Peacock Plumes at the EGL Office Park

The postings on this site are my own and don't necessarily represent IBM's positions, strategies or opinions.

Her Name Was Kolapi

My neighbor, when I used an empty cubicle at EGL for a day yesterday, said her name, Kolapi, meant, "The plumes of the peacock. It's Bengali."

When I was very little -- and a long time ago, I really was -- my parents used to take me to a nature center near our house...I'm from Stamford, Connecticut; it was always early in the morning and they'd let me run after the peacocks, who were always gathered on the great lawn there. I loved chasing the peacocks.

I didn't really look at her as I re-told this story, till the end. And then I looked at her a bit sheepishly, saying, "Thanks for giving me that nice memory."

She smiled kindly and we went back to staring at our respective computer monitors.

It's really true that people are not the same around the world. I really don't think I'd ever meet an American named Peacock Plumes...well, maybe a Native American might have a similar sort of name, but....I do have a Native American colleague and friend whose last name is Morningstar.

Intercultural Bounties

Perhaps I quoted this here recently -- can't keep my blog and my school paper straight -- but I thought, Yes! when I came across this on the AFS site, "We relate to each other because we are similar. We learn from each other because we are different."

My favorite moments of intercultural conversation were when something struck both of us as funny, and it was not Indian or Jewish or American humor; it was just universal humor. That's when I felt most comfortable.

I guess I learned most, though, when I couldn't relate directly to what a colleague described as routine, e.g., moving into your mother-in-law's house because that was how she wanted it to be in her old age.

Last night, I was talking with one of my U.S. mentors and told her that I felt like I scaled a mountain and stood proudly at the summit, having made a positive difference here with my work while struggling a bit personally to adjust to the new environment along the way.

Thinking back to 2005, my first trip to India, I really didn't have more than a romantic picture compared with living here for nearly six months so far. I stayed in a plush hotel and was a management development instructor for a section of particularly sweet and polite participants, who even gave me Indian souvenirs, and my colleague and friend Chitra offered me home-hospitality twice in a week. And then it reminded me of Israel terrain-wise and in terms of the flowers and trees.

Living here, I had to recall how often it was necessary to repeat myself because of my accent...and how white I felt, like never before in my life, since I always lived among a majority of white people without being super-conscious that I did...and how privileged, as whole families rode by on motorcycles because they had to...and how I had to steel myself whenever super-high-voiced singing happened, as I never did get the appeal of it...and how, really, it did not remind me of Israel at all, other than the flowers and trees....

And yet I learned more about my profession here in six months than perhaps in the past three years, since the growth here made everything even more intense than even I would have made it, and I found additional friends I want to hold on to, and I will miss my favorite foods, and the Hindi pop songs and videos, and the textiles....

I can feel myself repeating myself from prior postings, but I feel like I'm sorting and re-sorting what I want to keep forever from what I learned from, but want to walk away from due to the discomfort of it...and the thing is, I know I'll never be able to walk away.

Entering the Mood Elevator

The postings on this site are my own and don't necessarily represent IBM's positions, strategies or opinions.

Going Up

Writing this blog-entry is a means to an end tonight. I feel down and I'm counting on it to help me feel better.

Today, an important meeting went well; I felt stylishly, yet understatedly, dressed and was complimented on my suit and how I looked in it; the weather was gorgeous -- cool, but not cold, and sunny; and Pat was her lovely self.

So why do I feel morose? Or at least, why did I until I forced myself to write something -- anything?

For example, did you know that barewahanagale means "traffic" in Kannada, or that (yesterday's word) aroge means "helpful?" Or that hasu means "cow" and nai means "dog?"

Food Fight

I think I'll feel even better if I recall why I learned the words, hasu and nai. It wasn't funny, but it was absurd; once the traffic picked up, Channa and I saw a dog on the roadside, growling at a cow, since both were trying to eat from the same trash pile. The cow was not afraid; she ignored the dog, who was trying so hard to be fierce.

The scene reminds me that I couldn't book a room for the weekend we wanted at that Cicada wildlife place. It occurred to me later: Maybe, they rejected us because in the "Special Requests" field, I asked for feather pillows.

Fortunately, one of my friends on assignment here told me about Bannerghatta National Park, which is just outside of Bangalore, and which will enable Pat to see tigers while she's here, which is a fond wish.

We will go there. The animals will be less wild than the cow and dog we saw today, as they're fed regularly.

