Acupunture at the Norman Bethune Hospital

In January, 1975, the National Guardian newspaper, a radical, independent weekly and the Chinese government sponsored a three week tour for American farmers. My husband Marty and I were excited to be invited.

We travelled through six major cities and their surrounding areas, tasting every aspect of Chinese life, as guests of the Chinese government. There were twenty-two in our party, including our coordinator from the United States. Two or three translator/guides accompanied us throughout our travels in China. In each of the regions we visited, local officials joined us to enlighten us about their work, and the history and culture of each site.

One of the most memorable events of the tour was the visit to the Norman Bethune Hospital in Shih Chia Chuang. Dr. Norman Bethune, a thoracic surgeon from Montreal, relinquished his privileges at state of the art hospitals in Canada in 1939 to establish the hospital in Shih Chia Chuang. As a young man he vowed to do something great for humankind.

The use of acupuncture for anesthesia fascinated us. We were fortunate to observe three surgeries on the day of our visit that used this method. The first was of a young soldier having his tonsils removed, who seemed quite comfortable. He was in uniform and was sitting in a chair that looked like an old dentist’s or barber’s chair. Maybe he was getting his teeth fixed and his haircut at the same time! When the procedure was completed, the soldier got up from the chair, acknowledged us, put his hat on, and walked out of the hospital. We witnessed a woman having a thyroid operation, and a man who underwent open-heart surgery; each person showed no signs of pain.

The operations were not viewed from a glass-enclosed amphitheater, with video and audio enhancements. Twenty-two people crowded around the operating table and carefully managed not to trip on electric cords or overturn washbasins. We wore gowns, hats, and masks, along with plastic sandals. The only way that we could identify each other was by the color of our socks.

Forty years ago, the Bethune Hospital was one of the few facilities in China that provided treatment for serious illnesses. Today this hospital is part of a complex of prominent medical centers, which include The Norman Bethune College of Medicine of Jilin University.

 

images

 

 

 

 

.

 

Wyoming: Butch’s Place

Butch’s Place, a western -style tavern comes complete with swinging doors, tables covered with red and white checkered oilcloth, and posters of locally produced ale and whiskey. A single gas fired stove provides heat for the dining area. The tavern, on Route 10 in Kirby, Wyoming, (population, last count, 375) between Thermopolis and Worland has been a landmark for over twenty years.

ls

Of course the main attraction to Butch’s Place was Butch. Marty and I don’t remember Butch’s last name and never knew his first name. He was just Butch. His wife, Linda helped manage the restaurant and also held a job working for the Town of Thermopolis.

Butch was a gregarious, accommodating host. He was known for his “okey doky” to any request. In spite of Butch’s claim that he didn’t cook, just “only put food together” there were several items on the menu that were unique to his establishment. A favorite amongst the children were the twelve -ounce hamburgers, whether they were ordered unadorned or smothered. His was one of the first restaurants in the area to serve buffalo burgers, cooked to perfection. A single order of chicken salad was large enough to satisfy a family of four, and the lightly grilled sirloin finger steaks were a delicious specialty. One dish that I haven’t seen before were his “hog wings”, which are pork shins, about the size of chicken drumsticks, very tasty and tender. They were cooked so that the meat fell off the bones.

A few years ago, Butch retired and sold the business. Although the food was still good, twelve- ounce burgers were no longer served, and we missed Butch’s and Linda’s camaraderie and conviviality. The tavern might have changed hands more than once.

You can imagine our surprise, upon visiting Wyoming last winter, to learn that Butch’s Place had closed. The rumor is that the recent owner’s girl friend decided to put pool tables in the dining area, which infringed upon the seating capacity and detracted from the character of the eatery. One of the employees was enraged and pulled the plugs on the refrigerators and freezers. The food was contaminated and it took quite a while before the restaurant was cleaned, sanitized, and safe to be used. To date, nobody has shown any interest in rehabilitating the facility and starting up again.

Back in Thermopolis, we observed other changes. Restaurants come and go for many reasons. As a result of a poor economy there were fewer bathers at the pool. In other years the pool was crowded with visitors from neighboring communities, particularly over the weekends. There were winter athletic meets at the high school and participants from different schools usually included a swim in their busy schedules. We may not have been in Thermopolis during the right week, but the out of town athletes were also rare.

The Quality Inn that we’ve stayed at has the capacity to park the tractor-trailers operated by truckers working in the oil patch. They haul large pipe, massive generators and other equipment to nearby oil fields. With the glut of oil and low prices for fuel, many oil wells hat have been capped and thousands of people have lost their jobs. This has had a ripple effect on the entire economy in the region. Consequently, truckers at the motel were not as numerous as other years.

