High-Jinx

This trip may just be cursed. Not sure why, or by whom (or what), but I deeply suspect a plague o' all the houses.

Evidence:

1) Miriam gets the mumps (an ancient virus that should have gone out with the whooping cough - although I've had dear friends get that horrible sickness as well) 36 hours before she is to fly. As of 11am Saturday India time (I am due to arrive in Bangkok at 1:40pm Sunday India time), I still don't know whether Mirmo is coming or not.

*Update*: Miriam is officially not coming. She tried to fly, but felt so ill after Portland to Seattle that she felt it would be an enormous mistake to fly the other 2 legs of the trip. Of course I'm incredibly disapointed, and the worst part is that there are no flights available in the next few days should she feel better and still want to come. What a different trip this is turning out to be. I'm trying to practice patience and openmindedness and remember that I'm still seeing Kovitz and I'm still going to freakin' Thailand.

2) Sarah is denied entry to Thailand because her passport expires in April '08. Evidently (although we still cannot find this printed anywhere), the Thai government requires at least 6 months validity on all passports, even though North Americans are allowed 30 days entry to Thailand without a visa and Sarah has a return ticket scheduled for January '08. So as of now, she isn't coming at all because it will cost $300 to rush a new passport and then all flights to Bangkok are booked (she's flying on points) through the 14th of Jan.

Ick. I feel an ulcer coming on.

Out of Station

To use the Indian phrase, I will be "out of station" for the next two weeks. For those of you who have not been privy to my excitement frenzy, I leave for Thailand on Sunday! Fourteen days of delicious food, white sand, gin & tonics, and these clowns:

I find myself wondering if I will experience culture-shock in Bangkok and at the tourist beaches. Even being in kitschy Kerala sent my head spinning, as I was no longer in the minority and could find things like french-press coffee and porridge without effort. I imagine I'll be a bit overwhelmed for the first few days. I can't wait!

I imagine there will be very few posts over the next weeks. I'll be too busy jive-talking and laughing like a crazy woman. Bring. It. On.

(no apologies for the number of exclamation marks in this entry).

A few good clicks of the tongue…

In that absurd 101 Things to Do Before You Die book, attending the December/January music festival in Chennai is not listed. But it should be. By far, the most enjoyable part of this city continues to be its art scene. There are often ten to fifteen concerts a day, in venues all over the city and featuring world-class musicians, dancers and actors. And while I have only been privileged to see a half-dozen performances, almost all of them have been an incredible showcase of talent and musical heritage.

On Saturday, Natalia and I went to Kalekshetra – where we saw the sunrise concert – for an evening recommended to me by a work colleague. T.N. Krishnan, a Carnatic violin prodigy now in his seventies, was performing with his daughter at 7:30pm. But beforehand, seeing as Kalekshetra is a dance academy and temple dedicated to the arts, there would be a Bharatanatyam (Bharata: India; Natyam: dance) performance. Mythili Prakash, an Indian American who has been dancing traditional Indian forms since she was eight, had flown in for the Chennai music festival. And while I studied the history of Bharatanatyam at length in university, it would be my first live performance.

The entire night was a metamorphosis. Bharatanatyam pieces are often stories told through dance; mudras, or hand signs, facial expressions and bodily positions tell tales of heroes and demons, gods and goddesses, women in love. Mythili Prakash became the goddess Parvati. She was mother and lover and warrior, all in her dance. It was absolutely beautiful, and I’m so excited to see her dance again in her native U.S.A.

T.N. Krishnan was a once-in-a-lifetime encounter. In 2005, I went with Seth to Tanglewood in the Massachusetts Berkshires, the summer home of the Boston Pops. I remember thinking that it was a rare occasion to see such talent, such deep commitment to classical music and its inherent emotional potential. Not since that summer have I seen such musicianship, have I heard such a beautiful rendering of the violin. Sri Krishnan played the violin with his daughter, and was accompanied by two incredibly talented percussionists. Much of Carnatic music involves very complicated rhythms, and this performance was no exception.

