Haircut

The other day I was trimming Terry's hair. He has two cowlicks at the nape of his neck which swirl untidily on his neck when his hair gets too long. I usually call them 'whorls'. His hair would curl up if it got long enough, like in this picture of him when he was 24.

My aunt was a professional photographer

I have been cutting Terry's hair all our married life. I started doing this for two reasons: 1. My mum always cut my dad's hair, sparse as it was, with an old-fashioned pair of hand clippers, and I was just following suit. 2. When we graduated from university I had cut out a newspaper article about a young couple and the ways they saved money. It was minimalism at its finest, and suited my mindset as well.  So we bought our first home barber kit, and the rest is history.
I don't think we had started home barbering during our first three years of teaching, though, as you can see in the picture below.

Fort Nelson days

Back to the present. It had been five weeks since Terry's hair was cut.
Here is the story...
We were in India, at our host's large house.  The barber was supposed to come to the house at 5:30 am.  Terry and I took up our positions on the comfortable couches right after the early morning prayer meeting, mentioned in a previous post.  I was taking a break from hair-cutting for a change.  I'm not an expert, just learned skills as I went along.  I was hoping the barber would fix a section of Terry's hair I never seemed to get just right. A couple of the other guys joined us to wait, including the pastor, who had already had his hair cut a week previously, but took this opportunity to get another quick trim.
Minutes pass, and the barber doesn't show up. Everyone is busy on his phone, as we're sitting in the best Wifi reception area.  Finally, an hour later a mild mannered man knocks on the door.  "My son didn't give me the message,"  he said.
That's OK, we are first in line. Terry sits down with a drape around his shoulders, and the barber starts his craft. Terry can't hear us commenting on his haircut, as he has removed his hearing-aids. The barber is just using his scissors, and seems to be doing a good job.
Suddenly I lean into Terry's ear and excitedly report, "It's Livi's birthday today!"  Only I forget it isn't her birthday in Canada yet, as in India we are a full twelve hours ahead.
Terry grunts in reply. Now the barber takes out a very sharp razor.  He proudly explains that he uses a new blade for every customer.  Soon, Terry's haircut is complete, a wonderful job.  Now I have a guideline to go by when I next cut his hair.  Total cost?  100 rupees, about two dollars.

 It was worth it to the barber; he had several haircuts to do in one early morning by coming to the house, he earned more than he usually does in one day.

Using the straight razor

Grandchildren 2017

Here are some shots of the Burnett grandchildren from the year 2017.

Caleb and Emma enjoying Discovery Canyon in Red Deer.

The men of the family at Chris' birthday.
L to R: Christopher, Stephen, Zachary, Terry, Nick

Nick and Suzanne's family with baby Nellwyn

 Zachary is the oldest Red Deer cousin.

Elliston is four years old.

Matteo drinks his hot chocolate.

Another year, another birthday.

Little hiker Alivienne










Children are a gift from the Lord; they are a reward from him.
Psalm 127:3

Prayer Meeting

At the pastor's house,where our team stayed, the senior male students of the Bible college had a prayer meeting at 4:30 am!  We guests were invited to take part, and on that first Monday morning, the whole team bravely showed up! A little later, a procession of Hindu devotees walked down the street ringing a bell, chanting, and beating drums or tambourines; I couldn't tell which from my vantage point at the upstairs bedroom window. 

The dozen or so college students sat cross-legged on the cool marble living room floor on a large, beach-type mat, forming two or three neat lines. They had their own tambourines, and played them with great skill and energy as we took our places on chairs around the perimeter of the room . The songs they sang, however, were not like any songs I'd ever heard.  In other parts of the world where Terry and I have been, many times Christian songs were translated into the language of the country, and we could recognize the tune.  These songs seemed to me quite tuneless, and were sung in Hindi.  Sometimes our host pastor would tell us the rough translation of each song. Most of the time, since I didn't understand the words, I made up my own words and sang along.

