La Angelita - Merry Christmas

Storm

Redfish

Palm Sunday

The fountains are dry; pollen is caked in the pocked concrete of the driveway, and in the animals’ fur.  Lia takes the Christmas lights off the Japanese maple. She is afraid they will hurt the little tree somehow. Palm Sunday. The sung Passion of Luke. Absent are the awkward, errant “alleluias” from the first few weeks of Lent.  In a week, the children will cut azaleas and irises to take with them to the altar. We leave early, Isabel and I, to get Catherine’s medicine. Her fever is down but not by much.

“It’s my fault,” I say, “for not fixing the fence sooner.”

“Don’t do that to yourself, Papi,” she says. I forget she is only five.

We make signs, Isabel and I, the largest font reserved for “LOST.”  I spell it for her, forgetting she is already five.

I drive around stuffing mailboxes, the wisteria in the air.

We sleep off and on during the day recovering. Watch a movie. Eat dinner. Are up again all night.

“‛There are wolves on the lawn.’” Yes. I like it very much. But it’s already taken.

Gig @ Network World

For the next month, I’ll be doing a guest blog at Network World. I am grateful for the opportunity and hope to use the spot to generate some discussion around green initiatives and service providers, and around green data centers in general. Please check it out at:

http://www.networkworld.com/community/?q=williams

The Girls...
 

Catherine Dare Williams
8 lbs. 7 oz.
September 9, 2006
10:39 AM 

Mayday

Mayday

I feel as though I have been too hard on the kids, the dogs. My favorite word is No or Nunca. No don’t play in the fountain. Nunca. No don’t bludgeon the roses or the lavender or the guara. No tocar. Something is either sucio or peligroso or both. I take the dogs for a hike to the stream.

Heel. Sit. Sit. SIT. Heeelll.

I think I see a snake roiling in the shadows of the deep end of the stream, long after the dogs have decided to lie down in it and drink.

Come. COME. CUHMME.

It’s a beautiful night two nights in a row and together we show Isabel how to roast marshmallows over the fire pit (clearly an activity both dirty and dangerous) and she has a swell time.

I wake at two A.M. for a six A.M. flight. I haven’t traveled in a few months—since the move, I have been on a plane twice—and my internal clock is clearly way off. I toss and turn in bed trying not to move much, trying not to wake the dogs. At four I wake and before showering I take the dogs outside. They void themselves and then stretch out on the back porch in the darkness.

Lia tells me that she heard Isabel take herself to the bathroom in the middle of the night. I am proud of this but also saddened by it. Proud that she feels at home in the new house now, that we have made a space for her in which she feels safe and secure enough to walk about in the middle of the night. Saddened, of course, because she will soon be five and also because today she is registered for kindergarten.

It’s a beautiful night and the children are riding their bikes and scooters on the deck. The sunlight is failing and the temperatures are falling. I am wearing a sweater and it is time for bath and bed.

Isabel, come on in. Time for bath.
Dad, you are so predictable. You always make us not be out here.

Grrrl!

Wan Kenobi

Isabel says we should name the baby “Wan Kenobi.” I think she would spell it “Juan Kenobi.”

Tremendous Source of Inspiration

Three days after I arrive home I get the following email:

Dear Mr. Williams,

It was indeed a pleasure having you stay with us during your recent visit to Bangalore.

We thank you for sparing your valuable time to complete our Guest Questionnaire, which has been forwarded to us by our Chairman for action and response.

It is motivation from discerning patrons such as you, which encourages us to give our best. It has also been our utmost focus at The Oberoi, Bangalore to provide our valued guests with personalised service that meets high standards of hospitality.

I have conveyed your gracious compliments to Sreeram, for whom it has been a tremendous source of inspiration.

I look forward to the pleasure of your continued visits and assure you of our best services at all times.

Thank you,

Yours sincerely,

[name deleted]
General Manager

The Oberoi, Bangalore

The Emerald Route

Delayed for a few weeks in jotting down the following:

Leaving Bangalore tonight on the 2:30 AM flight back to Frankfurt. Total flight time between here and home, 22 or so hours. I buy a copy of “The Emerald Route” by R.K. Narayan at Hal Airport and skim a few pages while watching a TV special about the inherent insecurity of India’s security forces.

I stumble on the following passage about Bangalore:

“The hoary nucleus of the city retains an indescribable charm, although the architecture may look outdated, and one’s passage at first may appear hazardous through it’s traffic, but actually the wheels steer off within a hair’s breadth and spare the pedestrian’s toes, who must survive by lightly leaping aside, and recovering his balance from the very edge of the granite pavement, and may not suffer more than an occasional jab from a cycle handle or a bump from its mudguard as crack-riders dash past, weaving their way through.”

This was 1977 of course, when Narayan was writing, before the advent of the autorickshaw which is by far the most prevalent vehicle on the streets of Bangalore. 75,000 of these or so are registered with the city government, but estimates of actual numbers on the streets range into the multiple hundreds of thousands. This was 1977, when the population of Bangalore was just over two million, while today it is greater than six million.

At no time did I ever feel safe crossing the street or riding in a car, though my driver, Anish, was a consummate pilot: calm and cool, and often quite strategic in his lane swapping and vehicle passing. Most of the time, however, I kept my eyes closed. When I commented multiple times on the traffic, I was told that if you ever doubted the existence of a higher power, go to India and watch the traffic work - it just works - inexplicably.

I sleep on the plane a few hours, then wake up and become completely absorbed in a Bollywood flick, No Entry, which is mysteriously captivating.

All is well until I eat something on the plane that in turn has me waylaid for the next three days.

 

Wolves

Enjoyed an impossibly good-to-great Chinese dinner (salt and pepper shrimp, salt and pepper squid, chicken with black bean sauce) with the team and with a friend from Chapel Hill (by way of Amsterdam). The woman across the dining room from us read her fortune out loud to her children and I could read her lips: “It’s always darkest before the dawn.”

Back to the Polo Club for a Guinness. Sreeram pours me a beer. He is still charging his phone on the bar in plain view of everyone, though it must be charged by now, as I’ve never seen him use it. I read Cheever and watch Pakistan beat India in the third test match. There is a team match here on Friday (the day after I leave) but I will miss it, and for this I am disappointed. I do receive a shirt with the company logo in the national colors and am quite honored.

I take a benedryl and watch a Bollywood remake of Pride and Prejudice (Gurinder Chadra – Bride and Prejudice). I fall asleep (to wait for the muezzin).

“The house was dark of course. The snow went on falling. The last of the cigarette butts was gone, the gin bottle was empty, even the aspirin supply was exhausted. He went upstairs to the medicine cabinet. The plastic vial that used to contain Miltown still held a few grains, and by wetting his finger he picked these up and ate them. They made no difference. At least we’re alive, he kept saying, at least we’re alive, but without alcohol, heat, aspiring, barbiturates, coffee and tobacco it seemed to be a living death. At least I can do something, he thought, at least I can distract myself, at least I can take a walk; but when he went to the door he saw wolves on the lawn.” – Cheever, “Journals”, 1967

Azan

Drinks in a bar called Ice with a logo comprised of stylized cubes of ice. A DJ plays Kenny Rogers, while on the LCD screen is Royksopp. Sleep hard for five hours.

Azan. The muezzin calls to prayer at 5:30 AM on the money and then again at lunch. He must call again, but I do not hear him.