Southern Muslimah

When My Mind's Made Up

2010-01-01T11:39:00.004+02:00

Happy 2010.

I've made so many great connections with people via this little blog since 2006. Kinzi, MommaBean, UmmAbdullah, UmmAli, so many of you I know now because I was a sometimes-commenter on other blogs, and then I decided it was high time to meet some of you great ladies, which I did. I befriended you. And that lead to Little League, and to meeting more of you. And now my social calendar runneth over. (not really, but it's just as full as I need it to be)
And so it goes. Degrees of separation that become fewer and fewer as days and weeks pass, and we see that we truly are living in a small town. A community. Little ol' Amman, Jordan, where folks are generally good to one another. We can smile. We can make living here work.

You know, in November I joined NaNoWriMo, and wrote a little book. It is rough, but seems solid to me. I put it away on November 28 when my best friend died. I tried that night, after learning the news, to punch out a few more words, to make it to that 50,000 word mark, but I couldn't. So it has been sitting, saved and waiting, on several hard drives in our house (I became paranoid it would be lost forever, like in those films where the only typed hard copy goes flying up into the wind). So far so good in that department.

Here comes the part that is going to make me choke up.

Fatima had made up her mind. She was so at peace with the idea of leaving this earth. I think that in her thirty three years of life, she managed to give more gifts than most can do in a life span three times hers. I had a bad "Fatima" day the other day, feeling really sorry for myself, missing her so much that my heart felt it had been tied into a thousand knots, and I couldn't breathe. And I think of her beautiful children bouncing around the house, asking their father when they are going to be able to visit Mama in heaven. I just wanted to touch her face one last time. Do you know that the beautiful, amazing sisters I left behind in Birmingham went to wash her body in my stead? On my behalf? "For Jennifer," (yes, that's my name, in case you have not figured that out after all these years), they said. "Because that is what she would do. That is what Fatima would have wanted."

I swear that I have been blessed in my life with the most amazing, magnificent gifts of friendship. Treasures upon treasures that I never knew I could manage to have, and keep. Making friends isn't much of a talent--but keeping them is.

I contrast her passing with that of my father, who was angry with us--his children--and with life in general. He went through life feeling wronged most of the time. I'm so glad I don't feel wronged, day in, day out. He was a good man, a funny man, a smart man. He gave gifts, too. But in the end, his vision of what mattered became clouded. So, so sad. I wonder what he felt as he took his last breath--I think he was scared, and I think he clutched onto some of that rage that I find can well itself up in me from time to time. I am my father's daughter, after all.

So, friends, this blog has been a great thing in my life. Really. I appreciate all of the readership, albeit small, and I am grateful to all of you who encouraged me to write. Some of you have mourned with me quite a bit this year. Do you know how much you helped me? You never will, I think.

My writing is going someplace else, now, taking a new turn in this road to self-awareness. But what a grand cog this blog has been in my wheel!

Two days after Fatima passed away, I pulled out this film that my beautiful sister sent me a few years back. I had never watched it, but I felt it was time to check it out. I do not live in the pop culture world, so some things pass me by and I discover them later than most. And for me, that's OK.

I have watched this clip from the film over and over. And over. Such powerful words, such unabashed heart. I feel unabashed right now. Raw. And ready to move on.

Thanks again, everyone. I'll still be dropping by to visit you all at your cog-blogs. Keep your wheels of hope turning.

Long Pause

2009-11-30T09:11:00.002+02:00

I received word yesterday morning that Umm Zakaria, K.M., my beloved friend who battled cancer for a year and a half, passed away from an apparent heart complication.

Inna lilahi wa inna ilayhi raji'oon.

Most messages I've received have read something like, "We thought of you first, being so far away." I asked my mother and my husband both if the bond between us was that obvious. "Yes," they both told me, "it was."

How I loved her!

She kept a blog from time to time, discussing her treatment, thoughts about it, and general strategies she had for dealing with the immense pain she was in. If any of you reading this would like to go over and comment, or talk about what she meant to you, I think that would be something to help us all--so many of us are grieving!--with this great loss.

The Pink Hijab

Carvings and Slicings: Happy Everything

2009-11-27T10:22:00.004+02:00

Happy Thanksgiving to all of my friends and family in the US and here, who partook of the cranberry sauce and freshly carved, juicy (not dry!) turkey and all the trimmings. And pie.

Happy Eid to all of my friends and family who were fasting yesterday, the day of Arafat, while those who were able to make Hajj stood on Mt. Arafat, praying for God's mercy and for the good of humankind to show itself here in our lives on earth.

Today we woke early and went to the Eid prayer, where the khatib actually mentioned the word grace several times, and used it in terms of God's grace being bestowed on us. Maybe he has said this phrase many times before, but I've never had my ears open enough to hear it. It was a particularly important message today, though.

May we remember Abraham's sacrifice to God this day. May we remember the sacrifices of all of our loved ones, near and far, who helped to shape our lives and who love us unconditionally, through forgiveness, compromise, and grace.

May God's bounty show itself in your lives, each and every day.

I see a wee bit o' mutton in my future this afternoon.

One last thing: Roll Tide, ROOOLLLLL!

Not writing, posting

2009-11-21T17:05:00.003+02:00

I am wasting some time until dinner is ready. I messed up a "curry spice pack" meal by not reading the directions, which call for an additional "coconut powder pack" that I do not have. We'll see what happens. My mind was not in the kitchen. Farouq is a Curry Kid, so he probably won't care.

I just read this article on yahoo about new findings regarding the Shroud of Turin. It has been a long time since I read anything about the famed shroud, and I wonder what the mainstream Christian community thinks about it. Is it just a Catholic relic, preserved in the archives? Is it really from the 14th, instead of 1st, century? The article suggests that there are new findings of text that could not have been written in medieval times, as most skeptics believe the shroud's dating to be. I just don't know. What do my Christian friends think?

So reading this article reminded me of a book I read in the eighth grade, The Robe, by Lloyd C. Douglas. I remember selecting the book in the library, because I was in one of those "I'm gonna read a big fat book and challenge myself" moods. I get those sometimes, and then I procrastinate, much as I did when reading The Robe. I remember trying to read 400 + pages over a weekend before I had a presentation due on it. The book was dry--at least, to a twelve-year old--and I wasn't as much into spiritual enlightenment as I was into buying a new sweater at Limited Express.

I do remember, though, freaking my English teacher out when I presented my book report orally, addressing the class as Marcellus Galius, the protagonist. Or antagonist? Heck, he lead the crucifixion team. Perhaps he was a bit of both, I guess, since he made a transformation. The robe, it was the robe. Seeing that name now--Marcellus Galius--reminds me of Marcus Aurelius, which of course makes me think of the film Gladiator, and logically my mind follows to Russell Crowe, then leads me to daydreaming (stop that!) about how buff he was in that film, as compared to the last film I saw him in, State of Play, where he looked short and stout. Like a teapot. Tip him over, pour him out.

I remember getting a really good grade on that book report, though.

Thanks for allowing me a small distraction. Now it's off to eat so-so curry, and back to writing.

How about that?

2009-11-16T17:40:00.005+02:00

So, it seems it is really time to vote on those Brass Crescent Awards now. This blog, I humbly report, was nominated again in the Best MidEast blog category, along with last year's winner, (does he need an intro?) The Black Iris; my friend Al Miskeenah (I just got that beautiful shawl out you sent me for winter wear); and two new ones (to me), Saudi Jeans and A Saudiwoman's Weblog. Thank you, Um Omar, my yearly notifier of blog nominations and awards.

Thank you to my 46 regular readers for sticking around. I know this year I have not posted as much as I did in, say, 2007, but 2009 threw me some punches I did not expect. Gaza, for one, impacted more than I ever expressed on this forum, and still impacts me, nearly one year later. I did write some things about Gaza back in January. Perhaps you could go back and read some of them if you have a moment.

Then my father passed away, suddenly and shockingly. Here again, nearly one year later, I'm dealing with the whatevers from his death. Day by day.

I also lost my dear Aunt Shirley, whom I loved. She is missed by so many people on this planet. I am thrilled I get to see her only daughter next month; she's stopping by Amman en route to Palestine, (gotta work on getting her to call it that, as opposed to the "I" word), which is not actually en route--she'll be doing a quick flyover, come see us, then backtrack and meet up with her tour group in the Holy Land. Excitement!

Hey, blogging this year has hooked me up with some neat people. I've corresponded with a lovely sister from New Zealand, and another from Great Britain but originally from the Czech Republic. We actually met. I bought her a cocktail (read: fruit smoothie) and she came and visited me in my home. That was neat. (I hope you are well, have you had that baby yet? We're waiting on your move to Amman, so we can see you regularly.)

And now I'm tackling this "book" of sorts, which has kept me on my typing toes. I'm learning quite a bit about my technique, and what I need to work on, and what I'm fairly OK at, and and and... It's all a process.

So, go out and vote today for the Best Blogs around, and thanks for all of your support during the last four years. You've been smashing.

And someone please tell me to quit buying Cadbury Snack bars. They are small for a reason. But I can eat half a dozen. Tell me to stop. Tell me.

One more second of procrastination won't hurt

2009-11-09T14:13:00.002+02:00

I almost forgot--voting is supposed to begin today.
Buena suerte, friends.

Brass monkey, that funky monkey (come on, I know you know that song)

Wruh Wroh, Wraggy!

2009-11-08T20:34:00.003+02:00

Just a quick nanowrimo update.

The writing is slow-going.

So far I've remained on target two days only. Two days straight (a.k.a. "the weekend") I wrote nothing. Laundry and dust won.

Today I finally reached around 11,000 words, or 20 A-4 sized, 12 font typed pages.

Then I made a mistake, and went back and read everything, thus allowing that little voice of self-doubt to creep in. Self-doubt is still taking up shop in my head.

After reading and
1. being pleasantly surprised by some of the things I had written but already forgotten, and
2. criticizing about 80% of what I'd read,
I prepared snacks. Too many snacks, and I ate them all, and washed them down with a tall cold one. (Dr. Pepper)

Vowing off updating until the final stretch, around November 28th, I bid you goodnight.

Getting Wready to Wrumble

2009-10-30T08:41:00.003+02:00

I'm not sure how much posting I will do during the coming month.

November is National Novel Writing Month, and I've decided to sign on. Hop aboard the word train. Take the wrist-aching plunge.

I may pop in now again just to let you know how I'm doing.

Thanks for your support.

Jigs

2009-10-26T15:32:00.005+02:00

I'm stealing from my own comments and making them a post on their own. That's allowed, isn't it?

My good pal and neighbor asked me, "Which dance, of which people?" to which I replied:

Ay, there's the rub! It would take too long to name all of "my people," but I think I can name some dances I've been known to do on occasion, representing them.

1. Funky Chicken
2. Pee-Wee Herman a la "Tequila"
3. The Hustle (for my big sis)
4. Ed Grimley--perhaps my best
5. Cherokee Stomp Dance
6. Break Dancing, but no floor stuff, too old
7. Mexican Hat Dance
8. Homewood High School JV Cheerleaders' "You Spin Me" Summer Camp routine (a success!)
9. Sad, sad, super feebly sad attempts to dance at Arab weddings
10. "Hurrah for Homewood" routine, which I've taught my daughter
11. Did I mention sad, sad attempts to be a bellydancer? Ah, yes.
12. The Chicken Dance (Oktoberfest style, not to be confused with #1)
13. Hokey-Pokey
14. Feeble (again) attempts to copy Bollywoodish dance at end of "Slumdog Millionaire"
15. Some imitations of John Travolta in S.N.F.
16. Step-ball-change I learned in the 6th grade
17. Various routines (Eye of the Tiger?) created with long-time dear friend who now lives in N. Cali
18. Salt-n'-Pepa imitations (Girl, I'm old)
19. The Smurf
20. (Is twenty enough?) Living room waltz-in-socks

What's on your dance card?

A Bit o' Newness

2009-10-25T13:57:00.001+02:00

Today is a new day. Crisp breezes are blowing through my windows. I'm feeling Fall-ish. I thought I might liven up the place a bit with some new colors.

Won't you join me in celebrating this change of season?

Blanca, de lejos

2009-10-24T11:36:00.005+02:00

Blanca,
Durmiendo en mi cama, yo te vi
en mis sueños
Ricardo y tú
llegaron a mi vecinidad
muy felices por haber viajado
de una distancia larga.

Estaba cocinando pollo
y arroz
y verduras, un almuerzo
tremendo
para mis visitantes
queridos.

Que nos veamos.

My Mind as a Five-Star, Five-Subject Notebook

2009-10-23T11:36:00.005+02:00

Do any of you go back and read the things you've written, not understanding how you accomplished such writing, how you could have pulled it off when you had so much going on, or why your mind cannot work like that all the time? Do you ever have those moments of self-questioning that go something like, "Why am I wasting so much time linking YouTube videos from the 70s when I should be seriously working at my craft?" Then again, what exactly is my craft?

Are we losing our language? Could our wrists and fingers today endure the note taking of yesteryear, when we used to fill up one of those puppies pictured above? Does anyone make outlines anymore or know how to write an abstract?

Do you sometimes hear your children say things that are so clever and original and you say to yourself, "Run, now, and fetch that pen! Write that down! Record it or it will be forever lost in the realm of great-and-clever-words-that-have-been-spoken-and-forgotten," but instead, you stand at the counter eating another square of homemade gingerbread? (or two squares) Then you forget why you were standing in the kitchen in the first place--was it to see if the last few drops of lemon-scented Ajax have already been spilled into the kids' toilet, even though it was just cleaned 3 hours prior, but it is the most poorly designed toilet because it seems to catch any speck of ick and seal it onto its surface like glue? You know, that brown streak. We all hate it.

Do you find yourself reading books you know you could have written? Or at least contributed to? Do you ever pick up any 'acclaimed' piece of writing and have no idea what all the hubbub is about? (Sometimes sentences must end in prepositions, there is no other way around it.)

Do you ever imagine your life as a Trumanshowesque documentary that is so utterly captivating that it must be recorded? If you do, then I assure you, you will think twice about picking your nose while driving...remember, everyone is watching.

Are we that interesting? Do our stories really matter? Should we all be mapping it out, scribbling it down, preserving the important stuff? Will our kids bother to try to preserve it? Will we succeed in making them want to? Do all of these personal vignettes we put out there count for anything more than self-absorption? Will the humor and sincerity of my generation be lost on the youth, who seemingly grow more cynical (and shallow) by the day?

Can I be a writer?

It's Brass Crescent Time Again!

2009-10-20T13:35:00.003+02:00

It's time to vote for the Brass Crescent Awards again, which are in their sixth glorious year. Last year this blog received Honorable Mention for Best MidEast Blog. I was humbled and surprised. I've admittedly been off my blogging game for some time; it's been quite a year. Nonetheless, go out there and see what we Muslim bloggers have to offer. I'm wagering there is some good new stuff. I'm sort of an old fogie and stick to my usuals: From Clay, Baraka, Black Iris, Dictator Princess, Kinzi, MommaBean. I'm too lazy to link these all up, but you can find them on the blogroll.

I suppose I'll continue to write about Jordan and life here as long as I live here. I suppose.

I see there is a category for "Best Defunct Blog" or something like that--you know, the folks we miss seeing. Yes, yes, I miss Umm Zaid too. Maybe if we all vote for her "blog" that does not exist, we'll will her back into our laptops. You never know.

From Brass Crescent:

"What are the Brass Crescent Awards? They are named for the Story of the City of Brass in the Thousand and One Nights. Today, the Islamsphere is forging a new synthesis of Islam and modernity, and is the intellectual heir to the traditions of philosophy and learning that was once the hallmark of Islamic civilization - a heritage scarcely recognizable today in the Islamic world after a century's ravages of colonialism, tyrants, and religious fundamentalism. We believe that Islam transcends history, and we are forging history anew for tomorrow's Islam. These awards are a means to honor ourselves and celebrate our nascent community, and promote its growth."

Go vote, people.

Catching the Red Eye

2009-10-18T07:24:00.003+02:00

What's worse than a bad case of conjunctivitis?

Double conjunctivitis!

Two bloodshot eyes walk into a bar. The first one...

