Old Man Over Seas

My father has decided to stay in India. If last weeks troubles didn't point him towards home nothing will. I miss him a lot. He is a character to say the least. He has always been up for an adventure. He moved to India at the age of 86. How is that for moxie? Who does that sort of thing? I might(I am just saying).

I am glad I was able to bring him there. I am able to picture his cute little room that Jo so tastefully decorated. I can see him reading in the Great Room. (Do you like that Jo?) I know that he is well taken care of and much adored. It is a rule in India you know. You must adore your elders, just like they are gods. He is adorable alright. Still, we miss him.

He and my mother lived next door to us in Providence.,RI for 4 years. Of course I miss them. My husband and I bought a cute little house about 7 years ago right next to Providence College. It is in the greatest neighborhood. When it became apparent that my mother needed more help than my father could offer I felt I was the best suited child for the job. I am a care giver,it is what I do best.

We looked around for a bigger house to move us all into. Nothing thrilled us. My parents crammed into our house for 4 months. One day, my neighborbor popped her head out of her door when I was getting my boys off to school. She said, "Hey Lucy I am going to sell my house. Do you want it?"

"Yesirree Bob". So it came to be that my parents lived next door. It was perfect. Separate yet equal. Long live the Queen and so on. I miss those days. My wonderfully batty mother and my highly strung father. A pair indeed. My parents. I miss them.

Right now I am clearing their house of all their personal belongings. We decided to rent the place. I found my mother's medic alert braclet and I thought my heart was going to break. I burst into tears. Tears that I did not know were there. I was so clinical yesterday. I thought I was cold. The discovery of mom's medic alert braclet made me remember that woman who raised me. For the last years of my mom's life I have been her caretaker. I forgot that she took care of me. She took really good care of me for years.

I remember that bracelet. I remember her always having it on, like some sort of life line. I remember flipping it over on her wrist and reading it. I'd read that she was Catholic, allergic to penicillin,her eyes would be donated, her blood was type OPOS and that she was RH POS. (so am I , however the big joke in my house is that my husband's blood type is "0 Postitive" and I am "B Negative". I tell him it would be funnier if he were "B Positive" ).

About a year before I took a fancy to her medic alert bracelet my mother had written an article for The New Bedford Standard Times. It was about donating your body to Science. The article was "City Woman Donates Her Body to Science". There was a blurry photo of her. The fact that we lived in Fall River didn't fool me. I was so upset. I must have been 8. I said, "Mom.You can't" She said, "If you feel this strongly about it when I die, I won't" I said, "Do you promise?" She said, "I do."

She meant it. Mother knows best.

Things got so muddled at the end. I don't know what happened. Her body was NOT donated. It should have been. My mother graduated summa cum laude from college and died in a sea of confusion. Her mind should have been studied.

Barack Hussein Obama

Barack Hussein Obama is MY President. I am changed.

American Indians on Halloween

Back at home.

We are back home in America. The boys have caught up on their sleep. These are pictures of them at dinner the night we got home. The loves.

I am looking for a job.

I haven't (really) worked in years. I am a little nervous about the idea. Details to follow. As for now, I am going to place a wet rag on my forehead, take a little nap, then wake up and get a free coffee at Starbucks because I voted, you betcha.

"You betcha" has become my absolute favorite catch phrase of this election. However, I did NOT vote for the "you betcha" party, no siree bob.

Testing

I wrote a new blog called "Today was the craziest day of my life" Actually, that wasn't the name at all, I haven't come up with a pithy name, but that was the first sentence. I have no idea why it didn't take. Maybe my toothy before shot freaked the powers that be.

Naina. Naina. Naina!

How I love Naina. What a sweetlove. Naina babysits for my niece Moy. She also just landed a job at Karuna Vihar, the school my boys go to. I see her everyday. She doesn't speak much English, and of course, I don't speak much Hindi. She knows a lot of basic English however and is forever teaching me the Hindi for it. I won't even try to spell its Hindi counterpart but she has taught me "How are you?" "I am fine" "Hot" "Cold" "Sad" "Happy" "Small" "Big" "Bad" "Good" "Thank You" There really are no words for "Please" and "Your Welcome" It is all in your delivery.

Naina loves the boys and the boys love her. About a month ago she invited us to her home. She lives near the gorgeous Tea Gardens. This place is beyond belief. Gorgeous. Gorgeous. Gorgeous. We walked to her house. We walked past the Tea Gardens , past beautiful homes, and she kept saying to me, "My home. Small, My home. Small" We turned down a lane and got to her little "village" It was another world. All eyes were on us. Naina looked so proud. It was funny. Proud of me and my little imps?! Well, she was.

