Darryl Morris: Memorial Day ....

Vietnam Veterans Memorial at night

Lt. Col. Alton D. Morris, USA (Ret.), our former teacher, and a Vietnam Veteran, delivered this address on Memorial Day, May 26, 2008 before the Collingsworth County, Texas Veterans

Commander Owens, VFW Comrades, Ladies and Gentlemen:

I am sure that all who are gathered here today -- beside this memorial to the fallen heroes of Collingsworth County -- are aware that this day was once called Decoration Day. It was a day of national commemoration of the men and women who died in military service to our country. Decoration Day began first to honor soldiers who died during the American Civil War. After World War I, it was expanded to include those who died in any war or military action. In 1967, as a result of the slowly dawning realization that we should not merely decorate the graves of our honored dead but should, instead, memorialize them, the name of this observance was changed to Memorial Day. This is a fitting change -- for to memorialize means to remember -- and remember we must, lest their sacrifices be in vain.

It is said that we citizens of the United States pray for peace but prepare for war. War, as our history shows us, has been with us always; and as current events indicate, it may well be the fate of generations in the future. In the Bible's book of Matthew, Chapter 24, Verses 6 and 7, Jesus tells his disciples on the Mount of Olives that "You will be hearing of wars and rumors of wars. See that you are not frightened, for those things must take place, but that is not yet the end. For nation will rise against nation and kingdom against kingdom...." Those gathered here who remember World War II, Korea, Vietnam, the First Gulf War, the current wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, and the many conflicts in between in which we have been engaged know the truth of this prophecy. Further, knowing that we now face an implacable enemy in the terrorist who has vowed to continue the fight until our way of life is destroyed and we are forced to embrace his fanatical view of the world, we must sadly accept that our children and our children's children may be asked to assume responsibility for perpetuating those blessings God has seen fit to bestow upon this nation.

Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr., who served on the United States Supreme Court for 30 years and is one of the most widely quoted Supreme Court Justices, said in an 1884 Memorial Day Address: "[I]t is now the moment when by common consent we pause to become conscious of our national life and to rejoice in it, to recall what our country has done for each of us and to ask ourselves what we can do for our country in return." "And on this day when we decorate the graves of our fallen heroes," he concluded, "the dead come back and live with us."

And I would say that the dead come back to us not so much to claim the well-deserved honor we extend to them but as a reminder to the youth of this nation that what privileges and blessings they enjoy in what President Reagan called the "Shining City on a Hill" were purchased and have been defended at great price. The dead also remind us that the greatest blessing we enjoy here in the United States, and which is in short supply throughout the rest of the world, is freedom. And, as we honor those who gave up their lives in this cause, we are reminded that freedom, indeed, is not free. It is bought and paid for with the blood of men and women who did not flinch at paying the price.

When we remember our nation's conflicts, we tend to fasten our memories onto those who the world acclaims as "heroes" -- those honored veterans of combat, such as Audie Leon Murphy, from Kingston, Texas, who was the most highly decorated soldier of World War II. But this doesn't describe the majority of the people we honor today. What were they like? I think President Bush answered this question in one of his own Memorial Day addresses when he said: "We know that they all loved their lives as we love ours. We know they had a place in the world, families waiting for them, and friends they expected to see again. We know that they thought of a future, just as we do, with plans and hopes for a long and full life. And we know that they left those hopes behind when they went to war, and parted with them forever when they died." The President concluded with the unequivocal statement that we can never measure the full value of what was gained in their sacrifice. We live it every day in the comforts of peace and the gifts of freedom." In short, these were people just like those of us who are gathered here today to pay our respects.

In what is perhaps the most sincere and most often quoted memorial statement, Abraham Lincoln said, in his Gettysburg Address of 1863: "It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- and that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people shall not perish from the earth."

To Lincoln's unparalleled statement, I would only add another verse from the Bible, found in the 15th Chapter of John, Verse 13: "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." Those we honor here today are our friends who extended that greatest love to us all.

Another of our Presidents, John F. Kennedy, made this vow in his Inaugural Address: "Let every nation know, whether it wishes us well or ill, that we shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe, in order to assure the survival and the success of liberty."

These people we honor today kept their faith that their service would protect this nation and guarantee our freedoms. Today, our remembrance is the small price we pay to keep our faith with them. But we owe them so much more than mere remembrance. We owe them our willingness -- no, we owe them our vow -- to pick up the burden of responsibility when that burden falls to us. It is our responsibility to bear any burden, pay any price....

And so, for those who literally gave that last full measure of devotion to this country, may God bless their truly immortal souls, and may God Bless America.

'Cat Tracks: The Road to Bali ... Sensory Overload ... and Lunch With Made....

Reception Area, Four Seaons Jimbaran Bay, Bali 2004I

In 1952, when I was six years old, I saw the movie The Road to Bali, starring Bob Hope and Bing Crosby, the sixth of their seven Road pictures. It was wonderfully funny, in the style of the times, employing puns and parody, singing and slapstick, thoroughly entertaining the audience. I watched the film at the old Palace Theater, a place inextricably entwined with good memories of Childress and childhood, and felt an immediate "pull" toward Bali and the beginnings of a lifelong conviction that one day, some day, I had to go there. Fifty-two years later, I did. And it was everything ... and so much more ... than I had dreamed.

In October 2004 we left San Francisco on an overnight flight to Hong Kong, where we spent six nights before flying on to Bali. After landing at Ngurah Rai Airport in Denpasar, we were met by a car sent by our hotel, the Four Seasons Jimbaran Bay. Fortified with cold water and chilled face cloths, we settled in to observe this new place, fascinated and utterly charmed by the sometimes incongruous but delightful blending of East and West.

After registering in the lobby, open to the air on all sides and appearing magically suspended between earth and sky, we were assigned our own small villa, the standard Four Seasons Jimbaran accommodation. It was an enclosed compound with high walls, entered through an outer wooden gate painted in colorful Balinese style, leading to a courtyard, an open-air sitting pavilion (where we took most of our meals at the hotel), a picturesque terrace and a bungalow containing sleeping and bathroom facilities. Our villa overlooked the beach and the bay, and we loved the private plunge pool, whimsically accented by a Balinese stonework representation of a frog spitting water into the pool. (Despite how it may sound, it was serenely beautiful.) A luxurious bath had been drawn while we were checking in, the tub filled with floating pink and white frangipani. Just outside the dressing area there was an outdoor shower protected from view, surrounded by vines and flowers, and we enjoyed it a la Balinese (meaning au natural) every morning we were there.