Another Reading Recommendation

2009-10-17T10:28:00.003+02:00

This book has me running to open it every spare moment I have, of which there are few. Many thanks to Um Abdullah for lending it to me; it has created quite a stir in my brain and heart.

The author of The Selected Works of T.S. Spivet is only twenty-nine years old. A remarkable and interactive website can give you a glimpse into this young author's talent, as well as a synopsis of the story. To those with short attention spans, no inclination to flip books sideways to read margins, or no interest in cartography, you might want to find something else to read.

Some reviews:

The New York Times

Powell's Books

The Times online

An Interview with Reif Larsen, author

How'd He Get So Funky?

2009-10-12T20:12:00.005+02:00

On a lighter note (lighter than revolutionary politics), my daughter has a presentation on King Tutankhamun this week at school. Watching her research, read books, and take notes has inspired me to post the following. An oldie but goodie. Enjoy.

Book Recommendation: In the Country of Men

2009-10-12T13:16:00.006+02:00

I just finished reading (literally, a few moments ago) In the Country of Men, by Hisham Matar. It was on my daughter's summer reading list and one of the many hardback books we bought for $2 or less. My particular copy came from half.com via the Queens Library, Jamaica, NY.

I've had quite a bit of catching up to do in the "reading great literature" department these last few years. It has been a fun and enlightening adventure so far. In the Country of Men is one of those books that provokes a sense of escape while causing the reader to empathize, shudder, weep.

I was 7 in 1979; the main character, Suleiman, is 9. I knew nothing as a seven year old of Muammar Qaddafi or Libya's violent revolution. Suleiman knows all too well the price he and his loved ones must pay for his father's contempt for al-Fateh--The Guide--and the father's role as a counter-revolutionary. Suleiman's relationship with his father is tangibly strained; his relationship with his mother is painful, dysfunctional. Some of the emotions Suleiman expresses regarding his mother and her illness truly broke my heart. Anyone who, as a child, dealt with the yearning to "fix" a broken, addicted parent will quickly understand why.

So, in a nutshell, I recommend this book. I'm not so sure I would have handed it to my fourteen year old without some trepidation, because the descriptions of Qaddafi's thugs' interrogations and even assassinations of "traitors," being broadcast live on television, are difficult for even the toughest of readers. Graphic details aside, this book is a treasure of a story that deals with loyalty, betrayal, and a battle between innocence lost, innocence mourned, and eventually hope renewed.

It will also make you want to visit Libya. Really.

My Absence(s)

2009-10-10T08:16:00.008+02:00

Hello there! With my blog stats at their lowest, I figured I might as well scribble something down today. I've been in an Autumn fog, reading the same blogs I always do but not feeling up to writing. I walk around most days composing posts in my head but never sit down. And that's OK. So,

I have two friends on mini-vacations to the US this week. Hello friends! I hope you are having a wonderful time in the short time you've been allotted on these trips. A mini-trip to the US is better than no trip, I say. Enjoy whatever it is you love most about the states. For me, it's freezing cold grocery stores and smiling faces.
On Tuesday Amman received a deluge-ish rainstorm and could not handle it. My flat was flooded via our garage (which is above us) with all of the filth, oil, water, grime, dust, soot, weeds, and small pebbles that make residence on our street. It was a comedy of errors, for sure. Did anyone ever see that E.R. episode where Dr. Ross saves a boy whose been swept away in a flash flood? It was kind of like that, only no one was drowning. I was desperately trying to find the cover that had blocked my drain and was up to my shoulders bent over in water in my garage. Thankfully, two harises saw (or heard, help! help!) me, and came to assist. In their good intentions, they tried to close a flap to my bathroom window's fan, but instead pushed my bathroom window completely inward and allowed the 3 + feet of water to go rushing into my home. The rest is a blur. No, it really isn't a blur, I remember exactly what happened, but am choosing to keep those details to myself. It's just all too painful. *Cough cough*
I pray for the Egyptian national Muhammad Imam and his children who perished in this flash flood on Tuesday. I pray for his surviving wife and child. It makes my ordeal seem like nothing at all. I will say that the streets of this city are the most ill-equipped to handle any sort of rain, much less a deluge that falls within a matter of hours. Someone must do something about these drainage problems. And for God's sake, harvest that rain water for something useful.
This week I realized just how old my mother-in-law is. I realized how her memory is beginning to fail her, and how I must write down more of her stories before they are lost forever. She is frail and scared, and I've realized how much of my time is focused on myself, my packed schedule, my "me time" activities that fill my calendar while the kids are at school. And I think about her, and how much she's given everyone, and how little she truly asks for. Dropping by once a week to see her (other than the required Friday) will not kill me.
This month I've made some failed attempts to be a "bridge-builder." Not only have these attempts failed, but also have they more or less blown up in my face. I've received several "word lashings" from the party(ies) I've tried to reach out to. Mean stuff. This, while painful, has allowed me to see a few things. First of all, not every one wants peace. Secondly, not only does every one not want peace, but also may need to inflict suffering, to wield power, or to just be cruel. Thirdly, the infliction of suffering is thought (by said inflicter) to be his sought cure, but even when he gets what he seeks, he will still feel soulfully destitute. And only God may help him. Apathy on my part, therefore, is not necessarily a negative thing.
This week I've wondered why I'm never on Rainbow Street eating ice cream at the same time these famous people are. The pair made an appearance at Lickety Licious ice cream shop on the First Circle. Brad ordered krokan. Did you know that krokan is my favorite flavor? Krokan ice cream, krokan cakes--I love them! Who can't love crushed up caramel chips? I used to live a few blocks behind SOS Children's Village, too. And my neighbor around the corner went to high school in Missouri with Mr. Pitt. Her sister even dated him briefly. Yes, I'm so connected. We musn't forget, however, that what happens in Fight Club stays in Fight Club.
I received great and exciting news about my dear cousin, only child of my sweet precious aunt who passed away last March. She's coming to Amman in December to spend a few days with us before joining a tour group in Palestine. She will be here for Christmas, and I know that my beautiful Christian friends will help me host her. I am absolutely beyond excited about her visit.

Folks, that's about all I can muster this fine Saturday morning. Hope you all have a great, flood-free, insightful, peaceful, movie-star viewing, family-visiting week.

Mixed Bag

2009-10-03T06:47:00.002+02:00

Today two of my four have Saturday school, making up for an extra day they were given off towards the end of Ramadan, giving them an additional Eid vacation day. Saturdays have a feel to them, and it is strange sending them off with backpacks and lunches in tote. I know many people here are quite used to Saturday school, with many schools having Friday off, Saturday school, then Sunday off again. I'm not sure I could get used to that schedule, although I never thought I'd be accustomed to having the work-school week begin on Sunday. That one took two years to figure out.

My eyes, since yesterday, have been burning. My husband said the haze yesterday around 2 in the afternoon was hot and oppressive. The air at my mother-in-law's in Jabal Amman was dry and there was no evening wind. This morning I feel it's the same way. What is this, khamaseen in October? I'm hoping the rain makes its way here soon.

Validating our Moaning, Groaning

2009-09-29T21:59:00.004+02:00

(our complaints, really)

Over at MommaBean's, there is a lively discussion surrounding a post she made about a not-so-satisfactory trip to a coffee shop, Cups & Kilo's, over on the First Circle. MommaBean's complaints were valid and normal, especially in a country where there are usually too many employees standing around doing a lot of nothing in too many food/beverage establishments to count. (Have you ever seen how many workers are standing behind the McDonald's counter at the malls' food courts?)

But that is not the focus of her post, nor is it the focus of mine. She is basically stating that the principles of management governing customer service in Jordan are lacking to the point where many of us who can spend a little money every now and again are reluctant to do so, because we assume beforehand that we will be shortchanged in the service department, and often, in the quality department.

Case in point:
We love Asian food. We love, love, love Asian food. I can make several dishes, and do, but sometimes a person just wants to be served in a nice atmosphere and not be responsible for clean-up. Eh-hem.

My husband *reluctantly* acquiesced to take us to NoodAsia in Abdoun last spring, where I had eaten once before with a friend. I was all Japanese-ishly set on sushi, so I ordered several plates for all of us to share. It was excellent! The sushi chef invited my kids to come over and watch him make it, and gave them crab sticks while they waited. He showed them how he rolled certain rolls and how the wasabi was plopped down on the plate. We were greeted (on the sushi side) with smiles and welcoming gestures of hospitality. Both the sushi chef and his sous chef were ex-pats. (read: Filipino)

My husband and a few of our brood ordered Chinese dishes as well. The waiter (not an ex-pat)was, sadly, very neglectful of our table. He did not explain the dishes well. The food arrived much to our dissatisfaction--I felt as if we were being served portions that were 'leftover' or cast aside. The sesame chicken was fried to a dryness like I've never seen, with no visible chicken. It was just crust. And no sauce. The vegetables were cut into giant chunks that were almost impossible to fit into one's mouth. It was just all too much. And the price tag? Our total bill reached 80 + JD. For lunch.

I'm still feeling guilty about that NoodAsia meal, purchased with money that could have bought groceries to prepare lovely homemade meals six times over. The problem is, people keep forking out huge troughs of money for sub-par food and sub-par services all over this city. Shall I even begin to speak about the overpriced/under serviced hotels in the city? I could (and have) stayed in 4-star hotels in the U.S. for a fraction of the cost people pay here. I once (without first looking at the menu) ordered four hot chocolates for my kids in Costa Coffee and it was 16 JD. I nearly fainted at the counter. Sixteen dinars? I do not understand.

I'm not through with this topic! But I must hit the hay.

Anyone else want to share horrible service experiences? Conversely, anyone want to share a surprisingly positive service story?

Nur al Qasas

2009-09-26T11:33:00.003+03:00

My friend, Umm Ibrahim, a storyteller, has a new website where you can listen to excerpts from her acclaimed CD's. I met dear Umm Ibrahim when we worked together several years ago teaching English. She is an artist and a dear soul. Check out her website, and order her lovely CD's for your children. A consummate storyteller and gift giver, she is.

Nur al Qasas

Greetings this Eid ul Fitr

2009-09-20T09:09:00.003+03:00

Taqabal-Allah minna wa minkom.

Eid Mubarak.

Kul A'am wa entom bi'khair.

Eid Sa'eed.

Kul Senneh wa entom salmeen.

Happy Eid, everyone!

Medina

2009-09-18T12:51:00.001+03:00

Go here to see why Medina in Ramadan is my favorite time and place on Earth. If I could just bottle that feeling and have it year-round.

A Poem on Saturday

2009-09-18T12:31:00.001+03:00

(to be read aloud)

If

If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn't a lie,
Life would be delight,--
But things couldn't go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn't be I.

If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I'd be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn't be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,--
Yet they'd all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn't be we.

e.e. cummings

Contemplating Eid: Patience, Job, and K.M.

2009-09-16T23:22:00.007+03:00

As the dawn of my 15th Eid ul-Fitr draws near, I have a lot on my mind. Retrospectively speaking, the month of Ramadan has flown by, as it does each year, as all months seem to do these days. My chiefest complaint about myself this month is that I surely lost my temper more than I should have, mainly with my children, and from them, mainly with the youngest ones. My test in life, I most assuredly feel, is directed towards my patience, or lack thereof. It's a constant battle, and one that I most often lose. I am thankful to recognize that I am impatient. I stink in the patience department. Truly. Ask my kids.

I know other people who seem to have mastered the art of patience. Remember that saying, "He/She has the patience of Job?" You know Job, from the Qu'ran, Bible, and Torah? Job is one of the most beloved prophets who walked the earth, and is the epitome of a patient man. Someone might read his story and view it with disbelief, or think it hyperbolic. I think that is one of the issues some folks have with stories within various religious traditions; are they to be taken literally or figuratively--are they exaggerated, as with fables, to drive home a point? Well, that question's answer is up to the believer, or searcher, to be determined. For anyone who does not know about Job, or Ayyub in Arabic, here's some background:

The Prophet Ayyub Displays Patience:
The Prophet Ayyub (peace be upon him) was a pattern of humility and faith in Allah. He was very patient. He suffered from a number of calamities but did not utter a single word of complaint. One day his big farm was attacked by the thieves. They killed many of his servants and carried away forcibly all his cattle. The Prophet Ayyub (peace be upon him) did not feel sorry at this loss and thanked Allah. After some time the roof of the house fell down and many members of his family were crushed. The Prophet Ayyub (peace be upon him) was much shocked but he held fast to his faith in Allah. He neither shed a tear nor heaved a sigh. He prostrated before the Almighty. He remarked that possessions and children were the gifts from Allah. If He had taken His things, it was useless to lament over their loss.

After a few years Prophet Ayyub (peace be upon him) suffered from skin disease. His parts of body were covered with loathsome sores. He had many ugly looking ulcers on his face and hands. The sores were full of worms. It is narrated that he picked up those worms which fell from his abscess and praised Allah for creating them. Above all, his false friends attributed his calamities to his sins. They ridiculed and looked down upon him. All the persons deserted him with the exception of his faithful wife, Rahima. She also grew tired of him in the long run and prayed for his death. She cursed her husband for retaining integrity in Allah. When Prophet Ayyub (peace be upon him) was in an extremely pathetic condition he prayed:
"Truly adversity has afflicted me and You are Most Merciful of all who show mercy." (21: 83)
Allah accepted his prayer. The Holy Qur'an affirms:
"Then We heard his prayer and removed that adversity from which he suffered, and We gave him his household and the like thereof along with them, a mercy from Our store and remembrance for the worshippers." (21: 84)

The Prophet Ayyub Recovers and Prospers: Allah turned to him with mercy. He was commanded to strike the earth with his foot. He complied with the order and water from the spring gushed forth. He took a bath with the water and got cured from his evil disease. After this he was restored to prosperity. The Prophet Ayyub (peace be upon him) knelt and prayed expressing a deep sense of gratitude to Allah. He never forgot His favors, mercy and love.
The Prophet Ayyub (peace be upon him) was one of the celebrated Prophets. His example illustrates: that those who remain patient under the stress · of all circumstances, art never deprived of high rewards. The Holy Qur'an affirms:
"And surely we try you with something of fear and hunger, and loss of wealth and crops, but give glad-tidings to the steadfast, who when a misfortune befalls them, say lo! we are Allah's (possession of Allah) and to Him shall we surely return. · Such are they on whom are blessings from their Lord, and mercy. Such are the rightly-guided." (2: 155-157)

Now, whether or not you want to believe what the Qu'ran states about Ayyub, or the Bible, or the Torah, that is completely up to you. I am just seeking to drive home a point about someone I know in this day and age, someone who is very dear to my heart and to my family, someone who has suffered tremendously, and someone whose story might--just might--help me to finally get my failing patience in check.

It's my friend K.M. Some of you know her. K.M. is most likely the smartest person I know; she is a mathematical genius who took her university by storm and solved equations her professors could not. She used to close her eyes and prove theorems in her head before she slept at night. K.M. is a light in my life and in my heart. I've now known her for fourteen years, and she's the best person I know. K.M.'s been through some Job-like tests in the past five years, and she's still standing. She has not abandoned her faith or her family; she has not given up on these difficult, difficult challenges she is facing. She has not stopped.

Several years ago, K.M.'s house caught on fire and was nearly completely destroyed. She and her husband were both burned, while her husband (who saved his wife from being burned severely in a very heroic manner) suffered 3rd degree burns and had to undergo a series of painful surgeries and even more painful recovery. She did not lose her sense of humor or her positive outlook through the entire ordeal. To her, the house was "just stuff." She and her husband were patient; they persevered, the house was re-done, and things were looking up.

When K.M. and her husband found out they were expecting their first child, they were ecstatic. They had tried to have a child for years, but she always knew that lamenting over getting pregnant would not result in pregnancy. K.M. had a difficult pregnancy and her firstborn arrived with some physical complications. She and her husband took it in stride, however, and that child is the sweetest, most precious little guy I know. Not two years later, K.M. discovered she was expecting baby number two, and was warned that there could be grave health problems associated with the fetus. Alhamdulillah, the baby was born healthy and lovely, but not without her mother having been scared and worried during the pregnancy. Again, K.M.'s attitude was stellar during the whole ordeal. Always thinking positively, always thanking her Lord.

