these wonderful people all wanna be lost & found in india, even a little bit...go and visit them:
Sunday, July 5, 2009
...and before you read the post below, click on my Diamond there in the sidebar. You won't be disappointed: he's English...(?)
Only a mother could understand...
My mum rang yesterday. She lives in Adelaide, my home town in South Australia, and has been phoning daily for the 4 months since the accident. She told me only a few weeks ago that it was the hardest thing she'd been through, when I was in Intensive Care and she couldn't be with me or see me and could only speak to others about my condition. She lost a husband in a car accident when her five children were aged 8 to 15. It hurt me more than my injuries themselves to know that a car accident was once more causing my mother extreme grief---for the first 24 hours she wasn't sure if I'd live or die, and when she was relieved of that anxiety for me, she had to carry it for my husband. She started calling me daily as soon as she could, and continues to. She knows all the details of the accident, our injuries, our recovery, and what damage still remains. I had no intention of sending her photos of myself until the healing had started to settle in and take effect; after my second plastic surgery operation a couple of weeks ago, I sent my nephew some updated photos. Lee, who lives in Bombay and is an actor in Bollywood movies (and who does tv ads and modelling for income; check him out at the bottom of my blog, there's an ad of his that's my favorite) came to stay with Jahnu and I in Calcutta after Jahnu came out of hospital. He looked after us and saw the results of the accident on us very soon after it happened. So as my injuries improved, I'd send him photos so he could see how much change was taking place.
Lee is in Australia for a visit at the moment, and after my last surgery I sent him the latest updates so he could see how dramatic the difference was. He asked if he could show anyone else. I'd been reluctant to send photos of myself around, because without seeing how bad the damage was, appreciation for the improvement would not be there, and I didn't want to deal with peoples thoughts of how "bad" things were when in fact they were absolutely flippin' marvelous :) So I told him, "Go ahead, show everyone, but make sure they know that what they're seeing is the good news..."
My desire in dealing with my mother was always to protect her from seeing things and feeling things that a mother simply shouldn't feel; things that would make her feel as though she couldn't or hadn't "protected" me, things that hurt a parent's heart, that make a parent wish it was them and not their child--no matter that the "child" is now 45 years old.
So Lee did as I asked and then showed her the photos.
And yesterday my mum called. The first thing she said was, "I saw a photo of you yesterday...."
I was silent for a moment, wondering what my mother thought of seeing her youngest daughter scarred like this; of seeing the result of a head-on collision with a truck; of seeing what flying through a vehicle at over 100km per hour does to a face that impacts with, and breaks, the windscreen; of seeing the healed remnants of what she would know was a violent, painful, and traumatic incident.
The silence between us was filled with so many thoughts. "OK...so…" I finally said, "...what did you think, Mum?"
She was silent. And then she said something that only a mother could say:
"Have you lost weight??"
My desire in dealing with my mother was always to protect her from seeing things and feeling things that a mother simply shouldn't feel; things that would make her feel as though she couldn't or hadn't "protected" me, things that hurt a parent's heart, that make a parent wish it was them and not their child--no matter that the "child" is now 45 years old.
So Lee did as I asked and then showed her the photos.
And yesterday my mum called. The first thing she said was, "I saw a photo of you yesterday...."I was silent for a moment, wondering what my mother thought of seeing her youngest daughter scarred like this; of seeing the result of a head-on collision with a truck; of seeing what flying through a vehicle at over 100km per hour does to a face that impacts with, and breaks, the windscreen; of seeing the healed remnants of what she would know was a violent, painful, and traumatic incident.
The silence between us was filled with so many thoughts. "OK...so…" I finally said, "...what did you think, Mum?"
She was silent. And then she said something that only a mother could say:
"Have you lost weight??"
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Just bringin' back the cow bliss .... remember Pushpa? If you haven't met her yet, then here's how she was introduced...
You know how I told you I loved cows? Well....
