Get Up Eight

I ease myself into the cold plunge

Yikes

The bright red sign reads 16°C

Real, tested ice bathers might scoff

But since I’ve just come from the sauna and a quick rinse, this is shocking. But so, so good for a body tired from Footie.

I’m slowing down.

Still.

Day-to-day, I don’t notice it too much

But on the pitch

Man, it’s kind of a drag.

A good friend and fellow footie folk captured so perfectly that feeling of age

Ah, that’s a nice ball

20 years ago me could’ve got there

He said.

Age creeps up on us

My legs don’t move like they once did, lungs don’t take air

I trip over my feet more often than I used to.

It’s unnerving.

The essay Wear Sunscreen, famously misattributed to Kurt Vonnegut but written by columnist Mary Schmich, tells us to be kind to your knees

You’ll miss them when they’re gone

And my knees feel pretty good to be honest

It’s the rest of my legs that are slowing down.

---

I’m not the best at wearing sunscreen

But I do dance, travel, and hang onto friendships

The ones from long ago that I know I’ll take to my grave.

Again, I remind myself that I am entitled to nothing.

Except, perhaps

a hot sauna and a cold plunge.

Upward Salute

I raise my hands above my head and arch toward the sky

It’s gray today, and crispier than it looked when I woke up

Toe Touch

I’ve heard listening to birdsong is a surefire way to relieve stress.

And, this brisk morning, there’s plenty of it to go around.

Lunge

The cool breeze greets me hello, playing off my bare legs.

Upward Dog

I use the tiny puddle to wet my hands in order to get a better grip. I’m two days removed from Footie which means stiff muscles are just now leaking into prime awareness.

Oof

Child’s Pose

I don’t quite bend like I used to, although paradoxically, I never used to bend like I do now. It’s become a daily habit.

Downward Dog

I lock my legs and push my bottom upward

as a single motorcycle rumbles by below

and I hear R’s door creak open.

The world is waking

Wide Leg Bend

I wonder what 20-year-old me would think of this old man, boxers and hoodie, creaking his way through this morning ritual

Working out the bumps and smoothing the edges

Upward Salute

A solitary pupper joins the birdsong, barking in rhythm, repeating his hello

I bring my hands heart center, take a deep breath

And take myself home.

I knock on the wooden door and the sound travels through the hallway and down the stairs.

Fellas, open up

I hear footsteps pad toward the door, and as it opens, he lets out a

wooaaaaa

Moth! Moth! Moth!

A moth came in! It’s gonna leap at my face!

He ducks around the corner and I’m more than a bit surprised at the reaction.

You know that moths are arguably most harmless of the insect kingdom, right?

Yeah, we know

Older brother chimes in.

But the issue is that it’s really likely to give us a jump scare

I mean, fair enough, but it’s still just kind of ‘there’

Yeah, we get it Papa

I briefly worry whether I am raising cowardly children, then pause to consider their point. And, true – walking into the bathroom and having a moth fly into your face, in the middle of the night, in the dark, is a bit of a scary prospect.

I take a breath, crack my knuckles (I do not actually crack my knuckles), and steel myself for a battle with Marthra.

I am Godzilla. Protector of the city.

Or at least this tiny room in a boutique hotel.

She’s perched on the bathroom wall way up above the sink, but we have to fluctuate between turning lights on to provoke her, and turning lights off to help her calm down.

Because she’s so high up I need something to reach her, and of course, a toilet brush (because why not) becomes my weapon of choice.

But I’m a lover, not a fighter, and in these moments do my best to cause no harm.

So, I trust to the brush, and wave it in her direction to encourage flight.

Lights on!

I shout to Rhino.

The room is lit, and Marthra is immediately all flutter and no fury.

Lights out!

She pauses on the wall, just dark enough that I can see her.

This goes on for a couple minutes in the bathroom until finally I’m able to shoo her into the main room. Elephant is unimpressed.

You should’ve kept her in the bathroom!

