Written at other times

Things written in March or April or some other time.

Six months ago I bought a book, The Hill Fights: The First Battle of Khe Sanh. I was holding it for the right time and this (the day after getting home from hospital) was that time. As I read about this terrible battle that I’d been in, I thought about how over the years Jeff would say things to me about the way I was in Vietnam. Reading this book I began to understand what he was saying. About 1 in 7 (~15%) Marines actually fight. Of that 15%, not that many are what you would call true hard-chargers. The book made this clear and then I read this: “As soon as I told them I was wounded, they crawled over and patched me up.” I was one of the two that got to him. I even took his photo (situation described pp. 94-95). I was a hard-charger. And here is an amazing thing: so is Leslie. She is straight out of the Book of Five Rings – she’s burnt out and beat down, but never conquered. Photo: Taken at the Hill Fights
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Written 2 days before I went to the hospital. Today I heard a talk by a distinguished physician (Harvard faculty, Director of Ethics and Palliative Care at a major medical center, and President of the Albert Schweitzer Fellowship). The speaker talked about service and about Albert Schweitzer, who, before becoming a physician, was a noted New Testament and J.S. Bach scholar and a well-known organist (recitals still available on CD – here is example: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tSQSgwDRT84&feature=related). What stood out most to me … Photo below: The reason why

• Schweitzer suffered from major depression while he was in a French POW camp. Through his depression he became aware of “the fellowship of those who bear the mark of pain” – and he further realized that all people bear pain – and in this way (and other ways) he understood that we are One.
• He discovered that the ideal is the human capacity to experience and express reverence for the miracle of life … and to act on that reverence.
• The greatest happiness is through seeking and finding ways to serve. And he discovered that people who set out to do good should not expect others to help move boulders out of the way; in fact, others will sometimes move boulders into the path of those trying to good.

I thought about some of the people who put boulders in my path. What I wrote about this seemed unseemly, so it’s gone into the void of deleted.
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About a week after I got home from the hospital I found out I'd been on a vent for a day & night. I had no recollection and still have none. I also realized I was 11 days in the hospital.

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From 2007 trip to Burma

Pulled into Moulmein about 2pm. It's hot as blazes today - the first day without rain since we got to Hong Kong. Taxi man said 2000 kyats to hotel. I said, last time 1000. He said, Okay 1500. It turned out to be about a 1000 kyats ride to the Thanlwin Hotel. The closest room to what we wanted was a big room with shared bath and aircon that barely worked and a fan that turned at about 20-30 RPMs.

We caught a tuk tuk shared with two Chinese women with all kinds of gold and heavy perfume on to the Aurora guesthouse where they had no rooms available. Photo: The Breeze

We're really hot by now and everywhere involves at least one long flight of stairs and we're a little dehydrated since we've had only a few sips of water on the long bus ride knowing that there would be 2 stops at most. Actually the bus stopped once for lunch/toilet break (sorry I didn't get a photo of the toilet at the bus stop - which wasn't bad at all, for a squat toilet). So anyway, we're standing outside the Aurora GH, dripping with sweat, (I'm) feeling dizzy, wondering what we'll do if we can't find a room. I left Leslie sitting, dripping on a suitcase on the sidewalk while I took a moto to check out the Breeze GH. They had 2 rooms available, one for $15 with aircon and one really big one with 20 foot ceiling and big windows overlooking the river, but fans only for $18 - "natural aircon" says the man showing me the room. I say we'll take the aircon, but my wife will decide for sure. Back I go to Leslie and we load ourselves and luggage all into one trishaw - oh we were a sight to see! Photo: From the Old Moulmein Pagoda exactly as Kipling wrote: "By the old Moulmein Pagoda, Lookin' eastward to the sea,"

Lonely Planet says the Breeze is "funky, but adequate." By now we understand part of how things work, so asked if they turn off the electricity at night. He tells us they have a generator, so we take the aircon room. So here we are, in a room with tile walls like a giant bathroom (photo above) and glad to be here - especially given the ceiling fan that moves briskly. The Breeze is funky but okay and it's right on the huge Thanlwin River and our room very conveniently has a bowl for spitting betel nut juice into - what more could you want?

