I nearly died today

I nearly died today. 

As someone who has run out of fingers and toes counting up friends and acquaintances who have perished in general aviation crashes, I am mindful each time I fly a small airplane that what I am doing is not safe. I know people who refuse to fly in small airplanes for that reason. While I can't really blame them, I don't wish to join them. 

It seems like a stretch to call myself an adrenaline junkie. It is not that I thrive on extreme risk or high-voltage excitement. However, there is something about risk that makes one feel more aware, more alive. And something in defeating that risk that is highly satisfying. So I fly.

Today (Friday) I decided to walk to work in Ho Chi Minh City. Not a big deal, a few klicks from the hotel, about 40 minutes walking. With street crossings. There was a gal who went to dinner with us recently who spends a lot of time in Vietnam. She refuses to walk, bicycle, or ride a scooter in HCMC. I get it, but I don't want to live it.

There comes a moment when you step out in faith. Walking across a street means that you will be a potential target for zooming scooters. You know that they have no intention of hitting you, and will strive to miss you. Even so, it is best not to look. They whisper past in a flash, slow motion bullets from an assassin's gun, barely missing, gone in a breeze. Crossing a major street, maybe 40 will pass you, some within inches. 

If I looked I might want to stop or try to dodge them, so I don't. I just walk, confidently and predictably. And then, I am across. Walking down a sidewalk that is always part street. Acutely aware. And I realize I am enjoying this. 

One of my realities is that I must someday die. It could be today. It could be now. In fact, it could have been now many times in the past. God spared me for reasons unknown. My mission on earth is not yet accomplished, it seems. 

I am Ok with that. I once had a guy call me to ask about pilot training for a certain billionaire in Seattle. One of the things he said was "my client has a lot to lose". I thought about that. What does anyone have to lose by dying? I know what I have to lose. My wife. My children, my daughters in law, my grandchildren, my family, my dear friends. Nothing else, really. And since i believe in the communion of saints, I get them all back anyway, at least I hope so.

The thought of death so very near is not exactly pleasant, but not entirely distasteful. The thought of not having lived by avoiding all risks is actually much worse for me. Now that no one really depends on me except Marsha for financial support, more risk in my life seems worthwhile. Not that I don't love Marsha, but she understands completely. The Sunday before I left for Vietnam, we flew in a Cessna to Friday Harbor for lunch. She is a person who lives with risk, and she gets it. So I think about her, tell her I love her in my heart, and step out into the street.   

How do you say that?

How do you say that?

So I figured it would be good to say a few things in Vietnamese. This is cause for great merriment at the school, when I attempt to say things like "thank you", "excuse me", "hello", and such niceties. People look at me like I have just walked off a space ship, and then I smile and they laugh and sometimes they are kind enough to correct my pronunciation. 

Vietnamese is a) a tonal language and b) one with no ties to any Western language even if it was scripted by French monks. The exception is the alphabet, which looks encouragingly like my own, creating the impression that perhaps one could simply look at the letters and, using phonics, sound out words. 

It ain't like that. Each vowel has six tones, which are indicated by little symbols that adorn the letters to tell you how the word is pronounced and therefore what it means. 

A simple two-letter word "ma" can mean "ghost", "cheek", "but", "tomb", "horse", or "rice seedling", depending on the tone used. This is tough territory for a tone-deaf, hard of hearing old man. 

One person explained that vowel pronunciation is defined by tongue-in-front and tongue-in-back combined with lips flat or rounded. Then there is glottalization. So a word like khong (zero), for example, is glottalized "hum". The "O" is tongue back and you need that little rush of air the Germans are so fond of. 

I made up little flash cards with the numbers from one to ten. I grab someone now and then and have them quiz me. Sometimes I even get most of them right. Now I understand why Vietnamese spend years learning English. 

There's tons of aps and you-tube videos, so there is no lack of information available. Sometimes (like this morning) someone realizes that I really am making an effort, and they will try to help by teaching me a handful of words. I try to explain that it won't work. I can't soak them up that fast. 

Fortunately, I get sympathy points for trying. At first they were all worried that I would be mad when they did not understand, but now they know we are likely to burst out laughing together and they are more relaxed. I am becoming entertainment. Suits me. 

