Elevator

Papa

Yeah bud

Who’s Miles Davis

Oh, crap.

I have clearly failed my parental music curation duties.

(So far)

I’m tempted to long wind monologue around his significance, but catch myself.

say less

show, don’t tell

I find the greatest jazz album of all time, flip on the speaker, and let music explain itself.

Upright bass enters the chat, low tones, all business.

Sax follows, grants a sense of tranquil,

and the snare undergirds with gentlest precision.

All to set the stage

for the truest, purest breaths

Who’s Miles Davis

His face registers mild shock, then pure joy as our legend ascends, and he follows the notes, Miles into the sky,

perfection,

masquerading as music.

I’m no jazz expert

but I know what I like.

And as we descend, then climb, then descend again

on this Ascenseur Pour L’echafaud

his eyes tell me,

no , -wait –

show me

everything I need to know

Morning Movement

The day spans forward, limitless

like the sea.

He is undaunted, neither by endless waves nor endless work. His circular craft bobs, seemingly ready to take on water and submerge completely at any moment. But the array of similar vessels stacked ashore tells a different tale.

We all float here

they say

This village is quaint, charming to the outside eye.

But when scrutinized, the charm reveals itself as painstaking, arm burning, exhausting levels of work.

The collection of bright green plastic tubs filled with oysters, snails, crustaceans, and flippers that flavors our dinner by the sea

seems easy

A walk in the park, gentle cruise in the bay, a stroll on the beach,

as it were.

And my moment to take the work in, to see the sausage being made, clues me in. And I am again reminded to not take any of it for granted, to be grateful.

For, while this steamed seafood medley comes easy for me,

the persistent metronome of his single oar propeller, and the tireless yanking of the net from the sea floor

tell a different tale.

Instructions

Just eat

Just sit

Just read

Just work out

Just work

Just poop

Just look at the sky

Just do the thing

Just listen to the birds

Just breathe

Just listen

Just dance

Just look at your kid

Just hear your kid

Just see your kid

Just show up

Just exhale

Just sing

Just listen

Just connect

Just write

Just pause

Just see

Just wait

Just listen

Throw the phone into the dumpster

and

Just be

3 Up Top

3 up top

2 below

They’re on the move, and still, all at once

Above the waves, roiling sea below. The same powerful winds that turn the waters make moving forward a labor.

They float in air, suspended in time and space, losing this battle against progress.

And yet, something compels them to move.

Where are they headed?

My eyes track lower, to the water’s surface, and it is then that I see the solo traveler, fighting in the same direction.

Why do they fight the wind?

What if it were easy?

The fisherman, 5 shore birds, and their morning movement

Three up top

Two below

And one more, on the waves

moving

because they must

Whether fear, ambition, or something primal.

And, I wonder

if one of those reasons is why

I am compelled to do the same.

Sometimes the Cheapest Thing on the Menu is the Best Thing on the Menu

I’d say this most closely resembles a food court.

Photos of dishes on each of the menus across the well-lit boards signal our options. The staff await, eager to take your order.

I’m not sure what to eat, though. Too many choices complicates matters.

I decide to give what looks like the cheapest item on any of the boards a try,

I will not be disappointed.

My choice comes from one source, but three separate ladles of goodness, from a monster basin of steaming broths. She expertly scoops the perfect amount from the different compartments.

A little bit from here, a little bit from there.

She boils the noodles and assorted greens in a separate nook, her practiced hands gently rotating the mix with a rhythmic shake and shimmy.

Puts it into the bowl, then meticulously adds broth from three different pools. I’m not sure what the differences between the basins are, guessing by their different tones each has a slightly different flavor.

The three of them, combined, make magic.

And then, the piece de resistance, and all too moist-looking drumstick.

I share my thanks to this unexpected artisan, make my way to my table with the steaming bowl,

sit down

and dig in.

Squints

A short December day is here, and the sun, low on horizon as if to say

remember me

I am here.

Makes for staggeringly blinding snow.

It’s the squinty kind of bright,

that makes my forehead crease as I appreciate the fresh quiet. 

A full on Snow Day at our friends’ cabin. No need to watch the news or anticipate school closures. We’re just snuggled in and cozy.

Until we go outside, that is.