The Only Way

Today, a colleague complimented me, saying that she learned more from me than what I coached her on -- facilitation. She also said she learned how to be "...open to other cultures while still getting your viewpoint across."

I told her that I appreciated her receptivity to my viewpoint, as it wasn't always welcome in my experience, i.e., not everyone wants to do more than just share about their culture. By "viewpoint," she simply meant my making it into a cultural exchange more often than not, rather than just exclusively learning about her culture.

Every day, during my commute, we pass a building near the Shiva temple, which reads on the three sides that I can see, "Jesu Krupa -- The Only Way."

"Channa, does 'Jesu Krupa' mean Jesus?" I asked.

"Yes, Ma'am."

It worked.

Poor Me

The postings on this site are my own and don't necessarily represent IBM's positions, strategies or opinions.

Poor Them

Many of the entries are breezy, but this one might not be:

On Brigade Road this afternoon, I burrowed into Pat's side and turned my back on an approaching beggar. Pat put her arms around me and protected me.

The woman was tiny, with matted hair and hyper-alert eyes, and she was carrying a monkey, who was holding a baby-monkey. I was afraid of the monkeys. What if they scratched me? Or bit me?

Pat went into the grocery store a few minutes later and I waited for her on the sidewalk, so we wouldn't have to check our Blossom Books shopping bags. The monkey guardian made her way back up the street. I crossed the sidewalk and stood on the store's steps, out of monkey-arms' reach.

The baby was so, so little. Only its head peeked out from its parent's chest and the parent clung to the woman's small shoulder and tiny waist.

Earlier, a Far Bolder Encounter

Pat and I were killing time, since we arrived before our friends and before the bookstore was open, and so we headed down Church Street to Brigade Road, single-file, since the sidewalk was unfinished.

Soon, walking toward us were two women, wearing, atop their heads, wooden thrones with the image of Ganesh in the center of each of them. We were fascinated and stared at the little chairs as they approached.

Suddenly, the one in front cracked a bull-whip on the sidewalk right in front of me and thrust out her hand for me to give her money.

I couldn't believe that she was trying to intimidate me with the whip-cracking. I was furious. "No! No!" I said very loudly.

They didn't try it again with Pat, but quickly, imitated me, "No! No!" as they walked past. Adrenalin surged in me.

I turned around and yelled at them, "I could hit you!"

They actually seemed afraid, whether or not they understood what I said per se, and they moved away more quickly.

Loving and Struggling With My Location

The Indian friends that Pat and I have had and have made here, the fiction, the food, the flora, the Hindi pop-music all have delighted me. The routine reminders of my privilege have disturbed me.

A non-Indian colleague said recently, "I don't like to see the poverty." What a sincere statement, I thought -- much more authentic than many I've heard, that is, it bothered her to see it. Where she came from, the poverty was there, but she wasn't confronted by it so visibly and so vividly.

Volunteering One's Soul vs. One's Brain

I have spent my time here, rationalizing that by helping a segment of the population advance in its leadership, my efforts somehow have positively helped the economy and the society's future.

And then a local colleague told me that she's active in ShapingIndia.org, which helps the society much more directly than my rationalization of what I've been doing here.

Other than the website, having been named "Crusade India," and the word, "Crusade" having been off-putting, given my Jewish heritage and identity, why did I not want to get involved with any similar organization at least?

Why didn't I want to in the United States either? Why, ever since I've made a corporate salary, have I wanted only to write a check in response to others' struggles, if I didn't know them personally?

That was it: "...if I didn't know them personally...." The poor, anywhere, were just another historically, and still, underrepresented group.

Prior to our arrival in India, Pat had been volunteering every Thursday at a soup kitchen and had made friends with a number of the other volunteers, some of whom might have had money-struggles of their own. One of them was a bathroom attendant.

In my case, I knew money-struggles personally, particularly after my father died when I was 17, and during college, though apparently, not on the scale of the people, who have begged here or in New York City. The difference between them and me has been my much higher level of education or my relative mental health and I have been so grateful for both.

I've had U.S. acquaintances say to me, "I could never take an assignment in India. I find the poverty so sad."

If poverty so saddened them, then why weren't they working for the Peace Corps? Rather, I think they actually meant what my colleague said sincerely, "...I don't like to see the poverty."

I did warn you that this might not be among my breezier postings.

Kannada Word of the Day: Gooli

The postings on this site are my own and don't necessarily represent IBM's positions, strategies or opinions.

Bull!

