it's changed my life and my life view. I thought of my dad, who like all of us, had his faults and then some. But even my dad changed his view of people of color when he was 94 years old -- primarily because of Barack Obama. Had he lived beyond 98 years old, he would have supported Hillary Clinton as well, even though he was also a misogynist in his day. I even saw my ridiculously stubborn and self-destructive brother, who died 20 months ago, soften his stance toward friends, family and food as he was dying. We may inherit some unsavory traits, but we have the ability to change our views and perspectives, especially as we get older ... or wiser. So, don't be too quick to judge. Try to have patience with people and life.
Happy holidays everyone from me, Phuong and Joanna!

* * *

Joanna and I go to the park about five times a week. We've been doing this for many months ... maybe even for a couple of years. Last week, the park security guard, who sits and watches YouTube videos, took offense to Joanna sitting on the little hedges in the park, which she's been doing for months. The guard yelled at her to stop and he was doing that asinine hand-waving the Vietnamese use for countless purposes as he rushed toward her. Joanna was stunned and scared. She burst into tears, and didn't stop crying until we left the park. Before we left, I tried to ask the guard (through words and gestures) why he yelled at toddlers but didn't pick up the litter in the park, or stop people from littering and riding their motorbikes in the park, or stop people from letting their dogs run loose and crap on the grass and sidewalks (signs prohibit motorbikes and littering). The guard smiled, then laughed and waved his hands at me. This same guard told my wife that he tried stop a guy from driving his car into the park and parking it. The driver became belligerent, according to the guard, who backed off and let the driver have his way. The guard said he didn't want a confrontation. My theory is that it's easier to bully a 29-month-old girl than control some guy in a car who probably makes a living intimidating people. I let the guard know I was pissed because he scared the daylights out of my daughter for doing something that she's been doing for months in full view of this guard and others. If it damaged the hedges and really bothered him, normal behavior would have the guard ask the parents to prevent their daughter from sitting on hedges. A couple of weeks ago, a guard yelled at Joanna when she pulled on a plant leaf. His method was sheer ignorance, but at least I agreed with his message that Joanna shouldn't pull on plants. When you live overseas in areas that are a bit remote and aren't frequented by tourists, you run the risk of encountering more situations like this. By the way, I've started picking up litter in the park since there isn't as much as before. I do this to set an example for my daughter, and all the other "children" out there who feel compelled to throw trash in the park and streets.

* * *

At the coffee shop where I read I see lots of folks staring hard into their laptops and iPhones. I always assumed they were texting, but when I started snooping I saw that they were playing video games. Three adult men will cram into the same side of a booth and play games, making their own sound effects. Strange stuff, in the White Monkey's narrow cultural view. I saw a young woman -- not a girl -- playing a game on Saturday. She played 45 minutes straight; I know this because I read 45 pages of my book and she didn't move.

* * *

Tai chi is my nightly ritual, as I've mentioned ad nauseam in this blog, but the other night my workout was really strange. I've had a balky knee for a while, but that wasn't the problem. My feet felt odd, almost awkward. I did some warm-ups without major issues, but when I did the form something was clearly amiss with my feet. My workout area is fairly dark, so I went inside where there's a better light and saw that I put on two left shoes. I own two pairs of kung fu shoes and guess I got them mixed up. I dance like I've got two left feet, and now I do tai chi the same way.

Will you still need me? a little litter; barking dog

If I'd been out 'til quarter to three
Would you lock the door?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four?

My incredible wife Phuong tried to surprise me on my birthday, and did really well until I started snooping around the refrigerator, which I'm apt to do whenever I'm bored or hungry. And I'm usually bored and always hungry. As a result, I found a cappuccino birthday cake with my name and a "64" candle embedded in the icing. The cake was so big it was difficult to hide in the fridge. Besides, I knew something was up because Phuong didn't mention my birthday all day even though my super student Sam gave me a wonderful coffee/tea mug with her picture on it in the morning. The picture is actually a drawing of a rabbit, which is Sam's persona. She's a truly special friend. Anyway, Phuong cooked a wonderful chicken dinner, my favorite food in Vietnam, and we had cake and yogurt. Our nephews Vinh and Hai came over for dinner and cake, and along with Joanna's usual shenanigans  -- she danced non-stop to a disco-style version of Happy Birthday on YouTube -- it was a very nice gathering. I joked that the numbers on my cake were transposed and should have shown my age as "46".  I thought back to my 46th birthday in Bakersfield, Calif., and I recall waking up intoxicated and covered in newspapers on a city bench next to Guthrie's Alley Cat at 4 a.m. -- not a particularly proud moment, but a moment nonetheless. Life is short, folks, and in all likelihood I'm not the only person in the history of mankind to get drunk on his or her birthday.
(Also, thank you Jack, Tom and John for the birthday wishes. Very nice and thoughtful!)

* * *

The park where Joanna and I go four to five times a week has remained fairly clean. The threat of taking people's money for littering works wonders. But some scumbags still leave beer bottles and coffee cups and plastic water bottles under trees or on the walkways. One clown threw a bag of trash in the tree that produces the Jamaican cherries Joanna and I eat every time we go to the park (see photo on the right). But other than a handful of littering imbeciles, the park is a pleasant locale in this otherwise hardscrabble (this adjective is for you, Lucy) city.

* * *

I got into an argument the other night with my neighbor about a barking dog across the street from our house. The dog's barking was loud and relentless and went on into the wee hours -- easily past 1 a.m. My wife and I had to sleep in our daughter's room away from the street. When the barking started again the next night -- the poor dog was chained outside -- I asked my shirtless neighbor who was walking around in the street what the hell was going on with the barking dog. The neighbor told me it was protecting our neighborhood. And get this: The neighbor told me it was a cultural issue that I didn't understand. Maybe dogs are better trained in your country, he said, but it's part of Vietnam's culture for dogs to bark like this. It's not a big deal, he added. I told him I don't need the dog's "protection" and that his country's "culture" is pathetic if it's acceptable for dogs to be chained outside, bark all night and disturb the neighbors, and it is a big deal to me because I teach a private student English in the morning. There was no barking the third night, so I suspect some other neighbors finally complained, or the dog's owner/owners got sick of the barking. I also told my neighbor that it's part of my culture to play loud rap at 3 a.m. while drinking Hennessy ... it's no big deal, right?

* * *

Some odds and ends since the last blog:
* Remarkably loud karaoke drove us off the police tennis courts last week. We told the guy in charge of the courts that either the karaoke stops or we stop coming. The karaoke stopped last week, but who knows what the future holds.
* I go to the same coffee shop each day, drink a cappuccino and read for an hour. I've been doing this for a couple of months. Last week, one of the shop's employees who's waited on me for the two months asked me if I liked to read. Folks here have wonderful hearts but sometimes they really struggle to interact and communicate with foreigners. Nervous, I guess
* I'm trying to pick up a few more private students to get more disposable income to buy more books. I'll experiment and see if Amazon will deliver books to our house in Vietnam.

Christmas spirit seems more genuine in Vietnam than U.S

There are a lot of Catholics in Bien Hoa, but Christmas remains a low-keyed affair here. Some coffee shops and big stores put up a tree, and a few smaller shops are decorated with lights and ornaments, but overall Christmas is something of a little deal. This attitude has helped me enjoy and appreciate Christmas more than I ever did in the United States. I felt the same way in  Peru. The Christmas spirit seemed more sincere in Peru, probably because almost all of the people are Catholic. But the holiday was never shoved in your face. It's not shoved in your face in Vietnam either. Granted, Vietnam is communist and Buddhist/Taoist/Confucian, but since there are quite a few Catholics in Bien Hoa -- along with the fact that nobody loves money more than the Vietnamese -- I'm surprised that the excessive commercialism of Christmas hasn't caught on here. Probably, the proximity of Tet reduces the impact of Christmas along with the influence of communism and dominance of non-Christian faiths. Regardless, I feel more of the "real Christmas spirit" here than I ever did in the U.S. To show my sincerity, I put up a tree (artificial, of course, because of environmental concerns) and decorated it with some ornaments and anything else that was available. Phuong bought very nice lights for the tree. I want to introduce Joanna to Christmas and she's already absorbed with the tree, ornaments, lights and crazy decorations (including an empty tube of toothpaste). I haven't broached the subject of Santa Claus, but Joanna says "Jesus on the cross" when she sees the crucifix above the tree and wreaths. She may be a little young (29 months) to understand the birth, life and death of Jesus Christ, or the history and origins of Santa Claus, but she understands that something is afoot and that it's colorful and bright ... and includes presents. Phuong converted to Catholicism when she was 20, but I'm not sure she understands the importance and relatively recent tradition of making a buck off of a Jewish baby born 2,018 years ago. Phuong and Joanna can learn that lesson first-hand if we ever get to the United States together.

* * *

Given the tenuous nature of our immigration efforts to enter the United States, we're weighing our  options. Since my daughter Joanna seems to be bright and has a gift for language, we want her to grow up in a country with a decent educational system. We're researching now, but some contenders are Italy, Spain, New Zealand, Ecuador, Uruguay. I'm insisting on first world or first-and-a-half world. I'm old and a lot of countries don't like old people ... or Jewish people, or Islamic people, or black people, or brown people, or poor people, or foreign people. My wife is Vietnamese and my daughter is an American citizen who looks American, but is half Vietnamese, of course. Her American appearance has made her something of a curiosity here (call it White Monkey syndrome), and neighborhood kids don't want to play with her. That wouldn't have anything to do with the parents, would it?  So, when my pensions and Social Security kick in (if Trump doesn't end social security), we're moving somewhere with better weather and better opportunities for Joanna. Italy heads the list because so many Italians have been reading my blog. We'll visit Italy for sure, and maybe live there if my country shuns me ... and my wife and daughter. I want to thank each and every one of my Italian readers, if I can find them. And I want to meet Fabio Fognini.

