I took Buzz to Fort Woof- the dog park in Fort Worth (clever eh?) Things were going great, he was sniffing around the fence, peeing miniscule amounts on every post, table, weed, and blade of grass he could find, when all of the sudden this big dog came barreling toward us screaming it's head off.

It was that screaming sound a dog emits when it is either really hurt or really scared. It was a rottweiler. She was screaming “Help me! Help me! I’m being chased by a wild animal.” At least that’s what I think she was screaming- in doggie language.

She was probably too big to be in the “small dog” park. She was only a puppy- but even puppy rottweilers can be big- and she was. She was running toward any help she could get-and I happened to be the closet human in the line of the chase. I saw what was chasing her. She was right, it was a wild animal- it was a ferocious miniature poodle- a little white one with extra curly fur.

Well, Buzz didn’t like that screaming, nor the bulling- not one bit. He’s a peace keeping kind of dog, unless of course he’s the one picking the fight. So he jumped right in and started barking at the poodle.

In the mean time, the humans who belonged to the rotweiler were trying to figure out what he heck had happened to their dog. I was trying to tell the puppy she was okay, and the poodle was trying to figure out what the fuss was all about. I think he just wanted to play- but when things escalated into a running-screaming-chasing scenario he just went along with it.

But the picture of a rotweiler being chased by a miniature poodle, and a miniature dachshund defending the rotweiler against the poodle- that just make me laugh.

I've been visiting churches lately. And by "visiting churches" I mean I've taken several weeks, to convince myself that going to one church or another is a good idea, dragged myself to a service and felt tortured the full time I was attending service and/or Sunday school.

I think the problem is the size. Size does matter.

I am used to small churches. I guess I just like them better.

The church I went to last month disturbed me when the swing band up on stage started blasting out "It is Well With My Soul" full horns and drums. The worship leader was snapping and swiveling his hips in a way that would have made Elvis proud and I was thinking, 'This is a song written by a man who had just lost his three daughters! I don't imagine him swing dancing across the deck as his ship passed over the waters where his children drown.'

In the church I went to today the pastor kept saying, "Does your heart beat a skip?" I know I'm way too critical- but it so easy when they hand it to me like that. It makes my little ESL heart beat a skip.

The Sunday school teacher was telling a joke: Let me see if I can remember it- An atheist was angry about the fact that everyone had holidays to celebrate except him- so he got a lawyer and said, "Look, the Christians have Easter and Christmas, the Jews have Hannakah and Lent- . . ." It is at this point that that my head tilted to the right and I thought, 'Did he just say the Jews have Lent?!'

And the rest of what he had to say was out the window- I mean if he thinks the Jews own Lent, what's the point of going on?

But the rest of the joke- the Jews have Lent- and I demand a holiday for atheists! So they went to court and presented the case. The judge listened, but when the argument was presented he slammed his gavel down and said, this case is dismissed! The atheist said, "What! I want a holiday!" The judge responded, "In the Psalms it says, "The fool says in his heart there is no God." You have a holiday, it is April 1st."

That was just a filler, the projector was down, and obviously it was useless to try to give a speach off a piece of paper when there was a perfectly malfunctioning powerpoint projector in the room.

The joke didn't fill the whole time the projector was down, so some other guy got up to give an announcement- he asked us when they should move the class time to (how could I know?) and told us we needed to be "Kinda specific."

Kinda specific.
Really.

I've been so industrious this weekend. It's easy to be industrious when you know you don't have to go to work on Monday. Usually I just sit around thinking that I'm going to have to think of some lesson plans before I go to work on Monday.

I made potato soup and bread bowls. Potato soup- easy. Bread bowls-kinda hard. Neither of them turn out to be espcially yummy. They were both okay though.

I hung some curtains in my bedroom, I rearranged my books- well most of them any way. I put my clothes, which had been piled on the floor for un-numberd days, away; I finished one school bus yellow sock and started the second one. I made a tiny little panda with no obvious purpose in life- aside from being cute of course.

I learned how to make a colonial knot, as French knots are apparently impossible to one such as I. I made a list of all the other things I need to do this week with my fountain pen. :) I went to church this morning . . . I don't know why every church is so weird to me these days. More on that later. AND I vaccumed!

Oh wait! I also put together a door shelf- and this is an accomplishment because lately I've been in this, "I wish somone would come and do this for me so I wouldn't have to read the directions" mood.

The left sock is the one I made, the right sock is the one my mom made a million years ago, and which I am using as a pattern for the new one. I think I could market them as "Sweaters for you feet and legs."

When I was in Jr High I had a facination with a boy named Josh and fountain pens. I'm totally over Josh, it turns out, that after close inspection of his wardrobe- he didn't change his pants often enough to convince my BFF (or until the end of 7th grade) that he was sanitary.

Eventually we gave up harrassing Josh and his unwashed pants, and I put away my fountain pens. Giving up on Josh, well, there's no question about that- it was certainly a good idea. But the fountain pens- I can't imagine why I gave up on them. I just found what's left of my collection- ink included. Fountain pens are so cool!

They look cool, when you write with them your writting looks cool, and the scratchy-scratchy sound they make on paper is cool. I dare say one even looks cooler when using one, perhaps just by association.

I shall once again be cool by associating with fountain pens.

Other news- Oh my job- I'm still working at UD- and my students are still cracking me up.

It's really a fun job- if only I had befits it would be perfect.

I asked one of my beginning students what she was going to do for Thanksgiving break (Whooo-Hooo! I get a whole week off!)
She said she was going to: "That place that has the machines you put money in them and you get something."
I thought: 'A vending machine convention?'
No: next guess- my job is alot about guessing what in the world they might want to be communicating to me:
Me: "A casino?"
How did I guess that? I have no idea- it's like pictionary or charades, you just start throwing things out until you get it.
Student: "Yes, yes! A casino!"
The nearest casino is in OK.
I said, "Are you going to Oklahoma?"
She said, "No."
The second nearest casion is in LA.
I asked, "Are you going to Louisinana?"
She said, "No."
She said, "I'm going to that place in the desert where there are many machines."
'robot land?'
Me: "Are you going to Las Vegas?"
Student: "Yes! Las Vegas- it is very famous.
"Me: "Yes, very famous- be careful."

I guess I'll hang out here- no money- no plans- but I do have socks to knit . . . books to read, movies to watch, lessons to prepare, etc.

I just reread that last sentence-I am in great need of locating some local friends! Maybe I'll make it my goal to find out where I can go to meet new and exciting people.

I'm knitting my aunt some tube socks. It's so mindless- I love it. Some knitting takes way too much thought- but tube socks not so much- and she just wants them to wear around the house, so I choose the ugliest color of yarn I had on hand. Someone gave it to me- it's school bus yellow. For some reason I just can't bear to turn down free yarn! Even if I can't think of a thing in the world I'd do with it- I must take free yarn! Otherwise it's just a little orphan ball of string nobody cares about! I know eventually I'll think of something for the free yarn- and here it is- tube socks.

I ordered some goodies from Amazon- a crockpot- which is delightful- my next "fix-it-and-forget-it, but-not-for-too-long" creation shall be potato soup with a chipoltle swirl. Yes, Yes, I know it shall be delicious!

I also ordered a humidifier- I was sick, and I felt that would help me- of course as soon as it showed up I started feeling better. I took it out of the box because, well, it's adorable. It is! It even says so on the package! "This adorable humidifier will blah-blah-blah. . . " It's shaped like a penguin, and smoke comes out of his beak- "This adorable smoking penguin is not a toy!"

When the weather gets colder and my skins starts doing the "I'm so dry I shall crack" thing, I'm turing the smoking penguin on!

The third thing I ordered never showed up! I suppose I don't really need it after all. I just thought it was funny. I suppose that I wouldn't really use it much, and I couldn't show it to many people as my little ole sense of humor apalls people sometimes.

It was a book called "Subversive Cross Stitch." It has all these little cutsie patterns peppered with naughty words that I never use in public, unless they are really really called for.

It didn't come, so I'm going to cancel that order and get something else that I will actually use, and not just pull out and giggle it once a year or so.

Neb V was over the other night for lentils- they were a bit too tomato-y but edible over a bit of Moroccan couscous. Buzz was salivating over his inane idea of eating the neighbor’s cat. Honestly- that cat weighs more than he does and with flattened ears and a raised paw a cat can send him away screaming like a baby who just lost his last piece of candy. Last time Mary’s cat got within two feet of him she sent him into a screaming episode that took him in a 20 foot circle around her yard. Ridiculous little dog.

