Wednesday 12:10 update

Nobody's at the Bird Park at the moment. A hawk scared everybody off so it's just an empty gray day here in Nevada, this after Tuesday's lovely, though unseasonable, spring day. I was immediately out in the yard preparing a new flower bed. After my neighbor Dwayne and his wife were rousted out of their house last year by their son Tom, there have been a lot of changes next door and, in my opinion, some for the better. For one thing, Tom cut down the poorly aspens along the property line and pulled out the rangy juniper that hogged all the morning light leaving me with a new, thin strip of space to plant. I feel rich. It not only gets morning light but all day light.

Invisible Theatre conference
Yellow Swami is back after a grueling year
in Cambodia and here at Invisible Theater
we couldn't be happier.

Don't get me wrong, we all miss Dwayne. He was a great guy,  a true bon vivant. The first year we moved here he was trying out sobriety. It was his finest hour. After he went back to drinking we watched his light slowly go out. There were still a few good years when he and Clarence the cat continued to hold their garage court. When the door was up, we'd stroll over. Clarence would meow a cheery hello and Dwayne held forth. It was always fun to visit them. When he went back to drinking the bitterness set in like a final night, then came the cancer, then the horrible years of chemo and booze before his son Tom finally forced the two of them out of the house and into senior care, where they belonged. It got tricky. When Tom mentioned moving, Dwayne threatened to shoot him. They had always had a horrible relationship. That's when Tom came over and asked me to help distract his dad while he removed all the weapons from the house, which I did. When Dwayne saw his guns go out the door, he turned to me like a growling wolf and said, "Traitor. Get out of my house". Those are the last words he ever spoke to me. Within the year he was dead.

Chiang Mai at night
Andre Govia, one of my favorite photographers
"liked" this on my flickr account so I am stoked.

The birds just returned to the Bird Park so I guess the coast is clear. Maggie Magpie is out there too. She and her mate basically hang around all day. The rest of the tiding leave right after gobbling breakfast. And to our delight, the quail, finch, sparrows, a few mourning doves, some blackbirds and even a few crows (probably Minerva and friends) showed up about a day after we returned. I suspect that at least the quail stayed even after we left in October. Seems Suki, Dwayne's cat after Clarence died, disappeared sometime in the fall. I like to think some kindly person, sick of seeing her huddling all winter in the cold and snow, gave her a home. Other than Tom, those of us in Suki's little support group, miss her but the upshot is that the Bird Park has returned to sanctuary status. Other than the occasional passing hawk but, of course, they don't stay long.

Home again!

back in the valley

We got back to Nevada this afternoon, we meaning yellow Swami, coral Swami, Andy, Minerva, M. Lee and I. We're all back. It's been five months. Everyone here at the Invisible Theatre is ecstatic that Swami is home! Who would have guessed he'd be returning with us? He's a little battered and rumpled. The way he says, "Cambodia! Woo!" gives me the shivers. Who wouldn't be a little rumpled after that? But still, wonders really do never cease.

On the fly

Our time in Portland is quickly coming to an end.

   It has been utterly delightful spending time with the family.

.

We are totally under their spell,

the grandkids in particular.

They are growing up way too fast!

And yes. Swami is here. It's great to be reunited with him but more about that later. It's late and I've got to try to sleep.

Happy Squirrel Appreciation Day

Woo-hoo! It's that time of year again....National Squirrel Appreciation Day.

Just remember to get the UNSALTED treats.

The Somnambulists

We are now about 33 hours into our return trip home. We are all as rummy rheumy as hell. I don't think I mentioned it earlier, but Lee's 84 year-old mom joined us for our last two weeks Thailand. She came to Bangkok on her own, which I think is kind of amazing. How many 84 year-olds are up for that? But she loves to travel. And actually, if it wasn't for her, we would never have seen the puppet theatre. It was part of a boat tour that we wouldn't have done on our own. More about the puppets later.