* * *

Fabio is a wonderful segue into my tennis battles with Phuong. My reduced schedule due to trash burning in Bien Hoa has backfired, so to speak.  I thought my game would be rejuvenated. Instead, Phuong has more energy and I'm sluggish. She's won four straight since we started playing on Saturday and Sunday only, and I've been playing fairly well. She's been relentless. I fired my imaginary coach and I may have to get in touch with Fabio for inspiration.

* * *

I've just finished the last Jack Vance book I brought to Vietnam. I've read 13 Vance sci-fi books since returning from the U.S. in late August. I bought a few more online and had them sent to an address in the U.S. Can't wait to read them.

Trump goes wild; life is backward; smoked out of tennis

Is Trump for real?  We get U.S. news in Vietnam by watching CNN, BBC, and France 24, and all three networks carried these stories this week: Trump disputes climate change report; Trump blames forest mismanagement for the California wildfires; Trump stands by Saudis regarding the murder of Jamal Khashoggi; Trump wants to restrict military service by transgender people; Trump threatens to close southern border with Mexico. Fake news? I don't think so. Fake president? Sadly, no. I'm not a political person even though I have a house in Yellow Springs. I don't usually get too riled up about politics unless something egregious takes place. Trump is egregious ... in his behavior, comments and policies. It's difficult to watch from afar, knowing the respect and reputation of the United States has diminished around the world.

* * *

I think our lives are backward. We should have children when we're old so we can use the maturity, experience and wisdom we've gained through the years to become more effective and understanding parents. I realize there are some practical issues with this philosophy. I was young and full of energy when I had children. I needed that youth and energy to keep up with my kids. But I didn't have the wisdom and maturity to raise them as well as they should have been raised. Some folks are ready to raise children when they're young. I wasn't one of them. and most of us aren't.  My ex-wife is an exception and was wise and committed beyond her years; she did so much more than her share. Hence, ex-wife. Also, I enjoyed a drink or six when I was younger. And the night was always young although the next morning was extremely old. I mention all this because I had a child with my second wife at age 61.  (No, I was 61 and my wife was 38.) My energy level is nothing like it was at age 29, but my wisdom and maturity have grown to the point where my patience and parenting skills have clearly improved. My daughter Joanna seems to appreciate her focused dad. We finish every day with a dance to "Green Rocky Road" by an obscure band called Creation (with Felix Pappalardi), and then Joanna is off to bed repeating "daddy do tai chi, daddy do tai chi." I've encouraged reading and it has paid off. Joanna is 28 months old and can say the alphabet with ease, count to 30 with ease, recognize countless animals, and identify her shapes and colors. And the first thing she does when she wakes up in the morning or from her nap is open her books and pretend to read, using the pictures as cues. I'm not trying to brag on her because that's boring and self-serving, but I want to stress that an older dad can teach his child to learn more (and often better) than a younger dad because old farts like me have been through so much. I know grandparents can provide these lessons, but a dad's influence on his child is unparalleled because he should be there most of the time, and after all, he's dad. Many circumstances are different for me now than 30 years ago. My job isn't the center of my universe like it was in my 20s, 30s and 40s. These days, I try to be an excellent teacher, but clearly there's a more sensible balance between work and family. I'll also say that having a baby in my 60's has forced me to focus on fitness and clean living. I used to smoke cigarettes but I wouldn't touch one now. I was a heavy drinker, but now I'm Mr. Moderation. My diet is also slightly more conservative. I still love spicy food, but I take it relatively easy on the grease and fats. My wife has been a blessing through this entire process, and she's also been a catalyst. Phuong encourages my tai chi practice, and my nightly ritual of tai chi lasts well over an hour.
Unlike self-actualized people, I have regrets and wish I had done things differently in the past, mainly because my actions affected others. But I plod along these days and do the best that I can. There's no Benjamin Button in real life (The Curious Case of Benjamin Button is a movie starring Brad Pitt in which the main character ages in reverse). We don't start old and wise, and get younger. We're more like Benjamin Buttheads, starting out young and stupid but thinking we know it all, and then getting old, decrepit and regretful.

* * *

Daily trash burning at Dong Nai Square has curtailed my tennis schedule. Like Roger Federer, I'm cutting back. Phuong and I only play twice a week now at the police court after we had to put up with trash fires on three consecutive trips to Dong Nai Square. Locals don't care, but I won't exercise where there's burning plastic, paper, leaves and Styrofoam. No doubt this will affect my ranking, but I felt compelled to take a stand somewhere.

Park gets cleaned up; more tennis disruptions; adapting

I have good news to report about the park where I take Joanna five times a week. The litter has almost disappeared after police posted a sign threatening to fine people who throw their trash in the park. A rancid smell still emanates from the open sewer and river overflow canal that runs along the park, but there is very little litter in the park itself. It looks good. The White Monkey has always tried to do his part, picking up and discarding litter in the one and only trash can that's located near the security hut. If I'm too far away from the trash can, I'll put the litter I collect in trash piles near the street. Hopefully, these piles are picked up by the sanitation crews, which come by frequently. The streets near the park are still trashy as hell, and I've got the pictures to prove it. In fact, I've posted some here and on Facebook. But the park's condition has dramatically improved. A clean park is crucial because Joanna takes off her shoes the moment I look away. It's a struggle to keep shoes on Joanna, who's very determined and has a strong personality. On some issues she'll acquiesce, but when Joanna makes up her mind, she'll go to war with you. Some adults point in horror at her bare feet, and then try to tweak her cheek with their filthy hands. I don't let strangers get too close to Joanna here, especially after some creepy creep tried to kiss her and pick her up. Joanna doesn't like to be handled by strangers anyway. Who does? She'll let my friend/student Sam pick her up, but other than Sam it's pretty much family only.

* * *

Tennis remains a challenging activity here. We play at two different locations -- the courts next to Dong Nai Square and a court at the police station. At Dong Nai Square, trash is regularly burned next to where we play. At the police station,  high-powered saws are occasionally used next to our court to cut sheets of metal. We switched to another court at Dong Nai so the smoke is somewhat less intrusive. At the police station, we play later in the day and under the lights after the chain gang has gone home. That means we eat dinner late and extend Joanna's bed time. It's a little bit of a hassle, but life goes on. Phuong, having lived her entire life in Bien Hoa, rolls with the disruptions, danger and dirtiness. The crazy driving (she's had three accidents since I've knowm her), the line cutting, and the littering are no big deal to my wife. It's what she's used to. The White Monkey admittedly still can't accept this stuff. I've adapted to some degree but I make too big of a display in public about how my daughter throws her trash in a trash can -- and she's only 28 months old. I have no solution to line cutting yet. Going everywhere with my wife and Joanna seems to slow down the line-cutters, but some people just don't care. Ultimately, I try to minimize my shopping.

* * *

My life and mood have improved significantly here since I put myself under limited house arrest. No more motorbike riding is wonderful. Sometimes, student/friend Sam will give me a ride to a coffee shop near our house, but otherwise I travel by taxi and walking.  I enjoy riding a motorbike, but not where people ignore all rules of the road (and sidewalk) and think nothing of hitting and running. The coffee shops I go to for sweets and reading are very close to the house. I've read 10 Jack Vance books since August, and I'm in the process of reading the last three I have in Vietnam. I ordered three more online and I'll pick those up and buy a few more when I return to the U.S. next year for eye care.

* * *

I cracked the screen cover on my cell phone three times in the past three weeks, one time ruining the screen and disabling my cell phone. Phuong, who's the most patient person I know -- and not just because she's married to me -- got the phone fixed three times, buying a thick, protective case the third time. When I'm not with my wife and daughter, I have to have music in my ear and a book in my hand.

Sweet treats; more signs of aging; we're losing good folk

A local shop that specializes in imported fruits and sweets has been especially sweet to our daughter Joanna. The owner of the shop, which is named Cat Tuong -- the name of the owner's daughter -- provides some kind of treat for Joanna nearly every time we visit. I go there primarily to buy oatmeal, oranges and raisins. Joanna enjoys the fruit. In fact, she enjoys anything that has sugar in it, and she can say candy in several languages. The folks at Cat Tuong might slip her some raisins, or a cookie, or a tangerine. The store is pricey, but most stores here that provide fruits like navel oranges, blueberries and strawberries are all pricey. Cat Tuong sells Russian chocolates with liquor inside, but they're mediocre and stupid expensive. The airport sells quality chocolate with decent liquor inside, but you need an airline ticket to buy the chocolates. I'll buy some once or twice a year. Anyway, Joanna and I visit Cat Tuong once a week on our walk. The store is close to a coffee shop we also visit. Here, Joanna eats a packet of sugar and a piece of coffee cheesecake, which is awesome. Maybe it's the heat, but Phuong, Joanna and I love our sugar. I never used to have a sweet tooth, but now Phuong and I have chocolate and half a beer every night. I crave chocolate more than ever.

* * * 

Sometimes, I actually forget how old I'm getting. Thank God I have encroaching baldness to remind me I'm heading toward the final frontier. I was looking at some recent family photos and saw that my hairline is no longer receding; it's in full retreat and preparing to surrender. I guess there's technology that combats baldness, but I'm a natural guy. Maybe I'll do an ear hair comb-over. Or let my eyebrows grow out. Don't mind me; I'm just brainstorming in print. Not acting my age almost cost me twice in tennis on Saturday. I was unable to apply the brakes in time and ran into a wall while chasing a ball that I couldn't catch up to. Another time, Phuong hit behind me and I "tweaked" my ankle while trying to stop on a dime, provide nine cents change, and make the return. I completely missed the ball on my return attempt and my ankle buckled, but I kept playing. I compete like I'm young but perform like I'm old. 

