How do we spend our time over here? In lots of ways!
Duller moments include activities such as laying flat on the bed, positioning onself under the ceiling fan in a way that, should the ceiling fan fall, won't result in an amputated head/arm/leg. This is an idle but relevant thought because the ceiling fan blades here are metal. This is probably to prevent termites, ants, mold, humidity and other enemies of all things tangible from eating them away and them spinning off into a less gory version of my idle day dream.
There's reading: Saby's already, as of a few days back, gone through an entire year's worth of India Today (or The Week? I can't remember) weekly magazines, plus the 2004 first quarter worth of Reader's Digests (from which he's culled interesting information about our allergies). He's also finished an IQ quiz book, the dirty scenes from The Godfather, and an interesting tome called Hitler's War Directives, 1939-1945.
There's sleep. First nap comes as early as 10am, but sometimes we wait until after lunch. You need to siesta the hot part of the day away. We're getting weird dreams here. I saw a sea lion slide down the driveway to the little road, then dreamed I flew one morning to Paris and back without anyone knowing. Strangely enough, when I told Saby (in my dream) I had already begun to think that it had only been a dream (again - in my dream!) and so we sat and checked my passport and there were all the stamps! Seems I had also gone to Barcelona. Saby dreamed a Korean man was trying to steal Elena, and he couldn't get back to sleep after that because he kept checking to make sure she was there in her crib.
There's eating. Note to self: SIT WITH MUMMY AND GET RECIPES!!!!
There's America's Funniest Home Videos, affectionately known as AFV. At 5:50 pm it's neither 5:50 nor 17:50 - it's "ten minutes to AFV!"
There's Mummy watering her plants. There's something very graceful and romantic in the way she fills a bucket at the spigot and carries it around, doling out splashes of water to her trees, bushes, and flowers. It's very much how a movie would picturize the pretty farm hand feeding her prized chickens, a sort of routine familiarity with a little love mixed in. She does this two times a day (calling it her daily exercise) and the 2nd time around is more leisurely, perhaps because she's not racing to beat the midday heat that begins around 10:30am. Last time we were here, she showed me all the different plants and flowers - some brought from Bangalore, or California, or other places from relatives and friends; she had said something along the lines (I don't remember exactly) of being a crazy retired lady who talks to her plants. This time around she's either not talking to them as much, or is more at peace with the whole process and didn't feel the need to bring it up.
There's nature watching. Mummy and Daddy have been in this house for almost 10 years now, and they know the coming and goings of all the local wildlife. The crow family operates from our three family houses (ours, Appapan's, Chackochen Uncle's) and flies back and forth looking to see who's most recently dumped out some food. Two cranes look for worms in the rubber trees just beyond the driveway, but during a brief period where the flower bed was a little fish pond, they would swoop down and eat all of Mummy's fish pets. I myself like to look out for a lack of wildlife (namely bugs, but also bats or God forbid, a random snake.) But I like to show the different living things to Elena. She learned, in just one meeting, that the house lizard is called puhley in Malayalam, and now whenever we hear his call she yells back, "Puhley, puhley! Va, VAAA!" (come, come!)
I showed her a gaggle of ants that were gathered around a lump of something or other on the veranda, and said, "Look Elena! These are ANTS. ANTS."
Very seriously she looked where I was pointing and repeated, "anch. Aaaaanch."
I continued. "The ants are eating something. Look at them! They're eating their lunch." Already on all fours towering over the ant feeding frenzy, she leans in super close to the little pile, ponders a second, and then says, "MMMMMmmmmmm!" with great gusto, as if they were sharing their treat with her. Then an octave higher: MMMMMMMMMMMMMM! Anch!!!
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Panthiruvelil Medical Shop
Saby, a day or two after we arrived in Kerala, went with his dad to get some allergy meds from the local pharmacy, which happens to be run by some distant family member and thus carries the family name. I ask my dear husband for, simply, some vitamins. "What kind?" he asks, to which I reply, "I dunno... women's? Would they have that here?" He refuses, saying he's already been made fun of by "that medical shop fellow" for how much he sweats, so there's just no way that he's going to go now and also ask (while still sweating) for a WOMEN'S vitamin.
With my basic requirements in hand, he heads off, returning some 40 minutes later with an old fashioned looking, dark brown glass bottle with a slightly sun-faded yellow label declaring "Devitamixotin" - or something like that. It looks like something you'd find in your great aunt's medicine cabinet. Or in an abandoned house.
