A mall, the Taj and a non-flushing toilet

We arrived in Delhi, thankful to have flown down versus driven and eager to explore a city. We jumped on the metro (surprisingly clean for India) and walked through a couple bazaars and parks. For Oliver's birthday we were surprised with a cake by the owners of our bed and breakfast. Oliver had only two bites and was crazy-high on sugar, running around the table and turning over plates looking for more. Andy's dad, Chuck, joined us on Christmas eve. We took Oliver to the zoo because it was closed on his birthday. We rode in a rickshaw to and from the zoo and though Andy and I were white-knuckled, sucking in our breath, Chuck was....zzzzzzzzzz.....sound asleep. Been there. He was pretty upside down from jet lag.

Oliver dazzled us with a new word every day in Delhi; "dog", "wow", "down", "me"...he is up to about 15 words. It is so much fun to chat with him. His favorite word is still "pretty".
He said it non-stop when we went to a mall after the zoo to see the Christmas display. The huge tree was "pretty!" The lights strung along the courtyard, "pretty!" the Indian band alternating between Backstreet Boys and Christmas carols, "pretty!" Had we been in Chicago for Christmas and you asked me the last place I would want to be, I would have answered "a mall." No place would be more maddening. The crowds, pushing, the noise and horrible lighting. But for some reason I found this mall...comforting. The lights were exactly what I needed to see, the carols exactly what I wanted to hear. Oliver had a great time and Andy was able to get a decent pizza for dinner, a true Christmas miracle.

We hired a driver to take us to Agra to see the Taj Mahal. We strapped Oliver into his American car seat that Chuck kindly brought Over for us and we were off! Dodging water buffalo, elephants and pedestrians we wound our way towards an amazing piece of architecture. But first, we had to check in to our hotel. You know that scene in "Coming to America" when Eddie Murphy and Arsenio Hall are checking into their hotel and the manager says to them, "You are going to love this place, it's a real shit hole"? Well, that was this hotel. The funny part is, had Andy and I just arrived in India we would have taken one look at the room with white walls and fluorescent lighting, no shower curtain just a shower head above the toilet and the eery dripping sound and said "uh uh, nope, we are NOT staying here!" we would have spun around and left. But because we have lived here five months we took one look at the clean floors and the mold-free walls and said "this place is great!" we hoped Chuck would view the place as an adventure. We all agreed to hold off on showering until the next hotel and took in the Taj from every roof top we could that night. In the morning we bought our tickets (we got to pay Indian citizen prices by showing our work visas!) and walked through the gates. Even though I have seen the Taj in hundreds of pictures, it still took my breath away. Oliver declared it "pretty!" and so did we. Guides made their groups pose and pretend to pinch the top. Lots of families were also told to jump. "1,2,3, jump!" guides exclaimed. We agreed to no jumps, no pinches. We just walked and gazed upwards. Then we got the hell out of Agra, the town itself, "a real shithole."

We found our driver and he took us to Bharatpur, home of India's largest bird sanctuary. Andy and Chuck are birding there now, Oliver and I will join up post nap. What I thought would be a nice day of exercise, me and Oliver trolling around, is not going to happen. There were tigers spotted so we will drive up to the visitors center, get rickshawed around from there. So I am hanging out in our hotel, nicer than the one in Agra but no hot water and no working toilet, still fantastic by India standards.

Tomorrow we drive to Jaipur and work our way closer to the desert. I am excited; keeping my expectations low and my fingers crossed for hot water.

Searching for Chevy Chase

Here we go, we leave tomorrow at ten in the morning for our own Griswold family vacation! No doubt hilarity and frustration (we are in India!) will ensue. We fly from DehraDun to Delhi, where we celebrate Oliver's first birthday (still can't get my head around that!)! Andy's Dad, Chuck, meets us in Delhi and after an Indian Christmas our trip goes a little like this:
Delhi- Agra-Bharatpur-Jaipur-Udaipur-Jaisalmer-Jaipur-Delhi (say goodbye to Chuck)-Singapore-Phuket-Ko Landa-Phuket-Singapore-Delhi-DehraDun-REALITY.
Planes, trains and automobiles will get us where we need to go and friends are meeting us along the way. It's quite the adventure, made more Griswold by our one year old who is about to take his first step and cut his first tooth.
We are packed, excited and ready to get off the mountain!
Xo

Rhesus' are jerks

I had really thought there would be nothing more for me to say on the Rhesus subject.  I thought I had made an agreement with them based on mutual respect for each other and the safety for our respective children.  I was so wrong.

Today, Andy, Oliver, and I made our way up to the top of our mountain for the purpose of both an afternoon walk and to get some groceries from the local store.  As we walked we encountered a troop of Rhesus, dozens of them, lining the trees and our path.  Andy picked up a rock, tossed it, and they scattered.  We continued on our way, took in the view, and once on top, bought snacks for our upcoming vacation.

We had agreed before leaving home that Andy would continue on and take the path that figure-eights around the mountain top and look for birds.  Oliver and I would head down the way we came to be home in time for his nap.  We split the groceries, Andy carrying what he could in his pockets, and me carrying the reusable (read: not see-through plastic!) bag.

Down we went, Me and Oliver, singing Edelweiss and looking out across the Himalayan range.  Until we got to the field by our house our walk had been totally monkey free. *Mom, this is where you stop reading. Seriously. Stop.*  There were about five Rhesus on the far edge of the field and two Langurs (the GOOD monkeys) close to where Oliver and I were going to walk onto the field.  I thought about it and since I only saw a handful of Rhesus, and I (for whatever reason) thought that the Langurs would keep them at a distance, I decided we would take the walk across the field to go down the steps and go home.  Bad decision. *Mom, you had better not be reading! I told you to stop!*  I had a rock in my hand "just in case" and I tossed it and caught it saying "hey guys, just stay to that side, ok?" Tossing, tossing, walking, walking.  I heard a loud "OOH OOH OOH!" to my right and saw a large male yelling at me.  Still calm I said to him (Why do I talk to the monkeys?  Who knows?!), "It's cool, we'll be out of your way..." and before I could finish the large male ran right in front of me and was now yelling and swatting at me.  Shit.  I spun around, thinking I could take the longer trail down the other side of the field,  and saw several monkeys were standing on their HIND LEGS behind me, swatting at me and yelling "OOH OOH OOOH!!!!!"  Shit, shit, shit!  Why did I say I would take the bag?  Why had I listened when everyone said they wouldn't bother me "as long as I was carrying the baby?"  Shit!  All it took was a split-second to assess the seven large swatting, yelling monkeys surrounding me and to see the ENTIRE troop descending from the trees (thinking they had found lunch).  I wrapped my arms around Oliver and screamed a scream I have never heard come from anyone's mouth, let alone my own.  I was panicked, and in my panic, I kicked my way out of the circle of monkeys.  Waving my arms and kicking and screaming I ran towards the stairs.  They followed.  I got my hand on the pepper spray in my bag, fully prepared to blind some monkeys.  I sprinted down the stairs, screaming the entire time (Oliver was crying by this point too, surely he must have thought I was losing my mind).  At the bottom I was able to look up and see my tormentors swinging from the branches, still at the top of the stairs "OOH OOH OOH!"...sad that their lunch ran away with the screaming woman. Jerks.

I started to sob.  Shaking and sweating and tears falling down on Oliver, I made it home with the pepper spray now indented into my palm.  I locked the door once inside and held Oliver tight and promised him I would never, EVER, let his Dad go birding while we walked with groceries ever again. Never, ever, ever.  Jerks.  Mom, I know you are still reading.  We are OK.  Truly, not a scratch on us.  I will be more careful next time...I promise.

Bad Blogger

Sorry...it's been a while.  Truth is (and I know...it's the oldest excuse there is) I got busy.  Really, truly, busy.  I started a little project for myself; a little made-to-order bakery out of my kitchen to see if I am really ready for something along the lines of my own gluten-free bakery someday (a long-time day dream of mine).  The response has been overwhelming and wonderful.  People are very excited, ordering everything from personal treats to gifts to the snack for tea time.  Word has spread to the dorms as well and I have dorm parents and students ordering as well.  What began as a "well, if I get one order a week then it will keep me occupied and happy..." has turned into "I hope my little oven can handle all this!"  And I am loving every minute.  I was called about 15 hours before the school's Christmas Mela (a big craft fair type sale) to see if I wanted a table.  I would be raising money for a home for people with Autism in the area so I had to donate 10% of my profits.  I said yes, of course, and began to bake like crazy.  Staying up until 1:00 a.m. the night before and baking the entire next day.  Oliver was so supportive, napping a nice long nap and being patient while I took my sweet time taking him out of his high chair.
I made 20 dozen cookies and brownies and I sold out in 15 minutes!  I couldn't believe it.  I had brought extra clothes for Oliver for when it gets cold as the sun goes down.  But then there we were, packing up our table as people were still setting up theirs.  It was a great feeling. People seem genuinely excited.  For Westerners, there really are no "sweets" here that we typically eat back home.  There is one bakery in town, that I know of, and they specialize in birthday cakes.  I have had several friends get their cakes from there and then complain because the cake is "glazed" instead of "frosted".  It's just different here.  My treats are familiar, tested recipes (I had to adapt all my recipes to high altitude!) that people are missing from home.  The orders have been pouring in.  I am just trying to get them all filled while still making time to clean (I may be considering hiring a new maid), play with Oliver and eek in a minute for myself and also for Andy.  So far, I am hanging in. I hope I can keep this momentum going once we return from vacation in February.  I am really enjoying myself.

