I read a friend of mine’s post of Facebook the other day about her au pair quitting. It was a bad time for her not to have help and she was a little down. She went so far as to say “why me”? I felt bad for her but it was a little hard to delve too deep into sympathy. And I realized that it must be that way for many of you when I tell my tales of staff woes.
Always, I try to be clear that I am thankful for the help I have and I appreciate the work they do. Most of the time, I do not complain. Really. No, really, I don’t. Even what I am about to share with you is not a complaint – it is just an example of why it is hard to add extra people to your day.
We have a new cook. He is married and he and his wife have worked together for a long time. We only needed a cook. But….. now we have a cook and his wife. They have two adult sons. We have fairly decent quarters. I am not letting two adult men live behind my house. So, we also pay them extra for housing. So, now it is costing us a wee bit more than it should. However, they are a lovely couple and I am very happy to have them here. I do believe you get what you pay for.
They are also kind and easy to be around. The other day, Francis comes up to me with a large green piece of fruit.
Francis: Do you like these ma’am?
Me: Uh, what is it?
Francis: It is a grapefruit, they were selling them at our church, we got you one.
Me: Wow, thank you. That was really sweet.
Rani (Francis’ wife): I will peel it for you so you can have it for breakfast. It is better to eat it on an empty stomach.
Okay, yes – awwwwwwwwwwww – that was really, really thoughtful. However, I am not a big fan of grapefruit. Yes, I really, I should just be grateful. However, I am really not a big fan of grapefruit. I am also not a big fan of breakfast or of things that are best eaten on an “empty stomach”. Maybe it’s me – but telling me that is not exactly enticing!
Anyway, Rani stands over the sink for about one hour and peels the grapefruit. Why does it take an hour, you ask? Because in India, peeling grapefruit does not simply mean removing the peel – it also means removing each piece of pulp and separating it from the membrane. No, I am not kidding. Yes, I walked into the kitchen at least five times and told Rani she really did not need to do that and I marveled at how much work it was. I did not add that it was all unnecessary because it was highly unlikely that I was going to actually eat a grapefruit. But you can be sure I thought it.
Jewish mothers have nothing on Indian staff when it comes to making you feel guilty. They don’t even mean to make you feel guilty. But how can you watch someone painstakingly peel the pulp of a grapefruit from its membrane and not at least try it. Dang it.
True to my normal forgetful self, the next morning, I totally forgot about the grapefruit. When Rani came in, she asked me if I liked it. She had already moved past me and was closer to the fridge than I was – so I had to be honest and say I didn’t feel great that morning. I was simply saving it for tomorrow morning.
Morning number two. I remember to pull out the grapefruit. My teeth are sensitive so I don’t like cold fruit. And I do not like grapefruit. Did I mention that yet? So, I let it sit for a little bit to warm up – I felt like I was five and my mother was about to spoon feed me cough medicine. Then I remembered that my dad puts sugar on his grapefruit. Hurray. That is what I could do. So I pull out the sugar container and dump 3 big spoonfuls of “sugar” on my grapefruit. Only, I have a cook, so I am not in the kitchen that much and apparently – when you haven’t been around it that much – salt looks just like sugar. Dagger.
So, in reality I dumped 3 very large spoonfuls of salt right onto my grapefruit. Did you know that I have Meniere’s and that I have to really, really watch my salt intake or I get nauseous and very dizzy – like can’t walk straight dizzy. Yes, brilliant.
Did you also know that Indian houses don’t have garbage disposals and that the toilets don’t generally flush everything down? Did you also know that in India, people are very resourceful and will go through the trash because there isn’t too much that cannot be reused. So, I could not dump the pulp down the garbage disposal (don’t have one), I could not flush it down the toilet (would not have all gone down and Rani cleans the toilets), and I could not throw it in the trash (because sometimes they sort through my trash). Because, even if you are rooting through MY garbage, I think it would be rude to throw away a gift from you.
Yes, I did try to rinse it off and then add the real sugar. Yes, I really did. No, it didn’t work so well.
My good intentions were making me crazy and I decided that I had to throw away the grapefruit. There was just no way I could risk taking in all that salt. And, besides – have I told you – I. do. not. happen. to. like. grape.fruit.
So, I wrapped it in a paper towel. But it seeped through the paper towel. So, I put it in a plastic bag and tied it in a knot. But I just knew it would be discovered. So, I went to the cat litter and cleaned out a little bit and put that in the bag and tied two more knots in it.
It sounds crazy – and it probably was – but, now, I couldn’t eat it – and I didn’t want to hurt their feelings.
Do you see how complicated it becomes and that is just the grapefruit!
I have been hearing about the spice market and I have desperately wanted to go. It sounded like a magical place where the sights were only rivaled by the smells. Where wholesalers bargained out of burlap sacks and the color of the spices lit up the canvas of the market.
Unfortunately, it felt a little drab – more like the streets of Oliver Twist rather than the hoped fields of the Sound of Music – but there were some beautiful sights to take in. The spices did light up the back drop a little – like the hushed tones of a sepia infused photograph. Quietly stunning.
On the way to the Spice Market in Old Delhi, the streets are lined with nut wallas – a walla is a merchant – so you guessed it – a nut walla sells nuts. There were dozens of them – one right after the other. Their displays were beautiful and tasty.
There was also a paneer walla. He sells blocks of paneer – think cottage cheese meets tofu – it is very popular here among the veg and non-veg eaters. And, yes, it bothered me a little that it was not refrigerated – but it did not seem to bother anyone else.
Along the way to the actual Spice Market, you see a lot of stalls with spices in them. But even though these are not the stuff that the official wholesale spice market is made of, they are pretty all the same.
There are also all sorts of pickled treats. I am a big believer in “when in Rome” so if this had been pasta, I would have surely tried it. But alas, I am in India and could not bring myself to taste these unidentifiable delights. The locals were not so shy and quickly savored them.
Now this is another story – take a potato, slice it, and fry it in some grease – and you have yourself a customer.
These are bags of rice and flour.
These are seeds for Lotus flowers.
Someone told me what these were but I cannot remember – some form of crystallized sugar – maybe molasses – I can’t remember – if you know, please do tell.
I wanted to go all Martha Stewart on these stars of anise and decorate them with glitter or at least a little paint. Wouldn’t they be pretty hanging on a tree with a ribbon?
These bowls were in the actual Spice Market. I did not know what all of them were – but there is surely curry, pepper, cinnamon, salt, coriander, ginger, chili powder, and many other yummy spices in these bowls.
I wonder how this works. These are red chili peppers. This is a wholesale market – so it is entirely possible that these bags get emptied every day. But what happens if they don’t all sell? And who is buying that many chili peppers?
This yellow root is tumeric. It is said if you grind it and add it to a warm glass of milk and drink that every day, you will fight off the swine flu.
And, no, I really don’t want to know why they are selling rat traps here.
These are dried rose petals for making potpourri. They smelled as lovely as they looked and reminded me of my grandmother’s bathroom.
This is what a typical stall looked like. Bags brimming with spices just waiting for someone to come buy them.
And really, truly, don’t blink or you might miss it. This is the sign above the alley that tells you that you have officially arrived at the Spice Market. It was a crowded place with lots of activity – not many tourists – and a lot to see. I am glad we found it!
Living in Delhi is so different from living in the U.S. for a million different reasons. One of the biggest reasons is simply the amount of history in the area. In the U.S., we marvel at what happened a few centuries ago – in Delhi, we walk among monuments that have existed for thousands of years. We hear stories that run through generations of rulers – sons who kill fathers and brothers to gain the throne and daughters and wives who manipulate events out of sight but never very far from the action. It is really the stuff that history is made of – and it rivals any soap opera that has ever been written.
There have been many rulers who tried to change the face of Delhi over the course of its history. Seven men who changed its name, its location, and its landscape. All of them wanted – and earned – their place on the pages of history. They are certainly gone – but they cannot be forgotten.
Every spring and every fall, a group of 40 women gather to explore the seven original cities of Delhi – to retell the stories of the men and women who walked and ruled the areas that are now mostly static but were once alive with great splendor and pageantry. I had the good fortune to be one of those women this fall. The 40 women are divided in to ten groups of 4. Each Wednesday, one of the groups gives a tour of one of the cities. This past week was my week and the group I was in presented Shajahanabad – Old Delhi. It was great fun.
Over time, I will share with you some of the information – and a lot of the pictures – I learned on the different tours. This is actually an amazing time to participate in 7 Cities because there is a big revitalization effort going on in Delhi to get ready for the Commonwealth Games in 2010. There has been lots of cleaning up going on.
The seven cities are as follows……
Quila Rai Pithora
Mehrauli
Siri
Tughlakabad
Firozabad
Shergarh
Shahjehabanad
And then finally New Delhi – which is heavily influenced by the British who ruled here for so long.
Hopefully you noticed that the scenery is a little different around these digs. I am playing around with a cleaner template – so please excuse the construction. If you see something you like/don’t like, feel free to chime in…………………………….
When I started this blog just over a year ago (yes, that is hard to believe), it was almost Veterans Day. In honor of my dad and all of those who have served our country, I wrote this post.
Now, a year later, I am celebrating (or really not celebrating) Veterans Day in India. I was half-way through the day before I even realized it was November 11th. I quickly sent a few emails to those soldiers in my life who I am so proud of and so honored to know. But that was pretty much it. School was in session (yes, even though it is an American school) and my day was pretty much like any other day. I did not hear the Star Spangled Banner and I did not see parades on tv. It was nearly Veterans Day Unattended.
But on Saturday, number one hubby and I had the chance of a lifetime. We got to attend the Marine Corps Ball. It is held every year on the birthday of the Marine Corps and my understanding is that all Marines celebrate the day on the same date. So all over the world Marines were celebrated and recognized and honored. It was lovely.
Security is tighter than normal for an event like this. Unfortunately, it has to be and thankfully, it was. So we started the evening by being reminded that the world is not always a safe place – that the dangers are real and the threats are taken seriously. That there are still people who can collectively hate a nation without taking the time to get to know its individuals. Our car was inspected, our purses were inspected, our bodies were checked. But it was okay. It is the reality of life here – really, I guess, it is the reality of life any where.
Then we walked through the reception line into the party. It was really a chilling and endearing moment. We were greeted by the very young faces of the men and women who have made it their life’s work to keep us safe. They do not get to decide when and where and who we fight – they simply have to be ready to run into the fire. I had to the chance to shake the hand of someone who does not know me at all but is willing to put their life in danger for me. Wow.
Their shoes were spit-shined, their uniforms crisp, and their smiles wide and sincere. I thanked them teary-eyed for their service and was grateful for the chance to let them know that their mission is not unappreciated. I wanted them to know that I understand how much they must miss their families and how much their families must miss them. That I know what they sacrifice and the potential danger they face every day just by putting on that uniform. And I am extremely thankful for all that they do. Of course, I couldn’t get that all out – all I could muster was a humble, whispered “thank you” but that river of gratitude runs deep – very, very deep.
As the ceremonies of the evening began, the reality of this world came crashing in again. The military is steeped in tradition and honor and those values came shining through at the ball. The color guard presented the flags. They were followed by soldiers who brought in an empty table. A table with places reserved for those who could not attend because they lost their lives too early defending our freedom. It was a bring you to your knees moment.
Those of you who know me well probably know the story of my brother-in-law. He served in Iraq and almost did not make it home. He walked into a building with several of his comrades and he was one of the very lucky few who was able to walk out. It was a set-up. A merchant convinced the soldiers to go into the building by telling them that the person they were looking for was in there. And then he waited for someone to push a button that collapsed the building. He watched those young men walk into a building and hoped they would not walk out. That is so impossible to fathom.
I had almost allowed myself to forget that my brother-in-law had that experience. He is home safe now and that is what really matters, right? Well, maybe not so much. Of course, I am absolutely thrilled that he is home. But, that experience will never leave him and there are other soldiers who have now taken his place. Not all of them will be as lucky as he was. Soldiers who have to walk into buildings everyday without knowing if they will come out. They are in danger simply because they love America enough to put on the uniform and fight for all that we hold dear.
My brother-in-law and I were talking about his service one time and he told me that he served in the Army to protect Bear, Flower, and Angel from losing their freedoms. To keep their world safe and uninterrupted. He has given them gifts that will never fit under a tree, but that will last a lifetime. How do you measure that gift – how do you teach someone to be appreciative of it? I hope I do justice to his story so that they will know how lucky they are – how much they are loved – how grateful they must be.
So, once again I am reminded of how lucky we are that soldiers volunteer to protect us. That they are willing to run into the fire so that we never have to run away from it. Thank you to all of you who have been a soldier or who have loved a soldier.
Okay, so this is going to sound very strange coming from me because I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE mail. I used to work in a card shop. I used to own a handmade stationery business. I used to spend hours upon hours making handmade Christmas cards. I always made them unique sizes, so the postage was always ridiculous extra. (And, honey, if you are reading this, by ridiculous extra, I really mean just a little bit more.) And because I refused to send generic holiday cards, I would also make Happy Hannukah cards for my Jewish friends and family members. I was a debutante – okay – I will give you a second to get back up off the floor and into your chair – really, I was. There are witnesses who can testify to this fact. So, I have officially been schooled in the fine art of written correspondence. (I also know how to properly cross my legs – it’s at the ankles ladies – unless you are at a football meeting, then go ahead and put that ankle on your knee – otherwise – it’s at the ankle.)
Anycard, this week, I got a note from a friend – I will call her Elaine (because that happens to be her name) – about a little boy in Michigan named Noah (yep his real name). Noah’s family is celebrating Christmas very early this year because he has cancer and he is very, very sick. They do not anticipate that Noah will make it long enough to welcome Santa on Christmas morning or leave him cookies on Christmas Eve. Noah is five years old.
Someone has decided that it would be very fun for Noah to get Christmas cards from all over the world. I immediately wrote his address down with every intention of sending Noah a card from India. However, mail is different here – my kids all wrote a letter to their grandparents. Some took 2 months to arrive. Some still have not arrived 3 months later. Unfortunately, that is a wee bit problematic.
I was thinking I could FedEx a card to Noah. That would cost about $100. Yes, it would likely mean a lot to Noah. No, it would not break my piggy bank (at least not completely). B.U.T. – it seems that the $100 would be more useful going to research so that there are no more families left who only get to spend five Christmases with their children. Fifty Christmases really aren’t enough. How do you explain only five?
Here is my thought. This year, I am going to take the money I would have normally spent on making and mailing Christmas cards and I am going to donate that money somewhere – most likely the American Cancer Society in Noah Biorkman’s name. I am going to email a Christmas letter – and a Happy Hannukah letter – to my family and friends. I am going to ask your forgiveness now for this horrible breech in written etiquette. I will remind you in my email why I am doing this and I will probably ask you again to join me. And I am going to take the time and considerable energy I was going to spend making and addressing those cards and donate it back to my family. I am going to organize something fun for us to do with the ten or so hours I normally spend telling them to be quiet so I can get those cards out. Damn it and Merry Christmas. Now leave me alone. I am busy spreading Christmas cheer.
I am going to pray for a miracle for Noah’s family.
And I am going to ask you to consider doing the same. Praying for a miracle and then donating the money you would have spent on cards to a charity of your choice. And also donating time back to your family that you would have spent on cards. And if you really don’t like your family, you can donate extra money to the charity of your choice. Or you can donate time to a charitable group.
I promise I am not suggesting that cards are not important – this is not a lifelong commitment to never doing Christmas cards again. But I think, if we all stop and think about the impact this could have on research, we will be compelled to do it. Really, if we all do it – it could change lives. And you will not have to force your kids/pets to wear matching sweaters and smile for that dreaded family photo. That, my friends, is what we call a bonus.
If you have a blog and like this idea – please feel free to share it. If you have a facebook page, please feel free to post it. If you have email, send it. Just don’t print it out and mail it (kidding). And if you have a complaint, you can put it in the circular file (only half kidding).
UPDATE:
I had listed Noah’s address so you could send him a card if you would like, but his family posted a request for a little peace with Noah. They were graciously overwhelmed by the number of cards they received and very appreciative of the love and support from around the world, but they have already celebrated Christmas with Noah. Now they would like to focus their energy on just loving him and enjoying their time with him. So, I have deleted the address out of respect for his family.
And if you are frustrated by the early arrival of Christmas decorations on stores and songs on the radio, just remember, not everyone will be here to enjoy them at Christmas. How lucky for them that they are out early.
I am off to the post office. I am going to give it a shot. Merry early Christmas Noah.
UPDATE 2: Noah Biorkman passed away on Monday, November 23rd. The family received over 1 million early Christmas cards on Noah’s behalf. They asked again for privacy in this sad time and hope that anyone who can will consider donating money to a charity (rather than sending cards or flowers).
P.S. If anyone from Hallmark reads this blog, you can stop the madness by donating a significant amount of money to the American Cancer Society, and then we could all return to Plan A. Just a thought.
I have had yet another adventure that I probably would not have experienced if I was still in my comfort zone the U.S.
There are quite a few Australians who live in Delhi. It turns out that they are a really fun bunch. They are also a charitable bunch.
The Melbourne Cup is apparently THE horse race in Australia – think Kentucky Derby. It is actually called “the race that stops a nation”. So imagine how sad the Aussies in India must be to miss this special day in their homeland. But sad they need not be. Those living here throw a party at the same time as the real race in Australia and call it a fundraiser. See, smart, fun, and charitable. I like them already.
I was lucky enough to go. And, as any good horse race attender would do, I donned a big-arse hat.
The woman on the far left just had a baby 4 weeks ago – so she totally gets a pass on not having a hat. In fact, she gets a big round of applause for going out at all with her first born baby to a party in India when that baby is only 4 weeks old. (And to think I was so impressed with myself when I made it to Walmart with my first newborn. Ha.) The woman in the middle does have a hat on – really a fascinator (which is a head band with big-arse stuff on it) – but you can barely see it because my fascinator is actually the size of Australia and it was blocking out the sun. Kind of hard to see anything around that big-arse thing. At least it hid my roots.
This lady is one of my favorite people here – she always has a big smile on her face and an amazing attitude. Yes, I dumb her down a bit. Here is a good tip to remember – if you have a friend who is not exactly tallish and is not wearing heels, and you are wearing heels and a fascinator that can block the sun, you are going to look a wee bit Hagridish if you stand next to her and take a picture. And see that skirt of hers, that is exactly why I love her – she thinks if you are going to wear a crazy hat, you might as well have a Barbie skirt to match it.
There were contests for the best hat, most creative hat, best dressed woman, best dressed man drunkest man, and so on. Did I mention the champagne was free flowing? It was.
The lady on the right was sitting at our table and she got nominated for best dressed – at first I thought she was selected for having the best table mate, but apparently her recognition had nothing to do with me. Whatever.
This lady won for best hat. It was a pretty fun hat.
All in all, it was a fun morning. If you are in Delhi the first Tuesday in November next year – mark your calendar and get shopping for a hat. And if you choose a big hat, you might want to start doing some strength training on your neck.
Have you ever been to a Post office in Delhi? Walk with me stand in line with me as I share my experience today.
I needed to mail a few things to locations around Delhi, which is unusual. Most people here have drivers and so, more often than not, we just send our drivers off with the things we want delivered. And we sit all comfy cozy in our pjs while our driver maneuvers thru traffic and crowds and runs many of our errands for us. It’s lovely really. And yes, it is absolutely amazing that it is actually more practical to have things hand-delivered than to use the mail system. But such is life.
My driver, as fantastic as he is, does not speak great English, so today I wasn’t confident that I could properly explain what I wanted done. You might think – really – your driver wouldn’t understand the simple instructions of “take these packages to that post office and mail them”. Really? Yup, really! It does not mean Khan is not a smart guy – in fact, I think he’s pretty smart – but it does mean that I did not feel confident that I could explain exactly what I wanted done and that it would get done.
And isn’t that lucky for you – because now you will know what it is like (at least what it was like for me) to go to the post office in Delhi.
First a little background – forget what you might know about the American mail system. It’s a wee bit different here. For example, there really aren’t mail trucks. There are mail bikes. Yes, that is right – bicycles. The postman rides through the neighborhood with mail strapped on to the back of his bike. It’s not exactly the Pony Express – but it isn’t quite FedEx either. You kind of cross your fingers and wish upon a star. Sometimes it works amazingly well – sometimes, not so much.
Knowing that I wanted these packages to arrive sooner than later, I decided to go to to one of the Head Post Offices – rather than one of the smaller offices that most neighborhoods offer. I believe there are 7 of these “head” offices in Delhi. I went to the one near JorBagh. By going to the larger “central” post office, I am hoping that I could cut off about two days of transit time from the smaller branch to the central processing branch. We’ll see how well that works out.
Before I headed over to the post office, I tried to look up on-line some information about their hours, locations, processes – you know, find out when to go where and what to expect when I got there. I never found a website that showed the hours. Just a few sites that would tell me the postal codes for the post office locations. I am not sure how it is helpful to know what the zip codes for the actual post offices are, but if you need to know, you can find that on-line. Other than that, you won’t find too many other (helpful) details. At least I did not.
So, I took a chance that they would be open today (Wednesday) at 12:30ish. They were. I walked in and looked around. There was a small window in the entrance way – but that seemed too easy – so I headed further back to the larger, busier area. There were several lines but I didn’t see any signs that explained what they were for. And there were no “take a number” stations. So, I got in the shortest line thinking that at least if it was the wrong line I would waste the least amount of time waiting. I am wicked smart like that.
In the way that I am very used to, I created and then stood behind that imaginary line that westerners like to draw on the ground to politely wait their turn. Respecting the privacy of the person in front of them and all that jazz. However, four people went up to the counter in front of me. One at a time, looking at me first, completely dismissing the fact that I might be in line, and then waiting for their own turn – now ahead of me. Interesting, right?
In the U.S., I would have very quickly pointed out to them that I was in fact in line – I would have explained to them that the line starts here – behind the imaginary line – behind me – I would have asked how they didn’t know about “the line” – I would have reminded them that everything you need to know you did learn in kindergarten – and I would have reclaimed my “next in line” status.
But I am not in Kansas anymore and I really was not sure what was going on. I really, truly could not bring myself to believe that all those people just cut in front of me. I let myself assume that they were all related – that they were there together.
But the seemingly new line was a wide line with people adding out to it from both sides. It was not the line I know and love – single file, straight back behind the leader of the line. It was becoming clear that a new line was forming down the width of the counter rather than behind me and the shortest line had now become the longest widest line.
Then I heard. “Pssssssst.”
And then, “Excuse me ma’am,” and this woman is laughing a little bit – not really at me – but, okay actually, at me. She said, “If you want a turn, you are going to have to push your way thru to the front of the line. Go ahead and get up there.”
Me: So, all those people just cut in front of me?
Her: Yes, I am afraid so.
Me: You don’t think they are related? Here together.
Her: No. I really don’t.
Me: Is that really what just happened? They ALL just cut in front of me?
Her: Yes, you’ll need to get up there. What are you here to do?
Me: I want to mail these packages.
Her: Speed post or regular post?
Me: Uhhhhhhh
Her: Speed post is faster.
Me: Then I want speed post.
Her: You are in the wrong line altogether – move over here.
Me: Thank you so much!
Personal space in India doesn’t mean the same thing as it means to me. Actually it doesn’t mean diddly squat. There is no such thing. The line was 6 people deep, but we were all within 3 or 4 feet of each other. It was a postal line sandwich. Smooshy. Twins aren’t that close to each other in the womb. And it’s still hot here so sometimes people still smell a little fragrant from being outside. Holy, standing on top of me, batman. But at least I am in the right line – I know what to ask for – speed post – it’s all good, right?
How did you know it was not? Did you read ahead?
Apparently that particular line closed at 1:30p. Good to know – except they never announced it – never put out a sign indicating who would be last. The guy just finished with the person two ahead of me and got up and walked way. And it was frankly 1:26p. Not yet 1:30p. There was still time to help me for stamp’s sake.
Then my little post office angel came over again, still snickering. Not at me, okay, yes, she was still laughing at me. But that is okay – you can laugh at me all you want if you are helping me with this process. Laugh away.
Her: They just closed the window. You’ll need to move to the next line over.
Me: You are kidding right? That line has a lot of people in it. Can they explain that I have been waiting?
Her: No – it closed at 1:30p. Just turn around and hand your envelopes to the man at the window behind you.
Me: There are at least 10 people in that line.
Her: Sure, sure – it’s fine – just do it. Push your way through. Hand him your envelopes.
So that is what I did. I effectively cut in front of about 10 people and handed my things to the man behind the window. No one complained. Actually I recognized most of them. They had been in my line but they moved when they realized the first window was closing. But none of them told me. No, that wasn’t very nice.
The guy in the new window was kind of laughing at me too – in a “you’re a dingbat and I feel sorry for you so I am going to help you” sort of way. Again, I am good with that.
The post man took all my envelopes and asked me if I wanted speed post. Of course, I do, I said very knowingly, – I think I was (not) very convincing that I knew what I was doing.
He stuck stickers on all the envelopes. Then he weighed them one by one and typed in a good portion of the address onto his computer as to where it was going, calculated the postage, and printed new stickers. It took about 10 minutes. The people in the line behind beside me all waited patiently, some had their mail out to be processed, but most just waited.
The total bill for about twelve 9×12 envelopes loaded down with flyers and invitaions – $3. I marvel how that entire process can only be worth $3. I am not going to question it – but I am going to wish I may, wish I might, wish upon the first star I see tonight – that the mail actually gets delivered.
As I walked out, I once again saw my little angel. She was still smiling and I thanked her profusely. Thank God for the kindness of strangers.
I’ve been asked by quite a few people if I am going to homeschool my children in India – ha ha, that’s pretty funny – and NO! There is a perfectly wonderful American School in India and they will go there.
So, what was the good question? What will I do with my handmade stationery business? I don’t know exactly – now I sound like a politician – but seriously, I don’t know. But I am taking as many orders as I can handle before I leave. You can see some designs at www.areasontowrite.com and, of course, you can call/email me if you want to see something that isn’t on the site. So, if you think you would like to order something, please just let me know!
Last night I got to spend time with my college friends and it was a gift beyond measure. Each one of them has touched my life in ways they can never fully realize. Last night was no exception – even in our crazy, over-scheduled lives, they each made coming to Mrs. S’s a priority and some came pretty far to be there. Some are in the midst of their own crazy adventures – this thing called life can keep us all busy. Spending time with them was fabulous. We laughed until our sides hurt, we dreamed up potential for my family’s new apartment (and laughed about that too), we looked up people on facebook (not always a good idea when wine is involved), we ate way too much delicious Indian food, and we shared wonderful memories.
Last night I tested their friendship by thinking I had locked my keys in my car and not realizing it until 11pm. You will understand one of the reasons I love them so much when I tell you that they ALL sat with me until 12:30am when AAA arrived and unlocked my door. Seriously, no one left. I felt horrible and so grateful all at the same time. And no one seemed too ticked off when at 12:30am, I realized that I had actually left my keys in the house in my coat pocket. Apparently I wore a coat inside. And apparently, I put my keys in my pocket so I would know exactly where to find them when I left. Oops. (I owe my mother-in-law a big thank you on that one too, as I kept her and John up way passed their bedtime.)
No one was more surprised (and embarrassed) than moi. But really, what a gift that extra time with them truly was. Mrs. S had us laughing so hard we were literally in tears, baby M was cooing and smiling, and I soaked in every moment of it. I will miss them all tremendously when I am in India. I will miss seeing them several times a year. A few of them are planning a visit and I am crossing my fingers that it will actually happen. But, in the meantime, I know that when I come back, I can jump right back in and not miss a beat. Thank you ladies.
Thank you for your patience, your humor, your friendship, your ability to laugh at yourselves (ourselves), and your time. Last night was wonderful because of all of you and our time together is a memory I will pack in my heart and keep with me.
9. We had a snake in the driveway yesterday – a black one – but a snake nonetheless
8. He doesn’t mind killing the bugs in our house – probably the snake wouldn’t either but it’s not getting in
7. Our son had a big school project due this past week that involved a lot of reading – our son is not a big fan of reading, especially for a school project
6. The toilet over-flowed today
5. Sleeping alone stinks
4. If he was working here, we wouldn’t need to move there
3. We had back-to-back swim meets at 7am in Maryland
2. I am not as much fun for the kids as he is at the end of the day
My husband used to work from home – all the time. And there were some super nice things about that. Sometimes we would sneak out for lunch or take a walk or just sit in the kitchen and talk. But – you know what is coming next – he was here ALL the time. And, frankly he wasn’t that busy at work. So, my time was his time. Sometimes I felt like I had two shadows. And I did not get a lot done.
He started working from home about the same time our house was being renovated and our youngest child went to kindergarten – yep all three kids out of the house all day for the first time EVER. Welcome home hubby. This was also a really busy time for my card business – A Reason To Write.
Free time – what free time? The free time I had been so looking forward to was first filled with the sounds of hammers and then by the sound of his keyboard. Because, even though we fixed up a nice office for him in the basement, he preferred to plop down at the eat-up area in our kitchen. You got it – smack down in the middle of all the activity – and when the kids weren’t home – my inactivity.
So, I actually said to him – you know, this isn’t working out that great for you to be home all the time – maybe you could find a job that took you out of the house a couple days a week. I didn’t want to completely get rid of him but a little down time was sounding pretty good. So he comes home and announces he has an opportunity to work in India. And when his answer to “is that a new street in our neighborhood?” was “no”, I took a long, slow, deep breath.
I should have clarified, by saying to get out of the house a couple days a week, I did not mean India. I meant around the corner, down the street, you know – commuting distance. So much for the best laid plans of mice and wives. That did not work out the way I planned. So now I have decided that parameters are the way to go. When you ask for something – be very specific!
Normally, I try to be funny and, I have to admit, I can sometimes be a smarty pants (who me). But not today. Today is serious. It’s almost Veterans Day.
We should all take a moment and be thankful for our freedoms. In fact, it’s a holiday, so take the whole day and just be thankful. No complaining about this great country – no matter who you voted for or why you voted for them. In fact, don’t talk about politics for the whole day. We are all in this together.
Take a second to remember that it is true, our freedoms were not free. Many people sacrificed for us – with their lives. Not just a little inconvenience – but their lives. They missed seeing their children grow up, they missed that last kiss from their husband or wife, they missed hearing how proud their parents must have been of them, they missed meeting their grandchildren – they missed everything. And, those who fortunately survived their service – well they were willing to sacrifice everything. Lucky for us.
Those of you who know my dad know that he is just one of my favorite people in the world. He taught me a valuable lesson when I was in about 6th grade. He was in the Air Force and we lived in Germany. One day I was visiting him at his office and we went out for lunch.
As we were walking, the National Anthem starting playing. It is a lovely little tradition at military bases that usually happens at noon. And it means everything stops. Oh, those were the days. Even cars. Everything stopped. People even take off their hats and put their hand over their heart. Beautiful! And, when I was out with my dad that day, this young kid in uniform decided that on that day he did not need to stop. Poor guy. He did it in front of my dad. Ooops.
Now, my dad is full of social grace, so this kid was lucky. My dad was a gentleman about it – but he made it clear. Crystal clear. You stop for the National Anthem – period. That had an impact on me – I thought, pay attention, this is very important.
From that day on, whenever I hear the National Anthem, I feel it in my bones. Really, I tingle. I get teary-eyed every single time. I am so proud to be an American.
Give yourself a gift today and click on this link. Nobody, and I mean nobody sings the National Anthem like Whitney Houston. She almost brings me to my knees. You can tell she feels it too – she smiles and she feels it in her bones. You can just tell. So, stop what you are doing and listen http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qciWEufZ2xA&feature=related – and take off your hat and put your hand over your heart.
And don’t forget to thank a veteran.
Thank you dad, thank you Joe, thank you grandpa Connors, and thank you grandpa Keresman! Thank you to everyone who has ever worn a uniform, loved someone in uniform, or God forbid, lost someone in uniform. God Bless.
Mr. W. has this thing about putting too much of our info “out there” but I would like to talk about our kids every now and then. And, although it worked out quite well for Microsoft, I simply cannot imagine referring to my children as child v.1, child v.2, and child v.3. So, I am now going to begin using their nicknames.
Bear is our son – our oldest child. He got this name because he wakes up grumpy. His hair is also really bushy when he does not brush it. But mostly he is really grumpy in the morning. Just ask him, he is sure to growl at you. Of course, when he was really little, I called him my Pookey Bear – yep, from Garfield. But somehow he managed to outgrow that a little too quickly.
Flower is our middle child and, if you know her, that about explains it.
Angel is our youngest. Mr. W was going to call her cricket until I explained that you cannot give one daughter a nickname like Flower and then call the other one a bug. There is not enough therapy in the world to reverse the trauma from that one. So Angel it is.
As for me, I am going to stick with me. I’d like to keep it simple – I have a hard enough time keeping track of nicknames, actual names, and pets. I do what I can.
There it is – now you will know who I am talking about.
This afternoon, we did not have a lot to do. That is unusual for us. We are a busy group. So it was a treat. But I wasn’t going to let the kids off that easy. They had to clean out the car. Plain and simple. Or it was going to turn into a science experience gone awry. I could imagine Child Protective Services potentially knocking on the door, with some news reporter at the ready to capture it all. And the neighbors standing, watching, shaking their heads. “She seemed so nice, even baked us Christmas cookies,” they would mumble. Yes, it really was that bad – the car is a mess.
So out to the car they went – to clean it. It started off really good – they didn’t even complain too much. But then, well – have you ever read the “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie” books? If so, picture that. If you haven’t, imagine a mouse starting off wanting cookie and ending up in a tree house by way of a carnival. Still not clear? Let me explain.
The kids left the house with the sincere intention of cleaning out the car. They even got a trash bag and opened the car doors. Some of the car crapola even made it into the trash bag. But distraction set in and they quickly forgot what they were supposed to be doing. They played a little basketball. They climbed a tree. They chased the cat. They did remember to bring in the groceries – forgot to put them away – but brought them in. What can I say, they are not exactly over-achievers in the chore department. Then they started raking leaves.
Don’t be too impressed. They wanted to rake the leaves into piles so that they could jump in them. And jump they did. They covered themselves in leaves, they threw leaves in the air, and, oh, how they laughed. They even asked me to take some pictures. That never happens. When they were done, the leaves were pretty much still scattered all over the place and the car doors were still open.
While they were outside it got dark and the temperature dropped fast. So they came in for hot chocolate. Spilled it all over the counter. But drank every drop (at least those that had not mysteriously fallen out of the cup.)
They had a lot of fun squirting whip cream into each other’s mouth – thank you hubby for teaching them that neat little trick. Then they took a shower and put on their footie pajamas.
Let the games begin. Yep, they started sliding down the stairs. More laughing. I was trying not to listen too closely – better not to know too much about some things. You can claim innocence later when Child Protective Services actually shows up. But really, I was laughing harder than anyone. The neighbors shut their blinds – excellent – no witnesses to the chaos.
On to the Halloween candy – and right before bed time, too. Yippee! No better way to follow a whip cream shot than by shoving 20 pieces of sugar down your yapper right before it’s time to try and fall asleep – and all on a school night. Brilliant. They spent the next 45 minutes stretched out on the kitchen floor making up jokes about the candy.
Bear: What is the sun’s favorite candy?
Flower: A starburst.
Angel: Oh, can I eat it?
More laughing.
The jokes were horrible so I won’t make you crazy by repeating them all.
Bottomline:
Today was a gift. They never made it back to the car – I, however, did remember to close the doors and put the still messy car back in the garage. What the heck, it will just get dirty again tomorrow.
Disclaimer: Hubby did not like the the reference to CPS – he asked me to take it out and marriage is about compromise – so I am leaving it in (remember, I am moving to India so I get a little latitude in all of the other departments, especially my own blog content) – but I will tell you that he wants you to know I was trying to be funny (and he thinks I failed miserably in that section – the rest of it was funny just not that part) and that CPS has never been to our house and no children or animals were harmed in the writing of this post.
I am new to this bloggin’ thang and I know many of you are too. So when I got my first blogging award today, I was so surprised. No time to even write a speech. But luckily, it’s all done via internet, so no worries about what designer I have to convince to let me borrow a dress – I don’t even need to figure out what museum to rob for jewelry to wear – no tripping on the red carpet – whew.
Apparently it works like this. Other bloggers find your blog and, if they like it, they can award you something. So today, sassymamasays.blogspot.com awarded me the “Holy Crap, You’re Moving to India” award. Look, I did not say they were official awards – but I am taking it! A total stranger found my blog, read it, laughed a little, and took the time to create an award just for me. Aw shucks!
I adore my children. I think they are great, most of the time. And just when I get a little cocky – one of them puts me in my place. Can you say “humble pie”?
Enter Bear.
With hubby gone so much, there is a lot to do around the house. And I feel like I am doing most – okay, all – of it. So tonight I enlisted the help of my son. I asked him to clean the cat litter. Now, this partly my fault, he should have been asked to do it more. At 11, he should be used to doing it. But it’s not that big of a deal. And honestly, I have been doing a good job of cleaning it every day. It’s not that bad. Or so I thought. Silly me.
Bear went downstairs to clean it out – minus a Hazmat suit and chemical warfare mask, which he apparently thought were essential. Bear immediately comes upstairs in tears looking for a big bowl – one of our throw-up bowls. I know. Give me a break. I am quite sure no one set off tear gas in our basement. If I am not careful, he is going to steal my academy award right out from under me.
Now Bear has had several emergency rooms visits because of some pretty significant respiratory issues – several that were quite scary. I always go with him. I will not leave his side. I become Mama Bear incarnate. Watch out! So, I am glad he knows I am compassionate when he is sick. I understand why he might feel this sudden turn of events might win him a little sympathy. Again, GIVE ME A BREAK.
Tell me you are having a hard time breathing and my world stops. All focus is on you. Got it. No question. And my world does not start spinning again until I know you are okay. You can get away with not cleaning out the litter box on those days.
Tell me, with tears in your eyes, that changing the cat litter is going to make you throw up – and I will have you do it everyday from now on – until you are 18. Seriously.
And, no, I am not going to tell him that there is a nice little man in India who is going to change the litter for him. He can sweat this one out.
Remember that fun little diddy from Sesame Street? I liked it because it was always easy to figure out what was wrong in the picture.
Welcome to our new home. This is our kitchen. Remember, sometimes, what you don’t see is as important as what you do see. In this case, even more important. Look closely.
Oh yeah, no stove, no oven, no fridge. I am looking at the kitchen, right? Yep, there are cabinets but no toilet – it must be the kitchen. And, there is a fan for a cooktop. What? How does that work? I don’t even see a lantern that I could rub and make dinner suddenly, magically appear – or a phone to call for take out.
Now I have been promised that I will not have a lot of housework to do -
no laundry,
no cleaning,
and apparently, not-so-much on the cooking either.
But I am a fan of eating – so I am curious. I’ll let you know how this one works out.
Not so long ago, I ran into a former roommate when I was out walking. FYI – when I say “former roommate” that is a hint to you that it did not end well. Hush – don’t tell.
Seeing her was qutie a surprise – partly because I have not seen her in a really long time – remember it didn’t end so well – and partly because, if she is walking near my neighborhood, that must mean – wait for it – she LIVES near my neighborhood. Oh good.
I was out with a couple of my friends (yes, I do have a few left) when I saw her. They were very impressed with how happy she was to see me – you could see the “note to self” look on their faces. Priceless.
It was actually nice to see her – I am not great at holding grudges – and she had a new little baby – and she looked good. Plus, I’m really not sure I could even tell you exactly why we have not spoken in forever. Clearly she remembered – maybe it was something I did -Hmmm. Nope, I still cannot remember.
Anywho – so, I said, “Oh my gosh, hi, it’s me – me.”
To which she said, “yeah, I know who you are.” Which made me feel good in a way – because we lived together for pete’s sake and if she didn’t remember me – she might need to seek medical attention for the early stages of alzheimers. And, then, she pretty much just kept walking.
Translation – if SHE is walking near my house, that must mean she LIVES near my house. Oh good.
Well, I recently joined the Facebook Revolution and saw her name there. So, just for giggles, I added her as a friend. She accepted. (Now don’t going logging onto my Facebook page to try to figure out who I am talking about – you won’t be able to. It does not say by her picture – uh oh, you caught me, I am the one who was walking by HER neighborhood.)
So what is the etiquette here? Do I send her a note or wait for her to make the first move? Maybe she knows I am moving to India and thinks it’s safe to be my friend now. Maybe she wants to throw me a bon voyage party. Oh good.
Update – she wrote me today – maybe she doesn’t actually remember either – maybe Alzheimers is setting in – or maybe she just doesn’t care anymore – but it was good to hear from her. She was very sweet in her email. We’re still neighbors – and who knows – maybe we’ll become friends again. I mean, how mad can I make her from the other side of the planet. And yes – that was a rhetorical question.
Let me introduce you to Queso. Sadly, she cannot go to India with us. She is a sweetheart and this really stinks – we are going to miss her. But she is diabetic – woah, that sounds complicated you say? Well, it is a little, but she requires no treatment. We found her to be insulin resistant -so she cannot take insulin. (do you like how I ’splained that so clearly?) And, I wouldn’t recommend trying to get her back on it – she had seizures – it wasn’t good. Her biggest requirement is a constant full bowl of water and her litter to be cleaned out everyday – because after all, if you are constantly drinking water – well you know what happens next.
If she were a blogger, this would be her profile…
Hometown – none, I was a homeless kitty rescued by Mr. W
Favorite meal – did you say food – count me in – whatever is on sale is just fine – and I cannot really have snacks (remember I am diabetic)
Lineage – I think my mother might have a been a tramp (my real mother – not my human mum), I don’t know my father – I was homeless after all
Tail - not so much – I am without one – but don’t worry, I was born without it, remember there was a disclaimer in an earlier post that no animals were harmed in the writing of this post – I can vouch for that
Claws – not so much in the front (I still have the back) – that wasn’t supposed to happen – so shhhh!
Indoor or Outdoor – definitely indoor but I love to sit in an open window
Health – well, minus diabetes, very healthy – all of my shots are up-to-date
Weight – that’s a little personal, but shall we say I am fluffy? Okay – if you must know, I weigh 11 pounds. I will admit I am a little short for my weight.
Purr ability – off the charts
Snuggability – off the charts
Kid Friendly – I live here don’t I – I love me some chilrens.
Cat/Dog Friendly - yeah baby – I have got it goin’ on
IQ - well, I don’t have a pedigree (think about that one – it was funny) but I am smart enough to love my family very much
Facebook login – I don’t have a page yet – my mom thinks I am little young – but if this plea doesn’t work out I might have to explore my options
Ability to return home to my owners when they get back – Absolutely, but they will also completely understand if you fall in love with me and cannot bear to return me to them
Warning – I can pass gas with the best of them – but if you have a man/boy in the house, you have experienced this little marvel of science already.
My mom might have a friend who is willing to take me in and she is talking to her this weekend.
But, just in case that is a “not so much” she didn’t want to leave finding me a home to the last minute – so if you haven’t hit “back” yet to get the heck off this page before your kids walk into the room, please let my mom know if you think I can live with you – either temporarily or permanently.
Earlier this year, hubby got tickets for Carlos Mencia’s show at Constitution Hall – one of our absolute favorite comedians. Then, he got offered a job in India. Dummy. He missed the show. He should have negotiated that in his contract – yeah I know the job is a great one – but I have these tickets for November. Plane ticket back to the USA please. He thinks that might have been a deal breaker. He mumbled something about priorities and a paycheck. Whatever.
So, I went with my friends. Hey, I love him dearly, but I have my limits. There was no way I was going to miss it too. No reason for us both to suffer the injustices of employment.
Enter Jen, Pat, and Ann.
It’s Friday night – we are ready to go – we hop in the car and wow, it looked like everyone in Northern Virginia pretty much had the same idea – go into DC at the same time as us. Brilliant. It turns out there was some big summit in DC – lots of dignitaries – blah blah blah. Something about rolling road closures. Oh good. Translation. TRAFFIC and lots of it. It took us an hour and a half to get there. Don’t they know we have places to go and comedians to laugh at? But we are moms – we planned ahead and left really early. Whew. And, we got a great parking spot. Seinfeld would have been so proud. We had time for a quick dinner. Two policemen sat near our table so we had to behave ourselves. Dang. Off to the show.
By way of history, these ladies (and their husbands) had come with us to see Ron White. Hubby had not been outsourced yet. We ordered those tickets too and didn’t get the best of seats. Let’s just say we did not feel like V-I-Ps but V-I-who’s? Can you say nosebleed - and forget Kleenex, they would not be strong enough – we’re talking emergency room-worthy nosebleeds – grab the beach towel. Augh. Our seats were horrible. So, on the way in, Ann says, “I brought my binoculars.” Smartass.
Okay, here’s a little secret – shhh – I temporarily misplaced the tickets. Yikes. No problem – they put replacements at will call. Thank you Ticketmaster – In we go. It’s all good.
However, because I did not have our tickets, I didn’t know where our seats were. I couldn’t defend their potential greatness. Anywho, we go in and turn right. Thank you God. Left would have been toward the back of the theater. To the right, there were only about 10 rows – we’re talking front of the theater – this is looking good. We were in about the 6th row back from the stage. Hubby’s status just got moved up to Number One Hubby. Ann wouldn’t need those binoculars. Ha and whew!
Two of us decided to hit the head before the show started. We saw Brad Williams and I took a picture with him. Delightful.
Then off we go to find the bathroom. There is a line for – you guessed it – Carlos Mencia himself. This puts me over the excitement edge. Holy crap – he is right there. In line we go. Then the very nice line monitor cuts off the line about 5 people ahead of us – I know, they have to start the show. I get it – but we are SO close. Think.
Okay, so I plead with the guy. My husband’s in India – he can’t be here, can we PLEASE stay in line. I am still not clear on what that really has to do with making hundreds of people wait for us to meet Carlos Mencia when they couldn’t – but he seemed to get it -very lucky us – and he actually let us stay in line – yahoo! Several people come up after us – also begging but also offering him money (sorry dude – I didn’t even think of that). He said no to them all. He felt bad about it – you could tell. So, I chimed in and I backed him up -“he has had to turn so many people away, really, he has a tough job,” I said to all of them. Hey, I do what I can. This would be the one time of the night that Number One Hubby would have been glad he was not there.
Deep breath. Now it’s our turn. Twenty-five dollars please. What? Dang, I begged to be here – Carlos is right there. We are the last ones in line. My quick-thinking friend paid the guy. We smiled with him and took a very fun picture. Then I told him I was going to put him on my blog. He nodded very politely – you can tell he has manners -but the look on his face said, “Oh yeah – listen up people, there’s another stay at home mom here with a blog and she is going to put little ole me on it – Aw shucks. Look lady, I am the comedian – and remember honey, you paid to see me – who’s laughing now?”
So, I tell him, “No really, I’ve only been blogging for one week and I have over 500 hits (thank you people).” He was walking away – but he actually stopped, turned around, and said, “that’s actually pretty good.” That’s what I’m talkin’ bout. Validation.
“I know,” I said. “Seriously,” I added. “And you are going to be on it.” You can be sure he is counting his blessings now. He’ll be paying me for a picture soon. Only I wouldn’t charge him $25 – he inspires me. I thought he felt the same about me – clearly, not so much.
Oh yeah, we still have to go to the bathroom. Quick. Talk about if you give a mouse a cookie – we got way off track. So we are laughing at our sassy selves and probably being quite annoying. Funny, after all, is in the laugh of the beholder. This woman in the bathroom is laughing at us, too. She clearly has a wonderful sense of humor. “No really, Carlos is going to be on my blog. Hey, do YOU want to be on my blog?” Sure, crazy lady.
We take a picture – she has a great smile and she seems like she’s a lot of fun. I mean, really, she thinks we’re funny – how could I not love her? I ask for her name – it’s Robbin (I like to give credit where credit is due – I asked “y” or “i”). “Two” b’s she said – after Baskin Robbins. Honestly, that is what she said. You are kidding me – that is hysterical. She said it was either that or Holly Hobby. You’re killing me. Apparently her mom loves ice cream. And, actually loves it enough to name her child after it. And, no, she did not charge me to be in a picture with her.
Back to our fabulous seats – thanks again Number One Hubby. And we laughed so hard our faces hurt. The show was amazing – and, nope, I won’t repeat any of the jokes. Buy a ticket.
We drove home laughing all the way. Ha Ha Ha. Thank you Carlos! You are a damn riot! Number One Hubby was right to be disappointed he could not be there.
I can only imagine the what the performers had to say after the show…
Carlos: “Okay, who was the most whacked out fan you ran into.”
DJ Goldenchyld: “It’s all good bro – if anyone came too close I blasted ‘em with my tunes. Too loud for them to get too close.”
Juan Villareal: “Fans? I didn’t go anywhere near those people, the place was crawling with cops. I can’t make bond with only $12.”
Brad Williams: “I had this 500-pound fat chick trying to flirt with me. She likes my yard duck impression.”
Carlos Mencia: “This crazy white woman was promisin’ to blog me. Woo hoo lucky me, lucky me – dee dee dee!”
And Robbin, God only knows what she told her friends – but she is sure to be famous soon. Hi Robbin – my new BFF.
If Carlos Mencia is coming to a town near you – treat yourself – get tickets and give yourself plenty of time to get there!
Cereal has been served for dinner more than three nights in a row in your house – and you find nothing wrong with that – that cereal is fortified – with vitamins – thank you very much.
Oh yeah, the kids – you forgot you had them – hopefully they found the cereal.
Your pets haven’t eaten period.
You are so proud that a famous person has friended you. Note to self – they are just trying to become more famous. You are called a fan not a friend.
You have joined more than 5 groups full of people that you could possibly, potentially know, maybe – I know, really they actually lived in the same state as you at one point, for at least 5 minutes. (thanks Brain Teaser).
You have taken the IQ challenge and believe that your IQ really is 140. Oh honey, maybe not so much.
