School holiday ideas

It's a three week break from school over Christmas and I'm enjoying the time with the kids. However, I'm not the most creative Mummy around and so when the whining started yesterday I was a little stuck. My ideas for setting goals for the holidays for learning a new skill etc didn't go down so well.

Then, this morning my eldest came to me with an idea. "Mum, can you set us some challenges like the neighbours do with their kid?"

I was delighted and started wtih the most obvious challenge.. "Great! Let's get your room organised and clean".

"Aw Mum. He gets to do fun things like smashing a huge block of ice with a spoon".

My practical mind couldn't comprehend the use of that one.. so we compromised. "How about cleaning the car?" It had all the elements of fun with a practical outcome. And it was only going to cost me a lolly each.

Over an hour later, they are off on another challenge set by themselves and approved by me. Running laps on our rooftop.. distance set according to age and has the double benefit of "training" for an upcoming sports day.

I wonder what they will come up with next while I thank God for creative Moms (yes, she's American) who inspire and challenge us in our own role at home.

I'm not sure if anyone checks this blog anymore as I've been silent for so long.. but I'd be keen to hear any other creative holiday ideas.

Cake not crisis

I haven't blogged for a while. School holidays means that there are plenty of life sharing and stories but my little ones are not so keen on their exploits being exploited. But a new school year has begun and I find myself with a little more space to take a moment to share life.

This time, it's another photo. Steve turned 40 in July and his one request was a cake from Bloom. This was the result. Aren't those girls talented???

His surprise present from me was a book with a whole bunch of messages and photos from friends over the years. As the messages came in, it was humbling to be reminded of the impact of his life on those around him and to recognise this is only a small token compared to the lives he has changed through his healing hands.

He tells me that there is no better place than in the center of God's will... and he tells me he's not joining the mid-life crisis club anytime soon.

Phew! I'm safe for a few more years!

The dangers of being overweight

A photo by Steve of someone having trouble with a heavy back-end.

The story behind the bronze...

My name, bronze medal and 8km run should not really appear in once sentence. But add inaugural, 36-45yo women and Phnom Penh and maybe it begins to make sense. With very few women here running (or even playing sport in general) beyond their teens, a 37 year old woman pounding the pavement is very rare indeed. Then add school holidays and you’ve lost half the foreigners who might compete, and there you have it - me on the podium. Ha!

Our Christian Care for Cambodia team must be an oddly active bunch because we cleaned up the entire medal count for the women’s 36-45 category – Becky Sussex coming in first, Catherine Rogers coming in second and me. Pip Miner, our running legend from Poipet, took out first place for the entire 8km women's event and Dave Painter (later interviewed by tv reporters because of his impressive run and obvious “age”) ran a great half marathon.

Each place getter took home money (I got $12.50), a great basket of fruit and foodstuffs, two coffee mugs, 5 pens, two notebooks, a bunch of brochures, and of course, the medal. While standing on the podium was a buzz, the highlight of the morning was being asked by some local girls to have their photo with me - a place getter.

Still laughing…

Bronze

A bronze medal with Olympic rings on it is something I never thought I would see in our house. Stay tuned for more photos and the full story...

How hard can it be?

Steve often arrives home from work exhausted and flakes out on the couch until dinner – woe to anyone who disturbs the couch rest (ok, that’s an exaggeration but it sounded good). For the last four months, he has been treating patients four days a week in a room at Mercy Medical Center on the other side of town and it has been draining the life from him.

Really, you ask. Only four days a week? How hard can that be?

I must admit that I’ve wondered that too. But over the months, the stories come out and now I think he’s a bit of a champion (even if he is a growling bear at times).

Picture this.

Each morning Steve rides half an hour across town on his chugging old Dealim motor scooter, trying to avoid the other motorists who seemed determined to kill him. As he sits at a set of lights alongside a beat-up truck belching smoke, he tries not to think of the research that shows that Phnom Penh air is five times more polluted than Bangkok – heck even the air is trying to kill him!

Arriving at work without any signs of outward harm, he has no idea what the day will bring. Although he has a number of patients already booked in, the hot-house of a room at Mercy Medical Center comes without air-conditioning but with a condition to also treat patients referred by the doctors there. As these patients are often from the countryside, he must see them immediately before they make the long journey home.

