Our Turkey Trot this morning didn’t feel any different from our normal runs–except, perhaps, that I did notice and give thanks for the slight breeze that made the heat a touch more bearable. Two lady tourists sitting under a cafe umbrella gasped when they saw my sweat: “You run in this?” I told them I was used to it and then realized it was true. I don’t even get that ugly heat rash anymore.
Today might be the first Thanksgiving Day we’ve ever gone to work. No one will feel very sorry for us, since it’s just an American holiday. We’ll join with the other Yanks for some kind of dinner tonight (I’m pushing for Mexican–my dream Thanksgiving meal!). A few representatives of the mother country will probably join us, which should make for some fun needling.
Anyway, we wish we were with you all today. Have a wonderful time together!
(And if you’re seeing the news about Bangkok and wondering if that’s affecting us, it’s not. It’s a different country, different government, separated from us by Cambodia and Laos. We’d planned to go to Thailand for Tet and now we probably won’t, so we’re disappointed, but danger-free. Sadly, it looks like my dreams of India will have to wait awhile, too. It’s terrible what’s just happened there. But we’re totally safe, and giving thanks for that! So please don’t worry–we’re fine!)
We love you all. Happy Thanksgiving!!
Last night I dreamt that Obama died of some freak natural cause, and I woke up and asked Angie if it was true. She shook her head and confirmed that it was: “Michelle cried for 25 hours straight.” I opened my eyes a second time, strangely relieved that my sister is in Sacramento, not Saigon: The dream-within-a dream was only that.
Joel’s 33rd birthday will forever fuse with the best TV moment of my memory. We didn’t have a crowd-around-the-TV party with friends, the way we would in a different time zone. The polls were opening when we went to bed, and we woke up at six and spent Joel’s birthday morning with CNN. By noon, the banner flashed. We didn’t scream. We didn’t hug each other. We sat quietly in our chairs and cried with Oprah, in awe of a moment we hadn’t quite expected. Our cynicism crushed by something better. The hope of a new America.
It’s still just hitting us: In our lifetime, in our relative youth, we will have a leader who reflects our dreams and values. We’re overjoyed. Beyond it. Hence that crazy nightmare.
So. We moved to a wonderful new apartment in the posh Phu My Hung neighborhood near the university. Vietnamese noveau riche, with whom we share an economic class, don’t believe in climbing stairs. Which is why we landed a sunlit three-bedroom penthouse loft, complete with 30-square-meter balcony terrace, for $650, in a neighborhood where that usually buys a studio. It’s a fifth-floor walkup with no lift, so we earn the deal every day. Our legs have never looked better.
We’ve just finished another 10-week session and are enjoying a down week, which we’ll probably spend fitting out our new apartment and savoring cheap spa treatments. We might take the hydrofoil (boat) to the closest beach, but we’re not sure. Our terrace might actually be preferable.
Summer is coming up. The wet season’s all but over. It’s a great time to visit, if anyone’s up for a flight!
(Oh, and don’t worry about the storms on the news. They’re all in the north–as far from us as Sacramento is to Las Vegas). We’re living in what’s practically a western enclave now: If a storm did hit, our infrastructure here makes this the most safe, solid place to be in the country. So if you’re worried, don’t!)
We hope you’re all doing well. My international friends here send their congratulations to you and all Americans. The French magazines here proclaim: Le President Historique! Formerly-caustic British friends tell me they cried with Oprah, too. And all the North Americans at my office, save Sara (a good sport), are beside themselves with glee. I hope Lodi is feeling the love, too!