Halloween candy has become a legitimate snack because it doesn’t take you away from the computer that long.
Your butt is getting flatter from sitting, sitting, sitting at the computer. Maybe that’s from eating the Halloween candy – when the two are mixed together, it’s hard to tell which came first – the candy or the Facebook.
You leave Facebook running in the background pretty much all the time – you never know when someone you barely know might want to chat.
You have missed your favorite tv show more than once and forgot to Tivo it. Duh. Technology allows us to be addicted to more than one electronic device at a time – let’s use that to our advantage people.
The kid who sat behind you in math class in 7th grade knows more about your life than your own parents. After all, he knew you when too.
You are willing to spend 5 hours scanning in old photos that you hated of yourself just so you can share them with, well, pretty much everyone in the world. If they involve the prom, childbirth, or a college fraternity party – seek immediate help.
You compete to have the most friends.
The “Wall” no longer makes you think of Pink Floyd.
You laugh when you see that someone has actually typed out the whole word “Facebook” – it’s FB, newbie.
You actually update your status on a regular basis.
You don’t ignore anyone -except, maybe, your parents.
You have your notifications sent to your crackberry.
You know how to kidnap someone, share a christmas elf, give flair, and IM and can do it while eating a piece of Halloween candy. You are good.
You have engaged in a virtual pillow fight and really spent time picking out the pillow you liked best. It’s good to have options but please, please tell me that you do know you aren’t really going to be allowed to sleep on it.
You know how to make a smiley face – an actual smiley face not just a bunch of symbols that kind of, sort of resemble a smiley face.
Communication in your house is accomplished mainly via Facebook’s IM feature – it’s all done within the same house – different computers – but different computers located in the same house. No need to see actual faces – you are a jedi master in the smiley face/emoticon realm. And yes, you can make a ticked off face too. You are a master. Yoda would be very proud – let the face be with you.
You have lost track of night and day. An hour lost here or there is not really a big deal. Trust me on this one. But an entire day – yeah, that’s a problem.
You have friends you have not actually ever met.
You laughed at any of the above. And, please don’t ask me how I know any of this. I am not a scientist but I can play one on Facebook.
Have no fear – there is hope. There is a 12-step program just for you.
When did you first learn you were an addict? Do tell – misery so loves company.
I just found out that our washing machine is going to be on our porch. Let me see if I can guess what you are asking yourself – yes it is covered. But nope, it’s not a screened-in-porch (Why would they do that? Mosquitoes are a huge problem in India – no need for screens. What a relief, I feel better already.) Nope, no dryer hookup either. Just a washer. And apparently a really long string.
So not only will I have a washing machine on the front porch, I will also have laundry hanging out on lines. I am sure to be the envy of the neighborhood. Holy smokes. Bow chink a now now. I have nothing else to say about it – I think this news flash pretty much speaks for itself.
Update – Number One Hubby tells me that the washer might not have to be on the porch – it might actually fit in the bathroom. I have just one question – it is a bathtub/washer combination or do I get to now bathe on the porch? Yikes.
Twelve step program for recovery from your Facebook addiction…
12. Stand up – do this slowly, if you have been sitting too long (hence the name addict) the blood could rush to your head from your butt. You will be totally disoriented – your brain might want to start thinking again – give this one some time.
11. Turn the computer off
10. Step away from the computer
9. Step away from the computer again – I know it’s tempting.
8. Do not turn the computer back on – in fact, unplug it.
7. Feed your children/pet/yourself – something besides Halloween candy or cereal.
6. Pick up the phone and actually talk to a real person – or better yet, leave the house and actually have lunch with a real person. (And no, eating a sandwich while talking to the mailman so your computer has time to reboot does not count!) You can start off slow on this one – just walk into the other room and talk to a family member – face-to-face.
5. Call your parents – they have been worried about you.
4. Hand write a list of people that you want to actually buy gifts for this season (typing it on the computer will suck you right back in) – gifts you can wrap -not gifts that have to be sent via Facebook.
3. Have a real pillow fight with your own family – no more pillow fights with “friends” you have not seen in 20 years.
2. Whoah – Do not sit back down. Have I lost you already? Step away from the computer.
1. Ask your friends (not the kid from 7th grade math – but your real friends) to set up an intervention – but do not, I repeat, do not conduct it via a Facebook chat or by posting it on someone’s wall. And, please, whatever you do, do not hand out fake drinks that you made on Facebook – some of your friends might be battling more than one addiction…
Good luck
We all get by with a little help from our friends – please free to add any suggestions you might have…
I just found out that there is a city in India called Hyderabad. AKA – the City of Pearls. Now we are talking. I don’t know what I have been so worried about. What could be wrong with a country that has a city named after pearls. And I was a Chi Omega – our stone is a pearl – this was meant to be.
Please don’t bring me down by reminding me of the Yellow Brick Road – it looked so shiny and bright – but really not so much – there was that whole crazy wizard at the end and the flying monkeys. That didn’t go so well. Yeah, I know, we’re not in Kansas any more. But Dorothy took care of the witch so I shouldn’t need the ruby slippers – but pearls. Hmmm. That’s another story.
I am one of those people who always has a suggestion. I know it can be annoying but I am really just trying to be helpful. I am sad that I am going to miss so many chances to share my best trade secrets with you by merely slipping them into casual conversation. So, I am going list some of my favorites for you here – you can read over them when you really miss me – it will remind you that I can be annoying. (Please don’t say “no need to be reminded”. You’ll break my heart.) But do feel free to share your own tidbits – I’ll take them with me. Then I can be annoying in India, too.
409 will get nearly any stain out of clothes – dirt, grass, ketchup, grease, oil. Really, it will. Hello baseball pants. It’s better than bleach for whites. Really, it is. It will keep the underarms of your white t-shirts white. I don’t know how it works on silk or wool – some things are better left to the dry cleaning gods.
Even if you don’t have a baby – buy diaper wipes – the generic brand is just fine. They are great to keep in the car and the bathroom. Do not flush them down the toilet. You really don’t want to know how I gained that little pearl of wisdom. They are also great for blowing a nose that is raw from being too runny (just make sure they are unscented or you won’t miss me at all.)
Ketchup does not have to be kept in the fridge – think about it. The next time you are at McD’s or any other fast food restaurant, look for the ice under the ketchup – there isn’t any. They would not risk a law suit – it can be served room temperature – and it is so much better that way! Say it isn’t so – if you don’t believe me, read the bottle – it does not say “refrigerate after opening.” (Note to babysitters – please quit putting my ketchup in the fridge.)
Cut brownies with a plastic knife. You won’t believe it – they don’t rip. You’ll be singing my praises so loudly I will hear you in India.
Salt or baking soda can get pet and kid pee (and its smell) out of your carpet. Just pour a ton of it on there and let it soak over night – then scoop up as much as you can and vacuum up the rest. You’ll need to clean your vacuum filter after this. Bear has a hazmat suit you can borrow.
Celery lasts forever in the fridge if you wrap it in aluminum foil.
Cut pizza with scissors – and the crust off of sandwiches. Buy stainless steel scissors and you can throw them in the dishwasher.
Throw toothbrushes in the dishwasher when someone is sick. It kills the germs.
Don’t buy tupperware – your old sour cream, margarine, and cream cheese containers work great. If you are someone who won’t be able to remember what’s in there – write it on the outside of the container with a sharpie. And if you forget to eat it – wah lah – you have a science fair project. Plus you are really recycling. Go green baby.
Throw sponges in the dishwasher every day – they won’t smell spongy.
Clip newborns fingernails when they are asleep – seriously, it is so much easier!
Cook a bunch of ground hamburger at once (buy the big pack at Costco and cook it all at once) – then drain it, separate it, and freeze it in sandwich bags. When you are ready for tacos or spaghetti, you are half-way done. Half the time, half the mess.
When you are cooking ready-made biscuits, rolls, or cookies in the oven, lower the temperature by 25 degrees – they may take a tad longer to cook but they won’t be gooey inside.
Taking dinner to someone who is sick or who just had a baby is a tremendous gift – but not if you take it in a bunch of dishes that have to be returned. The sleep-deprived can barely remember to brush their teeth (and they can’t find their toothbrushes because they left them in the dishwasher), much less remember which casserole dish came from whom (thank you English degree). Forget presentation – they won’t care how pretty the salad looks. Throw everything in plastic ziploc bags or old sour cream containers and give them the gift of sanity mixed in with a little time. Throw in some paper plates and plastic forks – no dishes tonight!
I have a friend who told me once how to clean out under the stairs in her garage. But I refuse to pass this little nugget along – I don’t have time to clean out under the stairs in my garage – I don’t even care about cleaning out any part of my garage – enter at your own risk. She also tells me the time in exact minutes – enough said.
Don’t forget to share your favorite hints from Heloise.
You might not have guessed it by the high quality of my blog – but I am a one-woman show. That’s right, I market, publish, design, research, write, edit, and plagiarize (that is a joke) all by my lonesome. FYI – I was an English major – and my parents paid a lot of money for that degree. No, they did not actually “buy” my degree – but it was expensive for me to earn it. And, now that I am mostly a stay-at-home mom, they are not seeing a big return on their investment. SHHH!!! So, if you could just go ahead and help me out by letting me know if you see a typo, yeah, that’d be great.
Now, please don’t take that as poetic license to rip apart my content – you own a “back” and “delete” button for that. Remember, these are the cheap seats – this blog is free. Please don’t shoot the messenger. And, extra spaces, not so much. But, if I misspell something – ya gotta help a sista out. (Yes, I do realize that most of that last sentence was misspelled – I was going for effect or is that affect, I can’t remember.)
Honestly, they have a smiley face icon for everything. And, I hope this one comes through. It is a smiley face on a rug with a turban in front of the Taj Mahal. Seriously, was that necessary?
Apparently I have given some of you the wrong impression. I have gotten quite a few comments about how unexcited I am for our new adventure. I blog to differ. Just in case you don’t know me, I am a smarty pants. Most of this is sarcasm. Oh sure, and there is a bridge for sale in Brooklyn. I know. But seriously, I have found the silver lining around some of the clouds that I thought were pretty dark and I wanted to share them with you…
For example…
Cloud:
I have had to pretty much give up my handmade card business – A Reason To Write - pretty hard to do craft shows on weekends with 3 kids playing two sports and a husband out of the country.
Silver Lining:
But now I have started blogging and am LOVING it – I have not put pen to paper in a long, long time – this is definitely a silver lining. My parents might actually see some return on their investment in my college education after all. Maybe I’ll go for my masters – yeah, probably not. No need to get carried away.
Cloud:
I am that mom that will cook chicken nuggets, mac n cheese, and pasta for every meal. Life is short and I don’t have the energy to fight over food. And, just to spice it up a little – sometimes I will throw in a happy meal. I aim to please.
Silver Lining:
Now, I have decided to expose my children and their tastebuds to new adventures too – just in case they don’t exactly cater to the spoiled conservative American 11/9/7-year-old palate in India. My kids have now tried lasagna, stroganoff, apricot chicken, and homemade cheeseburgers. And, the best part, therapy will not be needed at a later date – these new flavors did not cause any traumas. They survived. I did take it slow - I have not exactly delved in to the vegetable world – but give me time. (As a bonus, I learned how to spell stroganoff.)
Cloud:
I joined Facebook and I think I might have run out of friends to add. At least I have not discovered any new ones lately.
Silver Lining:
Hey, wait just one minute, I am moving to a country with a billion people. I can out-friend my American friends in no time. Oh the possibilities. Surely, somewhere in a country with a billion people I can find a few new friends. Easy now – remember there are some rhetorical statements here. No comments necessary on this one.
Cloud:
About a week after hubby left, my entire computer system crashed. Remember, I own a stationery company and make everything myself – oh yeah, and I use the computer every now and then (translation – ALL THE TIME) to do it- AUGH! Cloud – big cloud. At the time, it felt like a full-blown nuclear explosion cloud.
Silver Lining:
But now, I have laptop that I can take with me every where I go – even to India. And, I updated a lot of my software – apparently a lot happens in the software world in seven years. Apparently, they fixed all the things that had been frustrating me – who knew? Big Fat Silver Lining.
Cloud:
I am going to miss my friends terribly.
Silver Lining:
But, now I am making plans for lunch, dinner, and shopping with most of them. I am seeing them more than I probably would have normally. I have even reconnected some people who weren’t my biggest fans.
Cloud:
No Target and Costco or even Walmart.
Silver Lining:
No Target and Costco or even Walmart. Think about packing up a house full of junk from Target, Walmart, and Costco and you realize you don’t need a lot of junk from Target, Costco, and Walmart.
Cloud:
I am not a big fan of 6th grade math and I have had to spend a lot of time with 6th grade math because Number One Hubby AND his mathematical mind/accounting degree are out of the country.
Silver Lining:
Bear and I have gotten to spend some time together figuring out 6th grade math and he still has a good grade in it (Mr. Beasley would be so proud). Whew. Thank God we are moving before Bear moves on to 7th grade math. I will not be downsized just yet – outsourced, yes, downsized, not so much.
Did you see that little number over there on the left? Blog stats – it just changed to 1,000. That means 1,000 times someone checked in to see what I was writing – that is very cool! Thank you for caring! And, believe me, I have tried to see if I can boost the number by logging in and out of the site. WordPress must have a stealth detector – it knows it’s me everytime and does not increase my stats when I log in. So thank you for following my journey – McDonalds better watch out – I am creeping up on their schmancy fancy “over 1 billion served”. How do you like me now??? By tomorrow, I am sure to be able to say “over 1,000 served”.
Hugs and kisses to you all. Maybe I will give out a prize from India when I hit 10,000 served. Hmmmmm.
If you went to high school in the mid- to late 80’s you might recall this clever little catch phrase. If not, I’ll break it down for you – No is Okay. It was meant to give high schoolers the permission to say no to whatever pressure peers were laying on them. Drugs, Sex, Smoking, Cussing, Skipping School, Studying too much (okay, maybe it did not exactly give you permission to say no to studying – that was parental pressure, a whole different story, but hey, I am entitled to my own interpretation).
Certainly, I spent some time in those meetings (yes, my picture is even the yearbook front and center – I might have even been an officer, gulp) and I chanted No is Okay with the best of them – oh yes, I signed the contract…
I, state your name, will follow the straight and narrow path and be a good little high schooler who does not party, does not smoke, and aspires to be the President one day so that I can bring about world peace. And I will do it while helping old ladies across the street, babysitting for free, organizing canned food drives, and studying for my Calculus exam (which I most certainly get an A on, by the way)…
Put your cigarette out, your drink down, and Sign in Blood here. XXXXXX
Only, I spent more time saying “no” to NoIsOk than I spent helping old ladies across the street. I was by no means a horrible kid (SHHHH – remember, my parents/husband and maybe, one day, my children read this blog) – but I was busy enough that I did not exactly accomplish world peace or necessarily an A in Calculus.
Where am I going with this, you ask? What could this possibly have to do with moving to India, you say?
Well, I realized today that, in fact, No really is OKAY. Very recently, I have been daunted by some pending invitation orders, which appear to be in direct conflict with moving me and my family to the other side of the planet – in 5 weeks. Holy smokes. Translation – not enough hours in the day.
And, yes, I do realize that I could have said no in the first place. But, I honestly thought I could do it and they are orders from very good customers and really nice people. And I so much wanted to make their holiday invitations – I love making invitations – it’s super, super fun. Unless you are moving to India – then it is simply STRESSFUL. And I don’t care if “stressed” backwards spells desserts – stress by any other name is still STRESS, even if it is covered in chocolate and dripping with whip cream. Then it’s just stress that will also make you fat.
So, I took a deep breath and I emailed all of my customers with pending invitation orders and explained that I am overwhelmed, because I am moving to the other side of the planet – in 5 weeks, and I just simply cannot create invites for them. They were all so understanding and supportive and it made me feel horrible. And, frankly, a little sad. But it also made me feel better. Much, much better.
Enter – deep cleansing breath.
So, over-busy people of the world UNITE. It is okay to say no every now and then. In fact, maybe this is the solution to world peace – less stress. Gotta go – Obama needs to know that NoIsOK. Maybe there is a cabinet position in it for me – the Secretary of NoIsOK – I’d even be willing to sign the contract – the position will be located in …. India? Okay, he might say “no” to that.
Bear is black and white. Very practical and logical. Enter Mr. Spock. Me – not so much. Enter everyone else all mixed together.
So, we were in the car not so long ago and he asks me what time it is. And, it goes a little something like this…
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Bear: What time is it?
Mom: 9:30 Bear: but the clock says 9:28 Mom: Well, honey that’s the same thing Bear: I don’t get it Mom: Well, 9:28 and 9:30 are about the same time -
sometimes people round off the time Bear: I still don’t get it Mom: Wait a minute, if you can see the clock, why are you asking me what time it is? And, FYI, now it really is 9:30.
Clearly, Bear is from Mars and Mom is from Venus. And, no, I did not bother explaining that the clock probably really isn’t set to the exact time anyway – can you imagine the fallout from that one?
There is a woman in India whose life’s work it is to hug people – that is it – that is what she does. Simply to hug. Wow. And it is estimated that she has hugged over 30 million people in 30 years. Seriously – Wow. Her name is Mata Amritanandamayi Math and, thankfully, they call her Amma.
She doesn’t ask for a thing for a hug – and yet, people donate money to her causes willingly. She is said to have donated over 23 million dollars to tsunami relief, one million dollars to Hurricane Katrina relief, and funds so that over 100,000 homes could be built. Dang! (source Wikipedia)
I love hugs too – but, if Mr. W has just mowed the lawn and comes in all sweaty looking for affection – not so much. And I love him – a lot. But ick. But not that Amma, she just hugs, anyone, everyone. God love her!
Once a press reporter asked Amma how was it possible for her to embrace each and every one in the same loving way, even if they were diseased or unpleasant. Amma replied, “ When a bee hovers over a garden of varied flowers, what it beholds is not the difference between the flowers, but the honey within them. Similarly Amma sees the same Supreme Self in each and every one.” (This was quoted from www.Amma.org.)
That is really a beautiful thing. And it would never happen in America. We might have come far enough to elect a black President – but we are not likely to celebrate someone who just walks around hugging complete strangers. Lock her up – she’s a nut – doesn’t she know I just ironed this shirt – would be our battle cry. She would not stand a chance.
I am looking forward to living in a country that puts a “hugger” on an equal playing field with celebrities. She is famous and people flock to her. This fascinates me and I hope to meet hug her very soon.
Do you know about this service – first of all – it’s free – yippee – and second of all, it basically lets you talk via the computer with anyone else with a computer (think conference call) – yep, no matter where they are. Even in India. And, if both parties have a camera on their computer (and are willing to turn it on), you can see who you are talking to (think video conference call). It’s very cool. And it is why I can still remember what number one hubby looks like.
Anywho, you can subscribe to the service (did I mention, it’s free) at www.skype.com. If you decide to sign up, please let me know your contacts login – we can keep up!
On another note – I added a subscription link to my blog – it’s on the top of the column on the left-hand side (it’s under the heading “subscribe to this blog” – yes, I am very clever). If you click on the link and enter your email address – you will get an email when I add a post. You will have to confirm your subscription in your email – it’s easy, schmeasy to do. And, that way, you won’t miss a thing!
This weekend Flower and Angel danced in the Nutcracker. It was called “Nutcracker in a Nutshell – All Jazzed Up.” If you ever get a chance to see this version – do – it’s shorter – it’s sassier (translation – not too heavy on the ballet) – it’s a win all around.
Flower was a Hip Hopper (I told you, it’s not your grandmother’s Nutcracker)
and a Mirliton (ribbon dancer – don’t worry, I had to look it up when they announced her part – you’re not alone on this one).
Angel was a Bon Bon and a Chinese (some things are still recognizable).
And of course, they were great – and blah blah blah. I will not bore you with every little detail of their performance – I have the DVD if you insist on seeing just how great they were. However, …
My girls are similar in a lot of ways. But, this weekend I was privy to another one of their differences.
Apparently at the end of each performance, all of the dancers line up at the bottom of the stage to sign autographs. And, many of the people there knew just what they were doing. (Something about tradition – after every show – shhhhh, don’t tell the newbies) Clearly, I did not know about this little “after show” arrangement. DANG! Bear and I just sort of sat in our seats as the crowds dispersed and wondered what in the heck Angel was still doing up on stage. Angel was standing near the row of dancers in the front who were signing autographs – she stood there very patiently waiting for someone, anyone to ask her to sign their program.
Bueller, Bueller.
Not realizing what was happening, I hurried her to get moving.
Now, it’s not that I don’t love the Nutcracker and it’s certainly not that I did not love absolutely every second of them being on stage – I did! But, I also sat in the parking lot for hours with a very bored Bear while they practiced every Saturday afternoon for the past 3 months and then I sat through the 4+ hour dress rehearsal. I even arrived an hour and a half early for both performances to make sure I had great seats with my general admission ticket (those of you who know me can stopped laughing now).
And then I sat through performance number one – knowing full well that performance number two was on the horizon. I clapped until my hands hurt – I took a million pictures – my heart swelled with pride – and when it was done, well, I was sort of ready to go home. We’re doing this all again tomorrow, right? Let’s go.
Angel cried. OMG she cried. “No one even got the chance to get my autograph.” Huh? Really? Sweetie, you were the best Bon Bon ever on this planet and a great Chinese dancer, but, honey, most people want to get autographs from Clara and the Nutcracker and the Snow Fairy – you know, the leads – aka, the stars of the show.
“No, mommy, they would have wanted mine too if I had just been there long enough.” Okay then.
Forget the 529 for college savings – it’s all going to the therapy fund as of now.
She cried again going to bed. A lot. I felt terrible and a little amazed by her insistence that the world had been cheated. Note to self – cancel self-esteem classes. Instead, sign Angel up as the instructor.
Now, Flower, she came down right after the performance and did not even try to sign autographs. She didn’t see the point. She did not want to get or give any signatures on her program – thank you very much. It was very fun – but I am done here and there is a Burger King cheeseburger with my name on it somewhere close by. Let’s go. That’s my girl!
Lucky for me, Sunday’s performance was attended by grandparents. Now, I know why they are called “grand”. I shared my little story with them and they stepped up to the plate stage! When the show was over, Flower and Angel came down to thank them for coming and they, with pen in hand, asked for their autographs. They both complied with big smiles on their faces. It was kind of magical. Definitely worth the price of admission and the hour and a half wait in line and the practices on Saturday and learning how to put their hair in an “official” Nutcracker-worthy bun and, and, and …..
Afterwards, Flower went to change. Apparently she felt sufficiently famous.
Angel – well, she marched her little Bon Bon self right back up on that stage – and wouldn’t you know it, two people (without any prodding from me whatsoever) asked her for her autograph. Little ole Angel with her little ole Bon Bon part. No more tears were shed. By her or me.
Several years ago, not too terribly long after I quit working (translation – still worked my butt off but quit receiving a paycheck for said work) and shortly after Sept. 11th, I lost my drivers license. If there ever was a time to not lose your drivers license, I can assure you this was pretty much it.
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I am guessing that it is likely a universal truth that at every DMV you need two forms of identification to replace your drivers license – and at least one should have your picture and the President’s signature notarized in triplicate – thank you very much. Let’s see – I lost my id with a picture (that’s why went to the DMV) – and I used to have a badge for work, but I turned in my employment badge with a picture – yep – when I quit receiving a paycheck. So, up to the line I go. I had my social security card, which I knew would not count, and my birth certificate, which even if it had a picture, it would not have been a recent one. And, apparently foot prints don’t count either. Who knew?
The clerk, as I will politely refer to him, was not impressed with the baby stroller and my tale of woe. But he was willing to help – or so he pretended. “Let’s see ma’am, maybe you have a pay statement with your social security number in addition to your birth certificate.” Yeah – not so much – remember I quit getting paid for my work. “How about a tax return?” Yeah – also not so much – my husband’s pay information is on that – remember – I don’t get paid anymore. And not for nothing – those are not documents that I normally just happen to have on me. If you need a Cheerio or a goldfish cracker – I can help you with that.
“Oh, I see.” I confused this pause with empathy. He quickly corrected my misinterpretation by saying, “well, ma’am (which made me feel old – great – this just keeps getting better) why did you quit work in the first place? You know those kids aren’t going to appreciate it anyway. You would have been better off staying at work. And, you know, we have to be very careful THESE days. You never know who is plotting what.”
Okay, I know stereotyping is bad – but look if you know me, you know I don’t exactly fit the profile of a terr*rist. Seriously, if I was a terr*rist, I would not be in the DMV line in the mall with a baby and a stroller. I would have my underlings make me any id I wanted and I would have gladly denied myself the two hours of sheer pleasure I got that day.
I turned around and looked at the sign behind me. It still said DMV – but apparently our DMV now provided career and parental counseling. Well, isn’t this my lucky day?
My former working self would have demanded to speak to the manager. I would have explained that this is no way for me to be treated. I would have been furious – and, of course, if I had still been working, I probably would not have been insulted in the first place. But, I needed a drivers license and I could tell he was considering giving me one. Bastard. He was cracking. And I left with drivers license in hand.
Fast forward to this week at the bus. Flower had left her viola at home. She realized it at the last minute at the bus stop. She got on the bus and then she had the bus driver stop – she actually got off the bus with tears in her eyes and pleaded with me to bring her instrument to school. I did. (Usually I would say “too bad” but they were practicing on a different day that week than they normally did.)
That afternoon, she got off the bus and ran up and hugged me – really hard. And said, “Mommy, thank you so much for bringing my viola to school.” Huge smile on her face – and then mine. First of all, it melts my heart when my kids say Mommy. And, then she thanked me totally unprompted. Take that, Mr. DMV clerk – and to hell with a paycheck – there are some things money really cannot buy.
Many nights, I will be honest, not every night, but many nights I say a prayer before I go to sleep. It’s always silently and it’s always while I am laying down with my eyes closed. And it usually while I am trying to get warm.
Somewhere along the way, I must have been taught that prayer time was really meant to be a time to be thankful. I remember when I was younger (even up until high school, and probably even college), I would thank God for all the animals I ever owned. I could still recite you the list. I won’t bore you with it – but I could.
Even the goldfish that I won at the fair – who sadly did not live to see his first birthday – was included in that list for decades. You probably know that game that you play by tossing the ping pong ball into the field of glass bowls – if yours landed in a bowl with a fish – wah lah – you have a new pet. It is the stuff that Dr. Suess books are made of – one fish, two fish. Anyway, I named mine Fred. And, I thanked God for him for many, many years.
Now, when I pray, I am not so worried about the pets. But I do pray for anyone traveling, anyone alone, anyone scared, anyone ill, and anyone who is not with us anymore. It is a weird combination of things. But it is my little mix of concerns for the world. A reminder to myself that I am not the only one with issues and that, really, my issues ain’t so bad.
This mantra of mine started when my husband started traveling more for work. I am not a big fan of flying (yeah – good thing I am moving to India) but I am even less of a fan of Number One Hubby flying. So when he started flying pretty frequently, I started praying more.
I am not Catholic – so I am not sure why I felt guilty about praying just for him – but it felt selfish. So, I started including anyone who was traveling – not just my hubby. Then my father-in-law got cancer and I started including anyone who was sick, not just my father-in-law. You can see my neurosis at work.
So, this Thanksgiving my night-time prayer will once again include many well wishes for those with concerns in this world and an extra thanks for all of my blessings.
Yesterday, my clever little Bear came home and showed me something he learned at school. He held up a glass with slurpee in it and said, “is this glass half-full or half-empty.” Bear, my dear, it is very much half-full – and it tastes yummy too – see how lucky I am.
I am off to count my blessings and to say a prayer that you have many blessings too. Happy Turkey Day – gobble gobble.
Happy Thanksgiving to everyone. And today I am most thankful that number one hubby is here safe and sound on American soil. We enjoyed Cirque De Soleil last night with a new appreciation for the safety of the good old USA. It was a nice distraction – we enjoyed a very slow dinner without watching the news. We disappeared in to the laughter of the crowds. It was magical and it took us completely away from our worries.
Right now our children are blissfully unaware of what happened yesterday in India. We are enjoying cooking with them and are looking forward to having our family here to hold hands and say a Thanksgiving blessing before dinner. We are especially grateful that number one hubby’s brother will be joining us after serving in Iraq for 15 long months. We are more appreciative of that service now than ever.
We are thankful for your prayers and well wishes. And, we are going to enjoy the luxury of putting the madness of yesterday to the side to bask in the best America has to offer – family, too much food, football, and the peace and quiet of our little street.
Surely, we have decisions to make – but thankfully, they can wait until tomorrow.
And sticks her head in the sand like an ostrich – Yep, I am going to keep my head in the sand for one more day. So this post has absolutely nothing to do with India.
Rock on Angel…
Yes, that is a picture of Angel with the brand new pink ELECTRIC guitar my mother-in-law just gave her for her birthday. They went out for Chinese food and then shopping together to pick out her present. I can hear the collective sigh from all of you weighing heavy in the air. What was she thinking? And yes, there was even momentary talk of including an amplifier but Bear figured out the guitar took batteries – no amplifier needed.
But please, no pity here.
Our house has a basement – she can play it there. Seriously though, she LOVES it. She has already written at least 6 songs. They are all about Pooh Bear and the lyrics – well, they’re pretty much the same. (I get it – he is really cute. But she found 6 different ways to say it.) Tracy Chapman need not worry. No grammies will be stolen away this year.
Last night, after Thanksgiving dinner, the kids all performed a concert of sorts. Our little twin nieces banged on handmade tambourines, Flower played her recorder and her viola, Bear and our nephew banged the top of a plastic laundry basket (hey, a drum by any other name would sound as loud), and Angel rocked on with her pink electric guitar. And we all sang jingle bells together. It was a beautiful thing. So thank you Oma and Angel – Rock On!
Recent world events have given me reason to consider stop writing this blog. But it’s been a lot of fun and I am not ready to throw in the pen just yet. So, you will begin to notice that there will be some things misspelled or spelled in strange ways. Forgive me. And Dan Quayle – watch out. I am going to put that whole potato”e” controversy to shame!
And names will never be accurate. Locations are likely to be misleading.
In future posts, you’ll see what I mean – and I have corrected my naivete in some earlier posts. I get to put my creativity to use in a whole new way. Poetic license just got a whole new meaning. I hope you will continue to enjoy following my blog – and if you have questions, just ask! /me
Remember when decisions were that easy? When you had to make choices, you just had to know how many pieces of bubble gum someone wished. And “olly olly oxen free” meant everyone was safe. It was that simple. We’re done playing, it’s getting dark, time for dinner – olly olly oxen free. And if that didn’t work, there was the famous 8 ball – it knew everything. (And, the best part was, if you didn’t like the answer – just shake it again.)
Okay – I just went on Wikipedia to make sure I was spelling Olly Olly Oxen Free right and found this out…
The exact origin of the phrase is unknown, but etymologists suspect it is a childish corruption of the German “Alle, alle auch sind frei!”, (literally, “Everyone, everyone also is free!”), which is purported to have been a cruel joke often played upon Holocaust victims by their jailers. At any particular time, a prisoner might be released, immediately upon which the phrase would be shouted. Any other prisoners who also left would be killed further down the road by Nazi soldiers.
Again, I just don’t know what to say.
Back to my dilemma. Number One Hubby and I have had a few discussions. We didn’t make any real progress. I am more aware of geography, politics, religion, and conflict than I ever imagined I would be. I am actually reading the newspaper now. I learned how to share the evil of the world with my sweet children without scaring the beejesus out of them. And I still do not know what to do.
P.S. and, yes, I tried the 8 ball – it just keeps getting stuck on an edge – no help whatsoever.
When all the recent excitement in India began, I immediately started logging on every day to the American Embassy School website – hoping for guidance, looking for an enhanced security plan, and really just stumbling in the dark for security assurances. Well, their website was under construction – perfect! But I kept checking and today I found this message from the Director…
Dear Parents and Colleagues,
Recently I had the privilege of hearing former British Prime Minister, Tony Blair speak on the condition of the world. He emphasized that the battle against terr*rism cannot be won with better security alone; that more important is the teaching of tolerance through an education that values cultural diversity. This is why our mission of “enabling responsible global citizens” is so important. Someone once said that the last person to know why humans kill one another died a long time ago, leaving us without an answer. AES exists to prepare young people to create a better world. Each day we see that possibility here at school and in our community. These children, being educated with children from around the world, truly represent hope for a better tomorrow. Perhaps they will learn the “language of sleep.”
When They Sleep ~ by Rolf Jacobsen
All people are children when they sleep.
There’s no war in them then.
They open their hands and breathe
in that quiet rhythm heaven has given them.
They pucker their lips like small children
and open their hands halfway,
soldiers and statesmen, servants and masters.
The stars stand guard
and a haze veils the sky,
a few hours when no one will do anybody harm.
If only we could speak to one another then
when our hearts are half-open flowers.
Words like golden bees
would drift in.
—- God, teach me the language of sleep.
Thank you for your continued support through these troubling times. It is a privilege to serve this wonderful community.
Sincerely,
Bob Hetzel
Director
Note from me - There was another b*mbing today in India – on a train – so far, 3 people are dead and about 30 injured – if you are interested in more details – follow this link. Number One Hubby is not in India this week. This b*mbing occurred far to the west of Delhi on the other side of Bangladesh. It does not appear related to the events in Mumbai. Apparently, these terr*rists were not sleeping. It’s really too bad – a little nap would do us all some good.
I am going to distract myself from making quite possibly the biggest decision I have ever made and vent a little.
You all know someone pERfect like the lady I ran into on Monday – they are pERfect, their husbands are pERfect, their kids are pERfect, their house is pERfect, their life is pERfect, even the plaque in their teeth is pERfect (oh nevermind – they don’t get plaque) and they make us craziER than anyone else. I have a “friend” like this. And I had the good fortune to see her earlier this week. Oh lucky, lucky me. That will remind me not to stray too far from home again.
She honestly told me how much bettER her kids were than mine at, well, simply evERything. She did not exactly say it – she is a mastER at trying to be subtle while bragging, but I am very good at reading between the lines – thank you vERy much. And, I know when you say that it’s too bad my daughter did not receive the Nobel Prize for litERature at the young age of 9 (oh honey, she still has plenty of time), but you must be off to buy a new outfit for your own child’s cERemony – I get it – I am pERfectly insulted.
And, FYI, I happen to think my own kids are pretty great – it’s my job - so hER sitting next to me and telling me that hER kids were bettER at evERything on the planet than my frumpy little ragdolls – well it might be a little tough to keep my new year’s resolution of not hating the people who drive me pERfectly insane. And it made it even hardER to keep my good sense about me and not push hER down and take hER lunch money to give to some poor child who was less pERfect but hungriER than her own lovely offspring. ERRRRRRRRRR is right!
And, don’t worry, she is not from my neighborhood. She doesn’t have time to read my blog – well, between the MENSA classes for her two-year-old and the upcoming space flight for her other little blob of pERfection and hER own vERy important job of telling absolutely evERyone how wondERful her children are, she simply does not have time for my silly little blog. Oh, believe you me, the world would stop spinning if she stopped talking about hER own children long enough to actually read about someone else’s kids – yeah – it is not going to happen. No one will be able to figure out who she is. (And no detective, she is not one of my Facebook friends.)
So anyway, I was watching Oprah not too long ago and Oprah was talking with women who have read Eckhart Tolle’s A New Earth. These were woman who actually chose this book to read because they realize they are far from pERfect and they wanted to find ways to bettER themselves. I liked them already.
And, there was a woman who read the book and decided to stop trying to be any more “ER” than anyone else. She was not going to try to be prettiER, richER, skinniER, smartER or anything else more than anyone. She lost some weight because she stopped obsessing about what she looked like compared to other people, she enjoyed spending time more with her kids because she wasn’t worried about how they compared to other kids, and, in general, life just got easiER.
So I am going to try it – I am not going to be more ER than anyone else. Well, except maybe nicER than my sweet, misguided friend mentioned above. Dang, have I lost my focus already? ERRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Grease was a great movie – but Grease 2 now that is a classic. Michelle Pfieffer probably does not brag about playing Stephanie Zinone but she was great and I love, love, loved the song “Cool Rider”. We even played it at our last birthday party. Cooooool Rider, cool, cool, cool, rider…………………..
Number One Hubby used to own a motorcycle. It was pretty cool – as far as motorcycles go. And I know he would admit that I did not give him a hard time about owning, or for that matter, riding it. He actually spent more time working on it than riding it. He’s a smart guy – he took the whole thing apart – sent parts out to be chromed, painted, and jazzed up in one way or another. Then, by his lonesome, put the whole thing back together. Amazing. Very impressive.
Oh yeah – there was the one little issue with the brakes – but he got that fixed. Apparently, he didn’t quite put those together exactly right. Details.
I even rode on it ONCE (before he took it apart). However, I am not a big fan of my kids parents both being on a motorcycle at the same time. Call me boring – but it’s just not worth it. So you can imagine how I feel about moving to India right at this moment.
6th grade math.
(Yes, this is a repeat, but not because I am lazy, but because it’s not getting any easier.)
Mr. W lets me sleep in.
(I had completely forgotten about this one – but it is a big one.)
Number One Hubby let me sleep in while he was home for Thanksgiving. And, while I slept all nestled in my bed, he and the kids decorated the house for Christmas and hug the stockings by the chimney with (out) care. He is good like that. That is why you might see mommy kissing Santa Claus underneath the mistletoe.
On the other mornings that he would let me sleep in, Mr. W would make the lunches for school, get the kids breakfast and then take them to the bus stop. Have you been to a bus stop in the morning lately? Baby, it’s cold outside. Today I learned that 2 degrees Celsius equals about 36 degrees Fahrenheit. (I also learned how to spell Celsius and Fahrenheit.)
Maybe I am not so big on spelling either.
Have a mentioned that I am not a morning person?
Our dishwasher has this unique (translation…..unnecessary) feature that allows you to actually turn it off. Not just have it not running – but truly turn it off – like a light. Mr. W feels that it saves on our electricity bill to turn off the power (what about the over 100 recessed lights you had installed, honey – oh, I forgot, that’s different -never mind). So, every time I filled the dishwasher (no, he didn’t do that – he didn’t want me to miss him too much) I would have to wait for the dishwasher to “initiate” before I could start it. It was annoying. Now, I miss that part of my day and I think of him every time I run the dishwasher.
I bought 2 white t-shirts and 1 off-white t-shirt yesterday. Mr. W would laugh at that. More white shirts? He would laugh. I miss sharing the tiny details of the day with him that never quite make it into our phone conversations.
He does know I bought Christmas dishes. He also knows I did not need Christmas dishes. But he does not care because he knows I really love Christmas dishes – even if we might not use them for the next two years. He is probably laughing at me for that too. Or maybe I should say laughing with me. (And, yes they are also white.)
My prayer list has gotten so long that it’s hard to remember it all. And now I find it necessary to pray every night.
Sleeping alone still stinks.
(Also a repeat – but a self-explanatory repeat, I believe.)
This year, when I think of the gifts I want to give my kids, I don’t think of what I can wrap and put under the tree. I think of confidence…laughter (not to be confused with happiness, they have to find that for themselves)…integrity…love… security…determination. Gifts I can wrap around their hearts – gifts that can seep into their personalities. Gifts that can help them understand their potential (not realize their potential, but understand that they have it, – again, realizing it is up to them) – gifts that will shape who they are going to become.
I am realizing that as they get older, I have a chance to mature and focus.
That is their gift to me – perspective.
This year, it’s going to be hard for us to give them tangible (translation – material) gifts. Which is a gift in and of itself. So, Number One Hubby and I decided to give them the gift of family, amazement, memories, and laughter. It is a gift we are re-gifting – a gift our families have given to us.
We took them to see Cirque De Soleil.
We went to dinner first and just simply caught up with each other. It was lovely. We had lots of time – no rushing. Then off to the circus. We were dazzled, amused, amazed, and very much entertained. We laughed the whole way home as we recounted our favorite parts and marveled at how the artists managed to do any of what they did – right before our eyes.
The circus was fabulous and we would highly, highly recommend it. But that wasn’t the gift. It was the time together. The memories and the laughter. We created wonderful memories that I know will last at least a lifetime. Maybe memories that will even last thru generations, I can hear them now…….remember when we all went to the circus…. and then, prayerfully, later to their own children, when I was your age………………………..Now those are gifts worth giving.
Some people think that we are crazy for participating in year-round swimming. (No, we aren’t the get up at 4:30am and practice before school kind of crazy – but we swim year-round in addition to soccer, basketball, dance – and, oh yeah, this little thing called school.) I can see why they think we are insane – it’s one more thing that we add to a list of many other things to do. But it’s one more thing we love!
Swimming is fabulous for a million different reasons and we loved it before we ever heard of Michael Phelps. Yes, my friend, we were country when country wasn’t cool. (Although, I have to admit, Mr. Phelps does make us love it even more.)
I love swimming because just about anyone can do it! When we go to practice, we see all kinds of people swimming in the exercise (aka lap) lanes. There is a man that I swear weighs 600 pounds – at least – and he swims ( yep, “swims”, not floats) for a solid hour. He is not fast – but let me just say, he is faster than I would be – and a lot faster than the bench is that I sit on as I watch him swim. There are women that just might be older than 100 (not really, but close). There are little babies splashing around. It is a universal sport. And, yes, it is a sport. And, a sport, that if you learn how to do it, just might save your life one day – how can you argue with that?
I have no delusion that my kids will be going to college on swimming scholarships – frankly, that is not the point for us. I hope that they love swimming enough to continue doing it at some level for the rest of their lives.
I love the team aspect of swimming. Being on a team with kids of all ages is a wonderful experience. There are relays and practices with kids of all abilities and ages. You can cheer for your teammates and swim with them. But you also swim in races against them. This is a unique aspect of swimming – you are teammates and competitors. You can be happy for your opponent and inspired by them to do better. The team part of it is what keeps Bear most interested in swimming. He loves the relays. And if he earns himself a spot on a relay team – all is right with the world.
Swimming is also the only sport in which all three of my children can be on the same team and participate in the same meets and practices. Swimming is great like that. Their practices are at nearly the same time and are at the same place. It’s a 3-fer! Bonus.
Next, swimming is a black and white sport. The coach does not have to like you for you to swim or for you to qualify for a meet. No one has to pass you the ball in order for you to score. This is a beautiful thing. It is about you and the wall – and how fast you can get yourself to that wall. Even if you are the slowest, most awkward swimmer on the team, you can realize your own improvement in a measured way. If your time drops, you have gotten better – wah lah!!!!!!! Be proud, be very proud.
And it is about rules and procedures – a gentleman’s game if you will – you wait in the water until everyone is done swimming – no matter how long you have to wait – you wait. You shake hands at the end of your heat. You have to swim the strokes technically correct or your times don’t count – except freestyle – even I might be able to squeak that one out without disqualifying. But nothing is given – it is all earned. What a concept.
If you improve your time – excellent. If you keep your time consistent – very good for you (for that can be hard to do). If you add a lot of time – well, reality bites – you have to sort that one out for yourself. The how and the why of it and if it really matters to you at all. No hand holding here.
And if you want to get better – guess what YOU have to do – work harder. No one can do it for you – not even your mom – no matter how much she wants to. Awesome. (And a note to parents, myself included, the kids are submerged in water with a cap over their ears. They can’t hear us screaming at them cheering for them. And for those of you who whistle – stop it. No seriously, I mean it. Stop it.)
And, of course, it is great exercise. Swim for an hour – you are tired. Benadryl beware – you are about to be knocked out of contention as the number one sleep aid for tired parents who need their kids to sleep just a little.
Another fabulous thing is that swimming is a two-year sport. You are in it for the long haul. Swimmers swim in age groups – 8 and under, 9-10, 11-12, 13-14, and then finally 15-18 (yes, that must become a real test of commitment). You get a year at the top of the age bracket – and then – humble pie – a year at the bottom. It is not sprint – but a marathon. Stick with it and you’ll be very, very glad you did.
Let’s not forget that it is also wonderful cross training for any other sport. And it is a low impact sport – not too many injuries. Bonus. Bonus.
So, call me crazy – but I am off to the pool – and yes, in the winter, it is an indoor pool. Outdoor anything in the winter is a deal breaker for this taxi driver/ cheerleader they call mom.
Note: If you live near Washington, D.C. and have any interest in trying year-round swimming, the Potomac Marlins are great. You can check them out at www.potomacmarlins.com. Tell them I sent you!
NASA, knowing that astronauts would need to write in space, spent millions of dollars inventing a pen that would write in zero gravity. And invent it they did.
Russia – well, they used a pencil.
I have not verified this story because I am not even sure how I could. I know NASA does not have a blog marked “Oops” or a top ten list of things they learned not to do while spending tax payer money. It ain’t gonna happen.
But, I also have not even tried to verify it because I want it to be true. It is a great story of lessons learned – and forget Aesop’s fables – we can learn so many lessons right in the here and now – and all without even trying to convince ourselves that a fox would actually want grapes in the first place – with all due respect Mr. Aesop – that one was a stretch.
I can even imagine the planning sessions where the scientists were all taking notes in pencil and writing on the chalk board. I am quite sure someone even suggested that the answer must be right there in front of them. It can’t be that hard. Really, I can hear them saying it. Scratching their head with the end of the pencils. Sharpening them while thinking of new ideas. Erasing the ideas that did not work so well. They might have even said – well, that didn’t work, back to the drawing board. I wonder if they drew and colored space ships with their kids at the end of the day – with crayons. Hmmmmm. Maybe little Johnny is on to something.
And I do not see this at all as a criticism of Americans – I think it highlights our strengths. We are a smart, determined, well-resourced group that can solve just about anything. But I think sometimes we need to remember we don’t have to invent a new pen when a pencil will do.
Note: It turns out that regular pencils proved to be dangerous in space because they could catch on fire (details) and that the space pens (after the initial investment of a lot of money to invent them) were actually cheaper to purchase than the mechanical pencils NASA was using instead of regular pencils. Whatever – that is not the point. (get it – not the point?? I crack myself up – really – that was a good one.)
And, just by the way and fyi, this is the morning that I am going to get all of my Christmas shopping done. Yep – all of it. I even have a list and coupons.
If you are a parent or ever had a parent, you might already know that these are words that most parents dread – really all parents dread these words whether they are working for a pay check or just working for the love of the job – especially on a school day – and even more so on a school day right before Christmas.
Now, Flower had her appendix out at 7 – it was an emergency – it was scary. So, I tend not to ignore tummy aches. They make me an intsy bit NERVOUS. Beyond my family’s history with tummy aches – there’s the whole throwing up thing – which isn’t so bad for the person who is just doing the hand holding – but then it has to be cleaned up – I know – GROSS! And the other option really isn’t any better.
But – TODAY – honey, really? How bad does it hurt? I dunno.
Bear crawled in bed with me – now, I have to say that was nice. He let me rub his back and his tummy and he actually snuggled – isn’t he good to me! Don’t forget he is a 6th grader so these moments are rare – and I will take them absolutely any way I can get them – even if he has to suffer a little.
We tried all the tricks – go to the bathroom – a glass of water – go to the bathroom – take some medicine – go back to the bathroom. Then he asked if he could turn on the t.v. – progress. He feels well enough to hold his head up to watch t.v. This could be okay.
Yep – then he asked if he could take a shower – he felt well enough to walk. Yippee. (Totally unrelated – It was funny that while he was in the shower he asked me if he should wash his hair. Kids ask the funniest questions – well, let’s see – it’s already wet, the shampoo is right there, you could have washed it in the time you asked if you should wash it – I’d go with yes, go ahead and wash your hair.) Then he was able to get dressed and he asked for breakfast – watch out school bus, here we come.
He never had a fever and never got sick. He just woke up on the wrong side of feeling good. But a shower, a bagel, and a couple little trips to the bathroom made everything better. He knows my cell number – I will never be more than 10 minutes away from his school – he can call me anytime and he knows that. So, later spater – I am off to play Santa.
And, one more by the way, it’s raining like crazy today – this should be fun.
This blog is late – I do know that Halloween was well over a month ago, and I am just now posting about it. Sorry ’bout that – but I was not yet blogging at Halloween-time and these pictures are too fun to not share. And there is no way on God’s green earth that I will remember to share these at the appropriate time next year. Especially since I will be blogging from God’s brown earth in India where I am not even sure they celebrate Halloween.
I have also decided that blogging might be my new scrapbooking (I am too far behind on that to even dream about catching up – but blogging starts now – well, okay maybe a month before now – but I am already caught up – and I don’t want to not scrapbook blog these. I wouldn’t put all your boo’s in one basket – but lucky you. )
Anyboo -
This is Flower at Halloween. A headless Flower nonetheless.
She made her own costume.
This is Bear on Halloween. He just got glasses. He is in 6th grade and is confident enough to turn his new eyes into a complete costume. Nerd bear. He also made his own costume. (and I want to add that he also has contacts – he did not have to wear his glasses on Halloween.)
This is Angel the hip hop dancer on Halloween. She also made her own costume by putting on a hat and acting like a lunatic. Not too much of a stretch really.
These were the best costumes my kids have ever had. They cost me a total of about $7.35. (And, don’t be surprised if I tell you that includes the bottle of wine I bought for myself. I made my own costume too – I went as the mother who got to stay home and pass out – I mean pass out candy – because she had three very generous parents shower her with temporary single-parent sympathy.)
Just so you know, I am never spending money on Halloween costumes again. (As for the wine, well it’s a consumable – it must be replaced. I am pretty sure that there is some diwine law of the universal that will confirm this.)
Yep, I went to book club last night because Bear felt fine. All day long – he felt just fine. And I don’t get out much – so off I went. Thank you very much!
He made it through the whole day of school. No issues at all. He felt fine when he got home. He ate tacos for dinner with a nice big glass of milk. Yummy. (Note to self – I might need to rethink that meal selection whenever someone says they have a tummy ache. Hugs and Kisses honeybun. Sorry for that.)