Did I casually mention patients from the countryside? These patients are the most difficult Steve has even seen. Not only are their physical complaints compounded by years of neglect, they are often illiterate and poorly educated. For Steve this means that their spoken Khmer does not resemble anything we’ve ever been taught and their understanding of concepts of tendons, ligaments and other fanciful physiological imaginations is zip. Symptoms are often masked also by the general complaints of dizziness, headaches and full body aches which more than likely relate to dehydration or years of MSG use, but can’t be ignored by a physio. And rather than exercises, these patients would much prefer a cure-all tablet (wouldn’t we all) so as Steve sends them back to the countryside he has serious doubts about the productivity of his last hour or so.

While he probably won’t see these patients from the countryside again, he has many regular patients who have really grasped onto the value of physiotherapy and his appointments are in demand. He frequently has patients calling at all hours demanding, begging and clamoring to be seen. It’s enough to cause the normally gentle Steve to speak harshly and refuse treatment for those who continue to pressure him.

However, physiotherapy in general is a poorly valued service in Cambodia. Steve estimates that there are only around 350 physiotherapists in Cambodia (approx. one for every 30,000 people) and these have been only trained to a Diploma level. Unlike Australia, physiotherapy does not attract the best and brightest but ranks lower than nursing.

It’s something he’s working on.

For the last few months, he has one or two Khmer physiotherapists shadowing him as he treats patients, asking questions and learning treatment techniques. They work at a local hospital in the mornings and follow him around in the afternoons. Steve actually enjoys teaching but into the afternoon the room heats up to unbearable levels and he is often weary from the morning patient load. He is concerned that he often doesn’t have much energy to teach these guys but they seem happy enough with the scraps that he can give and keep coming anyway.

But training has been a significant part of his work for the past five years through his involvement in the Physiotherapy Upgrade Training Program. This program is supported by Singapore General Hospital who provided the funding and lecturers while Steve supervisors the clinical training. As the program has progressed, the top graduates have gained further training in Singapore and are now virtually running this year themselves.

But the last two weeks, Steve has been helping out by lecturing on the lower limb for the 5^th promotion of this program. And he has been a different man. Teaching in aircon only minutes from home really makes a difference. I visited the Physio School the other day and found a patient, clear and even joking Steve working with a bunch of physiotherapists keen to upgrade their skills.

It was a pleasure to watch and I’m no longer afraid to approach the couch of an afternoon. (ok another exaggeration). Next week, he is back in the clinic, supervising two to three physios at a time as they apply the skills they have learnt over a full working week - it's a seriously tough job

What God does now.

My friend L has been having a hard time of late. A mother of three working full-time, it’s not easy. But her struggles have hit a “high” point of late. Her husband of 18 years finally left home for another woman, taking not just his clothes from the cupboard, but the family’s life savings (of about $500), the motorbike and even his teenage son’s bicycle which he used to ride to school.

This betrayal was just the latest bead on the string of their marriage which has included years of neglect, drinking, gambling and womanising. He’s told her a number of times that he wants to take another wife. The guy is an idiot. Sure, L is not the most beautiful woman around, but she is a hard worker, talented cook, strong but loving mother who is doing everything she can to make sure her children get a good education.

Now, she is close to destitute. And her husband’s boss is now calling her to pay back the money he was loaned to pay for bogus medical bills (for her!). The boss even brought the police in to make him promise to go back to his wife or he’ll lose his job (I’m presuming so that she could then pay the loan off). He signed the form, but hasn’t turned up to work since.

I hate sharing L’s misery in a blog. It feels like I am betraying her confidence at a vulnerable time. But there is another side to this story.

In the face of such personal devastation, L is clinging to God.

For years, she had heard about Jesus from various workplaces and even began attending church out of curiosity and maybe a sense of obligation towards her Christian boss. Then about a year ago, while in a church service, she was healed from a heart condition and a dorky thumb that had made work difficult. She came to know the power of God and dedicated her life to Him.

These kinds of conversions always make me a little nervous. We hear stories of people coming to faith like this and then fall away next time God decides not to answer a prayer for healing. But He is faithful.

Ls faith has been growing deeper and she attends church weekly eagerly sharing with me what she’s learnt. Her children have been going along too and this angered her husband. When he left, he quipped to the neighbour, “I’d like to see what her god does now”.