A restaurant, horns, and a bank

The shark was thrashing around, breaching the surface and splashing water everywhere. The diners in the restaurant did not seem to notice this display of pique. Other creatures in the tank moved around to make way for the shark, who finally rolled over and was playing dead, or so it seemed. All around the shark tank were tanks of sea creatures - moray eels, snails, conchs, lobsters, crabs, skates, rays, and many varieties of fish. They were there to serve as dinner for the hungry customers. 

Last time I was here (in Vietnam) I ate slugs. I can tell you that I am not a fan. This time I tried a snail. Everyone else was piling in with gusto, using little forks to drag the snails out of the shells and munch. So what the heck. It was about what I expected, chewy and slimy at the same time. There. I ate mine. My attitude is that if the others at the table enjoy them, I should give them maximum opportunity. 

Thanks to having moved to Seattle 16 years ago, I no longer am squeamish at the idea of busting into a crab shell and cleaning it out. The first time I did it, it took a lot of beer to get started. Now it is easy. Clams, mussels, etc are no issue for me. Just the snails. 

The way people use horns here would be considered rude in the U.S. I awaken to horns every morning. Scooters and cars, blowing every few seconds. Watching my drivers use the horn, I have come to realize that it can be a courtesy. "I am in your blind spot". "I am taking the right of way". "Passing on your left". Those are what I have come to think of as courtesy horns. When trapped behind a vehicle, the drivers tend to flash their lights, which means essentially "outta my way, Peck". That signal is ignored more often than not. 

I had an interesting experience trying to open a bank account here. In response to my inquiry about a savings account, the bank said:

"I am so apologise to inform ANZ is not offering service to US person because of reporting requirements and withholding obligations imposed on banks by US regulation and the IRS, which is not in line with bank’s policy on protection of customer privacy information. Hence, we are not in a position to bank with US persons. Funny, I used to think communist governments were oppressive. Apparently the IRS has imposed reporting requirements that have banks simply deciding not to have U.S. citizens as customers.  

When I was here seven years ago, there were beggars. This time I planned ahead and brought money to share with them. However, one obvious new thing was an absence of beggars. In seeking an explanation I found that people are no longer allowed to beg. The economy is good, there is plenty to do, so beggars are required to find work. Interesting. It would seem that the Vietnamese attitude has shifted from "each according to his need" to "he who does not work does not eat". 

This country seems to be singing the praises of privatization, and is moving toward prosperity very quickly. I have seen exactly one picture of Marx and Lenin, and that was in a government office. 

Vietnamese dinner

I think my worst fear is getting lost in a huge city where I do not speak the lingo. Last night was the first night I have really spent alone at dinner time in HCMC, or in Vietnam for that matter. 

I was determined to find some place to eat, and figure out how to make that work. Since my hotel is at an intersection, I decided to take each direction from the hotel and walk until I couldn't or didn't find anything. 

My second fear is getting hit by a motorbike. They are everywhere, even on the sidewalk (sometimes especially on the sidewalk - a popular if illegal way to get around stopped traffic). Crossing a street you have to walk steadily and pretend not to see them, and in theory they go around you. I avoid crossing busy streets, although the locals do it. 

As it turns out, I live in a garment/banking area where restaurants are scarce, so I did  a lot of walking. There was  KFC, but I did not want to give in to the temptation to eat there. I kept going and eventually stumbled upon a Pho place that had seating for maybe 25, one Pho pot by the front of the store, and a few customers. 

The Pho was good as far as I can tell. People ask me if it was good Pho. How would I know? I put in a lot of those hot yellow peppers. To me, the Pho tastes like pepper sauce. Then it becomes an issue of texture. Noodles, meat, and the leaves I tear up and throw in. I really don't know what "good" is. If my scalp tingles and my forehead is dewy and my nose runs, it is darned good Pho! 

After dinner, I offered them either 100,000 VND or 5 dollars US. They took the VND and gave me change. I think I ate a good dinner and had a beer for about 40,000VND (about 2 bucks). Not a word of English was ever exchanged. 

I try to say stuff like "Cam on", which if I say it right is "Thank you". People smile and nod. I know my pronunciation is horrible. I just can't tell when I say it that it is horrible. Sounds right to me. But then, I can't tell good Pho from bad, either. 

Thoughts on Vietnam

Impressions of Vietnam...

