News Trend Mr. Rich|Actual

He met us at the airport with a sign that read "Streicherdanquot; and a beaming smile.

He led us out into the steamy night air, scattering jokes and easy laughter like the stars in the Siem Reap sky.

Proudly, he directed us to his tuk-tuk - an open-air metal conveyance pulled by a motorcycle - and we obediently scrambled aboard.

And for the next twenty-four hours, our new friend chauffeured us around the archaeological ruins of Ankor Wat, the streets of Siem Reap, and the Cambodian countryside with a never-ending stream of funny stories, interesting quips, and good-natured teasing.

He took us to a great restaurant for a late-night dinner, told us all the best spots for photos in the ancient temples, and kept us well-supplied with icy cold water during the overwhelming heat of the day.

He also pretended not to know us when we returned to his waiting vehicle, calling out, "Tuk-tuk for hire! You ladies need a ride?!"

And when my enthusiasm for one last temple was flagging in the midday heat, and I asked him exactly how long it would take me to trudge through the jungle to see the finer points of this particular set of ruins, he looked me straight in the eye and dead-panned, "Just three hours." His twinkling eyes immediately gave him away, but he paused a perfectly-timed beat before laughing deep and heartily at my astonished face and his own sassy wit.

Suffice it to say, Mr. Rich was a pure treasure. And if you ever find yourself in need of a tuk-tuk driver in Siem Reap, Cambodia, you should definitely look him up.

News Trend Halong Bay: Prejudiced|Actual

Day One of our Halong Bay cruise had been absolute perfection. Sailing in and around hundreds of tiny islands dotting the teal waters of the South China Sea between northern Vietnam and China felt like heaven. When I awoke just after dawn on Day Two to find our junk already sliding past a seemingly endless array of these adorable islets, I wanted nothing more than to spend my morning up on the sun deck watching the beauty unfold.

Our itinerary, however, laid out a different plan.

7 a.m. Transfer from Victory Star Cruise to rowing boat to visit Vung Vieng floating fishing village. Rowers are local girls wearing traditional costume. It the opportunity to see the fisher's (sic) daily life with the primary features of the charming nature.

Well. That sounds all fine and good.

But honestly, I did not care one whit about a floating fishing village, whatever that might be. I'd been hoodwinked into a tour of a Vietnamese fishing village once before, and the place turned out to be a bunch of bored women sitting around in those red plastic chairs that inhabit every corner of Asia, and a pack of staring children wearing rubber flip flops.

^ Do not harsh my buzz, Victory Star. Just let me live in your dream world for just a few hours more.

When I realized that my daughters had every intention of joining the outing, I felt the first pangs of guilt. Since when am I Suzy Stick-In-The-Mud who turns down adventures to stay with the safe and familiar?

Most likely, I reasoned, the side trip would be a total bore. Mother and daughters would suffer through the morning together and then have a great story and a strong Boredom Bond coming out of it.

And in that pathetically narrow-minded condition, I boarded the tender headed for Vung Vieng.

^ Oh. Wait. We're riding in cute little wooden boats? And we do nothing but sit and goggle around at the scenery? Hmm. Alright.

And when I realized that all the rowboats were streaming off in the same direction, disappearing into an unseen passage between the islets, I was intrigued.

I felt like I had fallen straight into the plot of Dr Seuss' Go, Dog. Go!

Why are they going fast in those cars? What are they going to do? Where are those dogs going? Look where they are going. They are all going to that big tree over there.

^ Once we threaded our way through the passage and came round another corner, I saw and I understood. Scrappy little homes, painted discordant but intentionally coordinated colors. Quiet, save a few secara acak boys doing chores and a handful of barking dogs.

Okay this was somewhat cool.

Side note: There was a kooky pair of Brits with us, husband and wife, probably in their thirties. As we drifted by the houses, the man looked out of the boat and remarked in classic British precision, "It's not too deep here. I can see the bottom." In her perfectly clipped accent, dripping with sarcasm, she casually remarked, "In you go, then."

This became the go-to comeback line for the rest of our trip. "In you go, then."

^ But, charming as the quirky house boats may have been, my world was rocked when I saw what came next.

An opening.

A pass-through.

A magic portal from one world to the next, evidently carved by forces of water and clearly our new destination.

To the tree! To the tree!

Up the tree! Up the tree! What will they do at the top of that tree?

^ I took a million pics. But as we drew closer and began to pass directly under the massive rock, I put away my phone and just drank in the scene.

A dog party! A big dog party!

As we floated underneath, then turned round and paddled back out the way we came in, my mind's eye split into dual screens, one filled with the gorgeous beauty in front of me, the other recalling that classic scene in the picture book, where dogs of all size, shape and color are gamboling in party mode across the top of a giant tree.