That's what "gooli" means. I learned the word because we were heading down the dirt-road, which is a shortcut to the Embassy Golf Links office park, and we passed a tiny shrine, in front of which was a little painted, plaster/wood/metal bull.

"Channa, I don't want to forget to ask you for a word today. How do you say, 'Bull' in Kannada?"

"Gooli, Ma'am."

Pimped Ride

We shouted this exchange with each other because Hertz "pimped Channa's ride;" this morning, he arrived with a huge sound system all over the inside of it.

"I locked all the doors one by one today," he said.

Whenever I drive in a city myself, I always keep my doors locked, but he hadn't done it in Bangalore, so I hadn't either...till today. I guess the sound system might be too tempting to resist.

You can hear us coming now and the floor tickles the soles of my shoes, since the bass is reverberating through it.

On the way, we listened to Hindi hits and smiled nearly the whole time. I couldn't wait to go home.

"Channa, this is very bindaas of you," I said.

He smiled proudly.

Oh, Kannada

The postings on this site are my own and don't necessarily represent IBM's positions, strategies or opinions.

Today, More Than Just A Word A Day

When Channa and I were commuting this morning, I told him that I felt bad that I had forgotten to ask for my word or phrase of the day yesterday, so we made up for it:

• Oota aita?/Did you eat?
  
• Tindi aita?/Did you eat breakfast?
  
• Shoobowdaya/Good morning.
  
• Shoobadeena/Have a good day.
  
• Shoobaratri/Good night.
  
• Danyawada/Thank you.
  
• Dayawitu/Please
  
• Walaya chalaka/You are a great driver.
  
• Navaratriya shoobashayagalu/Happy Navarati.
  
• Madeema/used when referring either to radio or TV
  
• Mara/Tree.
  

It was fun and humbling to be back to such basics in language. It's like being a baby again...only with many more responsibilities!

Chanukah Is Around the Corner

The postings on this site are my own and don't necessarily represent IBM's positions, strategies or opinions.

And I'm Still Watching Mosquitos Fly By

The eight-day holiday's really early this year, beginning on December 5th, and won't be on anyone's radar here. We've already been witnesses to the Hindu Festival of Lights, Diwali, but still, I'll miss our own Chanukiah in the window nightly.

I hear that it's cold where we'd be typically at this time of year, but instead, I'm whizzing past palm trees and the occasional mosquito whizzes past me.

Home is Relative

Tonight, my best friend here said that she wanted to come to our home before we leave, so that she has some sense of us in India beyond just at work, shopping or in her home.

I was surprised, and told her so, because she knows we don't even cook here -- don't have anything beyond a microwave -- and that the art on the walls and the furniture is the landlord's, and yet she says it would make her feel good to be able to think of us in our Indian home.

"I remember so well, staying with you in your home when I came to the States, the blueberry pancakes that Pat made me -- I don't have your memory for every single thing that ever happens to me, but I do remember..." and she listed lots more memories of the house and our time there, which made me miss our U.S. home.

Today, a colleague, who's been on a number of assignments told me to be ready for reverse-culture shock when I return to the United States.

I suppose I'll be talking like this a lot from now on because our departure is so relatively soon, toward the end of next month.

Leona Lewis, the Queen, The Indian Clerk and Me

Liz and I IM'ed today and she wrote that weirdly, she was thinking of me yesterday, too, as Kate and she were watching a documentary and the interviewee reminded her of me; it was on the Queen of England...and no, I didn't remind her of the Queen. She knew that I was referring to Leona Lewis as the singer whose hit reminded me of Texas tunes; Lewis is British.

Speaking of England, I woke up at 3:30 this morning and read for 90 minutes prior to falling back to sleep -- I don't remember ever doing that before; the book's good: *The Indian Clerk* by David Leavitt, one of my favorite authors.

Oh, today's Kannadian phrase was, "Have you eaten?" but I've forgotten how to say it(!)

Boxing Up My Books

The postings on this site are my own and don't necessarily represent IBM's positions, strategies or opinions.

Complacency vs. Raw Alertness

Sitting on the desk here are the two gift-bags from the Muslim-Indian wedding at the Windsor that we were invited to crash in July. Getting ready to blog tonight, I was recalling how blogging was a major form of self-entertainment in those first five weeks at the Windsor Bengaluru.

Now, living in Palm Meadows in Whitefield, in a real house, with many rooms, rather than just one, I've become too business-as-usual. It's easy to eat dinner and then just go up to bed afterwards and read, rather than stay down here and blog.

