Monsoon season; hoping for a Canadian visa; Phuong's tennis is looking real good

We're having a real monsoon season this year. Long periods of daily rain. Sometimes we'll get thunder and lightning as well. The rain keeps Joanna indoors, but the only place she can really go is the little park near our house. And the grass is wet from the rain, so it's not a lot of fun for her or Phuong. I like the rain because it's a respite from the heat. This is the most and steadiest monsoon rain I've seen in my nearly five years here. Global warming? Donald says no way. It matters little to me at the moment. I'm teaching only three classes a week, so the rain hasn't been a problem. In fact, I like traveling by bike in the rain because the traffic, which seems to be getting worse every day, is much lighter when there's a downpour.
However, cars have started racing up and down our little street now, blaring their horns as they go. They never slow down for children. Hit and run can be a problem here and I've been a victim three times from other motorbike riders. So even when we use a stroller to transport Joanna, we're a little nervous because, like I said, cars don't slow down and neither do bikes. Two teens were showing up and showing off at the park near our house on a little motorbike, and they started riding near us, swerving as they approached. Phuong shooed them away, and later they crashed doing the same nonsense. The bike was broken and one of the kids got scraped up, but none of the eight people in the park helped them. Just desserts.
Phuong is trying to get a Canadian tourist visa  so we can take a vacation to Prince Edward Island for a month. It's no issue for me and Joanna -- we can pretty much go wherever and whenever we please. We're Americans. But everything involving travel seems problematic for my wonderful wife Phuong. Our lawyer filed a freedom of information act with the U.S. State Department to obtain all of Phuong's records so we can find out what the heck happened the last time she applied for a U.S. Spousal Visa with her first husband. We applied for the FOI in March and haven't heard back yet. I've been told that anything involving the U.S. State Department can take at least a year before there's a response. Wake up, Donald! I really, really, really don't want Joanna going to school here. And it's not because of the schools or teachers. I'm not informed enough to have an opinion. The traffic and the way people ride and drive are what worry me. Crazy, huh?
We took Joanna to a "play area" at Vincom, the local mall. I hated it -- noise, lights, gimmicks, games. There's a $4 entrance fee -- give or take a dong or two -- and you have to take off your shoes and wear a wristband. The staff of young people couldn't have been more sour. All the games -- which cost extra -- had bright, flashing, colorful lights that Joanna seemed interested in. Otherwise, she didn't really care for any of the crap there. Smart kid. They have more places like this in the U.S. and I hope Joanna doesn't like them there, either.
Phuong has returned to the tennis court and it's looking like I won't be much competition for her. Like most folks here, she relentlessly follows the directions of her tennis teacher, practicing over and over until she executes flawlessly. Her forehands have a natural topspin and she continually hits the corners and paints the baseline with her ground strokes now. She always ran well, so that's not an issue. Her backhand is solid and improving. Her serve needs work, but if she improves that aspect of her game, things could get real ugly for me. My serve is the only thing that keeps things interesting.
And I have always refused coaching of any sort in any sports -- or anything else for that matter. It hasn't hurt my golf game, for example. I consistently shoot in the 70s -- on the front nine. But at 62 years old, the mind still remembers the glory days. I used to run OK for a fat man and was able to chase down shots that would surprise even quality tennis players. But those days are gone. Forget the glory days. Now, I live in the gory haze. No worries. I'm fat anyway, according to people who learn English from me. And old.

