If You Can't Say Anything Nice...

We're all a little 'blah' around here. I mean, we're grateful for our lives and for the opportunity to live cross-culturally. We love our Indian friends, the food is yummy, and the weather has even dipped below 100 degrees of late. It's just that, well, we're culture shockin' these days.

We miss our families, our stuff, our sanity...Well, not our sanity so much, as we haven't had it since we had children...But we miss America, warts and all. It's kinda bad, y'all. I've been listening to REO Speedwagon and Bluegrass and watching Miracle on 34th Street--the old one--and it's not even close to Christmas. Oh, and I used to love U2 and now I can hardly appreciate Bono 'cause he's not from the U.S...

But we're going to be ok in the end. We're going to stretch and grow and change, and all that is good. I haven't had it in me to funny-blog lately, though. Because nothing feels funny--only weird and slightly (or greatly) annoying. Sheesh, I hope I snap out of it soon.

Beatin' the Heat

Just Because

The Livesaver, Miss D, and Her Cohort, Miss G

Really?

The Bazaar

I've never been a word economist. I figure less is less and more is more, you know? But last night, I went out to the large bazaar in our city with a dear Indian friend and her seventeen-year-old daughter. We set out to buy fabric to make proper clothes for me. I wanted to post about it. I wanted to try to capture the sights and smells and sounds of the place for my bloggy friends, but I just knew--I knew--it was too big a task. Not for Charles Dickens, of course, or Olive Ann Burns, or Rudyard Kipling, but too big for me.

I knew I'd have to use words, words, words, and more words. And you'd begin to despair and wither from boredom. You'd think, Wait a second. This isn't a post. This is an essay and I don't have time for this. She tricked me. And you'd be right.

So although I know I'm about to do an incomplete job, I'm going to take a stab at giving a thumbnail sketch. After all, (to quote my sister) a job worth doing is worth doing poorly...sometimes...So, an economy of words. Maybe:

The air was sweaty and packed with diesel fuel, smoke, fried food, perfume, and popcorn. There were people in front of me, behind me, at my right and left. Although there wasn't room for it, the strains of ardent worship overpowered emphatic car horns now and again. Beggars cried for roti and babies with kohl-lined eyes reached out to touch my hair.

Women and men turned full-around to stare at me as if I couldn't see them looking. I clutched my bag tightly to my middle and tried to make myself smaller. Once I looked into the eyes of a man pushing a handicapped boy (too old to be a child, yet not a man) on a makeshift cart, and my eyes stung. The air was hard to swallow, and all I could do was yell, God, help us here! in my own head.

The fabric store was dizzying. I felt like Mowgli staring into the dangerous eyes of Kaa. The shelves were stacked clear to the high ceiling with rainbows, and I felt it was hopeless to choose. Choose, I did, however, and after we left with bolt after bolt of loveliness, we entered the crowded streets again. I had to keep chanting--and I didn't realize it until I'd been doing it for quite some time--Don't notice. Just go. Don't notice. Just go. A man yelled to me, "Hello, lady." I didn't look at him.

There. Too long and too short after all. I told you I was no economist.

I Find This Vaguely Unappetizing...

A Begrudging Mother/Son Compromise

YAY!!!

I have a really good internet connection! I got the news today--all while making frequent trips to the bathroom because of a stomach bug from...here. The announcement has made me feel so much better that I find that the knives in my stomach seem less cruel, and my head, while swimming, has just released some endorphins or dopamine or something.

And what do I do when I'm happy? Well, I post, of course. So, though I'm very glad you can't see me right now (and I actually wish J couldn't either) I'm thrilled to have blog communication.

I'm going to edit a funny picture and post it ASAP. Now that I've given it such a build-up, I hope it's as funny as I thought it was...

The Post That Almost Wasn't

It is with that deadly combination of desperate gratitude and crabby wariness that I post today. J has come up with a "plan" to solve our little internet issue, whereby we plug some little thingamajiggy into my HP mini and it gives us a dial-up sort of internet connection. At first it didn't work at all, and I was rolling on my bed, biting my knuckles. Then it did work--and loaded pages very slooooowly. I haven't tried to download pictures or anything and I fear it'll take a day-and-a-half when I do. Oh, and no SKYPE until our real internet gets it's...act together...

So while I'm very happy to selectively muck about in my FB friends' personal lives and I'm grateful that I can write this post, I'm still dangerously cranky...

So anyway, last night was J's and my nine-year wedding anniversary. We went to--surprise!--an Indian restaurant and I was awful company, I'm afraid. The wet air, noise, and prying eyes of the waiters and patrons (all of whom were male, oddly) were truly getting on my last one.

I said to J, "You know, honey, we've been through a lot in the last nine years--finished our degrees (three of them), made three babies, moved six times and now live across the world. I love you more now than I ever have. But, um, this day stinks, and I'm on the verge of a raging meltdown. So...cheers and, uh, sorry about that."