Tonight, I got home earlier than usual, by 6 pm, and so we're back from dinner by 8:30, rather than by 9:30 or 10 pm.

Other than my final paper for school, the other thing in the way of blogging is the frequency with which I'm calling my family. For the first couple of months, I had no real cell service -- I think I recounted the tiresome story here prior -- and so it wasn't easy to pick up the phone and pay 4.7 rupees a minute (about 12 cents/min.) to call anywhere in the United States.

Now, it is. By the way, when I called my mother after blogging last night (India time), she was already out for the day, so we talked this evening. My mom asked:

"What's new?"

"I finished a draft of my final paper. And Channa's teaching me a new word or phrase in Kannada each day from now on."

"You should have asked him sooner."

"Chana girera?"

"What?"

"Are you fine? Can you say that? Chana girera?"

"Chana girera?"

"Yes!"

The Relevance of This Entry's Main Heading

Today, at work, I collected a box to send my books -- the ones I brought with me and the new ones I acquired for work -- back to my U.S. office. The box had a Thailand return address on it and had held a computer prior to being given to me to re-use.

I felt such excitement at packing them and some wistfulness in parallel -- excited at the actual titles and the pleasure they've given me so far; excited to be doing something official in service to going back to my home-country; and wistful because there's a lot to like here, particularly the people I work with, the work I do, the cuisine, the fashions, the flowers, trees and gorgeous weather, and the relatively lower cost of living.

My mother's counting down the days till my return and I'm so flattered. Why would I be flattered that my own mother misses me so much, but I am somehow. It's so good to have someone in addition to Pat, who is such an ultimate fan of me.

I'm their fan, too, of course.

This morning, during my commute, I heard that great song, "Bleeding Love," or whatever it was called and I realized what else I loved about it. It reminded me of the group, Texas, which my New Zealander friend, Liz, introduced me to when I visited her partner Kate and her in London while there on business more than five years ago.

Getting on the elevator at work today, I had such an urge to look for Liz on our internal instant message system, but I realized it was too early...and then I forgot completely in the crush of the day.

The moment of recalling Texas and Liz, though, was such foreshadowing of the ways I'm going to feel when I return to the States and a song reminds me of an Indian memory. It's too soon, but already, I'm becoming nostalgic.

Here are some of the songs that have been my Indian soundtrack; I can't guarantee that the titles or spellings are accurate:

• Candyman by Christina Aguillera
  
• Summer Love by Justin Timberlake
  
• Rehab by Amy Winehouse
  
• Hey There, Delilah by?
  
• Big Girls Don't Cry by Fergie
  
• I Got It From My Mama by a guy from Black-eyed Peas
  
• Chak de India! by?
  
• Hare Ram Hare Krishna by Bhool Bhulaiyaa
  
• At least three by Mika, including, Big Girl, You Are Beautiful
  
• Wakeup Call by Maroon Five
  
• Jesus, Take the Wheel by I forget which country singer
  
• Lots of others that I can't recall at 9:27 pm.
  

Probably, instead of Liz, I'll think of Channa because I heard most of them while we commuted together, and I'll think of my prior driver, John, too. And I'll miss them.

Mom or Blog?

The postings on this site are my own and don't necessarily represent IBM's positions, strategies or opinions.

Pre-bedtime Dilemma

Well, it's not a huge conflict. Both. I'll blog and then call my mom. Last week, my mother turned 82, thank God!

Molly, who ate with us on Thanksgiving, said, "What are you most looking forward to in going home?"

"Seeing my mother," I said right away. My Indian colleagues here never would have left an 82-year-old parent for six months. Never.

I just finished reading a bunch of cultural theory to include in my independent study paper and Hofstede, the originator of the most lasting of the ideas (and an IBM alumnus), says that we're not as alike around the world as most of us would wish.

The difference in family life between my Indian colleagues' and mine are the most striking of all of the cultural differences I've noticed while here. It's true, though, that I'm happier, hunting for common ground than I am, focusing on our differences.

Sometimes, I like having exchanges with people about what's different, but I don't feel great, thinking of all the differences continually, as somehow, it adds distance between my colleagues and me.

At lunch, I was telling Pat that my sister Kathy, having gone to Helsinki for a year on AFS when I was 11 probably made me a lot more open to intercultural learning than I would have otherwise been.

And every December, local AFS volunteers in my hometown, Stamford, Connecticut, would host a potluck dinner. Everyone had to bring a dish from his or her native land. I loved that event.