Anyway- Neb V was making couscous. She was looking in the cabinet for a measuring cup when she stumbled upon my Nutella. This is not my first mention of Nutella- it is certainly like a nectar vastly popular in Europe and shamefully ignored in the American market. I had a Nutella crepe in Paris- heavenly- really. I found a jar at the international food mart, Zam Zam, which is just down the street. I had no idea that Zam Zam was an international food mart; I just had to stop in one day to find out what on earth it was. I mean just the name sounds so exciting- “Zam Zam!”

Neb V said, “Oh! Nutella- it reminds me of my childhood, growing up in Europe, I used to love Nutella for dinner.” My first thought was, ‘Oh, growing up in Europe, it sounds so- you know- fancy. “I grew spent my formative years in EUROPE darling!” My second thought was quick on first thought’s heals, ‘You can’t eat Nutella for dinner!’ I mean, anything is possible, but ewww! Nutella is a speadable chocolate-hazelnut jar of sweet yumminess. It has the consistency of peanut butter and the meltiness of milk chocolate.

She said it all depends how you go about your Nutella. She said she loved it with bread and butter. Sounded kinda ick to me, but what do I know? I didn’t grow up in Europe.

The Nutella episode got me to thinking about my childhood, and what reminds of my formative years. Gill Village- not quite so fancy as Europe to be sure, I dare say public housing never is.

I thought maybe generic items could be my thing- the old kind with black and white labels that actually said “generic” on them. Does anyone even make real generic items? I think it has all moved to store brands. My next memory was used condoms in the play ground- but no I don’t frequent play grounds much any more- and I have no occasion to come across used condoms either. Free government cheese? Unlike M&Ms, which melted in your mouth, not in your hands, that stuff didn’t melt anywhere, for anything- it was dreadful.

“Green Things” remind me of that time. There was a Green Thing in each lot. I have no idea what those Green Things were; some kind of electrical boxes. Most of them were about two and a half feet tall and two feet wide. There was a big Green Thing in the lot next to mine- we called it “The Big Green Thing,” imaginative group of youngsters that we were. If you touched a bolt on top of The Big Green Thing with one hand, and touched the back side of The Big Green Thing with your other hand, you could feel a shock run from one hand, across your chest to the other hand. One day we decided to scientifically measure the strength of the current. Our science determined that the current was strong enough to run through 4 children if we all held hands and one touched a bolt and the other touched the back of The Thing.

Who pays attention to green electrical boxes any way? Have you noticed them? They look like this:

No- I finally came up with THE thing that reminds me of that time of my life. Cinnamon rolls. Not just any kind of natty-day old-rubbery icing-cinnamon rolls. I mean real, fluffy, hot, sticky, sweet, fresh cinnamon rolls. My mother didn’t like to bake much, but she was an expert at cinnamon rolls. There was no telling when the cinnamon roll mood might strike- (just one of the many unexpected pleasures of living with an undiagnosed manic depressive.) When the cinnamon rolls appeared, there were no rules about how many we could eat- because we all knew, including my mother, that cinnamon rolls could not be saved- they were only good hot out of the oven.

I attribute my weakness for Cinnabon and green electrical boxes to these formative childhood memories.

I've decided to start up my month-alutions again. Every month I choose a resolution to keep for the month- I've already started my month-alution for November- to finish the projects I've started before stating any more.

I've finished my "Neopolitan" scarf. Someone gave me this yarn- I thought and thought about what I could possibly make out of the "dusty rose" color. It's not my favorite, but I couldn't part with perfectly good yarn just because it's not my favorite color- that's discrimination. I put these three colors together because they remind me of ice cream- ummm ice cream . . .

Only about 10 more projects to finish . . . :)

Other month-alutions- starte looking for a church, save some $, take my dog on more walks- these aren't all for this month, just ideas for coming months- I don't want to get too ambitious.

So I hung up my stuff on my walls today. I'm slowly getting things in place so that it doesn't look like an inside garage sale in here. I need another book shelf to finish in the living room, then I can start in my bedroom.

We are having a Halloween picnic at work-I think it will be fun- I like Halloween. I'm also looking forward to Christmas- all the decorations out make me happy. I know it's way too early- but they still make me happy- I think the anticipation is fun. I wish I had space for a tree- but I don't really- and I don't really have any decorations for one either. Just random ornaments here and there.

Who wants to invite me for tree decorating? I think I could be happy decorating someone else's tree- then come home and put up my radiation nativity and 1 foot tree-decorated with earings and necklaces.

I promise not to vomit mucus on your Christmas decorations!

I would officially like to ammend my previous entry for the grossest thing I've ever done from popping a zit in my ear (it was really ick- I could actually hear it pop, and I felt the puss shoot out and logde under my fingernail) to vomiting mucus on to my keyboard- then then cleaning up the vomited mucus off my keyboard- I'll will count those two actions as one total gross event.

It was like somekind of alien/horor movie. As if vomit isn't bad enough- it was mucus from my rather severe sinus drainage. I was just coughing when blahhhh! There it was on my keyboard all slimy and smelly. It was all so sudden- there was no time to react- do you know how smoothly mucus comes up? It's like lighting- honestly. Lucky for me, very little of the bean soup came up with the mucus-the came up later, and not nearly as smoothly.

They keyboard seems to be alright, but my spacebar is sticking a little-- blame it on the alien mucus.

It's cold today. I could see my breath this morning. It was cold and rainy and windy yesterday- it would have been a good day to stay in bed, but taking a day off is not an option with this job.

A person sure can get used to new work situations quickly. I do miss those three day weekends in Bangalore- and now I'm only actually at work 20 hours a week. I have lots of things to do outside of my 20 hours of work time, but I can do them at home or where ever I want. That's nice.

I should be doing a lesson plan right now . . .

I thought I might have some interesting facts to write about- but I suppose I was just trying to find something to avoid the lesson plans- back to the plans for me then.

I'm online!

Oh yeah- home and online- I feel all fancy now. Sick and snotty and coughing and wearing my jammies, but fancy non-the-less.

I gotta go puff an inhaler.

Alright, back to the business of being online.

No news is good news- so my mom used to say. My no news is that I'm still sick. I've been to the dr. a few times. He's given me some different kinds of pills and syrups and puffers. The latest narcotic syrup, which has an unfortunate purple flavor, seems to work, but the actual allergy medicine's doing nothing for me. He gave me antibodics too, just in case it was some horrid infection-

I think I just wasted my $44.95 on those puppies.

I'm listening to Paul Anka singing "It's a Sin" which should be sung by The Petshop Boys . . . Rock Swings . . . where do I get this stuff?

Negotiation of meaning between second language learners:

Male Japanese student: “Mamasita!”
Female Mexican student: “You shouldn’t say that, it’s rude to say that to women.”
Japanese student: “Oh! It is? What does it mean?”
Mexican student: “It means something bad to women, like you want something from them, you only like to look at them.”
Japanese student: “Oh.”

Two seconds later

Same male Japanese student: “Mamasita!”
Female Columbian student: “Ah! Who taught you that?”
Japanese student: “(Names a male Spanish speaking student) says it all the time!”
Columbian student: “Well, that is him, he’s joking, but you shouldn’t say it!”
Japanese student: “Doesn’t it mean I think she’s pretty?”
Columbian student: “Yes, but it means more, like you want to have her for sex, it’s a sexy word it’s bad to call nice women that.”
Japanese student: “Oh! So if I see a woman and I want to fuck her I say it!”
Columbian student: “ah- well . . . yes”

So I finally gave in and decided that coughing all night, getting stomach cramps, vomiting, a back ache, a head ache and not being able to talk or breath was hindering my happy outlook on life. It only took two and a half weeks for me to come to this conclusion. I was sure I would just get over it-eventually. I was sure it was only allergies and I knew if I went to the doctor he would say, “It’s allergies, that will be $100.00- Thanks for stopping by.” But I gave in when I started dry heaving last night, and it felt like an invisible giant had reached into my chest and was squeezing all the air out of my lungs slowly- slowly- slowly.

I suppose I got a little taste of what asthma sufferers feel when they have an attack- as though surely death is upon them . . . squeezey giant and all.

I started listing my problems in the doctor’s off ice today- the nurse as looking at me like I might be contagious and realized I sounded deathly ill! Like, I might have bird flu or something! Then the doctor came in and said, “It’s allergies, that will be $65.00- Thanks for stopping by.”