Well, the evening improved because the food was delicious and the coffee was even better. We came home to sleeping kids, a competent house helper, and electricity. We decided to watch the stupid-but-nostalgic movie Elizabethtown (we're Kentuckians, after all), and chill out. The night ended better than it had begun.

Of course, at 4:00 a.m. our oldest came to our room vomiting and with a fierce case of, er, loose motion. Then, J and I followed suit at 7:00 a.m. All I can say is, life is a roller coaster here and I'm just glad I know Who controls the ride.

Over-and-out, y'all.

Aaaargh.

Oh y'all. I have so many funny, smart, interesting things to say, and nary a chance to say them. Why, you ask? Because I have Indian internet--that's why. J and I have been squirming like a pregnant woman with no epidural for three days. We've been unable to check our e-mail, SKYPE, Facebook, blog, concentrate on anything...I just. need. internet. And I still don't have it. I'm on borrowed time as it is, being that I'm in a friend's apartment and am about to overstay my welcome...

All I can say is, I have a funny picture to post whenever my internet connection decides to play fair (after all, we are paying for it). Until then, know that I'm dying a slow death without all of you in cyberspace.

An Ode

Today our baby celebrates her five-year-old birthday. I'm trying not to cry as I think back on the last five years of my life with her. She has been an absolute joy in every way. Her birth was the easiest for me, her babyhood went by in a seamless blur, and her personality is, for lack of another word, sparkly.

This kid knows what she wants in life--Barbies and my shoes. But for all her girlish whims, she has a strong core. When we entered the train station bathroom the other day (for instance) and we both noticed that someone had used the drain as a toilet, and the smell was stupefying...she just held her nose, observed, and made sure she didn't touch anything.

She looks beggars in the eye and doesn't turn away. She says 'no' without blinking when an Indian crosses the line and begs her to let him take yet one more photo of her white face. She likes to carry her own backpack. She shares her snacks with me--even if they're those little heart-shaped cookies with sprinkle sugar on them.

She's a sweet-and-spicy one, our baby G. There'll never be another one just like her. Daddy and Mommy love you, G. Thanks for the best five years of my life.

Our Trip to the City in Thirteen Words

• Backpacks
• British trains
• Barf
• Beauty
• Burning trash
• Breeze
• Brahmin
• Bharat
• Brokenness
• Being different
  

As Promised...

Intercultural relations.

Don't look him in the eye. Seriously. Don't.

They mean salon.

Natalie, get me this hair color, k?

I presume this is a trash can...but one can never be certain here.

I mean, we love our coffee, but...

Just...ew.

Because, you know, timming is everything.

The last one is Mom's cure for everything...or is it?

I've wanted to meet healthy food for a long time.

I've been needing some new leanses.

Vacation

In about six months, J, the kids, and I will be moving to a new city. Tonight, we'll board a sleeper train to visit the city for a couple days and scope things out. I'll be sure to take lots of pictures and post them, as we've heard this city is gorgeous. The weather is supposed to be in the high 80's-low 90's and we are thrilled. As an added bonus, our train compartments have AC...The only drawback is that I have to share a bunk with one of my kids tonight...Oh well, it could be worse...I could have to share a tiny bunk with J...

Mom(s), we love you!

J and I want to wish our mothers a happy Mother's Day, and let them know how thankful we are for their influence and love in our lives. It goes without saying that without our moms' faithful care and unwavering support, we would not be the people we are today. I (H) hope to be as good a mother to my little ones as my mom was/is for me. J hopes I can learn to cook like his mom. (I gave him the gift of D's cooking instead).

To my sisters, who are tireless, courageous, and fully dedicated moms, I love you both. Keep fighting the good fight.

And now, I'm off to celebrate this Hallmark holiday with chicken masala, dahl, and naan.

The Boys' Trip to an Indian Barber Shop

You Learn Something New Everyday...

J and I visited one of the nicest restaurants our town has to offer the other day. We went with another couple who had been there many times before. It was a comfortable place with glowy ambiance and air conditioning. The food was delicious and it kept coming. No matter how quietly we talked, we were was still too loud. You know, that kind of place...

Now neither J nor I am a drinker for various reasons. But imagine our absolute amusement when we discovered that the drink menu contained a certain grown-up libation called Jack Denial.

Thing is, I knew it wasn't just a river in Egypt. But I had no idea you could purchase it by the shot.

Something to Think About...

We talk a lot in the U.S. about the American Dream and the pursuit of happiness, but I saw this spray-painted on a stone wall on my way to class:

Dreams are, after all, dreams. Contentment is the key to happiness in life...

I think someone got it right.

Things That Make You Go Hmmmm....

The perfect food for that special evening in high school.

Bourne Ultimatum? No. Bourn Vita.

Not to be confused, of course, with Lysol.

Um, how many 'A's does the word 'program' need? Just asking.