She perches on the wall, and I pass the toilet brush to Rhino.

If you’re not gonna help me catch her, at least put this in the bathroom – and wash your hands.

I pick up a ceramic cup from the bathroom and gently place it over our friend. She doesn’t seem to struggle, and I think she might be ready to accept some help.

The back and forth can’t be as much fun for her as it is for us (it is not fun for us).

Elephant brings a piece of paper. I slide it under the cup.

Marthra has been bested. Captured, and alive.

But captured, only for a moment.

I walk her outside, only after I make a joke about dumping her on Elephant’s pillow.

He is unimpressed. But chuckles.

I slide the paper from the lid, give it a shake, and send Marthra into the night sky.

She seems happy

The boys feel safe

And my paternal duties for the evening are complete. Protector against any mass invasion,

Godzilla, victorious again.

I glide the bike to a slow stop on the sidewalk, ease my helmet off

and step into the shop.

It’s busy, being lunchtime and all.

The kitchen is alive. Meat stir frying, flames licking the ceiling

I order my usual.

Cho toi mot pho tai lan va tra

At this point, they know me here. It’s a weekly work day sneak away. I’ve got the timing down and it’s a 35 minute turnaround.

Clamour is easy, there’s a gentle comfort scattered among the conversations, dotted with smiles and knowing glances.

Steam is the constant

Rising from each bowl, and from every small glass topped with hot barley tea.

I pull my chair out to sit down and look behind me to see the bundle at the table behind.

Definitely no more than six months old

White stocking cap and onesie

Nestled into the arms of what must be grandma.

We make eye contact, and she nods in my direction with a gentle smile.

I have been there

I say to her with my eyes

And I miss those days

I say, without saying.

We don’t speak the same language

But we do share the same bond, that only exists when another tiny human melts

into your shoulders and your chest.

Aaaiiiieeeeeeeeeee!

The shriek comes at me from the corner of my ear and I turn into it.

There’s a crew of fifth graders huddled around, cautiously staring at the ground. At first I don’t see anything against the multicolored rubber surface.

What’s up?

I’m not normally on the playground during this recess, it’s a bit of a new world for me and the novelty is making it a ton of fun.

I’ve been busy.

A bounce on the trampoline, leading my group of hangers on through a 1-minute (plus) dead hang, and a full stretching routine with a couple friends.

Can we stretch too?

They asked, as kids do.

Sure!

These young humans really don’t need much more to feel safe and looked after, apart from seeing them. Really seeing them.

At the end of the day, teaching is about being a tall person who has chosen to spend the day with kids. Even that seemingly low bar, often taken for granted in this work, goes a long way.

They are delightful, gracious young souls who yearn to connect, to play, to share.

As teachers we find ourselves stretched thin, caught between, pulled every which way.

And that tests our patience, to the point where it’s hard to be truly present. To be available,

patient,

and kind.

But we do.

Because they are worth it.

And when we make that extra effort, it comes back our way and then some.

There’s a creepy bug over here! We think it’s poisonous!

Nah

I scoff.

But when I amble over to save the day, a colleague points out that, indeed, the hairy caterpillar is toxic to the touch, leaving a bitter itchiness when touched.

It’s so creepy!

They proclaim.

Well, to be clear, the expression ‘creepy’ literally comes from creep, which is exactly what this l’il fella is doing right now

Somebody find a stick!

One of the girls returns seconds later with a meter stick. I wonder if the hairs might get themselves stuck on it, depositing an uncomfortable present for a future measuring 5th grader.

She gently coaxes the critter onto the end

and of course, three kids shriek as she does so.

The brain doesn’t always like novelty

but they’re engaged.

Take it over to the fence and drop it off, gently!

She’s off, balancing it through the playground, past a range of curious stares

She offers freedom to this hairy slinky, shaking it off, off, off. Shaking it off, off, off.

She returns to the playground resplendent in joy

and a hero to her friends.

Let’s get going buddy, Mama is waiting.

