Mumbai

No matter how much I think it will be different, Mumbai still beats the shit out of me. First time I holed up and cried and wouldn't leave my room for two days. Second time, I just flew into Cochin instead. This time I thought I could take it. I was wrong.
I'm primarily overtaken by the sensory overload.
First and foremost there is a constant acrid smell. I was walking by the ritziest hotel in Mumbai and I'm overtaken by the smell of raw sewage. I'm in my hotel room and the acrid scent of burning trash wafts into my window and it's relentless. We go to a rooftop restaurant to "get away" from it all, but the smells rise and the gasoline and diesel is particularly strong. It literally hurts to breathe.
Then there is the constant presence of noise horns constantly honking. Engines rumbling. At night the black crows caw without stop.
Then there are all the humans. So many of them. The men stare for unusually long periods of time. And there are so many men! I welcome the occasional and friendly gaze of a woman.

And there is the constant presence of want. Desperate want! Relentless and desperate need.
Then...of course...there is me with all the stories in my head. The narratives that exacerbate each decision I make. Each look has meaning that I'm inventing.
My body hurts too, because I'm stiff and out of shape and I'm climbing steps and lugging backpacks and walking a lot. And the emotional stress of it all is complicating it even further.
Then there is the JET LAG. Exhausted in the day and waking up at 3 AM, wide awake..
And just when I think I've had enough and I'm ready to leave this horrifying place...

India happens. The refreshing exuberant nature of Indian people.

We decided to take the ferry out to Elephanta Island, which is just off the coast of Mumbai. It is very cool with amazing and ancient sculptures built into ancient caves. But the trip itself is even more refreshing and amazing. Floating across the ocean,  the air is "almost" fresh. While we are on the ferry, we meet Indians on vacation. Their joy and enthusiasm is delightful and unique. Truly unlike anything I have ever come across in the US. They ask us the familiar, "Where from?"  And the flood gate of questions, selfies, introductions suddenly opens.  I meet a family from Hyderabad that wants to teach me Bollywood dance moves. And I say yes, so there I am, the fat American, wagging her hips to the joy of my instructors . Then I meet two Muslim girls who speak impeccable English and the conversation ends with "We are friends now?" And, of course, a selfie. And I suddenly feel as if I have found the answer to world peace.

The absence of  boundaries is refreshing and exotic to me, just like my being an American seems exotic to them. It's all very ironic I guess.

Finally, the excitement dissipates with my inability to speak any Hindi other than what is your name and I settle in to watching the excited and innocent joy of laughter, dancing and feeding the flock of seagulls that fly alongside the boat and I realize at last I have arrived in Mumbai.

Thai Massage

One of the hardships of being a massage therapist and receiving massages is the difficulty of finding a great therapist. There is a big difference between intentional touch and "just being rubbed", as one of my massage friends likes to say. I'm constantly trying to improve my touch awareness. And trying to feel how the muscle, the body and the energy responds to touch.
Practicing intentional touch in my own work, makes me acutely aware of how it feels to have someone not adjust pressure or just endlessly bump over a knot in a muscle.
I've received a good share of "being rubbed" here in Asia, and in the US. Since Thai massage is very common, (there were literally rows of massage studios on every street we visited) it was not unusual to see a therapist giving a massage while chatting on her phone or talking to another therapist. My tact is usually to selfishly send John first and get a review from him.
After receiving an awesome Thai massage from Sae at Friends Massage, in Chiang Mai, we decided to take a three day class. We did our research and found a reputable, well reviewed school called, Sabai De Ka.
Our teacher, Na, was delightful and abundant with both humor and knowledge about her craft. The first thing she did was apologize for her English, which I assured her was 99.9% better than my Thai.
Thai massage is performed over loose clothing and involves a lot more stretches and compressions rather than the long strokes of the Swedish technique. It has been used for centuries and was originally taught in the temples. There is no oil used other than the occasional salve for a tight muscle.
The course covered all the techniques for a full Thai Massage adapted for a table, since traditionally it is done on a mat on the floor. But we wanted to be able to integrate it with our other types of massage, so we opted for the table course.
I really like how Thai massage encourages the therapist to use her whole body to improve stretches. It's not unusual to use a foot for better leverage for a stretch. Since it uses a lot of stretches, a therapist needs to listen to the body and the client to make sure the stretch is just right. The wonderful massage I received from Sae, at Friends Massage, used experienced intuitive touch to not overstretch my wonky shoulders. Even with a huge language barrier, she was able to feel when a stretch was a little too intense and she easily adapted.
Our teacher, Na, also had to be intuitive about our techniques, constantly helping us to adapt and change for our clients.  A phrase that I heard regularly was, "You no flexible. You go like this" and then she would teach us some adaptation to the technique.
Thai massage involves lots of repetition, so we were taught to use 10-30 repetitions of a particular move. Of course, we had limited time, so sometimes when we worked on each other, we would shorten the repetitions considerably, which was typically accompanied with my favorite line of all time, "Mr. JOHN, your wife have great body, you no cheat her!" I can assure you that John will be hearing that phrase for a long time to come!
All together, we learned enough techniques to give a 4 hour Thai massage. We obviously have many hours of practice ahead to master these new techniques, but we are both excited about integrating lots of these techniques into our practice and offering our most authentic Thai Massage when we return home.