Villa plunge pool overlooking Jimbaran Beach and Bay, Bali 2004

We spent the rest of that day walking the lush grounds of the property, imbibing to sensory intoxication the almost unreal beauty, growing comfortable with the intense feeling of spirituality which permeates the island's atmosphere. In our bungalow that evening, while looking through the hotel's information booklet, we learned that all of the landscaping and selection and placing of the stone representations of Balinese gods and animals had been the inspiration of a "gone native" Australian originally named Michael White, now a citizen of Bali known as Made Wijaya (MAH-day WEE-ji-ah).

White had been an architecture student in the summer of 1973, crewing on yacht sailing the fabled South China Sea and the Indian Ocean. When the yacht called at Bali, White was so charmed by the place that he literally jumped ship, swam ashore and found an Indonesian family who would shelter him and teach him the language in return for his giving English and tennis lessons to their children. We commented on what an interesting fellow he must be, and then fell asleep with the waxing moon outside our French doors marking a shimmering, ghostly path across the bay to the lights of Denpasar.



Tanah Lot at low tide, Bali 2004

Just before dawn the next morning, our driver Sundara (who would be with us throughout the trip, and with whom we had many conversations about Balinese lore and religion) was waiting to take us to Sanur, where we watched the sun rise in shades of pink and cerulean and gold over a a breakfast picnic (including mimosas) on the beach. Later we spent time at Nusa Dua, totally mesmerized by the crystal clear turquoise waters, lulled into somnolence by the sussurous lapping of small waves upon the white sand. Then we drove to Tanah Lot temple, watching as the temple, glowing spectrally and backlit by the setting sun, was totally cut off from land at high tide.


Yahn and Friends at Tanah Lot

On the morning of our third day, I set out for whitewater rafting on the gorgeous Ayung River. Yahn had chosen to pass on this particular adventure since there was (according to the hotel) a slight walk into and out of the river gorge. So, leaving Yahn and the driver, and outfitted with crash helmet (!) and paddle, I set off with the group. The "slight walk" turned out to be (seriously!) 600 steps down ... steep steps in some places. About halfway on the descent to the river, I began having second thoughts and asked our guide just how much farther it was to the pontoon boats. He assured me it was only a few more steps ... which is accurate, I suppose, if one counts a few as a few hundred. The trip on the River itself was spectacular, under the canopy of the luxuriant tropical rain forest, running the entire spectrum of shades of green and interspersed with bursts of brightly hued tropical flowers ... wild orchids, birds of paradise, roses, jasmine, marigolds, lotus, hibiscus, torch ginger....

At the end of the river run, I disembarked the raft and looked up with a sinking (!) feeling as I contemplated the 600 looooong steps that would take me back to Yahn and Sundara. Still, with no choice other than taking up residence under one of the massive banyan trees, which the Balinese believe represent immortality, I set out and eventually found myself back at my starting point. By the time we returned to our hotel, I was almost immobilized, the muscles in my legs knotted and swelling. The staff was most solicitous, and so sweetly apologetic that they had not told us just how difficult the climb might be. We had not been in our villa for more than an hour when the hotel manager dispatched a skilled masseur with healing oils, along with a bottle of champagne and a huge assortment of hors d'oeuvres, all gratis ... such a thoughtful and much appreciated gesture.

The next day we stayed on the grounds of the hotel, basking in the sun and enjoying the hydrotherapy of the plunge pool. We had dinner at sunset on a promontory overlooking the water and the half moon necklace of flickering lights outlining the contours of the bay, with gamelan musicians playing in the background and flaming torches punctuating the spaces between carelessly scattered diamonds in an indigo velvet sky.



View from the terrace, Four Seasons Jimbaran Bay, Bali 2004

Sundara came for us the following morning and we drove to Ubud, the thriving, vibrant artists' colony in the interior of the island. The route took us through terraced green rice paddies attended by workers in conical straw hats, lending an ancient patina to the surreal landscape. At one point, we saw one of the rice workers, stripped to the skin (really ... all of his skin), cooling himself by pouring buckets of water over his head down the length of his body. He was a gorgeous man, a living bronze sculpture, totally unaffected and unselfconscious in his nudity ... and it was one of the most beautiful, natural sights I have ever seen. We reached for the camera, but the moment was already past. On reflection I believe that was just as well, because it would have been invasive and almost indecent to have captured him in such an unguarded moment. Some things are so intimate, even without intended intimacy, that the mind is the only appropriate keep for their repose.

In Ubud, we toured an art school, and Yahn enjoyed talking with and observing the students and instructors. Later, we bought an intricate wood carving done by Master Carver Sudana. (See Garuda..., published in the Short Notes linked blog on April 20, 2008.) Returning to the hotel that afternoon, we spotted a shop identified as Made Wijaya's gallery, and Yahn asked Sundara to stop the car. Yahn went into the shop and after several minutes returned, accompanied by a stunning Javanese man who formally extended an invitation to us to have lunch with Made the next day. As Yahn explained when we drove away, he had asked the Javanese if there was any possibility that Made might be in the gallery at some time during our stay so that we could meet him ... whereupon the Javanese picked up the phone and placed a call, spoke for a bit in Balinese, and then handed the phone to Yahn ... who found himself speaking directly with Made about art and aesthetics, leading to the invitation.

At noon on the next day, we arrived at Made's compound and were helped from the car by armed guards who escorted us inside the walls. In addition to his living quarters, the compound contains Made's several businesses and work space for his proteges and affiliated artists. Not surprisingly, Made has many wonderful stories to tell of his life and interests ... and we were thoroughly enchanted during the leisurely lunch of Ayam Bali (Balinese chicken) with rice, finished with homemade coconut ice cream. At Made's urging, we made immediate plans to attend the twice-yearly Full Moon Ceremony that evening. It is worth noting that unlike the rest of Indonesia, which has the largest Muslim population in the world, the people of Bali (including Made, since taking residence) are mostly Hindu, with large dollops of ancient Balinese animism, which attributes souls and sentience to animals, plants and other entities.

That Full Moon Ceremony ... Purnama ... is an extraordinarily soulful and significant festival for the Balinese. Among its rituals and beliefs it is thought that bathing in water perfumed by frangipani flowers under the light of the full moon will wash away your sins, with the bonus of guaranteeing that you will remain physically attractive for another year. Purnama is also considered an auspicious day for planting to secure a good harvest.

The celebration proved to be one of our most unforgettable experiences ever ... singing, chanting, graceful and sometimes startlingly animated dancing, all performed by the almost generically beautiful Balinese ... the languid gesture of a finger, the delicate point of a toe, the quizzical but promising lift of an eyebrow and a flaring of the eyes, astonishing grimaces sliding into Mona Lisa smiles, displaying a range of emotion from seething outrage to cool serenity ... all illuminated and accentuated by the glow of torches, fires and the huge full moon ... exotic music, fragrant incense carried on the breeze, the offerings of flowers and fruit and water to Bali's gods.... We felt absolutely wrapped in sheer sensation through each successive performance and obeisance, full of wonder and tenable knowledge of our connection to the universe.

