Counting by 7s(50)

I don’t make a chart and monitor the percentage of germination, because I don’t do that anymore.

But it crosses my mind, which is interesting.

Dell and Mai are both excited when they see the small, green seedlings.

Before I can stop him, Dell gets all gooey and over-waters everything.

Quang-ha acts like he couldn’t care less, even though his single seed sprouted and already looks bigger than the others.

I find a doodle of the seedling on a pad of paper near the TV.

It’s very precise, so Quang-ha had to have gotten very close and taken a real look at his new plant.

In his picture, the seedling is growing out of the top of a man’s large head.

I’m not sure why this pleases me so much. I say:

“Quang-ha, do you think I could have this drawing?”

His eyes don’t leave the television. He makes a noise, which I can only describe as some form of a grunt.

“Is that a yes?”

He waves his hand in my direction.

I take it to be some sort of positive gesture because there are no fingers involved.

I put the drawing of the man with the germinating brain in my room on the wall where I can see it when I roll over.

Mai is very happy that I have something up, even if it’s just a picture that her brother drew.

She has been decorating since the first day we moved in.



The Helianthus annuus are fine for now in their containers, but they will need to be transplanted.

Quang-ha hears me refer to the sunflowers in this way and laughs.

Teenage boys are so easily amused.

But very soon the H. annuus will all need more space.

I don’t want to talk about relocation. It’s too uncomfortable all around.

My social worker has told me that they are actively looking for a foster parent to take me.

I’ve had three home visitation checks.

All three were fine because we do all now live at the Gardens of Glenwood.

For now at least.

I’m here on a temporary basis, but each day gives me more time to adjust to my new reality.

So I need to be grateful.

That’s what I’m working on.

Dell comes over for dinner and we eat bún riêu and bánh cu?n. I think Dell is developing a real taste for the food, because he takes seconds on the rice balls.

I pick my way through the meal and when the timing seems right, I say: “I want to thank you all for what you’ve done for me.”

No one answers.

It’s like I pulled a rotten fish out of the refrigerator and placed it on the table. My words have a smell.

Everyone goes from looking uncomfortable to embarrassed, and then Quang-ha just gets up and takes his plate and leaves the table.

I know he wasn’t one of my early supporters.

But they don’t realize what a difference they’ve made for me.

Or maybe they do and they are just keeping the knowledge to themselves.



I go to sleep early but I wake up every hour.

In the morning I decide that I’ve done a disservice to myself in terms of my physical achievement.

This is another way of saying that since no one thinks being motionless for hours is any kind of sport, I’m very challenged, athletically speaking.

I think exposure to something new can’t help but generate interest, even if you feel out of it and on your own planet.

Dell comes in this afternoon from his exercise regime and he’s red-faced and sweaty.

He may be exhausted, but he looks alive.

I’m interested in that.

So I take a big step. I say:

“I’m thinking of running.”

Quang-ha hears me and his weird giggle returns. I don’t look at him. I keep my eyes on Dell, who says: “Really?”

I continue:

“What I meant is that I would like to start training. And I was hoping that you could help me.”

Quang-ha is really giggling now, and he’s not trying to hide it anymore.

But Mai comes out of our room. She shoots a hard look at Quang-ha and says: “I’ll do it too.”

And with that, our running education begins.



I need athletic shoes.

I only wear work boots everywhere, and you can’t jog in those. Mai already has running shoes because she uses them in her high school gym class.

The following day, she and I walk to the Salvation Army.

She points to three shelves with used shoes and then disappears to look at a raincoat.

It really doesn’t rain much around here, but Mai has strong feelings about fashion and she’s spotted some kind of designer rainwear.

I begin going through the shelves, and I’m surprised to find a pair of track shoes that actually fit well.

The Old Me would have obsessed about the possibility of a contagious medical condition being passed on from someone else’s footwear.

The New Me has been a patient in a hospital and gotten a lot out of that experience.

So my only objection is that the running shoes are bright pink, with hot-purple laces.

Once I put them on, I feel like a flamingo.

With the exception of the color red, I always wear earth tones because I’m blending into my environment. This is important for observation.

But I’m not in any position to complain, so I smile with my lips closed and say that the flamingo footgear is terrific.