My dear Acquaintance,

I knew, of course, that you would re-surface one day.

I, too, was busy with the grandkids yesterday – taking in “Toy Story on Ice” at the Garden.

My two oldest kids are happily (most days, as are most of us coupled-ones) married, and youngest daughter graduated summa cum laude last May. She is living the Bohemian life with a young painter. Punk rock bands perform in their basement, on the side across from the washer/dryer combo, on alternate Tuesdays.

T. is still working, writing for a small company in North Andover. I got the boot… er - took early retirement in Feb of 09. I’ve been picking up odd free-lance work to pay the bills and buy hay. (Buy hay? you say) And I play with the grandkids every chance I can. They are real, and make me feel more connected to life than any hi-tech job ever did.

We bought a small trailer, a “park model RV”. (Who woulda thunk it? T. in a trailer.) It is parked 1.1 miles from the beach in southern Maine. We’ve spent the last seven summers there, and would love to retire officially in Vacationland. (Although that would surely mean we wouldn’t be travelling south to warm and sunny central MA for winters anymore…)

When I say retire, I mean farm. We now own 19 alpacas, three of the boys – my herdsires – currently reside in our backyard. They’ll go to “work” for the Summer at a farm in NH, in mid-May, and we’ll close up the house here and head up North…

Re: all things in this life – “Hindsight” , as they say…

What would any of us do over, had we only this future-lens to help us understand what we see on any given day?

Cash a couple of your Social Security checks and go to the Bahamas, for heaven’s sake. We’re grandparents; our youth is gone. Buy and take a copy – or I’ll send you one – of “The Dirty Life”. Read it on your sail. And don’t worry your daughters while you are away. Text them when you can, and tell them where you are, and most importantly, that you love them. Then you can come back to the land, with your smooth heels and salty tan, and get all romantic about dirt and connectedness and those beautiful little grandkids.

Before or after you go, you are always welcome to come visit us for an egg sandwich and a very dry martini...

xo me2

p.s. -- Did you know that CW is farming in CT? She raises goats and chickens and has just started to make cheese. S. has some beautiful photos …

India Journal, December 2009

India Journal, December 2009, Entry 7


It has been awhile since I posted, and I apologize for my absence.

The good news was that I was immersed in a writing and project management contract for a large IT company. Sadly, I found that, as when I worked as a salaried employee for the same concern, my concentration and most of my creative energy was tapped by end of the business day. -- Whenever I sat down to review my notes and continue to flesh out my India diary stories – no juice.

Today, the bad news is that the contract is over, with few prospects for new work on the horizon. I’m not worried, though. In fact, I’ll enjoy a brief respite! So --Back to work I go before my memory dims and I forget the color and details of this amazing experience.

****
Delhi.

I am totally overwhelmed. The number of people, the poverty, the wealth, the noise, the monkeys and cows and camels in the street, the smoke of the cooking fires, the film of dust on every surface I touch. I try to remember what Siobhan has shared in her calls home, hearing her voice as a mantra, telling us over and over to remember, “All things in their context.” Yes, Siobhan. This is not the West. And I am not at all sure that my heart can contain all the joy and sadness and fear and exhilaration … and desperation that surround us.


It has cooled down with the sun-setting, but the temperature still hovers around 95 degrees. At the end of our taxi tour, Samy takes us to, I am sure, two of his “paid” stops: The Delhi Hut, where we are surrounded by literally hundreds of thousands of cottage industry handmade goods – and the intense young men who must make their livelihood by selling same to tourists like us; and a lovely garden restaurant where we have a delicious vegan meal and several ice-cold beers.( I might add that this is the best beer I have ever had -- the first and last alcoholic beverage we will have in India.) I succumb to buying a sari at the Delhi Hut. It is silk chiffon, a beautiful shade of sea-blue with delicate gold-thread embroidery. Maybe I will wear it to the wedding I’ll be going to in the early Summer. I think there is a tailor in Nashua who can help me with the blouse and skirt…

When we return to the cab after our dinner, Samy has evening prayers playing on his radio. He turns down the volume and asks if we would like to see “the most beautiful and reasonably priced silver goods in all of Nothern India”. He knows we are tired, and doesn’t press too hard when we day “no, not tonight”. He turns up the volume again and continues with his prayers, and we drive (or careen) along the winding streets of Old Delhi, back to our hotel, listening to the solemn and beautiful chanting of the Koran.

Samy is a gentle, good man. He is kind, funny, generous with his story-telling – and perhaps the least imposing Indian that we encounter on our amazing journey. When we arrive at our hotel, he opens the doors to his cab and, almost shyly, offers a hand-on-handshake to my husband. He respectfully bows to me, saying “Namaste, Mother”. While Tim settles our bill, I ask if he will wait a moment while I get something from our room. I run up the stairs to retrieve hair-barrettes and candies for his daughters.

I am not sure he knows what to make of my gift for his children.