The decision to use ritual in our work is a very personal one.  Some find that ritual enhances their work – candles, incense, prayer, group work.  Others use little or none.

Usui Sensei himself used little ritual or structure.  After his death, his students introduced the hand positions, the use of the symbols at the advanced level and the different levels of practice to give some structure to what is essentially an amorphous practice.  You may find that bringing ritual into your teaching is helpful to your pratice.

The role of ritual in Reiki, as in religion, is to help us focus our intention. Our Reiki practices are unique; everyone interprets the work differently and our practices develop and grow through the lens of our personal experience, encounters and relationships.  Our Reiki practice is very individual and will change over time.  The rituals we use may also change, or fall away.

I have found the protocols of grounding, protection and invocation to be very helpful in my work.  You may choose to adopt them, adapt them, create your own, use something else, or use none at all.  All of these options are fine.  The core of your practice is your intention.

Never let anyone tell you you’re not ‘doing it right’ just because you don’t use the same protocols as s/he does.  Your practice will deepen and become enriched through your experience, and will be right for you.


The Last Bali Heritage Dog

Across the ravine, a dog sends its voice into the dense black night.  Beside my bed Tika’s ears prick and she raises her muzzle to reply.  For a few moments the timeless call and answer of the canine race echoes through the jungle.  The barks vary in length and cadence; a conversation is taking place.  I know that Tika has a different vocalisation for these social communications, for strangers at the gate, and for a monitor lizard in the chicken yard. Very interesting, canine language, but at four in the morning it’s just a bloody nuisance and I ask her to be quiet.

The connection between the dogs reflects at least 2500 years during which this highly social breed has been communicating across Bali’s rice fields and deep ravines. Tika wears a collar and sleeps on the carpet by my bed, but she is a pure Bali heritage dog — an ancient breed whose genetics preserve the history of canine evolution.

In 2017 Udyana University hosted an international conference on the Bali Dog supported by the Bali Animal Welfare Association (BAWA).   Dr Ben Sacks of the Veterinary Genetics Laboratory at the University of California (UC) Davis presented a fascinating account of the evolution of the Bali dog and its importance to science and the community.  He strongly advocated its protection.

The often-scorned Bali dog is actually very special. These are neither mutts nor mongrels, but pristine dogs. “All dogs are descended from the grey wolf, Dr Sacks explains”. “About 7000  years ago the dog of today was born in Southeast Asia.  It spread rapidly to replace earlier proto-dogs and become the unique indigenous dog of Bali, Australia (dingo), and other regions, and eventually giving rise to the Kintamani, saluki, chow chow, Akita and basenji and other indigenous breeds.”

Between 2000 and 2003 the DNA of 3,000 indigenous dogs from all over Bali was tested in the Veterinary Genetics Laboratory at UC Davis. The research revealed that Bali’s indigenous dogs held one of the richest pools of genetic diversity of all the dogs in the world. “The Bali dog is one of the  few remaining indigenous dog populations,” says Dr Sacks. “Its genome is valuable to science.”

Bali is home to two unique indigenous dogs — the Bali heritage dog and the Highland Kintamani. The Bali heritage dog has lived on the island in its pure form for at least 2500 years, possibly much longer, and the Kintamani probably evolved as a sub-type .  Because of its very rich DNA, the Bali heritage dog presents a wide range of colours and markings.

The Balinese have been keeping these dogs for millenia; canine and human skeletons have been found buried together in sarcophagi in West Bali. The dogs are very territorial and protect the temples, shops, livestock and fields of their human families as well as killing rats and repelling snakes. Bali dogs are intelligent and easy to train, and possess great character and charm.  By nature they hate to be confined and like to roam in groups; this gives the impression that they’re feral.  In fact over 90% of Bali dogs are owned, although many Balinese don’t care for their dogs as a Westerner would; they are seldom sterilised or treated for medical problems.

But they have a strong place in Bali’s culture and religion. “Bali dogs are very faithful, clean, healthy and smart pets,” says I Gusti Ngurah Bagus of BAWA. “Until recently they lived in every Balinese compound. Their genetic variation makes them resistant to the diseases and genetic conditions common in breed dogs; they are easier to feed and care for.

“Their genetic purity is now under threat which is very sad for the Balinese; we are losing a part of our heritage that was here before we were. We need to work together to preserve the Bali dog.”

