I was wandering around looking for a Persian restaurant, (someone had told me about it, I wasn’t just looking for some random Persian restaurant.) I didn’t find it, but I did find a cave-like structure on Airport Road and people were lining up to go into it and I thought- ‘I bet there’s something good in there.’ So I got in line too.

The security guy checked my bags (I’d been shopping, to console myself on not finding the Persian restaurant.) He determined that my children’s book and my stuffed turtle weren’t going to kill anyone, so he let me in.

I walked down the steps through the entrance of the fake cave-thing- big as you please; as though I knew exactly what I was doing and where I was going. I walked through a long hallway which very much reminded me of a subway station, but no tracks, no trains. I briefly wondered if there was going to be a way to get out, or if I’d be forced to take a train somewhere I didn’t want to go . . .

I came to a little man sitting at a little desk. He said, “One rupee.” So I gave him a rupee. Then the world opened up to a huge court yard with a GI-NORMOUS statue of (I didn’t know at the time, but now I do) Shiva, sitting lotus style. He was four stories high easy- sitting! There was water spurting out of his head.



I went through a turnstile and a lady said, “Shoes.” Actually, she said it in Hindi, but I don’t remember the word, so I said, “Oh, you want my shoes?” She said, “Yes, shoes.” (In English.) So I gave her my shoes, thinking at the time that I was glad I was wearing $2.00 flipflops.

I walked up the side of the courtyard taking note of the signs along the way. The more I read, the more they made me giggle. I went back to the beginning and took some pictures. When I got closer to Shiva, another little man at a little desk said, “Ten rupees.” So, not asking any stilly questions, I gave him ten rupees.

(see bucket for sign photos)

He pointed to another “cave” entrance. He said, “No pictures.” I put my camera away with great regret; I just knew I was going to encounter something fantastic in that fake cave.

I was not disappointed.

If you’ve ever been to Disney World and gone on the “Small World” ride, you will have some small clue as to what I’m about to describe. There were all these miniture scenes of locations of where holy “lings” could be found, and descriptions of their power and greatness. The scenes were all animated in some bizarre and/or disturbing way.

There were gods ascending and descending near the first ling, sometimes they got stuck half way to heaven. There was this crazy-haired-crusty-eyed ‘guru’ in the corner chanting and blinking and trying to raise his hands in a creepy animatronic-jerky representation of something holy.

There were bells chiming around the bend, but as I proceeded I was so taken with the lings and my realization that they were all phallic symbols to find out what that was all about. There were more animatronic gurus blinking and moaning in the shadows. There was an ice ling from the Himalayas. The sign invited me to touch it for good luck. I decided against it.

I am not willing to touch a frozen penis for good luck. You can quote me on that.

They rightly saved the best for last. At the last display was a story about a ling that had brought a dead cow to life. There was a freaking taxidermied cow head in the display mooing and rising and falling rhythmically. It even had blood on it!

I didn’t know what it all meant, but as I left I found myself in a temple market. I bought a little glass turtle with a ling on his back. The guy told me it was “good luck.” It seems pretty much anything with a penis in India can potentially be good luck. No wonder they have a population problem!

If anyone wants a lucky ling- I’m willing to go back for more. Just let me know.


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lingam

PS The water from his head is the symbolization of the beginning of some important river.

ao
I was sitting in my friend’s car. He was acting silly, singing songs in funny voices and telling me stories I didn’t believe. I asked him, “Do you act like this with all your friends?” He was quiet for a few seconds, and then he said, “No,” in a thoughtful tone. Still smiling, I asked him why I was the lucky one who got to see his silly side. I’ll never forget his answer. He said, “Because I love you best.”

The passenger side door of his car didn’t open from the inside. He told me he didn’t bother fixing it since it was a “chick door” anyway. He would get out and walk around to open the door, and the old ladies would smile and comment to one another what a nice young man he was. He would flash his pretty smile and I would try not to roll my eyes.

We used to go out to the lake; night swimming or for a walk on the dam. Sometimes we drove out there at night and went out to the edge of the lake and he would shine his headlights at all the parked cars. He explained the first time out that they weren’t just empty cars, but that the college kids came to the lake to “watching submarines” at that location. He drove an old black and white Chevy- which through steamed up windows might have been mistaken for a police car.