Also like Tanglewood, the audience on Saturday evening was knowledgeable and scrupulous, and many of them were obviously artists or retired artists themselves. Indian custom calls for one to show appreciation of a musician not through whoops and hollers, but through a soft clicking of the tongue and a few well-timed grunts. So as T.N. Krishnan played, you could here what sounded like scolding clucks reverberating through the crowd. It was truly amazing to be part of such an engaged audience – and Sri Krishnan obviously felt the same way, because he played 3 encores.

After the concert, Natalia and I rode our bikes to the beach, allowing ourselves to further absorb the evening as a blood-red moon rose over the Bay of Bengal.

Martyred in Pakistan

A poignant article from Salon.com one day after Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto of Pakistan was assassinated.

"The United States strongly condemns this cowardly act by murderous extremists who are trying to undermine Pakistan's democracy," President Bush predictably told reporters in Crawford, Texas. "Those who committed this crime must be brought to justice." He's missing the point. This is not an episode of "Law & Order," where the killers have to be caught and punished. That would be the way to end the story of Benazir Bhutto.

If Washington and Islamabad are really serious about democracy in Pakistan, they would do better to heed the words of Indira Gandhi: "Martyrdom does not end something; it is only a beginning."

Happy Christmas to all...

To those in Ontario, Alberta, NYC, Koriyama, PDX, Seattle, the UK, D.C., New Jersey, California, Florida, and India, I'm sending you my love and best wishes for the holidays.

Dave, you've got to read "The Night Before Christmas" by yourself this year. I know you can handle such a big responsibility. Take care of the Dons...they might be extra weepy come the 25th. Watch "Muppet Family Christmas," and kindly remind them that Gobo has always said "Eh" right before the final scene. I miss you guys so damn much!

Maureen Elsey (McManus)

Maureen Elsey (McManus)

After a valiant struggle with dementia, Maureen Teresa Cecelia passed away peacefully in her sleep on Sunday December 16, 2007.

Mourning her loss are her five much loved children: Brent (Catherine), Dawn (Donald), Cathi, Mark (Laurie) and Scott (Matina). She also leaves her grandchildren: Douglas (Li), Sheila, Michael, Donna, Krystal, Ishmail, Jasmine, Jennifer, David, Garrett, Karlie, Mackenzie, Stephanie and Jamie all of whom she loved dearly. Maureen was predeceased by her husband Norman, grandson Richard, as well as her parents and siblings.

A celebration of Maureen’s life will be held at St. Laurence Anglican Church, 5940 Lakeview Drive SW, Calgary, on Monday January 21, 2007 at 1.30 PM with a reception to follow at The Glencoe Club, 636 – 29 Avenue SW Calgary.

A heartfelt and sincere thank you to the staff at Alberta Hospital Edmonton, Units 12-2B and 12-1 for the wonderful and compassionate care they provided to Maureen.

In honour of Maureen’s commitment to serve others, as a nurse and as a volunteer for many organizations, we ask that in lieu of flowers, donations can be forwarded to The Calgary Drop-in and Rehab Centre 423 – 4 Avenue SE Calgary, AB. T2G 0C8.

An Old Irish Blessing

May the road rise up to meet you.

May the wind always be at your back

May the sunshine warm upon your face,

And rains fall soft upon your fields.

And until we meet again

May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

As my youngest cousin, Jamie, noted, "Now Grandma Moe can spend Christmas with Grandpa Norm."
We love you, and rest assured the clan will continue to be loud, boisterous
and - most importantly - together.

Mother, May I?

May you please let us know if you will sell our books? May you please make a reservation for me at 6pm for two? May you please shut the hell up?

My boss today told me I have a "strange turn of phrase" in my apparently singular use of "May you please/May I please." Blogging co-worker told me she found it odd - in a good way. This is not the first time someone has pointed this out to me (my American employers at OHSU thought it was both archaic and grammatically incorrect - they were at least wrong on the latter account). But my entire extended family uses this phrase. I was taught, along with the generic "please" and "thank you," that an oft-placed "May I" was essential to good manners. In fact, I'm often taken aback by those who don't use the formal request in business, although it would appear I have inappropriately high expectations.

Manners are sexy. I was raised by generations of Brits - I'm genetically wired to think so.