Several times on this trip Leslie has said, "My father would not believe it if he saw me now." I guess this continues that tradition.

Cali! Roses!

In mid-April we headed for California – a couple of days in Berkeley, then I went to San Jose for a conference while Leslie stayed in Berkeley with David, then a few days in Berkeley, a few days in San Francisco, back to Berkeley, and then home. Photo: Sidewalk in front of Star Market. Where the dogs are is where we sit and drink coffee

Ahhh, Berkeley, the land of my dreams, where almost every yard looks a lot like ours, where almost all the houses are old and graceful, where Walmart isn’t, where drivers always stop for pedestrians, where developers aren’t running hog-wild through communities tearing down homes to build mac-mansions and even bulldozing whole blocks. Of course it helps that our life in Berkeley consists of fixing breakfast, walking to the Star Market or Semi-Freddie’s Bakery for coffee and pastry, walking on to Safeway to shop, bus back to David’s, fix more food, read, take it easy … We had a very good time with DK (who is working very hard). Photo: The future is now - CK and the shopping cart he shares with Leslie

San Francisco was good. We took the bus from David’s to the BART station, except while we were standing at the bus stop a woman pulled up and offered us a ride to the station. How great is that! BART went straight to downtown SF, we got off at Montgomery, and walked to the hotel. Photo below: Sidewalk in front of the Star Market in Berkeley, on Claremont

We stayed at the Grant Plaza in Chinatown - $69 base rate with windows overlooking Grant Avenue. We could walk north on Grant a few blocks and cut up the hill to Stockton and except that the buildings are just a few stories high, it was almost like being in Hong Kong. We ate twice at the New Moon Restaurant – a huge plate of roast duck and pork on rice. Once we got BBQ pork, the crispy skin off the half a pig hanging at the end of the counter and once we got char sui, which is what we wanted. Also a 20 minute walk to the Yummy BBQ Kitchen on Broadway and vast quantities of dim sum 3 pieces for $1.50. A few minutes past that is North Beach where we checked out cafes and groceries, hung out at City Lights, spent a few minutes at the park, and had an espresso at Café Trieste.

Walking south on Grant for four blocks we caught the bus to Japantown to shop at Ichiban, then transfer to Clement Street, the “new Chinatown” where we made it to cheap dim sum Mecca, Good Luck Dim Sum, where we feasted on more than we should have eaten for $7!!! We had an espresso at a depressing electronic gambling place, spent some time at Green Apple Books, then went back to Good Luck for just one more round of chive dumpling with shrimp. Photo: Dim sum at Good Luck

Back in Berkeley, David and Matt fixed linguine and clams for us for dinner, and that was nice. So were the chocolate chip cookies I made. Had a leisurely packing, picked a lemon from the tree by David’s balcony, and caught the shuttle to the airport. Had we had one fewer bag, we could have taken BART, but we were bringing things home for David so took the van. Photo: Mirror shot at the New Moon
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There are 15 or more roses in our front yard. There are bushes, ramblers, and climbers. A few, like New Dawn (1930) and Don Juan (1958) are more modern, but most, like Zepherine Drouhin (1868), Cecile Brunner (1894), and Perle d’Or (1884) are old garden roses. The fragrance is intense, with the classic rose scent of Maggie and the delicate bouquet of the New Dawn in magnificent bloom on the arbor at the walkway to the house and again over the front door mixed in with the Confederate jasmine climbing with countless tiny star blooms all the way to the peak of the roof.

There’s a place I can sit on the front porch where even in the daylight hours I’m almost invisible to any but a person with a keen and searching eye. I look out and see the herbs and perennials blooming to the arbor with all its roses and in the evening, the “welcome lights.”

Last night I saw my first firefly of the year and tonight, a hummingbird at the delphiniums.

Leslie Retires (Mercy and Justice)

On retiring, good to look at what you’ve done these past years…

Working together, from the Police Storefront to St. Joseph’s to the very difficult days at Emanuel Lutheran - evicted from the storefront, evicted from St. Joseph’s, then evicted again, this time from Emanuel (thanks to the manipulations of a minister and his doctor buddy) and all these evictions in the span of about 18 months! And through the whole sorry mess, working together to heal the sick and lift up the poor. Doing that before these times and still at it.