Bangkok night

Anyway, we are all as rummy rheumy as hell. Did I mention that already? But right now, it's morning in Thailand and I am feeling oddly awake, although it also feels like a long time since that 3 AM when we started out. At the moment, we are enjoying a 12 hour layover at the Los Angeles airport. There is only one direct flight a  day to Oregon, a little little propjet. And, since early afternoon we've been sitting in a really dreary wing of the airport. Half the room is casually draped with cloth that looks like gigantic white bed sheets and partially walled with bare drywall. Either we are dead and in some nether world, transitioning to the next dimension or LAX is doing some remodeling. 

Goodbye Thailand, for now

We're seven hours into a 36 hour trip. We left this morning at 4 AM and are currently sitting in the Hong Kong airport waiting for our connecting flight to LA.

As we are flying back in time, we will arrive in Oregon two hours after we left. At this point, I don't have time for anything more than a quick update.

Hanuman grabbing Swami

Yesterday Swami almost ran off with Hanuman and the Thai Puppet Theatre.

You could say Hanuman kidnapped him but I'm guessing it was a collusion between the two.

Either way, Swami took off with him and, for a moment, I thought I might never see him again... again. But Haunman brought him back.

He is a gentleman, after all.

It was a strange and perfect reenactment of Swami's disappearance in Cambodia last year and s his return this year. He's waiting for us in Portland. We should be there by the weekend.  Can't wait to see him and those grandkids. They are all growing up way too fast

Je suis Charlie

Nous sommes Charlie

Graphic by: by Lucille Clerc


Here are a couple of thoughtful articles reflecting on some of the more obscure, but extremely important issues, related to the horrific massacre at Charlie Hebdo last week. They are right on and well worth a read.

Why the Charlie Hebdo attack goes far beyond free speech and religion by Andrew O'Hehir

Unmournable Bodies by Teju Cole

Monkey time

Me and a basically wild Dusky Langur

It's 2558 here in Thailand, at least according to the Thai (Buddhist) calendar. That's okay with me. I love that different cultures have totally different systems for measuring the passing of time. The Gregorian calendar (as in Pope Gregory XIII) used in 'merica, is not the one and only system. In Nepal this is the 2071st century. The Persian, Kurdish and Afghan calendars all agree that this is 1393. Of course, everyone knows it's the 13th baktun and the Islamic calendar calls this 1436 and leap year so watch you don't go down that rabbit hole.

Me handing a Dusky Langur dude a tasty almond.

Then there's Unix time. Wisely, implementations defining the result of the time() function as type time_t were added which will keep the whole system from going negative on January 19, 2038 (in the Gregorian calendar) thus saving us all from the dreaded doomsday second. Thanks guys. And, no. Don't ask me to explain that.

So, what's my point? Ten Eleven years ago I was waiting out a snow storm and in geological time none of this amounts to the twinkling of an eye so I don't know. Do I need one? Ok. Like the Buddha said, "When you meet a monkey on the road, give 'em a tasty treat".

By any calculation, it's treat time

As for me, we're in Bangkok now, so no Dusky Langurs, I so miss those little guys, but I'll try to be nice too.

Happy 2558 aka 2015 etc.
Bangkok

Dusky Langurs

Dusky Langurs . . .
An afternoon spent with Dusky Langues is an afternoon well spent.
I love these guys. That is all.

Swami, one year later

A story is like a river. Sometimes a river disappears, but that doesn't necessarily mean it has dried up. Sometimes it goes underground where it travels, not just miles, but hundreds or thousands of miles through the secret earth before resurfacing... to be it's own same/never-the-same self again, like it always was.

The thread of this story disappeared amid the ruins of Angkor Wat, leaving us with the clangorous ring of the cicada and the rattle and whir of Mr. Keen's tuk tuk as our only comfort in the dark broken heart of Cambodia.

This story began a year ago almost to the day and is in three parts, here, here and here. If you've never met Swami, I took this video in Ankor Wat last December, about a half hour before he disappeared. It's good way to get to know him before reading further.

