April 26: I'm sure we're both hoping I've survived to day 7. Just a couple more days of retreat! Here's another thing I love about Mcleod
1. Living Where People Make Things
I watch painters paint souvenirs for tourists everyday. Next door, a tailor measures and sews Tibetan dresses on an old fashioned sowing machine, the kind that you find in antique shops with a cast-iron foot petal. I wake up every morning to the smell of fresh baked breads, and watch as the family I live with make their baked goods from piles of flour and tsampa. When I come home at night, I watch as fresh garlic is peeled and crushed, as vegetables are chopped, as meat (never frozen, not once) is cooked over a fire. My food never comes from a factory; I no longer taste the cold steel of my home.
I am living where people still make things. And it is beautiful.
The hawkers on the corners can be seen knitting as they wait. Down the street, in the Tibetan Handicraft Shop, Tibetan women sit on their knees and make rugs. When I want a nose stud, I follow a sign for a silversmith, into his small room (complete with bed and small anvil) and watch as he bends silver into beautiful forms. Another woman sits on the corner and beads malas. Men wait on the street, cobbling Indian shoes as they wait for customers.
We have forgotten how to make things. It is beautiful.
1. Living Where People Make Things
I watch painters paint souvenirs for tourists everyday. Next door, a tailor measures and sews Tibetan dresses on an old fashioned sowing machine, the kind that you find in antique shops with a cast-iron foot petal. I wake up every morning to the smell of fresh baked breads, and watch as the family I live with make their baked goods from piles of flour and tsampa. When I come home at night, I watch as fresh garlic is peeled and crushed, as vegetables are chopped, as meat (never frozen, not once) is cooked over a fire. My food never comes from a factory; I no longer taste the cold steel of my home.
I am living where people still make things. And it is beautiful.
The hawkers on the corners can be seen knitting as they wait. Down the street, in the Tibetan Handicraft Shop, Tibetan women sit on their knees and make rugs. When I want a nose stud, I follow a sign for a silversmith, into his small room (complete with bed and small anvil) and watch as he bends silver into beautiful forms. Another woman sits on the corner and beads malas. Men wait on the street, cobbling Indian shoes as they wait for customers.
We have forgotten how to make things. It is beautiful.
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