* * *

I don't understand the teenagers here who yell "f@ck you!" at me and Joanna when we take a walk. They'll ride by on bicycles or motorbikes, and scream profanities at a balding, soon-to-be 64-year-old man pushing a stroller carrying a 28-month-old toddler -- that would be me and Joanna. If I'm walking alone, I don't care so much. Besides, I always have headphones on so I don't really have to hear people sarcastically scream "what's your name, where you from?" when I walk anywhere. Some people get agitated when I don't answer and they'll scream the questions over and over, occasionally  getting in my face. I've been semi-threatened on several occasions here and had stuff thrown at me, but no one has ever laid a hand on me. Well, people have rubbed my stomach and silly stuff like that, but they've never aggressively pawed me; and I've lived here nearly six years. I guess the "f@ck you!" and "what's your name?" goofballs are just showing off. But showing off for whom? Me? Joanna? What a bunch of chuckleheads.

***

Another disarming aspect of aging is that I see Facebook posts about people I know -- and like -- passing away. A woman I worked with in Bakersfield, Mimi McAndrew, recently passed away. She was one of the nicest people I had the pleasure to work with in my 30 years in journalism. She was kind, caring, and one hell of a journalist. We recently reconnected on Facebook and she always commented on my family and how we look so happy.  I'll miss you, Mimi.  My high school wrestling practice partner and semi-assistant coach, Rick Widdoes, also passed away recently. Widdoes was a college wrestler and he would come to my high school wrestling practice to give me a workout and beat the hell out of me. I was our team's heavyweight and there was no one even close to my size on the squad. Widdoes was a good-sized guy with incredibly strong hands. He toyed with me ... BUT ... one time he was showing off and did a lazy sit out, and I seized the opportunity and trapped Widdoes in a killer cradle, and put him on his back. My coach, Earl Helmbreck, who was also Widdoes' coach in high school, started taunting Widdoes. "Johnny Millman's got Ricky on his back. Come on, Ricky, break that cradle." Widdoes -- who was clearly pissed I put him on his back and was even more pissed Helmbreck pointed it out to everyone -- couldn't break that cradle. When the whistle blew, Widdoes complimented my cradle, and then nearly broke my neck when we resumed wrestling, putting me on my back and pinning me. Widdoes was actually more known for his baseball prowess, but I knew him best as an ornery wrestler.

Illness, mountains of laundry and lots of reading

Phuong and I are great believers in recycling, so we have passed the same illnesses around in our household for the last month. We've run the gamut from head to toe -- headaches, sinus infections, runny noses, sore throats, chest congestion, stomach pain, bowel issues, as well as sore knees, ankles and arches. Phuong even had some sort of eye infection. I'm not entirely shocked at our health issues since it's 94 degrees and horribly humid every day, with monsoon rain most afternoons. Also, people dispose of trash here by burning it, so there's the lovely scent of melting plastic and burning tires wafting through the city air about three times a week. And don't forget cigarette smoke. People -- almost exclusively men -- light up everywhere here, including hospital waiting rooms. Somehow, Joanna has avoided almost all of the health issues under these daunting circumstances. She had a runny nose for a couple of days, but that's pretty much it. She reminds me of one of my other daughters, who at age 5 shook off the mumps in an afternoon, and gets sick about once every three years. Despite our persistent health issues, Phuong and I continue to play tennis, hoping to sweat out the viruses and infections that have set up camp in our bodies. We sweat like crazy, but remain a little sick. It'll take time.
I don't go out much or ride the bike anymore so I'm under a self-imposed house arrest in a manner of speaking. I've read eight Jack Vance books since I came back from the U.S. in late August, and I'm already fretting about what I'm going to do when I finish the remaining five Vance books I have. Reading has become a passion for me lately. So has laundry. I do more than an hour of laundry and tai chi every night. The laundry is a little overwhelming because Joanna is struggling with potty training, I take a minimum of three showers daily, and Phuong contributes her fair share to our bulging laundry basket. There are no dryers here, and it takes clothes a long time to dry when they're hung up outside because of the humidity. Laundry is actually more than a passion; it's a lifestyle.
Joanna is approaching 28 months old and she is such a joy for Phuong and I. Joanna speaks both English and Vietnamese, but she clearly prefers English and her vocabulary is remarkably extensive, in my opinion. She knows all the letters, numbers, and she displays a mischievous sense of humor. She loves the books I've gotten her, and one of her favorites is "I Am Bunny." In the book, the bunny says "my name is Nicholas and I live in a hollow tree." When we ask Joanna her name, she gives us  an elfish grin and says "My name is Nicholas." I pretend to be frustrated, pound the table or bed and say "You're not Nicholas, you're Joanna." Of course she repeats "My name is Nicholas" over and over to get me riled.
Phuong's mother got word that I liked bun bo Hue, and now we're getting shipments every other day. Phuong's mom did the same thing with spring rolls. Love Phuong's mom, but she doesn't understand the concept of 'too much of a good thing.'
Our interview at the U.S. embassy to move our family to the U.S. likely won't happen until March or April. If we get one. If Phuong is denied an interview, which I guess is possible, then we'll apply for a waiver. If that fails, then it's off to Uruguay or Ecuador or someplace I'd be more comfortable having my daughter go to school. We're waiting before we get serious about relocating.
Illness and rain haven't helped our tennis, but I did manage to come from ahead 5-2 on two occasions to lose to Phuong 5-7, 6-7 (5). In the second set, in addition to letting a 5-2 lead get away, I was winning 5-1 in the tiebreaker and fell apart to lose 5-7. Phuong courageously called my last shot "out!" when I was sure it painted the line. But I'm a notorious complainer, and it hasn't served me well yet.

From Kavanaugh to death music to my girl cursing

Even my wife's family followed the train wreck that was Donald Trump's nomination of Brett Kavanaugh to the U.S. Supreme Court. Phuong and her family didn't understand all the finer points of the situation, but they got the gist.  They relied on me to fill in the blanks. I tried to be unbiased, but really ... First, I'm a registered Democrat. Second, I can't get my Vietnamese wife a visa to enter the U.S. Finally, we're talking about Kavanaugh, a man who was accused of sexual assault and had the support of a Republican Senate and president who has discussed "grabbing (women) by the p*****",  adding that "when you're a star, they let you do it." The Vietnamese I've spoken to say they liked President Barack Obama. They don't really give me an opinion on Trump. You can guess my opinion. I saw Trump speak at the Bakersfield Business Conference in the 1990s, and I was more impressed with Phyllis Diller's speech. Really. I want to return to the U.S. with my wife and little girl, but I don't want to come back to a divided country that rejects foreigners. Unbelievable, isn't it, that a country made great by its immigrants is now trying to close the door? Hypocrites.

* * *

Everyone in our neighborhood is sick, which would normally make me smile, except I'm also one of the people who's sick. Here's what happened. Two neighbors on our street died last week. No, we didn't catch what they had. But all of us had to endure six days of loud, fingernail-on-chalkboard singing and music starting at 6:30 a.m. and finishing at 3 a.m. Death seems to be a more significant event than life is here, hence the massive death ceremonies. People "celebrate" the anniversaries of death with similar singing and music ... and gusto. The problem last week was that the music and singing really kicked into high gear around midnight and continued easily until 3 a.m. Professional mourners were hired to keep the music and wailing going until the wee-wee hours. Phuong and I went to Joanna's room, where it was only slightly quieter. Joanna tossed and turned, and Phuong and I didn't sleep well and got pissy with each other every day during the death concerts. Even with sickness, life improved the day the music died. I live with headphones on here so I can sleep and not hear death music and people asking me what my name is and where I'm from.

* * *

Joanna has become a talking machine, which makes me so happy since she's only 27 months old. One of my sons was a very late talker, not saying much until he was close to 3 and a half. "Everything was fine until then," he says now. Anyway, I have to be especially careful around Joanna, who listens when you don't think she's listening, and repeats what you have once said when you least expect it. She dropped a "What the f@#k?" on me when one of her toys fell apart while she was playing. And she copied my "bulls#&t" to describe a fish tank with live, exposed wires next to our tennis court. I didn't react either time and there hasn't been a repeat performance, thank God. Joanna copies some of the noises I make during tai chi five animals play exercises -- she does the "hi, hi, hi-yaa" sound of the "bear" very, very well. Love that little girl.

* * *

The tennis workouts and matches with Phuong are fantastic. Every match is close and the rallies are long and hotly contested. The heat is rough, but we persevere and enjoy ourselves. Joanna plays with Lego's or her cousin on the sidelines and is very well-behaved. The No. 1 ranking is up in the air because we've split the last six matches. Also, I want to publicly thank my ex-wife Lynda for getting my new glasses to Phuong's aunt in Chicago, who brought them to Bien Hoa this week. My life is finally coming into focus.

Where's my baby? trashy women; illness diet; be nice

Joanna and the stroller are a safety net for me in Bien Hoa. Don't get me wrong; cars and motorbikes don't slow down for us when we cross a street, and we were nearly hit the other day by a girl ripping around a corner on her bike, motocross style. But people are clearly more receptive and friendly when they see me pushing a stroller that actually has a child inside. A group of men always sit in the park and drink coffee, and the other day they smiled and said hello as I walked by on my way to the market with Joanna. Joanna and I bumped into Phuong at the market, so Phuong took Joanna home on the motorbike -- yes, Phuong still rides sometimes. I pushed the stroller back home with no baby, and walked past the group of men. They looked for Joanna in the stroller. I pretended like I was shocked and asked: baby o dau? -- where's the baby? Just then, Phuong rode by with Joanna, and I pointed and said me (sounds like may-uh), which means mom. We all laughed. I guess you had to be there.

