I love the 90's.

When you're having a rough week, the best thing to do is put on a 90's playlist.

Sometimes you have to confiscate two cell phones from kids who are gaming during an Easter Chapel.

Other times you will try not to laugh when a student tells you that his team has "proven" they deserve to be in the gym.

There might be an occasion when a student kicks a soccer ball at a group of defenseless third graders, and you feel like kicking the ball in his face.

You will continually have to kick kids out of the gym who are "doing a project" for a class, "in study hall", or simply lost.

Sometimes you will tell the same kid not to kick volleyballs 100 times in the same week.

There will be numerous opportunities to tell kids to go check the lost and found for whatever irrelevant object they have left in the gym.

Then the first/second graders come to class and give you hugs as soon as they see you, and you feel a little better.

You go to Rokeby for dinner with your best friends and fiance as many times as you can fit in the schedule, and you have mashed potatoes to ease the pain.

Then you put on an episode of Dawson's Creek and are reminded of the little things in life.

"I don't wanna wait for our lives to be over..."

Two of my least favorite things.

Thursday morning was destined to be a good day, but the universe had bigger plans for me. 

We had basketball practice at 6:50 AM because of numerous schedule conflicts that WS loves. I was walking to the gym the long way because the school was still locked, and I couldn't cut through. As I was walking up the ramp, I felt a little mist hit me. I kept walking ahead before I turned to look up to see if it was a water pipe or what. Yep, there was monkey sitting in a tree up above, and it definitely just peed on me. What a fabulous way to start the day--getting peed on by a monkey.

There was really no chance for recovery for two reasons. I had a busy morning before I was scheduled to leave for the 3rd and 4th grade RE Retreat. Also, I had done my hair in preparation for dressing like the White Witch of Narnia for the retreat. I looked at is a opportunity for my hair to get some extra vitamins and minerals.

That evening at dinner came the second unfortunate event of the day. I was still in my white witch outfit, and someone thought that I needed glitter in my hair. Any person who knows me would know that was a bad idea. I dislike glitter for several reasons. The major reason that it is like herpes, and it really never goes away.

There I was covered in glitter and fearing the future that was ahead of me. Glitter on my clothes, in my backpack, in my bed, and basically all over my house. Here I am two days later still feeling like I have been violated with glitter. I go out in public and fear that people might spot some glitter still in my hair or on my clothes and mistake me for the sort of person that intentionally uses glitter.

If you think you had a bad Thursday, at least you weren't peed on and glittered. A new form of torture.

 

Two Word Jobs

"Well a simple kinda life never did me no harm
A raisin' me a family and workin' on a farm
My days are all filled with an easy country charm
Thank God I'm a country boy."


Sometimes when I try to describe growing up on a farm to non-farmers, I can't help but laugh. Just like describing India to someone who has never been, it doesn't make any sense.

One of the best ways to make a buck growing up was "picking rocks". If you think life is rough, try wandering around acres of black dirt picking up rocks. I have vivid memories of working with my neighbor and dear friend, Rose, on a Saturday morning. We were covered head to toe in smudges of dirt and discussing the latest gossip from the 7th/8th grade dance the night before. Just like a scene out of Gossip Girl... except instead of the Upper East Side... we were in the middle of a field in Minnesota. We'd make a lot more memories in black dirt fields throughout our lives. We even made a song about picking rocks, but I won't bore you with the lyrics about rocks and picking them.

Life on the farm is full of other strange sounding two word jobs. Here are some more to let your imagination wander: picking rocks, cleaning pens, milking cows, feeding calves, shelling corn, picking corn, unloading hay, stacking hay, loading beans, scraping mangers, washing milkers, spreading hay, feeding hay, feeding corn, raking hay, washing pipeline, baling hay, sweeping wagons, greasing wagons, filling water, chasing cows, cutting hay, trimming fence, and the list goes on...

I only feel sorry for those who have never had the wonderful opportunity to experience two word jobs.

Snow.

Mother Nature is certainly proving herself this semester in Mussoorie. Snow, rain storms, and more snow.

I came back to Mussoorie near the end of January. The view from my front yard was better than ever.

Unfortunately, I could barely walk up the sidewalk to my house because it was so slippery. Imagine me carrying a huge backpack, numerous bags in my hand, and wearing my hand made boots with no grips trying to shuffle my way to the front door.

Imagine a world with no snow shovels. Sloppy.

The cold weather resulted in the official welcoming of the fireplace. The only trouble is that you have to sit this close to feel warm. (photo pre-90's party)

It's still hard to complain when I look out my window and see this!

Another snow storm popped in a couple days ago causing my power to go out for somewhere around 14 hours. It didn't stop me from taking a pathetic run around the chukkar.

Need a ride?

Delhi Transportation Options:

You could ride with this guy, but he's listening to an ipod and clearly distracted.

Don't ride with that guy.

It might be safer to walk like these bums.

Or perhaps you'd like an electric auto?

Maybe you'd like to ride on the bus?

They also offer buses in green and orange.

You could hitch a ride like these kids^

There's always a car.

Hop on that couch being pulled by a bike. Take a load off!

Family bonding trip.

Every week is bike week.

Similar to the short bus.

Travel back in time.

"Maxi Cab"

Pedal Power.

Hop on the metro.

Or just bring your horse.

Christmas in India.

People celebrate Christmas in India. There are several of the wonderful traditions many people know and love. Many restaurants and shops will play horrible Christmas songs. Shopping malls will have decorations. You might even find a santa. However, the santa will not be a jolly old man at the mall. He might be a small child wearing a frightening white person santa mask while dancing in the street trying to make some money in Kerala. Or, it might look like this:

We also had a post Christmas celebration which included: hats, white elephant gifts, a very expensive turkey, and s'mores.

Elves scurrying about the kitchen.

The North Pole is cold.

Would you like some more s'more?

Bird.

Papa Elf instructing the younger elves.

The feast with some unintentional fireworks from the fire.

You can hear the music on the AM radio.

Explaining India to people who have never been to India is like explaining America to someone who has never been to America. How am I supposed to explain kolaches, fresh air, and personal space?

Sure, there are movies. Slumdog Millionaire. That almost made India seem fun. Despite all the tragedy, there will be a breakout group dance at the end of the day. Even worse, what if you watch Jersey Shore in India? America is full of struggling guidos with disproportionate body sizes and drinking problems.

In my previous life, I drove or rode in a car nearly every day. Now, the chances are few and far between. In Mussoorie, the only cars I ride in are "taxis" or sketchy vans that your parents would always advise you to never get in. The kidnapper vans take me from the bazaar to the high altitude of my home for around $2.40. In Delhi, the only taxi we usually ride in is to/from the airport or train station, if it's very early or very late. Otherwise, we depend on our feet, auto rickshaws, the metro, or a motorcycle.


Yesterday, I got to ride in a friend's car around Delhi. We drove around for the whole day, listened to the radio, and enjoyed a warm cozy ride. It was like I had been transported to another place and time. Sure, it was the same Delhi on the outside of the car: honking horns, pedestrians anywhere but the crosswalk, bikes hauling cargo bigger than the car I am sitting in, merging and turning without procedure. Inside the car, I was home. I didn't even care what was on the radio. I just wanted radio.