Monday, December 31, 2007
New Years: The Other End of the Earth
Penobscot Bay, from Caterpillar Hill (click on photo above for better view)New Years is a time when we are more aware of endings and beginnings. And so I have come to the end of this story.
We Buddhists know that only this moment is real, the rest is memory and illusion and hopes and "just our idea". (The hard part is remembering that in each moment.) I have so many memories of this year. Reading back over the notes I made about it in this blog, there is a lot that wasn't included, and maybe some things that should have been left out. But it is what it is, and I hope you've enjoyed it and that it's made you think.
As for me, I'm ending this year both an entirely different person and perhaps more comfortably the person that I always was.
Everything changes, and after being in Maine only 11 days or so, I would say the Coast of Maine is a temple to that principle. The sea air and weather change minute to minute, the smells vary from conifer to dirt/earth, to fish guts to fresh clear wind which is the smell of nothing at all. A day here has no end or beginning, but is part of a recurring cycle as tides come in and out, sun goes up and down, clouds blow over; always the same yet ever different.
Our own sea change continues, but hopefully at a slower pace. I will start my new practice this week. More new beginings, but with a difference: this time there are no endings foreseen. Time will tell. Already I feel the slower rhythms of Island life, as I learn to wait patiently in the Post Office, while the Postmaster and her customer compare earrings received as Christmas presents; as people stop to chat in the middle of the street; as I pick up a hitchhiking clamdigger in an early morning snowstorm. Time is slower here. And that is ok.
We began being lost and changed. We went to the End of the Earth. And now we have returned, to the Other End of the Earth. No matter where we go, we are standing on the Edge. And that is as it should be. Looking out from the hill above Stonington; over the waves, wind and sky spread before us; Vicki and I talk about all the islands we might explore. Each new moment is a seed, pregnant with possibilities, as we walk backwards into the future.
I began this blog with a quote from Robert Charles Wilson. I will end with another, from Spin, the book I started on the plane ride home and just finished last night:
"A transition is only a door...A door into a room. A room you've never been in, though you might have caught a glimpse of it from time to time. Now it's the room where you live; it's yours, it belongs to you. It has certain qualities you can't change- you can't make it bigger or smaller. But how you furnish it is up to you."
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Terra Incognita
Relocating to Maine has been a leap of faith. It’s been a bit scary, but this type of leap is also something we've already done several times this year, so it’s a familiar scariness. I don’t know any other doctors who have signed up to join a long term practice without ever physically visiting the community. More importantly, I don’t know any whose spouses would willingly decide to settle someplace they have never been. But Vicki has always wanted to live on the Maine coast, and this opportunity has just seemed to “click” into place, ever since the recruiter put us onto it. We learned a lot about the community in advance from the videoconference last June, and over the Internet. But it’s great to finally be here on the ground and meet everyone in person. 
One of the best things to fall into place is our accommodation. A retired local doctor and his wife have gone to South Africa for a year or so and kindly rented their brand new house to us, until we can find a place of our own. This place is only a mile out of town, on a beautiful forested point, overlooking a rocky cove. It is so quiet and peaceful here. At night, the only sounds are the wind in the trees, and an occasional sound of the foghorns in the distance. The other evening, a red fox walked across the snowy front yard, 15 feet away from the dining room window.
Wednesday Vicki and I joined the staff of Island Family Medicine for their annual holiday luncheon, sponsored by the local Community Board.
When I walked into the office, the manager greeted me with a hug and the exclamation “You really are real!” One of the board members introduced himself as “your first patient, for 8 AM on January 3rd”. The Island Medical Clinic Board is currently adding space and remodeling our office. There are workmen everywhere running saws and placing drywall. It’s really great to see the community having ownership of the medical services on the island, and I’m looking forward to working with them.