Returning to love, heat, traffic, idiots and kindness

There was a period of adjustment when I returned to Bien Hoa, Vietnam, after being gone for six weeks in the United States. I'm happy to report that my daughter Joanna remembered me. In fact, she's so pleased I'm back that she cries when I leave the room. She cries when I go to work. She cries when I go to the bathroom. The adjustment? I can't do anything now without Joanna being with me. This, folks, is a wonderful adjustment. Of course, being with my wife is a tiny adjustment since  we're adults in love. But I suspect Phuong may be just a little jealous of Joanna's obsession with her 62-year-old dad. But just like before I left, Joanna seems happiest when mom and dad are together.
Joanna was walking before I left, but now she's 14 months old and running, climbing, drinking without a "sippy" cup, using a straw and chewing her food with 14 teeth. She has a sense of humor as well, kissing her mom when I ask for a kiss, then looking at me and laughing when I act mad and jealous. Phuong is also happy I'm back, because she has a little more help now taking care of Joanna. Her family was eager to chip in when I left, but Joanna apparently really missed her dad and could only handle the relatives in small doses. Joanna seems a little behind in her speaking, in her pushy dad's opinion, but I attribute this to the fact she's dealing with two languages. However, when I called myself "Dada," Joanna corrected me and said "Daddy."
Meanwhile, I was so happy to see three of my four children and my one beautiful granddaughter in the U.S. during my visit. My kids are all doing so well; that was clearly the highlight of the trip. Also, thanks to John, Richard, Lynda and the folks in SLO for their wonderful hospitality as I dealt with my brother's death.
Another adjustment upon my return to Vietnam -- somewhat unpleasant I might add -- is the weather. You guys know this routine. It's hot as hell, I sweat like a pig, and people ask me why I'm sweating when it's 96 F with 91 percent humidity. On the bright side, I'm quickly losing the weight I picked up in the U.S. where I ate quality food (especially Gus's Sandwiches in San Luis Obispo, and cheesecake and ice cream at Lotus Vietnamese restaurant in San Luis Obispo, owned by Ngoc Thuy, who also goes by Alex. A lovely Vietnamese woman.)
I've had a handful of classes since I've returned, all kids or teenagers. They've been a little wild, but for some reason I'm more patient now than I was before. I still don't tolerate bad words and over the top behavior from the kids, but I give them a longer leash when it comes to misbehavior and speaking in Vietnamese. I went though a difficult time in the U.S., and maybe the kids can sense this. I've always liked the students here.
My blog wouldn't be complete (or be my blog, for that matter) if I didn't bitch and moan about a couple of things. But there's good and bad to report. Traffic, specifically automobile traffic, seems to have doubled since I left. And the idiots behind the wheel do the same nonsense motorbike drivers do -- never yield; turn onto busy roads without stopping, yielding, or looking; and constantly lay on their horns. Last week, a drunk on a motorbike roared past me by crossing the yellow line, then cut me off and slammed on the breaks in front of me. I yelled at him and he screamed back at me, got off his bike, and was ready to fight. I stopped and approached, then saw that he was wobbly and drunk. If I had pounded his stupid ass, I would have been wrong in the eyes of the locals. If he had pounded my stupid ass, I would have been wrong in the eyes of the locals. I gritted my teeth and went home.
The next day, on my walk, two morons on a bike ran into me AFTER I had crossed the street. They cut the corner so sharply that their bike turned into the oncoming traffic lane and banged into my leg. They took off, of course, but an older gentleman chased them down on his bike, made them stop, and gave them a lecture. I cheered from the sidelines. On the same walk, a woman at a little candy stand gave me one big bag to consolidate all the little bags I had accumulated by shopping. I was struggling with all the little bags and the cane I use when I walk, and the lady saw this and gave me the bag. A lovely lady, indeed. And on the same walk, my cane accidentally got tangled up in some clown's motorbike, and he started screaming at me. I was in no mood at this point, so I threw 100,000 dong at him, got on my knees and "begged" his forgiveness. He looked and felt stupid, I'm proud to say. He was the aggressor and the one screaming, but people ran out from nearby Thuy Nga coffee shop to "restrain" me. I got off my knees, picked up my money and went home. I no longer walk, and don't go anywhere in town unless Phuong and Joanna are with me. As a man of chi, it's all yin and yang to me. The bottom line: I love my family here and in the U.S.

Tattoos, endless travel, going home at last

Tattoos seem to have really taken off in the United States. The thing that unsettles me is that many women have arm "sleeves" or tattoos that cover most of their legs -- thigh and calf.  Personally, tattoos don't do much for me. I've always liked looking at an attractive lady's legs, but I don't look at legs to read scripture, see cute animals or admire incomprehensible Chinese or Japanese writing. Nothing ruins a great pair of lady's legs like tattoos, in my uninformed opinion. But as the Vietnamese have always told me: You don't understand. Well, I'm sure that most tattoos have some sort of personal significance or meaning, but again, I don't understand.

