Elephanta Island

We spent most of the day on a ferry to Elephanta Island. Nothing to do but take photos of each other. So many good looking feet on that boat! People used the return trip to catch a few zzzzz's.  

Everyone took photos !!

Mumbai

What's left to do? I guess you can spit. Everyplace else there seems to be signs saying "no spitting."

From the Ghandi home...such a wise man.

Mini dioramas in Ghandi house tell all of Ghandi's major life events.

Cloth drying at the Dhobhi Ghat, a giant outdoor laundry, where factory-made shirts are washed, along with the laundry from one and two-star hotels and "lower class" hospitals. You might find these red shirts in Target or Walmart. They're labelled, put in plastic and sent back to the factories after the work is completed at the Ghat. It looks like a horrible job, but our guide tells us they are paid well, get good medical care etc., probably because of tourist interest, the cynic in me thinks.

Victoria Terminus, main train station.

Magnificent floral arrangements at the Taj, changed every day.

At the Ghandi house.

More views of the Ghat.

Fruit man at Crawford Market.

Dabbawallas, taking a break from work, eating out of their own tiffin boxes. They deliver hot lunches everyday, hundreds of thousands of them almost mistake free. You can tell them by their white caps. 

The tough 16 hour flight to Dubai!

Emirates lounge at LAX.

On board, our suites.

Poached lobster appetizer.

Shrimp in the lounge pre- flight.

Magpie Tales #309: Burning Desire

I dreamed I was a child again watching my brother play chess in the park. I was cold and anxious. My brother was just a little kid and the man was old and experienced; he wanted to win. His wanting was very strong and I could see it, hanging in the air in front of his face. My brother didn't have the wanting; he was only having fun. Suddenly I was afraid. I put on my special eyes and stared at the man's wanting.  I burned his wanting up like a piece of tissue paper in a flame. Maybe I burned too strongly this time? Behind us, I heard a crash and people were running in that direction. I closed my eyes tightly and made my special eyes go back to sleep. 

Sepia Saturday 324: Plagued or Blessed with the Wanderlust gene

flikr, Library of Congress

The New Inn is still around and the town of Clovelly in Devon is booming with tourists.  They still call it the New Inn which is quite funny as the photo was taken in 1880 by Francis Bedford.  In the old days only pedestrians and donkeys with sledges transported goods up to the town, likely from the sea shore where the goods ships made landings. I found the view of the inn from the other side in a Flikr file. The prompt photo is from the National Media Museum. 

No wonder the town is mobbed now. It looks like the village where Doc Martin was filmed in Port Isaac, Cornwall known as Portwenn in the TV show. These photos are all from the Clovelly Tourist web page.

My mother hated traveling. She loved staying home and she positively revered routine. Is that why I fight "routine" tooth and nail and why nothing pleases me more than being on the road? Do we inevitably swing the other way when our parents are rigid? My mother took exactly the same route to the store every time she went. It didn't matter if another way was faster, safer or more interesting. There was one way to the store and that's the way we went. My husband teases me now if I try to give him driving directions. "Yes Jill," he says and I shut up.

In all fairness, my mother never discouraged me from traveling nor did she express any disapproval. She'd only say, "I don't know how you do it." In some ways, when travelers speak to non-travelers it's like they're from different planets. Some speculate that their DNA is different. Here's a link to an interesting article on the subject.  DRD4-7R is the gene they call the Wanderlust Gene. I think I have it; I know my mother did not.

When my mother came from Canada to visit me and my sister in California, she'd start counting the days until she could leave almost as soon as she arrived. I loved to have her with us, but hated to see her suffer. On her last few visits she was escorted by my friend Linda, the kindest person on the planet, who came along with her and we were all able to enjoy some time together. Mother was much more relaxed with Linda and the security of her company took away some of the terrible stress she felt when away from home.

I have only this one photo of my mother on the road. She and my dad took the obligatory European tour after he retired. This ghastly room is in Paris. At first glance I thought it was a hospital room and the black thing on the wall was an IV drip. Who would put a telephone up on the wall between two beds? The interior design is wanting to say the least. On the table is a bottle of whisky and two bottles of water...that's what my father drank: one part whisky, two parts water. Poor mother was stuck in that room counting the days left before she could leave, watching my father read guide books and sip the whisky. Poor thing.

Reading about Clovelly and Devon rattled the heck out of my DRD4-74 and got me interested in the South West Coast Path. I've been looking for a walking vacation that we can do with our travel buddies who love to hike, preferably in England and this one would be a doozy....630 miles. My husband (who also has the Wanderlust gene) choked when I mentioned it to him, but I'm thinking we could attempt 25% of it in one chunk. That would be a reasonable 8 miles a day for 20 days with time off for good behavior. It would take about a month. 

