Hey David,
Re Vietnam, I’d have said no, too. Glad you went anyway—you took some really
fine photos. Wondering if you’ve read any of Viet Thanh Nyugen’s books. “The
Sympathizer” is a worthy effort (novel, won the Pulitzer, but it’s still quite
good). “The Refugees” is a collection of something or other. Impressions,
stories, essays. Viet was airlifted as a baby from N. Vietnam, eventually to
San Jose, CA, at the very end of the war. He shares his perspective liberally.
He also loves Laphroig.
Carol K.
On Apr 7, 2019, at 11:16 AM, david ritchie <profdritchie@xxxxxxxxx> wrote:
Two philosophical questions came to the fore this week, one minor and one of
greater import. The first you may even have anticipated: how do chickens
wager on the boat race? I was surprised that they knew of the boat race
between Oxford and Cambridge.
“You’re discussing the boat race?”
Mimo, “Yes, yes.”
Appenzeller, “We like to have a bit of a flutter.”
Pecorino, “Now and then.”
“A flutter?”
Mimo, “When the sun comes out.”
Pecorino, “After the boat race.”
“Not before?”
They walked in circles, as they do when a proposition seems absurd, “No, no.”
Mimo, “Why would you have a flutter before watching the race?”
“Perhaps you could describe the experience in full?”
Appenzeller, “All perfectly normal.”
Pecorino, “From time to time…”
Mimo, “…usually when we’re sheltering under the Juniper…”
Appenzeller, “…that’s that bush over there.”
“I know what Juniper is.”
Appenzeller, “Just checking…Gods can be surprisingly thick.”
Mimo, “Long story short…after we’ve watched the dog chase squirrels around
the boat, we step onto the concrete for some flapping.”
Pecorino, “Gets the bugs out.”
Appenzeller, “We call it a flutter.”
The more important question is whether or not chickens are capable of worry.
We know that they anticipate danger, practice evasion and alarm drills,
travel in a pack, but do they stay awake at night worrying that they might
miss the bluebells' bloom? That sort of thing? I have decided the time is
ripe and that I shall apply for a grant to pay assistants to study the
matter. If any of you would like to be put on a list of potential all-night
chicken observers, send me a note and I’ll let you know when the money comes
through.
Just for fun I thought I’d ask the chickens what they thought of Brexit.
“No, no,” said Pecorino.
“No, no,” the other two were absolutely in agreement.
“What does that mean?”
Mimo was sticking to monosyllables, “No.”
“No what?”
“No thank you,” said Pecorino, minding her manners.
“You’re not in favor of Britain leaving the European Union?”
Appenzeller, “What’s that got to do with cheese?”
“Well, everything. It’s a cheese issue. Also wine and…so on.”
“No idea what wine is,” said Mimo, “but keep the cheese coming.”
I should explain that Mimo’s eggs have been thin to the point of collapse.
We tried ground oyster shells to no avail, so I’ve been feeding them scraps
of cheese, thinking that calcium might help. It builds loyalty and seems to
be working on the egg shells.
“So when you say no to Brexit,” I asked, “you mean what exactly?”
“The current form of breakfast must not go away,” said Appenzeller.
“No threat to our cheese,” said Mimo.
“Cheese is whizzy,” said Pecorino.
“Very,” said Mimo, for exmphasis.
I found a list of the web, “ten mistakes not to make when cleaning your home
for resale.” I decided to draw up my own: one, do not use fire; burning your
house down decreases its value. Two, do not hire the Four Horsemen of the
Apocalypse cleaning company; reviews have been poor. Three, small may be
beautiful but cleaning everything with a toothbrush could take too long.
Four, goats don’t do a great job on interiors. Five, you remember that genie
who came out of the bottle when you bought some product with ammonia in it?
Fraud alert. Six, inviting the neighbors to a clean-my-house party doesn’t
work. Seven, moving furniture to cover carpet stains only works if you don’t
own cats. Eight, if you want to clean naturally go ahead, but do put your
clothes back on before the realtor and clients arrive. Nine, you know the
fish in Thailand that clean dead skin off your feet? They work with toilets,
but you must remember at the finish not to flush. Ten, hand grenades aren’t
the best for de-cluttering a living space.
Who would want to go to Vietnam? I have read of Veterans’ trips and of
people who went because the food and drink and so on are cheap. And of
course the president of America went there to meet the leader of North Korea,
so you might be wandering in the footsteps of people who believe themselves
to be leaders. L and I went more foolishly, pretty much by accident. On New
Year’s Eve we were watching an old movie when my wife said something like,
“There’s a cheap fare, do you want to go to Vietnam?”
I, of course, said, “No.”
So we went.
Before we took off I read stuff and reflected. What did I want to see and
why? We agreed to spend our limited time in two places so we didn’t do that
tourist thing where you drop in like a crow, peck at the offerings, move on.
I decided I wanted to compare bomb damage. In Europe you can still see scars
of the Second World War. America had dropped huge tonnage. What was the
result?
Answer: there’s little evidence in Hanoi to suggest it was once bombed. Of
course the same is true of Ludwigshafen in Germany except in Ludwigshafen
it’s clear everything is new. Not so, Hanoi. The oldest university in
Vietnam was half destroyed by bombs. You have to look closely now to see
that some of the bricks are new.
I saw three guys of war age wearing U.S. Marine’s uniforms, complete with
identity tags. I was reluctant to walk up and ask, “What does wearing that
mean to you?” But I should have. Victorious Victorians adopted “Highland
Dress” because by then wild highlanders had been tamed. I assume something
similar was going on in Hanoi.
On the middle floor of the Women’s Museum was testament to the sacrifices
women made during the long, long fight. Girls attacked military posts with
home-made wooden swords. There were tales that reminded me of the stuff I’d
listened to when I wrote an oral history of the French Resistance And what
came of this heroism? A return to capitalism so complete that there are few
reminders in Hanoi that Vietnam is a Communist state. I couldn’t access the
BBC website, and there were one or two Socialist Realist statues, but that
was about it. The conversations I had with contemporary students suggested
their ancestors’ heroism had brought them few gains. Two female students
told me that the president and vice president of the country currently are
women. I checked. The current president is Nguyen Phu Trong, a man. The
vice president is Dang Thi Nogoc Thinh, a woman. I thought maybe someone
meant that the Prime Minister is a woman, but no Nguyen Xuan Phuc is male. I
think we had a failure to communicate.
David Ritchie,
Portland,
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