COUNT YOUR BLESSINGS

After a month of blustery, cold and gray; cherry trees are popping all over Korea, like kernels from the popcorn popper at the movies. I remember being told, on the ride from the airport, “Those cherry trees that line all the streets will be beautiful soon.” I watched them from a distance and up close, touching the bark and gently rolling the buds between my fingers but they were just cold, naked, black barked trees. They were just like me, waiting for sunshine and a warmer day. 

This morning I had several places to go; things to do. My walking took me down canyons, between high rise condos where traffic below is in the shadows nearly all the day. Later in the afternoon, I was coming home by another way, exploring, if you will. Turning the corner, out of the shadows, my new way home was lined with familiar, black trees but they were in full bloom. Obviously, some streets get more sunlight than others and they bloom first. For several days, I’d seen Forsythia trying to bloom from plantings along walkways and in parks. Like the cherry trees, they bloom first, before the leaves open up. So I was anticipating, any day; cherry blossom time.

My eyes didn’t tear up and I didn't need to catch my breath, nothing emotional but I was surprised. Late in the afternoon of a day that I had already dismissed as “Unremarkable”, I stumble onto cherry blossoms, everywhere, both sides of the street, so dense on every tree you couldn’t see the branches.. It was something to celebrate so I stopped at a bakery, bought one of those flat, thin, cinnamon pastries that look like the a shoe sole. Stepping out the door, I turn up the hill, get maybe three or four steps and a young woman touches me on the arm. I stop, turn and she asks me if I have ten minutes. Young women here, if they’re not decked out in make up and designer fashion, it’s hard to tell their age. She could have been 14 or 21 and I had no idea. So I gave her my blank stare; universal to mean, “Please say that again.” After some clumsy exchanges on a crowded, noisy sidewalk, I got the message. She was a student and her homework assignment was to record a selfie, ten minute interview, with a stranger, in English. 

She was a sweetheart, whatever her age. I said she could have the rest of my day if she liked, which went right over her head. It was my turn to get “The Stare.”. I nodded rather than repeat myself and there we stood, people crowding around us on both sides. We moved over by a light pole, out of the main stream. She held up her I-phone and touched the “record” button and asked that I introduce myself and say where I’m from. That done, we started down a list of questions, scribbled in Korean on a crumpled piece of paper. It went from, “How long. . .” to, “Where. . .” ta, “Favorite places” to, all the things you would expect. Asked about Korean food, kimchi in particular, I said the food was good and that I was learning to use chop sticks, which raised her eyebrows and earned a smile of approval. Then she asked me if there was anything I’d like to say in closing. I pointed to my chest, to my maize & blue, University of Michigan t-shirt and said, “When you come to the United States, come to Michigan and I’ll interview you.” I got the same round mouthed, wide eyed look as before. She didn’t know about coming to America but I told her that everybody else is coming, why not her. She approved, digging down into her shoulder bag and pulled out a little, 8oz. bottle of Aloe, juice drink. It was a token gift for helping her with her assignment. She headed down hill while I resumed my walk home.

Within a block, there was a small park with tables and benches. I sat down, opened my Aloe drink and unwrapped my cinnamon pastry. Sitting in the sunshine with a sweet crunchy-munchy and aloe juice, I took a break. The Aloe was almost too sweet but there were little bits of tasty pulp that made it interesting. I thought, ‘If I hadn’t come here, I could have been somewhere in the States, watching the news or listening to someone vent their displeasure over any number of hot topics. But I’m in Korea, with brand new cherry blossoms and a new taste for Aloe.’

THE SLIDE

EBC; English Boot Camp - It’s the realization of a long time dream and passion for English language that Sam, (Sungho Kim) my nephew by marriage, has been nurturing for a lifetime. Here we are, a store front in a crowded, business district just outside the main gate to Dankook University, in Jukjeon Korea. It resembles a military base with local businesses geared to feed soldier’s/student’s appetites. There are restaurants, bars, drug stores, coffee shops and who knows what else packed into a 20 square block neighborhood. We opened, (In Korea they have a Grand Open, instead of Grand Opening) two days ago but yesterday was our first real day of business.

