Three weeks to go.

With only three weeks to go, I'm an emotional box of chocolates--you never know how you're going to feel. I vacillate between excitement, fear, joy, nervousness, anxiety, serenity. Plus, I'm a little disappointed in myself for being so emotional about this. Going to Spain was no biggie. Why am I so wigged out about Vietnam? I'm a snail who carries her home on her back. I'm a nomad. Leaving is supposed to be easy for me.

Today has been especially hard. I said goodbye to my grandfather--one of the most dear people in my life--after a short yet blissful trip to see him in Westerville, Ohio. When I was a kid I would stay with him for a week or so each summer, without the rest of my family there. Those times were so special to me, and remain some of my fondest childhood memories. My trip to see him this week was the first time I'd gone to visit him alone since I was 15 or so, and I could kick myself for waiting so long to do this again. I also said goodbye to his wife, who is for all purposes my grandmother. She's been around since I was born, and is the only grandmother I have that is still living and/or still talks to the family. I couldn't have picked a better, cooler grandmother if I tried, though. The three of us had a lovely time, going out to dinner, taking bike rides to the Hoover Dam, watching Anthony Bourdain's Vietnam episode, talking about life. But eventually we had to hug and cry and say goodbye. I don't like these goodbyes. They're not just normal goodbyes of the "see you at Thanksgiving" variety. These goodbyes feel heavier. I almost feel like I'm saying goodbye forever, but I know I'm coming back next June.

Riding bikes to the dam....

Enjoying the lovely weather down by the dam....

Part of Denise's garden--a plush little Eden, a beautiful retreat.

Back in Lawrenceburg, I decided to make some pad thai with tofu and veggies for dinner, and watch Anthony Bourdain's Laos episode to cheer me up. Unfortunately, the meal was only so-so (I messed up the tofu somehow), and the Laos episode was upsetting. Bourdain spent a good portion of the episode going out into fields with a group called UXO-Lao. UXO stands for "unexploded ordinance", and this group's mission was to find unexploded munitions, mines and bombs and detonate them. I learned from Bourdain that the US dropped more bombs on Laos than we dropped on Germany and Japan combined during WW2. FYI--We weren't at war with Laos, remember? Nevertheless, about 30% of the 260 million munitions and bombs we dropped on Laos failed to explode, leaving 78 million unexploded ordinances in Lao soil. These UXOs continue to kill and maim innocent people of Laos, many of whom weren't even alive during the war. (In fact, over 50% of casualties from the UXOs are children.) Bourdain also visited a family victimized by the UXOs--the father/husband had lost a leg and arm from hitting a cluster munition while doing household repairs. I was already crying about all the bombs we dropped on this country, and I just kept crying as Bourdain talked and ate with this man and his family. His wounds left him unable to work, to support his family, to see himself in the same way he had before.....The man asked Bourdain if he was afraid to face such a reality. Bourdain said no, that it was important for us to understand the repercussions of our actions. But what a tragic reality it is. The man was a child during the war and doesn't even remember it happening, yet he is nevertheless a belated causality of it.

(unexploded cluster munitions found by UXO Lao)

I also finished Bobbie Ann Mason's IN COUNTRY, a book about a young Kentucky girl trying to understand the Vietnam war and her relation to it. The novel ends with Sam, the protagonist, visiting the Vietnam Memorial, so I immediately transitioned to reading SHRAPNEL IN THE HEART, which is a collection of letters and remembrances that people left at the Vietnam Memorial. I'm not sure if I'll finish this book before I leave, because I can't get through a single page without having to put the book down and blow my nose from crying. Letters written by mothers, siblings, sweethearts, friends from the war, combined with stories that people had to tell about the loved ones they lost.... I don't remember ever reading anything that was so hard to get through. It feels important though, so I'm just keeping the tissue stocked beside my bed, and moving slowly through the book, one soldier at a time. Reading about the goodbyes between these men and their loved ones makes me feel guilty for being sad about my own present goodbyes.

Dan Lee Neely, a young man remembered in the book. He was 20 when he died.

With all the crying today, I was relieved to find an email tonight with my VISA approval code in it. This means I will be allowed to enter Vietnam! Apparently everyone in Nha Trang is really busy dealing with the Miss Universe Pageant, or an of international conference that will be held at the university in a couple weeks, or with school exams, so I was concerned that my VISA application might get severely delayed.

Now that my VISA is pretty much taken care of, I have something else to vagina-cross* my fingers about: Sam coming back from Europe on Monday, as scheduled. There's a chance he might be held up in Europe for work-related tasks. We only have about a week together before I go, and I'm feeling protective of that time. Furthermore, the Youtube videos suck lately, making it even more urgent that I see him soon.

And since I've been so preoccupied with Vietnam stuff, I've nearly forgotten that my birthday is in 12 days. Too bad I can't have it in Vietnam--I love having birthdays away! I guess Christmas, Thanksgiving, and every other holiday spent in Vietnam will have to suffice.


*Just to clarify, crossing your fingers the way we do for good luck is considered especially obscene in Vietnam because it's thought to represent female genitalia.