Once as we sat by the lake he told me that ever since he became a Christian he had tried to become perfect, but he was so disappointed because he didn’t think he would become perfect, even though he really wanted to. I remember telling him he couldn’t be perfect in this world because this world isn’t perfect; it’s corrupt and we can’t change that. I wish I could have told him what I’ve only recently come to understand myself.

He was right . . . men are made with eternity in their hearts. This life is only the beginning. When we become Christians, it marks the beginning of our perfection. Perfection, however, is hard work. I still believe that here, in this world, we cannot become perfect, but this world is not all. God is working with us and in us to complete our perfection. Our striving here will be rewarded in the next world. Our perfection will become complete and for that we can rejoice even now.

I believe now that the problem with Christians today is that we work to be ‘good’ when really we need to struggle for perfect. “You thought you were going to be made in to a decent little cottage; but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself.” (CS Lewis, Mere Christianity)

“Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly father is perfect.” Matthew 5:48
“Keep working on that palace.” That’s what I’d tell him if we had that discussion again.

And if we were to walk on the dam in a storm I would carry the umbrella. And if you were working on the roof all morning and you were thirsty, I’d bring you some water.
And if we were to go to church and I saw Abraham Lincoln, I wouldn’t mention it. Because after all this time, I’d like to think I helped add something nice to that palace.
You added something nice to mine because you loved me best.

Your IQ Is 110

Your Logical Intelligence is Below Average Your Verbal Intelligence is Genius Your Mathematical Intelligence is Above Average Your General Knowledge is Exceptional

A Quick and Dirty IQ Test

This is a funny result since, if it had numbers I guessed. It it required thinking, (Logic) I also guessed, but I'm thinking that shows.

You Are Tofu

Okay, so you aren't exactly meat. And that's fine with you. Even if people think you're a bit bland.There's a good chance you're veg - and even if you aren't, you secretly think meat is gross.

What Kind of Meat Are You?

YOU ARE 80% GROSS

YOU ARE 80% GROSS You Are 80% Gross

You're pretty dirty, and there's a good change you're living in a total dump.And your body? Not too clean either. Watch out for killer bacteria, Pig Pen!

How Gross Are You?

okay, just one more

Reeses Peanut Butter Cups

Very popular, one of you is not enough.

What Kind of Candy Are You?

YOU ARE LIKELY A THIRD BORN You Are Likely a Third Born

At your darkest moments, you feel vulnerable.At work and school, you do best when you're comparing things.When you love someone, you tend to like to please them. In friendship, you are loyal to one person.Your ideal careers are: sales, police officer, newspaper reporter, inventor, poet, and animal trainer.You will leave your mark on the world with inventions, poetry, and inspiration.

The Birth Order Predictor

The links don't work, but here's the site I got the quizes from:

http://www.blogthings.com/quizzes/

It takes 15 minutes to get from my place to work. Today I saw ten free-range city cows and three water-buffalo.

That's right this place simply exudes every one of the romantic and exotic images you bring to mind when you consider India.

It makes me want to write a haiku:

Cows in the streets
Trash burning near by stinks, stains
Indian romance

Thank you

I am a language monkey.

Whenever I’m not reading text books (which has been a very small portion of my life it seems.) I find myself reading many books at the same time, starting many projects and always thinking of more stuff to keep me entertained.

Currently I am reading The Purpose Driven Life, A Year with CS Lewis, The Mammoth Hunters, More Than Love, Eats Leaves and Shoots, and Watercolor for the Absolute Beginner. (that’s me) I’ve just finished Genesis and have started John. I would like to go back to Genesis to do a study. I think it is my favorite book of the Bible. It has so many interesting stories and implications.

I am knitting a Christmas Stocking and cover for my MP3 player, I have a counted cross stitch in the works from last Christmas, and I considered trying to crochet a teddy bear last night. (I got stuck on the stocking pattern, I can K1 and P1 but I don’t know what Sl1 means-- gotta look that up.) I’m trying to teach myself how to watercolor (hence the book.) I have paints and brushes and pencils and paper and books . . . I’m not so good at it. I wish I could post my latest painting. It’s a church . . . it’s purple and yellow and pink . . . When the maintenance man came to fix my cable he tried not to laugh at it.

