The Best Behaving Boy in the House.

Look at him! That is our Eddie. He's not a dog. He's a doll. It is such a cruel blow from nature that he will not see me into old age. I read a quote somewhere that said, "Dogs lives are so short. Their only fault really." Oh, I've met a few little yappy dogs whose kind always seem to find themselves in Hollywood's handbags. That is not the kind of dog I am talking about. Get a cat. I like big, kind eyed dogs. Eddie. Eddie is all that.

When we finally purchased our own home I set my sights on getting a dog. My husband, Fabio was less than enthusiastic. Would I feed a dog? Would I walk a dog? Yes and yes and furthermore- Pa-lah-ease. What was I? Twelve? I had owned dogs before Fabio arrived in my orbit.

I wanted to get a dog when the boys were still little. Owen was three and Enzo was 18 months old. I needed to start looking. I wasn't planning to bring home the first dog I saw (unless he or she was perfect). I had a list of pre-requisites a mile long.
I did not want to get stuck with a dog who was -well-not Eddie just for the sake of having a dog. I took my time. I mean really took my time. Owen was almost six when we spotted Eddie.

The boys and I had been going down to the Providence Animal League (PAL) about three or four times a month for almost two years. We kept coming up Pit Bulls. Sorry. No can do. Too risky. Yeah, yeah, I have met some really swell Pit Bulls but they can't come in my house and I don't let my children near them.

We had all but given up our dream of finding the perfect dog. We took a break. A few months later the boys and I went to The Providence Children's Museum. Owen remembered just how close the pound was to the museum and suggested that we have another look. On our way home we made yet another of what I had begun to refer to as "Pit (Bull) stops". We entered, I was cautiously pessimistic. Owen, Enzo, and I walked straight past the cats (we had one of those) and opened the door that led to the outside cages. All three of us never failed to start upon entering. It was always so doggone loud.

After we adjusted to all the singing of those poor caged birds we began to make our rounds. The first one looked sick and kind of mangy. Sorry little guy I have the kids now-maybe some young altruistic twentysomething can help you out because you are so cute. Yes you are. Yes you are. The next one was a Pit Bull, oh and another Pit Bull followed by a Pit Bull. Pit Bull. Pit Bull. Pit Bull. Floyd. OMG. Beautiful Floyd. Floyd? That's what his paperwork said. Floyd looked at me with the sweetest brown eyes. Were they locking up deer now? No. Floyd was a dog. His eyes pleaded with me like no dog eyes I had ever seen.




I fell madly in love. We all did, Floyd included. It was instantaneous. Just like that. Floyd was our dog. We had to do something about his name but we were not going to go home without him. I grabbed his paperwork and brought it to the front desk. Before they had me fill anything out or money was exchanged they ushered us into a room for a private meet and greet. Floyd was brought in , he walked directly to me, where he sat and offered his paw. That did it, obviously. He could have ended his interview right then. That dog had the job. The kids loved him. I loved him. He was perfect. I mean just PERFECT. OMG. What a score. He is one in a million.

I must be the luckiest gal on earth because I had another dog just like him when I lived in Athens, Georgia.





I swear Eddie is my Elroy come back to me. They are practically the same dog. Dog owners have openly envied me for years. My dogs are always a little better behaved, a little better looking and usually way more loyal than most. I don't know how I get so lucky. I had Elroy for seven years and Eddie has been with us for six. Elroy was a German Shepherd/Collie/ St. Bernard mix with the best and brightest temperament. I miss that boy daily.





Then came Maude. Eddie is a German Shepherd /Labrador Retriever. When we first met Floyd I asked the kids to think of a better name. Owen and Enzo really liked three of the shopguys down at the corner bodega. Their names were Tony, Vinnie and Eddie. I must admit I was sort of pushing for "Tony" or "Vinnie" because I thought it would be a riot to name our dog something over the top Italian. Our neighborhood is predominately Italian with the exception of me- the Irish infiltrator. Maybe having little Vinnie or Tony along side Fabio, Owen Angelo, and Enzo seemed a little too contrived even for Enzo.

Floyd was found on the mean streets of Pawtucket, RI He never really responded to Floyd (and we tried twice). He was always obedient and never ignored anyone but it was so obvious that this boy had not been named "Floyd" for a long time. During our private meet and greet Enzo stood across the room and called "Eddie!" . He said that he had just been testing that name first. Floyd's head shot around like he had heard a ghost. He went straight to Enzo. Nuts. To this day Eddie responds to the sound of his name like a bolt of lightening. He came to us fully trained.

