Day by day ...

Wednesday, January 22, 2025

Day by day, and with each passing moment, strength I find to meet my troubles here. That old song rings through my heart. (Click here to hear it.)

We get news overnight that a friend has died of a heart attack. We begin to pray and inform Ray's friends of his family's loss. Everyone is shocked: he was in his 30s.

W and I walk before our breakfast date at #narapark. This young man carries bags of ice to the restaurants at Nara. We can't imagine how cold his arm and shoulder must be!

We walk to the office to sign an MOU for next year's rent and finish other business before noon. We're participate in a global-expat prayer group online, which settles our souls. God knows each name and each place. He is at work all around us.

In the garden, the poinsettias from Christmas have settled in. It's nature's way to renew and be renewed in cycles of life and death, growth and harvest.

It's a whole day of meetings and care. W heads for the men's study at a coffee shop. After supper, we join Ray's family and friends online for his funeral.

Thursday

After a short and restless night, we're off to the mountains to refresh body and soul. W and I join 3 young and fit hikers for "Mariska's Trail," named in honor of our Dutch hiking friend when she repatriated some years ago. Five walkers, five dogs.

We start with a 24-storey climb to the pine forest. I have to stop a few times to let my post-Covid heartrate slow to 140 beats/min.

The trail is always full of interesting plants and wildlife. We sidestep a piece of monkey-tree that's fallen on the path. It initially looks like a snake.

We descend to a series of ponds. The dogs go for a swim under the waterfalls. The series of crude bridges is renewed every few months as they decay in the stream. It's a rough setup this time around. 

Juno gets swept off her feet in the water but Alexandra (below) throws herself prone on the bridge and catches her. Juno braces herself on the rocky bottom (with A's help) until a young man fishes her out. He pulls hard against the current to release her. Then Juno scrambles across the bridges like the rest of us. Her daughter (Skye) walks calmly across with Alex.

We're all relieved Juno wasn't swept downriver. She's a good jumper and probably wouldn't have trouble getting on shore downstream, but she's aging and the rains have sped up the currents in the shallow stream below.

On the other side, we walk the muddy paths to the tea fields. Many new irrigation pipes along the last kilometer of the trail are leaking. We have a choice: slog through unknown mud where the trail used to be or balance on the slippery PVC pipes to the next patch of solid ground. We mostly walk on the pipes, which hardly helps the leaks.

From across the river valley, we can see the tall pines where we started. At this point, we're about halfway up the side of the second mountain.

Juno's having a bad day. Her second adventure comes when she jumps into the canal beside the trail for a drink and swim. She has a hard time scrambling back over the +1.5 meter (4.5') wall back to the path. I pat the wall at its lowest point and she climbs up.

Gypsy hears the chatter of monkeys, his nemesis. Eva catches Juno by the collar but Gypsy has already hurled himself across the channel and up a steep slope. The monkeys chirp and scold, while we yell and whistle for our dog. Eventually Gypsy tires of the chase and comes down another way. W clips the leash on him. Gypsy doesn't seem to mind: he's tired from so much fun.

Luckily we're not far from the meeting point with the cars. We're all dirty by the time we reach them. W and I slip out of our filthy shoes and don flip-flops before hopping into the car. Bailey's not as lucky. He waded through most of the muck. Happily, PakG gives him a wash when we get home.

"What good time we made!" says the hike leader. We've cut an hour off our usual time. We stop for brunch at Mandarin in Lembang, the city between the hiking trail mountains and Bandung. One of our favorite dishes is a beef-and-spinach hotpot.

I have time for a shower and change of clothes before going back to town. The Book Group celebrates 4 January birthdays. The quiche is tasty. (No need for supper, that's for sure.)

The greetings are warm. Most of the women have known each other for decades.

On the way home, PakG patiently waits in traffic for 4 tourist buses to make U-turns. They go back-and-forth through a narrow opening, changing direction from one 2-lane side of the road to the other. Note how motorcycles and bicycles squeeze by in the spaces around the bus. Everyone knows to negotitate moving objects and stays out of their way. Barely.

Friday

They trimmed the poinsettia tree at the neighbor's to a multi-pronged stump. After a few weeks, it's grown new leaves. The red color and bracts will show up again after a month when the days are shorter than the nights.

