I am the least patient person in the world…or at least in this room at the moment.  I hate waiting and I catch myself, in moments where my patience has worn thin from waiting, trying to come up with good reasons why waiting is worth it.  Because good things can come from waiting.  Waiting for love…that is worth it.  Waiting for vegetables to germinate and grow…also worth it.  Waiting for bread to rise…definitely worth it.  Waiting for a summer vacation…still worth it even though I am not 12 and summer vacation does NOT feel like it lasts forever.  Waiting for the moment when you have enough money to buy a really wonderful piece of art…pretty sure that will be worth every penny when I get there.  My point is that most waiting, while painful and irritating, is often really, really satisfying.  So how can I tell if the wait is worth it?  I just imagine the outcome.   And if I were to arrive at the end of the waiting and find that the outcome is the opposite to what I was hoping for (i.e. no love,  no vegetables, no bread, no vacation that lasts forever, and no fancy pants art hanging in my living room) and I know that I would feel sad, disappointed, and heart broken, then it is worth the wait.  The investment of time…the waiting…can yield a darn good harvest sometimes…even if I do grumble about it along the way.

• The return of orange season. If there is one thing I remember about when I arrived 13 months ago, it was the oranges. The piles upon piles and baskets upon baskets of fragrant oranges on every street corner. It was the first Nepali word I learned.  Suntala.  Similar to a mandarin oranges but full of seeds they provide a cheap and healthy snack at any time of day. Best eaten outside on a rooftop where seeds are easily spit over the edge. And, locally available which means Mandarin oranges for Christmas are not a once-a-year indulgence here. Instead they are a 4 month staple.

• Hot water. The bright orange flame pops to life following a slow hiss as the gas is released. It sputters and flashes. The water dribbles out of the hand-held shower nozzle and into the blue bucket. A few degrees colder and it could be ice. Slowly, the orange flame works its magic on the frigid water, easing the chill. The digital numbers on the front of the gas heater climb slowly. 21. 22. 23. 26. When it reaches 30 I take the plunge. But there is no way it is actually 30. It is probably closer to 25…but warmer than melted ice. It takes about 5 minutes for the water to get hot – steamy hot. But then come the moments in between – when the water is off and the race to lather as quickly as possible is on. The steamy hot is all that separates you from goose bumps. It is an internal debate that I have with myself every time I shower – let the water trickle and keep me warm or turn it off and move fast, very fast. And saving water always wins – no matter how cold those 2 minutes might be – because it means there will still be water left in a couple of days which means the possibility for another blissfully hot shower.

• Kathmandu at night. Now that the seasons have changed again, my evening bus rides home at about 5:00 every evening are in the dark. And lately I have found that there is something bewitching about the city in the dark. It retains it frenetic pace and chaotic snarl of traffic, people, and noise but it twinkles. The flashing red of the motocycle lights mixed with the dull sheen of candles in windows where the power is out. The darkness also hides some of the city’s flaws, concealing the gritty, dusty, and worn surroundings and replaces them with mysterious shapes, sleek and modern looking in the darkness. Hurtling across the city on a crowded bus watching Kathmandu slink and wink past my window is one of the best endings to a day.

• The moment on weekends when you wake up at 6:00am and realize that you can simply close your eyes and go back to sleep…indefinitely. Roll over, snuggle down, and tumble back into a good dream, a moment of peace, or a deep slumber.