JOURNEY - on Mastering Ukemi by Daniel Linden (classic books for 12 year olds .TXT) 📕

he had a chance. Chris was smiling and Curtis was watching the television in the corner and not paying any attention to whatever they were carrying on about. They saw me and waved. I should have thought of this earlier. Chris plus Curtis equals conviviality and that means a bar. I hadn’t been worried; we have a lot of days built into the travel part of the trip to handle small glitches and side wanderings.

***

I love Singapore Airlines. This is the way to fly if you are going to go overseas and they are anywhere near your destination or you can route with them. It seems like there is a beautiful (or handsome) flight attendant at hand whenever you merely think you might need something and the accommodations, food, entertainment, liquor, wine and fluff are the very best imaginable. And I’m talking about the cheap seats. I can’t even imagine what goes on up in first class.

Unfortunately we were flying Air France, and nearly the opposite is true of everything I just said. The French are not small people. Some are quite large. Why do they cram every possible inch of room out of the distance between rows and seats? I get to the point I just have to stand up and walk the aisles. Or drink myself to sleep, which makes for a miserable next day since we arrive in Paris at 1:00 A.M., New York time. In Paris it is 7:00 AM, still too early for croissant and cafe au lait. A hangover lasts all day, so it is best not to get too carried away.

When we arrived in Paris we were groggy, tired, and caffeine wired, with irritable stomachs and jet lag headaches. The process of clearing customs is an ordeal, but eventually you manage it and find yourself wandering around looking for exits and wondering what to do with your luggage until it is time to check into your hotel, which is, usually after 3:00PM.

“Sensei, is Oscar going to meet us at outside or the luggage carousel?” asked Christian.

“I don’t know.” I said.

“Really?” he asked.

“Yeah, he’s always found me, somehow. I don’t know how he does it. I’ve always meant to ask him.”

“Christian, I think Sensei is pulling your leg,” said Curtis.

“No, I’m not.” I said. “Every time I come over here it’s the same thing. I arrive, get off the plane and there’s no Oscar. But somehow, before I get to the weird point, you know, when we’re standing around and my wife is wondering if we should just get a cab…? Somehow, there he is. He shows up. Have faith.”

We wound our way down the long aisles. While we moved I watched how my four companions (I still think of them as students) moved along. They were observant and not intimidated at all. I thought that this was a good thing as this was about the least strange place we would encounter along our path to Tengboche Monastery and then to Gokyo Ri. I stopped beside a large pile of broke concrete that had iron bars embedded in it and sticking out at all angles. I motioned that I needed a moment and then began to rearrange my duffle, suitcase and other encumbrances. Chris and Curtis helped me get a better grip on everything and I thanked them. We continued on.

The whole experience reminded me of Hurricane Charley and the wreckage left in its wake. It slammed into the dojo at 9:00 PM Friday August 13th, 2004. I doubt if I will ever forget that date. Charley had one hundred mile an hour winds with gusts much stronger. It had come ashore a category four storm. Its first victim was the small town of Punta Gorda about one hundred fifty miles southwest of Orlando and it had raced across the state in four hours. When it reached us it was still a category two hurricane and it rolled over us like we were mere blades of grass. At the dojo, my home, we lost over a dozen major trees and about thirty smaller ones. My house and the dojo sustained much damage as the trees landed on the building roofs and were then tossed around like matchsticks.

In truth I was little worried that we were in danger of our lives even though over twenty people died in that storm. My house was built back in the nineteen twenties and it has survived hurricanes for going-on a century. I had boarded the windows and taken all the precautions that I could prior to its arrival. A couple students had helped and barely left before the first squalls hit.

Afterward the devastation was amazing. It looked as if bombs had gone off all over the city. Everywhere you looked there were huge trees down in the streets and on houses and automobiles. My own cars were buried under several trees but under the carport and were, amazingly, not even scratched. The building roofs were covered in trees that had to be cleared with chainsaws, deadfalls and a backbreaking amount of labor. By Sunday morning I had succeeded in clearing the greater part of the debris from the roof, but was almost immobile with the amount of work ahead of me. Then a student came up the driveway and asked if he could help. I almost wept. Soon another and then another and by ten o’clock there were eight pairs of hands doing the hard work.

They kept it up for four days, coming in shifts and staying until darkness or rain or exhaustion made them quit. Finally, by Thursday we were able to look around and see we were closing in on it. We still had five big trees to cut up and clear, but there was more grass than debris and I made the decision to cut the grass. It would act as a mulching engine to help get rid of the smaller debris that made everything look so