He doing this... L tells me how the people at church are concerned for her, give her money as they can, pray with her and regularly call her to check she’s ok. She is reading her Bible with her children and encouraging them that God does provide. She even overheard her 16yo son tell his father on the phone that the only way he is welcome back is if he repents and becomes a Christian too.

She tells me that as she clings to God, He gives her peace and strength and He will get her through. She says she feels like she and the kids are on a small boat in a big sea and is heading to some new land with God. With dignity and strength, she has filed for divorce (a very shameful thing here), will lose her family home and is trusting God.

Then earlier this week, L told me that her husband wants to come back and is willing to go to church. She is torn as she does not believe he is genuine. She’s heard that he has nowhere to stay and is getting skinny from lack of food. After seeking God, she has courageously decided that if he wants to follow God, he can come to Him on his own.

There’s no fairy tale ending to this story. It’s life – real and raw, ongoing and unresolved. Yet, amongst it, God too is real and at work. I too can’t wait to see what God does now.

One dozen oranges

The first time I walked away, I’d left Yea (pronounced yay, means Grandma) sitting on the muddy road amongst the potholes and stones. Her face was dirtied from the fall that had occurred when she tried to catch the tail of her dogs that were chomping at my running legs. She sat there, swearing quietly to herself - at the dogs or at me, I didn’t know. I’d tried to help her up but with exasperation in her voice and the dogs still yapping, she told me to “just go!!”.

I didn’t venture any further down that street and the next two were also blocked by fighting dogs (it’s mating season). I turned homeward and gave up on my 8km attempt, settling for 7.12kms. Besides, my heart just wasn’t in the run anymore.

These dogs are really testing my commitment to running. I’m not the first. Two other potential running partners (for the longer distances) have recently retreated to the treadmill and I’ve half a mind to join them.

The thing is, not only is running on a treadmill excruciatingly boring (and therefore mentally tough), it is also relatively expensive. At $3.50 a visit to the gym down the road, it’s more than 70% of Cambodian’s live off each day (that said, income is only one dimension of poverty – for more reliable indicators of the incidence and severity of poverty in Cambodia see here). Nevertheless, over a day’s wages for half an hour of running on pretend pavement, when there are “perfectly good” roads outside… I can’t get past it (just yet).

Yesterday morning I skipped my run and went to visit Yea, armed with a bag of oranges (incidentally costing less than $3.50). She received me graciously and showed me the bruising and scratches on her knee. She refused to take the bag but finally accepted a small peace offering of two little oranges.

That day, I left her with smiles and a bridge built. Now, if only the issue of running in Phnom Penh (or poverty in Cambodia!) was so easily solved.

On the road again

I’ve started running again after recovering from some strange food intolerance that meant I couldn’t eat fresh fruit and veggies without being covered with welts but could gorge myself on potato chips (as long as they were plain). After that kind of diet, running is compulsory. (Actually, running with a virus was the cause of this bizarre immune system malfunction).

But I was procrastinating. Without footpaths, it meant I had to join the morning traffic of bicycles, motorbikes, street sellers with carts and the occasional Lexus who makes way for no one. It’s a far cry from running the bushland bike tracks along Bulimba Creek.

My upstairs neighbour was looking to increase her cardio vascular fitness in an effort to better manage hot flushes (can’t wait for that one!) and so we began running three mornings a week. Another never-run-in-her-life friend has joined us, making it three crazy foreigners pounding the pavement / dirt.

Keeping to the back roads avoids the majority of the traffic (but increases the incidence of potholes and plastic rubbish burn offs), we began choosing our route according to the least number of free-range dogs.

But it’s not just dogs who gain entertainment from our efforts. We often get cries of “mouy bpee mouy bpee..” (one two one two..) from the moto drivers waiting for early morning clients. The other week I was stopped dramatically by one standing in front of me with arms waving, asking if I could teach him English. “Ot jeh” (can’t speak it) was my smiling face-saving reply – an obvious lie. “Can’t you see I’m running????” was what I really wanted to say.

The heat is what gets me the most. We’re often sweating before we even start at 6am and my face is bright red for at least an hour afterwards, particularly the days I go out on my own early to add a couple of kms to the run.

I almost quit recently, but my addiction seems to run deep.

