I’m not talking to Rohemon, our resident gardener and pond thief! I might not speak to Rusnati either–they must be in cahoots.

Prior to leaving Jakarta last month, I had a nice friendly chat about the pond with Rusnati, who assured me that Rohemon was well aware of my hatred of the sly, ugly, mottled, bewhiskered goldfish gobbling ikan lele he has been growing in the pond. We had an understanding–at least I thought we did. The ikan lele were big, almost big enough to eat, then. By the time I returned home, those lele would have been dinner, and I’d have my pond back to grow whatever fish I wanted–cute, bubbly goldfish at least;  dead skin gobbling spa fish at best.

It was dark and I was tired when I arrived home Wednesday evening, and frankly, I’ve been so befuddled since that I haven’t wanted to face anyone, so I’ve stayed inside the last couple of days. But today is an Indonesian holiday so the house is mine! Early this morning, I wandered outside to inspect the pond. My heart rhythm began skipping to a happy beat when I saw it. Sweet Rohemon had culled the water  hyacinth so now, it barely covered a third of the water surface. The waterfall was in full operation, splashing gaily into the cool, clear, apparently monster ikan lele-free water! Yippee!

Just to be sure I watched and waited, taking care not to cast a shadow over the water. (Those ikan lele are sneaky buggers.) A trio of sapu-sapu, algae eaters, lazily fanned their tails as they sucked the rocks, that was all. The only sign of fish life. I stood, conjuring an image of  the happy fish I’d stock my pond with, the bright cushions I’d buy to line the edges, the way my feet would soon be tickle-tingling as I sat sipping wine while tiny fish nibbled my toes…what joy!

What fodder! The murderous monster ikan lele aren’t gone!  They were hiding. Lurking in the shadows. As the first kernel of fish food hit the water, one darted out, then another. At least three of them. Longer, fatter and more sinister looking than when I left.

I have good news and bad news:

Good news is my ears are not so red or swollen. Not to say they are back to normal. They are still flaming red, but at least small enough to tuck under a hat, or hide under hair–if I had long hair.

The bad news is that this dreaded “red ear” condition has morphed into a body rash. A blotchy, itchy, red rash. I am reminded of David Shannon‘s A Bad Case of Stripes. Heroine, Camilla Cream loves lima beans, but gave them up because her friends hated them and she wanted to fit in.

A lack of lima beans did Camilla in; what am I lacking?

For some fortuitous reason, I am often in Singapore when health issues strike: last time it was an eye infection; the time before that an appendix attack. This time, because my flight arrived in Singapore at 1:00 am and the next flight out wasn’t until morning, I’d booked a room for the night and scheduled an eye exam in the morning, with a flight out that afternoon.

In the same way damp hair drips down your back and spreads, I could feel the rash spreading during the long, long, 20 hours it took to fly from Los Angeles to Singapore via Tokyo. I’m thinking the girls seated next to me wondered about all that scratching and wiggling that went on under my blanket during lights out. Periodically, I’d slink off to the restroom to cool the rash with water and reapply Cortaid, which helped some. But by the time we landed in Singapore, I was determined to add one more doctor check to my list.

Ah, we love Singapore doctors. While waiting for my eye check, I called my regular doctor’s office and was told they’d fit me in as soon as my eye check was finished. Dr. Lim, took one look at my rash, talked me through the ususal rash causing suspects–alergies, insect bites, “no” “no” “no”–then called a dermatologist who fit me right in.

Turns out my rash isn’t of the normal, ate something strange or tangled with the wrong plant variety. It’s a “bull’s eye or target rash” meaning the red splotches are more like rings with white centers. Thus indicating that the rash is systemic. A virus perhaps contracted from someone with cold or fluish symtoms. The Dermatologist asked if I had been in contact with anyone coughing or sneezing. I laughed and told him that could be any of hundreds of people as in the past week I had been on 2 trains and 4 planes and at a 4th of July Spectacular…..

Still, as I scratch and itch, duly take the medicines the doctor ordered, which include topical cream, an antihistamine and steroids to bring down the rash, I keep returning to my friend Sydnie’s theory of dis-ease as related to my swollen ears: what was I not wanting to hear? And of Camilla Cream in Bad Case of Stripes: what am I doing, not doing,  or suppressing?

What’s odder, the rash didn’t spread from my ears down as one might expect. Instead, it skipped my neck, chest, shoulders and lower half of my legs and is instead concentrated on my underarms, hips, thighs and legs–all the fatty bits. So, does this mean in an effort to “fit in” or not…I’ve been eating too much and my body is rebelling? Or are my body parts rebelling because I haven’t been exercising? Or??????  Help Camilla! Help David Shannon! Help Sydnie! Help me unravel the meaning behind this bull’s eye rash before I scratch myself into oblivion.

bull's eye rash on my thigh

My ears are even bigger and redder and more sticky-outty now

It’s the Monday after 4th of July. I’m in LAX, waiting for the flight that will wing me back to Jakarta after a month away. Too long to be gone from Curtis and home. As a fitting end to a whirlwind trip, I’m in Reno visiting my  mom and my brother, Joe and his family, Joanne his wife, Devin and Grace their as Garrison puts it “handsome and above average” children.