I was busy in Ohio the past week: I saw my house in Yellow Springs, Ohio, inside and out; met with the property manager of my house, a lovely lady named Teresa; got my glasses fixed, got my driver's license; got told by my eye doctor's secretary that there is no way my eye doctor would see me now; saw most of my wonderful children and saw my wonderful granddaughter; and ate great food and drank quality beer.
I'm writing this in the clean Columbus airport waiting for a flight to Chicago and Los Angeles. I plan to bother my friend Richard in Bakersfield when I get to California for a couple of days and then I'll head to San Luis Obispo to finish all the paperwork regarding my brother's death. That should take a couple of days. I fly out of Los Angeles next Friday (Sept. 1) to finally, finally go home to Vietnam and see my amazing wife and amazing daughter Joanna. Phuong and I have been chatting on Skype daily, and it's obvious Joanna is much more vocal. Also, she's walking like a pro. Joanna has been quite sick the past week or so -- a respiratory infection of some sort -- and is just getting back into form. Being away from my wife and daughter has been one of the most difficult things I've ever experienced.
I've done some serious shoe shopping in the U.S., buying six pairs -- from boots to slippers to sneakers for tennis. I've also bought a boatload of books for Joanna, so I'm paying luggage fines at the airports when I check in my bags. Worth every penny because Joanna has taken a real liking to the books I purchased before and I have no doubts she'll love the newest additions to her library.
Sadly, I didn't get to Glen Helen -or the beach in California. I went to Morro Bay, but was too tired to go in the cold Pacific Ocean, and I went to Glen Helen, but didn't have $5 for parking. Next time.
They're calling my flight number for seating now, so I'll take off with home and family on my mind.

My brother walked to a different beat

(Tuesday, August 15, 2017)
My brother Charles walked to his own beat in life and he refused to walk on the beaten path. He took the road less traveled, clearly with some sad results. A balky back and significant pain led to some dubious health and personal decisions. As my wife says, people are people. On Saturday, August 12 at 6:04 p.m. the world lost a kind and gentle soul, a keen and quirky intellect, and regardless of what anyone else saw or says, the world lost a man with a heart of gold. My brother died peacefully in his sleep.
Charles cared more for the well-being of others than his own well-being. This was evident in his appearance, his behavior, and his outlook.

When Charles was a teenager and my dad would go out to drink or whatever  – I was 9 or so at the time – Charles would sacrifice his free time as a teenager to keep me occupied with sports or whatever games we could improvise. We would play basketball with rolled-up socks and empty trash cans, or nickel basketball and matchbox football on the kitchen table. He wouldn’t leave me by myself with a little baby in the house (younger brother Tom).  Thanks, Charles.

 My brother Charles introduced me to tai chi chuan, which has become my passion and a lifelong pursuit. He paid for the first year of my tai chi classes – $20 a month for a one-hour class on Sunday mornings at 9 a.m. I was 18 years old and struggled to wake up 8 a.m. every Sunday morning. But I rarely missed class because Charles paid. And I didn’t want to disappoint him.

Charles quit tai chi after a year or so – an ill-fated decision -- but I never left and still practice nearly an hour a day. I’m not particularly good at chi, but I like to think it keeps me moderately healthy.  It seems to help me relax a little and most important, I really enjoy it. Thanks, Charles.

At Brandywine high school, I was on the wrestling team. Charles played the key role in the most meaningful victory in my mediocre athletic career. I was engaged in a real battle with a kid named McLaughlin (or something Irish-Catholic like that). I used to attend McLaughlin’s all-boys, Catholic high school, Salesianum. I left because I didn’t “fit in.” Anyway, I was losing to McLaughlin 12-11, with seven seconds left in the match. Exhausted and already accepting defeat, I looked up and saw Charles, who gave me a fist-pump and mouthed the words “still time.” And honest to God, I turned my opponent on his back, got 2 points, and won a bitter, controversial and emotional 13-12 victory. My win enabled Brandywine to tie Salesianum in the overall match. In other words, I denied the Catholics victory. Thanks, Charles.

Charles was much more loved than he knows. Yes, there were the health fads, the moods, the anorexia, the smoking and all the other flaws that every one of us have. But Charles also had a heart of gold, and that’s what I’ll remember most about my brother. People who knew Charles in San Luis Obispo have nothing but kind and gracious things to say about him. People have been calling my phone to give condolences. Charles cared more about my health, life, and happiness than his own, and that was true right up until the end.

Love you, Charles.

Difficult business in a beautiful setting

San Luis Obispo is reputed to be how California used to be. Why is this sentence in the passive voice? Because I have no idea who said or reputed this. Whoever said or reputed this is probably right, though, because SLO is clean, progressive, not overly crowded, and pretty cool.  Even the homeless folks are low-keyed with colorful, stylish tattoos. Everyone has tattoos, including the women. The air is clean, the views are California-rrific with mountains and hills all around, and SLO has more “blondes” than Sweden. SLO has countless quality restaurants catering to the tourists and “sophisticated” locals. It boasts a wonderful college radio station – how college radio stations used to be with lots of genres, especially women’s folk and rock, a personal favorite. Wonderful beaches, including Morro Bay and its iconic rock, are very close by. And the weather. My goodness, the weather is perfect. This is especially true coming to Cali from Vietnam. Of course, there’s a catch. The house prices are how they’ve always been in California as long as I can remember – ridiculously high.  I saw a two-bedroom, one-bath house in a pretty good neighborhood listed for $440,000.  A nice starter home, I guess. Beauty has its price, and it’s quite steep here.