Did I Mention I Saw A Tiger?

I've visited India four times. Each time I am most excited about the exotic wildlife. Monkeys abound. Camels and elephants seem to be part of everyday life. Whenever we go on safaris, we are told. Don't count on seeing a tiger. So when we went to Periyar National Park I accepted it. When we went to Wyanad, I  accepted it.
This year, I decided that we would go to Gujarat and try to see the Asiatic lions there at Gir National Park. I was tired of accepting not seeing a tiger.
Well, plans changed and we ended up going to Ranthambore National Park near Jaipur. 
Planning trips in India is tricky. The tips on seeing wildlife abound and they are always accompanied with the caveat, "Don't count on seeing a tiger". One of the tips was to get your park pass in advance because the lines are super long. They were accompanied with stories of folks queuing up at 5 and 6 AM. The more I read, the more overwhelmed I got. As luck would have it, getting overwhelmed dissuaded me from going through the online process (which was equally discouraging). I just figured I would wing it. I probably wasn't going to see a tiger anyway, right?
When we made our reservations for Ranthambore, I pondered whether to stay at the considerably more expensive "tiger safari resorts" which mentioned their proximity to the park, their ability to book jeeps and canters for safaris and their luxurious rooms. But, as luck would have it, I decided to save some cash and stay at the Hotel Aditya, advertised as the best "budget" hotel in Ranthambore.
Once we arrived, I asked Shawn, our host, if he could arrange a couple tiger safaris for us. I figured, we might have more luck if we went twice. But, upon arriving and realizing that the only interesting thing about Ranthambore was tiger safaris, I decided to cancel one of  the trips and leave a day early, because I probably wasn't going to see a tiger anyway.
When I asked Shawn what time of day it was best to see a tiger, he  suggested afternoon, which surprised me because I felt like I had read that mornings were better. But I took Shawn's advice, since I probably wouldn't see a tiger anyway. Shawn told me the price for the jeep safari, which was 3500 rupees per person, which is pretty steep in India. (we were paying 950 for our hotel room). It's about $45 per person. But after some grappling in my head about how I'm probably not going to see a tiger anyway, I decided to splurge on the unlikely chance that, maybe, I would see one.
Another guest at the Hotel, Neil, from Australia, was equally interested and decided to join us. We chatted together for a while and concurred that we probably wouldn't see a tiger anyway.
The next day, our jeep arrived. And, as luck would have it, the other passengers were an Italian couple and their personal and experienced Indian guide, who also happened to speak excellent English and happened to know that zone 10 was THE ZONE for tiger sightings  this year. As luck would have it, T42, was hanging around that zone ever since (according to Shawn) his mate was poisoned by the natives and T42 refused to leave for days as he mourned over her body. The narrative was moving, but we all agreed that it was unlikely that we would see him.
It was a long day of everyone carefully scanning the woods. The guides suggested that we not stop to look at deer or other wildlife until the ride back to increase the opportunities to see a tiger, to which we all heartily agreed.
The ride seemed endless. At one point we stopped and observed a tiger feeding ground. We could see old bones of deer and other animals that had been eaten months earlier. We saw tiger paw prints on the road. These things are an exciting reminder that the tigers are there...even though we probably wouldn't see one. There was a ridge around the feeding ground that we almost drove along, but I think our guides were reluctant to risk it since it would be a precarious fall if he veered too far left or right.
The sun was just starting to set and it looked like our day had ended. I accepted our fate and acknowledged it was worth a try.
Suddenly another guide was waving to us. He was up on the ridge. Although, I couldn't understand his words, his eyes and arms screamed tiger. In seconds we were braving the ridge and there he was, T42. He was huge. He was so regal, just napping in the shade. We were climbing all over the jeep trying to get a different angle as the others jockied for a view. T42 looked right at us. He yawned. He stood up and stretched. He was completely indifferent to our presence. Our guide pointed out his kill from earlier that day. He was full of food and napping off his full stomach. It was even exciting to watch him take a dump. His coat was shiny and he had none of the qualities I have seen in caged tigers. This was his realm, we were guests in his house.
Within minutes, five jeeps were lined up behind us, yelling for us to move and give them a view. I was  selfishly grateful for our guide's insistence on lingering
We finally gave up our spot for the others, but I selfishly wished I could have stayed all evening watching him. It was such an honor and a privilege. The drive home was rich with jubilation. To think that I even wondered about spending $50 on such an amazing experience. Every 10 minutes or so, one of us would say, "We saw a tiger!" And then an animated conversation about it.

