Recently, I read the following hard-hitting piece that touched a personal chord in me:
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/04/25/magazine/25Memoir-t.html.
Subsequently, when I googled its author Dr. Daniel Carlat's name I came upon his blog: http://carlatpsychiatry.blogspot.com/.
While there, I added my own two cents' on the subject and here it is:
Dear Dr. Carlat,
Your succinct piece in the Times touched a personal chord for me. My mother had been depressed since her angioplastie (even this procedure was probably unnecessary!) in January 2006. A woman who was 24/7 active became 24/7 inactive! Indeed, she was also treated by psychiatrists.
A highly intelligent and strong-willed woman, recently, she stopped all medication, including for her heart and is doing much better. She has even begun eating much better. Up until recently she hardly ate and stayed in bed almost all the time.
A trained musician she was teaching tens of students but now, the only music she religiously listens to is mine every day at a set time. She's not normal yet, but since she stopped all medication, she certainly has come a long way and finally, as her daughter and caregiver, I'm beginning to feel hopeful. I've taken her up as a project and I'm beginning to see results. Thanks for your total honesty in talking about your profession.
With all due respect to my psychiatrist friends, I must confess that I didn’t think they could cure her (they had no idea of her belief system nor her upbringing, which in my opinion contribute much to how one deals with life’s traumas), and they didn’t. One of them (not my friend) came across as a real quack, in fact. I’m not sure if she was a psychiatrist or from one of those sub-professions.
I felt very sorry to read about your mother’s suicide.
Ro.
I am no expert on the subject, but I feel that particularly in mental illness, cure and treatment have to be highly individualized. This is what is working in my mother's case and in her case, the family's care and support trumped anything else available.
The gains for the family are untold although in the short run, the caregiver himself/herself could go insane. But if one hangs in there the rewards are multiple. It's amazing how for someone who is not known for her patience, this experience has taught me sensitivity and has fulfilled my own need to serve. Good deed came seeking me instead of the other way round.
Ciao!
Ro.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Healthy Eating, Soul Food, First Lady Michelle Obama, Jane Brody
Hi,
Based on my family's health history, I must be going to the doctor every other day to make sure all my vitals are okay and that I am not dying. Then again, the crazy person that I am, I don't although in 2008 I was forced to because, while in the garden trying to clear a thicket, I was infected with I don't know what and the pathetic condition of my skin (lots of centipede-like furrows all over my arms and legs) scared the hell out of me. The doctor thought it was poison ivy, which of course was treatable. But since I rarely go to a doctor I decided to have a few other tests run on me. A big mistake! My cholesterol was messed up. Both my LDL and HDL had headed in the wrong direction. When I returned home, I was miserable. It was if I had to pretty much stop eating. I got depressed and broke down. I had always watched my weight but lately I went just by my clothing size (6). It so happened that just then the clothiers had expanded the size. In other words, the label might say 6 but the actual size was much larger. This meant I had been overeating and the wrong kind of foods as well. Because it was August and thus the throes of summer I had really been indulging. For instance, for nearly two weeks just before I went to the doctor, I had been bingeing on cheese, eggs and ice cream. Yes, go figure as they say on Mars!
So now my LDL and HDL readings turned my whole life upside down. I had been exercising regularly but this also had made me a bit cocky about my eating habits. Pecan pies had begun to appear in my cabinet more often now. After my visit to the doctor's all this had to stop, of course. The first thing I was going to do was, increase the fiber content in my diet as per my research on the subject. This meant that my favorite cereal from Trader Joe's, the almond, cashew loaded granola had to be the first item to be replaced. Luckily I found a high fiber cereal which while could not hold a candle to my bowl of granola was still definitely the best substitute under the circumstances. Slowly I found a happy medium and also ran into the owner of a high impact gym in town as opposed to the low impact one I was going to till then.
Now, two years later, my clothes are loose on me (I even own a few size 4's; okay these may in reality be a real size 6), I have returned to my almond and cashew-loaded cereal 1/2 cup equals 160 calories; with milk another eighty calories), have a wedge of Toblerone (140 calories worth as opposed to two Hersey almond or caramel kisses from before worth a mere 50 calories; I plan to go back to the kisses) for dessert and of course, a couple of all natural cookies (no more than a total of a 150 calories) and six ounces of OJ before bed time so I can sleep through the night. My lunch is a vegetarian salmagundi sprinkled with dried cranberries and some walnuts followed a couple of sesame balls, a delectable dessert. A Nonni’s biscotti is a must with my afternoon coffee. In-between snacking includes a banana, orange and sometimes a yam and once in a while a few peanuts. Dinner is cooked cracked wheat and some grain-based or vegetable-based side dish topped with home made skim milk yogurt.
I know that some extremely health-conscious folks will not approve of the desserts in my diet but they are for my soul. If my soul is not happy, I'm not happy and I make the people around me also unhappy. Been there, done that and it was not pretty. I used to be obsessive and self-absorbed.
Healthy eating alone can go only so far. As long as I don't overindulge, I should continue to be healthy. Knock on wood. Moreover, what exactly is the point of hitting the gym six days a week at 6 a.m. and getting on the elliptical and the treadmill for half hour followed by another fifteen minutes of resistance exercises if I can't eat my favorite foods? This is my whole motivation behind my regular gymming. Even health experts like Jane Brody of the New York Times advise people not to let go of their indulgences. Apparently, she loves ice cream and she has it every day. I know that first Lady Michelle Obama will not approve of this, but much as I admire her, this is one area where I'm not going to listen to the First Lady:)
All right, enough on this subject for now.
Ciao!
Ro.
Based on my family's health history, I must be going to the doctor every other day to make sure all my vitals are okay and that I am not dying. Then again, the crazy person that I am, I don't although in 2008 I was forced to because, while in the garden trying to clear a thicket, I was infected with I don't know what and the pathetic condition of my skin (lots of centipede-like furrows all over my arms and legs) scared the hell out of me. The doctor thought it was poison ivy, which of course was treatable. But since I rarely go to a doctor I decided to have a few other tests run on me. A big mistake! My cholesterol was messed up. Both my LDL and HDL had headed in the wrong direction. When I returned home, I was miserable. It was if I had to pretty much stop eating. I got depressed and broke down. I had always watched my weight but lately I went just by my clothing size (6). It so happened that just then the clothiers had expanded the size. In other words, the label might say 6 but the actual size was much larger. This meant I had been overeating and the wrong kind of foods as well. Because it was August and thus the throes of summer I had really been indulging. For instance, for nearly two weeks just before I went to the doctor, I had been bingeing on cheese, eggs and ice cream. Yes, go figure as they say on Mars!
