Teaching about sarcasim takes all the fun out of it.

I'm teaching a one week (8 hours a day) class about American culture and communication to a set of new support engineers. Poor darlings- they are just learning how crazy Americans can be- and how it will take a long time before they really understand what it is that we really mean when we say, "I'm fine."

Actually, there's no way to know what that means, esp if it is said by a woman.

They gave presentations today, one of them was talking about facts about the USA- one of them quoted the amount of money the US military spends each year and said, "they spend an alarming amount!" That made me giggle.

Much of what Americans do is alarming to the rest of the world.

I have an announcement:

I am no longer happy little "P" I am now (unofficially) a jaded "J"!!
I'm
100% I
12% N
6%F
and
1% J!
http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/JTypes2.asp

Beneath the quiet exterior, INFJs hold deep convictions about the weightier matters of life. Those who are activists -- INFJs gravitate toward such a role -- are there for the cause, not for personal glory or political power.
INFJs are champions of the oppressed and downtrodden. They often are found in the wake of an emergency, rescuing those who are in acute distress. INFJs may fantasize about getting revenge on those who victimize the defenseless. The concept of 'poetic justice' is appealing to the INFJ.
"There's something rotten in Denmark." Accurately suspicious about others' motives, INFJs are not easily led. These are the people that you can rarely fool any of the time. Though affable and sympathetic to most, INFJs are selective about their friends. Such a friendship is a symbiotic bond that transcends mere words.
INFJs have a knack for fluency in language and facility in communication. In addition, nonverbal sensitivity enables the INFJ to know and be known by others intimately.
Writing, counseling, public service and even politics are areas where INFJs frequently find their niche.

I had a dream on Christmas Eve- maybe it was Christmas day- being on vacation made everything blur together in such a way that I cannot define whether it was a good blur or not.

I took a nap in the afternoon- I usually don’t nap and when I do I usually don’t dream, but I did on Christmas Eve/Day.

I dreamed I was lying on the floor between two arm chairs. I had apparently laid there purposefully. I had a pillow and I was comfortable as though I’d been watching TV or such.

My brother, Michael, was sitting in the chair to my left. Jonnyreb was sitting in the chair to my right. I was trying to get up, but each time I tried I felt as though I was being pushed back down. I tried several times, but I wasn’t worried that I couldn’t get up, more dismayed.

I said, “Do you ever feel like you just can’t get up or move from where you are?” My brother said, “Nope” and got up and left.

Again I was troubled because I didn’t want to ask Jonny for help. So I laid there for a while longer wondering how I was going to get up. During that time Jonny had gotten up from his chair and he was standing by a door behind his chair.

He said, “Get up and come here.” I was up and at his side in an instant. I was so surprised to be standing there in front of him, to have so effortlessly obeyed his call that I woke up.

I thought that was such a strange dream when I woke up. Strange not because if it’s messianic overtones, but more so because I’ve had those kinds of dreams before and it’s usually Michael in the part of the one reminding me, calling me, stirring my spirit.

Michael, an unlikely Messiah in life, has been coming in my dreams for years as a subtle reminder of my spirituality. And here Michael was free to do what he wanted and I was held down and waiting for a call to action.

I’m not sure how Jonny got called into the picture. Although, pk and I had been discussing a thesis she had heard and he had been brought up as a refute earlier that day, (or maybe the day before see blur above.)

She said she had been told that if a man kisses your forehead it means that he really wants to kiss your mouth. The premise is that he is expecting you to look up at him so he can have easy access to your luscious lips.

I said I didn’t think that was always the case- it could be that he was just really fond of you and an affectionate person. Maybe he was a touch-flirty kind of guy and that’s just how he greeted his female friends. Maybe he was trying to convince other people that he wanted to kiss you on the mouth- or maybe those are just my experiences.

One time a French man kissed me on the nose and when I opened my mouth to tell him that was weird he stuck his tongue in my mouth- so maybe men really do have those crazy kinds of strategies.

It was an early morning flight to Cochin- and I had to argue with the cab company to come pick us up at such an unheard of hour. Finally they over charged me and then raised the price when they had to call back three times to get directions in three different languages. I gave the guard a tip for explaining how to find the place twice and then finding someone off the street to explain in another language.

Hindi and English are the official languages of India; the problem is here in the South each state protects its regional language or languages with a vengeance. It’s their right, but it makes things difficult when business people only speak Kanada or Tamil and you want something in English (or Hindi I suppose.)

