Morning Sounds

Right before sun-up, the wind blusters one more icy gust on the commuters at the bus stop. Then it's calm. Not warm -- not any less cold. Just calm. The sunlight, pale and shrouded with clouds, lends a little hope of change. Last week the sun didn't rise until we were almost into the city. It has been a cold winter in Delaware.
In India, the morning begins with the call to prayer from the muezzin (before the last bluster). On the train, the bearers offer the first tea for the early risers. By then I've had enough of trying to rest on the hard berth and I sit on my bedding cross legged; even before I wash my face I savor my tea, and the sound of the wheels clacking as we speed towards our rendezvous with the school party traveling in big noisy groups up the mountain to the hill station school, protected from the crushing heat of the the plains.
In the old days, the first lesson of the day was music, and we had to come to school before everyone else to practice our instruments or rehearse with our ensembles. We called them the cells because that's what they were: three levels of tiny practice rooms built off the side of the hill, guarded by Mrs Biswas who could somehow hear if I wasn't practicing. The cacophony of so many aspiring musicians created our own call to the day. I would steal a minute to listen to the bells on the first mule train bringing milk in to the town dwellers from the farms. Now, a jeep loaded with fresh produce for market roars or sputters or clunks by, noisily shifting gears around the narrow curves.
Music is not the first lesson at school anymore. But in the amphitheater of the hills we can hear all the sounds of the morning: school bells donging to wake boarders, whistles directing early morning exercises, voices of young students in neat rows in neat uniforms intoning the national anthem standing straight and unmoving as required by law, and finally the Hindu prayer service broadcast over loud speakers.

Listening

Haven't we all discussed on some level the existential question: If a tree falls in the woods and no one is around to hear it, does it make any noise?
My question is: If you're walking in the woods and a leaf falls, will you hear it?
When your 17 year old daughter says her friend wants to buy a new car because her bumper's messed up, will you hear she's telling you they had an accident together and you need to ask her about it?
When your husband asks if you want him to read to you while you're making dinner, will you hear he wants to spend time with you -- and he wants you to want him to spend time with you?
Sometimes our teenagers ask if they can go out with friends, then let us know they want us to say "no" so they can tell their friends their parents wouldn't let them.
I'd like to recommend a good book. It's called The Other Way to Listen by Byrd Baylor. Enjoy!

Fashion (continued)

It's funny how people make assumptions about what they see. I have a towel that I bought in South India when the one I brought got left in the hotel. It is not terry cloth, but works great as a travel towel to pull out of your bag at opportune moments. It's checked cotton with tassels. People who see me carrying it think I'm going to pray, another of my basic needs.
When I check out at Kohls twice or three times a year, I can't figure out how people spend enough money to make a frequent shopper card worthwhile. What's the story with the lady dressed up in a suit who comes to collect food at the free pantry? Aren't people who come for free food supposed to wear dirty sweats?
It just goes to show, you can't tell a person's story unless you ask.

Peepal Tree

Japanese Strawberry is the street name for the dogwood (Kousa Dogwood) that's dropping its fall fruit in my neighborhood. The enticingly bright berries look as though people at some place in history may have thought they were a great treat to eat. Now they just make a mess on the sidewalk. Even the squirrels are not interested. They are much more enamored of the huge quantity of acorns in the tree next door. Under that oak tree is not a safe place to wait for your bus this time of year.
The long-stemmed "strawberries" remind me of the Peepal fruits. Featuring in a lot of mythology, the huge Peepal trees are also central to village life in Nepal. The hugest ones often grow at strategic spots along major trading and travel routes--which came first, I wonder, the tree or the road? Often there is a strategic tea shop right across the trail. Called chautara, the raised stone and mud mortar platform built around the trunk is just the right height for traders or shoppers, or relatives carrying a patient to the hospital, to rest their dokus on, bamboo woven baskets used for transporting things in the Himalayas.
They're not just good for resting travelers. The best thing about Peepal is they're great for climbing. I spent many contemplative hours as a child and teenager hidden in the cool, leafy branches. You can also make a whistle out of a Peepal leaf, an art that I never mastered no matter how many friends showed me how easy it is. It was really a boys' craft; maybe they showed me the wrong way on purpose!
Ghosts are known to hang out under Peepal tree trunks and among the hanging roots of their cousins the Banyan trees. That never stopped me -- we Christian kids glibly believed we weren't susceptible to Hindu ghosts. Now, looking back, I know all of us humans (dead AND alive) are a lot more connected than I thought then.
A few squashy berries took me there.

Something More

Wednesdays there's free produce on 13th St. People come in to our building to use the bathroom. A couple weeks ago a lady came in. She was gone a long time, and when I went to check she was taking a bath at the sink. I imagine she doesn't have a better place to do that. You know that dream you have about needing to use the bathroom and all the doors are missing?
This morning a gentleman came in; gone a long time. I heard yelling. When I went to investigate, it was a baby crying. Mom and baby were waiting outside. Pretty soon she comes in to use the bathroom, and he watches the baby.
I feel a profound sadness. I wish there was something more we could do for people in need, besides letting them use the bathroom. (That is more than a lot of places would offer.) I ended up holding the door when they left.
Some people think they brought it upon themselves. I think differently. There are a few who live irresponsibly, but the majority of people who need to wait in line to pick up their vegetables on the street don't have a lot of other options. It wouldn't be their choice to live that way. The combinations of forces that got them to that place are not overcome in a day or two, with a little soap and water and paper towels. The mom from this morning's encounter is blind.
Sometimes I give away my all-day pass for the bus, if somebody needs it.
My dad as a young man (I was a baby) came home from work one day and told my mother he thought they needed to do something more. They spent the next thirty years in overseas mission building schools in a developing nation.
I heard my daughter say she wants to do something more. She was talking about her job.
What did you end up doing last time you felt like you should be doing something more?

Style

The goth girl at the supermarket check-out complemented my skirt and my bag. Last time I wore that skirt, a white-haired lady in a quilted vest came up to me on the street and asked about it. Said she loved it. One time last year a jeans-and-sweatshirt mom at the gas station noticed it and asked how it was made. I bought it at "Handy Ups and Downs" about ten years ago.
I like to shop at Goodwill and consignment shops. A lot of my clothes also come from street markets in Pattaya and Bangkok, Delhi and Anjuna, Tibetan markets in the Himalayas and the US, Otavalo and Amazonas, Schwartzwald, the New Castle weekend market.When I was growing up, like many other overseas workers we got the Sears catalog by boat, and my grandparents would order something vaguely fashionable. I still remember the purple jeans I wore in sixth grade. Or we got the tailor to copy the picture in my size.
Basically, I dress hippie. As my sense of self has developed over the years, so has my sense of style, and my confidence to wear something that doesn't necessarily fit current "fashion trends" or acceptable "professional attire" but makes me feel good. So I end up with an outfit that pleases both a goth teenager and a crafty grandmother. I have developed many significant conversations in the check out line at Joann Fabrics.
I don't enjoy shopping at Kohl's, with racks and racks of the same fashion statement in different sizes. How are you supposed to develop your self ?

This Is What Was At The Top

I took that trail...

It was worth it!