Saby relates the story. "I asked for vitamins and he handed me this. 'Illa, I said, in Malayalam and then English, "do you have one that is not opened?" (with me noticing only now the broken metal seal on it's cap, like the old fashioned Faygo bottles). Saby continues, "That medical shop fellow takes the bottle, opens it, dumps all the vitamin capsules out on the counter and quickly counts them. "Aday, twen-ty." Scoops them back into the bottle and hands it back to me. Says, in Malayalam, "see... no need for new one. They're all there!"
With my basic requirements in hand, he heads off, returning some 40 minutes later with an old fashioned looking, dark brown glass bottle with a slightly sun-faded yellow label declaring "Devitamixotin" - or something like that. It looks like something you'd find in your great aunt's medicine cabinet. Or in an abandoned house.
Saby relates the story. "I asked for vitamins and he handed me this. 'Illa, I said, in Malayalam and then English, "do you have one that is not opened?" (with me noticing only now the broken metal seal on it's cap, like the old fashioned Faygo bottles). Saby continues, "That medical shop fellow takes the bottle, opens it, dumps all the vitamin capsules out on the counter and quickly counts them. "Aday, twen-ty." Scoops them back into the bottle and hands it back to me. Says, in Malayalam, "see... no need for new one. They're all there!"
Catching up, still...
Let's pretend it's not Feb 20th and our trip is almost finished. Let's pretend we're back in Washington DC, or perhaps somewhere up in the air between there and Dubai...
So now, we sit - in a slightly "shabby chic" (aka old) cabin 3x the width of our previous plane. Elena is snuggled in her still-fitting, rear-facing infant car seat between us, and we have probably a full 3 feet before we hit the next row of seats. It's incredible. I don't mind that it's well past it's heyday (as long as some faulty wiring doesn't result in one of those random gas tank explosions, arrggh!) because it seems like we're flying in our own living room.
But... there's snow. Lots of snow, sort of a hard, crappy wintery mix, and I can see the plane next to us with a pattern melted (de-iced?) into the snow accumulation on it's body that looks like the shoveled yard lines of a snowy football field. After a looooong trek through Dulles airport (long = up 6+ elevators, past the largest indoor escalator ever, through freakishly clean and vacant Matrix/sanitarium-esque hallways) we arrived at our gate that has all the charm and hygiene of a Mexican bus station. Saby - always the thinker - ponders whether we, with our salvaged business class status, can instead use the first class lounge. Hello, free cheese and crackers! Goodbye, Kabul! We walk into the illustrious "Red Lounge" though, as is our luck, to the announcement that the bar is closed. Argh. But we do have our COSI coffees and snag those fabled crackers, as well as a few pieces of snazzy cheese. I head over to put the Bubbloo into a new diaper and her PJs just in time to hear "the Red Lounge will be closing in three minutes." WELL! I figure we're already there in the loo - they can't very well pull us out of there, can they? So I strip Bubbloo down to nothing and stand her in th esink for a nice washing, thinking I'm very clever. And deviant. But really I'm a fool, because the towel is packed away in our checked luggage. Nonetheless, with a polished and paper-toweled dry Bubbloo we strut back out into Zacateca's waiting room. We stood there amongst the very varied crowd brushing the baby's teeth lotioning her up, etc.
Now... back on board the plane, I keep imagining we're moving, bit by bit, bump by bump because we've sat here for so long with no news from either Captain or crew, to the point where even the flight attendants are looking out windows and drawing random conclusions from what's happening outside. Some mention of freight. Sunnofa... we're like an hour late for our departure, sitting here at the gate! Which means we're arriving 15 minutes after our Dubai connection should be boarding. Uh ohhhhh. But now... we're off! Well, rather, we're off to be de-iced. Deicing is a scary concept. Snow falls because it is ice. Planes fly because they're NOT ice, or they can fly if they're DE-iced... which would mean that iced planes fall. Totally unrelated, I realize that the plane's layout is exactly that of Oceanic Flight 815 on Lost.
So now, we sit - in a slightly "shabby chic" (aka old) cabin 3x the width of our previous plane. Elena is snuggled in her still-fitting, rear-facing infant car seat between us, and we have probably a full 3 feet before we hit the next row of seats. It's incredible. I don't mind that it's well past it's heyday (as long as some faulty wiring doesn't result in one of those random gas tank explosions, arrggh!) because it seems like we're flying in our own living room.