The Benefits section of the AFS web site has a great slogan: "We relate to each other because we are similar. We learn from each other because we are different."

The other thing I can't wait to get back to is half-sour pickles. Chollo! Time to call my mom.

Discomfort Zone

The postings on this site are my own and don't necessarily represent IBM's positions, strategies or opinions.

Lessons Learned

Comfort is not the best teacher, I've been reminded during this assignment. Discomfort is.

Months ago, I deleted the only blog entry I've ever deleted because I worried that it might alienate people here who read it. It talked of my discovery: that I'm especially open and hospitable to other cultures when I feel in the position of largess, that is, when I'm in my native country and people are visiting it from other countries. By comparison, I worried that I'm less open when I'm away from my immediate community and support infrastructure.

Today, I'm not worried about alienating any local readers because I have more perspective; I realize the reasonable truth in my discovery and also, that I'm still far more open and curious about cultures that are different than my own than many people I've met over my lifetime. Thank God. I'd have missed so much of life's most interesting lessons otherwise.

Time away from my homeland has affirmed that I don't need to relate to cultural differences to appreciate them at best and at worst, simply to observe and acknowledge them. I've reached a maturity-level, where I'm paradoxically grateful for the short-term discomfort I feel when I cannot directly relate, since it yields life-long learning and phenomenally richer self-awareness...I'm not yet so mature that I necessarily have the appreciation while I'm uncomfortable....

I need to qualify all of this with an obvious example: I don't need to relate directly to being Hindu, Sikh, Jain, Muslim or Catholic to appreciate the devotion that many of my colleagues feel for these religions, and to recognize that what they have in common with my passion for Judaism is the need for faith in something(s) much bigger than myself alone.

Language Lubrication

Recently, I made another discovery that I haven't yet posted about. Living in Israel for 12 months 20 years ago -- pre-cell phones, e-mail and blogs -- still was easier than living in India for six months because when I lived in Israel, I was fluent in Hebrew, one of the native languages.

For months here, I thought that Jerusalem was easier than Bangalore because I was in college, rather than needing to perform at work, and maybe that was some of it, but I really do think that knowing a key language of the country where I'm living is fairly essential to thriving there. Now, I did speak Hebrew with a hopelessly American accent, but still, felt tremendous confidence in my ability to express myself in a way that people could listen to relatively comfortably.

There were also expressions I learned that don't really have any equivalent in English, like "Teetchadshi/Teetchadaysh," (the first version is the feminine and the second, masculine) which we'd say to people, who had bought something for pleasure's sake, like new shoes. Its root was simply the word, "chadash" or "new" and it was just an acknowledgment of the newness, and a good wish for them to celebrate the newest thing that had come into their lives.

Today, I still say, "Teetchadshi" to Pat -- who reads, but doesn't speak, Hebrew, and so I taught her the expression -- whenever she purchases something she's been wanting...and there's no equivalent expression in English.

What major insight does such an expression reveal about Israeli culture? I'm not sure, and it doesn't really matter; I just know that it's distinct from American culture in that way, i.e., Americans, and people from other cultures, certainly purchase things they desire, but where's the communal celebration in it?

"Shalom bayit" is another great expression. So much of Hebrew has religious roots, since Ancient Hebrew was the language of the Bible and then Modern Hebrew uses it as its base, and since mostly, Hebrew is spoken by Jews. "Shalom bayit" comes from our rabbinic literature, I think, and means "peace at home." Specifically, it refers to peace at home between a husband and wife, but of course, I've necessarily re-appropriated it to apply to my family-structure.

I use the expression, i.e., that I'm behaving in a certain way for the sake of shalom bayit." Here's an example:

Let's say that my partner Pat buys a "Deadwood" TV show T-shirt online and I can't necessarily relate to why she'd wish to own the item. Nonetheless, for the sake of shalom bayit, I'd respond simply and enthusiastically, "Teetchadshi!"

My Command of Hindi, or Not

Britain's 200 years of colonization of India was tragic...and my saving grace, since it left behind English as a common language here. I know I'd be even more successful if I knew at least conversational Hindi or Kannada (the language of the state in which we live). I remember thinking about that prior to coming, and simply abdicating, figuring that my adult brain is too adult at this point to absorb a new language -- at least, I've read that it becomes much harder to learn a new language the older we get....