Thermopolis is still home to the “World’s Largest Hot Springs” and we delight in ducking our heads under the hot water to get the icicles out of our hair. It’s also fun to see children making angels in the snow before jumping in to the pool. Water aerobics, which I find therapeutic, are still offered at the “Teepee” pools where we swim. It’s fascinating to watch the birds migrate in squadron formation, while we ‘re swimming. I love counting boxcars and tankers as the railroad trains whiz by the pool, but I have to admit that I lose track when there are more than two hundred cars on one train. We also enjoy watching the stars come out, whenever we swim in the evening. Some things I hope will never change.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHOCOHOLICS’ DELIGHT

I remember the close up in the French film, “CHOCOLAT”, of a bowl full of chocolate being mixed by hand. I still recall my desire to push my finger through the screen and get a lick from the bowl. (Marty said, “That’s you alright.”) MV5BMjA4MDI3NTQwMV5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwNjIzNDcyMQ@@._V1_SY317_CR1,0,214,317_AL_

My husband and I are chocoholics. Our tastes include chocolate ice cream and cake, but not to the same extent as our love for chocolate candy, and we rarely pass up a chance to watch the manufacture of chocolate.

When our children were young, we visited the Hershey plant and museum, in Hershey, Pennsylvania. The exhibit ended with preparations of mouth- watering pies, using fresh butter and eggs. We had our camper, then, and didn’t hesitate to pick up a pie for dinner.

In Melbourne, Australia, we joined a group on a Chocolate Tour. Can you imagine touring the city on foot, and sampling all kinds of chocolate and other confections along the way? The tour included an ice cream cone. We finished at a lovely restaurant with a great chocolate cake and a beverage.  Although we were exhausted after the walk, we didn’t experience any discomfort from our “lunch.”

It was cold and damp on the day that we witnessed a demonstration of processing chocolate in Bruges, Belgium. What could be better than hot chocolate, to chase away the chills? We were served a soup bowl- sized cup of hot milk and a bar of chocolate, which we added as much as we liked to the milk, to achieve the desired strength of hot chocolate. Marty and I used all of the chocolate for a nice rich beverage, but we had the option of saving all or some of the chocolate to nibble later.

We narrowly escaped getting a speeding ticket on our way to Lubec, Maine, not far from Campobello Island. It was unchartered territory and we were anxious to reach Lubec before dark. Monica, the proprietor of Monica’s Chocolates,  creates wonderful European -style bonbons: two inch round delicacies of chocolate, filled with caramel and nuts or fruits, and wrapped in brightly colored foil and contrasting ribbon. Definitely worth a trip to Lubec, but don’t speed to get there! bonbons-grouping

We’ve been anxious to visit the renowned Cowboy Chocolatier in Meeteetse, Wyoming, but the owner, Tim Kellogg  travels in January and we’ve always missed him. This year we left later than usual, and spend most of February in Thermopolis, enjoying the outdoor hot springs. So we were able to visit.

Meeteetse is a quaint western town, on route 20, about halfway between Thermopolis and Cody with a population of around 300. The sidewalks are wood. The town has a beautiful high school, a few nice restaurants, a post office, a fine museum of the locality, and the Cowboy Chocolatier. Tim doesn’t put on cowboy boots for effect; he does make a living by roping steers. But he is also recognized for his candy making. He competes internationally, and has received awards for his quality chocolate.

We were not allowed to take pictures of the candy production. We were informed that the sweets only have a shelf life for about five or six days and were advised to keep the chocolate away from heat, strong light, and not refrigerate or freeze. The candy is organic and gluten free. Naturally we’ve kept the candy for more than six days and it was very fine and smooth. We sampled chocolate made with cocoa beans from Venezuela, Honduras, and Morocco. The truffles were without nuts but were flavored with spices and liquors.

On the way back from Meeteetse, I  felt like having some chocolate cream pie, which was not on the menu where we stopped. But the apple pie hit the spot.

Attractions on the Interstate

Our usual trip to Thermopolis, Wyoming was delayed this year from December to late January. It is a long journey and each year we check out the possibilities of flying, and each year we opt to drive. The logistics of flying are horrible; the connections from one flight to another, disastrous. So we pack up our car and prepare for three and one half days on the road. We have our routine and manage to visit friends and relatives along the way and enjoy the ride.