Besides, there’s a half marathon being held in Phnom Penh on 18 June for World Environment Day. No, I’m not going to attempt a half in this heat, but the 8km is looking possible…

Fibs, lies and statistics

They have been the butt of jokes since the late 1800s due to their ability to misrepresent the truth (see wiki), but to me, there is nothing better than a bunch of well researched statistics.

So my latest project, reviewing reports and preparing an overview of development and the church in Cambodia for our team, is comparable with eating icecream (which would make the internet an endlessly deep freezer).

My ecstasy is probably due to the fact that I haven’t purposefully consumed statistics for almost 10 years. By the time I’m done, I will probably have a bad case of brain freeze.

As I trawl through the latest reports on the economic status of Cambodia, I delight in discovering the new developments in research methods. Thermal graphs of global health care development are like an exciting new flavour that I’m not quite sure I understand or like.

And while statistics gain bad press for being manipulated by people with “agendas”, there is no denying that they are handy in giving a bird’s eye view of some pretty complex issues, and are powerful tools for influencing opinions and attitudes.

For example, I wonder how hardworking Cambodian parents struggling to pay for their children to go to school would feel to know that public spending on education as a percentage of national GDP ranks the country at 167 out of a total of 175 countries (see cia). This kind of information is politically powerful.

And for my Aussie friends, I’m wondering how many of us would continue to complain about Government services and spending knowing that we are one of the lowest taxed nations in the developing world, noting that northern European countries are taxed at twice the rate we are (see tai). Anyone going to join me in asking the Government to increase our taxes?

I love statistics for their power to inform and change. Unfortunately, attitudes change hard.

Giving well (or sharing nicely)

Late last week I wrote to my local MP (again) highlighting the need for Australia to increase our aid in order for countries like Cambodia to have a fighting chance of meeting their Millennium Development Goals. Apparently, there is talk in the latest federal budget of cuts to international aid.

Aid cuts would be devastating for many lives and even small increases in aid makes a huge difference in people’s lives. This is because the purchasing power of each dollar is so much greater in developing nations meaning you get much more for your money.

For example, through project funds Steve has paid for laminectomies for patients plus three days of inpatient care for US$600. In Australia, this operation costs at least $15,000.

Then, this note pops into my inbox shouting “Aid to Cambodia rarely reaches the people it’s meant to help”.

This emotive little opinion piece in the Washington Post is basically saying that the aid money that goes into Cambodia will invariably build bigger and better houses for its leaders and that donors should refuse to give any more aid until corruption is addressed.

Honestly, I can’t refute any of it. From what we hear on the ground, the article speaks a version of the truth. However, I am concerned that such articles only serve to create greater distrust and reduce giving.

Already, Australia is giving well below the agreed 0.7 per cent of gross national product and groups such as World Vision have given up on this target now only asking for the Australian Government to meet the 0.5 per cent target. And an embarrassing amount of this is tied to the purchase of Australian goods and services (dubbed “boomerang aid” – the aid that gives back).

The solution is to give aid in better ways. There is much research and many policies written to address these (see The Reality of Aid as an example) but all boil down to a simple few rules.

1. Share your toys nicely – no need to give them all away just one in every two hundred.

2. Give. Don’t rent them out or lend with interest.

3. Make sure there aren’t unfair rules with how they can play with the toys or that they have to pay daddy to fix the toys.

4. The struggling families need to agree to treat their children well and share the toys fairly, being honest with how they are used.

5. Don’t use your wealth to make huge numbers of toy boxes or toy parts at a loss and then dump them on other poorer families who are trying to make these for a living.

While the parents argue over these rules, I am encouraged to see is that there are an increasing number of kids who recognise already that they have plenty of toys and are willing to share. However, I am amazed as to how many (even amongst our own supporters) still distrust organisations to manage toy distribution.

Giving to well established organisations with a proven track record in these countries is always a very very good start.

Celebrating Easter

It’s the most significant event within the Christian faith, however Easter is often seen by many Aussie Christians as an opportunity for a break at the beach and enjoy an Easter egg hunt or two (or seven).

In Cambodia, it generally occurs just after Khmer New Year. The new year celebrations are the largest on the Khmer calendar and so when Easter rolls around most people are just a little partied out (and chocolate melts terribly fast in the current 40 degree heat).

What makes celebrating Easter so difficult?