Now that I have a nodding acquaintance with Clovelly, the smallest section I would do is the one from Clovelly to Westward Ho which is 11.1 miles. Clovelly, in the information on the walk, is described as an ancient village with links to "smuggling and wrecking." They also mention in the brochure that the village has been used in many TV shows and films including the 1990 version of Treasure Island starring Charlton Heston. 

I have some serious training to begin. My mother would call me insane. 

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Sepia Saturday #323 - March 26th : A washtub, revolver and deflated beachball.

While other kids played with marbles, my photos reveal that we had some peculiar distractions when we were children. I picked out three examples.

The first one was a big favorite: dipping in the wash tub. Nobody had a swimming pool in those days; my childhood predated the advent of the inflatable backyard pool. On hot days, we ran through the hose spray but the tub was preferred for cooling. I had clearly outgrown the vessel, but not the desire to dunk. Joycie, my little friend, looks a bit disgusted by the scene or she was anxious for her turn. Now I have a swimming pool that I rarely use. The cats drink out of it and probably the possums do too, at night.  

This second photo fell out of an album I've only partially reviewed. It was a bit of a shocker to see my sister at 3 1/2 years old holding a pistol. I asked my husband if he could identify it, hopefully as a cap gun, but he said, "It's your father's service revolver." Gulp, I think he's kidding me. We held different opinions about guns in those days than we do currently but I'm sure my parents wouldn't have put a real one in my tiny sister's hands. My sister looks quite pleased and content with her toy. Haven't times changed?

My final picture shows my sister and I captivated by a half inflated beach ball, another odd plaything. We look as if we're waiting for the ball to do something. My sister's steepled fingers indicate deep thought. She enjoyed making up stories to entertain me and I think that's what she was doing.

The fellow in the upper left hand corner striding by in his bathing suit caught my eye. I can't tell if his suit is knit or not. The scene reminded me of this photo of my family suited up for a dip in the river on a hot summer's day. They all wore knit suits - stretchy, itchy and clingy, they were horrible. I can remember running back and forth into the water, holding my suit up with both hands because as soon as it was wet it would stretch and be down around my knees.

Hector Fortier, Addie Fortier, Jeanne Fortier, Joe Killeen, Jill Killeen

In the end, my point is that our imaginations and childhood lack of inhibitions were the best playthings we had. I can never remember myself or other children in our neighborhood proclaiming boredom. It was a concept beyond us -  every minute of the day was spent exercising our imaginations. At least, that's how I remember it.

lar at  

Saying Goodbye 1934

As I'm depleting my collection of old family photos, I've been haunting antique stores, looking for old photos appropriate for Sepia Saturday. I picked this one up because of the scowling twins. What could be happening to make them so unhappy? The date was 1934 and the place, Florida...I do know this because there was a stack of similar photos in this group. There were too many to buy and all too similar... but they did have a date and place marked on the back side. 

The little girl in front has a reason to scowl. Her mother put her in that awful sundress which exposes her chest in a strange way. She's looking down at herself with the same protruding lower lip scowl as her two brothers behind her. The three of them look so much alike, I'm assuming they're siblings. The three scowlers belong to the woman in the dotted dress - again an assumption based on their similar looks. The tall girl and boy in the back and the boys on the right of row 2 and row 1 are children of the woman with the hat. I'm not sure about the blond boy on the left in row 2. He doesn't look like a scowler or a smiler. Maybe a friend visiting for the day.

It's a bright sunny day and they're standing in front of a barn or a garage. 

Mom looks like she is a permanent resident in Florida because of her tan. The kids are not so tanned, so I'm assuming they are only visiting her. I wonder what the story is? The lady with the hat has that awful warm-looking sweater on and her hat doesn't look Floridian - she must be only passing through......

"Harry, will you please hurry up with the picture," said Irene. "It's sizzling and the sun's in our eyes. Tommy and Jerry are squinting and Marianne's shoulders are burning. The twins have to get to the train."

"Mom, we don't want to go," Tommy whined. "Please don't make us go."

"Tommy, we've been over and over this. You boys are going and that's that! It's the best school in the country and you should be thankful you've gotten in." Harry said impatiently.

A tearful Marianne looked up into her father's eyes. "Daddy, can't they stay here? We'll be good as gold, I promise."

