Buddhism in Babyland

I never would have guessed that having a baby would deepen my practice. You hear a lot about fragmented days, fatigue (which has lifted, mostly), stress (SUCH an over-used word), none of which are particularly good for a concentration practice. But no one tells you that having a baby can lock you so firmly in the present.

If you know me (and you do), I'm the great planner, anticipator, general foresee-er. Always churning away on some vision of what's to come. Hell, I made a good bit of money teaching people HOW to plan. Jeeeesh. No wonder I quit. It just didn't hold with my (ever) evolving world view.

This, however, is profoundly different. While I can still churn away with the best of them, Jimmy-in-the-future is a beautiful blank white space where my mind just can't go.

I realized it for the first time when he was about three months old. Amnat said to me that he couldn't wait until Jimmy would be big enough to walk between us, holding both our hands. I was struck dumb. At a loss. No mental picture of what Amnat could apparently see.

I was reminded of it again this week. Nok was playing with Jimmy, and he was laughing. Not grinning. Not baby-squealing. Not that weird inhaling-laugh thing that they do. Full, throaty, expressive laughing. For the first time, we could hear a hint of his VOICE. And, I realized (yes, realized), some day he's going to speak. At a loss.

And, that's fundamentally it. It's fear of loss that keeps me here, today, this day only. The Buddha taught that to love is to suffer. Well, a few of us Westerners think the word "suffer" is a bit of a mis-translation. Overstatement, for sure. To love is great, right? What's all this suffering they go on and on about?

But, I understand now like I've never understood before that to love is to suffer. And, nothing will break your heart like loving your own child.

Good Luck and Protection

My first few trips to Thailand were planned around studying Thai massage, and I spent a good bit of time with my teacher, Pichest. He was really the first Thai person whom I came to know, and he remains a mystery to me on many levels. But, one thing he made very clear to me. Thai people believe in the power of things - material things - to change your luck. He had many rituals, some Buddhist, some Animist and some just blendy, which he performed weekly for his students. When we asked why (which we gave up on after awhile), the answer was always "for good luck and protection."



My friend Nong and I were pushing the stroller down a nearby alley on Wednesday and came upon this. I see these little offerings sitting around the city often. I had a pretty good idea what the answer would be, but I went ahead and asked Nong anyway. "So, why DO Thai people leave these things laying around?" "For good luck," she said. Right.

Turns out these small krathong ("boats" made from banana tree pith) are actually little repositories of bad luck which you scoot out of your home and leave in some innocuous location (where the bad luck won't end up sticking to someone else). Bad luck here is tangible. Together with the flowers, lovely foods, and flags, people often put their fingernail clippings or bits of hair. This cements it. Your bad luck will definitely stay with the krathong.

And, the stray dogs get to eat the goodies. Good for your kharma too.

TV

Sitting over a bowl of noodles with my friend Nong this week, and my 5 and a half month old baby became transfixed. I had noticed the staff glancing at the ceiling above my head, but with a baby on my lap I now sometimes miss the finer points of interior decoration when we are out and about.



You guessed it. A bleepin' TV. And Little kept this up for a good fifteen uninterrupted minutes. I hasten to add that no other experience in his small life has ever produced this response. It's frightening. Downright creepy. (Especially if you've ever seen Thai TV!)

Last Week's Massage Class

From Sweden, England, Northern Ireland, Italy, Russia, the U.S., and Japan. And, that's just last week!

We've now trained nearly 200 students from 35 countries. The hardest part is that they stay with us for such a short time before traveling on to places like Laos, Cambodia, India and China. Part of me wants to go with them, and part of me is happy to stay right here and hear about things like the condition of the roads for biking across Mongolia. (Honestly, two students who'd biked across Mongolia were with us at the same time, debating routes.)

It's a pretty interesting little stop on the highway that we've made here.

Baby Meets First Pink Elephant

In the category, "You Never Know What's Going to Happen Next," this little encounter last week.