The driver from GK Homestay met us at the airport and packed us away into an old Ambassador. (Is there any other type of Ambassador?) The Ambassador was the first car made in India in 1948- It seems an entire army of 1948ish Ambassadors are still roaming streets and paths all over the subcontinent. I had no idea how long the drive would be, but I suppose I had mentally pictured it being about an hour, maybe an hour and a half- two and a half hours later we were running out of road, but we were still going.

Road trips in India are bound to be interesting, and strangely enough not fun. While every other vehicle on the road is belching out black fumes our Ambassador seemed to leaking all it’s exhaust into the car. We drove through cities and villages and when pk saw an elephant working on the side of the road (which like the camel in Bangalore had escaped my notice) she commented on it forgetting that lots of people here have at least a rudimentary understanding of English- the driver stopped for a work elephant photo op- that was the oldest elephant I’ve ever seen- but he was working away as his tiny brown human commanded- moving huge logs from one pile to another pile.

We drove through rubber plant plantations- with trees dripping latex and pale rubber sheets drying on clothes lines all around us. We drove past coconut groves and over big wide rivers and kept on driving.

Eventually the paved road became a rutted dirt road, and the dirt road became a pocked tire worn path then it became nothing more than what looked like a foot path through the jungle and on past a rice patty. Thankfully the car stopped just before we had to wind our way through the trees. We had reached the end of the road and George Kutty was there to great us.

George showed us our room in his back yard- facing the quietest, greenest, only-est rice patty I’ve ever seen. George showed us the room, how to use the chalk to ward off the ants, how to turn on the shower, and how to warm water in a bucket “only if we needed it.” We noticed the hammocks stung up between a row of coconut palms before George whisked us off to second breakfast, (we’d already had first breakfast on the plane- Indian flights are lovely in that even if you only have a one hour domestic flight, they serve drinks and a meal- even though the drink was spiced butter milk, which is one of the nastiest things I’ve put to my lips the entire time I’ve been here- it’s a nice practice.)

Second breakfast, like every other meal, involved some form of coconut- as well as pineapple and bananas.

We proceeded to go collapse in the hammocks for the rest of the afternoon- when we roused ourselves to try to eat lunch- which was good but after two breakfasts- completely unnecessary.

That evening we took a canoe tour and visited the “Snake boats.” Our guide/rower was low on the English skills so we tried to make guesses as to what his gesticulations about the boats might indicate. We guessed that the numbers painted on the boat indicated seating positions- one of the boats held over 100 people. One on each side of the longest canoe you could imagine. We understood that the boat rode very low in the water- that the metal work was gold- I think.

We rowed on past neighborhood children- beautiful girls shy and hiding behind trees and boys waving as they splashed in the water. Occasionally they would ask for pens and practice their English lessons on us. “Hello! What is your name?” They would giggle when we answered. Each house along the water way had steps down to the water. Sometimes children splashed around in the warm water, in other places men descended the steps for a quiet bath- women scrubbed laundry on nearby rocks and we floated past curious fish traps and under foot bridges held up by massive palm trunks.

The backwaters in Kerala are considered as the Venice of India. People live and work all along the water- some villages don’t even have roads or paths, as all transportation and livelihood is made on the water. It’s an area of giant tiger prawns the size of lobsters and a steady diet of fish, coconut and rice.

On Christmas day we took a ferry down to the coast. The waters and the house boats we couldn’t afford were beautiful.

Here's a picture of me graduating from Headstart.

Today I got three Christmas cards and a birthday card. The birthday card, as far as I can tell, was actually sent at the beginning of September . . . I shall not comment further on the mail system here in India.

Two of the Christmas cards are from my great aunts who I haven't heard from in - well- ever! When I got the cards I looked at where they came from and thought- who is that?!

Well when I opened them I found they are from Aunt Muriel, and Aunt Barbara my Grandpa's sisters. Apparently he's been passing around cards and pictures. Now I remember Aunt Barbara because she was my Headstart teacher (aka as Aunt Mrs. Smith) And I can't say I really remember Aunt Muriel at all aside from my mother talking about her sometimes and I'm getting a vague picture of a little lady with short hair dyed dark brown . . .

The other card and box from Blondi and the B-day stuff from Shorty- thanks everybody!