So now my LDL and HDL readings turned my whole life upside down. I had been exercising regularly but this also had made me a bit cocky about my eating habits. Pecan pies had begun to appear in my cabinet more often now. After my visit to the doctor's all this had to stop, of course. The first thing I was going to do was, increase the fiber content in my diet as per my research on the subject. This meant that my favorite cereal from Trader Joe's, the almond, cashew loaded granola had to be the first item to be replaced. Luckily I found a high fiber cereal which while could not hold a candle to my bowl of granola was still definitely the best substitute under the circumstances. Slowly I found a happy medium and also ran into the owner of a high impact gym in town as opposed to the low impact one I was going to till then.
Now, two years later, my clothes are loose on me (I even own a few size 4's; okay these may in reality be a real size 6), I have returned to my almond and cashew-loaded cereal 1/2 cup equals 160 calories; with milk another eighty calories), have a wedge of Toblerone (140 calories worth as opposed to two Hersey almond or caramel kisses from before worth a mere 50 calories; I plan to go back to the kisses) for dessert and of course, a couple of all natural cookies (no more than a total of a 150 calories) and six ounces of OJ before bed time so I can sleep through the night. My lunch is a vegetarian salmagundi sprinkled with dried cranberries and some walnuts followed a couple of sesame balls, a delectable dessert. A Nonni’s biscotti is a must with my afternoon coffee. In-between snacking includes a banana, orange and sometimes a yam and once in a while a few peanuts. Dinner is cooked cracked wheat and some grain-based or vegetable-based side dish topped with home made skim milk yogurt.
I know that some extremely health-conscious folks will not approve of the desserts in my diet but they are for my soul. If my soul is not happy, I'm not happy and I make the people around me also unhappy. Been there, done that and it was not pretty. I used to be obsessive and self-absorbed.
Healthy eating alone can go only so far. As long as I don't overindulge, I should continue to be healthy. Knock on wood. Moreover, what exactly is the point of hitting the gym six days a week at 6 a.m. and getting on the elliptical and the treadmill for half hour followed by another fifteen minutes of resistance exercises if I can't eat my favorite foods? This is my whole motivation behind my regular gymming. Even health experts like Jane Brody of the New York Times advise people not to let go of their indulgences. Apparently, she loves ice cream and she has it every day. I know that first Lady Michelle Obama will not approve of this, but much as I admire her, this is one area where I'm not going to listen to the First Lady:)
All right, enough on this subject for now.
Ciao!
Ro.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Some of my essays. columns and articles from a bunch of other sources
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2001/02/dreams.htm (Dreams)
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2001/07/rationality-and-romance.htm (Rationality and Romance)
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2001/06/juggling.htm (Juggling)
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2001/05/looks.htm (Looks)
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2001/03/dowry-and-other-issues.htm (Dowry and other issues)
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/09/communication.htm (Communication)
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/06/rab-se-bhi-sona-ishq.htm (B’s letter)
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/02/older-woman-younger-man.htm (Older woman younger man)
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/10/i-would-have-preferred-love-marriage.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/05/jim-and-i.htm (A love story)
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/08/a-spicy-exchange.htm (A playboy)
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/1999/09/a-possessive-boyfriend.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/1999/07/introduction.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2001/01/should-i-call-it-quits.htm (A dilemma)
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/1999/10/infidelity.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/1999/07/the-ageless-heart-and-life-with-an-alcoholic-husband.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/12/women-and-marriage.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/1999/11/does-he-or-doesn-t-he.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/1999/10/youthful-indiscretions.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/1999/12/the-second-time-around.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/1999/12/love-bah-humbug-oh-yeah.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/1999/08/does-everybody-want-freedom.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/1999/09/teenager-versus-parent.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/11/oh-that-cussed-four-letter-word.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/07/difficult-hubby.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/04/i-maa-tujhe-salaam-i.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/03/to-love-or-not-to-love.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/02/valentine-s-day-special-a-potpourri.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/1999/12/perfect-matches.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/1999/11/are-we-too-self-absorbed.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/1999/08/cyberlove.htm
http://rohini-ramanathan.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/02/discovering-madras.htm
http://rohini-ramanathan.sulekha.com/blog/post/2005/09/sheer-madness.htm (Sheer Madness)
http://rohini-ramanathan.sulekha.com/blog/post/2005/07/parent-as-riverbank.htm (Parent as Riverbank)
http://rohini-ramanathan.sulekha.com/blog/post/2001/10/a-trilogy.htm (The Trilogy)
http://rohini-ramanathan.sulekha.com/blog/post/2001/09/putting-humpty-dumpty-back-together-again.htm (Short Story)
http://rohini-ramanathan.sulekha.com/blog/post/1999/09/new-york-indians.htm (New York Indians)
http://rohini-ramanathan.sulekha.com/blog/post/1999/05/motherhood-revisited.htm
http://rohini-ramanathan.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/02/it-s-the-small-gestures.htm
http://rohini-ramanathan.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/02/thanks-but-no-thanks-i-m-no-glutton.htm
http://rohini-ramanathan.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/02/chat-room-holidays.htm
http://ihi.sulekha.com/blog/post/2006/11/india-s-maps-2.htm (About Walmart’s entry into India)
http://business.rediff.com/news/2000/dec/19rohini.htm (Brave New World)
http://business.rediff.com/news/2000/dec/19rohini.htm (Living in Multiple Worlds)
http://www.rediff.com/us/2000/aug/10us.htm (The frothies and me)
http://indiaabroad.com/us/2000/jul/27us2.htm (All About Choices)
http://indiaabroad.com/us/2000/jul/11us2.htm (America’s 224th Birthday)
http://indiaabroad.com/us/2000/jun/13us2.htm (The Indian-American Pie)
http://im.rediff.com/news/2000/oct/06spec.htm (Am American Ramlila)
http://imworld.rediff.com/us/2000/sep/19us.htm (Getting the message across)
http://www.rediff.com/us/2000/jul/06us.htm (When Indian Women Meet Across Oceans)
http://www.encyclopedia.com/doc/1P1-79283588.html (Dreams Deferred: Paid Article)
http://www.highbeam.com/doc/1P1-79280162.html (India Abroad: Assimilation Redux)
plus
A Daughter’s Welcome Duty
By
Rohini B. Ramanathan
May, 19, 1991
The New York Times
Her normally high yet stable blood pressure soared a bit, and the symptoms were not good. Her head hurt, she had no appetite, the mouth felt dry, the body weak. She panicked, and remembered how her own mother, who also suffered from hypertension and died of a heart attack, had her first stroke around age 55, now her own age. I took her blood pressure. It was indeed high. I drove her to the doctor. He examined her, prescribing stronger medication and rest.