Sadly, my brother is not doing well and has been moved to a facility similar to Friends Care in Yellow Springs. His pain is difficult. I feel stupid whining about bruised ribs when I see and hear my brother. I’m scheduled to leave for Vietnam on Friday, but my lawyers have suggested I stay to clean up his paperwork and get him Medical coverage, which will provide long-term care if needed. I’ll find out more on Wednesday what could happen. I really miss my wife and daughter and, at the suggestion of my son, have asked my immigration lawyer and Sen. Sherrod Brown if there’s any way Phuong can get a temporary visa to join me in the U.S. with Joanna. I’m missing crucial time with Joanna, and Phuong says Joanna misses me terribly. Of course she does. (The lawyer said no-go on Phuong getting a visa. No word from Brown, but very unlikely Phuong can leave Vietnam.)

I want to return to Vietnam. I miss the brutal heat and dirty air. Actually, I miss my family, naturally, and I miss teaching and my students. I found a Vietnamese restaurant in SLO, and had a wonderful seared chicken and pretty good Pho. The owner, Thuy, left Vietnam on a fishing boat with her family in 1975 and has never been back. She’s very nice and a wonderful cook.

I left a bag full of money on a table in Starbucks and drove home. Realizing my mistake, I raced back in a panic and the bag was still sitting on the table where I was eating a bagel. Man, oh man. I also turned in my brother's pistol to the police after a neighbor took it out of the house after my brother fell and went into assisted living. I hate vultures.

Not sure where I’ll be in a week or so. I hope Vietnam, but I’ll wait for instructions from the lawyers. God, I’m all lawyered up. I already miss my brother. He’s a shell of his former self and it’s difficult to see. I hope he dies quickly and painlessly. That’s what he wants and that’s what I want for him.
** Updated with lawyer's bad news and cleaned up some of the typos.

Mom & more noise; tough trip to U.S.; nutty nets

My mom had some classic expressions when she was angry. One of my favorites was "You're making enough noise to wake up the dead." Gertrude Millman had to deal with three boys at home, a job well below her considerable abilities and a husband who didn't always pull his weight around the house. Mom would have had a field day with the funerals in Vietnam and the kids in our neighborhood, who are real screamers.
Another person on our street died, a nice old lady who had a store that I would sometimes visit to buy tea or chocolate. She succumbed rather quickly to cancer, and her death set off three days of music, song, karaoke-like tributes and so on. I respect the woman, her family and their faith, but the funeral proceedings were so loud that even though everything was happening more than 100 yards away, it sounded like it was in our living room downstairs. I thought of my mom, who died very quietly a little more than 11 years ago. I miss my mom.
Mom wasn't really named Gertrude at birth. It was Joanna, according to my dad, but since she was Ukrainian, folks at the hospital somehow screwed it up and turned Joanna into Gertrude. I think I'm reminiscing about this because my daughter Joanna turned one (1), and when she smiles or focuses on something, she looks very, very much like my mom. If she has my mom's determination and generous nature, she'll be well-served in life. Joanna shows signs of these traits already when she relentlessly climbs couches, chairs, tables, counters and motorbikes, and when she always offers Phuong and I some of her breakfast, lunch and dinner. Adorable kid.
Another reason I'm writing about this stuff is that I've returned to San Luis Obispo, Calif., to try to assist my older brother, who's in very poor health physically and mentally. He fell and fractured his arm and isn't doing well at all. The situation is upsetting, but is making me reflect on family and my uncomfortable childhood. I'd rather not think back, but it's the nature of what's happening now. When I say "family", I'm not referring to my first wife and children -- all wonderful people. The only uncomfortable memories of those times were when I behaved something like my dad. Funny thing about the past ... you can't change it. Perhaps you can learn from it, but that's so much easier said than done. Dad wasn't evil and had a good heart, but in my view now he needed a stronger commitment to family. Enough of this.
My tennis shenanigans continue. I was having a pedestrian match with a nice neighbor when the lady who manages the court decided to burn some trash, including ubiquitous Vietnamese plastic and rubber bands. My opponent initially took the brunt of the smoke, coughing and tearing up. I brilliantly rallied and won  a couple of games. Then we switched sides and my fortunes changed. I choked, literally and symbolically, eventually losing the set 6-4. The woman apologized, but had no intention of offering a discount or reimbursing us. Typical. I played another neighbor a week later and for the first time in my stellar tennis career, I lost a game during the changeover. Somehow 2-3 became 2-4.  I ended up losing the set, 3-6, after 11 hard-fought games. This guy also used the innovative and controversial Bulgarian-Vietnamese scoring system where the score could begin 30-15 on the deuce court or 40-all in the ad court.
Speaking of burning plastic, our neighbors burned their paper and plastic trash to honor the deceased lady down the street.  And while I did tai chi in the park near our house, some guys who live on the street in hammocks near the park burned their trash. My chi went up in smoke.
My trip to San Luis Obispo included a stopover in Shanghai, China. Not a pleasant experience. I waited in a long, slow-moving line at immigration and when I got to the uniformed official, she said I needed to fill out an arrival form. First I heard of it. I got back in line after filling out the form. Back to the official, who asks for my visa. I say it's a five-hour layover, not a visit. Oh no, she says. I'm surrounded by three officials. Finally, one says I can go and get my luggage -- China doesn't transfer luggage on connecting flights to other countries. I get the luggage, and while I'm getting an e-ticket at a kiosk the uniformed girl at the computer says I can't have the transfer ticket/sticker to LAX on my bag when I re-check it in. She rips it off. I finally get to the counter, and the uniformed official asks me where my transfer sticker/ticket is. He says this is a big problem. I point to the little Ripper who took my transfer sticker/ticket off the bag. More officials, more discussions, and I can finally go. But as I go through security, I'm told I need a departure form. Over to the counter and back in line I go. I got to the departure gate after 3 hours, 42 minutes. Oddly, the folks were all nice when I made second pass though the gates. Our departure gate changed three times and I barely made the flight. But everyone has horrid travel stories. Just sharing mine.
Miss my wife Phuong and baby Joanna. Love ya' both and see ya' soon enough. Can't wait. Joanna kisses my image on Skype. Love my kids in the U.S. Love ya' mom.