Linda McDonald shifted uncomfortably in the sun. They'd made this special side trip to pick up the twins and escort them back to Maine. Most of the visit was enjoyable but now she wanted to get on her way. She grimaced internally thinking about the pouting twins in her charge for the next two days. Her two teenagers could help to keep them amused, but they didn't sign up to be babysitters. It was difficult for her to understand Irene's moody brood when her children were so relentlessly cheerful. They woke up with smiles and went to bed the same way. All she could hope for was that her own children's good cheer would rub off on the twins during the short journey.

She leaned over to Irene and whispered, "Let's wrap this up so we can get going. The longer we stand around, the worse it's going to be for the boys. Once we get on the train, they'll be fine."

"Say cheese everyone!" Harry instructed, fussing with the lens. "Boys - at least you can look up into the camera for just a minute!!" Harry grumbled to himself looking back at them all with a scowl, choosing to be angry rather than breaking down in front of them all. He remembered his first trip away to school and how miserable he was. Suddenly, he set the camera down and strode over to the group, caught up his two big boys in his arms and kissed them on each cheek. Marianne clung to his pant leg as he knuckle-rubbed the boy's heads and tried to hide his tears.

There would be many more sad goodbyes ahead for Harry and Irene and their children. Little did anyone know what would happen just a few years later when they would be old enough to go to war.
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But wait. There's more.  As I put the original photo back in it's envelope, I found the photo below. On the back, it's dated 1935, one year later. This time, there's a specific place - Venice, Florida. The boys might be a tad taller. Mom looks even thinner in the face. In 1935, Venice was hit by a ferocious hurricane, reputedly the strongest ever with winds up to 250 mph. The bedraggled looking palm tree in the background might be a left-over bit from the disaster. The twins are still squinting and frowning but the little girl's wardrobe has improved.

Sepia Saturday #321: Hairy Kiss

Most of the men in my family spent a fair amount of time in uniform; I have a surfeit of uniform photos. In the kissing department however, my family really falls flat. I couldn't find a single photo that remotely matched the prompt. Luckily, I did remember this delightful photo of my dear friend Zouzou kissing a llama, which I think is a qualifier.

Zouzou and Llama.
Photo by Debra C.

Why? Clearly there's kissing involved - actually better kissing than the prompt, because you can see what's going on in my photo, puckering and so forth. One of the kissers is very hairy and one of the kissers is a woman. Where I fall down on the match is with the audience. In my photo, there's only a disinterested llama in the background and not a sea of hat-topped amused faces. So, I've added another photo of a jovial crowd which, if I could meld the two pictures together would "check all the boxes" on the prompt.

British troops on Royal Navy destroyer, May 31, 1942

Just in case no Sepian uses this image below, I have to add it as it's one of my favorites.  Actually, a statue called "Unconditional Surrender" by Seward Johnson, it's based on the famous photo by Alfred Eisenstaedt, "V-J day in Times Square" and located on the Greatest Generation walk on the downtown San Diego waterfront.

Grab your hat and visit Sepia Saturday for more spectacular kisses. 

Support Group Meeting

We had a great support group meeting at the La Jolla library on Saturday. Fifteen people of varying ages and occupations showed up to talk about their acoustic neuromas, their treatment and issues. We had a Costco employee, a life coach, singer, teacher, mechanic/chef, house cleaner, two chiropractors, a nurse and an engineer. Ages ranged from 25 to 76. Our youngest person was only 4 weeks out from her surgery and had suffered a CSF leak which required re-hospitalization - she looked great and was mending quickly. We all talked and listened to each other for 3 hours without even a bathroom break. Plenty of useful information was traded. Sharing a room with people who all "get" what you experience is therapeutic. They know what wonky head is and about the staggering and lack of directional hearing, big box store trauma, fear of social events (because you can't hear anyone), "bad" days, the stress of straining to hear, AN exhaustion. We all go through the same stuff. 

On our way home we stopped at The Barrel Room in Rancho Bernardo for dinner. Richard had an excellent barramundi with pureed fava beans; a salad of shaved asparagus, white bean paste and stuffed squash blossoms and a glass of "Complicated" wine - a red blend. I had the short rib pappardelle with ricotta which was good but served in an awkward dish on which I couldn't rest my knife. Wherever I put it, it slid down into the ricotta, getting the handle all gooey. They should serve the bowl on an underliner. The bowl was kind of like this one....

Not the actual dish, but one like it.

I know it seems excessively picky to comment on this, but it's one of those things we used to pay close attention to when working in the food business. Somebody (not the developer) must always sit down and consume each new item with the utensils intended for use....it's just as much a factor in product development as the food itself. Believe me, I learned this the hard way.