EBC is a store where they sell English language. You can buy sweet, American snacks and wash them down with coffee, soft drinks, juice and near-beer, but the business is about good communication and English language. The way it works is a daily membership fee to come and go, to sit with American, native speakers and practice your English. The culture here is one of extremely courteous and accommodating protocol. But the climate among the natives is highly competitive. Sam, (Sungho Kim) has two teenage boys who get a few hours of free time each week on Sunday. The rest of the time, they go to school. They get a late start in the morning but don’t get home until bedtime which, after day school, night school, tutors and study halls, may be midnight. There are schools, better schools and the best schools. If you want to prosper, you need the best school because it’s the path to the best university and it’s all about grades and the reputation of your school. Coming out of the best university is how you get the top job, the best pay and social status. It really helps if you’re born with a grown up work ethic because your life potential is fixed, with little chance to improve, by the time you hit middle school.  So students, for the most part, pay their fee, sit with staff members from the states and talk, about anything and everything. After all, they will soon be doing job interviews in English; many going abroad to graduate school. 

Two people I’ve met recently: the carpenter who put the finishing touches on EBC’’s woodwork was really creative, intelligent and clever. His table saw was a Skill-Saw, bolted upside down under a card table. It’s fence was a piece of wood with two nails in it. You pull the nails, realign the fence and seat the nails again when it’s right. He knew two words in English, yes and no. But in body and sign language he was fluent and anticipated just about everything I wanted to know. I doubt he could recite a single geometry axiom but his work was spot on. 

Then there is Dr. Choi. I went up on campus yesterday, knew there was no swimming pool on campus but it was a place to start. I swim for exercise and I need exercise. It was lunch time and the only person I could find was a professor whose English was shaky and asked me to come back. An hour and a half later, I returned and noticed that tiny buds on trees had opened and the leaves were pea-size. As I was admiring them, a man approached me and waited for me to notice him. He asked if I was the person interested in swimming. I said I was and he invited me inside, apologizing for his cluttered office which was pretty organized and neat by my standards. Dr. Choi is a professor of Anatomical Analysis; we called it Kinesiology back in the 60’s. Motor skills analysis, the study of levers, mechanical advantage and efficiency with the human skeletal system. He was tall, handsome and maybe 40 yrs. He did his PhD in England and his English got a B- or a B from me. A serious swimmer also, he went to his computer and produced a map and schedules for the nearest indoor pool. All the time, he was focused on me and my needs. People came and went, left messages, turned in assignments; and we talked. All the time, I was his first priority, in my jeans and U of M t-shirt. He gave me his card and an invitation to come back any time. He was cool. So I met two characters, a carpenter with makeshift tools and a PhD. The big difference in their life achievement probably turned on their middle school test scores. 

Last night as we approached closing time, we had a room full of students and the place was buzzing. We did the “Cup Song”, a viral video where you do an intricate, hand slapping, table tapping choreography with a paper cup. At the witching hour, my niece Terry took the brave ones out into the street. With our music turned up full, they did the Electric Slide, for several minutes. Drunks from the bar across the street came outside and watched in disbelief. Today’s a new day but closing time tonight I bet we’re in the street again.

SAM McGEE

Jukjeon, Korea; I know that March is still winter and you can’t expect it to warm up just because you’re in a hurry for spring, but I was hoping. After three weeks, the wind has kept its bite. Even though the weather report says it’s 45 degrees, it feels much colder. People on the streets keep hands deep in pockets and walk with a sense of purpose, to get where they’re going and be inside. I kept hoping but soon realized that spring's arrival wasn't about me. On Sunday, I felt the need for exercise so I put on my coat and hat, headed down the stairs to the street. Normally I swim or ride my bike but walking is my only option here. The sky was clear but city streets are almost always in the shadows so I stayed zipped up, hands in pockets. 

I knew there was a soccer field across the highway, on the way to Yongin, but I had not been there. The facility is modern, maintained and open to the public. When it came in sight, people were everywhere, and many weren’t wearing coats. I took my jacket off. It was warm and the slight breeze was warm, what I had been waiting for. An informal soccer game was going on with adults, wearing colored vests. Parents had their kids out on the track, 9 lanes of all weather surface. Kids on bicycles, tricycles; parents pushing baby buggies and young couples strolling, hand holding and I thought of the epic poem, “Cremation of Sam McGee” by Robert Service. A gold miner in the Klondike, before he  froze to death, begged to be cremated . So his partner dragged his frozen body across the wilderness until they found a ship, frozen in the ice. His body was thrown in the furnace and the ship set on fire. The man looked to see how the fire was progressing and the dead man was sitting, warming himself. He called out, “. . . it was the first time I’ve been warm since I left Tennessee.” It was kind of a long stretch but I was warm for the first time in a long time and thought of Sam McGee. The last few days have not been so warm but neither have they been so cold. Maybe I’ll be able to put the coat in the closet and rely on a sweat shirt soon.