Those of us who live in Bali or visit often may have noticed that there are many fewer dogs on the street these days, and they look different.  It’s not our imagination.  The population of pure Bali dogs has dropped by a shocking 80% over the past decade.  

There are several threats to the survival of the Bali heritage dog. The most serious has been the mass culling mandated by the government in an ineffective attempt to control the current rabies epidemic.  This has removed at least 400,000 dogs from the gene pool.  The dog meat trade (warung RW), which is very strong in South Bali, accounts for at least 60,000 dogs a year.  But the most insidious threat has been the hybridisation with ‘breed’ dogs in Bali.

The ironically named purebred (breed) dogs were developed over the past 200 years to select for specific traits.  Breeding ‘purebred’ dogs is a multi-million dollar international industry.  Puppy mills are common in parts of Indonesia, including Bali, where dogs are forced to breed frequently in poor conditions.

“Before 2004 breed dogs were banned from Bali and the DNA of the Bali heritage dog was largely undisturbed,” says BAWA founder Janice Girardi. “But now breed dogs have become status symbols for the Balinese. They’re often allowed to roam and aren’t sterilised because of the higher economic value of the puppies. The resulting inbreeding with the Bali heritage dog is a serious threat to its genetic integrity.  Only an estimated 20% of the dogs in Bali today could be considered pure Bali dogs.”  Other threats to the Bali dog include acts of cruelty, disease, poisoning, street accidents and neglect.

The rapid disappearance of the Bali heritage dog is worrying to geneticists.  “There are too few remaining lineages of unique indigenous dogs in some regions and Bali is in danger of losing this dog with its very valuable ancient genetic signature,” says Dr Sacks. “ Bali dogs contribute unique information about the past.  Diluting the genetics with crossbreeding means information is being lost before we even know all the questions.”

BAWA is very active in all dimensions of the complex issues of animal welfare.  It maintains Bali’s only free 24/7 animal ambulance; if you see an animal in trouble, call the BAWA hotline at 0811389004.  Its rehab/adoption program places up to 60 rescued dogs a month in permanent homes. A free sterilisation program for Balinese-owned dogs is available for banjars that request it.  BAWA’s education program brings trainers into elementary schools to teach children about responsible dog ownership.   And it advocates tirelessly for animal rights.  Obtaining funding for its excellent programs is a constant battle.  Please consider supporting BAWA’s work with a monthly donation , however modest, through

Some communities are beginning to focus on the cultural importance of the Bali heritage dog.  Sekehe Asu Bali Utama (SABU) is a grassroots club in Kemenuh, Sukawati with a mission to build a healthy dog population while combating rabies.  Almost 50 members and supporters promote education about canine health, welfare and population control in the banjar.  The community has become more dog-friendly and people now find, rescue and adopt puppies.  There are now four Sekehe asu in Gianyar.  Perhaps a banjar might undertake the project of breeding pure Bali heritage dogs to keep the DNA secure.

Tika lies at my feet as I write, her alert eyes scanning the garden.  Suddenly she bounds to her feet and barks at a sound behind the wall. Those of us who share our homes with Bali heritage dogs mourn the almost certain disappearance of this unique canine.   What a loss it will be to science, to Balinese culture and to the world if the voice of this ancient lineage falls silent forever.


Magic Carpets


Once upon a time, many miles away and many years ago, I sat in the ballroom of the Hilton Hotel in Singapore with several hundred other people.  It was my first carpet auction.

Singapore was famous for these auctions.  Piles of glorious carpets from Iran, Pakistan, Afghanistan and obscure bits of central Asia covered the stage.  They were dramatically displayed one by one, each more beautiful than the last, their ages and merits described.  Bidding was invited.  Hands shot into the air, numbers were chanted, another magical carpet unfurled.  I had never attended an auction of any kind and knew nothing about carpets.  But I’d just moved into an old restored house with acres of white tiled floor… I bought six carpets.

It was my last carpet auction. Clearly I could not be trusted in this kind of environment.  They were all so beautiful, my hand just kept jumping into the air somehow.   Finally a friend dragged me out of the room before I could do further damage.

But I loved the carpets.  Each was a distinct work of art, humming with the energy of the many animals and people who’d had a part in its creation.  The sheep whose wool had been sheared, the cotton farmers, the dyers, the designers, the loom makers, the weavers – all had a presence.  The carpets gleamed like jewels on the floors of the old house, adding a rich dimension of colour and elegance to each spacious room.

