McFreakinDonalds!

Last night Pastor Sagar’s wife made me a great meal, the best I have had in India. I think Carole broke them in for me because he actually knew what “no spice” meant. She made me an omelet with boiled potatoes and raw carrots. For dessert I had lady finger bananas and apples slices, it was heaven! The only problem is that, as a guest, I had to eat first, not something that ever happened in our house growing up. When I was young you had to get in there and fight for the food or go hungry. Feeding 5 kids on a ministers salary ensured that mom didn’t have to deal with leftovers much. Then to add to my guilt, they gave me their bed! That is the kind of hospitality I encountered all over India and I am grateful to all.

Today we left at 8:30 for Hyderabad, traffic was light, but I saw two very bad accidents. We made very good time and ended up at the airport at 3:30 for an 8:00 flight (which was 45 minutes late) but that is ok, because the Hyderabad airport has a McDonalds! Well it sort of has a McDonald's, it has a McDonalds that serves no beef, I know, I know, how is that different than McDonald's in Canada, very funny! This “no Beef” policy really shortens the menu, but they still have fries! A chicken burger and fries later and I was a happy boy. I don’t particularly like McDonald's, but I love that it is exactly the same everywhere in the world. After two weeks of different food, there is comfort in the familiar even if it's not that good.

After going through customs for my 4 hour wait I discovered my next surprise, a Pizza Hut! My initial enthusiasm waned when I saw that everything was “spicy” this and “smoking hot” that. In small print I found “Hawaiian Chicken” that turned out to be very nice, no heat. In Delhi I found a Subway, this did not taste like home, and I don’t care for it much in Canada, so it was a bit of a letdown. I am well on my way to my goal of eating myself into a junk food comma for the 9 hour flight to Amsterdam.

Well it worked, I got 5 hours sleep on the flight and now I sit at the McDonalds in Amsterdam, I will be sitting here all day, so if you are reading this it means I found both a plug in and an internet connection. I even found a place to have a shower, but it is $30 bucks! I might be too cheap much to the chagrin of my seatmates on the next leg. Come to think lf it, I haven’t had a real shower since Aizawl!

A Shower of Flowers

I arrived in Guntur today to meet Pastor Sagar. Carol Perrin spent three months with the children at the orphanage Pastor Sagar and his congregations look after. I arrived during the church service and was ushered to the front and introduced to everyone. I was asked to pray with them and to bless them. Oh my! I am not used to having people ask me to bless them, that is for sure!

During the service, a young family brought their 6-month-old child forward to receive her first food. This is a tradition, I was told, and the mother looked very happy. The baby was not so much. Pastor Sagar then asked if I would give the child her first rice. My first thought was, “When did I wash my hands last?” As a grandpa, I have experience in these things, you know. It was quite an honor, albeit misguided, to be asked to do this.

After the service, we got into the car and drove to a nearby city to have another service. It was very interesting because the service was in a very plain room literally overflowing with people. There were no chairs, just mats on the floor that was covered—every square inch—with people. The men spilled out onto the road outside the church hall listening through the windows. I know many a church in Canada that would love to have that kind of problem.

At the end of the service, the children lined up for me to place my hand on their heads and bless each of them. Go figure--no lightning! Your name carries a lot of weight around here, Carol. I hope I did you justice.

After the service and some food at an elders house, we drove out to the orphanage. The amount of new development is amazing! There are 5000 squatters in makeshift shelters around the orphanage now and a college being built on the other side. We were met by the children and the teachers at the gate. I know that all children are cute, but the Indian children are sooooo very adorable! I was met by big eyes and smiling faces. After a tour of the place, we were given two chairs and the children went back to playing: boys with the ball, girls with the skipping rope. The two teachers watched over them with obvious love and care in their eyes. These children don’t have much but more than they would have on the street; a loving caregiver is a great start. Everything else they need can be fixed with money. Let’s make this Christmas a global giving Christmas. Please! Sorry, I will get off my soapbox now.

At one point the children wanted to honour me (For all I might do for them, apparently. Now I know how Obama feels.) in a traditional Indian way. They placed a flower lei around my leg, lined up, and showered me with flower petals! Quite an experience! (Again Carol, your name carries a lot of weight around here! I hope I can live up to the standard you set, but don’t hold your breath.)

Off to the airport in Hyderabad tomorrow. Back on those roads for another 8 hours. Pray for me; I’ll need it!