Last Fall I received news that K.M. had been diagnosed with a rare, relatively 'new' form of breast cancer known as Inflammatory Breast Cancer, or IBC. (I urge all of you ladies to read about this disease, its signs, and its treatment.) K.M., along with the rest of her family and circle of friends were shocked by this news, since this cancer begins at stage IIIB or stage IV, unlike other breast cancers that can be detected at pre-stage I. K.M. began treatment immediately, and let me tell you what kind of hero she was! Let me tell you! She not only continued to take care of her two small kids, but also kept teaching second graders full time. She worked and worked and in between, went to the hospital for treatment that would put most of us flat on the ground. She lost her head hair, nose hair, eyebrows, eyelashes--you name it. Her taste buds were nearly destroyed, her skin on her lips blackened, her right arm swelled to the size of a giant balloon. After months of chemotherapy, she had a complete mastectomy which removed most of her chest wall. She became concave, with an incision that did not want to heal, that continued to become infected because of the high dosages of radiation she had to begin almost immediately after her surgery.

Did she call me up and complain? Once? Did she write herself off of the list of survivors? Oh, no, she did not. She was the doctors' best patient, doing everything they told her. She was positive. She would fight, and fight, and fight. And those who had known her for so many years, who had taken advantage of her kindness and generosity, well, some ran and hid and could not face her. I assume it was their shame that kept them away. And that small circle of friends who remained--you know who you are--you are all she needed, all along, anyway.

Alhamdulillah, Alhamdulillah, Alhamdulillah.

Tonight, if it's Laylatul Qadr, or if it is just any night in which you prostrate your head to the ground, ask Allah to heal this sister. Do it. Because this sister, who has not completely recovered from the trial she was given last Fall, from this horrid, rapidly spreading, rare breast cancer, now has brain tumors. Yes, the doctors just discovered tumors on her brain, in various regions, and have started an aggressive round of whole-brain radiation to kill those insidious cancer cells. This sister is still teaching a class full of second graders how to add and subtract double digits, how to read their surahs properly, how to raise their hands in the classroom. She is still taking care of her home and her family. She is still wondering what her survival chances will be after battling (and winning!) the breast cancer fight, and now she's on the battlefield against tumors in her brain.

Oh Allah! Heal this sister and return her to strong physical health. Give her the strength to keep standing through these tests; give her the insight to know that she is loved. So loved! Oh Allah, heal this beautiful person, this gift of a mother, a friend, a wife, a leader of youth, a teacher to so many. Oh Allah! Heal this sister, this person who has been my voice of reason for so many years, when times were dark in my life and she was the one who could always shake me out of it, simply by being frank and positive. Oh Allah! Heal my dear friend, heal this one whose children need her, whose husband needs her, whose parents need her, whose friends need her. Heal her. Ameen.

Anyone find Rumpelstiltskin?

2009-09-12T11:20:00.005+03:00

This summer the kids and I ventured into quite a few educationally-based toy stores and craft stores. We were often met at the door by a display of personalized water bottles for kids to take to school. We would make a joke out of looking for their names on the mugs, starting with the "A"'s and moving all the way to "H." Of course we never found any of their names--not even mine, which was the most popular name (or so I'm told) for girls from 1971 - 1973, mostly due to the popularity of the movie Love Story. You know what love means, don't ya? I guess moms don't fancy naming their daughters after Ali McGraw anymore, because I never found my terribly common name, once.

My two smaller girls wanted these water bottles because they seemed sturdy and were awfully cute. I told them they couldn't because it would be silly to walk around with cups displaying names that weren't theirs.

I guess the joke is on me. I've seen these mugs/bottles all over Amman this month, and last week I saw a gaggle of kiddies at my daughters' school carrying them. Perhaps their moms did not care they were giving their kids an "Alyssa" or "Aaron" water bottle. For the boys, perhaps a "Jared" or "Hunter" thirst quencher?

I think this would be a good business for an enterprising young mind: make personalized water bottles in Arabic for school kids. Can't you just hear the Ahmeds and Muhammads duking it out in the school yard over whose bottle is whose?

From the Moment I Could Talk, I Was Ordered to Listen

2009-09-08T15:34:00.000+03:00

Masjid Kiddies

2009-09-07T13:23:00.003+03:00

Kinzi asked me what I think about children being in the masjid, especially during the taraweeh prayers. I think that if the child is old enough to pray, and is responsible in his prayer, (i.e., can stand still without fidgeting too much, or talking, or especially laughing), the masjid is the foremost training ground for teaching good adab. I mean, it has to start somewhere, and learning the etiquette of the masjid is something I felt was second nature to teach to my kids when I lived in the states. From the time my oldest was one year old, she could sit by my side for a few minutes while I prayed, and would even begin to mimic my movements. The masjid was our second home; my husband worked there, I worked in the school adjacent, and my kids knew what to do and what not to do.

Here it's a different story. We cannot expect our children to know how to behave in a house of worship when we do not take them with us except during the most crucial time of the year for making extra prayers, when the rows are packed to their fullest and the temptation is just too great to misbehave. In the US our masjid had a babysitting room for those mothers who wished to leave their toddlers or small kids for an hour in order to have some concentration in their prayers. While it did not always run smoothly, the babysitting was at least an opportunity for the women. I cannot understand why a woman would take her 2 year old to the masjid and expect him to sit through 20 rakats of prayer and recitation without causing some sort of disturbance. Multiply this by 20 or 30 other kids, some of whom are plenty old enough to know how to behave but do not, and the noise level in the masjid can reach some ridiculous levels, not to mention ruin the concentration of those who have come sincerely to worship.

So, Kinzi, et al, my message is this: Teach the kids how to act, enforce it, expect it, and most likely they'll comply. If these ladies know their kids are disruptive, they should surely stay home and wait till after the kids' bedtime, so they can have that peaceful quiet reflection they are seeking in the masjid, but within the walls of their homes. How many years have I had to sacrifice this...and still do? And Allah knows our intentions.

I quite like my living room.

Yo, Britons!

2009-09-02T22:41:00.003+03:00

This is a special shout-out to those UK brothers and sisters who have donated to the 2009 Food Box Project. You know who you are; more importantly, Allah knows who you are. Money is tight 'round the world these days, but it is also abundant in many pockets and banks. Food is scarce 'round the world these days, but it is also overeaten and tossed in too many pockets of society. Amman is a dichotomy; lavish iftars are held where the idea of even feeling those pangs of hunger for 12 measly hours is quickly squelched by loads and loads and loads of food and drink.

Then there are those children, all over the city, on those jabals where many do not venture, or in those mukhayyems that are only remembered once a year, at best, by those who have more than they can ever use. These are the kids whose iftars consist of 'addas soup and bread, sometimes a salad, for thirty consecutive days. And then after Ramadan, their dinners will be the same. All year.

So come on, local people, share the love. Share the wealth. And you UK folks...well, you have a special place in my heart, and in my du'as.

I am Excitement

2009-08-30T07:45:00.003+03:00

Which is kind of like "I am Legend," only no Will Smith, no zombies. On the other hand, perhaps we are indeed a family of zombies. We're not walking around with outstretched arms moaning, but we're dancing to the tune of, "Up, down, up, down, sleep deprived, spin around!" most days. This is part of the Ramadan exhaustion, but also because it's back-to-school week for all four kiddies.

Yesterday I took my oldest gal to her new school. Without getting too specific, I think it's going to take me a long time to wipe the grin off of my face. I see long-term goals that are not unreachable. Part of my vision for Jordanian education is for the lines of socio-economic divisions to become blurred, and eventually disappear. For the sense of entitlement that so many of Jordan's youth have--or is it a small percentage of in-your-face upper crust?--an entitlement that is undeserved, unearned. In my little educational book, one must actually do something in order to be entitled to a reward, even something as trivial as a pat on the back. The recognition of family name over integrity, of bankroll over know-how, is an antiquated system that is keeping many of this country's deserving young minds in the undeserving ranks of society. Hard work. Hard work. Hard work. I think we're on to something.

Have I mentioned that this summer has been unusually long? We began ours on June 14, ending it on August 30. Not bad at all, making it over the two month mark. I suppose I'll have to break down and buy a few juice boxes to put in their new lunch boxes now that the kids are school-bound. I read on some one's blog the other day that their house was a juice-free zone. I like that, except that we all love 100% orange juice. I don't think the kids can give that up. We also like to make lemonade the Filipino way, which is to put the juice of one lemon, then cut up the actual lemon rind, seeds and all, into quarters, add water and sugar, blend with a bit of ice, then strain off the thick stuff. If you've never had fresh lemonade blended with the rind, you're missing out. Nah, I think we're juice folks to some degree.

Exciting times in this household, yes indeed. New schools, old schools revisited, long summer memories, fasting and surviving in the summer, and a new appreciation for juiced fruits. Hold me back; I just might burst. I hope all of you have a great week.

Sunrise, Sunset

2009-08-20T09:46:00.004+03:00

As the sacred, blessed, beautiful month of Ramadan approaches, I have a few thoughts.

1. I must remind myself that it is not about the food. If it were about the food, it would be a month of feasting, not fasting. I will not stress about meals. I will not overcook, only to be dismayed to throw away uneaten rice, meat, chicken, veggies, or soggy salads two days later.

2. It's not about the food. If I invite people to my home, cooking the exact amount needed is not a demonstration of my inhospitality. If I needed to feed an army, I would cook accordingly. If everyone gets one piece of chicken, then I've done just fine. I am neither a stingy nor frugal hostess, but rather responsible.

In the U.S. it seemed easier to keep these principles in motion. Here, however, it has become more of a challenge. Witnessing grown men come to blows over purchasing qatayyef dough or buying bags of puke-yellow lemonade is not a pretty sight.

I pray that my sarcasm is tempered during this month. I pray my temper remains in check. I pray that my intentions are pure. I pray that my circle of friends and loved ones can reflect the light of this month and that we, as I've always said we do, will hold each other up. Ameen.

And it's not about the food. But speaking of food, there are still those hundreds and hundreds of families who will struggle this month to put even the most basic of foods on their families' tables. Our Ramadan food drive is up and running; last year it was a huge success, mashaAllah. Anyone wanting to donate again, please do not hesitate to contact me. (see post: Tying up Loose Ends)

Some previous posts about Ramadan:
On Seeking the Meaning of Ramadan

Ramadan Sanadi

Tying up Loose Ends

Cave Emergence

2009-08-13T06:34:00.003+03:00

This summer in Amman has apparently been super mild. Last night I got a "chill" and had to cover with a new Bed Bath & Beyond chenille throw that would typically be reserved for winterdom. (In my book, Jordan's winter is a kingdom, not a season.) The only time I've been hot in my house is when I've turned on the oven this week, which has not been but once or twice. I have also lost my flair for cooking these days, just throwing together this or that, because my heart is not in it. My heart is not in it because most afternoons I cannot think straight. I've never been one to take jet-lag that seriously, because I usually bounce back from travel quite easily. But this trip beats all; I have now been back 11 days, and am still whacked out in the sleep department, only to become even more upside-down when Ramadan begins in a little over a week.

Last year I made a Facebook group and took pictures of many things I prepared during the month of Ramadan, and invited others to share their pictures as well. I need to re-visit these photos and their descriptions, and compile a list of the most simple of meals. I honestly forget what is in my meager repertoire of abilities, and can end up serving makloobeh or molokhia more times than anyone cares to eat.

There are not many people in the world I care to visit with now. Yesterday I saw a few of my closest friends, and another just returned from overseas travel. There are a few folks on my list of "wanna sees" but I really have enjoyed the closeness and solitude of being in my homecave with just my husband and kids. I have often referred to that Seinfeld episode where Jerry remarks about having no more room in his life for new friends; he's not taking any more applications. It's not that I intentionally want to be closed off, but rather, it's what I need. I felt quite overwhelmed on my trip home thinking about all of my old friends in the Birmingham community. Everyone is so spread out and I did not want to bombard my parents' house with phone calls or answering machine messages. Truly, there are many ladies I'd love to have seen, but I could not go seeking everyone out. I had neither the time nor the resources, and I had wanted to dedicated the crux of my trip to just hanging out with my newly retired mom. Which is what we did. Anyone wanting to get haughty or grudge-like, remember this: the traveler is the one who should be visited and greeted. That's one thing about Arab culture I absolutely agree with! The lady with four kids who traveled 7,000 miles is expected to drive all over the city to visit others? No, no.

This morning I finished one of the most perfectly written novels depicting a dysfunctional family: Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant. Anne Tyler is one of my favorites, especially the way she writes about women, their inner battles, and how they lose (and sometimes reclaim) themselves in relationships. One could not help but feel sorry for the main character, Pearl Tull, whose children half-heartedly love her but blame her for most of what has befallen them. She was a mother of three little ones, abandoned by her husband whom she had "worn down." Pearl reminds me of a dozen women I know or have known. It's an old book--1982--but so worth the read. It also made me hungry for meatloaf and mashed potatoes; yes, something I can put down on my Meals for Ramadan list.

Hotlanta Notlanta

2009-08-09T13:51:00.002+03:00

I guess that this rear-kicking jet lag has also pulled me into an abyss of writer's block, for which I am actually grateful. I've wanted nothing to do with planes, trains, automobiles, or techno gadgets since I've been home.

The trip from Amman to the United States was terrific; heck, it was almost effortless. "This is too good to be true," I thought to myself on more than one occasion while making that trek.

Right.

On August 31 we left the Birmingham airport nearly 3 hours later than scheduled, on a flight that was not even ours (ours had been canceled). We sat on the runway in Atlanta waiting for a place to "park" the plane at a terminal. It was obvious that Delta had made some mighty blunders that day--blunders they were blaming on inclement weather in order to get out of having to compensate the thousands upon thousands of passengers who were about to miss their connections. That Delta flight to London had been waiting on us, paging us, holding out for us to make the flight. We missed it by 15 minutes. I wonder who got that row of four empty seats and was able to stretch out an entire body's length, snoozing over the Atlantic. Lucky chap.

What we found in Atlanta airport's Concourse C was something quite Katrina-esque. I have never in my life seen so many people standing in one line. "Something must be terribly wrong," I told the kids, and decided that we would hightail it to Concourse E, the International terminal, where our connecting flight had already departed. What we found there was no better: thousands of people, not hundreds, lying on the floors, standing in lines, wrapping themselves around every possible corner of the terminal in order to talk to two? three? booking agents. It was 11:45 p.m., and at 4:45 a.m. I finally reached the counter, where we were re-routed for a flight that would take place two days later. Two days, stuck in a city only 160 miles from my original destination. "No ma'am, we will not assist you with a hotel," she told me. "No ma'am, we do not give out food vouchers, I'm afraid you are on your own."

The kids had been sit-sleeping in chairs while I stood in line. We got ourselves together, and at the crack of dawn, made our way (walking--the trains don't run that late) to the other side of the monstrous airport, and flung ourselves into the first hotel van we saw. "I don't care if they do not have a vacancy--I'll sleep in the lobby," I told the kids. They looked horrified, but knew I was serious.

I think that bus driver knew a panicked, exhausted mom when he saw one. He walkie-talkied the Ramada, and was told there was one room left. We took it.

The next day, my dear sweet friend, Minnie Pearl, drove to Atlanta with her husband and children, picked us up, and took us to one of the finer hotel chains in the city. It was as if she breathed new life into all of us, and the smiles returned to our faces for a bit. We ate one of the best Chinese meals we have ever eaten, showered half a dozen times, sucked down coffee perked in our room and collapsed on down comforters. Oh, yes.

Then, finally on Sunday, we were driven to the airport for what we hoped would be the last time. After standing at the check-in for over an hour, since we had been re-issued "reservations" but no seats, we were cleared to go. We went to Paris and then on to Amman, where our bags had been flown on a Delta flight the previous day. Everything was more or less in tact, but most importantly, we were back.

We can plan, make reservations, plan, map out adventures, and plan some more. But we are not the best of planners. Our day excursion in London was sacked, and I'm convinced there was some wisdom behind this.

I'm just glad it's over and I will not be signing up for overseas travel any time soon.
::clicking my ruby red slippers::

Fil Bayt

2009-08-04T06:29:00.002+03:00

It took me 4 entire days to get home, but we're home.

Home.

Once again, I had to remind myself how high ceilings are here.