I did catch him lapping milk from the boys cereal bowls after they had gone to school (and failed to bring their dishes to the sink). He is still a dog after all. He just gives me more of an incentive to clear the table in a timely manner. Good old Eddie.




Eddie had passed the interview process with flying colors. We walked our new dog to the front desk and asked where we should sign.I thought that it would be a quick transaction. I would give them $90.00 and they would give me the dog. I had purchased one of their leashes. Not so fast. I had to laugh when the receptionist brightly told me that a "complimentary" neuter was included in the $90.00 fee. How is that complimentary? What now? As amused as I was by all of the slip talk, it still meant that we were not walking out with our dog.

I had placed all of my money on the table and only received a promissory note in return. Of course we felt a bit cheated and it was a bummer of a car ride home. Poor Eddie, did he think that these nice people who had visited with him earlier-and seemed to love him so- had spearheaded this painful procedure? What a bunch of jerks we had turned out to be.

Fabio didn't even know that we were on the hunt for a dog. He may have had some vague memory of me mentioning my desire for the perfect family dog a few years back. By that time I had gotten completely blase about my quest for the Holy Grail because that dog was not out there. I was not expecting to find Mr. Perfect. I had so many requirements. He had to be from the pound.He had to be a dog, not a puppy. He had to be somewhat trained. I wanted a medium sized dog with some German Shepherd in him. I shouldn't keep saying "he" because a bitch with all of these traits would have been just fine. Eddie possessed and still possesses all of these attributes. As icing on the cake he also possesses dashing good looks. He is perfect- except for the 8 weeks a year during which he sheds. We call him "Sheddie" and he walks around in a constant state of contrition. What a love.


We arrived home, dog owners on paper. We just lacked the tangible evidence. I heard Fabio's truck pull up at around 5:30 PM. I was planning to wait to announce the new arrival. I thought it would be better to have Eddie sitting there, as a visual aid, if you will. I was quite certain that if Fabio was looking at Eddie when he heard the news he would not be able to resist him. Fabio would thank me over and over. My husband had a soul after all.

The boys were ready to burst and could not contain themselves. I don't know why it didn't occur to me that a five year old and a three year old might not be privy to the same restraint that I so readily employed. Fabio hadn't even put down his lunch pail before he was pelted with a litany of our current events.

"WE BOUGHT A DOG!"

"HIS NAME WAS FLOYD BUT WE CHANGED IT TO EDDIE!"

"MOM PAID NINETY DOLLARS!"

"WE CAN'T GET HIM UNTIL TOMORROW!"

"HE'S KIND OF BIG!"

"I LOVE HIM!"

"I LOVE HIM TOO!"





"MOM.DID.WHAT? LUCY!"

"Oh hi dear. You're home. How was your day?"

"LUCY!"



"I swear. I swear. I swear. You are going to love him. Trust me. He is perfect. He is medium sized and I swear to God and all His Heaven.THIS.DOG.IS.PERFECT."

"Where is he?"

"Getting neutered when he should be getting cloned."

"How long did you spend with him?"

"Twenty minutes."

"Twenty minutes and you are sure that he is perfect."

"POSITIVELY POSITIVE"

Eddie wasn't some rash heat of the moment 'we must have a dog now' acquisition. I had been actively looking for HIM for years- and to this day (over 6 years later) I cannot believe that I found him .

The funniest word I have ever heard someone use to describe my husband is "mellow". I spent our one night as dogless dog owners listening to Fabio change his mind over and over. He would allow a little excitement to creep in. He would shake his head in a good natured resigned to the situation kind of way. He would laugh and say, "This Eddie better be perfect."

Then he would go into the bathroom. I always braced myself when he would enter that room and shut the door. That is where he thinks. This time he wasn't really thinking, it seemed that he was in there collecting his worse case scenarios. He always emerged from the bathroom apprehensive and a little annoyed with me for making what he deemed to be a hasty decision.

I had explained my side to him as pointedly as I could. Over and over I told my husband that Eddie was not a decision made in haste. Eddie was more of a very well thought out executive decision. A master plan. Eddie was paramount to the well being of all of us. Fabio would totally understand when he met Eddie. I was sure of it.