But... there's snow. Lots of snow, sort of a hard, crappy wintery mix, and I can see the plane next to us with a pattern melted (de-iced?) into the snow accumulation on it's body that looks like the shoveled yard lines of a snowy football field. After a looooong trek through Dulles airport (long = up 6+ elevators, past the largest indoor escalator ever, through freakishly clean and vacant Matrix/sanitarium-esque hallways) we arrived at our gate that has all the charm and hygiene of a Mexican bus station. Saby - always the thinker - ponders whether we, with our salvaged business class status, can instead use the first class lounge. Hello, free cheese and crackers! Goodbye, Kabul! We walk into the illustrious "Red Lounge" though, as is our luck, to the announcement that the bar is closed. Argh. But we do have our COSI coffees and snag those fabled crackers, as well as a few pieces of snazzy cheese. I head over to put the Bubbloo into a new diaper and her PJs just in time to hear "the Red Lounge will be closing in three minutes." WELL! I figure we're already there in the loo - they can't very well pull us out of there, can they? So I strip Bubbloo down to nothing and stand her in th esink for a nice washing, thinking I'm very clever. And deviant. But really I'm a fool, because the towel is packed away in our checked luggage. Nonetheless, with a polished and paper-toweled dry Bubbloo we strut back out into Zacateca's waiting room. We stood there amongst the very varied crowd brushing the baby's teeth lotioning her up, etc.
Now... back on board the plane, I keep imagining we're moving, bit by bit, bump by bump because we've sat here for so long with no news from either Captain or crew, to the point where even the flight attendants are looking out windows and drawing random conclusions from what's happening outside. Some mention of freight. Sunnofa... we're like an hour late for our departure, sitting here at the gate! Which means we're arriving 15 minutes after our Dubai connection should be boarding. Uh ohhhhh. But now... we're off! Well, rather, we're off to be de-iced. Deicing is a scary concept. Snow falls because it is ice. Planes fly because they're NOT ice, or they can fly if they're DE-iced... which would mean that iced planes fall. Totally unrelated, I realize that the plane's layout is exactly that of Oceanic Flight 815 on Lost.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
as written on the plane...
Lots to tell but no creativity, and a promise to myself that I'd actually handwrite things in a journal, so here's something dating back from the beginning of the (so far alternately interesting, exhausting, fabulous and aggravating) journey.
Little bubbloo's snoozing, Saby's reaching for the headphones, and we're just waiting for some additional cargo to be loaded (per the pilot's announcement) - AND IT'S OFF TO DUBAI! Looking around at our surroundings makes me want to WEEP with joyful bliss. After much, much MUCH back and forth, we were finally able to use upgrades gifted to use from a friend of Saby's. I feel like I'm sitting in my living room - especially after the litle tin can we arrived in from Dayton. I have a very strong inclination to tell Saby that we should just never buy a house and slum it domestically for the rest of our adult lives so that we can take business class everytime we fly. We've had a fun evening. Departing the house was slightly stressful, with a few hiccups but overall SUCCESS! Then, with our eyes glowing with hope (not the Obama kind), we arrive at the Biz class check in counter cluching our printed itinerary and a printout of Kiran Kumar G Bangalore's upgrade certificates. Here's the back story - we had a mean United call center lady mark our account with the dismal message of "PSGR Very Clearly NOTIFIED UPGRD IN ERRROR" Oh hell. But this was after a very NICE United call center lady told me in the sweetest voice... "Oh ma'am, as of yesterday (me: "no SHIT, you're kidding. YESTERDAY?!?") Yes Ma'am as of Jan 14th all of United's classes of service are upgradable." So hopes were raised, dashed, raised again, and then fast forward to us with a trolley fill of luggage stacked as high as my head being told that "you need to call your friend and get him to call United Reservations because his upgrades have put a hold on your account, they're coming up as expired, and we cannot even check you in in economy until this is straightened out. You will miss your flight." OOOOOH SHIT!!! Saby finds he doesn't have this KKGB's phone number in his new phone and is furiously facebooking and calling anyone who might, because without a little assistance we can't even leave Dayton! So I leave the scene of the potential crime (should Saby go apesh*t and ballistic on someone, he's on his own). I strap my trusty child into her pink puppy "buddy" harness (isn't anything slightly unpleasant marketed as a "buddy"?) and take her for a walk like she's a jumpy german shorthair. Ya! We run. Befriend the TSA staff. The USO lady. A gaggle of Girl Scouts (mmmm, cookies). Every single patron of the Boston Stoker coffee shop that's been quite upgraded since our last airport visit. Back to the desk. Chat with the agent about her 13 month old with RSV and his inability to get anything beyond a ragged, chest sucking breath into his sicky lungs, poor kid. Saby is beginning to breathe in a similar manner. I call my sis, good Catholic that she is, and ask her to pray for us (also wanting to tell somebody the "gossip" of our dilemma). Who to pray to? St. Christopher and St. Jude. St. Jude because I'm fully aware of the website stating that class T fares in regions 2 and others are indeed non-upgradable using systemwide upgrades. Oh, how I knew it was all a lost cause, slave that I am to corporate regulations) But as I go to change a diaper and return, the universe shifts.