Did I mention that I saw a tiger?

I've visited India four times. Each time I am most excited about the exotic wildlife. Monkeys abound. Camels and elephants seem to be part of everyday life. Whenever we go on safaris, we are told. Don't count on seeing a tiger. So when we went to Periyar National Park I accepted it. When we went to Wyanad, I  accepted it.
This year, I decided that we would go to Gujarat and try to see the Asiatic lions there at Gir National Park. I was tired of accepting not seeing a tiger.
Well, plans changed and we ended up going to Ranthambore National Park near Jaipur. 
Planning trips in India is tricky. The tips on seeing wildlife abound and they are always accompanied with the caveat, "Don't count on seeing a tiger". One of the tips was to get your park pass in advance because the lines are super long. They were accompanied with stories of folks queuing up at 5 and 6 AM. The more I read, the more overwhelmed I got. As luck would have it, getting overwhelmed dissuaded me from going through the online process (which was equally discouraging). I just figured I would wing it. I probably wasn't going to see a tiger anyway, right?
When we made our reservations for Ranthambore, I pondered whether to stay at the considerably more expensive "tiger safari resorts" which mentioned their proximity to the park, their ability to book jeeps and canters for safaris and their luxurious rooms. But, as luck would have it, I decided to save some cash and stay at the Hotel Aditya, advertised as the best "budget" hotel in Ranthambore.
Once we arrived, I asked Shawn, our host, if he could arrange a couple tiger safaris for us. I figured, we might have more luck if we went twice. But, upon arriving and realizing that the only interesting thing about Ranthambore was tiger safaris, I decided to cancel one of  the trips and leave a day early, because I probably wasn't going to see a tiger anyway.
When I asked Shawn what time of day it was best to see a tiger, he  suggested afternoon, which surprised me because I felt like I had read that mornings were better. But I took Shawn's advice, since I probably wouldn't see a tiger anyway. Shawn told me the price for the jeep safari, which was 3500 rupees per person, which is pretty steep in India. (we were paying 950 for our hotel room). It's about $45 per person. But After some grappling in my head about how I'm probably not going to see a tiger anyway, I decided to splurge on the unlikely chance that, maybe, I would see one.
Another guest at the Hotel, Neil, from Australia, was equally interested and decided to join  us. We chatted together for  while and concurred that we probably wouldn't see a tiger anyway.
The next day, our jeep arrived. And, as luck would have it, the other passengers were an Italian couple and their personal and experienced Indian guide, who also happened to speak excellent English and happened to know that zone 10 was THE ZONE for tiger sightings  this year. As luck would have it, T42, was hanging around that zone ever since (according to Shawn) his mate was poisoned by the natives and T42 refused to leave for days as he mourned over her body. The narrative was moving, but we all agreed that it was unlikely that we would see him.
It was a long day of everyone carefully scanning the woods. The guides suggested that we not stop to look at deer or other wildlife until the ride back to increase the opportunities to see a tiger, to which we all heartily agreed.
The ride seemed endless. At one point we stopped and observed a tiger feeding ground. We could see old bones of deer and other animals that had been eaten months earlier. There was a ridge around the feeding ground that we almost drove along, but I think our guides were reluctant to risk since it would be a precarious fall if he ever too far left or right.
The sun was just starting to set and it looked like our day had ended. I accepted our fate and acknowledged it was worth a try.
Suddenly another guide was waving to us. He was up on the ridge. Although, I couldn't understand his words, his eyes and arms spoke volumes. In seconds we were braving the ridge and there he was, T42. He was huge. He was so regal, just napping in the shade. Within minutes, five jeeps were lined up behind us, yelling for us to move and give them a view. I was  selfishly grateful for our guide's insistence on lingering. We were climbing all over the jeep trying to get a different angle as the others jockied for a view. T42 looked right at us. He yawned. He stood up and stretched. He was completely indifferent to our presence. Our guide pointed out his kill from earlier that day. He was full of food and napping off his full stomach. It was even exciting to watch him take a dump.
We finally gave up our spot for the others, but I selfishly wished I could have stayed all evening watching him. It was such an honor and a privilege. The drive home was rich with jubilation. Every 10 minutes or so, one of us would say, "We saw a tiger!" And then an animated conversation about it.

