.... during the Children's Writing and Illustrating Conference a couple of weeks ago

"Say it straight, simple and with a smile."

I have something to say, and I need to write everyday. I have no idea where all of this will lead, nor do I want to care. Of course, I do care. And it frightens me to have no idea where this will lead. "Say it straight, simple and with a smile." This is the message on my tea bag this evening, and there were double rainbows outside before I sat down to write. I'm pretty sure these are good signs. Typically, they are, anyway. We even had the sun and rain at the same time, which always feels a bit magical to me.

I signed up for this Writing and Illustrating for Young Readers workshop at BYU in order to be able to get some notion of the process of writing and illustrating. I thought I would go in with Lucy's Aardvark. I thought it was so good that I practically wouldn't need to change a word. Seriously, I thought this. I had not read through the story one time since I had written it in India, but I had made my claim to many, many people that I had written a children's book and wanted to work it some more at this workshop and get on with how I would get it published. Just clap those hands together and viola . . . . done deal. When I registered it was so close to the conference all of the writing sections were full and only the Illustration section was available. I simply figured I could work out how I might begin to illustrate this masterpiece. I mean, I am an artist. I've sold my work. I've sold dozens of pieces, and I enjoy painting. I heard that being a writer/illustrator is the best-case scenario, the hot ticket, so why the hell not? I can do that. I LOVE certain children's books with a passion, and have worked with children my entire adult life in a variety of settings. I know this sounds like a resume at the moment, but really, I was just pointing out to myself how much this made perfect sense.

This is so ridiculously naive and rather sad, or maybe cute, or I don't know what, but it was what it was. Let's call a spade a spade. It was arrogant and egotistical beyond measure, actually.

Then the first morning of the class, I decided if I wanted to illustrate my beautiful completed, perfect gem of a story, maybe I should read it again. And, what do you know? I discovered it is pretty terrible. Perhaps immediately ready for the circular file, rather than publication. Or maybe, with hours upon hours upon hours of work, and good, honest feedback, this could be a story to learn from. I also realized I have no idea what illustration involves, where I might start, what kind of style to use, what kind of style I have, that kind of thing. I might as well have fun, meet as many people as possible and get out of this whatever I can.

Listen. I realized I have to start somewhere and This Is The Place!

decisions, decisions

"How long is this going to be?" this is Andrew asking me to be DONE on the computer this afternoon. I can't blame him, I have been on here too long.

Much to say about the last week and everything else in between, but one thing I've decided for the summer, at least, is that I have to have a schedule for this writing. Pick an on-going time to write and then just show up in here and do it.

Every other day. For about an hour. Editing, writing, generally spilling my guts.

Sounds good. Hope to be here on Tuesday!

All the World's a Stage

I don't like the way I second guess myself ........

I wrote a first draft of this in January after the death of a friend, Jon. By his own hand.

I have an idea about death I have to share because I want to share. Probably not just mine, I may have heard it somewhere else, or part of it. It is making me feel a bit better than before. And since this is supposed to be some space I create, here you go.

We all have good reasons that no one but the audience actually knows. oh, the Drama

I think Death is only a veil. It is most definitely not the end, even if it is the end of Here.

I believe in reincarnation. Death is a trickster. The Grim Reaper is misunderstood. A misunderstood character in a pretty great play .

We don't die completely. Just the form of us. And when we die here, to this world, in the way we know it, there is so, so, so much more on the other side of the curtain. Pure love, pure existence. And anyone in that state is so fucking blissed out, they are LAUGHING, stunned beyond anything we can imagine for a moment.

And depending upon who we are and how we acted out our roles, pulled off those performances, those of us who love the crowd, want to know how we did. We want the applause, we want to see their faces, their emotion, their involvement in our show.

So I have this image of Jon that keeps me going through the day lately ....

He is on the other side of the curtain, peeking around at us, with the biggest fucking grin on his face--- just the one we all know and loved --- and he is seriously, trying so hard not to laugh his ass off to give away the joke. He nailed it. Has rocked us to the core with his final act.

And he is waiting for his friends to show up to the post show party so that when we walk backstage, he'll be able to smile and crouch down and point at us and say, "gotcha!" and laugh and laugh and laugh .....

and then he'll pass out the shot of tequila he asked to have raised in his name, and he can say,

"I won. Beat cha here first!"

Ahh, the Sleeper Car

I actually did laugh out loud several times in the middle of the night last night just thinking of what to say in here. I did not pull out my journal, though maybe I should have. But really I just wanted to sleep.

