The Wormlips Scrapbook

When I put fourteen crickets into Gecka Louise’s cage last night, I never dreamed she’d eat them all.

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Ryan on the Moor

This is my great-nephew: on a hike, and getting his first haircut. The photos were taken by his grandmother, who also happens to be my baby sister and, though I hesitate to admit it, one of the cleverest people you’ll ever meet.

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Cheryl Eating Roti

Cheryl said you can buy all sorts of roti in Nepal. The kind she was eating last night during our Skype conversation looked tasty. She said it wasn’t. As a fan of fried things, I hope to research the matter in the spring.

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Dog Tihar in Nepal

I’d been looking forward to being in Kathmandu for Tihar. Since I couldn’t, Cheryl sent me pictures of the celebration. People adorn their dogs with marigold garlands and a red tika on the forehead. Cheryl got adorned too.

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The Anti-Kukur Tihar

Meanwhile, Cheryl has been encountering the city’s suffering, starving dogs. Kathmandu Animal Treatment Centre (KAT), run by a friend of hers, does a lot to help. I’m asking US friends if they know vets who have supplies to donate that maybe I could bring over. [Photo by KAT]

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Dog Tihar in Albany

Stella, while not Nepali, appreciates the cultural traditions of others. The first picture shows her in observation of the festival. The second is after she shook.

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New Motorcycle Helmet

Bul bought me a helmet so we can go on a bike ride. Last time my helmet was so loose it kept thwonking his head every time he braked.

Bul: Can I ride with a cast, or do I have to wait?

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Today I had to get my cast changed. I took the bus to Kaiser, riding in a backwards-seat next to an old woman who hadn’t bathed since shortly after birth. Happily, my favorite cast tech in the world was working today — the one who enlightened me, a broken foot or two ago, about the existence of cast fetishists. “Just look it up on the Web,” he told me. And there it was, all over the place.

R is not your garden-variety technician. He’s also something of a Fiberglas artist, and probably the bane of Kaiser’s existence. To make my cast he went through two rolls of white Fiberglas, four of the colored ones, a six-inch Ace bandage and an X-Acto knife. As he created his masterpiece he told me about his younger days (about ten minutes ago; he’s twenty-seven) when he used to deal drugs. Nudging the air with his elbow, he indicated pictures on the wall behind him of his babies and his friends in the pen, and told me their stories. By the time he’d finished his handiwork there was a small line of patients at his door, but to me it was worth their wait. Because look what he did:

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