Ah- it takes me back to the Alamo . . . I would like to point out I think it is much better than my Alamo. What makes it funny (aside from the fact that it’s pink and purple and yellow) is that it’s all crooked. If I had any sense I’d try to find somebody to give me drawing lessons before I try to paint stuff. I know I don’t have a natural talent for this stuff, but it entertains me for cheap so I continue.

I think I started this post to talk about CS Lewis and the Purpose Driven Life . . . but I’ve lost that thread. I’ll think about it for tomorrow. I think I’ll try to paint a tulip now.

I was so confused!

look at the address at this site, you'll understand my problem

knit titties

The account of the Red beans

It came to pass in those days that a decree went out from Princess Shannon that all the beans should be cooked. (And this cooking was first done when Shannon was new to India.) And all the beans were cooked, and the beans were divided into portions of two; that they should be consumed at various times.

This is the account of the first portion of beans. Verily, the beans were added together with savory spices from many lands; including The United States of America and Mexico (in the New World); Kenya (on the Dark Continent) and India, which is known to many as the very land of spices and savoriness. Also added together with the beans and the savory spices was Sweet Yellow American corn, healthy tomato puree, water which had spurt forth from the tap, a smallish red onion-chopped and garlic-crushed.

This combination was indeed to become most delicious, and the scent of its cooking was pleasing to the nostrils of the LORD- the God of the Nations, as to His humble servant, Princess Shannon. Surely this pleasant and acceptable dish did cook upon a gas fire, as is right in the land of India.

As time passed Princess Shannon did take note with her senses that there was an odor which verily did not please her nostrils, (nor the nostrils of the LORD.) She did dismiss this scent saying unto herself: “India doth muchly have a foul order like unto burning.”

As more time passed Princess Shannon did go forth unto the kitchen and sadly she did see that her red beans were red no more, nor was her Sweet Yellow American corn any longer sweet or yellow (perhaps not even American) for it had all been sacrificed on the fire known as “The Gas Stovetop” to the demon god known as “Charcoal.”

Sorrowfully, Princess Shannon did mourn this tragic loss of savory goodness.

Verily I say unto thee: cooking doth require much hardship in this exotic land known as India. Two days did the beans soak, far had the spices traveled, and the corn, the Sweet Yellow American corn surely had been cut off the very core by hand!

Thus ends the account of the first portion of red beans.

*********************************************************************************
I burned the second portion too!

Thus ends the account of the second portion of red beans.

If I were in charge of writing a tourists’ guide for Bangalore, it might have a passage like this:

I went to a restaurant called the Noodle . . . Bowl . . . Noodle . . . House . . . Noodle Something. Who can keep track?

I didn’t know what to expect in the first place, but when the hostess asked if we wanted to sit in the Chinese/Thai section to the left or the Lebanese/Mexican/Italian section to the right I was a little taken aback.

First of all, when did the United Nations get involved in the restaurant business and secondly who ever heard of a Lebanese noodle?

I, for one, had to learn more. I said, “Left.”

The menu was like a freaking magazine; (complete with ads on every page) as you can imagine, there were many choices. I made a bee-line for the Lebanese noodles, but got totally distracted, and stopped in my magazine-menu-page-turning tacks by the “Mexican falafel.”

A Mexican falafel . . . I couldn’t wrap my brain around how a Mexican falafel in India might taste. I had to forgo the Lebanese noodles for the time being and satiate my hunger for a truly multinational falafel* EXTRAVAGANZA!

*Please note that falafels are my favorite-favorite things to eat, and Mexican food is my favorite-favorite kind of food. “How could this possibly go wrong?!” (You may be too smart to be asking yourself.)

And verily I say unto you, a Mexican falafel can only be described as a pita pocket full of weirdness. It was a Mediterranean burrito of sorts. It had cabbage and lettuce and refried beans and crushed tortilla chips and falafel patties and yogurt sauce and chutney (which I’m pretty darn sure isn’t Lebanese OR Mexican, it’s those crazy Indians sneaking the chutney in again.)

It wasn’t bad . . . but I wouldn’t go so far as to say that it was good. It was something I probably will not eat again, ever. (Don’t get me wrong, I’m going back for the Lebanese noodles . . . I won’t let you down in that bit of investigative reporting.)

Yeah, the Noodle place. Check it out when you come to Bangalore.

I went to my first Indian movie theater last night. I saw "Superman Returns." Yeah, I didn't know he left, but cool that he's back!

And he's young and cute (bonus!)