When I moved to Bali in 2000, the carpets came too.  I knew I’d be moving from a big house to a very small one and that my life would be much simpler – that was the purpose of the move.  But incongruous as they would be in my new life, I couldn’t leave my lovely carpets behind.

A fine carpet, gently used, will last for generations.  After 16 years in Bali, my carpets looked a couple of centuries older.  My house is largely open and there’s no glass in the windows, so over the years dust gathered between the tight knots in volumes that my underpowered vacuum cleaner could not clear. But worse than dust were the dogs.

Dogs have a natural affinity for carpets.  In the daytime they prefer the cool tile but once the sun goes down they head for the nearest carpet.   What harm can a dog do to a fine carpet? Let me count the ways.

The most innocuous substance they leave on a carpet is dog hair.  Of course, dark haired dogs prefer light carpets and vice versa, for maximum visibility of the shed hair.  Then, if the dog happens to ingest grass or bite a toad in the garden or otherwise feel that a good vomit is in order, the dog will head for the nearest carpet on which to vacate its digestive system.

Bali dogs seem to be born housebroken and accidents are extremely rare even with puppies. But in the early days I somehow acquired a dachshund pup.  Gentle reader, dachshund + puppy = disaster for carpets.  It is not a breed that is easy to housetrain anyway and Daisy had spent her first months with a friend whose house had no doors, so the dog was able to come and go at will.  Never having learned to ask to go outside or discriminate between inside and outside, Daisy was hell on the carpets.  If I made her sleep outside she would cry all night.  Our  ten years together were long and pungent.

Over the years anything that could be discharged from a dog orifice found its way to the carpets.  Kalypso, my Kintamani dog, became blind, deaf and demented at the end of her long life but never messed inside the house until her last night on earth.  I woke to hear her convulsing on the carpet beside my bed, and will spare you a description of the type and volume of body fluids which had to be cleaned up after we buried her in the garden.

Then when the puppies arrived late last year we entered the era of bones.  Puppies chew things, and in order to distract them from shoes, pillows and furniture I began to provide them with meaty raw bones.  We must have gone through several pig carcasses in those six months.  And unless I remembered to close the door the pups would make themselves comfortable on the nearest carpet to chew their treats, adding a patina of blood, sinew and marrow to the mix.

Of course all the dogs liked to chew on the fringes and the edges.  Dead rats, birds and sometimes even chickens were brought into the house and laid reverently on the carpet by my bed, which saw the most intense action.  Wayan Manis and I would diligently scrub the grubby bits but as the years went by the carpets dulled in colour and their energy dimmed.  The whole house was getting dimmer, really.  I’d lived here for 14 years and was trying to find the energy to paint again, and get to Klungkung for fabric to re-cover the cushions.  But life was busy and I kept not getting around to it.

A birthday was looming but no plans were afoot.  That was fine with me; I was now in favour of only acknowledging the ones that ended in 0.  A couple of friends suggested going to Amed for a night just prior to the unbirthday and I agreed to go along.  We left at 9 on Friday morning and meandered lazily around Karangasem for that day and the next, sleeping at the new little eco resort Balila Beach outside of Amed.

It seems that at 0905 on Friday a small army of friends, tukangs, electricians and pembantus descended on my humble cottage.  Five weeks of intensive planning, many spreadsheets and truckloads of materials came together in a whirlwind two-day home makeover.  At times there were 20 people beavering away in my little house.  The interior was completely repainted with a new feature wall, lights repositioned and new shades installed, new shelving and curtains fitted, the seating area expanded, reupholstered and loaded with cushions and the bed linen replaced with fine Egyptian cotton and goose down pillows.

I am not particularly observant, especially when 10 of my friends are industriously pulling the wool over my eyes and purloining my keys. I had no clue.  I arrived back home at 8 on Saturday night to find my house utterly transformed and a noisy group of smug, exhausted and slightly drunk friends finishing off the birthday dinner I’d missed.  It was the most gobsmacking, mind-blowingly amazing birthday present ever conceived.  My fresh and delightful new house looked like something out of a magazine.  I still can’t believe the amount of time, planning, designing, shopping, making, work and resources that went into this epic act of love.  How I cherish the dear, mad friends from Ubud, Sydney, Arizona, Barcelona and Macau who made this happen.  You know who you are.

