The Mountain Isn't Coming To Us

They are not making chunky peanut butter anymore,at least not in bulk. I am not spending top dollar for an item that I can easily craft in my own kitchen for a fraction of the cost. The boys do not like creamy peanut butter and were completely on board with my plan. In fact, they were in love with my plan. It is a long story.

I can find creamy peanut butter for $2.49 at Aldi.















Aldi is the new German grocery store chain popping up all over the east coast. You pay 25 cents for a grocery cart and you bag your own items. It is bare bones at its best. Fabio says he feels like he is in a little village in Russia when he shops there. It definitely draws in the shawl wearing grandmas from the neighborhood.



One year ago TODAY (!) the boys and I took a taxi cab up to Mussourie from Dehradun in India.






That first taxi got us to the center of town and then we had to take another one further up the mountains to the house we were staying in. The views were freaking us out. I mean it. All of us. We could not be quiet about it. The boys were "Mom, look..." "No, look over here..." "Wow." "Oh my God!" We just could not believe what were seeing. I did. I cried. It was in your face awe-inspiring beauty. I felt like I could reach out and touch it. It was so close. These pictures don't do it justice. It was all around us. Our driver was so amused with us. Didn't he see it too? He had always seen it.



















Anyway, view or not, the boys were getting skinny. They weren't eating anything except for chapatis and fruit. Sometimes I got them potato chips. I told the driver that we were hungry, did he know any place where we could eat? He drove us up to a clearing in the woods surrounded by the most majestic mountains I had ever seen.The Himalayas had never looked better. In the middle of the clearing was a building with a sign that said "PIZZA". The boys were sure that they were in Heaven.

They served Coca-Cola-the real thing, the kind they made in Atlanta, Georgia, U.S.A! We ordered cheese pizza. The boys could not believe their eyes when it came to our table. It looked just like pizza! It was perfectly round with red sauce and cheese. What were the odds? It was sliced into 8 pieces, just like in America. They cautiously took bites. It tasted normal! All that and Coca-Cola too?
They were delirious. They each had three pieces and I got them another Coke to split. They were the happiest boys ever.












After filling up on perfectly normal pizza we found our friend Kanwarjit's house down a long dead end lane teeming with monkeys in trees (but that is another story).We unpacked and settled in, every room had a view of the Himalayas. This was the view from my bathroom. I would live there for months at a time if I could (the pizza place delivers).


















The next day we set off to do some exploring. We walked all over the place. I am surprised that more Hollywood productions don't use this place as a back drop. It looks like it was created in some back lot with trick photography and state of the art lighting. This place isn't real. It couldn't be.The air was so crisp, I wanted to bite it. I found myself thinking more clearly. Everything felt fresh and clean. Breathing in Mussourie was fun.It was strangely endless beauty. It just didn't stop.











On our way home we stopped at Prakash's General Store. "For Everything You Need" to buy provisions. The house where we were staying had cooks who made all of our meals.












The boys gobbled up breakfast because it was jam paranthas , porridge and chai.







I knew that they would not fare as well at lunch or dinner. This is a picture of Owen at dinner the first night. At least he tried. Enzo didn't even try, he just went to bed. Owen made a small attempt. He choked down some rice because he was starving. That meal was fantastic. They made us something with eggplant and okra.







I could count on the boys to eat about three chapatis. We had been in India just a little over a week and they were already over rice. Just plain sick of it, they said. Forget subjis and dal or anything "foreign". They had no idea what they were missing. I was very understanding because I was the same way at their age. I remember it well. My refusal to eat Indian food always happened in New Jersey,however, a stones throw from a McDonald's.

My sister Jo married Ravi when I was eleven. She used to take me to all of her new Indian friend's houses. If it was nearing dinnertime she would stop at McDonald's for me on the way. How embarrassing for everyone now that I think about it. I can't believe what I missed! I have seen pictures of some of these dinner parties, plates brimming with foreign delights that I refused to allow myself to enjoy. I wonder why kids are like that? It is so weird.

Anyway, I understood. I felt their desperate pain. I knew that they were hungry(I knew because they endlessly reminded me, they were hardly stoic). They were in INDIA and they didn't like Indian food, now that is a tough break. Prakash's General Store "For Everything You Need" was just the ticket.








