Fresh snow this morning. I went outside to brush off the cars and decided to keep walking. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, the world was beautiful. I walked to my favourite spot, a wooded area overlooking the Potomac. There are trees, a grass covered alley, a small prairie, a variety of wildlife. I come here on a regular basis and it is here I try to get in right relationship with the world. Some would call it prayer or meditation. I like to focus on a familiar tree, a particular view that I have seen at all times of day and throughout the year. In about 36 hours, all being well I will be in New Delhi 6000 miles on the other side of the world. What I see around me will be very different. I will be different. The trip ahead will not be easy. There are terrorism restrictions at the airports, adverse weather conditions on both ends. There is a good chance we will experience delay, boredom, frustration degenerating at best into back and head pains; stomach and bowel discomforts at worst into an outcome that doesn't bear thinking about. Yet the very fact that I can travel 6,000 miles in essentially a day is something that only the very privileged got to do just a few decades ago.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Monday, January 4, 2010
January 4, 2010
In preparation for my trip to India I tried on a sari this morning. Six yards of slippery, satin fabric to be wrapped, tucked and draped around my body. I used the elastic waist of my yoga pants as a foundation and a simple fitted cotton t-shirt as a substitute for the blouse that Indian women wear. When I was finished I surveyed myself in the full length mirror. I looked OK, I had achieved the proper drape and proportions but I felt all wrong.
Last night I tried out the 3 different Salwar Kameez that I own in preparation for my trip to India. None of them feel right. It is as if I am stripping off my own skin and zipping on someone elses. I briefly considered going to our local India store to try on different salwar kameez in search of the perfect fit but realized what I am looking for doesn't exist. It is not just a matter of fit or fabric it is a question of identity.
I married outside of my culture and race. I was born and raised in England, my husband was born and grew up in India, we met, married and had children in America. As long as we stay in America we are a couple. When we go to our respective birthplaces we become strangers to each other. Try as I might to blend in, to be Indian, for the duration of our visit I am not. I feel like an actor and a very bad one at that. This disconnect, this feeling of always being out of place, out of time is I suspect what all immigrants feel when they first arrive in their new country. It is why some hold on to their language, dress code, eating habits far longer than helpful.
Last night I tried out the 3 different Salwar Kameez that I own in preparation for my trip to India. None of them feel right. It is as if I am stripping off my own skin and zipping on someone elses. I briefly considered going to our local India store to try on different salwar kameez in search of the perfect fit but realized what I am looking for doesn't exist. It is not just a matter of fit or fabric it is a question of identity.
I married outside of my culture and race. I was born and raised in England, my husband was born and grew up in India, we met, married and had children in America. As long as we stay in America we are a couple. When we go to our respective birthplaces we become strangers to each other. Try as I might to blend in, to be Indian, for the duration of our visit I am not. I feel like an actor and a very bad one at that. This disconnect, this feeling of always being out of place, out of time is I suspect what all immigrants feel when they first arrive in their new country. It is why some hold on to their language, dress code, eating habits far longer than helpful.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
December 31, 2009
I spent the last day of 2009 on the NJ turnpike, which always reminds me of Simon & Garfunkel's song America....
"Kathy, I'm lost," I said, though I knew she was sleeping
I'm empty and aching and I don't know why
Counting the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike
They've all gone to look for America
All gone to look for America.....
We weren't supposed to be on the New Jersey turnpike. We left Gilbertsville, NY after breakfast and soon found ourselves in big trouble. There was a little snow on the roads and a few flurries in the air. Not enough to cause trouble for the average driver in the average car. But we weren't in an average car. We were in road hog. A car designed to eat up the asphalt at high speeds, to take curves without slowing down, to dominate the road. We had low profile-run-flat-high-performance tires designed for speeds in excess of 100mph on dry roads. We got stuck on a hill and some friendly university kids pushed us. We got stuck in the middle lane trying to get to the interstate. The big car fishtailed and swayed and slid and spit snow. The wheels took turns spinning as the on-board computer sent frantic messages around trying to remedy the situation. When we finally finagled our way onto the highway my husband thought he was home free and pushed the speed up to 50mph only to find himself fighting to regain control of a skid. I suppose it's testimony to his driving ability and the engineering of his dream car that he was able to drive out of it. It was a thrilling ride. Not one I'm looking to make again
"Kathy, I'm lost," I said, though I knew she was sleeping
I'm empty and aching and I don't know why
Counting the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike
They've all gone to look for America
All gone to look for America.....
We weren't supposed to be on the New Jersey turnpike. We left Gilbertsville, NY after breakfast and soon found ourselves in big trouble. There was a little snow on the roads and a few flurries in the air. Not enough to cause trouble for the average driver in the average car. But we weren't in an average car. We were in road hog. A car designed to eat up the asphalt at high speeds, to take curves without slowing down, to dominate the road. We had low profile-run-flat-high-performance tires designed for speeds in excess of 100mph on dry roads. We got stuck on a hill and some friendly university kids pushed us. We got stuck in the middle lane trying to get to the interstate. The big car fishtailed and swayed and slid and spit snow. The wheels took turns spinning as the on-board computer sent frantic messages around trying to remedy the situation. When we finally finagled our way onto the highway my husband thought he was home free and pushed the speed up to 50mph only to find himself fighting to regain control of a skid. I suppose it's testimony to his driving ability and the engineering of his dream car that he was able to drive out of it. It was a thrilling ride. Not one I'm looking to make again
January 2, 2010
Why do I do everything else before I start typing here? As in, I check the blogs I'm following, even follow the link to blogs of note and then follow their links to blogs they are following. How much of a time suck is that? Not to mention the bills I've paid and e mails I've dealt with and of course the online crossword puzzle.
So here I am at 10pm cross-eyed and back aching and what do I want to write?
Is this how I want to begin the new year?
My daughter asked, "what is my new year's resolution?"
I replied "to read fewer books."
"fewer books? my husband queried.
"Oh yes," I said " I consume books like potato chips. I don't really absorb or process them. It's like an addiction. "
"How many do you think you read last year? Twenty?"
"I keep a record in a google ap. I said must be at least fifty." (I just checked, 49, up from 38 in 2008.)
That's almost a book a week. I'm a consumer and I want to be a contributor.
So here I am at 10pm cross-eyed and back aching and what do I want to write?
Is this how I want to begin the new year?
My daughter asked, "what is my new year's resolution?"
I replied "to read fewer books."
"fewer books? my husband queried.
"Oh yes," I said " I consume books like potato chips. I don't really absorb or process them. It's like an addiction. "
"How many do you think you read last year? Twenty?"
"I keep a record in a google ap. I said must be at least fifty." (I just checked, 49, up from 38 in 2008.)
That's almost a book a week. I'm a consumer and I want to be a contributor.
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