Posts Tagged ‘nancy drew’

My dogs come to me.

That’s an expression I have used on occasion.¬† I picked it up from my friend, Mary Ann, years ago.

It’s meant to convey, with a sort of cocky bent, that one doesn’t go chasing after dogs. They should come to you.

When we use the phrase, though, we are not actually referring to dogs.

I think I have had this attitude toward making new friends in Delhi. Waiting for my dogs to come to me. Not really putting much effort into it. Not chasing anyone.

Sure, I sent a few emails to groups, organizations, etc.

When I didn’t receive any replies I just let it go. I’ll be in and out of Delhi so was sort of thinking exactly how much time/energy do I want to sink into this.

A friend, over dinner, said that maybe I just need to put myself out there a bit more.

Absolutely correct.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my own company. I’m so easy going. LOL

But I realized I do want to put energy into bonding with people while I am living here. I was thinking it sure would be nice to explore Delhi with friends.

So, the dinner, where the sage advice was offered, was on a Friday evening. The following day my husband and I were pulling into our neighborhood after running some errands. I spy a woman on the street strolling along with her little girl.

An expat neighbor perhaps?

I wave from the car. She waved back with a quizzical look.

Glance at my husband as I’m heading out of the car, with a determined expression on my face. Think of “I’m going in…” or “Here goes nothing!”

I actually say, “I am going to talk to that woman.”

And talk I did.

She was sooo lovely.

I fell in love with her right away. You know that feeling. When you immediately hit it off with someone.


Lives a couple of houses down from us. Works at the Swiss Embassy. Loves living in Delhi. Husband works for the Foreign Service.


She was moving to the USA in two weeks.

Oh, rats! That is some dumb luck. Can’t be investing too much time there.

Anyway, it was nice to chat with her. She took us over to her house. Met her other kids. Asked if we wanted a drink. Very sweet. We declined but visited for just a little bit and then we went home.

Oh, well, I tried.

When we got back to the house my husband couldn’t find my US sim card. Because I had taken off the phone’s protective cover (where my sims roam happily about) so I could charge the phone with his case in the car. He thought it was in his pocket.

Maybe it was dropped while we were at our neighbor’s house.

So, I am in total Nancy Drew mode with eyes glued on the street. Looking for a needle in a haystack. Because those suckers are small. I retrace our steps back to neighbor’s house. Ask one of the kids to bring me to her mother. She is having tea with a woman named Nathalie who was picking up her child. Makes introductions.

I say, “So very sorry to intrude.”

Don’t find the sim card. On my way out of her home husband calls and says he found it. Great. I bid them a fond adieu and head back home.

I never saw the lovely Swiss lady again.

I continued to walk in the park each day for an hour. Got to keep my girlish figure. Or rather to find it again somewhere under the empty nest, smoking cessation, 0 friend list, twenty pound weight gain.

On one of my walks I saw a lady walking towards me. Figured she was an expat. I smile and say hello.

Side note: I had told my friend, Nancy, that I was going to say hi to every single lady/expat in the park as a way of putting myself out there. Just a little human experiment to pass the time. She was like okay, good luck with that.

The woman returns my smile with a cheerful one of her own. And we continue to walk in opposite directions.

A few days later I am huffing and puffing through the park when I see a woman who looks familiar. I think I know her. Can’t place her. Think she was woman I saw during a previous walk in the park.

She is heading toward me and smiles at me. I return the smile and say, “We should be walking together!!!”

The woman stops, does a turnabout, grabs my arm and we are now walking together in the same direction.

As we are walking, she says, “I thought I knew you!”

How does she know me???

She tells me that she remembered me from the day I was looking for the sim card at the Swiss lady’s home.

This was Nathalie!

Anyway, small world. We walked for an hour together. I heard all about her world. And she heard about mine.

She asks if I heard about this organization called Delhi Network. I told her I don’t think I had and I am a pretty good researcher. If I did, maybe the website wasn’t working when I checked.

She used to attend before she started working and said that expats (mostly women) meet each week for a coffee morning at a hotel. Almost in my own backyard. They have lectures, excursions, educational tours, etc.

Nathalie said I should just show up but she would double check which day the coffee was held.

That evening she texted me with the details.

I attended the next coffee, signed up with the group and started making pals. Went on a city tour, wine tasting in the country, frequented bazaars, etc.

I never saw Nathalie again. She was a teacher at the German school. Maybe she even moved by now.

But I might never have met her if I didn’t put myself out there and forced myself to talk to the young mother strolling on the street.

It was just making the effort.

A step in the right direction.













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I just finished an article about reading. The importance of it. More libraries equal fewer prisons. And all of that.

My mom loved to read. Still does. My grandmother, who had little education, had a book in her hand well into her nineties. Always.

We received books every Christmas. Mom didn’t buy me books every time we went to the store but I still remember the special trips to a local store, Zayre’s, when she did. I’d race to the book section and peruse the Nancy Drew section. And she would let me buy one in the series. For $1.99. I had the entire collection for years.

She always brought me to the library. Mom would go her way and I would go mine. Into the children’s and young adult section. Got hooked on mysteries. Whether they took place years ago or present day.

I could get lost in a book. I remember, more than once, someone coming to pick me up at the house when I was a teen. At the exact time that I had designated. I’d be lying on the living room sofa reading and then see the head go past the window heading toward the door. “Oh, shoot! I’m not ready!” Had no idea that so much time had passed.

And when it was my turn to have children I did the same. I bought them books for Christmas. Took them to the library for toddler time. Husband and I read to them every night. Because that is what I was taught. Just like I still iron the shirts and make the bed with hospital corners exactly the way Eileen taught me. When I was young.


On the plane

I was not big into censorship. Although I wouldn’t let my younger one read “Precious” a couple of years ago.

I remember I bought a book for one of Annie’s friends for her birthday. Written by a popular author. Plot was about two kids who had lost a parent and become friends with each other. And overcame loneliness. The mom, of the girl, looked at the book and said she would shelve it for now. That they knew someone who had died and it would be traumatic for her daughter to read anything about death.

At first I felt badly. Like I goofed in the gift giving department. But upon reflection I thought about the power of books. Of relating. Books as a friend when other people don’t get you. My gift was age appropriate. It dealt with anger and loss. When I bought it I was thinking that this was an author that the kids all enjoyed. Death was not what shrieked out at me. But the friendship. Just seemed like a good book.

And I, personally, don’t think reading words (fictional or not) about something you are experiencing yourself is harmful. We don’t forget about death or anything else just because we’re not talking about it or reading about it. Most times it is good to read and talk about it. Acknowledge it.

This woman had every right to do what she felt was the best thing. It was her daughter. Not mine.

But Nancy Drew didn’t have a mom. Mandy (one of my favorite books) was an orphan. Pippi Longstocking came from an unconventional home. Anne of the Green Gables? Orphan and loss. Bambi’s mom? Shot and killed. Of course, I could go on and on about the fairy tales. Mom bought me huge books that were loaded with them. Poisonings, jealousy, killing, cruelty, and loss all draped in color and beautiful heroes/heroines. And those are just the books written for young kids!

I loved them all.

Boy, I sure meandered in this posting. I can tell I’ll be posting more on this topic. Prompted by this morning’s article.

Next up, how Rory, unexpectedly, learned about sexual intercourse from a book that I checked out of the library for her. Was not my intention!

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