Hear that noise? I'm hammered; visa, motorbike hassles

Neighbors who live two houses away from us are having work done on their house. The work involves knocking down walls with a jackhammer followed by the prolonged pounding of a heavy mallet. The noise is obnoxious and persistent -- this work has continued intermittently for two weeks. As bad as it is for us, it's worse for the family next door. An 80-year-old man with a heart condition lives next door to the noise with his family, and his wife says they may have to leave. When there is jackhammering and mallet pounding, I can't hear Phuong talking to me in our kitchen. I can just imagine what it's like for our neighbors. When the ruckus starts, Joanna always says, "Hear that noise?", which is a line from the Eric Carle story The Very Lonely Firefly. Oh, we do hear the noise Joanna. Phuong and Joanna go to Phuong's parents' house when the pounding begins, sometimes as early as 6:40 a.m. I'll put on headphones and clean or work on the house, but the bad vibrations of the jackhammer still come through. As is usually the case here, I'm told there's nothing that can be done about the disruption. I don't begrudge anyone trying to improve their living space, but two weeks of pounding at unexpected intervals is over the top.  I tried to ask the woman who owns the house why she doesn't have the walls knocked down in one or days and then start the remodeling. She laughed, which is her response to me and everyone else when she's asked any questions. A woman next door to us (three houses away from the pounding) just had a baby and she and the newborn are struggling to get some sleep because of the noise. And the folks with the 80-year-old in residence discussed the issue with their neighbor; she laughed. "Hear that noise?"

* * *

More paperwork is being requested from me by the U.S. immigration folks before they'll consider granting Phuong an interview to obtain a U.S. visa. There seems to be a question about the legitimacy of my "domicile." I wrote a letter and produced mortgage and bank statements that prove I'm a U.S. resident who owns a house in the United States. I've been paying the mortgage for more than 14 years. That's no scam, folks. That's $1,200 a month I pay to the bank every month for my property in Yellow Springs, which I'm sure the government could find out if they wanted to. I'm not sure what the point of all this is. I'd be living there now if the government would give my wife a visa. I'm a U.S. citizen with income. Our daughter is a U.S. citizen. My wife is a Vietnamese citizen married to an American, and she and her husband (me) want our daughter to attend school in the United States.  We've lived together more than five years. We have no nefarious motives. We want the best for our children in the country where I was raised and have paid taxes for the past 48 years. I just don't get it.

* * *

I was walking down a little cut-through alley that connects our street to the street behind us on my way to get coffee and read. (See picture of alley on the top right of this blog.) I forgot my walking stick because my back has been feeling so much better. Anyway, a motorbike rips around the corner and doesn't slow down or move to the side so we both can pass -- there's not much room anyway. I had just enough time to step to the wall and protect myself by putting up my right forearm, which hit the woman driving the bike on her right arm and shoulder.  She stopped the bike and began screaming at me, I have no idea what she was saying, so I gave her the hand-wave and laughed. She got really angry and continued jawing, so I gave her one more hand-wave and laugh and was on my way. I was so happy with myself for thinking of the hand-wave and laugh when I was being screamed at. I think I'm finally adapting to living here although I'll never pee outside in the middle of the day on a busy street, like I saw three times in the past week walking with Joanna. I have pictures to prove it, but what's the point?

* * *

• A little supermarket opened around the corner from our house, and it's a fun trip for our family. We'll get popsicles and candy there, and sometimes fruit and vegetables. It's not nearly as nice as Tom's Market in Yellow Springs, but it's cheaper.

• I bought a smoked pilsner at the Craft Beer bar near the little supermarket, and it gets a thumbs-up. The smokey taste was rather subtle with hints of fruit and a slightly tart finish. Or something like that ... I saw a description like this for some other beer on a beer rating site. 

• It's still raining nearly every day and another big storm is on the way. The weather hasn't stopped me and Joanna from going in the pool every day.

• Phuong has hooked me up with a great barber. When he gives a haircut, he shows videos of himself on a big scream cutting customers' hair with new-age Enya music as the soundtrack. Cool stuff.

• I'm traveling to the U.S. on Thursday to take care of some business. It's a short visit that I'm really looking forward to.

Yellow water means we tap out; coffee shop conflict

My wife poured water from our tap into a pan to cook green beans this week, and the water was yellow. I immediately poured some water from the tap into a clear glass to check, and it was as yellow as ... well, the sun. Occurrences like this are the reason we never drink water from the tap here. An hour later, the water was clear again, but my faith was shaken. I used to put tap water into my kettle and boil the water for coffee, but I've lost my nerve. You could say I've gone yellow. You pretty much have to use the water here for showers and brushing your teeth. I won't rinse out my mouth with tap water when I brush my teeth; I use Listerine, so my breath is pretty good. A lot of people here have breath like a goat because they eat the spicy soups for breakfast and don't seem to brush their teeth the rest of the day. And maybe because they drink the tap water. I really don't know.

* * *

Joanna and I go swimming in our third-floor kid pool every day. We were taking long walks (she still likes the stroller) but dirty air and heat caused me to get a skin rash on my face and chest -- about the 12th rash I've had since I've been here. The walks are shorter now and pool time is longer. Joanna is a challenge in the pool, and elsewhere, because she's not a fan of clothing. Comfort takes priority and the heat is unsettling for her. She gripes, but she knows the bathing suit is mandatory or no swimming. I'm trying to teach her to use her imagination to find shapes and animals and objects "in the clouds" while we swim on our open-air balcony. Not sure she's got it yet, but she can spot a plane that's remarkably small and far away. It takes me two or three squints to see the same plane. I pray she keeps her incredible eyesight and doesn't become visually challenged like her dad. We'll also play with plastic ducks and an inflatable giraffe in the pool, blow bubbles, spell S-P-L-A-S-H and count to 100, finishing with a big jump and S-P-L-A-S-H.

* * *

Joanna attracts a lot of attention because she looks different than other kids here, and strangers try to hug or cuddle her, or even give her a kiss. Most mean well, but Joanna doesn't like it, and neither do I. So we don't allow it. But some folks just sort of grab her -- it happened twice at a coffee shop this past Saturday. Also, a boy threw hard, plastic balls at her in the play area. As I carried her out of the shop, I said to Joanna something to the effect that "there are real losers here and you have to be careful." A young woman sitting at a nearby table was apparently listening and starts screaming at me, saying "NO NO NO!" And I mean screaming at me to the point where nearly everyone at this outdoor coffee shop was looking at me. I gave her a pass at first -- and even apologized -- because she probably thought I was insulting all Vietnamese. I wasn't -- I was insulting the guy who grabbed my daughter's arm and hips while she tried to pull away and pulled her close while holding a lit cigarette, and the guy who squatted down in front of her seeking a kiss, and the boy who threw the balls at her. But then I got a little irritated because I wasn't shouting my warning, I was talking to my daughter and not to some woman at a table, so I said to the woman, who was sitting Indian style in a short skirt, "Since you understand English so well, maybe you can understand I'm unhappy because two guys just tried to grab my daughter and she was upset. I don't like people grabbing my 3-year-old."  She scowled at me, put her head down and looked away. Whatever. The people here are like people everywhere. Most are wonderful, there are some "tough guys," as Donald Trump would say,  and there are creeps and losers (put the tough guys in this group). Same thing in the U.S., same in Peru. Same everywhere. Poverty can feed anger, but some of the most caring people I've ever met don't have any money and some of the most arrogant have money.  So my lame conclusion is that people are people. Unfortunately, there's just too many of them. NO NO NO!

* * * 

I won't say cured or all better, but my back has improved so much from my fitness regimen of chi and yoga, and most importantly, from acupuncture, that I sometimes I forget I have sciatica. That said, I think a possible source and aggravation of the problem is that I climb and descend our three flights of stairs about 10 times a day. Three flights up and down 10 times comes to 840 steps. Yep, it's 42 up and 42 down of unforgiving faux marble stairs. It helps explain my fatigue as well as the formerly serious back pain. It's not an issue for Joanna, however, who climbs like Sir Edmund Hillary. Ah, the sweet bird of youth.

Daycare done; very local lunches; needles do the trick

Our daycare business officially shut down on Wednesday, Oct. 9, instead of Thursday as planned. I guess the parents and kids couldn't wait to get away from us and our house. My wife worked incredibly hard on this project for more than eight months. She cleaned, cooked, redesigned our house, created pool time and helped with every activity the kids did. She gave every kid a bath and shampoo daily, and assisted with potty training when necessary. And believe me, it was necessary. The kids left us gifts -- I got a sore throat and mild cough from one of the girls. and a boy left our daughter Joanna a case of diarrhea. Joanna is a hearty soul and shook it off in a day. So far, nothing for Phuong other than grief for her choice of food, milk and water. There were complaints about the fact we served chicken twice a week, and used brands of milk and bottled water that allegedly contained chemicals. Despite some parents' focus on "organic" food, their kids seemed to have their fair share of illnesses. Perhaps these were "organic" illnesses, which are probably better for the kids than the generic brand. Who knows? Who cares? I'm sure we did a lot of things wrong regarding child care. I don't have the benefit of being an outside observer with the kids we watched or with our daughter Joanna. I'll let the experts criticize us. Regardless, Phuong and I thought every child who came to our house was wonderful, bright and a joy to be around. Behavior and English improved steadily while the kids were here. The hitting and toy throwing stopped. We got to watch them grow up and taught them how to clean up, and we loved it. Thanks to the kids and parents for letting us be a part of the children's lives. As for Joanna, she never quite jived with the group. For example, she loves sharp cheddar cheese while the other kids would spit out the small samples I gave them. She speaks English, not Vietnamese, and looks and acts differently than the other kids. Joanna is obsessed with books, letters and numbers. The other kids, not so much. The other kids didn't really play with Joanna. No big deal because Joanna does her own thing anyway, and seems extremely comfortable with herself. We love her just the way she is.