Bay of Bengal, Baby!

(I don’t know exactly where my blog is right now, as I have only a very poor connection, if any at all. I have enough connection to send a rough copy to my editor, but I haven’t actually seen my blog in a while, so if you like them, great, but it's all in the editing. Thanks to my editor! I also need to thank Carol Perrin and Pastor Sagar without whom I would still be in Hyderabad and would never have met up with Pat and the gang. With the right contacts--and enough money!--you can do anything in India!)

After touring the orphanage and having some very productive meetings yesterday, I retired to my room for a sound sleep. I was fortunate to have a room; there was a very large wedding in town that was eating up all the space.

This morning I took my taxi for a tour of Narsapur. This is a pretty big place by Canadian standards but barely makes the map by Indian standards. As with all Indian towns, there is non-stop shopping--little stores everywhere! The town is divided into districts, so all the tailors are in the same area, and all the plumbing supply stores are in another area. This makes for quite a bit of travel if you want a skirt tailored for your sink.

Narsapur is on a large river near the coast of Bengal, and it sports quite a fishing industry. Fish are caught in both the river and at sea, with the boats coming up the river to a little tributary to unload.

Small boats filled with sand used in concrete for construction in the area also come up the tributary. I asked Pastor Chand about the beach and swimming the day before, but he said it wasn’t safe.

After touring the town, I decided to see if we could find the coast. We went to the guest house to see if Pat and Sisay wanted to come along (much to Pastor Chand's chagrin). Google Earth shows mile upon mile of sand beach. Thirty minutes later, we drove past a beautiful Catholic church looking out on an amazing sand beach! There was a little park where one could eat lunch and some stalls selling drinks and snacks. We walked on the beach for 10 minutes until I couldn’t take it any more! There were great surf waves: one break, 3 foot swells rolling on shore at about 15 degrees.

There were little kids wading in the break--no evidence of a riptide. How bad could it be? I didn’t have my trunks, but I was wearing brand new underwear. I asked Pat if she would mind if I went in for a dip, and she said it would be fine, but I don’t think she was ready for the bright white streak across the sand, and I am not just talking about the new underwear! The water was like a bathtub, the waves were just right for playing in, and there was almost no rip at all. Besides, worst case scenario: I get to see Sri Lanka again! I am sure Pastor Chand was worried the whole time I was in the waves but perhaps was more worried that at some point I would have to get out! Pat averted her eyes as I rolled up on the beach like Moby Dick gone wrong and dashed up the beach to a little hut to change.

I didn’t go to the beach just for my own entertainment; I was checking it out as a possible point of interest for when I bring a group over in February. It would be a great activity to bring the kids to the beach to build sand castles, eat a picnic lunch, and play in the water. One adult to every 4 kids just like a family day at the beach. I didn’t mention this to Pastor Chand. I think I need to pick the right moment and make many promises to bring my swim suit this time.

Pastor Chand treated us like VIPs. It is obvious how important Pat is to him and the orphanage. He has a big job there, trying, as someone must, to meet the need where there is no shortage of need! Tomorrow, I brave the roads again to go to Guntur and meet Pastor Sagar and visit the orphanage where Carol Perrin worked last year. I feel safer in an ocean full of sharks than on the roads. Until then, it is "bye" from the Bay of Bengal, Baby!

Now THIS is India!

I made it out! The ATR-72 (a new plane for my list) found it’s way through the clouds, and I left Aizawl for a three-legged trip to Hyderabad. At each stop, I was the only person carrying on, it seemed. One of the stops required the plane to be refueled which meant I had to get off, but I wasn’t allowed into the airport, so I just stood on the runways visiting with the pilot and ground crew. We were delayed because they didn’t have enough fuel at the airport. The fuel truck took fuel from one plane and put it into ours.

Thanks to Carol P. and her contacts, there was a car waiting when I landed, and we left Hyderabad at 11 p.m. for the 11-hour drive to Narsapur. The scenery was what I thought India would be like: flat and wet, dotted with water buffalo and beautiful colorful temples.

We stopped for breakfast on the road. I had a Coke.

I met up with Pat, and Sisay and Pastor Chand took us out to the orphanage. The greeting--complete with a banner and signs and flowers--overwhelmed Pat. We had a short program of welcome with speeches and some action songs from the children.