The ceremonies went on into the night, and later we sat up for a long time talking quietly about the things we had seen and felt. It was, simply, one of the most incredible, moving, deeply spiritual experiences of my life ... and if it did not inspire new beliefs from those I had already begun to hold, it did crystallize with almost Damascene clarity a vision of this world and worlds to come ... the perfect embodiment of an ancient dream manifest in living dreamscape.

I've said many times on the blog that I've been privileged and blessed ... fortunately I have also been determined, for sometimes we must be the authors of our own blessings ... to have seen many beautiful places in this world, to have had the opportunity to observe and come to know many diverse people ... but without a doubt, the most lovely, supernaturally gorgeous and quintessentially otherwordly place I have seen in this lifetime is Bali. It is truly deserving of the appellation "heaven on earth" ... and perhaps a "Preview of Coming Attractions"?

Sitting pavilion, villa at Four Seasons Jimbaran Bay, Bali 2004

)O(

Catastrophes ... Clarity ... and Joss....

Chiara Smith, Amber Johnston, Zheng Mei and Yahn Smith, Forbidden City, Beijing, China June 1986

This week has been a microcosm of life itself ... up, down, good, bad ... fortunately nothing personally catastrophic for me ... and yet news from around the world leads me to reflect on the nature of fortune ... luck ... in a world where good planning and good intentions don't always ensure success. The terrible cyclone in Myanmar, the (literal) upheaval and unsparing destruction of thousands of lives in the earthquake in China, the tornadoes in the mid-section of the United States ... swift, dreadful things that suddenly end time and hope, brutally truncating what might once have been "the remainder of days" for people who imagined and planned for a future that didn't exist. I cannot help but think of how quickly, how irrevocably things can change ... not only in such huge calamities, but within the slender space of a heart-stopping moment, in the proverbial blink of an eye ... outside our power to change or ameliorate. Again, I find myself feeling grateful to the universe for the time and the times I have been given, for all the "good days" and for so much luck in my life....

I have felt the eerie, frightening power of an earthquake. The first time was in Denver, before I married Yahn. I woke up one morning, stretching slowly and sleepily, contemplating the day ahead ... and then without warning my bed (and the house around it) began to sway, then rock.... My first thought was an approximation of "What'na hell?" ... followed almost immediately by the certain, sobering knowledge of what was in fact happening. As I sat there, somewhat desperately and uselessly gripping the sides of my bed, I had a vivid mental picture of the house splitting in two, with me and the bed plunging from the second story to the concrete floor of the basement. Almost as quickly as they had begun, the temblors ceased ... but those were among the longest seconds of my life, still vividly recalled more than 40 years later.

I was in another earthquake, along with Yahn and our daughter Chiara and our niece Amber, at Lake Hakone in Japan in 1986, on our first trip to Asia. We had earlier seen the Great Buddha at Kamakura (a dream of mine since the age of nine) and had stopped for lunch at a little inn with a breathtaking view of serene Japanese gardens and the lake and Mt. Fujiyama in the distance. We had just been served when a large group of tourists was ushered into the dining room ... and the floor began to undulate nauseatingly. My first, confused notion was that there were so many "tourists" (not us! ... grin) in the group that they were causing the floor to buckle ... then again, on the heels of the first thought, I recognized the shaking for what it was ... an earthquake ... and we all looked at each other, flashing silent questions of "What do we do?" "Where do we go?" Yahn told me later that he was on the verge of picking up a chair and throwing it through a window to try to get us outside before the building collapsed, but just then ... the quake stopped, almost perfunctorily. It started, then it stopped. It was over.

After lunch, we continued our sightseeing in the area as if nothing untoward had happened ... still, when we caught the bullet train to return to Tokyo, I could not avoid some grim speculation about what might happen if there were another earthquake, or severe aftershocks, while we were on the high-speed train. I wasn't particularly frightened by the prospect ... my thoughts were more just curious ruminations about the possibility of having to escape (if we could escape) from twisted, smoldering metal if the train derailed. But then I was distracted by a group of Japanese schoolboys who were absolutely fascinated by Chiara's blond hair. They massed around her, pointing their cameras, wanting to take her photo. She looked at us uncertainly and said "What should I do?" I told her to strike a pose, grinning as I said, "They think you're Christie Brinkley." We got, and still get, a laugh out of that ... with Chiara's children loving the story of their mother's 15 minutes of "fame". And life went on....



Yahn, Chiara and Amber visiting the Great Buddha at Kamakura, Japan June 1986

For some reason, I've never been prone to panic in potentially hazardous situations. I remember a particularly bad car wreck in 1973, when I had to be cut out of the car, and being perfectly cognizant and calm ... albeit somehow detached, like I was floating above the scene ... while observing everything that transpired. Perhaps I've been fortunate that none of the "close calls" I've experienced actually rose to the level of "catastrophe". Or perhaps I have a fatalistic bent ... or at the very least, some innate sense that in some situations, I have little or no control over what will happen ... and panic is likely counter-productive.

Perhaps growing up in Tornado Alley, watching dark, black-bordered green clouds for signs of "wispy tails" stoked a respect for the power of Nature and other uncontrollable occurrences. I've been near (very near) where tornadoes touched down ... in Childress County and in Dallas and Houston certainly, once in Denver where I watched from a high rise office building as a tornado connected with earth and tore up Colorado Boulevard, only a few blocks away ... and once in Vernon, in 1983, traveling from Houston back to Denver. On that occasion, Yahn and I had just cleared Wichita Falls when we saw the dark, roiling skies ahead and knew we were in for something violent and potentially dangerous. As we were coming into Vernon, rain and wind and hail hit with a vengeance, buffeting our little car and rocking it from side to side. We talked briefly about whether we should forge ahead to Childress, but decided it might be prudent to stop and eat dinner there and wait out the storm indoors, so we selected a pizza place just off the highway ... a little A-frame building that we had passed many times when it had been home to various other restaurants.

Just as we entered the small haven, to use an old but totally descriptive line, all hell broke loose. The wind began furiously whipping the rain and hail against the windows, sending electrical lines into collision and throwing showers of sparks into the parking lot ... an amazing, literally electrifying sight ... so close. We sat down at a table and just after the waitress took our order, the owner came to tell us that he had heard on the radio that there was a tornado on the ground close by, and that we should watch him carefully over the next minutes. If a tornado was indeed headed for us, he would wave and we should then run to the back of the restaurant and go with him and his employees into the large freezer at the back, which he felt would protect us.