And so it begins...

Four nights ago I was so ready for travel. Then three nights ago I woke  up at three am thinking of all the stuff to do...then two nights ago I woke up thinking about all the reasons I didn't want to leave...and last night I lay awake imagining all the tragic consequences of flying across the world and leaving all of my family and friends behind.
John is envisioning the chai in Ganeshpuri and I'm remembering the dust. John is remembering the beautiful view from the Sea Shore Hotel in Mumbai and I'm remembering the four flights up the dark, dirty stairway.
Yes. I guess I'm ready, but this is part of the process...I suppose.
It aches to leave my sister behind who is facing surgery in a couple weeks. It aches to say goodbye to my daughter who is brave and strong and beautiful. It aches to leave friends and familiar faces for the unknown.
I truly aches to sit on an airplane for 22 hours, trusting in only the universe and good people.
I do know that I will adjust and the sights and sounds and SMELLS of India will slowly become part of the adventure, but right now I just feel acutely aware of what I'm leaving behind.
It does not ache to leave cold winter and dark days.
I will bring love with me and I will bring love home. That's one thing I can count on.

The Family Table

When I was younger, like 55, I used to think I could predict what an experience would be like. But travel has reminded me that I’m not even close to knowing what the next adventure brings. Now, I’m not talking about danger or high stakes stuff although I have been in the company of a wild bull elephant. (An old blog will tell you about it  ) I'm actually talking about those times when I feel a little bit uncomfortable; when I know I will have to interact with strangers beyond the basic social  courtesies..

Yep, I know you’re thinking, Marcia…that’s what travelling is all about. And I do know that…but…I still feel squeamish if I know I’m gonna be outside my typical comfort zone… So, the fact that our homestay had a family style eating arrangement and the fact that we were going to be up in the mountains of Kerala, without easy access to alternative meal settings. Well, it made me squeamish.

We arrived at Varnam Homestay in a taxi whose driver definitely got the short end of the stick. He must have asked directions ten times  before he found the little oasis tucked away down rugged dirt roads and surrounded by rubber tree plantations and random ramshackle and not so ramshackle homes. When we pulled into the driveway, we all (including the driver) breathed a sigh of relief.

Beena, our hostess, greeted us with a warm hello and welcomed us right up to that “family table”. Hmm, let the awkward conversation making begin.

Yes, there were a few awkward moments, but I was pleasantly surprised by how much travellers in the same place had to talk about. That family table was the highlight of this leg of our adventure. Our first night, the two German women (I’m terrible with names) convinced us that we would love the organic farm tour, and we did. John and I had walked around the farm earlier, and I was amazed at how many fruits, veggies and spices we didn’t recognize. My favorite was the cinnamon tree. Eating cinnamon bark off of a young branch of a cinnamon tree is soooo  much more delicious than any cinnamon you will ever eat. I saw pineapples that weren’t on the shelves of the produce lane at Hannafords. One pineapple has its very own plant. I ate green peppercorns off of the vine. Anyway. It was pretty cool.

Back to the family table. At dinner, we would all talk about what we did that day. As the stay progressed, we started to talk about ourselves and learn about each other. By the end of our stay, there were passionate, friendly conversations about living with disease, decisions about end of life, politics and…of course.. the dreaded conversation… who had seen an elephant and who had NOT!

