Thailand's National Flower

Thailand's National Flower

Friday, January 11, 2013

Christmas, Pt. Deux

It's always dicey to come 6,000 miles without calling ahead.

First the back story: Thailand is 98% Buddhist. Though the Thais love the sparkle of Christmas, it's because it's sparkly and not because it's Christmas. They don't celebrate the season as the Church does in the West. For this reason, there was much less time to get home and back again than would be allotted stateside. Schools in Thailand don't end on December 24th and begin anew on January 2nd. At least many of them don't. Many go right through the Christmas season.

However, in grand Thai fashion, Christmas festivities begin long before the actual holiday, and continue long after it's over. Again, not because it's Christmas, but because sparkly things can be added to otherwise normal surfaces, transforming classrooms with origami paper stars, paper chain swag, bits of plastic cut into shapes, festooned with garland and hung from every doorway, window and blackboard. This is also true of Thai businesses that have no affiliation with the holiday as a philosophical reality. Sparkly Christmas trees and the sparkly Buddhist shrines co-exist, side-by-side.

As I said, in the days before I left for home, my students were engaged in decorating every square inch of their classrooms, the hallways, and all surfaces available on every tree, pillar and post in the school yard. Not much schoolwork was attempted or gained during this time. I stopped trying to teach. My students were far too busy hunched over their respective piles of glitter, paper, scissors and glue. Decorating here takes precedence over all other activities. This is a culture with a strong arts and crafts tradition. They weave, braid and glue the way the rest of us breathe in and out.

Thus, with no remorse whatsoever, and even less remorse from my partying students, I left for Mae Fah Luang Airport at 7:30am on December 21st. In the Thai tradition of going along for the ride, eight (8) Thai teachers packed into the school van to accompany me to the airport. When we arrived, they unloaded my suitcases, bulging with gifts for my family, and promptly toppled them to the sidewalk.

*Sigh*

I picked up my suitcases, heaved them back onto the cart and wheeled them toward security. Inside, we gathered for the prerequisite group picture(s). The Thais love ceremonial picture taking. Snap, snap, snap, smile, shift, smile, shift, smile, hugs, tears, waving, waving, waving, and finally the long good-bye.

I hadn't slept much the night before. When all else fails, I can count on my insomnia. I went to look for coffee. Over a steaming Americano, while waiting for my flight to Bangkok, I reflected on my time in Thailand.

In all truthfulness, I have been leaving this place since the day I arrived. In July, for instance, I left for Laos; in October, I left for London; now, in December, I was returning to the States, albeit for the short run.  In March, I'll leave again for good.

Honestly? I'm used to leaving. I don't feel it much anymore. Which doesn't mean I won't miss my Thai friends. But I've left so many times over the years that I can only afford so much grief. My heart refuses to break any more. It couldn't take the repeated hit without becoming calloused. I see this as a strength. Saying goodbye is inevitable. Not falling apart is my response to inevitability.

That said, my family has become increasingly precious to me. There's no distance I won't go, no trouble I won't shoulder, no inconvenience I won't endure in order to be close to them, whenever and wherever I can.

In fact one reason (among many) that I came to Thailand was because my youngest was going to Afghanistan. I was much closer to her in Thailand than remaining in my home in Washington State. I know, I know. That's not rational. I'd have never been able to get into Afghanistan to look for her if something had gone awry, but I would have tried. Proximity, in my mind, is half the battle.

So is safety. I could let go of my eldest child, trusting her to the care of my capable son-in-law. The same goes for my middle child, who's happily in love with a great guy, and who's safely tucked in to his family. I could relax my hold.

But the youngest? She was at risk. No question. If I had to get to her, the distance was a fraction of what it would have been if I'd remained pacing stateside.

So while I find the Thai people endearing, they don't belong to me in that same way that my family does, and I don't plan to keep them. We are therefore destined for goodbye. By definition, that limits how close we will become.

The otherwise happy news: When planning a Christmas trip of 6,000 miles, one should always expect the unexpected. The week before I left for home, Leigh mentioned, oh so casually on facebook, that she was going to Leavenworth with her fiance's family for the holiday. Ruh-roh. The proverbial mouse had just plopped into our bowl of Christmas pudding. I wasn't sure whether to spill the beans, throw the baby out with the bath water, or other, better, select cliches. I held my breath. The success of the trip was predicated on all three daughters being in the same place, at the same time. If even one daughter was missing, there would be a rather nasty hole in my otherwise brilliant plan.

I questioned her nonchalantly, trying not to give myself away. She was leaving the same day that I would arrive?!!  Holy Shmoly, Batman! What to do, what to do? I paced. This is what insomniacs do. We're good at it.

"What time are you going?" I messaged.
"Noon," she typed back.
"When will you be back?"
"Late, on the 25th. We check out at 11:00am."

In a flash of genius, I said I wanted to skype with all three daughters at the same time. I put her to the task of setting up a coffee date with her sisters at some coffee shop so we could chat (Diabolical and brilliant, no?).

We would make it work. I didn't want to take away from her holiday plans. Leavenworth is a gorgeous place, and Destry's family are dear people.

When I landed in Spokane on the morning of the 22nd, Jiorgia was at the airport to meet her husband. Very quickly, she became an accomplice in a little something I had begun to call Christmas Ambush, 2012.  It was she who set up the next part: every Christmas the girls receive Florida oranges from their father. This year the crates went to Leigh's house, awaiting the arrival of her sisters.

