Bangkok has lots of gates. Our suburban expat community and its subdivisions have entrances manned by guards, many of whom salute and click their heels as if we were commanding officers. Homes inside the community often have waist-high gates at the end of the drive, with the doorbell at the street. Outside this area, local homes have gates twice as tall, many with spikes at the top. Some are simply solid, moving walls.
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I had things to do, so many things. I had to write this column, finish a book proposal, edit two reviews and write another. The Easter Bunny required provisions and the daily tasks called -- the groceries, meals, homework, laundry. I also needed to hire a moving company, buy a house on the other side of the world, and figure out how to ship our cat across three continents. We're moving back to Canada in June; I've a lot to arrange, kitty included. I did none of these things. I skipped town.
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We have not discussed bodies placed in the earth that do not biodegrade: substances that degrade. I got a look at these two years ago, when a field near our complex turned into a waste dump. The area, about the size of a soccer pitch, separates our walled parking lot from a Thai primary school, whose students we hear singing patriotic anthems at outdoor assemblies.
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Last month's "Birthing the Mother Writer" column asked readers to submit poems about the mother-daughter relationship. Cassie chose this one by Elise Ambrosio Schneider, which then led to an interesting conversation between the two mother-poets
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All week, I'd been listening, horrified, to NPR news reports of seventeen-year-old Trayvon's murder -- how a self-appointed vigilante gunned him down because he felt threatened by this young black man's presence in his gated community. The murderer, George Zimmerman, who at this writing has yet to be arrested, claims he killed Trayvon in self-defense, despite the fact that he pursued Trayvon, and that Trayvon was armed with nothing more than a packet of Skittles and a bottle of tea. That could be my son. President Obama had the same reaction. "If I had a son," he said, "he'd look like Trayvon."
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