They had hilarious things (not cheap) that gave my boys comfort. Froot Loops? In a Himalayan Hill Station? One of my little childhood things that I have carried over with my own children is that we only buy sugar cereal on birthdays. That's what my parents did. The rest of the year it was Cornflakes and Rice Crispies. The boys fussed that I had six siblings and they were only two in the house. We buy it in honor of Rachel's birthday and also for mine and Fabio's birthdays. We buy five boxes of sugar cereal a year. I made an exception. Rachel's birthday was 2 weeks away, after all. You should have seen the look of glee on their faces. Score.


Prakash's had more to offer than Froot Loops and Snickers bars. They had homemade stuff too. The cereal and pre-packaged stuff cost the earth- more than what it would have cost in America- but the homemade stuff was ridiculously reasonable. They had homemade cheese (sharp cheddar!),bread, pesto, and PEANUT BUTTER!

It was the best peanut butter that we had ever eaten. The boys could not believe this peanut butter. It was really good peanut butter. I imagined a small man out back gazing at the mountains shelling peanut after peanut. I am sure I am right. It was the freshest peanut butter that I had ever eaten and I had spent nine years in Georgia.

At last, I had found something that my boys would eat! As we left town we stopped at Prakash's to stock up peanut butter. All they had was smooth. The boys were crestfallen. They only like chunky for some reason. They would have taken it though. They were sort of desperate.

I asked Mr. Prakash if he had any chunky peanut butter. He laughed and said that he could easily make us as much as we wanted. He had made the smooth peanut butter especially for us. He had seen young American boys in the store a few days before and saw that I was buying peanut butter. He thought that we would be back for more and that is usually when he is asked if he carries smooth peanut butter.

We bought four big jars of chunky peanut butter back with us to Dehradun and returned to Mussourie later in our trip to restock our larder. We ended up bringing two jars back with us to Providence. The boys loved having it in the comfort of their American kitchen, and were sad when we used the last of it.

I know I can go to Whole Foods and use that peanut grinding machine and get similar results but the boys love making it our way and I love that it costs just rupees to make.
We call it "Mussourie Peanut Butter"

Why Do I Find This So Amusing?

Matthew 10:26-27

credit:Rebecca Wood.

Losing My Religion

I am certain that my father loves me. I am equally as certain that he spends many of his waking hours disappointed in my decision to leave his church, his one true religion. The Catholic Faith. Oh Lord. He prays for me. it is not just my departure that disheartens him. He wishes I was a zealot. He prays and prays that I would become a weirdly devout Catholic. He wishes I was enthralled with his Church. He wishes I was having home masses and really digging the faith. He prays every night that I would at least go to Sunday Mass. I can't do it. It grosses me out.

I know that I am probably going to upset a lot of people (my throng of followers) with this blog. I want to emphatically state that I know a lot of good Catholics. I know a ton of them. I am alarmed by their decision to actively remain in such a glaringly hypocritical and money hungry institution, to continue to feed that monster. They all seem so smart otherwise.

The Catholic Church knowingly moved pedophiles to new parishes with brand new little boy victims. It has been documented. The Archdiocese of Boston's own Cardinal Bernard Law participated in cover up after cover up. It wasn't even a case of after the fact. His resolution to this pesky nuisance of grown men raping little boys was to re-assign the offenders. His actions made sure that different little boys -little boys my son's ages- little boys with trusting and pure hearts would soon be victims too.

That greedy Cardinal knew exactly what he was doing. He was protecting the reputation of the Catholic Church. God forbid a man of the cloth be taken to task-to atone for his sins. The Catholic Church might lose parishioners if this ever got out. Holy Cash Cow! That would mean loss of revenue. Would Cardinal Law's Watch Hill, RI mansion or the huge Commonwealth Ave residence in Boston be at risk? That could not be! Let the little boys suffer. Move along, Fr. Porter. How about a new town, Fr. Shanley? Try to be good. Try to control yourselves. Pray. If you find it all too compelling, for the love of God, be discreet. This is a business after all.