* * *

I've noted before that Phuong's sister-in-law has a breakfast business, making Pho, Bun bo Hue, Bun Rieu, Hu tiu -- my wife gave me the spellings so don't correct me, correct her. The "soups" are all well-made but Bun bo Hue -- with or without blood pudding -- is my favorite. Pho is the national dish, sort of, and I've learned to like it. Hu tiu is dependably good and I'm beginning to appreciate Bun Rieu, which has some kind of crab base. A big bowl of any of the soups costs about $1 U.S., so it's a bargain to say the least. I don't eat soup for breakfast, but Phuong and I share a bowl for lunch nearly every day. It's economical, convenient and tasty. Dessert for me is almost always yogurt.. The point of all of this is to say that I'm learning to adjust to the food here. It's taken more than six years. But I really, really miss things that I enjoyed constantly in the U.S. like pretzels, good lunch meat, apple pie, good cheese and good beer. For now, Phuong's sister-in-law is doing her best to keep me fat and happy.

* * *

I have a nomination for Time's Person of the Year, and it ain't Donald Trump. I'll nominate the lady who gives me acupuncture. No pain, no reason to complain. For the past three weeks, this low-keyed woman has stuck needles in my butt, back and down both legs -- and turned on the juice -- to produce remarkable results in the once-wobbly White Monkey.  I've combined the acupuncture with some yoga stretches and nightly tai chi to gain the mobility and athleticism of a man in his, well, mid-60s. Don't be jealous. All these techniques are available to anyone who is persistent and has a desire to be pain-free. That would be me at the moment. Back pain helped ruin my brother's life -- and my heart truly goes out to anyone dealing with chronic pain. Persevere ... and good luck to you. I've gone from being in pain to being relatively pain free -- and a pain in everyone else's ass again. I love it.

Stopping daycare; acupuncture helps; conversation class

Our daycare business will shut down on Oct.10,  a little more than eight months after Phuong began this project as a way to have Joanna interact more with other children.  Our daycare is being stopped for personal reasons that I won't get into here. Ostensibly, Phuong is tired and my back is a mess in the morning, which in my view is the most important time for kids and daycare. I leave the house from 9 a.m. to 10:30 a.m. three times a week for acupuncture treatment, meaning Phuong is alone with the little angels. But we persevered and ultimately I found the time with kids very enjoyable. We were doing regular art and "academic" projects that focused on the alphabet and shapes; we made princess and Spiderman masks last week. Joanna's interaction with the kids was OK, but she speaks primarily English and the other kids in the group speak Vietnamese. Blame me for that. When the children took their nap after lunch, Joanna would come upstairs to play and read books with me. Really, the time she spent playing with the other kids was quite limited, although I noticed an increase lately ...  since we decided to shutter the business. It always seems to work that way, doesn't it? I won't miss the constant illnesses that came into the house and worked their way into my body, but I'll miss all of the kids. They were starting to get it: We share, we don't hit, and everyone gets along.

* * *

I've had about seven acupuncture treatments so far for sciatica and they are clearly helping. My back and legs are still problematic for about an hour in the morning, probably because of our lousy bed that my wife loves, but the discomfort settles down and goes away for the rest of the day. Before acupuncture, the pain would persist and be quite uncomfortable at times. Now I can do tai chi at night with little or no pain. I'm a satisfied customer and I'll continue with the treatment indefinitely. I get the treatments at a lady's house and there are four or five other patients there as well. It's a little odd since everyone has their pants pulled halfway down their butts. No big deal, except in the case of my butt.  Just saying. There's no fan or air conditioning in the room, which is open to the street.  I'm guessing it's close to 90 degrees F in the room when I'm getting treated, so sweat pours off of me the entire time. The acupuncture lady seems shocked every time she sees me sweat, which is every time I go there. Anyway, a massage either follows or comes before the acupuncture, and it's very good -- firm, strong, but not painful. This lady and her acupuncture business including the massage guys get an enthusiastic thumbs-up (and butts-up) from the White Monkey.

* * *

I'm guilty of generalizing about the motorbike riders and car drivers here. I've said they're all pretty much selfish, aggressive turds. Twice in the past week as I waited to cross the street, cars stopped and waved me across -- and they had the right of way. On one occasion, the motorbikes stopped as well to let me cross. On the other occasion, motorbikes raced around the car -- the stupid turds -- and nearly hit me as I crossed at the beckoning of the car's driver. I felt obliged. But I rarely walk in Bien Hoa unless I'm carrying my brother's walking stick. My brother didn't use it, fell in the bathroom and died a short while later. I bought it in Prince Edward Island and gave it to Charlie. Anyway, when bikes come ripping at me, which they're apt to do here, I'll hold up the stick in a defensive posture. They'll either slow down or give me a wide berth. Maybe Charlie is looking out for me as well.

* * *

My English students want "conversation", so when I give them a topic or ask them questions, they go silent. It's been that way here for seven years, whether I'm in a language center or in my third-floor classroom at home. Conversation seems to happen best when it's natural and spontaneous, and not scheduled, requested or forced. So, I still teach from a book and have an agenda, but try to let the conversation develop naturally, regardless of the topic. If we get off course, so to speak, so be it.

Crushed thumb; acupuncture; Joanna has gift of gab

I had a mixed bag of personal experiences on Saturday, which is typical of my life here. As I was getting into a taxi, I grabbed the partially opened window to close the door and at that exact moment the driver pressed the button to close the electric window, nearly amputating my right thumb. I screamed in pain because my thumb was trapped and the driver just looked at me. The pressure on my thumb was unbearable, and the driver finally understood and released my throbbing thumb. A lady working a food stand on the corner saw and heard the whole pathetic incident -- locals watch everything that goes on here -- and she came over with some kind of mint-smelling oil and applied it to my thumb. I don't know if it helped, but it sure was a hell of a nice gesture. That's the second time my thumb has been trapped in a taxi's electric window here -- shame on me. Anyway, when I got to my destination, the driver said no charge. Fair enough since I almost had no thumb; my thumb nail will surely be lost. Anyway, my destination is the final installment of my Saturday saga. I went to a woman who does acupuncture. A Russian gentlemen I met told me about his bad back -- a sciatica problem like mine -- and a local lady who gives him acupuncture treatments. He said the treatments have really helped and he gave me her phone number to make an appointment. So I arrived for the treatment with a throbbing thumb. I've never had an acupuncture treatment before, but it didn't hurt when the woman inserted the little needles into my back, butt, and down both legs. They almost tickled. You feel a mild pulsation when the electricity is sent into the needles. One spot on the left side of my back got really hot, and the women pointed this out because, I guess, it also got real red. I have no explanation, even though I have a simpleton's understanding of chi and meridians; the acupuncture woman speaks no English. The woman suggested 45 treatments for me. Cost is not an issue but my time and availability could be.  The acupuncture was an absolutely positive experience and my sciatic feels better. Cured? No, but the pain in my back, butt and down both legs is substantially reduced.  I'll go as often as I can. Maybe she can also treat my thumb next time.

* * *

Joanna continues to amaze me with her wonderful behavior and clever responses. I asked her "Who loves you?" and she responded M-O-M-M-Y.  Spelling is her new obsession of sorts -- I have to be careful with Joanna because like her mom and dad, when she gets fixated on something it's not easy to get her to move on to something else. I was reading a book called "Bubble Bubble" by Mercer Mayer and one of the picture frames shows paper litter on the ground next to a sign that says No Littering. Joanna saw the paper on the ground and said: "Oh no. Horrible, terrible trash on the ground."

* * *

I put my foot down with Phuong (and Joanna) that Joanna must be in bed NO LATER than 8:30 p.m. each night.  Joanna manipulated her way into staying up until 9:30 and beyond each night by claiming: She had to pee; she had to go outside; she lost her duck; she had to pee again; and she lost her chickens. Phuong is much more lenient and patient with Joanna than the White Monkey, which is one reason Joanna loves her M-O-M-M-Y so much. But there has clearly been a change for the better in Joanna's personality and behavior since she's been going to bed earlier and is back on a set schedule. I eliminated her afternoon nap and an early bedtime isn't nearly the challenge it used to be.

* * *

Bad news on the tennis front. Phuong beat me twice last week to take the No. 1 ranking from me, but she pulled a muscle in one of her lovely legs in the process. Now, she's on injury leave, meaning I'm stuck with the No. 2 ranking until she returns. My appeal to be reinstated as No. 1 was rejected by some "corrupt" tennis organization.  I'm willing to play through the pain of my throbbing thumb and painful sciatica to reclaim my rightful place on the family tennis throne, but Phuong is taking a day-to-day, wait-and-see approach. Clearly, she's ducking me.

