Two new additions before the new year (felted slippers and leather moccasin-boots).

Things to look forward to in the NEW YEAR:

A new job in San Francisco for the manshu that may mean a move (EXCITEMENT, CHANGE AND CATHARSIS).

DSN in Chicago and visit with longtime friend.

Shambhala, my good looking job.

More fun projects: SHOES, CLOTHING AND BREAD so stay tuned.

All told, Christmas was lovely, except for the missing nephew and the preoccupied sister.

The children, as always, made it feel like CHRISTMAS.

There was a little trouble with the irridescent angel who was listing a bit from the top of the tree.

And for the first time in Hatch history I am sad to say the tv was on to check the football score. Why does this fill me with grief.

Also historic was the green surroundings of our Maine family dwellings. The weather, again, proved unseasonably warm.

This was the first Thanksgiving we ate outside for the feast!

The weather in Ohio, where my brother and his fiance live, was unseasonably warm. We decided to eat out and enjoy the sunshine.

There was alot for which to be thankful. The other things will have to sort themselves out in time and space.

FRESH POND!

The Manshu and I walk here almost every day with other people and their dogs, babies and tractors. Today I got a ride on a Caterpillar from a friendly Works employee. Its that kind of day.

HOME OH HOME SWEET

Boston has been on my mind. Actually, New England. Because the possibility of having to leave makes me notice what I have before its gone. How can people think lightly of where they live?

I know how it feels to live "away". I lived in Chicago for ten years. It was a big party, but not home.

I don't mind the pushiness at rush hour. I've been to India and NYC. Bostonians are daarlings.

ALL four seasons! The bright leaves against crisp blue skies in Fall. The solemn drop of snowflakes on bare branches in the grey half light. The hope of spring and the sudden surprising gust of salt air from thawed oceanside. The freedom from the opression of clothes in summer. Halter tops and sandals at outdoor cafes after long hikes. The Ocean! The Mountains! The History!

My family has lived here since the 17th century . Two famous houses in New England (one in Gloucester on my mother's side and one in Marshfield on my dad's) were built by my ancestors. Sarah Messer, the author of The Red House, grew up in the one built by and inhabited by my father's family- The Hatch Family in Marshfield, Massachusetts. She writes about growing up in this house. It is a wonderful book full of historic details and Hatch/ Messer Lore. The other beautiful house below belongs to Lucette White and her husband who have also honored my family history by keeping and maintaining the house built by my great grandfather, Judge Edgar J. Sherman, the house on Bass Rocks in Gloucester, Massachusetts. Lucette, incidentally, is a magnificent and world reknown painter.

The house I grew up in is in Norwell, Massachusetts on River street just across the river from the Red House. This house was built later, in 1900, but was a wonderful house in which to grow up with a large swath of woods in the back and Stetson Shrine road to the left, where we roamed freely. My younger siblings Sarah, Rebecca, Joshua and Joel were 8,6,4 and 3 when we left the house in Norwell. I was 13. Jonathan was 14. And Marcy left to live with our biological mother in Chatham Massachusetts when she was 16, 2 years before.

Many of my siblings now reside in Maine. The last frontier of New England. But I am the only one back in Massachusetts. I feel like this is where I belong. I hope to stay.

Deewali!

Deep jalow! Deep jalow!

Aaj Diwali re

Kushy kushy saab

Husty ow

Aaj Diwali re!

In response to head set/head phone users everywhere who are virtually not really here among us:

Well, I’ve done it again: Alienated yet another person because of my discomfort with driving and cell phoning. The argument that when driving 7 miles an hour one is more available to multi-task or, This is the ONLY time I have to talk, or “If I can talk to someone in the car with me why can’t I talk to you on the phone?” isn’t lost on me. I understand, really I do. One tries to be efficient. One tries to stave off boredom. One thinks, “Let me do this while I remember.”

However, the way I see it is, “Let me avoid being here now doing what I have chosen to do, which is, namely, sit in my car by myself with thousands of others who are sitting in their cars by themselves, or with their kids who are also plugged into the t.v. or cd player or some screen entertainment or listening to their drivers yammer on their cellphones. I wonder what those infants are thinking while mommy is talking to someone somewhere, “Is she talking to me?” But what is really sad to me is

everyone is going in the same direction and yet everyone feels alone.