• • •

On two separate occasions while walking with Joanna, I saw two women approaching SUVs after spending quality time in a coffee shop or karaoke club. On both occasions, the women who were driving dropped a bunch of trash in the street -- surreptitiously -- just before getting into the car. You can't make this stuff up. Living here, I don't have to. I've said it before, and I'll say it again and again and again. Littering is a lifestyle here, and it's obnoxious. The Vietnamese I've talked to who are also offended by littering say it's going to take a few generations and more education to halt this practice. When I see a woman who's holding a small child give that child trash to throw in the street, then I think that a "few generations" may be optimistic.

• • •

I was quite ill for about 10 days with some sort of stomach virus.  The great thing about being sick with the stomach virus I had was that the pounds just melted off me. People who haven't seen me in a while tell me how good I look. I may feel like hell, but I sure look good. And really, that's what it's all about, isn't it? My private student Sam asked me if I gave birth to a boy or girl. Being thinner hasn't helped my tennis or tai chi, but I didn't get sick to improve either. In fact, my tennis got worse, if that's possible. I'm all better now and I'm sure as I put my weight back on my tennis will return to its marvelous mediocrity.

 • • •

I admire bold, frank assessments, except when they involve children. I do my best to avoid making comments about a child's weight or personal appearance. Twice in the past week, I've heard adults criticize children for being fat. And folks, these kids aren't fat, at least by the White Monkey's standards. Anyway, in one instance, a dad told me his year-old 11-daughter was too heavy while his daughter stood next to me. This dad is actually a good guy, and he didn't dwell on the subject, but his daughter was obviously upset by the comment. In the other instance, a woman who lives across the street from us told a neighbor's 12-year-old daughter that she needed to change her posture when she walked so she wouldn't look so fat. The woman who made this suggestion has an ass the size of a freight train, so I'd suggest she looks in the mirror before making any more suggestions related to weight.

• • •

Joanna continues to be an incredible source of joy in my rather mundane life. She's 26 months old now and her English vocabulary is really quite extensive. I guess it's her ability to recall things -- she can recite the alphabet, count higher than she'll let us know, and surprise us by pointing out "ROOSTER" and "BUTTERFLY'' on the walk. She says "BACK HOME" when we return home in a taxi from tennis. It goes on and on ... and I don't want to go on and on about her. But .... she speaks more Vietnamese these days as well, but never to her dad. I've read where toddlers and young children in families that speak two languages know who speaks what language and they respond accordingly. Amazing and truly wonderful. Enough said by me ... I'll let Joanna do the talking.

Sorry, folks; I ain't THAT John Millman; just ask Roger

Let's set the record straight. My name is John Millman and I play tennis, but I'm not THAT John Millman. I'm 63 years old and he's 29. I couldn't beat Roger Rabbit in tennis, let alone Roger Federer. Hell, I can't even beat my diminutive and beautiful wife, Phuong. I love tennis and I'm a fan of the 29-year-old John Millman of Australia because he's gritty, persistent, focused and incredibly devoted to his profession and conditioning. I'm sadly lacking those qualities -- personally and professionally -- and the results have been borne out in a mediocre life without any notable accomplishments, other than my five fantastic children. John Millman of Australia deserves the spotlight because he has persevered though serious injuries and countless Challenger Tour and less-prestigious tournaments in remote locations -- such as Ho Chi Minh City -- to reach the bright lights of the U.S. Open in New York. He seems like a real gentleman to me and I couldn't be happier for him. Actually, I shouldn't have the exact name as this other Millman. My last name should be spelled Milman -- with one l -- but the hospital misspelled my grandfather's name on his birth certificate, and it stuck. My great-grandfather Elijah Milman (note the one l) was something of a legend in Georgetown, Del., according to my dad, who was something of an exaggerator when it came to family. Anyway, Elijah supposedly could open a clam with his bare hands, and he had 11 children. He was a farmer, and didn't play tennis.
Me? I'm an English teacher and former journalist.  I can open a beer with one hand if I have a good opener and I have five children. I can only imagine the reaction of people around the world when they opened my blog looking for information on the Australian who defeated Federer and tested Novak Djokovic at the U.S. Open. Instead, they saw my puffy, wrinkled face, which is a far cry from the chiseled, good-looking Australian tennis professional they were expecting to see. Well, there's good news for me. My blog got more hits in one day -- from all over the world -- than it usually gets in a couple of weeks. Sorry, folks; the Internet can be a funny place -- not funny ha-ha, but funny as in peculiar.

* * *

I've been taking Joanna for long morning walks three to four times a week.  We have a structure to our walks more than a fixed route. We'll cruise around the park a couple of times as Joanna sits in her stroller. Then, I'll pick Trứng cá for Joanna, who leaves her stroller to join me and enjoy this delicious little berry, also known as a Jamaican cherry.  Joanna will eat as many as I pick. The fruit has countless health benefits, and we're the only ones eating them, so it's a good father-daughter activity. But, the Jamaican cherry tree grows next to an open sewer/canal at the park, so I don't stay as long as I would like. The tree is also next to a fairly busy street that has lots of fast-moving traffic, which results in lots of staring and a great deal of danger for my daughter. Cars, trucks and motorbikes in Bien Hoa don't slow down for little children any more than they slow down for the White Monkey, so I have to be constantly vigilant while I try to pick the Trứng cá. I don't take my eyes off Joanna for a second when we go out here, of course, and it makes what should be a relaxing experience a little tense. I think Joanna understands the perils of life on the outside here, but after all, she's only 26 months old. After Joanna gets her fill of berries, she stays out of the stroller and walks the length of the park with me.  We used to look at the fish in aquariums at a restaurant, but one of the managers yelled at Joanna for touching the outside of a tank. I gave him a death stare and now we very rarely go there. The Mickey Mouse mural nearby is covered in red ants, so it's an occasional, careful visit. Sometimes, we'll go along Vo Thi Sau street to shop at a local market.  Having Joanna with me seems to lighten the mood with most strangers, who smile and try to talk with her. She's wisely wary of strangers and hates being touched by them. I intervene before they can pinch her  cheeks, a local favorite. Other than the vehicles that don't care about a baby in a stroller, it's a very pleasant morning with my daughter.

* * *

 I'll circle back to tennis for a moment. Phuong was playing the match of her life against me on Thursday, taking a 3-1 lead with solid serving and incredible shot-making. I was playing well, but she was on fire. Then, Joanna came out on the court and we stopped play. Joanna refused to leave, and ran away from us when we tried to pick her up. Phuong finally corralled her, but when we returned to playing, Phuong had lost her mojo. We stopped with the score tied 4-4 and Joanna still running wild everywhere. I owe her. Joanna clearly saved me from a thumping at the hands of Phuong, and the No. 1 ranking in our family remains up in the air.

Silly, disruptive court behavior; laughing; mood music

Reading, tai chi, music and tennis are my passions these days.  Family is No. 1, of course, along with eating and sharing a beer every night with Phuong, but that's another story. I find that tennis usually helps my mind-set – I'm less frustrated about the heat and traffic, teens cursing at me (it happened again on Thursday), and staring ... and all the other stuff. The aforementioned seem less significant when I battle Phuong for tennis supremacy in our household. We compete hard despite the brutal heat, and we finish our tennis battles incredibly sweaty, tired, and satisfied, depending on who wins.  But as I've reported before, even tennis has its peccadilloes and imbroglios (always wanted to drop those words into my blog, even if they're not apropos in this case). The following craziness has happened during our tennis encounters in the short time since I've been back in Vietnam:
• Two drunks at the city courts who had been "playing" engaged in a titanic shouting match next to our court while we tried to play. The shouting lasted way too long and was way too loud. I added to the noise by screaming at them to shut up or go argue on the highway. The so-called managers of the courts finally asked the two Einsteins to leave.
• Some tennis "instructor" at the city courts next to us came over to our side and picked up our loose balls on the ground and started inspecting them about four feet behind Phuong while we played a match. I guess he was looking for errant balls his "student" had hit. I asked him what's up, and he said "You have six balls." So what? Anyway, we had seven balls so the White Monkey got pissed and told him off, politely of course, pointing out he didn't have any balls.
• At the court where the police offices and barracks are located, some cop who's a good player started flirting hard with Phuong during our match. And they're yakking back and forth about shoes, lessons, etc., while I'm about to serve. Guess what? I got pissed and told her to go talk with the a-hole or play.
• A little kid who was riding on the trash truck that came through the cop court parking lot got off the truck, stood by fence and shouted at me as I was about to serve. The third time this happened, I left the court and walked toward him. He did what most punks here and everywhere else do. He ran away and tried to hide behind the trash truck, where his father probably worked. The cops came running out and surrounded me like I was the criminal, which I was in their eyes.
• Some clown at the city courts cut across our court twice during our match. I tried to confront him, but Phuong says he can't hear. I'm not good enough to hit him in the ear with a ball, but I won't miss when I put racket up his butt the next time it happens. Actually, this guy does a lot of weird staring at us ... I'm thinking there's something not quite right with him.
• A teen working for the so-called managers started sweeping the area around our court with a big broom while were finishing a match -- 5-4, 40-30, or something like that. I stopped, put my hands on my hips and glared at the loser working for the other losers. He asked Phuong: "What's wrong with your husband? Why's he angry at me? I'm just doing my job?" This cleaning occurred 15 minutes before our time on the court was up.
Phuong and I were talking about all these shenanigans while we shared a beer the other night, and we just started laughing and couldn't stop. We started making up our own interruptions and the laughing continued. The only reason this stuff ticks me off is that we have to pay for court time, and the locals are real sticklers about money. We waste enough money when Joanna runs onto the court, about 12 times a session. I can become a stickler too if they want to play the money game. Like my sage friend Andy says, "I'm on a fixed income."

