Today's word is "REMOTE"

I was sitting outside, breathing in the freshly scented air with strains of the many flowers blooming in Chuuk, when I was overcome by feelings of being remote.  The remoteness of these Pacific islands is palpable.  I am one-third of the way around the planet from my home and family, and that is far enough to make it impossible to reach out and touch someone.  If we were farther west, we would actually be closer to "civilization" in the presence of the Philippines, Indonesia, Malaysia, and the Asian continent.  If I were asked to point to the part of the globe that is most remote, I would point somewhere near here.
Remote is such a well-worn word; we use it as a one-word noun to mean that electronic device we use to change TV channels, play a DVD, or even change the temperature on the thermostat.  That derives from the phrase "remote control", which is what it was called shortly after I lost my job as the primary means to change TV channels, by twisting the dial on the set.  That term came about to describe the wonder of being able to control the television without getting our fat butts up off the sofa, and at the time, it was a miracle.
The word "remote" really means something that is a great distance from anything else that might provide a context.  When we tell people that Chuuk is west of Pohnpei, or west of the Marshall Islands, there is usually no reference point for them to understand where you are talking about.  If we say, "south of Guam about 600 miles" only a few can place that on the map.  But if I tell someone that if they fly to Hawaii, they are half-way to Chuuk, they begin to comprehend.  Hawaii provides a reference point, a context.
In Oklahoma, remote means you live at least a half-mile from the nearest neighbor, and to really be remote your neighbors should be barely known.  In Chuuk, you are at least 400 miles from the nearest neighbor, and most people have never heard of that island.  That is REMOTE.
If you live within a close community, a city, some well-populated place, and you like having the feeling of being surrounded by other people, you wouldn't want to live in a remote place.  Heck, you wouldn't want to live in a small town.  But if you crave independence, and revere the concept of rugged individualism, you might want to get away from the city and travel to a place like Chuuk - a remote location.
That is what you get when you come here; a sense of separation and solitude and distance from the human spoilage of the planet.  We have telecommunications, when it is working.  We have electricity, and you can depend on it most of the time.  We have a community, albeit small.  But mostly we have the ability to breathe air that has no industrial pollutants, air that is scented with flowers.
That is because we are so damned remote!!

Christmas isn't white in Chuuk

As I sit in my house in Chuuk, the "Great Lake of the Pacific", I think of how Christmas time is back home in Oklahoma.  We long for a little snow, just to make it like the Hollywood version of Christmas, and we hope we don't get an ice storm instead.  But in the western Pacific, at 7.5 degrees north of the Equator, there is never snow.  We may have a wet Christmas, but it isn't white.
People do put up lights, shop for gifts, sing Christmas carols (along with some reggae), and behave as though they are filled with the Christmas spirit.  Even those who speak little English wish us a Merry Christmas!
Our television service expired last night at midnight; Christmas Eve went dark, as far as TV broadcasting goes, and although I went to our only Telecom and paid the bill, the one employee who is authorized to receive payments for television was off-island.  We will have TV restored when he returns, on Monday.  So we are spending Christmas day in a silent house, as we will on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.  We will miss so many football and basketball games.
Yet, it may be a blessing (you have to look hard to see that), since we are compelled to celebrate the true meaning of Christmas.  It's about hope, the hope that our pitiful lives may not be lived in vain.  Hope that our Creator has a plan to reward us, put us in a better place, save us from the broken state of our existence.  I suspect that the shepherds and Magi lived a lot like we do here, and they must have felt relieved that something good was happening.
Whatever your beliefs about Christ are, you have to admit that 2,000+ years later, his birth still brings hope to people.  We act different during this season, no matter how the weather behaves.  We remember that family and loved ones are more important than deadlines and profits and status.  All of us hope for a better life.
We also make resolutions for the new year and hope that this one will be the best ever.  In Chuuk, they beat on "drums" made of sheet metal panels, plastic barrels, and anything else that will resonate throughout the island.  I saw a group of children practicing their rhythm on Monday.  They continued to practice since then.  On New Year's Eve, they will be joined by thousands of islanders, and the sound will rock the island.  It will continue for three days, non-stop!  I don't think any of the drummers get any sleep.  It is a tradition that has been followed for a long time; it probably can be traced to a practice intended to drive away evil spirits.  I know it scares our dogs, and evil spirits probably want to avoid it, too.  If anyone believes that the Chuukese are lazy, let them come and observe the dedication of the noisemakers.  They just don't see the point in working hard for a vague purpose - at $1.50 an hour, there is little motivation to work yourself to death and sacrifice time away from your family, for some obscure goal of prosperity.  Prosperity is hard to come by in Chuuk.
So, to all my family and friends, may the blessings of the holiday season be upon you, and may you find love and joy in 2015.  Be thankful for what you have and tend to the relationships that sustain us all.

The medical tourist

I am back from a medical treatment in Manila, Philippines, and we finally have an internet connection again. Technology in the Pacific islands is in early stages of development; it is slow and not that dependable, yet we have jumped over the generations of tech and landed in a modern tech era, but without the substantial backup facilities that keep most of the world connected.
My treatment was for my eyes.  I have a condition called keratoconis, a weakening of the surface of the cornea that causes loss of vision and can eventually cause the cornea to burst, leaving its victims blind.  In the US, treatment involves waiting until the inevitable happens, then transplanting an artificial cornea and trying to get the thin surface to heal over.  At St. Luke's hospital in Manila, they do collagen cross-linking.  It is a procedure developed in Germany that uses a laser to excite molecules of riboflavin (vitamin B6) and incite the collagen fibers to link together and form a protective net at the eye's surface.
First, they scraped the surface of my eye.  That was the part I feared most, but it turned out to be the easy part.  Anaesthetic drops left me without sensation, and I only "saw" the wrinkled up surface tissue, not felt it.  Then, the B6 drops begin.  One each 5 minutes, followed by focusing on the laser.  Lying still and remembering to focus on the light is not as easy as it sounds.  An hour and a half later, the procedure was finished, and I emerged with hardly any vision in my left eye.  Over the course of the next week, the eye began growing new epithelial cells, and the "wound" healed over.  Ten days later, I was able to see 20/40 with my old glasses.  Most importantly, the surface of the cornea had doubled in thickness!  In a few months, the eye will have adjusted fully, and a new prescription will make my vision sharp as new.
It could be some time before this procedure is widely available in the US.  The FDA is not known for expediting new procedures.  However, for those million or so Americans who have keratoconis, hope is on the way.