We toured the orphanage. The building is good, but it is very small for 40 kids. Every night they pull the mats onto the floor to sleep but must stack them up again in the morning to have a place on the floor to sit and eat . Each child has a small tin locker for their clothes.

We had a long and productive meeting with Pastor Chand in the afternoon. He has been looking after us very well: providing good food and making sure we have what we need. Thank you for that!

Downhill for 45 Minutes

I’ve made the trip to the airport three time in the last three days, and it looks like this one will do the trick. I will finally get out! I woke to rain and mist so thick you couldn’t see to the end of the street. The weather network said rain all day, cloudy Friday, and sunny Saturday. I fly home Monday, so not getting to Hyderabad until Saturday night would mean not getting out to Narsapur to see the Good Shepherd project--the whole reason for the second half of this trip. By noon the clouds were breaking and my spirits rising . I left for the airport an hour earlier than planned as if my presence there could somehow influence the pilot to land.

I was a bit chattier with the driver than on the previous trips. He seemed very positive and stated before we even left the city that it was looking good at the airport. I asked him if he had phoned out to the airport to check. He looked at me funny and said, “No, I just looked." I was sure there was something lost in translation. The airport is an hour away; how could he look? I guess he saw the puzzled look on my face so he pointed. He pointed to some white buildings in the valley maybe 10 or 12 km away and explained that the buildings were at the airport.

The road to the airport goes downhill for 45 minutes to the river, then up the other side for another 15 minutes. I had noticed that the road does not go up and down; it goes down for 45 minutes, then up. I have never made this trip in sunshine--it has always been cloudy--but this time the trip down was so uplifting! I was going to get out!


I started to put other trains on the track: I thought about what an amazing skateboard run this road would make. I pictured a 45-minute run without ever having to push. Of course, if you overshot a corner, you would need a parachute. No--BETTER--a parasail! There is one amazing corner about 2/3 of the way down with a sheer cliff and a waterfall in a horseshoe canyon. Skateboard down to the cliff, jump the guard rail at 50 km/h, and pop your parasail; ride the updrafts in the canyon back up to the top of the run, land, pack your chute, and do it again. What a trip that would be! The second time down you could run the canyon the other way and land at the airport for your flight. I wonder if you can take a parasail as carry-on?

Ok, I have had too much time on my hands. I did ask the driver about his car. It looked pretty good considering how he was driving it. It turns out the little Suzuki was 2 years old with about 210,000 km on it. Not bad for a taxi. I suspected that brakes were an issue on these roads. He says that he is on his fifth set of brakes and, with all the squealing of tires in the corners, I bet just as many sets of rubber as well. He hit 45 km/h at one point, and it felt like 140km/h! He got me here in one piece, and...Hey, they just called my flight, so I am on my way! Nothing like a great trip down to lift my spirits.

It's People That Make the Difference

I have always said that you must have good people on the ground if a project is going to work, and I stand by that statement. I might be "project manager," but if I don't have a great person as the in-country project manager, the chance of success diminishes greatly. I am fortunate to have a whole team of great people working on the clinic project in Mizoram. Nokap is doing an outstanding job of managing the project funds and books as well as consulting on materials and problem solving with the rest of the people involved.

The contractor is keeping the materials flowing to the job site and lining up the labour force. He is ahead of schedule, and best of all, on budget. His crew is working every day, under the watchful eye of the foreman. The only time I saw the workers stop was when I asked them to pose for a photo.

Grace is doing a great job with the computer training center, too: making forms for me and gathering personal information about potential students while still doing a great job in the classroom. She is not alone. I watched her family support her in the work she does. Her brother is now helping with the teaching, freeing some time for her to work on our project. I met her mother and father who beam with pride about the job their daughter is doing.

People who are not involved with a project yet have also been very kind. The principal of the Pine Hill Academy and Rama who manages of the new Adventist hospital and teaches at the SDA school in town both took time off to meet me at the plane in Aizawl and accompany me back to Champai. They opened their homes to me, fed me, and looked after my needs. We hope to work with these people soon with projects to help those whom they represent. Knowing that we have good people on the ground makes supporting a project much easier.

I cynic might say that all those people have a vested interest in being good to me, because they are receiving something in return. Of course this is true, but I believe that the relationship is far more symbiotic than parasitic. I also believe that these people are working not to improve their own lot in life but to help the members of their community who it.