And so we watched him, but there was no signal. Just as the waitress delivered our pizza, we heard a tremendous roaring and a rumble ... followed immediately by the half of the A-frame roof on the other side of us peeling back and flying away in huge pieces. Within two feet of us, the rain was now pouring into what had been the other half of the restaurant, while we sat open-mouthed but dry in our booth. After sitting in stunned silence for what seemed like several minutes, we got up and walked toward the front of the restaurant ... where we saw the owner shaking his head, looking absolutely stricken and apparently incapable of speech. He motioned with his hand ... and then we saw that the freezer he had thought to use as refuge had been totally ripped from the restaurant, our putative safe haven utterly destroyed ... as we would have been, had we sought shelter there. And then quickly ... so quickly, like turning off a faucet ... the rain and hail and wind stopped, the setting sun cast a rosy, benevolent glow over everything ... and we saw our little car, sitting there in the parking lot as we had left it, totally undisturbed, not even pocked by the hailstones.

We sat down again to collect ourselves in the dry half of the restaurant, and ate some of the pizza mechanically (our appetites were pretty much gone by then) ... although I recall that it seemed at the time to be the best pizza I had ever eaten ... and then we left to try to make Childress before dark. All along the road from Vernon to Quanah, there were semi-trucks and cars overturned, and people standing around looking dazed. We would have stopped to see if we could help anyone, but the police and emergency workers were waving everyone through, not wanting those who were clearly all right to add to the confusion by stopping and milling about. We could not help but note that had we not stopped when we did, we would have been on that stretch of road when the storm hit. From Quanah on into Childress, there was no indication that there had been a storm of any kind ... no melting swaths of hail along the roadside, no rain puddles, no trees or limbs or trucks down ... just the peaceful, flat red-dirt countryside of that part of the Texas Panhandle.



Yahn, Chiara and Amber at Beijing Airport, June 1986


During the 20 years we lived in Houston, we experienced several tropical storms, and a couple of minor hurricanes, but nothing like the "big one" that climatologists and meteorologists have said is long overdue for the Houston area. I shudder to think what will happen when that occurs. The neighborhood we lived in, Montrose, close to downtown and higher in elevation than some parts of the city, had never flooded during storms as did many other parts of Harris County ... until Tropical Storm Allison in June 2001, which parked itself over Houston for days, causing terrible flooding, floating semis like toy trucks on the interstates, leaving 30,000 homeless and killing some 23 people in Texas ... including one woman who bizarrely drowned in an elevator as she attempted to enter the underground parking lot of her downtown office building to reach her car and get home to safety. On the worst night of the storm, when we did get about 3-4 inches of water in our living room, Yahn looked out the front windows and saw two guys going down the street in a canoe. But we were lucky ... a lot of people weren't.

I've never entertained the theory that I've been spared catastrophe for any reason other than luck ... "joss" as it's sometimes called in Asia. I have never thought that I am somehow more worthy of saving grace than that poor woman in the elevator, or the family just down the street whose house collapsed in the heavy rain and flooding.... "Stuff" happens ... without reason, without preamble, without appeal. Sometimes we are given warning ... sometimes not.

In the face of such uncertainties, we continue to dream our dreams, and construct our realities. If we are inclined to introspection and metaphysics, we often silently acknowledge that realities are frequently born ... and borne ... in dreams. If we seek to know and understand, we question the dream within the dream, examine the wheels within wheels, and contemplate the meaning and the trajectory of our lives in this world and the next. We comprehend that luck is a gift ... or karma ... but not a judgment....

This week has added light and shadow to the larger mosaic of my life; its chiaroscuro brings clarity to my mind, peace to my soul and serenity to my heart. And life is good....




Chiara and Amber at Jumbo floating restaurant, Aberdeen Harbor, Hong Kong, June 1986

May you have long life ... a questing mind ... and good joss....

)O(

Garuda

With Master Carver Sudana in Ubud

Jennifer has written about our souvenirs from our travels, and Nicki of her collectibles, and I thought some of you might be interested in a piece we picked up in Bali, Indonesia in 2004.

As you may know, of all 17,000+ islands that make up Indonesia, only Bali is Hindu with a uniquely Balinese dose of animism thrown in. The rest of the Indonesian islands are all Muslim. On Bali there is an artists' community called Ubud. While exploring various craftsmen's shops there, we came upon a shop featuring local wood carvings. The Balinese are world famous for their stone sculpture and wood carving.

As we wandered around in the modest showroom, every piece that I picked out as being of particular interest or artistic quality, turned out to be the work of one man, Sudana, who was the father of the salesman. We learned that Sudana is considered to be one of the master carvers in Bali. I must admit that I have a "trained eye", but it seemed to me that certain pieces just jumped out at me, as if the artists and I were on the same wavelength.

We decided to purchase one large piece, carved (we were told) from a single block of hibiscus wood (hibiscus apparently grows to tree size in Bali) with no fitted, glued or otherwise attached parts. The image is of Garuda, the Hindu protector god of the Balinese people who appears in the form of a bird, much like the Phoenix in ancient mythology and is the national symbol for both Thailand and Indonesia.

Our Garuda

I've attached a photo of an even larger painted Garuda so you can more easily see the wings, tail, arms and legs, etc. Our Garuda, as you can see, is unpainted, is about three feet tall and is a rich, cherrywood color. If you look carefully at our piece, you can see the tiny figure riding on Garuda's back, which represents the Balinese people being protected from the evil, multi-headed dragon below.

Master Carver Sudana was pleased to have someone who appreciated the work purchase it, and he came down to the shop to meet us. Artists know when they are dealing with people who understand and appreciate their work. He spoke no English and we spoke no Balinese or Indonesian, but the experience became truly one of my prized memories, as you can gather by the expressions on his face and mine.

The painted Garuda

Posted by Jennifer Johnston Smith at 11:13 PM

1 comments:
Nicki Wilcoxson said...
I found your post to be very informative and interesting. I really enjoy "seeing" your travels through your "artist eyes." I love your beautiful Garuda, and I would think that having met the artist, Sudana, face to face makes it all the more valuable to you. I imagine that Garuda and "Humphrey" share places of honor in your home. As a side, I have to laugh when I think of how wonderfully different your collection is from the ones that I have! Let me think--enamelware pots, Garuda and Humphrey--.......Thank you for sharing with us!
April 21, 2008 7:53 AM

Les Girls...Les Memoires...Le Paris Scrapbook

Beginning with the finale, here we are on our much-anticipated Bateau Parisian dinner cruise, which lasted about two and a half hours on the Seine River. We saw so much of Paris by night ... illuminated, gorgeous, drenched in romance ... while enjoying our wonderful gourmet meals.