You see, I am a complete illiterate in my current home. I can't read the newspapers. I can't read billboards, posters, shop signs, street signs... you get the idea. So, I never know what's going on at the public square just down the street (or anywhere else, for that matter). And neither do either of my literate family members.

Typically Thai, they don't care much for news, announcements, promotions or planning ahead. Being a resource junkie, this bewilders me. At home, I always had a little pile of brochures, newsletters, ads and post-its (also not available here) of happenings I didn't want to miss. Here things (for us anyway) just seem to happen by accident. Like running into a pink elephant on your after dinner stroll.

It's kind of a Buddhist thing. Keeps you very in the moment.

Reason Number 493

On the list of reasons for moving our little family back to the USA, this cannot be overlooked. A "Pretty Girl Smart Boy" Contest. You've got to be kidding, right?! This was a national ad campaign to promote a mobile phone. NATIONAL ad campaign. At least I have a boy baby who has the option of being smart. Oi.



I had to explain twice to my Thai family why I took this photo (of a banner hanging at the local UNIVERSITY - I might add ranked FIFTH in the nation). Double oi....

Spot the Potential Lawsuit 1

My friend Jennifra and her husband John, who is an attorney, have a little game they play called "Spot the Potential Lawsuit." A few years ago, Jennifra and I were both spending part of the winter in Thailand studying massage, and John planned to join her for a beach holiday after our course. She contacted him from Chiang Mai and warned him that they would not be playing "Spot the Potential Lawsuit" in Thailand. The reason being, there is a potential lawsuit every ten feet.

So, I offer you the first (in a bottomless pit of) entries in "Spot the Potential Lawsuit," a game which I amuse myself with (daily).



At least they painted the bamboo red and white. Kept me from falling in feet first.



And, if you have a keen eye, you will have noticed that this Potential Lawsuit is indeed just ten feet away from the first entry.

Your correspondent from the land without liability law.

Thanksgiving Thoughts

This being Thanksgiving (where you are, anyway), I am reminded of home, good food, and the many people who've served it up to me over the years. It seems an appropriate occasion to share a family recipe. (The baby is just eye candy.)



When I was growing up, Mom was more or less disinterested in cooking, shall we say. She will vehemently deny this today (and if she figures out how the "comment" button works, you may hear from her directly). The happy result of her culinary apathy, however is three children with real interest in food. Each of us could whip up something in the kitchen at a pretty tender age. My brother Pete can even recall specific dishes of mine, like the fried liver with lemon juice I offered up at age 10. (Hey, sometimes you just gotta work with what's available.)

We grew, we learned (from horrid mistakes), and we later became cooks who could feed multitudes from our various kitchens, grills, and smokers. (I should say that I redeemed myself righteously with the grilled pizzas topped with Susan's organic shitake, carmelized onions, and fresh mozzerella, which I know some of you will remember.)

But, today I'm thinking about home cooking. My home. And, my home was with my Mom for a good many years. So, I offer you (yes, Pete and Perry will have guessed it three paragraphs ago) Mom's recipe for Stuffed Spam.

Stuffed Spam

1 Can Spam, sliced into quarter-inch slices
1 Box Stove Top Stuffing, prepared according to directions on the box

In a loaf pan, arrange alternate layers of Spam slices and stuffing (think books on a shelf - books titled "Spam" and "Stove Top"). Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes. Serve warm (cause cold will just nasty you out).

Serving suggestion: One can of Tab per person helps cut the salt. Vegetables are just too much work.

Love you, Mom. Happy Thanksgiving from your sassy-ass kid.

P.S. Today my brother Pete is spending (yet another) holiday in the hospital. Healing thoughts to an awe-inspiring man whom I'm lucky to call my little brother.

Baby D

When was the last time someone clenched their fists and shook all over every time you smiled at them?

Life is good.

Royal Flora 1

This being the King's 60th Coronation Anniversary, the Agriculture Ministry and a handful of others spent (only) three years planning a terribly ambitious 80-hectar horticultural exposition (it's big, you do the conversion). As of yet, no one has figured out what to do with it all when it's over (typically Thai). There will likely be lots of dead plants and concrete scratches in the earth on that edge of the city for decades to come.