So- not exactly as I expected, but pretty darn close. He seemed to be a nice guy. He gave me some samples and a prescription for some narcotic cough medicine. SCORE! He said, “Take these pills, this inhaler, and this syrup- and call me in three days to tell me if any of it worked. Oh, and don’t drive after you take the syrup.”

I'm not avoiding the blog- I'm not! The blog is back, but my internet is not. I've been in my new apartment almost a month- my how time flies - and I still haven't bothered to get internet. Well, there are so many other pressing things to be done, like, put my copious amounts of junk in nooks and crannies, buy more stuff, walk the dog, cough up a few lungs, knit, read, watch movies, make quasidillas and tator tots- honestly the list goes on and on.

Brand new on my list starting last night is wondering how long it will take for one of the low flying jets to crash land in the middle of my building. When I moved in to this apartment, I knew that I was close, very close to the airport, but not actually in any flight paths. Last night it was a little stormy and as I was looking up at the beautiful sky- the transparent rainbow, the grey white puffy clouds when an enormous jet came swooping out of no where (SWOOPING I tell you!) and blasted right through my rainbow and puffy clouds with an earsplitting jet-like sound which I would attempt to imitate, but it's no use, you can't read imitated sounds.

I thought maybe this isn't a new flight path, maybe the airport is just backed up because of the storm, maybe they are just circling, maybe it will all go away soon.

This morning when I took Buzz out for his pee-pee time the weather was perfect. The sky was clear blue peace- the breeze was light and cool, the temperature was hovering around perfect, the sun was bright, but not too hot and the jets were flying low-low-low, one about every 3-7 minutes.

I'll take a picture, but I'm sure it won't convey the magnitude of the situation- bother.

We were talking about superlatives, comparitives and equatives in class. I gave my students some examples of equatives that are commonly used to compare people to things.

He is as big as a horse
as strong as an ox
as stubborn as a mule
as dumb as a rock
as cute as a bug


I admitted that sometimes they didn't make much sense- I mean, I personally never thought many bugs were especially cute . . . maybe a lady bug . . .

I asked them if they had any sayings in their languages that equated two things this way. Some of them mentioned some that sounded familiar when translated to English.

as gentle as a lamb

One student said, "He is as lost as Adam between his mother's legs."

"Well," said, I, "That is pretty darn lost."

Scrabble always intimidated me on the account that I can't spell- but I've been playing it online and I've only cheated once. :0) Of course I'm losing- but I am after all a first timer.

I've been watching CSI New York- New Yorker accents are annoying- like that should be a revelation to me. Are people who live in New York really like that or are they just stereo typing for the show? They seem kind of bitter, slightly psychotic and snappy on the show. I'll go to New York City one day and see for myself.

In other news . . . I thought I'd put up some pictures of other things I've been doing since May- as that is when I basically gave up on blogging.
amigurumi friends


1. Power to the amigurumi!
pumpkins and a seed pod
2. Been trying to draw/paint with Misty

3. Knitted and crocheted a thing or twoLouie's cape

4. Started to make a dress

(this is were I broke my camera and became dispondant about taking more pictures.)

5. Organized my copious collection of colored pencils, knitting needles and crochet hooks by making little paper pockets for them.

6. Painted a pink and blue mini-milk pitcher cow at the "Creative Hands" ceramics place.

7. Read a few books, but still working on the 1000 page monster I started on the plane from India.

8. Taught Buzz some new tricks, he can wave "bye-bye" now. He looks like a tiny retarded midget when he does it. That is so not PC- fine he looks like a vertically challenged, mentally different, small person (dog) when he does it.

I've been working on my mythical creature . . . here's some more parts. They area umm . . . special parts.

I'm actually almost done- I took this picture earlier- before I broke my camera. (sadness)

I dropped it and broke the LCD screen- it still takes pictures, but I can't see them, or any of the menues. I can still download them etc- but most of the fun of a digital camera is seeing the pics immediately. I'm guessing it is going to be about as expensive to fix it as it is to get a new one.

:0(

The blog might be back . . . I've been so busy trying to learn/teach grammar, trying to decided if this is what I really want to do, trying to decided where to live, what to do next, how to do it, etc that there is no time for the blog.

Not that I've run out of things to say . . . oh no- there are things to say. Not important things, but things no less.

I've started to crochet (Remember my amigurumi phases? Still in it.) a mythical creature. I shall let you guess what mythical creature it might be. Right now it has the unfortunate appearance of a crocheted breast. (About a C cup.)

No, the mythical creature is not a breast that Daniel is allowed to touch.

I am currently teaching two grammar classes and one speaking class at the University of Dallas, which is ironically in Irving across the street from NCH, the chemical company I worked at as I finished up my MA TESOL.

I will be moving to Irving to my own tiny not-so-ghetto apartment a few miles from UD next weekend.

I have a new facebook page. I don't know how to use it, but it is kind of fun trying to figure it out.

I will attempt more email writing and blogging in the near future.

is the blog back?

One of the things I like to have the students do is look up images of words they will hear in the movie. We are watching Jacob the Liar, which is set in a WW2 Polish ghetto. They looked up images of concentration camps, ghettos, star of David, swastika, tanks, Hitler etc. I have them email me the images so I can put them together for review.

Here’s one of the images of Hitler:

"Hello Hitler" to be precise. HA!

I am working in a program called "Focal Skills." They (they who made up the program probably) say that students learn up to 35% faster in this type of program than in the more popular types of programs such as Intigrated Skills or some such.

So I've spent the last month working in the beginning level of the Focal Skills program, Listening. How do you teach someone to listen? You may be asking. Well, you're asking, I'm asking- it's a darn good question. The main method is to give the students what is affectionately known in the TESOL community as i+1 communication.

It goes like this. I pop in a movie. We watch a few seconds of the movie. I hit pause. I ask a bunch of yes/no or short answer questions. Things that are pretty obvious. “Does the boy have a flashlight?” Well, it’s obvious to you and me, but if you don’t know what a flashlight is, it is certainly less obvious. They say yes or no, or they look at me blankly. I point to the screen, “Flashlight.” I pretend there is one in my hand, I look for something in the pretend dark. I write flashlight on the board. I summarize the scene we just watched. “The boy is looking for something. It’s dark. There’s a storm outside. There’s no electricity.” I point, I act, I make sound effects. Big fun. I turn the movie back on and go through the whole thing again after about a minute.

That is i+1. “i" is what the student can understand already. They know “dark” and they know “storm.” I give them +1 “flashlight” and “electricity.” I give it to them so it’s not so hard to be discouraging, but not too easy to be boring (I hope.) I help them understand the dialogue in the movie by making it simpler and pointing specific things out.

I’ve done three movies this month. 1. Groundhog Day- that was my “this is how you do it” one. I got help from another teacher. 2. National Treasure- that was my practice one and 3. Jacob the Liar- that is my second practice one. I will continue to have practice ones until I decide to do one for a second time.

Students: they do say some pretty funny things.

The other day in class:
Me: Does anyone know what “disgusting” means?
Student1: I know, it is a small dog, long.
Me: Ummm – (what the . . . ) No.
Student2: No, she is thinking dachshund. Disgusting is . . .

Me: She just called my dog disgusting! humpt!

Louie goes for the ears

Louie and Buzz

Louie goes for the camera

Louie the Yorkie

Buzz and his LOVER

I was going to Wal-Mart Tuesday. I needed a new skillet. I thought about asking to take my friend’s car, but then I thought, “Why would I? My car is fine.” I took my car. It’s funny how each little decision can change your personal history.

I went to Wal-Mart. When I got inside, I realized that the lotion that I bought a few days before, which I wanted to return, was still in my car. I thought about going back out to get it before I started shopping. I decided it was too hot to go back outside. I thought “I’ll bring it in when I take this stuff out.”

I bought the things I needed, and looked around at things I didn’t need. A trip to Wal-Mart is hardly ever just in and out. When I went back to the car I put my new purchases in the back. I saw the lotion I wanted to return there, and some bags that I wanted to recycle. I thought about taking them in, but I decided that I would certainly be back to Wal-Mart soon. I’d do it later.

I wonder if I had taken my friend’s car if things would have been somehow different.
If I had taken the lotion in and returned it, and recycled those bags, would those few minutes have changed what happened on the way home?

Maybe not.