Bad mall scene; no safety; melancholy memories

I imagine if you went to a market in Dhaka or Mumbai or Dar Es Salaam, the crowds could be worse and the heat more stifling. But the heat and mob scene at Aeon Mall in Binh Duong, Vietnam, on Monday, a national holiday, was as intense as any I've experienced. It was like Black Friday on steroids ... in the tropics. The locals bounced off each other like it was no big deal and just about everyone took off their shoes when they ate at the food court, which didn't sell hot coffee or have chocolate syrup or any servers who could understand English. It was all in a day out for Phuong and her family, but the White Monkey suffers mild panic attacks in hot, crowded places. In short, I don't like them. But I was a good soldier and didn't complain, even when people pointed and stared at the White Monkey. When requested -- four times, I believe -- I posed for pictures with some teenage boys and girls. Phuong found a wonderful toy for Joanna, a bag of good-sized rubber and plastic insects that Joanna has carried with her and played with since she got home. So all was not lost in the heat and masses of people, but scenes like this are clearly not my style.
* * *
One of the daycare moms couldn't get her car to start and she asked me to help. I'm an English teacher -- not a mechanic -- for a reason. But this was an easy fix.  I turned the steering wheel so it clicked into place, then all was well. The car started. The woman was carrying a very young baby, and shockingly, she got in the car and held the baby as she drove away. There was no car seat, but there was a video screen going full blast on the front dashboard. She has to go across town, but safety takes a back seat to convenience and speed (and videos) in this country, as far as I can tell. The woman is nice enough, but I can't understand a mother of four not doing everything she can to keep her kids safe. Holding your baby with her other kids in a subcompact and driving in Vietnam's ruthless traffic isn't doing very much to secure her kids'  safety.
* * *
My older brother Charlie would have turned 71 on Sept. 3. I didn't see him much-- two or three times in the last 10 years of his sad life -- but like clockwork I would call him once a week to chat. I used to try to keep up with people that way, but as I get older I stay in touch with fewer people. And I'm doing it less and less. Folks have their own lives and seem very busy and preoccupied these days; some people don't want contact with me because they remember what a putz I was when I was younger; and besides, I'm focusing on making sure I do the best I can for my little girl and wife. All said,  I miss my chats with my brother. We went through a lot together as kids, sometimes more than kids should have to go through.
* * *
Some wonderful news. My former student Sam is now my current student again. She wants to continue to improve her English and English teaching skills, which is why she's one of my favorite students and favorite people of all time. Welcome back Sam. I'm teaching four students .twice a week -- Sam and her cousin in one class and Lan and Uyen in another. Both classes are wonderful, in case you cared. I know I do.
* * *
 A wonderful high school classmate of mine, Dan Hoeftman, passed away recently. I used to think I had some boxing skills when I was younger until I put the gloves on with Dan. He was quick and skilled enough to pound my face, but he was gentle and kind enough to hold back. I admired Dan, who in high school had to wrestle above his weight for the good of the team. That was Dan's nature -- putting others above himself. God's speed, Dan.

Good fake shoes; dealing with girls; alphabet "worm"

The "Nike Air Pegasus Zoom" shoes that I bought in Ho Chi Minh City when my friend Andy visited are knockoffs of the highest quality. I mean they're fake as hell -- most of the swooshes peeled off after a few weeks -- but they're still functioning very well. I've been told by those in the know that knockoffs of this quality are constructed with stolen or "borrowed" Nike materials, assembled who knows where, and sold to morons like me who think they are cheaper, secret stash Nikes. I saw the $28 price tag for the Zooms, which really cost upwards of $120 in the U.S., and I took the bait. As I strolled around in my well-constructed Nike fakes, I thought back to a pair of name-brand shoes sold to me by a co-worker when I first moved here. Those shoes fell apart -- a la Zion Williamson -- when I walked around in them for a week. The salesman apologized, got me another pair that fell apart -- a la Zion Williamson -- after two weeks. That was my last transaction with the co-worker, who is a good guy but felt compelled to make a buck off a newcomer. Money does funny things to people. Not funny ha ha. My wife tried selling Nike shoes online when we first got together, and they also fell apart; people got really mad. I told her to knock it off and forget about money. She listened and now we are happily married. Like I've said before, lots of people have side businesses selling stuff online. I don't buy it, so to speak, and prefer to get ripped off the old-fashioned way in stores tucked away in the alleys of Ho Chi Minh City that sell "real Nikes." But in this rare case, the shoes were high quality for whatever reason and I got a good deal.

* * *

I believe I've learned how to better deal with the two females in my life. First, Joanna. I understand now that Joanna is one of the world's most stubborn and grouchiest people IN THE MORNING. She doesn't pick fights often, but she won't back down from one IN THE MORNING. So, if I yield to her wishes within reason, we have a great day together. I put food and juice and milk out for her when she wakes up,  but I don't make her eat. Sometimes, she'll scream for chocolate if she knows I have a Hershey's Kiss or almond bar, and I'll give her a piece for breakfast. What the heck ... life is short. Oddly, she'll eat the candy and often have some cereal, fruit and yogurt afterward. An easy victory for the diplomatic White Monkey. Sometimes, I was very pig-headed with my kids from my first marriage. But life is journey and we learn as we go. My wife Phuong is trickier, because we both are stubborn and have big egos. These days I've decided to throw myself into chores and tai chi when there's a disagreement -- the chores that I do will usually placate Phuong, and the chi pacifies me. Everybody's a little happier and everybody gets along splendidly. Good times for the meditative White Monkey.

* * *

A teacher I know, Bronwyn, suggested a wonderful activity for our daycare kids. It's an alphabet worm; kids paint paper plates, color letters, and the letters are pasted on the plates, which are then taped to the wall forming a "worm." Our worm became a centipede/caterpillar (I sort of copied Bronwyn's) and the kids and parents loved seeing the letters/caterpillar/centipede/creature on our wall. One mom said, "It's beautiful." We have seven kids, including Joanna, and four participated in the process with a little prompting, one needed significant prompting, and two didn't get it. Not bad, really, for 2-, 3-, and 4-year-old children. I'm waiting for Bronwyn's next suggestion.

* * *

I'm dealing with some pretty serious sciatica pain, which leads me to think that my motorbike wrecks have finally caught up with me. I can still chi, which is good, but sometimes the pain is distracting, which is bad. I'm reluctant to seek medical help here, but may try acupuncture or a decent massage, as opposed to an indecent massage. We'll see. I have to do something because I'm no longer No. 1 in the family tennis rankings. Now that really hurts.

Pneumonia, driving, tragedy, friends step up

My dry cough persisted for three days in Delaware and Ohio, and my ex-wife insisted I visit the MinuteClinic at CVS Pharmacy. I followed her advice and was diagnosed by the MinuteClinic doctor with pneumonia. It makes sense since the cough was uncomfortable and I've been "under the weather" for a while. The doctor prescribed rest, which is my forte, and gave me six pills. She told me to avoid contact with people for 48 hours so I don't spread the pneumonia. Typhoid Mary ... meet ... Pneumonia John. The doctor also advised me to try to force myself to cough to break up the phlegm. It's been a slog, to be honest. I'm running a mild fever, as if I need to be any warmer, but otherwise I feel pretty much like I usually do -- tired, miserable and angry. The pneumonia didn't alter my schedule in the U.S. and I drove around the northeast, which is one of my least favorite pastimes. I went through Maryland, Washington D.C., Delaware, Pennsylvania, West Virginia, New Jersey (right across the Hudson River from New York City). My toughest drive was from Ohio to New Jersey; it took more than 10 hours due to accidents and a thunderstorm as I approached Newark, N.J. 
My lawyer canceled our lunch meeting, which was fine with me because it saved me a drive to Cleveland while in recovery mode. I drove past my house in Yellow Springs, and it looks fine other than the fact it needs a little landscaping love. I arrived in Yellow Springs on the downside of pneumonia, but folks were understandably concerned that they could catch pneumonia from me (WMP -- White Monkey Pneumonia). They could. And unlike some folks, I believe in full disclosure.
The internet wasn't working at my motel, which in a way was nice, but I had to go into town and use free WiFi at the coffee shops to talk with my wife and see my daughter on Skype. I met the fiance of one of my sons, and she's beautiful, bright and engaging. I'm so happy for both of them.

* * *

I was in Columbus, Ohio, at my friend John's when the mass shooting took place in Dayton, Ohio. John recently moved from Dayton, and I would stay at his place there when I visited in the past. I saw the news early in the morning on a friend's Facebook post, and I woke John up. It's difficult to describe the emotions you feel when you hear news like this -- shock, sadness, anger at the situation, and eventually hope. My sincerest sympathies to all the victims, their families and friends.
The U.S. needs larges doses of hope at this time. People seem divided along racial lines, political lines, religious lines, and financial lines.

* * *

Phuong and I are optimistic about her chances to get a visa to come to the United States. I am slightly less enthusiastic about going "home" given the state of the nation and its leadership, but I know our daughter would be more comfortable in the U.S. because she primarily speaks English and it's not as hot as it is in Vietnam.

* * *

 I understand people are nice and creepy everywhere -- they were especially creepy behind the wheel of a car in New York and New Jersey, honking at you as soon as the red light you were stopped at turned green, or honking at you if you actually stopped at a stop sign, or honking at you when you slowed down on very narrow and crowded streets to look for a parking space. But I found that most of the people, especially in Ohio, were very friendly and polite. It's the same in Vietnam -- I've encountered the wonderful and the weird.