Regardless, it's on for three months, and our little family are season ticket holders. I figured a new mum with a sturdy stroller needed a garden to roll around in, and in the city of Chiang Mai this is the only garden we've got.

We've made our first venture into the throng of Thai tourists to see what it's all about. It's the wackiest garden thing I've ever seen, but I should add I haven't seen much of it, as I was traveling with a 5 month old. We hunkered down in the air-conditioned exhibition halls as a gentle intro to what's on offer.

And, this is some of what we saw...



Floral arrangements loosely organized under the theme of four seasons called "Spring," "Summer," "Autumn," and "Winter." This in a country which has three seasons, "Rainy," "Dry," and "Cool" (a misnomer).

Above, Thailand's interpretation of spring. "Brooms and Blooms" would have been more accurate. Below, Singapore's interpretation of winter. Pardon me, but does Singapore HAVE winter!



The biggest hit in the room were the Big Blossom Birds. Everyone lined up for a camera-phone photo with them, and so did we. You have to make your fun where you can. (it was so freakin' cold in there, Jimmy needed a hat!)



We'll go again, and again and, no doubt, have more to say on the topic. Maybe my next post will be about the taxi mafia, the most interesting (to me) story-behind-the-story.

Contrasts

On a recent Sunday as we were walking home from (yet another) latte outing, this happened. We do live in a place of contrasts.

The women are probably Burmese and are working on a construction site near our house. They and their families will live in corrugated metal lean-to's at the edge of the job site until the work ends. It occurred to me that our stroller costs the equivalent of about two month's wages.

Despite the contrast, they stopped Amnat to say (you guessed it) - fat baby, white skin, big nose. Praise all around.

Oh, Fat Baby

This is what Thai people will say to you about your baby - Oh, very ugly. Big nose like his mother. And, fat!

My husband translates the intension as much as the meaning of these remarks, which we get from every shopkeeper, fellow passenger in the truck taxi, and pedestrian within shouting distance on any street in the city. Basically, every man, woman and child who can see and speak.

First - very ugly. Thai people don’t believe in praising a baby. They want him to go unnoticed, and they give their children inconsequential nicknames like Pet (duck), Gai (chicken), or Taan (bee). All this to keep a Thai ghost from stealing your little child away from you. In a place where a doctor can still be a very long motorbike ride away, this thinking is understandable.

Big nose. This is a compliment. I, apparently, have a big nose. My husband, whose nose occupies some major face real estate, does not. Big really means long. Western long noses are good, and Thai wide noses are bad. We went round and round on this one until I finally got it. My baby has a big nose, just like his mother.

Fat. Again, a compliment. Babies in ads here are monstrously fat. Fat is good in a place where food can be scarce. Amnat’s sister Nok (Bird, actually) was three months old when their mom went back to work in the village ruby mine. Her milk dried up, so my mother-in-law fed Nok the boiling water from white rice with a little sugar added. Needless to say, there was no milk money. Amnat’s mom has told me this story several times to convince me to eat more rice. As you might guess, Nok is the least robust of Ni’s three surviving children. So, my fat baby is a joy.

Apart from the usual comments about a Thai baby, we get the additional standardized list about Thai-Farang (foreign) babies. Basically, Thai people search for and praise the white features of our son. Big nose, small mouth (sadly, as my husband has the most beautiful lip line), and most importantly light skin. Every skin care product here, for women and men, includes whiteners. White equals beauty. Poor people often rub plain old talcum powder on the faces, giving them a mortuary palor in full sun light. And, babies get basted across the face with a handful of powder daily. You can usually see the finger streaks, it’s that thick.


My husband habitually apologizes for his rich, dark coloring, which is so lovely. For Amnat, think espresso, for me whole milk, and for Jimmy a pleasing latte, light enough to elicit praise (sorry, continuing coffee obsession).

Having never been a mum among Americans, I have no idea what comments will come when we move back home, or if they will be so constant and predictable. I suspect that we, as a people, hold back a little more. But Thai people are known for their kind hearts, quick smiles, and deep love of children.