The most important date in Vietnam and the U.S.

Today, July 9, is now one of the most important dates in American and Vietnamese history. It's Joanna's birthday. This is our daughter's first birthday, and mommy Phuong and Daddy John celebrated in style. We had Vietnamese food in the morning, which Joanna rejected in favor of Daddy's smoked pork, mashed potatoes and cheese. That's my girl!  Phuong's aunt made an amazing cake with whipped cream icing. Joanna loved the cake and the ice cream, which I insisted she have with the cake. I don't think that's a real tradition here, but I'm not sure. I made spaghetti, another Joanna favorite, for dinner.
Like my first four talented and intelligent children, I truly believe Joanna will be someone who makes a difference in life. She was walking before she was 11 months old. She has a wonderful smile like her mom. It's obvious she's smart like her mom -- she's already learned to fiddle trial-and-error style with our TV remote and my computer keyboard. Unfortunately, I see signs of her dad's temper, which we're working on getting under control. Not her temper, mine. Really, she already hands us stuff she shouldn't have, like cell phones and the aforementioned remote. A truly wonderful baby.
We took Joanna to the zoo last week and had a nice time. The zoo in Ho Chi Minh City is pretty nice. It's small with a decent variety of animals -- a white tiger, elephants, snakes and all the usual suspects. Joanna loved it  because she loves animals -- she'll make a squealing noise of recognition when she sees a dog, cat, gecko, bird or spider around our house. The only problem we had was the weather ... again. It was so hot Joanna and I got cranky, but we persevered like always. Even Phuong and her two nephews, who joined us on the trip, got worn down by the heat. I bought Joanna a stuffed giraffe -- her new favorite animal -- and a bubble-making gun designed like a tiger. Joanna is fascinated when we make or blow the soapy bubbles, and sometimes she'll burst out laughing.
Joanna has settled into our nightly reading routine and loves Chicka Chicka Boom Boom, My Dad is Beautiful, Chameleon Colors, and Goodnight Moon. Goodnight Moon is also one of her favorite videos, and we play it every night before she goes to sleep.
I quit tennis with Tai because he either didn't show up or he showed up late. Remember, I was paying him to play because finding a singles partner is almost impossible here. Everyone plays doubles. I guess Tai didn't need the money. Besides, the tennis scene at Dong Nai Square sucked because the chuckle heads walked across my court while I was playing. I've moved to yet another court with yet another partner. Both seem more acceptable, but my game still stinks. No matter.  I need the exercise because all my students constantly tell me, I'm "OLD" and "FAT". You gotta love education.
My blog gets more hits from Russia these days than any other country in the world. By far. No wonder Trump seems fixated on Putin and his countrymen and women. The Russians pay more attention to what we do than we do. I guess we're always looking into our cell phones, so there's no time for any real reading.