We also had Oliver's first birthday party.  What we thought would be an intimate gathering of our close friends and their kids quickly snowballed into 40+ people.  Andy made falafel, I made hummus and two kinds of birthday cakes: cornbread and banana for Oliver (who is sweet enough and doesn't need super concentrated sugar just yet) and gluten-free chocolate cake with my mom's fudge frosting recipe (no glazes here!).  Simple and easy, I hope everyone had a great time.  I sure did. Though it felt a bit like my wedding reception; a bit hazy, way too fast and I didn't get a chance to talk to everybody.  Oh well.  Oliver had a bit of a social "hangover" the next day but I think he had a good time seeing all his pals in one place.  My parents were able to Skype in at 5:00 a.m. their time and sing along with us. Great, great day.

So, I have been a bit swamped on the home front and Andy has been trying to wrap up a semester with grades, performances (Several of them!  It didn't seem fair) and seeing his kids off to their home towns and countries.  There have been going away parties for friends who are leaving and holiday parties...typical December craziness.  So, I will try to do better and stay on at least a weekly plan for posting.  The days just slipped away from me.  Oliver will be one year old in twelve days.  The days are just slipping by too fast.

Thankful

I am humbled and amazed by all there is to be thankful for in my life.  My little boy, whom neither my doctors nor I was ever confident that my body would allow me to have; my husband who supports and puts up with me; a family and circle of friends that were so supportive of us going on this adventure; our new friends that we have bonded fast and deeply with; my brand-new tiny "business" that appears to have great support and a lot of excitement around it; the Himalayas that we get to gaze upon daily.  How did I ever become so fortunate?  I am truly, deeply, thankful.

Now...onto the FOOD!
India is lacking many foods that we have in the states (just as in the states you are lacking many of the foods found here), this week the focus was on the lack of turkeys. I read with a growling stomach your emails detailing your Thanksgiving menus.  I salivated, my mouth anticipating all the delicious flavors you would enjoy.  I would scour our cabinets looking for something to curb the cravings for sweet potato souffle, roasted turkey, brandied cranberries and my mom's desserts.  Potato chips, dark chocolate and pears did not seem to help (though I certainly tried!). You can find sweet potatoes here (they taste the same but are white inside) and white potatoes as well.  Cranberries?  Nope.  Green beans? Yes.  Stuffing?  Make it yourself (which, is better anyways). You can order a turkey from Delhi for a small fortune if you must.  The lovely Inn at the top of our mountain was serving "American Thanksgiving" for quite a large sum.  Since Andy doesn't eat turkey and I don't eat pumpkin pie (well, I had a couple bites this year!) or stuffing we didn't feel like paying tons of money for something called "American Peas and Corn".  Luckily, we didn't have to.  Our friend, Noel, hosted a potluck.  She gathered all the Americans under 40 and one French woman at her house.  Everyone brought a couple of dishes to share.  
They ranged from traditional: green bean casserole, homemade rolls (which looked delicious, but if I am risking a gluten response it is going to be for pie, not rolls) and pumpkin pie.  To the not-so-traditional: pumpkin momos (dumplings), curried chicken and hazelnut cake.  We feasted.  It all felt so wonderfully thrown together and comforting.  We had each other, and we were thankful.  Except for Oliver taking a nose-dive onto the coir matting, made of cocount...very very rough, the evening was a complete delight.

So much so that we are having Thanksgiving part deux tonight!  We all have traditionally spent the weekend surrounded by family and enjoying leftovers so we thought, have it twice!  This time it's at Fabi's house.  The menu will change a bit but the intention is still the same: we have each other, we are so thankful.  When you are away from those you love the most it is so helpful to be around all the new people you have come to love (and aren't I lucky to have found them?).  It isn't freezing cold outside, I didn't get to eat all my "favorites" and I really miss  seeing my family.  So it certainly doesn't feel like any Thanksgiving I have had before, but it does feel like Thanksgiving.  And I am so thankful.

Water! Water!

My friend had one of her students ask her: "Is it true that in America you can drink the water out of any sink? The bathroom too?" She thought for a moment and told the class that yes, you can drink the water out of any sink in the house and you "you can even drink out of the hose!" Amazed, the students started to ask more questions.  "How?"  "Why is the water safe?"  She even told them that there is this nutrient called Fluoride "and it is put in our water just because it is good for you and your teeth."  Mouths dropped to the floor.  When she told me this it made me think just how utopic America sounds and how dystopic India must sound to Americans, especially when it comes to water.

We have had two friends get quite ill from drinking the "bad" water.  They both had Giardia that affected them for many weeks on and off.  In each staff home there is a water purifier that you turn on and get your water from.  If you do not have a water purifier, you get your water from one of the pumps in town and boil it.

Kids collecting water in town

With all the trash, oil, grease, dumped onto the hillside and all the wild animals and people who use the hillside as their bathroom you can imagine what this does to the watershed.  We are lucky to be near the top of the rivers and higher up on the watershed.  Living in the mountains does provide you this small luxury.  I have heard horror stories (that would keep you up at night) about the rivers in south India and how the water looks coming out of the tap.  Since you may be eating while reading this, I will spare you the gruesome details.

We are hyper cautious about Oliver and the water.  We boil a pot of purified water for his bath and then add cool pitchers of purified water until the temperature is right. He splashes, plays with his toys and often tries to drink the water.  We can't take the chance he might ingest some non-purified water. We don't wipe is face or hands with anything but purified water either; everything still goes right into his mouth so no "bad" water on his hands.   We can wash dishes with non-purified water but then we rinse everything with the purified.  We always check to make sure our dishes are dry when we eat at a restaurant.

If you are eating at an unfamiliar restaurant (typically, we get recommendations from friends but this is not always possible if you are eating in a different town), you order a bottle of water because you don't want to risk that they might not serve purified.  We have even asked waiters to take our bottle and brew our tea with it because if they don't get the "bad" water to the actual boiling point it will make you sick.

I have a hunch that Oliver and I got so sick on our fifth day here because we got a little "bad" water into our systems somehow.  I was still brain dead and feeling quite upside down and was probably, unknowingly, not being as careful as I should have been.

When I get back to the states the first thing I am going to do is serve myself a nice tall glass of fluoride-enhanced water...straight from the hose.  And drink it with confidence.

p.s. My Dad prescribed Oliver fluoride drops so he gets some in his sippy cup everyday.

Small Business Plan

Have you ever had a little voice from deep inside whisper to you "THIS is what you should be doing?"
I've had a little voice for about seven years now that tells me I should open up a Gluten-Free bakery.
This voice has come to me when I was switching schools, switching careers, afternoons spent playing with Oliver while at the same time wondering how I can help financially contribute to my family.  People over the years have complimented my baking (my almond butter chocolate chip cookies are what is requested when I ask what I can bring to parties) and when they discover that everything is gluten-free they act shocked.  "No kidding!  I would never have known!" I am not sure what they expect gluten-free foods to taste like, but clearly they don't expect them to be "good."

I have often lamented my lack of options at coffee shops and cafes.  Just wanting a snack when we are out for a walk can be quite an ordeal.  I would love to have a place where families can bring their kids and know that the kitchen is committed to keeping their kids safe and that everyone can have something to eat.  I figure, why stop at just gluten?  Why not have a place that is free of the most common food triggers: gluten, dairy, nuts, soy, shellfish (easy enough).  Eggs is going to be a tough one to avoid, but I can make it happen!  When I daydream about my bakery I picture a black and white tile or old hardwood floors with pale yellow walls and old diner lights.  My bakery is located on Monroe St. in Madison.  It's central to all sides of town, good parking and good foot traffic. I not only sell in my store and handle large orders but I also supply Whole Foods Market with some nice, local options for baked goodies. A girl can dream...

Today I baked some Snickerdoodles (cinnamon-sugar cookies) for our neighbors who lend us their vacuum cleaner.  She couldn't believe I had made them with Chickpea flour and was very excited about their taste/texture.  Unbeknownst to me, she shared them with several students an staff members.   I had two students and one teacher come up to me at lunch asking if they could buy more from me.  If that wasn't a light bulb moment, I am going to need to be knocked out my a huge sack of gluten-free flour to get the message!  I get it, little voice!  I hear you! So now, I am going to go price out a couple of recipes and see if I can't drum up some interest in selling some baked goods.  It will be simple enough to do here; a man sells loaves of bread door to door and is hugely popular.  I figure a couple of emails, one day of free samples and I should be able to get a nice little side business going running out of the school's quad.  We will see how it goes and perhaps I can continue this venture when we return to the states. Seeing as how I know nothing about owning a small business, if I want to expand and actually have a brick and mortar location, I am going to have to take some classes and become far more knowledgable about everything involved.