On the way home I was driving down Abram Road. My light was green. I saw a car coming toward the intersection. It looked like it wasn’t going to stop. Too late I realized it was in fact not going to stop. I slammed on my breaks. She saw me. She swerved.

Accidents happen in slow motion.

My front passenger side hit her front driver side. The speed limit is 35. It wasn’t a hard impact.
In both cars the majority of the damage was that the fenders were bent down and rubbing the wheels.

She was a young woman. “It’s not my car! It’s not my car! I don’t know what to do!”

I tend to be very calm in these situations. Some people think it’s because I’m in shock. I think it is just how God programmed me. Some people react calmly to minor emergency. Some people react calmly to bigger crises.

My dorm room flooded once in college. I freaked out for about five minutes. Then I realized I could shut off the water myself. Three inches of water on the floor later, crisis averted.

When something life threatening happens around me, I understand the seriousness of it, but the fact that I have avoided the danger makes me immediately happy. I want to laugh. “I made it!” “Thank you Jesus!” Sometimes I do laugh. This makes people think that I must be in shock. I may be, but I don’t think so. Usually after something very serious happens I like to play a game of chance. Just to see if I’m still lucky after the event; the lottery- or some such game. I never win, but I’m not sad. At least I’m alive to play.

She didn’t know what to do. I said, “We should move the cars out of the intersection and exchange insurance information.”
She said, “I don’t know what to do, it’s not my car.”
I said, “Do you want to call the police?”
She said, “It’s not my car!”
I said, “Go ahead and call them if you think that’s best.”
She called them. They told her to move her car out of the intersection.
I moved mine too.
They came, bent our fenders away from the wheels. They made sure we exchanged information, asked us if we were alright.
They didn’t ask what happened- they didn’t care. No questions, no reports.

She says her light was green. Well, of course- it wasn’t her car.

Now my car has this scrunched up expression.
It has this sheepish half smile.

D says it looks like it has some sort of palsy.
My car is handicapped.

We are waiting to hear back what the insurance companies decide. I don’t have comprehensive, so I’ll probably end up paying for mine.

I’ve already starting obsessing about a Z just like mine on E-bay. The bidding started at $500. It doesn’t run- but I just need it’s parts. I hope nobody bids on it! It should be mine!

I went to a ballet a few weeks ago. I intended to write about it directly afterwards, but well, I’m a slacker.

The Metropolitan Classical Ballet (of Arlington) presented two world premieres for the season finale. “Jeux” and “Joaquin Murieta.” “Jeux” or “Games” en francais was what I expected from the ballet- slightly abstract, interpretive and let’s face it- a pointless story.

“Jeux” from what I understand: There was a blonde tennis player flitting around on her toes hitting imaginary balls when a man in tiny white shorts came out to “play” with her. They ran around for a while, he chased her. Of course he caught her because he had the unfair advantage of actually using his whole foot while she had to tip-toe away.

Once he caught her, a brunette tennis player came out. He was distracted. She ran around looking cute on her toes. He chased her. She tip-toed away. Then he chased the blonde- she let him catch her- the brunette looked jealous- the blonde looked as smug as one can look while standing on her tippy-toes. The brunette enticed him with her obscenely long legs. He dropped the blonde and ran for the brunette . . . it went on like this for a while. In the end- I’m not sure what happened. I think I blocked it out.

If I had written it, however, the women would have both picked up their tennis rackets and beaten him severely with them and then tip-toed off stage prettily leaving him and his balls to play games by themselves.

“Joaquin Murieta,” on the other hand, what like no ballet I have ever imagined. It was one of the most bizzar spectacles I’ve ever paid to see.

The story was easy enough to follow. There was a young man (Joaquin) who lived in Chili. He wanted to make some money (to get married, or to provide for his new wife? I’m not sure, but it surely was something about the woman.) So when he heard about the California gold rush, he went for it. When he got there, things went oh-so-wrong. The California cowboys didn’t like how successful Joaquin was, so they took his lady and gang-banged her. She couldn’t stand the idea that there was a rape baby inside her, so she killed herself.

Joaquin, of course had to confront the evil cowboys. Let me point out at this time that the cowboys where in full dress, hats, jeans, flannel, vests, chaps etc. Joaquin, however was wearing a flouncy shirt and tights. It’s dang hard to look tough in a flouncy shirt and tights, especially when your enemies are wearing jeans and flannel.

In the end Joaquin dies. Quite dramatically- death comes and seduces him in a totally creepy and disturbing way. That is by far NOT the most disturbing thing about this ballet. Here are some other disturbing details, and a short description of quite possibly the MOST disturbing scene in ballet history.

1. As I said, it was a ballet, but for some reason the music was all 70s Rock Opera style. I kept expecting the “Jesus Christ Superstar” disciples to pirouette on stage snapping their fingers and singing “What’s the buzz, tell me what’s happenin’? What’s the buzz, tell me what’s happenin’?” and “When do we ride into Jerusalem? When do we ride into Jerusalem?”

2. The ballet was set in Chili and moves to California. I would have made sense to me if it had been in Spanish- cause it was set in Chili- or English cause it was also set in California (besides the fact it was world premiering in Texas.) But instead, as it would make sense to ballet fans (perhaps) it as all in Russian. It wasn’t just that the words were Russian, but the Chilean folk dances looked strangely Russian to me . . . and the music . . . like a Russian disco- or so I would imagine a Russian disco. I understood what was being said because there were “superscripts” above the stage. But I get the feeling all the superscripts were translated and typed up by a Russian- one who couldn’t spell in English.

3. There was one entire scene about a shooting star. She had an iridescent-glow-in-the-dark costume. It would have been okay if she had danced as he shooting star, but instead she was carried around by a troupe of male dancers (what do you call a male ballet dancer? a ballet-er?) all dressed in black, even over their faces so that they would blend into the back drop. It was all fine except for their very white hands showing up so cleverly under the black light. The hands were distracting me and the hand offs where much more awkward than it would have been if they had just let her dance for herself.

4. Finally, the gang banging scene- voted by me MOST disturbing of all things ballet. I knew it was coming when those bad cowboys busted in on her. It could have easily been implied and not dramatized at all- but they went ahead with it instead. There were five cowboys. They chased her, and caught her, because once again, they could run on their feet, while she had to escape on her toes. The picked her up, one on each arm and leg, one cowboy laid down and the other four thrust her up and down on him like she was no more than a bed sheet. She was just flying around like she didn’t have any bones at all. One would finish and take the other one’s place at the arm or leg so the next cowboy could get his turn underneath. It was not nice. In this case ballet is not always pretty.

Afterward we went to talk to one of the dancers. She did not hide her opinion that the owners of the company had chosen the worst ballet they could find to end the season hoping that the turn out would be so bad that the investors would get their money back. She didn’t care, she had found a new job with a different company.

I was just reading in Psalms.

Here are some things I noticed and liked-
Sometimes reading in Psalms can be a downer- all that bashing babies heads against rocks and woe-is-me the enemy is crushing me and why aren’t you helping out Oh God?! Then the very next chapter is “Praise God! He’s great! He’s done some really great stuff! He’s always there for me! Yeah!”

I suppose sometimes I forget that Psalms was written by lots of people for lots of reasons and unfortunately I am currently too lazy to go and try to figure out what was going on when each one was written. I get the sneaking suspicion that they are not in any kind of chronological order- I don’t know what kind of order they’re in, but I like them.

It’s not hard to figure out why Psalms and Proverbs are often included in New Testaments. There is really a Psalm and a Proverb for every mood and occasion.

In Psalm 90 the author is all – “God you’re really great- you know everything. You know we humans are nothing, just grass, just a sigh and you know our secrets and our sins- “Your anger is a burden each day we live . . .” Then verse 12 “Teach us to use wisely all the time we have.” Let us celebrate what we do have- and what I really liked about it: “Make us happy for as long as you caused us trouble and sorrow. Do wonderful things for us.”

That’s pretty bold- You caused a lot of trouble for me- so now please make me happy and do something great!

What causes God to give us sorrow? Trying to get us to know who he is.
What causes God to give us joy? Letting us Know him when we seek.

“Our Lord and our God,
treat us with kindness
and let all go well for us.
Please let all go well.”
CEV

In Bangalore, I missed the monsoon.

It rained once or twice, it drizzled and sprinkled and spat, but it was never what I considered a monsoon- not even a light monsoon which was the actual promise. When I got back to TX I got my rain. The “Summer Storms” are all over the news. This is the TX monsoon- it comes once every two or three or five years. I don’t find it unpleasant at all- I would give 75% of the time I’ve been back to rainy days. Rain- dark clouds threatening skies, ominous thunder and lightening across the sky- 25% bright sunny hot, shiny summer days.