* * *

I'm finishing up the U.S. visit at my brother's house in Purcellville, Virginia, relaxing, losing to my brother in tennis and getting my health back. I want to thank all the people who took the time to see me and help me recover, the people who gave me a place to stay, and the people who were just plain nice and accommodating. There's Ron, Andy, Jane, Tommy, John, Robyn, Lynda, Fred, Candace, Jack, Iris, Tom. Thanks for the food, the place to stay and for being good humans. If I left anyone out, I apologize. You know who you are and what you've done. Thanks one more time. And of course I can't wait to get back to Vietnam to see my incredible wife Phuong and daughter Joanna, the people who bring joy not just to me, but to everyone around them.

Super flight, great friends, good food and beer

I could have flown round trip to the U.S. for about $1,000 with Air China. But after three difficult experiences with the Chinese airline, particularly in Beijing, I chose to spend $1,400 for a round-trip ticket on ANA, a Japanese airline. The costly trip to the U.S. was flawless, smooth, and almost relaxing. It's a 24-hour trip with about 19 hours in the air; the transfer at Tokyo's Narita Airport was easy, peasy, Japanese-y.  No long lines, no shoving or pushing, and quiet, professional staffers. I paid for a hassle-free flight to the U.S. and I got what I paid for. I watched five movies on the nearly 13-hour journey from Tokyo to Washington, D.C.: Bohemian Rhapsody (biopic of Queen's Freddie Mercury); The Mule (elderly Clint Eastwood runs drugs); Vice (Dick Cheney biopic); Cold Pursuit (Liam Neeson kills to avenge son's murder); and Venom (weird Marvel Comics movie). They were all OK except Cold Pursuit, but none will make my top 5. Vice intrigued me the most. The trip back to Vietnam will be a little longer because of winds, but I'm hopeful for another good experience.

* * *

Initially, I stayed with friend Ron in Elkton, Md., and looked at a house in his neighborhood. It's a beautiful place in a nice location, but requires quite a bit of work that wouldn't be cheap, possibly $40,000 to $50,000. Looking at houses is always fun for me, and I enjoy imagining the potential and what life would be like there. I have a house in Yellow Springs, Ohio, which is a wonderful little village, but it's wise to keep options open, I guess. I went to visit friend Andy in north Wilmington, Del., and stayed at his (and his wife Jane's) house. I couldn't ask for better or more generous friends than Ron, Andy and Jane, or John S., whom I'll visit next week in Ohio. I'm hoping to hook up with my children in Ohio and New Jersey. And I've got the annual eye doctor visit, and lunch with my lawyer in Cleveland, coming up.  Friend Tommy visited twice when I stayed at Ron's house, but I was so tired that we didn't chat as much as I would have liked. Hopefully, we'll catch up next time when my wife Phuong and daughter Joanna are here with me ... if Phuong can get a visa. We may find out about the visa before the end of the year.

* * *

We're not real far from the ocean in Elkton and Wilmington, and there's lots of bays and rivers in the area. This means seafood is plentiful and generally of higher quality. Crab soup and salmon have already been on my menu. And since I dig the pig and chicken, there's my local favorite, scrapple -- and I cooked and ate nearly an entire one-pound brick at Ron's. The craft beer scene in the U.S. is over the top, and there seems to be a local brewery on nearly every corner. Even Elkton has a couple of craft beer bars with tons of local brews in bottles and on tap. Life suits me better here than in Vietnam, where I'll always be considered an outsider and curiosity. And the weather is more comfortable in the U.S. The Vietnamese are wonderful (e.g. Phuong), but my daughter is an American citizen and belongs in the U.S. with MOM and dad. I know I've beaten this horse to death, but we really need a change for our daughter's sake.

* * *

Of course, I miss my wife and daughter terribly. Joanna tries to kiss me through Skype, and she has such a wonderful and devilish smile. She was quite sick when I left, but she's gotten better. Phuong gets sick for about seven hours and recovers well. Drives me crazy. I'm still coughing and fighting jet lag, but my skin cleared up instantly in the U.S. and I'm confident I'll be back at full strength in time to return to the dirty air and heat in Vietnam, and get sick again courtesy of the little angels that come to our house for daycare.

Keep sick kids home; neighbors don't help; Joanna turns 3

A few people have commented lately that I look a little pale. Well, I am the White Monkey, but I am also sick again with a vicious cough and thumping sinus headache. Filthy air, lack of sleep, and constant stress no doubt contribute to my repeated illnesses, but as I've noted, lots of other people I know are having the same health problems. But the real culprits for me are the kids who come to our house for daycare. One of the little girls had this disgusting green river running from her nose for two weeks. Her parents finally kept her home this past week when she got a fever. Other kids have been sitting in the middle of the floor crying, when they're not sleeping, because they don't "feel well."
Some of the parents sell stuff online and really hustle, and money is apparently a real motivator for them. A couple of kids are being dropped off before 7:30 a.m. so there really is no rest for the weary.  That means when I start to recover, the cycle of sickness returns to our house in the form of the little angels. My mentor teacher Laurie once chastised me for coming to school to student-teach when I was sick. She chastised me for a lot of stuff that I didn't understand at the time; now I understand and respect her even more for the lessons she taught me -- Laurie is a real gem. Anyway, when ego, or money or other selfish motives cause us to act in an irresponsible way, others often suffer the consequences. My wife and daughter have been sick as well. Since I'm the old fart of the bunch, I tend to be the sickest. When you're dealing with little kids, sickness is a fact of life. A 20-month will cough in your face and sneeze on other kids' food. And hygiene in this country isn't exemplary. Phuong is working incredibly hard to teach these kids proper manners, hygiene, and respect. Sharing was a foreign concept. Disrespect and hitting were somewhat routine. Phuong is doing God's work. Me? I stay out of the way and try not to let the little angels be too rude, angry or overly aggressive. And out of respect for my mom, who died 13 years ago, I insist on sharing. I think Phuong is doing an amazing job in every respect. Next, we'll have to teach the parents to keep their kids home when the kids are really sick so they don't spread the wealth, so to speak. I know it's daycare and the parents need help taking care of their kids, but it doesn't help when the caretakers are sick as well. My wise friend Richard and I discussed on Skype how people who are motivated by money lack a quality of character and have an emptiness in their lives ... even if their bank accounts are full.

* * *

While I'm on the topic of money, I needed to withdraw cash from an ATM at Vietcombank on Friday. I put the card in, waited, and the card came out and the money would eventually follow.  I was so busy making sure my card went back in my wallet that I nearly forgot to grab my money.  A woman pointed to the cash, I thanked her, but when I went to grab the money, it was sucked back into the machine with a message that my funds had been "purged". The bank wouldn't give me my the money, of course, without a passport, and I told them I would go home and get it. Then they said no, they would deposit the money in my account "if we have money at the end of the day." A day later and no money (we're talking about $90 U.S. dollars, which isn't chump change to this chimp). The bank girl's English wasn't very good. She looked at my US Bank card and said I didn't get my money because the stripe on the back was dirty. Well, sweetheart, the US Bank card worked, as it has hundreds of times at this same bank, and the money came out, but the machine "purged" it before I could grab it. I accept my share of the blame for being slow to grab the money, but I won't tolerate getting a lecture from some nimrod who can't speak my language well enough to know what she's talking about, doesn't have the facts, and is flat out wrong.

* * *

Our daycare kids were swimming on the third floor of our house when an inflatable life preserver went over the rail (courtesy of me showing off)  and onto the street below. I looked down and saw three neighbors sitting outside their houses and some random people at my sister-in-law's store not too far from the toy. The three neighbors obviously saw the toy because they watch everything we do. All three, and I swear this is true, immediately went into their houses. The random people were random and didn't care. A car and some motorbikes rode by and had the decency not to run over the life preserver. I was hoping the neighbors or random people would just throw the life preserver on our front step so it wouldn't get run over. Hope is for losers -- John the loser walked down the stairs and retrieved the life preserver from the street. 

* * *

Not all the news is grim: Joanna turned 3 years old recently and had a wonderful celebration. Two other kids from our daycare had birthdays -- one turned 4 and one turned 3, and we had a group party with cake. Fantastic. We also had a private party for Joanna and she got shoes and toys and such. I gave her four clay chickens and a clay duck along with a clay drinking cup with fish painted on it. I'm thrilled to say Joanna loves the clay birds and plays with them constantly. She's dropped and chipped them a few times, but dad uses glue and water colors to make repairs.

* * *

We need to send in one translated document and our visa application for Phuong is complete. When all  the forms are in, we'll await word on the interview. I'm leaving for the U.S. on Tuesday -- a short stay this time because of a cash shortage -- Vietcombank isn't helping.