I realize this post has nothing to do about India.  I am simply writing this to get some good energy going.  But having this idea "out there" finally (as in, not just Andy) means I can start to network and get some support.  I can't stop now either, knowing I am going to be "checked" up on.  Wish me luck! xo

No appointment necessary

One month before we left for India I was diagnosed with Hyperthyroidism. Three weeks before we left I received confirmation that it is Grave's disease (I just hate that name), the autoimmune thyroid condition.  I had three weeks to pack up our apartment, our baby, my husband and see him off to India before I moved to Wisconsin with Oliver to stay with my parents until it was our turn to go.  Three weeks. Western medicine did not work.  I took a Beta Blocker for one week and felt even worse.  I was losing weight too fast, twelve pounds less than when I first got pregnant, and I couldn't stand for more than five minutes without getting dizzy.  My hair was falling out, my hands wouldn't stop shaking and on top of everything, I couldn't sleep.  That is fantastic when you have a six month old.  I was ragged.  Other pills suggested to me meant I could not nurse Oliver anymore; not an option.  I called my beloved acupuncturist, Liz, who has helped me with circulation issues, Ulcerative Colitis, headaches, fertility all with (obviously!) great success.  She treated me three times for the Graves.  Three!  I was given herbs to take and diligently swallowed my bitter medicine.  Yuck.  I was pissed, frankly.  What fantastic timing my body has!  Another Autoimmune disease?  Just put it on my list.  I went to treatments, took the herbs, silently cursed my body for turning on me and continued to pack.  No time to think, just time to DO. Slowly I noticed my hands stop shaking, my hair staying on my head where it belonged.  I was feeling ok.  Still tired, sleepless and underweight, but I could function. Liz sent me to India with three months of herbs so that I could get acclimated here and have time to find a new course of treatment.

So that's what I did today. And it was perhaps my most bizarre medical experience to date.

Everyone told me that for doctor recommendations I should talk to the head of school.  She has been here for twenty-five years and is very health-conscious, she would be able to help me.  I inquired about Ayurvedic medicine or an acupuncturist, but when she mentioned her success with her homeopathic doctor I decided that would be the option for me.  I had great success with a homeopath when I was in high school and college.  No treatment was more successful at calming my colitis.  I asked her where he was located and she drew me a map, "he's hard to find."  I asked for his number to make an appointment, "no appointment necessary, just show up!  If it looks busy, stick your head in the window and ask when you should come back."  Okaaaay.

Andy and Oliver escorted me to the doctor and Andy promised me a tasty dinner out for all my trouble.  Deal! When we turned a corner down a road I had never been down before I was so thankful for the map.  There was the store front...and there was the line out the door to see him.  I immediately became overwhelmed and did not want to stay.  Andy asked me why and all I could think of was "I'm scared."  This guy might not know any English, what if there is a complete lack of understanding and I get pills to treat something else?  People cut in front of me in line and I got more overwhelmed...I wanted to be anywhere but in that line with the coughing people.  But then, I got brave.  I feel really crappy and really tired and really upset about having to get treatment in this manner!  So I maneuvered my way in front of the last person to cut in front of me and worked my way into the smallest possible "treatment" office you could imagine.  Room for four people, standing...doctor included.  I watched him ask a young boy to stick out his tongue, then gave his mother some white pills and off they went sixty seconds later!  A husband and wife were next.  The doctor felt her neck and more white pills and then out the door!  My turn.  He actually pulled the curtain for me and told me to sit on a stool.  I explained my situation and he was shocked that I didn't bring my medical forms with me (oops!).  Why in my frantic mind did I forget those?  Did I subconsciously think they couldn't be translated?  This man spoke fantastic English and three minutes later I had two bottles of white pills, "From Germany!" labeled "Thyroid". I was told how to take them and that I should come back. I paid my 235 rupees (Just over four dollars!) and got shuffled out the door, a little dumbfounded over what just went down but also confident that this man will be able to help me even after the quickest intake and assessment ever.  The line wound down the street once I got out. I was thankful to be free of that small space.

I took my first doses after Oliver went to bed.  It feels like this crazy way of getting help for this crazy disease may just actually work. I will keep you posted. 

Life at 7,000 feet

I remember saying that I would write about our daily life once I figured out what our daily life was going to consist of.  The truth is, every day is different and I am still trying to figure out where to put in time for myself, time for cleaning, time for play into our days.

The week days all begin with me trying to get in a shower before Andy leaves for work.  If this doesn't happen, I have to try and fit it in after Oliver's nap (because the shower wakes him from his nap) which is so close to lunch time that it really stresses me out.  So I race through a shower and then get breakfast ready for me and Oliver.  Andy eats breakfast at school because it just is more convenient for him to do so time-wise.  Breakfast is a popular time to Skype with people in the States because it is evening there, so often we spend our time conversing with friends and family over coffee and eggs (for me!).

Breakfast takes so long that we usually get about 20-30 minutes of play time in before Oliver is ready to nap.  Once he goes down I try to fit in a little exercise (this piece most often gets skipped, it's just wishful thinking most days!), mostly yoga, and then I clean or make food for Oliver.  We fired our maid, so all cleaning and laundry now falls to me.  The laundry machine is non-stop especially now that we are using washable diapers, so I try to fit a load of laundry in there somewhere too.  I make all of Oliver's food.  He no longer wants to eat anything pureed (he is a big boy after all!) and he has not a single tooth yet so I am making lots of super-soft and super-small cooked foods for him.  He favorites right now are beets and pumpkin.

Oliver wakes up 1.5-2 hours later and depending on what time it is we either have ourselves a dance party, or go for a walk, or play in the field by our house.  We head down the mountain to school for lunch at 12:30.  Lunch is my favorite time of day.  We get to see Andy, I get some MUCH needed adult interaction and Oliver gets to play with his buddy Ennis on the playground.  It always flies by, but that hour to hour and a half is always a relief for me.  Once I week I usually walk into the bazaar with my friend Fabi for some "girl time".  Oliver either naps in his carrier or takes a later nap once we get home.
Once he is down for nap number 2 I finish any cleaning tasks I didn't get to before (I just wiped down the bathroom and  I am looking at a counter full of dishes), any cooking/baking I didn't get to finish and then I really really try to read and just sit still for a moment.
Oliver usually takes a shorter nap, 1-1.5 hours and then we are off to play again!  He is obsessed with holding onto furniture and taking steps right now, so we could do that for a very very very long time.  Around 4:30 or so we either go for a walk or go meet Andy at school or go into the bazaar, it changes all the time.  We were eating dinner at school with our friends (it was so easy for me, no cooking or clean up!) but I am missing cooking dinner and frankly, we need to better eating more balanced meals.  The meals at school are all starch: rice, dal, chickpeas, potatoes...I need more veggies in my life!  So we quit the meal plan for November and we will see how that goes for us.
We often take Oliver to staff gym nights on Mondays and Wednesdays and let him climb around on the mats in the gymnastics room. Other nights we just play on the floor at home the three of us, until it is time to wind down for bed.  Then Andy and I get two hours together before we are completely exhausted and turn in ourselves.  Then it all starts again the next day!

Weekends are the best.  Andy is home and we get to explore or eat out or just do whatever excites us that day.  The past few weekends we have spent one day just walking for HOURS.  I love it.  We leave after Oliver's morning nap, get lunch out, and just walk until it is dinner time.  Oliver naps in his carrier and Andy and I get to spend some time out of the house (a must for me!).  Sometimes we go into the city and get lunch an shop, other times we hike up a nearby mountain and other days we just walk through the bazaar.  It is just great to have Andy around.

Gotta get to those dishes! xo

Maintenance

Now is as good a time as any to tell you that we do not have central heat...and it is getting cold...and we live in a poorly insulated concrete house.  (Any sliver of hope I was holding onto that my mother might visit has just vanished with the typing of that last sentence)  So we plan on using our fireplace in the living room and the bucari (think wood stove) in our bedroom along with two electric heaters we have purchased.  This is what people who were here last year did, so we followed their lead.  Yes, we are nervous (I am honestly quite terrified) but the average low here is 35 (every Midwesterner is thinking that sounds pretty great, aren't you?) and we are hearty Midwestern folks so I am hoping we can survive with all fingers and toes in place and a still-solid marriage.  I will keep you posted.

Then came the email from the head of maintenance saying we could not use our electric heaters, that they use up way to much electricity and that the grid/generator cannot handle them thus they are banned.  People were outraged.  They fired off angry responses, contacted the board, held meetings with the principal.  Not only has everyone spent a great deal of money on these heaters, but some people will truly NEED them as some apartments have no primary heat source.  One friend who is a dorm parent says she has no bucari, no fireplace, no means of heating her place up.  So what is she supposed to do?  People who were here last year said the same email went out and that they (very covertly) still used their electric heaters. So we all agreed to keep using our heaters, generator be damned.  We will see how that works out for us all.  I am going to have to use something during the day, I cannot see myself keeping a fire going for the few hours we are here in the morning, then putting it out to go to school, then restarting it when we come back.  I was up for roughing it and for an adventure, but by no means am I a pioneer.  I need to be WARM.  I will be plugging in my heater and layering.  We will have fires at night, try to save electricity, but during the day that is going to be a very daunting task for me to continuously tend to a fire while I also deal with Oliver.