I’m not so much writing about your work with Cambodian refugees as I’ve written about that elsewhere, but why not a little more here? We worked together seven days a week, apartment to apartment, “my friend” to “my friend,” street to street. Extreme stuff, extreme situations, extreme effort and actions Lay Rith, “Grandmother,” Sang Van, the man with no face, Fitzhugh, San Jacinto, Carroll, Live Oak, Bryan, mean streets, mean apartments, crowded. Good God it was crowded! Sany, Meng, the man who died in the night, searching for a naked crazy girl, miscarriage, birth, death, New Year! Mattresses piled 5 high, curtains around the beds, Christmas lights, Kao Sanh, and then Tep Kim Suar and the refugee agency guy saying, “I can go maybe $200” (for the funeral), Parkland, Children’s, WIC, Food Stamps, children finding a dismembered prostitute in a dumpster and a (different) refugee agency guy saying, “Well, at least the Cambodians are used to that sort of thing,” Yuon, Mao, sweet Mao, Rann Soth Rith, Yan Sorn with her little white tennis shoes saying, “Yesss” and her boss saying, “See, she do too speak English.” You and Alison saving, literally saving 3 children (and the molester got life without parole).

What stands out more than anything, though, is the immense good you’ve done. The woman with rheumatoid arthritis crying silently. The refugee, nice guy, completely psychotic who is still to this day reaping the benefits brought by you. The man with cancer on his nose. Lines of people, 100s of people, 1,000s of people – literally – passing by you, Leslie at the desk! Burying people, driving people, having security called to “remove you from the premises,” battling, like some mythic heroine, against the forces of evil and inertia and just not caring. Bruised and bleeding for Justice. Investing in Hope. Helping students. "Maryam" – dying from breast cancer in that little apartment, with her cousin and her mentally ill brother and the psychiatrist saying why are you calling me? Diane, true heart, doing the heavy lifting on that deal. Valeria, with her new (pink) wheelchair. Names that can’t be named here – lives touched so deeply and even into generations. Entire families on Parkland HealthPlus. Karen man who, by the time his new leg arrived, was already gone. Someone’s brother, with AIDS and quite a collection of opportunistic infections, treated successfully and 7 or 8 years later, doing well. Elsie in a dirt-poor trailer, bad craziness, long hair. Guadalupe S., living in the corner house and her husband having a jalapeno taco and a beer for breakfast. Bills from Children’s, Baylor, places all over. Appointments – how many people got what they needed when they needed it! A refuge for the wounded. Teaching hundreds of people how to do mercy – and I swear to God, some will do mercy. And this just part of the past 10 years.

Complete dedication to justice, hope, doing good and guiding me to that consciousness and then giving entering into boddhisatva consciousness when you gave up the joy of doing good to work all the time for a milieu where others could do good. And doing a superb job of that, building the clinic, building a surplus, creating a financially healthy organization now poised to go forward to a new day.

"The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers or sisters of mine, you did for me.'"

Thank you to the many people who were and still are a part of this dream of mercy and justice. Martin, Allison, Pat, Jackie, Patrick, Meg, Mack, Dan F, Mary Ann, Vuong, Kelley, Aaron, Diane, Chuck Hudson, Jim Carvell, Kim, Tammy, Renee, Aletha, David Kemp, the Promotoras, and especially Nora and Mary – all these people dreaming dreams of the reality of mercy and justice.

And through it all, a great mother and wife.

I saw an expert on human behavior interviewed in relation to an incident where someone was hurt and no-one intervened. He said, only about 5% of people intercede in these and other situations! No wonder we’ve pissed of so many people!

10 days in the hospital

"Don't worry; be happy."

