We start playgroup for Joanna; rehabilitation is rough

I really wanted my 31-month-old daughter to get some social contact with other kids her age. It's not easy here, especially since Joanna has a White Monkey dad and Vietnamese mom.  Our daughter sometimes seems more like a curiosity than a child to other kids and parents in Vietnam, especially on our street, because she looks more American than Vietnamese. So my incredible wife Phuong took matters into her own hands and has started a mini-playgroup with a mom named Nghi, who has a daughter nicknamed Baby Chip in the group. Nghi was a teacher and knows her way around kids. And she can draw OK as well. Another mom, Luong, and her son. Shin, joined the group to complete our initial trio. We've set up an area downstairs with lots of toys, LEGO sets, and our fish tank.  Snacks and lunch for the children are delivered in the kitchen, of course, and upstairs my classroom is used for drawing and coloring. Also, the third-floor balcony now has a small swimming pool, which the kids love.  The three kids play together -- actually, they play near each other -- for about four hours a day. It's noisy and a little hectic, especially when I teach my private student, but the children seem to be enjoying themselves, and my private student seems ready to move on after she takes her IELTS test next month. Joanna looks forward to the arrival of the other children, although she can be a little moody and rough when she goes to bed late or doesn't sleep well the night before. Tired and cranky happens to the best of us. The other moms are great and the kids are sweet. I'm very pleased with the setup and I want to thank my wife for doing everything in her power to better Joanna's life. Another child, a boy about Joanna's age, is expected to join our group tomorrow. I suggested that we max out at five kids (including Joanna) so we don't burn out and end up hating children. One more child plans to join us next week.

* * *

The thing I've never liked about pain is that it hurts. This evil cause and effect is making my rehabilitation of a torn plantar fascia ligament in my left foot extremely tedious and unpleasant. Progress and recovery have been understandably slow. I've been following Dr. Internet's wise counsel for treatment: I continue to soak the foot in ice for 20 minutes at a time, three times a day, and I do exercises three times a day -- after each ice treatment -- to strengthen and stretch the plantar fascia. The pain has subsided somewhat since I first injured the foot 11 days ago, and the ice treatment isn't nearly as bad as it was when I first started. Now, I read Jack Vance while on ice and the time flies. The foot actually feels better after stretching, but walking remains painful and running is out of the question. Most sites on the Internet say recovery time is a minimum of 3 months. Of course, I'm in it for the long haul with ice and stretching because I'd really like to play tennis again and do tai chi at a higher level than I'm performing now -- with one good leg. Plus, I don't have any choice; I have little girl and I must be mobile when I help my wife with our daughter and other kids in our fledgling playgroup. My advice to anyone worried about suffering an injury of any kind during tennis: Don't let your wife control the tempo of long rallies or she'll run you ragged and break you down. That's what happened to me, plus I hate losing so I compete like a young man ... unfortunately my competitive spirit is housed in an old man's body. I joke with Phuong that the WTA is reviewing our situation and may strip me of my No. 1 ranking because of inactivity. My wife has been classy and gracious the entire time, saying something to the effect that she wants to become No. 1 (in our family) on the court, not in the courtroom. Clearly, the foot is improving despite the lingering but tolerable pain, but a tennis match seems a long way off -- probably three months. Unlikely I'll be No. 1 then.

*** 

There was a "supermoon" that was quite visible here last week, and Joanna was enamored with it. She enjoys the night sky and spots stars/planets, airplanes and the moon. I took a phone photo of the supermoon and Phuong made some prints, and even framed one photo. Joanna insists on calling it a crescent moon even though she knows better. Stubborn kid. I'm back to restricting video time for her because videos do nothing for her behavior and social interaction. Even though the videos are educational, she's a little obsessive like her mom and dad, and gets too wrapped up in the screen. So I'm trying to channel her obsession into books, drawing -- which she loves -- and the night sky.

Torn plantar fascia halts tennis match, threatens career

Even the great ones succumb. If it isn't injury that ends an athlete's career, age will deliver the knockout blow -- the overused cliche that "Father Time is undefeated" is oh, so true, regardless of what Tom Brady says. Worst of all, age and injury often work in tandem. Therefore, it's with a heavy heart that I report that age and an injury have put my pathetic tennis career and slightly less pathetic tai chi practice in jeopardy at worst, and on hold at best. I tore the plantar fascia ligament in my left foot during my Sunday tennis match with Phuong. I stopped a little too abruptly to change direction to chase a Phuong backhand, and I heard a pop in my foot. Pain followed the pop and I dropped instantly. A local watching us play laughed loudly when I hit the ground and continued to laugh as I rolled around clutching my left foot. Maybe he thought I was doing my Mr. Bean impression. My wife didn't come to my aid right away, either, probably because my injury may have cost her the No. 1 ranking, which I seized three weeks ago. I was clinging to No. 1 with the score tied 5-5 when pop went the plantar. Two wins in a row on the same day are required to claim the No. 1 ranking in our bitter family rivalry, regardless of weather, injury, or an act of God. Phuong clobbered me in the first set 6-3 and she was leading 5-3 in the second when I made the foolish mistake of battling back to even things at 5-5. Then an act of God struck, or an injury, depending on your point of view. Forgetting the what-ifs and shunning a doctor's visit, I self-diagnosed by going online. And as we all know, if it's on the Internet, it must be true. The pop means a tear (hopefully, not a rupture) and recovery time varies -- from two months to a year to never. I've been applying ice, ice, baby, and sort of limping around when I need to walk. I walked a little in the park Monday night, but have been taking it easy ever since. I taught my private student Sam on Tuesday, and even stood to illustrate the finer points of defining and non-defining relative clauses on my whiteboard ... without remarkable pain. But I won't lie. The pain remains, probably more from the fact that I didn't control things better in my match with Phuong than from my foot getting hurt. But the entire arch area of the foot hurts, especially near the heel. That's as it should be, according to the ever-accurate Internet. If I recover, I won't rule out a comeback. But sadly, I won't be any younger when and if that happens. When the pain subsides, I'll begin self-structured rehab with guidance from the Internet. We'll see how things go.