Ok

We step out into the hazy dusk and the air has clearly shifted. Unclearly shifted. Clearly unshifted.

It’s changed, is what I’m trying to say.

We’ve recently had a stretch of uncharacteristically pristine air, air that harkens back to another time and place. It’s been cold, and with the cool air came breezes, and with the breezes came

visibility, scenery, clarity.

Since the air has warmed, however, the landscape is now murky,

shrouded,

hidden.

When you live in a basin, just south of China, this is what you get.

Sometimes.

Where’s your mask?

Ooooops.

What?

I left it with Coach Coach.

Coach Coach?

Yeah, Coach Coach.

Oh, Coach Tu.

He has it?

Yeah, it was hard to shoot with it around my wrist. so I gave it to him.

Such are the things kids need to think about here. Mask management becomes a thing. Unrelated to COVID,

this is a clean air deal.

And tonight, the air is crowding us.

I taste it as we cross the playground. Smell it as we round the lake.

Feel it in my lungs as we cruise the home stretch.

It doesn’t affect me most days.

But today, it has a bite.

Fresh spring rolls, tomato tofu, three fresh coconuts, poked with paper straws

I’ve got a full house, tens over fives.

It’s just the three of us right now, the Rhino, the Elephant, and I.

And for this trip, we’re already into our second time wandering over to Phuong‘s. She’s set us up with yet another healthy, garlic-filled, veggie-rich meal.

Located just seconds from the beach, we discovered Phuong’s gentle smile and deelish cuisine a couple years back, in the throes of lockdown. A slightly different style of pho from what we get in Hanoi. More tomato involvement, and chicken seems to overrule beef here. But the most tangy yet rich broth complementing it all.

The vegetable stir-fry comes out, al dente, loaded with garlic. Hints of steam rise from our plates and dot the dusky sky.

It’s the perfect marriage of culinary excellence and Vietnamese charm.

Paper lanterns, a garden loaded with plants, the cutest little structures and seats outdoors, all arrayed in blues, yellows, pinks, and greens.

The ocean air finds us from just below.

And the kindest, most gentle staff.

This has become our home away from home, comfort and food and goodness all in one.

The cards rest on the table and we’re between hands of Pepito when R offers this contemplation

Did you know that mosquitoes don’t only bite you, they also urinate while doing so

S is both impressed and stunned by this new-to-him information.

Being the most delicious of us all, mosquito bites find him with rabid frequency. He glances downward with a scoff of disgust.

Yeah, now I’m gonna take that one with me.

---

Hey papa

do you wanna play The Water is Lava

Can do

OK, you gotta go in towards the water as far as you can and then when the waves come out, you can’t let them touch your feet.

It’s one of those moments in parenting when I’m kind of humoring him.

Sure,

why not

Assuming, all the while, that it’s not going to be that much fun

Just part of the job.

It’s then, that I notice my feet.

A bit soggy, and the sand squishes ever so satisfyingly between my toes. The waves pound, gentle breeze urging them on.

And he, being brave, is undaunted.

I’m distracted, not fully present

until I play a couple rounds of the game.

His giggles are contagious, and so is his joy.

And this is something worth catching.

Let’s see if we can predict how far the wave is going to come up

I’m gonna stand here and see if I can get exactly the limit of the wave.

Oh, that was close!

A few passes come and go, and we’re swept, in our joy

over to another section of beach, when we discover the Big Hole. Clearly there’s been some work done today.

A lot of digging.

It’s dark out and it’s hard to see just exactly how deep the hole goes. We make a couple jokes about stepping in and going all the way down, deep, deep into the ground.

He, being brave, takes the leap anyway and ends up peering out from the hole, edges up to his chest.

A couple more leaps in and out,

Leap

In

Out

Leap

In

Out

I pause, crane my neck to the stars, listen to the waves, feel the breeze

And notice that he’s written something in the sand

I assume he, being brave, has shared his name, a special message, or even an ode to the gods of the deep, signaling to the world, and the stars, and all the critters of the ocean

What did you write?