Honestly, I look forward to stopping at the incredible rest areas on the Interstate Highways, funded by federal and state governments. The familiarity of these sites is “comforting.” These facilities have no concessions. Fresh food and fuel aren’t sold, but the areas around the buildings are landscaped and have shaded spots for picnicking. There are placards disseminating local history and geology, and travel information is available. I’ve heard it said that the most attractive room in your house should be the bathroom, where we spend more time studying detail. This applies to pubic restrooms as well.

Nebraska was one of the first states to modernize the rest areas on Interstate Highway 80. The lavatories include attractive blue and white tiles; the stalls are corrugated stainless steel, and there are built -in changing tables. unnamed-5

The windy hills on Route 26, in Wyoming are dotted with creatively designed rustic facilities. The stalls are covered with mosaics constructed from local stone and the painted trim on the stalls compliments the hues in the stonework. unnamed-6

Back on Interstate 80, in Iowa, the comfort stations are architectural achievements, more like museums, known as New Generation Rest Stops. The motorist needn’t wonder where he/she is; each unit is unique. Glass and steel are used extensively in construction. The floors inside the structures are mosaic tile maps of the locale. My favorite is a tribute to prominent writers from the state. The pillars at the entrance are designed to look like writing pens. On our recent trip, we didn’t stop at the facility with the pens. However, I did take a picture of a granite sculpture in front of the highway rest area in Council Bluffs, Iowa.P1000024-2

On the Ohio Turnpike, most of the rest sites have concessions with access to all services. Some of the facilities are large circular buildings and the concessions offer better quality food. It was at one of the stops on the Ohio Turnpike, that we discovered “The Panera Bread Company,” a chain we’ve come to like and look for in our travels. There’s comfort sometimes in knowing what we can eat.

The stop on the Garden State Parkway, near Oradell, New Jersey, and close to where the Garden State and Route 287 intersect is always bustling. Yet, I appreciate the fresh plants on display in the lavatory year round.

It’s hard to miss the palatial edifices designed like hunting lodges, invoking those of Teddy Roosevelt’s era, on the New York Thruway and on the strip of I-90 that runs through the state of New York. There are several styles of “lodges,” so the traveler has an idea which town he/she’s near on the highway.

Are you tired of the hassle of flying? My guess is that you haven’t visited such beautiful bathrooms in any of the airports like the ones on the nation’s highways.  So get the family chariot in good condition and see the U.S.A!

 

 

 

Whither I Go, My Knitting Goes

I can’t forget the photo of Eleanor Roosevelt knitting while listening to election returns on the radio. I can’t think of any activity that works as well as knitting to calm the nerves; reading requires too much concentration. Even music may not be heard. But needlework beats nibbling, smoking or nail biting, to conquer stress. I remember my sister-in- law crocheting while her husband was undergoing surgery. 6a00d83452615669e201b7c6e47bcc970b-800wi

I can bury my nose in a book while flying or traveling on a train, although I usually have my needlework on hand when I’m chatting while waiting for the plane or train. A young man I met at Gatwick Airport in the U.K., admired the baby hat that I was making for the grandson to be, and was impressed that I “always had something on the go”.

When I am a passenger in a car I find it difficult concentrating on reading but I can always take a break from knitting to look at the scenery. My husband has complained that we drove 100 miles out of the way because I wasn’t watching the road or the map. I do put my knitting down when we are at a busy intersection or if we are in unfamiliar territory. Now, I often let Samantha, our GPS guide bring us to our destinations, but even she makes mistakes, bringing us recently to the Atlantic Ocean when we requested a route from Maine to Lake Winnipesaukee, in New Hampshire.

It was never a problem getting a seat on a crowded subway train on my daily commute to school or work years ago. All I had to do was pull out my knitting needles. I found that knitting helped pass the time while waiting on line to register for college courses and during those boring orientation sessions.

I was about nine years old when I learned to knit with the help of my Aunt Rose, and family friends, but I probably was thirteen when I finished a checkered, patterned scarf for myself. It wasn’t until I was in college that I became a serious knitter and tried my hand at a sleeveless, v-necked slipover for my father. Although the v-neck was far from perfect, Dad appreciated my efforts and wore the sweater.