I have been stuck in Aizawl for three days now because the weather is preventing the planes from landing. Everyone with whom I have come into contact gone out of their way to help me! These are not people with whom I am doing a project; for the most part, they don't even know why I am here! The staff at David's Kitchen and the Clover hotel who nightly (and sometimes many times nightly) had to reboot the internet connection so I could work at 3:30 a.m.; the wonderful young lady at the front desk who helped me place calls, suggested other hotels when hers was full, found me a taxi driver for the week--all I needed to do was ask and someone was phoning a brother or cousin to ask something or offering to take me where I needed to go. When I couldn't fly out to meet the group from the Good Shepherd Lutheran church and I didn't have a phone number for the local pastor they were to meet, many calls and emails were placed on my behalf to assist me.

My taxi driver offered me his phone to call long distance to Hyderabad then spent the rest of the trip phoning all his contacts to find me a hotel room (which is becoming harder and harder to find every day the planes don't fly). Shop keepers, egg roll makers, bank tellers and managers, and the very patient ticket agent at the airport have all been very kind to me, never asking for anything and refusing my offers of compensation. I am not so naive as to think that everyone is nice and that no one will take advantage of me, but the level of support has been amazing.

I would like to say a HUGE thank you to all the people who have gone out of their way to help me. It is truly the people that make the difference in this world, and to quote my mother, "You have to decide if you want to be part of the problem, or part of the solution." I'm so glad we can work together for solutions.

You Can Never Go Home Again

I always wondered what that saying in my title really meant, or more to the point, what the author's original intent was. I searched but couldn't find an author, so I started to consider the possible meanings. I find myself caught in the most literal of meanings at this moment in time; I am currently stuck in Aizawl, India, at the top of a mountain, because the planes can't get in or out. I don't believe that this saying was ever intended to be taken literally, but when have I ever played by the rules?

I think a much better interpretation of the saying is that you can never go home to the home that you left. The difference in the home you left and the home you come back to depends upon many things: amount of time away, experiences during your absense, and occurrences at home while you've been gone all are obvious variables. I have experienced all three of these many times.

When I returned home after my first year of university, things had changed. Little things like where the cups were kept or what the popcorn is stored in. Add this to the personal changes that came as a result of the life experiences I had at university (or at least at the pub) and the fact that my parents got used to me not being there, and it was very clear to me that the home I left was not there upon my return.

A home is not the structure--that is a house. A home is the people inside that structure, as well, so it should go without saying that if the people change, the home changes too. Traveling changes you. Any learning experience changes you. Staying home and having to learn to prime the pump can change you as much as witnessing a new culture. I sometimes worry that what I become while I am away just won't fit into the home I left. For instance, I no longer shop for fun; I take much less pleasure in owning material things; I don't want a new car and would prefer to drive my old girl forever.

Life is all about changing, growing, and learning. You can never go home to the home you knew, but hopefully you can go home to something you can love.

Grid Lock on the Aizawl/Champai Highway

Well, I am writing this blog from the side of the road as negotiations regarding the rights and wrongs of the two drivers involved in this road accident take place. Now, before I go any further you should know that everyone is just fine. One thing about never getting faster than 20 km/h is that, if you can keep the car on the road, you will survive.

You see, on my trip back to Aizawl, the sumo I was travelling in met a very large truck coming around a tight corner, and everyone came to an abrupt stop just 3 feet apart . After backing up to a pull out, the truck went around us and all was right with the world. Three corners later, we met another truck and we came to another abrupt stop, but the truck did not. The driver tried to go around us but missed. I mean, he missed going around us and therefore, hit us!

This brought the entire highway to a halt as the negotiations began about who was at fault and who should pay. Next came the phone calls to the police--like we were going to get cell phone reception and wait 6 hours for a policeman to drive out from Aizawl! I assumed (correctly) that this was mere posturing. One could not argue about who was over the center line as there is no center line. Heck, there is barely one lane! I thought about getting out my tape measure, then thought better of it and minded my own business for a change. Thirty minutes later some arrangement was reached and we carried on.

Another hour down the road and the drive came to a quick stop again--this time to look at the site of the bus crash yesterday. As I got out of the car and looked over the edge, my stomach made a rush for my throat. They explained to me that it was a school bus that crashed, but I could not see it in the bottom of the ravine. I can't believe that anyone could survive such a trip, but apparently only one child died. We drove around to the other side of the ravine, and I took this picture. I was never able to see the bottom of the plunge nor the bus wreckage. What a terrible tragedy for this community already in mourning!

