Get Up Eight

It’s unclear exactly what I’m chasing today.

My tail, perhaps?

I don’t know

What do you think

Should I go play football tonight?

Depends how you feel

I’m frankly a bit torn.

It’s been a slow if incremental recovery, and the lungs are still not up to snuff. I’m feeling human though, after a weeks-long Covid adventure. Breathing well, moving with energy.

But chasing a ball for 90?

That could be a stretch.

The afternoon is frenetic to say the least jumble through an English conference for our tenth grader an hour-long adventure of a meeting planning my workshop tomorrow finishing a blog post and responding to a parent query and dropping Elephant off at a sleepover and picking up the kindest offer of some jollof and oh yeah I’d better take a bloody shower before footie so as not to be that smelliest of smelly guys so then I may as well shave the hair down to the bone and trim the beard because look good play good and then it’s off to the pitch because I think it’ll be healthy for me but first gotta find the socks I thought were in my drawer and make sure Rhino doesn’t burn down the place because he’s preparing a marinade for the barbecue and does the bike still have a charge better grab my helmet let’s goooooooo

And, then.

There are mates.

And turf.

Two goals

And a ball

And, mercifully,

Play.

And I remember.

What it feels like to be in control. To dribble between defenders and nutmeg and dart and dash.

To be with teammates

And to strike, that sweetest feeling

Ball.

Off post, across the net behind the keeper, off the other post and into the back of the net.

That all-too-fleeting moment of brilliance, of beauty,

Of joy

And, sure,

sport is silly.

But there’s plenty enough struggle to go around

And so, today, a tiny taste of silly joy

Is exactly what I’ve been chasing.

Papa

Yeah buddy

Ms. K has this really cool book with graphs. They’re circular and show different totals. The human circles are like this big. But the beetles ones take up like two full pages.

He’s spitting, free flowing, a volcano of knowledge of the world about to blow

Squirrels sweat through their feet.

Hawaii has no seagulls.

I like to play the water is lava, except you have to avoid it by just moving backwards.

It’s not much, really. All I’ve done is given space, a container in which to share.

Not fixing, just sitting. Looking him in the eye.

Moments like these feel so easy when they happen, the challenge is to open up and create the space. To build presence, as a habit.

The scientific name for gorillas is gorilla gorilla.

That last one is the one that makes him giggle.

Ok, so I think it’s going to be 6 groups.

Cool, can you explain how you got there?

---

You may ask yourself

How did I get here?

---

Whack!

I’m in the middle of a zoom, talking division with a student, when something hitting the ground outside the window draws my attention.

Is that a stick

The stick appears to be moving.

Curving across the grass.

Yep

Third snake in three days now. Apparently this yard is a Death Eater hot spot.

The first, a green and orange beaut who just wanted to get away.

The second, seen late at night just outside the window, muted colours, greys, greens, blues. A single black stripe the length of its body. This one was big. Like, ‘extend the length of the two-meter window’ big.

In a hurry though, so, quickly seen and quickly gone. I was okay to see it move along.

Some things are best not to ruminate on.

Does it have a home in the vacant green space on the other side of the fence? Does it have a family?

Are there more?

A lot more?

Three snakes in 3 days seems like a lot. But I’m new to the area, and the reactions of locals are encouraging.

I explain to the woman who tends the garden next door that there have been a couple snakes the past couple days.

She is unfazed.

It’ll go away

She points at the undergrowth and says, with her body

Don’t sweat it.

This encourages me.

---

There is something in these moments.

The ones we choose to notice.

And the moments that notice us.

We sleepwalk through life, so often.

How did I get here

---

Today, the magical snake flying through the sky and landing on the lawn has me wide awake, eyes wide open, and asking questions.

B, can you hold on a second? A snake just landed on the grass outside my window.

Cool!

We’re both excited. He reminds me that he asked his folks for a corn snake, without a yes, yet.

What color is it? Is it big?

Nice to have a herpetologist along for the ride.

I attempt to show him, strain to adjust my laptop to get the snake in frame. And as I do am struck by just how invisible this critter is. I’m looking right at it, and still struggle to parse it from grass.

Not to mention, my questions.

Like, where the heck did it come from?

It must have been up, somehow.

I squint into the sun. There’s no tree above where the snake landed. And no chance it could have been on the deck up top.

I am perplexed.

Can the snakes here fly?

Did it leap tall buildings in a single bound?

Tossed by a bird of prey? Dropped by a kite sailor?

The snake suddenly has David Byrne’s voice

You may ask yourself,

how did I get here?

And when you consider that a talking snake would literally be just a talking head

it now somehow seems to fit.

I step out into the yard and peer through the angled slats on the gate

They’re still hard at work. The crew down the street has been loading wheelbarrows and shovelling sand for the better part of the day. Their voices carry, jubilant, unified.

Vietnamese do not shy from work.

I head back towards the house when I spot movement through the grass

Lizard

I think

Wait

This lizard is bigger than I’m used to. Maybe a meter long.

And it doesn’t have legs.