That first day, we foreigners each took a turn praying aloud for the concerns mentioned, as well as anything else that was on our hearts.  Then the students stood up, and the two pastors prayed over each one individually.  Exactly an hour later, the meeting was over, and the students quickly rolled up their mat, picked up the tambourines and songbooks, and filed out. No jostling or chatting, however.  They left seriously to begin their day of classes, after breakfast, I presume!  Despite the language barrier, I felt refreshed in the spirit, although my body was still tired.
After we returned home to Canada, we would go to bed very early that first week, and wake up around 4:30.  I keep wondering if that was really jet-lag, or had we gotten into some new kind of routine -- prayer at 4:30 am.  Eventually our bodies adjusted to the twelve hour difference in time, and our routines were back to our normal.  I think I have a new appreciation, though, for the discipline of early morning prayer. 

No pictures this time; it was a private sort of time.

Saris and School Uniforms

    At the large church on Sunday, we were led to the very first row, as guests of honour. The other ladies on our team were dressed in colourful saris, or tunic tops called kurtis, worn over narrow pants or leggings. I hope I got that right. There I was in my "nice" blouse and my ordinary black capri pants. I felt a bit awkward with the scarf, which just lay draped over my shoulders at that point. The scarf was to be on our heads during prayer.

How will I know when they are actually praying?, I thought to myself. So I put the scarf on my head and flung the end over my shoulder.  That was a good move, as our team was soon called up to the high platform, which was about ten steps up at the front of the church, to be introduced to the congregation.






The Bible college female students all wore similar outfits to each other, very colourful.

 Here are the girls from the orphanage after another service.

The boys from the orphanage wore western clothes.











For ordinary days, the girls looked even more colourful.

We had come to play games with them in the gathering dusk, on the edge of the lawn where the boys played. I hoped they would be safe on the gravel, rocks , and uneven ground.  The guys on our team played a rousing game of soccer, one with the younger boys, then one with the older ones.
We taught the girls how to play 'What time is it Mr. Wolf?' They knew some very rudimentary English, so for the time, would call out a number without putting the "o'clock" in place. The game was very thrilling all the same, as they ran squealing from the Wolf when 'she' called out, "It's lunch time!"

For a special treat from the North American visitors the orphans were given a banana, a samosa, ice cream, and a drink of fruit pop (soda). This was an amazing treat for them, that they get about four times a year.

Terry helps pour the drinks

The girls from the orphanage line up for their drink.













Here are some of the students in the private school in their uniforms, which were a more traditional colour.  Each wears a name tag with which they check in and out of the school electronically. I'm not sure why this little boy has a tuque on, as the temperature was 32 degrees. Could it have something to do with his hair and his religion?

I wondered if this little girl was his sister, as they both had black kohl around their eyes.  I was told it was to ward off evil.
The classrooms were cool enough with fans circulating, so maybe the children didn't mind wearing their sweaters.

Here the younger children are wearing their physical education uniform on Wednesday, giving their dark uniforms a chance to be washed.  The white would be good for reflecting the sun while they were outside.
We didn't see the younger children doing games outside while we were there.

The older children, of grade five or six age, are playing a game Terry had never played before, called Double D. It involved crossing the line delineated by their white runners, and tagging people on the opposite team. I wondered what the parents thought of their children wearing their white socks on the lawn, but it probably wasn't the parents doing the laundry!



The teachers' uniforms were the same pretty sari with a blue blazer worn over top.  Even for Phys Ed.
Thanks Patty, for capturing this teacher in action!

Train ride--Chai...garam chai!

Our group was to take an overnight train ride to a city south of Agra.  First of all, we were told not to take any pictures at the train station, for security reasons.  I don't know if this admonition applied to inside the train car, but by the time we got inside and got settled, our only focus was to hopefully get some sleep, as it was an overnight ride and we were all still tired from plane travel and crossing so many time zones.

We were told our car would be designated First Class.  Indeed, it looked different than the other train cars that went by, where people sat crowded together and even lay on what looked like overhead luggage shelves.  On one side of the train car four bunks faced each other, separated from the narrow central aisle by a heavy maroon curtain. Terry and I had the bunks on the other side of the aisle, one on top of the other, and lying parallel to the aisle.  A couple of clean, pressed sheets, a thin pillow, a gray wool blanket, and a small towel waited for our use on the hard vinyl cover of each narrow bunk.  There wasn't a lot of room, but I stacked my small pack and sweater by my feet, and arranged myself between sheets and the blanket.  I was happy that my lower bunk had the window. Although it was already dark, I could see other railway stations flash by if I parted the window curtain.