My first crush was on Superman. Christopher Reeve was hot. But so is the new guy . . . maybe it's the little curl that survives even when he dives to the bottom of the ocean or flies to into outer space. Maybe it's the the blue tights . . . Whatever. I dig Superman.

I think he's cooler than other superheros (a Wonder Woman exception here) because he was born Super. He didn't have to get radiated, or bitten or be rich to make lots of toys (there's no Superman-mobile) He's just Superman. He's got his curl and his cape and he's ready to save the world, but mostly Lois Lane. That girl is nothing but trouble.

I liked the movie.

Let's talk about the theater now. It only shows one movie at a time. Superman has been there for the past two weeks. I think "Pirates of the Caribbean" will come next. The theater doesn't look like much from the outside. You have to go up and reserve tickets ahead of time because nearly every show is sold out. You buy specific seats. An usher seats you. (Fancy) There is intermission, but it's called something else . . . I don't remember what they called it. You can buy tiny amounts of popcorn. It was hard to tell how many people were in the theater. I wouldn't have guessed that many, but when the movie ended, and they turned the lights on before the credits had even started, it took a while to get out.

I was starting to get a little freaked. I was having flashes of Mardi Gras in New Orleans . . . seas of people . . . inching along . . . little pushes from behind. If someone had yelled "Fire!" I'd be dead. That many people.

I don't fare well with that many people. India may not have been the ideal choice for me after all. I mean I do live in a small city (of 8 milion!).

Indians, they are everywhere.

I am a A Diamond Dragon!
Hey, I took the http://dragonhame.com online Inner Dragon quiz and found out I am a Diamond Dragon on the inside.
In the war between good and evil, a Diamond Dragon tends to walk the fine line of Neutrality....When it comes to the powers of Chaos vs. those of Law and Order, your inner dragon is a risk taker and answers to no one....As far as magical tendancies, a Diamond Dragon's nature does not lend itself well to the ways of Magic....During combat situations, a true Diamond Dragon prefers to defeat opponents by the use of spells and other tactics....The Diamond Dragon is most at home in Cool, Sunny Regions. They are Multi-Facetted individuals who inspire others to better themselves and the world around them. Unless a Diamond Dragon is the CENTER of attention, they appear to be dulled and yearning for the lime-light.'Though a Diamond Dragon is quite rare to find, if you happen upon one, be sure to be a true friend. Diamond Dragons don't like to be lied to or back stabbed. Lest they turn on you the same way, tenfold. They are Loyal, fun loving, gentle, honest, caring, and extremely wise. They also tend to be introvert ed when hurt by someone close, and their friends or companions are like family. So beware not to anger them. While they look and for all intents and purposes are easy going, when it comes to family and friends, they will defend to the death if need be and you may just find yourself enemy number one.' 'This Dragons favorite elements are: Fire, Diamonds, Deep Caverns
http://Dragonhame.Com

Oh my gosh! This quiz is so long don't do it! (Unless you have lots of time to kill)

Dearest peeps

Here is my mailing address:

Shannon Peterson
Spectrum Placement & Marketing Services Pvt. Ltd.
780, (1st Floor), 12th Main, 1st Cross, HAL 2nd Stage,
Bangalore - 560 008.
INDIA

I'm posting this because this isn't actually where I live. So if you go there expecing to find this place for the purposes of raping and pillaging me- HA! I won't be there!

All you'll get is a skinny little security guard.

However, my birthday is coming (in September) and this is the perfect time to start planning on sending a package. The mail is quite slow. Seriously, a package sent by the end of July would (probably) get here on time.

Yes, this is a shameless plea for love and attention.

Please send a small (or large if you prefer) box of goodies to the above address.
If you do, as the Jews say, "You will have many blessings in your belly button."
I don't know what that means, but blessings just about anywhere are good for me.

A girl could never have too much:
Kettle corn
slim jims (tobasco)
those lipton pasta packets . . . soon I will tell you the sad story of red beans.
kool-aid (no grape)
candy (peanut butter kind is good)
gum
deoderant (serioulsy somebody in this country needs to smell good, it might as well be me)
books
toys
music
movies
crafty thingies
holiday decore (well in advance mind you)
Letters
cards
salutaions

Buzz wants tasty chewy treats and a raw hide or two.

I'm just saying, that's all.

