The BRC, My Antidepressant

The BRC, My Anitdepressant
BRC - Bangkok Refugee Center
24 Sept. 2009
By JB Hubbell

Have been feeling low & slightly depressed.
Having a little pity party for myself
No new apartment yet, stressed over teaching & births & just my chronic feeling of inadequecy.
Missing autumn in the US, feeling so far from family & friends as always.
Last week I even missed my day at the BRC, something I promised myself I wouldn't do.
Am I feeling lonely, unneeded, unsettled? Not sure!

Today is Thursday, my BRC day.
I don't really do much there, just help fill prescriptions & file charts, but I love talking to the young people who also work there.
Everyone knows my interest in birthing & teaching, but any effort to organize a class or support group has been unsuccessful.
I decided to take a, "just let it evolve" approach, just let them know I'm here & available.
Today I spoke with 2 pregnant women & was assigned an office for my "pregnant" work.
One woman, from The Congo, I've heard about from the lawyers who help these folks apply for refugee status & the social worker - they told me she's pregnant from rape by Rwandan soldiers.
I don't ask her her story, we have a male interperter, she speaks French & Swahili.
I just ask her if she has questions about her pregnancy or if she needs anything.
We talk about exercises & how she's feeling.
She tells me she needs larger maternity clothes & some shoes, if that is possible.
I let her know I can be here for her for support & questions.
She asks if we can meet again next week, I'm surprised but happy.

Today was slow in the clinic, so I share stories with the young people (teens & 20's)
A Somalian woman is the oldest child in her family, her father dead, her mother used all their money to send this daughter for a better life, to save the family.
They were told she would go to America, but was left in Thailand & here she waits.
We call her Mona Lisa, because of her wonderful smile.
The Vietnamese man, whose parents helped the CIA during the war, has been here for 5 years.
The US has rejected their request for resettlement, he is always smiling & positive.
There is the Sri Lankan teen who wants me to bring her science books so she will not be so far behind in school when she gets to America to continue her education & become a scientist.
She always greets me with a big hug & welcoming smile.
The young man from Laos whose mom stopped by to ask him to wait for his sister to walk her home from the BRC school.
He explained that after his brothers were beaten up by a Thai gang, his mother worries about the children being safe.
Many Thai people resent the presence of these refugees, many come to the clinic beaten & battered.
He still always has a smile & kind word for everyone, he is gentle & humble.
There are others, all with smiles, all joking & appear to be happy.
Any feelings of sadness or self-pity melt away in this rustic, but welcoming place.
I feel at home, they accept me, they have no expectations of me.
Their smiles make me happy & I realize I need this place much more then they need me.

4 Oct
It's been a week since I wrote the above.
I returned last Thursday for the meeting with the pregnant Congolese woman.
I had put out a plea to the young moms I know here through my birthing group for clothes.
I got 4 bags of maternity & baby clothing, women were happy to help.
My French friend came with me this week to interpret, she was happy to be of service.
The pregnant woman was glad to have a woman interpreter, she smiled & leaned towards us.
She told my friend her story without being asked, she seemed to want to share, to tell someone who spoke her language.
It was a good meeting & made me again feel like I could make a difference, if just to put these 2 people together to talk & listen.
I have a doula friend who speaks Swahili & said she will meet with this woman also.
This makes me so happy, to connect people who are in need with those who wish to help.
I'm feeling happy & confident again - I know I need to spend my time at the BRC, it is my therapy, my antidepressant.

