Near Catastrophe

I have no photos of Bangalore. At all. The place where I was staying was in the supplier campus and prevents all photography. So I can't prove that I was there except the plane ticket. Since I took an internal flight I can't even show you a stamp in my passport. I could be sitting on the beach in Brighton. But I'm not. It is Thursday so this must be Pune and it is 100 degrees F (40 c).

I am shattered. Yesterday my meetings started at 8:30 and went straight through dinner until 11:00 in the evening. In fact in the taxi drive home I had to announce that I was tired of working and could we please talk about something else, anything else.

I was relieved to get back to the hotel but not looking forward to packing, checking out and the airport tango consisting of queues, loads of people jostling for position, baggage tags, and the crushing fear of someone stealing one of your bags when you’ve turned your back for just a second. The whole rushing to the front of the queue is something I just don't get. I mean we all have to get on the plane so it doesn't really matter if you are at the front of the queue or the back of the queue, plane leaves when we are all seated (with our seat belts securely fastened).

I didn’t sleep well. I rarely do the night before I have to catch an early morning flight. I’m always afraid I am going to oversleep. I woke up every hour and had to turn on the light to check that the alarm clock was still working.

When the alarm went off and I drug myself out of bed and got down to the front desk.

I patiently waited until it was 10 minutes past the expected arrival time of my taxi. I then asked the man at the front desk to ring the taxi and see when it was expected to arrive. He did and then panic set in.

They had no booking for me. I was on the company campus and there was no way to hail a cab. My supplier had taken an earlier morning flight to Hyderabad and besides he’s British so he couldn’t help me. I asked the front desk to ring one of the people I had dinner with last night he was trying to find out what had happened but he was running out of time.

A man (I assume an employee of the supplier) comes out of the hotel and says he is going to the airport and will share a car. There is a wee little car waiting for him. My big suitcase takes up the entire boot. All the other luggage is piled into the back seat which I position myself around. There is no air conditioning so the front windows are open and my hair is flying away whilst I sit in the back seat and try to contain my complete and utter anxiety attack. The roads we take are the back roads and they are dirt. Dust is all over my clothes. At one point I text my husband. He sends through alternative flight times to Pune (he’s a saint and if I ever complain about it remind me of this moment). I text him that I am not entirely sure I am headed to the airport. My mobile then stopped sending texts. I realise I haven't been receiving email since the day before and I am beginning to worry that perhaps I’ve been kidnapped and this was all a sinister plot to keep me from visiting other suppliers.

OK, not really but I am angry. Very angry. I trusted them to make reliable travel arrangements for me. Easy. Simple. Straightforward. If they can’t do that how can they take care of the big things I need them to take care of.

I quite simply don’t deal well with that level of stress particularly when I am working on average of 4 hours sleep/night and have been working non-stop for 3 days. I am travelling to see another supplier. I look like I’ve been camping or sleeping rough. I've got meetings here today and tomorrow then tomorrow evening I'm off to Mumbai for less than 24 hours just to catch a flight home to London.

I am missing home.

I have now arrived in Pune and my two supplier colleagues met me at the airport (seems they were on the same flight which they had caught at its origination point in Chennai. They helped me with my luggage, got my driver who got my car which has air conditioning and is clean!

I am feeling better and am now headed into yet another office for a day of meet and greet. It is going to be an early night.

A Simple Cookbook

My family has the coolest tradition. I think every family should do it!

We collect recipes and make a cookbook which gets distributed (for a very small fee) at our annual family reunion in Fremont, Nebraska USA. The recipes include the best fried chicken in the world, and an even better rhubarb strawberry pie, a sour cream raisin pie that my father and Marc almost had an argument over, and a Beef Noodle recipe using canned meat that is out of this world. People have travelled 5000 miles to eat this! And it is the only lie I've ever told my husband. More about that some other time.

Janell Carson, my great uncle's daughter-in-law, collects the recipes from all the various family members. She then types them all up and sorts them by the typical cookbook categories, eg Appetisers, Main Dishes, Side Dishes, Desserts. But this cookbook is sooooo much more than just a handy reference book for the kitchen.

It is a profound collection of our lives. The book contains essays about our ancestors and photographs to help us remember. It contains memories of meals gone by and an opportunity to pass the love of gathering together for a meal on to the next generation. By the way, this has little to do with eating and a lot to do with laughing, catching up, staying involved and showing how important the family unit it.

These people who came before us taught us how to cook. And who to cook for....which includes just about anyone who crossed your path and needed a hot, nutritious meal. It didn't matter how well you knew them or what was in your fridge/pantry. Despite a great depression or a missed trip to the supermarket, there is always enough to stretch and when someday someone you love may be far from home and the ones they love, you just hope someone might give them the benefit of a hot meal and a nice smile and, if you are lucky a lot of laughter.

They taught us our table manners. And whilst some of my manners might be frowned upon in the classiest restaurant or the poshest homes, I try to remember to wipe my feet, wash my hands, say please and thank you, be grateful for the meal put in front of me and the people around me, clean my plate, use my napkin and never, never, never criticize the cook.

And they gave us our moral compasses against which we measure our success as human beings. Raising a happy, healthy well adjusted family is more important that financial success or political power. Laughter will help heal a broken heart. And if it doesn't, a hug will. When you give your word, keep it. Never make a promise you can't keep and never break a promise once given, especially to a child. I don't always succeed at these (and neither did they)but at least I know how I'm doing and which way I should be headed.

The next edition of the cookbook is due out this summer. Janell Carson will be collecting recipes on our behalf. If you are a member of my family and would like to contribute a recipe, please contact me for Janell's email and you can email it to her. If you are not a member of my family, start your own cookbook for your family! Or apply for adoption. We do adopt for a small fee.

Pancake Sunday

Every Sunday Marc makes pancakes for the family. He makes the best pancakes in the world. He has tried loads of different recipes and through trial and error has perfected his own recipe. They are divine. Abigail likes bananas in her pancakes. Seb and I don't. Seb and Abby like maple syrup on their pancakes. I like mine with just butter. Seb eats 3 pancakes. Abby eats 2. I eat 1. Marc gets all the rest. Yesterday morning's pancakes were a cut above. They were supreme. A great way to start a Sunday.......Thanks, honey!