What the hell was I thinking? A sleeper car in India without earplugs???? hellllooo? I guess I was just up for another experience. So I got one. And it wasn't so bad, except for the snoring, the smells and the cold. I still had a really cool dream, another pretty perfect India dream. So where to begin, where to begin ....

let's begin in Rishikesh, India where I had been Monday afternoon through Friday morning. On Thursday night, it struck me that I was behind the eight ball again because I had not booked my train ticket yet from Haridwar back to Delhi. I wanted to be back by Friday night and knew the train leaves daily at about 6:00 p.m., back in Delhi a little before 11:00 p.m. However, I also remembered that in wanting to get myself up north I wasn't able to leave the day after I bought the ticket, but the following day, and maybe, perhaps, there could be a similar situation on the return trip. Are you following me here? So the kindly fellow at the desk of the Green View Hotel got on the computer for me to book the return ticket. I was right .... no tickets until Monday, December 15, the day I am due to fly back to Salt Lake City. This will not do. So other options include, taking the bus (an all nighter), hiring a taxi, or booking the sleeper train.

Let me now recall the last time I was booked in a sleeper car. This would be back in 1989 or so probably in Europe somewhere, but very well could have been in Egypt. The Egypt thing was my main point of reference here since it is another, less developed sort of country depending upon what you are considering. The fact that during that trip I was on a five day, four-star tour didn't really sink in so much. That sleeper car actually had things like sheets. I should pull out my old London journal from that year to see if I'm pulling that out of my ass. Anyway. Let's just say, it wasn't so bad. Debbie and I had our own compartment and it was just fine.

Kindly reception guy (I wish I got his name because we shared some laughs and he had a nice smile) told me there are six people to a compartment in these sleeper cars, but I still thought, no problem, so they are probably just a bit bigger or maybe we just need to take turns when the conductor(?) comes around to put the beds up or down, right??? Ha Ha Ha.

So leaving the Green View, me, my suitcase, my courier type bag, the driver and no helmets
(I actually love not having helmets in any one of the rides I got here) ......

...... all hop onto the scooter and head through the market, over the Jhula (bridge, they are pedestrian only, sort of), and over to the bus and taxi area so I can catch a ride back to Haridwar where I can take the train. I love these motorcycle and scooter rides I am getting. I ask him if he'll take me all the way to Haridwar, half in jest, and he tells me if it were during the day---yes, but at night---too dangerous. I ask him whether or not I should use one of the auto rickshaws, vikrams, or tempos, to go back there and he quickly tells me, "no, no, much too dangerous at night." I'm not sure if he is saying this because of the questionable nature of the drivers, though I'm pretty sure that is not what he is saying, but more because of the road conditions, visibility, and number of drivers on the road.

Whenever I wince, or make any sort of noise to indicate my immediate sense of impending collisions, these guys all laugh at me. This one asks me if I drive at home. I tell him, "yes, I have a station wagon much bigger than any of these cars ..." Again, he laughs. I'm not a bad driver, really.

On a side note---- a little info from the Lonely Planet guide ....

"An autorickshaw is a noisy three-wheel device powered by a two-stroke motorcycle engine with a driver up front and seats for two (or sometimes more) passengers behind. Most lack doors and just have a canvas top. They're also known as .... autos and tuk-tuks.

Tempos are somewhat like a large autorickshaw. These ungainly looking three-wheel devices operate like minibuses or shared taxis along fixed routes ..... You may come across vikrams in some areas. These are another name for tempos or sometimes a larger version of the standard tempo."

Then I'm at the bus stop .... After spending about a half hour getting countless side looks, offers for autorickshaws and vikrams, there is one particular taxi driver who has said he'll take me, and only me, to Haridwar for 550 Rs. This is about $11.00 for an hour ride. I initially think this is too much, try to bargain with him and play the stubborn, I'm-holding-my-ground-on-my-price kind of woman, but he tells me no, and basically he knows he's got me on the waiting game. Every once in awhile he saunders nearby, and then walks past. After maybe another 15 minutes he goes to the roasted peanut cart I'm standing next to, buys himself some nuts wrapped in newspaper, and offers me some. Of course, I cave and say, 550? okay, show me your car .....

This guys drives like a complete madman. He may have two daughters, 14 and 6 years old, but damn, he has no hesitation about passing every car, truck, motorcycle, vikram, and autorickshaw we come across. I start doing the prayer thing fairly early on, the positive affirmations, the visualizations of me walking into the train station, me getting safely onto the plane to leave India, me hugging my children. I also, unfortunately, start trying to figure out how I will throw my body onto the floor when we crash into the oncoming vehicle, that would be this next one .... no, this next one ... no, this next one ... no, this next one .... you get the idea.

When we get into Haridwar, I have some strange affinity for the place with its mishmash of horses, cows, pedestrians, cyclists, motorcyclists who blow their horns with abandon, horse-drawn carts, cycle rickshaws, autorickshaws, and its twinkling white lights in the store fronts. I do not want to be in the taxi who takes out the next stray dog, or small child or old beggar, so I tell him repeatedly, "I'm in no hurry. It's okay. Okay. You can slow down." He barely does this, but it does seem to make some difference.