The next morning I wandered the house in daylight, marveling at the lilac bathroom and mirrored kitchen.  But where were my carpets?

I found them rolled up in the laundry shed, deemed too grubby to return to my now spotless abode.  Oh, the shame.  Then I remembered Farah’s, an Ubud shop selling hand woven carpets.  Soon a nice gentleman came and took my shocking carpets to Denpasar where the evidence of canine misbehavior was professionally removed.

The carpets are back, gleaming like jewels again.  They are a little worn after our 25 years together, but so am I.   Another quarter century of dogs and dust will give us all that much more character.

Bali Daze / Dragons in the Bath Reviewed by Bill Dalton


Toko Buku2009

(Dragons in the Bath was re-issued under the new title of Bali Daze in 2012)

In November 2000, after living in Singapore for over 10 years, a Canadian woman stepped off the plane in Bali to begin a new life. Thus begins Ibu Kat’s first chapter, “Stepping Off the Cliff” in her book Dragons in the Bath, a singular blend of memoir, non- fiction essays, ethnological observations, social commentary and flat out editorializing.

After relating how she came to the decision to leave Singapore and how she had come to love Ubud, ‘the little mountain town’ she had visited since the early ‘70s, Ibu Kat subsequently describes her humble beginnings in the rice fields of Bali just a few meters from the jungle.

She first had a house built in three and a half months by 14 men using the most rudimentary traditional tools and no electricity. Determined to make the smallest footprint possible and ever mindful of her energy consumption, she personally limited her power supply to 2000 watts.

The author gradually adjusts and in a short time revels in her newfound rural lifestyle in the company of three dogs and a bald parrot. We read about Ibu Kat’s travails with immigration, her first time behind the wheel of a car, her troubles hauling water for a week, constructing a septic tank, a wastewater garden and her hilarious ill-fated experiments raising ducks and chickens.

In 2001, she began an environmental awareness column called Greenspeak in the popular local newspaper, Bali Advertiser. Her column has since become a voice of conscience for the Bali expat community as well as a valuable source of information on what it’s actually like living in Bali.

The everyday occurrences Ibu Kat describes are the same scenes that we pass by on the road or observe in our own yards that usually don’t deserve our attention. But in the hands of a skilled writer with a keen and subtle sense of irony and humor, ordinary and mundane events can come to life.

In the same way that Thoreau saw a microcosm of the universe in the tiny workings of an ant colony and Whitman a splendor in the grass, this writer describes the minutiae of nature with rapt precision – waxing rhapsodic over the spectacular colors of a reticulated python or the olfactory, auditory, hygienic and composting charms of the swayback Balinese pig.

Above all she is a lover of animals. This is a good thing when you consider the never-ending succession of unsolicited wildlife that wander in and out of her garden and home. Like the book’s cover which shows a veritable Noah’s Ark of animals in a tropical domestic setting, the majority of the stories are, in one way or the other, about her friendships, accommodations or confrontations with dogs, snakes, spiders, birds, meter-long monitors and tokay lizards.

Read about the Rat Zapper which kills rodents by electrocution, a breed of ducks so stupid that they are unable to reproduce, the secret life of bats, her irrational fear of Canadian bears, the paradoxes of the Bali Starling breeding program, and the important work carried out by Bali-based foundations that rescue and neuter tens of thousands of dogs.

Most of the stories are about the misfortunes, behavioral quirks and myriad personalities of stray mangy mutts that she has adopted or is breaking in, the pecking order of her three dogs, her dachshund who thinks it’s a Doberman, her thwarted attempts turning her dogs into vegetarians.

In the truly haunting and unforgettable Kasey & The River People, she tells of one of her dog’s encounter with the mystical Orang Sungai, the River People, who lurk down in the ravine below her house. I told the tale to my 10-year-old daughter and she had nightmares for three days and still keeps her curtains tightly shut every night. (Her room faces a river.)

With intriguing titles like Pit Bulls Don’t Eat Tofu and Two Naked Men in a Ditch, readers at first never quite know where a story is going to take them. One might begin with her sitting by her pond enjoying morning tea, and then before you know it she’s telling you how to build a pond. An errand to the warung for more sugar leads to an essay on the history of coffee.

Besides herself and all the creatures that populate the book, the only other main character is her housemaid Wayan. In the delightful story, “The World According to Wayan,” this likable Balinese woman comes across as knowledgeable, superstitious, down-to-earth and fiercely protective of her mistress.