No car seat; friend in accident; sleep is a luxury

One of the children in our daycare group showed up last week with a really nasty looking black eye. This little girl is pretty wild so I assumed she fell, or maybe got whacked by a sibling because it's not uncommon for her to simply yank toys away from other kids. Actually, the girl was a passenger in her parents' car, which made a sudden stop to avoid hitting a pedestrian. She was thrown forward and hit something with her face, most likely the dashboard. I didn't get the details other than the fact that this 20-month wasn't in a car seat. But that's the norm here. Kids don't wear helmets on motorbikes (I've been told they're more at risk for a broken neck with a helmet on, so helmets are not required for children). I'm pretty sure there's no requirement for a car seat, either, since I think I've seen about two or three car seats in the more than six years I've lived here. And the number of cars seems to be increasing daily.
Cars and SUVs don't yield here, regardless of typical right of way decorum. An SUV will pull out into traffic from a side street, for example, with no concern for the sea of motorbikes or smaller cars. They will honk their horns to announce the intrusion. But if a bigger vehicle like a truck is in the traffic flow, the SUV will be forced to yield because the truck will not give an inch, and it will also be honking its horn to warn the vehicles in its path that it will not yield. Size matters. There are no car seats in taxis, of course, so we always sit in the back, and I make Joanna sit in the middle in either Phuong's or my grasp. I know this isn't ideal, but since seat belts are passe here and rarely in working order, we do what we have to do. Besides, walking isn't a whole lot safer since no vehicle -- bicycle, motorbike, car, or truck -- will yield to a pedestrian. And vehicles can frequently be found riding on sidewalks. The buses are hot, dirty and complicated, so they're not an option.

* * *

On Sunday when we went to tennis, court manager and friend Tai came limping toward us. I know this is a stupid cliche, but his face really looked liked hamburger. Smothered in dry ketchup. His left eye was nearly swollen shut and the scrapes and road burn were gruesome. He told us he crashed his bike when another motorcyclist crossed the center line and nearly hit him. I'm pretty sure Tai was wearing a helmet, which is fortunate indeed. Hell, I had a helmet on in my first accident here and still banged my coconut and had bleeding on the brain, which I slept off for five days in a Bangkok hospital.

* * *

My two English students are doing quite well and they're enjoyable in class. One of the two ladies just got back from a trip to the United States with her family and was very happy with her improved English. She told me she understood most of what people were saying to her. When I go the U.S. in a few weeks I'll have to take her with me since I struggle to understand much of the English spoken in my country.
Speaking of students, I had coffee with former student Sam, the sexiest woman alive (according to some, including Sam). Sam is such a breath of fresh air here for me -- she's got a real positive energy and vibe. Sam works for some company now, and get this, she teaches English part-time. I'm so proud of Sam, and proud of the work I did with her to improve her English and boost her IELTS score. I guess the White Monkey gets to beat his chest on occasion, too.

* * *

Daycare remains a challenge for me, even though I sometimes love it. The kids arrive early, so we're up at 6 a.m. Monday through Friday. After I help put Joanna to bed, do chi, and share a beer with my wife, I'm going to sleep around midnight at the earliest (my wife is one of those people who takes 3-minute naps throughout the day; she can sleep standing up). That means I'm a tired and sometimes cranky White Monkey. It happens to the best and worst of us. Throw in the horrible heat and humidity, and bed of nails we sleep on, it's no wonder I've learned to snarl and smile at the same time (Smarl? Snile?). Joanna contributes to the dilemma. She's cute, charming, bright, stubborn and occasionally cranky. She demands I carry her much of the day, but past motorbike accidents have come back to haunt my back in the form of sciatica pain, especially in the morning. I'm fine if don't lift anything heavy in the morning, but Joanna is heavy morning, noon, and night. None of this has affected my tennis, however, as I've reclaimed No. 1 in the household and dominated my lovely wife the past couple of weeks. I'm aging like a fine whine.

Daycare parents finicky about food; visa bid progressing

The parents of our daycare kids are real finicky about what we feed their children.  Too finicky, in my opinion, but it's really none of my business. I'm just an observer to stuff like that. The parents don't want their kids eating cheese or snacks. They're the customer and Phuong is the boss, so I do what I'm told. But before I was told, the kids gathered around me like I was Jesus giving a sermon on the mount when I had cheese and potato chips for a snack one afternoon. I didn't do this daily, but it was kind of a once or twice a week treat for the kids. I still give the toxic treats to Joanna, and I'll sneak her some chocolate as well. I've read that cheese can cause constipation, so I'll limit the portions and frequency for Joanna. The parents haven't complained about peanut butter yet, but they're probably not too familiar with it. I put a big tablespoon of peanut butter on a plate with apples in the morning (no more small pieces of cheese), along with cinnamon-sugar toast with butter, and honey oats cereal. The parents often get the kids some kind of noodle soup, such as Pho, Hu Tieu, even Bun Bo Hue (without blood pudding) for breakfast. Then there's rice and noodles with chicken or some pork for lunch. I have no idea what they have for dinner, but I'm almost certain that rice and/or noodles are on the menu. Again, none of my business. I mention some of this because our daughter was having some constipation issues and I demanded Phuong stop feeding her noodles and rice twice a day (and Phuong demanded I stopped giving Joanna so much cheese). I give Joanna a lunch of oatmeal with brown sugar and cinnamon and raisins, and sometimes fresh blueberries and jarred peaches. Since I started this about a month ago, all of Joanna's systems are "go" on a clockwork basis. Sorry to talk about poop so much, but that's what parents of little kids do. Or have to do, really.

* * *

The daycare mom who had an issue with her liver is back home from the hospital, sans surgery, and on medication to treat her problem. I'll respect her privacy and provide no more details, but suffice it to say everyone is very pleased.

* * *

Joanna and I are bonding even more these days, and now she knows the words to songs by The Beatles, Felix Pappalardi and Creation, and Youth Lagoon. We listen to this music and dance; it puts Joanna to sleep each day around 1:30 p.m. for about an hour. This little nap serves as a respite for me when I can take care of odds and ends like finishing my blog, putting away laundry, preparing for my two English students, and waxing my Civil  War figurine collection.  Well, laundry, blog, class prep. Daycare is exhausting work, especially for a 64-year-old White Monkey. And Phuong does the heavy lifting.

* * *

We're putting the finishing touches on the DS-260 form and waiting for police records, which are both part of the formal application for Phuong to obtain a visa to come to the United States with her American husband (me) and American daughter (that would be Joanna). If she is rejected, I may drag Phuong and Joanna to Peru, where hopefully I could teach and dominate Phuong in tennis on clay courts. And that's a wonderful segue to my final bit of news: Despite some pain in my left foot from the plantar fascia injury, which has led to pain in my back that is wreaking havoc with my serve, I have courageously fought my way back to the No. 1 family tennis ranking over my sore-shouldered wife. Phuong and I suspect her shoulder is sore from constantly holding and carrying Joanna -- who's pretty heavy for a near-three-year-old -- rather than tennis. Even with my minor physical issues,  I have learned to trust the process.

Daycare mom in hospital; motorbike moron swerves around Joanna; coffee shop accuses me of not paying

The mom of two little girls in our daycare group has been admitted to a hospital in Ho Chi Minh City with an abscess in her liver. We don't have any information on the source or cause of the abscess, but doctors are considering surgery to remove the part of the liver that's been affected, according to the mom.  The mom, who is very bright, is also one of my English students. Obviously, we're quite upset by the news. The mom complained of stomach pain on Friday, and the pain became so severe that she went to the hospital. Tests revealed the abscess. This woman is only 31 years old and her mom passed away recently. I'm a proponent of second and third opinions from other doctors, especially when surgery is being strongly considered. I hope the situation can be handled with medicine rather than any kind of invasive procedure.

* * *

Our daycare kids circle me like buzzards when I try to eat something that they might also like. For example, my frozen chocolate milk in the morning is now a sensation with the kids. So is my frozen yogurt. I guess it's just as well since mooching kids keep me from getting as big as a house with all the food that I eat. But when it's the last yogurt, or last cookie or cupcake, well ... kids rule in our house so guess who gets the goods.

* * *

We walked to the park with our nine daycare kids last week, and Phuong bought this bungee cord type of thing with plastic rings that the children hold; it's designed to help keep the children together and walking in a straight line, more or less. Joanna let go of her ring and wandered into the street. Of course. some typical Bien Hoa lowlife roared up on his scooter at that moment and refused to slow down with Joanna in the street, instead dangerously swerving around her. I yelled at the classy individual to slow down, and he glared at me like he wanted to fight. This happens quite a bit here. Joanna must have sensed my anger and willingness to engage the quality human on the motorbike because she launched into a string of profanities that would have turned a sailor's ears red. I really have to be more careful of my language around her. Besides, I shouldn't get so upset at the scumbags on bikes here. But when they threaten my daughter ....
Most locals ignore the clowns although I've seen a few take exception. They're my heroes.

* * *

At the coffee shop I've been going to for the past six months or so, Nguyen Xuan Truong Coffee, I was accused of trying to leave without paying. In fact, I was outside headed home with headphones on when a waiter came running after me and grabbed my arm, hopefully because I didn't hear him call to me. He communicated that I didn't pay.  Actually, I paid a different waiter as soon as he delivered my coffee (pay as you go and you never owe) and gave him an 8,000 dong tip -- I used to give 10,000 until they raised their prices. Anyway, I went back inside with my accuser, found the other waiter who unenthusiastically and unapologetically agreed that I had paid. I was pissed and told the clown that chased me outside that I don't need to steal a 42,000-dong, watered-down, lukewarm, mediocre-at-best cappuccino and that I had enough money to buy this dump of a coffee shop. That's probably not true, but like I said, I was pissed. Besides, I've been told that foreigners can't own property in Vietnam. Coffee shops are off my list of places to go since most don't understand me when I try to order a cup of coffee, or they think I'm a thief, or the other customers try to cut in line and then stare at me like I'm some kind of White Monkey.