The Long Wait

The Long Wait
14 Sept. 2009
by JB Hubbell

I wait an hour to visit a Somalian family at the Immigration Detention Center in Bangkok.
An hour of waiting seems like a long wait to me, taken out of my busy life.
But what do I campare my wait to?
The Somalian family who has escaped their wartorn land,
To wait in an inhospitable country; searching for a better life, a dream, hope?
To have come so far and then to be captured and arrested, put away to wait again.
Waiting with a newborn & 2 year old son, sleeping on towels, eating only rice & soup.
Waiting each week for a one hour visit, the only time they can all be together, to be a family if only for an hour.
Waiting for release to parts unknown, waiting in this prison maybe for years.
How do I compare their wait to mine? Their lives to mine? I can't!
It is the fate of birth, of circumstance, of good fortune.
Our so different lives have crossed, I help them with small items to soften the wait - water, diapers, milk, fruit.
They help me with their wonderful smiles, to recongnize the resilience of hope and the dream of freedom, and to appreciate my blessings.
My wait is nearly over now, their wait goes on.
One day I hope to be told they are no longer here, I hope for their freedom, for an end to their long wait for a better life.
I am thankful for my "busy life", my hour no longer seems so long.

Sisters are for.......

Sisters are for......
17 Aug 2009
Wrote this while in the airport on my way from summer holiday in USA to BKK, already missing my sister.

Sisters are for...........

sharing a beer
getting up at 3am to take you to the airport
sharing a laugh, a hug, a house, an idea, a secret
sharing parents, brothers, nephews, great nieces & nephews...
sharing a thought
just sharing
tagging out with kids & parents
Uh Huh's
just being there
being annoying
sharing another beer
tickling
crying with
cooking with while sharing a beer
talking to
emailing
being honest with
teaching
learning
owing a beer to or possibly a thousand beers
constructive criticism
having Cute-ies
reminding you of all the stupid things you've done
never forgetting - anything
finding the best in you
making you feel better at just the right time
knowing what buttons to push & when
traveling with
forgiving & eventually forgetting (hopefully)
being a forever friend
unconditional love!!

So glad I have a sister, even if she is a Brat!!

Where Will I Scatter Her Ashes?

Where will I scatter her ashes?
By JB Hubbell
14 Aug 2009

It is difficult to imagine my mother ever being still enough to die, she is so full of energy & life.
So I force myself to think about her death, only because it seems so improbable, although logically it is inevitable.
If I don't think about it, I believe it will be too much for me to manage if it does happen.
We joke that she will outlive us all, but it isn't really a joke, I think most of us believe it to be true.

So I wonder, where will I scatter her ashes?
Certainly in the lake where we have had morning skinny dips for as long as I can remember.
Where we still dip each morning when I'm home, even into 51 degree water in late fall.
I would hope some of her ashes would wash up onto Isle la Motte where she loves to picnic & camp.
Of course on the beach by this beautiful lake, where we've spent hours talking, laughing, loving each other.
And in the kitchen where she seems to spend most of her time generously feeding her husband, her family & often it seems, half of Sunnywood.
I will hide some ashes in her secret chocolate hiding places that we all know about and often pillage.
Some has to go on the meadow so green with her love & care.
Then her garden which she tends to endlessly & joyfully, a cheerful & colorful greeting to arriving guests.

I would have to scatter some along the Sunnywood road where she walks each morning or skis whenever possible.
All around Sunnywood her ashes should go, as she's cared for so many, opening cabins, bringing food, cleaning the Big House, just being there.
More scattered along the Lake Shore Road where she rides her old red bicycle with determination & grit.
Some must go throughout the woods & fields that she's trod through in search of barberries for her amazing jelly,
Through prickers & pastures & poison ivy she wanders gathering those tiny berries, it isn't always fun.
The streets of Burlington might get a few ashes, but it has to be on New Year's Eve at 1st night in the freezing cold.

Then there is the open road, which she loves, but still never seems comfortable with, or maybe it's just her passengers that aren't!
She & my dad will travel at the drop of a hat, for graduations, births, weddings, sporting events, anything to be with & support their family & friends.
So I'll scatter her ashes from NY to Florida to California, with plenty of stops along the way.
And of course I must take some to France where we had a most special trip at her 80 mark.
Not sure I would have the energy to retrace the walk we made through Paris.
Can't forget Hong Kong at 85, must save some ashes for the Great Wall and maybe Mayo (it's really Mao) would be willing to share some space in his tomb.