We have been out here nestled into the mountains, off and on for 10 years. Mostly summers, but our 13-year-old still asks for a jaunt to the Snowy Cabin (and calls it that regardless of season) whenever we return to these parts.

He and I have been creeping through the snow in search of a good spot for a sled run  and finally found one, snaking between branches and hidden rocks.

It’s a blast, and a workout.

We fit in a couple twisty runs, of course interrupted by the climb back up. 

That’s when elephant lays down in the snow. 

Catching his breath

But he lays there, a bit too long 

And my wellness radar kicks in. 

You OK bud? 

Papa 

he says 

I think I need my inhaler 

We’ve been here before, so I don’t jump to high alert, 

But alarm bells go off, and my heart leaps, just a little, into my throat 

Can you make it to the top of the hill? 

I think so. 

Which is good, because he’s getting too heavy to easliy carry.

He is resilient 

Always 

He’s been a survivor from the moment he landed in my arms, all slick and slidy, the journey out a bit too fast and the breathing soon to become a bit labored 

He would, of course, survive.

Fast forward 13 and he, being a survivor, stands up and trudges 

So, I do too 

We walk in concert through the deep snow 

He needs to pause, often.

I make a quick call to mama and let her know that we need puffs

Snow worn path, step-by-step soldiers making our way 

 We halt, and gaze. Squint, together. 

He leans on me 

His icy breath clouds our view

And we know we will survive, together.

existent

In my 20s, I heard the word existential a lot.

I honestly wasn’t sure what it meant at the time.

Having aged (just a tad) since then and undergone at least a couple crises,

existence

is on my plate

and in my mind.

Of all places, I find solace in the innocent wisdom of a goalie for the Flames, Devin Cooley, who has completely broken the mold of boring hockey interviews. His refreshing, candid, grateful puppy vibe belies his now somewhat famous quote in response to a bad night:

nothing matters, we’re all going to die

He says it with a disarming, genuine smile.

and gives me pause, 

I consider what really matters, and what it all means

And, generally speaking,

he’s right.

Instead of worrying about the world and my place in it

I open the fridge, and take a bite of an apple.

For the time being 

that is enough 

Position

Elephant is exhausted.

We are in a larger plane and have strategically choen the middle section, three seats across. There’s a couple advantages to this: one, we have access to the bathroom on either aisle, and two, he can alternate his head between either of our laps.

You travel as three when older brother is in college. And there are advantages to three.

It’s a magic number, after all.

We remember the days of bottoms getting exhausted, stuck to the seat, when elephant was a heavy  toddler alternating between our laps.

It’s not quite the same with a teenager, but we make it all work.

He shifts and dozes uneasily, and I, too, feel the fatigue, and frustration, of sleep deprivation.

But then I catch myself.

Flying is not for everyone.

I am aware of my position.

Headrest, pillow, comfort all at once.

And, my position.

It is a privilege to travel at what is largely my convenience, those thousands of kilometers across the sea.

This is a miracle 

Not everyone has this chance

Be grateful, you entitled dork

I have my very own entertainment console at my fingertips. My own comfy chair. Helpful people who swing by, with food, to boot!

Elephant snoozes is in my lap and shifts his position.

I run my fingers through his hair

and he slowly breathes, in rhythm.

Haze

I look up, a lot,

on days like today.

I’m not really sure what I’m looking for. 

Related, I don’t always know what I see. 

During last month’s hazy stretch, we were near the top of the world charts in AQI.

We’re number one!

I shout to the sky. 

It’s not a proud distinction, and it weighs. The air feels heavy and my footsteps do too. 

But it’s the trade-off, of choosing to live here.

This city is life, everywhere we look. And even on days when the haze is oppressive, and we can taste the air,

life goes on.

Bicycles, mopeds, and increasingly, SUVs and EV’s. 

Life in Hanoi is constant motion. Like sharks, to exist, and to survive, is to move.

That movement means the air is not always delicious. 

But if there’s one thing we know about Vietnamese, they are resilient.

(what’s the opposite of whiny)

A sense of

let’s get on with it

is how they roll.

Life in a basin means that things accumulate.

Particulate matter, smog, smoke.

But once those clear, and they always, eventually (albeit briefly) do

the true heart and soul of this place shine through.

Family, food, fellowship, joy.

As we are guests here, we recognize that all of it is ephemeral. This, too, shall pass

and the people who make this place work, will continue to do so.