Everything is green and lush, and all the rivers and streams are high- too high in fact. The news weather report has started including “saturation levels.” They let us know how much it was rained, how much more it will rain, and how much longer we have before the ground is so saturated with rain that flash floods will come and sweep us away. Lawns have turned into swamps, people have been evacuated from their homes; cars have floated away in rivers that used to be city streets. People have been rescued and people have drowned.

The signs on the highway have changed their blinking messages from “Click it or ticket,” to “Turn around, don’t drown.”

I’m not tired of the rain. I like the rain, the cool of the evenings, the smell of the wet soil. I like the sound of the water rolling off the roof and splat-tat-tattering down to the driveway. I like the bubbles that form on the surface of the puddles when the fat drops hit. I like the concentric rings that bounce off on another when the bubbles pop. I like the sunshine that breaks through between storms.

This is a good monsoon.

I’ve been looking for a job in the DFW area- so far no luck. This is the problem of being an ESL teacher- nobody knows how many students will come, how many visas will be granted, what will happen between now and August in the international political scene that will change everything- will they freely grant all the visa requests? Will they say half of the students who have been accepted are national security risks? Who knows?

Everyone I’ve talked to are either filled up or can’t tell what they might need until August. The problem, of course, being that I’d greatly like to have a freaking job by that time.

I’m mostly ruled out international jobs on account of I hated the last one. Poor reasoning perhaps, but I found one on the beach in Mexico and well- Mexico isn’t THAT foreign is it? AND it is ON THE BEACH. Is it a nice beach? This shall have to be ascertained before I even consider taking the job.

This would not be the job that helps me pay off my student loans as I was hoping to get at this point. This would be the job on the beach which has completely different benefits.

Benefits:
It’s on the beach
I could possibly learn Spanish, which would defiantly be useful
The pay isn’t great, but most likely enough to keep up with my student loans
It’s on the beach
Did I say it’s on the beach?
There is also a Walmart (!!) How bad could it possibly be if there's a Walmart?
Tacos will be cheap

I have not been very agressive in the job hunt- sigh- why can't I just get the first job I apply for?

I did apply for a pretty nice sounding job at DBU- they haven't gotten back to me.

Heck!

The many moods of Buzz:

"NO! I don't want to have my picture taken! Leave me alone! And I hate this shirt! I look fat in orange!"

"Oh fine! Go ahead and take it then, but I hate you for it."

"Hate, hate, hate . . . stupid orange shirt . . . "

"Ok, take the picture quick, I'm not going to look this cute all day!"

"Still hate you."

For those who have asked, everything’s fine.
For those who haven’t asked, everything’s fine.

Buzz and I have been enjoying the easy life of mooching off of people who actually have jobs. It works like this, if you let me come stay with you I’ll do house chores and make cookies for you . . . I’m thinking rice crispy treats and laundry . . . maybe chocolate chip cookies and vacuuming . . . Buzz will try not to pee on your stuff and will sit around looking cute. He will also bark at anyone who dares come to your door (including you) and will look longingly at your food while you eat it.

I bought a car- so far so good, but I’ve only used one take of gas. It’s a 1986 Nissan ZX300. What does that mean to me? It means it’s a hatch back and I like hatchbacks.

It’s a sports car that was on the road before I hit puberty. It does not have a back seat. It’s not supposed to. It’s a silver-ish sort of color.

It’s a manual. That particular feature mocks and taunts me, but slowly I am taming the beast.

It talks to me. It tells me things that I should already know- but have somehow forgotten. That would be a very useful feature if it told me all the things I needed to know but had somehow forgotten. But so far it’s only told me “Headlights are on.” and “Emergency break is on.”

It has T-tops, which sound cool, but in reality they only let the summer sun shine brightly down on my head and make me wish I had a hat on and squint my eyes. Squinting causes wrinkles. This car may make me wrinkly.

It has a cd changer, but I have no idea how to use it. It has a satellite radio port and antenna, but no satellite radio.

It was once owned by a man who made a living dressed as a clown who represents a major fast-food restaurant chain.

No- that’s not true.

I'm still having problems uploading my pictures- maybe some problem with yahoo at the moment-

I think I may have started a small riot on the way to work today.

I had a bag full of candy, pens and paper which I took to the squatter kids.

I walk by them everyday- usually theres tons of kids just hanging out playing in the dirt.

Today there was only one little girl and a baby. I walked up to her and gave her some candy- immediatly there were 20 kids yelling for more candy.

I gave them each two pieces of candy- taking care to open some for the babies so they could pop in their mouths- those older kids were vultures for candy- I was afraid the babies wouldn't get anything.

Then I gave them pens and pencils- they loved the pens and pencils, but were stragely not interested in the paper. I was thinking they go together but what do I know?

By the time I was down to just paper and candy I gave up trying to be fair. I threw the candy up in the air - handed the bag of paper to and older kid and walked away.

Two of the older boys who were there were not squatters, but just wanted some free stuff (and got some) decided to be my new best friends and walked me all the way to work- then I told them the guards wouldn't let them any further they turned around and went home.

Time for the lice shampoo now.

Anwar- my auto driver/tour guide took me all around Udaipur- palaces, gardens, monuments- blah-blah. But before all that there was Laxmi. The streets of Udaipur, like the streets of so many old cities are narrow and dangerous. Especially dangerous if there is an uncooperative Elephant blocking the way. Anwar turned to me and said, “That’s Laxmi” like Laxmi was an old friend.

I looked around Anwar’s head out the front window of the auto rickshaw and saw Laxmi- Laxmi it seemed wanted to go up the hill- Laxmi’s rider wanted him to go down- it was a battle of the wills. Apparently Elephants- or maybe just Laxmi don’t/didn’t have much of a will; and after a short discussion involving a stick with a hook on it- down the hill they went.

An angry elephant is not what you want 20 feet in front on you when your in no more than an over grown tricycle. I was glad Laxmi was kinda laid back that day.

After Laxmi my next animal kingdom encounter was even smaller, fuzzier and scarier. Anwar took me to this place where the Maharajas went to be buried. There were more than 200 enormous markers- and by marker I mean 2 to 3 story marble, dome topped gazebo looking things. Each Maharaja had his own and size had to do with importance and wealth- a few were massive- bigger than some houses others were more gazebo size.

As I was walking around I felt all alone in the world- obviously not a popular tourist destination- you aren’t really allowed to take pictures there- but for a mere 20 rupees the guard can be convinced. I was walking around taking pictures when I saw white people.

We chatted a bit and they pointed out the oldest and biggest dome- they said, “There’s a monkey in there- but he’s a black faced one so don’t worry.”
I said, “Oh he won’t bother me?”
They said, “No- the black faced monkeys are pretty tame- but the red faced ones are fascists.”
I said, “Oh- well over to the monkey I go then.”
I walked over toward the monkey/dome and the monkey poked his head around a column and looked at me.
Maybe I looked at him too long- but I wanted to be sure he wasn’t going to do anything crazy. I climbed the stairs slowly- the monkey kept his eye on me. I kept my eye on the monkey.

Once I got to the top he decided he didn’t like me and he bared his teeth and made a frightening monkey noise. I thought that was pretty fascist even if he was a black faced monkey.

I started backing up- then realized just in time that I was about 10 feet above the marble base of the structure and if I took one more step back I was sure to break my melon- then the monkey would probably eat my brain before Anwar got around to looking for me.

I took one more look at the fascist monkey and as calmly as I could walked down the stairs and away from the structure. I looked back once and the monkey was following me!

I started walking faster anywhere but where I was seemed good to me- unfortunately I was walking in the wrong direction. When I dared look back after a minute or so I realized the monkey wasn’t tailing me any more; but after wandering the entire parameter of the burial ground I realized I had to go back past the monkey spot.

Needless to say that was a quick exit- but no monkey sighting on the way out.

I told Anwar to take me back to the hotel and my new friend the bathtub.

I had seen enough of Udaipur.

Udaipur- the city of . . . why did I go to Udaipur again?

Udaipur the city of lakes and . . . elephants.

I wanted to go to Udaipur because I had seen these amazing- beautiful pictures of the Lake Palace. It is- as it sounds a palace built in the middle of a lake. It takes up the entire island, so it looks like a palace just floating on the water. It’s a nice effect- when there’s not a drought- which of course there was when I was there so it was more like the foundation of a palace floating in the lake- it was still really nice- no really it was nice.