Fundamentally, the message really is a tough one for marketers. Talking about Jesus’ death and resurrection is a problematic because you need to mention the “s” word (sin) in a world where most people would rather think of themselves as basically good.

The Christmas message of God humbling Himself to become a baby gives us warm fuzzies. The Easter message of this God being murdered for our sin is horrifying and that He rose again sounds like the stuff of Hollywood movies.

Indeed, a nativity scene can be cute but a Jack in the box Jesus as he rises from the tomb goes beyond tacky.

So, if you’re like me, you’re stuck with melted chocolate (fair trade even if you are finally convinced that it’s worth paying the extra $2 for slave-free fair priced products – see World Vision’s Chocolate Buyers Guide) feeling somewhat at a loss as how to celebrate this deeply significant event with my neighbours and friends.

Buying an Easter chicken might help ease the conscience throughout the self-indulgence and is a whole lot better for the waistline (see TEAR), but there’s got to be a better way to share the best news ever.

No condemnation. Peace with God. Eternity with Him.

Preferably with something ice-cold.

Cast your bread

On Sunday afternoons, we attend a little home church with another Australian family who live around the corner. At around 3pm they set up the laptop and the adults listen to a sermon while the children play in the next room. Last week the church grew by 50% when a new family from the UK joined in.

Last week we finished a series on Ecclesiastes where the ongoing theme has been gift (being gifted with the life we have) rather than gain (trying to achieve). With this perspective, the verses about the meaninglessness (or temporary nature) of life are no longer depressive but freeing. When everything we have is viewed as a gift (time, possessions, relationships, grace), we are able to stop chasing the wind and live with contentment and generosity with these gifts we have received.

The final sermon focused on Ecclesiastes 11. Here are the first two verses from the NKJ version which struck me. “Cast your bread upon the waters, for you will find it after many days. Give a serving to seven, and also to eight, for you do not know what evil will be on the earth.”

According to a number of commentators, casting bread is thought to be a symbol of being generous with what you have because it will return to you. Give widely because (as the CEV version stated) “you never know when disaster will strike”.

This flies in the face of conventional wisdom which encourages us to save for the rainy day (check out the NIV translation for a typical modernised view on how to manage our money). However, in such uncertain times, with floods and earthquakes, tsunamis and cyclones, we are encouraged to be generous which, according to the Message, is a high yield investment.

For those with not much to give, the preacher encouraged generosity of spirit – extending grace to someone who has done you wrong, being generous with your time, slowing down and being wholly present with whoever you are with, and view each day as on opportunity to bless rather than a compulsion to achieve.

But I think that most of us do have money to share. For us, the message is particularly timely as we are currently making financial decisions regarding our abundance.

Jesus, please give us the courage to give while we can because times are uncertain. After all, it is a gift not something we have achieved.

Dried fish and white flesh

I’d bought the dried fish out of pity. He’d been roaming the streets, eager to sell from the basket on the back of his cranky old motorbike. His teenaged country-bumpkin enthusiasm was being ignored by others, so I relented and purchased that fish that I knew I’d probably give away (it’s not a favourite of mine).

His response shocked me for days. He lowered his voice, put his fingers in the universal sign for sex and said he’d always wanted to “know” a foreigner. Despite his obvious gesturing, it took three times for the unusual request to register in my brain. I then went into autopilot – a smile, a shake of the head, a “no, that’s not polite”, and a quick retreat. My pity didn’t extend that far.

It’s widely thought in Cambodia (and many other parts of the world) that Western women are loose. I guess it’s our largely inappropriate dress habits where flesh reigns (particularly amongst the tourists unaccustomed to the heat of Cambodia). And another foreign import, pornography.

Magazines, tv, internet – we’ve got it all in Cambodia and it is highly accessible. You only need to go down the street to one of the local coffee houses at the right time of day to catch your dose of white flesh (or any colour really) on tv.

My guess is that I was the first real-live foreign woman that my fish-seller had met off screen. He was flabbergasted that I could speak Khmer and was keen to make the most of the opportunity before him.

But this incident was not allowed to fester into self-righteous indignation (a particularly revolting evil). With God’s perfect timing, the very next Sunday I heard an excellent sermon by a fellow team member, Rolf Lepelaar of CMS Australia, on the topic of pornography.