Fabio tortured me all night. He wouldn't intentionally wake me up but his heavy sighs and "HE. BETTER. BE. PERFECT." was uttered more than once through the course of the night. When we woke up the next morning (as if any of us got any sleep) Fabio had already gone off to work. He had left a note for us on the kitchen table. It had one word. "PERFECT" it was underlined three times. He also drew his signature heart so I knew his mind was open. He'd see. I was absolutely confident. Perfect. Exactly. What a perfect word to describe Eddie.




The boys and I prepared for Eddie's arrival. We went out and bought a big bag of dog food and a dog bed. I already had two really cute dog dishes that I had purchased years ago for just such an occasion. Amazingly enough I knew exactly where they were. That was obviously a sign.


We put his new bed in the boys room, not that he ever uses it.






We were told by the people at the pound that "Floyd(!)" would be ready by noon. We took a chance and arrived at 11:50 AM. He was ready to come home! He was so happy to see us. The lady who handed him over to us told me how glad she was that he had found a home. He had been there for almost ninety days and was on the short list for you know what. How horribly close we had come to being ships in the night. Eddie must have known. He had pleaded with me with such intensity when we first met. He looked desperate and vulnerable- yet strong and able. Eddie should be a character actor.



Whew! What a save. I cannot believe that in the short time we had taken a break from our active search for a suitable family dog that Eddie had arrived at The Providence Animal League. Not only had Eddie arrived, he was passed over ...FOR MONTHS? Eddie? How could anyone pass by his cage- look into his soulful eyes- and not be moved to request his immediate dismissal? It took me- what? half a minute? No kidding. I took one look at that face and said, "Oh Yeah. This is our boy."


We brought him home and introduced him to our cat, Elroy (who was named for you know who.) Our cat barely gave him the time of day. Our cat was far more interested in our fish, Ranger.




They never really got a long- Eddie and Elroy, the cat. They tolerated each other but it wasn't an epic friendship. Poor Elroy got hit by a car and died a few years ago. Rest in Peace little Elroy.




DUMDAHDUMDUMDUM. QUITTING TIME! Don't think that I wasn't looking at the clock. Fabio was making his way home through the streets of Providence. He was anxiously awaiting his introduction to to the world's most perfect dog. (There had been a bit of a build up.)

When Fabio walked in Eddie began to bark. We had never heard his bark before. He has an awfully loud bark. He barked at Fabio for quite a while. The hair on his back stood at attention. He alternated between a deep and menacing growl and a riot of barking as Fabio inched in further..

My husband was completely unimpressed. I barely heard his, "YOU CALL THIS PERFECT?" oven the din of Eddie. The boys and I got Eddie to calm down only to watch him become strange, sullen and skittish in Fabio's presence. What the? Come on Eddie, give us a smile. Honestly, Eddie. Where did you go?

"This is Mr. Perfect?"

"I swear, Fabio, he is." I looked sternly at Eddie who returned my stare with his sweetest, most loving expression. Fabio saw him. It took months for Eddie to really acknowledge Fabio as an ally. Despite the chilly reception the man of the house worked doggedly to get into Eddie's good graces. Fabio was keenly aware of how loving Eddie was to his wife and children. He wanted some.

We think the pet lamb may have been abused by a man when he was a pup. He was so fearful of men for months. All men. He would continually cuddle up with the women and children all the while keeping a marked distance from the men folk.

Poor Eddie. I had a vision in my head of his old life. He had been living in a third floor walk up with a mean, fat, unhealthy man whose wife had just left him. She probably took up with another barfly. Eddie was her dog. This guy didn't even like Eddie. He didn't like dogs at all. The only attention that he ever gave poor Eddie was to call him over and then hit him with his shoe. He trained him. OMG did he train him. We reaped all the benefits of Eddie's miserable youth. His manners are impeccable. I will give you a few examples if I may.

Recently Eddie had been nursing a sore foot for a couple of days. He was refusing to put his foot down. I could see that it was getting better, otherwise it would be off to the vet for dear Eddie. Eddie does not like to go to the vet. We were waiting and seeing. Early in the morning on the final day of his limp he was still being stubborn. Nature called and he stumbled downstairs and outside. He pooped and went straight back to his bed of pain.