Do as you will. May the Spirit lead you.
Shan and Buzz

Last night I dreamed that Buzz was running with a gang of wild street dachshunds . . . I know . . . “wild street dachshund” isn’t an image that comes to one’s mind easily.

So, eventually, as a result of his bad behavior he got sick and died! (Who knows what kinds of diseases wild street dachshunds carry?) I was so distraught I picked him up and put him in a laundry basket . . . . I know it doesn’t make sense. I couldn’t deal with it at the time. Later on, however, I started thinking about it and I thought, maybe he isn’t dead, maybe he’s just sick. So I went back to the laundry basket, (took the laundry out) and there was Buzz all cold and stiff. But he blinked, so I knew he was still alive. I pulled him out and started off to the vet hoping there was still time to save him.

Then I woke up. I had not been sleeping well, so I decided after a dream like that I should just get up and get going.

Buzz is fine. The worst thing that’s happened to him is that the cleaning lady threw away his chew toys. Lucky for him I brought spares.

HA!
I think I've talked to this guy too! But he's in Bombay, Bangalore is soooo much more upscale!

I went to this little fabric store in my neighborhood this weekend. I walk past it everyday, but I haven’t stopped in because either Buzz was yanking on his leash, or it was closed when I walked by without him.

I went in because I was in a spending mood. I went in and asked for cloth the make clothes. (As opposed cloth to make saris.) She showed me some, but nothing I was really impressed by. So, I told her to show me the sari cloth. I found one I liked. It’s dark blue with a gold thread weave boarder. It’s synthetic, nothing fancy.

I really didn’t have any business buying a sari at all. I don’t even know how to put one on. But being that I was already in the process, I forged ahead. I got the sari and I said, “So, I’ve never bought a sari before, what else do I need to wear it?”
She just gave me this “Her idiot question has left me speechless” look.
So I said, “Well, do I need a petticoat?” (widely known to Americans as a slip, but fortunately I knew to say “petticoat” because I had negotiated this point about sari wearing with someone before.)
She said, “Yes. Of course you need a petticoat.” (Like, DUH!)
I said, “What about the blouse?”
She said, “The blouse is included in the sari.”
(That meant the material was longer than the actual sari.)
I said, “Oh, so I need to take it to the tailor?”
She said, “Yes, yes of course you must take it to the tailor.”
I said, “Okay.”
She said, “Do you know how to tie a sari?”
I said, “No.”
She asked, “How are you going to wear it?”
I said, “I don’t know. I guess I’ll have to ask someone.” And I smiled.

I was thinking about that interaction later and trying to imagine an equivalent situation in the US so that you could understand just how strange the interaction was for this poor woman.

I guess it would be like buying some clothing very common in the US. Let’s say jeans.
If you worked in a store and some foreign person came in to buy some jeans and she bought them and said, “So, I’ve never bought jeans before, what else do I need to wear them?” You would give her the “Her idiot question has left me speechless” look.
If she then said, “Do I need underwear?”
You would say, “Yes. Of course you need underwear.” (DUH)
If she said, “What about a T-shirt?”
You would say, “The T-shirts are in the next section.”
She would say, “So, I need to buy one?”
You would say, “Yes, of course you need to buy one!”
You would say, “Do you know how to put this outfit on?”
She would say, “No.” and smile and leave.

And you would think—that was a loony-bird!

My grandmother used to always say could tell when somebody had been in her house when she wasn’t home. She said it felt different. I used to say, “Sure Gram.” I was thinking, “Coo-Coo!” Like the air vibrates differently if someone had been in the house while you were out.

I was out most of the day today. I went to “City Market.” What that means, I learned, is that there is a place where people do gather to buy and sell veggies and flowers like a farmer’s market. I figured there had to be a place, but I couldn’t find it. All around City Market are streets and streets of stores of every description. Some streets sell clothes, other streets, hardware, others books, computer stuff, cooking utensils, etc. See pictures in the bucket.

I went with the intention of buying some clothes (ready made) on account of my washing machine not working. (That’s a whole other story.) But, I was with two men, and well, I didn’t want to bore them with my indecisions about colors and fabrics and prices. I tried not to be too distracted by the shiny things; it wasn’t easy on the jewelry street.