LA MADERA

Trees, leaves, limbs, logs, boards, even sawdust; irresistible. I’ve always loved trees, since I was able to pull myself up, one branch to the next. The smell of sawdust in my dad’s wood shop attracted me like a worm on a hook attracts fish. As a biology teacher, you teach best what you like the most. I liked birds, feathers, songs and the fact they can fly. But even more, I liked trees and I liked teaching about trees. When you understand what makes one different from another, they take on personalities and I consider them creatures, if not friends. I love wandering thru nurseries where baby trees are waiting to be delivered. Instead of a stork, you go to the nursery and bring it home in the back of a truck. Once in the ground, it grows, makes shade, makes shelter for other creatures and gives bare ground quality of character like nothing else. I plant trees whenever, wherever I can. When a tree is harvested or cut down, the wood can be good forever; almost. I make things out of wood too. So when I come across a wood working venue, I take great interest in the wood itself and what is being created. 

Yesterday, my nephew Sungho had a piece of wood that needed to be sanded. My thought would be to get some sandpaper but he has a friend who has a furniture shop and we went there. Just south of Seoul, one line of ridges and small mountains after another. Between them, in valleys and canyons it is densely populated with high rise apartments and cramped business districts. We drove up into a narrowing space where wooded hillsides squeezed closer and closer to the road and buildings got smaller. The furniture factory was about the size of a medium size gymnasium. Outside, stacked on the parking lot were a hundred or more, huge slabs of wood. I sensed this wasn’t going to be simple kitchen chairs or plushy sofas. 

We met a sawdust coated man with a respirator who took the little piece of wood and disappeared inside. Through the open door I could see a large, industrial bandsaw, planer and table saws. The smell was wonderful. The plant manager came out and welcomed us. I’m getting used to ignoring the language I don’t understand, tuning in on body language and connecting the other dots as best I can. We were being invited into the show room. Lighting was mostly daylight coming through windows and from a few small fixtures. The ceiling was low and the concrete floor did nothing to showcase the furniture. But then it didn’t need any special effects. There were tables, big tables; made of exotic hardwoods. They were simple enough in design but the mass of the wood was overpowering and the finish was spellbinding, even in the poor light. We went from one table to another, each unique, one of a kind. I knew the answer before I asked but I asked anyway. Sungho translated, “Who are your customers?” Then, I didn’t need the translation coming back. I read perfectly his smile and the thumb, back and forth across finger tips. “Very rich people.” I asked the price for one particular table that I liked. Twelve million Korean Won, or well over $10,000. I thought it would be even more. Making our way back to the shop, I touched as much wood as I could, sliding my finger tips across the grain and palms against the edges. 

Back in the parking lot I saw a huge plank of wood, 5 inches by 4 feet by 10 feet. He saw me eyeing it and said, “Oak”. I guess oak is oak or he knew at least that much english. I started to ask where but he cut me off; “U.S.” OMG, I should have known that. When I shop for wood at specialty stores they always tell me, the best stuff goes to Asia. Boatload after boatload of our best hardwoods are sold abroad every year. On the way back to the car I walked by the slabs I noticed when we arrived; didn’t need someone to tell me they were walnut. I pulled out my smart phone and snapped a photo. I’ve got some walnut in my basement but nothing like this. Sungho had his piece of freshly sanded wood and we were off to do something else.

CREO - PIENSO

After two weeks in Korea, I can handle yes and no; nod my head up and down, and side to side. Staying with my niece and her family, I stick pretty close to them. If I ventured out by myself I’m sure, I could get myself seriously lost and probably in trouble in a hurry. In 2005, in Patagonia I was alone all the time but had Español survival skills, could read some signs, recognized familiar culture. Here, I’m really out of my element. So when something strikes a familiar chord you pay attention and if you’re lucky, enjoy something cool that you hadn’t expected.