I just love trains!  I liked the constant rocking motion of the train, and the clackety-clack of the wheels.  I don't even know if I slept, though.  If I did, it was a sort of half doze for the first four hours or so.  Terry had told me, "Wake me up if you have to go to the bathroom.  Don't go by yourself." When the time came, as I knew it would, I didn't have the heart to wake him.  He was sleeping so soundly. So I carefully put on my shoes, opened the door, and went to the next car, where the toilet was right there.  I was glad there was a bright overhead light, because I had to carefully position myself over the squatty potty.  I wasn't sure the liquid on the floor was water or something else.  I had to repeat this procedure once more during the night.  I couldn't have lasted, as did another female fellow-traveller, who waited until we were finally at the home of our host.

Near morning I began hearing a man walking up and down the aisles.
" Chai!....garam chai! " he would call out, peddling his hot tea.
 Since our trip was supposed to be eleven hours, I thought we had more time, so I snuggled down under my blanket for a few extra minutes. Suddenly I heard our pastor's wife on the other side of the curtain.  "We're getting off in 20 minutes  Didn't you hear the wake up call?"
Scrambling around, I quickly got ready to face a new day.

Taj Mahal

Terry's shot with zoom lens

The Taj Mahal is an impressive structure in Agra, India, made of white marble. The emperor Shah Jahan built it in the seventeenth century to commemorate his favourite wife, who died in childbirth with their fourteenth child.   The cost to build was millions of dollars in today's currency.  When you take a closer look, you can see thousands of inlaid pieces of rock and semi-precious stones.

This Arabic writing is not painted on, but inlaid with black marble.










A close-up of some ornamentation in semi precious stones. 28 different types of stones were used in the whole structure!

The design of the building is Persian with Hindu elements.











 Terry was a amazed that there was nothing in this huge mausoleum except the tombs of the shah and his wife.  Even they were not visible, but buried under the ground within the building.  What we saw as we walked around inside, with fabric covers over our shoes, were replica tombs.

Formal gardens surrounded the Taj.  We spent most of our time posing for pictures by a professional photographer, and each have a whole album full.  If I had known this was going to happen, I would have been more dressed up for the occasion.  Instead, I had worn clothes for a "field trip" to be as comfortable as possible in the 32 degree heat.

one of the posed shots

We also explored the outside of a mosque made of red sandstone built on the same grounds

Why is the star of David on this archway?  I wondered.  I found out that the symbol had only been used by Jews for the last 200 years.  It was used by Islam and Hinduism much earlier.

The next day our bus took us to the red sandstone Agra Fort a couple of kilometres away, across the river. The fort was the main residence of the emperors until 1638.

Wonderful to have the chance to see these famous sites, but the heat made me less than totally enthusiastic.










This is how the Taj appeared through the smog from that vantage point.

Our group

Traffic Adventures in India

Crazy traffic!  No real lanes.  A line down the middle of the road doesn't mean drivers stay where they're supposed to be. From our seat in the jeep, the cars appear to hurtle towards us.  We dodge ancient bicycles and motorcycles and tuk-tuks, the three wheeled small vehicles with open sides.  No rhyme or reason governs this road.  It's every man for himself.  Our driver expertly weaves through the maze of other vehicles, motorcycles, bikes, people, and even cows.  We're driving on the "wrong" side of the road as well, British style. I wish I could post the video we took. Pictures don't do justice to the traffic situation at all. On the backs of trucks these instructions are crudely painted, "Please use horn."  Horns are used liberally to indicate rapid lane changes and just to say, "Get out of my way!" Especially when another vehicle is coming right at you.
"Use dipper at night."  That one puzzled me, but I think they mean low beam lights instead of high beam. 