I am finishing this blog from the comfort and safety of my room in Aizawl. Don't think I don't know how lucky I am to have made it here in one piece. Before I left I had a colleague warning me about snakes and bad water and such, which is all good advice, but by far the most dangerous thing I face is the road! At least no one was shooting at us as we drove along the road like in Guatemala, right Rob? Tomorrow will be tame by comparison. I only have to navigate the Indian banking system.

Let me say again how sorry I am that this community has had such a terrible week. My heart goes out to you all.

And the Geek Shall Inherit the Earth

I met with Grace to talk about the computer training she is doing at CCIT and the tuition sponsorship we are proposing. She had 20 application forms in a neat pile ready for me to review. It killed me to say I did not have money for 20, that we would have to pick the top 10. She looked very sad but gamely started to go through the list. The majority of the applicants are from two orphanages, both workers and residents. We made phones call for recommendations, looked at current occupations, etc. In the end I had a stack of 10 students to start.

I hope that I can find a way to get the other ten started soon (nudge nudge, wink wink). The students will have to submit work to me once a month. Grace is making a list of the 6 projects I will get from each student. This will prevent me from going into marking withdrawal on this year off. (Year off? I need to come up with a better description than that.) I have the spread sheet for recording all of this figured out in my head, now I wonder if I can include a fancy formula? Maybe something circular? Sorry, geeking out here.

Grace said that many of the applicants have been coming in daily to see if they can start yet. I would love to have students lining up to take my CAD class, but I guess that the CAD class is not likely to triple their income so they aren't quite so anxious. I am curious to see what impact this training will have a year from now. It is interesting to see the number of computer-related things grow here even since August: more internet cafes, computer shops, and signs printed with Adobe.
The CCIT facility was spotless as usual. No shoes allowed--everything neat and tidy--and the suggestion box was front and center as you walk in. I have walked up to the CCIT to attempt to use the internet every day (it didn't always work)--a walk that seems to me to be straight up the mountain. It isn’t, but it seems like it. Grace kindly stuck a cable through the wall so I could wire my laptop at her table, kind of like sharing an office. I really appreciate it! It turns out that I am very attached to being connected. Go figure! Well, I leave here early in the morning for the long ride back to Aizawl. I want to get there in the light; you won’t believe this, but we just got word that a third bus just went over the edge. No details yet. So sad! This community doesn’t need this. Keep them in your prayers! Maybe we should be sending bus mechanics instead of doctors. Better yet, let's send both.

Not a Good Night!

When I walked up to the computer training center this morning, I saw many of the stores near the CCIT closed. When I entered the CCIT, the number of students was greatly reduced from the day before. Grace said that many of students were up all night so they would not be in class this morning. It turns out that the day before, not one but two busses on two different roads went over the edge of the cliff killing many and sending many more to the hospital. I can’t believe anyone survived going over the edge of these mountains, though I am very happy that some did.

By 9 am the road in front of the house of the family that lost a member the night before was lined with people . Grace informed me that the young people will come in the evening and sing for the next three nights. I am amazed at the response from this community during this terrible time. I have always believed that the true nature of a person, community, or leader often reveals itself during a time of crisis. It made me think of the number of times I didn’t go to a funeral because it conflicted with a class or a meeting. I have never closed my business for the day to sit on the front lawn of a family in grief. I don’t think I have even taken lasagna to someone in mourning.

My heart goes out the families and friends that suffered such a great loss yesterday. To quote a friend of mine: “We are different, and yet we are the same.” Loss is loss regardless of where we are in the world, but how we show our support for our neighbors differ. Maybe I will go and sing tonight. Or perhaps I will just hum along...

I Love it When Plan Comes Together!

Sleep eludes me at the appropriate time but won’t leave me alone when it should. I woke up very early in the morning yesterday and lay there trying to will myself back to sleep. When that failed, I wetn out on my balcony and watched the sun rise over a mist-filled valley while eating fresh bananas. For some reason, it made me think of Vietnam when Kim and Brad looked after me following a very bad Larium trip. (You can’t buy a hit like that on the street!) To this day, I don’t dare take anti-malarial meds.