Vicki and I are now homemaking again. In the last year we deconstructed and sold our Cedar Rapids household; organized and "decorated" the house for our holidays in Florida; cleaned and arranged in our first house in Derby; and then cleaned, furnished, painted, repaired and decorated our final home in Derby. We are getting pretty good at this, although we agree we are tired of setting up house. We both feel ready to settle down for a long time.In the meantime, our daughters have both arrived this week and we retrieved Vicki’s mom from north central Maine where she has been visiting her sister and other family. We Christmas shopped and visited L.L. Bean to buy warm clothing and thermal underwear. We found a Christmas tree and the girls decorated it with paper cranes and an origami star. The snow is melting a bit, but today the sky is blue, and the sun shines on the deep green water. Everyone here has been very kind and welcoming. Our faith in the kindness of strangers is reaffirmed, this Christmas Eve.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
The purpose of music...
In this mornings newspaper:
New York Philharmonic to break ice in North Korea
Pak Gil Yon, the North Korean ambassador to the UN, sat next to orchestra leaders at the news conference {...}, saying the orchestra's visit would "surely deepen the understanding and cultural relations of the two countries."
Excess
Long Island could be called the land of Beemers, Benz’s and Bentleys. This densely populated chunk of sand sticking into the Atlantic is so palpably rich you could feel the hum of money while driving down the streets.
My senses were overwhelmed. Everywhere we saw huge houses; some overlooking the Sound can only be described as palatial. We took Leah out to one of her favorite restaurant, the Cheesecake Factory. The menu is so huge it came in a spiral bound notebook of 20 pages. The patrons were all huge (as in obese) and it’s easy to understand why. A simple salad plate was the
size of the platter I used to carve our Thanksgiving turkey. Vicki mentally counted the calories in the 3 courses ordered by the table next to us, and figured it was over 3000 calories for the meal. Later, Leah dragged us into Macy’s and the mall, looking for sparkly earrings. The place was packed with shoppers, even at 9 PM, a cacophony of voices, carols and products competing for our dollars. A great many of the stores, such as Sharper Image, or Swarovski Crystal specialize in only selling things nobody really needs.We spent some of our days here in “support role” for Leah as she prepared for her performances. This included tidying and dusting her apartment, throwing her laundry in with ours at the local Laundromat, and
grocery shopping. After Woolies in Derby, we are overwhelmed with the mile-long produce aisles (not to mention shopping carts that have wheels that don’t wobble). There are so many choices; our brains are exhausted by the time we reach the checkout lines.The flip side of all this wealth is that there is abundant tax money for services. Americans make the most noise of any people on Earth about hating their governments, particularly for “excessive taxes”. But driving around the Eastern U.S., we’ve noted the many services tax dollars provide, which are underappreciated. The Interstates are smooth, sanded, and well-maintained. The Pennsylvania Turnpike had emergency call boxes every mile. In Ohio we valued the clean rest stops, attended by mentally-handicapped people who were clearly proud of their work and their ability to be productive. When traveling, we could easily get reliable weather forecasts, and feel secure knowing that our flights were routed by rested, well-monitored air traffic controllers. While we are careful not to attract a speeding ticket from the police, it’s nice to know police, and fire and ambulance are immediately nearby if needed. New York and Long Island have the most amazing infrastructure of any place on the planet, with so many bridges, railways and buildings. And there is consumer protection, so that a building in the Bronx lacking heat is a major news story, attracting help for the poor tenants from government agencies that fix the problem while tracking down the slumlord. Finally, there is the clean, crisp SUNY Stony Brook campus, its Medical Center towering above the trees, a center for learning and culture.
Leah played her pieces with energy and intensity, and we were very proud of the progress she has made in the year since we last heard her play. In the past she and her sister and I have discussed her art and its place in the world. This week’s concerts, and some conversations we had about her new role as a violin teacher fro small children, led me to reflect on her training. Leah’s teacher in High School, Doris Preucil, had a “violin genealogy” on the wall of her studio. Doris’ teacher was at a terminal branch on the tree, which could be traced back, student to teacher for over 300 years.