I was there about an hour, eating very yummy scalloped potatoes and even better green beans and I got the call from my mother-in-law.
Bear just threw up. Twice.
I think he wants his mother. Now.
In fact, my mother-in-law wanted Bear’s mother home.
And now would be good for her too. Right Now.
Exit stage left.
So I sent number one hubby an email saying that I anticipated a long night – Bear was sick. Very sick. And I will call him in the morning when WE wake up. So, HE called us at 7am. Yeah. Thanks. Brilliant. I think I might have hung up on him. Ooops.
Bear feels better – well, Bear is very tired and his tummy muscles are sore. They got quite the work out last night. But he feels well enough to eat goldfish crackers and drink apple juice. He did not ask for tacos for breakfast. Shocking. He also feels well enough to play absolutely every Wii game we own – which isn’t many – but he is trying them all out.
As for me, well, I have a busy day ahead of me. I need to reschedule my MothER of the Year ceremony. Lots of details to coordinate.
If you miss the white elephant gift exchange at your book club because your son is throwing up and you have to leave early, your friends will not pick the best gift for you out of sympathy. They will take it as an opportunity to get rid of share the gift that nobody wanted with you. Even if they pretend they are really sad when you leave early and promise to take care of you and your white elephant needs. At least I didn’t get my own gift back. Whew. (thanks Jill)
You could get a pretty nice set of ornaments though. And your daughter will steal them to put on the kids tree. There is no justice in this world sometimes.
Michele makes delicious Christmas candy and I can apparently eat an entire bag in one sitting all by my lonesome. Some things are better left unshared. Yum!
When my son is sick, he likes to be waited on hand and foot.
I do not miss being a waitress. Not even a little.
You should never open a bottle of Sprite that your seven-year-old hands you. No matter how cute her smile is. Never ever.
Sprite is sticky when it dries.
There are a lot of great writers out there in the world of blog.
I would like to visit Japan.
Envelopes with silver foil on the inside don’t feed through the printer so well – at least not my printer – and I just happen to know my way around printing envelopes. And it did not matter how many different ways I tried it. Really.
My printer has a printer cartridge latch – I did not know that – now I do – and it must be shut. I am going to have to devote some time to figuring out what this is, where it is, and how to close it. I might be breaking up with my printer.
I am glad I did not try to make my Christmas cards this year. I can barely handle printing the envelopes. You’ll see.
Costco only gave me half the envelopes I ordered – even including the ones I totally demolished. That kind of stinks.
I really miss the people who are not on my list this year. I was very sad to delete the addresses for my Grandmother and my Great Aunt. RIP.
They both passed away before Christmas last year – but apparently I did not have it in me to delete them from the list just yet. I was not super close to either one of them but I miss the possibility of getting to know them better. My grandmother was very funny and I miss that sense of humor of hers. A lot. She was funny, sometimes cranky, and always old. It’s a great combination (especially if you don’t live too close).
A lot of my friends moved this year.
I send out way too many Christmas cards.
My family really likes staying at home in our pjs on a very cold and very windy day with nothing to do but being waited on hand and foot.
Apparently my children have no problem whatsoever sitting in front of the tv for several hours – hours upon hours – that is, as long as food and drink are brought to them at regular intervals and placed directly in line with their peripheral vision – within reaching distance.
My cats do not like to go outside on very cold and very windy days. They are purrfectly intelligent little furballs.
The cats use the litter box more when they don’t go outside. Oh goody.
A nap would have been nice today. It did not happen.
I am no where near done with my Christmas shopping, but I do have a good handle on it.
My son’s stomach still hurts. Do you think it had anything to do with the chips and dip I let him have for dinner? Maybe that wasn’t a good idea. Hmmmmmm.
I think I really am going to have to reschedule that MothER of the Year ceremony. Bummer.
UPDATE: After hearing much discussion from my neighbors about the letters they have gotten re: their trash not being appropriately located – well, I jumped to assumptions on this one – it turns out that the person who was on my property is not on the HOA board and is apparently not employed by the HOA board either. (That might lead to another blog about why he was here, but probably not.) So, I apologize for making assumptions and I pledge to better place my trash can – I cannot promise anything on the Halloween decorations though. I do my best. Really, I do. I am sure to get a scarlet letter of one sort or the other but it will not be an A (ever) and it apparently won’t be a T either.
You know I am always trying to look at the bright side – so I will say this – our HOA is attentive – they read my blog after all – they may not be fans – but they read it – at least once.
Ever since I starting writing this blog, I have begun reading blogs. Some people find me and lead me to theirs – which is tres cool. And, sometimes I stumble onto a blog. I am not sure how the great universe of blog finding works and I wish I had all day to read, read, read. But, alas, life is busy with facebook and all, so I have to limit myself.
But I wanted to share some of the blogs I am following with you. Many of these blogs are written by adults for adults and it turns out if you use some bad (or at least interesting) words every now and then, you generate more traffic. So for my Sandy Duncan readers (translation – anyone who might be easily offended), put your seat belts on – some of the titles and their content might surprise you. (And, nope, I don’t agree with everything they say.)
My blogging BFF is Lola at Sassy Mama Says. She leaves me (a lot of) comments, so how can I not love her. And she is true to her name – SASSY! In fact, she is the recipient of my first ever blog award. Which is only fair, because she gave me my first and only (sniff sniff) award. Lola gets the “I refuse to drink the Kool-Aid award.” She promises not to run it over with her jeep. We’ll just have to wait and see if she can really keep that promise.
Next is Loco. He is a black American living in Japan teaching English. His blogs are long – but there is always a point. He has had a rough life and sometimes he comes across as pretty angry. But he is definitely worth reading. Especially as an American who is about to travel to distant lands. Since he is in Japan and is learning a lot, he gets the “ah, grasshopper” award.
There are several Americans living in Delhi who write blogs. Mrs. Smith is one of them. She home schools her 7 kids – who, by the way, provide her with a lot of material. She inspires me because she can find the time to write. I have no (legitimate) excuses! She does not write as frequently as she used to, but her blogs make me very excited for our new adventure.
BadAssGeek gets my vote for a great blog title. It’s pretty BadAss. And he starts every post with “in which”. So, in Which I like his blog name, here is his award.
There are some other blogs I really like too. I don’t know them well enough to award them yet, but I am definitely a fan.
Miss Disgrace – a young single parent with a great way of writing things
Black Hockey Jesus – As far as I can tell, he is neither black nor is he Jesus and his blog is really titled “Wind in Your Vagina” which is a quote from his 4-year-old daughter – it’s not meant to be vulgar (at least that’s the impression I get) – although I am sure his title attracts more traffic. If the title offends you, you should probably also know that he uses his imagination a lot – so if you are a literal reader – enter with care.
There are a few other blogs I check in on but they aren’t too busy posting a lot – so when they start sharing more, I will tell you how to get a looksy at those too.
But for now, these are a few of my favorites things. And, no, I do not like it when the dog bites or the bee stings.
If you read my post “things I learned today”, you know that my printer and I have been having some problems. In fact, right now we are barely speaking. Well, I am speaking – begging, pleading, offering high quality card stock – all to no avail.
The printer is just sitting there.
Very smugly. Not printing.
I sent several jobs to my printer today and it just decided all by itself not to print them. It did not even send me a little error message letting me know of this boycott. No smiling faces telling me to take a hike. No ding suggesting I should check out my screen to find out what is happening. Apparently, my printer is on strike and is much too rude to tell me so. Hmph.
All the jams are unjammed, all the latches are latched, and all the plugs are plugged – both into the wall AND into my laptop – what else could be wrong?
It turns out that my printer is hungry and needs ink. Duh. And, for just the cost of one cup of coffee a day (which I don’t drink), I should be able to feed my printer. Yes, Sally Struthers is channeling my printer. And it’s not that adorable little united nations ink cartridge that has all the colors mixed nicely into one box that my printer needs (you know the one, the inexpensive kind that is already in my closet) – oh no, it’s the separate cyan AND magenta individual cartridges kind of ink (I must not print much involving yellow because that cartridge is still half full). FYI, Cyan and Magenta are really blue and pink – seriously, do even our printers have to be pretentious? It’s not even a laser. Hmph again.
This means a trip to Costco – it’s the week before Christmas and all through the town, everyone and their brother are probably at Costco. And I am still in my pjs all snuggly warm right now. And there is supposed to be some sort of wintery mix outside involving (possibly) ice. No, my printer and I are clearly not destined to become BFFs. It will be lucky if we are even still living together at the end of the day.
I just sent another job to the printer – now full of some of the fanciest ink on the planet – caviar ink if you will – and it made some noises and then N.O.T.H.I.N.G. Augh. Now it is just being mean. I don’t have to stand for that, right?
So I sat down. And I deleted the printer from my control panel and reinstalled it – turned it off and turned it on. Wah lah – success. I am printing once again. I am sure that we can print and make up.
Update – this morning I turned on my printer and it spit out all the pages I had been trying to print yesterday – whatever.
UPDATE: After hearing much discussion from my neighbors about the letters they have gotten re: their trash not being appropriately located – well, I jumped to assumptions on this one – it turns out that the person who was on my property is not on the HOA board and is apparently not employed by the HOA board either. (That might lead to another blog about why he was here, but probably not.) So, I apologize for making assumptions and I pledge to better place my trash can – I cannot promise anything on the Halloween decorations though. I do my best. Really, I do. I am sure to get a scarlet letter of one sort or the other but it will not be an A (ever) and it apparently won’t be a T either.
You know I am always trying to look at the bright side – so I will say this – our HOA is attentive – they read my blog after all – they may not be fans – but they read it – at least once.
Now we are talking. Finally some 6th grade homework I can get my fork around. Really??
That’s really too bad. It really, really is too bad. But, I think I’ve got it.
Realization number 1.
Not that kind of pie. Pi. No “e” – huh? No pecans, no whip cream? Huh, huh? Can we at least work on this after dinner – a little homework dessert if you will?
Realization number 2.
Bear and I do not think alike in the realm of math. Not at all. Not even a little bit. Not even a 3.14 little bit.
We got through the left brain/right brain communication conflict and I think I might actually understand what he means. It turns out that pi is an irrational number. No kidding. I’d say it’s irrational – wanting to be used to solve math equations – the nerve. And apparently even thinking about it can cause irrational behavior.
Realization number 3.
Being irrational has little to do with the way pi behaves (or Bear for that matter) and much more to do with the fact that pi has an infinite string of numbers following the decimal. Pi represents the relationship between the diameter and circumference of a circle. Huh? I am not clear on why you would ever need to know that, but okay. (Please don’t correct me if I got that wrong – it will send my mind in to an immediate meltdown and I still have to work on math with my first grader. She wants to learn multiplication. I have explained zero and one, but she is interested in all the other numbers. Good Heavens.)
So anypi, Bear wants to solve it. Pi is often more simply represented as 3.14 for those of us who don’t have any more toes than that to count on and because it makes it easier to actually use in calculations. See Bear, there is a reason they rounded it off. And by “they” I mean mathematicians, the romans, possibly Einstein himself – someone who knew of what they spoke. Not me – I did not make it up just to make you crazy. Promise. ( I have pictures of you as a baby – no need for pi.)
Realization number 4.
I could care less what the relationship between the circumference and diameter of a circle is. Unless you are talking about a circle in the shape of a cookie. Yummy. Or perhaps a circle in the shape of diamond earrings. Pretty. But I guess if you really must know one or the other, you can use my new friend pi to figure it out.
And finally.
By solving pi, Bear means he wants to keep dividing the circumference of any circle by the diameter of that same circle – and carry that division problem out until it actually ends. That relationship is supposed to equal pi no matter what circle you use – apparently even an oreo would work. He wants to find out what the very last number at the end of the string of numbers in pi is. Scientist have used mega computers to carry that out 1,000 places. And poor Bear is left with his mega (non) computer called mom. Seriously, this isn’t going to end well. And if you buy into the whole irrational number theory – it is never going to end. Oh goody.
Now I am off to the kitchen. I just remembered that pies come in the shape of a circle. This still might work out okay. Endless pie wouldn’t be so bad. Yeah, yeah, we just went through this pi does not equal pie. DANG it!
My kids ask me this question at least once a week – usually because they are trying to draw a picture of me in a shirt that I would never (and I mean ever) wear – but they want it to be in my favorite color – that’s so it looks just exactly like me. The pink curly hair and the very skinny legs don’t really resemble me very much either – but they are sure the shirt in my favorite color will be a dead give away. I love these pictures – they are funny and endearing. Plus, I get to have skinny legs and curly hair. I’ll take it!
juniper images
The problem is – I don’t have a favorite color – or at least not just one favorite color – but it’s too complicated to explain to them that if I pick just one and only one favorite color – then I miss out on all the others. That’s a whole lot of missing out. And, is it really enough to just say red when, at that moment, I might really be thinking barn red without any trace of purple whatsoever or bright, bright cherry red with a big fat hint of purple – like the cherry juice that stains your fingers. I am not so sure it is.
I have learned that you have to be careful how specific you are – for being too specific could literally mean hours searching for exactly the right shade through a box of a thousand broken crayons with missing labels. And, alas, this is a task even my oldest child does not feel he can do himself. My children understand that all blues are not created equal. This is a gift that I would like to think I have given them – a little touch of creativity passed down. But when you are called in for the all out search and rescue for the missing color – you can quickly find yourself on the not so much fun side of things.
I also don’t want to confuse them by locking into just one color – if I pick a lovely shade of red today, does that forever rule out any hue of brown. Ever? Boo and Hiss. And, yes, I can hear you now, “who has brown as a favorite color?” Well, sometimes I do – when you wear a color and get compliments, it can easily become your favorite color. And with retro being cool again – a brown shirt really sets off my pink curly hair.
Number on hubby has it all figured out – he looks over the top of his newspaper and says simply – black.
Yes, I heart Cher! That’s right – I said it – and I mean it! I really, really do!
I was at an electronics store yesterday with 500 of my shopping best friends. Lucky me.
While shopping for others, I decided a gift for me wouldn’t be so bad. It’s really not even a gift – I do need some kind of something to carry passports, snacks, a camera, a cell phone, a laptop, and a good book in on the plane. The Hello Kitty diaper bag I have been using might not cut it. So, I picked out a new computer bag for myself and was trying to figure out if my laptop will fit in it – it’s got a little bit of a larger monitor than most because I used to deal a lot more with graphics than words.
Now it’s more words than graphics. Anybag, the new bag’s tag claimed that my laptop was too large and would not fit. No way, no how. But I am more optimistic than that – so I asked the clerk if I could return the bag if my laptop did not fit. He was quite possibly the most unhelpful check out clerk on the planet. Well, to be fair, maybe not the least helpful, (unfortunately, there is a lot of competition out there this year for that precious title), but certainly (one of ) the least ambitious.
Here is a little tidbit on the customer service side of things – “I dunno” is not an answer unless you are younger than 8. “Let me find out” – now that is an answer worth spewing. And redirecting me to the website – Hello, my (un)friendly friend, I am physically standing right in front of you sans an actual computer in my hands – if I had it, I wouldn’t need to ask the question because I would just put it in the bag and see for myself if it fit. See how that works? And we are standing pretty darn close to about 30 other employees. Someone (else) here has to know something. Really, please rethink that, k?
So I asked again if I could return the bag if the laptop did, in fact, not fit. According to him, it won’t fit. At least that is “what the math tells him”. What is it with the math this week? Is everyone a math professor now? And, fyi, I did not ask if it would fit – I asked if I could return it if it did not fit. See the difference? I am optimistic remember – glass very half full – computer bag not over full. See?
Ta dah and wah lah – it fits! Math Smath. No offense Pathogoras. But sometimes eyeballing it works just as well as a ruler. Bear would be so confused. SHHHH.
What does that have to do with Cher. Nothing really.
Except that, while at the store, I walked by the CDs. I don’t really own any CDs. I mostly listen to talk radio – the Sports Junkies and news radio. But, I thought that possibly some of the music I really like might not exactly be available in India – especially since the last time I really updated my musical tastes, I was still in college. I gave up Donny Osmond many, many moons ago – but the other artists I like are still older than me. Let’s just say they have been around a (very long) while.
Oh goody, more gifts for me. I bought the three CDs that I do not want to live in India without. The best of Cher, the best of Jimmy Buffet, and the best of Tracy Chapman. I already own the best of Alabama because my wedding song is on it. And as a bonus, the best of Cher cd has a little Sonny sunshine on it – Sonny and Cher singing “I got you babe”. Life is good.
So, musically speaking, I am ready for India. Bring it.
And just in case you heart Cher too – here is if I could turn back time courtesy of the almight You Tube.
This post has nothing to do with pi – whew – but the great circle we call life.
It is an intricate circle and it is amazing how we are all so connected within it.
I just got an email telling me that the husband of a friend of mine from high school is receiving a new heart.
Wow.
The email was
excited
and
hopeful
and
prayerful.
It was lovely.
And it ended with this….
While this is a glorious
occasion for us,
it is sad
for some family
somewhere here in the southeast
who we’ll never know.
This family has lost a loved one.
Let’s all remember them, too.
If you have more than one child, more than one parent, more than one boss, more than one friend, more than one sibling, more than one pet, more than one plant, more than one pair of earrings – let’s just say that, if you are breathing, there has to have been at least one time in your life when you felt torn about who to choose.
Especially as a parent, this kind of choice can rip you apart. It’s super – duper – extraordinarily tough. Friday, I had just such a choice. Yippee Skippee.
Flower had colonial day at school (a big deal where all the kids/teachers/parents don colonial garb and have an old-fashioned day). Angel woke up not feeling 100 percent. Number one hubby is not even on the continent – yeah, that equals a big fat no help there.
Here is the gist of the initial conversation:
Flower: are you coming
Angel: are you staying
Me: …………….
Number One Hubby (via phone with honest-to-goodness sympathy):
sometimes you just can’t get a break, can you?
What are going to do?
Me: …………………
I realize that some situations just will not solve themselves.
First things first – it all started at 6:45am – I need to have myself dressed all colonial-like and all my chilrins in the school by 8am to help set up. There is a lot to do in 75 minutes. The clock starts ……… now – I am off to assess the situation and make adult-like, parental decisions. It’s also way too early for this kind of thoughtful action.
Angel had no fever – but a pretty hacky cough. You know the kind that you simply cannot fake. She also went to bed later than normal the night before- so throw some really tired grumpiness into that mix. Just what the mix needed. Great. She got glass of water, some cough medicine, a blanket, another blanket, and the tv turned on – her pick this time.
Bear had a typed assignment due – you guessed it – the same day as colonial day. Okay – he is in 6th grade – his projects are all supposed to be typed – but he has not been given a typing class. Guess who needed to type it? Let’s say it together now – Moi? I know he could do it himself – but it would take him longer to type one paragraph than it would for him to solve pi. Ain’t gonna happen. And really, not necessary. He wrote it in time for me to type it up the night before, but I went to bed early – being exhausted and all.
Next, Flower’s lunch needed to be authentic for colonial day. So, she was hoping for banana bread – something I could have also done the night before – but remember, I was exhausted – went to bed early – brilliant. That was proving to be a really good decision. So, I needed to make banana bread. And wrap everything in paper towels tied with ribbons. Apparently aluminum foil, juice boxes, saran wrap, and individually wrapped snacks are fairly recent inventions. Really, is that true? Those poor women. How did they manage without uncrustables? Spreading that peanut butter all the way the to the edge of the bread is exhausting work.
Number one hubby likes to talk to the kids on Skype on the computer every morning. They love it too. This particular morning my computer was celebrating colonial day too. Apparently, there were no microphones in the days of colonial. He could not hear a thing. Crap. The colonists probably just yelled to each other really loudly from across the colony. But the better half of my colony is now in India – yelling was not going to work. And I did not have enough string, empty cans, or (any) time to make an old-fashioned tin can telephone.
Meanwhile, Flower, Angel, and Bear are asking me what I am going to do – over and over and over and over and over again. Did you get that? They KEPT asking. Thanks guys, that was really helpful. Bear was coming up with some really good – completely impossible solutions. Which was very sweet of him – since he normally could give a rat’s arse what Angel is doing. Thanks honey, hugs and kisses.
What would you do? Flower was in tears because she wants to me to be at colonial day. I know there will be days when she doesn’t want me anywhere near her – so I certainly do not want to miss out on this little – I love my mommy – moment.
Angel was in tears because she wanted to stay home – with me. But,Angel had no fever and had stopped coughing – well at least for the most part.
I figured I was going to be at the school. If Angel needed me, I would be right there.
Colonial Day was great. Lots of fun! I am glad that I could participate. Very glad. Even if I did have to wear this. (I look pregnant in the picture – I can assure you that is not the case – the apron was really long and I had to wear it really high up. The poofs are in just the right place. This is what we do for our kids.)
Angel survived another day in first grade. Well, it turned out to be just half a day. The guilt got the best of me – immediately after the parent volunteering part of colonial day was over, I went to Angel’s class and brought her home. Her teacher said she seemed fine – she did not say it but I could tell she was surprised I was there. I did not have it in me to explain that I was the one who was not fine. I was torn between two daughters and I did not want either daughter to feel less important than the other. So, I wanted to take her home and let her feel the mommy love – even if she was no longer sick.
Our neighborhood has quite a few wonderful traditions – a fourth of July pool party that is pure insanity, Memorial Day cookouts, Easter Egg hunts, Halloween parades on spooky paths, and Santa comes riding thru the hood on a big honkin’ sleigh fire truck every December.
My kids love these little rituals. They bring everyone together – in the rain, in the snow, in the burning hot – neighbors come out in droves. Most of the time we can’t wait to get there. Sometimes, it’s like going to the grocery store – even if you don’t necessarily feel like going, you go. Even if you don’t necessarily celebrate that particular holiday, you show up. It’s just part of what you do. And, we are always so glad we have been.
This year Bear was invited to ride on the fire truck with Santa. This was a big deal for him. He was more excited than he will ever admit. But I am his mother – I know how he feels about it. It is quite a rite of passage to go from the little kid receiving the reindeer food and the candy cane to becoming the big kid handing them out. Plus, you get to ride inside the big honkin’ fire truck. Seriously, it’s pretty cool.
I am glad he got to be up close and personal with Santa this year. He knows that this is not the real Santa. I have always told my kids that the Santas at the mall and on fire trucks are just helping the big guy out. He is much too busy to ride around on trucks and sit at the mall all day. But rest assured that all of these Santas have a direct link to the Jolly ole Saint Nick himself and they are taking names – so yes, you’d better watch out. And as for me, I just happen to have Santa’s phone number – that is a whole mommy arsenal in the war against bad behavior.
But this year is a sad year for me because Bear is in a world of disbelief over the big jolly guy. He is pretty sure he thinks that no one is the real Santa. He is no longer convinced. Believe you me, I am working hard to continue the lies I have perpetrated over, well, his whole life. This is because I know there is more to Santa than a red suit and a bowl full of jelly. It’s the magic that I don’t want him to let go of just yet. Not until he can get his heart around how wonderful it is to play Santa.
And, thankfully, he is a kind little bear. He has not shattered the hopes and dreams of his sisters. He has not said a word to them. Maybe he knows better – but I prefer to think that he is not absolutely, completely sure of his conviction just yet.
The other day, Bear happened upon some (hidden) stuffed animals that the kids had seen in the store and asked for. As many parents have said before me, I told them they should ask Santa for the ridiculously overstuffed and very large animals. Because there is no way in H-E-double toothpicks that I am buying them. He knew that his sisters would be going into that room, so he hid them. And he hid them pretty well. The reason that Bear stumbled upon these little surprises is because number one hubby sent the kids to that exact room to get out the Christmas decorations – I know, I know, he is going to lose that number one status quicker than the grinch stole Christmas – I immediately went downstairs to hand them out. To convince them they weren’t meant to be a surprise from Santa. Oh no, not from Santa.
Sigh. Another lie. These are surprises that Dad asked me to get for you I said to them with a completely straight face. He wanted to give them to you so you would think of him while he is gone. And, yes, we’ll figure out a way to get them to India and, yes, I will figure out what else Santa is going to surprise you with. Thanks dear.
So, I have a few tricks up my sleeve to convince Bear not to be so unconvinced just yet. I will let you know how it goes.
Number one hubby arrived this morning from India. So you may not read too much of me over the next fews days – you might – but you might not. We’ll see. But just in case, Merry Christmas to all and to all a goodnight!
There have been a lot of questions about our move to India – the first one I always get is – Where did you say? (then they stop whatever they are doing and turn to look me right in the face) – Excuse me, did you say India? That is, in fact, what I said. And don’t worry, I had the same reaction. Hmmmmmm.
Here are some of the questions I have gotten so far, and the answers I have given:
Q: Lately, the most popular question has become – isn’t that where the terr*rist attacks were? A: Sort of. Okay, yes. That is where one of the (many) terr*rists attacks has occurred in the world. These particular attacks were in Mumbai along the coast. We are moving to Delhi. In the north and land-locked. And, by all accounts our neighborhood is a pretty good one. We are pretty close to the American Embassy and the kids’ school.
Q: Are you going to live in a mansion with 20 servants who brush your teeth for you? A: Not exactly. We chose a nice neighborhood pretty close to the kids’ school. We don’t have much square footage – but we live near a lovely park with lots of grass. And I will be brushing my own teeth.
Q: Yes, I said school. No need to ask if I am homeschooling my kids in India. A: Although it does create a chuckle – the answer to that is – not even on a bet. I completely respect those parents who chose to do that. But I am fully aware of my limitations and this one might just be at the very top of the list of things I cannot and should not do.
Q: Do they speak English? A: Yes, Hindi and English. Obviously, there are different levels of abilities in speaking English – but I should be able to communicate without too much trouble.
Q: Isn’t it really hot and dusty there? Like, really hot and really dusty? A: Yes and yes. Like, Very hot. And Very dusty.
Q: How close is India to Pakist*n? I can see where they are going with this one. Got it. A: Pretty close. At lot closer than the U.S. And I know why they are asking this – India and Pakist*an are not BFFs. Not even close. Also, Delhi is not too extremely far from Kashmir. (If you are not aware of the danger in Kashmir – think of Disneyland and then think of exactly the opposite of that – fireworks are still included to light up the night sky – but they come from ammunition – not Mickey Mouse.) But I have no plans to take my children any where near either one of those places. I think there are some pictures on the internet I can peruse with them. And that is not to say that there aren’t some pretty good reasons for visiting both of those places, but I happen to have a low level danger-tolerance threshold.
Q: What is the time difference? A: 10 and a half hours – they are ahead of us. Nope, I don’t know why 1/2 hour is included. But it is.
Q: Do animals really roam the streets. A: Yep. There are a lot of stray dogs and there are monkeys and cows – even the occasional elephant – and we’ll see what else.
Q: How long is the flight? A: It takes about a day to get there – about 18 hours of flying time and the rest is layovers and waiting. And, yes, I hate to fly.
Q: What are we doing with our cats. A: Two are coming with. One is visiting (very generous) friends for four months.
Q: Will I have to cover my head? A: No, Delhi is a modern democracy and has a heavy Western influence. Most people wear long pants and long sleeves all year round. I will find out for sure, but I think that is partly an attempt to avoid malaria. They have quite a few mosquitoes there. I do plan to buy at least one sari though and I very much hope to be invited to an India wedding while we are there.
Q: Will I drive? A: No, we will not drive ourselves. Apparently this can be a dangerous undertaking. Remember my low threshold for danger? Number one hubby doesn’t even like to sit in the front seat. It is going to be very different.
Q: Will you have room for visitors? A: Yes, and we would welcome you to come.
Q: What are you doing with your (newly renovated) home? A: Keeping it. It won’t fit in the boxes. Dang.
Q: Do they have McDonalds? A: Yes. Unfortunately. And Pizza Hut and Dominoes and TGIFridays and a bunch of other stuff. McDonalds does not serve beef – but they have a potato burger. We’ll see about that. Number one hubby thinks their ketchup is delicious.
I have had a lot of questions too – especially now that I am in action mode. If you think of something youwould like to know – pass it along and I will share or, if I don’t know, find out the answer.
Or at least there might be and that is good enough for me.
Bear is thoroughly confused. Yippeee.
Angel and Flower have no doubts whatsoever. Santa is the best.
Very long story short, Santa normally comes to our house on the night of the 23rd. This year, I explained to my kids that asking him to come early was just too much and we weren’t going to do that again.
Let the reindeer games begin.
On Dec. 24th, we went to my mother-in-law’s house for our Christmas celebration with number one hubby’s family. While we were gone – and in the middle of the day full of bright sunlight – Jolly ole St. Nick snuck into our house and filled our stockings and stuffed our tree with slippers and put a few presents under the tree. What? How did that happen? You should have seen the look on Bear’s face when we walked in the door and we saw the very full stockings. Total confusion.
It did not hurt that one of Bear’s gifts was one I refused to buy. Totally unnecessary, expensive, and no way to get it to India. Sorry, not this year. Don’t even bother asking Santa – it’s not going to happen. Hee hee. My nose was redder than Rudolph’s.
We have not talked about it – that would not be wise – he can out question me and I don’t want to slip up with my normal over-explaining things. It’s better left as confusion.
Flower and Angel were not a bit confused – they just knew Santa would never let them down. Apparently he outranks parents and can come whenever he wants. Okay.
So, as my children get older – I am thinking about the lies I have told them. The ones that were easy to maintain and the ones that were, well, not so much.
If you have young kids, think very carefully about what you tell them. You may have to perpetuate those stories/traditions for a very long time. Just as my kids are getting old enough to not believe, I am getting smart enough to make them believe forever. Minus, of course, the one child who is kind of sort of unconvinced – but is now, at least, very confused. Some of the things I know I have learned from very kind moms with older children who have shared their Santa lessons with me. Some I have learned the old-fashioned way – by falling flat on my lies.
Remember to always have Santa use a different kind of wrapping paper for his presents. Santa can write right on the paper in big fat magic marker – no tags needed – thank you Santa. Make sure the wrapping paper is hidden at least as well as the presents. Black trash bags were invented for throwing away Christmas trash.
Speaking of presents, make sure that anyone who spends anytime at all in your house knows the off-limits areas for hidden gifts.
Think about whether you want your kids to believe that everything is made in the toy shop. Sure, some of the harder to find gifts might be made there – but you only have to be asked once why Santa puts everything in boxes just like the toy store. Yep, only once. My kids know full well that Santa cannot possibly make everything for everyone. He has to shop too. (If you decide to dazzle your kids with a little toy shop magic, make sure you take things out of the boxes before Santa wraps them.)
Be careful what traditions Santa starts. One year, my kids were loving stuffed animals and so Santa very generously gave each of them two. I have it on very good authority that Santa was very tired and was way too out of steam to wrap those little critters, so he stuffed them in the tree. They looked really fabulous stuffed in the tree and there was definitely shock and awe of the magical Christmas kind when the kids discovered them. But, now every year, the big question is – what will Santa stuff in the tree. You can see why that might be a problem – every year!
If your child breaks something in March and you tell them to ask Santa for it in December. Believe me, they will remember to ask. Yes, this is one of the lessons I learned the hard way.
Think long and hard, before telling your kids that the Santa at the mall is the real Santa. They all look very different and forget it if you need to go to more than one mall in the same day – try ‘splainin that to a very logical child. This little bit of truthfulness will reward you with the gift of time and health. Those lines are dreadfully long and every other kid in them has a (very) runny nose – and their mothers think they are adorable. They are not always so adorable. You also won’t have to make yourself crazy finding the perfect outfit.
Let Santa give them something you would never in a million years give them. This makes them very, very confused.
The bottom line in all of this is that the shorter, less involved your answers are the better. Too much information is, well, too much information. And it is bound to lead to more questions.
Don’t worry – if you are just reading this blog for the first time, there is no Part A. Just Part B. You didn’t miss a thing – I know, big heavy sigh of relief. Whew.
My children will do what I ask them (okay usually). I try really hard not to brag about my kids in this blog – because I know it’s annoying, but they are part of my every day, so you get to hear about them – a lot – I know, a lot. They are smart kids – at least smart enough to do chores. But, for some very unclear reason, they never take their chores to Part B.
Part A: Empty the trash. Part B: Replace the trash bags.
Part A: Take the trash to the curb. Part B: And the recycling (but only on Tuesdays). Part B of Part B: after the trashmen empty the trash containers – take them back to the side of the house – and push them all the way up against the wall.
Part A: Empty the dishwasher – including the silverware. Part B: Fill it up (with all those dirty dishes right beside you in the sink).
Part A: Help bring in the groceries. Part B: No – not eat them – but help put them away.
Part A: Stop yelling, fighting, and screaming at your brother/sister. If you are frustrated ask me for help. I was on the debate team – I can intervene. Plus I have parent power that actually works. Okay, usually. Part B: This does not mean standing at the furthest corner of the house from wherever I am and screaming for my help at the top of your lungs. This means walking calmly to wherever I am – unless I am on the phone or in the bathroom – then give me a minute – and ask me in person for help without yelling at me. I will understand you better if you talk slowly and calmly from within the same zip code.
Part A: Take these clean clothes (that I have turned right-side out, washed, dried, separated, hung, and folded) to your room. Part B: Put them away. Neatly. Where they belong. Not in the corner of your closet.
Part A: Clean out the car – don’t worry, the driver’s area is clean – it’s the rest of it that is a disaster – you know, the places where you sit and eat and change clothes and have trash fights. Part B: Dump the trash in the trash can, put the coats/shoes in the (appropriate closet), and put the rest of the c-r-a-p away in the appropriate c-r-a-p repository – and, yes, sometimes that is the trash can. Leaving it all on the floor right by the garage door does not a complete cleaning make – it just gives your aging mother one more place to trip and break her hip. And, trust, me that would take chores to a whole new level of annoying – you don’t want that to happen.
Part A: Start your homework. Part B: Finish it. Yes, all of it.
Anyway, they may never learn the art of Part B – I guess that is what I am here for. At least they know this one…
Part A: I love you Part B: That’s it – no strings attached. Always. No matter what. No. Part. B.
Yeah, I am not a big fan of the shots. And I only like fun surprises – so, here is what you need to think about if you are planning to visit us in India – make a few doctors appointments. (And remember, I am not a medical professional – nor do I play one on this blog – check with a real doctor to see what s/he recommends.)
clipart.com
You will want to at least consider…
Hepatitis A (a two-part series – oh goody a shot with a sequel) Hepatitis B Polio
(a three-part series – even better) Rabies (this might come in parts as well) Flu (you should get this one anyway) Tetnus Typhoid (can be an oral vaccine) Chicken Pox
There is a lot of controversy over whether people who “live in” rather than “visit” India should take malariapills. If you are just visiting – you probably will want to take them. Our doctor recommends it – the school does not. The concern is the potential for depression and nightmares with long term use. Couple that with some kids nearing their teenage years and this could be really fun!
So, anyshot – I have either gotten all of these or am scheduled to get them in the very near future.
On the absolutely nothing to do with India side of vaccines – but by the way, there is now a vaccine for shingles. If you have ever had the chicken pox, you are a potential candidate for shingles. Number one hubby has had shingles – not so much fun if you want to know the truth. So, I highly recommend this vaccine – especially for your parents, shingles generally hits people later in life.
Yep, the ball is about to drop and I am once again without a list of things resolved. Well, there is plenty worth resolving – but I always fall short on the following through side of things. So this year I am going to make it simple.
I will try (very hard) to be a better person. There is a lot of room for improvement for me in all things regarding being a better person. So, I am going to do my best to be
Healthier
A better wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, neighbor
More spiritual
More thoughtful
Funnier
Nicer
A better recycler
More understanding and forgiving
More generous
More gracious
More appreciative
A better writer
A better listener
My list has offers me quite a few opportunities to “get it right” – which will also give me a chance to mask some of my certain shortcomings. That way, I can do better in at least a few resolution arenas and not look back a year from now and say “dang, not even one?” I am sure to see some improvement somewhere. At least I know moving to India is sure to make me more appreciative of the United States – I am off to a good start.
I am also going to try to give up caffeine. Again. For the 4th or 5th time in my life. I am not starting this one right away. I have to pace myself. SHHHH! My head hurts already.
I have this little polling option on my blog hoster. So I thought I would try it.
Not to sway your decision – but please keep in mind that this current dotty one is a work in progress. I am teaching myself CSS and have to learn a few more things to “fix” the design. So if you are leaning towards to dots – think potential.
Yikes, that’s right. Twenty-five days and counting. My furry children (minus Queso who has found a wonderful temporary home) leave on Sunday for India. It’s a little weird that my furry children will get to see India before my non-furry children, but so it goes.
We saw Slum-dog Millionaire this week. It has a very creative story-line but it is definitely not a advertisement for tourism, much less for taking up residence, in India. But it did pique my sight-seeing interest. It’s really not that different than any story about any child surviving in a slum would be. There are some parts that are very hard to watch. But, we have our own neglects in the United States – India appears to be no different. And because there are (a lot) more people, there are (a lot) more poor people.
I have also read Beneath a Marble Sky by John Shors, which is an amazing tale about the era in which the Taj Mahal was built. It’s a magically written historical fiction that could paint a picture of the Taj Mahal and its history that even a blind man could imagine and see. Even if you are not moving to India, you can appreciate the intricate relationships of families and parents and siblings. It is a love story of action and impatience and imagination – it is the love story not just of a husband and his wife, but of a father and a daughter, a sister and her brothers, a princess and her best friend.
My book club was fortunate enough to be able to talk with John Shors. He was so gracious with his time and insights and he shared with us that this book took five years to write. You can tell. There is not one single moment in it that lets you drift away from the plot. There are graphic instances that are dealt with precisely – no violence for violence’s sake. It’s fabulous! If you have time, read it.
So, anytaj, we spent some time with friends this week who will probably not see for quite some time. It was great and Monday begins the great paperwork battle of my life. Coordinating utilities, medical info, and school records- verifying our vaccines are, in fact, all done (please God, let them be done), – packing, unpacking, and repacking – and who knows what else. There is a lot to do with only twenty-five days and counting – backwards to the 26th. Yikes.
A blogging friend of mine Lola blogged about her dog “helping” her sled down a hill and right onto a stick which ripped her pants – her very favorite pants. The ones that she has never been able to find another pair of. You can read her story here. She’s fine – so now her readers are left to enjoy a pretty funny rendition of events. Her dog and her butt survived but her beloved blue jeans did not. So in her comments section, I suggested that maybe she needed a furry pair of jeans to replace her ripped jeans. She is sassy – she knows I was kidding. But, I am afraid the Cosmos were left completely unaware.
So the Cosmos and Karma joined together to conspire against me. I am sure it is because I made a little joke about a friend’s dog – there is no other reason on this planet that Wrinkle Number One in our plan to move to India makes any sense at all. So, I am adding “being nicer to the animals of others” to my new years resolutions list. In fact, I am moving “being healthier” to the number two spot. PETA watch out – I am going to out-love you on all things animal.
It went a little something like this…..
Hold on one minute – I am going to get myself a glass of wine to relax as I re-learn to breath. I would invite you to grab a cup of whatever it is you fancy. This is a long one.
Okay, now I am set and I am pretty sure I am breathing again – panting maybe – I put my wine in a water bowl just in case - I told you PETA watch out.
Number One Hubby left tonight for Delhi on a United Airlines flight. Yes, write that down – the airline not to use when flying your cats to India. United Airlines. Number One Hubby was taking two of our furry children with him. We arrived at the airport well outside of the requisite 2-hour time allowance to check in, kiss the furry ones goodbye, hug Dad – twice, and tearfully wave goodbye until we meet again in three weeks. Thank God we are timely folks because we spent well over an hour at the ticket counter. Can you guess what part of this did not happen?
And the winner loser is – the cats are not on the plane. I wish I could completely explain to you all of the pieces of the puzzle that did not fall into place but I am not absolutely clear on all of this myself. And, do not ask the first counter attendant, the second counter attendant, the counter attendant standing by watching, the supervisor (who is not a supervisor, but a manager – so sorry), or the actual supervisor who only makes ghost appearances via the telephone (think of the banker in Deal or No Deal – only minus the shadow and minus the million dollar potential – but annoying all the same). None of them can explain it either. Some of them did not even try.
We have had these pet reservations for weeks. Oh yes, United allowed us to book these pet reservations thru Dubai and on to Delhi. We called this very morning to confirm our said pet reservations and were given the okay – your pets are booked – two thumbs up. We have the right crates (well minus the holes on all four sides – that was easily fixed), we had the right bowls, the right paperwork, we thought we had done everything, well, right. WRONG.
First, there was a lot of discussion about whether the cats would be considered cargo or freight or baggage and whole lot of other stuff whispered that we were not (supposed to be) privy to. So, I won’t go into how nerve-racking that was for my three little children who were standing there listening to whether or not their cats would actually be allowed on the plane or if they would be strapped to a wing. Hey, they have fur coats, don’t they? I completely lost my sense of humor at this point.
The first problem is that this airline does not interline pets. WTH? Interline – English please. We are still in America right? Interlining pets apparently does not mean putting little skates on them and letting them figure it out on their own – that would have been funny. Welcome back sense of humor – but, oh no, not so fast. Interlining means that they do not transfer pets from one airline to another. Okay. So, number one hubby can go pick up the cats from United in Dubai and hand carry them over to the connecting flight for Delhi. Right? Oh silly you. That’s what I thought too. Nope.
Dubai does not accept live animals. Then why were we allowed to book live animals on a flight that goes to Delhi – oh yeah, via Dubai? Good question – still no answer to that one. Why were we allowed to confirm live animals on a flight that goes to Delhi – via Dubai - just this morning? Oh, you little pink panther you – another good question. No answer to that one either. Why do United regulations specify that each passenger can check two live pets with their ticket that goes to Delhi – say it with me – via Dubai? Oh you are really good – a criminal justice degree is certainly in your future.
Just as a side note – there was another couple standing right beside us with pet problems. Seems prevalent with United – at least tonight. And there was a United Representative going out of her way to help them. GASP. And I am not kidding when I say this – I really am not – she got written up for her (very helpful) actions. She helped the passengers – who were pleading with her for help – make their crates compliant. The couple had flown on United just a week before and several times before that with the very same crates that had passed inspection every single time. But tonight – well, they must have made fun of a friend’s dog too. Or they got caught in my wrath. So sorry.
But did you read that? She got written up for helping passengers follow United Airlines guidelines. Yes, my dear, something is very wrong with that. And now future passengers who are foolish enough to book their pets on United probably won’t be helped by her either. She is surely not going to want to lose her job in customer service just because she helps people get their furry family members on the same plane.
But, back to us and hold on a second, we thought we had progress. Ticket agent number one printed stickers for the cats. He was pulling them off the printer when the phone rang. And then he ripped them up. Huh? That’s what we said.
Circles – we danced all night in circles – no answers – not even one. Number One Hubby was actually on the phone with United Airlines in Delhi and they approved the cats – they had every intention of accepting the cats and were very willing to stand by that decision – if they could just be given the opportunity to do so. And still, somehow, the cats are still at home with me. The Delhi employee asked to speak with the United employees on our end. One spoke with him. Okay. Now what – she was looking for a supervisor. And, alas, we only had a manager who would not even answer our request to speak to him.
So the supervisor who is actually not a supervisor but a manager (I am so glad she could clear something up) was very happy to spell her first and last name for us – repeatedly – would not even come back to the counter until she thought we were gone. The first counter attendant became Houdini and disappeared completely – he could feel our pain but could apparently no longer bear to share it with us. But we fooled that manager/supervisor – we were still there – because we had a representative from United Airlines in Delhi – her sister station – asking why they wouldn’t put the cats on the plane. She would not speak to them. She had gotten an answer from another invisible banker-boss in Chicago. Oh, that makes perfect sense because no part of our journey involves Chicago. So, I could see why she would not speak to the person from Delhi – where the cats were (supposed to be) going. Nor would she even look at us. Except to spell her name for us – again. She was helping someone else now. But sweetheart, you aren’t done with us yet. You should really read my blog on Part B.
Okay – I have one (more) question. Was she (not) helping someone else get their pets on the plane? These pets are a part of our family. Period. We have children – we are not crazy pet people – I am not really going to out-love PETA. But I am standing in front of you with real children who love their animals very much and my furry children who are frankly scared out of their minds. Help me. Find a solution that works. Do not walk away as if you have no responsibility to resolve this. You work for United Airlines. Your little uniform and the whole standing behind the counter thing has completely given you away. You may call yourself a manager rather than a supervisor – but the front-line employees called you because they did not know what to do. Your banker-boss was in another building. Honestly. Do something.
I am not kidding when I say that none of the CUSTOMER SERVICE representatives we dealt with offered any solutions. They only told us what could not be done. We could not put our cats on that plane. Fine. Let’s work with that. Is there another plane we can put them on? Can we reschedule to not go through Dubai? Can you talk to India about this – WE have them on the phone for you. No need to even exhaust yourself dialing the phone. How about a little understanding? Compassion? Alternative thinking?
If I had to pick a worst moment of the night it would be when the first counter attendant tried to finally explain something to us. He actually said to us in front of our three young children that the reason they were trying to be so careful is that his computer has a note right here that says that animals arriving in Delhi might be destroyed. And he, in fact, has known this to actually happen. Yes, he did say that out loud. Angel knows what destroyed means – she’s only seven, so she doubted herself and asked me repeatedly what destroyed means, with very big tears in her eyes. I finally (thought fast) and explained they were talking about the paperwork. Guess who I won’t be nominating for employee of the year.
Here is the best part of the story. It seems that United in Delhi is very confused and a representative from United (and I believe he is actually a manager and a supervisor who admits to being both) plans to meet Number One Hubby when his plane lands in Delhi. But he won’t get to meet our cats, so this might fall under the “too little, too late, there are no actual cats with me” category.
I am so thankful that we had this little dry run. Honestly, I do not know what we might have done if we were all leaving at this time. Maybe Karma is not exactly conspiring against me but just showing me the ropes.
So, we kiss number one hubby goodbye, because he is now in serious threat of missing his flight, and we took the cats back to the car. The cats thanked us by pooping and passing gas all the way home. The kids were in stitches. I heard every elementary school bathroom joke on the planet. As if the night had not been entertaining enough.
There are implications that reach well beyond the tremendous stress that all of us experienced tonight. Changing our flights means changing a lot of things – the day the utilities are switched, the day the kids leave school, the day the kids start school, the day my husband flies home to help us, the stress level of our next trip has already quadrupled, all of the travel arrangements need to be rearranged – you see there is a ripple effect.
The kids are now in bed with cats curled up beside them. There are five (temporarily) happy hearts right now in this house. My heart is (barely) beating – but that is about it. Because in three weeks we have to try this all again and there will not be an exit plan. Five people are getting on a plane – there will be no one left to take the cats home – home is now in Delhi and those cats have to come with. So we have decided to vote with our wallets and are switching to American Airlines.
Notes – I reread this when I woke up this morning and then again just now. I wanted to make sure I did not exaggarate what happened out of frustration. I did not – in fact, I was quite gracious in my depiction of events. Yes, it was that bad. And I want to be clear that Number One Hubby and I did not yell – we did not make a scene – we were certainly frustrated but we were adults about it. Paying. Customer. Adults.
Oh wouldn’t it be nice if this story ended with my little tirade about how our pets did not make it to India. That would have been lovely. But, alas that was not the rest of the story.
Number One Hubby finally arrived in Delhi after a very long layover in Dubai. It turns out that Delhi has a lot of fog and that can make planes and flight schedules get delayed – very delayed. He landed in Delhi about 7 hours later than he had planned. No one is upset about this at all. Weather is weather and we are thankful that the airlines played it safe. It just means that Number One Hubby traveled for about 36 hours straight and is most likely very, very T-I-R-E-D.
However. Number One Hubby landed in Delhi minus his luggage. Now that I take issue with. Here is why.
First, the luggage was a gift from my parents for Christmas. It’s brand spankin’ new. And I technically have not even gotten to use it yet. It’s like getting a big double scoop of your favorite ice cream, just to turn too quickly and watch it (ever so slowly) splat on the (very dirty) ground.
Also, the luggage was mostly filled with my clothes. My new clothes. My understanding is that in India the women wear mostly long pants and their skirts all cover their knees. A quick looksie at my closet told me – it is time for a change. So, I went at the end of the summer season and bought some (really, really fun and cute) things to wear in India. Many of them still have the tags on them.
So, I have not gotten to use the suitcase and I have not gotten to wear my new clothes.
Additionally, the school has a two-inch rule. The kids cannot wear anything that is more than two inches above their knees. (By the way, I love this rule.) So, since it is cold here, I packed all of the kids shorts that met the standard into my (brand new) suitcase. Yes, when I say ALL of them, I really mean ALL of them.
And finally, number one hubby bought a brand new electric razor while he was home. It was a good one – it promises to do all the things the ones that came before it simply could not do. I think it is supposed to whisper sweet nothings in your ear as you use it. I think it might even close the toilet lid. It’s shiny and bright and purdy. It has never been used. It might not ever get used. Well at least not by us.
Number One Hubby does not have the claim ticket. There is no telling if the claim ticket ever made its way into Number One Hubby’s possession. There was a lot going on at the counter when he was checking in. (You can read about Wrinkle Number One here.) But he does not have it now. Now would be a (very) good time to have it.
This is not looking too good.
I am off to remind myself that this will all make a very funny story one day. I can hear myself laughing now. Or maybe that is crying – I am really not sure anymore.
P.S. Yes, I get the irony in all of this – that maybe it is better that the cats were not actually on this flight. I am just crossing my paws that they make it onto the next one and actually arrive in Delhi with us. Karma Shmarma.
Orvis rocks. They really, really do. United Airlines – get out a pen and paper and take notes. I’ll wait. Really, you’ll want to take notes on this. It is an example of how customer service is done better than it has to be. Not really, really badly – not barely enough – not even just enough – but actually better than it has to be.