To a woman, we selected the foie gras appetizer; Linda Kay and JoAnn had the pike entree, Raenell had the veal, and I went with the Black Angus filet, sauteed a la Parisienne. Three of us were hooked by the dense, rich chocolate dessert, while Rae had a wonderful looking pear, baked and covered in rich buttercream. We were also served and enjoyed champagne, white and red wine with dinner, along with coffee and brandy afterward. (hic)

For the view from our table, in addition to the glorious full moon which rose just as the boat was leaving its mooring and followed us throughout, we had Le Petit Palais and Le Grand Palais, Les Invalides, the timeless Louvre, several gorgeous ponts (bridges), including the truly spectacular gold-leafed Pont Alexandre, as well as Ile d'la Cite and Ile St. Louis, with the strong, familiar ediface and the less well-known magnificent flying buttresses of Notre Dame. And just as the cruise was ending, we were treated to the wonderful sight of the replica of the Statute of Liberty near the Grenelle Bridge on the Ile des Cygnes (Isle of Swans). There was lovely music provided by the band, and featuring Madame Marie and her consort Alain ... glorious songs ... almost anything in French sounds romantic, and they could have been singing Three Blind Mice hauntingly andante and we would have loved it!!!

Madame Marie, singing La Vie en Rose on the Bateau Parisian.

Of course we were not disappointed when at the end of the cruise Madame Marie rendered a truly soulful, heart-melting version of La Vie En Rose (see my post on the main blog, La Vie en Rose ... the Two Towers ... and the City of Light..., posted March 17, 2008). Guys ... you were sorely missed, although we still had a great time.

Little bit of a rip-off by the cab driver we engaged to take us back to the hotel ... but by that time we were sated and happy and full of the special magic that is Paris by night ... so we just chalked up the extra Euros we paid to a good deal to keep from standing in the soft rain that had begun to fall toward the end of the cruise, trying to find another cab.

JoAnn and our really cute waiter at a brasserie on the Rue du Rivoli ... across from the Tuilleries and the Louvre.

We didn't get this guy's name, and I wish we had ... but he truly was charming, spoke more than just un peu English and was joking and laughing and flirting with us in tres French fashion the entire time we were there, not to eat but just to enjoy cups of cafe avec creme to warm up in the chilly weather. We had so hoped that we would catch Paris at the real beginning of Spring ... but although there were some flowers beginning to bloom, winter hadn't given up yet, so most of our time there the weather was on the inclement side. Still ... Paris is Paris....

From Rue du Rivoli, we wandered across the street, through the Tuilleries, at one time one of the royal parks and gardens for the Palais de Louvre, which of course is now the home of the world-famed museum. Got a great picture (actually two, but the one shown here is the better) of Rae and Jobey and the Louvre Pyramid designed by I.M. Pei.

JoAnn and Raenell with the Louvre and I.M. Pei's Pyramid in the background.

Like the Eiffel Tower when it was first constructed, Pei's Pyramid generated much controversy when the museum was expanded and the Pyramid was dropped into the center of the complex, but it is absolutely stunning and quite a feat of engineering.

Of course the Mona Lisa and the Venus De Milo, along with "Winged Victory" (the Nike of Samothrace) were high on the list of things to see in the vast museum ... and there is simply no way anyone can possibly see everything on a single visit, or even several.

I so enjoyed les girls' reactions to the patisseries of Paris ... the bakeries ... with all of the wonderful, cream-filled and -covered, butter-laden, sometimes liqeuer-saturated pastries, which became a true afternoon (and sometimes evening) treat. Believe me ... the bakeries of Paris are head and shoulders ... and croissant... above those in this country ... and are justly considered treasures of the City. IMHO, anyone who can keep to any sort of diet with such an array of wonderful offerings in almost every block is waaaaaay more Stoic than most ... even the Stoics .... (grin)

The Paris Metro certainly facilitated our travel around the city ... although the stops avec "Escalator Sortie" seemed a lot fewer and farther between ... and the stairs back to the street a lot looooonger and steeper ... than I remembered them. I must say that by our second day there, I realized that my "wishful" itinerary (see the aforesaid post La Vie en Rose... on the main blog) might have been challenging for us if we were in our 30s ... as I was when I pretty much followed it on my first trip to Paris in 1984. But it was waaaay overly-ambitious for women of a certain age ... joie de vivre notwithstanding ... two of whom have undergone hip and knee replacements. Raenell (who takes long walks with her Jim every morning) probably was the most mobile of all us of ... and I become more and more convinced that she has a portrait stashed somewhere in her attic, as she hardly seems to age at all....

Sainte Chapelle, the upper (royal) chapel.

One day we went to Ile d'la Cite and Ile St. Louis ... islands in the Seine where much of the French government apparatus is situated, along with charming apartments, cafes and the aforementioned patisseries... as well as the legendary Cathedral of Notre Dame and the stunningly beautiful Sainte Chapelle, where the French royal family worshipped when they were in from Versailles. The lower level of Ste. Chapelle is gorgeous is its own right, but that is the "lower class" and more lightly decorated area where the palace servants and retainers attended Mass. The true marvel is the royal chapel upstairs, which is surrounded by magnificent stained glass. Unfortunately, the day we were there was heavily overcast so the totally overwhelming beauty of the place was muted; however, as you can see from the picture, even with less than optimal light, it is still one of the loveliest places around.

Notre Dame de Paris, from the quay (Rive Gauche).

After taking in the glories of Ste. Chapelle and Notre Dame (with a cafe break in between), we wandered across the bridge to the Rive Gauche (Left Bank, where our hotel, Le Grand Hotel des Gobelins, was located) and found Shakespeare and Company, as Nicki had charged us with doing in her "scavenger" hunt. The best we could do for "all four of us" in front of Shakespeare was a shot I took (I was there, holding the camera) with JoAnn holding the door open, Raenell to the left in the shot, and Linda Kay almost invisible in front of Jobey.

Nevertheless, I consider the shot a technical "score". I didn't do so well with getting a shot of us in front of a McDonald's ... although there are many of them in Paris, including on the Champs Elysees, near the Arc d'Triomphe. Seems like every time I spotted a Mickey-D's, there were only a couple of us around for the shot, and I thought I'd wait until I could at least shoot the three of them (seeking the technical "score" again) ... but McD's ubiquity (and my own sensory overload) bred forgetfulness, and it was on our way back to CDG Airport for the flight home that I remembered I'd never taken the photo at any of the several opportunities I'd had.

Between Ste. Chapelle and Notre Dame we stopped into a sidewalk cafe (although the weather kept us in the glassed-in sitting area facing the street), where a really cute French waiter took our picture while we warmed up with cafe creme again. He was so sweet and solicitious and cooperative ... but busy, busy, busy ... so we didn't get a picture of him ... nevertheless, the garcon on the Rue du Rivoli more than met our requirements.

A door or so down from Shakespeare & Company (on the quay, just across from Notre Dame) we found a wonderful little bistro ... with a fire (oh joy!) ... where we had a really good lunch, including a creme potage (soup) to die for. That afternoon, les girls ventured to La Tour Eiffel ... but unfortunately, the wind was so strong the upper deck was closed. Win some, lose some ... although Rae and Jobey did make it to the top of the Arc d'Triomphe one day when they branched out on their own.