The first thing is that it is hot here, and humid a lot. When it cools down, it feels really good. The next thing you notice is that people dress modestly. Not what you would expect in a hot country. Long sleeve shirts, long pants, lots of jackets. Impressive in 80-90 F heat. The women in particular have a style of dress that is classy without being overly sexualized or provocative. I have come to realize that I really appreciate that. It is decidedly un-American, but I don't really care for modern American popular culture, so I like it. 

Traffic, especially in the big cities, is crazy. I am beginning to appreciate how effective it is, though. Lots of people are moving, mostly on scooters. scooters are far more effective than cars, simply because they are more maneuverable and smaller. If people here had cars like the U.S., traffic would look like...well, like I-5 through Seattle during "rush hour", which is to say at a standstill or crawl. The turning part took some getting used to. People turn in front of oncoming traffic, and the oncoming folks either slow down or go around. Pedestrians do not have the right of way, which I cannot get used to, at least not yet. I cringe when we have near-accidents, which is a constant in the city. Danang is not so crowded, so the pace is more comfortable. 

When music is played in public, it is often classical piano. Went to a hotel bar recently and the pianist was playing Pachelbel's Canon in D. It is one of my favorites, played well. I also went to a department store and they were playing Western music - some woman screaming into a mike with the usual background noise. The contrast was striking. 

Another great thing is how friendly people seem to be. It is really nice that people smile and say hello. Until last night, I had not been in a restaurant with a television. That has been so refreshing. Broke the streak last night, kind of a disappointment. 

Western culture intrudes here like everywhere. Coca-cola, Pepsi, etc. Now that Vietnamese have traded walking and bicycles for Coke and scooters, I suppose it is only a matter of time before they start dealing with the weight gain issues so common in more developed nations. 

Beer is indigenous, like Beire Larue. However, it makes one appreciate the craft beers of the PNW. They like Heineken here. Maybe it is because of the red star symbol. Some day they will discover Deschutes and Rogue breweries, I hope.  

Food here has been mostly wonderful, but not so different than a vietnamese restaurant in Seattle or Bremerton. Lots of vegetables, rice variations, and meats. Restaurants are plentiful and cheap, so most people do not cook.  Our meals tend to go on for a while, kind of like Italian dining. That is nice, but since I don't speak the language I can't tell stories or understand them. 

No one really cares whether you use chopsticks or forks and spoons. Both are readily available. It seems common to use facial tissues for napkins, which works out about like you would expect. Sometimes I am the only one at the table using chopsticks. 

Tonight is something new for me - I apparently do not have a dinner invitation. That means I am on my own for the first time. Should be an adventure. 

The Second Day of Christmas

The Second day of Christmas.

I once had an on-line discussion with an atheist arguing the relative merits of atheism vs. (for me) Catholic Christianity. At  the beginning of the session, I had decided to be open-minded. So open-minded, in fact, that I told my atheist friend that if could present a compelling argument for atheism, I would become an atheist.

Sometimes I dreaded his notes. What if he was right? What if my intellect was forced to recognize that atheism presented a stronger case for itself than Christianity? As it turned out, I needn’t have worried, As a result of my interactions with him, I am a stronger Christian and Catholic.

One of the things I most appreciate about Christianity is gratitude. Gratitude is a wonderful gift. It enables me to see each day as a present to be unwrapped, and each new opportunity as an offering from a loving God. It also enables me to see that the “bad” things that come into my life are often ways that God shows me something I need to learn.

Thanksgiving is tough if there is no one to thank. I thank God for life itself. I recognize that many bad things could have happened in my life and didn’t. I also recognize that many of the things that seemed bad at the time were beautiful gifts in ugly wrapping paper.

God has a plan, but it is certainly not my plan. My plan had Marsha and me comfortably retired and hanging out on our boat, inviting our friends to adventures, and in general living the dream life. God has seen fit to show me that my dream life may not be what He has in mind. This has caused some disquiet and downright anxiety, but lately I’ve been finding some peace.

I went through this with a number of things – our initial financial struggles with jobs, kids and debts; our marriage as it turned to harsh partnership and avoidance; the need to explore my inner self as a requirement to present Marriage Encounter weekends; the wrenching realization that I believed if Marsha really knew me, that she would reject me; the fear of being out of control that I wrestled with; the move to Seattle, trying to become part of a new community; yanking ourselves out of that community when it just seemed to be going well; parenthood every which way, rejection by a boss, financial setbacks, a layoff, another move.