For Christmas, my parents got Number One Hubby a very nice watch from Orvis that was advertised to keep time in two different locations – a dual time zone watch as it were. It was brown – yahoo – it was large – yahoo. It was great. However, my hubby is a gadget guy – so about two seconds after opening the watch, he starting figuring out how to set both times – here and Delhi.
Well, it turns out that Orvis made a mistake. The watch will not actually keep times in two different locations. So, they included a very nice note that said they made a mistake and that this watch could absolutely be returned. Okay. It happens.
Off we go to the Orvis Store. For those of you have never been to an Orvis store, it is very much like an Eddie Bauer store with maybe a little Talbots mixed in for the ladies. Lots of outdoors stuff. And cool watches and pretty sweaters.
So, we walk in and I get in line. The salesperson actually apologized to me for not being able to help me right away. He had someone else waiting and it should not take long. Okay. Really, I am very sorry. Seriously, it’s okay. We can certainly wait our turn.
He never spelled his name for me (you can see what this is important here). He just hurried to be helpful so he could return and be helpful again. Wait just a minute. Let me say thank you now. Really it was impressive.
So, it turns out they happily accepted the return. And because it was a gift, they gave us a store credit. With 25% added on. Seriously, I am not kidding.
We looked in the store and saw some things we liked, but nothing we had to have immediately. Well, okay, I saw two sweaters – they were on sale and that gets me EVERY TIME – but they were the wrong size. So on-line shopping here we come.
Number One Hubby found a watch he really liked – and lo and behold – the sweaters were available on-line too. Alas, they were not on sale. Bummer.
So, I did an on-line chat with the Orvis rep on-line. He was also very helpful, polite, and professional. Really, these people are good. He could not honor the sales price on-line, but the store could order everything for me at the sales price.
Yep, that is the sound of me tripping over myself to get to the phone. Calling Orvis. Another very polite and helpful salesperson answers the phone. Yes, they can do that. Oh, but no, they cannot do it over the phone. I must come into the store.
Hmmmmm. I am moving to India – I now have to figure out how to get my cats to India and my luggage to Delhi – oh yeah my kids are coming too – it’s raining – I don’t really have the time/energy to go back to the store. So I order the items online.
But I am disappointed by this, so after I place my order, I write to Orvis and tell them that I wish they could have honored the sales price on-line. I tell them that I won’t bore them with how busy I am because everyone is so busy and that is why on-line shopping has been invented and embraced. So it’s a bummer that I would have had to travel to get the discount. It’s just that I simply do not know where I would squeeze in the time right now to get back to the store. I did not ask for anything. I just wanted to let them know. Maybe they could think about it for the next time.
Within a few hours, I get a note back saying that my shipping costs on my order will immediately be reimbursed. That was nice. I thanked them. Then I got another message from customer service saying they were so glad they could help me.
Door open. So, I reply, yes, that was indeed nice. But the shipping costs were incurred by me because of a mistake by them. And the savings on the sweaters would have been $40. The shipping costs were $14. But, I did appreciate their responsiveness and it was a very nice customer service gesture. Thank you again. You can be sure Orvis is on my list of places to continue shopping.
United, is your pencil sharpened? Do you have a piece of paper at the ready? They wrote me back again. Customer Service is apparently very important to Orvis. They are sorry for the trouble. Really, they are. They are going to reimburse me $40 for the difference in the sales price of the sweaters.
I just want to add here that I did mention in my letter that we will be out of the country soon and for a while. They know I am a customer who will be out of the country for quite some time. This makes this even more impressive.
Stop the presses. I did not ask for anything at any point. I just outlined my experience for them. They stretched their customer service arms way out and wrapped them around me like a big we-appreciate-you hug snuggled in a whisper soft plum colored sweater that can tell you the time in two places at once. AHHHH.
They have a fan for life! I bet if I asked them really nicely, they could get my cats to India for me, complete with a baggage claim ticket.
So, get your credit card out and go shopping. www.Orvis.com. Number One Hubby got the dual time zone watch. I particularly like the whisper soft sweater. I got it in green and plum and now I am getting it in bone. Yippee for me. Clinton and Stacey would never approve of the multiples. But I roll like that.
Thank you Orvis! I will continue to sing your praises.
One more note – I just went back and looked at the emails from Orvis today. They had 5 different wonderful people working to help me – and the left hand always seemed to know what the right hand was doing. Amazing. I do not want to forget the two very polite store employees. I might just apply for a job when we return.
If you are just coming across this, unfortunately this was a sale in 2008. Happy Holidays!
Most of you know that my family is moving to Delhi, India in a few weeks.
So, A Reason To Write has slowed way down. I was not able to participate in craft shows this past fall season. But I do have quite a bit of inventory left. So I am having a clearance sale.
All packages of 4 (adorable) handmade cards will be $4 each.
That’s right – half price. I also have quite a few embellishments that I just never got around to using. So I will be putting those out – perfect for card making/ scrapbooking – as well. They will be sold at the wholesale price I paid for them – which means a big fat 50% off retail.
I also have some gently used rubber stamps and other supplies that will be out at rock bottom prices.
So, if you have time and interest – please stop by on
Friday, Jan.16th
5pm – 9pm.
If you know where I live, no need to rsvp.
If you do not know where I live or have forgotten,
please feel free to email me at areasontowrite (at) cox (dot) net -
this is a clever way of writing emails so that spammers don’t discover your email address – you type it just like you would say it out loud with the”@” and “.” symbols – I will send you directions.
Please feel free to bring a friend! If you work for Orvis, you will get an additional 25% off.
You haven’t met – oh, please, let me introduce you – Flip Orley meet my blog world.
Blog world – Flip Orley.
Flip is a hypnotist-slash-comedian. He is a damn riot. Number One Hubby and I try to see him whenever we can.
I can see the eyes rolling now – oh goody, another hypnotist. That is like saying he is a ventriloquist (no I did not know how to spell that), right. This is where I will blog to differ. Yes, he is a hypnotist – but he is not a meanie bobeanie hypnotist. No one is told that bad things are going to happen to their favorite body parts or that an elephant just sat on their head. But he is very entertaining. And the things people say – oh, he really should write a book. Did you hear that Flip? Write a flippin’ book.
Anyflip, he also sells relaxation cds. And I am such a fan that I bought one – oops, I accidentally broke it – so I bought another one. Yes, I am twice the fan I used to be. And I used to listen to it when I was having a hard time falling asleep. I usually don’t have a hard time falling asleep so I have not used the cd in a while and, well, I forgot about it – until last night.
I was exhausted – really, truly exhausted. The kind of exhausted where you can barely walk because your shoulders are way ahead of your feet and your head is just so, so heavy. And you are willing to leave on every single light in the house and the front door open (even if you weren’t raised in a barn) because you just don’t have the energy to save energy. So I got in bed, snuggled up to myself and my cat who is mysteriously still in the U.S., and closed my eyes. All by themselves, they popped wide open and, seriously, I was no longer sleepy – oh, yes, still exhausted, but no longer sleepy. What the?
I had just read one of Flip’s comments on Facebook, which reminded me about his cd. I got it, I turned it on, I listened, and, oh boy, did I relax. Holy sleep, Batman. Last night was the best night of sleep I have had since number one hubby left for India. I was sleeping so well, that when my alarm went off this morning, I refused to believe it was true that morning could be so cruel and wake me up from this wondrous respite of zzzzzzzzzzz’s. Cold cruel world. I call NO FAIR.
It may seem unnerving that a total stranger can, in the dark of night, slip into your room and hypnotize you. (It helps if you leave the front door open and all the lights on.) But, trust you me – it is pure heaven. He starts with your toes and works his way up until you are asleep. It is magic. Disney watch out – Mickey’s got nothing on this guy. Anyway, he does not sneak in little suggestions like you mailing him a check or buying 25 tickets to his next show. It is all about you – a very relaxed and asleep you. If you try it, you will thank me – okay, well, maybe you should thank Flip – but please remember I introduced you!
So if you ever have trouble sleeping, give my new hypnotic BFF a listen.
He also has a stop smoking cd – I don’t smoke so I don’t need that one. But he does have a weight loss cd and since my fat jeans are now my skinny jeans – I am giving that one a listen too.
Queso has a place to go for the next four months. Thank you Chris and family! This makes me very happy – even more sad – and very, very thankful. If I ever re-open the doors to A Reason To Write – you will have free cards for life. Queso Peso – I am going to really, really miss you. Maybe you can start a blog so I can keep up with what you are doing. I know, I know, it’s hard to type with paws. Sigh.
This arrived yesterday. I heart Orvis. Yes, that was (extremely) fast. They are serious about this whole keeping the customer happy thing. They mean it.
United Airlines has not responded to my email. I do not heart United Airlines. One suitcase has arrived in Delhi. That’s great – except – wait for it – number one hubby left the U.S. with two suitcases. I was no math major but I am still pretty sure that one plus zero does NOT equal two or me.
United Airlines in Delhi would like to meet with Number One Hubby. They are very concerned about our experience. (Remember they tried to help us – it was their sister station in the U.S. that was more than unhelpful.) I am sincerely impressed with their concern.
Our passports arrived today with our Visas. It looks like Delhi (India) will allow live humans into the country.
My children discovered that my laptop has a camera. This was because I waited to take a picture of my new sweater until after they got home from school. That was (not) a brilliant move.
Left to their own devices, my children are perfectly capable of entertaining themselves – without killing each other and without the assistance of electronics. Ripley’s might actually believe it – or not – so I took a picture. Please notice nothing is plugged in and everyone is alive.
This is what my cats think of their future trip to India. I am exploring the possibility of them riding under the seat with us on the plane. I wonder, do they make kitty diapers? They must. If not, maybe I can invent them.
I have been spoiled by my blogging friends who are both funny and write well. Not all blog writers are creative equally. Some are really bad. And they have books published. This bothers me on a number of levels. Someone is making them think they are good, so now they are going to continue writing. I have not figured out what to write a book about (details) or how to get this unwritten masterpiece published. More details. But I really, really want to. Isn’t that enough? Maybe I should be encouraged. If she can do it……. And, nope, I won’t tell you who they/she are/is because she has gotten enough attention already. I will give you a hint – she is not on my blogroll and she is not nice. So even if someone kindly sprinkles magic writing dust on her and she suddenly gets all Shakesperian on me she still will not appear on my blogroll. That’s how I choose to impose my own little poetic justice.
Apparently my -ER friend does have time to read my blog after all. Well, let me be fair, her two-year-old most likely read it to her while she was baking 500 dozen homemade (decorated by hand) sugar cookies for the school bake sale. And, yes, she will buy them all back – she is generous like that. Anybake, she called me yesterday. Holy moly you say – oh, have no fear. None whatsoever. She thought it was hysterical – who is she, she asked? Oh yes she did. She asked who it was. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that she is (nearly) famous. She knew it wasn’t her because she HATES people like that. That really makes me laugh. A lot of people have asked me how I think of things to write about. Oh the heavens rain ideas upon me all the time. It really isn’t hard – with friends like this, who needs life experience. I can write vicariously through the insanity of others. Thank you writing gods! And, please keep it coming.
Angel asked me why it is always “comma and Angel”. She asked this when she saw me signing Christmas-slash-holiday-slash-Hanukkah-slash-Happy Tuesday cards with our names – Number One Hubby, Me, Bear, Flower, and Angel. Comma and Angel. She is right – that is how it always goes. I am not really sure why. I don’t have an answer for her – my parenting gods did not send a creative thought to my brain – so I just looked at her and said, “Honey, that’s just the way I write it – in order.” But, I am no dummy, I am going to put money in her Freud-slash-college savings account just in case she needs further explanation later in life.
Growing up, my family has had a lot of changes in commas and sometimes I was behind the “comma and” too. She is right, it’s not always the most glamorous spot. So, today when we went to get hair cuts and I signed the kids in, I called Angel over. Watch this. I wrote – Angel, Flower comma and Bear. She laughed. Oh, yes, she remembered and she smiled for at least an hour. She got to go first – and they had to wait their turn – behind her. Sweet comma justice.
Then I got home and read an email from our neighborhood swim team that one of our swim team family members has very unexpectedly passed away. She was 17 and she had a wonderful shy smile that was really lovely and warm and kind. Her gentle presence will be so missed. She is already missed. She would look at you under her eyelashes – not in coy clever way – but in an unassuming soft-hearted way – a more comfortable in the background way. We do not know the family well. But I cannot imagine – I am sure as you read this your heart is racing and prayers are forming. You might even be crying – I am. A loss like this runs so deep and true and is felt by everyone who hears its story. You cannot walk away from it unaffected. It’s impossible. Don’t even try.
Their comma has moved. Their family of four is now a family of three. Their new, unanticipated emptiness must feel so heavy – and so unnecessary. So hard to believe. So unfair. Unspeakable really. Just so very unreasonable. So many questions that will never find answers. I realize I am just a bystander – barely a shadow in their tremendous new void. Their own pain must be suffocating, unbearable – it is certainly unthinkable. Horrible. Very hard to get your heart around. I am writing about it because I am waiting to figure out what else to do. As I said, I do not know them well but I have a huge want to do something, to help, to change it. Yeah, I know, tragically there is no way for that to happen. It will not – it simply cannot change. Damn. Because we do not know them well, it is not appropriate for me to insert myself into their lives now, even with the best of intentions. So I am simply left with prayers for her family. Prayers that might not ever find answers. It does not seem like much to offer. They are left with so much less.
I am going to explain to Angel that she is, in fact, very lucky that her comma is right where we left it. Unmoved.
Okay, I am not really a vampire – but an interview with me just did not sound as interesting. In the blog world, there is this thing called a me me – it’s a little chance for readers to get to know more (than they ever wanted to know) about the blog author – that’s me, yes, me. Miss Grace got interviewed and now I get to play along. She asks the questions, and I answer. Bear with me – this might require some thought – stand back in case my brain explodes from actual use, I cannot be held accountable for the splatter. What? If Walmart does not have to corral their shopping carts, why should I? Anymeme, here it goes.
1. What’s your favorite non-blog website/place to waste time on the internet.
I am sadly a facebook addict. It has been very fun to connect with friends from long ago – I have even met a future friend from India. Now that is cool. I also read skim the Times of India. And I cannot tear myself away from the craft sites where I have wholesale accounts. It appears I have more than one dark addiction demon in my computer life. (Really though, the blog sites are my faves.)
And I cannot, will not forget about Skype. That is how the kids and I talk to number one hubby – for free – everyday. It is a little piece of communication addiction that I embrace.
2. What material thing/place (not a person) do you think you’ll miss the most when you’re in India?
Hmmm. Since you said not a person, you left open the door for other creatures. I am going to say my little cat Queso. She sits with me at the computer almost every minute that I am here and gives me scratchy cat kisses. She also purrs really loud. It’s going to be hard to top that. But the place would be my neighborhood and my newly renovated house. I love them both and it is very hard to tear myself away from home. I will also miss my double oven. Apparently my new oven is a large toaster oven that actually sits on the counter.
I am also a horrible creature of habit. So, I will very much miss my very comfortable routines.
3. What everyday thing do you wish you could eliminate from your life forever?
This one is easy. Laundry. And the cat litter. And dishes. Okay – I will just say chores in general. This elimination might actually occur in India. If I can put the control freak in me aside and let others (literally) do my dirty work. Oh yeah, and I would not mind throwing mean or manipulating people out with the trash. No time for that. Maybe they could be recycled. Hey, I guess that could happen in India too – I understand they believe in reincarnation.
4. Describe the first date you ever went on (in your life).
It was with Donnie. We went with his parents to Godfather’s Pizza. They sat way across the restaurant (with a direct view of us). And we sat at our own booth. It was very uneventful. We went on this date while he was on a break from his long-time girlfriend. They got back together – they honestly probably got married. At least they should have.
My best date was when hubby beat me home from work and made dinner. He locked me out because he was not done ironing the table cloth yet. (He has never done it since – and I really wouldn’t want him to – it would ruin the memory of him frantically ironing my grandmother’s tablecloth while I am banging on the door to get in.) I don’t remember everything he made but I remember being so mad that he locked me out of my own house. Then I felt horrible. It was really great.
5. If you had to have one song playing constantly on a loop in the background for the rest of your life, which one would be the least likely to make you want to kill yourself?
I have a hard time making choices – it’s easier to say what I don’t want than what I do want. (You should see me at the Cheesecake Factory with its 500-page menu – all the possibilities – I almost end up in a straight jacket every time.) I would not want the hookie pokie (although we did play it and dance to it at our wedding) or the macarena (I never learned out to do it). But I have learned from my parenting experience that any song played over and over is not a good thing. Repetition is the fastest way to ruin a love of musical things – be it Barney or Beethoven. It would have to be something without words – but definitely not No More Words. Maybe it would be a cd of Queso purring. Or the theme song to St. Elmo’s Fire. My younger brother learned to play that on the piano for me because I loved the song so much.
Okay now you have me thinking – it might be Picture by Kidd Rock and Sheryl Crow – I love the way they are both thinking about what they have given up and how sad they are not to be together – but I hate the way they refuse to admit it – then they finally do in the end. It reminds me to (try to) not take number one hubby for granted. Even if he locks me out of the house.
Your turn – Wanna play? Post a comment here saying so (you can still comment here if you don’t want questions). Include your email address if it’s not built into your commenting settings. I’ll send you some questions. Answer them on your blog, and pass it on.
We are now at the point in our adventure that some dairy products will be around longer in the United States than my family will be.
The other day, I went to the store to buy heavy whipping cream and saw that it expired on February 12th, 2009. That gave me pause. I am not sure why. But I paused. Hmmm. This has a longer USA shelf life than I do. Interesting.
Recently, I received an email from the new school with dates for my calendar. Not expiration dates – but welcome to our school dates – come join in the fun dates. Begin your new adventure dates. February has been oddly blank on my calendar for some time. My calendar is usually jammed packed and over-stuffed with lots of dates and times and things to remember. The going ons of life. February has been unfairly caught in the transition. It had a few birthdays penciled in, but that was it. No more. I now have 6 dates on my February calendar. A meeting at the school for Bear to set his schedule. A play at the school. A PTA meeting and a Middle School parents meeting. A date for a choral concert called Voices for Hospice. I have to say that is exciting – the kids’ new school is holding a concert to raise money for children with cancer. I have to say I am excited that we get to be a part of that. The life lessons are already beginning with this adventure.
And, finally, the Middle School dance. Hmmmm.
This also gave me pause. Bear is in elementary school now. But that plane ride across the ocean will transport him right into Middle School. I wonder if he will want to go to this dance. He has never been to one before. This is going to be interesting.
Angel and Flower got gift certificates to get their ears pierced for Christmas. I thought this was brilliant. Even if I do say so myself – yes, it was my idea. I have sworn on a stack of earrings that they should not even bothering asking me to get their ears pierced until they were (at least) twelve – I believe you should have to wait for some things just for the sake of waiting. And, not for nothing, I had to wait until I was twelve. So, there you go, parenting logic at its finest.
But then number one hubby announced that we were moving to India and, well, Christmas presents became a little more challenging.
Think. Think. Think. Ear piercing. They have both said they wanted to do it. They are both very active in sports and this is a (very rare) time when they aren’t that active. In our little corner of the world, you cannot have any jewelry on when you are playing a contact sport. None. Not even if you just got your ears pierced and the holes will close up if you take them out. So timing is critical.
Earrings also don’t have to be packed, or shipped, or microchipped. You just put them in and off you go. Wah lah. And it was fabulous because they would feel like they were getting this gift much earlier than expected. Oh joy of joys. Except Flower had changed her mind and never told me that. So my 9 year old. No earrings. My 7 year old. Earrings – 5 years early. Oh well -life doesn’t always go according to my great plan.
So Angel, my mother-in-law, and I went to get Angel her earrings. The sales person was nice enough. Very bright pink eyeshadow. Bleached Blond Hair. Black lipstick. Black fingernails bitten to the quick. Kind of sort of grunge clothing. Way too many facial piercings. Let’s just say she is easy to remember. In Angel’s eyes, I am sure she looked like a rock star. She is not exactly what I expected for Angel’s first older girl crush. But, who am I to stand in the way of a 7-year-old and the rock star who gave her earrings?
Then later we go back to the store with Flower for her to use her gift certificate on everything but getting her ears pierced. It is amazing how much plastic c-r-a-p you can get for $40. The whole way there Angel is wondering if this rock star impostor is going to remember her. I told her how busy the girl was, how many people she must see every day, blah blah blah. But, I thought to myself, surely she has manners and will pretend to remember my little Angel. Then again – sometimes life lessons come at you fast and hard.
As Flower is shopping, Angel is pulling on my shirt – ask her, ask her, ask hhheeerrr. I don’t want to do this because I know the answer and I am not confident of the manners. There is something about an earring through the lip, another one through the tongue, and one more through the eyebrow combined with very bright pink eyeshadow and black lipstick that does not exactly say mint julep on the veranda. Move over Scarlet. I’m just sayin’ – if the shoe fits, you might just be wearing it.
So, I reluctantly say “my daughter was was wondering if you remember piercing her ears a few days ago.” I am standing behind Angel nodding my head – giving my best bobble head impersonation. Just say yes. Please just say yes. You’ll be amazed at just how quickly you can be done with us if you will just say it – YES.
Her: Uh…Hmmmm
Me: more head nodding – this is a hint to say yes or you will end up on my blog
Her: I am not sure – you know, I see so many…
Me: Maybe the pink earrings are a giveaway. She was just sure you would remember the pink earrings. I am sure you remember, right? (more nodding)
Her: Uh, yeah, I guess so.
Me: giving her my best “come on, I know you can do it, just say yes” look
Her: Okay yes.
Me: Thank you. You were right Angel, she absolutely remembers you.
Angel: Big Smile.
Saturday night found us all at the mall again. Bear was invited to a birthday party-slash-scavenger hunt – yep, at the mall. He had a great time and I realized that there is free entertainment out there in this troubled economy. I had forgotten all about this little adventure called The Mall. Maybe I haven’t been to the mall on a rainy Saturday night in a really, really long time – maybe it’s been since I got my drivers license and could broaden my horizons. But I have been missing out on some really interesting people watching. Holy teenager, Batman.
Yes, you do know what happened next – guess who comes walking down the mall walkway – Rock star impostor. Angel pulls on my coat.
Angel: Mom, it’s heeeeerrrrrrrrrrrr.
Me: (under my breath – dear God.) to Angel – Yes dear, it is in fact heeeeeerrrrrrrrr. How lucky is that?
Angel: I wonder if….
Me: Oh, honey, I am sure she would not recognize you out of the store
Angel: Oh yeah, you’re right, she’d have to see me in the chair, you know, the chair in the store. Remember in the chair where I got my ears pierced.
Me: I am sure she would recognize you there, but let’s not bother her when she’s not actually at work
Angel: I wonder if she is on her way to work, or on a break from work, or just shopping. Maybe she is here to get here ears pierced – again. Mom, what do you think she is doing?
Me: Breaking up with you sweetpea – want something to eat?
(Note: If you have been reading this blog or if you know me, you know that we are very close to our departure to India. So, this will quite possibly be my last post for about a week. I’ll miss you terribly – but I will be back soon.)
When number one hubby and I were making wedding plans, there were a few things I refused to budge on. The song we would dance to at our reception was near the top of the list. We really didn’t have a song connected to a special moment – but I had a song connected to everything about us.
I had heard the song in high school. I immediately knew that if I ever found someone that I felt that way about – bring on the wedding.
My last year in college, I signed up for a Film class – it intrigued me – and, as an English major in my senior year, I was looking forward to a class minus the 300+ page books. No reading – just watching films – sign me up! Written on the board was the theme for the class “Violence in Films”. Pardon me. What did you say? Yeah, that’s not going to be so great for me. Super. I immediately made a mental note to drop the class. And to write a note to somebody – they really should list that information somewhere other than the syllabus. But I wasn’t going to write it to the teacher – she was a little scary. Fatigues. Crew cut. Muscle t-shirt. Yikes. So I stayed for the first class. Sat right down to listen.
Then I saw him sitting there. Blue sweats that did not match his blue sweatshirt that did not match his blue baseball hat so coyly cocked to the side. He was sunken in his chair. Feet in the aisle. Probably (more than) a little cocky. And, of course, sitting in the back row. I am more of a front row kind of girl. Hmmmmm.
I listened as the teacher called out the names on the roster. Will I be able to tell who he is? Yep, he raised his hand when his name was called. And it is one of those names that could have twenty-five variations of its original version. Dang. No help there. Later, I found out that he goes by his middle name. Well, that makes perfect sense. And he was an Accounting major taking an upper level English class. This could get interesting.
So, anyfilm, long story short, when people ask me why I am willing to move to India, I only have this to offer. He matched my song.
Pour yourself some sweet tea, kick up your boots,
and take a listen – There’s No Way…….
There seems to be some trend going on with my friends with blogs: A questionaire pass on. Shaggie Maggie passed this on to me – a list of questions to be answered with one word. So as no to offend my dear friend here goes: Disclaimer (I am not a “one word” kind of person, as my friends all know)
1. Where is your cell phone? unanswered
2. Where is your significant other? India
3. Your hair color? brown (mostly)
4. Your family? wonderfully complicated
5. Who you miss the most? grandfather
6. Your favorite thing? not big on things
7. Your dream last night? bizarre
8. Your dream/goal? peace on all levels
9. The room you’re in? office
10. Your hobby? writing
11. Your fear? sometimes writing
12. Where do you want to be in six years? Virginia
13. Where were you last night? home
14. What you’re not? hateful
15. One of your wish list items? peace
16. Where you grew up? Still in the process of doing that
17. The last thing you did? laundry
18. What are you wearing? pjs – we call them jammers
19. Your TV? mostly off
20. Your pet? 3 cats
21. Your computer? HP laptop
22. Your mood? thoughtful
23. Missing someone? yes
24. Your car? popcorn all over
25. Something you’re not wearing? makeup
26. Favorite store? Geoffrey Beene
27. Your Summer? can’t wait for it
28. Love someone? Many people
29. Your favorite color? right now brown
30. When is the last time you laughed? today
31. Last time you cried? about 2 hours ago
Passing is the thing to do with these – so Lola, Badass, Loco, and Miss Grace – Game on. Oh yes, and Kristen.
You are only a few days away from actually hearing about India – but in the meantime – here is what happened today.
I am in the process of finally admitting that we are leaving the country in 12 days. Yes, 12 days. Have I packed anything you ask – ummmmm. Translation – not so much. Well, that is until today.
Today I went on an errand spree. It was my own little game show – Six stores in 3 hours or less. Find as many things on sale as possible. Only buy what (you think) you might truly need. Don’t knock anyone over in my rush to rush. Get the best parking spot every time – because it is freezing here! I did it and I made it home in (just enough) time to be at the bus stop. Before the bus actually stopped there. Whew. After that, I managed to pack 3 boxes. At this rate, I might just be ready.
Anypack, while I was out, I went to several public restrooms. (Nope, I do not have a new career as a bathroom inspector – I just happen to drink a lot of diet dr. pepper – and, well, what goes in must come out.) Every single one of them had a stall I would not go in. Why you ask. Oh you know why. Because there are women out there who think it is okay to spray the seat and leave it that way. I guess it’s their own little game show. A sort of bathroom roullette. Take aim – or not. It’s like they were all trying to make a spirograph of the liquid persuasion. I completely understand why you don’t want to sit. However. Can you stop doing that? Seriously.
These are the people who I don’t think get paid enough.
My husband – not really – but just in case his boss reads my blog. You never know. There is always room for improvement.
Teachers – obvious.
Preschool teachers – even more obvious.
Preschool teachers who do not require their students to be potty trained. No brainer.
Janitors at schools. If you have ever stepped one foot in an elementary school cafeteria, this requires absolutely no explanation. None whatsoever.
Let’s just say all janitors. I am especially sympathetic after visiting several public restrooms recently.
Maids at my house – oh, that’s me. I am going to triple my own salary – hey I deserve a raise – let’s see 3 times zero is – I’ll have to ask my son the answer to that one – it involves math.
Policemen – obvious.
Firemen – obvious.
Nurses – they really are so helpful. And if they can give a shot without having to rake me off the ceiling – they deserve a bonus.
Office staff at the doctor’s office – if they can figure out the insurance payment procedures, they not only deserve a raise but also an honorary doctorate from Harvard.
Coaches – not professional coaches (like NFL and NBA coaches – they are just fine) and not psycho, screaming parent coaches – but you know, the ones (some are parents – some just love the game and want kids to love the game). They spend hours of their free time helping our children become more coordinated, knowledgeable, and sportsman-like athletes – giving you time to run to the grocery store unattended. Yeah, we could pay them more.
Trash collectors – seriously – would you want to do it? In the rain and in the snow and the cold and the hot. One weather day is worse than the next. Ick.
Stay at home moms. Wait, is nothing too much to get paid? Oh yeah, we get paid in peanut butter kisses and laundry and funny stories to blog about. But compensation that has tax implications would not be so bad. Alas, my fine unpaid friend – 3 times zero is still zero (Bear clued me in) – but the peanut butter kisses – they are free. No 1040 required.
Okay, working parents don’t paid enough for their parenting expertise either.
Bloggers – yep, that’s me, too – yep, we do it for the love of the write. Apparently some bloggers get paid – but I have not figured that one out yet. Give me time.
The tooth fairy and Santa Claus. If you have ever been “forgotten” by one of them, you know their jobs are critical. And Santas at the mall should get a little bit extra. Can you imagine doing that all day? Bah.Hum.Bug.
Crafters – hand-making anything and trying to sell it – now that is a job – either put those poor crafters out of their misery or double their pay immediately.
Facebookers – no wait, that’s just me trying to turn my hobby into a pay check. Sorry.
I received this email – and I am going to have to pass. But just in case you would like to help Mr. Ansu out I am publishing it for you. You might want to delete my answers to his letter before you send him a reply.
To: Me
From: Mr. Patrick Ansu.
Standard Chartered Bank (GH) Ltd.
Dear Friend,
I don’t recall ever meeting you kind sir. Not even on Facebook – so please kindly refrain from calling me friend. In fact, feel free to use my name. Hmmmm. You don’t actually know my name. I see. Then how did you, kind sir, kindly get my email address?
My name is Mr. Patrick Ansu, I am the regional manager of Standard chartered Bank of Ghana Kumasi branch in the Ashanti region of Ghana.
I am not entirely sure I care what your name is or where you work. It’s not that I don’t think it would be nice to meet you – I am sure you are very nice. It’s just that I happen to be a little distracted right now. And, I have just recently learned of India’s geographic location, you cannot possibly hope that I know where the bank of which you speak lives.
I got your contact when I was searching for an overseas partner to assist me through banker’s seminar held recently.
Okay, thanks for clearing that up. I am surprisingly still not clear on this one – You got my contact how again? I am pretty sure I was not a speaker-slash-attendee at that conference being mathematically challenged and all – so please remind me again how you got my contact.
I write you this proposal in good faith, I am 45 years old married with three lovely kids.
I am so totally now convinced that you are completely honest. I’ll admit, at first, I was a little unsure. But yes, it was the three lovely kids that did it. If you had not insisted they were lovely, I might not have believed you. Nice touch.
I have packaged a financial transaction that will benefit you and I, as the regional manager of the standard Chartered Bank it is my duty to send in a financial report to my head office in the capital city Accra at the end of each business year.
I don’t even know what any of that meant. However, I will tell you it’s “benefit you and me”. I know – details. Can you tell me if any of this is going to help me get my house packed and get us ready to go to India? If not, I really cannot be bothered right now.
On the course of the last two years 2007 business report, I discovered that my branch in which I am the manager made three million two hundred and seventy thousand united states dollars ($3,270,000.00) which my head office are not aware of and will never be aware of. I have placed this funds in what we call ESCROW CALL ACCOUNT with no beneficiary.
I think you meant “over” the course. And head office “is” not aware. And FYI, United States should be capitalized from now on. If you need an editor, I can help you there. And are you sure you are the manager? You mentioned it three times. So I am guessing you just might be the manager. Congratulations. And, yes, that is a lot of money. You should get your wife something really pretty.
As the branch manager of this bank I cannot be directly connected to this money, so my aim of contacting you is to assist me receive this money in your bank account and get 35% of the total funds as commission.
Okay, so you are the manager. Thirty-five percent is indeed generous. You do realize that emails can be traced, right? I am just thinking that you are very clever, but you might not be fully aware of recent technological advances. It is (very) possible you could be connected to this transaction.
There are practically no risks involved, it will be a bank-to-bank transfer,and all I need from you is to stand claim as the original depositor of these funds who made the deposit with my branch so that my head office can order the transfer to your designated bank account. If you accept to work with me I will appreciate it very much.
Yeah, I really do not think any of that is going to happen. Even though you clearly have the authority to do this -being a manager and all. And, you have three lovely children. Your credentials are really approve reproach.
My private phone number is +233242934237 call me if you think we can work together so that we can go over the details. Yeah, I am not feeling the love. So, don’t hold your breath, ‘kay.
Thank you in advance and May God bless you and your family.
And may God Bless your family too – your wife and three lovely children. Hugs and Kisses – but sorry, no bank account info. Anybank, I have a question for you – do you look good in stripes? Do you like bread and water?
You knew I could not stay away that long. Something (that I thought was) funny happened and I just wanted to share.
So, we’re eating dinner and some how, some way we start talking about food. Flower asks about eggs.
Flower: You mean they take the eggs from their mother?
Me: Yes.
Flower: Isn’t that mean?
Me: Not really, a hen lays a ton of eggs.
Flower: But that is just mean. Really. Really. Mean. Don’t you think that is mean?
Bear: They’re different – they aren’t fertilized. (Apparently he is a mathematician and a scientist.)
Me: What he said. (and hoping, praying that no one asks what fertilized means.)
Me to Bear: Really?
Angel: Eggs are good. Can we have some for breakfast? (Very sympathetic, that one.)
Flower: But mom even if you had 20 kids, you would be sad if some one took even just one away?
Me: You do realize we are eating chicken for dinner, right?
This is the sticky note that number one hubby gets on his desk sometimes. “Please do the needful.” It really means – do this or, usually, sign this. But the Indian people seem so polite that they almost make it sound poetic. Maybe it makes you want to be more helpful.
When I call India, I call through an operator. S/he is always so polite – “please be on the line, please hold the line”. Really, no wonder we sought out the Indian people for call centers!
So, I am looking forward to hearing all the different ways that English can be used. It makes me slow down and listen too – I need to do that. Accents can be heavy – and I am sure they will feel the same about mine. But I cannot wait to hear and maybe even adopt some of their expressions.
One other thing that was very fun to see was this…
If this is how they treat t-shirts, imagine how they treat people. These are my husband’s t-shirts – I am sorry, undershirts. They aren’t even t-shirts. And they are treated with such care. Yes, you are seeing this correctly – they are indeed wrapped in clear plastic, with clips and cardboard support. Believe you me, they do not look like that when I wash them! India, here we come!
My own personal post it note also says “please do the needful.” I am off to pack. Ta Ta for Now. And yes, Please hold the line.
This week has been an interesting mix of excitement and sadness. I know there is a big adventure ahead of us – but I also know we are leaving a great deal behind. I moved quite a bit as a kid. As such, I didn’t really feel like I had much in the way of roots until I had lived here for quite some time. It took me a very long while to put both feet down. I completely understand that moving was good and those experiences have helped me become who I am.
But…….
I am going to just miss being here. Getting older has turned me into a terrible creature of habit. I love my routines and what I know. Running into people I care about almost everywhere I go is a gift. I love being around the people here – even if they are driving me crazy – or I am doing the same for them. I have tremendous friends and a lot of family close by. I did not grow up with that. And I am going to miss it.
Blah blah blah
So, enough sap – thank you to everyone who has touched my life. You are extremely special to me and I cannot wait to get back to see you soon.
And, to the MANY of you who have cooked, cleaned, packed, listened, shopped, held my hand, gotten stamps, prayed, let Queso live with you, or offered to do any of the above for me – thank you. I hope that you will give me the chance to return the favor for you very soon.
One of my dear friends wrote this for me – and I am at a loss for words at this crazy time in my life – so I share her words with you. She once wrote an article called a Matter of Miles – I always wanted to use that title. So, when I land in India I will borrow steal that title from her. I have never asked her if this is okay – but I know she won’t mind – she always forgives my indiscretions. She takes me as I am and she is one of the many reasons I am finding it very hard to get out the door. But in the meantime, we are busy getting busy to get out the door. I will write again soon – hopefully with good news of cats and luggage. Until then, I am going fishing…..
My son really wants to go fishing.My husband, who is not a fisherman, agrees to take him.It is one of those fatherly duties.All week long, they prepare for the early morning outing.
“What should we pack?” asks my son, curious and excited.
“Um…two fishing poles, fishing line, and bait,” my husband answers, in a rather uncertain manner.
“Just two poles.I think we should take ten.”
“Ten is way too many.I don’t know much about fishing, but I think it is better to catch one or two great fish then to catch a school of scrawny fish.We should go for quality, not quantity.”
“But more is better, right?”
“Not always….”
More is not always better when it comes to many things that happen in life.For the most important things that happen to us, more is almost never the best option.This is never more true than with friendships.At different points in our lives, we “fish” with different goals and different results.
In preschool, it takes great bravery to even put out one line, and we hold our breath to see if anyone will bite.When a tiny counterpart takes the bite, she is our friend for life.(“Let’s hold hands all the time.”)
In elementary school, our pond grows.We may throw out three or four lines and get good fish with each attempt.(“Let’s have a sleepover this weekend.”)
In high school, we go for the scrawny fish.It is the more the merrier, quantity over quality.We put out as many lines as we can and reel in all that bite.(“Let’s have a party this weekend.We are so popular!”)
In college, we take many of those lines from high school out of the water.It is more about finding out, and fishing for, those who work best with us.Selection is the key here.If you catch something that doesn’t work, you throw it back in the water.Something about living on your own makes you want to find those you will support you and help nurture your spirit.(“Will you help me study for the test?I’ll meet you at the library.”)
In adulthood, in the real world, many things interfere with our ability to fish at all.Old lines that we may have kept in the water since high school start to weaken and may eventually break.Time to launch new lines is hard to find.Sometimes we take stock; we look at the lines that remain, those that have withstood the tumultuous weather or the dangers in the sea that have tried to severe them.We see what we have left, what has never left us, and what hangs on in good times and in bad times.Those fish were meant to be lifelong, and one thing is always true of these fish:they are never many.They are always few.These fish are as strong as the lines that hold them.
One of my fish heads for India this week.She is taking the daring swim across the ocean for the adventure of her life.I need to give her lots of line so that she can reach her destination.Her line has been a constant for me.It is the most dependable line I have, so I am not worried about it breaking.Watch out Atlantic Ocean.This line’s made of steel.
Thanks for all of your prayers and good wishes – we have landed in Delhi – and, yes, the cats are here too. No one spelled their name for us and everyone was very helpful. YAHOO!
We have literally been traveling for more than 24 hours – so this will be short.
We arrived at 3am Delhi time so it is dark right now. Our drive was uneventful. Apparently you don’t have to stop at every red light – good to know. I am not clear how you decide which ones actually mean stop. But – luckily that is not my job.
My first (in the dark) thoughts are that it felt very much like going to a beach town as a college student on spring break. You know you have a place to stay – but which one will it actually be remains a mystery. Crossing fingers is your best bet. Hoping not the first ten you see – because – yikes. But it turns out we are in a gated community with several watch men in boxes. It will be a big change but we’re ready to experience India. But right now, we’re just ready for sleep.
Flower asked if she can have Fruity Pebbles in the morning – good luck with that.
This was what it felt like today in our new house because there were a lot of men I have never met before coming in and out. They were all being helpful in one way or another. Some of them did not speak English – so I am not sure what they were doing. I took a shower while they were here and that was very weird. (No, not a shower in front of them – just while they were here – I was behind two locked doors.) One of them was delivering boxes, one was making (a very yummy) lunch, one was available to drive us somewhere or anywhere, and one was working on the plumbing. There were a couple of others and I honestly do not know why they were here – we might be the new animals at the zoo – I am just not sure.
Here is some of what we did today – we were mostly in the car – so I don’t have a lot of pictures. I promise to do better. You will want to see Delhi – it is a beautiful mix of calm in the middle of a lot of craziness.
We drove by the American Embassy. The Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C. is fashioned after the American Embassy in Delhi. I like the embassy better. It has more personality. School was getting out when we went by. Kids from over 50 countries will go to school with my kids. That is exciting.
I thought I saw two women sweeping the side of the curb today. I was wrong. They were painting the curb with white paint – they were applying the paint with brooms – brooms that made me think of the witch in Snow White – spindly and bare. It was fascinating.
There are A LOT of people here and it is crowded. Driving is pure insanity. I am absolutely amazed that we did not see any accidents. There are lines in the road and they mean absolutely nothing. Our driver (softly) honked his horn several times and I am unclear why. But we did not get into any accidents.
I have no idea what this is. But it looked neat and caught our attention – so you get to see it too.
The buses are crazy crowded. And yet, most of the people on them were smiling.
There are also auto-rickshaws. They have motors in them so the driver does not have to pedal. If they are green and yellow it means they run on clean gas. Most of them are green and yellow.
I saw a lot of people sitting in the parks. Quite a few men were taking naps in the middle of the park. They just laid down on the grass and hit slumber land.
McDonalds delivers. They do not serve beef – but anything else they will bring to your door.
The New York Times costs $160 per month to be delivered every day. We will be reading it online.
I saw a little boy spit a lugee into his own hat and then laugh so hard he almost fell over. It was disgusting but he could not wait to show is friend how funny he was. He seemed very poor and smelled like urine. He wanted very much for Bear to share his new slingshot with him.
Most of the signs here are in English as well as Hindi. They are extending their metro system and some of the signs redirecting traffic almost look like graffiti. U.S. cities should take note – they are cool looking and it gives someone a chance at expression while helping drivers know where to go.
We did not see any cows or monkeys – but lots and lots of stray dogs.
The cats have not been in hiding at all since we got here. They are purrfectly comfortable right out in the open.
We went to the Khan market place. The stores are tiny but hold lots of things. We found quite a few American brands.
In America we don’t quite ask as nicely for people to pick up their pooches’ poop.
I am having a few computer problems that will hopefully be resolved today – so I can’t stay on-line too long. But, hopefully later today I will get some more of my pictures up. You will love the trees!
We are off to the school – the kids are excited! Yahoo!
This is a park near our house called Lohdi Gardens. Holy moly – these trees are amazing. I am a lover of all things tree and I might just have found nirvana.
Today we went to two more Indian markets – we had been to the more touristy market and the market frequented by ex-pats (someone living in a country that is not their own – that sounds like a great idea – sign us up).
But today, after we left the kids new school – which, by the by, seems fabulous – we jumped in with both feet. No rest for the weary – we are here to experience India. Bring it. It was a big slice of culture shock. And it was fascinating.
On the way to the market, we had a few beggars knocking on the window of the car. The driver locked the door – that was an ominous sound. Cla-clunk. If the driver thinks the door should be locked – well, hmmmmmmmmm. Begging is a tough subject and I will address it more in later posts – I am afraid it is not going anywhere and we will continue to experience it frequently. Right now, I will just say it is one of the hardest things I have seen – women with babies begging for help. Filthy children with hunger in their eyes. I am not sure if my words will be enough to bring the experience to you – but I will try – just not now. Later.
The first market was amazing. We had to walk through a metal detector to get in. It seemed as if the detector was completely unattended. Bear and I both set off the alarm. No one seemed to care. I know it was Bear’s shoes – we found out at the Frankfurt airport that his shoes have metal in the soles – I forgot to mention earlier in my blogs that he had his first pat down. He was not impressed. And I think mine must have been the cell phone I was carrying. Nonetheless, in we went unquestioned. But not unnoticed.
The entrance was extremely crowded. People on top of people crowded. That is one thing that everyone seems to say about India – that it is so very crowded. But I have not felt (over)crowded here yet – not until today. Customers stopped and turned their heads to take a look at us. The new animals at the zoo. Merchants swarmed around us. Offering to sell us everything from handbags to sunglasses to shoes to brightly colored ropes. (There were quite a few vendors selling ropes – why, I am not sure. But if you need a brightly colored rope – let me know – I know just where to get it.)
I had been told that we might be seen as “rock starish” because of being very light skinned. And the girls’ blond hair certainly adds to our mystique. The first market we went to was mostly a clothing market. I was ooing and ahing the fabrics and our hosts were soaking us in. They seemed drawn to us – I know they did not fall in love with us – but they imagined us with pockets full of money. And us eager to spend it.
Enter Number One Hubby.
Don’t forget he has been here since September – no longer a newbie. Some of the awe has worn away. We bought backpacks, aprons, and hangers. My dear sweet husband, who used to not like to return things to the store because he might have to actually talk to the clerk, haggled like a seasoned professional. Two aprons and 100 hangers – $2 – SOLD. To the lowest bidder. That would be us.
So, seriously, if you need a rope – not only do I know where to get it – but number one hubby can negotiate a great price for you – cheap.
I have to say it surprised me that he argued over $1. I was truly almost embarrassed. And, yes, I said so. But to no avail. I have more than a dollar in change jingling around in the bottom of my purse. Completely unused. But apparently, it is the game you play here. It is the art of compromise mixed in with a little bit of chess. Strategy has more to do with the negotiation than the actual price you are willing to pay. It is fascinating.
I have absolutely no doubt that I will learn to play this game too. I will probably even like it. But today – once I figured out the conversion of rupees to dollars and decided if that was a decent price – I was pretty much done with the math. Bag it.
One little boy eager for a sale wanted to guess what our country was. That is how he said it – what is your country. Holland? Oh no, not Holland. Which one then? I answered, the United States. Oh yes, I know that one. The U.S. He went off to excitedly tell a man who I am guessing was his father. That was all the welcome they needed. Easily 5 more men came rushing over. They stood very close and repeatedly offered their wares. It surprises me that I never felt in danger – just crowded. Very. Very. Crowded. I held my girls’ hands much tighter than normal – but that is just one of the gifts India is giving to me. I am keeping my children closer as much for safety as for want. They don’t argue over holding my hand here. I like that. A. Lot.
So here is my best description of how crowded it was. Imagine shopping on Black Friday with 1 billion of your best friends right after they announce an 85% off going out of business sale – and they just got in the hardest to find electronic game of the season. Then imagine doing that in a store the size of a small bus. Yes, the width of a bus. But not quite the length. Then imagine 100 of those stores in a box. There you go. Very crowded. Relatively calm. But very crowded.
Then we went to a market focused more on food items. There are plenty of American brands here. They are more expensive than they would be in the U.S. but as a creature of habit – I like the familiar and I am willing to spend (a little) more for it. And, yes, they had Diet Dr. Pepper. And, double yes, we bought some.
There in the food market, was the market I have been most curious about. The chicken booth. Wow. Flower put your seatbelt on. There really were live hens and skinned not-so-much-alive hens. The line was long. I found myself just staring. I did not have my camera – but don’t you worry – I am taking it next time. Holy hen, Batman. I think Flower might have more questions than just “why eggs are taken from their mother”. Like why does their mother live in that box and isn’t that one cold without its feather coat – and, oh yes, its head. Yikes. And, what are we having for dinner again?
The rest of the market was much like we had seen before. Lots of fabric – some household items – toiletries – fresh produce. Lots of nuts and dried beans. Some things are not labeled. I guess it’s like buying something very expensive -if you have to ask, it just might not be for you.
Anymarket – I feel like we had an adventure today. Number one hubby was concerned it might overwhelm us. I don’t think so. It gave us food for our bellies and food for thought. And, just like a baptism should – it will change the way we look at the world.
One of my very favorite books is Mitch Albom’s The Five People You Meet in Heaven. It reminds us that no thing, no act, and no one is insignificant. No interaction goes unattended. Even in sneezing you can get blessed. It really is so simple.
Maybe that is why it is so easy to forget. To take it all for granted. Or maybe it is what allows to interact with each other without expectation. To be kind just for the sake of being kind.
One question seems to repeat itself in my life right now. How did you get to India? The simple answer is – my husband works here. But that hardly tells the story.
Many years ago, my husband helped someone out. Someone who, at the time, really didn’t seem to have much to offer in the way of compensation. There seemed to be nothing to come from helping him out. Well, except, that kindness is its own reward. It just feels good. And my husband really did not have to do much – he just spoke up. There was no way he could have possibly known the implications of that one small act of kindness. It cost him absolutely nothing but has, in turn, given him back so much.
That person later helped him get a job. A job with a struggling company – a start up. It was a wonderful experience on a number of levels. Another reward in and of itself. And it was where my husband met his current boss. The boss who called him somewhat out of the blue and offered him this experience. This life in India.
And it all started with just one act. Of kindness.
Before we left on this grand adventure, I had several fireside chats with my kids. One of them focused on different v. weird. I wanted them to not use the word weird – ever. Things are just going to be a little very different.
So, you what’s different, you ask. Besides everything, you mean?
Let’s see…………..
Queso is not here. Bummer. Big Bummer. I miss her scratchy cat kisses.
Milk has to be boiled and only lasts a few days. We used to go through about 6 gallons of milk a week – we are not doing that now. And, it does not taste weird – just different.
You absolutely cannot drink water out of the faucet – we brush our teeth with filtered or bottled water.
Fruits and vegetables have to be soaked in a cleaning solution for at least half an hour before you eat them. Even pineapples.
Electrical outlets have on/off switches. Yep, you have to turn on the outlet – then turn on whatever is plugged in.
My underwear got ironed yesterday. No I am not kidding. Yes, that is horrifying. It was especially funny to me because it was a pair with a hole in it. I am also laughing that my underwear is big enough to iron – okay, it’s not that funny.
The newspaper comes at 9pm at night.
Our doorbell rings like a bird chirping. They ring the doorbell when they drop off the paper. That is not weird – but a little unnecessary.
All of my friends and family are asleep when I am awake. That seems at least lonely and maybe a little weird.