In Matthew 5:27-29, Jesus taught “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not commit adultery.’ But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart. If your right eye causes you to sin, pluck it out and throw it away; it is better that you lose one of your members than that your whole body be thrown into hell.”

Obviously, looking at a woman lustfully is nothing new, but this past-time has flourished and grown by some estimates into the seventh largest industry in America – larger than Microsoft, Google, ebay, Amazon, Yahoo and Apple combined. Its invasion into the heart of society is further evident in the statistic by Sex Tracker, an adult search engine, which reports that 70% of pornography is viewed between 9 a.m. and 5 p.m – that is during prime working hours.

And good Christian, don’t pretend we are not a participant in this. Rolf had some stats for us too.

One survey found that 50% of Christian men and 20% of Christian women are addicted to porn. One pastor did not believe the results so he surveyed the men in his congregation. 60% had visited a pornographic website in the past year.

And leaders seem no better. One counsellor for a well-known mission agency in Europe stated that 60-70% of the missionaries in that mission agency are addicted to pornography (could this be due to greater isolation and less accountability?). Rick Warren did a survey in the USA of 6,000 pastors, and 30% said they had visited a pornographic website in the past 30 days.

Obviously there are some pretty good excuses going on amongst us that suggest we don’t see it as that bad after all. But these justifications seem kind of weak if Jesus was saying it is better to pluck your eyes out rather than participate.

And just one note on that - Jesus was obviously not advocating self-mutilation in order to enter heaven (through Him is the ONLY way). Instead, He was highlighting how drastically we need to address this seemingly harmless sin – it puts our very soul in harm’s way.

I appreciated Rolf’s thoughts on the impact of pornography on a marriage as an example of the damage it does. God’s design for sex within marriage draws us out of ourselves towards our spouse, to the person that we have promised to exclusively devote ourselves for life. It is a mutual giving of self.

With pornography, a spouse focuses inwards on their own arousal and gratification without needing to fulfil any responsibility, expectation or demand. The unblinking faces of strangers are not disgusted by body odour nor are they angry that he stayed out late after work. Nor will they respect him or show any love, warmth or desire. They provide no companionship or joy.

I am so sorry if my fishy friend has been exposed to such a relationship-killing, soul-destroying foreign import that caused him to proposition this foreigner. To know Jesus would bring him much more life.

As it does for all of us.

The head's still gurling but in the meantime...

One role I've had for a little while already is the Language Facilitator for our team. This means I'm meant to assist the process of language and cultural learning particularly for those new to Cambodia. (You know, point them in the right direction, give them an encouraging pat on the back and let them go for it.)

This week I began my own formal language lessons at the Language Exchange Centre. LEC was started by an entrepreneurial Indonesian lady who realised that there were very few trained language teachers in Cambodia. I've found the teachers there excellent - proactive in preparing lessons and correcting errors.

This morning I received a lot of correction and it was clearly obvious to my teacher that while I can speak quickly (making many people believe I can speak well), I really have a limited vocab. The story I made up about the picture she held was pathetic and my listening comprehension skipped crucial points.

I ended the lesson demoralised. It certainly didn't help that my teacher had begun the lesson raving about Steve's ability in his lesson on Wednesday.

Ah, nothing like a good dose of empathy to make you better at your job.

Enjoying a gurgling head

It's no surprise (but still disappointing) that my quality control job at the cafe fell through. They really need someone there full-time which just wasn't practical. Ruth (the heart and soul of Bloom) asked me if I'd be willing to pass on my metabolism instead. As much as I love her, I might need to pray about that one...

But the good news is that my depression at losing such an ideal job passed quickly. The ideas and opportunities for serving here in Cambodia are just pouring out of my head. Some have been gurgling in there a while (like soap nuts and solar ovens), while others spring from conversations with others (income generation and Board memberships). There are also the long standing projects like fundraising for the school's building program and developing my current language consultant role. Or the far off dream of writing a biography or two on some seriously amazing people working here.

It seems that each new person I meet sparks a conversation that brings new ideas and another night of difficult sleep (is there a recurring theme here?). I was beginning to wonder about my sanity until I spoke with a good friend Pip who has the same dilemma. However, she sees each new idea as an opportunity to develop her strategic thinking skills, so writes up a project proposal and promptly files it, forgotten until the day someone asks, "have you ever thought of...?".