I've got to work on a good letter to Delta. What a travesty it was that occured in Atlanta on Friday! (Which is why I did not make it home till Monday night.)

Home.

Vacation Post #8: Winding Down

2009-07-27T18:40:00.004+03:00

Five weeks is a decent amount of vacation time.

I've seen old friends (and I'm talking about some friendships that were cemented before I had lost more than four baby teeth.)

I've seen relatives I love, and spoken daily to those I cannot see. I got to hug my big tall sweet nephew and pick his brain about being a Liberal Arts guy. It was like looking at a mirror image of myself. Love those guys who follow their hearts and study what is important to them as opposed to that which will give them a guaranteed bankroll.

I've shopped enough to last me plenty. I know we can get most things in Jordan these days, but it's still such a good feeling to participate in a real sale, not a sale in the guise of a sale which is really a dinar-swiping ripoff pretending to be a sale.

I've given half.com some money. Whoa, what a tremendous gift is half.com! Just yesterday I got a hardback (700 + pages), excellent condition, for just .75, plus a few bucks shipping. This book retails for $26.00. Oh, yeah!

I've had my morning coffee daily while chatting with my Mom about everything from the life-paired cardinals eating seeds outside to the heartbreak of her sister's passing this year. We've talked.

I've taken the same shortcut so many times--one that resembles an Amazon rain forest canopy lush with ferns and darkened on the sunniest days--that my kids now say, "We're getting sick of this green." I, however, am not.

I've gained weight, which was to be expected. I'm just padding myself in preparation for the August-September Ramadan. At least that makes me feel better.

I've had my 91 year-old Grandmother tell me stories about when I was little and what she and I used to do. She looked at my hardened-from-Jordan hands and recommended a bit of Keri lotion. She can still make heads turn, that one.

See you on the flip side!

Vacation Post #7: Miscellany

2009-07-20T06:29:00.002+03:00

This is Iguana Grill. Owned by a group of Mexican businessmen who decided that if the Mexican population is going to contribute something superb to the city of Birmingham, it should be a top-notch, delicious, beautifully decorated restaurant. They succeeded, and my tummy thanks them for it. Where else might I order a tamarind virgin margarita? Hint for those of you with furniture from the 80s: Just turn that old papazan chair bottom upside down, stick a bulb in it, and bingo, instant decor.

This is Homewood Park. That creek was the site of many a tadpole adventure my friends and I had as kids. Now it's widened and goopy, but the park grounds are terrific. Friday nights you can bring a cooler, blanket, and the kids, and watch a free movie. My children were automatically drawn to the latino kids each time we've visited this park. It must be in their blood.

Here's a large triangular slice of homemade cornbread being warmed up. Yum. Did I mention butter?

This was fishing day, 2009.

These are Bradford trees that my husband planted about 14 years ago. They finally provide a bit o' shade for the teachers who have to sit and watch the kids play on that blindingly hot/sunny playground. I used to be one of them. (a teacher, not a kid)

Vacation Post #6: Reunions

2009-07-16T23:15:00.003+03:00

The past ten days have been filled with hours and hours of reconnecting with old friends. Seattle gal left yesterday--we had a blast.

Today I had lunch with my old neighbor (elementary school through graduation). She is now a PhD psychologist. She looked just as beautiful as she did many years ago, always put-together, confident, pragmatic. And yesterday I sat on my dear high school Spanish teacher's couch, sipping iced tea and catching up on the past twenty years. I took along my photo album from the Mexico trip I took with her in 1989, and she, in turn, handed me a stack of photos to sift through. The first one I came across was of me, wearing a homemade tie-dyed t-shirt and standing in front of a recently scribbled-on large poster that read: "Go ask Alice, when she's ten feet tall." I suppose I was having a retro Jefferson Airplane moment before having that photo taken. (Oh Seattle friend, there's one of us together, too.) We laughed and laughed about so many crazy times in our lives. Just thinking about the effect my Senora had on so many of our lives makes me weepy: the tools she gave us--and so many of us--went on to make the Spanish language an integral part of our lives and studies.

Some people never look back after getting through those formative, sometimes even ugly, adolescent years. I am thankful for those opportunities to cement what seem to be lifelong relationships. I seem to have the memory that prefers to recall trivial, often ridiculous snippets of my past, which can make for some laughs.

Good times!

Vacation Post #5: Waterlogged

2009-07-13T17:43:00.003+03:00

Yesterday dear friend and I hooked up at the park in the late afternoon for an extremely overcast, brink-of-rain couple of hours. The cool breezes rushed in and blew away the humidity and it was actually brilliantly pleasant Alabama summer weather. When the kids had had their fill of fun, we opted for some pizza at a local 'oven,' one where said friend and I ate many a pizza as youngsters.

It was a great night: God provided us with rainstorms and mad puddle-jumping opportunities. I have video of our seven (yeesh!) kids shrieking with laughter, running up and down the sleepy town sidewalks in front of the pizza joint. My son even took a shower in the building run-off water. It's pretty fantastic to think about that many raindrops falling on my kids' heads in the middle of July. After a while we realized that most of the restaurant's patrons were standing in the window, watching our motley crue make the most of what others may find dreary.

Here's to memory making!

Vacation Post #4: Let's Eat

2009-07-12T07:08:00.004+03:00

I didn't work hard all year, exercising like a fiend (well, not a fiend, but a decently dedicated spinner) to come here and gain it all back.

Nevertheless, I've enjoyed some mighty tasty meals in the last two weeks. Yesterday was my birthday, and just so happened to be Cow Appreciation Day at Chic-fil-A. They were having a deal where if one dressed up as a cow--full costume--said cow would receive a free meal. Did I do it? Well,

no. I opted for being treated to Thai/sushi by my dear friend who flew in all the way from Washington state. It's been a fab reunion and I finally got to meet her three darling kids. Our kids collectively bonded as if they've known each other for ages. Great, great fun.

I did, however, have a Chic-fil-a sammy with my kids earlier in the week. And some vanilla bean cheesecake yesterday. And some bread sticks and salad from the Olive Garden a few days ago. And tonight I made a blueberry cobbler using four pints of fresh blueberries. It'll be an anti-oxidizing dessert-fest when we eat it tomorrow, topped with Blue Bell natural vanilla bean. Good Lord, it'll be time to spin, spin, spin once we go back.

But, for now, I'm enjoying each and every bite.

Vacation Post #3: Let's Read

2009-07-10T02:54:00.004+03:00

So far on this trip I've ventured into a few bookstores. For some reason I keep drifting over to the "Summer Reading" or "Required Reading" sections, which mainly display classics or new-to-me classics. I'm always looking for that great novel I somehow missed in the ten years I was too busy to read for leisure/pleasure, because I was seemingly always giving birth or nursing someone. Or wiping a bottom. Or cooking.

Lo and behold, oldest daughter's new school just sent me a summer reading list for all students. I was thrilled to get it, as well as surprised at how many contemporary novels are on it. I circled all of the books we'd already read, then the ones I've had on a "to read" list for some time, then the ones I have on the shelf at home but have not yet tackled, then the ones I do not own, have not read, but still am interested in. We more or less drew lines or circles all over both pages of the list.

At one of the bookstores this week, before I even knew about the summer reading, I bought:
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time
Cry, the Beloved Country

Off to the library we went today, where we found a few from the list and checked out:
Animal Farm
Their Eyes Were Watching God
Fahrenheit 451

Then we headed downstairs to the library's basement, which houses a used book bookstore. I love that place! For $3.75, we purchased:
A Confederacy of Dunces
The Quiet American
The Golden Compass
Song of Solomon
The World According to Mr. Rogers (not on list)

Hurrah for books. Hurrah for literacy. Hurrah for Jordanian schools that care about both!

Vacation Post #2

2009-07-07T06:28:00.003+03:00

I've been to Opelika.
That's Oh-puh-like-uh.
It is near Auburn, home of the Tigers,
sworn rivals of the Elephants.

Passed two lakes to get there,
contemplating the beauty
of Hwy 280 scenery.
Really, it's pretty.

Hugged my cousin, 16 years my
elder. She lost her mom in March,
that dear, sweet, sweetheart.
Talked and laughed and ate
and reminisced.
The kids rode golf carts
on land. Almost into the pond.

Four Jordanian-Palestinian-American
kids, hooking worms on
cane poles with an aged
great uncle-by-marriage, a new widower,
a sad man, made happy for
a few hours with those
chatty kids.

17 fish caught, including one bass.
A 2-pounder.
I once caught the 5-pounder
with the same uncle, then younger.
Squeamish son transformed into
champion worm-hooker.

Mentioning to my cousin a friend 'back home,'
a lady whom
I admire and miss, and wish
I'd have gotten to know better,
who lived
briefly in Amman, I drew
quick attention.
"Would you happen to know, this grandma
of my friend, she makes..."

"Come with me! Come with me!"
as she took me to her own room, showed me
a picture of a studio. A quilting studio.
They, too, treasured this fine lady and her work,
her contributions to art, culture,
hospitality, and southern finesse.
The resident architect
of the house, my cousin's son, Ed, had worked on
this studio. Ms. Mozell gave him a quilt.
She had him
over for supper. Ed is a gem.

I got a t-shirt with Ms. Benson's studio on it.
A treasure.

The day was a perfect one. Somehow we wove
that Alabama-Jordan connection
into an even tighter thread
of recognition, understanding,
and small-worldedness, in the best
of ways.
Simply.

Vacation Post #1

2009-06-30T14:36:00.002+03:00

Well, I haven't done so well in the Dr. Pepper restraint department, but that's OK.

The flight was uneventful--as uneventful as taking three planes for a total of 17 hours flying time can be. I assume I slept 8 hours of the first flight, because when I woke up, we only had 4 hours left. Leaving at 12:40 a.m. from Amman is THE WAY TO DO IT, especially when you have a bevvy of kids who need to sleep. It's actually dark at that time.

Once again I feel like I'm in some kind of tropical paradise, with the greenery like a new discovery. And friendly smiles. Two years ago on my Alabama visit I think I wrote about how nice everyone is. Still true. It looked as if the lady at the DMV was going to reach over yesterday and hug my neck.

I'm beside myself with happiness from the simplicity of just sitting with my parents, barbeque-ing some chicken on the grill, or watching Cash Cab on the Discovery channel. I tried to think of a way Jordanian taxi drivers could come up with a "Fluus Taxi" trivia game for those unsuspecting passengers who could actually win money instead of fork it out for a taxi ride. The hilarious possibilities are endless for such a game, which would never work in our fair land. Those of you living there know what I mean.

We're off for a family swim.

Something Nice

2009-06-26T13:36:00.000+03:00

Really Short Farewell Haiku

2009-06-26T10:32:00.001+03:00

Leaving on jet plane
Sing me a folk tune, maybe
Prayers requested.

The Fun Stopped

2009-06-26T10:28:00.002+03:00

It doesn't matter who you are or in which corner of the world you reside:

We all have a Michael Jackson memory of some kind.

I have many.

Inna lilahhi wa inna ilayhi raji'oon.

Got your goose

2009-06-24T11:37:00.001+03:00

Please read/look at this post featuring famous geese.

Brilliant.

Checks and Balances

2009-06-24T09:42:00.004+03:00

This is a more or less useless post, but...

I know I've lived in Amman for a while when I am jubilant about the price of Dr. Pepper dropping nearly 25 piasters (cents). When I first spotted Dr. Pepper in 2002, it could only be found at a few stores, and sporadically, at that. I would happily pay 70 piasters ($1 US) for one can, but would only do so about twice a month, allowing myself to have three or four, maximum. (I have even paid a whole Jordanian Dinar ($1.41 US) for one single, lonely can.) If comparing my usual consumption with that of the average American soda drinker, that's barely a traceable amount of corn syrup, folks.

Dr. Pepper is medicinal. It was made in a pharmacy. Whether or not it contains any bona fide healing elements does not matter to me; it makes me feel good, and I allow myself this little treat every now and then. I swear it has nursed my through many a sore throat or cough. I sometimes test my restraint by keeping a few cans of it in the fridge and seeing how many days I can go without grabbing one. Albeit, I usually hide them from myself behind a large Tupperware dish of leftovers, but my heart knows they're there. Those burgundy-colored cans are filled with cold, brown, bubbly, fruity rewards.

Lately I've been able to find D.P. for half a dinar, namely at Miles Supermarket and Carrefour. Carrefour is hit-or-miss, however, so I usually count on Miles to carry the goods. (Miles provides a calm, clean, superbly air-conditioned shopping environment with hard-wood floors and a lovely bakery, too). I am not disapprovingly questioning the sudden decrease in price, but I also do not want Dr. Pepper to become too affordable. If, say, it dropped down to 35 piasters, I just might feel inclined to drink one every day. This would undoubtedly throw off my system of checks and balances I've so scrutinizingly laid out for myself, not to mention my health/weight.

What will become of me this coming month, as I leave the comfort of my Middle Eastern self-restraint and cruise the aisles of U.S. hypermarkets? As I spot case after case of every soft drink known to man, including Dr. Pepper's old adversary, Mr. Pibb, which is sometimes sold for much cheaper? I've even been known to throw back a knock-off of the knock-off, Dr. Thunder, which is manufactured by the big, bad, small-business-crushing Wal-Mart. Sigh.

Must. Resist. Temptation.

Thankful: A Short List on a Hot Day

2009-06-21T14:57:00.004+03:00

1. new friends
2. old friends
3. speedy passport services, both Jordanian and U.S.
4. smoke-free facilities where the "law" is being enforced
5. smiling check-out men/women in shops
6. my kids who make me laugh
7. anticipation, the good kind, not antsy kind
8. imitation crab for 1.5 JD to put in a cool summer salad
9. the prospect of getting air conditioners installed, tomorrow
10. a new nephew who adores this toy, and the friend who brought the toy across the world for me (double thanks!)

Minnie's Comin' Round the Mountain

2009-06-16T08:47:00.002+03:00

So today is the day when I gather with my lovely friend Minnie Pearl, who is perhaps the funniest person I know. She's like a stand-up comedienne who sits on a couch. Her stories of life growing up in 'rural' Alabama mixed with her experiences living in 'rural' Jordan are some of the most colorful I've ever heard. I can go for years and years without seeing Minnie, but as soon as we reunite, we just pick back up where we left off.

I have a picture of her son when he was 18 months old. Now he's entering 11th grade.

Blink, blink, blink.

I'm reminded of that Jim Croce song, Time in a Bottle. I couldn't find him singing it, but I found a substitute.

Sometimes I sit back and think deep, deep thoughts about all of the people who have touched my life. I wonder if there is any more room in my heart sometimes, and then I meet someone new, and realize that yes, I seem to have limitless compartments for little memories to be made, tucked away, to be pulled out and pondered or laughed about in future moments. Lots of love, lots of love. I am sad for those ladies out there who steer clear of those gifts of friendship.

Gone to the Dogs

2009-06-09T09:08:00.005+03:00

If this post makes some of you angry, sad, or starts a big raucous debate in your home, then my intention has been fulfilled.

The dog has been here for a month. She is just the sweetest thing ever. Trying to find a home for her is not going to be easy, and keeping her looks next to impossible.

I've been a Muslim for 15 years. I understand fully the impermissibility of keeping a dog inside of my home. She is a guard dog/herding dog, not a pet, and she is outdoors. She does not tongue-lash us in the face. If she drools on our clothing or our hands, we (get ready, this is our own common sense at work), wash whatever it is she licked! At the same time, however, we have shown this dog compassion, mercy, and care, and if that includes love, so be it.

The uproar that this dog has caused among my neighbors--mostly kids--is something I just cannot wrap my head around. Every day we have a dozen youngsters ringing our bell, telling us tall tales of this dog's recent doings.

"She bit my brother."
"She ate a cat."
"She chased us all the way to school."
"She is scaring my sister."
"That dog of yours is .... "

Funny, because 90% of the time, she's locked within the gates around our home; the other times, one of us is walking her on a leash. Most of the time the "lynchers" show up at our entrance brandishing large sticks. Someone threw garbage at her, down into our yard. Another kid threw perfume on her. She has apparently been hosed with water at a high pressure, because she shows signs of post-traumatic stress disorder whenever she hears water running.