What I have learned is simply that if I am willing to detach myself (“let go and let God”), He will take me where I am and show me somewhere else that I can serve and learn. My life has been so much more of an adventure in part because I was willing to let God steer and me to provide pedal power.

 Yesterday was Christmas day, and we went to the Irish house (Lauren’s parents). There was a gift exchange, but Marsha and I did not participate, we are saving that for when Adam gets home, whenever that is. All the same, I felt a profound sense of peace. I was spending a lot of time with Madeleine, the almost-one granddaughter. She was investigating new sights, sounds, tastes, and touches. I had nothing more important to do at that moment than to follow her as she crawled around, keeping her from dangerous investigations.

To have nothing more important to do than simply “be” with another person, even if that person can’t talk, is an extraordinary thing.  When our kids were growing up, even when I was with them my mind was often somewhere else, stressing about something. Simply being is a wonderful thing.

I’m grateful for the gift of grandchildren, and for the opportunity to be with them with no agenda, no rush, no need to do anything but to be there. This is a blessing, and if being so blessed means I give up my “dream life”, then so be it. God always seems to have a better plan than I do. One of these days I’m going to learn to really trust Him.

a different life

Life is different now.  There has never been a time in our marriage, ever, when one or the other of us has not had a job. This is a new adventure for us, and I am watching myself to see how I handle it.

In a sense, I have a job, since I am working on Adam and Lauren’s house. All the same, there is no boss to report to, no personnel to manage, and none of the mental tautness that seemed often to accompany each day – the sense of trying to outrun the avalanche.

Marsha and I talk to each other about what would seem to be next. There must be a next, since we cannot afford to live indefinitely without income. Marsha is pretty sure she is through with executive management. I can’t say I blame her.  She applied to be a barista at Starbucks.

Both of us have worked since we were young teens, at one job or another. Both of us rose eventually to jobs that were executive-type roles. We are grateful for the opportunities that came our way, and the things we were able to be involved in, but overall we are not enamored of what we have seen.

There seems to be something wrong. I have been continually flummoxed by the behavior of many of the people I’ve seen in executive positions, and Marsha shares my bewilderment.

As I think about it, I realize that I have a couple of expectations regarding executive managers that are probably completely unrealistic. One is that they behave as mature adults. The other is that they approach their work with a stewardship mentality, recognizing that the owners of the company (shareholders, perhaps) and the employees have a right to prudence &professionalism from an executive manager.

We keep seeing people put themselves on pedestals, with an apparent desire for power, prestige, position and pay that transcends what seems to us should be a more dignified humility that comes with the recognition of responsibility for people’s livelihoods.

I got to thinking about this attitude, and its origins. There is no question that the concept of stewardship is bound up with our Catholic heritage. The notion that our responsibility for what we do goes beyond ourselves  to all of human society is not uniquely Catholic or even Christian, but it certainly is a mainstay of Catholic teaching.

The desire for power over other people, it seems to me, is a sign of existential emptiness. As we were crafting our marriage seminar, we came to the startling conclusion that there are really only two ways to go: you can have a power and control relationship or you can have a love and affection one. I’ve met people with functional marriages that have a strong power and control component, but I’ve never seen a happy one. As a supervisor, I tried to treat power as a last resort. To me it almost always meant that I’d failed to win over a heart or mind, and while I was willing to use power, I never liked it.  There are people who really like having power over others. My belief is that those people should not operate in what should be leadership roles, as they are very inclined to substitute power for real leadership.

Prestige to me seems like a second-hand way of validating one’s worth. Here again it appears to me that someone who needs prestige is dealing with an existential emptiness. Prestige is fickle, like people, and is an illusory way to establish one’s sense of worth.

It seems odd in a way that my happiness quotient is as high or higher as I paint a cabinet for my son’s house to hide circuit breakers than it was managing a flight school or running a company. I liked those high-pressure jobs, and they certainly paid more money, but a simple task in service to another brings a quieter, more peaceful joy.

I wonder what will be next. Our pastor has our marriage seminar outline for his perusal. I look forward to seeing his comments.

Overall, I feel pretty content and happy. That could change anytime, but I am grateful for it right now.