s. asia
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it’s beginning to look a lot like christmas.
My family always decorates for Christmas before the Thanksgiving leftovers are finished up, and I am thankful my husband humors me in this. I’m also thankful we got internet just in time for Christmas music on Grooveshark.com. And to download and watch Charlie Brown’s Christmas last night. And to Skype with Pat, Cathy, and Annie this morning. The internet is a beautiful thing! We are pretty excited around here today . . . counting down the hours until Steve and Linda arrive at 3:00 a.m. Many more pictures to come!
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one-rat rule.
The roof of the Biryani Emperor was held up by rafters of wood, and a rodent had materialized on one of them. ‘Boy!’ Masterji shouted. ‘Look at that thing up there on the wood.’ The ‘boy’—the middle-aged waiter—looked up. Undeterred by all the attention, the sly rat kept moving along the rafter, like a leopard on a branch. The ‘boy’ yawned. Masterji pushed his biryani, not even half eaten, in the direction of the boy. ‘I have a rule. I can’t eat this.’ It was true: he had a ‘one-rat rule’—never revisit a place where a single rat has been observed. ‘You and your rule.’ Mr. Pinto helped himself to…
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morning walk.
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thanksgiving.
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one year.
I realized with a start today that our one year anniversary came and went without notice. November 21st marked the end of our first year of living here in South Asia. Can you believe it? I have to be honest with you: there were a couple of moments in these twelve months where I thought we might not last a whole year. But God is faithful. And here we are. Many people told us, “The first year is the worst.” And so, even though there are good memories too, I am very relieved to have it behind me, like the closed chapter of a book. Now, I think I’m coming…
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the park.
There is a neighborhood park smack in between John and Alison’s place and ours, so we met up to check it out this morning. Here is an example of what I love about South Asia: Judah and Amie and I walked to the park, which is maybe a 15-minute walk. I hadn’t been before, so I asked directions a couple times, one from an auto rickshaw driver. He said “I’ll drive you,” but I said sheepishly that I didn’t have cash. The kids and I walked on, but the auto driver caught up with us and said “Get in.” He took us right to the entrance. So yes, there are…
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nine days in.
For all my talk of city-living, it turns out I’m still a girl from the suburbs. I arrived, for better or for worse, in my new neighborhood last Wednesday evening in a state of shock. Twenty-five minutes away, and it is a different world here, truly. It turns out that the thread of my confidence in living in South Asia was very tenuous indeed. Uproot me from my familiar little neighborhood, from Skyline apartments, and I am lost. I spent the first couple of days holed up in our apartment, kids bouncing off the walls, paralyzed by intimidation. It is loud here. It is crowded. Yes, all of South Asia…
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urban camping.
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moving day.
The movers showed up at 7:45 a.m. and were fast, careful and professional. I dropped Judah off for the last day at his preschool, then Amie went to our friends’ so I could go check on the packing-up process . . . . . . and take David a cup of coffee. Meanwhile, Ams, Joshua and Caleb had craft time. Alison said, “Can you tell which painting was done by the girl?” David headed to the new flat mid-morning to do some cleaning, and I hung around to oversee the packing up. Alison took the kiddos down to the playground. By 11:30 the place was empty and the movers on…
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we’re a hot mess.
In case you had any doubts, let me set the record straight that we are a mess in our family. Every one of us. We are never more aware of this than during Moving Week. Last week we lived in the euphoria of signing a two-year lease on our “top choice” apartment. Of taking photos and dreaming about paint colors and pictures on the walls and finally having a guest room. Then this week, reality hit. And it hit hard. Moving is just plain stressful. And we should know. David and I have now officially lived in eight homes in our seven years of marriage. But moving in a third…