(Later I realized it was 11 days) Sunday morning I was showering, thinking about Sunday school and having deep thoughts like wondering if we would sing Happy Birthday to our teacher who just celebrated his 84th birthday. I began having some abdominal pain and when I finished showering, told Leslie I was going to skip church – which was okay, because I’d been in Houston the previous four days and spending the morning with Leslie sounded good. The pain continued to worsen and in a few minutes I told her I thought what I really I needed to do was go to the ER. So we saddled up and headed to Baylor. I checked myself in while Leslie parked and shortly we were headed into the labyrinth. The pain was considerable and much of what happened from here on is a daze and blur of disconnected events and memories:

• Abdominal exams that I don’t think were positive for rebound tenderness.


• Several times people asking the fateful question of does the pain go into your back?


• Gagging on the NG tube insertion and indicating that sure, I’d rather have the stiffer tube, for which I paid a price down the road.


• The surgery resident saying that she thought they needed to go ahead to operate and me saying, no, Dr. L would decide on that and the resident arguing with me, saying that Dr. L. only did colorectal surgery and me saying, we’ll let him decide what to do. Now I wonder how it was that Dr. L agreed to take care of me as he really is a colorectal, not general surgeon. Regardless, I’m enormously grateful.


• I kept thinking that I was going to end up diagnosed with cancer and have an ileostomy. But why was this all so acute? And wondering why no nausea and vomiting? Why no rebound? Thinking I knew enough to know that I didn’t know what was going on except it was bad – amazing pain with little relief from morphine. There was no doubt that I would end up in surgery.


• I remember saying to Leslie that I was glad she and I are current – no love unexpressed, no secrets, nothing undone.


• It would be a mistake to think that the main thing happening was fear of dying or cancer. Which is not to say I’m unafraid to die. I don’t know, but we’ll see. Mostly I was thinking about Leslie and me; I was thinking about David and the joys and difficult things we’ve shared; wondering about the etiology of what was going on; wondering how much impact all this would have on the rest of our life together; glad that Leslie is retiring in a few weeks; being grateful that we’ve lived as hard and well as we have.


• CT scan and the tech saying “Try to lie still.” “Uh-huh.”

At some point – probably Monday evening – Dr. L was standing by the bed saying that he needed to operate that evening. I was ready.

I know this is out of order and there are probably other mistakes and certainly there are omissions, but this not about the order of battle; it’s about the battle – two different things.

In recovery and critical care I was in a lot of pain, which the nurses and physicians managed very well. In fact, everything went well. I especially remember R, who had high levels of clinical excellence, confidence, and kindness. I felt very connected to her. I remember telling her something I learned in hospice – what a great thing it is when you can entrust your body (or that of a loved one) to someone with high levels of qualities like these.

The diagnosis as I understand it now (better Dx in a few days) was obstruction caused by a torsion of my intestine. Why it happened in the absence of adhesions or tumor is not known.

I went from the unit to the GI floor and again the care was good except maybe the first night (not sure on this – I could be thinking of my 2nd night in the hospital) when I couldn’t get the nurse to just bleeding tell me what she was doing/giving, even after I’d asked her to tell me. Every time I had to ask how much of what she was giving. I viewed it as controlling and marginalizing – “Your pain medicine” doesn’t cut it. But overall ...

• L was as competent and kind as R. She also quickly established the sort of collaborative relationship that R in the unit did. Her focus was always on how I was doing and what was best for me.


• M was always right there, always patient, always ready to explain and to offer encouragement – a good man to see coming in the door late in the night when I’m freaking out on Ambien, seeing malevolent colors and falling asleep now and then only to have truly bad dreams like walking into a dark room where I knew there were black mambos and having to keep on going or dream waking to realize there’s a lion in the bed with me, realizing it can rip my guts out with no effort at all. Calling for help and spending the rest of the night with lights on.


• M (the tech) who took stellar care of me, was kind and gentle, and who was always ready to seek opportunities to serve and learn – not exactly universal qualities.

