Reflections on the Water
This old guy is quite a character. He’s one of the men who work paddling traditional boats, called “shikaras,” on the lake near our home. Last Sunday we hired him to take us out to an island for a picnic. It was the first sunny day we’d had for a week, and we were ready for some fresh air.
That afternoon the lake was almost perfectly calm, and out in the middle of the lake the only noise we heard was the dip-and-splash of the heart-shaped paddle. My husband, not one to sit still for long, picked up an extra paddle and sat in the front of our boat to get some exercise and move us along a little faster.
Our old guy found this extremely amusing! The island picnic in the sun was lovely, and on the return trip we drank chai from our thermos.
On the lake, we were struck by the beauty of the trees and mountains reflected in the mirror-like water. I wondered why it is that we love seeing reflections in nature. The mountains reflected in the lake surface seemed clearer in outline, without the atmosphere’s haze. I noticed patches of sunlight on the sides of the hills that I hadn’t noticed when I looked at them directly. The clouds’ reflection on the water seemed more dramatic than what I saw in the sky over my head.
Isn’t that how it is with reflections? As I mentally reflect on Sunday’s outing, details stand out more clearly and I notice new things. Observing the reflection makes me see the real thing a little differently. While there may be more clarity in the reflection, depth is lacking. Reflecting helps me appreciate the real experience more, but it doesn’t substitute for it. After all, the lake’s reflection of the mountains is only on the surface, and only lasts until the wind comes up. If I want to hike to the mountain-top by jumping out of the shikara, I’ll be pretty disappointed. And very wet.
Posted in Uncategorized and tagged boat on the lake, reflections by Lisa
“I Know of Nothing Else but Miracles”
This is my kitchen, and until a few minutes ago our landlord’s daughter was sitting at the table with me. Isn’t it refreshing to know that there are still teenaged girls in the world who are shy about having their photos posted on the internet? So you’ll have to imagine her—sixteen, smallish, with thick black hair and deep dark eyes. She’s preparing for a big set of exams at school next month, and she asked if I would help her with English review. I was delighted!
So we’ve been sitting at the table together for an hour or so each day, pouring over her books. We’ve reviewed modals and articles, similes and metaphors. We’ve read poems and short stories. Her English is very good, and she enjoys the review, especially the poetry! Yesterday we read Walt Whitman’s “Miracles.” It begins like this:
WHY! Who makes much of a miracle?
As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach, just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love…
And the poet goes on to describe the many sights and sounds of everyday life that are beautiful to him, and in some way miraculous. We talked together, this North Indian teenager and I, about our favorite lines in the poem, and about the miracles we see around us.
In my own life I have experienced a few real miracles, the kind you don’t see every day and that have no “natural” explanation. I’ve had the privilege of witnessing a few in the lives of others. But I’ve also become more appreciative of the kind of miracle that Whitman writes about—the natural beauty around us, the diversity of human culture, the connections I make with people who seem so different from me. When Whitman concludes his poem with, “What stranger miracles are there?” could he have imagined me and my sweet Indian friend at the kitchen table, in the foothills of the Himalayas, with our minds meeting over the words of his poetry? I’m keeping my eyes open for more miracles to come…
Posted in Uncategorized and tagged miracles, poetry by Lisa
Three Kinds of Winter
We’ve discovered something interesting about winter in the foothills of the Himalayas: There are actually three kinds of winter. Like Goldilocks in the house of the three bears, I am meeting Father Winter, Mother Winter, and Baby Winter. Father Winter starts on December 21 and lasts for 40 days, ending on January 31; these are the days of freezing temperatures and snow. 
Mother Winter takes over for the next 20 days; during this period, snow may fall, but it will soon melt. Then Baby Winter follows for a final 10 days of warming temperatures and rain.
This year hasn’t followed the normal pattern. Father Winter slept through his turn, and we had no snow at all. Mother Winter is now in charge, and she has gotten us back on track. We’ve had several days of snow, which has melted here in town but stuck up on the mountains. Last year Baby Winter threw a tantrum which brought a return of freezing temperatures and heavy snow just when everyone was starting their spring cleaning.
Weather is unpredictable, and seems to be getting more so all over the world. Still, our neighbors here are not alone in trying to set boundaries and schedule the seasons. What’s the point? Perhaps it’s that human desire to exercise just a little control over often-powerful climatic forces. Or maybe it’s the psychological boost that we get by crossing days off the calendar, like schoolkids anticipating spring break. After weeks of wearing layers of wool and typing with stiff, cold fingers, the day comes when Father Winter packs his bags and Mother Winter takes over. I pat myself on the back and give three cheers for having survived the worst! Now that Mother Winter is in charge, I can look forward to the kindness of a little more sun each day. And by the time Baby Winter arrives, no matter what tricks he plays on us, I’ll know that his stay will be brief.
Now, to answer the Goldilocks question: Which kind of winter fits me “just right”? Answer: Summer!
Posted in Uncategorized and tagged winter by Lisa
Coming Home, and the First Snow!
We arrived home after our vacation just in time for the season’s first snow! It’s late this year—after September’s historic flood, the skies remained dry until yesterday. The snow had just started falling when we woke up, and as we ate breakfast we watched it blanket the ground with white. 
The snowflakes seemed to get bigger—soon it looked like popcorn falling out of a celestial popper. The snow stopped mid-morning; the weather warmed a little in the afternoon and most of it melted. But today we had more snow, and this time it’s staying put longer.
It was good to come back to our home of 10 months. On the last leg of our trip, we took a taxi to the Delhi airport for our flight home. In the terminal, we realized that we could spot the gate where our plane would board by the people waiting there—many were wearing the traditional clothing of our region. As we stood in line, we caught snatches of conversation around us and were excited to find that we hadn’t forgotten the language we’ve been studying! Later when we got to our house, our landlord’s 3-year-old boy met us on the front steps with a huge smile and started off on a rapid summary of everything that happened while we were gone, in his toddler-speak mixture of three languages. 
The following day I headed for the market to buy vegetables, and a neighbor woman standing outside her gate greeted me warmly. She grabbed my hand and tried to pull me into her house for chai; I had to pull hard to extricate my hand with a promise to come later. In many little ways, it was a sweet homecoming.
And the next day—snow! I’m really not a fan of cold weather, so what is it about snow that seems so beautiful? Perhaps it has to do with how the landscape is changed by the softness and purity of snow. 
Mud, asphalt, and piles of trash are all covered over, and the harshness of bare tree branches suddenly turns to lace. What grace does in our lives, snow does to the view out my window—same view, but transformed, redeemed, made lovely.
Posted in Uncategorized and tagged coming home, snow by Lisa