 Swami riding in Mr. Keen's tuk tuk

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One year ago Swami, our beloved traveling companion of nearly 15 years, disappeared at Angkor Wat. It was totally my fault. I was careless. He was very vulnerable riding in his little bag. I kept telling myself I should make a harness for him but never did.

M. Lee and I were heartbroken. It wasn't like losing a family member. Swami is family. It was devastating. But, traveling without him is inconceivable so he immediately "reincarnated" as coral Swami. I know. We're odd.

Me flouting a warning at the cursed temple of Ta Keo

But here's the thing. After that first, heart stopping moment when we realized Swami was gone, the idea that we'd never see him again was simply and totally unthinkable. To even consider such a thing was not only preposterous, it was impossible. We knew he would return. He just had to.

Swami contemplating Swami

So, this last year, we've combed secondhand stores, gift shops, baby boutiques, toy stores, junk shops, art museums, Pintrest, Etsy, Ebay and countless other websites hoping to find him or someone who could make a new yellow Swami body. Family and friends, old and new, joined the search, some even volunteering to sew a new one and finally we realized that, unskilled as we are, M. Lee and I would have to figure out how to make the yellow Swami body ourselves.

Swami with his friend Andy

at the old Whitney Museum in New York

Then a few weeks ago, almost exactly a year to the day since Swami disappeared, a very strange thing happened. Totally out of the blue, and in his usual innocent and cheery way, Coral Swami turned to me and said, "Yellow Swami is coming back". We didn't know what to make of it. How could he know? On the other hand, how could he not know?  But last week, when we were still in Chiang Mai, M. Lee stumbled on this.

Yes, yes. Click the button and watch the scary, bad clowns.

We replayed the part around 0:35 seconds, where HAM sprinkles vinegar on everything and stuffs his mouth with more chips. The music is building as he picks up the newspaper, sees the picture of a little yellow dude in the ad section, throws his bike into high gear and roars off into the store to claim him. And we paused at 1:07, the part where HAM first sees the little yellow dude on the shelf. so that we could read and re-read the name on the wall.... Flat Eric! Of course, we had checked out Flat Eric before but the searches never led anywhere. This time was different.

And don't miss this one. It is part of the narrative.

Flat Eric

What happened next went as fast as the gunfight but had a better ending. M. Lee did a quick search for Flat Eric. That took him to a six-year-old discussion where someone had posted a link to the German Ebay account of a guy named buecherfritzke01 who sells second hand collectibles and there he was... Swami! We bought him immediately and, within the next 24 hours, buecherfritzke01 sent him on his way. Thank you very much. And a couple of days ago yellow Swami arrived in America! The mailer was beat up and taped back together, but he is still smiling. Now he is waiting for us in Portland, Oregon. I hear he's hanging out with some crazy Christmas angels there. We'll be home in January, Swami! See you then.

Swami, resurfacing at last

So, thank you HAM, Mr. Oizo (aka Quentin Dupieux) and Flat Eric. And thank you Dalai Lama and the Tulkas, and Mr. buecherfritzke01 wherever you are. And especially thank you, our family and friends. The fact that you guys get it and care, or at least care, makes all the difference. 

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After a year of wondering where and how Yellow Swami disappeared that day, I came to the conclusion that it was right by this tree in front of Angkor Thommanon. As we were approaching the temple, a group of young girls suddenly surrounded me with a tight circle, talking and waving souvenirs in my face all the while then, as suddenly, they were gone.

Angkor Thommanon
by the tree where Swami disappeared

It was then I noticed he was gone. We immediately questioned everyone in the vicinity as best we could given no one spoke English or seem at all interested in what we were tying to convey with photos and body language. After that, Mr. Keen drove us back to the cursed temple of Ta Keo, although everything seemed pretty cursed at that point.

So now, one year almost to the day, he's back . . . he's home with us. Coral Swami was right.

Swami contemplating the full moon
Ko Kood, Thailand 2013

PS.  No. I do not think M. Lee is at all like Mr. Oizo and certainly I, in no way, resemble his tailgate buddy so don't even go there.