* * *

Speaking of laughter, Joanna started giggling about something last week and it became infectious. I started giggling, too, and then she started belly laughing, and I couldn't help myself and belly-laughed as well. It took us a while to get ourselves under control. I start laughing now when I think about the whole thing, and I can't remember what happened to get it all started. I'm an old fart, but having a child like Joanna keeps me young at heart, for sure.

* * *

Despite my fixed income, I've been buying lots of music as background for walking, tai chi, and reading. Some recent purchases: The Stone Roses, Atlas Sound, Lotus Plaza, Deerhunter, Drake, Youth Lagoon, Working for a Nuclear Free City. I certainly enjoy these artists, but I don't recommend any of it. Much of it is melodic and moody pop/rock, which suits my needs.

One motorbike ride is all it takes; pizza face; Vance books

I returned to Vietnam on Aug. 16, and vowed never to ride a motorbike here again. No big reason other than the fact that I want to stay healthy and alive for my wife and daughter. For a few days, life was going according to plan. Then, the unthinkable happened. We ran out of beer on a Sunday. There was no choice: I had to ride the bike to Vincom, a shopping mall about 2 kilometers from our house. There is no good day to ride in Bien Hoa, but Sunday is especially wretched. The roads are more crowded than usual, the drunks are out (and that's acceptable here), there isn't a cop in sight, and it's nearly impossible to get a taxi early in the day. Yet, the White Monkey bravely and foolishly hopped on the bike and carefully, oh so carefully, headed to the supermarket inside Vincom. There was trouble right out of the blocks. A speeding A-hole came up behind me on a side street and cut me off as I merged into traffic on a bigger road. I was pissed and screamed at the bitch, threatening to kill him. He knew he was an A-hole and raced away from me as I cursed. Honest to God, he took off so fast he nearly rode into the back of a truck, swerved and almost wiped out. OK, that's typical crap here. I cautiously made it to Vincom and was waiting in a small line of bikes to get a parking pass. No big deal, right? Wrong. A girl rode into the back of my bike.  Not a hard hit, but a hit nonetheless. Nobody was moving, except the girl, when I got hit.  I turned around and asked, "What's wrong with you?" She defiantly responded, "I didn't hit you." Oh, my mistake. Anyway, no harm so I looked for a parking space in the super crowded basement parking lot. I got lucky and saw an empty space where there were two rows of bikes facing each other with escape routes behind each row. I got off my bike when a girl got on her bike across from me. Apparently, she didn't want to back out and go ALL THE WAY around her alley to the exit, so she laid on the horn and motioned for me to get on my bike and back out so she could take a shortcut. My friend Ron told me I should have given her the Vietnamese hand wave, but honestly, I didn't think of it. I just simply put on my headphones, put my keys in my pocket and went to the market. I bought two small bottles of La Trappe Tripel and four bottles of Leffe Brune for a total of about $20 U.S. Worth every penny after that ride. That's the only time I've been on the motorbike since I've been back from the U.S. and I don't see much riding in my future.

* * *

 I walked to the swimming pool on Monday with Phuong, Joanna and Joanna's two cousins. Joanna loves the pool even more now because she has floating devices on her arms that give her independence in the water. Afterward, I decided to buy the kids a pizza from a street vendor. While waiting on the sidewalk for the vendor to cook the pizza, a guy and girl pulled up behind me on a motorbike and laid on the horn for me to move (lots of horn laying in Vietnam). I didn't see them coming so it scared the crap out of me, and it was all I could do not to slap that clown across his face. I stayed calm, stood and stared Vietnamese-style, then smiled and refused to move. He parked his bike on the spot and his girlfriend never looked up from her cell phone. She was playing a video game -- very important ... you don't understand. Another day in the life of the White Monkey.

 * * *

I picked up some books written by the late Jack Vance when I was in the U.S. I've read almost all of Vance's science fiction work, -- it's brilliant -- but I found a couple I had not read or heard of -- Ports of Call and Lurulu. Finding these books was like finding a $50 bill in a pair of washed jeans. I'm in sci-fi heaven. Vance is a master of thoughtful dialogue and witty repartee. He has an unparalleled vocabulary. He creates remarkable settings and adventures for the spacemen in his books, drawing on his experiences as a Merchant Marine. Reading in an air conditioned room has become the great escape for me, which is what I really need living in a place like this. If not for Phuong and Joanna and good books, the White Monkey might be locked in the white room, with black curtains, near the station ...

Forbidden airport needs overhaul and civility training

Beijing is now a forbidden city for the White Monkey. I've had four connecting flights through Beijing airport, and I've had serious hassles all four times. On my first trip, soldiers stood on either side of me holding machine guns because I didn't have an entry visa for a five-hour layover and a "transfer ticket" for my suitcase. A counter clerk at Beijing made a stink. When I started the trip and checked in at Ho Chi Minh City airport, I expected the suitcase to go through to Dulles in Washington, D.C. -- I'm such an embezzle and maroon, as Bugs Bunny would say. Some shirt-and-tie official intervened, sent the soldiers away and in poor English said I had to retrieve the bag, check in, get another ticket and go through customs, immigration and bag scan again. I nearly missed the connecting flight to D.C. despite the five-hour layover. Really. The second time was a simple three-hour delay and gate change without any announcement in English. The gate change was noted on the schedule board -- the muffled announcement over the loudspeaker in Chinese didn't help. I learned my lesson from hassle #1 and kept checking the board. Hassle #3 was a missed connection due to weather -- we were told by Air China that the plane would wait for us (ha ha, it was one of the few connecting flights that took off on time). The missed flight was followed by a long wait in line for hotel vouchers that ran out, and to make a long, long story short, I got a flight to D.C. the following day. Hassle #4 last week was a simple 2-hour delay and long wait to go though customs and bag checks (again). This layover was also noteworthy for the remarkable rudeness of the staff. I asked the immigration official who checked my passport and ticket: "Where do I go from here?" He responded in what I considered a sharp tone: "You go away. You go away."  I get it. There's a serious language barrier. I'm an ugly American so there's going to be serious cultural differences. But if China is the No. 1 power in the world as some English guy at my former language center once said to me in a snarky tone, the world is in deep trouble. (It seems headed that way with Trump leading the U.S.) I love China -- I'm a devotee of tai chi and one of my tai chi instructors is like a hero to me. The food is OK -- not dazzling, but OK. The Air China flights I've taken have been fine for the most part with good movies, but Beijing airport and the massive amount of people shoving their way through lines there ... come on, this place is out of control and needs an organizational and politeness overhaul. And oddly enough, it's gotten a teeny, tiny bit better -- no more arrival and departure forms for connecting travelers, so maybe there's a teeny, tiny bit of hope.

* * *

It's difficult to describe how happy I was when I saw Phuong at the airport when I arrived at 2:40 a.m. instead of the schedule arrival time of 12:20 a.m. My wife has the most infectious and beautiful smile in the world, and we both smiled the entire, one-hour ride home in a taxi. Other than losing a present for Joanna and the charger for my MacBook Pro -- God knows how -- the trip was pretty much a success for me. Phuong's mom stayed in the house with Joanna, and it was difficult for me not to wake Joanna up and hug and kiss her when I got home. Joanna seemed really thrilled to see me when she woke up and has been showing off for me since I got back. She speaks constantly, and most of it is intelligible -- of course I think she's smart, charming and beautiful, like my other two daughters. Joanna changed quite a bit in the month I was away -- she's even taller and her hair is a shaggy mop. Her language skills are top notch, and her temper and stubbornness are second to none.

* * *

Phuong and I are waiting to hear from the U.S. Embassy to have a visa interview so she can come to the U.S. with me and Joanna to live and work.  We hope for the best, but sometimes I expect the worst. No matter. If she's rejected for what I think would be racist, petty and mean-spirited reasons, I'll simply return to the U.S. annually to take care of my eyes and other business, and then I'll return to Phuong and Joanna. I'd be OK with that because I won't go through Beijing airport anymore.