There was a lot of strategizing as those who did tried to help those who did not to have the penultimate experience of what I assume must be everyone’s reason to go to India.
“We didn’t need to go on the safari tour…you can just see them on the side of the road.” And then, quietly, “we haven’t seen one yet. We’re just going on the tour. It increases our chances, right.”

I  the meantime we entertained ourselves with 10 km treks through villages where adorable  little children come running out to stare and dare to speak English. A typical conversation went  "Hello Madame. How are you?" I would respond and ask,and how are you. " I am fine thank you." Then we would stare at eaxh other, trying to make a deeper connection.

We also walked along a river, where a boy had recently been mauled by a tiger. We would swim in that river, with monkeys up in the trees, only to learn later from Hussein, who by the way told us about the tiger mauling, that there were crocodiles in that river (but it’s okay cause they are FRIENDLY)

And that “family table” was also where we heard the beautiful, haunting Malayalam song by our hosts, Beena and her husband (I’m terrible with names). That was also the family table where my new friends sang happy birthday to me and I made the same birthday wish I had made two years earlier, which was to see a DAMN elephant! We did “kinda” see some way far off in the distance amongst trees and rocks on the safari.

But my birthday wish must have been on Maine time, not India time, because, the next day, as we were leaving our homestay and the western ghats of India, my new Brazilian friend, Marcello, (I’m getting better with names) spotted a huge, bull elephant, with brilliant long white tusks on the side of the ROAD!

On Selfless Service and Meditation

Seva is selfless service in an ashram. When you stay at Amma’s Ashram, you are kindly requested to offer two hours of Seva per day. For folks having a short stay, the tasks are pretty simple. Our Seva was wiping dishes. This was a crazily easy task, but one night I was really tired, so I skipped Seva and went to bed. Being at the Ashram triggers my self consciousness pretty well and…(let me be clear that nobody follows you around during your stay making sure you did your Seva), but my little transgression was haunting me a bit. So when the Seva girl was coming around looking for someone to sweep the temple steps, I volunteered.

One of the benefits of Meditation is that it helps you discipline your mind. On a good week, I usually meditate for about 20 min for 4 or 5 days. That means I’m not listening to my thoughts for less that 2 hrs a week. Mind you, my thoughts are generally not very important or meaningful…and most off the time they are completely self destructive.

While we were at the Ashram, we participated in a workshop about this type of negative self talk and a strategy we can use to change our thinking by activating your “resource identity” which trains you to revise the negative story you’re telling yourself to a positive one. In Sanskrit there is a term called Matrika Shakti that basically says that our words create our reality.

So, if that is the case, my self talk puts me in a hellish reality relatively often.  For instance, I create critical stories in my head about why someone is scowling or laughing. Or what someone is thinking or feeling. This is an awesome skill if you’re a writer and you don’t have an ego, but my stories and interpretations are always about ME. This person is angry because I am taking too long, or I’m not following the proper protocol.

Speaking of protocols, at the Ashram, there are lots of people very willing to tell you what to do and how to follow the protocol. Since Amma means mother, there is a lot of  “mother” energy and “grandmother” energy. That’s great energy when it is enlightened and filled with grace, like Amma’s energy. But the more earthly version of mother energy is a bit more challenging for me.

Speaking of Amma’s grace, everything in the Ashram is about your spiritual growth, so a cigar is never just a cigar. I'm constantly being spiritually tested by the guru. Someone once described Amma’s work with her children as polishing stones in a tumbler. We are tossed about in our own dust until our rough edges are polished like gem stones. My “dust” for this visit has been to pay attention  to the negative and self destructive stories I create in my head as I go about my daily life.

Speaking of daily life, When I was little, my Yiayias spent a lot of time with us. It was typical for my mother’s mother to spend the summer in Maine. She would cook and clean and hang out with my dad’s mother. They were pretty critical and I was pretty sensitive, so they would complain to each other about how I didn’t pick up my clothes or take care of my dishes. Usually the conversation included some rant about some character flaw such as laziness or gluttony or selfishness or rudeness. These rants were always under the guise of the Greek language, which I, in this case unfortunately, understood much better than I could speak. So I would hear all about how horrible I was, but never told directly. In fact, my Yiayia’s favorite expression to me was , “Marcia, you’re a GOOD girl.”which was always accompanied with an affectionate cheek pinch. So now I spend a lot of my head time examining whether I’m a good girl, so I can please my critical Yiayia. This experience, and about 5000 other "formative" interactions, has left me with what I have come to realize is what I sometimes believe is an uncanny ability to read minds.