NOW I'm at the train station. I have my ticket to Delhi. I know my train, just need to find the platform, and Kindly Reception Guy told me there is even a place at the train station where I can check my bag while I leave the station for dinner. It's about 9:00 p.m., I haven't eaten, and my train doesn't leave until 11:20, so I'm fine to head off for awhile. When I walk into the station it looks like the scenes in airports in winter when families have been unable to catch a flight for days and have hunkered down on the floor wherever they feel like it because they are so damn tired and just do. Or maybe the scene in Gone With the Wind where Scarlett goes to help with the wounded and there are row after row of men on the ground around her. Except here the men, women and children have their wool blankets over their heads, a tad more like an actual corpse. Some have decided a layer of newspaper might be a good idea rather than simply laying on the train station ground.

I am remembering this summer when Zach and Andrew and I took the overnight flight to JFK and were then headed into Grand Central Station and poor, tired little Zach had HAD IT, and threw himself down on the sidewalk in New York. I had about two suitcases and just had to wait until he decided he could walk again, but the New Yorkers who were walking by us on the sidewalk looked at me like I was insane to let my child lay down on the sidewalk. Grand Central Station seems like a place you could lick the floors compared to the surface here. Again, I exaggerate, but still.


SO SORRY .... I didn't finish this post and hope I have notes somewhere about the details of the Sleeper car back to Delhi. I was amazed at the volume of the men's snoring, the smells that would wake me out of a sound sleep after we had stopped at a station midway along because the bathrooms were only about 10 feet from my "bed" and there wasn't the wind from the train pulling the odor away, the hard plastic covered board to sleep on, the sheer number of cots in one car ....

suffice to say I could have gotten a seat and done just as fine. I'm glad I did it, but I'm also glad I'm not on there at this very moment.

I Smudged my Tika

So you know .... a bindi is the jewel women wear between their eyebrows. I'm pretty sure this is representing the third eye. Or rather, the Third Eye. I've worn a bindi during a couple of the wedding celebrations I went to here, along with pretty much every other woman there, and damn, if it doesn't dress a woman up in a wonderful way. I'm serious. I enjoyed how it looked. It felt lovely and I felt adorned in a new and beautiful way. Of course, the only problems are the moment in the course of the evening when you touch your face, as we so often do without even realizing it, and you brush it off. It's gone, and so is the special something along with it, if you let it. The other problem is that we don't wear these in the States. We really should. Much better than piercing one's lip or tongue or whatever. I have put a couple of very, very tiny bindis on my nose to look like I've pierced it, but eventually I touch my nose and that one comes off, too.

Tika is made out of rolli. This is what the men (in the teeny tiny shop where I am typing) tell me when I pester them about it. It looks like the brightest red flour you've ever seen. Water (or oil??) is added to it, and during some religious ceremonies or offerings, some priest type guy dots it on men and women's foreheads between the eyebrows .... again the Third Eye.

Am I being rude enough here with my ignorance, "some priest type guy" comment and so forth, or what???

So I went to a ceremony on the Ganga this evening, got the red dot on my forehead and take the cycle rickshaw to one of my favorite restaurants here, Big Ben Restaurant, to enjoy the Paneer Sagwala with a couple of Roti ---- I want to tell you about these in detail later on. all I can say now is "yummy." And after dinner, in my exhaustion, I put my hands to my face and rubbed them all over. I completely forgot about the Tika, and when I happened to glance down at my hand there was red powder all over it. This is far worse than chalk pastels in the smudging department. I was sitting next to a mirror, and when I looked over, I witnessed red all over not only my forehead---- I repeat ALL OVER MY FOREHEAD, but also around my left eye, below my left eye, all over my left cheek and onto my nose. Helllllllllllooooo Bozo! I had to laugh out loud, and in fact, I am doing so now because it still remains ALL OVER MY FACE and I look ridiculous. As if I don't get enough looks with the blonde hair ..... or the mendi (when you could see that.) I just realized I have to take a picture. Maybe I should have the guy who runs the place do it.

He was watching The Spy Who Loved Me in Hindi, and Indian Idol, before another guy came in to use the second computer in here. I still love this place.

maybe no one will notice if I wear my hair over the whole left side of my face.