I get a salad for lunch and dinner every day – and I do not have to make it! Raju puts corn in the salad sometimes. Bonus.
Yesterday we ordered McDonalds for lunch. It was delivered to our door. They do not sell hamburgers or nuggets but the chicken sandwich was quite yummy. They do sell a Mexican chicken wrap. That is not weird, but it is funny (at least to me).
Bear, Flower, and Angel have eaten something at every meal that they have never had before. They have (really) liked almost everything. The only thing they did not like was the refried beans. I can’t say I blame them – a little goes a long way.
Flower will take Spanish in school.
Bear has two elective classes – they are Odyssey of the Mind and Lego Robotics.
Angel will get to take an art class after school and a freestyle dance class. Flower is thinking about joining a rock climbing club and bollywood dance class.
Some men hold hands here. I don’t think they are gay – they are just holding hands.
You walk and drive on the opposite side of what we are used to. This is sometimes a problem when walking down the stairs. The school has arrows on the steps to help you remember. I think that is more for the adults than the kids.
There are men that ride around on bicycles selling things. They shout out what they are selling in a steady jumbled song. The first time I heard it, I thought someone was crying – now I just wish I knew what they were saying. They almost fall off their bike when they see my white-skinned self. It is pretty funny actually – I am quite sure they think I look weird. I don’t think their moms have had a chance to explain different yet.
The windows let in all the noise from outside. This is only a problem when fireworks go off in the middle of the night.
The toilet paper is not very soft. At all.
There is a lot more that is different – but I can’t use up all my material in one post. So, I’ll be back with more later. So life here is not weird, it’s just not what we are used to. See the difference?
If you have been following this blog for a while, you might remember my post about the kitchen without any appliances in it. Well, they are here now – although they look like they went through the Willie Wonka transporter machine and got shrunk just a wee little bit…………
this will hold 3 towels at a time – yep, no dryer
this isn’t too, too small – just not what I am used to
if you are having a hard time visualizing this – just look at your toaster oven – but this is the oven – not the toaster – bring on the bread
the stove – yes, it actually sits on top of the counter
Raju is our cook. He speaks English well and he seems to be a kind man. Plus he is one kick-arse cook. He likes the oven because he can see what’s in it. Some ovens are too big he assures me. It’s hard to see what’s in them. Okay – that certainly is one way of looking at it. In America, we solved that little problem by putting a light inside the oven. See it’s different here!
All by my lonesome – I ventured out into India today. Oh yes, I did. I didn’t climb Mt. Everest or anything grand like that – I simply went back to the market – but I went alone. Yep, just me.
What’s that sound you hear? Oh, that’s just me patting myself on the back. Tap, Tap, Tap.
I got a few stares – okay – more than a few - more like a lot of stares. But no one here is rude. At least it seems that way. Staring is perfectly acceptable here – and it isn’t that bothersome – because it is not accompanied by comments. Well, at least not any that I can hear or understand.
So, I went to by another drying rack (because we don’t have a dryer – have I mentioned that 500 times yet), two trash cans, a rolling pin, a cheese grater, and a slotted spoon. Are you wondering if I negotiated the price? Please. Baby steps. I did not.
Then into the florist. Two vases. No flowers – yet. No negotiating. Not yet. Besides the prices seemed reasonable enough.
On to the food market. I found one I really like. Lots of fruits and vegetables. Great English – that helps. No – still no negotiating. But I bought my items in the second food market I went in – so I did at least comparison shop. Here is what I got…
a watermelon – it is soaking cleaning solution
strawberries – soaking
apples – soaking
goldfish – funny enough, not soaking , even though water is where fish belong
sliced cheese
cashews
strawberry jelly
plum jelly – I can never find this in the U.S.
and fresh bing cherries the size of golf balls
The only mistake that (I know) I made was not asking the price of the cherries. I asked about everything else – so I guess I assumed they weren’t too expensive. Holy cherry batman. When I looked at my receipt later – $48 for a kilo of cherries. Yes, I agree – that is ridiculously expensive. I will enjoy them tremendously and then wait until I am back in the U.S. to get more. Ooops.
It was an interesting experience being in the market by myself. I was not distracted by watching out for my kids – so that was nice. I found a handmade paper store – which actually didn’t have much paper – but items made from paper. I was in a little bit of a hurry to be done before school gets out – so I will go back there.
Most of it went very smoothly. I felt unsure of what to do in the first store. There were items inside and outside. I paid for the outside items outside – it seemed to make sense until I went inside and the clerk inside said I should have paid for it all together. So, yes, I probably paid (way) too much outside. I’ll chalk it up to lessons learned and add that to the list of things to remember, along with asking the price of cherries.
But then, quite suddenly, there is a man beside me with my items. Apparently he is going to carry them to the car for me. Now, I come from an area where you sometimes ring up your own items, you often at least help bag your own groceries, then you carry them out to the car yourself, load your car yourself, push the cart back to the cart rack, and unload your groceries – you got it – by yourself.
So this was different – he is going to follow me to the car. Oh yeah, I did not drive here – I was driven. I am not sure where the car is and I am not sure how to tell this nice young man that I don’t exactly know where the car is. I call Kahn – our driver. His phone is on divert. Perfect. He calls me back. He’s by the airplane. Oh, that’s what he was talking about before. He’ll meet me by the airplane. The one hanging in front of the store where he dropped me off. Yippee Skippee - I remember where that is. We found him. But I did not know – do I tip this guy who carried my things. Kahn says no. So, I did not. The carrier of my things did not negotiate for a tip with me – so I am guessing that was the right decision.
Then at the food market – the clerk held on to all of my things for me. Then put them in a box. What I did not see was that he gave the box to another person – you guessed it – to carry for me. So, I stood there looking at him and he looked at me and then laughed and pointed behind me. Oh, got it – that’s my stuff and he is going to carry it for me. A little slow on the uptake – but I think I am figuring this whole thing out.
Today, before going to the market, I went to a meeting where I met about 6 really nice women from the American Women’s Association. So, I am thinking today was a success. I am going to get the kids from school and hope they feel the same way.
Day one at school went well. Very well. In fact, I am giving it an A plus.
I sent my family a picture of the kids on their first day. What I forgot to mention was that – Angel is not actually crying because she did not want to go to school – she was crying because her brother (accidentally, I am told) hit her with the sleeve of his sweatshirt when he was putting it on. And, I just happen to be all about the picture – so red eyes or not – smile – I want a picture of the first day of school. I can either take it now – or at the school. Bear said to Angel – just smile now please. That’s our new middle schooler.
Here is how it went.
Angel’s teacher is a mix of Mrs. Dowell and Mrs. Smiley. If you go to our school in the U.S. then you know that it simply does not get any better than that. Flower and I immediately thought of Mrs. Smiley – Angel thought of Mrs. Dowell – and she said that is because her new teacher smiles a lot – and, mom, Mrs. Dowell smiles a lot. There you go. Her new assistant teacher reminds her of Mrs. Peng – because they both have black hair.
Flower has a male teacher who is enthusiastic and kind. He assured me that he taught her all she will ever need to know about spelling on the first day. Okay then. If you read this post, then you will know just how funny it is that his name has the word “egg” in it. She made at least 7 new friends. She was smiling when I picked her up. When I walked her to class this morning, two girls yelled “hello Flower” from across campus.
The elementary school is in the throes of India Week. Tres cool. There are all sorts of demonstrations and crafts the kids can do. There isn’t as much school work as normal and there is a whole lot of entertainment. On Friday, the girls get to wear Indian clothes to school. We are going shopping for saris on Wednesday – and yes, have no fear, there will be pictures. It’s funny how life pushes you forward. Angel desperately wanted a sari but I was in no hurry to get one – we’ve got plenty of time. Maybe not.
Bear went in a little hesitantly but curious. There was a sign welcoming him to the school in the middle of the hallway. Welcome Bear to 6th grade. That was cool. The counselor pegged him dead on with his schedule. He is taking three classes that he would have never been able to take in 6th grade before – Odyssey of the Mind, Lego Robotics, and Sculpture. The counselor’s son is also a 6th grader – he and another boy met Bear and walked him to his first class. I asked him if they were nice. His reply – they are my friends now. Okay – life is indeed good.
Bear also asked to buy lunch today. This is my little bear who has eaten the same exact lunch everyday of his school life for the past 6 and a half years. He is growing already. And, today is pizza day.
So Bear, Flower, and Angel were all excited to go back today. That is a very good thing. Bear wanted to get to his locker. Flower walked right beside me. Angel – 20 steps ahead – yes, she is the youngest and yes, she can get there by herself – thank you very much. Just ask her – but stand 20 steps behind when you do.
As for me, I went to a meeting and, as you know, to the market. Hubby went to work. It was my first day “on my own” too. And I did okay. I don’t like the fact that everyone else who I care about is asleep when I am awake. It makes it hard to talk to them. But we’ll figure out a routine on that soon enough.
The guards call me madam and salute us when we walk in the gate to our house. Completely unnecessary. And, frankly, a little funny. Especially since I don’t usually wear a military uniform or a tiara.
I do not answer the door. The very nice man who works here does. That’s nice. It’s usually not for me anyway.
They collect the cable bill by coming to your door and asking for payment. Cable is $12 per month.
The floors are made of marble. They are certainly pretty but not too cozy.
The phone in the house is not cordless. In fact, there are two phones and they both have different phone numbers.
The tv station we most often watch is in English and it has subtitles for all the shows – yes, in English.
Turning on the oven – okay, this is not an easy task. First you turn on the outlet. Yes, the outlet. Then you turn on the oven. Then you set the timer (it will not come on without the timer on.) Then you set the temperature. The temperature is in Celsius – I was not a math major. I was an English major and it is hard enough to spell Celsius much less convert Fahrenheit to it.
To turn off the oven – I have learned to just unplug it.
The microwave does not have a light inside of it or a popcorn preset button. What? That’s not weird or different – it’s pure insanity.
Each bathroom has its own water heater – and so does the kitchen. Put that green eyed monster away – they are (very) smallish.
There are not many people here who are overweight. In fact, most of them are pretty thin. A lot of them ride bikes – so it really makes perfect sense. I need to get a bike – but I would not ride it in the middle of the street. No one wears a bike helmet.
Electricity is not a given. The other day half of the house was without power. Some of the lights worked but not all – the same was true for the outlets. Okay. I asked Raju if we should call someone – nope, it will probably come back on. Probably? Yes, the freezer is connected to the line without power. Probably might not be good enough. It came back on.
There is always traffic. Cars, rickshaws, trucks, bicycles, motorcycles, cows, and pedestrians all share the same roads. You can never really drive very fast.
There is a group of young men who play cricket in the park in front of our house. I still do not understand cricket.
Okay – is it ADHD or Alzheimers or just very simply jet lag – I really am not sure – but somewhere in the middle of that riddle you will find my ailing brain.
I went to the school today and had a meeting. Well, I thought it was just a parent coffee. It turns out that it was a technology seminar on dealing with middle schoolers and technology – well, mostly Facebook. Hmmmm. How close am I sitting to the door? The topic of blogs came up, too. I think my blog is calling. Maybe I should go now. I am a repeat offender. And, no, I did not introduce myself as the Facebooking, Blog-Everyday New Mom in Town. So shhhhh, don’t tell. Let’s just leave it between me, you, and oh yeah, the internet.
Seriously, though, it was interesting. Very interesting. About half of the 6th graders at the school have a facebook page. The school staff was very careful to not encourage or discourage – it is a parenting decision. But they did explain that this is quite simply the way of the world. And letting them try something new while they are still listening to what you have to say – well, that is something to consider. And, when they are a part of the working world, they will need to be able to network on a number of levels – personally and technologically. Mostly though, Facebook is at least interactive, it is better than watching the idiot box we call t.v.
However, there are pitfalls. Many pitfalls. The main one being that whatever you post has a carbon footprint that will last for at least forever.
One of the moms did offer one tip – let them do it only on the weekends. This means it will not interfere with homework or other school activities. Note to self – weekends only. Good idea.
Bear has not asked to be on Facebook yet – he is still happy with his newly acquired email account – and I am of the parenting persuasion that if he isn’t asking, well I am just not telling. So, we’ll cross that teenage bridge when he brings us to it.
Then I did a couple of other quick things – met the Athletic Director – my kids are really, really missing their sports. Got some info. Then I went to the cafeteria – it turns out the cafeteria has a bakery. Oh, I did not know that. But, I do now.
Then off to the library. I am allowed to check out books at the library. So I got Five People You Meet in Heaven. I mentioned it here and would really like to re-read it.
Then it was time to go. So I go out the to picnic table by the library and earnestly start searching for my keys. Yes, I do mean my car keys. And, yes, I pulled out my wallet and my notebook and was very puzzled as to where I could have possibly left them. Say it with me – possibly the United States. Over there – across that big body of water called an ocean. Perhaps that is where my keys are. If you are new here it might be helpful to know that I don’t have a car – I have a driver. A lovely man named Kahn. He has the keys – yes, in the car. So what I really need is my cell phone – which has been in my hand the whole time. But honestly, it took me about – oh, I dunno – a full minute and a half to realize I might be completely losing my mind.
I am standing the middle of the campus of the very new school my kids are attending with books from the library and bread from the bakery – yes, many, many reminders that I am no longer on U.S. soil – and I cannot find my car keys because they just happen to be at my dad’s house in the United States. I wonder if this is what Ronald Reagan felt like.
In writing this blog, I want to share all of my feelings of being in India. Mostly, because I don’t want to forget them. The good, the bad, and the nervous. I want to remember everything I see, hear, and feel – maybe not everything I touch – but you get the idea. So, sometimes you might get the feeling that I am just talking to myself – very loudly, so that you can hear – but really just to myself. This could be one of those days.
Yesterday, I was at at new parents meeting and they told me about this great directory that lists all of the markets in Delhi. There are many, many markets and there are districts – like where to buy food, where to buy clothes. Yada Yada. So this directly is supposed to ’splain all that and apparently lists what time the different markets are open and what days they are closed. There is no Sunday here – yes, it’s on the calendar. But there is not a universal “closed” date or time. Some markets are open on Tuesday – some, not so much – some open at 11am – others, not so much. So you need to check before you go anywhere. That sounds like a useful tool. I’m a big girl – I can go get that.
So, I get in the car and I tell Kahn that I want to go to the Hyatt.
Me: Kahn, do you know where the Hyatt is? I’d like to go there, please.
Kahn: the khyiat?
Me: I think so – yes
Kahn: the khyiat? alright Ma’am
Me: I think so – yes – the Hyatt – it’s a hotel – in Delhi
Kahn: alright Ma’am – the khyiat.
Okay – I put my seat belt on figuratively and literally – Kahn is delightful. But not so great on the English. I am not so great on the “how to get around in Delhi” knowledge and have zero Hindi language abilities. I really cannot even remember how to say thank you. Yes, I am pathetic.
And one thing about having a driver that is very, very different than driving yourself is that you really are never quite sure exactly where it is you are. I don’t know how to get anywhere except the park – and I only know that because I can walk there.
So we drive around – I get to see new parts of town I have not seen. Kahn points to a building – the khyiat, right ma’am? He is not telling me, he is asking me. This is the khyiat?
Yes – enter, deep cleansing breath – that is, in fact, the Hyatt.
This is going to prove to be very interesting indeed. He drove me to what he thought was the Hyatt. But the whole way there he felt just like I did. He was hoping and praying that we would end up, some how, some way, at the right place.
We are kindred spirits me and Kahn – we do not know each other – we can speak a little – but we are both continuously praying that we understand what the other means. That we end up in the right place. We are navigating through culture and language together. It is a game of the Blind leading the Deaf. So far, so good.
But there is more to this story.
I will very frankly tell you that when the terr*rist attacks in Mumbai happened, my world actually stopped spinning. I could not breath and I did not want to move – either from my chair or across the ocean. It was that simple. It was the first time I really and truly felt the overwhelming burden of being a parent. It was like I had swallowed a rock. A big rock. A very big rock.
We have certainly had our share of emergencies and some that were very scary – there was a time that I was not sure Flower would leave the emergency room and another that I was not sure Bear would leave the ER. Angel has been to the ER too. Yes, my heart skipped many beats during those times. But it had to keep going. We had no choice – action was required. Immediate action. We did not choose to be in the ER ever – we just were. Very there.
However, this move to Delhi was a choice. Not the choice I would have made on my own. I was comfy cozy right where I was and did not see a need to change or move. Bring on some b*mbings and my heart gets cemented to the floor. The floor in the U.S. with family and friends close by. On a quiet cul-de-sac in the middle of nowhere. Where I drive myself to Target. And I know how to get there.
So we delayed our departure. Hubby and I were at a crossroad. What to do. We compromised and came in February instead of January – instead of not at all.
But driving to that Hyatt brought on some of those familiar uncomfortable feelings. The b*mbings happened at a hotel frequented by Americans, it was in big Indian city, the attacks targeted Americans. Does any of this sound familiar? I am an American, in a big Indian city, about to enter a hotel frequented by Americans. HMMMMM.
Kahn pulls up to the Hyatt and there is a gate. Every car is stopped. Inspected. Doors are opened. Trunks checked. Mirrors are placed underneath the car. We pass inspection and continue round the bend to the front door. Kahn lets me out. I have to go through a metal detector. My purse is searched. I am thankful. I walk inside and the hotel is opulent. Welcoming and calm. I find the directory. I exchange the last of my American dollars for rupees and I am on my way.
Breathing again. Kahn knows what “home” means. Even if it is not the home I would pick right now – I am on my way there. Mission accomplished.
Today is India Day at school. Actually it’s India week – it’s been a lot of fun and a marvelous introduction to our host country. And, today, the elementary school kids got to dress up in traditional Indian clothes.
Bear got to escape the humiliation of wearing tradition garb because apparently the middle schoolers don’t do that – MAWMMMMMM. Got it.
The Taj Mahal is a mausoleum located in Agra, India, built by Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan in memory of his favorite wife, Mumtaz Mahal. Shah Jahan was married to 4 women – but only Mumtaz Mahal had any children. She died when she was giving birth to their 14th child. His name was Gauhara Begum. He survived the birth, even though his mother did not, and lived for 75 years.
Shah Jahan was so devastated by the death of his wife that he ordered the construction of the Taj Mahal as a place to bury her. It took 20,000 people working every day for 22 years to complete the Taj. Shah Jahan also started building a mausoleum across from the Taj Mahal for himself. It was to be built in all black stones. However, his son stopped him from finishing that project.
Soon after the Taj Mahal’s completion, Shah Jahan was arrested by his son. Aurangzeb imprisoned his father in the Red Fort in a chamber with a view of the Taj Mahal. When Shah Jahan died his daughter buried him in the Taj Mahal near his wife.
Emperor Shah Jahan himself described the Taj in these words:
Should guilty seek asylum here,
Like one pardoned, he becomes free from sin.
Should a sinner make his way to this mansion,
All his past sins are to be washed away.
The sight of this mansion creates sorrowing sighs;
And the sun and the moon shed tears from their eyes.
In this world this edifice has been made;
To display thereby the creator’s glory.
Right before we left the United States, I read an amazing story about the family who built the Taj Mahal. It was Beneath A Marble Sky by John Shors. It’s historical fiction. So he took the facts and filled in the blanks. If you ever think you will visit the Taj Mahal, please read that book first. The pages will come alive.
So, we jumped right in and visited the Taj Mahal this weekend. This will probably be a long one – so go ahead and get yourself a cup of coffee. Or a beer – or whatever.
First – the drive. The Taj Mahal is about a 3-hour drive from Delhi. That is if there is no fog and no traffic. We got both. The fog was so thick that it was like driving through pudding. Vanilla pudding, but pudding none-the-less. Fog should only be an issue in the winter months. In the summer months, it’s the heat. So, pick your poison.
It took a little much, much longer than expected. But we made it in one piece.
The Taj Mahal is located in a town named Agra. Forget everything you know about towns. Agra is congested and narrow and dirty and, did I mention congested? There are monkeys and cows and goats and people and cars and bikes and buses everywhere.
We hired a guide to take us through the Taj Mahal and its sister monument the Agra Fort. I highly recommend this. He was 500 rupees for the day – which is about $10 – we paid him more than that. It was worth every penny.
For example. He knew that you cannot park near the Taj Mahal. It used to be that you could park right in front of the monument grounds – but they are now worried about pollution. So, you have to park in a lot and either walk, ride a bus, ride an auto-rickshaw, ride a horse drawn carriage, or ride a camel drawn carriage. Which one did we pick? You got it – bring on the camel.
This was probably the slowest (and smelliest) way to go. But I thought it would be the most authentic. Yes, my son loves me very much for that. Apparently, India has taught him that he is acutely aware of smells. Especially bad ones. This cost 300 rupees – about $6. We paid for both sides of the cart. You do not pay them until the return trip to the car. That way they will wait for you.
I did not take pictures of all the vendors who were literally on top of us as we walked down the street. Our guide told us not to look at them, not to buy anything, and not to talk to them. I guessed pictures might not be the best idea. See that college degree did pay off. I am thinking! I did learn a new word. Nay – I am not sure how you spell it – but you say it like this – Nay, Nay, Nay, NAY, NAAAAAYYYYY. And you walk quickly. And hold your kids hands. It’s not dangerous but you want them to know that no is, in fact, no.
And yes, your kids will probably want most of what they see. So it is helpful to tell them before hand not to even bother asking. Because, it turns out that it is not so helpful to have them asking you for things when you are trying to shoo the vendors away. It’s a little bit of a mixed message and the vendors can smell the want in the kids eyes.
This is the entrance to the Taj Mahal. It cost 750 rupees (about $15) to get in per adult. Children under 15 are free. You have to go through security. Yes, they pat you down. The only electronics allowed are cell phones and cameras. No ipods, MP3, or game boys. Cell phones and cameras. That’s it.
There are 22 small domes on the entrance representing the 22 years it took to build the Taj Mahal. Another reason for a guide is that he will know just where to take all the good pictures and can shoo away the professional photographers who will charge you money for photos. You are allowed to take your own – you do not have to pay for them.
The Taj Mahal cost 32 million rupees to build. Twenty thousand people worked on it everyday that it was being built. This is what you see when you walk through the entrance. The Taj Mahal was meant to seem like it was floating in air. Job Well Done Shah Jahan. Floating it seems.
It is very hard to describe how it feels to see the Taj Mahal for the first time. It is overwhelmingly majestic. It looks so soft and when you know the story of the love behind it – well, you can almost melt into its beauty.
The grounds surrounding the Taj Mahal are beautiful as well.
This might have worked out better with a professional photographer. But it was fun trying. If you do it right, it looks like you are touching the tip of the Taj Mahal.
The Taj Mahal and its surrounding monuments and temples are all symmetrical. The only thing that is not symmetrical is Shah Jahan’s tomb inside the Taj. His daughter buried him next to her mother after her brother stopped the building of Shah Jahan’s own mausoleum and imprisoned him. She understood their love and knew that they should spend eternity together. Awwww.
The pillars on the Taj Mahal look like they are perpendicular to the ground. They are not – they are bowing out at a 93 degree angle. This is so that from a distance it looks like they are straight up and down. Our guide also laughed that this was so that if the pillars fell, they would not fall on the monument. I am guessing that could be true. How they knew to do that so long ago and how they measured that angle? Maybe there is something to this whole math thing.
This picture was taken on the bench that was built for Princess Diana’s visit. So, I have now sat on the throne of a Princess in the Mausoleum of a King and Queen. Okay, maybe not, but a girl can dream, can’t she? Bring me my crown.
The decorative flowers in the walls of the Taj Mahal are all semi-precious stones (like lapis lazuli, jade, crystal, turquoise, and amethyst) that that have been laid into the marble. The carvings are in one big slab of marble. So if they made one mistake, they had to start all over. I was amazed that you had to cover your shoes when you walk in the building (or take them off) but you are allowed to touch any part of the walls you want. Shoes not okay – oily, dirty human hands – bring them on. Okay. It was shocking how smoothly the stones fit into the marble.
The rules said you are not allowed to take pictures inside the Taj Mahal. So I did not. I wish I had. But, rules are rules.
Follow me on to the next post – I am going to continue this so that there aren’t so many pictures for you to load in one post.
Across this river is where Shah Jahan had intended to have his own mausoleum built. It was barely started. You can still see the outline of bricks – but not much more than that. He had intended to build it with all black stones. He wanted to connect the two buildings with a bridge. But it was not to be. (And, yes, Angel was tired of having her picture taken.)
This next picture has nothing to do with the Taj Mahal – but there is a very nice man there who will help you feed the chipmunks. We gave him a little tip to say thank you. Yes, this is just like going to Disney and spending a day at the hotel pool – it is one of the things my kids will remember most about being in Agra.
There are two identical buildings on either side of the Taj Mahal. They both look like this. If I remember right, one is for prayer and the other for ceremony. Don’t quote me on that.
On to the Agra Fort. Only 20% of the fort is open to visitors. The remaining 80% is used by the military. The fort was built during the lives of 4 different rulers. One king had a grape garden for wine making. Yummy. Another king was married to three different women – a Hindu, a Muslim, and a Christian. Very open minded for a king from so long ago – well, minus the having three wives part.
This is the chamber where Shah Jahan was imprisoned and the view of the Taj Mahal he was given.
The ceiling in this room used to all be outlined in gold and looters took care of that . Sadly, this little section is all that is left.
One last thing, this is how they clean the fort and the Taj Mahal. They spread mud on it and then clean off the mud. That makes perfect sense. And shhhh, don’t my kids that cleaning something by smearing it with mud first is an effective process. They can be literal thinkers, remember?
Well that is our visit of the Taj Mahal and Agra Fort. There are surely a few little tidbits here and there that I have forgotten. So, I’ll probably write more later. If you have any quesitons, just ask me.
Oh yes, and the Agra fort has a lot of monkeys. Don’t get too close. Hell hath no fury like a monkey scorned.
Many of you know, I used to own a stationery business (www.AReasonToWrite.com). Moving to India put that on hold (for now). I was (more than) a little sad to think of not being creative – but holy guacamole – I found the paper store to die for. It is called Four Seasons and it is in Jor Bagh. Rohit runs it – he is delightful. He used to live in New Jersey and he misses Dunkin Donuts. What’s not to love! I mean, he sells beautiful paper and he loves doughnuts – we were destined to meet.
Rohit tells me that Oprah’s friend Gail has shopped in his store. (Yes, I mean THAT Oprah.) Maybe I will run into her. He showed me which paper Oprah likes and I swear I almost bought him out of it. You can tell her to contact ME if she would like some more. A little handmade paper blackmail maybe not be that impressive so I will lurk in the shadows hoping to spot that BFF of hers.
So anypaper, here is a small sampling of the handmade papers I bought there…
It turns out that the paper is made by handicapped children. Seriously, that is a little gift. Because now when I buy it, I am helping to employ handicapped children – it’s almost charity. How can you argue with that?
The stars are definitely lining up. Invitations anyone?
There is a book called the Girlfriend’s Guide to Pregnancy – it is supposed to fill you in on all the little details that people might forget or be unwilling to tell you while you are pregnant. Consider this your girlfriend’s guide to the Taj Mahal.
Before you go to visit the Taj Mahal, read a little about its history. Our guide was fantastic but he had a heavy accent. It was very helpful that I knew some of the names and places he was saying. I had to listen very carefully to him to understand everything.
Whenever you are in India, you will want these things in your purse. Diaper wipes and/or tissue paper – enough for an entire day, some kind of lipstick or chapstick, and hand sanitizer. Aspirin or tylenol. And a bottle of water.
The car ride from Delhi is long. If you normally get car sick, this will be especially long. Bring Dramamine. And a pillow is not a bad idea either. I had our driver keep the car pretty cold. That helped with the car sickness. So, a sweater too.
Pack your own snacks and drinks. But, do not drink too much in the morning. When I say there aren’t many places to stop and go to the bathroom, I mean, there aren’t any places to stop and go to the bathroom. Unless you are a man. Then you can truly stop wherever you want and go. Yep, on the side of the road, wherever. No matter how many people are around. Feel free.
There is a McDonalds about an hour away from the town of Agra. It has fries, chicken sandwiches, veggie sandwiches, chicken rollups, ice cream, and, thankfully, an indoor toilet. There was no toilet paper though. It seemed that they normally have toilet paper – but this time they were out. Stop here. Go to the bathroom. And then go again. You’ll want to be sure that you are as empty as possible.
And just fyi, the idea of time relative to traffic is always at best a guestamite. About an hour from Agra really means – it could be half an hour or it could be two hours. Traffic is very unpredictable. So just know that it could take longer than you expect and be thrilled if it doesn’t.
When we drove through Agra, we stopped at a corner to meet our guide. There were a lot of men standing around and one came walking over to the car. Then he got in the front sit after talking to the driver – yes, in Hindi. It turns out he was our guide for the day and a very good guide. But it seemed sort of random at first. And more than a little unsettling.
He took us to the parking lot and arranged for our “shuttle” to the Taj. I actually would recommend the camel ride. It was inexpensive – plenty of room – rent both sides of the cart – and placed you higher than the other modes of transport. This meant that the “vendors” could not reach you as well to show their bright shiny trinkets.
Tell your children that they will not be getting souvenirs at the Taj Mahal. The vendors will follow you closely. They will push shiny objects in front of your kids – your kids will probably want some of them. If they hear your kids asking for something, they become relentless. Number One Hubby would often walk in between me and them. They got the hint. I would also say “nay” firmly – without yelling – think of disciplining your kids in front of the minister. You would not yell, but you can certainly get your point across. And try not to look at them. That is seen as an invitation. It is my understanding that if you buy from one, others (many others) will come out of everywhere to vie for your attention.
Security – well that is a fun little experience all on its own. You will get felt up by a woman. She’ll pat down your boobs and your butt and your front pockets. You are allowed a smallish purse. Cameras and cell phones. No other electronics – at all. None. This was fine by me and luckily we knew it ahead of time. Kids don’t need their ipods when looking at the Taj Mahal.
You will also not be allowed to take in any food or drinks or candy or gum – water is allowed. Take that – especially if it is hot. Now that I think of it, we bought our water at the gate – maybe you have to buy it there to take it in – I don’t think so, but I really am not sure.
There are lots of great places to take pictures. You will only be allowed to take a video camera right inside the main entrance building. You will pay a fee to use it – I don’t remember what that was – maybe 100 rupees ($2). Then you will be required to put it in a locker. Our guide did that for us – it was cheaper that way. Don’t lose the key. You get your camera back on the way out. Our guide helped us remember that we put a video camera in the locker. Yes, that was very helpful. You can take your regular camera (still pictures) every where on the grounds. You will not be allowed to take pictures inside the Taj Mahal.
There will be quite a few photographers who offer to take pictures for you. If you have your own camera, you really don’t need them to do it for you. Just watch for people taking funny pictures and follow along.
When you buy your ticket to get in, you can also get booties to wear over your shoes. Recommended. Otherwise, you have to walk barefoot with 3 million of your closest friends. Not recommended. There is a lovely little man who will help you put your booties on. Let him. They rip easily. We tipped him 20 rupees (40 cents). A small price to pay to be able to wear your shoes.
If you have light skin and light hair, be prepared to be asked to have your picture taken. Many people visiting the Taj Mahal have never seen light skinned people before. They travel from very remote villages to be there. They will want your picture. You can say no. We did. Mostly they asked our guide. He said if you let one do it, bring on the masses. It’s just not a good idea. Plus – who knows where the pictures would end up. I’ve always wanted to be a rock star but it’s not as glamorous as it sounds.
If you have a small flash light, take it with you – like one the size of a writing pen. It is very cool to see how it illuminates the stones in the marble. You put the light right on top of the brown stones (I think they might be jasper) and it makes them seem clear.
I would recommend wearing capri pants to your visit of the Taj Mahal. Not a skirt and not long pants. This is why…
There is the matter of the “restroom”. Okay – it is apparently called a turkish toilet. It smells beyond horrible and the floor is VERY wet. It is a toilet room (translation – basically a tiled hole in the ground) that you squat over. However, it did flush. I found that extremely ironic. You are in your own stall behind a closed door. Use the handle of the door to your advantage – it can help you not fall in. (I now know where the inspiration for Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom came from – I doubt Harrison Ford could masterfully maneuver his way around this pit.)
Indians must pay to use the restroom – all others pay for toilet paper. Unless you bring your own. I gave 20 rupees (40 cents) for me and the girls to get toilet paper. Number One Hubby said I over paid – I think not. The girl let me take as much as I wanted. Enough said. There is a sink with running water to wash your hands afterwards.
You will also want to wear comfortable shoes – throw fashion to the wind. This is especially true if you plan to visit the fort. The entrance way is uneven so that water could not build up and make it slippery for the horses. It is not hard to walk on in flat shoes – but horses did not wear heels and neither should you.
There are two hotels for lunch – one is the Mughal (Sheraton) hotel and the other is the Oberoi. I think you need reservations for the Oberoi – it’s on the path to the Taj Mahal. The Mughal was lovely and very clean. But you drive there. Not a problem really. And indoor plumbing with toilets you could actually sit on. Bonus. And free (soft) toilet paper. Bonus. Bonus.
The Agra fort is definitely worth seeing. I think you get a discount if you show your Taj Mahal tickets. We saw beggars (just a couple) at the fort. None at the Taj Mahal. And more vendors. They are pretty aggressive but not dangerous – just remember “nay”.
The monkeys at the fort are very comfortable being around humans. You should not feel the same. They are cool – from a distance. They will take glasses and other unattached things.
After you visit the Taj Mahal and the fort, your guide will most likely offer to take you to see an exhibit of how they laid the stones in the marble and an embroidery exhibit. This means that you will be invited to see craftsmen toiling away at their craft. You can ask questions and touch the pieces (at least of marble). Then you will be invited into a show room were you will be allowed to purchase items. They are not free. If you do not think you want to shop at the show room, you can say no to the exhibit. We only went to the marble exhibit. I bought a beautiful vase. As far as I could tell, the demonstration was free. The vase was definitely not. No samples here.
On the way back to Delhi, stop at the McDonalds again and take your last drink. Traffic can be very unpredictable. It took us longer to get home then it took to get there. Don’t forget to refresh on the Dramamine if you tend to get car sick and turn the air conditioner on. It really does help.
Yesterday, I went to Number One Hubby’s office to attend the Puja for our new car. Getting a new car in India calls for a ceremony. Sign me up. Bless my little car. Puja my ride.
First of all I would like to point out that Number One Hubby picked out a brown car. That makes me smile. There aren’t many brown cars here – it will be easy to find and, fyi, brown is my favorite color. And it is a lovely milky chocolate shade of brown.
It is a delicate matter – the picking of the right date for a Puja – birthdates and anniversary dates might be considered – and the night before was an eclipse – that is a big Puja no – no. So we did it yesterday. In the morning. In the light of day. I do not know all of the particulars about how a date and time are chosen. But people who know were consulted. There are reasons why this time and date were chosen and I am certainly not tempting fate.
You might wonder if this is really a big deal. It is. It really is. About 25 people from my husband’s office came to watch it.
We pulled up and saw our car draped with flowers. The flowers on the hood formed a swastika – which sounds awful – but not in India. It is the equivalent of the Christian cross and is meant to ward off evil spirits. To keep us safe in our journeys and to bring us prosperous travels. They call it an auspicious symbol – that is a good thing.
A priest (Pujari) gave blessings in Hindi and chants in Sanskrit. He sprinkled the car with a flower that he had dipped in water.
Then he drew a swastika on the hood of the car and another on the steering wheel. He burned incense.
The priest marked our foreheads with red dye – a mark known as a tilaka. Then placed rice over it.
A lei of flowers was draped around Number One Hubby’s neck.
Red yarn was wrapped around our wrists.
The red dye and the yarn were supposed to contain saffron. It is hoped that it will be absorbed into our brain and our bodies.
We will leave both the dye and the yarn in place until they come off on their own.
Number One Hubby then broke a coconut and sprinkled the milk on the car. This was pretty funny actually. Even the priest laughed – funny is universal. Number One Hubby was supposed to hold on to the coconut and break it open on the ground. Then, while still holding the pieces, sprinkle the juice on the car. If you have ever seen my Hubby attack a pinata, you know what happened next. He slammed that coconut on the ground so hard it shattered. Bring on the chuckles. No harm, no foul though – he just picked up the pieces and sprinkled away.
Then we were given two lemons each – to place under each tire of the car. Number One Hubby and I got in the car and drove over the lemons. Squish. Squirt.
Finally we gave an offering to the priest. The envelope was also decorated with a swastika.
Everyone who attended the Puja was so happy for us. It felt similar to a baptism. Congratulations and well wishes were showered up us. We were even given a gift. A statue of Ganesha to place on the dashboard. He will protect us during any new adventure.
Attending this puja was a lot like going to a High Catholic Mass given in Latin when you were raised Southern Baptist. Sure, you can follow along and hopefully not look like a complete idiot. But you will watch the people beside you so you know just what to do.
Here are a couple tidbits that I learned. When participating in Hindu ceremonies, you always accept things with both hands. BUT, you receive it first in your right hand and then place your left hand under your right. Note to self – right first, left under right. Got it. We also took off our shoes for the parts of the ceremony that we participated in. Second note to self – keep pedicure up-to-date.
As with any good ceremony, there were a couple of (very) funny things that happened. The priest’s cell phone went off during the ceremony. That was hysterical – at first I thought it was mine – I was mortified – but it wasn’t – it was the priest’s. Seriously, that’s funny – a ceremony steeped in old traditions and rich with rituals was interrupted by modern technology. Don’t ask me why he did not put it on vibrate – I did not ask. But I do wish I knew if he answered in Sanskrit.
The other thing was that we left the ceremony with much congratulations and many well wishes. We pulled out of the parking lot and drove – I dunno – maybe 500 feet – and we got sideswiped. Yes we did. And no, I wasn’t the one driving. It was a very small fender bender. No one was hurt. The other driver did not even stop. Maybe he was late for his puja.
You might recall that my not-so-little Bear was in elementary school in the United States and that our trip across the ocean landed him right into middle school. I was not sure how this new world would be for Bear. So far, so good.
Some things are certainly different – Bear has now been to a dance (and actually danced) and to a middle school party (and danced again). He is enjoying his journey. There are a lot of activities he misses and he misses his dear friends terribly – but he has made some good friends here and he is having a good time.
One of the things I did not expect was the stepped up homework. Not the volume necessarily, but the complexity. And I don’t mean harder – just more thoughtful.
The very first assignment Bear got was to write paper on John Doe. A paper that involved medical ethics. Excuse me – did you know that he’s 11. I took a biomedical ethics class in college. I loved it, but I was 21 at the time. That’s not exactly 11.
So, we read the scenario – it’s basically this. John Doe is a young man (20, I think) who has been in a terrible car accident. He is on a ventilator and is showing no improvement. His hair grows and his fingernails grow, but he is not responsive to voices or other stimulation. He is on a feeding tube. The insurance company will no longer pay for his medical treatment. He has been in a coma for 3 months. Your job is to advise his parents what to do in five paragraphs.
Okay, in five decades, I could not come up with the right words to advise his parents what to do – what do you mean 5 paragraphs? And do you understand that Bear is our oldest and we have not talked to him about any of this stuff yet, and we still have jet lag. And, remember, he is 11. Welcome to India.
I want to start by saying that I love the kids new school. We were thrilled with our school in the U.S. and I was wondering if our new school could possibly measure up. It has. It is really, really great – there is a lot of focus on creative thinking – not so much on memorizing facts. It’s taking in information and analyzing it. More of a swallowing it whole and letting it become a part of you than a “repeat what I just said” focus on learning. But did I mention, he is 11? Did I mention we still had jet lag? Can I find out where to buy goldfish crackers before I have to tackle medical ethics? Please?
So, before he can even start writing a paper, we have to talk about this. Just in case you have forgotten, let me remind you that Bear is a pretty logical thinker. That is, unless it comes to pulling the plug on a young man in a coma whose fingernails are still growing. Then apparently he becomes a big old softy. And, yes I love that about him. But it was hard to see his eyes melt away when I said he should at least consider taking John Doe off of life support. He looked at me and seemed to think, “but what would you do it if was me”? Dagger. I hear America calling – the land of the goldfish crackers that are easy to find.
How do you explain to your child that it makes you want to throw up to even consider that you could ever have to make this kind of decision about him – but that sometimes there are actually practical matters involved in these decisions. How do you define ethics – when your child thinks in black and white and there are nothing but grey answers available? Can we say role reversal? Me – the full fledged Pisces and sentimental sap explaining to the boy who wants to solve pi why it might make sense to not let John Doe “live”. And that same boy explaining to me that John Doe is still alive. Well, let’s talk about quality of life and cost of care and when are we going home again?
I told him ethics is when your brain meets your heart and they don’t always agree. If fact, they are bound to disagree because matters of the heart are rarely logical. And there are never any right answers. Math won’t usually help here – it is certainly not an exact science, if it is even a science at all. But how do you explain to those big brown eyes that what you can so clearly see that someone else should do might not be what you would do at all? Holy parenting, Batman. He decided John Doe’s parents should have a fundraiser to pay to keep him on the ventilator. I think this bodes well for number one hubby and me in our later years.
The final part of this assignment was a debate in the class. I would have loved to have seen that. The teacher was very careful to explain to the students that there were sure to be a lot of different view points and that everyone’s opinion had to be respected. That’s cool.
When we first learned we were moving to India, people kept saying “don’t cows roam the streets there?” It sounded interesting. So, I would say, “we’ll see.”
Well, the answer is a big fat yes. Cows and goats and pigs and dogs. You name it.
When coming to Northern India – must people are recommended to travel the Golden Triangle – Delhi, Agra (where the Taj Mahal is), and Jaipur. Do you see where this is going………………….
This weekend we set out on another family adventure. We went to complete the Golden Triangle. We have been to Delhi and Agra – now on to Jaipur, India.
The ride to Jaipur was easier than the ride to Agra. The roads were more like highways – although it seems everywhere we go we pass village areas with tons of interesting people. They capture my attention fully and interest me at least as much as the monuments. I am going to do a post soon about the people I have seen. They are striking and beautiful and busy with their lives.
There was a McDonalds along the way and several rest stops. Some of them have one European toilet – some do not – just remember, capris, toilet paper, diaper wipes, and Purell. There are several tolls.
Jaipur was the first planned city in India. Its construction began in 1727 by Maharaja Sawai Jai Singh II. You can tell a difference from Agra and Delhi. The streets are much wider and more organized – more perpendicular to each other and much less random – but they seemed to us much more crowded with people and animals in the street. The traffic seemed busier than Delhi’s traffic. That could simply be because the street are wider – more room surely equals more congestion.
It is rumored (at least according to Wikipedia) that in 1853, when the Prince of Wales visited Jaipur, the whole city was painted pink to welcome him. Most of the downtown area is still pink. The buildings carry intricate designs – look closely at them and you will find amazing details. If you aren’t interested in architecture, you can still enjoy their pinkness.
We stayed at the BellaCasa. My husband had told me about “service on service” but it is hard to understand without experiencing it. The BellaCasa was a good hotel for us – it was Western enough (although don’t believe everything you read on the menu) and we are not fancy pants – so 5 stars are certainly not necessary – or even desired. The tv got some American shows (in English – that is not always a given) which was nice for winding down at the end of the day. And there is a pool on the roof. Yippee Skippee.
Wait one minute – what’s “service on service” you want to know. Well, besides slightly annoying – it’s the staff asking you at every turn if everything is to your liking. I am not sure anything would change if you said no, but they want you to know they are interested – very interested. It’s the waiter putting my daughter’s syrup on her pancakes for her – I am sorry but – are her fingers broken? Don’t make her think that is normal. That would be no fun for me on our U.S. return. (Yes, sometimes it’s all about me.) And, really, she does not mind pouring her own syrup. She is an expert you might say. Leave her to her craft, por favor.
My children don’t have to walk anywhere, do dishes, wash clothes, take out the trash, or clean the litter. I am frankly drawing the line at them not having to add their own condiments to their own food.
We got lost in the city so we got to see quite a bit of it. At least from the car. Traffic is no less intimidating. But the sights of the city are marvelous.
This castle/fort is privately owned. I was told that the owner is 92 and that she “is not doing well” so if you are in the market for a home away from home, you might just get a good deal.
This is called the Palace of Winds or the Palace of Windows. It is a facade. It was built so that the women who observed very strict purdah (covering of their faces from public view) could still enjoy watching the festivals in the streets from the privacy of the palace. It is lovely. There seem to be more women in Jaipur than Delhi who still cover their entire face. Some let their eyes show, some do not. We were told that Jaipur is more old fashioned than Delhi.
And, yes, I am biting my tongue as to not comment on the sheer number of windows this palace sports. I know multiple wives were in favor here, but really, there are a lot of windows. Ouch. Still biting.
The old fashioned nature of Jaipur will probably be changing soon because there is a huge business corridor for businesses who outsource to India. Bring on the Western influences. Please let me apologize in advance for that. You might find some of our influences offensive. Others you will surely embrace. Let’s just hope that all the veils don’t drop.
This is a statue of Ghandi walking. It did not come out too clearly because we were driving past it (for the 3rd time) but it is unmistakeably him.
Also in Jaipur is the Jantar Mantar or House of Instruments. It is a fascinating park with 18 instruments to read the celestial bodies in the universe. An astrologer’s sanctuary if you will. This picture is of a gigantic sun dial. Here I am checking it against my watch. It was accurate. Amazing. Truly amazing.
And then there is the matter of the snake charmer. Charming he was. I am not a fan of all things reptile – but my kids were interested and number one hubby was willing – so a charming we will go.
The snake was not as impressed with us. Where is that Riki Tiki Tavi when you need him? Bring on the mongoose.
My little bear loves soccer and I came upon this. Are you kidding me? I did not buy it but, oh, how I wanted to! There was no room in the car for it – otherwise you might just see it in the glen. I really am not clear who would ever buy this except for me. Maybe the owners of the store consulted the astrologers at the House of Instruments and deemed me a sucker. But maybe it was truly coincidental. We’ll never really know.
This was day one of our journey – tomorrow I will write about the Amber Fort – stay tuned.
You will want toilet paper, diaper wipes, Purell, comfortable walking shoes, and capri pants for your journeys. And Dramamine – plus an empty bowl for the car (that is just in case the Dramamine does not work and you are stuck in traffic). I stick by that. And I am going to add bottled water and many, many recognizable snacks. You can buy soda pretty much anywhere – not always the diet variety – but a regular Coke won’t kill you every now and then. And caffeine is caffeine. To be fair, you can buy water just about anywhere too – but just be sure you hear that familiar click when YOU unscrew the bottle. And just say no to ice.
Peppermints or other hard candies are great to have in the car, too. Peppermints are especially good because they can sooth an upset tummy. That’s called a two-fer. When your children claim that, yes, in fact, they just might actually die from thirst unless they get a drink at this very moment – and you are not sure where the next European bathroom might be – you can give them a candy. Peace ensues and all will be right with the world of thirst. You’ll want to pace yourself – the European bathrooms are few and far between. Unless you have boys, then they can just go anywhere – yep, pretty much anywhere.
Eating out:
Think “you say tomato, I say tomahto” on the experience of eating out – pizza in the hotel restaurant may not be the pizza you (and your kids expect). There will a lot of things that are not recognizable. Which is really great if you have adventurous eaters – enter Bear, Flower, and Angel – quite possibly the most unadventurous eaters on the planet. They are still very confused as to why the McDonalds in India do not serve chicken nuggets – just sandwiches. Rome wasn’t built in a day – be thankful for the fries and move on.
We ordered Pizza Hut (yes real Pizza Hut) for dinner – I know you can shake your head in shame – go ahead, I’ll wait – but hungry children are not happy children. Happy children make traveling much more enjoyable. Sign me up for more enjoyable travels. Two large pizzas and four 7-ups cost about $12. They were delivered to the room and I got to stay in my pjs- priceless.
Buffets seem to be a good way for my family to experience eating out in unchartered waters. There are many options and some are recognizable. Sometimes you might pay $10 for your daughter to eat a plate of rice – but it is a plateful of rice she will recognize – and therefore, probably, eat. YEAH! With a buffet, you can at least see what will be on your plate before you order it. Brillant. We had the breakfast buffet at the hotel and they had pancakes, fruit, made to order omelets (be careful here – green chilis can look like green peppers if they are sliced thin enough), toast, and some cereals. Of course, they had some things that were very different than what we are used to – steamed broccoli, green beans, baked beans, cooked tomatoes – but a lot of good choices. I had broccoli for breakfast for the first time in my life.
Change/Small Bills:
Whenever you travel in India, make sure you have small bills with you. Some of the people you will pay for things are not thrilled with coins – not that they won’t take them – they will – but better to see smiles than frowns. They seem to prefer paper. For example, if you want to take a picture of someone, you might give them 10 rupees for their smile. It’s a nice gesture and doesn’t cost you much. I suggested to my dear sweet husband that perhaps we should ask the hotel for some smaller bills (the ATM machines we have visited give you 500 rupees at a time). He did not agree – but I won’t go there – suffice it to say that you will want some bills with 100, 50, 20, and 10 rupees on the face of them. Then everyone can smile.
Snake Charmer:
When he was done, we paid the snake charmer 20 rupees (see you do need smaller bills – sorry, I wasn’t going to go there). He asked for 200 rupees. Our guide laughed, number one hubby laughed, the man sitting on the bench watching it all transpire laughed. I reminded them all that the snake charmer had cobras – real live cobras. Walk away slowly and backwards. I personally think that if you choose snake charming as your profession, being alive at the end of the day is its own reward. But, who am I to say. We left him with 20 rupees and his life. We paid after the performance. That seems to be the way to go here – for the most part, pay when they are done. He did not send the snakes after us.
They do milk the snakes each day so that their poison is used up for the day. I still do not have a picture of myself charming the snake. I will save my charms for adventures that are not life threatening. But, yes, I did let my children do it – okay, logic does not always prevail here.