Jiorgia dialed her sister, awakening her.

"I'm at the airport picking up Paul. We're coming by to get my box of oranges."
"Uhm, okay --  Right now? It's only 8:30."
"We won't stay long."

Leigh muttered under her breath and curled back under the blankets.

"What does she think? We're going to eat her share of the citrus?"

She was asleep again in under five minutes.

Back at the airport: We waited for my sizable suitcase, jam packed with Christmas goodies. Eloise helped pull it to the truck. She glanced at me shyly and grinned. She's four. She's original. She's mine.

At Leigh's house: we knocked on the door. No answer. We knocked again. No answer.

"Hide over there," Jiorgia ordered, pointing to the corner next to the backdoor. I slipped behind her, and flattened myself against the wall.

She knocked again.

Finally Leigh opened the door a crack. She was in her pjs. She was not smiling.

"I had to get pants on."

I leaped from my hiding place, and though she was barefoot, she threw herself off the back porch and into my arms. We stood hugging in the cold for a long, long time. I began to worry about her feet.

Inside the house, she wiped the tears from her face and made tea. The cats, Lola and Clementine hissed at us and pranced off in a huff. Destry ambled into the kitchen and gave me a hug.

We didn't stay long. Those two had a trip to a winter wonderland ahead.

Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas!

I love the grand gesture.

Saturday, January 5, 2013

Merry Christmas!

I flew home at Christmas to surprise my daughters and me mum for her 80th birthday. The only one who knew I was coming was Paul, my favorite first son-in-law. We synchronized our watches and vowed to meet up in Seattle. He was arriving from the Arctic by way of Kotzebue and Anchorage. I came by way of Bangkok and Taipei. I arrived ahead of time and checked into an airport hotel. I wanted a hot bath, a stout ale and to go to bed. I got two out of the three. Sleep was not to be had.

I had not seen my girls, Jiorgia and Elizabeth, in over a year, or my middle daughter, Leigh, and my mom, in nearly 8 months. In that time, the first had returned to the arctic, and the youngest had served a stint in Afghanistan. Nor had I clamped eyes on the littlests in our family for more than a year. Eloise Grace had become four and Silas Paul had become two.

In my hotel room, I paced. When I lay down and closed by my eyes, the drone of the plane and the oceanic turbulence resumed. I paced, grateful for the solitude. I took another shower, washed my hair, and read as much of Dostoyevsky as I could take, in between bouts of Solitaire, Bubble Safari, and more pacing.

At 5:00 am the next morning I stood in a snaking holiday line, waiting to check my bag. I made my way through security and removed my boots for the first time in my long trek across the planet. I submitted to the x-ray scanner, my hands up and my thumbs pointed toward my skull. The check point people were friendly, making helpful suggestions for getting through more quickly. They assumed I wouldn't get the drill. They were right, I didn't, though I appreciated the bit of humanity that made the awkwardness less so.

I came through Mumbai recently, on a autumn trip to London, and as I passed through security and immigration I was treated with dismissive contempt, though no one made me take off my shoes. They threw my passport back at me, or they cast it down on the counter and simply walked away, scattering the contents as I scrambled to gather my stuff and figure out where to go next. One guy, seated in a booth behind bullet proof glass, went to the trouble to rip out my reentry permit. He didn't remove it completely, for which I am grateful. It cost me 3,800 baht and it would've cost me much more to pay to re-enter Thailand without it. I could say nothing though my eyes flashed at the obvious discourtesy. He came close to breaking the law. Who would've stopped him?

The disgust for America and Americans is often taken out on innocent travelers. There are welcoming exceptions, of course. I have been greeted brightly by security people, who have asked about my teaching profession and have waived me through without incident. I have been seen by some as a help to the children of their country and not a predator. However those times of shared humanity are rare. As a 57-year-old American woman, I am, apparently, ample evidence of what's wrong with the superpower, and not just some weary traveler trying to get home to my family.

Paul motored through the weather uncertainties of the arctic and made his sudden appearance at our boarding gate in Seattle. I was getting a little worried. "Well," I thought, "I'll have to finagle another ride home from the airport." Paul travels for his work, so he's a frequent flyer and was seated at the front of the plane. We lesser passengers were nearly made to stand at the position of attention when he stepped aboard. Just shy of the rank of the Captain of the plane, the MVPs take their exalted places at the front. As a less frequent flyer and a mere mortal, I was pointed toward row 10, window seat. The flight attendants were perfunctory though pleasant. The flight is not long. Frankly, I cared less where they put me so long as I was aboard. I strained at the windows. Landing was best.

When we deplaned, Paul faded back into the crowd. I emerged alone through the security gate and there stood Jiorgia with her two littlests, awaiting her husband. She wasn't expecting her mother. She glanced at me and then glanced again. A shocked recognition came across her beautiful face. She promptly burst into tears. The hug was well worth the hours in flight, the sweaty airport security checkpoints, the pacing and the fatigue that comes with crossing datelines. As we hugged and shed our tears, I heard behind me the happy noises of holiday recognition. We all know the sweetness of homecoming, made even sweeter by the miles and days of separation.

As I knelt to hug the shy ones still clinging to their mother's legs, Paul walked up. "Look Paul, my mom is here!" We grinned. Mission accomplished!

Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!