The Flu, The Strike, the Absent Sun & that Wet Dog Smell

Before I left, I read an article about adjustment to foreign living: first euphoria about the newness and coolness of it all; next, discouragement and dejection as the realities of life sink in and invidious comparisons are made to the beloved home country; and finally, acceptance and adjustment. Well I seemed to have whizzed through phrase one, and I can only hope that phase two is equally short.

To be fair, my mood has been influenced by having the worst flu of my life (with the possible exception of January 2000 when Szonyi poured me into a car service New Year's day and took me back to NJ where my mother could minister to me). At night, I had dreams that my body was a match stick and my head was on fire. Happily, my moaning didn't seem to disturb Szonyi. Although one side effect of my high fever was a paranoid belief that Szonyi and Ben were out to do me harm (I'm still not so sure about Ben) I have to acknowledge that Szonyi has been wonderful or as we here in London would say, "brilliant," making multiple trips for water, medicines, and, when I was up to it, reading to me from The Whore's Child by Richard Russo, recommended by both Lesley Davis and Ruthie Cohen, an unbeatable literary team.

This morning, Ben's second real day of school, and the first day we had any genuine hope that he could get there on his own without incident, there is a tube strike. Szonyi and Ben ventured out
with a bus route in hand but not quite songs in their hearts. We are still not adjusted to the time, tired and cranky, and totally unprepared for tackling a new transportation system before having mastered the old one. I was hanging around waiting for our groceries to be delivered, accompanied as always, by my death rattle of a cough.

The sun "rises" around seven and "sets" around four, but believe me folks, we are talking shades of grey. Szonyi, whose last move before bed is to check the next day's weather, so far hasn't been deterred by the fact that the forecast is always the same: low thirties and rain showers. I totally understand the impulse to colonize India, and also get why Englishmen never come out of the mid-day sun...they have never seen it before and don't know what it is.

My grudge match with the dryer is taking on mythic proportions. Everything half dries and all my stuff -- hell the whole country -- smells like wet dog. I don't even like dry dogs.

Please write to me and I will post some news of Mike and David soon. Today is my orientation day at school and then back home to collapse.

Love,
Aviva