Violin performance is not a skill that can be learned from a book or watching a video. It is an oral and physical history that must be passed from master to student over long training and with practice. I have seen the havoc wreaked on Aboriginal culture by the removal of just one generation. The truth is that the performing arts of Western civilization are also just as fragile. Remove one generation, and music and dance would never recover.
Compared to fundamental utilitarian vocations, such as medicine or civil engineering, some people might be tempted to criticize the arts as “non-productive” or non-essential to society. But while sewers are critical, and healthcare may relieve suffering, how do we interpret and find meaning in our lives without the arts and our culture? Surely societies that support so many excesses, should find some resources to support the arts, which nuture our spirits.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Ice Storm Passage
We had to beat the ice storms in order to hear our daughter Leah's recitals, at Stony Brook on Long Island this weekend. Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Between Parallel Worlds
My first sensation is the smell of roasting turkey. Slowly I’m aware of having a cold head and shoulders. The quilt weighs on my chest. I snuggle down into the comfy warm spot and snooze a bit longer. But the diffuse grey light sneaks in through the slats of the blinds and I have an intense desire for a huge cup of coffee, so I get up. I deliberately look through the window to reset my pineal gland to morning. Out of the fog, a bright red cardinal appears to grace the lawn,
I’ve had 9 hours of sleep. Our trip home took 49 hours door to door. We had 22 hours of air time. On the endless Saturday, we saw two sunsets, had two short sleeps, two sunrises, a shower in Sydney, a spit-bath in L.A., and so many snacks and meals they all blur together. A two and a half hour delay in Sydney required rebooking all the U.S. fights. We rerouted through St. Louis, that Purgatory of airports, landing in Dayton at 10 PM. Still Saturday. We slurp down a bowl of stone soup and hit the sack.This morning we wake at my parents’ farmhouse in Troy, Ohio to fog and drizzle. I can barely see the cornstalk stubble beyond the window. We are in some misty limbo, between worlds, our internal clocks out of whack, wide awake at 2 AM, yawning at noon.
Vicki says we’ve fallen through the wormhole into another world. She is right. A few days ago I was in Ngallagunda. Now I am struck by the sudden appearance of Christmas decorations everywhere, the humming background cadences of the “Little Drummer Boy” in all the airports here. The toilets in St. Louis have automatic paper towel rolls that sense your wet hands and spit a sheet of paper on your palms.
My family has decorated, too. The living room is dominated by my folks’ traditional monster tree, grown at the end of the farm lane, and decorated with ornaments, some from my Dad’s childhood. There are poinsettias and greenery everywhere. Today is Sunday, and it’s my Mom’s tradition to have my brothers’ families for dinner when we visit. She put the turkey in at 6 AM and made stuffing, Czech dumplings and sauerkraut and gravy, sweet potatoes, green peas, seven-fruit salad, and cranberry jello. My sister-in-law brings pecan pie, and there is pumpkin as well. With whipped cream. It is Thanksgiving late, and Christmas early, and my family with all our foibles and peculiarities, faults and strengths gather at the table. It is a home to come home to. I know I am very lucky to have a place to land.Later we put on long pants, waterproof high-top boots, long-sleeved shirts, possum-knit gloves and coats and knit hats and walk around the frozen bean fields, our feet crunching through the snow and frozen slush. We talk about our trip. Riding the plane so long became a hypnotic, almost hallucinogenic experience. By the last hop, Vicki and I were giggling hysterically as we wiggled our numb bums into the narrow commuter jet seats. We talk about Michael Moore’s film “Sicko” which we both watched on the trans-Pacific flight. While I enjoyed the guerilla theatre of the film, what has stayed with me is not the indictment of the U.S. health insurance mess, but the point that a society is judged by how it cares for the weakest and poorest of its members. Vicki and I talk about the importance of being nutured. I have been nutured by my family, by the RCS, by DAHS, by so many mentors and organizations over the years, and in turn have tried to nuture my students and coworkers. The friends, students, and patients I have seen over the years with the most troubles have all suffered from lack of nuture and social support.
The plea at the end of the film goes round my brain: “Maybe we should all care a little bit less about ourselves, and a little more about each other.” Sounds like Christmas to me.