Visual cortex catches up to language processing and the name of this creature reaches my brain

Snake

For some reason she strikes me as female (I don’t know how to determine the gender of snakes and am pretty sure I won’t be getting close enough to find out). But even from a few meters away, she’s beautiful. Bright green scales cascade into orange-red tones nuzzled near those unblinking, deep-pool, all-seeing eyes.

She nuzzles her way into the narrow bed, sneaking behind the cover of leaf. Edges to the left, then to the right, tongue extended, scoping out this novel territory. She attempts, unsuccessfully, to slide up the smooth facade of the cement wall. Then, finally, comes to a stop.

Hidden. Invisible, honestly, to all except me, and only because I happened to be paying attention.

There’s a snake down here

I call up to Rhino

Where?

Down here. In the garden.

Looks like it’s trying to find its way out of the yard.

For whatever reason, I’ve never feared snakes. They’ve always been more of a curiosity to me. I read a book when I was younger emphasizing that they really want nothing to do with us, and I was satisfied, all good.

But here, it pays to be cautious.

Our scaly interloper remains secluded behind the bright purple and green leaves of the ground cover, unmoving.

And so very, very silent.

As if in solidarity,

I keep still

And silent

And the world around us seems to stop

---

I spend the better part of a minute waiting for her to move, to slide out, to head for the hills.

But apparently her first instinct is to hide. Be still. Wait for dark.

My first instinct, conversely, is to call down the street. Locals will definitely know whether this slither is a venomous one.

I use the moment of standoff to search for venomous snakes Vietnam on my phone. Thankfully, the first four hits look nothing like our new friend.

A Non La pokes its way above the fence. The lady in charge of trash removal is busy on the other side.

I call to her – after a quick translate –

Có một con rắn trong sân, bạn có thể giúp đỡ?

There is a snake in the yard

Can you help?

She wanders around the pillared gate and peers at the bushes. I’m confident she has some sort of local wisdom or charm to keep us all safe

She gently nudges her trash bag into the flower bed.

No movement.

She mutters a few words

And eases backward out of the gate, crossing her arms in the universal body language for

You’re on your own, mister.

To which I reply, in my head

No

I’m not

I’ve got someone to keep me company

---

I’m sleeping better tonight.

It’s been a rough few weeks for sleep. Bad habits combined with stress compounded by Covid and a dash of post-nasal drip will do that.

I’m finally turning a corner.

I had almost forgotten what a night of uninterrupted sleep will do to a person.

Sharp. Alert. Patient.

Human.

It all follows.

I’m sleeping better tonight.

That is, until I receive an unexpected visitor. Unexpected, and uninvited.

My dream is of a journey. Making my way somewhere – by bicycle, maybe a concert? There’s a plane circling overhead, I think it’s looking for something.

Or someone.

I look up, shielding my eyes, tryiing to focus on the craft. It’s blurry, distorted. But I can hear its engine fade in

then out

and in.

Weird

That’s not the only thing about this engine that’s not quite right.

It’s the pitch.

Not the constant jet shhhhhhhhhhh of a commercial airliner, nor the buzzy marrrrrrrrrrrrr rrrrrrrrr rrrrrrrrrrrrr of a smaller prop plane.

This engine is uniquely high-pitched.

Exactly like a…

mosquito

crap

A few years in West Africa and a harrowing battle with malaria has made my subconscious reaction swift.

I shake out of my dream and sit up while simultaneously whapping my ear repeatedly.

It’s the rudest of awakenings.

I slowly exit my dream fugue and remember where I am.

It’s hot

I shake off the cover and stumble over to plug in the fan

And as I do, remember the African proverb:

If you think you’re too small to make a difference, you’ve never been in a dark room with a mosquito

The truth of this resonates deeply, tonight.

And, as I mumble and stumble my bleary wreckage over to the WC, I take solace in one thought

At least I’ve got something to write about.

150k, we take you around

No, thank you.

It’s beautiful trip, we take you for one hour

No, thank you. We’re ok.

I give her a smile with my eyes and a gentle wave, and we continue along the promenade.

There’s so much to see.

It’s our first time here, and this UNESCO Heritage site does not disappoint. The river walk is glowing, vibrant lanterns and colours everywhere

And few, if any, tourists in Hoi An at the moment.

From what I’ve heard this is unusual. A unique moment, we may not see again.

My mind wanders over the past 24 months. These Covid times are surely a challenge. But they offer unforeseen benefits.

The good.

And the bad.

100

Oh, are you still here?

She must have continued to wander with us. Our pace has been slow but she’s like a cat.

Lithe, ready to pounce.

Very beautiful ride.

She pulls out her phone to show a photo of what must have been the perfect trip. Lanterns, colours shine through. The couple in the photo lit just so, happiest pairing in the country.

Definitely one of her favourite pics, doing its best to entice.

She’s a seller.

The thing she’s not ready to hear, though, is that tonight, we’re not buying.

Just a walk. And a talk.

No hawk.

No motorcycle!

The man is uniform

All sandblasted khaki and exuding authority.

He lives for this, I can tell.