Yellow and green tuk-tuks

In a town of at least 100,000, traffic lights might have been there, but I didn't see any.  It's a weird feeling going around a traffic circle in the opposite direction.  In a bigger town, a policeman stands right there on the inner edge of the circle to direct traffic with one wave of the hand. 
Helmets are not generally used by motorcyclists, and certainly not by cyclists. Ladies in flowing saris perch sidesaddle behind the driver.

 Sometimes several people pile onto a motorcycle, even babies and toddlers are transported this way. 
An interesting sign read:  Slow and steady saves the face.  Is that to be taken literally? 
Another interesting sign by a bank in a wooded area:  Urinating prohibited, toilet ahead.  Some paid no attention.
Sound is not the only assault on the senses.  Brightly coloured saris on women stand out everywhere.  Children walk on the road dressed in school uniforms.  One school bus stopped at an intersection beside a guard rail, and children jumped out of the bus, onto the rail, and disappeared down the bank onto a small trail between the weeds. No flashing red lights there!
Dust and smoke is everywhere. This is how the Taj Mahal appeared from across the river in Agra.

One day in Delhi, the air was so filled with smog that flights were cancelled. They said it was like smoking 50 cigarettes.  Fortunately it was not as bad the few hours we were there, but certainly enough to be noticed.







Papers, plastic, trash, and cows, goats, and pigs.
When enough garbage accumulates, it is burned on the spot, adding to the air pollution.

Cow shares the median with a sleeping man

Monkeys by the side of the highway.

The cow rules the road

Cow patties for fuel drying in the sun

Building for rent

An Adventure at Gleaners

This oil painting (1857) by Jean-Francois Millet comes to mind when you hear the word Gleaners. The modern day application is quite different.

Whirrr! Shovel! Scoop! Spread! Stack!

What a busy time at the North Okanagan Valley Gleaners plant near Vernon, B.C.  Early on the morning shift, I had just selected a wonderful knife on the shelf, that cut cleanly and swiftly through the various sized beets in the large bin beside me. Terry was happily splitting giant cabbages with his machete-like knife.

Various shapes of veggies that don't make the market find their way to Gleaners.

Then I was asked to help "spread".  Abandoning my calm and fairly predictable post at the cutting station, I joined my friend who was already spreading the mix of diced beets and shredded cabbage onto trays that were to go into the dryer.

The diced vegetables had to be quickly patted into place with a few deft butterfly movements of the hand, just ahead of the next scoop that was waiting to be thrown onto the tray.

Here are carrots that are being scooped up to be flung onto the trays in rapid succession. I had to restrain myself from tidying someone else's spreading job when it was my turn to fit the trays into the many-slotted rack.  Sometimes when there was a moment's lull, I would furtively pat some vegetables into an empty looking corner of the sheet.  But there really were not many pauses, unless the dicing machine broke down. 

Then the machine had to be opened and the reason for the breakdown determined. Usually it was something like too much cabbage, which had to be mixed equally with beets to keep the vegetable cubes running freely.














I thought I knew what I was doing when my friend and I wheeled the trays into the dryer. 
Hmmm.  Why is this extra space here on the side? I thought.

No, no, no!  The trays have to go in this way, and we had to rearrange them all, down to lining them up with all the metal sheets in colour-coded order, and the stacks with the extra trays placed on the sides of the room to create proper air flow. Some time during the night, when the right level of dehydration is reached, the dryers automatically shut off.

The next morning the trays are scraped, and the now dried product collected into huge barrels, labelled with their contents, ready to be combined together into a soup mix to be shipped overseas to needy nations.  Apples and pears are packaged separately to be re-hydrated or eaten as a crunchy snack. 

Medical supplies are also collected by the North Okanagan Valley Gleaners. 

Terry stands by a pile of wheelchairs, walkers, and crutches, and later, helps to load some of them into a container destined for Guatemala.

Some crutches from the surplus in our town made their way to the collection. In the background you can see barrels full of the dried product.

Packages of dried soup mixes and fruit go into the container  first.












Various countries around the world are grateful recipients of the generosity of Canadian farmers, and our labour in processing the bounty.

 A very worthwhile project!
For more information, see www.novgleaners.org