And what can I say about Dr. L? He is a well-known surgeon (Chief of Colon-Rectal Surgery) with a reputation of brilliance. At some point I used the word competent, which is a compliment, but still, sorry, man. I’ve been around for awhile now and have some thoughts on surgeons. In many cases, all they can do is the surgery. I mean, it’s a Big Deal to cut another person’s belly or chest open and fix whatever is wrong in there. So competence or even excellence (as in an even higher level of skill or advancing the science) in that is often what you’ll get and it’s enough. A higher level is that plus skill in managing or preventing symptoms related to the surgery, because, you know, it hurts. A still higher level is all that plus the patience and kindness to support and explain and take precious minutes from finite time to do it some more. In this work there is never enough time, never enough resources, never enough anything. So, for your excellence, skill, and time, brother, thank you. And I want you to know that I too work hard to get it right and to be kind and patient. Hahaha – at one point he says exactly what every Cambodian tuk-tuk driver says, “Don’t worry; be happy.”

Leslie, my wife, the center of my life, my rock, my partner - always there, a true hard-charger.

I called Jeff, croaking around the NG tube, telling him what was going on, including waiting on pathology re esophageal lesion. He drove on down from Tulsa area “to see your face.” I don’t remember whether it was on the phone or when he was in the room, when he said, “Well, hell, the worst that can happen is you’re gonna die (and you have to that anyway).” Oh, good one man. I cannot imagine a more comforting thing to hear. “… know the truth and the truth will make you free” John 8:32. He stayed about 2 hours; it was a wonderful visit.

The pain was well managed, thanks to dilaudid via PCA and other meds via the nurse. I recall so clearly long ago several hospice patients who got great relief and some euphoria from dilaudid. I thought then I’d like to try it some day. It wasn’t that great for me, though. Maybe if I’d been despairing I’d have gotten more than analgesia. Larger doses via the central line in my neck (!) always gave me a jolt of nausea, but I learned that that passed in minutes, so quit asking for Zofran. Photo: CK looking good with on day of discharge

John came in for a few minutes. It was pretty emotional as he’s one of the ones who thinks I’m bullet-proof, not to mention the love and his own struggles.

A day or two post op they took out the catheter. Having it in wasn’t bad, but having it out was better. It was also good in that I was forced out of bed to stand swaying beside the bed urinating into the urinal. I was so loaded up on fluids that I was peeing every 15 minutes, literally, which got old after just a few hours. It was around this time that they gave me Ambien, to which I had the previously described bad reaction. Small wonder; other factors in the bad reaction included no food for days, poor sleep, surgery, anesthetics, dilaudid, the bleeding NG tube, just the whole hospital scene.

Ice ax up and across a steep snow field and finally standing alone on a high col (~12,000 feet) in the Wind Rivers, two days since I’d gone off trail or seen another person (and three days since I’d seen a tree) and nobody ahead of me for the next few days, glaciers all around, knowing then it was epic and now in this hospital room, thinking I may never be in a place like that again and grateful that I got to that col.

Finally, while Bruce B was in the room (“He can stay, he’s used to this stuff” - or not) the NG tube was taken out – unnghhh! Immediately I was feeling better, though my throat hurt for days (and still does). That evening I had a very good visit with Tom – thanks for coming by, man.

Nora and Anthony and Julio came to see me. Anthony and Julio were pretty subdued and later, while the nurse was taking out yet another tube I was telling Leslie about that. She told me then that Dr. B had died a few days before and maybe the boys were thinking the same might happen to me. My first response was to smile and feel glad about his life. What a man. 80 years old, motoring around the clinic all bent over like he was, going up the ladder in the pharmacy, taking care of patients almost every Saturday, focused, tough. Later I cried several times – the first time when I was listening to Oh God Our Help in Ages Past on the iPod. Though we were not close (I’m not a Saturday guy), Dr. B was always an inspiration to me. I know Bobbie will miss him deeply.

Finally all the tubes are gone and they’re wheeling me out to meet Leslie at the patient discharge place. Spring came while I was in the hospital, and though I didn’t really enjoy the ride, still it was pretty and green. Home! Photo: the view from bedroom window (cedar waxwings and robin redbreast)

Wednesday, 10 days later I awoke at home next to Leslie and listening to a mockingbird’s sweet song – followed by a cardinal's and in a flash of red, Mr. C landing on the feeder. I doddered outside to put the seeds on the feeder at our bedroom window.