I take the train to work now because I can. When I am on the train many people enhance the experience by reading, (which I do sometimes too), working, listening to music. And some people talk. Amazingly, some people choose to be on the train and be with the people they are with! But really, in defense of the people reading/working/ spacing out with music is that they are focusing on just one thing.

This is what I aspire to. I would like to be focused on the task at hand, be it working on the computer, riding my bike(without head phones), walking around the park (should I wear the head phones or listen to the birds/tree leaves rustling etc?),or talking on the phone to a sibling somewhere private.[1]

This brings me back to my original point. Should I prohibit others from phoning me while they are driving, or caring for their children (or yelling at their kids in my ear), doing housework, or moving their bowels? Maybe not. Maybe I should just let them know how I feel being relegated to the equation; talking to me = or < "task"[2]

Instead of trying to assert my belief system onto them perhaps if I just share my feelings and leave it at that I can avoid alienating them. If I just stay in the moment of how I feel today maybe when I say, "I am not comfortable with you driving and talking to me at the same time." Their response won’t be, “O.k. I’ll talk to you next year.”

[1] There is something really intimate about talking with one’s siblings, at least for me there is. I say anything and everything to my brothers and sisters and I really don’t wish to share that with anyone .
[2] If talking to me was more important than a task like driving somewhere, you would pull over. And if talking to me was the same as driving somewhere, you would do both. But if talking to me has less importance than the driving, the driving somewhere happens regardless of whether or not the talking does. It all depends on your priority in the moment.

Alewife,

We received our I-600A approval from the Department of Immigration one week ago today. One more year to go.

Oh Ale,

Did we know in high school it would come to this?This name,

this ALE -WIFE, LIFE,

this AAAAOOOWWWIIGHHE?

This was my first week at my new job as the Permissions Coordinator at Shambhala Publications , Inc. I take the train from here to Park, change to the green line and take the E train to Symphonie Hall.

The last time I saw you was here, at the end of the red line, with Ella in your arms, small in almost every way except the bright light in her eyes. To my great surprise she mirrored even the most subtle expressions on your face, (as young children often do with the adults to whom they are lovingly tied). And what she mirrored was love.

We waved good bye here, at ALEWIFE, at end of the red line.

Or the beginning, as it seems to me.

ALE.

On thursday September 21, husband and I went to River Sing! on the Charles presented by the Charles River Conservancy and Revels, a non-profit performing group responsible for many seasonal celebrations but most known for Christmas Revels at the Sanders theatre in Cambridge. My favorite and most goosebumb inducing songs were Siyahamba, (We are marching in the light of God), and Fan-ga, (We welcome you with open arms and no weapons. We welcome you from the north, the south, the east, the west. And so be it.) There was less call and response this year, (I was told by Piper's mum, Lisa) but as this was my first River Sing! I was glad to be there and proud of my town, Cambridge.

Hello Bombay? I mean Mumbai? Can you hear me? I have been thinking things over since I returned from your excellent 13 million plus population city and I know I wrote that poem, “Bombay, I love..” but I have got a few things to say now that my Mehta paranoia has subsided and the first is, well, What Kind of Show Do You Think You Are Running Over There?? I mean what does a person have to do to get a good cup of coffee? You call yourself civilized? And nobody likes to be stared at as if they were growing huge eyeholes, not even Caucasian women, despite the rumors you have heard on your local broadcasting network regarding their status in the honor department. We are people too you know, even if we do like to rent elephants and while smiling and exclaiming, ride them down your streets videotaping.

Here I am married to one of your locals and I had the good manners to come to your fine metropolis and meet his family- your own people for Ganesh’s sake and you can’t even sell us a decent sandalwood statue without making us feel somehow un-local. You don’t treat people this way! And the peeing by the side of the road! It has to stop!

Didn’t you notice me eating with my hands? Wearing the Salwar Kamees? Giving Prasad at temple and showing respect to your myriad of Gods? Is that not worth something? And where do you suppose the white girl is going to go for her daily walk with all that staring and lip sucking? I mean really!