What makes parents so smug that they can instill (or ignore) cruel behaviors in their children? All of the studies I have read involving cases of animal cruelty in children usually point to their growing up to be sociopaths. I found this list on a site that advocates parental rights in a society where children seem to rule the roost. It's a list of possible sociopathic behavior. Ya Allah, I see so many of these among both the young and the adult population here, it's just not funny. Tragic. It's tragic.

Aggression to people and animals
1. often bullies, threatens, or intimidates others
2. often initiates physical fights
3. has used a weapon that can cause serious physical harm to others (e.g., a bat, brick, broken bottle, knife, gun)
4. has been physically cruel to animals
5. has stolen while confronting a victim (e.g., mugging, purse snatching, extortion, armed robbery)
Destruction of property
6. has deliberately engaged in fire setting with the intention of causing serious damage
7. has deliberately destroyed others’ property (other than by fire setting)
Deceitfulness or theft
8. often lies to obtain goods or favors or to avoid obligations (i.e., “cons” others)
9. has stolen items of nontrivial value without confronting a victim (e.g., shoplifting, but without breaking and entering; forgery)

Well, now, should I go through each of these 9 points with examples from my own experiences with people in Jordan? I could keep you here for a while.

What happened to compassion for living creatures? Islam shows us too many examples of the establishment of the rights of animals, over 1400 years ago. Who does not know the hadith about the cat and the fate of the woman who starved it? Who does not know the hadith about the man who filled his shoe with water to quench the thirst of a dog? Who does not know the story of Prophet Muhammad cutting the cloth from his own cloak to prevent disturbing a sleeping cat at his feet? Slapping donkeys in the face or setting fires in dumpsters to burn cats or showing up at my gate with sticks to beat our guest: no, these are not the guidelines for our path to a comfortable afterlife. Yet parents sit idly by, with their little boy do-no-wrong angels, saying nothing.

I believe it's time for a vacation. And if anyone can help me find a kind, loving family for this dog, where no one can harm her, please email me personally.

Season Finale

2009-06-06T14:41:00.003+03:00

It was a bright, sunny, yet cool-breezy day as parents and players gathered for the end-of-the-season ceremonies yesterday. Amman Little League Association, or A.L.L.A.

Baseball has been berry, berry good to me.

Would you look at that crystal blue sky?

My daughter, #14, was sad to see it end. Practice that swing, girl, and I think you'll be coming back.

Summer Streams

2009-06-06T10:26:00.002+03:00

My stream-of-consciousness thinking as I was reading some yahooligan news lead me to jot this post down. I was sitting here dreaming of the upcoming summer vacation, which has been extended three entire weeks, compared to last year's summer. Hurrah for Ramadan falling in August. (check with me in August to see if I'm still saying 'hurrah.' Oh. My. The. Thirst.)

Summer = sunshine = iced tea = lazy long days= possible excursions = sitting next to bodies of water = sand = Central Florida? = this article.

Did you know this, sister?

Beaches of Brevard County, Fla.
In the past 100 years, there have been 90 reported shark confrontations on beaches in this county on Florida's east coast. Visitors head east from Orlando to the ocean to dip toes in the tepid waters at Cocoa Beach, Jetty Park and Klondike Beach, a 24-mile-long wilderness beach accessible only by foot in Canaveral National Seashore preserve.

Pass the Fox, you Angry Raisin!

2009-06-03T21:48:00.004+03:00

Many moons ago when I was studying the Spanish language at a level of fluency, we focused largely on modismos, or idioms, a.k.a. figures of speech. Spanish is so rich in idioms! And we all know that English is full of them; in fact, my kids have a book that deals only with figures of speech having to do with animals. (Don't stare a gift horse in the mouth, I tell you.)

I love idiomatic expressions in each language I can speak, but they do not usually translate literally. Or figuratively. Usually they just don't translate, period. This can make for some hearty laughs, or in my case, major embarrassment. Why, I could have even be shunned from an entire community with some of the junk I've said, mistakenly, in Arabic. On the same token, much of what we understand as everyday expressions in Arabic would just confuse the native English speaker if translated exactly. Examples? Don't worry, these are fairly clean.

1. Damha khafeef

Literally, "her blood is thin." Figuratively, "She's funny/enjoyable."

2. Damha ta'eel

Literally, "her blood is thick." Figuratively, "She's spoiled."

3. Ya sat'el!

Literally, "You bucket." Figuratively, "You dumb bleepity bleep."

4. Conversations with friends, and sometimes strangers, that go something like this:

Keefek?

Alhamdulillah, keefek enti?

Alhamdulillah.

Shu akhbarek?

Alhamdulillah.

Shu akhbarek enti?

Alhamdulillah.

Literally:

How are you?

All praise is due to God. How are you?

All praise is due to God.

What's your news?

All praise is due to God.

What's YOUR news?

All praise is due to God.

5. Or a snippet of my husband's conversations with his customers:

Wella himmak, wella himmak, ya habibi, habibi Abu Ahmed, la, la, la, a'la rassi ya habibi, habibi Abu Ahmed, biddi salamtak ya habibi, OK, bye bye.

Literally: Not to worry, not to worry, oh my love, my love Abu Ahmed, no, no, no, it's on my head, oh my love, my love Abu Ahmed, I want peace for you my love, OK, bye bye.

Figuratively: Uhm, please end this conversation now, I'll take care of things, just go away.

And that's just the tip of the tip of the tip of the iceberg of a conversation's beginning (and end). All of the niceties can be exhausting, but I've come to love them, as well as embrace them as a part of my every day speech. Could we imagine doing this in English? I think not.

6. Here are a few of my own, er, verbal mishaps. Most of them were directed at my mother-in-law, who, so graciously, never jacked my jaw. Sorry, non-Arabic transliteration readers, I'm not trying to leave you out here.

"Huwwa bishtegel mitl al kelb."

Figuratively, my intention was to say, "He works like a dog." (I was trying to praise Abu Farouq's work ethics here)

Literally, I said, "He works like a dog." (but that is a complete and total insult, like your son is a low down dirty scumbag, which he is not. Shoulda seen Mama's face with that one.)

Likewise, "sick as a dog" will not work. It just won't. Just say k'teer tabaan, leaving out all domesticated animals.

Here's one!

"Ana maftuha."

Figuratively, my intention was to say, "I'm open, as in, nothing's on my schedule."

Literally, though, I could have condemned myself to the gallows. (not really but almost)

Or how about asking the Safeway clerk if the store had a pigeon, as opposed to a bathroom? Good old hamam vs. hammam.

Or when my neighbor's child knocked on my door, asking me for a can of Cerelac, and I brought her a ladder? (She was really shy, I just couldn't hear her, but you should have seen her face when I smilingly handed her the ladder.)

Or to not call a woman I've just met, whose name is Ghaada, lunch? Lunch=Ghada. Might be a bit tricky calling up Ghaada to invite her out for ghada.

It took me about five years to be able to say electricity correctly. Ka-ha-ra-ba.

My kids have come home over these last seven years saying things like, "I like this gum, it's on strawberry," using their little brains to translate directly from Arabic. That doesn't work, of course.

When I was a junior in high school, our teacher told us the story of an English teacher who had spent some time teaching adults in Japan. Some of her Japanese students were very pleased to have read the John Steinbeck classic, entitled The Angry Raisin. It took us a few minutes to figure out that our teacher was actually referring to The Grapes of Wrath. I did not so much appreciate that in high school, but I do today, where linguistic faux pas are, if not an every-day, a weekly occurrence.

Bottomless Cup and Sweet Fried Dough

2009-05-30T09:28:00.007+03:00

This is one of those Saturday mornings when I don't have the inclination to make something delicious for breakfast, yet I'm craving something delicious. Let's discuss such somethings.

Here is one of the many original Southern food goodness landmarks; this one happens to be from my home town. 1st Avenue North, Birmingham. I can just smell those hot things in the box right now. My favorites were of course the plain glazed, and toasted coconut. Mmmm, mmmm.photo courtesy of this site, a real treasure for any Birminghamian

When I worked at Klingler's European Bakery and Deli, we used to freshly grind the coffee every morning. It was a wonderful blend of dark and medium roasts, and a secret. Delicious. And I love those little sealed cups of half and half. I also loved the pastries, which were top notch. My favorites had to have been the orange rolls and the cream cheese danishes.

Lately I've been on the lookout for some great coffee. Thankfully my dear friends introduced me to LaVazza from Italy, but I don't always have the time or energy to go to their supplier in Sweifieh. It is, however, outstanding coffee. I also have discovered (I'm drinking it right now) a coffee made by Tchibo, the Guatemalan Medium blend. Lovely, smooth, and does not make me jittery. As a bonus, it's Fair Trade.

In the past month, several friends from the U.S. have visited, and have brought my husband large bags of Dunkin' Donuts coffee. Now, I was never a huge fan of Dunkin' Donuts in Alabama, simply because we did not have one. There used to be one store, many years ago, but with the springing up of Krispy Kreme stores all over, Dunkin' tucked its tail between its legs and ran. Anyway, as a kid I never wanted coffee with my doughnut, so I never really tried the coffee at Krispy Kreme. I'll make a point to do so next time I visit.

Pictured below is what resembles a real mess of breakfast, but is actually two Belgian waffles smothered in fruit and cream. This was my breakfast Thursday morning, at the Bakehouse here in Amman, which happens to be the only restaurant I've ever patronized that refills your coffee cup...free of charge. It was like a mini flashback to IHOP's glory days, if, indeed, they had any. And look, little pats of fresh creamery butter. Worth my 7 JD? Absolutely.

On a side note: Do you know why we never got huge and fat eating Krispy Kremes as kids? Because they were made with sugar and lard--stuff our bodies could use. Animal fat and sugar, not hydrogenated plastics paired with high fructose corn syrup. Lately I've been hearing about this corn syrup culprit...dangerous stuff. Give us the sugar, please. I'll pass on the lard, but happily eat the full cream butter.

I'm off to make my plain oatmeal.

Ho Hum

2009-05-29T14:46:00.002+03:00

Third child got on the Microsoft "Paint" program and drew this the other day. Concentric circles of emotions, I call it. She called it happysadmad. This gal has an inner eye, I tell you. She sees things. I think she saw Mom completely worn out, summoning all three emotions within the span of an hour or less. Please keep telling me that kids are resilient, and they shake things off.

Hershey's here sure seems to be shaking things off well. She was taken here on Wednesday and given the full treatment--bath and blow dry, de-worming, rabies shots. All for 11 JD, which is really a small donation to support all of the amazing work those folks are doing. I could feel the love when I walked in the door. Thanks to all of you for recommending I take her to a no-kill shelter. The only thing is, I brought her back home with us.

Here's to a good weekend full of furry loving.

Drop the Chalupa

2009-05-24T09:49:00.011+03:00

A few weeks ago some lovely friends and I ventured over to Darat al Funun, a non-profit art museum, housed in an historic locale in Jabal al Weibdeh. Where can you sip coffee (or weak Nescafe) while looking over the ruins of a sixth century Byzantine church? Why, in Amman, of course!

This was one of my favorite pieces--"Che hua hua." It's funny, because I had just recently finished trying to get through the Che movie with Benicio del Toro. I hunkered down with my popcorn and was very excited to hear some Spanish. The movie, however, wore me out, and I fell asleep too many times. Not once did Che Guevara mention tacos. Viva la Revolución!

Here are some of the ruins of the church/Roman temple.

I took this picture of the shutters, because I love shutters, and we don't see too many of them here in Jordan.

Here is our visiting dog. The kids have named her "Hershey's." No, not "Hershey," but "Hershey's." She did not bark last night. I still don't know what we plan to do with her. We've already loaded her up in the car once for a ride out to my husband's workplace, and she did not speak to us for several hours after that. Yesterday a gypsy boy came through the neighborhood and my son got so excited because he thought that boy was the dog's rightful owner. When she saw the boy she ran to him and put her paws on his chest. But the boy did not seem interested in taking her back.

She's already done a number on these snapdragons.

Here are our future summer plums. This tree is the best fruit bearer, so far. We love plums.

This is the first year the apricot tree has squirted out some apricots. We love them, too. Can't wait till they are ready to pick.

These geraniums have a story. (pictured above and below) We used to have a building super, or haris, who was very kind. He was always polite and helpful, and I occasionally sent him a plate of something hot to eat. Someone in our building did not like him, and asked him to leave. One day I came home and found two small pots of geraniums in our yard. He had offered them as a "thank you" to us. Three years later, the red ones are almost five feet tall, and the pink ones have taken over in the back. A small token of gratitude turned into a beautiful sight, for sure.

Are these periwinkles? I'm so bad with names of flora. I'm getting better, though. Yesterday the garden shop had hydrangeas for sale--simply gorgeous hydrangeas. At seventeen JD per pot, however, I think I'll have to visit them at the garden shop.

Dog Days of...May

2009-05-21T21:16:00.002+03:00

I'm plum tuckered out. (Don't worry, I'd never really say that in every day conversation.)

I'm making this quick.

A stray dog found us. This stray is a girl. Probably six months old. A large-ish sort of mutt, with some labrador something or another in the mix. She has large clumsy paws, an eager-to-please personality; very sweet, more or less obedient, not aggressive, and will not cross the threshold of our door under any circumstances.

She howls like a werewolf at night, however. This has not made for restful nights. I am waiting for that knock at the door from a neighbor. We do not have any intentions of keeping her, because it just does not make sense with us in a flat and a small patch of grass that has already been littered with poo. No, no, no thanks, as great as the idea of a dog is, the reality is not something any of us can handle.

Last night I took an old shoe up to her and sat with her on the sidewalk, at 3:30 a.m. We felt the night breezes and looked up at the moon. I did not know until last night that the first adhan is currently called around 3:40. Ya Allah, that's early. I never in a million years thought I'd be hearing it with a golden-white dog sitting by my side on the curb.

G'night.

To be silenced...

2009-05-16T09:11:00.003+03:00

would be a tragedy indeed.

I am not a quiet spectator. I do apologize to a teammate's mother, whose eardrums I nearly blew out yesterday while cheering for our team. She politely told her daughters, "I'm shy, so Umm Farouq is cheering for both of us." Perhaps what she really meant was, "My God, this woman is loud, oww, ouch, oww."

I also noticed I seem to be the only Mom who stands up and claps wildly. Jumping. A lot.

And sometimes my mouth gets ahead of my brain, combining words to make nonsensical ones, like, "Go Farooby!"
(Go Farouq + Baby!)

I yell, "OH YEAH!!" a lot as I draw my fist/elbow into my side. And "That's it! That's it!" Yesterday I just so happened to be sitting with a group of hispanohablantes, so I found myself shouting, "Eso es! Eso es!" followed by a "Hada huwweh, hada huwweh!" These ladies from Central/South America were cracking me up, because they all had kids playing on the team we were playing, and we were the only team they had beaten all season. After an hour of figuring out whose kids were whose, we found ourselves high-fiving one another and exchanging genuine compliments. We even had a couple from Puerto Rico sitting with us (Fernando!), who was making some calls that even the umpires and coaches were missing. Amman Little League is blessed to have the expertise of those whose blood runs thick with the love of beisbol.

Including me, the loud lady.

And incidentally, we won!

Car Talk

2009-05-14T19:17:00.008+03:00

My friend and I were talking yesterday about cars we've owned in our lifetimes. I haven't owned too many, but a few have been memorable.

My first car was a gold 1977 Ford Thunderbird. Its purchase price was $500. I think the insurance was next to free. It was ugly as sin, uncomfortable, and really embarrassing to drive. I think it only lasted a summer.

Had mine looked as decent as the one pictured above, I just might have kept it.

What's the word? Thunderbird!

My second car (I was still 16) was handed down to me from my Mom, passing to me a Honda and getting herself a *new* burnt orange 1981 Buick Skylark. The Honda is the car that holds the most memories for me, I believe. It was a 1978 Honda Civic CVCC Hondamatic. What a mouthful, for such a tiny specimen of a car.

My father purchased this car brand new in 1978 from Bud Mollison Honda in Birmingham. He drove it home to us in Merritt Island, Florida. What a bizarre concept this car was; Hondamatic meant that it was somewhere in between an automatic and a manual. We had to shift the gear from first to second. Only. No "Drive" gear existed. No clutch. It did, however, have a choke, which I faithfully used in the winter. There is nothing like the sound and smell of an engine that's choking. I presume it was choking on the LEADED gasoline we used to put in it. Honda so kindly left off the catalytic converter so that we could choose which gas to put.