Anyway...I show up for seva at the temple steps at 2:30, but the task is changed to sweeping and washing the floors in front of the elevators. Once I figured out how to sweep and wash the floors in front of the elevators I go right to work. I was going to do my very best Seva to honor Amma. To build my character. To show everyone what a dedicated Ashramite I could be. And this work was right up my alley. I am an excellent cleaner. I take great pleasure in it.  When I was teaching, I used to reward myself for grading papers by allowing myself an hour of cleaning time. I love strolling through the cleaning products and looking at all the different kinds of gadgets that improve the cleaning experience. I have developed a good critical eye for the gimmicks and the good stuff.

So... when I saw the “swiffer” and the seriously recycled mop pad I was going to use to wash the large marble floors in front of the heavily trodden elevators… I was crestfallen. And the frugal amount of watered down cleaning products was equally disappointing. As was the absence of really good hot sanitizing water. But my self talk scolded, “MARCIA, quit being  such a first world primadonna with your selfish expectations of fancy, fine tuned state of the art cleaning supplies. This is an Ashram. People dedicate their lives to loving and caring for the destitute and suffering masses. Use the mops you’re given and shut up!”

 So... I set to work. I was to clean Floors 4-7. These floors were in open air areas that offered access to fresh cool air and bugs and birds. And it’s HOT in southern India. Lots of moist humidity that seems to make every part of my skin feel sticky… a perfect magnet for all the dust flying about from the sweeping. I swept the steps and then the floors. As I swept I discovered that birds had shit under the railings at the edges of the floor. My head said, “They surely don’t expect me to clean up dried  bird shit with cold water and a swiffer… do they? But Amma’s devotees are pretty devoted. I could hear them in my head too. They were saying, “Of course you will make these floors impeccable in Amma’s honor.” Then my Yiayia’s Greek criticism joined them. "Look at these filthy floor. You need to put more pressure behind that swiffer...and why are you using a swiffer...get on your hands and knees."  Then another voice said, “Marcia, you lazy snob, step up, do your best. Then another voice said, “No way, that’s too ridiculous, obviously the shit hasn’t been cleaned by others. Nobody will even notice whether the shit is cleaned. Anyway, if I had the right products and hot water, then I could clean the shit.  Heck, I didn’t even have a little scraper. Just my silly, very old swiffer.”  I was so exhausted by the tirade I had in my head, I skipped the shit and left that floor feeling like a fancy pants westerner with her picky high standards and lazy work ethic.

The sixth floor was exactly the same with similar voices and sometimes much more imagination. I imagined Amma (the goddess of unconditional love) making this one exception and  calling me up on stage to use me as an example of how not to be lazy. Then she would kick me out of the Ashram. Then my grandmother’s voice commenting on how filthy the floors were and how they needed more cleaning. As I was having this lively  conversation with myself, a little old Indian woman, who remarkably resembled my Yiayias, came out to the hall and sat right next to the bird shit.

We exchanged glances. I tried a little smile, but she wouldn’t have it. Then I went back to my self and my, supposedly, selfless service. When I got to the shit part of the washing, we made eye contact again, and she pointed to the shit and gave me that incredibly ambiguous Indian head wobble, which, with my brilliant imagination and particular personal grandmother history, meant that I needed to conquer the bird shit.

Out loud, (in English I was pretty sure she didn’t understand), I said, “I know, but I can’t figure out how to clean it.” Which was followed by another wobble. I continued to wash the floor, but I was desperately haunted by Indian Yiayia’s gaze. I knew what she was thinking… about how I was a lazy western primadonna that has probably never washed a floor in her life and had no idea what she was doing.

When I returned to the bucket of cold water, there it was, the plastic dust pan, with the stiff squeegee edge, perfect for scraping softened dried bird shit from a marble floor. AHA! I grabbed the dust pan and proceeded to easily scrape away the shit, leaving behind only lovely shiny marble. Indian Yiayia must have approved because she stood up slowly and shuffled back to her room..her work was done there.

I think I need to meditate a little more often.