Later on that morning I went into the kitchen to prepare the boys their breakfast. I noticed that Eddie's bowls were still untouched and had been for a couple of days. He had seemed weak. I made the boys some french toast and brought Eddie his breakfast in bed. I put the bowls in front of him and went to fold laundry in my room. I heard him crunching away and then I heard him lap water for awhile. A few minutes later I could see Eddie hobbling toward me. I said, "Eddie!" That boy came over to me and kissed me on the cheek and turned around and went back to bed. Honest to dog. I may have cried. I had never seen anything sweeter.

He won't make a mess either (except during shedding season). On the Sunday morning after we got Eddie- Fabio, the boys and I ran around doing errands. It was a gorgeous day. Fabio had been working a lot and it was rare when the four of us got together for hours at a time. I am ashamed to admit this- I had totally forgotten that we had a dog when Fabio suggested a Sunday drive to Connecticut via back roads. Eddie must have slipped the boys mind too. They knew that Sunday drives inevitably culminated with dinner out. They were all for this turn of events.

I am quite sure that none of us willfully dismissed Eddie in favor of crossing state lines. Of course not. It is just that he was such a new arrival- and he was so calm and quiet (apart from the terrible noises that escaped his screwed up face whenever Fabio appeared on the scene.)For the better part of most days Eddie just blended into the dynamic of the household.He was ever present looking gorgeous and good but he was quiet.

What started as a quick trip to Benny's to buy bike helmets and batting gloves turned into an all day excursion. If I had remembered true love waiting at home I could have turned that car around - no questions asked. We had a great day touring the back alleys of Connecticut and Rhode Island. We took a hike and we had a leisurely dinner. As we neared home I reminded the boys that Owen had school the next day and that it would be straight to bed when we got home. I emphasized the fact that it was already past their bed time.

That is when it hit me. EDDIE! When I said "EDDIE!" out loud the entire carload of us shrieked- even Fabio , who was still being iced out by the mutt. He looked at me and said, "We fail as dog owners." and stepped up the gas a little.

My visions of Eddie's old life haunted me. I was sure that he thought we had abandoned him. It was awful. I remembered making a point to go around a turn off every single light in the house. That poor dog was alone with a cat who didn't care for him at all. He was in a new place and it was dark. What had we done? The love!

Fabio pulled into the driveway and I dove for his keys as soon as he took them out of the ignition. I ran up to the front door and fumbled in the dark cursing away at the sheer callousness of our actions. I finally got the damn door open- it seemed to take forever. It actually took a lot longer than usual because I had refused to calm down. By the time I had finally unlocked the door Fabio had already retrieved a sleeping Enzo from his car seat and had joined Owen behind me on the steps. I was a wreck. We burst into the house all of us screaming "EDDIE!" at the top of our lungs. This time having absolutely no regard for Enzo who awoke with a start.

Eddie usually responds to the sound of his name like an Olympic athlete responds to the sound of gunfire. Nothing. He was staying put. Owen said, "I think he is dead." I didn't think he was dead but I thought that he might be mad at us and I didn't blame him. We tried again (sorry Enzo). I heard a faint whimper coming from upstairs. It was followed by a very low and very short bark (probably intended for Fabio). I turned on the hall light and started up the stairs. I could see him. He was in the bathroom, perched over Elroy's litter box taking a dump. Stop it!
We must have arrived home mid poop because that is about the only thing that can keep Mr. Perfect from racing toward the sound of his name. Eddie.

Eddie knows every command in the book. Sit. Shake. Go. Come. Eddie goes to his room when you say, "Eddie go to your room." It is Fabio's favorite party trick. When we have people over for dinner Eddie will inevitably linger a little too long at the table. Our guests sometimes become uncomfortable with his plaintiff stares. Fabio will say, "Eddie, go to your room." Eddie will look at him with his big brown eyes fixed in a pained expression and walk out of the room. We can hear him make his way up the stairs and land with a thud on his bed that is directly above the kitchen table. Everyone is always so impressed. Fabio tries to act all cool but there is no masking his obvious pride. At least ONE of his sons obeys orders.

Eddie is right here next to me as I sit extolling his virtues. It is finally getting hot outside and he is shedding like no dog I have ever seen. I am pretty sure Elroy was never THIS bad. There is the possibility that I just didn't notice it given my very rustic living arrangements when El and I were a team. Back then I had no children and I hardly ever cooked. Hair could fly under the radar unscrutinized much more easily.