In the U.S.: Great directions, visa hope, hospitality

One of the reasons I've really enjoyed my time in the U.S.  is that people in Dayton, Ohio, were uncanny when they gave me driving directions to a street, exit ramp, pie shop, or restaurant. The people I asked were thoughtful, respectful, and on the mark every time. Five times I bothered a complete stranger, and the stranger -- didn't matter if it was a man, woman, or child -- politely pointed me in the right direction. One guy said to me: "I'm not real sure, but I think it's on the left-hand side of the road two red lights up on the corner ... a red building. Not sure though." It was like a scene from Fargo. And of course the guy's directions were spot on.  One woman sent me through three lights, over two bridges and around a bend -- and there it was: the pie shop I was looking for with exquisite strawberry pies. A buddy of mine, John, isn't from Dayton but he's from Ohio and is even better with directions. He's more specific and knows the fastest way to get you where you're going. Since my iPhone isn't "connected" in the U.S., there's no navigation help for me. And I'm technically challenged anyway. I had a heck of a drive from Ohio to Hoboken, N.J., across I80 -- a pretty drive that was interrupted when I hit blinding thunderstorms, ridiculous traffic, road construction, and detours that nearly took me through the Holland Tunnel into Manhattan. Don't want to go there. But the kindness of strangers -- a guy from Pakistan and a man from India -- got me to my destination in New Jersey and eventually back to Delaware. See that Donald ... immigrants make our country great (again). Another reason I enjoyed the trip was a good report from my eye doctors. All is stable and my vision has actually improved.
I'm also feeling a little more optimistic about Phuong's chances of getting a visa to the U.S. because I had a very upbeat meeting with our lawyer Katie in Cleveland (and a wonderful lunch as well). We're thinking positive thoughts and we see no violations or fraud as we examine Phuong's immigration history. Phuong will interview at the U.S. Embassy in Ho Chi Minh City either later this year or early next year. If for some reason she gets the visa, we'll be heading to the U.S. fairly quickly. That would be wonderful for my wife and our little girl, Joanna.
Given the possibility of a trip to the U.S. for all of us, I've been poking around at housing on the East Coast. I still have a house in Ohio and we'd likely move there at first to see if it's suitable for Joanna and Phuong. Yellow Springs is a diverse little community, so I'm not worried about how Phuong would be treated there. I was worried about Poland, for example, because I didn't see diversity. But the people in Poland were very nice, with a couple of exceptions. I think Phuong and Joanna will do well no matter where we end up -- I like to threaten with Bhutan, the happiest (and muddiest) place on Earth from what I've heard. So, if we leave Vietnam, it'll be to Ohio and then we'll see.
People in the U.S. were extremely kind to the White Monkey, and they know who they are. I'll mention Andy, Ron and John, who gave me a place to sleep and are three quality human beings and my friends for life (they may not see it that way, but that's how it is for me). Friend Tommy was kind, as always. My ex-wife got me a room at an Inn and drove me to our daughter's house. Robyn at the Springs Motel gave me enough gifts for Joanna to last until Christmas. The Springs is a good place to stay and the staff is great -- Robyn rocks. My brother Tom and his wife Shaila let me have the entire finished basement in their new house and I had some wonderful nights of sleep there. I'm writing this blog from the basement. I played a little tennis as well as I prepare to return to the courts of Vietnam and destroy my wife in our vicious and bitter rivalry. I had a lovely visit with my children and grandchild in Ohio and New York. My kids have grown into remarkable adults. I spent too much time in my expensive rental car because roadwork in the U.S. is pervasive and brutal. Drives that normally take 2 and a half hours were taking me four hours ... ugh! Happened twice on the Washington D.C. to Delaware/Maryland drive. And the Ohio to Delaware/Maryland "commute" usually takes 9 hours at most, but lasted more than 10 hours on this trip. America is being made great again ... one stretch of road at a time.
Leaving for Vietnam on Tuesday. Can't wait to see Phuong and Joanna.

Finally in U.S. after enduring Beijing blues; 'Big King'

First and foremost, hello to my beautiful wife Phuong and incredible baby Joanna; miss you and love you both.

* * *

I arrived in Elkton, Md., after the usual trials and tribulations of traveling through Beijing. My flight from Ho Chi Minh to Beijing was delayed nearly an hour by rain. A staffer from Air China assured us that the connecting flight in Beijing would wait for us. Of course, it didn't wait, and some of us got stuck in Beijing airport waiting in horrible lines, dealing with rude staffers who didn't speak English, and drinking coffee for nine hours before we were finally bused to a hotel an hour away. We arrived too late for dinner and left too early for breakfast. The bus took us back to the airport and the flight to Dulles in Washington D.C. was relatively smooth. The four movies I watched -- Kill the Messenger; Deepwater Horizon; American Pastoral; In the Heart of the Sea -- weren't bad and certainly helped pass the time on the 13-plus-hour flight. Unfortunately, Beijing airport is flat-out disorganized. The price of the round trip flight is more than reasonable, but the airport is unacceptable. You get what you pay for. I met two gentlemen -- Tom of Bel Air, Md., and Trung of Ho Chi Minh City -- who were in the same mess I was in, and we passed the time together making silly jokes, solving world problems and drinking coffee. The extended layover would have really sucked without their company. Thank you gentlemen.
Getting a rental car was a little tricky because there weren't many available, but after some extended walking around the outskirts of the airport, I got a Mazda. I drove through D.C. rush-hour traffic to get to Elkton. The trip took four hours, which is rather long for the distance, but after Beijing, I didn't mind sitting in the car after sitting and standing around a crowded and hot airport.
I got to my buddy Ron's house about 8 p.m., drank a wonderful Oude Gueuze lambic purchased at State Line Liquors, and fell asleep about a half-hour later. Slept like a baby. It's been great visiting with Ron and his classy son Travis and Travis' partner, Angel. Nice folk and very generous as well.  Adding to my pleasant visit so far has been some very pleasant weather -- 85 in the day, mid-60s at night, with pretty low humidity. I cooked Atlantic salmon and vegetables with curry and garlic at Ron's last night, and it came out quite well -- the late Anthony Bourdain would have been proud, maybe. I have the usual travel to Ohio coming up to see my eye doctor, property manager for my house, and our immigration lawyer. I'm happy that my friends seem to be doing well. I plan to see friends Andy, Freddie and John, and visit with family. I'm a little less jazzed about returning to the U.S. to live, given the sour mood of the country related to the Trump presidency. The country seems divided to me, and the hope I felt under the Obama presidency appears to be missing now. Aw, what the hell do I know?

* * *

While in transit in China, I lost some gifts I got for my kids, but they're just things and things can be replaced. Family can't ... and that's another of the lessons I've learned being overseas for so long.  I visited my mom and dad's grave site outside Newark, Del., for the first time since they died. I'll put some flowers on the graves today, but I'm not one for grave sties. Of course I miss them, but these days I try to honor their lives by following the good examples and lessons I learned from their lives, especially from my mom.

 * * *

I'm looking at some houses in the Wilmington and Newark area today. If Phuong, Joanna and I are ever allowed to return to the U.S., I might like for Joanna to grow up on the East Coast. It's where I grew up and I'm comfortable with the area. But Yellow Springs is awesome. We'll see.

* * *

Watching the British Open on Ron's TV -- I'm very busy ... you don't understand. The only TV sports I watch in Bien Hoa are the four tennis majors. I didn't even watch the Super Bowl or NBA finals. Sorry LeBron. But speaking of tennis, I relinquished No.1 in the house to Phuong, who beat me 7-6 (7-5) in a heartbreaking tiebreaker. The moral of that story is that my net game and fitness need work.  My injuries are slowly improving, so it's only a matter of time before I reclaim my rightful place on the No. 1 throne. Before I came to the U. S., Joanna called me "Big King" a couple of times. She's so bright. Another reason I really, really hate being away from Phuong and Joanna.

Thieves try to break into our house; Joanna turns 2; Phuong's brother delivers ticks to our house with tank

Thieves tried to break into our house Wednesday morning at about 3 a.m. They pried open a bathroom window but encountered metal bars behind the window. Apparently, they gave up, just like they gave up trying to be successful members of society. They were successful getting into our neighbor's house, unfortunately, and stole a backpack with some cash inside. Crazy shit. People don't call the police here over stuff like this. Not sure why, but maybe this sort of thing happens a lot in Bien Hoa and police don't have time.  If I encountered someone in my house, it wouldn't be a good thing for me or the intruder. In my view, this is a dangerous, grimy and unpleasant city. Thieves kill guard dogs and break into houses routinely, people burn plastic and throw their trash into the streets routinely, and people ride their motorbikes into each other and on the sidewalks ... routinely. No need to discuss manners or weather. I really worry for my daughter, especially because everyone here is obsessed with the fact that she looks different than the other kids, and they willingly point that out to us. Geez, I never would have noticed if those kind people didn't tell Phuong and I about Joanna's "different" appearance.  Hopefully, Phuong can get a visa to come to the U.S. sooner rather than later. 

* * *

Joanna turned 2 years old last week and my wife Phuong worked her butt off to produce a wonderful, happy and special birthday celebration for Joanna. Phuong got pizza, hung streamers, selected wonderful presents, and did everything that a loving, caring and dedicated mom does for her child. Phuong's nephews and a neighbor joined the party. They played soccer in the living room, and Joanna tried to play as well. It was a wild scene and everyone had a great time. After watching me blow out the 'No. 2' birthday candle on her cake, Joanna copied and successfully blew out the candle. Cheers all around. Phuong's mom came over with a present, but that's it. Birthdays aren't huge events here, like in the U.S., but they're celebrated and they seem to be getting bigger. This was a pretty low-keyed affair, all things considered, but it was cozy and pleasant. It's difficult to determine exactly what Joanna understands at this point. However, it was easy to tell she was having a great time and she seemed to understand the activity was on her behalf.

* * *

I know the late Anthony Bourdain loved Vietnamese food. Me? Not so much, especially the main courses. Pho is OK and the chicken is excellent, but I'll take a Charcoal Pit burger or Grotto's pizza from Delaware in the U.S. any day. It's just how you're raised and what you consider comfort food, I guess. That said, some local fruits and vegetables I've had in Vietnam are the best I've ever had. Bon bon has become my favorite. It's the size of a kumquat; you peel and eat and sometimes you can eat the seed inside. It tastes like a mildly sweet grapefruit with the texture of a firm grape -- or something like that (I ain't Anthony Bourdain). I've written about them before, but they're so darn good and they're "in season" now, so they deserve a second mention even if they can make your hands sticky for a long time after you peel them. 

* * *

Phuong's brother gave us the big fish stand and tank, and the package included -- at no extra cost -- about 300 ticks, which were inside the legs of the stand and the tank. We kept finding ticks everywhere and when I realized the tank and stand came from Phuong's brother's garden, the mystery was easily solved. This is the same guy who gave us the killer catfish and Tet tree with two scorpions. I told him no need to get anything else for Joanna's birthday. He's an incredibly nice man, though, and he has no fear of God's creatures great and small.