Getting here Friday was no easy feat. My flight overflowed with disgruntled families–iincluding a 5some which had been separated due to a plane switch (a major problem because their youngest child had cerebral palsy and was wheelchair bound). The mother , fuming and shooting sparks, blocked the check-in counter so no one else could be served because the United Airline desk folks wouldn’t/couldn’t rearrange seats so they could be together; and a family of seven, including 3 children under 8, who had also been separated as a result of the plane switch. While the first mom ranted, the 6 year old from the second group disolved in tears after discovering hers was a lone middle seat several rows in front of her parents, and refused to budge from the aisle. Add to this, a young family with 2 toddlers seated behind a blousy bleached blonde middle-age crazy who turned and screamed several times for the tots  to “shut up, I’m trying to sleep.” A rant to which the tots mother responded by calling the flight attendance and complaining (while the 1st and 2nd mother shouted out supporting “crazy lady” theory evidence.)   From my cozy window seat, I watched, as one does a reality show, glad their drama wasn’t my drama.

My second flight, from Denver to Reno, saw a completely different cast of characters–down right boring in comparison. Anticipating a restful flight,  I was alternately dozing and reading when the pilot turned the fasten seatbelt sign back on and announced the generator had failed, as had the restart attempt and 1st back up, so we were RETURNING TO DENVER!!!!! We were almost, but not quite, at the half-way mark…if we had been there, or past it, we would have flown on to Reno. Electricity, pashaw! I thought, Chicken Shit! Don’t turn back–get me to Reno!!!

5 hours later than original scheduled, I collected my way too heavy bags (60 & 58 pounds–do we really need 1 pound jars of peanut and almond butter and 3 bottles of Anne’s Goddess Dressing?) and staggered out to the rental car shuttle stop. The sky was bright, the sun hot, and I sweated and waited…and waited…and waited…

…and finally dug out my Thrifty Blue Chip card and called the number on back to ask about the tardy shuttle. Fancy this: Blue Chip info keeps banker’s hours. Now that’s what I call service: a “preferred customer” number that is closed when the supposed “preferred customer” needs them! After unearthing my reservation from my wad of receipts and reservations and dialed Thrifty Reno’s direct number, a cheery someone informed me:  “There aren’t shuttles anymore as we are now on sight” and all I have to do is come back inside—me and my4 bags and purse–did I forget to mention my 3rd and 4th bags, a carry on rollerboard and overstuffed purse?–trudged back inside to the desk, finished the reservations, retreived the keys and walk across to the parking garage. What joy! Was this roased turkey supposed to be happy?

My friend, Beverly, is fond of saying “a bad beginning makes a good ending.” That being the case, we’d have to pretend that the ending happened 4th of July midnight–after 2 days with family. Mom and I shopped and ate and drove and laughed, and spent lots of joyful time–taco night on the patio with Joanne and kids, Sunday picnic with the whole family; and the fireworks spectacular in Sparks! The 4th of July celebration was such fun that even the hour wait in a fume-filled garage afterwards, couldn’t mar it. However….

I awoke this morning at 2:51 am! (9 minutes early as my 1st flight departed at 5:30. )–scratching the top of my foot and what look like bug bites all over my thighs.  Worse, were my ears–my dainty, shell-like ears, my grandmother’s favorite ears, the very same delicate ears which prompted her to tell me to “pull your hear back so your ears show” more times that I can count–were bright red, swollen, itchy and sticking out from my head like those of Snow White’s 4th dwarf, Dopey.

Now, several hours, ice water and aloe vera dressings later, I’m  worse. The “bug bites” have spread from the back of my thights to the fronts,  my arms and chest. And despite repeated applications of Cortaid and several Benadryl tablets, my ears have passed through “Dopey” to “Dumbo” as in,  the flying elephant (no comments, please, I am well aware of the implied implications of that comparison…)

While laminting my swollen ears and reliving the last couple of days to uncover something I may have eaten or used which could have caused such a reaction, I’m recalling a bout of larangytis.  My friend, Sydnie, a Christian Scientist, told me then that she believes disease is actually “dis-ease.” That when a person is ill, which ever part of the body is ailing  is reacting to repressed feelings. In the case of my sore throat, Sydnie suggested it meant I was “not saying something I should be,” that I was holding back, staying silent rather than addressing an issue.

I wonder what Sydnie would have to say about my ears????