Then today I very stupidly tried to put an earring in while standing over the bathroom sink.  It didn't go down the drain, but it bounced it's way down to the drain in our floor and sunk down deep.  I panicked.  These earrings were a present from my mom (the black pearls, Mom!) and beyond how much I like them, I am very sentimental about them.  I threw Oliver into his Johnny Jump Up (oh boy, that kid loves to jump!) and got out my head lamp, wooden spoon and duct tape.  I got the pipe that runs from the sink to the drain in the floor out of the drain so I could see down this larger whole.  There was my earring.  I tried to get it to stick to a roll of duct tape on the end of the spoon, but there was some standing water down there so it wouldn't stick.  I went and grabbed a fork and tried to scoop it out but my visibility was so low I couldn't tell where to put it and I was afraid to push it down the pipe further.  I sat on my bathroom floor and cried.  Oliver was happily bouncing away, not questioning at all why his mother was sitting on the bathroom floor, wearing a flashlight on her head, holding a fork and crying.

I decided I needed professional help.  I put Oliver in his carrier and walked to school to ask maintenance if they could recommend a tool for me.  The whole walk down I thought about all the work these men do.  Repair pipes, replace water heaters, build fences, repair wiring.  I was surely going to be laughed at and told my earring retrieval was a waste of their time, or be told they could get to it in three weeks.  When I walked into their offices, the man at the desk stood to great me and offered me a seat.  I explained how embarrassed and stupid I felt but that I also really needed their help because I really REALLY want my earring back.  The man took me to find his partners and very seriously explained the situation.  When it was determined that neither a magnet nor a wire was going to help me one of the men grabbed two tiny pick axes and jumped on another's scooter.  I was told to walk back home, they would meet me there.  The men pounded at the cement seal around the drain until it popped out.  The man with smaller hands then reached down and dug around.  He pulled out bits of cement, buts of shear yuckiness and lint.  I was heartbroken.  Surely he had pushed it further, he even said "no good, Ma'am".  Then he reached down one more time and pulled out my precious pearl.  I cried.  They got embarrassed and left in a hurry.  I was overwhelmed with relief and so grateful to them for their help.

I have since composed an email to the head of the maintenance department, the man who helped me and the principal.  I thanked them profusely and told them how much they are appreciated.  I hope it sunk in. I know they took A LOT of heat when their "no heaters" email went out.  I know they were just doing their job.  But we are still going to use our heaters. 

Diwali!

Our first Diwali!  Wikipedia can explain it better than I can.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diwali  All of our Hindu friends say this is their biggest holiday.  Our friends Surya and Uma threw a party to celebrate.  Their home had hundreds of candles along the floor and marigolds on every surface.  We had a buffet on their patio from which you could see all of the town of Mussoorie and into the valley of Dehra Dun.
Oliver had his first experience with fireworks!  He loved the sparklers and the Roman Candles, but anything that BOOMED elicited major tears and looks of concern.  We didn't stay too long after the fireworks started but it was so nice to be able to spend an evening with friends and share in their holiday.

As we walked home we saw several displays of fireworks in the valley from the road.  The whole sky was lit up, made all the more visible because it is a new moon.  Now we are home and I am hearing constant rumbles in the distance.  Henry would be going crazy here.  The fourth of July was never really his thing.

I will post pictures of the party soon.  I forgot to pack my camera cord but the school has some desktops that can read my card.  It's just a matter of timing and motivation.

But here are two things I think you will enjoy:

This is a shot of India during Diwali as taken from a NASA satellite.

And Steve Carell doing his best Adam Sandler impression and singing about Diwali (this I have had in my head all day!).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_B5i6DC2BtM&feature=related

Happy Diwali!
xo

Coffee

Oliver and I were skyping with his Uncle Dan this morning.  Dan mentioned that he and Jessica went to our former neighborhood coffee place, Star Lounge this weekend. I don't know if Andy and I realized just how lucky we were to have one of the top ten coffee houses in Chicago http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/09/29/national-coffee-day-how-w_n_987371.html#s379233&title=Star_Lounge at the end of our block. When Andy went back to work I could strap Oliver into his stroller, walk two minutes and then enjoy a fabulous cup of coffee and a little adult interaction.

In India the coffee is, in a word, awful.  In two words, God awful.  It is mostly instant.  It tastes like burning.  There are some non-instant coffee options; most popular are the "Monsoon Blends" they taste moldy.  I really have yet to have a great cup of coffee here.  Everything tastes old, dry, burnt, yuck.
It is hard for coffee people like us to not have some even remotely decent options.  My Aunts in Miami sent us with some fantastic Cuban coffee which is what we have been brewing in the morning.  When that runs out, I guess we will have to become tea people. I really don't see a different option.  I refuse to purchase instant coffee.

"Coffee Culture" as it exists in the States, does not exist here.  These are tea people.  Chai people.  It is not easy for a lactose-intolerant person to find many options beyond black tea.  That said, the black tea is great; quite tasty.  There is ONE coffee shop in the new Mussoorie bazaar.  Called "Cafe Coffee Day" it is located next to a Dominoes.  This location should tell you about the quality of coffee beyond it's doors.  It tastes like water.  Most coffee in India is brewed with milk (they love their milk!) and then entire cups of sugar are added (to hide the flavor).  Some places even put a scoop of ice cream in their coffee (again, it's not "coffee" at that point, that's a coffee sundae!).  Cafe coffee day takes their drinks to the brink; each one is covered with whipped cream, ice cream, chocolate syrup, sprinkles, brownie bits....it is truly bizarre.  The men behind the counter cock their heads to the side and ask, "Are you sure?" when Andy and I order our BLACK coffee ("You want it brewed with WATER?") with sugar ON THE SIDE.  It still tastes like bath water, but at least we won't get stomach/tooth aches.  Once when we were in Dehra Dun I ordered an iced coffee, black.  It came to be looking like a black and tan.  What was my coffee suspended above in my glass?  I took a sip from my straw and *winced*, ugh, syrup!  I walked back to the counter and explained that black coffee also means no sugar..."No sugar, Ma'am?  Are you sure?"  I know I will regret it, but yes, no sugar.  No instant cavities with my second drink but I had all five counter guys staring at me in bewilderment, watching every sip, is she really drinking THAT?

Our social outings have changed since moving here.  No longer do we stroll through our neighborhood, coffees in hand.  No longer do we meet friends at coffee shops.  Here, we walk empty handed and meet friends at their homes.  It's different, but less costly.  We drink black tea and lament the horrible coffee with our friends from the states.  Care packages arrive and phone calls are made: "We've got Colombian here, come on over!" It's become a luxury rather than a daily practice.  I guess it's nice.  Good coffee is another item on the list of things never to be taken for granted again.

I was reading in the newspaper that a Starbucks is opening up soon in Delhi.  It is going to be interesting to see if the coffee culture takes off here or if they will steadfastly hold onto their teas. I would kill for a Starbucks right about now.  I really would. 

Planet of the Apes

I said I would never do it.  I would cringe when I saw others do it.  Andy has done it. My friends have done it in front of me. I just didn't think I could bring myself to ever even consider doing it.  Then today, I did it.

I threw a rock at a monkey.

Our campus security guards have slingshots (wrist rockets they are called here) and they leave their posts when they see the Rhesus coming and fire rocks rapidly up into the trees at them to discourage them from coming onto the ground.  I wince as the rocks slice through the leaves.  "Please don't hit them, please don't hit them," I think to myself.  The monkeys don't realize what is campus property and what isn't.  They don't discriminate trees as they move through.  They have babies and are just trying to find food. They have just as much right to be here as any other living thing. Pests or not, I just could not imagine hurling a rock at them myself.

But today as Oliver and I made our way down the mountain for lunch, we came into a troop of at least 70 monkeys.  I stopped counting.  They were EVERYWHERE.  Above us in the trees, to our right in the bush, to our left sitting along the road.  Monkey city.  My heart raced.  I looked behind us and watched several make their way down onto the road.  Trapped.  Monkeys surrounded us.  They seemed fearless.  They were crawling up through the fence along the road and staring at me.  Two males sat up  (they can be so tall!) and followed my every move.  Oliver was tight to me in the harness and he just watched as they leapt from their perches down closer to us.  I kneeled down and picked up a large rock.  I had been advised to toss a rock and catch it over and over should I ever feel threatened.  I saw my friend Craig and Andy do this and monkeys scattered.  When I tossed my rock, they came closer.  They looked hungry.  They were not scared of me or my rock. They were making eye contact and I was trying so hard to avoid it!  I picked up our pace.  Calmly talking to Oliver in an attempt to calm myself.  I thought we had made it through the troop but then a male yelled out. Loudly. Cold sweat.  I turned around and four large (HUGE!) males were following us along the fence and getting closer.  So I whipped myself around, yelled "NOOOOO!!!!" I cocked my arm and aimed for the ground right in front of them and threw my rock-without any hesitation.  No longer was I for monkey rights, the only thought I had was keeping Oliver safe.  I yelled some more (looking crazy, I am sure) and picked up another rock and aimed, ready to throw at a second's notice.  They froze.  One of the males stood up and opened his mouth, aghast.  Did that big-haired white lady just throw a rock at me?  His expression was so human I laughed.  I lowered my arm, turned on my heels and headed toward the school.  Looking back a few more times to be sure that they had agreed not to follow us, I felt...confidant. I don't think I will go around hurling rocks at living things for the heck of it, but it felt good to have stood my ground and defended myself and my child.  No monkeys were harmed and I can still think "don't hit them!"when I see the slingshots coming out.  I feel like the monkeys and I came to an agreement.  I can pass without repercussion, as long as they can too. Let's see if that agreement holds true tomorrow.