All that money that my parents put into those baskets over the years- that my father continues to empty his pockets into- has gone to pay off the church's multitude of sins. The sins of the fathers being visited upon the altar boys. After years of priest protection the abuse finally came to light-to public outcry. All these wrecked lives -for what? Some strange unholy encounters that robbed small boys of their innocence? It is horrific enough that this abuse happened at all but for men in power to be alerted to it and to ignore it is nothing short of obscene. It sickens me. It truly sickens me. How could I support such an institution? How can my father?

Obviously my father is not supporting the abuse- he is clinging to his faith. He is holding on to the only church he has ever known. The Catholic Church is broken as far as I am concerned and I cannot return. I believe in God. I believe in freedom of religion. I believe that anyone can believe anything they want-but don't make me!
Don't damn me to hell and for pity's sake please don't pray for my salvation.

Because I don't belong to a church does not for one minute make me a non-believer. I believe that God must have some damn good reason for giving man free will. He never should have done that. I can't wait to hear what he has to say about that. I am going to bring that up at our first meeting and then I am going to launch right into his distribution policy. I believe someday that it will all make sense which I guess means that I have faith, right?

I feel so lucky in this life. I don't feel blessed. If I was blessed that would mean that God likes me more. What about those unlucky chumps? Poor unblessed heathens,I don't care how they got there, born into a slum, no chance of an education...God must hate those folks. No! Isn't everyone blessed in some small way? Not really. Why did I get so lucky and this lady got handed the cataclysmic stick?









I met her on the streets of Dehradun in India. I would guess that she is about 10 years younger than me. She is poor and probably homeless. She has been reduced to begging on the streets because her 3 kids are starving. Where is God in this instance? She was so hungry and so were her children. I am never hungry unless I am on a diet or something.That is just embarrassing. These people live with hunger daily. I gave her 600 rupees(all that I had on me and at 48R to the dollar-not much).
You would have thought that I gave her the moon. How can something that means so little to me, petty cash really, make or break someone else?


She probably fed her kids for days with that. Owen, Enzo and I watched them walk right over to a fruit stand. She bought her two oldest children 2 apples each which they greedily received. She bought one for herself.They sat down under a tree. We left them alone after maybe staring too hard. She didn't look at me. She must have been mortified. Imagine.

I wasn't Pollyanna over in India. I didn't normally give out that many rupees at a pop, there was something about this woman's plight that moved me. I could not believe her lot in life. She will probably always suffer. She doesn't have a chance. Does she have faith? This sort of thing is the very stuff that tests mine.

The world balance is so lopsided. I work in a very posh, upscale Assisted Living Facility for the elderly in America. The dichotomy is nuts and not lost on me who has seen it all from both sides now. The three room suites are $8,900/month. Included in the price is an escort to and from the dining room. Three meals a day are served to these lucky rich elders by a waitstaff wearing uniform black vests, crisp white shirts, black dress pants and bow ties. Hardcover menus are handed out. Soup to nuts.

Along with the escort service we also provide laundry pick up and delivery. We turn down beds and make a few chatty visits throughout the shift. Babies die in the hot sun. Distribution, dear my lord, keeps honor bright.

The world balance is on it's ear leaving me little time to worship in a church. I want to think my own thoughts and form my own opinions.If I am sitting in a church reciting the same litanies week after week, letting the sheer repetition of it shape my ideology how on earth will I cultivate my one true religion? No, this is something I have to do on my own.

Just to strenghten my resolve I cannot think of a more boring way to pass a Sunday morning. Mass is boring! I get it-He has spoken through the prophets- how many times do I have to hear this? What about Christmas morning? Do you think that any child who has to wake up, get dressed in their itchy best clothes and walk by the fully appointed Christmas tree will enjoy sitting through mass? THIS is how you instill love of God into a child? Ha!

I am teaching my children to be good. I want them to be honest and kind. I want them to be confident and inquisitive. The Catholic Church-any church- squashes the idea of free thinking. When you "join" a church you agree to believe in a set of tenets.There is no room for debate. Take it or leave it. I just can't sit in a pew and repeatedly listen to something that I do not fundamentally agree with. That is free will. I have a lot of questions and no church is giving me any well thought out answers. They are regurgitating the party line. They will never go out on a limb-they can't, because it is written.