Saturday, December 08, 2007
Change of plan...
We hit Sydney at 0630 local time and are on the list for exit row seats. Pray for us!
[Reminds me of Jimmy Carter on Prayer: "Sometimes God says 'Yes' and sometimes He says 'No' and somtimes he says 'You've got to be kidding.'"]
Best thing so far: getting SHOWERS in the Sydney International terminal. Free. Why don't all airports do this?
Worst so far: Our LA flight is delayed 2.5 hours or more, so we will have to rebook all the domestic U.S. flights once we get to there... And the weather looks terrible..
This feels a lot like when I have been a patient in surgery. Everything is out of your control, there are unexpected delays, you know its going to hurt, but you just have to bite the bullet and tough it out.
Maybe this will just be the price to pay for a White Christmas?
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Ok, Here's the Plan (Subject to Change Without Notice....)
Flight - Qantas Airways (QF) - 1929 Friday, December 07, 2007
Flight 1929 Non-stop
Class of Service: Economy (O)
Depart: Broome Airport (BME)
Friday, December 07, 2007
Arrive: Perth Arpt (PER)
Terminal 2 21:00
Friday, December 07, 2007
Flight Service Information
Equipment: Boeing 717 Flying Time: 2:30
Meal Service: Dinner
In-Flight Services: Non-smoking
Flight - Qantas Airways (QF) - 518 Saturday, December 08, 2007
Flight 518 Non-stop
Class of Service: Economy (V)
Depart: Perth Arpt (PER)
Terminal 2 00:15
Saturday, December 08, 2007
Arrive: Sydney Kingsford Smith Arpt (SYD)
Terminal 3 06:15
Saturday, December 08, 2007
Flight Service Information
Equipment: Boeing 747 Flying Time: 4:00
Flight - Qantas Airways (QF) - 107 Saturday, December 08, 2007
Flight 107 Non-stop
Class of Service: Economy (V)
Depart: Sydney Kingsford Smith Arpt (SYD)
Terminal 1 12:00
Saturday, December 08, 2007
Arrive: Los Angeles Intl Arpt (LAX)
Terminal 4 06:30
Saturday, December 08, 2007
Flight Service Information
Equipment: Boeing 747-400 Flying Time: 13:30
Meal Service: Lunch, Refreshments
In-Flight Services: Movie, , Audio programming, Duty free sales, Non-smoking
Flight - Qantas Airways (QF) - 3163 Saturday, December 08, 2007
Flight 3163 Non-stop
Class of Service: Economy (V)
Depart: Los Angeles Intl Arpt (LAX)
Terminal 4 10:00
Saturday, December 08, 2007
Arrive: O'Hare Intl Arpt (ORD)
CHICAGO
Terminal 3 16:05
Saturday, December 08, 2007
Flight Service Information
Equipment: Douglas MD-83 Flying Time: 4:05
Flight - American Airlines (AA) - 4193 Saturday, December 08, 2007
Flight 4193 Non-stop
Class of Service: Economy (V)
American Airlines Confirmation Number: MXBTJJ
Depart: O'Hare Intl Arpt (ORD)
CHICAGO
Terminal 3 17:20
Saturday, December 08, 2007
Arrive: Dayton International Airport (DAY)
Terminal Not Available 19:30
Saturday, December 08, 2007
Equipment: Embraer RJ140 Flying Time: 1:10
Estimated Total Trip Time 42 hours if no travel delays..
But hey, only 5 cabin briefings!
The Wet Season
I'm looking down over the Kimberley on my last flight to Ngallagunda. Its starting to rain here, and the dry, sere, brown country has turned a deep silvery green. The gorges gleam reflected blue and green as deep pools fill. Our pilot jinks our little dragonfly of a plane between fluffy cumuli now, as Jesus rays stream down through the morning cloud layers.