Thrush

The only times I truly question our moving to India is when something happens to Oliver.  The first thought that ALWAYS runs through my mind is, "why did we move him away from the pediatrician who is always on call?"  Oliver took the corner of the coffee table to his forehead Monday last week (I was right next to him!) and he wailed for about ten minutes.  Once he finished crying, I started.  I got our things together along with an ice pack for my boy's head and decided to take him to the health center. It was a head injury after all!  There was swelling and even a little cut.  I was crying the entire walk to school.  My friend, Vimmi, saw me and asked me what was wrong (how I must have looked to her!).  I showed her Oliver's bump and started sobbing.  She gave me a huge hug and said that everything would be fine.  Bumps happen.  Get used to it.  We always cry harder and longer than they do.  Her husband had slammed their daughter's finger in the car door that weekend, and she is just fine now! At this point, Oliver was smiling at her and laughing and seemed to have completely forgotten that he had dented his head just 30 minutes earlier.  We never made it to the health center.  Two more mothers who work at the school saw me crying on Vimmi's shoulder and reiterated everything she said.  I gathered myself to go find Andy who asked with a horrified look "WHAT HAPPENED TO HIS HEAD???!!!" I sobbed some more.  Our friends Ahbra and Marcus (also Dads) came out of the Alumni office and hugged me while laughing, "[Our wives] were the same way!" Ahbra even said "Babies bounce! No worries!"
My aunt Patti's words were ringing in my ears: "Babies are very hard to kill." Deep breaths, lots of snuggles with Oliver and a large whiskey that night helped me get over the coffee table collision.  I know there will be more like that to come.  I need to toughen up.

Then on Friday seemingly out of nowhere, Oliver developed Thrush. It presented as a white tongue, a white spot on his inner cheek and immediate, awful diaper rash. Luckily, my friend Rose has a nineteen month old, Ennis, who had Thrush as a brand new baby.  She gave me lots of pointers and we got liquid probiotics, anti-fungal cream, cortisone cream and acidophilus capsules from the health center.  Everything was seeming okay; the diaper rash calmed within 24 hours and even the white spots in the mouth seemed to disappear.  But then last night, Oliver SCREAMED, howled, wailed as I was putting him to bed.  For a full hour I rocked him, sang , shushed, even pulled Andy off of a Skype call with his brother for assistance.  We had never seen him like this.  He was just beside himself; inconsolable.  After an hour of piercing screams, a dose of baby Tylenol was administered and he drifted off to restless sleep.
This morning I took him to see the doctor at the health center for a once-over; what is upsetting my happy kid?  I mean, he has never even had a cold, what is going on? Anything from teething to growing pains to a bad dream was the answer. Did I mention the doctor is from Chicago?  We have already had the restaurant/neighborhood/sports teams talk.  He's great and he doesn't treat me as if I am an annoying, frantic mother. He always answers my questions calmly and with a lot of reassurance.  Oliver is perfectly healthy, the thrush is clearing too.  He is starting to wake up from his nap now, I can hear him talking.

So we don't have the 24 hours peds to call on but we do have a fantastic health center that is always looking out for us. We are really lucky, and I am so grateful that I can take Oliver there with total confidence. 

Winterline

The Winterline is now visible! It's a false horizon only visible here and in Switzerland.  It is pretty beautiful and it creates a totally different sky from what I am used to seeing in sunsets.  Check it out:

http://www.nowpublic.com/world/winterline-enchants-tourists-mussoorie

So book your tickets now and stay in our extra bedroom so you can see what all the excitement is about!

BIG thanks to my Aunt Karen for helping me realize that the "honeymoon" period of life here is over and for saying that my previous posts weren't negative, they were just more "real".  xo

$7.00 pie filling

Andy informed me that the last two posts were "kinda negative" and that they "aren't going to convince anyone to come visit us" so here are two things that made me quite happy yesterday.

First, I went into the bazaar by myself.  Well, the little guy was with me of course, but Andy wasn't.  AND I was wearing my skinny jeans.  So I was both immodest and by myself.  Nothing happened.  People starred but people always stare.  No harassment, no uncomfortable situations and no men pinching my rump.  No surprise!  I really feel like we were so warned about this because of India's history of modest women.  But fashion for women has kept up with the times.  It is very unlikely that I am going to be harassed for what I am wearing.  Besides, people could not have cared less about me, they all wanted to talk to Oliver!  It was quite a nice trip in and out and I felt like now there are so many more opportunities for me to handle things by myself and not have to wait for Andy to be available.  Hurrah!

Second, I baked blueberry crisp last night.  My blueberry season was truncated by my summer departure from the midwest.  I have been craving berries like nothing else.  We have been told that we will have strawberries this winter, but no blueberries.  Heartbroken, I felt like I was going to have to wait a full year to have my delicious blues once more.  That is, until I walked into our mountain-top grocery store and saw one can of blueberry pie filling sitting there all alone on the shelf.  I scooped it up.  I didn't look at the sugar content, or the price, I didn't care!  It is quite likely that I was holding the only blueberries in all of India.  I got rung up and *ouch*, the equivalent of $7.00 was needed to pay for this one can.  I handed over the rupees gladly.  I read the back of the can when I got home: Oy! This can was from Michigan!  I can't bear to think of the carbon footprint this one can of pie filling has.  I made a gluten-free crumble topping and sprinkled it on my blueberries, waited 40 minutes and then....warm, gooey blueberry goodness.  It's nearly gone this morning. We saved one very narrow row for us to enjoy today.  It was heaven. I would gladly pay 350 rupees again for this experience.

So, come and visit!  I can confidently escort you into the bazaar and bake you one very-pricey fruit crisp!  If that doesn't make you want to book a ticket, I really don't know what will! xo

Perspective

The most glaring difference between India and the United States is the extreme poverty; it's everywhere and unavoidable and yet I wasn't able to write about it until now because took me a long time to process.   I am still processing.  There is so much I am unable to process. When we told people we were moving to Mussoorie, the people who had been to India or were from India told us we were lucky.  They all said it was the cleanest, "wealthiest" and "nicest" area of India.  I have been here two months and have only limited travel experiences around this country, but I do believe they are right.  Every time I leave I am so eager to return.  Though we do have a few trash-laden hillsides and people living in plastic tents, it is very obvious how much more poverty there is and how much less effort there is to corral the trash in the other areas we have been to.

This is someone's home.  It is several plastic tarps, propped up by branches.  Several people, including a few very small children live here.  The big white bags are used to collect plastic bottles.  They can turn them in for money.

This is the scene as you walk into town.  There are several "tents" and dozens of stray dogs.  I am told that the people in the tents used to only live in Mussoorie for the hot summers and then go back south for the winters but now they can make so much money collecting plastic bottles that they stay.

There are no social services or child protective services in India.  There are no shelters for homeless people to go to or food pantries where they can get supplies to feed their kids.  I was walking to town with two of my friends for dinner and as we passed the tents I heard a baby that sounded much younger than Oliver screaming and crying.  My heart sank fast.  That baby sounded in pain but what options were available to the parents?  Baby tylenol, a hot bath, a comfortable place to sleep, food????....all options seemed impossible to me and made me tear up.  We are so fortunate and have so so so much.  Insurance, food, a roof, these things are always on my mind as I walk by the tents.  I will never ever take my blessings for granted.

My friend Fabi connected me to a woman who works with the "tent people" as they are called.  Every Sunday they give away eggs at the local hospital to the families in the tents.  We have donated 45 eggs and may donate more but I have some hesitations.  Turns out, they give the eggs to the kids who come to Sunday School at the hospital.  Not that I want to deprive those children of food, but I don't think eggs should just be given to the children who come to Sunday school (come and get "saved" and then get eggs?).  I think food should be given to anyone who is hungry, not just those who are coming to learn about Jesus.  It is a problem (well, I think it is a problem, anyway) in India, this "missionary" mentality of so many, that it is someone's job to "save" the people.  I am getting quite fed up with it and feel it keeps some very necessary work from being done and from people getting help they really NEED.