Elephant Ride:
570 rupees per elephant (about $11) to ride to the Amber Fort – for this you pay for the ride when you get on the elephant – but save the tip until the end of the ride. We were told that in the city of Jaipur we could ride an elephant for 50 rupees – away from the main tourist attractions – yes that is a big difference – but we chose to ride one to the Amber Fort. I would actually recommend riding the elephants to the fort. The route that cars take is a road that is narrow and small and harrowing. You will get to experience the narrow, harrowing road on the way down from the fort because you can only ride the elephants up to the fort. This will make perfect sense when you see how steep the ride down is – it would be hard to remain balanced on the elephants when they are walking down it.
Two people can fit on each elephant (three if two of the people are little people) and the driver will expect a tip. We gave him 100 rupees. He asked for his money before he let us off the elephant. I had it ready – but it might not be good to let it be visible to the driver before you are ready to get off the elephant. Our driver talked about money the whole way up. His English was hard for me to understand. I have know idea what I did or did not agree to. But he let us off the elephant without too much argument. You can take bananas with you and feed the elephant when your ride is over. Yes, I wish I had known that. When will my kids get another chance to feed an elephant? Prepare your children (and yourself) for the fact that the drivers will hit the elephants hard – very hard – with sticks – big sticks. Many of the elephants have raw spots on their ears.
Restrooms:
First, use the restroom in your hotel before you leave the hotel. Don’t have high expectations for soft toilet paper.
But, there is a lovely restroom at the Amber fort – it costs 5 rupees per person. (Yes, you did the math correctly – that is about 10 cents). It is clean – very clean – and there is a European style toilet (that means you can sit on it or over it whichever you choose) and toilet paper and running water and even soap. Whoa Nellie. I might just move in here. It is the heaven of all things bathroom. It is the nicest bathroom I have seen in India. Pay the 10 cents – even if you don’t need to go – you’ll just want to visit. There is a girl who will give you a paper towel when you are done drying your hands. I gave her 10 rupees. I know – big spender – that was about 20 cents. Very generous I am.
This bathroom is so great you could wear a skirt or long pants here. Although I still would not recommend them for the rest of your journey. Capris really are the way for women to go.
Shopping After Sight-seeing:
Okay, I have figured something out – I might be a little slow on the uptake – but I have got it now. The guide that we paid to show us the city was well worth the 500 rupees per day that we paid him. But he must get commission to take us to certain shops. Souvenir shops. I do not want to bring home souvenirs to my friends and family – I want authentic Indian items that I can buy in the markets – not in an air conditioned store with wide aisles and 5,000 salesmen. Okay, maybe I am exaggerating – it might have only been 3,000 salesmen – but it was way too many. These shops are honestly fine if you do not have a lot of time. There are a lot of different things, they are clean, you can and should bargain, and blah, blah, blah. But we had time. I wanted to really shop – in markets. I have not seen a lot of clothing items in these types of markets either – so if you are looking for clothing be very specific with your guide that you want clothing – if he says “textiles”, repeat yourself. Clothing. Textiles seems to mean carpets and linens.
I am rethinking my earlier statement that you should not buy from the vendors at the various sites. The motivation of the guide was not, I think, to keep us unbothered but to protect his commission. I saw lovely things for sale at the Amber fort – specifically puppets. There was a puppet store that I asked our guide to take us back to – he did not take us there – but to a tourist market. We were so angry that we let him go for the day.
Peddlers at the Amber Fort
The peddlers we saw at the Amber Fort were the most “in your face” we have seen. As I think back on the day, I do not remember going through a security check point – so maybe this is why. Anyone can enter the courtyard area without a ticket. But we just continued to say nay. Twelve or so times. And then they pretty much left us alone.
Pictures:
My children were asked many times if they would take a picture with someone. I always said no. It made my children uncomfortable – and me too. So, no it is. Our guide handled most of this for us. However, this does present quite a double standard. I think the Indian people are beautiful and want to take pictures of them. So call me a hypocrite. I am fine with that. If it is a poor person, I give them a little bit to thank them for their troubles.
Guides:
I have said this before and I will say it again – the guides speak English very well but is often heavily accented. So, it really does pay to do a little research before you go somewhere – then you will recognize names and places they are saying – this is very helpful! Our experience with guides was very different in Jaipur than it was in Agra. We were very happy with our guide in Agra – not so much with either guide in Jaipur. Although the first day was much better than the second. We are partly to blame for this. We did not do enough research about exactly what it was we wanted to see and we did not insist on seeing the one thing we really wanted to see – the Monkey Temple – we let ourselves get too easily talked out of it. Shame on us – lesson learned.
The guide each day was 500 rupees ($10). We tipped the guide the first day well – the second day, we did not tip so well. As I said earlier, it seems that the guides make their real money on the commission they get from the shops they take you to. So make it clear whether or not you want to shop in those stores and if not, consider giving the guide a little bit more of a tip – if you are happy with the service you received.
Temples:
We have not been to a temple yet – but we hope to do that soon. One thing I have learned about visiting temples is that women should always be prepared to cover their heads. It is also a good idea to carry a bag with you large enough to carry your shoes in. This is probably obvious to most – but just in case – photography might not be allowed either. If you are fortunate enough to be able to participate in any kind of ceremony at a temple, remember to receive items in your right hand with your left hand underneath your right.
Overall Jaipur is definitely worth a visit. It is a exquisite city with rich with history and culture. We will absolutely go back.
Day Two of our adventure to Jaipur – the Pink City. If you have not read about day one - you can do that here.
Enter Day Two.
This is called the Water Palace. Can you guess why? Yes, four of its stories are under water. We were told the only way to visit it was to swim across the (very dirty) water. We chose to take pictures from the road. I may be willing to move to India – but I do have my limits.
This must a guard tower – or something. It looked pretty cool whatever it is.
If you look closely at this picture, on the hill, you will see the wall of the really big fence that surrounds the Amber (or Amer) Fort. I guess if Legos and Lincoln Logs have not been invented yet, your imagination can run wild. It is hard to explain just how steep that hill is or how amazing this wall is. Maybe you should come visit and we’ll take you to it.
And finally the elephant ride. Angel has been asking since before we left the U.S. if she could ride an elephant. Ride she did. It made her nervous and she doesn’t need to do it again anytime soon. But I feel good knowing I helped her check something off of her bucket list. Tomorrow I am going to post my Girlfriend’s Guide to Jaipur – if you plan to ride the elephants at Amber Fort, you’ll want to read it for sure.
The cost per elephant is 570 rupees (about $11).
This man will try to sell you a blanket with elephants on it on your ride up to the fort. Hey mister, I am not going to actually buy it – but could you look over here and maybe smile -could you hold it a little more to the left – that’s it – I have a blog – you and your pretty blanket are going to be on it. Lucky you.
The cost to get in the Fort is 150 rupees for anyone over 7 years old. Well that is any foreign visitor over 7 years old. Non-foreign visitors are 25 rupees or 10 rupees. We did not try to pretend to be non-foreign. It was as plain as the noses on our faces that were are not Indian.
This was in the main courtyard. If I understood our guide correctly they were either filming a movie here or they do occasionally film movies here. Either way – at some point in time movies might be filmed here. And nope, they did not ask me to appear in a cameo. Dang.
This was the entrance to the residence area. One poor king who once lived here only had two wives. Another had twelve. I will ask you to remember that I am biting my tongue on this issue. I did not make up the rules and I am (very) glad I did not have to live by them.
Ganesha is everywhere.
This is the palace of mirrors. The king with only two wives lived here with a wife on either side. Note to the readers of the male persuasion – if you limit your time to just one woman – you will have more to spend on her palace. The living accommodations for the king with twelve wives – not quite the same.
I took this picture.
My husband thought maybe he should take one too. Oh yes, I do see how much better it is. Must I point out that the picture above (the one I took) captured the full border of the panel? I think not. Whatever.
Then we went to see a concert called Mehfil within the fort. I loved it – Bear, Angel, Flower – not so much. But sometimes it’s fun to torture your children with culture. I highly recommend it. Number One Hubby did not fall asleep – you can take that as a good sign. It was 100 rupees per person ($2). No discount for kids. And it only lasted 20 minutes.
And they had dancers at the concert too. Flower liked the one in the yellow dress the best.
And the doors, oh the doors – they are amazing and fabulous.
We learned that Tulsi (a form of basil) is special in India.
This is a bathtub. Okay – I have bitten a hole in my tongue. But enough already. If you are going to have 12 wives, give them a place to bathe with perhaps a curtain – a faucet. Something. If I stood in this hole it would be about as deep as my shoulders are tall. Still – privacy please. And pssst – come here – shhhh – this is not the guide I would recommend. Don’t tell. And – yes, totally unrelated – but seriously – how do you like my shirt? I will tell you more about where I got it in a post coming to a blog near you very soon.
We were not so easily wooed by the snake charmers at the fort. Not because they weren’t perfectly charming – but simply because one snake charming per lifetime is enough thank you. No need to tempt fate. And I am not clear if these snakes have ever been invited to a puja. So, step away from the snake. Yes, that big snake called a cobra who is showing off his hood.
Our guide pointed out this temple to us at the base of the fort. He said there are hundreds of temples in Jaipur and somehow he managed to not take us to any of them. Hmmmmm. Lesson learned – insist on seeing a temple. The one we wanted to see but were talked out of seeing was the Monkey Temple. We are not happy about that. At all.
But Jaipur is lovely and there is a lot to see. Thanks for coming on our journey with us!
If you think you have been serving out your term as the reigning Meanest Parent on the Planet to the fullest, I am so sorry to inform you that you have just been dethroned. Move over. Thank. You. Very. Much. I am now officially The Meanest Mother on the Planet and am frankly vying for the Mrs. Universe title. The Cruelest in the Universe. That’s me. I am pulling out all the stops. Watch out cosmos.
My child informed me recently that I am in fact the Meanest Mom Ever – that is quite an accomplishment – and thank you my dear. I know well that there is a lot of skilled competition out there.
FYI sweet cheeks, you are only 7, you ain’t seen nothing yet.
I did not even try to tell her that my job is to keep her safe and healthy – happy is up to her – and that I will continue to do my job to the best of my abilities until she has her own children and I can pass on the crown – to her.
As I have had more time on my hands lately, I have been reading (a lot) of blogs. I have found this network of women who are lamenting over the fact that they had to have cesarean sections to give birth to their children. They drew me in and I read several of them. But I had a hard time making a connection.
I really, truly appreciate the fact that many women want to fully experience childbirth a la natural. Me, well, I am more of a bring on the drugs kind of person. Epidural – yes, please. C-section – if you insist.
However, I, too, was all set to deliver my babies the old fashioned way – well with the benefit of modern pharmaceuticals and a building and doctors – no woods, no medicine men for me. Thanks anyway. Number one hubby and I checked the box and attended a Lamaze class – watched the video – and realized that we had absolutely no idea what we had gotten ourselves me into. I have to do what? And you get to sit there and tell me how to breathe? I am quite sure that is (not) going to prove to be very helpful.
Our Lamaze instructor was very excited about all things birth. However, being so close to the actual event myself (coupled with the fact that I was the one actually responsible for accomplishing it), I found it hard to share her enthusiasm. So, when she got to the part on c-sections, I remember turning to Number One Hubby and asking if he wanted to go get some lunch. Enough already. There are truly only so many home videos an about-to-be-mom can watch.
I think I can quote that instructor exactly, “I want everyone here to pay v.e.r.y. close attention to this part of the class. No one here thinks they will have a c-section, but I can guarantee you that at least one person in this room will deliver by c-section. You will want to know what’s happening.”
Me to Hubby: Oh, that’s really too bad. I wonder
which one of THOSE women it will be.
Hubby: Yeah.
Fate: You my sista.
I spent several days in and out of the hospital in the days before Bear was born. I won’t bore you with the details – we all have a story – but the bottom line was the doctors think I was passing a kidney stone. Yes, that was a great idea. Welcome to my little corner of brilliance. Give birth – pass a kidney stone – oh heck, let’s just do both – at the same time – sure. But in a way it was lucky, because in searching for the stone, they found my amniotic fluid was low and that my little Bear was breech. They scheduled me for a c-section a few days later. Seems they were very busy on that particular day and could not do it right away. But didn’t you say my amniotic fluid was low? Whatever. At least I thought I would have time to review the tape. That Lamaze lady was right, maybe I should have paid attention. Oh, you meant me?
I thought I had time to review those tapes until my water broke and we found ourselves in an emergency c-section situation. And, by ourselves, I do mean myself. Oh yes, doesn’t that sound a lot better? My husband was conducting a science experiment to determine exactly what type of fluid was gushing out of me at record speeds, while I was busy doing my best to convince him that we needed to go back to the hospital. Immediately. As in Right. Now. It was the stuff that sitcoms are made of. It seems he was tired and he really just wanted to sit down. Seriously? Let’s leave the alkaline test to the professionals. You know – the brilliant ones who just sent us home.
Needless to say, I had surgery. I recovered from surgery and got pregnant again. I ended up with 3 sections. All three of them emergencies. You’ve now read about Bear. Flower was also breech. I had a granola doctor who wanted to try to flip her for me – but I read about it and decided it wasn’t so much for me. They do it in the operating room in case you go into labor or stress (translation – something goes wrong or worse, very wrong) – it was only about 50% likely to work – and they expect the mom (and I am guessing her little bundle of baby) to get pretty bruised and therefore to be pretty uncomfortable – yes, with labor looming. No thank you. I survived one c-section just fine. Bring on number two. Flower’s birth became an emergency because apparently slipping on the ice late in pregnancy can bring on labor and my water broke again. There is just no rest for the clumsy.
Angel – well, it seems they don’t want you to even consider a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean – if there are any men still reading at this point -sorry) after two c-sections. But just to keep it interesting, I was in a car accident the day Angel was born and learned what decelerated heart rate means in triage. I can assure you that labor and deliver triage is neither the time nor the place to review SAT vocabulary words like decelerated heart rate or STAT.
Because my water broke twice, I had the initial experience of being in labor. Yeah, it is not all it’s cracked up to be. Going into labor gives me the thrill of shaking like a meth addict in rehab. It ain’t pretty. The first time it happened, I was terrified that the anesthesiologist would not be able to get the needle in the right spot. And, YES, I had read all those articles about the potential for paralysis with a misplaced epidural. (note to self – step away from the internet.) The doctor said as long as he wasn’t shaking we were fine. Oh good, I got a comedian. Thankfully a very steady comedian. I can still walk.
The bottom line in all of this is that c-sections are not perfect. But I am very thankful modern science has brought them into existence. If you have ever had a c-section or are facing one soon – even if, my friend, it was something you chose to do – please do not feel short changed. It is one of your first journeys into parenthood and it foreshadows what the rest of your parenting journey will be like – at times scary, at times rushed, at times overwhelming, at times disappointing, and at times rewarding beyond measure. When they put that little baby in your arms, it will not matter one bit how he or she got there. You’ll be just as overwhelmed as any other new parent – with love and joy and a whole new sense of responsibility.
I think it might be the loss of control that is so hard to forget and forgive. And the fear that follows it. Not knowing what will happen next can be extremely overwhelming, especially when a life seems to hang in the balance. But again, that is just one pebble in this parenting path. A pebble that will forever hide in the corner of our shoe as a constant, irritating reminder that we do not control the cosmos. Sometimes we have to walk uncomfortable journeys to get to our destination.
The tears really worth shedding are for those men and women who never get to hold a child they love in their arms.
NOTE: after writing this post, I received a lot of comments via email and on the blog – as a result, I followed up with a post called “Digging Deeper”
You might remember the post about the Amber Fort, when I asked you if you liked my shirt. Here’s the picture… just in case you haven’t time to memorize all the little details of my blog yet.
I got it at the SurajKund Crafts Mela in Delhi. It is open from Feb. 1 – 15th every year. Holy crafts, Batman! It is awesome! I bought dolls, tablecloths, boxes, kurtas (Indian-style) shirts, marble elephants, and even a Taj Mahal snow globe. And, yes, the snow globe has already been broken. And, yes, glitter looks very pretty on a marble floor.
They also had pottery, jewelry, saris, shoes, purses, furniture, kites, umbrellas, lanterns, yard decorations (oh, if I only had a yard), and booth after booth of authentic craft items from all over India and several other Asian countries.
We were told not to bring our camera because it gets crowded and it’s just one more thing to keep track of – humpf – I blog to differ on that one. It does get very crowded – but I am not sure what is so unusual about that – India is mega crowded – why would a Mela be any different? But we listened. Bummer.
Note to self – bring camera and video camera. We got there at about 10:30am – it opens at 9:30am – next year we will get there when it opens. Nothing really starts that early in India as compared to the United States. So at 10:30am, it was not crowded and you can park pretty close to the entrance. That means you can walk around and take lots of pictures – then return your camera to the car and shop away unencumbered. Next year, we’ll do just that.
There were amazing performances from around India. The performers were dressed in gorgeous outfits doing unbelievable things like dancing with five bowls on their heads. The musicians were magical. It was culture overload and it was fabulous!
Many of the crafters were making their crafts right at their booths.
And, yes we bargained. And we got deals. This shirt was $5. And yes, I put the decimal in the right place. Not everyone gave us the deal we were hoping for – but our new haggling philosophy is “no harm, no foul.” The worst they can say is no. And this particular Mela only takes place once a year and a billion people live in this country – there is no way they will remember us next year!
We learned a new phrase at the Mela – skin tax. Are you confused – fear not – I am here to ’splain it. It seems that we, being lighter skinned than most people here, will be charged a skin tax. Translation – the prices are higher for us. Interesting. Sure. Unfair. Sure. Good to know. You bet your arse!
So at one point, Number One Hubby found some shirts he liked. He was standing next to an Indian woman who just happened to want to know prices too.
Hubby: Go ahead, tell her the price.
Crafter: Dumbfounded. And Silent.
Hubby: Go ahead, really, go ahead
Indian Woman: Smirking and looking away
Hubby: I’ll pay what she pays
Me: smirking – that’s my man
The crafter wanted to wait until Hubby was done shopping before he would discuss prices with the Indian woman. Hubby called his bluff and it worked. I really am not saying that we are always charged more – but skin tax happens.
What are the bathrooms like you ask – horrible – but worth it. What did we have for lunch, you wonder – are you really a fan, I wonder – we had pizza – Dominoes Pizza with a Coke. And for dessert? Cotton Candy. Some fair foods are clearly universal. Act II popcorn also had a booth. Of course, there was a lot of authentic Indian food if you are braver than we are.
If you want to know a really, really good time to visit us – that would be the first two weeks of Febraury – it’s not hot – and there is the SurajKund Mela. I am going twice next year – once with my family – and once by myself. It is one of my favorite experiences so far! And, yes, next year, I will have pictures.
When I was writing the post about the Surajkund Crafts Mela, I realized I had hardly published any pictures of the outside of the Amber Fort. I am so sorry! Number One Hubby had never been to a fort – well, he had been to the Fort Laramie, Wyoming, fort – but it’s little and he doesn’t remember too much except the apple butter. So when we got to the Amber Fort in Jaipur, India, he was blown away by its size. Of yes, he had fort envy.
Anyfort, I so short-changed you. But, here they are…
I am no stranger to people not understanding me. I was born in South Carolina and lived in the somewhat deep south until 4th grade. We moved to Germany for 5th grade and sometimes people did not understand what I was saying – I had me a twang. For 7th grade we moved to Georgia – minus some of the twang – I had lost most of it – and some of my words seemed odd and, strangely, less accented.
Six years in Georgia fixed that quite nicely. Pass me a mint julep. Pretty please. And then off to college I went. Up North. Well (just barely) south of the Mason Dixon line. But North is in the eye of the beholder. It was in a very diverse area but an area with no real accent of its own. Enter my southern drawl. Could you spell that please – I heard that more than once and it seemed so insulting. Doesn’t everyone say PEEEEEEnuhhhhts, puh leeeeees?
Then there was the time I went to visit my cousin in Wyoming. Play me some mountain music, Hillbilly. The friends of my cousin laughed so hard at my accent that their sody pop came right out of them their noses. I cried for over an hour. They were not tears of joy.
So moving to India and hearing the different accents hasn’t been too hard for me. I can sympathize. I just slow down my ears and listen up real good. It is really amazing, even the Americans here are from all over the world. It is the United Nations of Accents.
Last week, I started taking Hindi lessons. Okay, I have had one (ek) lesson. But I have been trying out some of my new words.
It turns out I still have me a funny little accent. The three Indian men in my daily life, Raju, Ravi, and Kahn all have a hard time understanding just exactly what it is I am trying to say. When they slow down their ears – they can understand most of it. It is a lesson in slow for all of us.
I was leaving to go to the market the other day and Raju and Ravi taught me how to say goodbye – ta ta. Sounds like Tigger – hey, I can remember that. I can even spell it.
Then they tried to teach me how to say “take me to” Defence (this is not misspelled – remember the British influence here) Colony market. I don’t even remember the words they tried to teach me because I am blocking this from recent memory. They told me – I practiced – they laughed – I made them pinky swear they weren’t teaching me to call our driver a jerk – and I practiced again.
Then I got in the car
Me: Kahn and then “what (I thought) they taught me to say”
Kahn: Ma’am?
Me: Doesn’t that mean “I want to go to Defence Colony Market”?
Kahn: Ma’am?
Me: What did I just say?
Kahn: Defence Colony Ma’am?
Me: Okay. Defence Colony Market it is. Can we go there?
Kahn: Yes Ma’am.
Then our driver explains the market to me. He’ll park here and wait for me here. There are two sides. You go down the right and then come back up the right. He’ll wait here. Here is where he will be. Waiting for me. Ma’am.
Okay, it is not lost on me that he could not understand “I want to go to the market” but he could completely explain the market to me. Maybe I am just language retarded. Maybe falling out of a swing when I was little and hitting my head on cement really was something to be a wee bit more concerned about.
My teacher is coming back on Monday and you can be sure, my first lesson will be – I want to go to…….
You might remember the 1989 film in which Morgan Freeman plays a driver for an old stubborn Jewish woman in Atlanta. It takes a long time for the woman to be convinced that having a driver is a good thing and there are several scenes where they are shown slowly driving down unattended roads with few distractions. Ha. My riding in the car experience is not exactly “Driving Miss Daisy”.
Driving (or in my case “riding”) in Delhi is a unique experience. There is always a lot to see. It is never, ever boring. The first thing I noticed was the noise. It is VERY noisy. People honk their horns constantly. It means “move over, I am behind you and want to pass” or “hey, I was here first” or “it’s been too quiet for the last 5 seconds, I think I will honk my horn.” Some of the trucks even have signs on the back that say “honk, please”. This lets them know you are there. Even though it is a pretty good bet that someone is there – apparently, it’s good for them to know it’s you. There are some billboard signs that say “if you love Peace, don’t honk.”
The one thing I have not seen yet is road rage. People just seem to accept that it is crowded. Right of way is earned by the car that inches the furthest ahead. There are lines in the road – but I am not sure why. We have counted up to 7 vehicles across on a two-lane road. No, that is not really a great idea. Bikes, scooters, motorcycles, carts, tractors, pedestrians, cars, trucks, and buses all share the same roads. Sometimes there are beggars and animals in the middle of the road too – just to keep it interesting.
This is an auto rickshaw. It has a motor and three wheels. They have horns and certainly are not afraid to use them. They are smaller than a car but slightly more substantial than a motorcycle – so they are more nimble than the cars. They weave and bob through traffic with the best of them. I have counted up to 10 people in one of these – it’s not uncommon and no, I am not kidding.
More than one person can ride on a bike.
This is a rickshaw powered the old-fashioned way – with hard work. My Dad would say that it builds character. But, I do not hope to grow up to be a rickshaw driver. Many of them are barefoot.
Usually more than one person is riding in them. And it’s not necessarily that I am a horrible photographer – but it is often very hazy here. Okay, maybe the slightly blurry part was operator error.
Delhi is expanding its metro transportation system – so there is a lot of construction.
Your car will be side-swiped at some point. At least once. So far, we have had three traffic incidents. I consider it preparation for having teenaged drivers.
There are animals everywhere. Some of them are working – some are just wandering. This guy needs a hug.
This guy is delivering eggs somewhere. Did you know that eggs do not have to be refrigerated? Don’t worry – we still keep ours in the fridge. But they don’t have to be. I am just not willing to risk it. Hmmm.
Motorcycles can transport entire families.
Just maybe a scarf should not be worn on a motorcycle. But that is the way it is done here. Yes, this always makes me nervous.
Besides the poverty – this is one of the things that is the hardest for Western women to understand. Yes, you are seeing that right – she does not have a helmet on, her scarf is draping, and she is sitting side-saddled. And no, she is not holding on to him.
Indians seem to make the most of everything. A lot of people can fit in one car. I am always surprised when I see these cars so full of people and I always have to peek in. I never see children fighting over who is touching whom or parents drawing imaginary lines in the seat. I would love to know how they make that work.
Sometimes people will drive the wrong way down the road.
Sometimes trucks are overloaded. Would you like to buy a sweater?
Sometimes people just hitch a ride. Going my way?
Sometimes people walk down the side of the road with bundles of sticks on their heads.
Sometimes it’s baskets.
This is just a little teaser of all the things you can see while driving in India. I will share more later – but right now, I think your boss, wife, and/or kids might be calling. I know mine are!
As you probably have gathered, I have enjoyed exploring the markets in Delhi. They are full of interesting people, beautiful colors, and good deals. I thought I would share with you some of the pictures I have taken of food stands along the way.
But first I will give you some updates. You might remember that I spent $48 on a kilo of cherries. Yes, that was outrageous. They were yummy – but no cherries are that good. So it turns out that it was actually 2 kilos that I bought – no that doesn’t really make it sound any better. And the cherries were imported from Australia. I did not ask for their passport. But, I now know to ask for Indian fruits and vegetables. They are delicious and a heck of a lot cheaper. It helps to know what is in season. Apparently, cherries are currently in season in Australia – not India. I will wait until they start growing here to get more. I have also been told if each piece of fruit is individually packaged in a cute little wrapper it’s probably imported – translation – more expensive. I did not know that I WAS buying Italian apples. Grazie – but Indian apples are fine, thank you.
Since, my first trip to buy fresh veggies and fruit, I have gotten a lot smarter. On my last shopping spree, I got all of this for $7 – a head of lettuce, 4 tomatoes, 6 bananas, a pineapple, a small bunch of grapes, 3 very large carrots, a small carton of strawberries, and 4 apples. They were all from Indian farms.
I finally got back to the chicken market to take a picture – it’s the last one. Vegetarian anyone?
In the U.S., we have farmers markets and I loved shopping in them. But here, everything comes from a food stand and it’s all fresh. Enjoy.
This is a common site in Delhi and all around India.
I did not think the grapes looked that great here. But I finally decided to try some and they are fabulous.
Chestnuts (or peanuts) roasting on an open fire.
I am not sure what all is on this stand. But the colors are amazing.
We don’t eat the flowers – but the flower stands are everywhere and lovely.
I don’t buy our chicken meat here and I am not looking for a pet – but I wanted to show you that things really are very different here.
Yesterday morning I heard the words I knew I would hear while in India – it was just a matter of time – and they were the words I was dreading the most.
“Bear needs to go to the emergency room.”
Oh yeah. That sounds great. Do we even know where an emergency room is – and by “an” ER, I do mean the best emergency room in town. Yes the very best. And right now would be good. Thanks.
Off we go to Apollo Hospital. Someone told me that when I moved to India I should set ALL expectations aside. That was frankly the best advice I have received since we decided to move here. (Thanks Loco.)
Let me just put you at ease. Bear was not in danger. This was NOT a respiratory episode. He is very prone to getting bitten by mosquitoes and then he is even more prone to scratching them. In which they get extremely infected. He has a few bites on his arms. He has scratched them. They are infected.
We do not have a doctor here yet. On Monday, there is a meeting at the school where they plan to give us helpful information about how to obtain medical assistance – only, it’s not Monday yet.
Before you think I over-reacted, read on. So Hubby is talking to Bear and giving him some Benadryl. And for whatever reason, Bear leans over the couch and the back of his shirt lifts up. And there is the biggest, reddest, infected rash I have ever seen. Number One Hubby comes to tell me about it and starts by saying – don’t freak out. Yeah, good morning to you too dear.
So Bear comes and shows me – I do not freak out – he is breathing – that is good. There have been times when breathing has been a tremendous struggle for my little bear – I can handle this. This rash is about the size of a small pizza and, come to think of it, that’s about what it looks likes minus the cheese.
Hubby makes some calls. He takes the girls to school. Bear and I head to Apollo hospital. Luckily we have a driver who knows the way.
Two people from Hubby’s office meet us at the hospital and soon Hubby arrives. The people he works with have been tremendously supportive of our journey here. I think that we have had a much easier transition than most people experience because of their amazing help. Delhi is considered a hardship post by most companies.
So anyER, we get dropped off at the ER doors. We go in. It was a good thing I did not have expectations. It does not look like the ER that I am used to (yes, sadly, there is an ER that I am used to) – it is, as we say, different. The facilities looked old and, frankly, a little not so sparkly clean. The best way I can describe it was like the M.A.S.H. tv show – only it was inside. Nothing scared me – I was just glad I had no expectations.
However, the attendants were very helpful and walked us right back. Someone came out of the of “head of ER” office and snuck a quick peek. A phone call was made and we had an appointment with a dermatologist. In an hour and a half. That was different too. I am not used to that kind of helpful service. Thank you.
We went to the dermatologist’s office to wait – it was in the main section of the hospital. Bear said – this part looks better.
I thought – damn, he noticed that too. I agreed with him.
The waiting room had the same feel as the ER. Someone came over and told us that it was our turn. They did not call out Bear’s name. I wonder how they figured out which one he was. Hmmmmmm.
The doctor’s office was very small – desk right beside the exam table. The doctor used to live in Connecticut. He misses the U.S.
Enter a bonding moment – I just happen to miss the U.S. too.
He and hubby talked about hubby’s job – more bonding – we never felt rushed.
But we are here to talk about Bear. Don’t worry, I can direct traffic with the best of them and focused our conversation where it needed to be.
He looked Bear over – he felt very confident that he knew just what was wrong. Bear scratched his mosquito bites and they got infected. And then he was also allergic to some other environmental irritant and got another rash. It got infected. We have to be careful about what he eats and what he uses as toiletries. That should (not) be easy enough. We also got antibiotics, two soaps, and a couple of ointments.
The ride home went like this….
Me: I do not heart Delhi today
Hubby: This could have happened in the U.S.
Me: You are going to say that to me with a straight face
Hubby: He has had problems with mosquito bites before
Me: I do not heart Delhi today.
I try to keep things in perspective and this was not a major event in our lives. Bear is tired, his rash looks better, and he will be just fine. I never doubted that. Yesterday was just a reminder that I am not in my comfort zone. I very much liked my comfort zone. It was comfortable.
The reality check came when we were waiting for our prescriptions. A man came in who works for my husband. His wife was at the hospital in a coma. It seems that the scarf on her sari got caught in the wheel of her husband’s motorcycle and she was thrown to the ground and hit her head. Yes, I am counting my blessings and tomorrow I will have a fun story about another adventure in India.
Lots of people have commented that number one hubby has lost weight and they all want to know how he did it. I’ll say that he was certainly not jabba the b-u-t-t to begin with, but he has gone down at least two pants sizes since living in India.
He did not go on a diet and he did not start working out like a madman – but some things are different.
He also switched from regular soda to diet soda. Real men do drink diet soda and they lose weight – especially if they drink a lot of soda.
Then there is the fact that Indian cooking is mostly from scratch. And not the kind of scratch where you open a can of something and doctor it up a little. I mean really from scratch. Fresh everything – that means there is not a lot of salt in the food or preservatives.
Plus it’s hotter here. I think we sweat more. I don’t know if that helps but it doesn’t hurt.
And, even though McDonalds delivers here, there are no cheeseburgers or Big Macs. The fries are delish – but when you aren’t wolfing them down with a cheeseburger you don’t get as many calories.
Although, a lot of Indian people run 7-11’s in the U.S., there aren’t any here. So, sadly, no slurpees.
So it’s not magic – it’s fresh foods, less junk. You can see I am well on my way to being a scientist.
Note: And for those of you who know him, you will get a kick out of this – yesterday he started a yoga class. Anyone want to start a pool on how long that will last? hee hee
When I began writing this blog, I guess hoped it would challenge me as a writer but I never imagined that it would challenge me as a thinker. I just looked at it as a way to journal our experience, share it with friends, and remember the details we might otherwise forget. But, recently I wrote a post about my c-section experiences and I got a lot of feedback. Most of it was positive but a couple responses were pretty angry.
I firmly believe that everyone is entitled to their own opinion and I do see that many women feel traumatized by this surgery; however, I still do not understand why women are devastated by experiencing a cesarean birth. I am a “by any means necessary” kind of mom. Just get that baby safely here. And if you can do it quickly, even better. I hear that some women feel cheated because they believe doctors rush to do a c-section to avoid malpractice lawsuits. I have to say wait a minute on that one – malpractice lawsuits happen when something goes wrong – so if the doctor is trying to avoid a malpractice lawsuit, I fail to see why that is a bad thing.
But reading the responses made me want to dig deeper and uncover why I am so unscathed by my experiences. This what I came up with.
When we decided we were ready to be parents, my husband was excited – that means we get to try – a lot. I had other plans – sorry dear. I wanted a boy first – I have an older brother and he is my good luck charm. So I hoped if I ever had a girl, she would have an older brother. So, there is timing involved. My husband swore if we got pregnant the first month, I would be a single parent.
Me: Ooops. Count your blessings honey. Some people try for years.
Number One Hubby: Hmpf.
I had an easy pregnancy with Bear – but his birth – well that was a little more exciting. You can read here about how all three of my children were born in emergency situations. Yes, that surely tainted my judgment and fostered a lack of resentment. As I said, by any means necessary.
That first year went well. So, we started talking about adding to our family.
Hubby: Do we get to practice more this time?
Me: I’d like a girl this time. There is timing involved, you know.
Hubby: I’ll take that as a no.
Me: Well, we’ll see – I’d like to just try the first month.
Hubby: Remind me again how do you feel about single parenting.
We got very lucky again. Flower was born 23 months after Bear.
Then a year later, we thought about starting to talk again.
Me: I am pregnant
Hubby: What? How did that happen?
Me: (Looking at Flower and Bear)
Hubby: Yeah, I know that. But, does that mean we don’t even get to pretend like we are going to practice?
Doctor: Something is not right.
Baby Doe never made it completely into our family. I don’t know if Baby Doe was a boy or girl. S/he wasn’t with us long enough to get a name, just a place in our hearts. Baby Doe did not make it very far. We lost Baby Doe early. The first sonogram showed that our baby was measuring too small and there was not a heartbeat. Let’s wait about 10 days and see what happens. Maybe you aren’t as far along as you think you are.
Hmmmmmm. 10 days as in 240 hours as in 14,400 minutes as in, literally, a lifetime. Baby Doe’s lifetime.
My HCG levels were rising at encouraging levels. That got me through 10 very long days. But the second sonogram showed no growth, no heartbeat. My body, not realizing what was not happening, did absolutely nothing. So, I was scheduled for a DNC.
It is hard to capture those feelings. Not everyone knew I was pregnant – although I am glad I had told my family and close friends. Otherwise the loss would have been a silent one.
The people who were most concerned about our loss were people who had experienced the same loss themselves. I do feel it much more deeply for others now too. Miscarriages seem so unattended. So nameless and faceless and lonely. Solitary.
It’s not that often that I think of our miscarriage – remember I try to focus on the gifts not the disappointments – although writing about our experience made me shiver a little. There is certainly an emptiness in the experience. Writing about it takes me to the softness in my heart where sadness echoes memories that were never meant to be. I think I was lucky that I was able to grieve our loss when it happened. So many women fight the sadness and move on a little too quickly. I did not have a choice. It was overwhelming and empty. Grief came to me in the quiet moments I was alone and allowed myself to think of what was not to be.
We never knew what exactly happened – just that something must have been very, very wrong.
We were told to wait a few months before trying again. Physically and Emotionally. Not me. Thank you. We started trying soon after. Hubby didn’t even ask about practicing. It was not as fun this time.
Six months with no luck and we decided we should count our blessings. Two children – one boy, one girl. We are very lucky. We can stop here.
Hubby scheduled an appointment for a vasectomy and was on his way to it when another doctor called him. He needed to go to his parents’ house immediately. His father was not doing well.
That following week my father-in-law passed away from a long, hard-fought battle with lung cancer. We had his funeral on a Wednesday and on the following Friday was Flower’s second birthday. I felt funny. Exhausted. Not really that hungry. Pregnant. But we had a lot to do and Hubby was just overwhelmed. I decided to wait until after the party to share the news.
My mother-in-law graciously asked us to continue with Flower’s party. She thought it would be nice to have something happy to do. She was right. It was lovely and a very nice diversion. Toward the end of the party, I heard hubby declaring our intent to be a two-child family. He laughed and joked. But his bottom line – “we are done.”
After everyone left, I asked him to sit down.
Me: We aren’t exactly done.
Hubby: Huh? Again with the no practicing?
Me: Apparently.
The first sonogram did not go well. We had to wait 10 days again. Luckily this time it was not a lifetime. Although it felt like one.
The second sonogram went great. The message typed on the screen was “send pizza”. Does that mean you see a heartbeat? Yes.
Some of my tests showed abnormal results and I ended up having an amnio. Everything tested fine and we knew for sure we were being blessed with another daughter. But something about a miscarriage can leave you questioning your entire pregnancy. What will happen this time? Will she be okay? We have all heard too many stories.
So, when I was in a car accident the day Angel was born and I heard very scary words in triage, I still was very unsure I would get to meet her. Hold her. Luckily for me and her, we both came out of surgery just fine. Three weeks early. Her little gift to me. Thanks honey!
I feel so blessed that my children are with me. That we survived pregnancy together. So, when I hear someone lament their c-section story, I don’t share their loss – even if we share similar scars. My scar is a physical reminder that I am blessed – it is a badge of honor. Some scars I guess are more emotional. And I understand they might not ever heal. I have sympathy for that sense of loss but, clearly, perspectives are different. I am not sure why they are unable to simply soak in the gift they have been given. Just look at their child and see that great fortune was delivered right into their arms via their heart – by any means necessary. As for me, I plan to continuing appreciating what is and forgive whatever was not.
I had seen this sign once before – but I did not have my camera – dang it. I was so hoping that I would see it again and that I would have camera in hand. Wah Lah!
I have to wonder if the threat of embarrassing yourself is really a deterrent against traffic crimes. If so, how lovely! In the U.S., I am afraid this sign might actually serve as encouragement…..
The Indian Express is a newspaper and a journalist from the paper named Shoba wrote an article about expats who are blogging in India. Are you serious? Yes, I am – she included my blog in her article.
A lot of people curious about just how much less expensive it is to live here. Well, it really just depends…..
Housing
Our rent here is a good bit more expensive than our mortgage in the states. We lived in a fairly expensive area in the States. Not in a fancy pants, outrageously expensive area – but a fairly expensive area.
Utilities
Cable, internet, and mobile phones are much cheaper than in the U.S. My mobile phone bill last month was $8. Cable and internet are about $14 per month – that’s combined, not each.
Domestic Help
We do not pay our driver and cook directly so I am not exactly sure what their salaries are. But I know it is a lot cheaper to have help in Indian than in the U.S. Our cook works from 11am – 8:30p – that’s Monday thru Saturday. He also does the laundry and some of the grocery shopping. Our house cleaner works 4 hours a day – that’s also Monday thru Saturday. They both also get money for transportation. Sometimes domestic help will live in quarters near the family they are working for. Ours do not do that.
Produce
As long as you are buying fruits and vegetables that are in season and are not imported, produce is very inexpensive. Very inexpensive.
Recognizable snacks
Not such a great deal. A bag of goldfish crackers is about $4. But worth every penny. You cannot get Pizza Goldfish here and that is a bummer. You can find many brand names for prepackaged foods that you would recognize. They are about double what you would pay in the U.S. You cannot find everything you want, but there is certainly enough to get by on – especially when friends and family will send you a box of surprises every now and then. (Thank you friends and family!)
Soda is about the same price as in the U.S.
Chocolate chips and canned frosting are two things that we have not been able to find. It’s interesting because you can get cake mixes – but no icing. We also cannot find tortilla chips. Enter very sad face here. We love tortilla chips.
Activities for the kids
There are simply not as many options for the kids here to do sports – so yes, we are saving money there.
The middle school offers free activities like ultimate frisbee and rock climbing and ping pong after school. Something is available every day for Bear.
The elementary school offers activities like knitting, fun with aquatics, jump rope, recycled art, and many others. Each class is once a week and they are $30 for an 8-week session.
Flower and Bear are running track thru the school. So far, that has been free. We did have to agree to host visiting athletes for the track meet in April. We are looking forward to that.
Clothing There are lots of markets where you can buy inexpensive clothing but clothes for preteens seem to be hard to find. We have had an impossible time finding shorts for our daughters.
There are very nice malls – they are equivalent to the prices in the U.S. We had to buy our daughter a pair of shoes for track – they were $70. No that is not a great deal. But I have gotten some lovely light weight kurtas (Indian style shirts) for $4. Yes, that is a great deal.
I will say the quality of the less expensive items is – well, you get what you pay for. Those items are not going to last a lifetime. But they will be very fun to wear while they last.
Doctors
When we went to the dermatologist for our son, our visit was $16. That is about what you would pay for an insurance co-pay in the U.S. However, that was the entire cost without any insurance.
His follow-up visit was $10.
Medicines
We got Bear antibiotics for 5 days, antibiotic ointment, an antihistamine, and soaps for $24. Again, that was the total cost. No insurance co-pays. All of it was only $24.
Cat food/litter
Outrageous. But what are you going to do?
Eating Out
That is just like anywhere. It can be expensive or not so bad.
Two large pan pizzas at Pizza Hut are $16. Our whole family can eat at McDonalds for $12 – and, have I mentioned that McDonalds delivers? But the nicer the restaurant, the more expensive it is. We went to lunch at a restaurant at the mall and the bill was $80 for lunch. Yes, we are going to Pizza Hut next time.
Gas
I fortunately do not have to drive – so I do not fill up the car with gas. But I will not be complaining about the prices of gas in the U.S. anymore.
Fresh Flowers
Lillies are expensive here too - probably not as much as in the U.S., but relatively speaking they are more expensive than the other flowers – carnations and a lot of other flowers are very inexpensive. There are a lot of flower stands rich with beautiful blooms.
Yoga Lessons
The instructor comes to our house and it costs 3000 rupees a month for 2 lessons a week. That’s about $60 for the month.
Hindi Lessons
The instructor comes to our house and it is 500 rupees per lesson – about $10 per hour. I have a friend who joins me sometimes – when she comes, it is 800 rupees.
I am sure they are things I have forgotten – if you are curious about something – just let me know!
A while ago, I mentioned that they have little bitty coke cans here and I promised to post a picture of one. You can stop holding your breath, it is finally here. It may not seem as adorable via my blog as it does in person, but it really is cute. I am not sure what the difference between Diet Coke and Coke Light is – maybe the Coke Light is, well, lighter.
Today was a blast! We got to jump right into Indian culture and celebrated the Holi holiday! Yahoo!
Here is the legend of Holi.
“There are many legends given as the reason for celebrating ‘Holi’. There is one popular legend that is reputed to bring about the birth of ‘Holi’. It seems that long ago there was an evil king named King Hiranyakasipu. His son, prince Prahlad however was very holy and often prayed to God and this infuriated his father. One day, the wicked king ordered his sister, the demon Holika, to kill his son. The demon Holika, who was immune to fire, captured prince Prahlad and entered a fire furnace. She had done this to kill the prince, however it was her who was burnt to ashes. Prince Prahlad was safe and was not burnt at all. The legend goes that before the demon aunt died, she begged for prince Prahlad’s forgiveness and the prince forgave her and announced that her name would be remembered once a year. Thus the festival ‘Holi’ was created.” (This info came direclty from this website http://www.essortment.com/all/whatishinduho_rksm.htm.)
But the bottom line is, you get to throw colors and water balloons at each other and spray each other with water guns. And if you know us, you know this holiday has our name written all over it.
This is what our kids did to our deck before our home renovation.
These young men greeted us this morning with water balloons and sprayed colored water at us. We do not know them – we’ll probably never see them again – but they made us feel a part of this wonderful celebration. It seems if you walk outside on Holi, you are fair game. Bring it!
Then our landlord colored our faces with spices – a kindler, gentler way to celebrate Holi. I was told that if you share colors with someone it means that you have no anomosity between you – that is lovely.
There is a concern with the types of colors that are shared and where the water comes from. Apparently some of the colors contain lead or acid. So, just to be on the safer side, we celebrated Holi at the American Embassy Club.
If you are in India for Holi, you need these things….
clothes you don’t care about
Henna based colors to throw
water guns
water balloons
Don’t worry about a smile – that will take care of itself.
It was a blast and we are adding this to our list of family traditions. Watch out Glen – Holi is coming to a summer near you!
I took a personality test and found out that I am (still) an ENFP personality type. The test is a shortened version of the Myers Briggs personality test and you can take it for free here.
NOTE – I forgot to mention that I found this on Deep’s website who found it on Roop’s website. Thanks for sharing!
This is what I learned about myself. You can tune out now if you don’t really care – it’s pretty long – but if you take the test – let me know what you found out about you.
ENFPs are warm, enthusiastic people, typically very bright and full of potential. They live in the world of possibilities, and can become very passionate and excited about things. Their enthusiasm lends them the ability to inspire and motivate others, more so than we see in other types. They can talk their way in or out of anything. They love life, seeing it as a special gift, and strive to make the most out of it.
ENFPs have an unusually broad range of skills and talents. They are good at most things which interest them. Project-oriented, they may go through several different careers during their lifetime. To onlookers, the ENFP may seem directionless and without purpose, but ENFPs are actually quite consistent, in that they have a strong sense of values which they live with throughout their lives. Everything that they do must be in line with their values. An ENFP needs to feel that they are living their lives as their true Self, walking in step with what they believe is right. They see meaning in everything, and are on a continuous quest to adapt their lives and values to achieve inner peace. They’re constantly aware and somewhat fearful of losing touch with themselves. Since emotional excitement is usually an important part of the ENFP’s life, and because they are focused on keeping “centered”, the ENFP is usually an intense individual, with highly evolved values.
An ENFP needs to focus on following through with their projects. This can be a problem area for some of these individuals. Unlike other Extraverted types, ENFPs need time alone to center themselves, and make sure they are moving in a direction which is in sync with their values. ENFPs who remain centered will usually be quite successful at their endeavors. Others may fall into the habit of dropping a project when they become excited about a new possibility, and thus they never achieve the great accomplishments which they are capable of achieving.
Most ENFPs have great people skills. They are genuinely warm and interested in people, and place great importance on their inter-personal relationships. ENFPs almost always have a strong need to be liked. Sometimes, especially at a younger age, an ENFP will tend to be “gushy” and insincere, and generally “overdo” in an effort to win acceptance. However, once an ENFP has learned to balance their need to be true to themselves with their need for acceptance, they excel at bringing out the best in others, and are typically well-liked. They have an exceptional ability to intuitively understand a person after a very short period of time, and use their intuition and flexibility to relate to others on their own level.
Because ENFPs live in the world of exciting possibilities, the details of everyday life are seen as trivial drudgery. They place no importance on detailed, maintenance-type tasks, and will frequently remain oblivous to these types of concerns. When they do have to perform these tasks, they do not enjoy themselves. This is a challenging area of life for most ENFPs, and can be frustrating for ENFP’s family members.
An ENFP who has “gone wrong” may be quite manipulative – and very good it. The gift of gab which they are blessed with makes it naturally easy for them to get what they want. Most ENFPs will not abuse their abilities, because that would not jive with their value systems.
ENFPs sometimes make serious errors in judgment. They have an amazing ability to intuitively perceive the truth about a person or situation, but when they apply judgment to their perception, they may jump to the wrong conclusions.
ENFPs who have not learned to follow through may have a difficult time remaining happy in marital relationships. Always seeing the possibilities of what could be, they may become bored with what actually is. The strong sense of values will keep many ENFPs dedicated to their relationships. However, ENFPs like a little excitement in their lives, and are best matched with individuals who are comfortable with change and new experiences.
Having an ENFP parent can be a fun-filled experience, but may be stressful at times for children with strong Sensing or Judging tendancies. Such children may see the ENFP parent as inconsistent and difficult to understand, as the children are pulled along in the whirlwind life of the ENFP. Sometimes the ENFP will want to be their child’s best friend, and at other times they will play the parental authoritarian. But ENFPs are always consistent in their value systems, which they will impress on their children above all else, along with a basic joy of living.
ENFPs are basically happy people. They may become unhappy when they are confined to strict schedules or mundane tasks. Consequently, ENFPs work best in situations where they have a lot of flexibility, and where they can work with people and ideas. Many go into business for themselves. They have the ability to be quite productive with little supervision, as long as they are excited about what they’re doing.
Because they are so alert and sensitive, constantly scanning their environments, ENFPs often suffer from muscle tension. They have a strong need to be independent, and resist being controlled or labelled. They need to maintain control over themselves, but they do not believe in controlling others. Their dislike of dependence and suppression extends to others as well as to themselves.
ENFPs are charming, ingenuous, risk-taking, sensitive, people-oriented individuals with capabilities ranging across a broad spectrum. They have many gifts which they will use to fulfill themselves and those near them, if they are able to remain centered and master the ability of following through.
If you haven’t heard of Dr. Kiran Bedi – put your seat belt on. I had the amazing opportunity to hear her speak last week and I wanted to share her story with you.