Though I'd always envied their celebration, I couldn't help but think my morning was turning out much better.

^ In the moment, I could barely believe that this was actually happening to me. Even now, it mostly seems like a dream.

As we slowly circled back to our starting point, I gladly admitted to myself that my early doubts about the journey were wrong, wrong, wrong. Thank goodness I pushed back against my silly prejudices and gave the floating village of Vung Vieng a chance.

And as I climbed out of my rowboat, grinning with pleasure and filled with satisfaction, I felt just like the dog who speaks the final words on the last laman of my storybook:

"And now do you like my hat?(asks his frustrated lady friend.)

I do! What a hat! I like that party hat!"

News Trend Ben|Actual

Granted, this is hard to believe now, but back in my college days, we didn't take many photos. In fact, I have shots of only maybe a half-dozen friends from that era. But I have one of Ben.

And that says a lot. (He's the one in the middle.)

I had just finished an intense conversation with my friend, Nor Abdullah, when I first heard the news.

She's a lovely person - aunt to my first Malaysian friend, Jurie, and mother to my favorite international student, Aqil. Recently, I'd learned that, a few years back, she had lost a young son to cancer so I had asked her to tell me about her little boy.

Amierul was quite a character, she told me. Even as a toddler, he chose to speak English over his native Malay, and spoke it with surprising skill. Unequivocally, he preferred his birthplace of Washington DC over his Malaysian motherland, and when the family moved back to Asia, Amierul demanded to return stateside. He loved cars, and cleverly called out the make and contoh names as the family drove around town.

I listened as Nor Abudllah poured out the stories of her spirited son and thought what a tragedy it is when a person dies before his life takes on its full shape.

* * * * *

Moments later, as our conversation came to an end, I opened my news feed and in hopes of clearing my mind, began to scroll, Within the first few posts, I received a devastating blow.

To all of Brad Needham?S Facebook friends:

Brad?S family wants you to know that Brad passed away a few days ago in his sleep.

No. NO. Nonononono.

Now, I'd be struggling to wrap my head around the passing of any beloved college friend, but in so many ways, Brad was different.

Well. First of all, he wasn't really Brad.

To me anyways, he was always Ben. A nickname appointed to him before I came along, a nickname - simple, sturdy and completely without guile - that suited him so well that I couldn't imagine him as anyone else.

The words of the family's announcement flowed out from there, forming a perfect portrait of Ben's personality, and giving shape to the flood of memories and emotions awakened in me.

Brad was a gentle soul. He liked virtually everyone he met, was quick to greet strangers yet comfortable being an introverted loner.

So true. Ben was the very definition of affable. Like most college guys, Ben invested considerable time and energy in trying to attract the ladies. Bless him, he put forth a lot of effort for marginal results, but his lack of success never discouraged him. In fact, he seemed to carry a special fondness for the girls who shot him down, as if he felt more compassion for their emotional discomfort than his ow rejection.

Guys always loved Ben. He was quick-witted, self-effacing and non-threatening to other guys' mojo. The ideal wingman, Ben always stood ready to stir up conversation and create an opening for his buddies' exploits. Loyal and devoted, Ben lived by the bro code long before the term was coined.

He grew up in Portage (Michigan) and spent the vast majority of his years living there. He was happy and content being a “Portage guy” his entire life. He would want us to make sure we point out that he was the “Portage Northern Brad Needham” as he was often confused with the “Portage Central Brad Needham” that was around the same age.

This made me laugh through my tears. This is exactly the sort of quirky, verbally-nimble banter that made Ben tick. Artfully playful with words, Ben threw out song references, secara acak quotes, and funny quips with style and speed; and I'd heard him make this Portage Northern clarification any number of times. I'm so glad we got that issue cleared up, once and for all.

Brad was a good guy who was dealt some lousy hands and ultimately detoured from the better life we all felt he deserved.

After we graduated, Ben and I lost track of each other. Decades flew by. They were happy years for Ben; he married, raised a couple kids, loved his job of writing and editing ad copy. But by the time I caught up with him again on Facebook a few years ago, things had fallen a bit off track. In our private conversations, Ben laid bare for me the plain facts of his life, but he never complained. Quite the opposite. Facebook was a perfect lembaga for Ben's endless humor, he let loose a near-constant barrage of fresh and funny status updates. It was par for the course to find seven posts in a row from the guy, especially if the Tiger game was going badly.

While Brad died too young, he lived a good life, with much happiness and accomplishment.

That makes me so happy. By all accounts, Ben's life was full of light, laughter, and good-spirited fun. And while I would have wished for him more time, I'm deeply thankful for the life he lived.