There is an extreme juxtaposition of wealthy and poor here, unlike anything I have ever seen in the states.  There are estates, colossal mansions with expansive grounds both in Mussoorie and in Dehra Dun, the likes of which I have only ever seen in Bel Air or Miami.  These massive compounds line some very wealthy roads and then just outside their gates (truly, right beside the end of their driveways) are people living in plastic and tin shanties, lighting fires to boil water and sleeping on the ground.  There is extreme wealth in this country; India is no where near broke and it's economy is growing more and faster than America's.  But school is not mandatory which means many children are kept home to panhandle for their families and there are high rates of unemployment and homelessness.

It makes you feel like the biggest brut, the most insensitive person on the planet when you are shooing away begging children.  Children who's bellies are swollen, bodies are filthy and feet are shoe-less.  They come at you in packs and you can't give anything to just one of them so you look ahead and keep walking.  It breaks my heart and I feel completely helpless as I hug my well-fed, inoculated and sheltered baby to me.  I could go on and on about how corrupt the government is here (but show me a government that isn't?) and how they should stop stealing money from projects and put it towards food, clothing and health care for their children.  Will India ever see how important it is to take care of it's people?

There is a belief system, a way of treating people that is a remnant of the caste system. There is even a marked difference between "staff" (teachers and administration) and "employees" (everyone else) at Andy's school.  Maids, employees, service people are rarely regarded with respect.  It is amazing to me, and I find it very difficult to watch the maids eat outside of people's homes and the employees at school get to eat the the dark cafeteria once all the staff have eaten. These are all working people; you can imagine how the tent people are viewed now. India needs a major shift in it's thinking.  If these practices of disrespect and ambivalence continue as they are, no changes will be made to help the people who genuinely need it.  If one caste continues to see it as beneath them to help another lower caste, then everything will continue to remain the same.  It is another case of me wanting to take India by it's shoulders and shake it.  Wake up!

A beautiful mess

Oh India, you really are a striking country but your past and many traditions are not keeping up in so many ways.
The trash issue...it breaks my heart.  Beautiful mountainsides are covered with garbage, most of it plastic.  It is amazing to me that there is little to no understanding that this plastic with NEVER go away.  It will always be there, ALWAYS, on that once beautiful hillside.

This is one hillside on our way into town.  Lush, green, and yet look at those steps...coated in garbage.  Mussoorie is far (far!) from the worst of it.  The big cities, Delhi and Dehra Dun (my only big cities so far!) are blanketed by trash. It is a field day for the monkeys and homeless pigs.  Garbage galore!  Help yourself!

When Oliver and I first arrived in Delhi, Andy meet us at the airport and we were hosted by two  Woodstock parents, Sonya and Vikram.  They live in a wealthy suburb of Delhi called Noida.  Just looking at the homes in this neighborhood you could tell that the owners were successful, probably well educated and that they could afford very lovely places to live.  Yet, there were piles of trash in the street in front of countless homes.  Noticing that Sonya's driveway was trash-free I asked her why her neighbors had so much garbage in front of their homes.  I could tell this subject frustrated her a great deal. "It's the OLD way of thinking here: 'if it's out of my house, it's no longer my problem!'"  She went on to say those neighbors who think this way need to be more informed on what trash does to the environment and water.  She also said that her neighborhood has a very well-run sanitation system and that all they have to do is put their trash out in bins to be collected but that so many people view this as an act of great difficulty.  Oy.

We were having a snack with our friends this weekend at an outdoor restaurant at the top of our mountain.  This restaurant is located near a bridge that goes over a ravine. As we were eating, I watched as our 13 year old server took a box of trash and threw it over the bridge.  My heart sank.  Who knows if this child attends school, but it clearly showed that little is being done to educate the young on taking care of their environment. There is a fantastic sanitation system in Mussoorie and I am told they even sort through and recycle the plastic and gas (let's hope so!) and there are public garbage cans that are monkey-proof everywhere.  But yet, it is so much easier to to chuck the trash down the hill. It makes my blood boil.

Store owners sweep the trash out their stores and into the street gutter.  A couple of times we have been walking through town and have had napkins or plastic silverware or paper swept out onto our feet.  Have you no garbage cans in your place of business?  You can imagine the water situation this creates, but more on that later. So the garbage piles up and up and up... Given that India also views anyplace (a tree, a public street, a sidewalk, a pile of a garbage) as an acceptable place to relieve yourself and that there are no restrictions on automobile emissions, you can imagine the stench in the cities. Oy indeed! Andy has told me that he is quite envious of my lack of ability to smell things, that the odor of the cities (which are at a much lower elevation and therefore HOT!) can be unbearable, stifling.

I just want to shake this country sometimes.  WAKE UP!  Start to see the big picture and how these practices fit in!  Start small, I guess.  At least Andy can educate twelve children and hopefully they can go on and educate their parents and a few friends and they can pass it along....and so on.  Oh India!  So beautiful, so many rich traditions and yet such a hot, dirty mess.

Fashion

Before we came to India we did as much reading as we could about what clothing items we needed to bring to be comfortable in this climate and to be culturally sensitive to Indian customs.  We were told modesty is the name of the game...always think: modest, modest, modest.  No low-cut or v-neck tops, no midriff-baring (HUGE disappointment for me!), no shorts period or skirts above the knee, no tight pants or shirts....
Andy was all set.  His work and casual clothes are just right, he just couldn't wear shorts.  Me on the other hand, I needed to go shopping.  I wore mostly tank tops and shorts in the summer so I needed to purchase t shirts (loose ones! crew necks!) and light-weight pants.  I also lived in my skinny jeans, so I needed to buy some looser styles, would boot-cut be loose enough???  I was so concerned.  I had heard that western women could be harassed if not dressed "appropriately" and men could pinch bottoms or come on too strongly.  I wanted nothing to do with this so I loaded my suitcase with figure-hiding outfits and only brought one pair of skinny jeans, shorts and a tank top (for winter travel to a warmer climate without modest customs, I figured).

After one month here I was feeling gloomy, unlike myself. I would look in the mirror after putting on a t shirt and my trouser-style linen pants and feel dowdy, baggy, frumpy.  I felt like what I was one of those mothers that Oprah would make over after they had children, "lost themselves", and committed faithfully to their sweats everyday.  I wasn't feeling good about myself.  My clothes do not define me, but they do express how I like to present myself. Baggy shirts and pants are not how I choose to present myself, whether it is culturally appropriate or not.  So I dug out my skinny jeans and tried them on and saw my legs for the first time in a month.  I put on one of my favorite shirts, not baggy, not plain but also not immodest and Oliver and I walked to school for lunch.  I felt like myself again.  My friend complimented my outfit and I explained how I needed to dress for *me* that day and she explained she was feeling lost in her clothes as well.  It is so interesting how women have to be so "lost" in fabric here, unable to show any curve or stretch of skin.  Men are free to wear what they choose, but women are draped in endless yards of embroidery and look like clouds of fabric as they move.

So my skinny jeans are now on frequent rotation.  I am not making any extreme statement here, lots of my western friends have dug theirs out as well.  I am not the only one wearing them in the bazaar either, as many young Indian women are now wearing more western styles and shaking off traditional garb.  And I dare any man to pinch my butt; what a wrath of shame and disapproval he will endure!

Oh Oliver! Go to sleep!

Oliver does not seem to want to nap today.  So guess who has had no down time???

I just seriously just played this for him:   http://www.nerve.com/news/books/listen-samuel-l-jackson-narrates-go-the-fuck-to-sleep

I don't know about you, but if Samuel L. Jackson tells me to do something I would sure do it.

Sweetheart, love of my life, apple of my eye, go the f**k to sleep.  Mommy needs a break.

Homesick

Over the past 24 hours it has really hit me: I miss home. Yesterday I wanted so badly to meet my parents at the Memorial Union to have a drink on the lake. This morning I woke up thinking that a walk down Division St. for some Milk and Honey oatmeal was just what I needed to start my day. A wave of sadness came over me, not only are those things not going to be possible for a while but those things are about 30 hours of travel away! So far to travel for oatmeal!

More than food and drink, I miss our *people*. My good friends I used to meet up with at the park on a regular basis, my parents, Henry, Chuck, my network of mothers I could call at any moment about anything (you know who you are and you are so so missed), Dan and Jess...it goes on and on and on.  I think the novelty of India kept me afloat for my first month and a half here. It was all so new, so exciting, so adventurous! Reality sets in hard and quick and I realize that people are missing us just as much as we are missing them. Beyond missing us, they are missing Oliver's words, waves, cuddles, and milestones.  This was a great consideration for us when we were debating this position, but we never said it would be easy.  Even typing this, admitting how hard this all is is hard.  The tears are flowing, my heart feels heavy.