A proud woman, my mother, in her moment of anguish, blurted out how grateful she was with her children. She further added, "Who else but with your children can you ask at liberty to take care of you when you get sick?" I, an advocate of the merits of an extended family outweighing the mutual adjustments the members have to make, was elated by this comment. For a woman who never felt any vulnerability that she could not handle herself, finding that we all need one another must have been hard.
In the last five years, I had done everything I could to prove that I valued the idea of my parents' living with me after retirement for no other reason but to be together as a family. I expressed this sentiment in every letter I wrote to them, with strong arguments upholding the logic behind such togetherness. The tribal being in me reiterated that families ought to live together. This is the way God meant it, I would insist. Modern lifestyles and ways of thinking, I believe, interfere with this yearning to stay together as family.
As part of my attempt to convince my parents that my desire to have them live with me was not for the sake of baby-sitting, I hired a full-time housekeeper who took care of the house, cooked and cared for my boy while I was out working. My housekeeper tactic dispelled any doubts my parents might have had. Moreover, my children are 8 and 6 now, in school till 3 in the afternoon, and I have started working from home.
Then, as part of the same process of convincing them how important it was for me to have them with me, I responded to their need to pursue their interests. Dad, a young 58-year-old, a retired comptroller, enjoyed accounting. I took him to job interviews, and now he is on his second career. Mom, with her music education background, needed an outlet, too, and today she is a music teacher. I thought, now I had earned the privilege of keeping them with me.
I had the added responsibility of making them feel at home in a foreign land, much as they praised this land of opportunities. I even expanded the house to accommodate their more peculiar needs, and threw in a few details that bore the flavor of their native surroundings.
No doubt, all these reminders make them happy, and at home. Yet, the emotional need to be together as an extended family was never admitted. For me, declarations of love are important. For all the love and affection they showered on their grandchildren, my children, they refused to admit any emotional ties to them.
I often wondered if it was my persuasive powers only that made them stay on. However, I never wanted to find out. But yesterday, Mom said, "Who else do I have the privilege to ask to take care of me when I am sick?" She is right. It is a daughter's privilege to take care of her parents, and I was finally awarded this privilege.
The End
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2001/07/rationality-and-romance.htm (Rationality and Romance)
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2001/06/juggling.htm (Juggling)
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2001/05/looks.htm (Looks)
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2001/03/dowry-and-other-issues.htm (Dowry and other issues)
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/09/communication.htm (Communication)
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/06/rab-se-bhi-sona-ishq.htm (B’s letter)
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/02/older-woman-younger-man.htm (Older woman younger man)
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/10/i-would-have-preferred-love-marriage.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/05/jim-and-i.htm (A love story)
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/08/a-spicy-exchange.htm (A playboy)
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/1999/09/a-possessive-boyfriend.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/1999/07/introduction.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2001/01/should-i-call-it-quits.htm (A dilemma)
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/1999/10/infidelity.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/1999/07/the-ageless-heart-and-life-with-an-alcoholic-husband.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/12/women-and-marriage.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/1999/11/does-he-or-doesn-t-he.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/1999/10/youthful-indiscretions.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/1999/12/the-second-time-around.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/1999/12/love-bah-humbug-oh-yeah.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/1999/08/does-everybody-want-freedom.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/1999/09/teenager-versus-parent.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/11/oh-that-cussed-four-letter-word.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/07/difficult-hubby.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/04/i-maa-tujhe-salaam-i.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/03/to-love-or-not-to-love.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/02/valentine-s-day-special-a-potpourri.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/1999/12/perfect-matches.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/1999/11/are-we-too-self-absorbed.htm
http://doc-dot-ro.sulekha.com/blog/post/1999/08/cyberlove.htm
http://rohini-ramanathan.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/02/discovering-madras.htm
http://rohini-ramanathan.sulekha.com/blog/post/2005/09/sheer-madness.htm (Sheer Madness)
http://rohini-ramanathan.sulekha.com/blog/post/2005/07/parent-as-riverbank.htm (Parent as Riverbank)
http://rohini-ramanathan.sulekha.com/blog/post/2001/10/a-trilogy.htm (The Trilogy)
http://rohini-ramanathan.sulekha.com/blog/post/2001/09/putting-humpty-dumpty-back-together-again.htm (Short Story)
http://rohini-ramanathan.sulekha.com/blog/post/1999/09/new-york-indians.htm (New York Indians)
http://rohini-ramanathan.sulekha.com/blog/post/1999/05/motherhood-revisited.htm
http://rohini-ramanathan.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/02/it-s-the-small-gestures.htm
http://rohini-ramanathan.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/02/thanks-but-no-thanks-i-m-no-glutton.htm
http://rohini-ramanathan.sulekha.com/blog/post/2000/02/chat-room-holidays.htm
http://ihi.sulekha.com/blog/post/2006/11/india-s-maps-2.htm (About Walmart’s entry into India)
http://business.rediff.com/news/2000/dec/19rohini.htm (Brave New World)
http://business.rediff.com/news/2000/dec/19rohini.htm (Living in Multiple Worlds)
http://www.rediff.com/us/2000/aug/10us.htm (The frothies and me)
http://indiaabroad.com/us/2000/jul/27us2.htm (All About Choices)
http://indiaabroad.com/us/2000/jul/11us2.htm (America’s 224th Birthday)
http://indiaabroad.com/us/2000/jun/13us2.htm (The Indian-American Pie)
http://im.rediff.com/news/2000/oct/06spec.htm (Am American Ramlila)
http://imworld.rediff.com/us/2000/sep/19us.htm (Getting the message across)
http://www.rediff.com/us/2000/jul/06us.htm (When Indian Women Meet Across Oceans)
http://www.encyclopedia.com/doc/1P1-79283588.html (Dreams Deferred: Paid Article)
http://www.highbeam.com/doc/1P1-79280162.html (India Abroad: Assimilation Redux)
plus
A Daughter’s Welcome Duty
By
Rohini B. Ramanathan
May, 19, 1991
The New York Times
Her normally high yet stable blood pressure soared a bit, and the symptoms were not good. Her head hurt, she had no appetite, the mouth felt dry, the body weak. She panicked, and remembered how her own mother, who also suffered from hypertension and died of a heart attack, had her first stroke around age 55, now her own age. I took her blood pressure. It was indeed high. I drove her to the doctor. He examined her, prescribing stronger medication and rest.