JoAnn and Linda Kay (look close) entering Shakespeare and Company, with Raenell to the left, moi behind camera.

Soon after our "interesting" arrival (see my post As You Like It: Le Holiday ... Ours (Bears) ... and Face to Fang..., posted on the main blog March 27, 2008) we wandered next door to the hotel to Au Petit Bar, a little brasserie where we took more than one meal ... and several coffees ... during our stay. Although it served wonderful lunches during the day (the plats du jour with salad, entree and dessert were particular bargains), in the evening it became its name ... "a little bar" ... and an Internet cafe.

As it is throughout tout Paris, the people-watching is on a par with the great food, so our meals at Au Petit Bar were always interesting. We were particularly taken under the wing of a sweet, spirited little waitress, Anouk from Burgundy, who made it her personal mission to see that we ordered the best of the specials and tried different things from the grill, including the ubiquitous Croque Monsieur, the toasted ham and cheese sandwiches on baguettes, which are completely unlike (believe me!) any toasted ham and cheese you've ever had. Raenell had a tomato-basil soup with her sandwich one day, and it was killer. The creme brulee house specialty dessert was heavenly, and enjoyed more than once.

Anouk and Raenell at Au Petit Bar.

On our first day in Paris (March 17), and our first meal at Au Petit Bar, Anouk was so looking forward to getting off work about mid-afternoon so she could head for the Marais District and the St. Patrick's Day festivities planned for that evening. (See Guinevere the Druid Goddess's post St. Patrick's Day ... the Shee ... and "Kiss Me, I'm Druid!!!) Anouk asked us if we wanted to come along with her to see how Parisians celebrated the Celtic holiday. It was tempting, I must admit ... but by that time we had lost track of GDG, and after our landing at CDG, thought a little "quiet time" might be in order that evening. Still ... the pipes, the pipes were callin'....

[Side Note: Anouk told me she was named by her romantically-inclined mother after the beautiful French film star Anouk Aimee (A Man and a Woman, 1966), who had the good sense to know that time is fleeting and that "You can only perceive real beauty in a person as they get older." I like that....]

I sadly had to bow out of making the day trip to London. I had slightly wrenched my knee (the "good" one) the day before, and it was swollen considerably by Thursday morning. And I figured that if I tried to do the London gig, I would either slow the other girls down, or have to spend most of the day sitting in St. Pancras Station while they saw the Tower of London and other sights (and sites), and did the "high tea" at the Ritz. And ... I had done London quite nicely on an earlier trip with Yahn, including seeing all the celebrations and fireworks for Guy Fawkes Day (commemorating the infamous "Gunpowder Plot"), so it seemed more important to me that the others not be encumbered by me. Sure enough ... they were moving fast, and still didn't make it to Harrod's, Hyde Park or some of the other places we'd hoped (overly-ambitious on the agenda again). So ... any tales (and/or photos) of the London Adventure will have to be done by another of Les Girls...

Would we do it again, the landing and smaller problems notwithstanding? Does La Vie en Rose dissolve me into a puddle every time I hear it??? Yeah....)O(

Posted by Nicki Wilcoxson at 1:33 PM

6 comments:

Sheila Davis Martinez said...
Great Pictures...Thanks so much for sharing them with us. You girls look great. To me, it looks like you had a more than wonderful time...inspite of the weather.

March 31, 2008 1:27 AM

Floyd Dakil said...
Viva La France. You girls look like you are having the time of your life. that's great.!!!!
March 31, 2008 10:29 AM

Jennifer Johnston Smith said...
Floyd, great to hear from you again ... and "les girls" were indeed having quite the time in the City of Light!!!!I must say our great time began with seeing you for brunch at La Madeleine on the morning before we left for Paris. It was wonderful to have time to talk and catch up with you, even briefly ... although an hour and a half is only a beginning. Just after you left, we all realized to our chagrin that not one of us had brought a camera to get a picture of all of us at brunch. Well, duh!!!In any event, perhaps we can make up that deficiency if you are able to join us at the planned dinner with Phil Tutor and his wife at Pappadeaux's on April 9th. We do hope you'll be able to make it ... and I know from our recent conversation that you're looking forward to seeing Jimmy/Willie again, and meeting Nicki. You've got my number if you need additional details. We do hope you'll be there ... although I don't think you could EVER be square! (grin))O(
March 31, 2008 10:44 AM

Nicki Wilcoxson said...
You guys have had the vacation of a lifetime! I know so well the feeling of being somewhere wonderful and wanting to soak up every bit of the culture, the tastes, the sights, and the sounds so you can store it all away in your very core to remember for always in case you don't get to come back. I doubt very seriously that Paris is a place that you can totally experience in such a short time, but you guys made a fantastic start. I would love to hear from Linda Kay, JoAnn, and Raenell sharing their first time impressions of Paris. The photos are awesome. Where is the Morgenstern? LOLWelcome home everyone and thanks for sharing.
March 31, 2008 10:54 AM

Jennifer Johnston Smith said...
Ah, the elusive Morgenstern. A true will-o'-the-wisp....Difficult to pin down ... always a few steps ahead, just around the corner ... in the "fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to man ... a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity ... the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition ... between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination."There! At the signpost up ahead.... Yep .. we're talking the Twilight Zone.... (grin))O(
March 31, 2008 1:28 PM

clara robinson meek said...
I just discovered this post today----keep forgetting to check "short notes".I'm so thrilled that "Les Girls" had such a treasured experience! Thanks for sharing with us. I well remember the pastries and the wonderful sidewalk cafes. I had students with me, and we forbade them to go to McDonalds for food------photos yes, food no.
April 12, 2008 1:33 PM

As You Like It: Le Holiday ... Ours (Bears) ... and Face to Fang ....

The main pool at the Acapulco Princess. There is a swim-up bar behind the waterfall. Photo by Yahn Smith

Obviously still in French mode after my recent sojourn with les girls in Paris ... and what a lovely mode it was.... Nevertheless ... been there, done that (again) ... now on to other things. Poor Yahn. Over the many years we've been traveling together, we would no sooner get home, drop our bags, and then drop ourselves into bed for a looong rest ... than I would be up and planning our next escape. Before our first trip to Paris, I told myself that if I never got to see anyplace but Paris, I would die happy. Well ... I didn't exactly lie ... but I truly failed to reckon with just how badly the travel bug would bite.... I hesitate to use the word "addiction" ... but I suppose as addictions go, it's one of the more benign. I could have picked worse....