Do you expect to be admired on the basis of your cheap labor and ensuing influx of wealth without offering anything to the foreigner except non-resident rates, arrogance and a stomach infection? You will have to do better than that let me tell you. Yes you will. Good gracious even our mafia here has the good sense to dress well and keep their doings private, while your “wealth redistributors” continue to dress Bollywood actors like Patrick Swayze and then overwork them like Judy Garland. It is the year 2006! Wake up! The dance moves in Never say Forever showed your complete lack of understanding of American contemporary dance. Yes we are annoying! Yes we discourage littering, (which you treat as a joke because to you everything outside your house is a garbage dump anyway). Yes we are responsible for Global Warming! But do we treat you the way you have treated us? No! We haven’t! Not us Americans! Uh-Uh!

If it is inconvenient IT IS GOOD
When change is easy we think to ourselves Why didn't I do this before? But doing the right thing isn't always easy, like climbing the stairs at the Porter Square T station. Ever since middle age became apparent and a membership to the health club seemed like a rip-off and an obstacle to spending time outside I have decided to use stairs when possible.

Other changes:
strict recycling (not just glass)
electricity/water/gasoline conservation
making food instead of buying packaged

I better shut this computer down now.

The ghost of Charlie rides again.
Riding the mbta can be tricky. Yesterday I bought a charlie ticket at Alewife station. There was no attendant or tokens available. After visiting Shambhala Publications across from Symphony Hall I came back via the T and disembarked at Davis Square to see An Inconvenient Truth, (the Al Gore movie I think should be seen by all). When I was ready to return home I was unable to use my Charlie ticket and missed the train trying. There were several people in the same situation as me and we enjoyed kvetching about it. Ah, the joys of complaining with strangers.

Like most mentally hyperactive people, whenever I go out I keep a running commentary of things I see. Or is this middle age? Well, anyway on Saturday we rode our bikes on the minuteman bikeway and when we passed the tow lot we stopped. Got a good caption for this one?

On Friday September 15, I crashed Chloe's birthday party.

So far in 2006 I have made moccasins, an indian style shirt, a skirt and beer (with the help of my husband and Subbu). I hope to continue to learn new things in this coming mysterious year.

The crib I set up has remained untouched by the cats until today. And I got an email from our agency extending the wait time to one year.

Miss says, "who's your baby now?"

This message goes out to you, child

It gets harder and harder to wait for news from "the powers that be" regarding how we are moving along in this adoption process. Every day I reach into the mailbox hoping for that letter from the immigration department finalizing our approval to adopt and therefore signalling to us that YES! You are coming! I just want to send a message out to you, whoever you are, wherever you are,

We are waiting for you. It is hard not knowing when you will come.
We are here.

The crib is set up in a room we had painted greeen. We have clothing and soft natural toys, a stroller and a baby carrier.

People keep asking about you and some are even giving us advice we don't want. I guess that happens to all waiting families, even the ones who are waiting for babies in their own bellies.

The students I have had for the last three years have a new teacher now, Mr. Brandeis. We were expecting for you to come before the end of the school year and this is why I am not teaching this class.

Do you know what I am supposed to be doing this year?
Last night I attended the first Diversity group meeting and next week I will attend the Social Inclusion meeting at The Waldorf School.

See you as soon as you can come.

Here is the view from the island and an intimate spot from which to sit and gaze out over the surrounding sea.

These are the folks who ate at the picnic and were filmed by the crew, so interested in knowing ALL about lobsters.

This is the family that went to the picnic on Friendship long island at the cabin that Laurie and Bill built.

This is the cabin that Laurie and Bill built.

Here is a wonderful article, kindly given to wikipedia. What is amazing is that this knowledge was off limits to us lay people in the past. Art of living has study groups that discuss this gita. http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Ashtavakra_Gita

On the friday before labor day we drove up to Canada with Chuck and Penny to see Sri Sri and do Part 2 of the Art of Living course work.
We came.
We camped.
We got wet, bitten, uncomfortable, couldn't meditate, stood in line, stumbled in the rain at 2am to find the bathroom, ate overcooked food, crammed 300 people into a space meant for 100 and in the end got what we came for.
Sri Sri never disappoints.