I imagine the flow of his day. Chatting with friends, the shopkeepers, trinket hawkers, street food merchants.

No doubt these days they bemoan the lack of tourists, foot traffic,

income.

Things are quiet in Hoi An these days.

Which, for him, no doubt translates to boredom. A lot of sitting back, slowing down.

I cruise the streets on this new-to-me yet familiar bike in a helmet that doesn’t fit quite right.

Starting to get a headache

I’m caught in the space between knowing where I want to go and chasing random discovery. I take a left because why not, then a right because yeah, it makes sense, then realize I may have missed out completely.

I’m wayward.

Lost, but the stakes are low. I’m in no rush, no timetables this afternoon.

The wooden archway denotes an entrance to a temple. The carts arrayed along the lane means this is a street for pedestrians, not cars. And, for the third time today, I hear

No motorcycle!

I gotta stop making wrong turns

But in making these wrong turns

Feel like I maybe made his day.

I’m not sure where to go.

Our homestay host said turn left. So I do.

It’s early, the boys are slumbering, and I need to eat before zooming into the day.

Gotta be a pho place around here

I get maybe 20 meters down the lane when I see the man and his rooster.

And reader, let me tell you

This man knows how to care for a rooster.

The yard is not atypical. Fenced off with wire, plenty of dirt and chicken droppings decomposing together in a poopy stew. A collection of chickens peck and scritch their way around the yard. An unassuming home, breezeway housing a couple bikes and drying laundry.

So, business as usual, nothing much to see here.

Until I see him, and him.

He’s crouched down, squatting in front of some sort of fowl.

Is that a turkey?

A rooster?

Can’t be.

I’m really not sure what to call it until he lets it go. But before he does, I notice him tending with utmost care to his fowl feathered friend. Picking a nit here, smoothing a ruffled feather there.

The two of them sit, oblivious to the world.

One, the most intent, present caregiver.

There’s a lot of love there.

The other, a trusting, loved, meditative soul.

I don’t know much about rooster care. Do all rooster owners spend the morning meticulously hand grooming?

If so, I need to know more.

This is a relationship that has been cultivated, nurtured. These two know each other. And I feel as though I’ve stumbled into a morning ritual, an intruder who can’t help but stare.

I continue down the lane and sneak a look back over my shoulder as the groomsman continues his work. And make a mental note to try to swing by tomorrow.

I’ve still got questions.

Elephant is big on limes.

Maybe it’s an elephant thing.

Are elephants known for a love of limes?

I make a mental note to find out.

We have a couple different pho joints that we haunt, and he’s always about the limes.

The soup, though.

Quick, easy, healthy, inexpensive.

Like, ridiculously inexpensive.

It checks all my culinary boxes.

I message a fellow noodlist back home with the deets

Today we’re at an expensive place

I run the numbers

The two of us are eating for $3.40

To get what’s arguably a perfect meal

The steamy, seasoned just so broth, accented perfectly with a mix of greens, gentle shards of meat, a touch of chili sauce and pickled garlic. A couple spicy chili peppers for that added zing

And for the final zest

A squeeze of lime

Or three

Or six.

Elephant loves limes.

As we sit down today though, there isn’t the usual fully stocked ceramic jar filed to the rim with sliced greenies. Today, at this table, slices only two.

Papa, ready to squeeze!

He grabs his allotted slice, but for whatever reason this one is slick

This is an uncooperative lime

Bit too much zest in the nest

Bloop

Augh

I look up and his lime has made a perfect landing straight into the steaming broth

It floats, indifferent.

And he now has a mission.

He fishes around with his chopsticks in an attempt to salvage

You gotta be careful

I say, matter of fact

He really needs to exercise greater lime care

I muse.

He’ll get better at it as he grows. More like me.

As I begin to squeeze my lime and peer at his bowl and earnest rescue maneuvers

My fingers slide together, lightning quick, unintentionally.

And my hint of lime makes a perfect arc

Through the sky

More like me

And lands squarely between the flip flops of the gentleman waiting in line.

Whoops

He looks me in the eye, grasping this unexpected and limeless moment, bright eyed and fully awake.

And we giggle together at this sudden turn of events.

It’s a slow morning

The energy has been making its way back

I’m not sure when I’ll be at 100

For now, I’m happy to be upright and mobile.

My achy left and crackly right push across the keys.

The dehumidifier quietly plies its trade, the birds outside the window are not nearly as active as they were this morning

And my afternoon brain is not nearly as active as it was this morning

Bird brain, eh.

The sounds of construction continue unabated

A lone dog growls and barks

The frogs in the local pond sing to me

Get to work

We’re busy over here

I remember to step outside of my Magic Picture Box to be a parent and ask down the stairs

R, are you in your zoom?

Yup

S, did you get started?

Not yet

Ok, get to it in the next break please.

They’re doing okay, honestly. Often I feel like they’re better at this than I am. Young, malleable cortexes, all synapses firing, all the time, making sense of what to me still so often feels foreign.

And if they’re okay, then there’s nothing left for me, except being left to write.

So I start

From left to right

With my left, and my right

Until there’s no more write left.