If anyone saw my two brief (error-ridden) blog comments made in Paris, then you know that we had an "exciting" landing at Charles De Gaulle Airport. As to the "error ridden" part: Don't get me started on the difficulties of the French keyboard ... it's not the qwerty we're used to ... the q and the a are reversed, the w is on the bottom row under the q (which is where the a should be), the m is where the colon and semicolon should be, and among other challenges, there are various key combinations to strike to make certain punctuation marks, including the aforesaid colon and semicolon, as well as the @, and others. Jeez Louise!!!! Strictly hunt and peck ... then hunt for the controlling key.... Even Mrs. Denny would have been at a loss.... But I digress....

On final approach to CDG, our plane suddenly pulled up just before touchdown, heading back into the wild blue yonder (my Daddy the pilot drilled me in the Air Force hymn from a young age) and pouring on the gas in a steep climb. Flying with Daddy when I was a child, and my air travel in later years, told me immediately that something untoward was happening. We made a wiiiiiiiiide circle over the airport, and finally came back on another approach ... landed and bounced ... and then saw all the emergency vehicles arrayed on either side of us ... fire engines, ambulances, paramedic vans, etc. It seems the light on the control panel which indicates the landing gear is properly locked failed to register. So ... there was no certainty that the wheels wouldn't collapse when we touched ground. (It was also not a good time to remember that I was once told by a commercial airline pilot that a landing is nothing but a controlled crash....) We had to disembark via stairs onto the tarmac, rather than via the usual jetway, and then were bused into the Customs terminal.

I must say that after our landing experience, it was NOT comforting to hear yesterday that American Airlines, the carrier we flew, pulled 300 (300!!!) or so of its planes from service for "maintenance issues", canceling many flights in the process. So ... right after being thankful that AA didn't kill us on landing, I am glad we were not stranded in Paris (although there are worse places) when AA scrubbed those 300+ flights.

When we planned this trip, I broke a long-standing rule to NEVER again fly an American air carrier ... ANY of them ... if there was a decent foreign alternative. Unfortunately, American carriers simply cannot hold a candle to foreign airlines such as Cathay Pacific, Air France, Singapore, Thai, etc. As with all rules, I make an exception to that one in the case of Aeroflot or Egypt Air (when they serve dinner, you know what happens to old camels who can no longer carry tourists around the Pyramids). Indeed, our AA flight to Paris had been delayed leaving Dallas for "maintenance problems" as the pilot announced, and all during the flight my reading light and others in the cabin failed to operate, which meant I couldn't read on the flight .... NOT a good thing. IMHO, it is basically a good rule of thumb to do everything possible to fly on a good foreign airline in your travels, if at all possible. But again I digress....

When we booked our trip, we arranged for transfers via van from and back to the airport, and by the time we cleared Customs after all the delay, I feared (justly it seems) that our driver had given up on us ... so I chased down a really cute little French guy at baggage claim, and using my fractured French in counterpoint to his fractured English, managed to persuade him to use his cell phone to call the company which had arranged our transfers. Sure enough, our driver had left and was just exiting the airport when his company called and sent him back for les travel-frazzled girls. And so, at last we left the airport and ventured into Paris itself. But ... more on that (and pictures!) in a few days. Today the topic is other vacations ... specifically, summer vacations during the late '50s, early to mid-'60s....

Our private plunge pool at sunrise in our villa overlooking Jimbaran Bay, the Four Seasons Resort, Bali Indonesia. Photo by Yahn Smith

A looooong time ago when I was at CHS (not quite early Jurassic, but getting close), and experiencing my heretofore acknowledged teenage angst and the stifling sense of ennui I felt within the confines of Childress County ... I made a sweeping vow (as teenagers and those who have flown American air carriers are wont to do) that one day I would get as far away as possible from from that dusty little town. And I've done my best to live up to my promise. Happily, in later years I rediscovered the treasures to be found in that particular corner of Texas ... lifelong friendships and relationships, commonality of experience, shared memories ... but we are talking now of a teenaged mind ... questing, questioning, dismissive of authority (now that I think of it, still got all of those)....

The poet Sylvia Plath (a taco or two shy of a combo platter in many ways, but a brilliant talent before she turned on the gas and put her head in the oven) articulated such feelings in her poem Ennui when she wrote:

Tea leaves thwart those who court catastrophe,
designing futures where nothing will occur:
cross the gypsy’s palm and yawning she
will still predict no perils left to conquer.
Jeopardy is jejune now: naïve knight
finds ogres out-of-date and dragons unheard
of, while blasé princesses indict
tilts at terror as downright absurd.

The beast in Jamesian grove will never jump,
compelling hero’s dull career to crisis;
and when insouciant angels play God’s trump,
while bored arena crowds for once look eager,
hoping toward havoc, neither pleas nor prizes
shall coax from doom’s blank door lady or tiger.

Ah ... The Lady or the Tiger ... one of my favorite stories ... first read in Brownie Kimbrough's class at Childress Junior High School. I remember we had some spirited discussions in class about it ... the guys were all sure the tiger came out of the door, and the more romantically inclined girls just knew it was the lady.... Despite my deep-seated romanticism, I could never quite make up my mind ... still can't ... depends entirely on my mindset when I ponder the question, and perhaps my pervasive Libra tendencies to see and weigh all sides of an argument ... which can get a bit tedious as Yahn will tell you, particularly when we're just trying to pick a place to go to dinner.... But once more I digress....

I remember I always looked forward to summer vacation ... getting away from the everyday, the quotidian, all things Childress.... We nearly always went to Denver in the summer, to visit Daddy's family. And there was soooo much to do there ... the Denver Zoo and Museum of Natural History (two of the best in the country, IMHO) ... Elitch's and Lakeside amusement parks (those roller coasters ... the old, rickety wooden kind!!!), exotic things like the Lotus Room (there wasn't even a semblance of a Chinese restaurant in Childress then) and the Fuji-En (Japanese, with tatami rooms ... where I persuaded Daddy to buy my first set of chopsticks so I would know how to properly eat with them when someday I made it to Asia) ... so many wonders....

The summer of 1960 (between my freshman and sophomore years at CHS) we actually branched out with my aunt and uncle and their two daughters and went from Denver to Yellowstone National Park ... they slept in a tent and Daddy, Scott and I took the little Airstream camper ... for which I was extremely grateful the first night as you could hear bears rustling around the campsite. The rangers (and the signs all over the park) warned ... repeatedly and in dire terms ... of the dangers of feeding the bears, or not securing your food ... and yet there were always those who just refused to heed the warnings. I remember one day we had gone to see the Fountain Paint Pots, and when we walked back to the car we found the parking area cordoned off by rangers ... some fool had left a picnic lunch in his car, and left the windows down ... and somehow a bear (resourceful critters, like their "cousins" cats) had managed to climb into the car and was chowing down (and excreting) lustily ... rendering the car uninhabitable, even once the bear was permitted to amble lazily on his way.