I ended up not buying any clothes at City Market. Instead I bought a skirt, shirt and scarf at a really posh shop in the expensive mall near my place. It wasn’t as expensive as I thought it would be. I bought everything for about $25, and I like it and will defiantly wear it outside of India. Besides, I figured I could take the blouse to the tailor and have him make me another one (using that one as a pattern) to defray the cost of paying full price for that one. J

Anyway, on the way back to my grandmother and her “feelings.” I got home and I felt suspicious. Like, something was wrong. I kept looking in drawers and thinking, “Is this all I put in here?” I was looking at the table and counters and thinking, “Is that where I left that?”

I don’t know why but I went to look at the washing machine, (like I do) and I noticed that the light on the switch was on. So I turned the washer on to check it, and it worked.

Well, heck!

I guess the apartment maintenance guy had finally come to fix it! (Whoo-Hoo! I can wash clothes!) And, I realized, I had inherited my grandmother’s “feelings.” That’s where she comes back into the story.

I washed a load of clothes and went into my spare room to hang them up. I flipped all the switches because there are seriously like 15 in there and I don’t know which one turns on the light. I went and gathered up the rest of the dirty clothes and went out to the washer, and the little light was out. Heck-Heck! What had I done?

The only thing I could think of was I had flipped all the switches in the spare room. So, I went back in the spare room and flipped them all back. Then the washer worked again, but I had to figure out which switch inside the apartment controlled the switch outside the apartment where the washer lives. (It has its own mini-balcony off the side of the kitchen.)

One by one I eliminated switches . . . flip a switch, walk out to check the washer, no. Flip a switch, walk out and check the washer, no. Flip a switch, go out and check the washer . . . what a pain.

There are lots of choices here. If I want something, say a kilo of potatoes, I can 1. Go to the store and get them.2. Call a store and have them deliver them. 3. Wait for them to come to me.

You see, there are these guys who go around selling things; all kinds of things, not just potatoes. I don’t know what to call them, they aren’t exactly street venders (I don’t think), but let’s call them that.

I haven’t bought anything from these venders, mostly because I try to ignore them when I hear them outside my window yelling their heads off. Secondly, I only happen to see them when I’m out walking Buzz, and it’s just too much to try to hold on to Buzz’s leash, (he’s ten pounds of “let’s go!”) carry the “warning stick” (other dogs back off) and usually a book. (I’ve found a nice little park-type-thing that’s like our own private dog park. It’s always empty and enclosed with a fence, so I can let Buzz free range for a few minutes each day while I read.) Point being, my hands are too full to carry money or random street vegetables.

One thing I noticed and wondered about was explained to me the other day. There are different guys for different things. The mango-man, he’s seasonal as is the jack-fruit lady. Then there’s the regular veggies guy, the plastics guy, the trinkets guy, and the occasional blankets or fabric guys and the paper guy (who, make note, is not selling paper, but buying it, or collecting it, don’t know which.) I didn’t wonder about any of these guys as they pushed their carts around the neighborhood yelling about their wares.

They all yell different things (obviously, it would be nonsense for the mango man to go around yelling “paper!”) But aside from the paper guy, they yell in another language, so I don’t know what they are saying, I only assume it is something about stuff on their carts.

Some of them have the tone of “Bring out your dead!” And that image makes me happy. When I hear the “Bring out your dead!” guy I don’t look to see who he is, because I like to imagine a muddy English man pushing a cart of dead people. Some of them sound like, (tone/melody mind you, not words) “Peanuts! Get your fresh roasted peanuts!” Some of them sound like auctioneers and others just sound really annoying, especially when I’ve gotten home from work at 3am and they are outside yelling at 9am.
“Blast you veggies man!”

I’ve diverted. What I wondered about was why is there a veggies man and a separate onion and garlic man? Why don’t they join forces? (And make one mega cart?)

Well, from what I understand some people here don’t eat onions or garlic; on religious purposes and/or because onions and garlic are considered aphrodisiacs. I never knew that about onions and garlic. I mean, generally Americans try to avoid the person who had onions and garlic for lunch, not because they don’t want to be entrapped by lust, but because they stink!

I find things here to be one the small side of conservative. While in the US things tend to be “Super Sized” “Economy Size” and “Family Size.” Things here are just a hint above “travel size.”

Everything (by everything I mean packages of food, towels, bath mats, pillows, pretty much everything except cooking ware which is HUGE, but all the containers to put things away are again tiny) is small and individually wrapped which makes me feel like a GIANT! (And not in a good way.)