No power; still sick; Joanna and I bond like super glue

We lost power, in every sense of the word, when our electricity was shut off from 8 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. one day last week. Our eight daycare kids got to enjoy our house on a sunny, typically humid, 100-degree day with no air conditioning, a minimum amount of ice, and no functioning fridge for cold drinks. Swimming became the activity of the day, and we let the children stay in the pool as long as they wanted. I went into the kiddie pool as well. There was no napping after a nice, hot lunch of nice, hot soup because there was no air conditioning in our nice, hot nap/play/music/class area.  It was 90 in the house and felt warmer with the kids romping around. I went through four T-shirts, took four showers on the day, and Phuong and I went to bed completely wiped out. I woke up with some weird skin rash on my chest. My poor wife, who does most of the work with the kids, got a rash on her shoulder that required a quick trip to the skin doctor. The kids seemed OK with the heat, and most of them enjoyed the hot soup that is served everywhere all the time. I don't get it, but there are so many things in this world I don't understand.

* * *

I can't shake the flu, cough, sinus mess or whatever that I contracted more than a month ago. Just when I start to feel better, I'll wake up with a sore throat and phlegm in my chest. I've considered the possibility of allergies. There's stuff floating around in the air here beyond my comprehension. I'm very much looking forward to my trip back to the U.S. this year for eye care so I can breathe some clean air again. Yeah, I know that pollution is a fact of life everywhere but it's got a little more juice here since the country is going through something of an industrial revolution in conjunction with its economic development, and it has an increased amount of cars, trucks, motorbikes, people, and people burning trash for religious reasons. Also, the daycare job is a 7:30 a.m. to 5 p.m. gig, so Phuong and I are a little sleep deprived. The trip to the U.S. is looking sweeter and sweeter.

* * *

Phuong's daycare business means Joanna and I are together constantly. We'll dance to "Good Night" by The Beatles and  "Green Rocky Road" by Felix Poppalardi and Creation before naps and bedtime. We'll wake up to "Good Morning Good Morning" by The Beatles. At night, we go "outside" together on our second- and third-floor balconies and look at the neighbor's rats slithering up and down his piles of trash; we'll watch airplanes coming from and going to HCMC; we'll point out the few visible stars and very visible moon in the sky.  Also, Joanna has a remarkable eye: She can spot geckos on black walls at night, and centipedes on the our balconies' floors. And she can see rats like nobody's business -- at the neighbor's, the park, in the streets. I read a minimum of  three stories a day to her, but our library is limited and she has the books memorized. Really. We watch Storybook Nanny videos together, Sesame Street and Dream English with Matt.  The weather and dirty air make going outside difficult at times, but we'll walk to The Coffee House and get a pastry and cappuccino. A lot of people in town know Joanna and seem to take notice of her because she doesn't look like the other kids. Most people are exceptionally nice to her.  I truly believe Joanna belongs in the United States, especially Yellow Springs. She can't believe Jack and his mother cut down the "tree" to kill the giant in Jack and the Beanstalk. "What happened to the tree?" she asks incredulously every time we watch the video. She still talks about the big bug I saved -- it was stuck on its back and being eaten alive by ants on our balcony. Joanna watched in fascination before I flipped it over; it flew away. "Daddy saved the big bug." Maybe I intervened in nature's way and this might not go over real big in Yellow Springs, but a man's gotta do what he thinks is right for his child.

* * *

No word yet on Phuong's interview at the embassy to get a U.S. visa. Our lawyers are double-checking the application and Phuong is obtaining her police records. I expect something might happen in a few months.

* * *

A former high school acquaintance and teammate of mine, Joe Miller, died at the age of 64. I played football and baseball with Miller, and he was a very good athlete. He was awesome in baseball -- had a tremendous arm and amazing pop in his bat. He could run like a deer. Joe was a natural. The thing I liked about Miller was that he wasn't any BS, if you know what I mean. Joe was a straight shooter and didn't get involved in the usual high school crap and locker room nonsense. RIP Joe. I did see Miller wallop a double off the wall about 330 feet away against Rick Widdoes, my wrestling partner/coach/nemesis, who was something of local pitching legend in Delaware. Widdoes recently died.

Eating red ants; giving our daycare kids real American food

Phuong has introduced me to some interesting Vietnamese cuisine lately, most notably a red ant and shredded beef mixture that's a tasty, salty, spicy, crunchy and sour treat. Red ants are served in Thailand, but this particular recipe comes from the central and northern highlands of Vietnam, somewhere north of Da Lat. I'm not a big bug eater, but Phuong insisted I try it. It gets a thumbs-up. The picture doesn't do this concoction justice, but the red ants are clearly visible, not pureed and masked within the shredded beef. The slightly sour taste is most notable and comes from a liquid secreted by the ants when they're threatened, or so I'm told. I guess nothing is quite as threatening as being cooked alive. The beef can be a little chewy, like all beef in Vietnam -- many families use little hammers to pound some tenderness into the beef.  I won't use meat tenderizer, so I like this method if the beef is extremely tough. This food is called KrongPa Gia Lai beef and it's great with beer. But beer seems to work with all food; Phuong and I try anything with our nightly beer; chocolate is a favorite. KrongPa Gia Lai's ingredients are beef, red ants, salt and red chili peppers. One of our daycare moms, An, gave us a sample and now we're hooked. But I consider this more of an occasional treat than a nightly "go-to" snack. For the day-in, day-out eating with beer, I prefer a dried, shredded chicken, lemon and chili pepper mix called kho ga la chanh. The folks at the Craft Beer bar around the corner gave me some when I bought some Estrella Damm beer. Daycare mom An sells us bulk portions of the shredded chicken. Everybody sells stuff on the side in Vietnam, my wife included. I guess I sell English on the side. Anyway, the chicken mix is very spicy and the red peppers are visible and super hot. Joanna calls the snack "Cay Cay" (spicy hot spicy hot) and she'll eat the dried, shredded chicken but avoid the chili peppers. Ice water is kept nearby. This dish keeps the plumbing flowing.

* * *

Including Joanna, we now care for eight children daily at our house, and a ninth is coming soon. In addition to speaking English to the kids (this is the only language I can speak, by the way), I try to get the kids to sample some U.S. food, or at least food from my youth. Buttered toast with sugar and cinnamon is a favorite with the kids. Apples with peanut butter is starting to catch on. Scrambled eggs with cheese is becoming popular. Peanut butter and jelly has flopped. In fact, most of the kids don't like sandwich bread. We'll have cheese, which they enjoy but their parents don't eat, and I make milkshakes, which are now requested by the kids. Phuong and I share cooking duties, but I've slacked off the past week after a relapse of the flu. I don't know if it's genetics or conditioning, but kids and everyone else in this country love hot soup, noodles and rice for breakfast (lunch and dinner, also). When it's 86 degrees Fahrenheit at 7:30 a.m., I can't eat hot soup. I'll have soup once in a while here, but I don't enjoy it because of the heat. I don't care much for the very popular hot pot dishes either, mostly because of the weather but also because of their generic taste.

* * *

No word yet on Phuong's interview, although the government has informed us they've created a "case" for Phuong. They're processing the $475 application fee and after that happens our lawyer will send in some paperwork and hopefully we'll get a date for the interview.

* * *

Rainy season is here, although it seems a bit early to me. Locals don't seem to care when the rains come. They just seem to be real concerned about being out in the rain. Maybe they know the score: I'll walk in the rain if I have to, and I've been very ill twice in the past three weeks. I think it's the daycare kids bringing in viruses and me not getting enough sleep that are the real contributors to my poor health. But locals say, "You don't understand. It's the rain."  It's difficult to argue when you can't breathe through your nose, your chest hurts, and you're sitting on the throne  much of the day. 

Flu, heat deliver a beatdown; AC finally fixed

I had big plans for Phuong's 41st birthday last weekend. I bought a cake, Belgian chocolates and planned a fancy dinner. Then I got socked with the flu, and this is truly a special case that I picked up from our daycare group. My chest was so congested that breathing was difficult, my nose did the usual running, and my throat got so sore I couldn't talk in the mornings or evenings. Some people applauded this, but it didn't stop me from writing. I also had a fever that had me sweating buckets in the god-awful heat here. I waited for, and actually wanted, the chills, but they never came. Finally, I hope, the bug, or virus, or whatever, got into my digestive track and wreaked havoc. My bloated belly doubled in size -- if you can imagine that -- and was so tight that I had to wear super stretchy gym shorts only. There was real pain in my stomach, acid reflux for one night that prevented me from sleeping, and remarkable gas. Gas, gas, gas. Joanna and Phuong have laughed at me constantly because I've spent the last 36 hours blowing off steam, so to speak, and there's the fear of escapees (so far not a problem). Thank goodness we're in the midst of a Vietnamese holiday -- independence day, I think -- so I haven't had to work daycare. We start back up Thursday. After eight days of feeling like hell, I'm finally returning to some semblance of normal. I'm not there yet, but I'm improving.  My barrel belly is slowly shrinking to a pot belly, my gas flow has slowed to where I'm no longer a candidate for fracking, and my congestion has improved to where I don't breathe like a beached haddock. I haven't been this sick since I ate bad ceviche in Peru seven years ago, and that disaster only lasted five days. I'm not ready for a beer yet, but when I am, let's drink to our health. I've apologized to Phuong for making a mess out of her birthday, but she's a good sport. Good husband that I am, I played tennis with Phuong despite the flu and lost three of four sets along with my No. 1 family ranking. I know my wife really enjoys and looks forward to our tennis, so I do everything I can to stay on the court, regardless of flu or foot.