I ask

It’s nothing quite so poetic

Nice hole

He responds

I do a spit take and we giggle together for a bit.

And slowly meander back from the beach, sand all over our toes and sticking to our feet.

We spy a tiny park with a large swinging bench that he hops onto like a sprite, and I, being old and young all at once, ease my way onto.

We swing back and forth a few times, and the breeze keeps us here

I hop off, and he, being brave, snatches his chance to stand

pulls rhythmically on the ropes, and gets his speed up.

He swings for good minutes while I take a moment to once again marvel at the stars.

To consider who we are

and where we are.

He’s getting older

But still not too old to play

I’m getting older, too

And guess what

First of all, chicken butt

Second of all

I’m not too old either

Tingly is how I’d best describe it

The awkwardness comes later

Post sento, the sauna and cold plunge have put me into the zone.

It’s a few days before Tet, and things are picking up. The Lunar New Year brings with it traditions around eating, cleaning, gathering,

and giving.

Dehydrated and all atingle, I detour into the tiny grocery store. Usually when someone who looks like me enters I get stone silence. But today I’m greeted with a clear

Good evening

Her accent is clean, it’s obvious she’s had some English practice.

Hello

I reply with a smile.

I sneak towards the back and discover my target. The electolyte drink branded (somehow extremely profitably) as Pocari Sweat.

I bring it up to the counter and she says what I hear as

50000 please

I’m pretty confused, as that seems like a lot. I rationalize it as Tet surge pricing, and hand her a 50000 bill.

She replies with ‘just a moment’ and reaches into the till.

Thinking she is grabbing me a receipt, I tell her

Don’t worry about it

To which she responds

Oh my God, thank you so much!

It takes me a beat before I realize she originally said 15000 and mistook me for a generous pre-Tet benefactor.

Without thinking, I say

Oh, I thought you said 50

She smiles and realizes the misunderstanding.

Quickly reaches into the till to grab my change

Oh, I’m so sorry

And I slink my way out the door

The tingles of comfort now long gone.

It’s not until I get onto the bike that I reconstruct the events, and wonder somewhat sheepishly what I should have done differently.

And a new, less comforting tingle accompanies me home.

The air is crisp

But what’s striking is the silence

The platform, mostly faded, darkened concrete, slowly decaying and deserted. It calls for bustle, yet is met by none.

A flock of whirling visitors alight briefly atop the rain cover and dance together through the air. Darting, flitting guests who make this concrete, metal latticework their weigh station

Four tones indicate an announcement. It heralds the arrival of an oncoming train.

Scheduled to arrive at 1747, I peer at the decades-old analog clock suspended above the rails. This one is three minutes late.

Not bad, all things considered

A solitary black motorbike perched on the platform juxtaposes itself against the blue, blanc, et rouge of the carriage across the way.

Perhaps the French legacy found the railways too

Sitting in patient slumber

Nary a passenger in sight

Đường sắt Hà Nội emblazoned on the side, and Fanzipan express, indicating that at some point it is (or was) bound for Sapa.

My context for train stations is so much skewed.

And, it would stand to reason that if you’ve seen one train station,

you’ve seen them all.

Being train stations, the ones that come to mind in are similarly laid out, parallel platforms, row on row.

But here, there’s no one around. And it’s a bit disconcerting

Is this the right spot?

I wonder, but only briefly.

Regular announcements begin and build in frequency, confirm that we’re in the right place. The train steadily fills

I take a breath and peer into our carriage, soaking it all in. Two boys perched on the top bunks, chatting about what’s to come

and what has been.

They’re such amazing travelers

Not a whinge in site

We are so lucky to have these two

When my reverie is interrupted, and the darkness slashed by one emphatic blast from the train horn

A sudden jolt starts the carriage in motion.

We slowly inch forward, journey in front of us.

We leave our jungle of concrete behind,

And urge forward, steady and gentle

into the night