A proud woman, my mother, in her moment of anguish, blurted out how grateful she was with her children. She further added, "Who else but with your children can you ask at liberty to take care of you when you get sick?" I, an advocate of the merits of an extended family outweighing the mutual adjustments the members have to make, was elated by this comment. For a woman who never felt any vulnerability that she could not handle herself, finding that we all need one another must have been hard.
In the last five years, I had done everything I could to prove that I valued the idea of my parents' living with me after retirement for no other reason but to be together as a family. I expressed this sentiment in every letter I wrote to them, with strong arguments upholding the logic behind such togetherness. The tribal being in me reiterated that families ought to live together. This is the way God meant it, I would insist. Modern lifestyles and ways of thinking, I believe, interfere with this yearning to stay together as family.
As part of my attempt to convince my parents that my desire to have them live with me was not for the sake of baby-sitting, I hired a full-time housekeeper who took care of the house, cooked and cared for my boy while I was out working. My housekeeper tactic dispelled any doubts my parents might have had. Moreover, my children are 8 and 6 now, in school till 3 in the afternoon, and I have started working from home.
Then, as part of the same process of convincing them how important it was for me to have them with me, I responded to their need to pursue their interests. Dad, a young 58-year-old, a retired comptroller, enjoyed accounting. I took him to job interviews, and now he is on his second career. Mom, with her music education background, needed an outlet, too, and today she is a music teacher. I thought, now I had earned the privilege of keeping them with me.
I had the added responsibility of making them feel at home in a foreign land, much as they praised this land of opportunities. I even expanded the house to accommodate their more peculiar needs, and threw in a few details that bore the flavor of their native surroundings.
No doubt, all these reminders make them happy, and at home. Yet, the emotional need to be together as an extended family was never admitted. For me, declarations of love are important. For all the love and affection they showered on their grandchildren, my children, they refused to admit any emotional ties to them.
I often wondered if it was my persuasive powers only that made them stay on. However, I never wanted to find out. But yesterday, Mom said, "Who else do I have the privilege to ask to take care of me when I am sick?" She is right. It is a daughter's privilege to take care of her parents, and I was finally awarded this privilege.
The End
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Bermuda Cruise from New York, NY.
I haven't blogged in a long time! The last time was September 2009. Much happened during this period, then again, not so much! November 21 was a particularly very difficult day. Here is a piece I wrote about the day which ultimately had happy ending:
Going for God’s Jugular!
By
Rohini B. Ramanathan
It was 1 a.m. Saturday, November 21, 2009. The police were attending to Dad who had stopped breathing. Presumably, the ambulance was on its way and here I was in the den praying so hard, away from all the action, that it felt like an out-of-body experience.
Apparently, a surgeon is not allowed to operate on his/her own child because the relationship is too close for comfort and objective decision-making. This is precisely why, once help arrived, I stayed away from my father, his 125-pound, 79-year-old, 5’ 7’’frame lying ramrod-like on his bed, snoring loudly but not responding to anyone’s touch or voice. His motionless eyes wide open and his normally light skin now pale. I had never seen Dad like this. I left the room and let my husband administer first aid to him, which in his case meant feeding him something sweet.
Though very youthful in spirit, among the many ailments Dad is afflicted with, he is also a diabetic whose sugar level now and then, inexplicably drops. Usually, on his own, he takes care of this situation by eating a snack or drinking some apple juice or both and adjusting his meal time if necessary and of course injecting himself with appropriate doses of insulin when the sugar level goes way up. This morning things must have spiraled out of control too rapidly and too unexpectedly. All Dad had been able to do was remove most of his clothing---which too he does as the low blood sugar makes him sweat like a can of chilled beer---but not have enough energy to reach for the juice or candy nearby.
Though I don’t fully fathom the concept of God yet, still praying comes easily to me. This morning, I slipped into my habit with the intensity that was equivalent to shaking up God to his core, thus endangering His own life, perhaps. Later, while in the ER, when I learned that Dad was recovering, I recalled the fervor of my prayer earlier and my mental image reflected my going for God’s jugular literally, and He out of fear for His own life, granting me my wish and letting my father live. I let out a muffled laugh at this imagery of my interaction with the Almighty. The doctor said that had we waited even a few more minutes, Dad would have gone into a coma. His sugar level reading of 21 was way below the minimum needed to survive.
In the last year alone, my father had been admitted to the hospital twice for low blood sugar and once for heart attack. The first time his hypoglycemia had knocked him down unconscious on the shower floor and nearly forty minutes later, my husband accidentally discovered him. The second time, in the middle of the night when my mother, who prefers sleeping by alone, accidentally heard him making some funny sounds in his room and got help. His heart attack revealed itself in Dad’s face turning pale, and getting out of shape. Luckily, I happened to be around when this happened. Seeing his facial changes, I felt that something was wrong and rushed him to Emergency.
At 1 a.m., Saturday, it was my second son’s turn to save my father’s life. My son had trouble falling asleep because of a sawing sound he heard. Tracing the sound to my father’s room, a whole floor away, and sensing that, though odd-sounding, it was probably a snore, yet wanting to make sure, he lept to his feet and sprinted toward my father’s room. Indeed, the sawing sound turned out to be heavy snoring by my father. But seeing the odd positioning of his grandfather’s half-naked body, my son tried waking him up. There was no response. Feeling disturbed, my son came into our room and woke us up.
Growing up, I had heard how when my maternal grandfather was 36, his wife, my grandmother had harnessed the power of prayer to save his life from tuberculosis. Ultimately, he lived to be 69 and died as a result of a fall. Many years later, grandmother’s prayer also helped her younger son recover fully from a major accident and her other son from a heart attack he suffered at age 36. Only these successes were touted.
After grandmother died, I relied on my mother’s connection to the Almighty. It was her job to pray when things got tough for me. It was my conviction that her prayer carried more power than my own. Interestingly, neither hers nor my grandmother’s prayers were an emotional appeal to the Almighty. They were more on the lines of, "Hey, God, it’s your job to protect us, so do it right." This was the summum bonum of their appeal. In return they promised the Almighty offerings made by their own hands with the utmost devotion.