* * *

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It's not listed, but I checked and saw that the humidity is in the 60's and 70's daily. The temperatures seem a little warmer because we're in a city with lots and lots of motorbikes, cars and trucks. And it's rarely as cloudy or rainy as the little icons indicate. Regardless, the difficult part of this for my family is that both of our bedroom air conditioners weren't working real well last week. They dripped water like crazy and I checked what I could check with no luck. Repairmen were very busy and couldn't make it to our house for a while. You don't understand. Phuong doesn't love the weather, but she's certainly more adapted to it than I am. Like her dad, Joanna doesn't enjoy the heat. The coffee shops have become an oasis for me, but I'm not the only one in need. They can be crowded and noisy and I've never really enjoyed crowds and noise. I remember stretches of hot and humid weather like this in Delaware, where I grew up. But even in the worst of times the nighttime lows always got into the 70s. Ah, the repairmen finally arrived and we're cool again. Cost us less than $10 to unclog the lines from our two bedroom air conditioners.

* * *

We're waiting -- on pins and needles -- to hear from the embassy and my lawyer about Phuong's interview for a spousal visa. I won't lie. My health is taking a beating here and I'd be in worse shape if I didn't chi and play tennis. Joanna is thriving, but I think she'll blossom even more in the U.S., especially when it's time for her to start school. We need to move for my health and mental well-being, for Joanna's future, and for my wife, who must be allowed to join her husband and daughter in the U.S. Seems reasonable to me.

A cool life despite Vietnamese heat; visa talk

We're in the middle of a relentless heat wave here where I sweat even in air-conditioned rooms. Really. Then again, I've been in the middle of a relentless heat wave here for the past six years. No shock since I live in the tropics, where paper cuts take a month to heal and skin rashes are displayed like tattoos. Our refrigerator struggles to keep leftovers and milk cold. Our freezer needs five hours in the day to make ice; it works better at night. We don't have air conditioning in our kitchen (too expensive and the house is too big) so lunch and dinner are served in 86 to 88-degree coziness. It's 99, sunny, and humid daily with no real significant cool-down at night. I take a minimum of three showers a day. March and April have traditionally been nasty hot months here. Things may cool down to 95 or so in May or June with the approach of the rainy season, but hot is hot, folks.  And the humidity is a constant. We're at 10.95 degrees latitude here so the swelter is to be expected. In other words, I only have myself to blame. However, we have a wonderful life and routine going even with the heat, motorbikes and cutting in line. Phuong's daycare business is crazy busy, relentless and wildly entertaining. Phuong is a natural with kids and with the parents. She's a -- oh God, dare I say it --- people person. Her confidence and calm demeanor seem to assure her success in whatever she pursues. (Except tennis, ha ha.) Joanna is the joy of our life. She makes jokes, speaks two languages, and confronts us at every turn. I love her temper and moxie. Also, I enjoy my English students and classes. Teaching students who want to learn -- or at least don't scowl at me for an hour -- is a real joy. I've become a prolific reader, sitting in coffee shops at least an hour a day with Jack Vance books. Now I'm reading "Little Women". Tennis with Phuong is great fun. In addition, the new Craft Beer bar around the corner serves a wonderful pale ale and tasty mango beer on tap, and also sells Westmalle Tripel and Estrella Damm in bottles. And Joanna can sit at the bar and eat snacks with us served by a cute barmaid. So, the heat and other unsavory obstacles be damned. We're doing our best to make the best of a situation that isn't optimal, but at least it has some potential. Even injuries from motorbike accidents and tennis have forced me to focus on tai chi and fitness, so it's possible to live well in a challenging environment. If not for Phuong and Joanna, I'd probably be walking the earth barefoot carrying a little pouch ... like Kwai Chang Caine.

* * * 

We're still in the process of getting Phuong an interview at the U.S. Embassy to obtain a spousal visa to enter the U.S. Like I've said, Phuong and I could live anywhere, but our goal is to get Joanna to the U.S. where I  believe she'll have excellent educational and social opportunities. Like her dad, she's an American citizen. Phuong's visa status is the main stumbling block, which is why we have a lawyer. We're hopeful but certainly not in a panic mode. I expect my country will do the right thing and allow my wife to enter the U.S. with her American daughter and American husband. If not, I would like to teach in Peru again, or buy a $1 house in Italy that I read about on the CNN website.

* * *

I saw online where a young man in Yellow Springs, Ohio, was apparently the victim of a homicide. His body was found in Glen Helen. I have a house in Yellow Springs, and this is where me, my wife and daughter will probably live if Phuong gets a visa. My condolences to the young man's friends and family, and to the friends and family of all other serious crime victims in Yellow Springs. It's a small, somewhat close-knit and fairly comfortable community, so it's difficult to imagine things like this happening there.

Vietnamese parenting techniques; visa interview imminent

Our daycare business, which now has eight children including our daughter Joanna, allows me to observe the different parenting techniques of Vietnamese moms and dads. Love is love, no matter where you live, but I've seen some styles of parenting that seem to me to be more prevalent in Vietnam than in the United States.  There's no good or bad where love is concerned, but here are my observations.
-- Overall, breastfeeding continues for a longer period of time for children in Vietnam than in the U.S. Again, this is my observation from personal experience. Our group has seven moms with eight children -- all of the moms, except Phuong, breastfeed. The breastfed children range in age from 19 months to 39 months. Actually,  all but two of the children are over two years old. Joanna stopped at five months for a variety of reasons. What I've read indicates that moms can breastfeed their children as long as they want and as long as mom and baby enjoy the experience. I'm in total agreement with that.
-- There seems to be more holding and lap-sitting here, and a little less toy time. This is completely understandable since the moms are working and cherish the time they have with their children. But groups of four or five moms will sit around holding their children almost the entire time. It's sweet, and Phuong does this with Joanna, but I since I was a hyper little chimp, it's foreign to me, so to speak.
-- Of course I'm not in the kids' homes at night, but I suspect reading isn't quite the bedtime ritual in Vietnam that it is in the U.S. ... well,  at least I hope it's a ritual in the U.S.  Phuong reads sparingly to Joanna -- that's my job -- and all but one or two of our children's books are in English. There might not be a wide range or volume of children's book in Vietnam.  I don't see many cardboard books here, which are essential for the little ones.
-- Almost all the kids hit. They take a swing at adults, other kids and even toys that don't cooperate. Not sure why this is. One thing I notice is that moms are extremely tolerant of wild behavior, things like random screaming, interrupting, throwing toys. At our daycare, if the child's behavior is physically aggressive, we'll give them a timeout in a chair for a few minutes. Children usually don't like to be separated from the group. We try to redirect if we can to avoid any serious issues. So far, so good.
-- Moms here love to feed their kids rather than insisting kids try to feed themselves. I've noted this before, and it never ceases to amaze and annoy me when I see a mom squatting and feeding a 4-year-old. I don't know why it bothers me so much -- maybe because I can't squat down flat-footed like everyone else here to feed a kid. I just make Joanna and the other children do it themselves, and they all seem happy to cooperate and try. Hey, if you're hungry ...
Bottom line: Watching little kids learn and interact with parents and other children is not only downright fascinating, it's instructional as well. I never thought I'd say this, but I really enjoy it, and I can thank my wife Phuong for that.

* * *

-- A virus is working its way around the kids and adults in our group. Headaches and sore throats abound. Joanna is fighting a really runny nose and sore throat, and she's very cranky.  Phuong is starting to get sick as well. I've been lucky so far, which probably means I'll get sick this week.
-- I'm weighing a job offer from a language center in Barcelona, Spain, but research tells me the city is crowded and expensive. I'm still researching but can't access much information on the school.
-- After dominating my wife in tennis early in my comeback, Phuong has shaken off the rust and beaten me in two of our last three fun-filled and exciting matches. My foot is holding up, in part due to my new K-Swiss plantar fascia-friendly tennis shoes, and we're having a blast.
-- The U.S. government accepted our petition for a spousal visa for Phuong. That means she should have an interview at the U.S. Embassy in Ho Chi Minh City in the near future -- a month or two -- to determine if and when she can come to the U.S. with her American husband and American daughter. I don't want to say much so I don't jinx us. Our motives are not sinister; they're pure: we want the best schools and opportunities for our American daughter Joanna, and there is no way in hell I could separate Joanna from her loving mom. We'll only come to the U.S. as a family.

Phuong's knack for business; I'm playing tennis again

My wife and her family have a real feel for business. Phuong's dad owns and manages property, including the building that serves as the headquarters  -- with classrooms -- for ever-expanding VMG language center, where I used to work. That probably explains why they never fired me. Phuong's brother has his own handyman business, and Phuong's mom is a tailor who also cooks and sells Vietnamese food on holidays. Phuong's sister-in-law runs a store out of Phuong's parents' house. Phuong used to have a private IT business, fixing phones and laptops. (Vietnam labels itself as a Communist country with capitalism, or something like that.) Now, Phuong has  thrown herself into a a small daycare that we operate in our house, closing off our living room and putting in an air conditioner, buying and organizing toys, buying the swimming pool we use on our balcony upstairs, and cooking and cleaning nonstop. In short, she's investing love, effort, time and money into this endeavor. It started when I suggested she recruit some playmates for Joanna. Phuong loves to say she is working with "all my power."  Me? I contribute the all-important nods of agreement and approval, and the encouraging "looks good" observations to her Herculean efforts. Clearly, I'm invaluable to the success of the operation. The mission has been accomplished, and then some. Joanna interacts well with the other children, and with a little tough love from dad, has improved her behavior dramatically. She speaks much more Vietnamese now, but the kids in daycare are speaking some English because of Joanna and the White Monkey. Joanna has refined her sense of humor, answering my questions in Vietnamese because she knows I don't understand, and acting like a baby by saying "goo-goo-ga-ga" to intentionally frustrate me and laugh at my reaction. (I play along and exaggerate my frustration.) Sometimes ... life really is too short.

