Dear  Mi,

I have not spoken or written in a long time. I hope you and all the family are well.

I am well – very well – I’m glad to report. Business is still bad, relationships are non-existent, the weather is terrible, and still I feel good.  It must be the vitamins I am taking.

My sister prescribed some fish oil and Vit D capsules. Also vit A, Calcium, magnesium etc.

Anyway, they seem to be doing the trick for me.  Either that or I am in a manic up swing and the crash may be expected soon.

I am doing a drawing class at North Seattle Community College. Figure drawing. Very good instructor. I am also taking an acting class at the same college. That is so much fun.

I have a small scene to play for our final production. Do you know the movie, ’The Producers’ ? I am one of the characters, Bloom, who is a shy, nervous accountant.

I am painting a lot so that is keeping me busy too.

Axx Pottery, or more specifically, L L and I designed a container garden for the show. It’s fun but also competitive, like the Olympics with Gold, Silver, and Bronze medals. L L’s and my container garden were the absolute best. The judges couldn’t grasp that fact.

And then there was my work as the Shah or Pasha of Persia. I was in a garden designed by Judith and Vanca and although it was quite spectacular, the judges couldn’t grasp that fact either and gave them a ‘Crystal Medal’ (somewhat less than a bronze) Judith promptly decided that the crystal was actually a ‘Diamond Medal’. 

The setting fro her garden was the palace of the Pasha/King of Persia. Do you know the tale of Shaharazad from ‘A Thousand and One Nights’? Shaharazad was the Pasha’s  concubine and was supposed to tell stories to keep him amused. If she stopped telling him stories he would cut her head off. And I was to do what Kings do, which is to look great, followed by not doing anything at all, followed by cutting people’s heads off.  Our garden was easily the funnestgarden and beautiful too. There were two beds, a divania (Arab couch), benches and cushions. I even slept in one of the beds. Judith and Vanca who are both about 70 years old,  both dressed like belly dancers. I was dressed as a Persian/Arab king, complete with Turban.

All went well at the show except for a turban malfunction on the first day. I don’t know how to wrap a turban - all Indians are not born with that skill!  A week before the show I went looking for a turban in suburban Lynnwood.  That's not as ridiculous as it sounds. There are a few Indian shops selling produce, videos, and saris. I thought it would be easy to find a turban in one of them. I was looking for a ready-made turban so I wouldn’t have to wrap it myself (not having the turban gene and all)

The guy in the shop laughed at me incredulously when I asked for a ready-made turban. Turns out, there is no such thing as a ready wrapped turban. They are not like bow ties that you can just clip on. The only way to do a turban is to wrap it. Turbans are like sharks: 5 thousand years of civilization and they haven't evolved at all.

 I saw a huge business opportunity: Imagine all the thousands of Sikhs getting ready for work everyday and spending 30 minutes or more tying the thing on their heads. Wouldn't they like to 'clip-on' a turban? The market is huge and the production is simple. It’s perfect. I still cannot believe no one has thought of this before.  Next thing I want to work on is Zip-up saris. And then, for Sikhs again, a crash helmet in the shape of a turban. Years ago there were huge protests in England over the Helmet Law.  Sikhs were up in arms at being forced, against their religion, to remove their turbans and wear crash helmets (while riding motor bikes). I don't know how that turned out but I'm guessing some clever lawyer proved that a turban is as good as a crash helmet at 100mph. 

Anyway, finding that there are not any Wready-Wrapped-Turbans (see how the marketing mind is working?)  I decided the next best thing to do was to find a Sikh.  I thought , “where am I going to find a Sikh?”, but then I saw a Sikh Temple. Yes, in Lynnwood.  Inside there was a ceremony going on. In a side meeting room I saw a lot of children running around playing while their parents were chanting in the main chapel. I asked one of them if there was an adult around with whom I could speak. Before I could protest, they dashed into the chanting hall and dragged out their dad. I explained that I need to learn how to tie a turban because I was going to be a Pasha and a concubine was going to read me stories and pashas should have turbans and that I didn’t mean to disturb his prayers and I could certainly come back later. He was so nice. He asked me why I wanted to learn, and, when he was satisfied that I was not going to mock him, he invited me over to his house that night for a lesson! Talk about hospitality. Can you imagine that?  

So that night I went over and he had guests but, regardless, he began to show me how to tie the turban right in front of everyone. I think I was the entertainment. He gave me one of his turbans. It is a really complicated thing. You start with a piece of cloth (that's all it really is) about 20 feet in length and 4 feet in width. Tie one corner onto a door knob and stretch the fabric from the opposite corner, sort of diagonally. Several clever twists and flips and it becomes narrow and “like a tube” he told me. Then the wrapping begins. He did it perfectly.  50 years of practice and an attention to detail made him very good at this. He did it on himself first and then on me. I am about 12 inches shorter than he is so it looked a little top heavy on me, but it was still nice and neat and a bit, if I say so myself, regal. Then it was my turn to try. I tried several times and each time it was a mess.  He was not happy.

So he offered to come to my house in the morning and tie it for me!  Incredible! Only trouble was that he has to be at work very early - like 7 am - at Boeing in Everett. He wanted to stop over at 6.30 in the am and tie my turban for me. I'm not ungrateful but I am a late riser and I almost began to negotiate the time with him. I thought, also, of asking him if he could come in on Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday as the show went on for 4 more days but then my sense of empathy returned.