That is precisely my crisis of faith. I do not believe everything that I read. Honestly, I absorb it, and I think about it but I prefer to draw my own conclusions. I don't believe that is going to land me in hell. I don't believe in hell. No loving God could create such a place.

Okay, I am almost finished. I just want to add- and this is a small thing really- as I type I am suffering. I don't have cancer and I am not starving but I am needlessly suffering. Last Wednesday my left underarm started to itch. It developed into an irritating rash. The next day it started to blister and pools of fluid started weeping from my arm. I had 20 or so angry welts under there. They were small and they hurt like the dickens. When the other arm began to break-out I decided to seek medical relief-because I could.

I am now treating my condition with a 10 day course of antibiotics and an expensive cream. Thank God-yes. God allows ME health insurance,great coverage ,in fact. I just wish that he would be this cool with everyone. If I was one of the millions and millions of uninsured Americans (or: the 'Unchosen'& for whatever reason,the 'Unblessed') that tube of cream would have been $185.00! We only had to pay $30.00. What a deal. The antibiotics cost $20.00, the office visit, another $10.00.Horrible discomfort and $60.00. Why? Why? Why? Was this necessary? Is this some kind of sick prank by a loving God? Is this to keep me on track? What if this same thing happened to that lady in India? How on earth would she deal with it?




What about these kids all alone out there? Help me in my exhaustive disbelief. Shock and Awe to follow.

Nits End.

Another word about Block Island. Bring supplies. I forgot to bring a hair tie and could not bring myself to pay $5.49 for a little package of them when I knew I had some at home. Even if I didn't have them at home I could get the same item in Providence for under $2. It was the principle. I spent the day looking more and more like Slash from Guns 'N Roses.

Fabio sweetly asked our waitress if she had an extra hair tie and she gave me one. I took it and I thanked her but I couldn't use it. In 1988- when I was living in Athens, Georgia I got head lice six times in a row. There was an epidemic in the school system. OMG. Just the thought of this makes me itch. I was a live-in nanny and I babysat for 3 other families. All of the kids had it. I kept getting re-infested. I had hair that hung a little above my waist. It was long, thick and really curly. The perfect breeding ground. Those little critters found a nice nest in me. I offered warmth, security and endless expansion. That is,until I cut it all off.

By the end, I had so many dead white nits in my hair it had really begun to affect my personality. I was so unhappy. I just could not believe the mess I was in. Even though they were finally all dead, I could not get them out of my hair. They clung to me. I had SIX batches in there. It was hell. The loads of laundry, the endless treatments, it wasn't cheap.

I actually had to move out of my house.I had only lived there for a couple of months. I had just moved out on my own. I was so excited about it. I had gone from my parents house to a dorm to being a live in nanny. This was my first foray into independence. I lived in a really big house, all alone. My roommate had just moved out.I wonder why. There was wall to wall carpeting and I think my dog might have had fleas too. I felt really bad about leaving such a legacy. The whole place was spotless, but I think that I left some live wires. I felt even worse when I found out that my house had become a half way house. Those poor people, trying to screw their heads on straight without the added pressure of head lice.



I remember sitting on a bench in downtown Athens. I was sitting between an ice cream store and a record store. I had put my riddled hair in braids. I was reading Frankenstein for English Lit. That is kind of ironically funny now that I think about it. My friend Bill Chappell came over and sat down. He said, "Oh man Lucy, you have really got to do something about your situation." It was bad. I was in a bad situation.

I asked Bill to "go ahead and see" (that's how they talk in the South.) if Mr. Brown (the record store owner) had a pair of scissors that he could borrow. Bill came back out carrying the shears. I told him to cut the braids off and then some. It was traumatic, I loved my hair.

I will never forget the two little boys sitting in the window of Gorin's Ice Cream. They stared in astonishment as Bill clipped off my braids, one at a time. It was awful.

When Fabio scored me that hair tie from a stranger it brought back a flood of horrible memories. One interesting memory of that trying time stands out. I was a Sophomore at UGA. I had been at the Student Center just hours before my first bout with head lice. I had to get a student id made.

