Get Up Eight

Knees, of bees

are famous.

Unlike their wax, which is none of your.

I cannot see their knees 

These bees 

But they are busy, at the rising of the Sun 

There’s a layer of green flat leaves and stems on the roof just in front of our patio. And a large family of bees makes it their home.

The thick vegetation is dotted with delicate white flowers, interspersed, light purples and dark indigos. 

At first glance, it is a quiet, uninterrupted, and undisturbed haven.

However, as the sun creeps slowly over the horizon, the space is filled by this regiment of hard-working pollinators.

Two things stand out about these bees 

One, color 

Inspired by rugby players, they are all blacks. A deep, lustrous armor reflecting the rising sun.  They shine in the morning night.

Two, their size

These bees are larger than my thumb

And, initially, I am taken aback.

But they have little concern for me, just centimeters away, observing them hard at work.

Between the dozen of them, they make a low resident buzz that welcomes our day.

A younger me might’ve been wary, misunderstanding, but I am not the center of their universe

In reality, neither these bees nor their knees want anything to do with me.

They go about their business, sharing the love, sticking their noses right where they belong 

Quietly ensuring the health of the ecosystem.

Is there joy in their work? 

I’m not quite sure, really.

But as I anthropomorphize these hard-working critters

I like to imagine so.

I sit and stare at the black back of the computer screen, separating me from him.

My friendly customer service rep taps away at his phone. ‘Friendly customer service’ is a bit generous if I’m being honest. Somewhat indifferent, somewhat efficient customer service?

We’ve exchanged a cursory couple words and he’s now (I hope) sorting the new sim card for our brick phone.

We are here, in the most sterile of corporate environments. Red and white advertisements paint the walls, special offers and discounts outlined in block letters. Everyone using a cell phone in the ads is having the time of their lives.

Maybe I should get one, life would be a non-stop party

A red digital #17 stares back at me, though I didn’t take a number when I came in due to a lack of knowing it was necessary.

There is no music.

And in fact, not a sound above the low hum of the cooling unit.

He holds his phone up to my face and motions for me to take off my toque.

Smile

I’m sorry?

Smile

And he holds the camera up to my face, just close enough to make me feel even more uncomfortable. I’ve already provided my passport and offered a digital photo, but for some unknown reason he needs a pic on his own phone.

We don’t always own ourselves

in this day and age.

A random human, who didn’t even introduce himself, has a collection of portraits on his phone along with a few copies of my passport.

It’s uncomfortable

but it’s also the cost of doing business in these modern times.

What is it like to be loved

The question came up, earlier in the day. A piece of writing that spurred the conversation. A question, worth exploring, huddled in the back of my mind.

You ready buddy? 

Just a minute, Papa 

He hollers down the stairs 

I run hot soapy water over the dishes, turn off the lights in the kitchen, and sprint up two flights of stairs.  I hear his toilet flush and realize he’s not ready yet

I’m gonna floss. I’ll be there in a minute

As I’m wiggling the string between my teeth, I don’t hear much movement from his side.

He’s almost a teenager, yet still asks to be tucked in.

And I realize

That I, too,

still like to be tucked in. It doesn’t happen as often as it used to, but it still does.

And I still like it 

I turn off the light in our room and sneak across the hall when I realize that something’s up

Light in the bathroom is still on

Light in the room is still on 

There’s not a sound to be heard 

Hijinx are afoot

As a result, the foot is not where it should be.

I peer at the lump under the covers, and recognize something is not quite right.

He’s doing the thing again, where he parks his head at the foot of the bed and his feet near the pillow. But disguises his bed to look like all is as expected.

He thinks he’s super deceptive at this point.

I can imagine his thought process all too well.

I too, am a fan of hijinx, tomfoolery, and shenanigans.

Normally, I either crawl in beside him, yawning loudly, and throw my arm around where his neck should be

or alternately, I just pile onto the bed and wonder loudly “where’s R? I thought he was supposed to be in bed!”

But this night, I just simply lift up the covers and expose his freshly showered, wet but just-combed hair.

He’s half disappointed, but mostly mostly delighted. He chuckles and says Papaaaaaa with a groan. 

That’s when I realize I’ve forgotten something in the other room.

I’ll be right back

It takes a couple minutes and I return.

And, this time, yet again, I don’t see his head peeking out from under the covers.

He’s tried the same trick a second time. The double whammy. The double crossing double cross.

Rather than get into bed and do my usual, I yank the covers straight up in the air. An even louder groan this time.

And then he bursts into laughter

and laughter is contagious. 

I burst, too 

It’s unbridled 

And pure 

The joy that we share together.

Laughter really is good medicine.

It wraps around us, as we wrap around each other. Sharing a hug and a moment of joy after a long day. 

We shake with giggles for a couple minutes and then we finally settle in

His breathing slows, and he rests his head on my chest.

And I remember what it is like to be loved

You need to take some time away, to reset your lungs.

As long as you get periodic vacations to clean air, your system resets itself.

The doctor’s words ring in my ears as I stare out at infinite layers of emerald in the rice terrace.

Shift my gaze to the whirling swifts welcoming the day, then attend the endlessly busy crickets and cicada white noise.

Dawn.

Morning is all flutter, whistle, song,

and symphony.

We’d come off a rough stretch of bad air. It’s a combo platter of burning, inverted barometric pressure (I don’t know what I’m talking about but humor me), the lead up to Lunar New Year, and, well, the weather. 