(We chose the pollutant variety.)

The Civic, though, had some character. My Mom kept it after the divorce, and drove us 12 hours "north" to re-settle in Birmingham. It only had an AM radio, which only allowed it to pick up some public radio, as well as the TC and John Ed show, which I listened to every morning on the way to school. I also remember hearing that song "I am a Woman in Love" by Barbra Streisand almost every day, which came to be a song I associated with car sickness. I often got car sick in cars with dark interior, and our Honda was solid black on the inside. If I hear that song even today, I will be hit with a wave of nausea so strong I'll demand that you "Pull OVER NOW!!" (even if I'm not in a car) We later learned that my car sickness was due to my ever-worsening myopia. I needed some specs! Thank God for public school health screenings.

Back to the Civic! This was a great car for a working junior in high school. I could fill it up for $4.50. It rarely broke down, although it would sometimes overheat, which could be remedied by turning on the heat in the car to take some heat off the engine. My friends weren't too fond of that trick; I remember driving several folks around in the 95 degree humidity with the heat blasting. The poor car had been nearly completely submerged in a flash creek flood back in 1984, and the insurance companies declared it "salvageable." Needless to say, it had rusted from the inside out and was a total eyesore. It didn't help matters when Mom and her neighbor, who'd been rolling each other's hair, picked me up from the movies one night wearing a bonnet to cover her rollers. I swear I must have taken a face dive into the back seat, having leaped five feet into the air from the edge of the curb where we were waiting in the "cruise" line. Hoover 6. Madness.

One year Mom scraped up the $150 that would finally buy us a paint job. For that amount, you could choose from two colors: pewter gray, or gray. We chose pewter! (The car had originally been silver) They de-rusted the outside and made the Honda new and shiny. I will never forget when Mom drove it home from the body shop. Our entire 'neighborhood' at Cripple Creek clapped and waved as she paraded past.

Once in high school, I was horrified by the AM radio, so I drove around with my boom box sitting in the back seat. I'd flip the tape over at stop lights, etc. I once made the mistake, however, of placing a battery in the back seat, which leaked loads of battery fluid onto the seat covers, unbeknownst to me. I had to give a freshman guy a ride to a club activity, and when he took his backpack out of my car, the bottom of it had been eaten through by the acid. He also never asked for another ride, joining the ranks of those who had been roasted alive in summer Honda heatfests, and who scorned my little pewter Civic.

There have been many times here in Jordan when I have wished that car was still mine. I wonder if it's still being driven somewhere by someone who also has a fondness for the choke and/or shifting from one, to two, back to one, up to two.

I could whip that baby into any parking space.

Have any car stories?

On Philosophes and Change

2009-05-07T08:34:00.005+03:00

Loving the 'stache, Nietzsche.

Ms. Roosevelt, here, in a pensive stance. While not really a philosopher, she sure was a thinker. A mover. A shaker.

The other day I was discussing with a baseball mom, whose daughter is about to go off to college, how shocked I was when I enrolled in Introduction to Philosophy my first year at university. I assumed (and we know what that does) that an introductory course would mean that the majority of students would be new to the concept of philosophy as a core part of academia. We'd all be newbies. We were, after all, freshmen. Clean slate, etc.

When I left that first class, though, my head was spinning. The professor, who looked an awful lot like Mr. Nietzsche pictured above, assumed (again, we know what that does) that most of us had been exposed to the great philosophers' work, beginning with Socrates and moving into the 20th century. (It was the 20th century back then, albeit its last decade.) Mr. Prof was spouting out theories, scribbling formulas made famous by Descartes, and speaking a newspeak I could not understand. I kept looking around for faces whose expressions showed as much loss and confusion as I was feeling. What I witnessed, however, were nodding heads, hands being thrust into the air, and a sort of "We All Get Each Other" club being formed between the 18 nihilists who sat around me, and the professor.

And then there was me. In a vacuum of philosophical dumbness.

(Mr. Nietzsche really should have done something about that lazy eye.)

Anyway, I caught on, eventually, and after bombing several essay-style exams, quizzes, and most of my homework, I had an epiphany. I wrote a paper that turned everything around and showed my professor that I had grown as a fledgling philosophe. I could keep up with some of the conversations around me. I could participate in classroom discussions. This professor was one of those dear hearts who did grade on a curve, so my grade was bumped up in the end, and I received an A- for the semester. It was a blood, sweat, and tears sort of A-, and I had to show that teacher something from myself, which I now understand to be growth rather than mastery.

Fast-forwarding twenty years:

This year has been full of changes. Disappointments. Great loss and sorrow. But I also see it as a year of growth. I have not yet mastered how to do this thing called life. We've had a few triumphs thrown in lately, and I'm so thankful for them. God willing, I see some changes in our future that might shock us a bit at first, just as that first philosophy class did with me so many years ago. My daughter is about to embark on a new sort of educational experience, and she keeps telling me that she thinks I'm more excited about it than she is. Well, she's right. The shame in it all is that every child should have the same opportunities in education, especially here in Jordan. Maybe one day I can be some small part of the educational reform that is being cried out for now. Maybe.

For now, however, I am happy that my daughter is reading Sophie's World. I'm reading it with her, along with two other beautiful friends and their daughters. It's our Book Club choice for this month. I'm hoping it will be a good introduction to the art of philosophy for my daughter, and a mini refresher for me. And if it makes no mention of Voltaire, that'll be just fine.

Read at your Own Risk

2009-05-03T09:04:00.003+03:00

Yesterday in my post on Mexico I posted a link to the Urban Dictionary's definition of the slang word guera. Sometimes I go back through and click on links to make sure they're not broken, etc. So this morning, I ended up on the Urban Dictionary site for some time. Reading. Gasping. Turning my face away at some of the words and definitions. I have been out of the American Slang Loop for so long; any slang words I might pick up are usually 8 or more years old.
(i.e., Fo' shizzle) Newspeak, idioms, and bastardizations of the language are part of linguistic evolution, in all languages. Some are just plain scary, though.

Anyhow, that dictionary is full of raunch but also has a few wise entries. Like this one, the definition of Ann Coulter:

Ann Coulter : def- The person whom Satan looks to for inspiration.
Example: On The Today Show, Ann Coulter blamed migraines, the destruction of Pompeii, and the extinction of the woolly mammoth on liberals.

What a wiseacre! Fo' shizzle!

How about this one?

bushism: def- Hysterical misstatements from George W Bush. About the only good thing that's come from his presidency is all the jokes about him.
"I believe that the human being and the fish can coexist peacefully."
"She's a West Texas girl, just like me."
"More and more of our imports come from other countries."
"I know how hard it is to put food on your family."
"I understand small businesses. I was one."

Get me off of this thing!

Mexico, We Salute You (Mexico, Le Saludamos)

2009-05-02T09:48:00.007+03:00

Hanitizer, from Kabobfest, strikes again. I have always told my students (and children) that stereotypes "don't come from nowhere." And they say, "Miss (or Mom), you just used a double negative." And I say, "Yes, yes I did."

Read: A Semi-Stereotypical Defense of Mexico

These Kabobfest guys & gals are the most in-your-face with the truth, young and hip and educated bloggers I've come across in a long time. I think some awards are in order.

My additions to their lists, as someone who lived and studied in Mexico for a spell:

1. The Mexican hat dance, performed on Cinco de Mayo by many 5th grade Americans, who have no idea what Cinco de Mayo is.

2. Carlos n' Charlie's , where you "Expect the outrageous, and then expect a sincere apology." As per my recollections, no one ever apologized.

3. The word guera, which I've never thought myself to be, yet was called that constantly.

4. Mexican jumping beans.

5. Tacos de lengua. Tongue of beef. Oh my.

6. Banda music, which was popular in 1993. God, I'm old.

7. Thinking that the ability to sing De Colores has given one a mastery of the language.

8. Beans for breakfast (hey, the Arabs are NO different here.)

9. Real mariachi bands who play their hearts out.

10. The bowl-you-over feeling of invigoration when reaching the top of the Pyramid of the Sun, Tenochtitlan.

11. Agave, and its gift to the world. (eh hem)

12. Buying silver in Taxco.

13. Diego Rivera's childhood home and the view from its balconies.

14. Being invited to dinner, mistakenly showing up on time, only to find your host and his wife asleep, in their pajamas.

Anyone have some to add?

Weekend Edition

2009-05-01T21:49:00.005+03:00

First of all, can anyone identify this plant? We bought three last year, left them outside all winter, and they are about to bloom and look like this again. It's a type of succulent, and I'd really like to know its name. (notice my correct usage of it's and its)

What is a week without discussing baseball? I never thought I'd be writing that.

A farmer's tan, I have, with a twist of scarfy mark, creating a stark white forehead contrasted with bright red cheeks, nose, and chin. Perhaps my SPF 15 is just not enough anymore. I clapped today until the palm of my left hand (already thinned and roughed up from washing dishes) started to bleed a little. I hollered (very southern word) until my voice nearly exited the premises for good. It was an exciting, exciting game today; they played their hearts out and I nearly choked on mine.

The score?

9 - 8

NOT 27 - 8.

It was not a walking game. It was a hitting, running, striking out, ball-stopping, defensive game. They are improving. And you can call me "Red."

Dinner Talk: Ed and Jim

2009-04-30T18:15:00.006+03:00

Between Oldest Daughter and self:

O.D. You know what I've never seen on Fatafeat? Grits.

Me: You're right.

O.D. I wonder why.

Me: No, wait, I saw grits once on Emeril Lagasse Live. He made grits and shrimp.

O.D. But he's Northern.

Me: Yes, he's from the North, but he specialized in Cajun/Louisiana cooking. He made etouffee and jambalaya and stuff. Crawfish. Yum.

O.D. (looking confused) Ed Touffee? Jim Balaya? Those are strange names for men.

Me: They're not men! They're dishes!

O.D. Oooooh, ha ha ha, I thought you meant he made Ed Touffee into a good chef. Ha!

I love thirteen year-olds.

Just Meeting the Neighbors

2009-04-29T11:26:00.003+03:00

Hi there, cyber neighbor. I took a few moments today to see who might still be reading, since my reader stats have decreased. Exponentially (no, wait, there aren't too many exponents in the number "50," so that's exaggerating.) I know why. It's because I've been unusually dark lately, isn't it? Could it be my this couldn't pass for poetry if she died and came back as Emily Dickinson attempts at writing? My cartoon/David Bowie findings on YouTube? Whatever the cause, I thought I'd say hello to a few readers. Thanks for sticking around.

Bellevue, Washington. Love you, Bellevue. Big hugs.

Parow, South Africa. I believe you're a newcomer, yes? My daughter and I just watched the film The Power of One yesterday. Don't you just love that movie? I've always wanted to see Cape Town.

Bologna, Italy. Home of the oldest university in the Western world. Did you attend said university? Has anyone ever used the expression "phony bologna" with you? Or, more specifically, bolognese falso? I think not. Italian is next on my list of languages to learn.

Harvey, Illinois. Blues Brothers fame! I let my two older kids watch that movie. They laughed and laughed. Who can resist the Blues Brothers?

Mechelen, Antwerpen, Belgium . Flanders, Flemish, nice folks. I have a new Belgian friend here. I should blog about her.

Port Jefferson, NY. How's life in Suffolk County? Sounds like a beautiful place, the crossroads to the Hamptons. Welcome!

It was great taking these few minutes to meet my neighbors. Come on back.

Today's Teens, Tomorrow's Leaders

2009-04-29T09:57:00.008+03:00

My dear friend and educator extraordinaire has organized this amazing program for our teenagers, to help them learn how to be their best 'selves,' and become leaders. Hurry and sign up your teenager today! The deadline to register for Module 1 or for the Full Course is Thursday, April 30, at 7 p.m.

Today’s Teens – Tomorrow’s Leaders
Teen Leadership 3-Day Workshop

May 2nd, 9th & 16th
Bristol Hotel, Abdoun

2:00 p.m. - 6:00 p.m.
Ages 14-18 years

“Today’s Teens – Tomorrow’s Leaders” provides students with the same form of training that is given to successful adult leaders in Fortune 500 Companies. Students graduate from this workshop with the leadership skills plus the confidence and determination to take an active role at their schools and community.

This workshop will give students the tools to:

Identify and grow leadership competencies
Build lasting relationships among participants
Realize student’s personal values and leadership style
Successfully manage challenges and change
Lead and manage different personality styles

Apply mind-mapping to decision-making and problem solving
Practice the steps in strategic planning
Learn how to connect with audiences and clearly communicate
Gain self leadership confidence

The 3-day workshop will cover the following modules:

Mind Mapping
Leadership Qualities

Public Speaking
Confidence
Life Vision, Mission, and Planning
Listening Skills
Building Trust
Understanding Personality Styles

Workshop Design

The workshop uses fun hands-on activities and exercises and to help students develop the same skills that successful business leaders implement. Divided into three separate 4-hour sessions, workshop activities approach the leadership skills using examples that are relevant to the students in their lives now; school, friends and teen milestones.

Organizers and Supporters
The event is being organized by Whiz Kids For Educational and Social Development (Whiz Kids), with sponsors including the Bristol Hotel and Pure Marketing. HRH Princess Basma Bint Ali will be conducting the Awards Ceremony.

Reservations & Fees

3-Day Course Fees: 200 JD
***********
OR
**********
70 JD per Module
Module 1 (May 2): Mind Mapping, Leadership qualities, Public speaking
Module 2 (May 9): Leadership Confidence, Vision, Mission, and Planning
Module 3 (May 16): Listening Skills, Building Trust, Understanding Personality Styles

Spaces are limited so call to reserve a seat soon!
Contact:
Whiz Kids for Educational &
Social Development
Stacy Cairns-Abdein
+96279 65 06 923

BLOGGERS, please spread the word.

Also, view the Facebook Link here for more information.

A Fabulous Carnival (without the icky carny and funnel cakes)

2009-04-26T08:34:00.003+03:00

Please visit Safiya Outlines' Blog Carnival on Motherhood. She's collected posts from all sorts of Muslim moms who write about the ever-complicated role of being a mom or having a mom. I have enjoyed reading these posts and I knew there was something I was forgetting over my busy weekend. (to write a post and submit it!) Safiya, however, went and dug up an old post of mine and featured it. I re-read it this morning and had to say to myself, "wow," and "please heed your own advice." That is why this topic can never be worn out. We need reminders, and we need to share. Thank you, Safiya!

I wouldn't have minded the funnel cakes, though.

An "Ear-Splitting" Big Old Heck-of-a Weekend!

2009-04-25T10:14:00.004+03:00

Thursday was youngest daughter's fifth birthday. She took lots and lots of cupcakes to school and entertained her peers. I have "cool mom" status, if only for a little while. She also felt the need to announce to her Little League team mom that she is now legal to play T ball and no longer has to hide in the shadows of under-aged-ness.

Friday was our 17th wedding anniversary. I think I've written about our marriage before. The guy is my best friend. I pray that we are given some time in the near future to just sit and soak in all the joy we have around us. Life is so harried here; he is so tired. Make time, make time, make time. We must.

Friday was also game day for Little League Baseball. Our team (currently 0 - 4) was revved up and ready for a super game. They played their hearts out and I noticed a heightened morale, held by both players and parents. The only downer was when Farouq hit a line drive down the first base line, made it to third base, and then was declared "out" by the umpire, whom our coach calls "a big cry baby." Why an out, you ask? Because he claimed Farouq "threw the bat" after he hit it. None of us saw it, but it was his call. Then, Oldest Daughter was manning second base and was trying to catch an out, when the ball hit her in the ear. It happened so quickly, I thought she had been hit in the face. She crouched down and did not move; I nearly toppled down the stands to go see her. There was blood coming out of her ear, which was thankfully NOT from a head injury, but rather from a small cut on her ear caused by the ball whizzing by. She's OK! Just bruised--both right jaw line and pride.