At Yellowstone (which I remember as having the best vanilla ice cream in the world, later acquaintance with Blue Bell notwithstanding), I was absolutely fascinated with the college kids (called "savages") who worked there during the summer. I thought that would be such a cooool summer job ... but missed out on that particular aspiration, although our dear Clara (Robinson Meek, of course) did achieve it. And BTW, Clara ... I am sure we would all be interested in your stories about that ... if we can persuade you to write them ...?

Of course, the 1960 film Where the Boys Are, a story of college girls (and guys!!!) on spring break in Fort Lauderdale, was the uber adolescent female vacation fantasy. It starred Dolores Hart before she became a nun, George Hamilton when he was only medium well done, Yvette Mimieux at her loveliest and most vulnerable before she owned a sweatshop in Haiti, Connie Francis, who also sang the killer title song, and others, and I know my friends and I were certainly inspired by it. Then in 1962, the film Rome Adventure (Troy Donahue, Suzanne Pleshette, Angie Dickinson) proved the genesis of my vow to someday spend a magical summer in The Eternal City. (Another vow ... with all that vowing, perhaps Dolores Hart is not the only one who should have entered a religious order ... grin.) By the time I did make it to Italy, I was well beyond teenaged, and I only got two weeks, but the magic of Roma, Napoli, Pompeii, Sorrento and bella bella Venezia (one of my very favorite places) was just as strong as I'd imagined so many years earlier. And BTW, Troy Donahue and others of the 1960s "heartthrob" persuasion were never really my cuppa beef tea when I was younger. JoAnn had Paul Newman, but I went for dark, sensitive, brooding types ... the recently mentioned George Maharis of Route 66 springs most readily to mind; or the bald, sensitive, brooding Yul Brynner (never cared for him when they slapped a wig on him); or the variously toupee'd or bald (doesn't matter), sensitive, brooding, utterly magnificent Sean Connery. And so I married a blond, sensitive, brooding type.... Go figure....

In 1988, our 25th year after graduation from CHS, I prevailed upon a very popular DJ friend of mine in Houston to make a special tape (now expanded and transferred to a set of three CDs) for a "slumber party" Linda Kay was hosting for the gang in honor of the occasion. The rock bottom criterion I set for myself while compiling the music was that it all had to be popular music from our junior high and high school years, containing nothing after the summer of 1963. I was also pleased that the music I selected did not repeat any single artist, difficult to do with some performers like Elvis, Roy Orbison, the Four Seasons, Chuck Berry, Ray Charles, et al. Those who know me well (and who have heard the tape or CDs) were not surprised that the very first song on the set is Where the Boys Are ... and the beautiful Al Di La from Rome Adventure (sung meltingly in Italian by Emilio Pericoli) which speaks of a love beyond all others, a love "beyond the beyond", is also on the CD set. And ... the Theme from Exodus (Ferrante and Teicher), which I named as my favorite song in my Senior Profile in The Corral, is also there ... and remains the song I would pick if stranded on a desert island with only one song I could hear for the rest of my life. Some things deserve constancy, despite the imperative for change.... But again I digress....

Balinese rice workers near Ubud, Bali, Indonesia. Photo by Yahn Smith

If you are a regular reader of the blog (and why wouldn't you be?), you know I recently inaugurated a continuing (albeit finite) series featuring my humor column As You Like It, which I wrote for two years for The Corral at CHS, and during the summer of 1962 for The Childress Index. So, as I continue decompression after le holiday in La Belle France, I've decided to share with you a column I did on the subject of summer vacations during my Index summer. As I have previously promised and averred (difficult though it may be), I have not changed one embarrassing, cringe-inducing word of the column as it originally was published (shortly after Gutenberg's marvelous invention ... grin), and only hope again that you will deal with me kindly in regarding this modest effort. Of course, I do hope you enjoy it ... and that perhaps it brings back some memories of your own vacations ... which BTW, we would be delighted to publish under 'Cat Tracks, or as "comments" to this post. That is a hint ... not to say a heartfelt plea....

As You Like It
by Jennifer Johnston

Aloha! Thought you got rid of me, didn't you? Oh well, smile -- you can't win them all ... snarf, snarf.

Now that summer vacation is actually here, you are probably spending your time doing the things you dreamed about during the school year -- mopping, dusting, hanging out clothes, making beds, washing windows and cooking meals for Momsie, or working your fingers to the bone for some slave-driving boss -- no offense, Mr. Higley. But -- BUT -- if you are one of the lucky ones -- one whose parents have several assorted maids, three cars, etc., and who has no desire for the material things in life -- you will spend your summer vacation doing various things which we all love and enjoy.

This column is dedicated to those people (like me) who must spend their summer in an office or under a clothes line. In it, I shall attempt to present a mental picture to those of you who cannot enjoy loafing and would like to see how the other eighth lives.

Picture yourself, far away from civilization -- beautiful thought, eh wot -- lounging around around a camping area, enjoying the beauties of nature in some mountainous wooded section. No one around for hundreds of miles -- all right, maybe two or three trailer spaces over -- but anyway, back to the topic. There you sit, at peace with the world, until you suddenly hear a buzzing around your ear -- and you discover you're camped three feet from a stagnant stream. Yes, dear people -- mosquitoes -- but this is a problem easily overcome. All you have to do is reach for the insect repellent. So what if you forgot it? You can always stay inside the trailer, or stand in the line of smoke from the campfire.

So the next day, you go into town and buy some mosquito repellent. Your worries are over -- until a bear smells your food -- you didn't know you were having company for supper, did you? And of course, no mountain vacation would be complete without a swim in a cool, clear mountain lake. The fact that the lake runs into a waterfall doesn't bother you at all. Mainly because you don't know that the lake runs into a waterfall. By the time you find out -- it's too late for you to be bothered about much of anything.

Now let your mind wander to the seashore. Can't you just see yourself, basking in the hot sun on the hot sand? Loafing -- to put it bluntly. You're so comfortable that you don't want to move. So you drift off to sleep. Of course the fact that you will probably wake up three hours later with a third-degree sunburn doesn't bother you -- until three hours later, anyway.

But, undaunted, you make your way into the cool, blue shark-infested water. Although you have been warned of several dangers you might encounter, you swim on -- nothing can happen to you -- you're just on vacation. Well, you're right -- nothing can happen to you -- unless you get caught in the undertow, washed up on the rocks, or meet a shark face to fang.

For those of you who stay home during the summer, but do not have jobs to do, you can always spend your time going swimming, and going bowling, and going swimming, and going to the show, and going swimming, and if you are still in a mood to continue with this, you're on your own.

Well, I'm running out of ideas, so I shall let you rest your eyes -- and stomachs. Snarf, snarf.

Purcell Castle, County Tipperary, Ireland Photo by Yahn Smith

)O(