Wednesday, October 1, 2014

Book Club for Two

I don't read a lot of blogs, but when I do I invariably stumble upon that blog entry apologizing for not having posted in awhile. I dislike those kind of blog entries. They are entirely too self-aware of one's audience and I find their authors incredibly self-absorbed to truly believe that anyone even noticed that they weren't posting regular to their blog.

I can't believe it's been almost two months since we've returned from the States, and I know it has been several weeks since I have had the time or inclination to write. I am sure the blogosphere does not miss me, and a lot has happened in these two months, though I don't know how much of it is worth writing home about, so to speak.

Of course, there are the daily goings-ons that reads like a form letter sent inside a Christmas card that updates the family on the year's news. Sam started first grade. Peter started pre-school (then got head lice two days later). I got tenured. The audience for Elise's photography doubled in less than twenty-four hours. Then, doubled again. But sometimes life isn't all that interesting, even when you live in India.

Except when it is.

I misplaced my phone the other day. I searched the house high and low with Clementine following me around with her pacey in her mouth.

Finally, I asked her, "Clementine, have you seen my phone?"

She nodded emphatically, as if to say, Why hadn't you asked me sooner? Then, around her pacey she said, "I thinking about it is in Brazil."


"Yeah, I think it's in Brazil."

Umm...okay...thanks, Clem.

Last week, Elise and I attended Sam's student-led evaluation at school. Sam receives rave reviews from all his teachers. His reading and writing are fantastic, and his math is coming along, too.

Sundar drove, and as we got closer to the house, his cell phone rang. He never answers it when he is driving. He keeps it wrapped up in a plastic zip-loc bag in this front shirt pocket and when it rings, he pulls it out to look and see who it is. I joked that it was his wife calling to check up on him as he was working late that evening.

He may have laughed or even smiled, but he replied seriously, "No doubt, sir. In arranged marriage, no doubt. In love marriage, lots of doubt."

He went on to say--and I am paraphrasing here--that because his is an arranged marriage, his wife never questions where he is. He is always making money. Elise concluded that in love marriages, if one were capable of loving once, they were capable of loving again, and, hence, doubt.

Then he went on to say that he only eats mutton once a month which made even less sense than him saying there is no doubt in arranged marriages.

Tonight, Peter wore a shell necklace over his shoulder like Chewbacca's bandolier and pretended he was a wookie on our evening stroll around the neighborhood. Earlier in the day, he was streaking across the living room like the Flash. Yesterday, he picked out a green t-shirt and green shorts to wear to school and announced he was a "T Ninja Turtle", his parlance for a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle.

At one point, Sam and Peter had come to a draw when they tried to bowl each over using the Force.

Elise and I have gone on two photowalks for two since we've been back thanks to Rita, and we have started a book club. Total membership = 2.

She started Donna Tartt's Pulitzer-Prize winning "The Goldfinch" and found it so rivetting, I had to start it, too. We have his and hers Kindles now, so I didn't even have to buy the book, just download it from the 'cloud'. Modern technology is both wonderous and baffling. Elise maintains a 200 page edge over me. I am not a fast reader. I tend to relish every word, fearing to miss something. Morever, her turns of phrase of captivating. A word itself can be turned over and inspected from all sides, but out of context may mean less than when paired with either the word that immediately precedes it, the word that immediately follows, or both, and all, together, are sopped up like one using the butt end of a loaf of French bread to mop spaghetti sauce from an empty plate of pasta.

And here comes the part where I promise not to let two more months go by without writing--

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