The Kimberley, at the end of the earth, collects the flotsam and jetsam of humanity, washed up on the huge tides. The radio station here, 6DBY is no exception, playing the most eclectic collection of tunes I've ever heard. When was the last time you heard Rod McKuen or Woody Guthrie on daytime radio? I listen to the National Indigenous News and a hokey, country Christmas song about Santa in a pickup.
But this morning, as occasionally happens to all of us, I'm sure; they play a song that fits my mood and thoughts perfectly. I haven't heard this in probably 25 years, but the perfect harmonies of this old Crosby, Stills and Nash song resonate in my soul, as we prepare to leave. I hear, for the first time, the message: about taking chances; about living in the moment; about taking a deep breath, and as the Quechua believe, looking forward into the past as we walk backwards into the future.
Look around me
I can see my life before me
Running rings around the way
It used to be
I am older now
I have more than what I wanted
But I wish that I had started
Long before I did
[Chorus]
And there's so much time to make up
Everywhere you turn
Time we have wasted on the way
So much water moving
Underneath the bridge
Let the water come and carry us away
Oh when you were young
Did you question all the answers
Did you envy all the dancers
Who had all the nerve
Look round you know
You must go for what you wanted
Look at all my friends who did and got what they deserved
And there's so much time to make up
Everywhere you turn
Time we have wasted on the way
So much water moving
Underneath the bridge
Let the water come and carry us away
And there's so much love to make up
Everywhere you turn
Love we have wasted on the way
So much water moving
Underneath the bridge
Let the water come and carry us away
Let the water come and carry us away-Wasted on the Way, Crosby Stills Nash (and Young)
Monday, December 03, 2007
Not in Derby Anymore
O let America be America again-
That land that never has been yet-
And yet must be.
-Langston Hughes
What you need is sustained outrage...There's far too much respect given to authority.
-Molly Ivins
Vicki has been happily bouncing around the house the last week, singing. “Only x more days” has been the mantra as we count down our time here. With 40 C. heat on the back porch it does not seem like December at all. Only 18 days until Solstice.
A year ago this last week we said goodbye to our house and moved on. Last year’s December we were headed to New York City, then Florida, and finally here. That was a long time ago. I look back at the repetitive, routine of working in Cedar Rapids for 15 years, and events and faces all run together in my memory. In contrast, this year has been long, with so many new experiences burned as waypoints on the path
When people ask why we are “going back,” I say, “This was my ‘gap year’, just taken a bit late…”
Then they wonder, “How did you like your time here?”
I answer. Interesting. Eventful. Challenging. Satisfying. Frustrating. Revealing. Unanticipated. Heartbreaking. Beautiful. Horrible heat. Vast. Intense. …
I could go on and on with adjectives. How does one begin to describe a Continent? I know only one little corner, one Western edge of this land. People tell me “Not all of Australia is like this...” and I’m sure that is true. It’s a big place and complicated, so I naturally have mixed feelings about this country. I never could have anticipated all this year has been. It reminds me of the story of the trip to Italy, turning into Holland.
Sometimes the racist, boozy, provincial, blokey, unaccountability of it all makes me want to scream. Compared to Australia, New Zealand is the goody two-shoes kid; sensible, practical, always pulling up her socks and coming in out of the rain. While the Ozzies are the naughty little brother, skinned knees, covered in mud and a lost look, and sometimes a bruised eye. Compared to his sister, this is a country that needs your love, and patience, until it gets its act together. But I’m comfortable with Australians, who have much in common with us Americans—believing in Fair Dinkum, a Fair Go, and exhalting the “battler”. I believe in them. I know they can do it. Both our peoples have to reconcile our values and beliefs with the truth on the ground.
There are things I don’t miss about the U.S. I don’t miss parents abusing their kids at Wal-Mart, the pervasive materialism, the degradation of the natural world, too many lawyers, demanding consumerism, racism, the death of the spirit. But after this year, I also see my country with new eyes. Those lawyers keep the cows off the roads, and defend civil rights. Commerce makes it possible for every kid to be able to afford crayons. And competition leads us to expect customer service and quality. Americans report they attend church at an astounding 47% rate (but lie about it at a rate of 2:1). I wonder if this reflects some sort of spiritual yearning? And while America still has a lot of racism, we have come a long way since I was a kid. And we can and do talk about it.