For the last four years, my mother has been afflicted with post-coronary angioplasty depression and no one has been able to diagnose why her condition---not totally an uncommon phenomenon---is lasting this long in her. A woman who went from being 24/7 active to 24/7 inactive, she is not someone the family recognizes anymore. I had cruised through life thinking it was really not necessary to pray, as it was God’s job to protect us and keep us sane. But, now, on Saturday, my father teetering on the verge of a coma, all I knew was to appeal to God to spare my Dad’s life.
He did . . . for now. How many more times my prayer will work is anybody’s guess. There is really no palatable way to bid goodbye to your loved ones when the final hour of their life arrives. Yet, wanting to make it linger till it’s the "right" time to see them leave is all so real. Raised in a non-dual way of thinking (advaita) family, I have been taught repeatedly that the only way to be sorrow-free is to accept life as "maya," an illusion. Oh, sure, yeah, why not? Unable to follow this advice, often, selfishly, I wish that maybe I should leave this earth before my loved ones.
The first time I had to attend to my father was in January 2001. It was the dead of winter and I flew to Columbus, Ohio, Dad’s domicile at the time. He had gone through a quintuple bypass heart surgery. Because my sister, Dad’s caregiver at the time, was traveling, I stayed on for a week in Columbus and considered attending to my father a privilege. Some infection had chewed up a quarter of his thigh. I cringed and could not bear to see it exposed even for a second. A nurse came in every day to clean his sore, treat it and bandage it.
Dad had debated a great deal before he chose to go in for the bypass. The risk of dying was high. But so were the chances of living. So, my advice to him from New York was, "go for it, Dad." Still, the risk involved troubled me. At times like this I look for signs to make me feel better about what is troubling me. That morning this sign came in the form of a male customer at the local farm market I had gone to. For no apparent reason, the man informed the cashier he was 82. Irrational as it may sound, I took this to mean that my Dad too would live to be at least 82. On Christmas Day he’ll turn 80.
A retired Indian government official, Dad is a survivor. Having been raised by a mother widowed at a very young age, and dad himself was just three-and-a-half years old, he had probably built an armor around him and no matter how bad things get, his spirit, his unusual sense of humor and hope rarely fade. This same survival spirit must have pried him out of death’s jaws each time he was admitted to ER in the last few years.
After the November 21 incident, my sister suggested that we admit our parents in an assisted living place so we didn’t have to worry about close calls anymore. I countered, "Most folks who live in these homes ideally want to live with family." I know for a fact that my parents would like to live with their daughters.
Though years ago, when they were in good health, I had fantasized taking care of them in their old age, in reality, when the rubber met the road, the hardship of this responsibility trumped everything else. I communicated this to them. So has my sister. Despite this confession, neither of my parents really wants to live any place else other than their daughters’ homes in the company of their children and grandchildren. They did try though to give us a break. In 2008, they went to back to India to spend at least a few months there and see if this arrangement would work in the long run as well. Within two months they returned. Annoyed as I felt for not getting a longer break, I made the best of the situation and went on. Right now, my mother lives with my sister and my Dad with me in New York. But he prefers Dallas during New York’s winter. So, if he feels up to it, health permitting, he will go back to Dallas soon and will return to New York in March, his frail body getting frailer by the day. As for Mom, she prefers Dallas overall. Sometimes I take this personally. Maybe she likes my sister more than she likes me although every day, right on the dot at 6 p.m. she phones me to sing for her. We are a musical family with all the females trained in music.
Having to play parent to my parents, I wonder if this is why humans have children: to take care of the parents in old age and sickness. Is this why my parents even provided music lessons for me so I could sing to my mother while nothing else gave her succor? These mean thoughts take a vacation when some friends of mine whose parents live in far away lands of their origin envy me for being able to take care of my parents in their hour of need.
All said and done, honestly, after the latest November 21 close call, I really can’t imagine my parents living any place but at their daughters.’ Whenever things get rough, I’ll just keep going for God’s jugular.
Going for God’s Jugular!
By
Rohini B. Ramanathan
It was 1 a.m. Saturday, November 21, 2009. The police were attending to Dad who had stopped breathing. Presumably, the ambulance was on its way and here I was in the den praying so hard, away from all the action, that it felt like an out-of-body experience.
Apparently, a surgeon is not allowed to operate on his/her own child because the relationship is too close for comfort and objective decision-making. This is precisely why, once help arrived, I stayed away from my father, his 125-pound, 79-year-old, 5’ 7’’frame lying ramrod-like on his bed, snoring loudly but not responding to anyone’s touch or voice. His motionless eyes wide open and his normally light skin now pale. I had never seen Dad like this. I left the room and let my husband administer first aid to him, which in his case meant feeding him something sweet.
Though very youthful in spirit, among the many ailments Dad is afflicted with, he is also a diabetic whose sugar level now and then, inexplicably drops. Usually, on his own, he takes care of this situation by eating a snack or drinking some apple juice or both and adjusting his meal time if necessary and of course injecting himself with appropriate doses of insulin when the sugar level goes way up. This morning things must have spiraled out of control too rapidly and too unexpectedly. All Dad had been able to do was remove most of his clothing---which too he does as the low blood sugar makes him sweat like a can of chilled beer---but not have enough energy to reach for the juice or candy nearby.
Though I don’t fully fathom the concept of God yet, still praying comes easily to me. This morning, I slipped into my habit with the intensity that was equivalent to shaking up God to his core, thus endangering His own life, perhaps. Later, while in the ER, when I learned that Dad was recovering, I recalled the fervor of my prayer earlier and my mental image reflected my going for God’s jugular literally, and He out of fear for His own life, granting me my wish and letting my father live. I let out a muffled laugh at this imagery of my interaction with the Almighty. The doctor said that had we waited even a few more minutes, Dad would have gone into a coma. His sugar level reading of 21 was way below the minimum needed to survive.
In the last year alone, my father had been admitted to the hospital twice for low blood sugar and once for heart attack. The first time his hypoglycemia had knocked him down unconscious on the shower floor and nearly forty minutes later, my husband accidentally discovered him. The second time, in the middle of the night when my mother, who prefers sleeping by alone, accidentally heard him making some funny sounds in his room and got help. His heart attack revealed itself in Dad’s face turning pale, and getting out of shape. Luckily, I happened to be around when this happened. Seeing his facial changes, I felt that something was wrong and rushed him to Emergency.
At 1 a.m., Saturday, it was my second son’s turn to save my father’s life. My son had trouble falling asleep because of a sawing sound he heard. Tracing the sound to my father’s room, a whole floor away, and sensing that, though odd-sounding, it was probably a snore, yet wanting to make sure, he lept to his feet and sprinted toward my father’s room. Indeed, the sawing sound turned out to be heavy snoring by my father. But seeing the odd positioning of his grandfather’s half-naked body, my son tried waking him up. There was no response. Feeling disturbed, my son came into our room and woke us up.