To top off Friday's adventures, I met my long lost brother-in-law--my husband's brother who has been living in South America for as long as we can remember. My husband had not seen him since 1988. My kids have a new Spanish-speaking uncle. He was very funny and personable, and offered a true picture of life in the Cocaine Capital of the world. I felt all Juan Valdez-ish as he sat there and talked about the wildlife, the coffee, the constant rain and humidity, the friendly, family-oriented Colombians. Saddle up my donkey, Juan; I'm heading to Cucuta to munch on mangoes and bananas. (not coca leaves)

And the Papers Want to Know Whose Shirts You Wear

2009-04-20T09:53:00.003+03:00

Oh, the odd things one finds on YouTube. This one was nicely done, I thought.

Tell my wife I love her very much,
She know-oh-oh-ows.

Vitality in Produce (or, what Superman is Missing)

2009-04-18T21:31:00.006+03:00

Perhaps soon
I'll come out of this black spot.

Right now, I'm solidly
in it.

Packed on in.
Entrenched.
Gnashing and lashing out.

Maybe that mandarin scented
lotion from Body Shop
will do the trick. It's supposed to
revitalize.

I pulled weeds today and collected
giant bags of old leaves
soaked with rain.
Aerated the soil.
Watered things.
Planted things.

Thinking that digging in the dirt
would be that release
I needed.

Nope.

Exercise? Check!

Herbal anti-depressants? Check!

Bathed, decently happy, well-fed and emotionally well-balanced children? Check!

Cucumbers in the fridge?

No!?

That must be it.

Superman Chronicles part 1

2009-04-16T19:08:00.004+03:00

A nemesis,
a friend.
My own personal Lex Luthor
she was.

So I've been told
by a youngish sage
that
I'm water-y
and adaptable
and wise.

I'll take the water-y part,
because I understand it.
Adaptable,
moreso than what is healthy.
Wise?
Not seeing that. Yet.

So the water-y, adaptable
self
lets in too many
(too! too! many!)
Luthoresque types.

Maybe you've heard
or seen
or felt those types
who steal your lifeforce.
Super sonic, kryptonic.
Bloodsuckers, they are.
Soulsuckers.
Drainers.

Lex needed
(needs)
Superman,
while Superman would have
been content
to not have that interference,
that lifeforce interruption,
if
you will.

My own personal Lex
stole entirely too much
from loads of us.
Bunches.
But she honed in on me
because I was
Superman.

She was a giant chunk
of green rock.
I pity that foolish
chunk of rock.
Chunky, chunky, jagged
and green.
And so skillful!
Woolpulling, green, crazy,
deceitful.

Lex, you had a chance
to redeem yourself.
Superman gave you chances.
He believed you'd come around.

That one--that one lying in the hospital
who's battled
and fought
and cried.
Did you call her?
Did you offer to help?
Did you console?
Did you fail to remember
all the times
she rescued you?

Lex, you'll never change.

Only calling when you're
needy.
No, Superman does not need you.
And neither does that one
lying in the hospital.

Finalmente

2009-04-13T21:23:00.002+03:00

This is a first step.

Cubans can send money to Cuba AND go see their loved ones

April Brings out the Feminist in Me

2009-04-12T13:55:00.006+03:00

Here's a small "shout out" to Muslimah Media Watch on being nominated for a "Canadian F Word Award, 2009."

They are up against some hefty competition. Check them out. Vote.

Related Posts, or not:

Am I a Sexist Jerk? over at Br. Naeem's Blog

Radical Muslim Feminist, I am!

The F word, at Baraka

Clothes & the Woman, at Baraka

In the Kitchen, MashaAllah over at Umar Lee

Collateral Damage of the Feminist Movement by Margari Aziza Hill

I could sit here all day linking but I must get in the kitchen and make a decent meal. No joke.

My Debut Album

2009-04-11T10:36:00.004+03:00

This is a CD cover that a fellow blogger made for me. I mentioned her before; she's my newest blog read--a very talented writer and photographer from Canada.

She's not a fan of 'memes' or being tagged. Frankly, neither am I. I've participated in a few fun taggings but lately have had no desire to force other bloggers to respond to anything. It's part of that "blogging without obligation" spirit I've adopted.

Anyway, this was a clever and fun project that Hilary took on (not to mention time-consuming). Please check out the wonderful book covers and CD jackets she created for bloggers.

And how appropriate mine is! If I ever had a band, 3D Monster Maze is quite a catchy name.

The Initial Idea Discussed at The Smitten Image

First Batch of Book Titles and CD Covers at The Smitten Image

Second Batch (where I found mine) at The Smitten Image

Enjoy!

Unsolved Mysteries of Life and Green Hills

2009-04-11T09:21:00.007+03:00

I love KOKA noodles. They provide a serving larger than the standard "ramen" variety; they are baked, not fried, and contain no MSG. They even come in flavors like "Spicy Sesame Chicken." Usually when I buy them, I have to hide them from my noodle-loving son. Vegetable curry flavor, however, appealed to no one but me. I was safe.

I opened the package and found the usual triad: noodles, spice pack, garnish.

And creamer.

I was puzzled by the new red package. I did not know what to do with it. Creamer? In my noodles? I opened it up. Looked like Coffee Mate. Smelled like Coffee Mate. Tasted like Coffee Mate. I left it out of the noodles.

Perhaps a mix-up at the KOKA packaging center?

So my dear friend calls me up the other day and says, "I have a task for you. There is a red velvet chair sitting in the middle of the field (a known short cut by my house). Go take a picture of it."

I accepted the challenge.

This was as close as I wanted to get, because a gypsy gentleman was standing up the hill, looking at me. By the way that link is informational but also gives tips on how to convert the gypsies from Islam. I didn't know they were a missionary target group, but whatever. I imagine they're a tough group to infiltrate. Is infiltrate the word I'm looking for here?

Ah, to recline in a field of green. Fleeting green. What do we have, three more weeks of this? And then poof! Each year when Spring comes I feel as if it is the very first time I've seen so much green. Kudos to chlorophyll. My sister recently reminded me that Spring comes every single year. I jokingly told her that in 1974, it did not. 1974 was a completely random year I picked. Has spring not sprung for some of you? Does your spirit need a re-awakening?

In the background we have what my kids call 'gypsy hill.' They (the gypsies) do pretty well for themselves, I must say. Sometimes they have a camel living on the premises; always they have sheep, goats, and a horse or two. Oh, and donkeys.

I don't own any livestock.

Lots to graze on now.

I had to get my shoe in this shot. I imagine any cars passing by were puzzled by the strange woman lifting her shoe in the air to photograph it. I just love the green, green, green. I also love my shoes. 20 JD Skechers, most likely from 3 seasons ago. Three springs ago.

Happy Easter to all of my Christian friends and family. Happy Spring. Happy New Life to everyone.

Happy, Happy.

If Only...

2009-04-07T20:48:00.003+03:00

...our family's Jordanian cat had been this cute.

This one actually looks like several of the Hajjis I see in my neighborhood. Isn't that the mukhtar?

Couldn't resist.

Welcome, sneakers, et al

2009-04-07T12:30:00.003+03:00

A fellow traveling from the US was able to pick up some items from my Mom and bring them here to Amman.

In the bag of 'goodies':

1. One five year-old pair of ladies' new Balance tennis shoes
2. One pink Old Navy cotton-stretch blouse
3. One blue Old Navy cotton-stretch blouse
4. A baseball bat for my teen aged daughter (for legitimate use, i.e., baseball)
5. A baseball glove for my husband so he doesn't kill his hand practicing with the kids
6. Two brand new pair of tennis shoes for my husband

So simple, yet so exciting! It was great to meet up with my old sneakers. And the stuff smelled like my mom's house. Love that.

O Canada

2009-04-02T20:41:00.005+03:00

I owe a very smart, talented, and dear Canadian friend a visit. She recently gave birth to her fourth child. I need to see this sweet Canouk and her newest family addition. I hope she knows I have not forgotten about her.

Speaking of Canadians, here's a great new blog I discovered. I do not remember how I arrived at her blog, but her photographs are absolutely captivating. She's a good writer, to boot.

I am comfortable, thank you

2009-04-02T07:57:00.004+03:00

Even as a child I could not stand to be dressed in something tight or itchy or neck-binding. I hated turtle necks (I like them now because it's dang cold in Amman in the winter) and I could not stand any sort of polyester blends. Being from the Land of Cotton really meant something to me, and still does. Look away, Dixieland.

And then there are shoes. I like flat shoes, comfy shoes, shoes that hug my feet in softness. I owned a pair of Birkenstocks my sister gave me when I was 15. They made it here to Jordan with me and just within the last three years were laid to rest in the Land of Shoes that You Just Can't Get Away With Wearing Anymore. I also parted with some Bass loafers that my husband and I bought for him in 1992. Yes, that's right. We are not fashion plates.

Yesterday at baseball practice some* of the other ladies* and I were having a good laugh about this. We are so American in our definitions of fashion parameters. A few of the ladies had been asked to be or actually had been photographed for one of those foo-foo magazines that have a large circulation here. You know, the ones that document the social lives of the women who go here and there, do this and that, smoke a hookah or two and drive grand vehicles. We all cracked up at the idea that none of us would ever know we had been put in the latest issue unless someone called us up and told us. One of the magazines was entitled Nas wa Nas, or "People and People." This brought on great laughter--I mean, what a dumb name. We already have to deal with stores here called Top & Top, Food & Food, and Toys & Toys. Can't think of a name? Just double whatever comes to mind. I can think of a bunch right now but I want to get you all thinking!

So here's the challenge. Come up with a magazine title for the fashionably challenged moms like us. Maybe we can even photograph ourselves out and about with mud on our shoes or children in spaghetti-stained t-shirts. It's going to be fun.

I claim all editing privileges.

*wink wink*

Meeting Announcements

2009-03-30T11:55:00.004+03:00

The Absolute Club
will hold its first meeting
tomorrow
at 2 p.m., sharp.
No vodka, just the facts. As they see
them.
Which is the
only
way.

If you arrive late
you will not be allowed inside.
They are a punctual bunch.

Following its dismissal
will be a gathering of
the Solitary Order of the Black and White
where no grey people
or blue, or green, or fuchsia
will be admitted.
I hear they are a shadow entity
owned by Fox.
But I would never say that out loud,
lest I be blackballed.

If neither of those groups suit you,
might you try
the Society of the Tunnel Visioned--
where I hear the view is great,
straight, and narrow.
A strict dress code is required, though,
which includes
very uncomfortable shoes.
And name tags.

Something for everyone.

501

2009-03-28T09:47:00.004+03:00

I made it past my 500th post. I have no clear idea about what I've had to say since I began this blog, but I can comment that going back and reading older posts does help show me that my overall view of so much has not changed all that much. I do think my voice used to hold some optimism that has flickered out a bit. Life can do that to you. I also have done a "180" in the realm of acceptance. I busted out of my little circle and reached into others' circles. I like being omnicircular.

I call for the rest of 2009 to be peachy.

Today is Abu Farouq's 43rd birthday. To think I knew him at 25. My goodness, was he cute. (is!)

Cake time!

Men, Leave the Premises

2009-03-26T10:13:00.003+02:00

Yesterday I hit a car. It was not a terrible accident, because I was going about 12 miles per hour, pulling out into a busy intersection. A nice lady signaled me to move on into the lane, and when I rounded the corner, there was a man double-parked, blocking the way. I scraped up his left bumper, which, upon examination, had been hit and repaired before.

My husband (I called him) insisted on the kroka, because the police would surely show that this man was at fault, since he had double-parked. He was not an extraordinarily beligerent man, but he was quite defensive, since "everyone double-parks." Not my problem, dude. The idea of the kroka, the time it would take, and the money that would be involved, was enough to let this man just let me go on my way. Anyway, I was in the right.

Needless to say, any kind of auto accident (actually, I've never hit a car or been hit, alhamdulillah. I've only hit a pole, once) is disconcerting. Typically it brings out the ugly in everyone. Yesterday I found that I had no words for this man. I had nothing to say. I just stood there, quietly. My friends who were with me kind of did the bickering for me. It was nice. I repressed my ugly, I think.

This morning I had to stop by the mini market for some milk. I saw a woman in a full veil, (face, gloves, etc.) struggling to start her car. She had school-aged kids in the back seat. Her battery was obviously dead. I told Farouq to tell her that I would drop my own kids at school and come back to help her.

Five minutes later, I was back. Turns out that this lady, Um Noor ad-Deen, had lived in the US for quite some time. The South. Hm.

I got out my jumper cables. I'd say that since the age of 16, I've jumped off cars--be they mine or someone else's--more than fifty times. Seriously. I know that positive goes on positive. I know not to clank together the ends of the cables. I know how NOT to create an electrifying sparkfest.

I popped her hood. I popped my hood. I got out my cables. Faster than I could say, "Men are big giant babies," two men were standing behind me. And an 8 year old boy. "You need help!" exclaimed the boy.

"No, I'm fine, thank you."

Another man: "That cable won't reach! It's too short! It's wrong!"

"Uhm, no, but I just did this the other day. It'll reach. It's long."

Third male: "You have put the negative on the wrong one!"

"Uhm, no, I can read, this one reads NEG in black. It's right."

The whole time this woman is just looking at me. This was the sort of time I wanted to show my 'ugly'--letting these men know that while I appreciated their concern, I am a fully functioning, literate, car-jumping female. Please, please, just go away.

So her car started. No sparks, no blown up batteries. I have a new friend.

None of these men had jumper cables in their trunks.

Waving

2009-03-25T17:51:00.000+02:00

::waving to Umm Zaid::

Showcasing my Peeps

2009-03-23T20:46:00.003+02:00

Here are two of my dear friends here in Amman. The first, Sue, lives up the hill from me. She is known in my home as "Sue up the Hill," because there are several Sues we know. I just love Sue--from the first time I met her, I knew she was remarkable.

The second, Mary, just visited me last week with her lovely daughter. Mary is a rock and I think the world is a better place because she is in it.

MashaAllah for my friends.

Sue

Mary

Fun with Fin

2009-03-21T19:55:00.005+02:00

Fin is a root. It means end, ended, finished.

Some common words containing this root are final, finite, finish, confine, fine, refine, define, finale, infinite, and the most commonly misspelled word by educated adults who are not ESL, as well as ESL children all over the land, definite.

DEFINITE!

No "a", folks! Not an "a" to be found. There's not defanately ::cringing:: a way to learn how to spell the word correctly, but rather definitely a way. One way. An end. A final. Just practice. Write it seven times, and I bet you'll get it. Finally!

I'm finished.
(and famished, but that's a root for another lesson)

I Couldn't Be One if I Tried

2009-03-16T10:16:00.003+02:00

A drug addict, that is. At least not a functioning one.

Allow me to share my brain's stream-of-consciousness activity for yesterday, March 15. Remember: thinking and doing are not always the same. Advil Cold & Sinus is partly to blame.

Wake up, mumble, mumble, sneeze repeatedly, put coffee on, make four sandwiches, assemble lunch boxes, iron clothes for 2 kids, look at messy kitchen, sigh, shrug, blow nose for the three thousandth time and apply Vaseline where right nostril has been rubbed raw. Wander up to car wearing holey slippers and load kids in, drive them 400 meters around corner, wave goodbye. Come back home, more coffee, check e-mail, notice 'map to Kinzi's' in in-box, say to self, I know where she lives, why would I need a map?

Open cupboards which are nearly bare, save some Thai noodle packs, tomato paste, and vanilla sugar someone gave me but I don't know what to do with. Make mental (ha) list of items needed from hypermarket that makes me break out in hives. (market, not list) Look at bread scraps cut off from tops of kids' sandwiches, think to self, better eat something before going shopping or surely will buy too much crap. Shove three small pieces of mozzarella into three tiny tops of pita bread scraps, place in sandwich maker, turn on.

Get dressed, shove infected big toe into shoes that hurt, notice the rain pouring down and dread the shopping adventure all over again. Count money husband handed me, think it best to put in bank, cash in pocket means over expenditure. Pat self on back.

Back in car, this time no slippers, head to bank, park down street. Thinking, thinking, something is not right here, why is my stomach growling when I OH MY GOD THE SANDWICH MAKER IS SMASHING CHEESE SANDWICHES I DID NOT EAT! Make quick call to friend, wonder if house has had time to burn down fully. Decide to make deposit ANYHOW, since good parking place already found. Speak to bank teller in bubbled voice, trying not to choke on phlegm. Wipe nose, take deposit slip, fly like the wind home to check on house fire's progress.