* * * * *

As I slowly absorbed the news of Ben's passing, my mind circled back to my friend, Nor Abdullah. Near the end of our conversation about Ameriul, she'd told me that her son loved cars so much that he kept his toy fleet with him during his countless cancer treatments. And he held his favorite car in his tiny four-year-old hand in the very moment that he passed from this life into the next.

Such a sweet gesture of trust.

Such a profound way for a gentle soul to make peace with dying far too soon.

And while Ben most likely did not sleep with a toy car, I hope that when his time came, he held in his hand the same full measure of comfort and reassurance.

We give thanks to the Lord for taking him peacefully and quietly. We know he no longer has any sadness or suffering and we know the good heart he had puts him in good stead with God. We know that Brad will always be with us.

Amen.

News Trend Halong Bay: Perfection|Actual

^ Our cabin on the cruise ship was a perfect mash-up between Asian aesthetic and Western comfort.

But I didn't care.

The ship's spacious top deck, drenched in glorious sunshine, and its overhead rigging, snapping in the wind brought my senses into full sailing mode.

I was not impressed.

We stopped by an island to explore some caves and look down on our vessel, the Victory Star, from a bird's eye view.

I was unfazed, to say the least.

Because all I wanted to do on my two-day cruise to Halong Bay was stare out at those rugged green jewels and feast my eyes on the endless kaleidescope of their beauty as we slowly passed between them.

Words do nothing to convey their beauty.

Even photographs, worth a thousand words each, capture only the slightest hint of their beauty.

^ To drift among them in the morning mist, as their watercolored grey fades from dark to light on the distant horizon.

^ To see them explode with color and definition as the clouds part and the sun shines upon them, illuminating every detail.

^ To kayak up to the very base of them, running our fingers across the rough limestone and marveling at the majesty of just one of the two thousand islands that dot these mysterious jade waters.

(Okay I didn't risk taking my camera in the kayak but trust me, we were much closer than this view from atop the ship.)

^ To watch the sea turn gold as the setting sun dropped to the horizon and the entire world seemed at peace.

* * * * *

These are the only things I wanted to do on my visit to Halong Bay. And they alone made my first day among the islands absolutely perfect.

News Trend Sweet Danang|Actual

People ask me all the time, "What's so special about Vietnam?"

I suppose it's natural to wonder why a backwards little country on the far side of the Pacific has swallowed up my third-born daughter for the past three years.

I'll admit that at first, I didn't get it either.

But once I flew across the ocean, wiped the transcontinental sleep from my eyes, and took in the sweet city of Danang, I totally understood.

These scenes from this year's trip - my third - to my daughter's adopted hometown might help you understand too.

^ Coffee shops everywhere. A western phenomenon filtered through Asian sensibilities, these places never fail to delight me with their chic aesthetic and knack for interesting details. I downed a glass of an icy cold blended winter melon here and, between that amazing drink and these concrete and geometric tile floors, felt utterly refreshed inside and out.

^ Obviously, Vietnam does Vietnamese food well. But Danang restauranteurs have a keen sense for preparing Western food with a twist. Example: at Burger Bros, this conventionally delicious cheeseburger came with a side of eye-poppingly tangy slaw, and the combination was pure delight.

^ Is it the terra cotta tiles around the archway, the blooming vine, the ubiquitous cluster of motor bikes or even the standard blue address tile that charms the socks right off my feet? I don't know but every darling lebih jelasnya of this street scene is classic Danang.

^ Blended drinks are quite the rage here, and as a non-coffee drinker, I take advantage of the full range of options. Also, as a sun-starved Seattlite, I can't get over the fact that in Danang, you need your sunglasses every single day.

^ Sudden rainstorms blow in, just as they do in many tropical cities. But only in Danang have I tucked my rain-drenched poncho into the seat of my motor bike and taken refuge in a cozy coffee house to watch the rain pound down on the Han River while I wait out the storm.

^ It's my good fortune to visit Danang not as a tourist but as a guest of the Vietnamese people. Through my daughter, I've met many of her high-school and college-age students. They adore her and they readily embrace me too. Neither jaded against the west or overly timid around foreigners, the good people of Danang just want to be friends.

^ And that is the sweetest thing about Danang of all.

News Trend Halong Bay: Palatable|Actual

Food on the cruise was outrageous. As we plied the fine waters of Halong Bay, our meals were a symphony of dishes, varying from traditional Vietnamese fare to Asian inspiration all the way to Western fine dining. We ate:

• Oysters on the half shell as our very first dish.
• Crab cakes, an American classic, but presented with the cake stuffed back into the crab's shell.
• Japanese noodles served with mounds of steaming vegetables, all the usual Asian suspects.
• Fresh spring rolls that we made ourselves
• Platters of sweet and tangy pineapple, dragon fruit, and watermelon.
• And for our final encore, a medley of prawns and pineapple steeped in Malay-style sambal flavors.

