I won’t be seeing this year’s totality – can’t take time out from other commitments to go to where it’s happening. But I feel I’ve already had the peak eclipse experience of my life, even though I wasn’t in the path of totality for that one, either.
I was in Delhi in February, 1980, with a bit of time to kill between the end of a six-week tour of India and the start of the school semester up in Mussoorie. I was staying with the Roemmeles, a missionary family with three daughters at Woodstock, one of them my classmate, Anne. I don’t remember exactly how long I stayed; it was not uncommon for students at loose ends to stay for weeks with school friends during our long winter holidays.
Most babies seem to go through stages in how they interact with other humans: early on, they cling to parents and other familiar people, but are interested in strangers and don’t seem to imagine that anything in the world wants to hurt them. Then they become more cautious and reserved for a while.
Then there’s the flirty stage. Our daughter at age 15 months was out to charm the world, and she was very, very good at it. She knew full well how to deploy her big, brown eyes and rich, deep laugh. She could get adults who usually showed no interest in children to play with her for hours.
Once, about 20 years ago, I was on a long-haul British Airways flight, probably from London to San Francisco, or vice-versa. I don’t sleep much on planes, so during a quiet night I ended up in the galley, chatting with one of the flight attendants. We exchanged the usual origin stories. He was half Indian, half Pakistani, a situation whose complexities I could intuit, given my own history in India and Bangladesh.
A couple of years ago, I took part in an all-woman training session at my company on “how to present to executives.” A small part of the session consisted of the trainer giving us advice on “dressing for success,” including: “You should wear makeup – otherwise it looks as if you don’t care [about how you look].” I pointed out that wearing makeup is not an option for everyone. For me, it mostly isn’t. Continue reading The Makeup Problem→
The possibility of violent death – my own or that of a loved one – has been a part of my consciousness for as long as I can remember. My dad was in Vietnam during the war. He was there as a civilian, but was nonetheless a target. I was young and understood next to nothing about any of it, except that my daddy could be killed.