Enter home, smells like charred leather. Run to kitchen, All Praise is due to God, sandwich maker has shut self off. Open lid, find objects that resemble burning fuselage, throw in trash. Quickly smear peanut butter on half a piece of dry bread, shove in mouth. Head back out to store, shop in a fog, spend 1.40 JD more than cash in pocket, not bad, pat self again.

Slip in rain soaked driveway, just missing head banging on gate. Catch entire body weight with three left fingers, scream bad word, unload groceries.

Flashing forward to dinner...

Do not eat, saving empty stomach for Kinzi's shindig. Feed kids country fried steak for first time in their lives. Seriously ponder the idea of training to be a distance runner, discuss said idea with spouse, loud laughter shakes house. Insist that I can pursue this, receive more taunting and a finger pointing to the dusty treadmill. Make chicken enchilada dip and purposefully put in extra jalapeños, hope everyone else has a cold and can't taste either.

Get ready for party, wait on friend Um Tareq to fetch me. She calls; her cake has fallen and she will have to pick something up. Pop additional Advil C&S, ride down road in Um Tareq's new set of wheels. Pull over to bakery; buy cake. Head to Kinzi's house. (Hurrah!)

At Kinzi's. Look at this! No cars on street. Say, "our fashionably late is everyone else's early." Walk in gate, see dark entry. Same voice that screamed about smashed, burnt sandwich emerges. THE MAP! THE MAP! I DID NOT OPEN THE MAP! THE PARTY IS NOT HERE! Happily, Mr. Kinzi at door with big smile, says I was not only one, hooks us up with another very nice woman who made the same mistake. Supplies her with map. Follow her to a completely different neighborhood, get lost approx. 45 minutes, cutting into my Kinzi time.

Finally arrive to see smiling, lovely ladies! So many new faces! Sing words to song I know! Chicken dip not too hot, disappears. Great cookies. Fabulous punch. Look at clock, already 8:00. Bid premature goodbye. Get kids in bed.

The rest is kind of a blur.

BAJD: A sort of pictorial

2009-03-12T13:18:00.008+02:00

Blog About Jordan Day has rolled around once more. I thought March of 2008 was just a few months ago, but apparently it's been an entire year.

This year was rough, to say the least. It's been a year when living so far away from my relatives in the U.S. has put a damper on my usual need to look for the good in living in Jordan. After all, I made the choice to uproot my life and settle here. I'm in it for the long haul, I believe. Sometimes, however, the distance just plain stinks.

The horrors that occurred in Gaza (and daily horrors that take place all throughout Palestine, although not as publicly exploited) helped to end 2008 with sorrow and begin 2009 the same way. As horrid as what happened in Gaza was, I have never, ever been more proud of my fellow Jordanians, ex-pats living here, and all others who banded together to do something about the War on Gaza. We have a long way to go. I wish I had that young woman's courage. I wish I had courage, period.

Speaking of Gaza, the two gentlemen pictured below are Gazan, whose families have been living in Jordan since (I'm assuming) the War of '67. Meet Samer Abu Koush and Yasser Abu Hdaib, two teachers who wake up every morning and make the conscious decision to try to help those Palestinian youth who have been stuck in a time warp in Jordan. These guys teach at UNRWA schools and were selected by a committee I served on this summer to go to the US and study in top universities for one semester. They forewent the "money-making" (sarcasm) careers to become teachers. Now they are sitting in Montana and Ohio, respectively, learning about what makes an educator a better one, and how to implement all these new methodologies they will learn in their UNRWA schools. (Thank you, US State Department.)

UNRWA schools--where teachers must undergo serious psychological training to deal with their student populations. Stuck in time warps. (This applies to Ministry schools too; don't think they get left out in the Reform is Needed Now category.) It's an antiquated system that values points over potential, regurgitation over critical thinking. A system that truly does not give many a way out. A system that is seriously flawed and that keeps brilliant students from reaching their goals. Want to be a medical student? Then prepare to kill yourself as well as give everyone in your family high blood pressure while going through Tawjihi. Can't cut it in Tawjihi? Perhaps you'd like a career in hotel restaurant management, instead? Isn't that kind of related to medicine?

I'm talking about educational reform, people. Reform. As Naseem mentioned in his post about the thousands of initiatives that are started in the kingdom--the ones that have the support of the monarchy, but never blossom to potential--educational reform is the chart topper for me. Tawjihi DOES NOT DETERMINE a student's potential, success or failure, or ability to find a career path to suit a (perhaps undiscovered!) talent or ability. Samer and Yasser, come back and show us your stuff. And someone out there needs to listen.

Did I mention I enjoy springtime in Jordan? I do. It's short-lived, but lovely. These pictures were taken today on a walk in Fuheis, fifteen minutes away from my front door, but I may as well be on another planet. I love this place. (Thanks, Lisa, for showing it to me).

Green hills, yes! And a valley gorge where a river needs to flow.

Carpets of wildflowers and terraced landscapes. Two boys rode by us on a horse, then turned around at the end of the road and signaled for us to watch out. We turned around to find a mule galloping towards us. We gave him some room. I want a mule and a patch of terraced land, perhaps an endless supply of khobeizeh and no need for neighbors I can hear at night.

My friend signaled me to stop because this little guy was in my path. The two-toed variety--what exactly are these? Geckos? I wasn't sure.

As much as I love this place and can always find something good to say, I know that the changes that need to happen can happen. One of the reasons I stay is that I want to be a part of such changes, even if in the smallest capacity. That's my hope.

Tomorrow

2009-03-11T17:34:00.001+02:00

is Blog About Jordan Day, round 2. It seems like yesterday I wrote this.

Gotta get busy.

A New Name?

2009-03-08T22:32:00.002+02:00

I wonder if by renaming this blog The Turd in the Punchbowl, can I be guaranteed more than 66 hits per day?

How about The Half-Witted Wife at Wits' End, Whoa Nelly! ?

Or maybe Everything that Glitters is not Gold, Sometimes it's Just Shiny Dung and I'm a Dung Beetle ?

Perhaps I'd Sell My Grandma for a Krispy Kreme and a Reprisal Role in 90210 ?

Suggestions?

Dear sweet one

2009-03-05T10:13:00.000+02:00

Beautiful inside and out, graceful, fun and kind and soft and loving, sentimental and gentle, outreaching and touching. You were a gift to all of us and I believe you knew that. So happy you were surrounded by so many who love you. Our hearts are breaking.

Can't get tired of this

2009-03-01T18:28:00.003+02:00

I probably watched this little guy on the news five or six times. Ran across it on YouTube while looking for something else, and saw it had been translated into English. What expression, depth, and voice he possesses. I want to give him a hug.

Where are you, Climbing Walls?

2009-03-01T10:42:00.001+02:00

I'm really missing this sister and her posts, and wondering how she is doing.

Al Ajnabiya, I even found your number you sent me last year and tried to call you. No answer.

Everything OK?

Rain Day and Silver Memories

2009-03-01T09:43:00.005+02:00

So today the Ministry of Ed decided the weather had been treacherous enough since Friday--I mean, a solid rainfall/sleeting since Friday, a beautiful, beautiful thing--and closed school today. No real complaints here, seeing how I did not have the right snack-y foods to put in my kids' lunchboxes anyway. We're home, and it's a hot cocoa sort of day.

Last night I uploaded all of these pictures from my oldest sister's 25th wedding anniversary party that took place last week. I was 11 when she got married, and I remember her wedding and its fantastic reception like they happened yesterday. I sat here, listening to the rain drip in through my kitchen door, and looked at picture after picture of the celebration that was largely put together my my two fantastic nephews and my niece. They were so clever and cool about the whole thing that my sister and her husband were none the wiser. I love it when surprises can really be pulled off!

I am very proud of my sisters' kids for putting the thought and effort into this. My friend and I were remarking the other day, wondering if our we and our respective spouses have shown our children that these kinds of things are important. Have we demonstrated to them that our love for each other is lasting and solid? That even when we argue, we love one another? That we cherish each year that passes and we long to grow old with one another? Sadly, my parents were unable to give this gift to my siblings and me. So, we've had to build our own models, and that's OK. So far I think we are succeeding.

My sister has been through the wringer in every sense of the word. She is strong and beautiful and loving. She has stood by the side of her husband who has undergone so many illnesses and tribulations. They both survived, and they have loving, appreciative children surrounding them. I just love that.

Happy Anniversary, Ang and Ben, from your goofy silver-dressed, permanent-waved, tinted glasses-wearing 11 year-old little sister, who probably went back to the buffet table 14 times that night. I can never resist a sterno-can.

Tuesday Haiku: Restraint (or not)

2009-02-24T08:55:00.004+02:00

Those cinnamon rolls
that batch makes at least forty
no words can describe

I say "I'll have one"
One turns into three or more
Indigestion, yes

Black Iris wrecks car
Urges to scream out loud, LOUD!
What is wrong with folks?

Falling on deaf ears
They're not ready for my words
Heretical me

I'll be a nice girl
Smile and wait my turn in the
line like all the rest

Get on that spin bike
Thighs pedal out all of that
cinnamon sugar.

This is when you will see me go 'nuts-o'

2009-02-22T09:32:00.004+02:00

My home sits in the middle of a triple-school triangle. There is the Amman Academy, the Modern School, and the school my kids attend, all within a two-block radius of where I live. I drive my kids to school each morning because I am in utter fear of speeding school buses who blindly round corners, oblivious to pedestrians, folks backing out of driveways, or any other living creatures.

I really appreciate living so close to my kids' school. Forgot your lunch? No problem, I can run it right over. Vomiting in class? I'll be there in 2 minutes. Parent-teacher conference? Not an excursion for us. Very, very convenient.

What is not convenient is the thoroughfare that others who do not have children in their cars have designated this school zone to be. They speed around corners, fly down the parallel streets around the schools that should "in my dream world" be dotted with Safety Patrol officers holding signs that read "STOP." Where I'm from, when that "STOP" that is held up in your face by a large Social Studies teacher with a whistle in her mouth, it is not something to chide, to negotiate, to ignore. You'll get your fanny slapped in jail if you speed through these zones, and rightly so. Where are the whistle blowers--the ones we really need? Why is school safety and crossing safety and general traffic safety not a concern when it comes to our precious gifts--our children?

Today I pulled over to let my children out. Some moronic, smoking, music-blasting worm of a "man" who uses our school zone as his short cut was honking and waving his arms behind me. I was slowing down his route to getting nowhere, fast. It was all I could do to not throw open the driver's door and run to strangle him. This kind of bull makes me want to hurt someone, because their idiocy can potentially hurt so, so many.

To Everything, Turn, Turn, Turn

2009-02-17T20:53:00.002+02:00

Here's my dear Aunt Shirley and my Mom, summer of 2007. They are a gorgeous pair. Aunt Shirley was diagnosed with lung cancer this time last year. She has fought a valiant, patient, cathartic fight. I just received word that the cancer has spread to her liver and to her spine. My Mom is on her way to be by her side.

Here is Aunt Shirley at Thanksgiving, 2008, with her daughter and mother--my amazing Grandmother who will be 91 in April. They are at her side, too.

Just another time in my life when the distance that separates us is almost too much to take.

Just Ganking from Myself

2009-02-14T10:53:00.002+02:00

There is this popular tag floating around Facebook that I've been avoiding for some time now. Today I sat down and did it. Since I'm quite behind on the blogging stuff, too, I figure I'll just kill those proverbial birds and entertain you. (or not)

Twenty-five Random Things about Me

1. My middle name is Jeanne, which after marriage I dropped and replaced with my maiden name. I like the name Jeanne, but not particularly after my first name.
2. I once got into the tank with a baluga whale at Sea World. It was magnificent.
3. The Sea World experience prompted me to want to study marine biology, which I did not study.
4. I fell in love with the Spanish language in the 8th grade, with no credit to my teacher. The language itself was enough to hook me; the teacher was sub-standard.
5. Folks have told me that my laugh is contagious.
6. I never, ever envisioned myself as a mother of four.
7. I was hopping planes alone and wearing that UNACCOMPANIED MINOR badge at the age of nine.
8. My first best friend Lianne Epstein is still in contact with me and she just delivered her first child. We were friends when we were five. She blew me away a few years ago by showing me all the letters and cards I'd sent her over our 27-year friendship.
9. I have a tendency to attract troubled souls. (not so much anymore, but when I was younger...whoaa)
10. I will always think of my Mom as around 42 years old and my Dad the same.
11. I take words and put their letters in alphabetical order, to create new words. For instance, my name would be "Eefijnnr." Most new words end up sounding Scandinavian.
12. Along those same lines, Brandy Johnson and I made up a language in the 5th grade, which has actually caught on in some pretty hefty intellectual circles. (eh hem)
13. My favorite ride at Disney World was 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, mostly because it was superbly air-conditioned.
14. I was a champion at Trivial Pursuit. (Chris Kramer and I made the best team...where is Chris Kramer?)
15. I once ate veal parmigiana at Sonny Bono's restaurant in Palm Springs. (I Got You Babe!)
16. My graduating class from Homewood High School boasts some brilliant minds. Truly.
17. I have worked in many restaurants and am no stranger to mopping with those giant yellow buckets and mops. Best restaurant: Klingler's Bakery. Worst restaurant: The Cracker Barrel.
18. I love no place more than standing at a podium, teaching. It is where I belong. I need the podium for balance, or to hide when I need to scratch my foot with my other foot.
19. I lip-synced The Rolling Stones' Sympathy for the Devil on an Italian cruise ship and should have won first prize. I knew all the words.
20. The first time I tasted sushi I was in love. (with the sushi)
21. I neglect my hands and feet.
22. As an early birthday present to myself, I got braces at age 27, and they were removed 2 months before I turned 30. That was a stupendous gift!
23. I desperately miss the postal system and have a love-hate relationship with email.
24. My signature dish is Sesame Chicken, whose recipe I had to come up with for my then five-year old son when we moved to Jordan. It is still a family (and friend) favorite.
25. I cannot stand to hear a recording of my own voice and will challenge anyone who says I actually sound that way.

Reviving the spirit

2009-02-08T11:55:00.003+02:00

There's nothing like listening to this South African-Southerner sing to pull me out of a funk, as it were. Bring on the funk-busting funk. (Did I mention I've been in a funk?)

Gotta love the Bill Cosby-esque 'scat.' Funky!

Reading

2009-02-05T22:34:00.002+02:00

1940's Great Smokey Mountains, by Zelda Fitzgerald, source

I'm currently reading the Collected Short Stories of F. Scott Fitzgerald, which has been sitting on my shelf for some time. I was inspired to read it after learning that the film, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, was based on the Fitzgerald short story of the same name. While the film and the short story share few similarities, these collected works of Fitzgerald have proven to be delightful. (I particularly like the one entitled Bernice Bobs Her Hair.)

We all probably had to read The Great Gatsby in high school. I certainly loved the film starring Robert Redford. Fitzgerald married an Alabama gal, Zelda, who was a writer, painter, dancer, and painfully troubled alcoholic.

Read some great American literature if you have a chance.

Remind Me, Please

2009-02-04T21:43:00.004+02:00

Not to begin Spring cleaning until it is actually Spring.

I decided that today, ripping out the carpet by myself in my room would be a dandy idea, and was inspired by my sister who had to do the same this week because of flooding.

My room was not flooded, but I was really tired of looking at that old carpet and contemplating the reproductive habits of its dust mite residents, and how their prodigy like to settle in my mucous membranes.

The 300+ pound closet, or "high boy" as my grandmother would call it, has never been moved since its assembly back in 2004. It is one of those Jordanian wood creations that are not meant to be moved. Everything has been taken out of the closet, all furniture moved out of the room, and in the process of trying to battle the Mighty Mites, I have pissed them off. They are now taking up residence in my lungs, completely bypassing the mucous membranes in my nose.

My son cannot fight the coat rack and seven misshapen suitcases indefinitely. It's time for round two. (And this time, I'm going to the pharmacy to buy one of those medical masks!)

UPDATE:
The closet now sits in a dozen or so pieces, and the carpet is out! It is in surprisingly good shape for being 7 years old (that's 49 years old in Jordanian-made household item years). It's going to be a doozie of a week but I have a vision.