Funny, I didn't know Lay's had an 'Uncle Chipps' mascot...

Two More Terms

Two new words to add to our growing Hinglish list: shift--to move or change one's place of residence; i.e. "I have to move all my stuff out in two weeks because I have to shift." buff--buffalo meat, not to be confused with the verboten beef; i.e. "Look (eyes darting nervously), I know where you can find some very fine buff. Of course, you have to specify which parts you want, and you can't get it around here..."

Different Strokes

The kids and I, and our dear house helper 'D,' were sitting around the lunch table the other day. I happened to look over at our oldest son, who had lost his two front teeth right before we came to India. In place of his perfect, Chiclet baby teeth are the beginnings of two gigantic adult teeth. I made delicate mention of their size and progress to him. This prompted D to share this heartwarming story:

"When I was a girl, we used to wait for our teeth to 'break off.' Then we'd dig a hole in the ground, and bury our teeth. We waited for a rat to come and take the teeth and leave us a rupee in return. And he always did."

I didn't know quite what to say. Bringing up a fairy and pillows and dollars suddenly seemed so...lightweight.

Everyday Miracles

No two days are ever the same here. Well, they aren't anywhere, but especially not here. Just yesterday I was telling J how much I like it here--for the moment. How things seemed to be going as they should. After all, my house was neat as a pin, there were fruits and vegetables in the bin, and all our laundry had been washed and dried. The kids were watching Mary Poppins and were sedate. It was good.

My only (tiny) complaint was that it was creeping upwards of 90 degrees in our home. But that's usual. We sweat here. A lot. We drink tons of water, and sweat. The thing that always consoles me, though--our little evening treat--is that we turn on the A.C. in our bedroom and exhale. Sometimes we also study Hindi. Other times we watch season one of the Golden Girls...

So last night, though I was hotter than dragon's breath, I felt hopeful that the A.C. was going to breathe new life into my wilted self. J and I were positively giddy when we put the kids to bed and then winked at each other and pushed the 'on' button on the little gray remote.

A blast of arctic air poured down from the machine that gives us hope. I even pulled the covers luxuriously over me 'cause I was a little cold. Pure Heaven! But then...Oh then! the lights surged dangerously, the ceiling fan started speeding up as if it were out of the movie Poltergeist. J and I looked at each other with a sense of impending doom. You see, we'd already had problems with rickety wiring in this place and our A.C. had already been re-wired once to "eliminate" the problem.

We promptly turned our great cold hope back off. Within five minutes the air in our bedroom was closer than an Indian train ride. I begged J to turn it back on. He obliged, and then it happened. The electricity blew out in our entire house--and did not come back on. As the minutes turned into hours, we knew our food would spoil in the fridge, and our over-worked inverter would burn down. Then we'd be without fans to take the edge off the heat.

We dragged our mattresses off of the bed, and down to the coolest part of the house. We set up camp in a spare room, turned on an oscillating fan (which, we knew, would last for a few hours on the inverter and then--nothing). It was Saturday night, so I was trying to figure out how we could get anyone to come and get us out of this mess on a Sunday morning. I had already decided to take my kids to McDonald's and hang out in the air conditioning if we couldn't get anyone to help us.

Then the oscillating fan went out and we lay there in the thick darkness. I tried not to move a muscle. I prayed, "Lord, I know this is a long shot. I know the wiring is blown to bits in this house. I know that. But please, please, just make it come back on so that we are ok tomorrow." And then I fell into a fitful sleep.

I awoke to the oscillating fan revolving as usual and our electricity back on.

One to Grow On

This is an inaugural post. The one to set the pace, as it were. I (H) am really writing to see something appear on my wall because I don't like how bare and two-minutes-old it looks...

I think this would be a good time to begin a list of 'Hinglish' words and phrases, to which I will faithfully add as circumstances dictate. (For those of you who don't know, Hinglish is the delightful combination of Hindi and English. I dearly love it. I hope you will too).

A few examples: 'This room has too many people in it. It's hot and 'crowdy.' " "Jim thinks he's better than everyone else. He's is much too 'proudy.' " "I am happy today, isn't it?" "These schools are tough. The children feel so pressurized to succeed." "You are taking my help." (This last one we hear every time we enter the grocery store and the owner feels we need his assistance to reach the juice in front of us. It's posed as a statement, but meant as a question, and takes a little getting used to).

As a side note of minor interest, our beloved Hindi teacher, Mr. M, is most decorous and proper in every way. He carries himself in a dignified manner and is absolutely kind when J and I make fools of ourselves by referring to a donkey when we mean a mattress. His cool and unflappable ways simply underscore the well, oddity, of his clothing choice yesterday. This middle-aged Indian man was wearing a Pepto-Bismol pink t-shirt with the words 'Guess Jeans' emblazoned in the middle.

I don't know, call me crazy, but it just wasn't what I expected. But then, nothing ever is here...