Yesterday, I visited the clinic construction site at Zowkathar. It is a 2-hour drive which seems like too much after the 7-hour drive of the day before. I am enjoying the road this time, though. I just pretend that I am in a road rally race, and the trip becomes an exciting adventure instead of a kidney jarring, butt numbing trip. I do marvel at the skill of the drivers on the road. They know exactly where the corners of their vehicles are.

Coming over the crest of the last hill going into Zowkathar, the clinic is very visible with its shiny new roof. I would take a picture, but the Sumo (like a Land Rover) is bucking so badly I know I will never get the shot. ( I cheated and had the driver stop on the way home for this picture.) The road into the clinic is closed while they construct a culvert over a stream; the goat trail we drove down was a challenge for the Sumo to, say the least, but we arrived in one piece.

The structural components of the building are all completed, the floor is poured, and even the roof is on. Interior walls are made of brick and then plastered over for a smooth finish. All the interior walls are started, and about 15 men were working on them when we arrived.

The workmanship is very good, and the materials are great, too! The process is very manual. Even sifting sand is done by hand. The foreman helped me measure the building and answered all my questions through a translator. His crew is working 7 days a week, but I guess there is not much else to do in Zowkathar. It reminds me of my jug hound days on Melville Island. Best of all, the contractor has no outstanding issues and the project is on budget! I love it when a plan comes together!

A Recipe for a Big Ol' Batch of Numb

My mother was famous for making double and triple batches of everything, so I am going to blame this on her. How do you make Numb? Well, it is not easy for me. Numb requires getting rid of everything else on the menu--a veritable monoculture of cuisine. In recent years, however, I have perfected the recipe.

Numb is best made in stages. Start with a reasonably short flight, preferably leaving early in the morning. For best results, take that flight alone. A nice Calgary to Toronto run is a good start--a country bouquet aging to a smoky finish. No need to wait too long to add the next ingredient. Something European would go well. Perhaps a 6-hour to Amsterdam or even London ( though London tends make the whole mess a bit soggy).

Now, here is where timing is important. The next ingredient cannot be added too soon or you can turn the whole Numb into a big bowl of Worry and who needs any more worry on their plate!? Wait too long and Numb can ferment into a side dish of investigation topped with merriment. No, you want to add a good long 8- or 9-hour Delhi (everyone likes going to the Delhi, don’t they) or Dubai flight, but don’t add this too quickly. Wait at least 5 hours; 6 is even better. This is the real meat of the dish. You may have hints that this is going to turn into something other than Numb, but be patient. All the basic ingredients are yours now.

If you want a truly memorable Numb, one that will be talked about for many years to come, spice it up a little. It doesn’t take much now. Add a short 2-hour hop to some truly unredeeming hole like Kolkata. Mix that in and let it rise for another 4 hours. Add another shot and a half of mountain flying, and then, for the cherry on top, how about an hour and a half on twisty roads to shake everything up. I guarantee that this will create a Numb that no one, and I mean NO ONE, will ever forget!

I Waited 42 Years For This Flight!

I have been flying for 42 years that I can remember. I don’t remember my first flight into Uranium City, but I remember almost all the rest. We have come a long way in 42 years! I started to think of all the planes I have been on and decided to make a list, so here goes:

• DC-3 (first flight I remember into Uranium City)
• DC-4
• Twin Otter
• Gruman TR2 (Dad owned it.)
• Citabria (Dad owned part of one.)
• Cessna 152
• Cessna 172
• DC-8
• DC- stretch 8 (Went to the Boy Scout jamboree in PEI in one of these; the stewardess and I traded uniforms on the way home.)
• DC-10 (the flying coffin)
• L1011
• Dash – 7
• Dash – 8
• King air
• Queen air
• BA 146 (the jet fighter of the commercial world!)
• A Saab, but I don’t remember what type
• MD-80
• Airbus A 310
• Airbus A 320
• Airbus A 330
• 727
• 737
• 757
• 767
• 777

But I have never been on the classic Boeing 747, until today!

It is a bit like taking a ride in a '69 Volkswagen bug--classic, fun, but enough to make us glad the transportation world has moved on. No TV in the seat backs, no outlets for this laptop, old-style washrooms (not wheelchair friendly). Not major problems but little inconveniences that make a difference.