After nearly five months in India, here is all of the Hindi vocabulary I've managed to pick up, and unfortunately, I've not yet learned one word of Kannada:

• Hum hain (We are here for you -- learned during an IBM conference of managers)
  
• Sapna (Dream, and used as a woman's name; an Indian MTV trailer of the popular movie, "Apna Sapna Money Money" is where I first heard it)
  
• Shukriya (Thank you -- learned that prior to coming, and easy to remember, as it sounds like the Arabic way to say thank you, which is "Shukran..." the word for which I learned consciously prior to living in Israel)
  
• Namaste (I bow to you -- also, learned before I left, and I contradict myself a bit when saying it, as I'll clasp my hands together, but will not bow, since Judaism forbids prostrating myself to anyone other than God)
  
• Raja (King, and the name of my driver, Channa's, dog)
  
• Bhagwan kenam pe le le (For God's sake, please give me)
  
• Bhagwan kenam pe de de (For God's sake, please take from me; my first driver, John -- before he got a promotion to drive a larger car and a VIP -- taught them to me, as there was a chocolate bar commercial in Hindi on the radio constantly when I first got here, which was all about how the candy was the opposite of what you'd expect, i.e., the cream was on the outside or something; in any case, the commercial was trying to illustrate the concept by having a beggar say, "Bhagwan kenam pe de de," the opposite of his or her typical request, John explained.)
  
• I don't recall how to say this in Hindi, but when I asked the way to say hello other than "Namaste," a colleague told me there's no such word per se; rather, whenever someone sees you, he or she asks, "Have you eaten yet?" I love that. It's meant to express hospitality, i.e., if the person hasn't, then I inferred that it suggests that the greeter is prepared to feed him or her...or perhaps, it's not literal, but the sentiment is terrific.
  
• Jalti chollo ("Let's go already," is how I understand it, and it reminds me of "Nu kvar," which is Hebrew for what has always meant to me, "C'mon already. [Get to the point/what's taking so long?], which "Jalti chollo" isn't; rather, it might be used to remind people that the designated time is up.)
  
• Tike ("OK," and it is the most often used expression I've heard, and reminds me of what I heard all the time when I was in China on business for three weeks a couple of years ago, "Chige" and "Nige;" I don't even recall what they mean -- perhaps "this" and "that," but Chinese people that I heard speaking Mandarin used them as bridges in conversation continually.)
  
• Jayanthi (birthday, e.g., "Gandhi Jayanthi," the national holiday, celebrating Mahatma Gandhi's birth)
  
• murgh shorba (chicken soup)
  
• gobi (cauliflower)
  
• Dal Makni (black-lentil-and-kidney-bean stew)
  
• Dahi (yogurt).
  

In addition, I learned two more expressions that I like:

I didn't learn the way to say this in Hindi, but there's an expression about hypocrisy: "The elephant has two sets of teeth" [the ones it shows, i.e., the aesthetic tusks, and the ones it chews with.] The expression is used when someone is trying to appear a certain way, but the appearance is false.

Finally, from Sanskrit, "Nindak naede rakhiye" ("Keep your critics closest to you" [as you have the most to learn from them]. The context: A colleague was facilitating a a leadership development program for new managers, and she was illustrating the value of feedback.)

Spending the start of my Saturday, considering how language-knowledge enriches my understanding of cultures makes me wish I were more naturally gifted at picking up new languages. Now, though, I must return to working on my final paper for my independent study; tike, jalti chollo!

Tandoori Turkey

The postings on this site are my own and don't necessarily represent IBM's positions, strategies or opinions.

Sated by Surrogates While Hungering for Home

I'm happy that Molly's coming over to go have un-Thanksgiving dinner at the clubhouse in about 15 minutes. It's remarkable how people can serve as one another's family when necessary.

Earlier today, a colleague with whom I'm close here and I were talking by phone. She said, "Oh, I'm bragging too much. I shouldn't tell you all of this." She was happy with how a recent project had gone at work.

"Yes you should. Think of me as a hybrid of your friend and your family. I always want to hear whatever you want to brag about."

"What?" There was background noise and she didn't hear me. I felt self-conscious having to repeat it, as I had never before spoken to her this commitedly, even as we've confided in each other routinely, since meeting more than two years ago.

I repeated my offer and she said that she was moved and humbled.

And then I was even surer that I wanted to have her among my family.

Later in the day, she sent me e-mail:

Sarah, you are family- you listen to my foibles and you listen to me bragging- what more could I ask of you (a bit of turkey and pecan pie, but these broad hints don't seem to work, sigh!!!)