Fish story; age issues; laptop ruined; poverty

Everyone has a fish story. Here's mine:
Phuong's brother wanted to help, so he gave us a catfish for Joanna's new, improved and bigger fish tank. Her little fish tank was just too ... well, little, so we upgraded to a bigger tank with a pump. Anyway, we already had about 15 tiny tropical fish (we do live in the tropics and they're very cheap to buy here), so Joanna and the relocated little fish welcomed the big catfish into the bigger tank -- the catfish was about six inches long and really stood out among its one-inch neighbors. Phuong's brother assured us the catfish wouldn't eat the little guys, and gullible, novice fish keepers that we are, we believed him. For two days, all seemed well. The catfish acted hyper, but it stayed on the bottom of the tank, swimming fiercely back and forth but not bothering the little fish. But that restless "pacing" was an omen. When Phuong went downstairs Saturday morning to check on the tank, there were only two fish inside: a bloated, well-fed catfish and a super tiny baby fish.  Obviously, the catfish ate its neighbors, and it was most likely waiting for the baby fish to get bigger so it could eat it, too. Phuong and I had a good laugh over the catfish's tropical feast, although I'm sure the victims didn't find the situation funny. Joanna didn't care and focused her attention on the catfish. The catfish was sent to a pond on a property owned by Phuong's brother, and Phuong went to a fish shop and bought about 20 little fish for the tank. Water world is wonderful and peaceful again, except for Joanna constantly trying to climb inside the bigger tank. She actually laughs when I almost put her inside the tank in my pathetic effort to teach her a lesson. Joanna can smell a bluff.

* * *

I've had some physical issues lately related to past surgeries, accidents and lifestyle, and Phuong has mercilessly taken full advantage to reclaim to the No. 1 tennis ranking in our house, routing me in five of our last six matches. Age has clearly diminished the White Monkey's tennis skills and recuperative powers -- tai chi be damned -- but my excuse-making skills remain as strong as ever. Perhaps the brutal heat is a factor. It has taken the joy out of our daily walk. Sometimes, Joanna seems drained by the heat and humidity. She becomes a ball of energy when there is air conditioning, however, which means she perks up in the bedroom at night when it's time to go to sleep. I have to leave the room, or she'll never go to sleep.

* * *

The mayhem in our house has extended to the electronic world as well.  The lazy White Monkey rolled over rather than sitting up to get out bed last week, and my elbow crunched the screen of my HP laptop, creating a weird LSD-like effect on the now useless screen. All my school stuff and videos for Joanna were on the HP, so I copied everything to a hard drive and transferred the files to my MacBook Pro, which is finally getting some use. Since I'm back on the Mac, I've been downloading more music lately and buying books, which also means I'm spending more money. What a dope I am. Now I'll have to teach more private students, which can be problematic for reasons stated in one of my previous blogs.

* * *

Sometimes, the poverty here jolts you. I know I'm repeating myself on this topic, and that there are poor people everywhere, but difficult circumstances are so visible here. Just around corner from our house, a family lives on cots under a tree, and their little kids bathe in public with water from hoses that belong to a car rental business. That family lives next to two homeless guys who sleep under another tree. People rarely beg here. They're too proud for that, and even the poor will help the really poor. It's an unwritten code of sorts. The issues I occasionally face are nothing compared to what these folks deal with every day. Yet, they still smile and yell Hi! when Joanna and I go by on our walk. Makes me appreciate what I have even more, and once again, makes me realize how selfish my complaints are.

* * *

Finished another book: The Great Gatsby ... it wasn't that great, but it was a quick read. Now I'm reading A Tale of Two Cities ... it isn't a quick read.

Nice legs; what's your name? tattoo stigma; Joanna's fish

Two girls in very short skirts displaying tattoos on their upper thighs, which I find distasteful, were leaving the coffee shop I frequent just as I was arriving with Joanna. The girls, in their mid-20s, looked at me and then looked at each other, with one girl saying to the other in a very provocative manner: "What's your name?" It was for my benefit, of course, so I responded with that local conversational classic, also in a very provocative manner: "Where you from?" We didn't get to the intimate "How old you?" and "How much?" because I wanted a cappuccino and, like I said, I had Joanna with me. Oh yeah, and I'm married.
I've mentioned this before. Tattoos carry heavy significance in Vietnam. Women that have them often work in the "business" and men that have them are labeled "gangsters." My Vietnamese isn't good enough to know for sure if this is or isn't the case. I still don't believe it, but this country reminds me of the U.S. in the 1950s in a lot of ways. The stigma of tattoos, for example.
Many of the girls and women here wear very short skirts (now we're in the U.S. in the 1960s), but feign modesty when you look at their legs, which usually are very nice. The girls will try to tug their skirts lower -- good luck with that  -- when they think they're being stared at. If their skirts or shorts are simply too short to tug, so to speak, sometimes they'll put jackets over their legs. Bummer. They want to put their best features out there, but they don't want to look cheap in the process. Good luck with that. My wife, like most women here, has very nice legs. But she calls herself a "classical" person and wears longer shorts or pants. At tennis, occasionally she'll wear shorter gym shorts, and I notice a lot of the men who play soccer next door come over to watch us. I don't think they want to see my titillating forehand or sexy serve when they press their faces to the chain-link fence, although my forehand is titillating at times, and my serve is clearly sexy.

* * *

My daughter Joanna seems to be doing well enough. Everything is in English so far. She counts (to 19 without the 5 or 12), says the ABCs (with a few gaps here and there) and parrots much of what I say, which means I have to be more careful of what I say. The White Monkey will drop the occasional F-bomb, for example when I hit my head on low cabinets, spill water from the tiny sinks, don't have hot water, don't have electric, don't have coffee, wake up in the morning, go to bed at night ... you get the idea.
Joanna loves to finish words in stories: "Cat in the HAT!" She doesn't scream HAT! but she says it with pride and gusto. "The realm of magic BEASTS!" Some of the finishing words she says are multi-syllabic and I'm surprised when she says them. Her new trick is to do something bad, then preemptively say "no no no no no."
My daughter Joanna embodies the characteristics of so many people in my family. She looks like my mom and has my mom's expressions and determination; she possesses one of my daughter's fiery spirit and quick smile; my other daughter's kind and caring nature; my one son's intellect and wise judgment; my other son's likeable personality and good heart. She has Phuong's overall goodness, smartness and beauty. She has my family's and Phuong's family's stubbornness.  She has my height and size, and my temper. Uh-oh. She's become mommy's girl and doesn't care for dad, like all of my children. But I'm so proud of these kids and I hope and pray that Joanna becomes successful, smart and wise, like her half-brothers and sisters.

***

We got Joanna a fish tank with 10 tiny fish -- she counts them quite often -- and a soccer ball. These are birthday presents ahead of her second birthday. She'll turn 2 in July. Time does fly, especially when you enjoy life ... and get older.

Disposing of toilet paper; nouveau riche; lousy pharmacy

In much of the world, notably Vietnam in this instance, used toilet paper is not disposed of in the toilet. Instead, it is placed in a trash can next to the toilet. The White Monkey was not raised this way. If the trash can doesn't have a lid, the sanitation and smell are not up to code -- my personal code. I generally won't use those facilities, unless I've eaten Vietnamese food and it's an emergency. Some public restrooms basically have a hole in the ground -- no seat. That's it. Oh, and they have a trash can next to the hole for the toilet paper, but usually there's no paper. I've been told, and I've read on the Internet, that the plumbing pipes in Asian countries are too thin to handle excessive toilet paper. Makes sense. Many bathrooms don't have toilet paper, but they have a small hose next to the toilet. Use your imagination. Actually, it's amazing what you can adjust to when you're 63 and your personal plumbing has issues of its own. Really, I'm OK with all of it except the hole in the ground. Motorbike accidents have diminished my flexibility, so I really prefer sitting on a seat to squatting over a hole. I can do it, but the discomfort distracts from the business at hand. In the White Monkey's world,  I prefer flushing used toilet paper down the toilet rather than having it sit in a trash can in 100-degree weather all afternoon. I also prefer toilet paper to a hose and my hand. But at the end of the day (the most overused cliche in the world today), my preferences overseas don't mean sh#t.

* * *

Having been poor is no shame, but being ashamed of it is.
--  Ben Franklin
Many people who have recently come into money -- I think they're called the nouveau riche -- carry themselves with an arrogance that is unsavory at best, and cruel and vicious at worst.
 I've seen it in the United States, Peru, and now Vietnam. I wasn't in Poland long enough to witness it there, but I'm sure it existed. Maybe I resent these folks because I'm not rich -- but I know I resent their attitude more than anything else.
In Peru and Vietnam, these people park their SUVs anywhere they damn well please, talk loudly on their cell phones in elevators and restaurants, and walk across your tennis court while you're playing (more in Vietnam than anywhere else I've been).
I'm writing about this  because the economy is growing in Vietnam, there are more SUVs on the road, and really because some guy parked his expensive SUV in the park where we walk. The security guard asked him to move, and the guy said he was a cop, refused, and dared the security guard to call the cops. Some clown races his black SUV up and down our street every morning. At the coffee shop where I read, all the Richie Riches come out on Sunday. They'll grab chairs next to me without asking if it's taken. Sorry Phuong and Joanna -- it's called entitlement. They'll chat in the aisles, with or without cell phones -- and show no inclination of moving if you're trying to pass by.  I stood in line to get my cappuccino when a well-dressed guy came in, walked past me and blurted out his order to the girl behind the counter.  Line cutting is an art form for these folks. So I'll leave you with one more Ben Franklin quote about folks like this:
He that is of the opinion money will do everything may well be suspected of doing everything for money.