Yesterday we were in Osan again, by the Air Base. Outside the main gate of any overseas, U.S. military base is a dense, tightly organized neighborhood where shops, business and restaurants cater to Americans. Osan is no different. A narrow street winds down through 2 and 3 story buildings with something for sale to fit anybody’s need. Then tiny alleys branch off the the side, expanding into a network of even tighter alleyways, like a spider’s web. Just how far you can go down into that maze, I don’t know yet but it is on my (Korean) bucket list. Sungho (Mr. Nephew) had some business to take care of in a real estate office. Terry and I waited patiently while other people were paying rent or inquiring, keeping both of the employees busy. Several people were waiting in line. 

There is an unexpected reward here I hadn’t anticipated. Terry is fluent in Spanish. My Spanish is weak at best but I can make myself understood in most cases and if you speak slowly, repeat often, I can understand, sometimes. So here we are, Korean the obvious challenge but I’m taking advantage of the opportunity to work on my Spanish. In the real estate office, Sungho is engaged with the manager in Korean. I noticed his assistant who looks to me to be, maybe, an Anglo. I said to Terry, “Creo ella es un Gringa.” Then I thought about the verb I had just used and wondered if I should have used Pienso instead of Creo. The difference being, I think, and I believe. I asked her which was best and she came back in Spanish, “Either one is o.k.” After a short pause, the woman sitting next to us, working on her smart phone turned to us with a puzzled loook on her face. She was an Air Force staff sergeant who had just finished with the Gringa lady. She said, “Were you just speaking Spanish?” I admitted that we were. Terry ask if she spoke as well and she nodded. “I thought I was crazy for a minute.” she said. “So many languages going on around you and you lose track of what’s in you head.” Kia Mendez is an administrative assistant to her squadron commander. After college in Puerto Rico, she enlisted and has been in the Air Force for 5 years. When she enlisted, she didn’t speak any English. The only word she knew was, “Attention.” Beyond that, she just said, “Yes Sir” and “No Sir” and did like the people around her. When the drill sergeants talked down to her it didn’t bother her since she didn’t know what they said. She would look straight ahead and say either, “Yes Sir” or “No Sir”, which ever seemed right. Kia, Terry and I talked for a long time and it was just, such a neat, unexpected encounter. I didn’t leave the house with a plan, to meet a total stranger and explore a new personality. Life is an experience, a string of encounters and the meaning you discover there. If it’s all about the decisions you make, then it’s also about the decisions you do not make, and it’s about life’s merry go round, and who sits down beside you.

SMALL WORLD HALEY PARK

Rainy day in Jukjeondong, Korea, just outside the main gate to Dankook University. Small world, don’t you know! Lunch time and all the eateries were full of students. We stopped in at “Dos Mas”, where they serve Korean food, rolled up in flour tortillas and pretend it’s Mexican. The food is good, don’t get me wrong but don’t expect chorizo, jalapeños or cilantro. All the tables were taken so we placed our order and waited by the door. Two young ladies were at a table there, waiting for their order. They offered a seat as we waited and so the story begins. Sungho, my niece’s husband tells them about the new, English only coffee shop they are about to open and one of them answers him in English. She tells us she lived in the States and studied English there. Before we could ask, she said, “Michigan.” 

      Sungho points at me and my U of M baseball cap. Her eyes lit up when she recognized the Maze & Blue. She asked where I live and I said, “Grand Rapids.” Turns out, Haley Park lived in Hudsonville with her family for a while; studied English in Allendale. I said, “I used to teach school in Allendale.” Oh my, this is too much. We talked about Michigan and you would have thought we were best friends, for years. Our orders came and another table cleared, next to the girls. We continued our small talk and admired their Dankook jackets. The university has cool, traditional letter jackets. They come in different color combinations for different divisions in the university. Saw a black and white one the other day with “School Of Architecture” embroidered on the back. Today’s were blue and red for the school of statistics and another combination for health & food science. 

