Turkey Talk

Surreal. That's how life feels today. I guess it should since I live halfway around the world from what I'm hard-wired to think is reality. And I think having the Pulsiphers here has reminded me of what American life was like, thus making Indian life all the more incongruous.

It started at 2:00 am when my cell phone (which happened to be next to my ear since I talked to Rich in Bangalore before I fell asleep) rang. It said "private number" on the caller ID, so I thought it must be some emergency from the USA or Mom in Australia. But it was my Grandma Funk in Utah who meant to call her son in California but hit the wrong speed dial button. Oops. After I chatted with her groggily about how fun it is to have the Pulsiphers staying with us, she asked, "Where is everybody?" "Oh, they're all asleep, Grandma. It's the middle of the night."

Luckily I did go back to sleep after Grandma's little surprise (always great to hear from her and partake of her rose-colored view of all things, even at odd hours!). But I still was up early, and quickly remembered that I needed to fix the washer hose I had broken last night. This was a relative emergency because while washing Graham's cloth diapers last night the washer had stopped when it got to the rinse cycle because there wasn't enough water. Because we live in India, we don't have the blessed luxury of constantly running tap water. We do have various mechanisms and people to try to remedy this, but they don't always work as planned. Anyway, before I went to bed I pried the hose off the tap to confirm that indeed there was no water. Made a mental note to put it back on in the morning and wake up the guard to tell him to turn on the water pump so I could get the diapers in the washer rinsed and dried before we ran out. Why, you ask, was I worrying about washing and drying Graham's diapers when I pay two people to occupy my kitchen all day and do housework? I ask myself the same question quite often. Part of the answer to the question is that you get what you pay for (though they are very well paid by local standards). The rest of the answers are partly my poor management skills and partly incomprehensible.

So I spent the better part of my early morning with a screwdriver trying to figure out how to get the hose back on. I kept reasoning aloud (with Michael Pulsipher as my sounding board, who was working on his homeschool homework) that if I could pull it off, I could certainly put it back on. But my brain needs more practice with fix-it work, so it took me a while. I was quite proud of myself, however, when we finally figured it out (by the time I did Isaac was awake and helped me finish it off).

Then David graciously took Isaac to school so he could use the car afterwards. Graham and I read some stories under the stairs and I tried to make a plan for the day. Dawn and I decided to set off with our little ones to Sarojini Nagar to fill the urgent need Isaac has for pants now that the weather has turned "cold" and mosquito-y. So we piled Russell, Graham, Michael, Grace, Katherine, Dawn, Anil (our driver), 6 sliced carrots for Isaac's Thanksgiving feast at school, 7 library books, lots of snacks, diapers and water, and me in the car and made it to Sarojini just after opening time at 11:00. We did amazingly well with our 5 kids in this crazy market full of cheap export clothing. Dawn got a skirt for Elizabeth and a bright pink Indian-looking cotton shirt with sequins and a beautiful gold crepe paisley-printed sari for herself. Russell talked me into a $5 Superman sweatsuit he didn't need. Anil followed us around and tsk-ed at the prices we were paying. But we think $2.50 for a shirt is pretty good! We took a break to take Russell to school by 12:30 and then hit it again. I found four pairs of pants for Isaac, which thankfully turned out to be just what he wanted. $5 each with adjustable waists, some with camouflage accents and zip-off shorts, which he thinks is sooo cool. He plans to use the camouflage to help him hide from his friends at recess.

Success on that count. But when we got home our good bargains quickly dissolved from my memory when I heard the news about the turkeys. Oh, the turkeys. Rich and David will be at home alone this Thanksgiving while Dawn and I take the kids to the Pushkar Camel Fair in Rajahsthan. But this year we're going for a bachelor Thanksgiving party with 10 LDS missionaries joining them for their feast. So we felt like these poor homesick boys needed a turkey. I scoped out the prices of what I could get them for through friend at the American Embassy ($1.60/lb), and decided they might come cheaper locally. So I asked Margaret to look for one during her weekly trip to her favorite food market INA where "everybody knows her name" as they say on Cheers, since she's been a faithful customer for 16 years. But I neglected to give her a price point. And gave her all of this week's food budget for the 13 of us. Big mistake.

So she came home with two turkeys--a male and female with the feet still on. I think she watched them slaughtered herself. Lovely little things totaling 5 kg (about 12 lbs.). But the price . . . not so lovely. $90. NINETY DOLLARS!! For two scrawny little birds. When I asked Margaret why she would pay Rs. 3600 (half the weekly food budget) for them without consulting me, she looked at me blankly, as if to say, "Why wouldn't you spend $90 on a turkey? You throw your money around like water on everything else." Surreal. Last time I checked I'm a miser. But in India, wealth is all relative.

I was incensed by all of this, probably way more than I should have been. But to me it highlights the irony of the fact that I have hired domestic servants to help me around the house and they often cause more stress and more work and more expense than their work is worth. I cannot kick the American way of life and get annoyed when the people who work for me don't act like washing machines, dishwashers, minivans, running water, garbage trucks or security systems.

So anyway, we called the turkey shop and asked the man if we could return the birds. He said he would try to sell them, and then give us the money if he does. Cross your fingers for us! What would you buy? The bird in the refrigerator, or the one you could look in the eye and make friends with before its slaughter? I'm afraid most everyone will choose the latter.

I'm praying they do sell, because I've already committed to buy a frozen turkey imported from the US from my friend. I haven't picked it up yet, but I'm hoping it's a Butterball one with a pop-up plastic button that tells us when it's done!

After the turkey rage and drama died down (mostly) I headed to the church to teach seminary to my class, which was well-attended today: 1 boy and 6 girls. We talked about how Moses learned to delegate and as I taught the students about how important it is for leaders to share their load and accept help and for us to support and help our leaders, I realized how much the Lord is teaching me as I clumsily get leadership practice at the expense of everyone around me. And as I taught them about Mt. Sinai and how the children of Israel were content to let Moses ascend that holy place and talk with God in their behalf instead of being worthy to enter themselves, I learned other whispered truths spoken to my heart about personal revelation and total trust in the Lord and His plan for me.

On the way home from Seminary we dropped off several girls, one of whom was a girl who is investigating our church named Sonam. It seems that Sonam has never ridden in a car before because it made her so sick that she vomited repeatedly out the window after she and I quickly crawled over and around each other so she could get there. Cars honking, hazy air, giggly girls chatting in an incomprehensible tongue in the backseat, rubbing Sonam's back and she vomits out the window again while we crawl forward in traffic. Surreal. But maybe it's more real and raw than anything I've ever experienced in America, and that's why it still shocks me even after two years. Why it breaks my heart and makes me question everything I thought I understood, or perhaps understand it better.

Stay turned to hear the fate of our poor rejected birds . . .