Thank goodness for Skype.  My parents, Andy's Aunt Sue and my dear friend, Yara, have all seen Oliver wave at them and all I could feel was relief; Phew, they didn't miss it.  Milestones don't always translate via internet communication. Oliver is non-stop talking at home and at the school but the screen pops up with a friend for a chat and he shuts...down... Smiles, laughs, waves, but not much talking. New things happen everyday and I have to resist the urge to turn this blog into a "Guess what amazing thing my baby did today!" blog.  I hope everyone we love can forgive us for taking him away for this year; Forgive us for leaving. This is truly an unbelievable opportunity, and we are learning so much and loving so much about it but it doesn't mean it isn't hard.  We are truly thankful that Andy was offered a one year contract, versus the typical three.  Three would be impossible, undoable.  One is a challenge, but one we can easily accomplish.  So...Nine more months until drinks by the lake and the best oatmeal in the city. Nine.  Start marking them off.  We will be home soon.
xo

Post Monsoon

That is the official title of this small little season squeezed between the very long Monsoon and what I am told will be a long Winter (we won't be here for a good chunk of it, so la de da Winter!).  The official start of Post Monsoon is September 15th.  It's an arbitrary day, just like March 21st is the first day of Spring.  Since we didn't see the sun for the first three days of Post Monsoon I thought I would hold off on announcing the commencement of this season.  It's like declaring "Spring is here!" in Chicago because, undoubtedly, more snow will fall.

But the past three days have been, if not totally sunny, partly sunny...and I will take it!  Feeling and seeing the sun makes a HUGE difference on my outlook.  I feel like I can genuinely smile once again; for a while there, I was smiling through my teeth "yes, good day to you too"....ugh.  Now I am bouncing around, "beautiful day, isn't it?" and meaning every word.

The sun has an affect on the animals as well.  We saw our first Pine Martens on Sunday.  They look like Weasels, but move like Dolphins.  Now, at any time of day, there is a cacophony of birds greeting us as we walk.  This makes for beautiful music and fantastic birding (Andy is getting super excited!).

I am told that the clear signs that the monsoon is coming to an end are the browning ferns.  Once lush, vibrant and growing out of any surface that would stand still (seen here on a tree), the ferns are now curling up and turning brown.

It used to be that plants dying and leaves changing color would bring on a melancholy feeling.  But here, I feel like singing "So long, farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Good Bye!" I don't wish for you to stay if it means the rains must continue!

These corn on the cob-like plants turn red when the monsoon is over.

Looks pretty good and red to me!  Adiós monsoon! Au revoir! Ciao! You will not be missed!
Once the ground dries up, Oliver and I can go and play in the field by our house.  With all the rain leeches were too prevalent to warrant a fun day of crawling around in the grass. So long rain, so long leeches!  Greetings Sun!

Oh Mr. Sun, Sun, Mr. Golden Sun, please shine down on me!

Hooray!  We woke up this Saturday to blue sky and SUNSHINE!!!!!  We quickly got ourselves ready and hiked up our mountain to see how far we could see.  To our delight, we were able to see a snow-capped Himalayan peak for the first time!  They have been totally covered by clouds since we got here.  We were able to warm our cheeks in the sun for longer than 3 minutes, which was a thrill!
The sun is going in and out of clouds since we got back, but to *feel* it today was such a wonderful, fantastic, necessary surprise!

Andy and Oliver are off on a hike now and I am actually getting some quality 'Lindsey time'; my first alone time during the day since arriving. I usually have to stay up later than my boys to get a minute alone.  This is just so luxurious!  I am going to finish my lunch, and take a chair outside to read in the sun. Ahhhhh...

Update: Oliver is feeling so much better, thanks for all your kind and curious letters inquiring about his health.  The doctor told us to give him juice and probiotics because he wasn't completely "Eliminating." Since beginning this regimen, his gas is no longer incredibly painful and things "pass" without much fuss. It's a huge relief.

Beep Beep, Beep Beep, Yeah!

The "Blow Horn" instruction on this truck is incredibly redundant.  Honking horns is a way of life here. When Andy accepted the job here in Mussoorie, we talked about all the things that would be different from Chicago because we would be living at 7000 feet in a small town.  Better air quality! A calmer lifestyle! No honking horns! Hallelujah!  Oh how wrong we were about horns....
Lane lines are merely a suggestion here in India as the common belief is you not only own the space your car takes up, but all the air surrounding it. People speed through busy intersections, highly trafficked roads and up narrow mountain passageways all with a "HONK! HONK!" and then it is understood that you are going to be passed by said honking vehicle.  Not only is honking used for passing, it is used for letting people know you are coming.  You are coming around a curve, you are coming into an area where people are walking...you exist! You matter!  Honk honk honk!  We live on a quiet (by India standards) mountain road.  People walk up and down everyday to and from work.  We have cars, scooters, trucks and the occasional bus on this road.  I think the planner who designed our roads up here dropped a piece of spaghetti on the floor and thought to himself "Looks good!"  There are so many twists and turns and slim passageways that more people are pulled over sick here than the Hana Highway on Maui.  When a car come to a blind curve, it honks.  When it needs to (very narrowly) pass another car, it honks.  When groups of school children are walking and it is coming up on them, it honks. Honk honk honk!  So Oliver and I steel ourselves for the honking each time we leave the house.  We get to a curve, Honk! A car is surprised to see us, Honk! As if I was planning on jumping out in front of them!  Yesterday I had a dark cloud over my head. I have not seen the sun in a week and a half and the rain, clouds, humidity, dampness was really...bringing...me...down...  So I was grouchy when we left  home and felt drizzle coming down on us.  We, of course, heard honking as we walked down the road for lunch.  Then we got to the one straightaway our road has.  We were about halfway between curves, completely visible, and I could hear a car coming behind us.  I knew it could see us, we were on the only straight part of the road!  But then, just as it came up behind us, HONK! HONK! HONK!  I lost it.  I spun around and screamed: "I hear you!  We ALLLLLLL hear you!"  My outburst did nothing but provide comic relief to the dozens of men packed in, on and hanging off the back of this Jeep.  Look at the crazy white woman with a baby yelling at us!  Humph.

What is different here, when compared to Chicago driving, is there is zero road rage here.  People will speed up to try and make it through a narrow part when they see another car coming and they often meet in the middle, stuck.  In this situation, it is necessary for one of the cars to back up and if there are cars behind those stuck cars, they need to back up too.  This never causes screaming, obscene gestures or threats.  People just go along their way. Honk Honk Honk!  I have seen fender-benders, little nicks here and there and everyone just nods and continues on their way.  Even cars that seem to be cut off, just give a honk and wait until they are able to proceed.

Road rage or no road rage, we need to move to a place with a honking ordinance.  It's beginning to grate on my nerves.  The sun needs to come out soon. xo

Off

It's been a great week and a difficult week.  The monsoon, that everyone swore to me was ending, proved it still had legs.  There were more rainy and cloudy hours than sunny ones.  Not seeing the sun is getting hard.  As in, seasonal affective disorder hard.  I am really hoping for an end quite soon.  I am getting a little stir crazy.

Oliver and I both had issues with our stomach's again this week.  I got very ill very quickly one night and it took me the entire next day to recover.  Poor little Oliver has the worst gas I have ever seen anyone have.  His entire body goes rigid, his face turns beet-red, and he screams until it passes.  It breaks my heart; lots of tears have been shed between the two of us. It's made us both just a little *off*.  I am putting myself on a bland diet to see if it helps (I have tried just about everything else!) and we are going to see the pediatrician tomorrow to see if he can offer any help. Sigh.

A wonderful thing happened to me and Oliver on Friday as we were walking to meet a friend in the bazaar.  Five children were walking home from their school all huddled under a very tiny umbrella (it was pouring, but I really needed to get out of the house).  I heard the oldest say something and immediately after, the two youngest children scrambled over to me and huddled under my huge, golf-bag style umbrella.  These little soaked children walked the entire way into town with us and didn't say a single word to me but just kept looking up at Oliver in his carrier and laughing. Oliver seemed quite surprised that we had guests and he just stared at them the entire time, every once and a while letting out a little "AHH!" Which just made the kids laugh harder.  Once we got into town a ways the two kids scampered off towards home (I assume) never really acknowledging me but giving Oliver one last big smile.  It was such a sweet, pleasant encounter and I was happy to shield them from the rain.  I hope I can be as helpful to someone the next time it rains.  Which it will...because this monsoon is sticking around!

Shopping in India 101

So many things are quite different here, naturally, but nothing more so than shopping.  For example, what the stores have on the shelves is not everything that they sell.  We have asked for beer, brooms, Lysol (it's Lizol here) and napkins when only foodstuffs are visible and these things have magically appeared from who-knows-where.  Ask ask ask! seems to be the motto. So does bargain, bargain, bargain!  I was able to buy an oven and a hand mixer today and I convinced the owner to take 500 rupees off of the price. Granted I smiled like crazy and kept pointing to the baby, "I am going to be baking things for him!" but it worked!

Prices are hardly ever listed on items so you always have to ask what things cost.  This can be quite irritating for me because there seems to be a sliding scale; one price for Indians and a different price for Westerners.  I always feel as if I am being sized up when I ask the price and that they seem to conclude I can afford more so they ask for more.  That's typically when I chuckle and act like I have a clue what I am talking about and give a lower price. This is where it helps to have a friend with you so she can back you up and say things like, "That's crazy, the store down the street charges 300 rupees less! Come on Lindsey, let's go!" This typically works to get a lower price. Andy says I need to stop converting rupees into dollars because he is paid in rupees (which makes complete sense) however, I have no value in my mind yet for rupees, so I do quick conversion and offer them a price I think would be fair in Chicago.  Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.