What are the chances I would accidentally meet in Korea, a young lady who used to live just down the road from me in West Michigan? It didn’t matter what the chances; there we were and there you are. In 2010 I was a Volunteer at Kenai Fjords National Park, Seward, Alaska and ran into Jenna Giddens, a Park Ranger from another small, nearby Michigan town. Our high school sports teams used to play against each other. In 1995, in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, a lady from “Mothers Against Drunk Drivers” came to our school. I thought she looked familiar and after the program she came to me and introduced herself. Her husband and I had been good friends in Kansas, 35 years before. She recognized me, sitting in the audience; what a surprise. What are the chances? I think the world is just as big as you let it be. 

CHOP STICKS

Food: sooner or later you accept the new culinary paradigm or you go hungry. I’ve played with chop sticks in my time but never had to depend on them. I could wimp out and accept the condescending looks that come with the fork but I like the idea of acquiring a new skill set. So I’m going native. We celebrated a birthday the other day at a traditional restaurant where they serve either Roast Duck, or Smoked Duck. We did the Roast Duck. It comes on a platter, stuffed with rice, berries, beans, nuts and pumpkin seeds. You have to separate the leg, wing or meat from the bird with chop sticks and it’s something you’d learn in a 300 level class at eating school.  I managed to get some meat in my bowl. In Korea, they like spoons so you can cheat there without drawing too much attention. When I discovered the stuffing, I brought in the spoon but kept the sticks as my primary weapon. 

We’ve all seen the low tables with seating on pillows; but you can’t really appreciate it until you have been down there for a while and need to get up. My companions were most courteous, they neither stared nor laughed out loud. In baseball, a batting average of .300 is great; with chop sticks you want to get food into your mouth at least, most of the time. I’d guess .800 or better would be good for a rookie like me. At the end of the day I was batting around .450 to .500, last to finish but did get enough to eat. You sit close to your food and lean into it. Most of what I dropped went back into a bowl so I got a second or third chance. What pleased me was, at the end, they noticed that my fork had not been touched which raised some eye brows. If anyone had been asked about our afternoon they would have said something about Grandma’s birthday. I’d have probably said something about going to chop stix practice and grazing on the side. I’ll get my own set of wooden chop stix. They’re lighter than the metal ones and offer more surface area at the point of contact. Then I’ll be like the pool shark who carries his own cue stick to the pool hall. They’ll see me coming and you can’t hide your Anglo heritage but maybe they’re expectations will rise a little. 

BIG CITY

Seoul, S. Korea; a forty minute bus ride from Yongin and my current quarters. I’m in Korea as the guest of my niece Terry and her husband, Sung Ho. Space is cramped in the apartment but when you step outside, every space is cramped. Everything I see reminds me of how spoiled, if you will, we Americans are with wide-open spaces to accommodate our expanding needs. With over 10 million souls in Seoul (pardon the pun) the only place left to go is up. Mile after mile, 25-30 story apartment/condo towers are laid out like corn rows in farm fields. On the streets below, amazingly, bumper to bumper traffic moves along. There is a powerful sense of accommodation, people yielding to the needs of the whole; but that’s a story for another day.

When we crossed the river, coming up from the south, Sung Ho pointed back to our right at the concentration of high rise buildings that dissolved, out of focus in the distance. “That is where you jumped in 1961.” In ’61 I was a parachute rigger, assigned to the 2nd 503 Airborne Battle Group, US Army, stationed on the island of Okinawa. In early spring we flew up in the wee hours and made a training jump on the Han River flood plain, across the river from the city. I’m good with maps and figured out where we had been. That was 53 years ago. Today, that sandy, scrub region, as far as you can see is named Gangnam, one of the most affluent sections of the city. Today, a helicopter would have trouble finding a place to land.

My job on the jump was to supervise recovery of parachutes and other air delivery items. The sun had just risen and first light was on the tall buildings. As my canopy opened I could see the city, a couple of miles west and across the river. On hitting the ground, I was surprised to see people living in makeshift shelters, between sandy berms and under bushes. Children appeared from nowhere and we had to protect our equipment from little pirates. The fun ended when trucks arrived at the assembly point and it became just another work day. That night when line troops were in the field on maneuvers, I was on board one of two C-130’s hauling parachutes back to Kadena Air Base, Okinawa. It was just a fleeting glance up stream as we crossed into the city but my recall was crystal clear. 

