Well, the end of the quarter is drawing near, which means that my students finally care about their performance in math class. Or rather, they care about my assessment of their performance in math class. Mr. Burchell, is there anything I can do to pull up my grade? I haven't learned a cotton-picking thing all quarter and now I'm worried that my favorite world-class university will get the impression that I am not a dedicated scholar. I've been hoping so hard for a good grade.
Will and I are about to walk down to the front gate of the school to meet Joie so that we can walk to the bazaar, maybe for some tandoori chicken and naan bread. Mmm. Will wants his hands washed because he just finished eating some Kurkure, an Indian snack that can be adequately described as vomit-flavored Cheetos. I have stalled him by getting him to bring his toys in from outside, and I have given up my right to today's newspaper so that he can search the pages for "funny pitchers". So far he has found a bus (driving down a smoking street in Lhasa) and two race cars. Auto-racing seems to have recently joined the list of 'sports' that India boasts about. The others are field hockey, cricket, and chess. Of course, cricket is the closest thing to a real sport among these, but only because it might be enjoyable for aging or injured baseball players.
Will finally knows all of the spices that go into masala chai. Joie asked him this morning, "We've got cinnamon, cloves, and cardamom, what else do we need?" Will answered, "Ginger!" That's my boy. Yesterday Joie taught Will to say, "Happy Pi Day!" That's my girl.