But the elephants make a more interesting story. I had a cab from the train station to the hotel. It was my first overnight train experience and although it was better than I thought it might be- I still hadn’t slept much. I was all blurry eyed and dazzled by the heat.

We came to the foot of a hill where we ran into what seemed to be a mob/traffic jam. There was a big temple, a big elephant, a lot of white people and a classic car. It’s always some kind of weird holiday or festival in India so I asked if it was a celebration.
My driver said no, they were filming for Bollywood. Awesome- I got out my camera.

As we inched closer to the center of the scene the white people started dispersing and the classic car drove away- the elephant stood and waited. I looked at the elephant- he was close enough for me to reach out the window of the tiny car I was sitting in and touch him. I decided against it- but I could have. The elephant looked at me. They have surprisingly small eyes for such large animals.
I looked at him.
He looked at me.
I took his picture.
He stuck the end of his trunk in my window.
I squealed.
The remaining white people looked at me and giggled.
The elephant giggled.
I giggled.
The driver shook his head and put it in first.

At the hotel I had a short love affair with the bathtub.

In the afternoon I went out sightseeing- “There’s the lake- there’s the palace in the lake.”
I was quite possibly the worst tourist ever- the guide was so disappointed with me.
He said, “Oh- you’ll want to walk through the spice market.”
I said, “No- I don’t want to- I’ve seen a spice market before.”
He said, “Do you want to go to the City Palace (different from the Lake Palace) and see the museum?”
I said, “No- I’ve seen palaces and museums before.”

He was a good guide he told me all about the intrigue regarding the rulers the Hindus against the Muslims- Sons against fathers- it was all over my head. Maharaja blah-blah-blah- Mogul Shah-blah-blah-blah 300 years old blah-blah-blah- who can keep up?

Next time- on the monkey who chased me through the ginormous graveyard- and mention of Laxmi the friendly neighborhood elephant.

Come back tomorrow for inserted pictures in this and following stories- I haven't quite got them uploaded yet-

In Bangalore I can insist that the auto rickshaw driver uses his meter. If the first one won’t do it- I know the next one or the next one or the next-next one- someone eventually will turn on the meter. And even if he doesn’t I know approximately how much it cost to go to the places I frequent here in town so I can get a good enough deal.

In Delhi I had a basic idea- so when I was trying to leave Varanasi and the charges for getting to the airport were running anywhere from 800 rupees to 120 rupees- I knew which end was closer to reality.

I decided not to pay more than 300- I ended up paying 350 plus some imaginary parking charge which I should have told the guy to shove up his hole, but I didn’t. I got the oldest, slowest, ricketiest auto rickshaw in India to take me 25 kilometers to the airport. That’s a little more than 15 miles- it took an hour and a half to transverse.

It’s a good think I left the hotel way early-I was so ready to leave Varanasi I didn’t even care that I would have been sitting in the airport for three hours. Of course that was cut down to an hour and a half on account of the snail like pace of my auto.

At the airport the plane was late departing- but they told me when I got to Delhi (my layover) I would need to identify my luggage before they put it on the next flight. I asked what the process was and he said they would tell me in Delhi like it was some national secret. Since we left late, we got to Delhi late and I asked five people about identifying my luggage for fear that it would be left behind.

They all directed me to one man who indicated that it hadn’t been unloaded from the last (late) flight yet and that he would “Yes-yes I’ve got it I’ll take care of it no problem.”
Of course I did not believe him, but I was ushered to my next flight anyway.

In Bangalore I stood in front of the luggage belt alternating between deciding what kind of scathing remarks I was going to make when I talked to whoever was in charge and trying to be positive and assume they really did take care of it.

Eventually an airline employee came to ask if I was waiting for my luggage . . . why yes that was my general stance here in front of the luggage conveyer belt. He dashed off to get a cart for me- before I could tell him 1. I didn’t think it was really coming and 2. if it did come it was only two small bags so I didn’t need a cart.

In time the airline guy also realized my luggage wasn’t coming. As I had expected my luggage didn’t make it on the plane with me. To my surprise Kingfisher had already placed it on the next flight to Bangalore and it was due to show up in an hour. They were even going to deliver it to my door- except my phone was dead and they wouldn’t be able to call me to get directions and I left my house key in my luggage so I couldn’t get in anyway- well I could have but it seemed easier to just wait at the airport.

When my luggage finally did come- Kingfisher drove me home.

Those Kingfishers are good birds after all.

One day in Varanasi-

I tried to make it more like a half day, but Kingfisher was not cooperating. I will, however, be flying out tomorrow afternoon- two days earlier than previously planned. (YEAH!)

I was way pissed last night when I got here. First of all, my train was four hours late getting into the city. “What can we do this is Indian Rail?” was all my cabin mates had to say. I had some pent up fury which got released upon the front desk man here at hotel Sai Shiva or wherever the heck I am.

I tried to call the hotel I had booked when I got into the city, no answer on the phone. I got an auto and attempted to follow the instructions on how to find the hotel from the website. The auto driver was not cooperating. He took me not where I wanted to go, but where he wanted me to go and the problem was that it was dark, I was in a strange (stranger even than I thought at the time) city and both he and the guide book recommended against walking alone at night.

We ended up here and I was mad. Not because here is any worse than where I wanted to go, but because I just knew the driver was getting some kind of commission for bringing me here. I tried to call another, different hotel, the phone lines weren’t working, there had been some kind of storm earlier that knocked all the lines out.

I asked to see the room here. It was ok. I asked how much it was. The price was ok. The desk man asked how many nights I was staying I said, “one.”
He said, “you have to pay for two.”
I said, “Why would I pay for two if I’m only staying for one?”
He said, “It’s the rule.”
I said, “That’s a stupid rule, why do you have it?”
He said, “I don’t want you to stay only one night here and other nights in other hotels.”
I said, “But what if I won’t want to stay in other hotels? What if I want to leave Varanasi tomorrow?”
He said, “Then you can stay one night.”
I paid for one night.

At that point- well, to be honest at every point along the way leading up to that point I had already convinced myself that if at all possible, one night in Varanasi was more than enough.

I got up at 5:15 this morning to take a dawn boat ride on the Ganges. It wasn’t as awful as I imagined it. It’s much wider than I thought, and there wasn’t a smell at all. Nothing- that’s weird. It didn’t smell like sewage or death- it didn’t smell like fish- it didn’t have a smell. We rowed past all the ghats. It was early so it wasn’t so busy- the “Burning ghats” were just getting swept clean of yesterday’s ashes- the people on the bathing ghats were still sudsy and the songs were just getting started on the temple ghat.

I half heartedly took a bunch of pictures and set a banana leave bowl full of rose petals out into the water for a “blessing.” I may have negated the blessing by not including the candle . . . but I decided to keep it because it was kind of cute.

After the river trip I came back to the hotel for breakfast and to talk to Kingfisher about changing my flight. Then I was taken on a tour of temples in the area. I went to the monkey temple- where you cannot take pictures because once Pakistan bombed it. 17 people and uncounted monkeys died in that attack- and they don’t want it to happen again.

One thing about Hinduism is that the temples are always lively. From dawn to late at night the temples are going. There are people playing instruments and chanting- others are praying, meditating, reading scriptures- walking around fending off hungry monkeys, giving offerings- giving themselves the marks of the pious- All the daily activity of the temples make American Christianity and Christian churches look pale.

We accumulate so much stuff for our buildings, we have to lock them up so nobody takes the stuff- but nobody can come in for prayer, meditation, worship, reading, praise or fellowship. In that way the temples have us beat.

I also saw the “temple you should go to if you are in love” and the “temple that is too holy that no not-Hindus people can go there.” I saw the former from the outside only, on account of my non-holiness.

The driver commented that I wasn’t excited about it all. Little did he know how not excited I was by it all.

Then I went to see how silk was weaved, by hand- now that is crazy intensive work. Weaving a carpet- ok but weaving a silk sari? By hand?! I’ve heard of it, but I guess I always thought they were kidding. They weren’t. I walked through a house- the first room had a man feeding his goats in it. The second room had silk looms. And I have pictures of a guy throwing a shuttle of thread back and forth through the silk cross threads. It was pretty amazing.

So I bought a few pieces of silk just to show I appreciated seeing how it was done.

