Bill and Wendy's ickcillint adventures

Last year, while homeless, Bill and I spent seven weeks in Mexico. In a little southern beach town called Puerto Escondido, we met a couple around our hotel pool. In conversation, we described and explained our homelessness; we were waiting for clearance to work for VSO in Sri Lanka. This information animated the woman whose name is Norah Moorhead. Her maternal grandmother and grandfather had spent considerable time in Sri Lanka during the early 1900's. She told me a fascinating story about her grandmother, and her namesake. Her grandmother's name was Norah Creina McMinn nee: Norah Creina Knight, although her name may have appeared in a census as Isabel Knight. In 1909 or there about, Norah died prematurely as the result of a hunting accident - she fell over a cliff. Her grave was marked by a Celtic cross in a graveyard (presumably the European one) in Kandy, Sri Lanka. Norah's grandmother had four children- two sons and two daughters. Norah's mother was the eldest of

Sinhala lessons are continuing, but avail me little. I have such a lousy memory that I find only with significant repetition of reading, writing, speaking each and every word, does the word or phrase finally commit to memory. Even then, retrieval of the memory is difficult. However, I can read most words now, but that doesn't mean that I know the meaning of them. In fact, I am more likely to not know the meaning of the words. However, I plug along and keep hoping that one day, something will click; my tongue will come untied and fluency will occur. I continue to work with an interpreter. **** I was teaching interpersonal skills the other day. I have invited the support staff (called Minor Staff, groan) to attend the classes along with the nurses and doctors, as they also interact with patients. Anyway, I was teaching a concept of how staff can help patients reframe their situation from "bad to good." The clinical concepts are known as "reframing" or a "

Last Friday, after work, we rushed to catch the 5 pm bus to Kandy for the weekend. So, we hailed a trishaw, jumped in and off we went. About a kilometre later, the little red trishaw spluttered and died. The driver explained, "The problem is in the motor, sir." Hopping out, we hailed the next trishaw that whizzed by us. It stopped; we hopped in and without further delay, were transported to the bus stand in time to take the next bus, the 5:15 intercity bus. Off to Kandy! Upon arriving in Kandy, we hailed another trishaw to take us to our hotel. This little blue trishaw trundled up the road about 500 meters and it died; it was out of gas. The trishaw driver said, "Not a problem. Just wait, we get gas there," he said, pointing to some vague location. "You stay." He hopped out and began pushing his trishaw toward a petrol station that was not yet visible to us. He pushed and pushed his little trishaw and then exclaimed in shock, "Oh my Goad! My