Wayan keeps popping up throughout the book – cooking, preparing traditional herbs, serving as a foil for Ibu Kat’s naivety, bemused by her various projects, all the while interpreting, negotiating and acting as go-between. The only other person we get a glimpse of is Wayan’s husband who serves as gardener, handyman and occasional driver.

Of course it is the author herself who is the most developed character. Her thoughts and actions reveal a patient, worldly, eccentric, culturally and ecologically sensitive, and acutely observant woman who loves animals, gardening, a sip of wine now and then with friends.

Because each story must adhere to a set word length in the newspaper where they were first published, the book is divided into easily digestible chapters of 2 or 3 pages. This is our gain as it gives us a chance to absorb several episodes each night – like “eating one chocolate after another” her friend Diana Darling wrote in a review – and get a bit of insight or a chuckle before falling asleep.

Yet in spite of the brevity of the chapters, Dragons in the Bath is packed full of intensely lived experiences and a wealth of direct and indirect advice on how to negotiate with a Balinese builder, design a Balinese garden, plant and spread mulch, make compost. An index or simply a list of chapters in the front matter would’ve given the book more utility as a work of reference. (A book without an index is like a house without windows.)

In “Ethical Villas,” Ibu Kat spells out the responsibilities of villa ownership. In other pieces, she’s an outspoken environmental crusader pitching permaculture, electric motorcycles, the use of vevitar grass to prevent soil erosion, or a social activist promoting charitable associations, a dental program in one of the remotest villages of Indonesia, volunteering help in the recovery of tsunami-devastated Aceh.

As a loving tribute to the Balinese dog, zoology lessons on animals she has encountered all over the world, and as a chronicle of the island’s developing rural infrastructure, Dragons in the Bath is ultimately a warm-hearted and engaging on-the-ground account of how to live a responsible life in the countryside of Bali – equally appealing to the animal lover, foreign homeowner and anyone contemplating ever living for any length of time on Bali.


Retired, Rewired Reviewed by Bill Dalton



Toko Buku2017


As Bali’s population of resident Westerners ages, a whole genre of homegrown literature has emerged: The Bali Expat Memoir.

Often self-published, these books are written by restaurateurs, musicologists, impresarios, home birthers, art collectors,   tourism pioneers, etc. Cat Wheeler stands in the top rank of these contemporary Bali-based writers, taking her place among other women who have shared the same rapture for the island as Anais Nin, Jane Belo, Vicki Baum, Anna Mathews and Katharane Mershon from earlier times.

Retired, Rewired is the story of long-time resident Wheeler’s journey to proud and exuberant elderhood in Ubud. Wheeler is perhaps best known for her popular Greenspeak column in the Bali Advertiser under the pen name ‘Ibu Kat.’   She is also the author of Bali Daze (2009), a collection of her   experiences living in Ubud for more than 16 years. This new book of captivating and informative stories are addenda to that earlier book in which she settles into her adopted country, builds houses, engages local help, networks with neighbors and deals with the personalities of outlandish pets and random wildlife living all around her.

Since 2002, Wheeler lived in a small banjar near Pura Dalem Puri in the southern Ubud suburb of Tebesaya, spending most days barefoot in a sarong and seldom venturing south of Mas. In a sense the book is an elegy to Ubud’s passage through successive throes of change from a dusty little country village, which she first visited in 1969, to the still delightfully comatose town in 1992 on her second visit to the slow, sweet and sleepy Ubud of 18 years ago when she finally took up permanent residence. She has since lived through the 2002 terrorist bombing when this cultural capital of Bali became a bankrupt ghost town, its world’s discovery beginning around 2010, right up until recent times when traffic jams, hordes of tourists and astronomical real estate prices foretold an irreversible tipping point to come.

The book is required reading for anyone ever considering any kind of semi-rural farming enterprise on Bali. In her visceral connection with the human community and sharp observations of the natural world and life cycles happening around her, the book is not unlike a farmer’s almanac, a careful journal of gardening, outdoor pastimes, raising poultry and dogs, huddling under wild tropical storms, the loss of a beloved avocado tree and other arcana and general information that would be useful or amusing to other Asian-based homesteaders as for that matter any expat of all ages living in the tropics.