No, I'm Not Going to Touch the Monkeys

Just some observations from the train departing Delhi on the way to Haridwar .....
For the first hour, the city continues though I don't know if at some point this is considered Delhi or another "city." Seemingly endless squat, brick dwellings, all in need of repair since they are falling down or half done. I imagine this is absolutely not the way the people who live here feel .... they are what they are, a home and their neighborhood, their community. All manner of roofs, if there is a roof at all--- steel, sticks, concrete, some other things I'm not so sure of, some covered with bags of garbage, some with areas to walk and hang clothes to dry ..... there is garbage along the tracks where you can barely see the ground it is so thick, narrow dirt streets among the buildings and rock and bricks. A florescent light or bulb from some rooms with no doors to the outside of the dwelling. It reminds me of photos I've seen of people living in war torn areas, or places where natural disasters have devastated the surroundings. I feel almost guilty writing that. The critic in me assuming the worst in a way, and then saying it out loud. As though both are wrong, even though it is how these people live, it is just what I'm seeing through my own lenses and it is just what I happen to be thinking and putting out there.

As I go by these areas, it has me dreaming of what it would mean to have a red bell pepper plant there. Would that be strange, or would the seeds be a precious thing to others living nearby, something I could share? Would it even grow with the conditions of the air quality, the water content, the soil? Would it be possible here? I believe it would grow if there were attention, care and ?love? given to it. Anything can grow with enough attention, love and care .... anywhere. I know many might find such an idea naive, but maybe that is exactly how the world began. Out of nothing at all.

And there is something here.

There was a fog, before the sun came up, that sat so low --- an inversion where the tops of trees or bushes were visible, but you couldn't see the ground. It was lovely in its way. I can see now that the world here has woken up, people moving about, the sun up and seen through the thick haze ... the depressing state outside Delhi was, in part, an area still asleep ..... immobile because the day had yet to begin, not paralysis.

Now I'm among fields ..... a cart pulled by a cow, bicycles all over, people carrying all types of things. I find this place beautiful.

"Cow patties" drying in the sun next to the tracks. They burn them for heat, I think. A low brick wall separates the tracks from either the town or fields. Patties lined up in rows, or leaning against one another in whorls neatly.

More to write later about actually being in Haridwar. There is so, so much to see, to say. My friend Shailaja said to me she is looking forward to hearing how I process this trip after I return and have time to digest it more. She pointed out how much of the trip is what is taken home or comes up later on. so true. Shailaja grew up in Bombay / Mumbai, whichever you choose to call it, the same place. Of course it is not the same place, I'm sure. There are probably things that don't seem to change at all as she visits each year, and yet other things new here, surprises all the time.

As I ate my very late lunch or early dinner this afternoon and did some people watching on the street from the Big Ben Restaurant here in Haridwar ..... I noticed the clothes and variety, practically rags .... no, in honesty, rags draped all over a few people, or western jeans worn low with leather belts and cool shirts on good looking twenty-something year olds, women in simple long shirts--- I forgot what they are called-- in some bright colors, but more plain ... or vibrant, sequined sarees (not sure what the spelling is on that one) in brillant colors, school children in uniforms with backpacks or one child carrying his or her two year old brother in ragged, dirty tops and nothing on their bottoms.... Two female soldiers with their guns slung over their shoulders ..... and, what do you know, here is another cow! (this is so common I almost don't notice them anymore) ..... bicycle rickshaws (I got one to my hotel from the train station), scooters, motorcycles, bicycles, carts, carts with horses, carts pulled by men with roasted peanuts, vegetable, plastic Buddas that have tinsel around their necks, I can go on and on and on and on ............

I almost forgot the monkeys! On the patio of the hotel Haveli Hari Ganga, sitting along the Ganges (to you and me) there were about a dozen. I took pictures of the mother with her baby .... they walk along the railings .... a couple humping each other (there is a reason for the expression "monkeying around," of course) .... I'm fascinated initially. There is a sign that reads, "TO AVOID MONKEY MENACE PLEASE DO NOT DRY CLOTHES ON THE TERRACE." It is a good thing there is one of those pull out clothes lines in the bathroom. I am planning on splashing in the Ganga to wash away my sins (my Catholic girl is so thrilled!) and I will have some wet clothes since I'm most definitely not planning on jumping in nude or with the suits I've left in the States anyway ..... I mean, I am HERE for God's sake, why not get wet? So its cold, so what? This is close to where it comes out of the Himalayas, not where it empties into the ocean after travelling through the country. However, I am not planning on touching the monkeys. The guy with the big stick who is banging it around and scaring them away for maybe five minutes will help me make sure of that.

Adding to the List

Does my list of animals spotted by the side of the road include those that are in wire cages for sale?  Yes, it does!

today I need to add:

roosters

baby rabbits

ducks (in cages to be sold)

pigeons (in cages to be sold)

many more goats

I just realized I can't write "many more .........."  because I will constantly be listing the cows, horses, etc, etc. from the first list

parakeets, love birds, other birds I really should know the names of by this point in my life

loud stuff in cages

goats on the roof

(sorry about the goat obsession tonight)