If I could sing only one song, I'd sing of you

For me, this is a time for looking back, for asking myself did I live as best I could … climber, warrior, healing, husband/lover, healer, father, author – I’ve been up and down that dusty trail a time or two and the best thing about me is you.

If I could sing only one song, I'd sing of you, Leslie.

These are good times - stressful, I know for you, with retiring (again) and the changes ahead. Yet here we are, Berkeley, baking, going to the market, slowing down, enjoying, back to Cali in 6 weeks and everything still in bloom. These are the days.

I posted this somewhere else: I'm thinking there's all sorts of activism and the Dharma may or may not be in what we do. Several years ago my wife gave up an enormously satisfying (and difficult) path of helping people in difficult straits to be in charge of the environment where it was happening. She took on a lot of grief and lost a lot of joy in administering space for others to do the helping. But somebody has to negotiate the lease, buy the supplies, raise the money, etc. At some point I realized she was following a boddhisatva path, giving up paradise for the greater good. I have such huge respect for her doing this, not to mention everything else. And I think it's activism - actively making it happen - relieving suffering - Dharma.

Hear it ring, so pure and holy.

I am officially old and in the way

I posted a restrained account of receiving the clear message that I am officially old and in the way. Then, whatever, nevermind, and I deleted it, but want to make note of this week, when, in wonderful symmetry, I brought in $10,000 for the clinic and also got the message.

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Old and in the way

That's what I heard him say

They used to heed the words he said

But that was yesterday

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Photo: unnamed tarn somewhere along the 4 Pass Loop in Maroon Bells, 2008

More bread and so on

Beautiful Vision
We haven't bought any bread since December. No-knead pot bread has been a true breakthrough - crusty, good taste, good to look at, easy, and forgiving. This week, during a cold spell I baked another loaf. It started off rising slower than I planned and the bread-making slipped into my three day work week and I had to put it in the refrigerator to slow rising and once it rose too much and in the end, another good loaf of bread, hot and crusty from the oven. Photo left: moments out of the oven and the bread is still in the pot.

Photo below: orange marmalade, another breakthrough, so good! On a par with Mr. and Mrs. Robertson's, they of the thick-cut marmalade we bought in Hong Kong. Pear or peach preserves next. I hope to never buy preserves or marmalade again.

The full BREAD recipe is here. I made a summary (below) because the article uses a lot of words. But I recommend you read it.

4 cups/20 ounces/567 gm flour (3 all-purpose, 1 bread)
1 tsp sugar
2 tsp salt
¾ tsp instant yeast
2 cups ice water

Stir dry together, then vigorously stir in ice water.

Oil top, cover, fridge 8-12 hours
In cool room let rise 8-10 hours
Stir
Oil top, let rise until ~doubled
Fold using oiled rubber spatula until mostly deflated
Cover, let rise until doubled (2-4 hours)

Preheat oven and bowl to 450 – lower the middle rack 1st
(Go fast) Light olive oil to hot pot
Dough in – use oiled spatula
Spray water generously and put top on, shake it to level dough
Bake 55 minutes
Top off, reduce heat to 425
Bake 20-25 more minutes

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Changing the subject, I wrote this a week or so ago: Over the years, especially during hospice and when the Khmer came to Dallas I was advised by several people that if I didn’t slow down I would burn out. I never did slow down – and here I am, 65 years old and finally finally burned out. I thought all along that I had it right and now I know.

It's better to burn out

than it is to rust

-o-

I am tired
I am weary
I could sleep for a thousand years

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Yesterday and last night we got 12.5 inches of snow - the greatest accumulation ever recorded in Dallas. Our electricity went off around 9p and came back on around 11p (I was asleep, so I'm guessing on the time). I love the snow - in small doses - having lived in Indiana and Colorado. A beautiful day and now in the evening, our welcome lights on the arbor sparkling in the snow.

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It was a nice surprise to stumble across this on the net (in a Roma website): "From Charles Kemp's page, formerly on the Baylor University Website, and too valuable to be removed from the Web http://www.ringofgold.eu/charleskemp.html"