I will be sure to save enough so that every person she's ever touched in her special & caring way will get to have a bit of this woman to keep by their heart,
to remind them what it is to have really lived and loved and to be loved by so many in return.
Naturally, there will be enough for each of her children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren to have the pleasure of spreading her ashes in places that are special for them.
And there will be some left over for me to keep in a chocolate tin so I can still feel her warmth, her caring, her wisdom, her love, her mothering.
One might think there would not be enough ashes from one person to be scatter so far & wide,
But my mother is a great woman, often larger than life, there always seems to be plenty of her to go around, I know in death it will be no different.

So where will I scatter her ashes?
It is good to think about, but just an exercise in remembering.
She is still so full of life, I think I might never get to fulfill this query,
And I am very happy not to!!


Author's Note: I have been wanting to write a poem about my mother for a few weeks now & had the title Ode to a Great Woman rumbling in my head. But last night I awoke suddenly with the thought, where will I scatter her ashes? I got up & wrote it down so that I would not forget & this morning I wrote the poem.

Dreams Friends

5 Aug. 2009

Dreams Friends
By JB Hubbell

Dreams - what do they mean?
Last night I dremt of a huge river
friends
the river swallowing my friends
I rescue one, it's hard
Later the others appear again, in the end, mysteriously.

Am I worried I will lose the friends I have?
But then reminded that with effort I will not?
They may go away for a long time, but if I look and wait, they'll always be there.

In the dream, two male friends drown, one in winter, ice.
Big river.
Dale sleeping on a large rock, sunning.
I see a wall of water coming, I can't tell her, I feel helpless.
She falls in just behind the wall as it passes her.
I can see her at the bottom, laying there, helpless.
I hesitate, why?
Another person is with me, I think my sister.
I go in, I find another person near the surface, struggling,
I push this person out to my sister.
I dive deep, I pull Dale up,
She's pale, still, dead.
I begin rescue breathing, she wakes, we are happy.
Time passes, we walk down the river,
We find others, they have fallen in, struggled and been rescued,
We are happy, we rejoice with them.
I wake up.

Hunting for Cedar

HUNTING FOR CEDAR WITH THE WISEMAN
by JB Hubbell
Written 2 August 2009 / took place early June 2009

The Wiseman, my father, creates furniture from cedar trees.
It is a family tradition, passed down from his grandfather.
For some reason, in the past, it’s only the boys who get the “training”.
Is it because they are the ones who show the interest or just how it’s always been?
I feel sad I was not more interested in the past; I decide to make an effort.
I go to the workshop hopefully to learn, but at the least to spend time with the Wiseman.

I watch his aged hands pull the drawshave along the raw wood that will become a leg for his table.
I observe as he measures, sands, fits the pieces together.
I note the joy and sometimes frustration on his face as he works the wood.
I regret not having observed these things before & not having learned this from him.
I am selfish when I ask that the next table be for ME.
I crave some legacy of his craft, his knowledge, his loving touch of the wood & his creation.

I am thrilled when he asks me to be his assistant in a hunt for new cedar.
“It is the season”, he says, “this is when the bark will peel easily.”
We choose our weapons – a bow saw, loppers & his trusted cane.
I follow him, feeling like a young child filled with trust & admiration.
I have images of a young Native American child following the wise elder into the woods to learn the craft of creating something from nature’s bounty.
He studies each tree with a trained eye.
He points with his cane, “this one is too thick, this one too narrow, that one too crooked,”
His cane follows the trunk up along with our eyes “this one is just right, cut it!”

I, the apprentice, cut the tree.
It is not easy work, but I know this will one day be a table, I visualize it.
We cut more trees until he decides it’s enough.
We drag them from the woods.
Together we peel the thick bark from the slick wood.
He is right, they are easy to peel.
We enjoy this easy task after our hard work of cutting & dragging.
We carry the wood to its drying place.
We smile at each other, a good day’s work!

I wonder at this Wiseman, who at times seems so frail and fragile,
But who managed the woods with energy & enthusiasm.
I wonder, will he make another table, will I get my legacy?
Then I realize, I don’t really care,
I’m satisfied to have just spent the time with him;
Sharing his wisdom, enjoying his presence, feeling his love.