I was done by 10AM so I took a shower and laid around naked in my room in which the electricity had gone out. It was stifling hot. By noon I couldn’t take it any more so I went out into the city- I found an Israeli restaurant and had some falafel. I found a café/bakery called “Bread of Life” some kind of missionary thing- I noticed they were serving “chilli con carne (veg).” I don’t know what that could possibly mean. I hung out as long as I could before I just had to come back to the hotel.

Here I am- counting the hours until I leave “vacation” and the days until I leave India.

I made it to Varanasi- the train was four hours late. Varanasi is the last stop on my "vacation." I'm supposed to be here for 3 days. I think I'll try to change my flight to leave out tomorrow afternoon. If at all possible I will be doing nothing in Bangalore for two days instead of doing nothing in Varanasi for two days.

I have a dawn excursion planned for the morning- I'm feeling pretty confident I can see all I need to see of Hinduism's holiest city in a span of 6 hours.

Kingfisher Airlines, don't let me down!

I got nothing going in Amritsar. I got in yesterday. I went straight for the Golden Temple. The temp outside was 41C. That’s 106 for us Americans. I don’t know much about Sikhs- ok I admit it I don’t know anything about Sikhs- but I decided to go see their holiest temple anyway. I could have lived without it.

Sure- it was a temple, it was golden and there were plenty of Sikhs around, but in reality what’s that to me? I was feeling sick, it was 106 degrees and I was walking around an enormous marble complex barefoot and with my head covered. Do you know how hot marble gets in the sun? Dang HOT! REAL HOT!

I was wandering around with a scarf on my head- sweating my fat rolls off, hopping from foot to foot trying to keep from getting crispy feet wondering why nearly every other religion (except Christianity) have you take off your shoes before you enter a place of worship. I’m not saying it’s a bad idea- but perhaps some more careful thought could be put into the whole marble floor- outside courtyard 105 degrees materials and structure design.

What I learned about Sikhs-It is some kind of mixture between Hinduism and Islam.
It seems neither Hindus nor Muslims like them so much on account of the whole mixing up of the religions and everyone keeps killing them.
It was started in this area in the 1400s.
The men wear turbans or topknots where they wrap up their hair, which for some reason I’m assuming is very long.
The men all have beards.
The men traditionally wear white shalwar kamis and a knife on a shoulder strap as part of their dress.
The women look like everyone else- they wear shalwar kamis.
Sikhs say they invented the shalwar kamis and everyone just took it up because of it’s simplicity, comfort and style.
The Sikh men here in town have given me the impression that they are gentile, non pushy kind people.
I thought I heard before I came they are known as great warriors- historically.

I think I’ll do more research on Sikh people- not because I loved the temple, but because the people seem to be very kind. The temple provides free food and shelter for travelers and pilgrims. It seemed very organized and clean. Everyone was kind while I was there- but of course there was a lot of staring and nudging me out of the way (lots of people, but it’s India, there are lots of people everywhere).

It could be I wasn’t so impressed because I was tired and not feeling well, but I don’t think so. I was feeling the same wayat the Taj and I really loved it. I think it’s the Hindu thing that throws me off- too many gods confuse me. I’m just a simple monotheist.

After a short time in the temple, I looked around at some of the shops- thought about buying a knife but then figured I had enough knives laying around already. I went back to the hotel for a nap.

I went to the Pakistani-Indian boarder in the evening. Now that was fun. When I first heard people talking about this I thought that they were just going to look at the border and that sounded silly. When India and Pakistan were divided they divided straight down the middle of Punjab state. Things aren’t so different on the other side.

But I was wrong; it’s not just the boarder. It’s a show- it’s a dance off- it’s a national pep rally -it’s a nightly ceremony of showing off and stomping around and cheering that made me glad I came to Amritsar.
More on that in the next blog.

I wish I had the time and inclination to write about my days-- but I don't- it's that simple. Its a shame because I'm sure to lose some fabulous details- Highlights-

Giardia- bad-bad-bad

I think I'm almost over it 90% Inshallah-

Train to Amritsar tonight

A police officer asked me how many liters of milk an American buffalo could give at one time . . . I had to admit I did not know- more on that later.

Taj Mahal was AMAZING- so worth it.

Vacation more than half way finished (and there was much rejoicing)

The next time your date offers to drive you somewhere, pay attention to how they react on the road. “Driving is very, very revealing,” says body language expert Patti Wood (pattiwood.net). “Years ago, I was on a first date with a man who’d turn left at yellow lights, and take lots of risks on the road. That told me he was a person who would always live a little on the edge.” Other insights from Wood: Lane-changers will probably always be on the lookout for someone better-looking, smarter, or richer than you. Picky parkers who always want to go around one more time to see if they can snag a closer spot probably have problems with commitment. Herky-jerky drivers who accelerate and brake so quickly they leave your stomach queasy may have poor sense of pacing in all areas of life. Plus, if you’re driving, see how they handle it—nagging that you should slow down, speed up, or otherwise do things differently is a sign this person probably won’t love you just the way you are (starting with your bad driving).

I don't really have time for this, but this paragraph from an MSN article called "Five ways to Decode your Date" made me laugh.
http://msn.match.com/msn/article.aspx?articleid=6695&TrackingID=523934&BannerID=566942&menuid=6&GT1=9278

When my mother was feeling poorly, she used to say cute little phrases like, “I feel like death warmed over.”

I’m feeling poorly now and I feel like death in an oven.

It is of course unusually hot here in Delhi for April, and I have a fever, among other discomforts. Discomforts that include unfortunate and frequent bodily discharged from both ends if you know what I mean.

Next stop Agra- Taj Mahal- this better be good.

Can’t write more now, this key board sticks in an annoying way and I need to go feel sick and sorry for myself.

I'm so hot I feel like I'm going to burst into flames. I embrase the fact that I am not a regular person not in any need of fancy things. I get it- I need fancy things. I need bottled water, I need air conditioning with it's hotter than well, hot. I need comfort food when I'm sick, and strange as it may sound- that's not rice an dahl for me. Maybe for lots of others out there- not so much for me.

What I'd really like is to go somewhere cold, and lay there for a day or two. I have another whole week of "vacation" and I've already had enough.

I feel like I'm going to throw up, then burst into flames.

I'm so over India.

Do I really need to see the Taj Mahal?

Today:

I got off the train in Jaipur. I had held back a little because it seemed like I was the only woman on the train, and I didn’t feel really graceful climbing down from the top bunk.

As soon as I walked off the train this young guy came up to me and said, “You want a prepaid auto?” I looked at him suspiciously. He asked where I was going. I told him. He said, “Ok, 20 rupees.” Well, that means that either he was trying to sucker me into something, or the place was in walking distance. I decided to take him up on the offer. I had to pee so bad I didn’t care if it was three feet away, as long as I got there quick and I was willing to pay 20 rupees to get there fast.

As we started walking he asked, “Is your name Katherine?”
I said, “No,” thinking that was a funny way to start a conversation with someone you just met at the train station.
He said, “Oh, what is it?” (Like big surprise, it’s not Katherine!)
I said, “Shannon.”
He said, “Oh, Shannon. You just came from Udaipur.”
I was mildly surprised, until I remembered that I just got off the train from Udaipur, so of course he would know I just came from Udaipur.
Then he said, “You live in Bangalore and work at Microsoft, you will go to Delhi next.”
At that point I began to wonder what exactly was going on.

He said, “I talked to Jamil” (my driver in Udaipur) “he’s my friend and he told me you were coming here.” Oh- well, it’s a small India after all then isn’t it?

So Janu- my new driver who knew everything about me took me to my hotel- then he offered to take me wherever I wanted to go. Since the whole hiring a driver thing had gone quite well in Udaipur, I took him up on it.

Janu had me read his volumes upon volumes of “your great!” books that other tourists had signed for him. He showed me his vacation pictures, he told me all about his friends and family and he showed me around town.

His moto: “No hurry, no worry, no chicken curry.”

Great, good thing I don’t eat chicken.

The thing I might be sorry for later:

I made the most costly impulse buy ever- ever- ever

I bought a silk hand knotted carpet. Pricy. Dummy- now I have to carry this heavy carpet around the rest of vacation. Oh- but it is so pretty and soft and aside from my concern that it’s not real silk I love it and it is worth the hassle and the pricy price.

If it’s a hoax and not a real silk carpet it was very elaborate setup. He showed me how they make the carpets on the loom (he let me tie a knot on one carpet, so he could “tell the buy that a beautiful woman helped make the carpet.”) He showed me pictures of the dying process for the wool and silk. Then he took me across the street where they wash and comb and clip the carpets- then he took me to his show room and showed me about 20 carpets until I picked one.