Wheeler’s most intimate friends are animals; at least it is animals which she chooses to write about with the most enthusiasm and perspicacity. Twelve chapters out of 39 are about pets and denizens of her house and property. Ibu Cat seems to have an especial fondness for our feathered friends, but her affinity towards animals also extends to the lowliest of creatures, taking note of the behavior of snails, the antics of pet turtles, harmless but terrifying spiders and the mating habits of Muscovy ducks. There are also anecdotes about rescued street dogs, a capsule discourse of Bali’s pig culture, the history of the Bali Heritage Dog, everything you ever need to know about Tokay lizards as well as the astounding amount of work, worry and planning night and day that it takes to breed chicks and raise laying hens.

Although Retired, Rewired is literary narrative and the very first sentence asserts that the book isn’t about the nuts and bolts of living in Bali as a retiree, every episode gives more texture, nuance and atmosphere than any guidebook could ever aspire to. Even with all its light-hearted bantering, there’s an abundance of rock-hard advice and practical information buried in the text: tips on designing open and closed spaces, bathrooms and bedrooms; house-building; renovating old buildings; tropical landscaping; where you can get your Persian carpet professionally cleaned; the procedures, paperwork, documents required for the burial or repatriation of foreigners dying in Bali.

Whole chapters are in themselves real life cautionary tales that illustrate the richness and peculiarity of daily life in Bali and the unpredictability and strangeness of social interactions between Westerners and Balinese. The Lighter Side of Urban Development, for example, is a hilarious tale of building projects that sprang to life outside Wheeler’s gate that typify the organic and haphazard manner in which projects are started, delayed, changed and at last finished while the whole neighborhood is thrown into chaos. “Bali is not a culture that plans ahead,” she wryly posits.

Other topics concern themselves with healthcare and  societal issues useful for gerontologists or anyone involved in geriatric home care. With their natural warmth, friendliness and compassion, the Balinese are well-suited to care for people of advanced years and for anyone with disabilities and diseases. One chapter addresses the big issues of taking care of aging expats, their even more aged parents as well as funeral arrangements for both.

We learn that taking care of old people is not for sissies but an ongoing sitcom with an aging cast, unforeseen script and unknown duration. Losing the Plot in Paradise tells of an Alzheimer patient’s care through the eyes his wife and caretakers. For 14 years five Balinese bathed the patient, gave him meds, kept him company, cooked for him, fed him, took him on drives to the beach, strolls in the rice fields and to the gym so that he was able to remain in Bali instead of being placed in some institution back home.

Ubud The One Trick Pony reminds us all of the painful lesson learned from the 2002 Bali Bombing – the startling fact that the island’s economy is almost totally dependent on tourism. All sectors – travel, construction, retail, restaurants, hotels – are connected to this highly vulnerable industry that results in cultural erosion, lack of diversity, a poor work ethic, a high turnover of the labor force and a chronic lack of qualified skilled workers. One bomb or natural disaster could bring the whole economy to a standstill.

Bring on the Dancing Girls reflects on the new face of old age in Bali in which the silver-haired Wheeler and her ilk are indelible fixtures – active, vital, healthy, full of piss and vinegar and fully intending to remain on the island to the end. In this eccentric community there’s no such thing as old and it’s never too late to try something new. Though not following routines that are as orderly, safe and  predictable as those found in the West, Bali’s independent old cusses in their ‘60s, ‘70s and ‘80s jog, build houses, take yoga and dance classes, stay engaged with iPads and smartphones and remain intellectually sharp.

A romantic contemporary biography of life in Bali as an older person, Retired, Rewired is written in fluid, witty colorful and unaffected prose. Wheeler does not judge but is relentlessly optimistic and philosophical no matter how disrupting or inconveniencing the circumstance. Her temperament and voice are even and steady, never stooping to rancor. Sadness and resignation perhaps, but not rancor or complaint.

Above all else, this upbeat series of mirthful and thoughtful life sketches gives elderly foreign expat retirees the confidence and daring to spend their final days in Bali, in what the author calls The Last Lap. The book is an insider’s perspective of what to expect and what is physically in store for all of us in the years to come. The writer herself is preparing for the day when she will be moving from independent living. At age 65, and boldly reckoning to live another 30 years, the lease on Wheeler’s Last House will expire in 2045. But she’s not going anywhere. In spite of Bali’s woefully undeveloped          infrastructure, lousy internet connections, bouts with dengue fever, pit vipers slithering into her bathroom and blackouts that plunge the whole island into darkness, there’s no place else she would rather be.