Argyle socks were the rage in the 1950’s and the women at Hunter College were making socks for the men in their lives. I asked a classmate what she would do if the romance ended before the socks were finished. She replied that the socks were intended for Joe and Joe would get the socks regardless. Not my style! When Marty and I were engaged, I knitted argyle socks for him. Marty has been the recipient of other knitted gifts, but his favorites are woolen mittens, for warmth. We were away from home and he needed mittens. I decided to see what I had on hand and found some nice grey yarn in my bag. Since I didn’t think there would be enough grey, I striped the cuffs and tips of the mittens with purple, green and yellow. The compliments keep coming. IMG_0060

No project was too large or too small, too intricate or too simple. In fact I prefer more challenging designs and didn’t shy away from cables, laces, entrelacs or fair isles. A friend remembers that I said that I couldn’t see any purpose in doing something that was sold in the store. Now of course you can buy all sorts of ready made knitted items. I have adjusted directions for size, weight of yarn and size of needles without compromising the fit of the garment. Wool, the yarn that I favor, has many attributes, including being warmer than cottons or synthetics and holding its shape better. It is a more giving and forgiving material to work with. I also like the feel of the yarn sliding through my fingers as I work.

My fingers cramp when I work on a section of the project with few stitches on the needle. The proprietor of the yarn shop suggested to my daughter Lisa, that she keep switching back and forth from one project to another, with different size needles, if her hands ache, to keep the fingers from being in a bind and exercise them.

Back in the 1960’s when mini -skirts were popular, I made a tweed suit for myself of wine heather and coral, worked together, with a Mandarin collar and hand -knitted frog closings. I outgrew the suit when mini-skirts gave way to the cowgirl look of the 1970’s of mid -calf flared skirts and boots. I gave the suit to my mother. The sleeves and skirt were too short for her and a friend added knitted borders to the sleeves and the hem of the skirt. The alterations weren’t exactly in keeping with the style of the suit but it looked nice and Mom wore the suit for quite a while. When Mom could no longer wear the suit and mini skirts were back in vogue, I restored the suit to its original style for Lisa.

My mother had a beautiful Italian mohair sweater with hand -embroidered flowers. Here again the sleeves were too short for her. My daughter Madeline was given a box of different colored mohair, which she passed on to me. I picked up the stitches on the bottom of the sleeves, and extended the cuffs, adding a few stripes of the colors that were used in the sweater. Mom loved the sweater.

My grandson, Jacob, told my daughter, Lisa, that she was going to be a grandmother, by asking her how long it would take her to knit a carriage blanket. She remarked that it would take her no time at all because she still had the blanket that I made for him; a beautiful bulky entrelac cover, in two shades of light green, with a hand -crocheted corded edge.

Knitting isn’t just for women. A good friend made himself a black sweater because he didn’t want charcoal grey that was available in the stores. Kaffe Fassett is an artist who paints with needlecraft. I have adapted many of his designs.unnamed-1

After 9/11, our handbags were searched scrupulously at airports for potential weapons. Embroidery scissors were amongst the contraband. Lisa learned that the cutting edge on the dental floss pack is good for cutting yarn. NOBODY is going to stop us from knitting.

 

unnamed-3

 

Lunching in the Yurt

In 2002, we branched out from poultry husbandry. We were invited by Winrock International, another arm of Aid to International Development, (AID), to consult with members of the “Sheep Breeding / Marketing Cooperatives in Kyrgyzstan, a country in Central Asia.

Aid to International Development, originally “The Four Point Program”, also known as the “Food for Peace Program”, was intended for the U.S. to share it’s “know-how” and help nations develop with technical assistance, especially in agriculture. It was the “fourth” foreign policy objective presented by President Harry S. Truman, in his inaugural address, January 20,1949.

Between June 12 and June 29, 2002, we met with 64 sheep farmers, including five women at four seminars in Osh, formerly part of the old Silk Route, and the Kadamzhay, Alay, and AlaBucka regions. The sheep breeding cooperatives were growing. My husband, Marty, and his family, were among the farmers who established the Central Connecticut Feed Cooperative in Manchester, Connecticut. During the years that we were participants the Coop produced excellent feed and provided other services to the farmers, enabling the members to maximize their profits.

On one occasion, we were invited to a seminar, with lunch following, held in a “Yurt”, not far from Osh. Yurts, prevalent throughout Central Asia, are large round tents covered in animal skins. This yurt was furnished lavishly with beautiful carpets and cushions. I didn’t see other yurts, tents or buildings on the premises. This yurt could not have been a home to all of the families present, but probably housed the family that managed the site. There were cars and pickup trucks. The children were in jeans, tee shirts, sandals or sneakers. The men wore casual western clothes and some men had, cone- shaped, beautifully embroidered woolen hats, peculiar to Kyrgyzstan. The women, according to tradition, were attired in long skirts, and usually had their heads covered. Horses and sheep wandered freely; the mares were fitted with wooden aprons to prevent them from mating while they were lactating. We didn’t try mare’s milk, but were told that fermented mare’s milk was popular amongst the people of Kyrgyzstan, and was available in the market.