So, he came to my house bright and early – he was bright and I wastoo early - and tied my turban for me, wished me well and reminded me not to lie down while wearing a turban. Then I took a nap...

Hence the turban malfunction later in the day. Tying it on myself later during the show was a disaster and  the turban fell off altogether. That’s when I gave up. It also occurred to me that an Afghan turban looks a lot like my carelessly wrapped Sikh turban and it might have been dangerous to be looking in any way Talibanish.

I had to leave the show after the second day because of a pink eyeissue. They were a lovely deep ruby color - a bit like a rabbit's but not as clear.  I didn’t want to get everyone at the show sick because I know that pink-eyes is very contagious. 80,000 people visit the show.  Turns out it wasn't pink eye at all although that's what they treated me for at first. The doctor is a bit like a mechanic changing your U joints in his first bash at solving your car's wobbling problems. The antibiotics did nothing so next they tried an antihistamine eye drop on me. That's $40 CO-PAY or about $5.00 per drop! See if that doesn't bring tears to your eyes. Well, that didn't work either although my eyes are now a pretty shade of pink. In fact, the whole world looks better.  

Its the same old thing again. I am a medical mystery man.

There is not a single condition I have had that any doctor has been able to conclusively diagnose. Nor have specialists, blood tests, MRI's or acupuncturists been able to help. But it seems I always get over my conditions regardless, or in spite of medical attention. There is a good reason that doctors are said to ‘practice medicine’. It’s that they never get really good at it.

About 21 years ago I got really sick with what they diagnosed as hepatitis. Hepatitis is the generic term for diseases of the liver but mine, they told me, was not A, not B, not C, nor any of the alphabet. Yet they insisted it was a kind of hepatitis, the cause of which is unknown.

Then, 5 years ago it was the sniffles that lasted for 3 months and had nothing to do with a cold. That cost thousands of $ in tests including, I think, the first ever 'nose' MRI. They had quite a job placing me on the gurney so that they could fit my nose into the giant donut MRI.  I was stretched out like the Concorde. They found nothing, of course, but after that I got better. I have the picture of my nose still and it also shows a little bit of my brain which is fascinating in itself.

Then,  just a few years ago there was the aches in my feet, thumbs, knees. It problem turned out to be, not my feet, thumbs and knees but my imagination. And once I had funny things in my eyes where everything looked zig-zaggy. That, they thought, was a torn cornea but it turned out it wasn't anything at all.  A couple of years ago, in Portland, I collapsed on the street and hit my head on the pavement. Thousands of dollars later they had no clue as to what happened to make me faint...but they did conclude that I had, indeed, hit my head on the pavement.

No one could figure out a single thing about all these afflictions. It reminds me of a Woody Allen joke about the guy who goes to his therapist and complains that he thinks he has Hypochondria. The therapist assures him that he does not:  "You don't have hypochondria," he says, "you just think you have hypochondria."

Now I’ve gone back to another doctor and they said…I cant remember what the said… but they prescribed more drops for me. These are literally an $80 co-pay!  Aren’t you happy you don’t have to deal with this crazy insurance there. (or do you?) do you have universal health insurance in Taiwan?

Other than all the mystery ailments, I am doing fine…except for the memory thing. The other day I was home painting in my studio when I got a call from the police.

“Did you just call 911?”

“No”

“We got a 911 call from your phone less than 5 minutes ago”

‘No I didn’t call, is this a joke? Who is this”

“ No joke, sir, this is the Edmonds Police department. We got a call from your phone. we heard a lot of furniture moving. Was that you?”

“That sounds like me”

“Is everything ok? “

“Yes, everything is fine. Are you sure it was my phone?”

“Yes. Is your address 75xx 212^th st?”

“No, that’s not my address”

“What’s your address, sir?”

“Is this serious? Feras, is that you?”

“Its serious sir. What address are you at.?”

“I’m on 76^thAve, not 212^th st. My address is…21..wait,…23…no, its 2030…I cant remember, it starts with a 2”

“You cant remember your own address?”

“Wait, I think I can….its  210…something. No I cant remember it”

“Can you go outside and look at the address on the street”

“Ok”

So I walk out to the street and look at my fence and realize there’s no number there. I removed it when I painted the fence and forgot to put it back.

“Officer, there’s no number here. I just can’t remember my address, but I’m right next to the 711 store”

So I waited for a minute and then he drove up.

Asked me again if everything was ok and then bye. That’s it. I would have thought he’d come in to make sure everything was ok. Suppose I was a murderer and just killed someone who called 911 just before I killed him. Then I was dragging the body around, which explains the loud furniture moving sounds. And that was why I didn’t know the address. Its obvious. But the cop didn’t even bother to investigate. It didn’t sound suspicious to him

“It must have been a ‘butt dial’”, he said.

I have never heard that term before.

Today I made sure I put up a sign on the fence with my street address on it.

I should also write it on a sign and hang it from my neck. ‘if lost please return me to 21xxx 76^th ave west, Edmonds”

Well, that’s the news from Edmonds.

A kiss for D

Chris