In fact, each meal on the Victory Star was in perfect pitch.

Save one.

Before our early-morning excursion to Vung Vieng and the follow-up brunch, we had a light breakfast that caught me entirely by surprise.

Two types of pastries and bananas were provided. And cocoa krispies.

Yes. Chocolate breakfast cereal. On a Vietnamese junk on the other side of the world, I ate perhaps the most discordant of American culinary wrong notes.

My third-born explained that they are a favorite among the Vietnamese, and in that spirit, I decided to have a bowl.

They were as awful as I imagined.

But still, I'm glad I ate them. For better or for worse, my Victory Star meal plan was truly a rhapsody of international flavors and I can honestly say I tried them all.

News Trend Ranger Resists|Actual

On the eleventy-seventh day of sunshine in a row, I decided it was time for a break.

Well. We've actually had more like eight days of uninterrupted summer-y glory. But here in the Pacific Northwest, that feels like f o r e v e r.

So, my overheated brain deduced, let's save ourselves from the hot streets of Muktown. Instead of the usual daily march around the neighborhood, I'll treat Ranger to a walk in a shady place where we can stretch our legs in comfort.

With my fourth-born joining in, we ventured off in the late afternoon to the cool shadows of the local Boeing factory.

Just kidding.

But really, our destination lay just a few hundred feet beyond the Boeing parking lots, though a universe away in spirit.

Leafy and green.

Wetland, swamp, marsh and bog.

Crunchy gravel paths.

Silent save the singing birds and croaking frogs.

The Narbeck Wildlife Sanctuary was, in my mind, a perfect paradise for our afternoon walk.

Ranger, however, formed a different opinion.

Oh, at first, he thought it was all fun and games. Leaping from the car, his nose investigated every square inch of the parking area before we even hit the kisi-kisi. He busily sashayed along, red fringe-y tail wagging nonstop as his head stayed low to the ground, plowing through grasses and brush in his never-ending pursuit of scents. Ranger was entirely happy.

Until we came to the first boardwalk.

As with many trails around wetlands, this one is interspersed with wooden bridges that carry the hiker just a few inches up and away from the soggy ground. Some are mere walkways; others have wooden railings that protect the passersby from tumbling over a slightly higher rise, though none of the boardwalks are more than a foot off the ground.

My first hint of the impending drama came when, at a fork in the trail, Ranger spied the first boardwalk looming up ahead. Cleverly, he weighed his options and then decisively led off toward the one without the woodwork. But I had other plans, so I stepped down the trail leading to the boardwalk, and encouraged my dog to follow along.

Screeeeeeeech.

Ranger slammed on his brakes. All four feet dug into the gravel and my dog resisted me with every force in his body.

I smiled.

I laughed at him just a little bit.

Then I pleaded and cajoled, as I often do, to gain his cooperation.

Psh. Ranger can't resist me. He always gives in to my requests.

But my headstrong dog had other ideas. I was forced to haul his furry little body with all my strength, sliding him across the loose gravel for several yards until he finally gave in and resumed walking.

Good. Glad we got that behind us. Boardwalks are my favorite and I happily strode along, feeling quite pleased with myself and my brilliant ideas.

This happy glow lasted for, oh maybe another ninety seconds.

Because that's how long it took for us to pass through the section of boardwalk with the waist-high railings and reach a stretch of the flat walkway.

And at that point, Ranger promptly bailed overboard.

Alright fine. If the crazy beast prefers to four-wheel through the muddy underbrush while we walk in peace, so be it. But when we approached another section of the boardwalk with high railings, it was time to convince him to change his mind and climb back up.

Ranger was not having it.

This time, it took both my daughter and me to physically haul that feisty dog up over the edge of that walkway and then convince him to actually stand up and walk. And let me just say, it was a process.

This face may look innocent to the uninitiated, but I see flames of determination shooting out of those soft brown eyes.

My dog was straight mad.

Luckily, prayer works and after a Mexican standoff that lasted for a solid five minutes, he caved in and reluctantly agreed to get moving again. And thereafter, the kisi-kisi smoothed out, the evil boardwalks disappeared, and we could all walk in peace.

Our adventure lasted close to an hour, which these days is more than enough excitement to wear Ranger out. Surely, I figured, he will not miss his usual walk around the neighborhood.

But when we piled out of the car at home, one end of the leash clipped to his collar and the other draped around my wrist, Ranger gave me a look. And I knew exactly what he meant.

"Adventures are all well and good," said my boy as we set off on our usual route.  "But when it comes to our walks, there's no place like home."