Her mother greeted us at the door and had chai and special sweets that she had been preparing all day. It was a 2 room hut. It was immaculately clean. The bathroom (with its squat toilet-that the boys LOVED)was outside. Naina's mother is battling Cancer and it worries Naina to no end. These are 2 of the most welcoming women that I have ever met. It was late when we left, both the boys wanted to sleep over.

About 2 weeks ago the boys and I took Naina into town to shop, have lunch, get my nose pierced, you know , the usual. It was Sunday morning. We met her at her house at around 10:45. Owen, Enzo and I walked through the Tea Gardens and came into the village from the back entrance. Like the pied piper, we were followed to her gate by 20 or so children, all freshly scrubbed and in their Sunday best. There they are, at her gate. I wish I had gotten the picture of her shutting the gate! My camera was in need of new batteries. I had some in my bag, but I was too late. Drat. It could have been an award winning series.

So we got a rickshaw into town, something that she never does. We rarely do it either. It is so lazy. A rickshaw is between 80 and 100 rupees and a vickram (shared ride) is 4 rupees! Oh wait! you have to walk an extra 4 blocks. The horror. Today was an important day. I wanted to make it as special as possible for Naina. So we got to town and walked around the marketplace. I wanted to buy Naina a suit. A Salwar Kameez. We went to several stores. Naina couldn't actually believe that this was happening. Most of the suits that Naina buys are about 200 to 300 rupees a piece. I wanted to get her a really ornate one for about 1200 or 1500 rupees. Honest to God, that isn't much at 44 rupees to the dollar. Do the math. I come out looking like the hero for a song!

She was really really surprised when I ABSOLUTELY INSISTED! I felt like some crazy rich Aunt, which I am not. It was gorgeous, and she was so thrilled! Can you imagine MY joy? Unbelievable. So so easy. So little can mean so much.

Next up, lunch. We took her to this really nice restaurant called "Kumar's Vegetarian" Delicious. Naina took one look at the menu and said, "Didi, Cold Coffee only" I was like "WHAT? I am taking you out to LUNCH!, ORDER!" (N.B. The entire bill was $11.00 US for 4 of us. It is easy to look like a big shot at this exchange.)

Reluctantly (I am not kidding) she ordered. We feasted like kings. The food was so incredible. After the waiter took our order, she looked around and got a little teary. She said, "Didi. Me. Restaurant. Never" and she held up one finger. "First time" She is 23 years old. The boys looked at her in utter disbelief. She said, "I am simple girl" She is awesome girl.

Pressing Business

Azad is the greatest. I'd give him the shirt off my back. His business is one of the many,many little luxuries that India has to offer. Door to door laundry service!

My maidservant Dwatika had been doing it, even when I pleaded with her not too. We cannot understand each other to save our lives.I literally threw my body on top of a pile of dirty laundry in order to illustrate my directive. I wasn't clear enough.


I am never there when she arrives in the morning. I walk the boys to school and go over to my sister's house for coffee. By the time I get there, it is too late. All the clothes are soaking in this pasty blue chalky water. Every morning it was the same thing, I would try to take over, she would yell, "No Didi No". Then she would get to work. She is kind of a toughie. When she said, "No Didi No" she really meant it.

Her hand is still not right from that sugar caning press accident. I didn't want her doing my clothes, not only that, she did a horrible job. Owen was getting rashes, and I could see unwashed blue streaks running down pant legs. She was so afraid that I wasn't going to pay her the agreed upon monthly salary if she didn't do everything. Hilarious. She could do nothing at all (which is kind of what it looks like she does) and I would still pay her. She spends an hour every morning out in my yard burning things. That alone is worth the price of admission.

One night I was at my sister's house and Azad came by to pick up their laundry, and to drop off the washed and ironed ones. All those visions of amazingly pressed clothes came back to me! I loved sending my clothes out last time I was here! Azad would solve all my problems. Jo spoke to Dwatika, and assured her that her salary would not change.

For 5 rupees a garment (Jo gets hers done for 3 rupees because they are "Azad's family" somehow, I squeak in at 5, but most people are charged 10). I promise you, you would pay any price when you saw the condition that they are returned in.

He has a 25 pound iron! I send him off with a huge sheet full of rumpled clothes and he returns with a stack of neatly ironed garments the size of one thin dime. Everything. The first time I sent my stuff out, my underwear and socks came back pressed. That was embarrassing,and only happened once. I keep that stuff home now(hidden from Dwatika). I felt like an idiot getting the unmentionables ironed.

Azad took over the business from his father. I remember his father from 1992. I was saddened but not surprised to learn that Azad's father had been killed in a motorcycle accident. The load you see Azad with is a small one. I see him motorbiking all over Vasant Vihar Enclave pushing it to the limit with his massive hauls.

If I just need something pressed quickly, I can run down the street to the open air press wallah. Behind him is the chai stall so I can sit around and have a cup of tea while I wait. The whole thing usually sets me back 30 cents US.