In Seoul, we walked the tourist section with booths and stalls, banners on every window and something marked down 50% in every store. A cold, cutting wind made us zip jackets and pull up hoods. In this vertical environment, sunshine seldom reaches the street. We ate at a restaurant that reminded me of Spanish Tapas, except the food itself. Kimchi, tofu, rice and stuff I didn’t recognize was served in separate dishes to be shared. It tasted alright which is good enough for now. Chop sticks will come quickly; all I need is repetition. I’m told that I should practice transferring M&M’s from one bowl to another.

Walking between tall towers, we come upon a clear, shallow space with an old, traditional, Buddhist temple and courtyard. Jogyesa Temple is the center for Zen Buddhism in all of Korea and people were arriving for the 7:00 service. Through the glass panel doors, two giant, gold Buddhas rose against the wall to the ceiling and the monk in charge was already chanting. The service had begun. Folks were seated or kneeling around the walls on pillows. The reds and golds along with the dark wood  was surreal. 

On the bus ride home, all I could see outside were oncoming headlights. When we boarded, the bus was nearly empty and we had our pick of seats. Soon, it was packed tight; little old ladies with shopping bags, brief-cased men in western suits and teenagers in school uniforms, back packs full of text books. Everybody, I mean everybody, except me; was engaged on their smart phones. Those standing, hanging onto hand holds were adept at shifting weight and changing hands as the bus lurched through traffic. A friendly, head nodding, smiling gentleman beside me was searching the internet until I dozed off for a few minutes. When I looked over again, a woman, flipping photos left and right had taken his place. Her fingernails should have precluded her cell phone usage but they would would have made a tiger jealous. Someday soon, I’ll be able to negotiate the bus schedule by myself and I’ll be comfortable with maps. My smart phone skills though, are sadly unpolished and I fear I’ll never catch up. 

 

ALL-NIGHTER

San Francisco: being stuck all night in a far-away airport is not a big deal. I’ve pulled all-nighters at SeTac in Tacoma, Midway in Chicago, Miami International and now at SFO in San Francisco. There are motels nearby and plenty of time but I have better ways to spend my dollar. Due to the long layover, I had to collect my checked bags and leave the secure area. I had made a date with a friend for dinner and went outside to the pick up lane. Shortly, an SUV pulled up, we threw my stuff in the back and headed over to San Bruno and a little Thai restaurant for a late supper. Nareen and I worked together at Kenai Fjords Nat’l Park in 2009 and remain good friends, too important to let the opportunity slip away. 

When I got back to the airport, the only place to camp out was a food court on the same level as ticketing. There was a Subway Sandwich shop that stayed open 24 hrs. with booths that had padded, bench seating. Most of the booth benches were already taken so I glommed onto one in self defense. With bags stuffed under the table top and secured with a belt and an electric cord, I dozed off at about 11:00. Several wake-ups, a trip to the bathroom and interruptions by cleaning crews were all anticipated but 5 hours of sleep was enough to see me through. An 11 hour flight on Monday would leave plenty of time to catch up.

I remember spit baths when I was a little kid. If we were out in public and my mom discovered an unacceptable smudge on my face or hands, she would spit on a white handkerchief that she kept in her purse, just for that possibility. I would get a hasty scrub down and we moved on as if I were spotless all along. Every time I scrub up in an airport restroom I remember those spit baths and be thankful for hot running water and paper towels. Freshened up, I went through ticketing, rechecked my big bag, shoeless through security and down the long corridor to the International Terminal. Decided to pass on breakfast. The long, nonstop flight to Seoul, Korea would involve several meals and I had trail mix in my back pack. I’d rather be a little hungry than the other way. But I did sit down at a restaurant table and break out the computer. Didn’t know when I’d get my next chance to bank on line and check my e-mail. 

The plane was really big, two decks high with a spiral staircase and a dozen attendants. Stepping inside made me connect with Jonah and the whale. We started boarding at 10:00 a.m., through two gates and a half hour later, we were still boarding. I was in Group 5 but stowing guitar and back pack was easier than expected and my isle seat was next to a no-show; I would have the luxury of some wiggle room. You can do the math but it still feels wrong, Leaving on Monday at 11:00a.m., flying 11 & a half hours and landing at 4:30 p.m. on Tuesday. The sun never went down and I lost a day somewhere but with jet lag it probably doesn’t matter. Hello Seoul; I was here 53 years ago but only for 12 hours and it was all work and no play. We'll have to make up for that. Lots to do tomorrow.