The garden and fish belong to Annie Bone. Her house is in the Russian hill district, a swank neighborhood and a great place to stay. Annie's cottage was quiet and had everything I needed especially after 3 weeks in India. Husband had to stay in Boston to work:(

Shaklee’s big yearly conference was held in San Francisco this year and I took the opportunity to go there while my mom, who is a rep, attended with my sister Marcy. Marcy spent a nice amount of time with me shopping and walking up and down the hills of the city. This city is filled with varied architecture and great views of the ocean and the golden gate bridge.

My adopted brother, Subbu, is also my brother in law because he is married to husband's sister Jayshree. He was not able to join us until our last day in India, Sujaya's birthday celebration. I love these pictures of him with Sujaya because despite her alarm, (Jayshree mom is climbing on top of elephant) he remains calm. Kushant, in the background, as always, is in motion.

While we were in India husband and I looked all over for a ganesh to call our own. We went to the cottage industries in Bombay and around Goa but the wooden sculptures we liked seemed a little steep in price. We didn't want a corpulent, lecherous looking Ganesh. We think of Ganesh as dignified, powerful and beautiful, not really human despite his body. We found this Ganesh on the street in South Bombay and it is very similar to the Ganesh we almost bought in P-town but for much less.

"On my fifth birthday I want to ride on an elephant." Thus spoke Sujaya. So, on August 13, the day we celebrated her birthday, Taj Mala, (elephant around town) came for the party.

My favorite place on our visit to India was Goa. Before 1960 something, it was a Portuguese state or province. You can visit temples as well as churches and cathedrals. There are many resorts in Goa, as it has beautiful beaches, great seafood and friendly people open to everyone, not just indian nationals. We didn't get to hang with the "hippies", but were told that this is where india's hipsters reside.

We sampled the local liquor, fenny, an aquired taste. Fenny is made from cashews or coconut and is meant to have medicinal qualities. Husband bought six bottles without tasting it first and insisted on bringing home this local flavor. Fenny anyone?


The tiger prawns at Mum's Kitchen in Panjim, Goa were excellent as was the service by Abdul.
Mum's is located

"down the road from the Goa Marriott Resort (which, incidentally, has a marvelous seafood restaurant, Simply Fish, an outdoor venue overlooking the bay) in Martin's Building, D. B. Marg, Miramar; tel. 98221-75559 or 3100873; daily noon-midnight. It has a laid-back Mediterranean atmosphere and does wonderful crab xec-xec (cooked in thick, spicy coconut gravy) and pomfret recheado (fish stuffed with hot spices and pan-fried). The owner, Rony Martins, not only invites you to examine his kitchen for standards of hygiene and his fish for freshness, he is on a mission to revive authentic Goan cuisine. He sources and adopts old "grandma" recipes and has started "A Cry of Goa": an exercise to save Goan cuisine, in which locals are invited to eat at his restaurant free or at nominal cost and provide constructive criticism/suggestions for improvement." frommers guide to Goa .

We stayed at the Taj Exotica in southern Goa and even though it was monsoon, one day it rained only briefly in the morning and I got sunburned. :)

I met village girls who lived next to the Taj named Mira and Rosie. They sat us down with the rest of their womenfolk and proceded to bargain with us for their wares, some of which was worn and stained and looked as though it had been stored for years.

We had regular visits from "ghost kitten", a small white starving kitten that appeared by moonlight and ravenously devoured our bar snacks on the veranda overlooking the Taj grounds and beach. Ghost Kitty's meow was feral and a little unnatural.

Bombay,
I love cool clean marble floors on my feet,
balconies over busy streets,
auto rickshaws and elephants,
the many colors of the saris in the alleys,
and garbage on the seashore,
bags made of newspaper,
men holding hands,
3 dollar meals
and lemon water at the end to wash.

I hate your endless car horns
and the way your men stare,
the bars on the balconies,
the glass shards glued to the tops of walls
the rates at hotels for non-resident indians,
the architecture of crumbling, molding cement buildings everywhere.
Your oceanside does not smell like the sea.