* * *

A young neighbor of ours died,  which I thought meant three days of loud singing and "music" outside of our house. It didn't happen. The mourning period was respectful, and the music minimal.The young neighbor was 39 and died from a stroke. He leaves behind a young wife and two children under the age of  four. He was a nice man and always smiled when I walked past his house with Joanna. Joanna would wave, the man would smile, and all seemed good. It's a sad situation now.

* * *

There's a big pharmacy on Vo Thi Sau street that I stopped going to because the girls who work there are weird, rude and just plain stupid. I asked for Band-Aids or adhesive bandages of some sort (the words were written on a piece of  paper in Vietnamese for these morons) and the girls laughed and shook their hands at me, signifying God knows what.  I showed them an adhesive bandage (Band-Aid is a trade name) on my finger and their dim lights flickered. They brought me a single adhesive bandage. I communicated that I needed more (remember, I shower four times a day now), and the girl rolled her eyes at me and brought me another single bandage. I went to another pharmacy where my needs were met hassle-free. I got a box of real Band-Aids with no hand shaking or eye rolling. And I'm sure no English was spoken at that pharmacy as well. I was walking past the big pharmacy on Vo Thi Sau a few days ago when an American approached me for help. He was in pain -- his neck was sore from a long plane trip. I went to the window with the man, pointed to his neck and said "pain"  and "need help" in Vietnamese. The two girls (it takes two girls to not understand and not help you) laughed hysterically. I guess they were laughing at my Vietnamese. The guy who needed help was clearly in pain. One girl laughed so hard she squatted down -- if there was a hole in the ground she could have peed -- and nearly fell over backward. The American was baffled. I wasn't. Those bags of douche have laughed at me a couple of times in the past when I've needed medicine. They hassled my mother-in-law as well. They need a prescription for their poor manners.

* * *

Public grooming is fairly common here and I see lots of women primping each other's hair at restaurants, in stores and in the street. I don't know exactly what they're doing. It looks like they're searching for lice. Not sure this is the most sanitary practice, especially in supermarkets and restaurants. I won't go into nail clipping and nose picking. Oops, too late.

,* * *

I'm picking up more private students, almost more than I can handle. Free time is gone, but I still make time to read. Currently finishing Anne of Green Gables. It's supposed to be a children's book, but I find myself enjoying the heck out of it. A wonderful story fit for all ages.

Too much help when Joanna goes ballistic; White Monkey gets cranky from the heat and sweating

I carried Joanna to the park on Monday this week, and for whatever reason, she was not a happy child. She refused to walk when we got to the park. That's our agreement (and dad's rule). I'll carry her on my shoulders everywhere except in the park. She gets it. But this time,when I put her down, she went ballistic. I tried distraction tactics such as pointing out birds, bugs, fish (across the street), but she was set. She's the only person I know who's more stubborn than her mother or father. Then she decided she wanted to go home to "mommy, mommy, mommy, 'yaa'." I'm not sure what the "yaa'' means, but Joanna always makes it the last word when she's upset.  So I picked her up, and she continued crying as we walked home. Some Vietnamese women who were watching us -- everybody spies on everybody here -- decided they would "help."  They came up to us speaking Vietnamese. Then they tried to console Joanna. That went over like a fart in church. Joanna was having none of it and continued screaming. Then a couple of other women started tagging along and offering "advice" in Vietnamese. I felt a little like the Pied Piper, or St. Patrick. Either way, I didn't want the company while I was dealing with a screaming toddler.
Maybe I'll call it "too much of a good thing" or "trying too hard."  The  Vietnamese folk in my neighborhood, for the most part, are extremely nice. There are a few creeps who will stare and glare at me, but most will stare and smile, or bow their head. But the Vietnamese love to help, to chip in, and then they always seem to know what's best for you and everyone else. Really, it's all good, except when you're taking care of a screaming child. I just wanted to get Joanna home and I didn't appreciate the advice in a foreign language. I know these folks were trying to "help," but this wasn't the time or place. Besides,  I see lots of parents hitting their kids here, so I'm not so sure I'm interested in local parental counseling. I know nothing about the women who tried to help me. They seemed nice, but since I don't speak the language very well, their efforts were misguided.
I'm pretty sure Joanna was having some teething issues. She's been getting some molars lately and has been particularly cranky and irritable. She wasn't herself for a week or so and  I was a little concerned, but for the past couple of days she's come back to her cheerful, chatty and stubborn self.

* * *

The White Monkey has been particularly cranky and irritable as well lately, and I know why -- the heat and humidity are unbearable here. I take a minimum of three showers daily --- morning, midday, night. I also shower after I walk with Joanna. I sweat when I do tai chi standing or sitting. I'm drenched when I do the tai chi solo exercise and sword form -- and must shower. I'm beyond soaked when I play tennis and have to wring out my shirts before putting them in a plastic bag -- and then I shower.  Phuong doesn't mind the heat as much as I do, so we eat dinner in our cool, 87-degree (F) kitchen -- then, I need a shower. Lovely. I'm sure the heat contributes a little to my sourness and cynicism, but I don't need much help with those traits. I sweat when my shower is over. I sweat when I use the bathroom -- for a number of reasons. Sweating has become a lifestyle for me. So has showering. I'm ready to leave this place, but we have a process to go through before that can even be possible. This makes me sweat as well. I see another shower coming.

* * *

Reading has become a serious hobby for me of late. I read at a local coffee shop daily after I finish teaching my private students. I'll have a cappuccino and book. Wish cigarettes weren't so nasty and harmful, or I'd have one of those with my book and cappuccino. I've ordered a  bunch of Jack Vance books that I'll pick up in the U.S. when I visit to have eye care and see my lawyer.

* * *

Good beer is getting harder to buy in Bien Hoa. If we're very lucky, Mega Market will carry Affligem Dubbel once in a blue moon (ha ha);. Vinmart stopped selling Leffe Brune and Blonde, and La Trappe Quadrupel and Tripel are gone. You can get all the Budweiser and Tiger you want. I'm starting to sweat. You can buy Chimay, but the prices are over the top. Time to get more books.

No. 1 health issue cured by chance; one hell of a book

Life's tragedy is that we get old too soon and wise too late.
-- Ben Franklin

Ben really is my hero. Anyway, I wish everyone who reads this blog a long, healthy and happy life. Long may be the least important, unless you're healthy and happy.
Well, I'm 63 years old and I'm still not very wise. And 63 is an age when things start breaking down. A year and a half ago, I had my gall bladder removed and I had a few undesirable side effects. I've also had four serious motorbike accidents, three that banged up my kidneys pretty good. Without being too graphic, I can say that going No. 1 became something of an issue after the accidents and surgery, unless I drank excessive amounts of beer. That treatment has its merits, but I just didn't think drinking excessive amounts of  beer was the optimal solution (no pun intended) to my problem. People suggested cranberry juice or pomegranate juice, but neither worked. I was pissed (pun intended). But I had an incredibly fortuitous meeting with a Chinese lady at the Chinese grocery store she owned in San Luis Obispo last July while I was taking care of my dying brother. I was buying a cool robe at her store (the robe was made in Vietnam, by the way) when we struck up a conversation. Somehow, and honest to God I don't remember how, my health problem was discussed. The woman said her mother could help me -- her mom, who was sitting in the store, was a Chinese herbalist and immediately diagnosed my problem as a kidney issue. She told me to do the following: Fry organic black beans in a pan until they begin popping (like popcorn). No oil, no nothing. Just the beans. Then soak the beans in organic vinegar for five days -- they can go in the fridge for the final two days. Then, eat 3 to 5 beans daily. She suggested I eat them indefinitely, meaning forever. I followed her instructions to a T, and sure enough,  no more issues with No. 1 whatsoever. Hell, I don't even get up in the middle of the night to pee anymore. And no, I don't wet the bed. There's only one Asian market in San Luis Obispo, so if you have health issues, it's worth a visit. I'm not sure they want visitors like this, but the whole family -- lady, husband, mom and dad -- were kind and friendly. I can't thank them enough.

* * *

Joanna and I were walking to the park last week when a Vietnamese lady made a remark that really bothered me. Joanna was on my shoulders -- she's gotten lazy in her old age -- and we walked past a woman who was with her husband and two kids. I smiled and bowed my head; she just stared back expressionless. When we got past her, the woman said in Vietnamese to her two children, "American, American."  (After five-plus years, I understand a little Vietnamese.) Joanna looks American, but she's half Vietnamese. Besides, what's the point? No kidding, Einstein, I'm not Vietnamese. So I stopped, turned, and said: "Look, Joanna, Viet, Viet." The woman acted offended, like I really care.

* * *

It rains daily at about 4 p.m. The rain is preceded and followed by stifling heat. We're still squeezing in two or three tennis matches a week. We're so evenly matched that the No. 1 ranking in the household is back up for grabs. The walk with Joanna is great fun, and because of it, we're thinking of putting Joanna in a "school" for half a day a few times a week. She saw some kids at a school/daycare/playgroup, and she really wanted to join in and play with the toys and such. Phuong will go to the international school this week to discuss price and schedule. A lot of people in town know Joanna now because of the daily walk. American, American

* * *

My private student Sam is a pesky Scrabble player. She gives me all I can handle when we play, and the only reason I  beat her this week is because I was able to play a 10-point Z.

* * *

I finished the book about the Vietnam War by Colonel William C. Haponski: One Hell of a Ride Inside an Armored Calvary Task Force in Vietnam. Powerful, emotional, and honest. I highly recommend this book because it's so honest. An excellent read.