My flight today started out like something from a bad movie. No one would follow the instructions. The steward asked for specific rows to load but instead everyone rushed the gate. Once on the plane, it got no better. People brought on suitcases bigger than my checked bag as carry-on! (I hate people like that!) The flight attendants started pulling bags, and then everyone got cranky. A lady asked to switch seats with me as there seemed to be some disagreement between seat mates in her row. I moved to prevent a war, and in the end it was a good move; the flight attendant removed one of the people from our row and left us with a free middle seat! That's good karma!

Thanks to Dr. Ray, I slept soundly for about 4 hours on this flight waking just in time for breakfast. There was a brief moment of panic when I could not find my glasses and couldn’t look for them until I found them to look for them--you see the problem! The young lady who asked me to switch seats with her found them in the aisle and returned them to me unscathed. I do have a second pair with me, but you look a bit funny wearing dark glasses at 6 a.m. unless you are in Las Vegas!

I have never before been in an airport that offered tulip bulbs for sale! The airport in Amsterdam is very clean and modern. One thing that all airports need more of is plug-ins and free internet. Calgary is doing a pretty good job of improving this, and Las Vegas is not bad, but for the most part this is still a big failing of airports and this one is no exception.

My next flight, to Delhi, should be another leg on the path to hell. It is right full and 8 hours long. I get in just after midnight and have a 6-hour wait.

Reaching the gate, I notice that the second flight is also a 747, go figure, two in one day! I resolved that at one point during this second flight I would go where no poor man has gone before: up into the second storey turtle deck. I waited for about 6 hours. At that point in the flight, the attendants tend to be gaggled together in a remote corner of the plane hoping no one rings the bell. I got up for a suggested stroll and walked the entire planes aisle system (just about the right amount of activity for me). At the apex of my trip was the forbidden stairway to heaven. No one was looking, so up I went. No wonder rich people like the 747! It is like stepping into a different world, and, because they have their own floor, us peasants don’t have to file past them to get to the back of the bus, where we belong.

I have toyed with the idea of putting “fly in first class” on my new bucket list, but I just couldn't enjoy it knowing how much extra it costs. I have compromised. The first item for my new bucket list is “Be upgraded to first class for free.” I think I will need to talk to my sister. This happens to her all the time!

'Til then, pray from me. I am going to need it on this trip!

I Wonder if i Will ever Put Pants on today?

This blog was written Thursday, November 5.

It has been a very odd week so far. My mind tends to run more than one train of thought at any give time, but this week it has been more like grand central station. At about 3pm today a thought popped into my head that brought all the trains to a stop momentarily. I thought to myself, "I wonder if I will ever put pants on today?" What caused me to stop and apply 100% of my attention to this thought was the absurdity of it! With everything going on this week, who cares if I have pants on!

So what am I up to today? Well, I am trying to pack for India. I leave on Saturday. I packed my carry-on day pack and discovered that everything I needed fit. There is something disturbing about fitting everything I need for a 2.5 week trip to India in a book bag. Everyone else shows up at the airport with 2 huge bags, a computer case, and a purse. In the end, I got my backpack out and put stuff in it just so I have something for the airlines (I will be on 5 different carriers) to lose.

Jack's old bedroom is now painted, and I hung the new blinds in the window. The bathroom got a new coat of yellow paint as well. It takes longer to do one little bathroom than it does to paint the whole bedroom. Bathrooms require the removal of the toilet tank, removal of the towel racks and such, and miles of masking. I guess that is why I have never painted it before. I replaced the bathtub spout because it had been broken off. How do you break a tub spout off?

I refinished the dining room table--it has needed doing for 15 years--and I think it looks better than new! Why do people insist upon covering beautiful wood with dark stain or paint? With a little luck the coffee cups won't stick to the table now.

As I was packing, in my underwear, I was also talking with India, Africa, and the center of the universe, Ontario. Is there something wrong with me that I had two computers and a Bluetooth ear piece all in service at the same time but couldn't get around to putting on my pants? Well, tomorrow I will be installing blinds and setting up beds, so maybe I will give up on pants today and think about finding pants for tomorrow.

Next time I blog I will be in India. If you are thinking about giving a computer tuition sponsorship to someone for Christmas, let me know. (Don't know what I am talking about? Click here.) Your credit is good with me. I still need help filling the 20 seats in Champai at the CCIT. (Click here for instructions to donate on line)