First all all, she is not even 5 feet tall, but she stands like a giant in a room. She has a presence – you can truly feel her enter the room. She was running a little bit late (not surprising – when you are changing the world, you can’t always be on time) and seriously, the whole dynamic of the room changed the second she entered it. It did not become hushed – but energized. We moved to the side a little and she walked to the podium soaking us all in. As if she was there to learn from us – it was so interesting. She laughed that women are women – always talking, always laughing. She seems to take in every moment – acknowledge every smile.
She began her talk by saying that her job has always been to spread cheer. In every aspect of her life, she aims to spread cheer. Not to necessarily move mountains or shatter barriers, simply to spread cheer. Although the result of her spreading cheer has certainly been mountains moving and barriers shattering and much, much cheer spreading.
Kiran Bedi began her career in 1972 when she joined the Indian Police Service. She was the first woman to do so. She made so many waves and captured enough positive media attention that it was decided that she should take 9 months paid leave. Dr. Bedi said it was during that time that she began to write down her stories. She has published several books including “I Dare”, “It’s Always Possible”, and “What Went Wrong”.
Then someone wised up and decided that Dr. Bedi should not be paid for not working and put her in charge of the Tihar prison. I guess they thought that they would show her. Ha. She was given the position of Inspector General of Prisons for Tihar jail. It housed over 10,000 inmates. If I remember correctly, Tihar houses every type of criminal and even houses a maximum security area. It is one of the world’s largest prison complexes. You can check out its website here – it is unlike any prison I have heard of before. First of all they have a factory where inmates work and learn a trade – like pottery, weaving, paper making, baking, etc. Now, there’s an idea.
During Kiran Bedi’s time at the prison (which I believe was only two years), she made radical and effective changes. The repeat offender rate of the Tihar jail inmates is significantly lower than most prisons across the world. She walked the prison floors everyday and interacted with the prisoners – no one had ever done that before. Previous Inspector Generals seemed to have stayed very far away from the actual task at hand. They found their air conditioned offices much more comfortable than being inside the prison walls. Everything was disconnected.
Immediately upon arriving, she saw drastic change was necessary to give the prisoners a sense of hope and humanness.
One of the first things she did was instituted a daily meditation ritual. She would pray with the prisoners every day. Dr. Bedi feels that this is what western prisons are lacking. It is easy to get too caught up in spirituality being religion and then conflict ensues. She said that meditation (spirituality) allows a person time to reflect – time to learn that the path they are on might not be working so well. She said we all need time to think about our choices. Daily meditation allows that – daily prayer offers hope. Both are essential for reform and rehabilitation.
This is one of my favorite parts of her story. She saw in the rules that “transistors, watches, and books were not permitted, unless permitted.” So she simply permitted them. She did not need a high court decision or a council meeting or a vote – she simply wrote down on a piece of lovely green paper that transistors, books, and watches are now permitted and she thumb-tacked it up on a bulletin board. Brilliant.
She gave prisoners back the privilege of having watches and transistor radios because she did not want them disconnected from the outside world. She felt that if the inmates were unaware of what was happening outside of their walls, it would further alienate them when they returned to society.
Dr. Bedi also gave the prisoners books. She said she would visit local schools at the end of the year and take away their discarded text books. Talk about trash to treasure! She had many volunteers who would come in and teach classes. Companies would donate school supplies. Many of the inmates pursued degrees of various levels.
She realized the medical costs of running a prison were eating into her budget. So she declared the prison a smoke-free environment. She felt the poisons from cigarettes were damaging not just the physical health of the prisoners, but their mental health as well. She was concerned about the effect of second-hand smoke, so she simply said “no more”. And she saw a dramatic decrease in her medical expenses. Tuberculosis cases significantly decreased.
She was not without sympathy for the withdrawal symptoms the prisoners would face and instituted detox facilities. She also listened intently to the prisoners concerns that smoking was “all they had”. She asked them for alternative solutions but together they could not come up with a viable answer. So, Tihar remains a non-smoking environment.
In India, women can take their children to prison with them. My understanding is that there is not a social welfare system in India and there is great concern when children are separated from their mothers – no good can come from that. So the children often go with. Dr. Bedi started a preschool program for the children. Some of the women in the prison were interested in learning to be childcare providers – so they learned by watching the children in the prison. The mothers of those children could either take school classes or weaving classes.
When the children turn about 6 years old, their mothers can choose to send them to a boarding school where they get a proper education. Even if the mother is released from prison, the children can stay enrolled in school.
I asked Dr. Bedi if some women commit crimes just to have their children get these advantages. She simply said “sure”.
Dr. Bedi also instituted a petition box where the prisoners could share their concerns and complaints. She gave them a voice.
The thing that amazed me most about Dr. Bedi was the joy she described in every single thing. She truly seems to have no complaints whatsoever. She took being put on leave as an opportunity to write. She described the note that she posted on a bulletin board about watches and transitors being allowed and smiled so genuinely about the lovely soft shade of green the paper was. She laughed about the cobwebs and the rats that infested her not-so-new office at the prison. She joked that she challenged the rats to see who would be there longer.
I had the opportunity to have lunch with Dr. Bedi and four other ladies after her talk. Dr. Bedi has advised government leaders and been invited to speak to the United Nations. She has her own television show that is similar to Judge Judy – but with more of a slant on teaching the law and explaining its nuances to Indian citizens. She is famous here. More than famous. It was a treat to have such a small audience with her.
One of the women asked her what Dr. Bedi thought was the reason for her tremendous success. I know the answer. She is letting her life take her where she is meant to be and she is finding joy along every step of the way. There are no obstacles, only opportunities. She strives to improve her life. She has recently given up eating meat because she was trying to find what else she could do to become a better person.
One of the other things she said that I found so interesting was that institutions will survive us all. So, we must work to make institutions that mean something, that have a positive influence on the world – long after we are gone. When she left lunch with us, she was off to attend a meeting with people who are working to start a taxi business for women drivers.
She is changing the world and she is spreading cheer.
In the U.S. things are cleaner and more organized and, in many ways, less interesting. One thing I will say about India is that it is NEVER, EVER boring. India is rich with history and stories. These pictures were taken in Lodhi Gardens in Delhi. Right there among the jogging paths and homeless dogs and gorgeous flowers are these historic buildings.
Sometimes things in India are a tad more complicated than they need be – this sign basically says – don’t mess with the monument.
And you can clearly see why India does not want its monuments messed with. They are stunning.
Now you know what this tomb is.
This seems to be part of a very cool fort – complete with towers and nooks and crannies.
A few posts ago, I mentioned that my husband had lost some weight and that he started yoga. As if moving across the world wasn’t enough, he wanted me to try yoga too. I can now check “yoga” off my list of things I want to try – and just to be clear, it was never on the list. But this is an adventure, so sign me up. I have now participated in survived 3 classes.
We were doing classes first thing in the morning – that proved to be a little too hectic – and a little too early – I fail to see why being awake before the sun is a good approach to anything – so yesterday, we began doing classes at night. It was much better. And I really believe it helped me sleep better. Sleep has not been coming easy to me in India.
I prepared for our class by eating 4 pieces of chocolate. The Hersheys milk chocolate chunks with almonds and toffee. My own little slice of nirvana. Hey, you say yoga – I say chocolate. It’s all good.
Our instructor walks in and we sit down on the ground. And we start breathing – is this new age? People have been breathing for centuries. Okay. I’ll be quiet. I am officially breathing. In. Out. In. Out. I think I am done here. I can breathe. In. Out.
Oh no, that is not all my little yoga friend. Stand up.
It appears that Number One Hubby and I are not exactly ready for “real” yoga because we aren’t what you would call flexible. So we are in yoga preschool and we are basically only allowed to do stretching at this point. Baby steps.
So we start off with some good old fashioned arm wind mills. One at a time. Big Circles. It is sadly not as easy as I remember it being in PE. Then we do both arms together. Then that damn instructor says the words I dread the most in yoga.
Reverse.
Bastard.
Let me just tell you that it’s not really that easy to move forward for us – yes we are out of shape – but reverse. That is a whole can of yoga kick ass.
We survived the wind mills and then do a few other standing up things.
Instructor: Lay down. Relax. Focus on your breathing.
Me: Oh, this is my favorite part.
Instructor: Oh?
Me: Yes, relaxing.
Hubby: You are going to get us kicked out of class. SHHHHH.
Instructor: Ha Ha funny lady – you will pay for that later.
I am frankly a little nervous about upsetting him. God forbid he has a blog and writes about his “problem” students. Or even worse, he gets us in some strange position, relaxes us, and then walks out the door – leaving us to untangle ourselves. So I decide to behave as best I can.
We relax for a minute – but then the yoga game is back on. More stretching. I heard a lot of cracking and popping. I thought the kids were asleep – but who is making microwave popcorn. Silly me – that is my husband’s bones. Crack. Pop.
Seriously, it was crazy. He is a very athletic guy but apparently he has never been flexible. At all. He cannot reach past his knees when trying to touch his toes. Yoga is painful for him. But he does already feel a difference. I am constantly entertained. Yes, he surely loves that about me.
Now it’s time for the one-legged bicycle. One leg. Now the other Leg. Together. Now both legs in tandem together – knees locked together.
Reverse.
Bastard.
I know you are laughing. But get down on the floor and try it. The reverse bicycle with your legs together is not easy.
So, then we roll over on our tummys. Now I can see just how dirty the floor is. And I start wondering if the instructor would mind if I took a few notes – I am so blogging about this and I don’t want to forget anything. And I need to write a note to self – no potato chips in the family room after Ravi has swept for the day. Marble floors are not a friend to potato chip crumbs. And there is a lot of cat hair. I guess the cats are shedding. Yippee.
While still on our tummys, we are to hold our arms and legs straight out -lifted as high as we can get them and put our heads straight back. Oh, and I have another favorite word – Hold. This word can make time stand still. It has magical powers. A minute instantly becomes 5 hours. Be careful how you use it.
Then we have to hold one leg up while turning our head to the opposite side.
Instructor: Right leg.
Instructor: Right leg.
Instructor: No really, start with your right leg.
Instructor: Your other left, please.
Okay, the whole premise behind yoga is being flexible – I say in body and in spirit – if number one hubby and I are both yoga retarded and start with our left leg, just go with it. No need to make us feel stupid – we’re just in preschool, remember? You are going to say switch in just a minute and then we’ll be busy with our right leg. During this little diddy, we put our head to the opposite side (near our armpit) and stretch. Now I find out that maybe it wasn’t just the driver who smelled a little ripe today. Hmmmm.
We do a few more stretches – some of which are hilarious but I lack the skills to adequately describe them. After I clear note taking with our instructor, I will ask if photography is allowed. And then I will get back to you. Until then, just think circus performer.
Now it is time to sit up. I have Meniere’s – I will surely bore you with the details of that little adventure in another post – but suffice it to say that my inner ear is out of whack. I get a mad headache when I sit up from these laying on the ground stretches and I feel very nauseous.
Luckily we are almost done. A few more breathing exercises and we can go to bed. So for our last breathing exercise, we hold our fingers over one side of our nose and breath in. Then we close off that side and breath out the other side. Then Reverse. And Repeat. Reverse. Repeat. Reverse. Repeat. Yes, “repeat” is important with breathing. See I am learning something.
This is either preparing us for some serious drug use – or clearing our minds and souls. I am sure it is the latter – but I have never snorted anything through my nose but nasal sprays – so it seems a little strange to me.
I think I might start my own form of yoga – how does this sound -
You lay in a lounge chair – perhaps with a pillow
You close your eyes so you do not see dirt or cat hair
You let your lungs and nose do what they were meant to do – all on their own
You stretch to the right – or left – and you pick up a frozen drink
You slowly bring the straw to your lips
Repeat
No need to reverse
Just repeat, repeat, repeat.
If you must have something spinning – twirl that pretty umbrella that comes in the drink.
Yoga did help me get a better night’s sleep – it has helped me realize how sadly out of shape I am – it makes my muscles quiver – and it makes me nauseous. So I will be doing it again on Thursday.
When I was in college, I was in a sorority and we would have roundtable discussions – where we were free to voice our opinions and let others know what was bothering us. But in the spirit of sisterhood, we were not allowed to specifically mention another sister’s name. So we would start our discussion with “sister x” did this or “sister x” should really think about this. Well let me tell you about “cook x”.
Anyone who has lived in India for at least 5 minutes has a domestic staff story to tell – so the fact that it has taken us 7 weeks to earn our story to share is probably pretty good.
Number One Hubby hired our cook the week before the kids and I got here. He speaks good English, cooks American food, irons clothes well, and was supposed to have making bread as his specialty. He agreed to cook, clean, and do laundry for a family of five. And he promised to make yummy homemade bread. (The way to our family’s heart is with with yummy homemade bread.)
Enter a family of five.
First day:
Oh boss, I cannot cook, clean, and do laundry for a family of five. And, I need a raise. Yes, on his first day.
So, we continued with Ravi who was cleaning just for hubby. He comes in for 4 hours a day and is thorough and unassuming and very kind. So, that’s okay. We like him and not having to let him go was okay with us. Now cook does not have to clean.
We even gave the cook a raise. A 20% raise. We liked him too. (Just in case you are new at this whole staff thing – apparently, you start with someone on a temporary basis and a lower salary – then after a few weeks, if you plan to keep them, you give them a raise. We got to the whole raise thing a little early.)
So then he asks for us to include bus fare in his salary. This is really not a big deal because bus fare usually does not run more than $20 a month (and that is on the high end). So, bus fare it is. I think it might have been $10 for our cook.
We did not pack our kitchen up and bring it with us. We have just gotten things as we realized we need them. There has not been one thing he asked for that I did not get. Not one.
From what I can gather, domestic staff usually work about a 12 hour day in India. Our cook generally worked a 9-hour day and had most Saturdays off completely – or if he worked, he just worked a few hours.
Then our cook’s wife started a new job and they were moving. So we gave our cook several days off of work to move and coordinate moving.
Along with the move came the need for a security deposit. I don’t know if you just heard the collective gasp rolling across Delhi – but the number one rule in having domestic staff is to NEVER lend them money.
We lent him money. I know, I know!
He was to pay it back over 5 months. Honestly, I will not regret this decision. We immediately agreed that it was the right thing to do. It was not so much money that it was life changing to us – but it was for our cook – and it helped him get a roof over his head. So, we did it – and, yes, we would most likely do it again.
Our cook was not happy with our smaller washing machine – so we have ordered a larger one. Our cook was not happy with our fridge – so we got a larger one.
Finally, our cook’s new digs did not have drinking water – so every night he would take lots of water home with him. We were happy to let him do that.
And quite possibly the straw the broke the camel’s back – the cook never made the promised bread for hubby. That was not a good idea. A fresh, warm loaf of homemade bread forgives a multitude of sins.
So, what I am saying is – he had it pretty good.
Or at least we thought so. Apparently he did not agree. He wanted a uniform allowance. Which is not uncommon – but we felt that we had given quite a bit already. (Again, if you are new to having staff – what I have found out is that it is normal to give domestic staff a clothing allowance for summer and fall. And a bonus at Diwali. But that the clothing allowance generally comes after they have been with you for 6 months or so.)
Hubby said no. Here is a note to staff – perhaps it is prudent to begin paying back the one month’s salary before you ask for a uniform allowance. Just think about it – ‘kay? Especially if you are new to the family.
Then he asked hubby again. The hubby said no – again.
Hubby is not impressed with having to say no again.
Our cook has been working for us for about 5 weeks at this point.
Then our cook asks me. Here is a second note to staff. If my hubby says no to you twice – I am not going to say yes. I err on the side of hubby. Period.
I told him he had to talk to the boss about it – that was his department – I can tell him what we want for dinner – that is my department.
Hubby overheard him ask me. Note to staff number 3 – it is not wise to try to win the wife over in earshot of the hubby. Not very wise at all.
So hubby comes into the kitchen and gives me a way out of the conversation. Thank you hubby.
But hubby is not done with the conversation.
Hubby outlines all of the things we have done. Cook tells hubby that hubby just does not care and that the wife is more understanding. Do I need to insert the fourth note to staff here – I bet I don’t – I bet you know all by your lonesome just what it is.
Needless to say, after talking in circles with our cook, my hubby invited our cook to leave and walked him out the gate.
It turns out that our cook had been bad-mouthing us to our driver and Ravi. They both are happy that he is gone. We both felt bad about letting our cook go – until we heard this. Note to staff number 5 – do not bad mouth your boss to the other people who work for him. They will sell you out. Quickly.
So, while I will miss his pasta salad, I now have a domestic staff story. We have two leads on new staff people – and you know I will let you know how it goes!
Today, with no one but me to do laundry, I actually folded some clothes. I opened my daughters’ dresser drawer to put away a shirt – I shifted some things around to make room – and I was almost knocked over by the softest, gentlest breeze of fresh air I have ever felt and smelled. I swear it whisked my bangs away from my eyes. My head tilted back. My eyes closed. My imagination took me across oceans. There might have even been angels singing. Oh heaven. The commercials are true! Fabric softener does make your clothes smell like a spring breeze.I might just buy stock in Downy.
There must have been something in that drawer that my daughters have decided is not India worthy. It has been left unworn, untainted at the bottom of their drawer. And it is the only thing we have left that still smells like home. (Well, to be fair, the cat litter still smells the same – but somehow it just doesn’t compare.)
Our bath towels have long ago lost the softness and smell of home – their loving feeling. Now I get my loofa scrub when I get out of the shower and dry off with a towel that has been hung out to dry.
So I stood at the drawer for a minute and I thought. Think. Think. Think. There must be something I can do. So I decided to conduct a little experiment.
My blog friend at Mr. Smith Goes to Delhi had told me that dryer sheets were hard to find here. But what she didn’t say was dryers were harder to find. So, I did bring some dryer sheets with me. But, alas, we don’t have a dryer – well, unless you call God sneezing a dryer, but at least we don’t have a dryer that utilizes dryer sheets. So, they have sat unused on top of our washer. Until today. I put two in the washer with my towels. They did come out smelling nicer than they have been smelling. They are drying now and I will let you know how it goes.
P.S. I know some of you are thinking – they have fabric softener in Delhi – just buy some of that. Here is where you have to have lived somewhere that has a Tide laundry detergent/Downy fabric softener combination available to use with your laundry. And you have to have been somewhere where dryers aren’t uncommon. And you have to have smelled clothes that come out of the dryer toasty warm smelling of that combination. It’s similar to fresh bread coming out of the oven – except it’s fresh bread that you can wrap around your body. Soft, warm, spongy fresh bread with melted butter on it. And your doctor just insisted that you must stop the ridiculous dieting right now and gain 5 pounds already. See what I mean? Heaven!
And, yes, I have seen Tide here. But it comes in very small packages and it is expensive. So, please remember, I have three children who would like to go to college at some point. India has convinced them that being homeless is not the career path they hope to follow. So they might have to suffer through scratchy clothes in order for us to pay tuition. If I decide they aren’t actually college material, bring on the Tide – but that is yet to be determined.
Those of you who know me, know that I know my way around a craft table. Pass me that glue gun. STAT.
So when I heard my daughter’s class was going to the craft museum, I just might have pushed a mom out of the way to get in line. Okay, not really, but I might have if I needed to.
So I went with 100 4th graders to the craft museum. They were well-behaved and, for the most part, interested in seeing the displays. Flower walked with me (almost) the whole time. It was a lovely afternoon.
We did not walk around with a guide, so I do not know what all the pictures represent or what era they are from. You might not learn much here, but they are fun to look through.
These are dolls – yes, I am sure you could tell that yourself. But just in case.
No, this is not a picture of my children – it was an exhibit. If you cannot behave yourself, I am not going to show you anymore pictures.
This is my new throne. My traveling throne.
This is my traveling throne when I am not feeling quite as royal.
This is what number one hubby and I look like doing yoga. And yes, we have come so far that we can balance ourselves on the ledge of a window. Actually I think these are musicians, but that wasn’t as funny.
This cloth is embroidered – it was stunning.
I really have no idea. But isn’t it cool?
This was one of the outside walls. It has dimension which I didn’t quite capture, but just imagine the white parts being raised up a bit.
I was eavesdropping – I mean the people next to me were talking really loudly – so I found out that this is a wedding mural. I believe the groom is the blue guy with two heads. No, I do not have a comment on that.
I know it’s bad to steal and, let me be clear, I do not steal – but if I was gonna – whoa!
This dog is not an exhibit – but you can hardly go anywhere in Delhi without seeing stray dogs. They are part of the experience.
This little boy’s mom was a craft vendor. She was exhibiting her talents and selling her craft items. She was a weaver and he simply spun himself around my heart. He is just beautiful and I absolutely fell in love with him.
I have a blog friend – Loco – who writes about his adventures as a black American living and teaching in Japan. I really enjoy his blog – but I enjoy his responses to the readers’ comments even more – he soaks in the responses he gets and makes them a part of his ever evolving self. He reminds me not to get huffy when someone does not agree with me – not necessarily in my blog world because I know you all love me and agree with absolutely everything I write – but in real life, all of my encounters are not so agreeable. (Yeah, I know you don’t always agree with me either, whatever.)
Several of his posts deal with his encounters on the train and how no one will sit near him – unless they are a pick pocket – and he talks about how he sticks out like a sore thumb. Sometimes I wonder if he takes his interactions a little too personally and I will ask him if he has thought about it another way. Yeah, I am sure he is not always thrilled to see AReason2Write in his in-box. But he truly is always reflective. And he always gives his readers ideas thoughtful consideration. (That is unless you are a complete arse.)
Yesterday, I walked a mile in Goin’ Loco’s moccassins – I was craving me a little American somen somen to eat – and our cook no longer cooks for us – so I decided to visit the Subway Sandwich Shop at Khan Market.
I walk in and pretty much everyone turns around and looks at me. No biggie. Sometimes, I like that rock star feeling – so lookie lookie – just no touchy touchy. I was listening to the music and it was pretty typical of the music I generally hear around town. Jingles and chanting and fast beats. Then I swear I heard Ashton Kucher say “DJ, spin that thang.”
The record scratched and “Sweet Home Alabama” started playing. No, really, I swear it did. Now I love me some Sweet Home Alabama. But I am curious – guessing that I am American is not a big stretch at all – I look me some American – but how did they know I was a southern American? And why did they not offer me some sweet tea?
There are a lot of things that are different here in India. Most of them are pretty easy to adapt to. Some of them are causing me to stumble – not trip and fall – just stumble a tad.
Telephone numbers here are written differently. Not a big deal. But the way you say them makes me pause everytime. Talk about slowing down my ears.
9714440877
How would you say that number?
If you are American, you would probably say
Nine – Seven – Four – Four – Four – Zero – Eight – Seven – Seven
If you are in India, you would say
Nine – Seven – One – Triple Four – Zero – Eight – Double Seven
If you have been here a while and stayed with your Hindi lessons, you would say
Nau – Sat – Triple Car – Sunya – Ath – Double Sat
Be careful before you going around impressing all the ladies with your Hindi skills – the words aren’t pronounced like they are spelled – another stumbling block – for example, ath is “ought” – at least I think it is. AUGH.
Now, I know why James Bond is Double Oh Seven – it sounds a little better than Zero-Zero-Seven.
The next two days are filled with mommy duties for me. We have
a track meet – Friday and Saturday
teacher conferences – 4 of them
two play performances – Flower
Bear’s birthday party
and I have to hire a cook who is willing to do laundry
So, you probably won’t hear from me until Monday. Have a great weekend!
P.S. And I appreciate how busy you are too – thanks for taking time to stop by every now and then! I love having you on this journey with me!
We have been here two months in Delhi and I really have not spent any time decorating our flat. It looks a little bland. A little “flat”. And we didn’t bring much with us from the U.S. – so there really is nothing on the walls. Well, there are some well-placed fingerprints, but my children are too old for me to actually consider that artwork any more.
So last weekend, number one hubby bought a clock. It has not come in yet but it should look pretty cool. It looks antique but the man has to make it, so I am pretty sure it is not actually an antique. When you see it, just pretend to be impressed with how old it looks. hee hee.
And, I did my part too. I saw a embroidered scarf that I just loved. It matches the couch here and the colors of one of the rooms back in the U.S. We can use it here – and there. Yahoo! I know most people wear their scarfs – but I wanted to have this one framed. I had been to Fab Foto in Khan Market and I knew they did custom framing. They do a lot of things for ex-pat organizations – so I felt at least a little comfortable using them. Off I go.
I showed them the scarf and they measured it by holding it up against the cabinet – then marking the cabinet – then getting a 12″ ruler and measuring the markings. I was surprised that they did not have a measuring tape and that they measured it in inches – I thought for sure everything would be measured using the metric system here – but inches it was – maybe that is the standard for framing. Anyinch, it was quite a process.
Next, I picked out a frame and they quoted me a price. Hubby thought it was “bahut mahaṅgā hai” or too expensive – but I thought it was about 1/3 of what it would have been in the States. Sounds good to me. Frame away.
I got a call from Fab Foto that it was ready and that I could come pick it up.
Me: Great – I will be there tomorrow.
FF: And, ma’am there is just one more thing. We quoted you the wrong price – it is actually twice what we told you.
Me: Excuse me?
FF: Yes, it is twice what we told you.
Me: (not yelling, but certainly not happy) Yeah, no it’s not. I am not going to pay that.
FF: Just come in and see it – we can talk about the price. Maybe we can give you a 5% discount.
Me: That’s funny. Again – I am not paying more than you quoted me.
Armed with exactly the amount of rupees they quoted me, my receipt with the original price quote, and my resolve, I walked into Fab Foto. The guy who helped me was out to lunch – yeah, I’d say. Someone else showed my where my scarf was and told me the price was wrong.
Using my best mommy voice – I very nicely/firmly said, “You really have two choices here – you can either return the scarf to me, or I can pay the price I was quoted.” Who says parenting doesn’t give us life skills? I can now add negotiator to my resume.
A lot of words were exchanged between the guy helping me and the manager. I did not understand any of them. (I cannot add translator to my resume just yet.) And then manager ripped up the receipt and threw it over his shoulder onto the floor. It was very dramatic.
No one said anything for a minute – and I am thinking, does that mean what I think it means?
Then I was asked to pay my original quote and two very nice young men helped me get my framed scarf to the car.
The lesson learned here – be a little more optimistic – bring some small bills with you to tip the guys helping you get the scarf to the car.
Fab Foto is FAB and they stuck by their quote. I was very happy about that. And now they get some free advertising.
This is how a lot of emails from my friends end – your blog is great – but how are you, really?
That is a tricky question. Most of you know, I would not have picked to move to India. The decision came about quickly and it was a big surprise. I knew from the first moment of hearing the possibility that it would be a great adventure for our family and that we would never regret coming to Delhi. I realized that was true. And then I threw up.
This has been a wonderful career move for number one hubby. He loves his job and he loves having our family close together. I love that too. I am very proud of him and it is amazing to watch him thrive.
There are certainly challenges that I did not expect. India is considered a hardship post by the U.S. government and most private companies. I can agree with that. A big challenge for me – being a terrible creature of habit – is that nothing is really predictable. Just because you found kick arse goldfish crackers and nacho cheese Doritos at the market this week, does not mean anything for next week. Living in India is like investing in the stock market. Past performance is not a measure of future success.
I miss my family and dear friends terribly. I hate being away from them. H.a.t.e. it. Period. This is the biggest challenge for me. And I so miss my little cat Queso.
We have celebrated 4 birthdays here and it was difficult at best not to have my family here with us. Easter and Thanksgiving will not be easy either.
I miss my shower with never-ending hot water and double shower heads. I miss my kick-arse washer and dryer. I miss my double oven. I miss my office filled with paper and embellishments with a window that looks out at trees. I miss Taco Bell and Cheesecake Factory and Chick-Fil-A. I miss soft towels that smell like a spring rain.
But I realize that you can survive without the things that make life more comfortable. It’s the whole niceties v. necessities argument. And you can find new adventures without a dryer and a double oven that make those things seem not as important.
Although the basement where the kids can go when they you need a break is hard to live without.
And I do miss shopping at Target and Costco. I can live without shopping at those stores – I actually like the markets here – they are interesting and fun. But I miss the one stop shopping. And I really miss stores that open at 8am. Nothing here seems to open before 11am.
I miss driving myself. Although, I do not want to drive here – traffic is crazy! But there is freedom in a set of car keys and a drivers license.
I miss living on a cul-de-sac with a yard and trees and flowers. I miss kick ball in the court and a glass of wine on the front porch. I miss the crazy sleepovers we used to host with tacos for dinner and waffles for breakfast.
Connections are harder to make when everyone knows they will be moving at some point. So I guess I miss the sense of permanence. There is comfort in believing that you will be friends with someone for a long time. I am not pointing fingers at others here at all – this is my issue – I find myself pulling back and being more hesitant to get involved because I know that people will be leaving – including me.
Old habits die hard and I just miss my routines.
However, there are a lot a things that balance out the things I miss.
The school is amazing. I have talked about it before so I won’t bore you with repeating myself. But my children are growing as learners in ways they might not have in the U.S. They are thinking in ways they have never thought before. There is a big emphasis here on creative thinking. I love that! The school also addresses my children as people and as students. In Flower’s conference, the teacher had as one of her goals to participate in the swimming program at the school. He has already gotten to know her very well and is fostering her growth inside the classroom and out. The teachers in the U.S. knew my kids very, very well – but the curriculum is just very different here. And by the way, I miss those U.S. teachers for a lot of reasons – they are fabulous in their own right.
Bear’s Humanities class is a mix of English and Social Studies. They have couches in his classroom and the kids “hang out” to learn. Bear actually asked me to go to the library with him the other day to help him pick out a book to read. After I got up off the floor from falling over – off to the library we went. He checked out two books. I don’t think he has actually started reading either one of them yet – but, hey, baby steps.
Angel has been given differentiated instruction in math. It appears she has quite the creative problem solving little brain. It is not a surprise really because she plays a little game with herself where she creates an invention and then she talks about it for 45 minutes straight. The ideas truly pour out of her. It is nice to see that embraced at school.
Seeing that the world is not the bubble we knew has been good for all of us. There is so much here that is different and interesting. We are fortunate to be exposed to it.
Although Bear did ask when we could go back to not having anyone cook and clean and just “be” in our house. I had to explain to him that someone was cooking and cleaning and “being” in our house before. She just wasn’t get paid to do it. To which he replied “oh yeah”. I reminded him that “that would be me”.
I miss a quiet house with no one milling about. But I do not miss cooking, cleaning, or the laundry. See how complicated this all becomes?
Poverty has been hard on the eyes and much harder on the heart. I am working on a blog post to further explain and explore that. It should be coming soon. But it has made us all more appreciative of shoes and food and family. I am looking for a place to volunteer so that I can share my time with these children who have so little. But I want to be clear that many of these children have the biggest, most beautiful smiles. They are not miserable just not advantaged.
Number One Hubby has made some changes at his company that will help out some of the poorer people in Delhi. I feel really good about that.
It is dirty here and the pollution is unreal. We spent 5 hours at the pool the other day and got no suntan whatsoever. That might be good in the prevention of skin cancer – but I am worried about the lung cancer. But we got to spend 5 hours at the pool in the middle of March. That rocks.
I am not a super adventurous eater – so this has not been so much a culinary experience for me. But there are opportunities. And they serve beets here. I might be the only one in Virginia who actually eats beets – but I am in good company here! Yummy. And yesterday I tried red potatoes that had been skinned and rolled in sesame seeds. Holy potato, batman, they were fabulous!
We have seen Jaipur and we have seen the Taj Mahal. Both were amazing. And it makes me resolve to show my children more of the United States. They have not seen the Grand Canyon or Yosemite or Mount Rushmore and a lot of other things. I hope to correct that.
We are also hoping to visit Thailand and Egypt and China. I never imagined in my wildest dreams we would even talk about doing any of that.
We are spending more time as a family. We eat dinner together every night. The practices at the school are all over by 6pm and they are all at the school. So there is no hustling from field to field. There are no drive-thru dinners. Yeah, that is a blessing and a curse. We are certainly eating healthier meals. But remember, I miss me some Taco Bell.
I am loving this blog adventure and am thrilled to be writing again. It has been so long since I put my thoughts down and it is a treat to write almost every day. I continue to be absolutely amazed that so many people are following along. And I am confident that we will not lose the details that are making this journey so enjoyable.
As you might recall, we also started yoga. We used to tease my dear sweet neighbor who loves yoga – but now we are eating our yoga mats. We enjoy it – especially now that we know our instructor has a sense of humor. He doesn’t mind us teasing each other during our sessions. Sometimes he even chuckles along.
So anyway, the long story short is that I am enjoying much of our adventure. There are pockets of time when I am a little down. But most of the time, I have my seat belt on and I am ready to go. And yes, seat belts are a very good idea in India.
I like to shop early – as such, I have heard this phrase several times since shopping the markets in Delhi.
“Oh ma’am, you are the first customer of the day, I will give you a good deal. It brings me good luck.”
It makes me laugh because I just cannot imagine walking in the door first at Costco to be greeted with “good morning ma’am, you are the first customer of the day, please tell me what you are willing to pay. Please ma’am, whatever you want.”
The first few times I thought it was very funny. I know that you are supposed to haggle in India. I figured this was just part of the vendors “tactics”. Appear sympathetic and appreciative and the mark might just fall for the new “lower” price.
But today I went to Dilli Haat. I had a list of very specific things I wanted to get. Dilli Haat is a rolling craft fair. It is always in the same location (across the highway from INA market) but the vendors rotate through. It is my understanding that they come from all over India.
One downside – it is like going to a craft show in the U.S. where every other vendor is selling jewelry – except at Dilli Haat, it is scarfs. Lots and lots of scarfs. But there are other things too. And with haggling it is “game on”.
So I went to get embroidered pieces of fabric to have framed and hung in my kids rooms. And I heard it – “oh ma’am, you are the first customer of the day. I will give you a good price. It will bring me good luck.” Yeah, yeah, yeah, please just tell me your best price. We haggled and I walked away happy.
Then I went to get a couple of shirts. I haggled and the man seemed a little frustrated (not mad, just not jump up and down happy) when I told him what I was willing to pay. I mean no offense by my price suggestions. They are just that – suggestions. Please feel free to say no. Believe me, if I don’t agree with you, I will say no. I don’t even start as low as half-price – I start much closer to what I am actually willing to pay – so I feel I am very reasonable. He thought about it and then in Hindi he said to his son – hindi hindi hindi first customer, hindi hindi, good luck. And they gave me the price.
When I paid him, he kissed the money and said a prayer. Okay. Was the prayer for good luck or that I leave his booth immediately? hee hee.
Now I am starting to believe in the power of being the first customer of the day. Armed with this new super power strength, I head out to buy wooden boxes. I go back to the far corner of Dilli Haat and I meet a rare bird indeed – a vendor who stinks at haggling more than I do. His prices are crazy low compared to American standards. His boxes are unique. They are not such a high quality that they are going to be displayed in the Smithsonian Museum any time soon – but I like them a lot.
He does not even bother to flatter me by telling me I am the first customer of the day. He just immediately agreed to my price. I like him. He is my Dilli Haat BFF. We bonded over our sad negotiating skills. I did not offend him by asking for a big discount. Just 10 percent.
Then I went on to get a few other things. Being the first customer of the day is a good way to go.
The last thing I bought was this mini cabinet. It is very cool. It will be a terrific reminder of my haggling days and will look great in my office in the U.S. Until then it brings a little bit of Dilli Haat and the heart of the Indian crafter to our home here.
There were a couple of funny things that happened while I was there too.
If you have never been to Dilli Haat, you will need to know that they vendors will call out to you. They want you to come and look. Not to buy, they will say, just look. They are kind about it and it just makes me chuckle. They don’t yell or follow you or anything like that – but they will try to entice you inside their booths. One man selling carpets called out to me. When I said no thank you, he said, “but ma’am, they are magic carpets. You can fly.”
Seriously, that made me laugh. He thought he was quite funny too.
The other thing was that I was standing on stairs looking at some mirrors and picture frames. I was not touching anything. Along came the breeze and huffed and puffed and knocked everything over. My husband already played an April Fools joke on me this morning – so I turned to look for Alan Fundt and the hidden cameras. I turned to see a group of vendors sitting and watching the whole affair. They were laughing so hard. That made me laugh too. And now I had witnesses. Whew. I just threw my hands up and took a big long deep breath.
It turns out the vendor selling the wood items was standing not too far away too and he also saw that it was the wind. Seriously, thank God. I would have died if he thought I had done it.
And then I was talking to the puppet guy. He was amusing just by himself – his puppets were fun. He was talking to me and asked me if I am Indian. Funny. Very Funny.
India is teaching me a lot of things and here is what I learned yesterday.
Our (new, we are trying her out) cook made dinner for us last night. She made some things earlier in the day and then put them in the fridge until we were ready to eat. Instead of covering them with aluminum foil or saran wrap, she put plates on top of the bowls.
Seriously, this is brilliant. I don’t know why, but I am not a big fan of tupperware with lids. Maybe it’s the potential for major spillage when you pull the lid off. But, I am trying to be more conscious of our trash footprint – saran wrap and foil make that footprint larger. That is not good.
But this works great and it makes things much more stackable – which increases your fridge space. And there is nothing to throw away. YAHOO!
Does that sound like I am calling out for help? Really I am not – but here is something you should know if you are an ex-pat living in a third world country or if you plan to visit an impoverished area.
There is an organization called International SOS and if you are ever traveling in a foreign and/or remote area, you will want to remember they exist.
Who are they, you ask. Well this is what they say about themselves….
With over 20 years of experience, we help organizations ensure the health and security of their travelers and employees around the world. We are the only assistance company with the global presence our clients demand.
Working in some of the most inhospitable places on earth, we offer international standards of medical care where it is not available or where cultural and language barriers exist.
Huh, you say.
What this means is that if you are traveling to a village (or even a large city) in India (or China or Afghanistan or anywhere) and you get sick and that village/city does not have appropriate facilities and/or doctors to treat you, International SOS will step in to help you. That is very. good. to. know.
Many companies offer their employees memberships to International SOS as part of their compensation plan. But even if you are not a member – remember their name. It it my understanding that they can still be very helpful.
In Delhi, they are located near the Apollo hospital.
Remember that the availability of effective medical resources is never a given – I had always taken this for granted in the U.S. – but no more.
I went to a presentation at my children’s school and a representative from International SOS gave a talk on medical expectations in Delhi and India.
Here were some of his cautions….
Blood transfusions should only be accepted as a last resort – only when they are life-saving. Blood is not monitored that well here and some people are paid for their “donations”.
Apollo, Max, and Fortus are the only hospitals he really recommended.
He highly recommended getting rabies vaccines. When we were leaving the U.S. the rabies vaccine was not available as a preventive measure, only as a treatment once someone has been bitten by a rabid animal. But apparently it is available here in India. So we are going to get them here.
He also cautioned to get vaccines and prescriptions from the hospital pharmacies. It seems there is quite the pharmaceutical black market here and much of the medicine can be counterfeit. That makes it not only potentially ineffective, but quite possibly dangerous. And he cautioned us to ask the nurses to open any vaccine viles in front of you so that you know it has not been opened before. Whenever possible, get vaccines while you are on home leave.
Taking an ambulance to the hospital in an emergency might sound like a good idea – but they are not reliable and often do not have the medical equipment that would make it worth waiting for one. The presenter recommended practicing getting to the hospital before an emergency happens so you know what to do. He said it is particularly important to do a dry run at night.
In an emergency, he recommended calling the the hospital and asking how long it would take to get an ambulance to you. He said that they should be able to give you an idea of how long it would be. However, getting yourself there might be the best option and just might save valuable time.
He also said that calling International SOS might be a good idea – they have a staff there who can make multiple calls at once, which can reach out to multiple resources at once. If I remember correctly, they will stay on the phone with you until you have gotten help. Consider calling them from your mobile phone so you can remain on the phone if you change locations.
He highly recommended using bug spray that has a 35% concentration of Deet. It has been hard for me to find bug spray here – which is shocking- but I guess if it was more available, there would not be such a problem with Dengue fever and Malaria – bring a stock pile with you.
Road accidents present the greatest health risk in Delhi. Be very careful crossing the street and when riding on the roads.
He said it is important to get a general practice physician when you arrive. If you are with an embassy or international school, they can probably give you a list of doctors that have been recommended. International SOS also has a list of doctors they recommend.
Anyway, you know what is next – I am not a doctor and I do not play one on the internet. I will however pretend to have lawyer skills. This is information I received in a medical presentation and I am relaying it to the best of my memory – don’t quote me on any of it – do with it what you will. Obviously, you will have to determine for yourself what makes the most sense for you in a given situation.
I was blessed with a grandfather who loved me more than even fairytales could imagine. No matter what. Always. Period. He was also proud of me – well, maybe not every single second – but he never let me know any different. I hope everyone is loved like my grandfather loved me. (I am very fortunate to be loved very much by some fabulous people – in time, I am sure you will hear about all of them – but today is just for Grandpa “Chuck”.)
When he died, I was somewhat caught up in my own life – number one hubby and I had a one-year old little bear. I was working part-time and I lived 747 miles away from him. He called me the night he died. I had sent him flowers that day and he wanted to thank me.
I was tired and in bed, so I let the machine get the phone. He left me a beautiful message about how special the flowers were and how all the women at the nursing home wanted to know who their competition was. He laughed and said good night. Then he died during the night.
It’s hard to say if I regret not picking up the phone. Of course, if I had known….. But I did not. So I was left with his voice on tape. And I played it over and over many, many times. So, who is to say. He knows I loved him. He got the flowers. And I got his voice on tape. But yes, I would have taken the opportunity to tell him how special he was – had I known.
I drove down to Georgia to help with the funeral and clean out his room. As I sat down to write his eulogy, I knew I would not be able to be the one who would read it out loud. So we asked a family friend to share my stories.
My grandfather had moved down south so my mother could be nearby to help him. He lost touch with many of his friends from New York – sadly many of them had died. As such, his funeral was mostly attended by my mother’s friends – in support of her. So it was very important to me to let them know why he was worth the time they took out of their own busy lives. I knew he needed to be remembered and in some ways introduced to the people attending his service – his memories needed to be captured.
Desperately, I wanted them to know why my grandfather was worth mourning. That he made at least one life a lot richer just by being a part of it – mine.
I started my tribute to him by writing that my very first thought when I heard he had died was to gather up all my memories of him and put them in a basket. My heart did not feel big enough to hold every laugh and every tear and every smile. But that was foolish. Me trying to be clever with my words. There is absolutely no way I could forget him or the special things he did for me. Even 10 plus years later, I can still hear his laugh and taste his fried potatoes. I can feel the warmth of his hug.
He would fill my fridge with fresh fruit and diet Pepsi (he could never remember I drank diet Coke – during his visits, I drank diet Pepsi). To this day, I cannot eat a green grape without thinking of him. He would always buy me a poppie from the VFW volunteers and I would hang it on the rear view mirror in my car. He loved to sit in the bar for an hour before eating dinner at a restaurant. He would always order an apricot sour for me. I was not 21 and I did not like the taste one bit. But I would sit and sip and watch him flirt with the waitresses 50 years younger than him. He was charming. Sometimes he would steal the steak knife from the restaurant if it was a really good one. He’d wrap it in the cloth napkin. He stole the napkin too. Sometimes he would embarrass me.
He would scour the weekly ads for the best deal on mayonnaise and other groceries. Then he would go to three different stores and stock up on the sale items. With his big old heart in tact, he would give away half of what he bought to neighbors and friends. I tried to no avail to explain the concept of saving money to him – that if you buy things on sale and then give most of it away – there aren’t many pennies left in your pocket – clearly pennies were not the point. He was not foolish with money – but sometimes his heart won out over his bottom line.
He always found the perfect gift for me – usually because he always asked me what I wanted. When I was in elementary school, he used to let me sit on his lap when I got out of the swimming pool, even though I was soaking wet and he was in his street clothes. He bought me a car when I turned 18. He called just to see how I was doing. We used to drive down to Georgia together and he would always pack his lunch. A sandwich and a beer. He was never really in a hurry. He could just sit and enjoy. He always waited until 4pm to have a cocktail and he always took the phone of the hook during his dinner. He was a very good cook – even when he was a little heavy on the pepper. He bought me my first iron skillet and I was mortified when he told me to never use soap on it. But it turns out he was right.
After Bear was born, my mother bought him a Dr. Suess book as a gift from my grandfather. She had my grandpa sign it. He signed it “With Love, Grandpa Chuck.” It was a sad day for me because we never called him Grandpa Chuck. It was his handwriting for sure, but it was not his signature. I guess that day I realized that Bear would never get to know my grandfather. My very special grandfather was slipping away little by little. That was a heartbreaking realization. My children have their own spectacular grandparents – and for that I am so grateful.
So, I treasure the fact that my children have grown up with so much family nearby. It has given them many soft places to fall. And now, we are oceans away from dinners at IHOP and sleepovers and homemade cookies and art projects and reading books and all the other gifts their grandparents are giving them. And I do not even have an answering machine. It is so hard to be away.
I have debated with myself whether or not to honestly share my experiences today. Partly because today was the first day that India has totally overwhelmed me and partly because I do not want to insult my Indian readers. But, it was my day and my experience and my blog, after all. I want to capture the feelings I had – so here goes – no insults intended.
Hubby had to work today. Please remember our flat is little (compared to the living space we are used to). I have 3 children who love to watch t.v. but eventually they actually do get bored by electronics. It is spring break – no school. There is a lot to see in Delhi that we have not yet seen. I needed some blog material.
I also need to remember to be careful what I ask for.
I gave the kids 3 options – the craft museum, the Red Fort, or the zoo. It was unanimous. The zoo.
Our regular driver was not working today – so we had Zaffar. He is a nice man with limited English skills. I asked to go to the zoo. He said, yes ma’am. I showed him the map that had our neighborhood and the zoo on it. Both of them were circled. We want to go from here to there. Yes. Ma’am.
Then he pulls into a gas station. That is fine. Really. I would rather him ask than just drive us around all day. But I can tell he still really is not sure. He asked me for the address. Well, the book does not list the address. There is a map, remember. But not the physical address. So, I called hubby’s assistant. She is so helpful to us. Really, I am very lucky. She explained where we wanted to go.
Ohhhhhh, the zoo? Zarraf just happens to know exactly where that is. Hmmmm. She got back on the phone with me and explained that in India they call it “the zoo”. So he did not know what I meant. Funny thing – in America we call it the “zoo” also. It must be my accent.
Anyzoo, we got there without too much trouble and I took a look around. This is what I saw.
This picture is not worth a thousand words – because it really does not give the sense of how many people were milling about. There were hundreds of people. There were 3 lines – cubbies to store your bags, tickets, and security.
I saw women in the security line with purses, so we went straight for tickets. I was not sure if you were allowed bags or if the cubbies were just for convenience. I guessed convenience. That line was (ridiculously) long. So we moved on to tickets. There were only men in the ticket line. In the ticket line we get.
Men cut in front of us in line. They cut in line behind us too. I am not a big fan of people cutting in front of me in line. But I quickly decided to let. it. go. The line was crowded. I was (ever so slightly) outnumbered by men. I was manless (for the day). I don’t do the damsel in distress well, but I also do not invite trouble.
The man behind me explained that my children could wait out of the line for me. You know, over there. My kids looked at me and then they looked at him with their best “good luck with that dude” look. Our mom isn’t going to have us wait away from her. Even if it is over there. You’ll just have to deal for a few more minutes.
He was actually very helpful and explained where to get in. But he does not know me. The kids stayed in line with me. They were happy to do that.
So here is the sign that explains ticket prices. Once again we are paying a skin tax. Fine – it’s a whole dollar. We’ll (happily) pay it.
My dad might laugh that I should have gotten in free – but alas, I am too smart for free admission. (Yes, I miss my dad terribly.) I think it is very nice that India gives its citizens a break on admission prices. America could never do this – it would be a paperwork nightmare. Americans are far too diverse to be able to tell who is from where just by looking. Too bad – I love a discount.
On to security.
Bear was (more than) a little concerned that he might have to go in a separate line. The lines were very long and frankly, I was a little concerned too. Many of our sightseeing adventures have had our family in separate lines – men on one side, women on the other. It is just a matter of logistics – women checking women, men checking men. But I was not going to put Bear in a very long line by himself. Whew. I did not have to.
One of the guards asked if we had any food. I said no.
Well it turns out I did have granola bars. The second security guard spotted them and asked me to take them out. Absolutely no food allowed in the zoo. Even if you promise not to eat it. Water bottles seem to be okay. I think. We did not bring water bottles – so don’t quote me on that. But I highly recommend water bottles. There are several watering holes with free water – but if you are not used to the local water – well, let’s just say there are better souvenirs than montazuma’s revenge.
Oh yes, back to the snacks. Enter language barriers and cultural differences.
We are now holding up the line. This does not make the 100 plus people behind us fans of Americans.
The guard tried to get me to open the granola bars so my children can eat them really fast. Or, I can take them back over to the line of 200 plus people and put them in a cubbie for one rupee. Yes, that is two cents. Well here is my two cents worth. This is where Americans should be embarrassed because we can be (very) wasteful. But seriously, it is just not worth the hassle. My kids don’t happen to be hungry right now. I don’t want to get in the super long line, just to get back in this super long line – just so I don’t have to lose 4 granola bars.
Please just take the granola bars to your family and enjoy them. I will buy more. Can we please just be done here?
Apparently not. Please ma’am, open them and eat them now. Sigh. No thank you. You keep them. Do with them what you will. But ma’am, I might have to throw them away. Yeah, I am good with that. Can we go in now?
Now Angel decided to bring a purse with her also. They did not look inside her purse. But she heard the rule. No food. So, bless her heart, she pulls out a granola bar and gives it to the guard. Yes, I am proud of her for being honest. But seriously, where are the animals – can we just go now? Do we have to be the main attraction? Then she remembered she actually had two granola bars. You’re killing me sweetie – enough already. Are you sure there isn’t a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe that you want to turn in?