My sister Moy had given me this absolutely beautiful hand painted barrette. I loved it. It was gorgeous. I always received compliments when I wore it. Right before my picture was taken I took the barrette out and fluffed up my hair. I somehow forgot the barrette. I realized that it was missing after I had already walked 20 minutes across campus. I turned around immediately. When I went back it was gone. I asked the lady who took my picture if she had seen it. She said no. I didn't believe her. I bet my little friends were breeding in her top desk drawer. Serves her right.

I am paranoid about head lice. When we go to the movies or travel by plane or train I always wear my hair in a tight bun high atop my head. We all have our quirks, and they all have to do with our histories. People can be weird for good reasons.

Journey to Block Island

We went to Block Island, Rhode Island two days ago. We have lived in Providence since April of 2002. From 1967 until 1986 I lived in Fall River, Massachusetts. How is it that I have never been to Block Island? Why wasn't I one of those high school kids who would spend their Summers working at The National Hotel? They got room and board and a salary plus tips! What was I thinking? There were plenty of jobs. I always saw them advertised at the beginning of Summer in the Providence Journal.















I saw them advertised THIS Summer. Can you imagine? If you are single with no dependants- what an idyllic way to spend a Summer. Housekeeping at The National Hotel. I love making beds. I am sure the linen is crisp. It is a fancy hotel.

Block Island is now my favorite place on earth. I love Block Island. I love saying "Block Island". I loved the whole day. We missed the 10:30 ferry by five minutes because Fabio mistakenly headed toward Fort Adams in Newport where the ferry leaves once a day instead of to Point Judith where the ferry leaves every hour and a half.

I realized his error as soon as he took the wrong exit, by then we were on the Newport Bridge. He had to turn around and we were just too late. They run a tight ship. I have never gotten to use that cliche so accurately in my life. Fabio is never late for anything. I mean never. He has "drop dead departure times" that are strickly adhered to. This guy is never late. He was so bugged.

Hanging out in Point Judith for an hour and 25 minutes was great except for having to endure Fabio's repeated apologies.
























It was fine. We got the boys ice cream.

















There was a buzz in the air. I was really really excited. I had been wanting to go to Block Island for my entire life. It is only $17.50 RT and a short 55 minute ferry ride from Point Judith!I have no idea what I had been waiting for. It is hardly inaccessible. It is the nicest place I have ever been to.
















When we stepped off the ferry we were on new land. We had no idea what to expect. We took a right and walked down the street. We walked past charming houses and little shops. The boys,of course, were famished, as if they had spent days on The Mayflower. We stopped for lunch and then headed to the beach.























We sat and we swam and we buried the boys in the sand.























The weather was perfect. I could have sat there all day.


































After a day at the beach we packed up and headed back to the center of town. We had a couple of hours before the last ferry left so we decided to explore a little. We walked up this cute little street with old homes and seaviews. We walked past the fabulous Hotel Manisses 1661 Inn. It is enormous and grand. People were sitting on the big old porch reading in rockers. Red wine was being served.


As we walked further up the street we came upon a curious farm.


















Enzo spotted a yak. Owen read the handpainted sign aloud, "Please don't feed the camel."
























At that moment a young family came strolling down the path . They told us to go up even further and we would see a Zedonk. A Zedonk is (you may have guessed) a cross between a zebra and a donkey.







That is a llama beside him.





Did I mention the emu?

















This is a very old fainting goat, apparently.



















Have you any idea what this is? Enzo is pretty sure that it is a Scottish cow.

















Block Island is a magical place. I cannot believe that I had never been there. I almost feel duty bound to pack up the family and just go ahead and move there to make up for lost time.

The day kept getting better and better, apart from the fact that it was going to end.


















We boarded the 7:30 pm ferry back to Point Judith. On the ferry we saw the most beautiful sky. We had the smell of salt water on our skin and some color in our cheeks. All of us were dressed perfectly for the dip in temperature and the sky was all that we could see.





















I don't think I have ever had a better day in my life. It was effortless enjoyment. I would like to do it again and again and again. It is a hidden gem. The pace of Block Island is perfect. It is so uncrowded and relaxed.

I am going on and on because I feel I must! I cannot say enough about Block Island. The charm is intoxicating. It really was one thing after another. When we came home I googled Block Island. We haven't even scratched the surface. I am going back for more.