Eddie has huge tufts of hair hanging on by a thread They are ready to fall on my freshly vacuumed floor. If there was a way to just become a vacuum cleaner during this trying time of year I would. Poor Eddie, I don't allow him to be pet inside during shedding season. I know my rule is ignored- the boys leave evidence. There is no one more apologetic than Eddie. He has a look that he reserves for this time of year. That look is the look of GUILT. It is unmistakable. He only gives it in May and June.


It is hilarious. I feel badly for him but I have no time to comfort him due to incessant use of the vacuum cleaner. If I don't vacuum two- sometimes three- times a day we would all choke. It is unimaginable unless you live here. Fabio and the boys don't even realize it because I am so on top of it. I just go up and down the stairs with the bloody vacuum all day long. They think I have OCD but they just don't know. Why would I only have OCD for one month a year anyway? It is crazy. Hair is flying everywhere. It reminds me of tumbleweeds on the prairie. Eddie is well aware that he is the culprit. His guilty look is priceless. The minute he sees the vacuum his expression turns to, "Oh no- here we go. I am sorry. I am sorry."
I wish that I could pet him. I do bring him outside and brush him. I feed him extra salmon. None of those Vermont home remedies are working. I vacuum, all day long.

He really is worth the six to eight weeks of fur flying hell. He and Fabio have become tight.

Fabio is in love with him and thanks me DAILY. No kidding- I mean really- Fabio thanks me all the time. I think he thanks me every time he SEES Eddie. It is hard not to. Eddie is a pleasure to see. I am always happy to see Eddie. Steady Eddie. We call him "The Best Behaving Boy in the House". Mr. Perfect.

I keep trying to end my little story about Eddie but I can't seem to stop. I am going to end here. I could go on.

Gung Hee Fatt Choi

My parents adopted my sister Margaret from Hong Kong a few years before I was born. We had a children's book by Leo Politi called, "Moy Moy" It was about a little girl in Hong Kong who was celebrating Chinese New Year with her brothers. Moy Moy became Margaret's pet name. In the book a lot of people say, "Ni Hao Ma, Moy Moy" I naturally thought that meant "Happy New Year, Moy Moy". I loved that book. It was full of gorgeous, colorful paper dragons and parades. I read it over and over again. I practiced saying "Ni Hao Ma". I felt exotic.














When I was 29 years old and living in Hawaii I had a job at a kitchen supply store. On Chinese New Year, I was at the front registers with Trina Ishikaro. Great girl. I started saying goodbye to the customers with , "Ni Hao Ma!" Sometimes they would already be walking toward the door when I would remember. I would shout, "NI HAO MA!" as they made their exit.

Finally, Trina said, "Lucy, first of all that last lady was Japanese and second, why do you keep asking people how they are in Chinese as they are leaving?" Great. I was yelling "HOW ARE YOU!" in Chinese to Japanese people as they walked away from me. How ugly can one American get?

This Chinese New Year was much more reverent, very serious. My 87 year old father is staying with us this month. He spends a month at a time with all of his New England based kids and the rest of the year in India. Chinese New Year fell on Sunday this year so we were able to eat breakfast together. We talked about Chinese New Year throughout the meal. I told everyone my "HOW ARE YOU!" story (for the 50th time because I like that story). We found an old National Geographic dedicated to Chinese New Year. Chinese New Year was definitely the hot topic of the day.

Later on that day, I went to Sam's Club for a big shopping trip. It was time for dinner when I got home. I got everyone(except for that 87 year old) to help me bring everything into the kitchen: but that is it. I like to put things away myself. I have a system. I got everything into the cupboards except for the tampons (sorry.it's no story without them.) I had bought a big box and separated them. Half to go in the downstairs bathroom and half to go upstairs. They were in discreet brown paper lunch sacks on the counter.

I set the table (it was also St. Valentine's Day) and started to prepare dinner. When I turned around I saw that my father had neatly placed one tampon at the top of everyone's place setting. He must have thought that they were either chopsticks or Chinese cracker's that we were going to pop after dinner. It was the funniest thing that I have ever seen in my life. I didn't know what to do. I collected them of course (can you imagine the boy's reactions?!) and I didn't say a word but I am sure that he noted their absence.

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.