So I am homesick for all of it, the good and the bad. I miss my country. I have been an expatriate long enough to feel the yearning to be someplace familiar. Like the sea turtles, imprinted to return to their natal beach, feel the tug of the Earth's magnetic field, pointing them back where they originated, I am pulled North.
Suffice it to say that I came for a geographic cure, and the teaching job, which had many joys and was about what I expected. The RCS faculty, the local doctors and the people at DAHS have been great and I cherish these friendships. The Kimberley I could never have imagined in my wildest dreams. I’ve tried to describe it, but like the Grand Canyon, you have to sit on the rim to get it.
Vicki and I accomplished many things. To judge the value of those accomplishments on some arbitrary scale means little. I think we both feel satisfied with what we did, which in the end is all that matters.
When we began, we were undergoing a sea-change. It’s still happening, but I think we are starting to grab glimpses of the result. Visions of walking through snow again, of evergreens. Christmas is coming, and it will be good to join that season of new birth within the depths of winter.
And I have decided I would like to mark this year by making a change in name, to mark the change in me. I began this blog posting as “Charles”. Because in Australia the name “Chuck” has humorous connotations, this year, I’ve used Charles as my given name everywhere. I am Dr. Charles Zee at DAHS, and Charles at the RCS. At the RCS end of year dinner, the Professor referred to me as “Chuck” and it just didn’t seem to fit me anymore. Vicki says maybe it's because I’ve finally matured (and she can call me anything she wants). But I like "Charles", so I’m going to ask other people to call me that from here on out. (“Dr Z” would be ok, too.)
A week or so ago, I dreamt that the night before our flight, it rained and rained, and all the Fitzroy River plain was 2 meters deep, a vast brown lake. Dead cows and bloated roos floated by; the boabs, green-leaved and yellow-flowered, protruded from a vast still waters. Our 4 Wheel Drive was halted where the road disappeared into the muddy murk. Oh, we were so sad and so upset.
And then I remembered. No worries. “We are not in Kansas anymore”. We need only click our heels three times. Because we are ready to go home.
Sunday, December 02, 2007
Bragspot.com
I just have to brag a bit. Derby meets Lake Woebegon.The Derby Lads, those loveable larrakins, all scored at or above the mean on their Final Exams.
Saturday, December 01, 2007
International Finance
The American stock market is volatile. Interest rates are going up in both countries. The Aussie dollar has gained value, from 0.82 against the US dollar up to current 0.88 (giving me a nice raise this year). I don't pretend to understand it, but I did come literally face to face with it this morning in the shower.I am on my last razor blade.
So do I buy another pack here, or wait and try to scrinch by this week on the last blade?
I'm partial to the Gillette Fusion Power razors. Expensive, but a nice shave. I do think the vibrating razor is superior.
Here in Derby, a pack of 4 blades goes for the astonishing price of AU$ 27.00 at Woolies. Explains why there are so many bearded men in the 40 degree C. climate!
In the U.S., current price is $17.99 for a 4-pack (at the most- some places are cheaper).
This converts to $17.99 x 0.88 = AU$ 20.44.
An 8-pack in the U.S. goes for as low as $17 on Amazon.com, but usually about $25 in stores, or $25 x 0.88 = AU$ 28.00 /2 = AU$ 14 per 4 blades bought as an 8-pack.
Bottom line, razor blades are much cheaper in America, even factoring in the weak U.S. dollar....
EXCEPT, the last word comes from Vicki. She doesn't want me grizzly. So she'll buy the blades here. IF they have them in stock at Woolies, which is never a sure thing...
This is just a trivial decision, compared to trying to decide when to transfer my earnings internationally, what to do with my "Super" (retirement money) left here in Australia, etc. What a headache! Makes me glad I'm in Medicine and not in International Business.