* * *

Less than two months after I tore my plantar fascia playing tennis, I returned to the tennis court on Saturday. My intention was to just hit the ball with my wife for a little bit, test the foot, and go home and celebrate if all went well. Instead, we rallied and tried a couple of serves back and forth. Then I suggested we play a point to see how my foot responded. Then, a point became a game, and a game became a set. I was pleased with how I moved from side to side and backwards. I was very nervous and tentative charging short balls, which my wife frequently hits. Serving wasn't an issue. In a 45-minute set, I prevailed 6-4. Phuong never broke my serve and I finally broke her serve at 5-4 to gain a tense, scintillating and courageous 6-4 victory to maintain my No. 1 family ranking with the ITA, WTA, USTA, and PTA. The rematch is Sunday. I'll continue ice therapy and rehabilitation throughout my heroic comeback -- and likely as long as I want to play tennis. As always, I credit my daily tai chi practice for making the comeback to tennis possible. By the way, I celebrated Saturday night with an Estrella beer. The most important thing, honestly, is that I can play and move again without pain. I want to  be able to enjoy a sport like tennis in my "golden years."

* * *

I never see any customers in the new Craft Beer bar near our house, other than me. I really want the place to stay open even if the supply is somewhat limited -- the adequate Estrella Damm beer from Spain and the strong and wonderful Westmalle Tripel from Belgium are the only real "exotic" beers they carry in bottles. I haven't tried the beers on tap yet -- I saw they had a pale ale and a mango beer. If I stay injury-free, I'll celebrate there one night real soon.

* * *

I have an English class that includes two daycare moms, two businesswomen and a teacher. They're fun, smart and improving quickly. Very satisfying class. I also teach a 12-year-old girl. I feel bad for her, sort of, because it's just me and her. Shockingly, she acts like a 12-year-old girl, which is a challenge for me. In this class, I'm learning as well.

Good beer; no butts; IELTS success; comeback rained out

It was like I saw the Yeti, or the Loch Ness Monster "Nessie". Right in my very own neighborhood I spotted a bottle of Westmalle Tripel, one of the many wonderful beers brewed in Belgium. I was walking home from a birthday party with Phuong and Joanna when we we noticed a new bar right around the corner from our house called "Craft Beer".  I asked for a menu and they had Westmalle Tripel. In fact, I saw it in a cooler and bought a  bottle for 170.000 dong ($7.50 U.S.).  The bar gave me a mango beer from Belgium at no cost that I didn't recognize. It was good enough, but the Westmalle Tripel was a special treat for the White Monkey. Remember, the  best beer I can get in Bien Hoa is Chimay at about the same price, and Affligem for cheap (about 39,000 dong a bottle), which is very suitable for the money that I earn. But not since I got a La Trappe Quadrupel  and a Chimay Blue (after a rough day) have I enjoyed a beer in Vietnam as much as I enjoyed the Westmalle on Friday night. Vincom doesn't carry La Trappe anymore, but I still have rough days. The Westmalle Tripel has a slightly fruity taste but also delivers a slight alcohol burn from its 9.5% abv.  Am I being critical? Of course, which is a privilege that I pay for.  For the record, I owe any beer knowledge I have to my friend John S., who is a brewery of brilliance when it comes to beer. I thought Purple Haze was the world's best when I met him.  He set me straight in a hurry.

* * *

Saturday was my three-year anniversary of quitting cigarettes. For some reason, I've had the ability to moderate my drinking since I met Phuong. I have no more than a shared beer a day with my wife. That's a first for the obsessive-compulsive White Monkey. But smoking is another matter. If I don't quit altogether, my OCD will be in full bloom.  I'll smoke with coffee, when I drink beer, after meals, after sex, before sex, and during sex. I'm being a smart-ass, of course, but I'm unable to moderate my cigarette smoking. It's all-in at a pack a day, or nothing. I've chosen nothing and I've noticed a difference in my overall health. I sleep better and dream more, and colds and sinus infections don't last very long. I'm more proud of quitting cigarettes than I am of my 50,000+ pageviews for my blog.

* * *

My former private English student Sam, who I taught for more than a year, took her IELTS recently and scored what I think is a very respectable 5.5. I think that's a tough but fair score for Sam. Her speaking and listening skills are first-rate and deserve higher marks, but like so many students I've taught, writing is tricky. Her reading is good but -- like me -- she's a slow reader and that doesn't help when you're taking exams like IELTS. I'm proud of Sam, who went from absolute beginner to extremely competent in a very short time. She's a bright woman. Good work, Sam!

* * *

My highly anticipated return to the tennis court (highly anticipated by me, at least), got rained out on Sunday. I overcame the slight setback to my recovering left plantar fascia, caused by some clowning with Joanna, and I was ready to go. But an act of God put the comeback on hold, which means I'll stay No. 1 in the family rankings at least until we play next week.

Feeding kids in Vietnam; 1 guard pees, another mocks me

There are many different styles of parenting. As many styles as there are parents, I would guess. But the one constant I see in Vietnam is that parents would rather feed their little children and toddlers than have the children and toddlers feed themselves. A scene that I see everywhere is moms, armed with a spoon or chopsticks, squatting next to their child and shoving food into the child's mouth. Occasionally, I'll see a male feeding kids -- but it's almost always a mom or grandma, and she's almost always squatting and methodically thrusting food at the kid's mouth. It reminds me of a mother bird feeding its young. The little birds open their mouths, and the mother bird spits in the food. I haven't seen the spitting here -- except by males and many females on the streets, in the parks, next to churches -- but the children willingly open their mouths without so much as lifting their hands to help. My wife does this with our daughter as well, and it's a minor source of contention in our household. I got Phuong to stop chasing Joanna around the house with a plate and utensils, but she loves to feed our daughter. The White Monkey taught his daughter to use a spoon and fork (the first lessons came with passion cheesecake at The Coffee House). And I refuse to hold a cup, or soda, or glass of milk for her; Joanna holds her own drinks when dad is there or she doesn't drink. I'll bet you didn't know that White Monkeys could use tools and utensils. Anyway, Joanna and the children who come to our house for daycare are encouraged to feed themselves. The moms get it. The style of parents feeding kids continues here until the children are 4 or 5 years old. I've seen moms feeding 6-year-olds, but that's not overly common. Part of this practice could be cultural. Family sit-down dinners are handled differently here. They seem more random, with women running in and out of the kitchen serving food, men eating, drinking beer, and talking (and spitting), and kids coming to the table, eating a bite or two and then taking off to play. Joanna has been allowed to leave our dinner table and return; it's another source of contention.  But I won a concession: Joanna can't take food out of the kitchen. She'll try and cry, but it's a no-go with Dad. Sorry, Joanna.

* * *

When I was doing tai chi at the park last week at about 4:30 p.m., a security guard at a tea shop across the canal from me and the four moms and families from our daycare group pulled out his miniature manhood and began peeing in front of us. My sensibilities were intact, but I thought the security guard's behavior was unacceptable in front the moms and kids. I yelled over to him to go inside the tea house about 10 yards away and pee, but he merely laughed and kept peeing.  I shrugged because I wasn't going to walk on water to cross the canal and confront him. I resumed my tai chi when his security guard "buddy" decided to try to mock me by imitating my tai chi in an exaggerated fashion. Just as he started, my next posture and subsequent series of postures put my back to him, so I didn't get to see his unquestionably hilarious routine. Phuong witnessed the entire episode and said the tai chi imitator stopped his routine when he saw that no one was watching him and he slogged back to his chair, tail between his legs. Phuong and I didn't understand why the first guard didn't pee inside the tea shop. The second guard was just a fool. Actually, both guards were fools. 

* * *

-- I'm happy to report fantastic progress with my torn plantar fascia. My new shoes arrived and I'm walking pain-free and even doing minimal jogging. Very minimal. There's a tiny bit of discomfort when I run, so a scheduled return to the court for light tennis practice this weekend may be postponed a week. I'm day to day, so to speak,  so it could still happen.

-- One of the bags of fancy weasel coffee we bought wasn't quite right, and I got a mild headache every time I had a cup. Genius that I am, I stopped drinking from that bag. No problem with the other bags. Perhaps the three hours of daily screaming and crying from our house full of children is contributing to my headaches as well. Nah, not likely. 

-- Guys were shouting into their cell phones at my new coffee haunt and I couldn't read -- I could easily hear them through my headphones even with my music blasting. So I returned to The Coffee House where's it's busier but quieter. The thing about The Coffee House is that I'm more likely to bump into people there that I know from my old job, and that interrupts Jack Vance. Unacceptable.
-- This blog broke the 50,000 pageview barrier last week. Thank you to every reader of this blog. Again, a shoutout to my readers from Italy, who have pushed my numbers up quite a bit in the past year. Grazie.