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.