While wondering about the random overflow of exciting ideas, another friend wisely encouraged me to enjoy it. Sooner or later, I will focus and become stuck in a job. For now, I can just enjoy a gurgling head ... and get those project proposals down on paper.

A perfect fit

I've already mentioned how we are glad to be back in Cambodia.

After five and a half years here, like worn running shoes, we seem to fit here better than ever. The initial stressors of language, culture and climate have lessened with familiarity and growing competence. Dare I even say, we've developed a greater understanding of and empathy for Khmer people - valuing their strengths and recognising within ourselves their foibles.

Maybe a year away has brought fresh perspective and renewed enthusiasm.

Even so, it is a little shocking to think that when our much loved and admired friends, Barry and Fiona, leave at the end of the year, we will become our team's longest serving members.

Are we ready for that mantle?

Steve might be. This week one of the key physios here declared that Steve was "the Mahatma Gandhi of Cambodian Physiotherapy". He has no positional power but everyone looks up to him as "the man".

Me? Well, I'm concerned that they are seriously huge shoes to fill and I'm frankly a bit of a Cinderella.

But I'm pleased to say that it seems that a good friend has found me the "perfect job". It's a role which recognises my extensive experience and fits with my lifelong passion, critical analysis skills, discerning taste and ability to tell it how it is, utilitising my Khmer language skills.

Taste testing cakes at Bloom Cafe in Phnom Penh!!!! Baking starts Monday.

I just need to get into those running shoes before I have a different kind of problem with "fit".

The naughty suitcase and other misadventures

Again, our renegade suitcase containing all our clothes went missing on our trip from Bangkok to Phnom Penh. I'm not sure of the bright spot this time, but I'm glad it is finally here.

Other than that, we are settling into life in Cambodia quite well. The noise, smells, dust and mossies are just as expected. In remembering these things, I had forgotten how good it is to be back amongst like-minded people who inspire and challenge us. Friends have gone out of their way to make us feel welcome and the kids have settled back into school with ease. One teacher commented that the school now felt complete with the West-Newmans back.

Our youngest, Mr Happy, is probably faring the worst. His life has been turned upside-down. He remembers occasional things like the houses with the pointy noses (the local pagoda) but he has forgotten things like Mum and Dad's ability to speak in some strange language that he cannot understand (which he finds particularly annoying). He has also started at pre-school which he enjoys once he settles into it for the day (but finds scary at first).

The upshot of all this major change is that he is having bad dreams and is afraid of falling asleep at night. I've taken to sleeping by his side which brings him great comfort, and me very little.

At least our suitcase has now arrived and I have fresh clothes in the morning even if my eyelids are still a little shabby.

A rest under the Juniper Tree

2010 was an intense year. Living with a Masters student who received a Dean's Commendation for High Achievement, it could be nothing other than intense.

So were were looking forward to a brief 10 day holiday in Thailand before heading back to Cambodia for another three years. It could have been a week or two longer if we left Australia earlier but there was no way we were missing our first Christmas on Aussie soil for seven years.

After flying through Sydney to Bangkok, the plan was to catch a pre-arranged taxi / minivan from the airport to the Juniper Tree in Chiang Mai. This would save us hours of waiting at the airport in the middle of the night for another flight and we could sleep through half the trip until the sun rose.

Imagine our surprise when we awoke at dawn at the beach in Southern Thailand. The taxi driver had taken us to the wrong Juniper Tree hours in the opposite direction. The children were delighted to run, collect shells and build sandcastles while we problem solved. Fortunately, there was a room available for the night and we were able to rest up for a long taxi ride the following day.

The taxi company owner himself arrived before dawn in his own car. It was a sedan, not the mini-van we were expecting. After more discussion, we decided to take it anyway... hoping it would be faster at least.

Thirteen hours. Cramped in a Toyota Camry with one Thai driver and his Khmer magic markings, two weary parents, three active kids, four suitcases (we fortunately lost one in Sydney), five pieces of hand luggage and numerous fuel stops at places like Tankomart, we arrived in Chaing Mai with New Years crackers firing.

We were greeted by our lost luggage and a plate of sandwiches, relieved that the trip and 2010 was over. We survived both remarkably well and even enjoyed parts. Thank God.

Maybe there is a sermon illustration or some sage advice for travelling parents amongst this, but first I just need to rest a while under the Juniper Tree.