Besides the asking and bargaining, you often to not take the items purchased home with you.  Doing so would mean you would have to hike up or down (depending on which bazaar you shopped at that day) the mountain with your bags of things.  It's not easy, and it's very tiring.  So you ask them to deliver it to your home that night.  This is usually free of charge, unless you order something large like a washing machine.  Then you tip the delivery man (because the store owner told me to-but only a very little!  Don't tip too much!) and thank him for walking up the mountain with your washing machine strapped to his head and flip flops on his feet.  Tonight my oven will no doubt find its' way up our mountain strapped to another man's head.  This person is not to be tipped, however, the store owner told me not to.

Groceries too, get delivered.  I can either walk into the bazaar, fill up my basket, and give the owner a delivery time or I can simply call on the phone and place my order to be delivered.  Calling presents a challenge however, because you never know what is going to be available and given that there are VERY FEW options (we are talking three kinds of cereal here, folks) sometimes what you want is not what they have so you need to be very specific, or risk getting sent something the store owner thinks you want.  The stores may not have what you are looking for and the owner may order it for you.  Sometimes this is successful, sometimes not.  One store owner could not find plain soy milk for us so he bought vanilla, chocolate and mango.  Mango soy milk? Pass.  So we get our soy milk from a grocer who had greater success.  I have been told "I can get that in two days" so many times that when I hear it now, I move on to another store knowing full well they will never get chickpea flour, vanilla beans, or rice flour in stock. But I found them in the city, so I am set!  Ordering groceries over the phone is particularly helpful on the warm, sunny days when the Rhesus monkeys are about and we need produce.  Unless Andy is with us, it is quite foolish for me to carry fruit up the mountain by myself.  One teacher was jumped on for carrying bananas out in the open... so I just call the store up and have a delivery man deal with the monkey harassment.

Since we are a "Woodstock Family" store owners immediately trust us and often refuse our money the first visit.  We walked out of one store with a lamp, even though we had the cash for it, because the owner wanted us to "come back and pay later." You have accounts at grocery stores that you pay off at the end of the month.  Today I walked in and took maple syrup off of Sadarchi's shelf and said "It's for the Cooper's!" and walked out.  Sadarchi smiled at me and waved to Oliver and took out his notebook to account for the syrup.  It makes it so easy not to carry cash.  You just need to read your receipts very carefully or risk paying for your neighbor's butter and cheese.

The store owners are starting to recognize me more and more (or maybe they just recognize Oliver; everyone wants "the baby" to shop at their store) and we have developed some great working relationships with our grocers and store owners.  It is a good feeling for me, when I feel out of place or homesick to be greeted with, "Good afternoon, Mrs. Cooper!  So happy to see you today! I have more chocolate for you!"

No, really, stop touching my kid!

Here is a new concept for us: people-complete strangers-wanting to take pictures of our child.  We have had people ask, not ask, and ask us to join them in the photo as well.  Yesterday we went shopping in Dehra Dun with several school staff members.  Once someone asked if they could take a picture with me and Oliver, another person asked if he could take a picture through the bus window as we were waiting to leave. Today as we were walking around the bazaar at the very top of our foothill, a family stopped us and asked if they could "please take a picture with your child." We said no, he's tired, and kept on walking.  Oliver had better not turn up in an advertisement for Coca-Cola here.  I try to see their side as to why they might want a picture of Oliver.  Say I was walking through Millennium Park, would I ask a family from a different country, with a different look from my own, if I could take a picture with their infant?  Nope.  I still don't quite understand the novelty of him. Sure, he is cute as heck with blue eyes and fair skin, but so are many people on television and in advertisements here.  I just don't get it.

Then there's the touching...my god, the touching!  It never ends!  People pinch his cheeks, grab his hands, kiss him, rub his head, tickle him....and the entire time I am looking at them as if to ask, "Do we know you?"
I have pushed hands off, asked them to stop, TOLD them to stop, even turned and walked away.  Leave...him...alone!  Yesterday there were groups of young children all over Dehra Dun begging for money.  They brake your heart.  Barefoot, filthy, eyes desperate, they follow us westerners until they have either wandered too far, or they finally understand we are not giving them any money.  I swatted away several hands yesterday and used a tone of voice that will come across the language barrier "NO!  NO TOUCHING!"  They would try to grab his legs or poke his cheeks and squeal "BAAAAY-BEEEE!!!!" Our Aussie friend Craig (6'5", deep voice, imposing posture) would run interference for us and boom, "GO AWAY!  NO! NO! NO!"
It's shocking that as aggressive as some people can be to get to Oliver is exactly as aggressive as we need to be to get them to stop.  In his carrier we keep his hat on at all times (can't touch what you can't see!) and keep one hand on him as well...ready to swat!  I wish I could relax as Andy has told me many, many times to do, but I can't seem to help it.  My natural, strong, mama-lion reflex says leave him alone or you'll have to deal with one very angry woman.  Back up, keep walking, there is nothing more to see (or touch) here!

Help

We were told before coming to India that we should expect to hire an Ayah (housekeeper).  It is a way we give back to the community by employing someone. Having no idea how to begin to clean concrete floors, help was quite welcome.
When Andy arrived two weeks previous to us, he had little time to hire, or even look for an ayah.  The head of school, Ms. M, told him she has two and one, Sooni, only works part time, so he could have her for part of the week. This seemed a wonderful deal.  No problems trusting Sooni, she helped raise Ms. M's children and has been with her for over 20 years.  Andy handed over the extra key and went right on teaching.

When I arrived two weeks later I was so thankful we had help with cleaning because so many simple tasks were quite overwhelming for my sleep-deprived, jet-lagged self. I spoke with many staff and spouses about the ayah situation.  What was a fair wage? What can I expect her to do?  I was quite taken aback by how direct and seemingly insensitive the answers were.  "Do NOT pay her too much, they will ALL want to make more if you do.  Never give her more than one new instruction per day; anymore will confuse her.  Talk to her as if she is four, they need very simple instructions.  Do not let her take advantage of your not being there and slack off!"
I was appalled.  Of COURSE I will pay a fair living wage.  I really only need help with the cleaning; I am a capable cook and I don't want her to be a sitter for Oliver.  I spoke with Sooni and Ms. M about pay.  For 2.5 hours of cleaning every Tuesday and Thursday, I would pay Sooni 1,000 Rupees (about $20.00) at the end of every month.  This seemed incredibly low and unreasonable, but then I discovered we are paying her more than most for an hourly wage.

Sooni would come when Oliver and I were at lunch with Andy and we would catch her near the end of her shift as we returned for nap time.  I gave one new instruction each day. "Please lift the rugs off of the floor before you sweep and mop THEN put them back down.  Please scrub the countertops, they are very damp.  Please move chairs aside so you can mop under them." Always polite, respectful and kind to her I thought we were off to a great start.  Oliver thinks she is just the neatest person ever as she has sequins all over her sari and she lets him grab it and shake it.

But I was starting to get suspicious.  We had lots of hair left on our bathroom floor, the counters still had crumbs, the floors were clearly not being mopped.  I spilled a few cornflakes on our floor on Tuesday and thought "let's see what happens." Our floor is maroon concrete, three yellow cornflakes are highly visible against it.  When Oliver and I returned from lunch the cornflakes were still there. I asked Sooni if she had mopped and I got the standard, "Yes Ma'am!" Then I asked her if she would wash the doors on our built in cabinets as they were getting quite dusty/moldy and she said (what I believe she said, my Hindi is far from great) is that the monsoon makes everything dusty and moldy and then she walked out the door.
I was fuming. That was my one new instruction!  I was following the rules and she just walked out!  Not only that, I knew she had been there less than 2.5 hours because she wasn't there when we left and she left when we returned less than two hours later.

I was angry at myself.  Was I not clear?  Why don't I know more Hindi? Why am I not someone who can be firm with others?  Andy and I spoke about it and we agreed that I needed to talk to Ms. M. To say that Ms. M commands a room is the understatement of the year.  I have never seen someone hold the respect and attention of every...single...employee under her.  She is fair and direct and wants everyone to hold up their end of the work.  She was very upset to know that Sooni had not been working to our standards or hers (she even used the word "naughty") and she told me she would have a long discussion with her about it.  I wrote out very clearly what we wanted Sooni to do in her time here so Ms. M could outline the tasks for Sooni.  Immediately after our discussion I felt horrible.  I just tattled on my ayah.  Why was Ms. M fighting my battles for me? Sooni showed up that afternoon fifteen minutes early saying she spoke with Ms. M.  She seemed humbled yet eager to show me all that should would clean while I was gone.  She said (I believe) that she will clean better and stay longer for the same price.  She stayed for three hours, and the floors were cornflake-free.

I told a few friends what I had done and how guilty I felt.  They all assured me that they had to get stern with their ayah's as well and told them they can easily find someone else.  One friend even had her Hindi tutor translate that the situation "just isn't working and that I want my key back."

So I am learning how things "work" around here.  I am not used to having a housekeeper and I clearly need to learn more Hindi.   But I think the next time I need to talk to Sooni I can handle it myself.  Or maybe I will hire my friend's Hindi tutor to speak to her for me.