WE'RE OFF.
I thank the girls who had been fighting our cause with us and for us, getting one's name: Santina. She's got a birthday coming up, on February 29th... she said she's going to be 5 years old :-) Somewhere between security (where we lingered extra long since Mr. George forgot to put his toiletries in plastic bags, naughty boy! His deodorant was x-rayed THRICE) and the gate, Saby whispers to me very quietly... almost conspiratorily, "we got it." What? Business class. To Dubai.
Oh man, my sis is good at praying :-)
Little bubbloo's snoozing, Saby's reaching for the headphones, and we're just waiting for some additional cargo to be loaded (per the pilot's announcement) - AND IT'S OFF TO DUBAI! Looking around at our surroundings makes me want to WEEP with joyful bliss. After much, much MUCH back and forth, we were finally able to use upgrades gifted to use from a friend of Saby's. I feel like I'm sitting in my living room - especially after the litle tin can we arrived in from Dayton. I have a very strong inclination to tell Saby that we should just never buy a house and slum it domestically for the rest of our adult lives so that we can take business class everytime we fly. We've had a fun evening. Departing the house was slightly stressful, with a few hiccups but overall SUCCESS! Then, with our eyes glowing with hope (not the Obama kind), we arrive at the Biz class check in counter cluching our printed itinerary and a printout of Kiran Kumar G Bangalore's upgrade certificates. Here's the back story - we had a mean United call center lady mark our account with the dismal message of "PSGR Very Clearly NOTIFIED UPGRD IN ERRROR" Oh hell. But this was after a very NICE United call center lady told me in the sweetest voice... "Oh ma'am, as of yesterday (me: "no SHIT, you're kidding. YESTERDAY?!?") Yes Ma'am as of Jan 14th all of United's classes of service are upgradable." So hopes were raised, dashed, raised again, and then fast forward to us with a trolley fill of luggage stacked as high as my head being told that "you need to call your friend and get him to call United Reservations because his upgrades have put a hold on your account, they're coming up as expired, and we cannot even check you in in economy until this is straightened out. You will miss your flight." OOOOOH SHIT!!! Saby finds he doesn't have this KKGB's phone number in his new phone and is furiously facebooking and calling anyone who might, because without a little assistance we can't even leave Dayton! So I leave the scene of the potential crime (should Saby go apesh*t and ballistic on someone, he's on his own). I strap my trusty child into her pink puppy "buddy" harness (isn't anything slightly unpleasant marketed as a "buddy"?) and take her for a walk like she's a jumpy german shorthair. Ya! We run. Befriend the TSA staff. The USO lady. A gaggle of Girl Scouts (mmmm, cookies). Every single patron of the Boston Stoker coffee shop that's been quite upgraded since our last airport visit. Back to the desk. Chat with the agent about her 13 month old with RSV and his inability to get anything beyond a ragged, chest sucking breath into his sicky lungs, poor kid. Saby is beginning to breathe in a similar manner. I call my sis, good Catholic that she is, and ask her to pray for us (also wanting to tell somebody the "gossip" of our dilemma). Who to pray to? St. Christopher and St. Jude. St. Jude because I'm fully aware of the website stating that class T fares in regions 2 and others are indeed non-upgradable using systemwide upgrades. Oh, how I knew it was all a lost cause, slave that I am to corporate regulations) But as I go to change a diaper and return, the universe shifts.
WE'RE OFF.
I thank the girls who had been fighting our cause with us and for us, getting one's name: Santina. She's got a birthday coming up, on February 29th... she said she's going to be 5 years old :-) Somewhere between security (where we lingered extra long since Mr. George forgot to put his toiletries in plastic bags, naughty boy! His deodorant was x-rayed THRICE) and the gate, Saby whispers to me very quietly... almost conspiratorily, "we got it." What? Business class. To Dubai.
Oh man, my sis is good at praying :-)
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