Growing up, I had heard how when my maternal grandfather was 36, his wife, my grandmother had harnessed the power of prayer to save his life from tuberculosis. Ultimately, he lived to be 69 and died as a result of a fall. Many years later, grandmother’s prayer also helped her younger son recover fully from a major accident and her other son from a heart attack he suffered at age 36. Only these successes were touted.
After grandmother died, I relied on my mother’s connection to the Almighty. It was her job to pray when things got tough for me. It was my conviction that her prayer carried more power than my own. Interestingly, neither hers nor my grandmother’s prayers were an emotional appeal to the Almighty. They were more on the lines of, "Hey, God, it’s your job to protect us, so do it right." This was the summum bonum of their appeal. In return they promised the Almighty offerings made by their own hands with the utmost devotion.
For the last four years, my mother has been afflicted with post-coronary angioplasty depression and no one has been able to diagnose why her condition---not totally an uncommon phenomenon---is lasting this long in her. A woman who went from being 24/7 active to 24/7 inactive, she is not someone the family recognizes anymore. I had cruised through life thinking it was really not necessary to pray, as it was God’s job to protect us and keep us sane. But, now, on Saturday, my father teetering on the verge of a coma, all I knew was to appeal to God to spare my Dad’s life.
He did . . . for now. How many more times my prayer will work is anybody’s guess. There is really no palatable way to bid goodbye to your loved ones when the final hour of their life arrives. Yet, wanting to make it linger till it’s the "right" time to see them leave is all so real. Raised in a non-dual way of thinking (advaita) family, I have been taught repeatedly that the only way to be sorrow-free is to accept life as "maya," an illusion. Oh, sure, yeah, why not? Unable to follow this advice, often, selfishly, I wish that maybe I should leave this earth before my loved ones.
Fierce debate on medical coverage is raging all around us. Some feel strongly that it is just not worth it to prolong a very sick person’s life. On Saturday, the attending doctor in the ER had declared my father to be "very sick," too. But twenty hours later, seeing Dad regain consciousness, and, then, witnessing his love for life---once he became conscious, he gestured feebly to learn if he had had his scheduled dialysis yet---personally, I am glad that his life was deemed worthy of being preserved though he was "very sick."
The first time I had to attend to my father was in January 2001. It was the dead of winter and I flew to Columbus, Ohio, Dad’s domicile at the time. He had gone through a quintuple bypass heart surgery. Because my sister, Dad’s caregiver at the time, was traveling, I stayed on for a week in Columbus and considered attending to my father a privilege. Some infection had chewed up a quarter of his thigh. I cringed and could not bear to see it exposed even for a second. A nurse came in every day to clean his sore, treat it and bandage it.
Dad had debated a great deal before he chose to go in for the bypass. The risk of dying was high. But so were the chances of living. So, my advice to him from New York was, "go for it, Dad." Still, the risk involved troubled me. At times like this I look for signs to make me feel better about what is troubling me. That morning this sign came in the form of a male customer at the local farm market I had gone to. For no apparent reason, the man informed the cashier he was 82. Irrational as it may sound, I took this to mean that my Dad too would live to be at least 82. On Christmas Day he’ll turn 80.
A retired Indian government official, Dad is a survivor. Having been raised by a mother widowed at a very young age, and dad himself was just three-and-a-half years old, he had probably built an armor around him and no matter how bad things get, his spirit, his unusual sense of humor and hope rarely fade. This same survival spirit must have pried him out of death’s jaws each time he was admitted to ER in the last few years.
Taking care of him after his heart surgery was a novel experience and hence fun. Over the years, however, as more things went wrong with him, the responsibility of having to be more attentive to his needs began to weigh me down. Two years ago, we learned that he had to go in for dialysis three times a week to stay alive and last year, a pacemaker was installed in his chest. His diet also has to be monitored carefully and mom, of course, walked away from cooking and her other worldly responsibilities four years ago. My sister, who lives in Dallas, TX now, felt no differently either than I did about our uninvited, uncommon, unglamorous new role: a parent to our parents. However, focusing on the right thing to do under the circumstances, we decided that we would just "accept" our lot, and take turns.
After the November 21 incident, my sister suggested that we admit our parents in an assisted living place so we didn’t have to worry about close calls anymore. I countered, "Most folks who live in these homes ideally want to live with family." I know for a fact that my parents would like to live with their daughters.
Though years ago, when they were in good health, I had fantasized taking care of them in their old age, in reality, when the rubber met the road, the hardship of this responsibility trumped everything else. I communicated this to them. So has my sister. Despite this confession, neither of my parents really wants to live any place else other than their daughters’ homes in the company of their children and grandchildren. They did try though to give us a break. In 2008, they went to back to India to spend at least a few months there and see if this arrangement would work in the long run as well. Within two months they returned. Annoyed as I felt for not getting a longer break, I made the best of the situation and went on. Right now, my mother lives with my sister and my Dad with me in New York. But he prefers Dallas during New York’s winter. So, if he feels up to it, health permitting, he will go back to Dallas soon and will return to New York in March, his frail body getting frailer by the day. As for Mom, she prefers Dallas overall. Sometimes I take this personally. Maybe she likes my sister more than she likes me although every day, right on the dot at 6 p.m. she phones me to sing for her. We are a musical family with all the females trained in music.
Having to play parent to my parents, I wonder if this is why humans have children: to take care of the parents in old age and sickness. Is this why my parents even provided music lessons for me so I could sing to my mother while nothing else gave her succor? These mean thoughts take a vacation when some friends of mine whose parents live in far away lands of their origin envy me for being able to take care of my parents in their hour of need.
All said and done, honestly, after the latest November 21 close call, I really can’t imagine my parents living any place but at their daughters.’ Whenever things get rough, I’ll just keep going for God’s jugular.
End.
October 25-November 1: B and I took a cruise (2nd time out of the city; last time was to the southern Caribbean) out of Manhattan to Bermuda (our second trip to paradise). http://www.youtube.com/ and once there, searching for rbrimages Bermuda brings up the nine videos of the trip ( a total of about 80 minutes). The cabin with a balcony on deck no. 10 on NCL Dawn was worth ever extra penny.