It wasn’t a total impulse buy, I have been eyeballing silk carpets since I got here, but I really had no intention of actually buying one while on vacation.

Well, there it is, me and my magic carpet all around north India for the next week and a half.

Would love to talk about yesterday in Udaipur, but I’m starving and I think the restaurant is going to close in a few minutes.

DAY 1 Ahmedabad, Gujarat

My plane was late leaving Bangalore, but no biggie, I still had plenty of time to waste here. This is really just a stop over place- I flew in at around 3- I'll take the train out at 11:15. I'm at the train station cyber express cafe as I type.

As soon as I landed at the airport I was accosted by about a million auto drivers. I told them all to back off- they are like mosquitoes- always buzzing around your head- I asked a guy who looked local if there was a prepaid stand. He said no, but they all used their meters, so it was hard to get ripped off. Obviously he's never been a white woman traveling alone in India. (Obviously)

I got an auto to the train station- probably paid near the correct amount- give or take 30-40 rupees. I left my backpack at the train station in the "cloak room" aka "left luggage." It cost 20 rupees an hour. In Liverpool I think I paid 2 pounds an hour- translation 40 cents and hour verses 4 dollars an hour.

My same little auto driver tried to take me to sight see- but my Lonely Planet made it look like I could walk to where I wanted to go from the train station. So, after a long conversation of me repeating that I didn't want to go with him and I was walking- off I went- in the wrong direction of course. After another long conversation with four police men they pointed me in the right direction.

I ended up in a market area- so I did what any red blooded American woman would do in my situation- I shopped. Honestly I don't know what gets into me sometimes. Now I have this crap that I'm going to have to lug around the rest of the trip, or send home. I bought a beautiful red dupatta (light shawl) with gold hand work (gold embroidery and sequins) on it for 650 (about $13.00) That fulfils my "Can't leave India without a obscenely sequined piece of material that I'll most likely never use" requirement. But I know it won't stop there. I also bought a tiny traditional Gujarati outfit for Blondi's baby HA! It's super cute! (whopping $3 for that gem) and some cotton suit (shalwar kamis) material for another $3- Two of the venders where Muslim men with excellent English.

One of them gave me his business card all in Gujarati- a language I've never seen before- I didn't even know which way was up on that card- Usually I can at least tell which way is right side up with a language I don't know- but not with Gujarati I'm totally lost.

While I was buying the dupatta I took some pictures of some of the customers in the store- on my way out I was invited to one lady's youngest son's wedding. I took one picture of her- was in the same room with her for 3 minutes and I was invited to her son's wedding.

I'm a novelty- not so many tourists in Ahmedabad. I've seen 4 other white people. I also saw a goat with three legs- so whatever.

Lonely Planet and my new Muslim friends said I should see Jama Masjid- a mosque built in 1432. Unknowingly I walked past it twice thinking it was a veggie market- it wasn't my fault- the minarets fell down1957- how was I supposed to recognize a mosque without minarets. It looked rather shabby from the outside but was very peaceful and beautiful on the inside.

Wide open spaces- freaking hot marble floors (open air court yard) amazing pillars and carved stone window covers.

Then I went to a fancy hotel to get 1. some air conditioning 2. a cold drink and 3. a place to not be stared at like a three headed cow.

The waiter suggested I wear earrings.

I had the "Jain Special." Jains must like tempura- cause that's what it was- deep fried baby corn (baby corn is big here) green pepper rings (Jains don't eat onions) and some kind of freaky little cheesy dough ball which sounds better than it tasted- if you can believe that.

I also got cream float which was yuck and a "mocktail" aka virgin pinacolata- yum. Got me a sammich to go and got back to the train station.

Leaving the area of the train station costs 75 rupees- when we got back here the little guy who took my life in his hands I can't even count the times on the way back to the station- tried to charge me 389.

I said no.

He called over another guy who said, "100."

I said "fine."

So here I am- next leg Udaipur on the overnight train.

I didn't take this picure- but I go past this spot every day on the way to work-

This picture is the very essence of Bangalore- Tech building- palm trees- car going too fast and cow standing in the middle of the street.

it's raining for the first time since October- Go Monsoon!

If you read yesterdays blog this is what the Apostle Paul said about the missionary girl who smoked: indirectly-

"The man who eats everything must not look down on him who does not, and the man who does not eat everything must not condemn the man who does, for God has accepted him. Who are you to judge someone else's servant?"

Romans 14:3-4

I guess that goes for eating, drinking, smoking etc- along with moderation- I can dig it.

"Blessed is the man who does not condemn himself by what he approves. But the man who has doubts is condemned if he eats, because his eating is not from faith; and everything that does not come from faith is sin."

Romans 14:22-23

I forgot what I was going to write about- now I remember- check it out

I went to a Pashach aka Passover ceremony on- well the day after Passover, but close enough for me.

There was 10 or 12 people there, two Jews, two Christians and a whole passel of agnostics, atheists and other confused people. Sure maybe the Jews and Christians are confused too- but at least we got something.

Top moments of the night:

The Kosher wine was quite nice. Two of the party had recently returned from vacation in Israel.

The Passover meal has much to do with questions and answers. While I did study Jewish scripture, I’ve never studied the traditions; so much of what they had to say was news to me.

Several people were Jew experts out of the blue. It was kind of a strange thing to see. I have often observed that not revealing everything you know or you think you know about a topic is very difficult for many people. Sometimes difficult for me- but I’m pretty good at that “keep it on the inside and lets see what they say” attitude.

Every once in a while the host, who was leading the story/question/discussion part of the dinner, would ask me about a detail in the story- which I would fill in. Eventually someone asked why the host was directing question to me when obviously I was not one of the self appointed experts of Judaism. You know- I wasn’t jumping in and yelling out all the answers.

Jew Expert: Why are you asking her?
Host: She has a Bible degree.
JE: So?
H: So. . . that’s what she studied in college- so she knows the stories
JE: But the Bible is Christian!
H: Uh- The Jewish Bible is in the Bible
JE: It is? I thought the Torah was Jewish
Me: The Torah is the Old Testament
JE: So, you studied the Torah?
Me: Yes

So- for anyone who is confused- Christians call the Torah the Old Testament. The Torah is also known as the Jewish bible. The Christian bible aka “The Bible” includes the Old Testament, aka the Torah, and the New Testament, aka the bit about Jesus.

The other Christian wasn’t taking wine, because as we found out later, she was studying to be a missionary- later she went out for a smoke. Which for some reason I thought was really ironic. She didn’t want to drink wine at a Passover ceremony- but cancer sticks are forever!

Who am I to judge? Doesn’t say anything about smoking in the Bible- so go for it I guess. It does say bunches about wine and drinking it, but don’t drink it- must be evil- I guess. As the apostle Paul said, Well, I can’t remember exactly what he said, I’ll have to look it up- which reminds me-

Someone started talking about the 10 commandments at some point. Then it came up that “love your neighbor as yourself” is one of the 10. Well Educated Boy in the corner, who had already, has his fair share of Kosher and non kosher wine said, “No, it’s not.”
I agreed with him and said, “It’s not.”

The Jew experts (not the actual Jews mind you) insisted it was one of the 10.
WEB: It’s Christian; it’s diametrically opposed to Judaism.
Me: No it isn’t. It is Christian, but it’s not opposed to Judaism.
WEB: Yeah, Jesus said it. It’s in the New Testament.
Me: I know, but he was quoting from the Old Testament
WEB: No he wasn’t
Jew Experts: It’s one of the 10 commandments
WEB and Me: NO! It’s not!
Me: Jesus said, it, and he was quoting from the OT
WEB: Where is it then?
Me: I don’t know the chapter and verse, but I can find it for you.
(Lev 19:18 FYI)
WEB: sure

I’m sure he thought he got the best of me. Then he drank three more bottles of wine and forgot about it.

Another really funny thing was a song they sang- it was like “The Old Woman Who Swallowed the Fly.” But it started with a goat, a cat, a dog, a stick on fire, and ended with the angel of death and the Holy one himself taking part in the fiasco of the lost “kid” which some in the group thought meant a baby goat (as it actually did) and others thought it meant a human “kid.”

It was an interesting in a good way experience- but I chose to leave in the first volley of people leaving. It is possible to have too much of an interesting thing.