I'm not one of those sad people who will become "grandmother" to their cat's offspring. Oh no, not me...I don't have a cat.But I have a cow (that's her hoof, right: and yes she's one helluva fancy girl...) who just gave birth to a little boy, and so I'm officially a grandmother to a bull. I'm sure that statement alone can give birth to a hundred witty comments, so feel free to leave them. I'm up for a laugh.
About 3 yrs ago I was visiting a friend, an American chap, in a village called Vrindavan, north of Delhi. In this town, he has a cowshed that's a little special: he picks up injured cows and bulls off the street and looks after them--for life. Not that he makes them well and turns them out. He keeps them. So he has this big cowshed full of happy cows, and some people from around the world who are into what he's doing sponsor him, and life goes on for him and his cows and bulls.
When I visited that cowshed 3 yrs ago, I met a little chocolate brown calf, a tiny, frail thing; the first time I saw her, she was lying against the brick wall, propped up by pillows and bags of hay. She lay soaking in the warm morning sun on a cold January morning. Her eyes were closed, and she lay motionless as we approached. "This little one came in two days ago," my friend told me. "She was found by some people from out of town who were on their way to a temple in Gokul. Her leg is broken and her hip is dislocated. (that's her, after the plastering.) She has these open wounds on her side, and we don't know how seriously hurt she is internally. She has obviously been hit by a car, and was lying there for a week. No one did anything to help her. These people picked her up, put her in their car, and returned to town. They brought her straight here. We're not sure if she'll
make it. Possibly not."
After I wiped away the tears, I sat with that calf all morning. I placed her head in my lap and stroked her. I sang to her, prayed for her, and returned every day to do the same. It got to the point where she would look at the gate every time it opened, waiting for me to come. We kinda fell in love.
I adopted my girl and named her Pushpa, which means "flower." She's a full-grown madam of a chocolate cow now, and a mother at the ripe old age of nearly 4. Here's the nameless little future stud she gave birth to (right). His name status will change of course, and I'll be sure to let y'all know.
So that was my day. How 'bout you?
About 3 yrs ago I was visiting a friend, an American chap, in a village called Vrindavan, north of Delhi. In this town, he has a cowshed that's a little special: he picks up injured cows and bulls off the street and looks after them--for life. Not that he makes them well and turns them out. He keeps them. So he has this big cowshed full of happy cows, and some people from around the world who are into what he's doing sponsor him, and life goes on for him and his cows and bulls.
When I visited that cowshed 3 yrs ago, I met a little chocolate brown calf, a tiny, frail thing; the first time I saw her, she was lying against the brick wall, propped up by pillows and bags of hay. She lay soaking in the warm morning sun on a cold January morning. Her eyes were closed, and she lay motionless as we approached. "This little one came in two days ago," my friend told me. "She was found by some people from out of town who were on their way to a temple in Gokul. Her leg is broken and her hip is dislocated. (that's her, after the plastering.) She has these open wounds on her side, and we don't know how seriously hurt she is internally. She has obviously been hit by a car, and was lying there for a week. No one did anything to help her. These people picked her up, put her in their car, and returned to town. They brought her straight here. We're not sure if she'll make it. Possibly not."After I wiped away the tears, I sat with that calf all morning. I placed her head in my lap and stroked her. I sang to her, prayed for her, and returned every day to do the same. It got to the point where she would look at the gate every time it opened, waiting for me to come. We kinda fell in love.
I adopted my girl and named her Pushpa, which means "flower." She's a full-grown madam of a chocolate cow now, and a mother at the ripe old age of nearly 4. Here's the nameless little future stud she gave birth to (right). His name status will change of course, and I'll be sure to let y'all know.
So that was my day. How 'bout you?
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Yogi Private Time...
I've been having internet trouble for 5 days, and can't do much online until it's fixed (hopefully tomorrow). I can't post (doing this from my husband's computer), can read your blogs but can't comment, but I'm here and will be back full-swing soon. In the meantime, I'm using this downtime to do what has, until now, been a secret pastime. In an effort to be more open and honest with you, I now reveal the truth:
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