So, I and my ugly, fat, white baby roll happily around the city of Chiang Mai under a halo of bald stares and appreciative smiles.

Bug in a Rug

How could your day go wrong, when you wake up to this each morning? (the little toes start wiggling first - such a treat)

Roll Over!

Today, a big leap forward. Rolling over! Or, "How did I get here?!?"

Surprised us all. Thank goodness the camera was within reach. Hee-hee.

Jimmy's 5-Month Family Self-Portrait

Cute as a button and interested in everything. He'd rather stand than lie down, sitting not being a viable option. He talks himself to sleep most nights. His favorite toy is his feet. He flirts unabashedly with the chicks at the coffee bars and noodle shops. And, he still doesn't get that you can't fart in public. Oh, well. We've got time to work on it.

Mackerel!

Mackerel.... I don't think so!

Yes, Thai people eat bugs. And, from what I can gather (without actually eating bugs), they are generally fried and seasoned, and delicious. I've seen only one item on the bug cart bigger than this little number, and that is the glossy, black scorpion. (I wish I were kidding.) Deep fried silk worms (think popcorn in worm form) are quite common, but these cronchers (or should I say "crunchers") are not a daily snack. More of a special occasion bug. I hasten to add that my family are not bug eaters, and no one has ever offered me one in a setting where I could not politely decline.

The last time I politely declined was at the neighborhood photo shop. I was picking up our Christmas prints last year, and on the counter for general consumption were a beautiful plate of fresh pineapple and a big bowl of grasshoppers, along with a little side plate for the legs - apparently they stick between the teeth in a terribly unpleasant way.

I had to wait a bit for the prints, as the grasshopper-eating staff were going through my photos one-by-one, passing them around, and chatting amongst themselves. What intrigued them most about our I-might-have-preferred private holiday celebration were a few photos Amnat took of the food. These included a bowl of mashed potatoes (documentary style aerial view) and a dish of stuffing (ditto). Our first Christmas album also includes a roast chicken and a bowl of steamed broccoli.



Thai people LOVE food, and though they prefer their own cuisine (adamantly), they are very curious about what other people eat. As a Westerner, I am often asked, "Can you eat Thai food?" It's a bit of machismo, Asian style. I take it to mean, "Can you take the heat?"

So, while I'm wandering around taking shots of (and shots at) boiled eggs on a stick and "mackerel," my husband is doing the same with my food, in his quiet and respectful Thai way.

Back to Massage School

This week we are taking a break from teaching to be students again. We're studying Chi Nei Tsang - Chinese abdomenal organ massage. Yes, organ massage. Today a guy had both thumbs on my kidneys (from the front!), and I have the fingernail imprints to prove it.

If you know your anatomy, this thumb contact will amaze and frighten you-- If I've ever given you a massage and am likely to again some day, you are probably a little frightened too. Not to worry. Though it's interesting work, for me Thai massage is still what speaks to my heart.

Tomorrow we finish the course and settle back in to our little family and school routine. Jimmy has been a trooper all week, coming in the little red Diahatsu with Nok and Nong to meet us "for lunch." I'll be very happy to give him my full attention again. I hate to miss a minute of it.

Brooms

I wrote this poem last year, when I had just arrived to live in Chiang Mai. Amnat and I were living in a one-room apartment with cable tv and a broom, and not much else. I'd write a poem about the cable tv, but it wouldn't interest you.

Sweeping was one of the pleasantest things in my day. Last week we bought a new broom, having worn out the old one cleaning the much larger house that we now live in. I was reminded of the poem. I hope you enjoy it and the pictures of the beautiful woman who sold us our new grass broom.



Each morning
I sweep our room.

Barefoot
on cool tile
bent over a short bamboo broom.

Soft grass on glassy tile
silently scoots
tufts of fuzz onto the balcony.

In the yard,
another woman sweeps.

Collecting leaves
from the gravel
with stiff spines on a long bamboo broom.

Fwoosh Fwoosh Fwoosh

Slowly sweeping
in quiet unison.