I was so impressed with the attention to detail in the dining rooms on the Oceania cruise line - for instance if you're wearing black, they give you a black napkin. A small thing, but a big clue that they are paying attention.

Finally, I laid my knife down on the bare table between each use, getting the table sticky and making a mess. By the time I finished eating the dish, my knife handle was covered with ricotta. Aside from that, the pappardelle dish was fine....well, the short rib meat was overly-steamed or sous-vided to the point of being soft. There's a big difference between tender and soft. I'll leave it at that. The wine list in the restaurant is excellent and the wines are well priced. The noise level was tolerable when we were there and the ambiance convivial. Service was excellent.

We'd go back, but only for an early dinner. It was 5:00 when we sat down and by the time we left at 6:30, it was getting noisy and crowded. 

Mag #308: Last Kiss

April 24th, 1942. London: At dawn yesterday, a young woman identified as Erica Carter was struck and killed by an automobile as she was posting a letter in the Spitalfields neighborhood, according to a Scotland Yard spokesman. Killed instantly, Carter was pronounced dead by ambulance attendants at the scene. The driver of the automobile is being held pending further identification.

Detectives speculate the driver, after accelerating rapidly from the end of the road, lost control of the automobile's steering. When he applied the brakes, he claims the car skidded on the slick roadway surface and struck down the unsuspecting Miss Carter, who was deaf from birth. There were no other automobiles on the roadway at the time. The driver had dropped off his wife and he claimed he "was in a hurry to get to work on time."

According to her parents, Miss Carter, a canteen worker with the WAV, was on her way to her job when she stopped to post the letter. Engaged to Flt Lt John D. Garrows RAF, currently posted in Gibraltar, Garrows and Carter were to be married in December of this year. 

  

Sepia Saturday #335: My Koala

This photo of me (sorry about the hair) was taken in a park somewhere near Sydney in 1984. Looking at the image, I can remember the snuggly feeling of the drowsy little creature nestled in my arms. I just don't know what else I can say......

Amble slowly over to Sepia Saturday for more cuddly stories about Koalas and perhaps, yawns!

Sepia Saturday #322: A Brief look at Nuclear Bomb Design

Quickly, I had to look up the differences between a lamb and a kid. In short, I learned a lamb's tail hangs down and a kid's tail turns up. The tiny lamb's tail is out of view in the prompt photo with the little kids, but I think the creature has a tell-tale wooly coat, another giveaway it's a baaaa baaaa. Even though it's getting a free drink, I bet that lamb would scurry away in a flash if the kids let it go. Have I jumped to a conclusion based on only a fleeting glance at the photo? I'm in such a hurry this week. 

In my hastily chosen photo below of an unknown young girl, the animal's tail is up, and it's coat is obviously goat hair. Speed was of the essence and I just had to go with the goat. As it's a fairly large animal, I'm surprised the little girl's mother(?) in the background let her handle it in this manner. She could get a sharp kick in the bare knee, uncovered as it is with that skimpy skirt. All danger aside, she looks as if she's telling the goat a short story or whispering sweet nano-nothings into her ear. 

As we're leaving for India tomorrow, my contribution this week is skimpy and brief. I could devote only a bit of time to it, perhaps 10 nanoseconds - a time short as two shakes of a lamb's tail, in fact.

From Wikipedia: A shake^[1] is an informal unit of time equal to 10 nanoseconds, or 10⁻⁸ seconds. It has applications in nuclear physics, helping to conveniently express the timing of various events in a nuclear explosion. The typical time required for one step in the chain reaction (i.e. the typical time for each neutron to cause a fission event which releases more neutrons) is of order 1 shake, and the chain reaction is typically complete by 50 to 100 shakes.^[2]

This is also applicable to circuits. Since signal progression in IC chips is very rapid, on the order of nanoseconds, a shake is good measure of how quickly a signal can progress through an IC.

Like many nuclear units, it is derived from Top Secret operations of the Manhattan Project during World War II. The word comes from the expression "two shakes of a lamb's tail," which indicates a very short time interval. For nuclear-bomb designers, 10 nanoseconds was a convenient specific interval to connect to this term.

It has been discussed at length that the oldest documented usage of the phrase "two shakes of a lamb's tail" can be found within the compiled works of Richard Harris Barham calledThe Ingoldsby Legends.

Unknown girl holding goat. Photo marked 1934 on the reverse.

Don't stand on ceremony. You're invited to butt in over at Sepia Saturday for more interesting tails tales.