Bermuda video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e19S4Rlz9VY (Part 1)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SkhP6VH2u98 (Part 2)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Aoa9CHLHRXk Part 3)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D-2ZVH0QTVA (Part 4)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u0AF71hpKoY (Part 5)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yWf282KGR6k (Part 6)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5M3dDPmPNZQ (Part 7)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lGUIYM9bQOE (Part 8)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YDXykT6TP0Q (Part 9)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e19S4Rlz9VY (Part 1)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SkhP6VH2u98 (Part 2)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Aoa9CHLHRXk Part 3)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D-2ZVH0QTVA (Part 4)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u0AF71hpKoY (Part 5)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yWf282KGR6k (Part 6)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5M3dDPmPNZQ (Part 7)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lGUIYM9bQOE (Part 8)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YDXykT6TP0Q (Part 9)
Winter was bitter yet here is a memorable, heart warming, (herat breaking?) scene (a must see) on my backyard deck: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zt78B9RMhmM.
Moving on to January, bitterness in the air continued. February was brutal. My first Feb. in the U.S. in a long time. Last year we were tracing the pharaohs' footsteps in Giza. The year before that was the footsteps of of the Man of la Mancha in Spain and those of vasco da Gama in Portugal. The year before was Chile and Argentina. If only I were not so afraid of flying how much more of the world I'd love to see!
Spring did arrived like a lion in March but it was short lived. The last few days have been windy and a bit soggy but by May 1 things should look up. Actually, it's supposed to be eighty degrees on Saturday. Will go to the boardwalk probably.
Ciao.
Till we meet again!
Ro.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
New York-400. New Amsterdam. Navaratri, Dussehra, Dutch East India Company
Hi,
Have been busy. Busy is good. Keeps your mind from turning into a devil's workshop. It's Navaratri (nine nights)/Dussehra season. Ends tomorrow with Vijayadashami, an auspicious day for new beginnings. A day of gratitude toward those who have been a source of wisdom in your life, particularly teachers.
An interesting article in today's New York Times about web cast lecture by a moral philosophy prof at Harvard(where else;-). Check out: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/09/26/arts/television/26sandel.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=Professor%20Sandel&st=cse.
It's interesting how when we talk about morality we talk of extreme cases (E.g. Torture. Most examples in the professor's lecture deal with extreme cases). My dilemmas are really not at this level. They are much more mundane. In fact, faced with what's right and wrong, where is the dilemma? Yet, even if we do the right thing (e.g. being there for someone who needs your assistance on an ongoing basis) how committed are we? To me this is where I face a sense of guilt. I've never been faced with a situation where I needed to decide if I must torture someone to get something in return for this. I general, I find more people needing help on a more mundane level and this is where most of us are baffled and do not always do the right thing. Ponder a bit, my friends. You'll see what I mean.
All right, moving on, and backing up B & I went to the city to check out the conclusion of New York-400 (New York's City's 400th birthday). It was September 13 and a picture perfect day. One of the attractions was a mini Dutch Village selling Dutch wares, cheese, et al. The princess and prince made an appearance. We got to see them up close. Seem like nice folks:) In 1609 The voyage to Mannahatta (renamed New Amsterdam) by the Dutch by Henry Hudson (an Englishman) under the auspices of the Dutch East India Company.
The village and the Windmill were on Bowling Green Plaza and this allowed me to visit my old haunt nearby when I used to work at 55 Water St. Nothing had changed and it felt like just yesterday that I used to be there. One bug change, however: lots more eating places in the alley across from Goldman Sachs.
It's interesting how the Jewish Rosh Hashanah followed by Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement) coincides with Navaratri almost every year. Interesting that Hinduism with its prevalent belief in karma doesn't seem to have a day of atonement. In other words once you commit a paapam/paap (sin), that's it. There is no redemption other than taking another birth (this in fact is the punishment) and do enough good karma to nullify the paapam. Interesting how each culture defines sin and atonement.
Got to go now.
Ciao!
Ro.
Have been busy. Busy is good. Keeps your mind from turning into a devil's workshop. It's Navaratri (nine nights)/Dussehra season. Ends tomorrow with Vijayadashami, an auspicious day for new beginnings. A day of gratitude toward those who have been a source of wisdom in your life, particularly teachers.
An interesting article in today's New York Times about web cast lecture by a moral philosophy prof at Harvard(where else;-). Check out: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/09/26/arts/television/26sandel.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=Professor%20Sandel&st=cse.
It's interesting how when we talk about morality we talk of extreme cases (E.g. Torture. Most examples in the professor's lecture deal with extreme cases). My dilemmas are really not at this level. They are much more mundane. In fact, faced with what's right and wrong, where is the dilemma? Yet, even if we do the right thing (e.g. being there for someone who needs your assistance on an ongoing basis) how committed are we? To me this is where I face a sense of guilt. I've never been faced with a situation where I needed to decide if I must torture someone to get something in return for this. I general, I find more people needing help on a more mundane level and this is where most of us are baffled and do not always do the right thing. Ponder a bit, my friends. You'll see what I mean.
All right, moving on, and backing up B & I went to the city to check out the conclusion of New York-400 (New York's City's 400th birthday). It was September 13 and a picture perfect day. One of the attractions was a mini Dutch Village selling Dutch wares, cheese, et al. The princess and prince made an appearance. We got to see them up close. Seem like nice folks:) In 1609 The voyage to Mannahatta (renamed New Amsterdam) by the Dutch by Henry Hudson (an Englishman) under the auspices of the Dutch East India Company.
The village and the Windmill were on Bowling Green Plaza and this allowed me to visit my old haunt nearby when I used to work at 55 Water St. Nothing had changed and it felt like just yesterday that I used to be there. One bug change, however: lots more eating places in the alley across from Goldman Sachs.
It's interesting how the Jewish Rosh Hashanah followed by Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement) coincides with Navaratri almost every year. Interesting that Hinduism with its prevalent belief in karma doesn't seem to have a day of atonement. In other words once you commit a paapam/paap (sin), that's it. There is no redemption other than taking another birth (this in fact is the punishment) and do enough good karma to nullify the paapam. Interesting how each culture defines sin and atonement.
Got to go now.
Ciao!
Ro.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Racism, Movies, Nicole Beharie, India has got talent
Last night I went to see "American Violet," a powerful docu-drama on racism set in early 2000 (think election), in Melody (original name of place: Hearne), Texas. The main character's name was Dee Roberts (real-life persons' name: Regina Kelly) portrayed by the beautiful actress, Nicole Beharie (http://womenandhollywood.com/2009/04/17/interview-with-nicole-beharie-star-of-american-violet/comment-page-1/#comment-4336. I hope the movie gets to be seen by people in the millions. What a shame so many dud-movies are blockbusters while meaningful movies like "American Violet" could languish. I hope not. It's directed by Tim Disney (Walt Disney's grandnephew)
A moving e-mail landed in my inbox. Here it's (if you understand Hindi, you'll appreciate it more): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kq_NoGhvnsM. I was blown away by it mainly because of the background of the participants and of course the quality of their work. All the pettiness in the world evaporated in one stroke at the end of this video.
