Bill and Wendy's ickcillint adventures

Bill is sick. His health can generally be, a bit temperamental, from time to time. Oh, nothing serious, but he does seem to contract his share of cold or flu bugs. However, the other night, he had a nasty bought of loud vomiting that reverberated across the tiled bathroom. This was then followed by, well, you know, the other end. He was really sick.   Now, he has fever, wheezes when he coughs or laughs and has a wicked cold. He had strict orders today from me as I left for work to not leave the house and to "lay low" so he could get better. For once, he listened. He was snuggled up under a blanket on the couch when his shorn sheep of a wife returned from 'his' hair appointment. This is a man who for 26 years on the bench, only took two sick days – one for an operation and one for a car accident. My man, he is a hardy horse.

My hair was quite short before leaving Canada. I figured with a warm climate and having to wear a motorcycle helmet, a sassy short style likely fit the bill for Sri Lanka. However, it has been a couple of months since my last cut, so I decided to brave a new hairdresser. With only two beauty salons in town and one being closed last evening, I went to the other salon. For the most part, Sri Lankan women all have long hair past their waist, so, I inquired of the stylist, "Do you know how to cut short hair?" "Yes, Madame." "I'd like to book a cut after work tomorrow, say 4:30?" "Yes Madame." I looked good yesterday, just needing a bit of a trim. Actually, I looked good today. I looked like a woman until 4:30 today. Now, I look like a man. No, I look like a woman trying to look like a man. I could cry. I took reasonable precautions to ensure satisfaction with the outcome of the cut. Anticipating a language barrier I took along a s

Doggie with Bun I was asked to attend the Provincial Director's Mental Health meeting in Kandy town on Monday, February 7 th. So, on Sunday, we decided to jaunt down the mountain to Kandy by train. First class was sold out, so we purchased 2 nd class. The first and second class restroom on the train platform was a squatter toilet, filthy walls and, no toilet paper. Bill reported the men's urinal bowl as broken, so careful aim kept his shoes dry. We had difficulty discerning if hand washing was more likely to be hazardous to our health than keeping your hands off the taps and doors and getting out of the stall, quickly. We should have called back our trishaw driver to reroute us to the bus station right then and there. Instead, we smugly waited on Platform One for the train to arrive. Seats were sold on a first come, first serve basis, so we cleverly arrived early, by trishaw, to ensure a good seat. The platform was not crowded, but all the same, we were glad we arrived

My family is highly amused that we are shivering in the dark, here in Sri Lanka. However, what amuses them most is that Bill is shivering in the dark.  They all know that my husband is a sun worshipper. Oh, he denies he sun bathes, denies lying on the beach, instead insisting that his skin just "browns up easily." The reality? His shirt was never on when we were in Mexico. Bill adores his sandal tan lines and his reflection in the mirror pleases him when he has "browned up" ... accidently, naturally, you know. My family knows his love for sun and heat and watched, over the past year,  his growing lust and excitement about living in a tropical country, where, he believed, the sun's rays shine all the time. But the sun is not shining here. It continues to rain. My family are all chortling and sniggering in delight! They call him white boy. They remind him of his fading tan lines. Oh, they think they are so funny.

Rain falls all day, every day. Our place is freezing. Our roof leaks and the power shuts off repeatedly. The linen we purchased reeks of mildew. The few warm clothes we have are wet and won't dry; things hung a week ago to dry are still just as wet as the day we hung them.   We purchased long mackintosh coats and ugly rain proof pants in an attempt to keep us dry on our motor scooter. Red mud rivulets threaten the stability of muddy side roads and the plants growing alongside the road dig in their root hairs to avoid being washed away. Storm drains run full and swift. I wear a sweater, a fleece, sometimes a rain coat, and wool socks in the house and we have two heavy comforters on our bed. I sleep in Bill's merino wool t-shirt to keep warm at night. Bill is just as cold and is no longer a toaster in bed.   There is precious little to do here in Nuwara Eliya when it is raining. There are no movie theatres and no hangouts like a lively pub. Restaurants are tiny hole- in-