Bio Poem

Kathy
Caring, curious, thoughtful, steady
Sister of Judy, David, Arjun, and daju-bhai, didi-baini
Lover of learning, growing, sitting around the table at dinner
Who feels hopeful, open to new ideas, forgetful
Who needs sleep, positive reinforcement, creativity
Who fears sitting still, running out of energy, not seeing beauty
Who would like to take a vacation, get a new computer, make a difference
Resident of Rothwell Dr
Lee Buckner
Swanson

Curvy-Urksy

My mom tells me my brother and sister coined the term. It's the descriptor for a road that curves through the mountains on the way to visit Grandma and Grandpa, or to go on a trek in the National Park, or later, to go to a barn raising at the research farm where my brother lived.
It also describes the tiny stretch of S Park Dr in Wilmington, along Brandywine park. The sign says no pedestrians, no parking, no stopping, but just that half mile drive on my way between work sites was enough to transport me to other curvy-urksy roads.
The road up the hill from Dehra Dun where the railroad ends, to Mussoorie where my school was, has always been an adventure. It's the part of the long road that stops the hearts of new staff and students. As you're suffering the car sickness and vertigo you imagine being stuck up on the mountain for the rest of your contract because it's too hard to get down! The road is much improved now, and you're not as likely to round a corner and see most of the road in the valley below because of a landslide. You're more likely to come upon a shack with tin sides that sells Maasti chips and hot tea.
But it's still an adventure; one that I love. I love the way the clouds float in and out the windows in the monsoon. I love the silly axioms the road crew posted on the roadside to animate sleepy drivers. I love the hot pakora half-way up. I love sharing the road with loud lorries, wandering cows, leaping monkeys, heavily loaded hill people, looking for the elusive leopard.
Curvy-urksy will always mean "worth the trip" to me.

Reflect

I spent a couple hours, and too much money at REI for hiking boots. The young salesman wanted to know if I was going hiking or backpacking, and what kind of terrain I would be in. The family is planning a five-day hike in the Sierra Nevada, and I want to be prepared. It's not like when I was younger and tripped around the Himalayas in my cheap tennis shoes like a mountain goat. Really, it's all so I can get away to the wilderness for a few days.
So many of us lead such busy lives, getting away is almost unthinkable. Especially on the East Coast, there's always a traffic jam within driving distance. We always have a phone, or music device even when we're doing "quiet time". We don't have a chance to reflect. Our minds are always so busy.
When I was teaching in the Himalayas, there was a question if we should allow students iPods on their required hikes. I always confiscated kids' music players and phones on the hikes I chaperoned. I wanted them to have the chance to hear something really important on the trek, like the call of a hoopoe, or the scurry of a small animal in the underbrush, or the whoosh a condor's wings makes as it rides the wind below where you stand on the mountain, or the call of the goatherd from the village on the facing mountain.
People don't know how to listen. We're afraid of silence. With our devices we create our own world around us and are not even aware of others -- or a smile and a nod nothing more. There's no invitation to engage. Some kids go to school in the Himalayas and never even see the snows.
Take a minute of silence, and listen. You might hear something. Important.

Crowded (Take 2)

The train was crowded. It made sense. It was New Year's Eve, after all; people were going places. I put the girls on the top berths, to ensure some semblance of privacy, but we didn't know what to expect. I love sleeping on the train. But sleep was not the main item on the agenda for tonight. The aunties in the next compartment were singing evening ragas, one after the other, in unison, almost until midnight.
Then at midnight, the men started. they were already quite drunk by the time they got to our compartment. They were calling out "Happy New Year!" to everyone who was awake, and to a lot of people who were no longer awake. They shook my feet and my husband's feet to look into our eyes and yell, "Happy New Year!" They tried to reach the top bunks where our teenage daughters were trying to ignore them.
Just as I was wondering when they would move on, one of the aunties from next door stood up in the passage way and scolded the young men in Hindi, with hands on hips. They were gone in an instant, quietly calling "Happy New Year" down the rest of the compartment.