Another neighbor's hedge is being enveloped in a creeping parasite.

The bright yellow-green vines take over unless they are pulled off. Once established, they're hard to eradicate completely.

The stump that's been decaying on the side of the road is half the original size. Suddenly, it's sprouting multiple trunks from the shrinking wood. Left alone, there will soon be another tree guaranteeing that the road cannot be widened. Sundanese try not to cut down tall trees in case they "disturb the spirits" of the tree.

It's a neighborhood of contrasts. As we walk, I turn to take pictures behind us: the garbage dump and a parking lot for shuttles and tour buses.

A block in the other direction are houses, little food carts, and a 5-star hotel.

A publisher contacts me to ask for a pre-publication review. I've been meaning to read this book anyway, written by an Indian-American comic. She is smart and funny, but brutally honest about her values and expectations, both from her past and as an immigrant mom, wife, and business person. This American Woman is a moving and hilarious retelling of her of cultural expectations, even with its raw and gritty street language.

As the child of an immigrant and an expat since my late-20s, I recognize many of #zarnagarg's feelings and her caricatures of life as a perpetual stranger. Moving away from our first communities means making constant adjustments as we learn about our host culture.

Another review is due for a book on memory. "Don't think it's abnormal to forget," says the researcher. "Your brain is constantly sorting and overwriting memories, so changes are that details you remember have been overlaid many times and the most recent version is not true."

I'm known more for what I forget than what I remember - my memory files are full. "Write a journal since you will forget most of life otherwise," she write. That's what this blog is about. I go back a few years to remember people we've met, experiences we've enjoyed, and ways we've served.

I write to several organizations, requesting permission to customize a survey to collects data for an upcoming book. Editing and sending those initial requests takes the bulk of the afternoon. Judy sends some resources my way as well.

After everyone goes home, the rain moves through the trees. Soon the wind splatters a hard downpour across my feet and forces me off the Porch. The birds crouch in their cages and flap off the raindrops as though in the shower. The lightning is too close for comfort.

Saturday

It's a gorgeous sunny start with high clouds. In the cool of the morning, we walk around piles of plastic and other refuse, washed onto the wet pavement from where it's been tossed on the roadside.

PakG comes up with a solution for the shallow basin that holds fish in the tall flowerpot. "Some fish jumped out of the basin and into the lavender. How about using a deeper bowl?" Smart idea.

We check out several options from the kitchen: a deep food-grade pail ("too heavy" if filled with water) and a salad prep bowl ("too pink!"), before he finds a black pail. Its rim is the right size. The white mollies and red swordtails gain 8" (20cm) of swimming depth. The plant's shade prevents the water from getting too warm.

The frogs on the waterlilies in the big pond chirp to each other. The canary is in full cry this morning, too. Voices drift up from the village below and the university sports fields.

The budgie bitten by a rat last week (while in his cage) succumbed yesterday. PakG found 2 birds to replace it ($12 for both). We can't put just one in an existing cage or the old budgie will fight with it. It takes a few days for everyone to settle in.

But PakG remarks that the two males are fighting. He suggests getting another one and makes two more bamboo "houses" so each bird has their own. He found a wide stalk of bamboo in his neighborhood, cuts two lengths, and attaches them to the cage. The birds find shelter at night and when it's windy or cold (below 70F or 21C).

While I make calls and work on the Porch, W enjoys writing in the shade outside his office door. We never tire of this weather.

Read more:

*Do you think you can fool God the way you fool others? Job 13:9 GNT

*Uphold me according to your promise, that I may live, and let me not be put to shame in my hope. Psalm 119:116

*Jesus said, “Anyone who hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life and does not come under judgment but has passed from death to life.” John 5:24

*Jesus said to the Pharisees, “You are those who justify yourselves in the sight of others, but God knows your hearts.” Luke 16:15

Moravian Prayer: O Lord, you have given us the promise of eternal life through your son, Jesus Christ. All you ask in return is to trust in you. Hold us to this covenant relationship; guide us on the path of faith.

God of grace and God of glory, we try to fool you and we try to fool ourselves. When we lift ourselves up, feeling the need to justify our actions to others, humble us. Let all we do be done in love and service to you. In Jesus’ name, we pray. Amen.