I don't want to post so infrequently. So even if it's just a few lines and nothing too profound, I plan to post more regularly.
Ciao.
Ro.
A moving e-mail landed in my inbox. Here it's (if you understand Hindi, you'll appreciate it more): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kq_NoGhvnsM. I was blown away by it mainly because of the background of the participants and of course the quality of their work. All the pettiness in the world evaporated in one stroke at the end of this video.
I don't want to post so infrequently. So even if it's just a few lines and nothing too profound, I plan to post more regularly.
Ciao.
Ro.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Summer 2009, Recipes, Water Melon, Cape Cod, Philly
Gosh, it's been so long since I posted. Summer gets to be too hectic, although this year summer has been a joke so far. Even the flowers did not bloom as they should have. A very half-hearted attempt just like the season itself. The last few days have been the dog days of August (this never fails) which was preceded by rains of biblical proportions. Even the grass had said, "Enough already!"
August is when half of New York seems to be a in lock-down mode. Very few business transactions seem to take place except for hiked up (than usual) real estate deals. A New Yorker is too aware of the soon-to-arrive winter (yes, before one knows it, it's November in New York), so like a destitute at a banquet, in August, New Yorkers set aside everything else and lap up the fading summer glory in its every facet.
I too took in my share. For the July 4 weekend we made our first trip to Cape Cod with a day trip to Martha's Vineyard. The picture perfect day was nothing less than heaven. We spent time mainly at Oaks Bluff and Edgartown (recommended by a fellow lodger at the B&B we stayed in in Hyannis). Like we had done before, too, on our way back we took the ferry from New London, CT to Orient Point, Long Island, NY.
On long trips I too tend to read (especially on road trips, while my hubby drives I catch up on the New York Times Sunday Magazines reading out some of the more interesting pieces to hubby also) but on my boat trip I realized more was happening around me than what I could have ever found in books, which anyway I could catch up on later. Nothing can beat the real-life stories in real time. One of the funniest things was a little boy---no more than a year-and-a-half old---the way he was cussing at his mother: f*** you, his setting totally oblivious to him.
It was another picture-perfect day and of course, the drive back home from Orient Point is something I love. Particularly the stopover in quaint Greenport. A cup of Hershey's ice cream (lotsa of my favorite caramel in it) capped my weekend binging.
On July 26, we drove to Philly, yet another beautiful place that I am very fond of and just two hours from home. It was another gorgeous day when life looked and felt like it could be perfect. It was a nice outing for dad who doesn't go out much these days. Yet another ferry ride between historic Philly and Camden (an aquarium is an attraction here; we had gone to the fabulous Mystic, CT aquarium on our way back from Hyannis to New London), NJ on the Delaware river made the trip a richer exp. Before summer is officially over, perhaps one more trip somewhere close by may be nice. Will have to see.
Met a couple of interesting people in July, one, a father Charles (http://www.gnana.info/) from India who was visiting St. Joseph's Parish in Kings Park for a year. He went back today.
Accidentally learned watermelon smoothie from a recipe in the New York Times. The timing was perfect. Here was this huge melon cut up into five large pieces like a dismembered body and tucked away in the crisper and slowly disintegrating. The recipe came in real handy. Here it is: melon slices plus sugar to taste plus lime/lemon (I used lemon) juice. I felt adding fresh ginger would make the drink more delicious. I was right. I tried both with and without the ginger. With is amazing! Throw them all in together into an electric blender and puree them. I grated them first mainly because of the ginger pieces.
Got to go now.
Ciao!
Ro.
August is when half of New York seems to be a in lock-down mode. Very few business transactions seem to take place except for hiked up (than usual) real estate deals. A New Yorker is too aware of the soon-to-arrive winter (yes, before one knows it, it's November in New York), so like a destitute at a banquet, in August, New Yorkers set aside everything else and lap up the fading summer glory in its every facet.
I too took in my share. For the July 4 weekend we made our first trip to Cape Cod with a day trip to Martha's Vineyard. The picture perfect day was nothing less than heaven. We spent time mainly at Oaks Bluff and Edgartown (recommended by a fellow lodger at the B&B we stayed in in Hyannis). Like we had done before, too, on our way back we took the ferry from New London, CT to Orient Point, Long Island, NY.
On long trips I too tend to read (especially on road trips, while my hubby drives I catch up on the New York Times Sunday Magazines reading out some of the more interesting pieces to hubby also) but on my boat trip I realized more was happening around me than what I could have ever found in books, which anyway I could catch up on later. Nothing can beat the real-life stories in real time. One of the funniest things was a little boy---no more than a year-and-a-half old---the way he was cussing at his mother: f*** you, his setting totally oblivious to him.
It was another picture-perfect day and of course, the drive back home from Orient Point is something I love. Particularly the stopover in quaint Greenport. A cup of Hershey's ice cream (lotsa of my favorite caramel in it) capped my weekend binging.
On July 26, we drove to Philly, yet another beautiful place that I am very fond of and just two hours from home. It was another gorgeous day when life looked and felt like it could be perfect. It was a nice outing for dad who doesn't go out much these days. Yet another ferry ride between historic Philly and Camden (an aquarium is an attraction here; we had gone to the fabulous Mystic, CT aquarium on our way back from Hyannis to New London), NJ on the Delaware river made the trip a richer exp. Before summer is officially over, perhaps one more trip somewhere close by may be nice. Will have to see.
Met a couple of interesting people in July, one, a father Charles (http://www.gnana.info/) from India who was visiting St. Joseph's Parish in Kings Park for a year. He went back today.
Accidentally learned watermelon smoothie from a recipe in the New York Times. The timing was perfect. Here was this huge melon cut up into five large pieces like a dismembered body and tucked away in the crisper and slowly disintegrating. The recipe came in real handy. Here it is: melon slices plus sugar to taste plus lime/lemon (I used lemon) juice. I felt adding fresh ginger would make the drink more delicious. I was right. I tried both with and without the ginger. With is amazing! Throw them all in together into an electric blender and puree them. I grated them first mainly because of the ginger pieces.
Got to go now.
Ciao!
Ro.
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