* * * 

I guess the Vietnamese are obsessed with karaoke because they think they're good singers. Well, just like anywhere else, 99.99 percent sing like crap, and the remaining .01 percent don't sing karaoke. For three straight afternoons starting around noon and continuing  until 3 p.m. and beyond, our lovely neighbors launched into a karaoke fest that took the paint off the walls and sent the local rats scurrying for cover under our other neighbor's endless piles of trash. I heard three covers of the song Love Potion Number Nine in Vietnamese, with one woman's rendition sounding like she was giving birth without anesthesia.  Another neighbor had live guitar accompaniment, and it was wretched. Things were clean and quiet for Tet, but that train left the station and the litter and intrusions are back. I miss Tet, except for the fact you couldn't get a taxi. One taxi driver pulled over to give me, Phuong and Joanna a ride to tennis, then waved his hands at us and drove away. What a dork.

Celebrating Tet; saving a soccer ball; toe injury; experience

Phuong and I sat up and drank Italian wine on Tet eve. The low-altitude midnight fireworks woke up Joanna, but she was more fascinated than frightened. She's a good girl, even if she is just as stubborn as Phuong and her dad. During the day on Tet eve, I saw lots of people cleaning like crazy, which is part of the pre-Tet ritual. A clean house for Tet is purported to bring luck for the lunar new year. Many of our neighbors were hosing down the front of their house, washing motorbikes, waxing figurines and doing countless other nonsensical chores to increase their chances of a lucky new year. Family and food are the focus of the holiday, along with a week off from work. Motorbike traffic decreases substantially on Tet eve and Tet, which is sign of good luck for me.

* * *

Phuong, Joanna and I shared camaraderie and satisfaction with another family at the park when all of us worked together to rescue the family's soccer ball from the mucky, smelly canal. Initially, Phuong said something about a ball in the canal, and I thought Joanna's ball had been kicked into the canal by her cousin. Hai. No big deal since it's a cheap ball. But then I saw a family of three -- dad, mom and son of about 12  --  all leaning over the stone barrier to the canal about 8 feet below. They had a really long pole with a large metal hook on the end.  They were trying to use the big hook to sort of pull and slide the ball up a steep concrete embankment and out of the canal. It wasn't working and the boy was getting angry -- it must have been his ball. Our family joined the effort, grabbing another long and flimsy pole without a hook. We tried to squeeze the ball with the two poles and lift it out. Failure and frustration. Then I saw a flat piece of packing Styrofoam floating in the muck (you gotta love litter) and suggested we push the ball onto the Styrofoam and drag the Styrofoam -- with ball on top -- out of the canal by using the two poles. We struggled with that darn thing for nearly a half-hour. It was almost dark, and we almost gave up, but we chose to stick with it, so to speak. We finally slid the Styrofoam and ball to where Phuong could reach it though the stone barrier. Twice the ball almost slid down the concrete embankment of the canal and back into the water, but Phuong hung on with her fingernails. Honestly. With Phuong clinging to the ball, the dad reached over and grabbed it, producing cheers and smiles all around, especially from the boy. Even Joanna was involved, watching the rescue in its entirety with her cousin, Hai. The family washed off the ball in the sprinkler water that's used to water the grass at the park, and then we did another round of high-fives and congratulations.  My family and I returned home to a wonderful and well-deserved dinner of pork and rice.

* * *

My skin has gone to crap since I returned from Hanoi. I went from cool, nice weather in Hanoi to hotter temperatures and even more pollution in Bien Hoa. I've become a 64-year-old White Monkey with acne. I also smashed up my big toe on our ever-dangerous stairs, prompting Joanna to look at my toe and say: "Daddy's horrible, terrible big toe." Phuong accepts the White Monkey as he is, which is just one more reason I love this incredible woman. She also makes dynamite kimchi (I also see it spelled kim chi), which is appropriately spicy and always delicious. Happy Tet new year dear.

* * *

I'm re-reading my Jack Vance collection to further appreciate the brilliance of the late author's unique style -- and to kill time by sitting in air-conditioned coffeehouses drinking cappuccinos and reading. I have a new book about the Vietnam War that I purchased at a museum in either Ho Chi Minh City or Hanoi (I can't remember since I'm an old man now). The book is rather long; it looks authoritative; and it's written from the perspective of the North. I'll read it between Vance books. I miss talking to my friend Andy, who had a safe trip back to the U.S. and is no longer wandering around Vietnam, walking scores of kilometers on an artificial hip. Since were both in our 60's, Andy and I talked about how we want to spend the rest of our lives. Andy sagely noted that he wants to accumulate experiences, not "things'. I agree wholeheartedly ... maybe we could recruit my buddy John to guide us around Belgium so we can drink some really good beer. Just a thought.