We finally get in the gate. The zoo is lovely – lots of space – plenty of room for all the people who are there. It does not feel as smooshed inside.
Bear gets out the map. Now, this is interesting. Normally the hubby is in charge of navigation. But here is a chance for Bear to direct traffic. I have failed him in all things Boy Scout, so bring it Bear. Get us where we want to go.
He did a great job.
We saw the giraffes and the sloth bear.
He did a great job, that is, until he took us behind the exhibit for the sloth bear. It was a path. But it was an empty path. No one else was on it. I did say that I was concerned that no one else was there. Well, except for the two men walking out of the woods. (Yeah. That’s what I thought too. Maybe we should not be here.)
So, I am balancing encouraging Bear to navigate our way through the zoo with the fact that my scare-dar is flashing “danger, will roger, danger”. I decided to let him guide us.
Until…
Until the two men approached another man and started to harass him. I told the kids we needed to turn around and go. NOW.
I realized that we were in the proverbial wrong place at the wrong time. The two men started to slap the other man. There was a woman standing by with her hands cupped over her mouth.
We exited stage left. Immediately.
Angel said, I don’t think I want to go back there.
Don’t worry, Angel. You won’t be. going. back. there.
So I let Bear keep the map. And I fought every instinct I had to just go home. But I don’t want my kids to be afraid of being in India. There is safety in numbers. We’ll just stay with the crowds.
We continued on to see more animals. Lots and lots of people were watching us. I felt it more today than I ever have.
We saw this rhino trying to get out of the enclosure. I could honestly feel his pain.
We also saw three white tigers. (Yes, you can still count – there are only two in the picture.)
And if you know how to use your camera, you can get a great picture of the leopards.
If you don’t know how to use your camera so well, you might get a great picture of the fence, with some cool (very blurry) leopards in the background. Isn’t this the coolest fence you have ever seen?
Along the way, many people asked to take pictures of my girls. This is not a new thing. It happens at every tourist spot we go to. Usually they walk away disappointed when I say no. But they seem to understand.
Well today was different. A lot of people clicked pictures with cell phones. There was even one woman who seemed to follow us. It was bizarre. She would bump in to me and laugh. I did not join her in laughing. It got old quick.
Bear was still navigating and we were looking for the hippos. Bear looked at the map and looked at the path. It seemed somewhat empty. He said maybe we can see the hippos next time. Lesson learned.
We head on to see the elephants. They are amazing.
I did not know this….
As Flower and Angel are looking at the elephants, Bear notices that a man on the bench is taking a picture with his cell phone of my girls. Bear takes his map and blocks the phone. Honestly, I cannot believe he did it. Two things – one, great job Bear – this is exactly why I wanted any girls I had to have a big brother. Two – holy sh*t, Bear. Be careful here.
Bear and I had a chat about how extremely proud I was that he was observant and protective of his sisters. And how he is to never. do. that. again. Unless they are in danger,we’ll let some things go.
We all agreed it was time to go home. This is what everyone said as we were leaving.
Bear: I guess we won’t come back here.
(I told him we would – at 9am when the zoo opens and it is less crowded and when Dad can come with us.)
Flower: I like the zoo in the U.S. better because you can drink the water there and nobody stares at us.
(Next time we will bring water bottles and when we are home in the U.S. we will visit the zoo. Maybe we’ll wear crazy clothes so we get stared at there too. Maybe not. We’ll just have to see.)
Angel: I like the zoo in the U.S. better. When can we go home.
(Sweetie, we are home – at least for now.)
So all in all, it turned out to be a good day. Bear got a chance to be in charge. I remembered that instincts kick arse. We got to see some cool animals.
But it was also overwhelming. Frankly, it was very overwhelming. I have not really felt that since I have been here. I was disappointed but it was a reality check that we are not in the U.S. and we have to remember that.
It turns out that quite a few Indians read my blog – Namaste and Donyuvard! Yes, I am sure I misspelled those – but hopefully you know what I mean.
I have a few questions. Please know that I am not being a smart arse – I really, truly am curious. So, if you can help me out with any of the following, please do……
1. What is this about? My husband said he thinks it might be an ad for a t.v. show – a comedy – is it?
2. I know every religion has its contradictions, but why is it okay for Hindus to have leather goods like purses and belts, but it is not okay to eat beef?
3. What is the little boy sitting in the corner on the AirTel (maybe it’s TaTa) commercial saying to his mother? It is an adorable commercial and I am so curious what it is about. He gets out his phone and goes on the roof, I am guessing to call his dad. Do you know which one I am talking about?
4. As far as reincarnation goes, am I in trouble if I kill a mosquito or an ant or a bee – if the answer is yes – does it matter if I am protecting myself or my kids from being stung or bitten? In the U.S., there are pesticide companies that will spray your house every quarter to rid your house of creepy crawlies. Is that available here?
5. Where is the best place to get Mexican food in Delhi?
6. How do Indian women keep their hair so soft and shiny? Is there a special treatment for that?
7. How do you feel about non-Indian women wearing sarees? There is a debate among western women as to whether we look silly in them.
8. Do you give anything to the women and children and handicapped who knock on your car window?
In an effort to get out and see more of Delhi, I took the kids to the Toilet Museum. They thought I was kidding. It is actually (kind of) funny that in a land where bathrooms are hard to find that there is a museum dedicated to all things toilet.
And if you are in the U.S. and you are thinking, “dang, now I have to go to Delhi, I must see the toilet museum,” – fear not. In Wisconsin there is also a toilet museum. In fact, I think it is the world’s largest toilet museum. You can thank Kohler for that. And if I understood things correctly, there is also a toilet paper museum. No need for a passport.
If you don’t believe me – click this link for the museum in Delhi – http://www.sulabhtoiletmuseum.org/pg01.htm. I knew it was going to be good when the first line of the link said you should seek help if you have ever wondered what a toilet museum would be like.
I have to say it was interesting. For example, did you know that John Harrington invented the modern toilet. I just happen to love this guy! Yes, I heart John Harrington and that big fluffy collar of his.
And did you know that the reason Americans call the toilet the John is because John Douglass was famous for making pottery basins for the toilet and he would sign them John? An artist must sign his work. Sign he did. See, now you will sleep better tonight because you know that.
This made me laugh. It is a replica of an outhouse type toilet used at construction sites in the U.S. many, many years ago. I don’t know if you can read the signs but the door on the top says “Management” and the door on the bottom says “Employees”. It’s disgusting and hysterical at the same time. And no, there was not a hole in the ceiling of the employee section.
In Thailand, they are teaching elephants to use the toilet so that the tourists are not constantly side-stepping big piles of poo (not the technical term, but you get the idea). I once considered trying to toilet train our cats. However, I spent what felt like years getting Number One Hubby to put the seat down – cats would require the seat to be up. I quickly checked “potty training the cats” off my bucket list. But this takes over-achieving to a whole new level.
This is a picture of the man who loves all things toilet. He was charming and very informative. And, yes, that is a picture of Jennifer Lopez. She is apparently even famous at the toilet museum because at one point Ben Affleck gave her a bejeweled toilet. Now, that is love.
There was a very detailed explanation of how this traveling port-a-potty works. I have to be honest, there were a couple of times when we all zoned out. So, I did not catch the whole idea behind it – but I think you can figure it out.
This man in Seoul built his house in the shape of a toilet. Did you know that there was a World Toilet Association? You do now.
And the award for the most expensive toilet goes to………..drum roll please…………. NASA. Shocking.
Remember I am not a doctor, nor do I play one on the internet, so you must do with this info what you will….
This toilet has an incinerator at the bottom and makes ashes out of waste.
And then there were the mascots – seriously – there are mascots. Can you guess their names?
I didn’t tell you everything – I didn’t want to spoil all the surprises, just in case you decide to visit. The tour takes about half an hour.
It turns out that the toilet museum is not just about toilets. It is located on a campus where they are studying waste management. The curator offered a tour of that part of the facility as well, but we opted out of that seeing that section.
The tour was free, although I did give a donation at the end of the tour.
It might sound crazy, but we enjoyed ourselves and we laughed the whole way home. Now I have a whole new threat to level against them – if you aren’t good, I will tell your friends you went to the toilet museum – and LIKED it. And it was a fabulous opportunity for my children to see that if you are enthusiastic about your “work”, you will love your job and you will bring joy to other people. Who would have thought that we would make such great family memories at the toilet museum?
Last night I had a case of Delhi Belly. You can imagine what this means. My tummy hurt. A lot. Boo Hoo for me. I stretched the limits of potty talk with this post – so I won’t go into any further details about why having Delhi Belly is no fun. But it’s not really that fun.
There’s no telling where it came from. It could have been a virus or something I ate. I have a couple of stressful things I am dealing with right now and it could be as simple as that. It really doesn’t matter – it’s just a part of my life here. Sometimes my tummy hurts.
When I was younger and I had a belly ache, my mom would make me Campbells Tomato Soup (with milk of course). She would make it warm but not bubbly hot. She would serve it to me with Sprite (with a straw and no ice of course). And on the side would be Saltine crackers.
I would lift my head and moan and somehow I would manage to sit up. I would eat the soup and crackers and drink my Sprite all pitiful like and I would start to feel better.
Today I am going to eat Ritz crackers and Sprite. I might even heat up a can of soup. Somehow it’s just not the same.
After visiting the Toilet Museum, I realized I have my own little showroom of interesting plumbing. Let me show you what I mean.
First of all, every room in our house that has water has its own water heater. In the U.S., typically there is one water heater for the entire house. These water heaters in each room work fine – the one in the kitchen could be a little larger but it works well enough.
Each bathroom has one of these drains by the toilet.
And also under the sinks.
And you need a degree in engineering or a teenager to figure out the showers.
And finally, the kitchen sink. An advanced degree could be helpful here.
The white box to the left of the faucet(s) is the water filtration system.
Maybe some one could explain this more precisely – but each house also has a water tank – often they are on the roof. You can actually run out of water here – so far we have not – but you can. I think our house also has a tank underground.
Yesterday we were without water for 4 hours while the tank was cleaned. Nope, I did not mind that one bit – if you are trying to keep my water cleaner, I will (gladly) do without water for 4 hours. Thank you!
I have been accused of trying to be like Martha Stewart – please note that I did not say accused of actually being like her – just trying to be.
Well, I can officially hang up that apron.
I “cooked” this past weekend for the first time in 10 weeks – yes, we have been here 10 weeks – I cannot believe it either. And in that entire time I have not cooked once. Hard to believe – sure – but true. I have made a sandwich or two or peeled an apple – but seriously, I have done nothing that has required electronic aid.
You might wonder why.
Well, in India most middle class families have cooks. We had one, then another, and next week we are trying one more. So is India making me lazier? Possibly – I am totally unmotivated to cook here.
The process is more time consuming than you can imagine. Here is why:
there’s the getting the ingredients (probably from several different markets),
there’s cleaning the ingredients (not as simple as you might think),
there is chopping/cutting/whatevering the ingredients,
much to my dismay, the markets here don’t have shredded cheese or pre-sliced apples or already peeled baby carrots or frozen veggies. Okay, maybe I was a little lazy before I got here. Sigh.
there is cooking the ingredients (this requires understanding how all the appliances work and possibly cooking food in shifts because generally the appliances are not large enough to accommodate multiple pans/pots at one time),
there is your family telling you they don’t really care for what you just cooked because it doesn’t taste like it did when you made it at “home”,
and finally, there is washing the dishes and pots and pans by hand.
Just to wake up tomorrow and start the whole process over.
Yeah, I would rather go out to eat.
But we were having a lazy day at home. I realized that we really should eat something. We had discovered frozen tator tots and mozzarella cheese sticks at Khan market the other day. Armed with all the confidence of Martha Stewart, I galloped into the kitchen. I turned on the outlet, then I turned on the oven, then I turned on the timer (it has to be on for the oven to work – yes, even though you turned the oven on already), and I set the temperature. Thankfully, the oven dial is in Celsius and the instructions were in Celsius too. No math involved. Otherwise, I might just have hung up my spatula too.
I lined the pan with aluminum foil. (Again with the laziness – I am all about easy cleaning and if I am not using the foil in the fridge, I might as well use it to line the pan.) And I put the frozen c-r-a-p, I mean snack, on the pan. I went to turn them over half-way through the process and realized I had not sprayed the foil with cooking spray. I know, I know – rookie mistake. I managed to scrape off enough pieces to make a decent sized snack. We used ketchup – so it actually became a two veggie snack – potatoes and tomatoes. And, if I remember correctly, cheese has protein. Right?
We went out for dinner.
Now, I am left wondering just how hungry my family will be if they have to wait until next Friday (when cook number 3 comes) to eat again. They can have cereal for breakfast and they will get lunch at school and they have some clothes that are getting too small. This could be a win all around.
“India Gate, an important monument of the city, is a memorial built in commemoration of more than 80,000 Indian soldiers who were killed during World War I. The monument is an imposing 42 meters high arch and was designed by the famous architect Edwin Lutyens. India gate was earlier named All India War Memorial. The design of India gate is almost similar to its French counterpart war memorial, the Arc-de-Triomphe.
The building is made of red stone that rises in stages into a huge molding. On top of the arch, INDIA is written on both sides. Names of over 70,000 Indian soldiers are inscribed on the walls of the monument in whose memory it is built. There is a shallow domed bowl at the top, which was intended to be filled with burning oil at special occasions.
At the base of the India gate there is another memorial, the Amar Jawan Jyoti that was added after independence. This eternal flame was lighted in commemoration of the unknown soldiers who laid their lives to serve this nation.
The lush green lawns, Children Park and the famous boat club around the place make it a perfect picnic spot. Cool evening breeze near the fountains of India gate attract hundreds of visitors daily. In the evenings, India gate is illuminated with number of lights around it that gives it a magnificent appeal. Standing near the base of the monument one can have a good view of the Rashtrapati Bhawan. The beautifully lit up monument provides a memorable background against the darkening sky. Even in daylight, the stretch between India Gate and the Rashtrapati Bhavan offers a splendid view.
Every year on 26th January India gate stands witness to the Republic Day parade where latest advancements of defence technology is displayed. The parade is also a good platform to have a glimpse at the colourful and diverse cultural heritage of India as artists from all over the country perform on the occasion.”
Another question for my Indian readers – where are the t-shirt vendors at all these monuments. Seriously, someone needs to get busy screen printing. I would have bought a t-shirt with the Taj Mahal on it for my kids, one with the Amber Fort, and one of the India Gate. Throw in some tie-dye shirts and I would get some for the whole family. Someone could make a boatload of money – and yes, I will gladly accept a kickback on the profits for sharing the idea. Or free t-shirts. Or, both.
I think they are called Ambassadors. I think they are usually owned by the more well-to-do. They remind me of my grandparents from my Dad’s side of the family. They used to own a car that looked similar and was blue – they called it “old blue”. Yes, we are a clever bunch!
Sometimes in life, your kids want to do something and you just cannot bring yourself to say yes to even though you know you really should just say yes. You know that they will grow from it, learn from it, enjoy it. But it requires adult participation. Oh bother. Such as it was with the school science fair.
Participation was voluntary (did you hear that – v.o.l.u.n.t.a.r.y.) – no grades given – no first place – no nothing. Just the love of a little science experiment. Oh yeah and you get a t-shirt. Bear and Flower had no interest whatsoever – so I am off the hook, right? Silly rabbit, that’s what I thought too. But there is Angel. With eyes full of wonder and a heart full of enthusiasm. And great hopes for a t-shirt.
Angel: Mom, can I sign up for the science fair?
Me: Honey, you realize you don’t HAVE to sign up, right?
Angel: Yeah, I know, I just WANT to.
Me: I am not sure there are any spots left (yes, I will tell my children a fib – sue me)
Angel: Then what is that table for over THERE?
Me: Flu shots.
Angel: NO it isn’t – it’s for the science fair
Me to myself: (damn, that’s right, she can read now)
Me to Angel: Yes, dear it is – but you realize you don’t HAVE to do it.
Angel: I know, I just WANT to.
Me: Fine.
So, we sign up about 6 weeks before the day of the science fair. Angel decides (with a little good old-fashioned coaxing) that she wants to do the Coke/Mentos experiment. Fine – that’s easy enough. So, little by little I buy 2 liter bottles of soda and mentos candies. We stock pile them in the kitchen. I had to go back and get extra mentos because apparently Bear and Flower “forgot” the candy was for the experiment. (Very supportive those two.)
We I get two of each kind of soda – I roll like that – even in my hesitation to agree to do the project, I must be prepared in case one of the sodas is flat. (Oh ye of little faith – it is highly probable here that a soda might be flat.) I delay her starting the project because I am trying to find Diet Coke in 2 liter bottles. Good luck with that. I am not sure why – but I could not find it. And, sadly, it works the best.
Everything sits in our kitchen. She is distracted by knitting practice, watching tv, fighting with her brother and sister, and that damn reading habit of hers - you name it. She almost forgot about the science fair.
But, finally she remembers that she wants to participate. I think it was because she tripped over the big science fair poster board they gave her for her display. I know, rookie mistake – I should have hidden it better. Next year. But, you can be sure I am not begging her to get started. She needs to find that inner motivation – prove that she really wants to do it. Wouldn’t you know, she found it right there on the floor next to the poster.
Now, I will admit that after number one hubby disagreed over how to measure the explosion of soda and after we discussed whether the experiment should be done on the porch or in the park, we actually all had a lot of fun. (FYI, I was right on both counts – just for the record – yes that made the project more fun.) And no, we did not ask Angel how she thought we should measure the explosion – it was her project after all – we are perfectly capable of fighting over discussing a solution without her help. Thank. you. very. much.
Here is our line up.
Coke went the highest.
Sprite was a dud. And, yes, we tried it twice. Remember, I was prepared with reinforcements.
Fanta looked pretty cool but also did not rise to the occasion.
Afterwards we went to the park. (Better late than never.) And we found out that if you try to drink the soda while it is exploding, it will most definitely go up your nose.
And we found out that it is fun to have a coke-that-has-exploded fight in the park.
We also found out that Angel is perfectly capable of standing alone with her project for 3 hours and discussing it with anyone. Adults, children, teachers. She had no fear whatsoever. In fact, she really enjoyed it. Yes, she made her own poster.
And she got this ribbon – and a certificate – and a t-shirt. WOW Science indeed.
If you want to melt into the landscape of India and enjoy it unnoticed, I suggest you not hang out with us. Exit stage left. Immediately. There is nothing like drawing attention to yourselves by using perfectly good soda and making it explode with perfectly good candy on the porch while in the land of “we waste nothing”. Yep, we did not go unnoticed today. I wonder what our Indian neighbors really thought about our experiment and ensuing soda fight in the park. They must think us strange birds indeed.
All in all, we have survived and quite thoroughly enjoyed the science fair. But I draw the line at Girl Scouts – I am pretty sure that is an American organization that is underrepresented here – at least that will be my story and I will distract her from any sign up tables.
And by the way, Angel wore her t-shirt to school. Priceless.
When we were in the U.S., I used to love to sit on the front porch and watch my kids play games in the cul-de-sac. I loved hearing “not it” when the games began. Which was always followed by a game of bubble gum, bubble gum, in a dish. No one wants to be “it”. But in the blog world, there is always a lovely game of tag going on. And, now I am “it”. This time was bizarre because I got tagged by a mom in India and by a mom in Ohio. Yes, bizarro. The world is indeed becoming smaller.
I am supposed to share the 5 things I love best about motherhood. Some days 5 whole things would be hard to dream up. It’s a tough job, the pay stinks, and it can break your heart. But most days, I would say “just 5″. That is simply not enough. I am amazed that I have been so blessed with my family. Truly, truly blessed.
But motherhood is always a balancing act. Here is my attempt to balance just 5.
1. I will never forget the day that Bear was born and how I felt when he was put in my arms. It was a long, exhausting day that ended up in an emergency c-section (which you can read about here) and he had a dislocatable hip. He needed to spend some time with the nurses. I had to wait what seemed like an eternity to even see him. I was very worried that something was wrong. Then I was wheeled away to recovery. I just kept thinking “where is my baby”? Finally, they put him in my arms and he was small and squishy and I was completely overwhelmed. I had not done a lot of babysitting and did not grow up with younger siblings in the house. My first thought was seriously, what the hell was I thinking and what the hell am I supposed to do with him? I was laying flat on the gurney and I could not really see him, I was straining my neck. Holy smokes. Then they got us in our room and I was allowed to sit up a bit and look at him. I was completely blown away by the love I felt for him. Someone I had never met, who had never spoken to me – he had not even smiled yet or gripped my fingers. And, I realized in that moment just how much my parents loved me. It was amazing to feel their love through my own child.
And, yes, I knew that my parents loved me very much. I simply had no idea how much they loved me. The potential of their love surrounded me that night.
2. My children are the reason I was willing to move to India. I lived in Germany in 5th and 6th grade and I know it changed my life. I wanted to give them this experience to learn about the world. I love watching them here. They would rather be in the U.S., but they are taking advantage of this adventure fully. They are trying new things – even some new foods – and they are soaking it all in. I love that they have roots and that they are sprouting wings.
I am amazed at how willing they are to try new things and how they have learned to be proud of themselves even if they do not win. And, yet, they try their best to win. Still, they have learned to appreciate the journey. That is truly a gift. And it one of the things that makes me most proud of them. They know the difference between disappointment and devastation and they simply will not give up.
3. I love hosting sleepovers for my kids and their friends. Usually we have about 20 something kids spend the night. They insist on tacos for dinner and then waffles, eggs, and bacon for breakfast. EVERY TIME. There is never a question on what the menu will be. One time I ordered pizza because I just ran out of time – that did not go over well. The sleepovers are super fun. Even with all the different age groups, they all seem to get along well. We had one last hurrah before we left Virginia and I invited the parents to come in for a happy hour. That is another tradition we will continue. Good times and great memories. If you live in the glen, you better get your calendar out – we have some sleepover making up to do.
4. Of course, when you have kids, you have endless blog material. That is definitely a big fat plus of parenting.
5. And, finally, I love that my children give me the gift of being true to myself. This is hard to do as a parent – especially if you are not following the main stream line of thinking. As your kids get older, the rules get a little more loosey goosey. Partly because they are gaining independence and partly because parents simply run out of steam. Parenting stretches you thin. There is no doubt about that. My parenting philosophy is simple — I would rather say, “oh that was a little silly” than “damn, I should not have done that or let them do that.” I am probably seen as a little over-protective and I am fine with that. My children have taught me that it is not only important to beat to your own drum – but to, in fact, make your own drum. I know this will get harder as we reach the teenager years and I pray for the strength to continue to go with my instincts. They have served me well so far.
6. Did you really think I could only do 5? So sorry. Six – I love it when I hear Mommy quietly whispered. I will never forget when I went from Mommy to Mom. It was a tough day and it came much earlier than I thought it possibly could. But when I hear Mommy spoken softly – I know I am needed in a way that only a Mommy can be needed. (And Mommy whispered softly is not to be confused with “MAAAAWWWWMMMMY” yelled by a child running full speed at you – that is another story altogether.)
So now I am to tag others. I would love to hear from
Lola - she is my favorite blog smart arse – so hers will probably be funny – if she does it – I know you might take a pass sassy! She’s not a big fan of being tagged.
Kristen – although she just had a baby so she might be a little busy
Black Hockey Jesus – who says men can’t love being a parent too – I might just be a blip on his radar screen – he has a huge audience – so we’ll see if he has time to do it
Mrs. Smith – she has been looking for blog material – so here is an idea – she has 7 kids – it should be good.
Donna – she is recently separated and on a new adventure as a parent
And of course, anyone else who wants to play along is welcome to do so! There are some people I did not tag because I know they have a lot going on – but if you find the time – you are now officially “it”.
When your family and closest friends live on the other side of the planet, it is important to know what time it is here and there. Right now, my U.S. home is 9 and 1/2 hours behind my Indian home.
Today I found out why.
India is 1,000 kilometers wide (I think it was km, not miles – I might need to check that.) Apparently, it really should be in two time zones – but instead they split the difference. So rather than the right side being an hour ahead and/or the left side being an hour behind – they met in the middle at the half hour mark.
And just in case you are wondering – the U.S. has four time zones.
India also does not change its clocks for daylight savings time.
How do I know this? Well I went to a meeting today and Ranjini Manian the CEO and founder of Global Adjustments gave a presentation. She enlightened me on this fact and many others. I will share more tomorrow – but right now I must go pick up my kiddos from school. Yes, my driver could do that and I could stay here with you all day – but there are some things I am not giving in to India on, just yet. I like to pick up my own kids. Okay – technically the driver drives me and I pick them up – but you know what I meant.
Just a few random updates in case you are wondering…….
We now have Laxmi cooking for us. Monday she made chicken enchilladas and last night roast beef. She is a very good cook and has a sweet disposition. I think she might be a keeper. She made homemade bread yesterday and has promised to make cookies today. YAHOOO!
Our allergies are really bothering all of us. It does not rain here much at all – yeah, I know, just wait until June.
You hear a lot about malaria when you are coming to India – but Denge fever seems to be at least as big of a worry. Yeah, that’s great.
I have two blog friends who are moving here this summer – one from Ohio and one from France. Yes, I think that is very cool. I have encouraged them both to bring bug spray.
Some of my college friends in the U.S. got together for dinner the other night and ate spinach dip in my honor. I miss them! They also drank wine. Damn them.
I offered to write for a magazine here that caters to expats – wasn’t that nice of me – yes, I will definitely let you know how that goes.
It is time for me to give up caffeine again. Yes, my blogs might become a little cranky. Bear with me.
Today at school is earth day. No classes for the middle schoolers – just a whole lot of eco-friendly things like:
Making puppets out of (clean) trash
I think they also made a game
A swim/walk/yoga/or dance-a-thon
A eco-friendly mela (craft Fair) with mostly products made from recycled materials
(one of the vendors makes paper out of elephant poop – no, I am not clear on why that is necessary, but yes, I am going to check it out – maybe from a distance)
Several presentations re: the environment
Trash free lunch day – everyone has to bring a lunch that leaves no trash behind
Yes, it is all very cool. My children are really becoming more global thinkers.
I mentioned the other day that I went to a presentation given by Ranjini Manian the CEO and founder of Global Adjustments.
It was very interesting on a number of levels. First of all, I won a prize! Yeah for me. It was this wash cloth. This washcloth was made by handicapped people and it is adorable. They may be handicapped but they sure are talented.
I also won a cd that has the Indian National Anthem on it. Yeah for me again. Here is a link to it if you want to hear it – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lZi3fwP09zw. This one is by AR Rahman – that’s right movie buffs – THE AR Rahman of Slumdog Million. Jai Ho indeed. It is a beautiful song.
And just because I am bi-partisan like that, here is a link to the U.S. National Anthem by Whitney Houston. And yes, I LOVE this song.
Now, back to the meeting. Global Adjustments is a group that helps expats get more comfortable in their new surroundings. As such, the presentation was focused on helping us survive our transitions. Now, this is a monumental task because there were probably 125 people at the meeting – about 10 were Americans, one was an Indian who left and has returned to live in India, and then there were people from everywhere else. So forget about a level playing field – there isn’t a lot of common ground – except for the fact that we were all willing to take on the adventure of moving far from home in hopes of growing as global citizens.
So there are some universal truths. You do not have to agree/like with them – but just knowing that they exist will help with your transition.
Here goes……..
Language
English by any other name is not necessarily the English you know. Communicating can be frustrating here. Many people hire staff who claim to speak English then get extremely frustrated when they have a hard time talking with them in English. As you know, this has NEVER happened to ME personally, but some poor other frustrated souls. So, what Ranjini recommended is to use fewer words. My hubby actually recommends this too. He is wicked smart like that.
The ever polite English woman might ask her cook for a cup of tea in this way …
It would be so lovely if you could possibly make me a little cup of tea, if you wouldn’t mind, please. Thank you so much.
Apparently, “a cup of tea, please” is much less muddled and easier to understand. Translation – less frustrating and it means you get that bloody cup of tea much faster.
Namaste
This is the word you use to greet someone in India. It means much more than just hello or nice to meet/see you. It literally means “I bow to the divine in you”. Now that is some kick arse kind of lovely – don’t you think? It is accompanied by holding your palms together at your chest and bending a little towards the person you are greeting.
Time
Time does not exactly stand still here – but it is a relative term. I have learned an important word – lugbug (I am not sure how to spell it – but that is how you I say it.) Lugbug means “about”. That is how time is measured here – about. It is not precise.
Ranjini gave the example of ASAP. To A-type Americans this means yesterday or at least right now. As SOON as possible. To Indians this means as soon as “p.a.u.s.i.b.l.e.” – whenever you get it done – pauses are possible. See there is a big difference.
Dress
Indians dress much more conservatively than most Westerners. Knees and shoulders covered. Yes, even when it is 110+ degrees outside. Not everyone visiting/living here follows those guidelines – but really it is respectful to do so. It will save you stares and maybe even some jeers.
Ranjini also mentioned that if possible take an Indian woman with you shopping for clothes. Apparently, Indians can be critical of each others dress (women being critical must be universal hee hee) and there are some fabric/styles that are more acceptable than others. I don’t really follow this one too closely. I have never been too overly aware of what other people think about the way I dress – I am a pretty boring dresser – solids with solids – so I wear what I like. If I get laughed at, it won’t be the first time. But this good to know if you are at all self -conscious or if you are going to a business meeting or traditional Indian event. There I would seek out some guidance.
Yes/No/Silence
Apparently, most Indians consider it rude to say no to a request. So, many times, they will agree to do something that is simply not possible. Enter frustrated expat full of expectations that yes actually means yes. There’s that damn language barrier again. So, if you get silence or a not exactly a resounding yes response – it is important to ask follow-up questions. How are you going to do this? When are you going to do this? Are you absolutely sure you can do this?
Ranjini also suggested that it might be helpful to give people an “out” when you ask them something. Tell them that you want an honest answer and it is okay to say that it might be hard to accomplish or even that it cannot be done. Explain that it is better to be upfront with expectations than to disappoint you later.
This is not just in an office my friends, remember this for electricians, carpenters, cooks, drivers, EVERYBODY!
Heirarchy
It is important to remember that this is a hierarchical society – whether you agree with it or not. Bigger cities are getting away from this somewhat – but not entirely. Your driver will likely outrank your cook – who will outrank your housekeeper. You outrank them all.
Family
Indians are hugely attached and involved with their families. It is important to remember how significant their families and extended families are to them. Respect those bonds.
Domestic Help
I had several questions about this and sadly there was not enough time to open up a real discussion on this issue. But Ranjini said that most expats need to let go of the guilt of having staff. It is part of life here and in many ways it is (almost) a necessity. I still cannot bring myself to say it is required – but believe me it is extremely helpful and my life would stink without any help. So, I count my blessings on this one.
Upon hearing that we were moving to India, I got a boat load of questions – the two most common were by far….
Do cows really roam the streets there and aren’t you going to have like a million people working in your house?
The answer to number one quickly revealed itself as YEP, they sure do.
And number two was – well, not exactly a million.
Now, if you are used to doing most of your own housework, shopping, cooking, driving, and cleaning, having a “staff” initially sounds very appealing. And once you get the right staff, it is really nice in many ways. But there are shortcomings and some of them make me laugh.
Here is what happened today.
As I have mentioned, we just got a new cook. So far she rocks. She made homemade chocolate chip cookies today. Sweet mother of chocolate chip God. They were fabulous. Yes, they WERE, because we have almost completely polished off the entire double batch. And yes, by saying we, I really mean me. And, yes, I promise not to complain about gaining weight later. Pinky swear.
Oh wait, before I can pinky swear, I have to lick this chocolate off of my pinky. There. Okay, now, I pinky swear.
Laxmi is also doing laundry for us. And putting laundry away. Enter the funny part.
I wear tank tops under my shirts because it is too flippin hot here for a bra with padding and/or underwire. My 10-year old daughter also wears tank tops as a pajama top. So does my 12-year old son – as an undershirt.
Do you see where this is going? I have never been accused of being well endowed – even pregant, I was a member in good standing of the little bitty committee. But, even if you are fully aware and even accepting of reality, it is not exactly a boost to your ego when the person who puts your clothes away confuses your tank tops with your son’s and daughter’s tank tops. Really, truly it is not.
If you are visiting Delhi, please make plans to visit Humuyan’s Tomb. I think it is fabulous, especially if you will not have time to go see the Taj Mahal in Agra.
It costs about $10 to get in – yes Indians are (much) cheaper – but kids 15 and under are free.
This is a smaller tomb – not the big one – not yet.
Really, you don’t. See that blue sky with a little cloud in it? When I said to my family that I was so happy to see a blue sky and even a little cloud, Flower said that I had not been paying attention. She has seen a blue sky at least 6 times since we have been here.
I stopped myself from saying, “exactly”. I just smiled and enjoyed the blue. I did not see the sun – but I know he was there somewhere.
When I was in college, I went to a fortune teller. Okay, it was in a bar and I was not exactly “un”intoxicated. Not so much a good mix. Lesson learned – go to fortune teller completely sober. And maybe pick one that isn’t seated in the back of a bar. In the dark corner.
She told me that someone I cared about with dark hair who was involved in finance was going to die. What? That simply can not be.
My dad is an accountant – my then fiance (now number one hubby) was an accounting major – they both have dark hair. I had had a little bit a lot too much to drink and I momentarily forgot that everyone is going to die – at some point. So, I will take this opportunity to apologize to my friends who were with me that night. I cried for the remainder of the night. Yeah, I am sure that was a lot of fun.
Note to number one hubby – if you ever think I don’t care about you – please remember that I cried all night when I heard that you were going to die – at some point.
Many years later, when my husband won a trip to Jamaica, I went to another fortune teller. She was a little more accurate. She told me that she knew I had had a miscarriage. She told me about someone in my life – she couldn’t pull out the name – maybe it was Georgia – yeah, my mom lives in Georgia.
I had not had too much anything to drink. I do realize that she spoke mostly in generalizations – but some things were dead on.
So, now I am intrigued by all this mystical stuff. I don’t really want predictions – they might drive me mad – but I am curious about the now and when. So, when I went to a craft show a few days ago and there was a tarot card reader there – I sat down. Five hundred rupees, please. You got it.
She also spoke somewhat in generalizations – but some of it was surprising.
She said that I am still mourning a loss and cannot completely focus on what I have gained. She said my glass is half empty (rather than half-full). This surprised me. I am normally a glass half-full person. Actually I am more of a “who cares” whether it’s full or empty – it is what it is – I am lucky there is a glass. But coming to India was a sudden change and not one I was looking for. I think I am doing a pretty good job of embracing this adventure – and on many, many levels, enjoying it. But, dang it, I miss home. I have not put both feet down yet.
She went on to say that there is a big opportunity waiting for me but I need to be more open to it. And that I need to not be so introspective. That way I will be able to see it when it comes. She even went so far as to say that I will get published and it will be big. So, remember, you knew me when. She also said there is a big celebration in my near future. A wedding or a new house – it’s probably not going to be one of those – but bring on the celebration.
Mrs. Tarot also said that I need to be careful about the money side of things in this new adventure. Okay. I can do that. If there is money involved, I can pay attention to it.
Apparently great things are in store for me. Isn’t that exciting?
I know many of you roll your eyes when I talk about my “staff” woes. I completely realize that it really is hard to understand how “un”helpful help can be. You lose a lot of your independence and that’s not always fun. But sometimes it is funny. Sometimes in India I have to remember that as long as it ends up as a funny story later, I should laugh about it now.
Let me ’splain…
As you might recall, our driver is a good driver. We are happy enough with him. He is reliable and kind. Sometimes communication with him is not easy, but most of the time he gets it pretty well. I have learned that whenever we are going in a caravan that I must get the other drivers phone numbers – just in case. That has proven to be very helpful and wise.
Things have been good enough. Until yesterday. Yesterday, I called him and told him I was on my way out of the school. He said, “Yes, ma’am, I am coming.” That’s what he always says and he always comes.
Until yesterday. I sat for about 10 minutes – yes, in the 110 degree heat – and then I called him back. No answer.
Houston, we have a problem.
I called again at 15 minutes. You got it. Still no answer. Now I am worried. It’s really not like him.
I want to worry about my driver like I want a root canal. Really, it’s just not on my list of priorities.
So, I call hubby. Who calls our driver. No answer.
Hubby calls his assistant. Hubby’s assistant calls our driver. No answer.
Yes, it was like beating our head against the wall – a wall with very long nails that have been waiting in the 110 degree heat. Yes, that would hurt. I know someone brilliant once said that repeating the same behavior over and over and expecting a different result is foolish.
Call us foolish. It’s like a bad joke – how many expats does it take to call a driver?
I called our driver again. What do you think the odds are that there was NO ANSWER?
Hubby sends another car. It’s going to take 45 minutes to get to me. Yeah, that’s a long time. Yes, it was super duper hot outside. Yes, I had to pee. Yes, I should have taken a cab. Something about being dependent on others makes you forget temporarily how to think in a straight line. Plus I am now really worried about our driver. I want to be sure he is okay.
AUGH.
As I sit waiting for driver number 2, driver number 1 shows up in a rickshaw. WTH?
It seems he locked his keys in the car – and his phone. WTH?
I wondered the same thing – yes, he answered the phone and told me he was coming. AND THEN he locked his keys in the car AND his phone. Seriously, WTH?
Upon further investigation interrogation, we learned that he was sleeping on the passenger side. I called and woke him up. He answered the phone. He got out of the car to get in the drivers seat and WALAHHHHHHHHH. Okay then.
Then he tried for 25 minutes to get into the car – while he knew I was waiting. He was literally around the corner trying for 25 minutes to open the door. When he ultimately accepted that he was not going to be able to get the door open without a key or call me without a phone, he caught a rickshaw to come give me an update. Yes, I suppose that was very kind of him.
Do you see how having a driver is like having a teenager? Did you see why it’s not all butterflies and unicorns dancing on rainbows?
Oh, and yes, it gets better. You knew it would.
Now our driver and I are waiting together outside in the heat. He feels terrible. I am not happy – glad that he is okay – but not really happy – but trying not to act like a biotch, because really these things can happen. I cannot make small talk with him because (A) I don’t want to and (B) I don’t speak Hindi. It was like two divorced parents waiting to congratulate their kid for getting the Nobel Prize. All smiles on the outside – but not exactly happy, happy to be standing next to each other waiting.
So, driver number 2 (finally) comes. Driver number 1 gets in the front seat. I get in the back seat. We are going to my house to wait for a second set of keys to be delivered. It’s going to take about 2 hours. Fine.
All the way home I hear blah, blah, blah Ma’am (that’s me) – blah blah blah Saab (that’s hubby) – blah blah blah mobile (that’s how you say cell phone here).
That’s how it went the whole way home – ma’am – saab – mobile – ma’am – saab – mobile – ma’am – saab – mobile. AUGH!
Hey dudes, can you use that little device right in front of you? It’s called a rear view mirror and it lets you see what is behind you. That would be me. I don’t speak Hindi but I know what Saab and Ma’am mean. I know you are talking about me. STOP IT.
I remembered that I needed to get some cash. So, I asked driver 2 to stop at the ATM machine.
We stop at the ATM and now, ladies and gentlemen, we have ourselves a ballgame. Driver number 1 and driver number 2 are trying to see who is going to get to my door first to open it for me. They are like two kindergartners trying to be first in line for free ice cream and lizards.
While they are busy trying to out open each other, I turn slightly to the left and open my own friggin’ door. I have not completely forgotten how to take care of that for myself. And alas, I will need this simple skill in just a few weeks when I am left to my own devices in the U.S.
I went to the ATM and get money. Then back to the car. They’re at it again. Me first. No me first.
Seriously – I got it. It’s just a door – I can handle it. (get it? “handle” it? door handle. hee hee)
And although, waiting in the 110 degree heat wasn’t that funny – and worrying about our driver is not what I would have picked to do – I can now see the humor in this. It has become a funny story.
Since moving to Delhi, I have seen a lot of very interesting things. But one thing that surprises me everyday is the number of different ways bikes are used here. I bet you thought a bike was just for riding. Well, not necessarily. Sometimes I feel like I am living in a Dr. Suess book when I see all the bikes.
One bike, two bikes, three bikes, four
Six bikes, seven bikes, look there’s more.
They’re in the street right by the car
Oh, how many bikes there are
This one needs a little push
His legs are going to feel like mush
This one carries tanks of gas
How much longer can he last
Some are big and some are small
There’s just no way to count them all
Some of them are even blurry
Their driver must be in a hurry
Tires, sticks, and so much stuff
The ice cream bike means we’re in luck
A little snack for a journey far
It would be easier in a car
One bike, two bikes, three bikes, four
Every where you look, there’s more…..
I have heard a lot about Old Delhi – and I finally got to go. It is not the place you want to venture out on your own for your very first visit. I never, ever felt in danger – in fact I got some of the most beautiful smiles I have seen since I have been here – but it is narrow and dusty and fast moving. It is not laid out neatly – you can easily get turned around. So, it’s just better not to go at it alone the first time. It was a super quick trip and I plan to go again – and soon. But for now, here is a little taste of what I saw.
We rode the Delhi metro – it was loverly. Really clean and very easy to navigate. This is the way to go!
There were lots of vendors selling food. It is beautiful but, no, I did not eat any of it.
I loved this water pump – it seemed so out of place and so in place all at the same time. This man is washing off his broom.
You could buy veggies. Very fresh veggies.
And tassles. Yummy tassles.
And you can see people working really hard.
And animals working really hard.
And more wires than you could ever count – in the land of technical assistance call centers – this irony is not lost.
This guy was a great big smile just waiting to happen.
A great big smile.
The streets are narrow and crowded – but it is a fascinating place.
I was offered medical books here. Too bad I don’t need medical books. There was quite a selection.
And you know I loved the kick arse doors in this place. They rock!
This visit was too short. I plan to go back and see the wedding district, the spice market, and the nut market. Plus whatever else the day has to offer.
This weekend, number one hubby and I “celebrated” our 17th wedding anniversary. Blink. When did that happen? Not really sure – but it’s been a good ride. I still like him a lot and he continues to put up with me. And ever since I started blogging he has officially recognized that I can be funny. We really make each other laugh and smile. We probably have at least another 17 years in us.
I say “celebrated” because number one hubby went to work, Bear had a track meet, we hosted two visiting athletes from Katmandu, Flower and Angel went with me to a craft fair – it was a little “un”anniversary like.
And if you know me at all, you’ll understand that I am not exactly all over hiring a babysitter in a foreign country to watch my kids so that hubby and I can pay way too much for a dinner out. Yeah, Laxmi made butter chicken for us and I am good with that.
There isn’t really much that either of us wanted, so gift giving pretty much went to the back burner, too. I am also good with that. I know the men are rolling their eyes here – but really – I don’t like gifts just for the sake of gifts. Hubby is generous anytime I want something – I don’t have to wait for anniversaries and birthdays. See how that works? It’s better that way.
Number One Hubby loves fresh flowers and he is especially fond of lillies. I did not want our day to go unnoticed so I got him these. They are from the flower stand in our neighborhood and they are really beautiful.
And so began the parade of flowers and gifts. The war of the roses.
Number One Hubby’s office sent this cake. It came one day early, so I had to promise that we would cut it at midnight. We cut it and I am sure it was midnight (somewhere). It was delish.
Then came this elephant pot from Number One Hubby’s assistant. It is tres cool. Number One Hubby had actually been looking at these – we love it! (Before you fall out of your chair, remember that the swastika here is an auspicious symbol – it has nothing to do with all that Nazi hate baloney. It is a lovely symbol here and it is often drawn out in fresh flowers. So, just to be clear, we are not joining the Third Reich – we are just being wished much love and happiness.)
Then came these from our driver….
and these from Ravi – the rock star who cleans our house….
And then these from the travel group that coordinates number one hubby’s travel…..
Deepak sent these……….
Number One Hubby’s admin staff sent these – yep, we ran out of vases, glasses, and anything that could hold liquids, so these are in the blender.
But before all of these arrived, hubby decided to surprise me. He ordered 17 vases and 17 dozen roses. Yep, you read that right. 17 of each. While, I was dropping off our visiting athletes and Bear for warmups at the track meet, Number One Hubby, the real Flower, and Angel worked their little florist fingers to the bone. They arranged 17 dozen roses all throughout the house.
Some of the vases are lined with rice paper that creates this very artsy mosaic look. Hubby says the paper will eventually dissolve – but until then – fabulouso!
These are just closeups of some of the other flowers – but I thought they were fun. So, you get to see them too.
And yes, you are absolutely right, I am very lucky!
One of the main reasons that number one hubby wanted us to move to India was to see what the “rest of the world” was like. India is very different than the United States for many, many reasons. Because we have moved here, we have learned that we have taken a lot in life for granted.
This neighborhood does not have running water. Water is delivered here. You get a little bit and you better make good use of it because you won’t get any more until the truck comes back.
There is a Cactus park in Delhi – maybe it’s Cacti park – whichever – there’s a park with prickly plants in it. Flower’s class recently went there for a field trip and I got to tag along. It is a pretty cool place. I clearly don’t remember the exact name of it – maybe someone who reads along will remember. I know you are probably thinking, “didn’t you get a hand out or something?” The answer would be yes – and I lost it. So, no help there. Apparently I walked away with the handout from the teacher too that I wasn’t supposed to keep – lost that one too. So, nope, I won’t be able to identify any of the specimens for you. Sorry.
Yes, I am sure to be fired soon.
If the students don’t listen to the teacher – they have to sit here.
Now that is a pathway Peter Pan would have loved.
This was a lovely Buddhist thing – I am honestly not sure if it is a temple or a shrine or just a statue. But whatever it is, here it is. Tres cool.
And another very fun bridge. Did you notice that neither bridge has water running under it – do you notice a theme here? Does anyone know why it doesn’t just go straight across? I am guessing just because – but if there is a more scientific explanation, I am all ears.
I have seen quite a few young children around Delhi with very dark lines under their eyes. I finally got some pictures of these beautiful children and I am wondering if anyone knows what this is for……….
Tomorrow I will share with you just how it was that I got to meet these kids.
We all meet people throughout our lives who seem to be able to stretch the clock. They make more happen in one day than it seems possible to accomplish in a full year. And yet they do it – over and over again. We are left to marvel and wonder – do they eat, do they sleep, do they have a magic vitamin, have they been invaded by aliens? Where do they get their energy from?
Let me introduce you to Anou. She created Project Why.
In short, she created Project Why to help those who cannot help themselves. Of course, the story goes much deeper than that and it begins with her own daughter. Anou’s daughter struggled with the academic challenges of school. When I first met her, she laughed that she did what every good parent does and told her she did not have to go back. Then she resolved to help those children who struggled in this world.
This is Rani. She came to Project Why when she was 15 from not the best of circumstances. She exemplifies why Project Why is so important. She is now traveling the world to share Project Why’s story. She is a confident, beautiful, unassuming, and gracious young lady – her life is better because Anou carved out enough minutes in her day to help her. And now she is making her own difference in the world – carving out her own minutes.
This is Meher. When Meher was a little bitty thing, she was burned terribly. I am not exactly clear what happened. But it doesn’t really matter – Meher needed some angels to lift her up and help her along her life’s journey. Guess who spread her wings once again? Anou and Project Why. They have raised enough money to help Meher with reconstructive and plastic surgeries. She is a vibrant girl who is full of joy and laughter and I believe a good dose of mischief. She lights up the room. And I am sure eventually she will light up the world.
This school is one of the centers that Project Why uses to help children who live in slums. If I understood it correctly, they attend government schools as well, but Project Why teachers supplement their studies with much needed extra help. The boys go in the morning and the girls come in the afternoon.
This is what the neighborhood looks like right outside the school.
The American’s Womens Association had donated money for building materials for a roof for the school house – so these boys presented our Outreach Chair with a beautiful handmade card.
We also went to visit the Women and Children’s Center. Here women learn to sew and how to become beauticians and children up to about age 14 take classes.
I think this is their guard cow. He’s on it.
This is another classroom. The children here were learning math.
No, I did not offer to tutor. Remember, they are trying to improve their math skills. Ironically, this almost looks like something you would see in a shabby chic catalog.
True to her original mission, Anou opened a center for mentally disabled children. Across the street from this center is also a residential center where a few of the children live.
This girl could put any bollywood dancer to shame. She was magnificent.
I had never heard of brittle bones disease until yesterday. This little girl has it. There is no cure. Her bones are deteriorating at a ridiculous rate and she will die from the complications from this disease – probably sooner than later. She is a bright, enthusiastic child who is eager to learn. She gets to do just that at Project Why.
There is so much more to Project Why than just this blog post. Anou and Project Why help over 700 children in 7 locations throughout Delhi. They have made it possible for several children to receive open heart surgeries through their Hear Fix Hotel. They have given local women a safe place to fall when they need to escape from the toils of their daily lives. Project Why has taken in disabled children and given them a home. Five children from the slums are now attending a boarding school and are getting a proper education. The list goes on.
So I spent my day yesterday with some amazing people who stretch the bounds of compassion and generosity beyond all reasonable limits. Their clocks do not tick in real time – their clocks allow them to add minutes to each hour with spaces in between where kindness grows and humanity flourishes.
At the end of the day, I felt pretty much like an underachiever, realizing that I hold my minutes too tightly together and lose too many of them for no good reason. I realized how ungrateful I am at times for the complaints I have voiced in my life and I hope to spend my time, talents, and energy more wisely. I am sure to fall flat on the face of my watch with those ambitious goals – but I can dust myself off and start a new until I get it right.
There are a lot of different ways to support Project Why if you are so inclined. Here is a link if you are interested – Support Project Why.
Okay, so this is going to sound very strange coming from me because I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE mail. I used to work in a card shop. I used to own a handmade stationery business. I used to spend hours upon hours making handmade Christmas cards. I always made them unique sizes, so the postage was always 
speaking. Well, I am speaking – begging, pleading, offering high quality card stock – all to no avail.
me.