We noticed a tree with a dressed lamb hanging on one of the branches, and were informed that this would be our lunch.

During the seminar we were served hot tea, soft drinks and flat bread. There was a dish with something that looked like crushed pineapple, from where I was sitting. I was told that it was butter   made from mare’s milk. I remembered that was how my grandmother’s butter looked right from the churn, before being pressed into blocks.

After the seminar, Marty and I walked around. The lamb was being cooked in a large kettle of boiling water over an open fire. Some of the women were having their lunch in a shed, under a tarp, and asked me to join them. I excused myself, saying that I would have my lunch with the rest of our party so I could take notes for our report. The children were drinking the mare’s milk, which looked like cow’s milk, from bowls.

The word was out that lunch was ready. Marty and I used the “facilities”, and washed our hands in the creek. Before entering the yurt, one of the hosts handed us a towel to dry our hands; the same towel used by each of the participants.

The people in the area sat with crossed legs on the floor, but we were provided with a table and chairs. Each person was given a plate with a beautifully carved chop, a piece of liver, and a slice of meat from a larger cut, which we would use for roasts or stews. The meat was tender and tasty, but like any plain boiled meat, could have used a little horseradish for some zip. The fresh tomatoes and cucumbers that accompanied the lamb were delicious, and we didn’t peel the vegetables or ask how they were washed. After lunch we were joined by several women and enjoyed a lively party.

We offered the guidelines of the Central Connecticut Cooperative to the members of the sheep growing/marketing cooperatives in hope that these suggestions would help the cooperatives expand aid to their farmers.

unnamed-2unnamed

 

 

Dan, the Man from Thermopolis

If you are motoring to Yellowstone Park in Wyoming, in all probability you’ll stop in Thermopolis, a small town, southeast of  the park, for a swim or soak, in the ”World’s Largest Hot Springs,” located in Hot Springs State Park,  where there are two privately owned thermal facilities. We have been visiting Thermopolis for about twenty years, and enjoy swimming in the outdoor pool, where the water is approximately 94 degrees. In the cold of winter, it’s fun to duck in the hot water to get the icicles out of our hair.

It’s hard not to notice Dan Moriarty, part owner and manager, of the Teepee Pools, the facility we prefer.  Dan is not particularly attractive. He’s overweight with a grey beard. He was a former alcoholic and suffered many illnesses. Managing the pool requires knowledge, and is labor intensive. Dan and his crew are out in all kinds of weather to assure that the equipment is functioning. This fall, the roof of the Teepee Pools suffered damage from hurricanes and can’t be repaired until spring. Meanwhile, Dan has been conferring with contractors, state officials, and his partners, about replacing the roof. They decided on using brick red metal paneling that will be both attractive and able to withstand rough weather.

Dan had the habit of greeting us with brash “can you top this” remarks. I wasn’t offended. I’ve known people with harsh demeanors who were good -natured. It is my observation that the bravado is only a mask for a person’s insecurity. Marty and I are fond of Dan. We enjoy getting together for lunch or dinner. He’s intelligent, and is not reluctant to talk about politics. We’ve exchanged many heated discussions. Who else, but Dan, would keep us up to date on the news and gossip of Thermopolis? We can also depend upon Dan for information about good restaurants.

In the locker room at the pool, I overheard some women describing Dan as a womanizer, and disrespectful of the opposite sex. I have the impression that he is the first person a woman, or anybody, would turn to when help was needed. He has often been accompanied by a date, when we went out, and was always considerate. We recently met Dan at a restaurant with several women. He was with the local women’s basketball team and had treated them all to dinner!

Dan would discuss some of the problems caused by customers. There are those who don’t watch their children. There are others who bring small children into the hot tubs, ignoring signs prohibiting children under 14 from using the tubs, citing serious health risks.

One of the most bizarre stories, Dan told, is of George, an older man whom we knew. When he passed away, his wife approached Dan about having a special funeral at the pool, because George loved swimming and spent part of every day there. She suggested bringing George to the pool in his bathing suit, after nine in the evening when the pool is closed. Dan bellowed, ”NO WAY.” We can always count on Dan to entertain us with his stories.

CIMG2811