Our usual air monitor app has read consistently above 250:

hazardous

We’re topping the charts,

global heavyweights

number one with a mask

but this hit song is not one of my favorites.

So, we take advantage of our position and make a move. Doctor’s orders, and all.

How lucky we are to be able to make such a choice

We take advantage of the break, and rumble to the jungle. 

I stare out toward the distant ocean, grateful for this respite and a chance to reset

follow the flight of a solitary winging, dipping, darting bird who greets me, as if to say

Hello.

I am so glad you are here 

 I respond

The feeling is mutual

And take a deep, unfiltered breath

and drink the air. 

The morning has flown by, somehow

There’s always another thing to do, and the decision fatigue being a teacher is real

We’ve shifted into a new unit of study, and with it comes both novelty (which the brain likes) and a transition, a lack of ritual (which the brain does not).

I’m leaning through a few different possible ideas for lessons with my co-teacher, when she notices the clock.

Lunchtime, D

OK Em

When she first started with us, our other colleague warned her about my proclivity to ‘not’ take care of myself

And in her gentle reminder, just two words, my work sister reminds me she cares.

She sneaks out of the room with a bright smile, and I’m alone for a moment.

I realize it’s the first time I’ve really caught my breath today.

I let out a deep, heavy sigh

The endless nature of this life we’ve chosen, this limitless profession, is yet again peeking up through the floor

And I’m checking yet one more thing off my to do list when he walks through the door

Arms raised, triumphant, both body and spoken language

This can only mean one thing!

He bellows, silhouetted and triumphant

Let’s go

We have a standing arrangement, whereby if he’s able and interested in joining me, we sneak off for lunch together. Two years ago, I would do it once maybe every three weeks. It was decadent, and somehow, felt a bit wrong.

These days, I go for a hot bowl of spicy pho almost every day

Now it feels wrong when I don’t.

He messages the office, we wander over to the bikes, throw on our helmets,

And drift

With hot, slurpy noodles, and the richest of broth

on our minds.

Yo tengo hambre

He’s been working on his Spanish

a little bit.

I go into lecture mode

You know, you are most likely not hungry, you’re probably just sleepy. Often late at night we think we’re hungry but we really just need some zeds.

He responds

counterpoint, Papa

maybe I’m actually hungry

I smile, sigh, and give way, and we wander over to Tomibun. 

It’s a decent replica of a real-life Japanese convenience store, Vietnam-style. Every time I cross the threshold it’s enough to take me back, an array of clear plastic-wrapped vegetables and neatly chopped fruit on the left, smattering of onigiri to the right, neatly labeled in both Vietnamese and Japanese.

We land on a couple, check out, and make our way back to the bike. He munches on the way, and has already finished his rice ball by the time we arrive, depositing the wrapper in the trash.

maybe he was actually hungry

I glance up, surprised to see couple of stars peeking through the cloud cover above.

These are cloudy days.

I am emboldened, and put my faith in venturing home without a rain slick.

He hops on behind me and we set in motion, beginning the 25 minute trek home.

We meander, dart, traipse.

You doing OK? 

I ask 

Yeah

I’m OK 

If you drop off the bike because you’re falling asleep, let me know, OK?

Silence

I don’t think my joke landed

But at least he didn’t.

Instead, in lieu of laughter, he tucks his chin up against my shoulder blade. It’s a bit uncomfortable. 

But the rest of him leans, nestles,

snuggles

in,

deeply.

Takes his comfort in the warmth of my back and the strength of my spine.

And, in response,

I straighten my back as if to say

I am here

Which is probably all he’s looking for

in this moment.

As we make our way through these nippy late-winter streets, dancing in rhythm with the rest of the bikes

I consider what might truly happen, were he to doze off and fall backwards from his perch.

It’s a natural parenting impulse

we envision worst-case scenarios, it’s one of the hard-wired programs that arrives, seemingly immediately upon childbirth (or even before).

I shudder and jolt back to reality

And remember that we’ve been through this rodeo before.

Somehow I know he’ll be okay.

He wiggles his nose deeper into the back of my wool jacket, wraps his hand around my waist, and in so doing

helps us find our way home.

Follow me, don’t follow me

Our path today has made all the difference

We take the slow way, and cruise along the lake.

The lotus paddies are dotted with puddles, neatly aligned mini irrigation ditches, parted by green

Paddy

Puddle

Paddy

Puddle

It’s a bit muggy

Moldy March is upon us

But we are lucky enough to encounter a day with no mist and dry roads. And only a bit of traffic, on this route less traveled

I notice the orange digger atop the hulking truck, girded metal claws, cockpit, and extended arm

And then a second, amongst the paddies

There’s some kind of project going on

I think they’re going to dig

and then, as we round the next corner,

I know they are.

A third behemoth crawls toward us.

Got my spine, got my orange crush

It takes up the entire roadway with its massive metal tracks and huge scoop.

You shall not pass

Comin’ in fast, over me

This could be a while

There’s no way by on the right or left, and the three cyclists who were cruising in front of us pause, scampering off the road and out-of-the-way

That’s when I see my opening

I maneuver the bike to dart between the two at the back and the one in the front and scoot up onto the sidewalk. Luckily there is an angled ramp ready for me to make the move.

Such motorbike moves, if not always expected, are at least tolerated

and understood

I slide around the right side of the huge lumbering machine, and ease through

into freedom

Comin’ in, you’re home

Our brick laid path gives way to asphalt and an open road. We skirt the morning pho eaters and round the bend.

I’ve had my fun, and now it’s time to serve my conscience

in front of a group of third graders