Before and Now
No, my house is not undergoing a ‘remodel.’ It is undergoing a rewiring. About the best that will happen is that when it is finished, it will look a lot like it looked before, except with invisible copper wiring instead of aluminum wiring, which, as it turns out, is problematic.
Sigh. And then again, what better time to have this all done than BEFORE you move in? If it had to happen, it couldn’t have happened at a better time, and we have some truly great contractors. How many times have you ever heard someone say that?
Today I went by the house to pick up the mail and holy smokes – the garage is full of ceiling, and my house is bare bones!
Here are some before and after shots:
Family Room Before:
Family Room Now:
Kitchen Before:
Kitchen Now:
Living Room Before:
Living Room Now:
And last but not least – the Garage before:
And the Garage now:
Every Monkey Gets His Turn in The Barrel
AdventureMan and I have this phrase, and I cannot imagine where it came from (from where it came, for you grammar sticklers!) “Every Monkey gets his turn in the barrel.” It’s particularly true in the workplace, or at least almost every workplace where I have worked – it’s like the stock market, sometimes your stock is high, sometimes your stock can fall, and often, it is not so much your performance as the PERCEPTION of your performance.
Often, in the work place, stocks rise and fall based on little or nothing at all. In fact, if you are really really good at what you do, you are sometimes more at risk, because those who are less accomplished always need to focus the attention anywhere but on their own work, and if you are doing well, they will often find something to criticize to keep their own lackluster accomplishments from coming into focus.
But every monkey getting his/her turn in the barrel applies in almost all factors of life. Sometimes you’re up. Sometimes you’re down. Sometimes it has nothing to do with you, it’s just the way things are.
So my trip home was sort of my turn in the barrel. I was a little late getting to the airport, which was not crowded, but there was a long back-up going through passport control to get to the departure gates. They had plenty of staff, but for some reason, they were SO SLOW. When I got to the front, the woman ‘taking care’ of me was busy texting! I asked if the computers were slow today – honestly, she had already stamped my passport, she was just killing time – and she said “No, why?” as if she were unaware of all the people standing in line, waiting to get through.
When I got to Dubai, I had to do this 2 km run from the gate where Emirates comes in to the Delta check-in counter. I always think of it as good exercise, but the humidity in Dubai is particularly high, or else the air conditioning is going out, and at the end of the trek, I am almost soaked with sweat and thinking ‘OMG I need a shower.’ I went to the lounge, but there was a sign “opening at 2100 hours’ and it was 15 minutes after nine. I could see someone in there, but later she stuck her head out and said she couldn’t let anyone in until the ‘attendants’ came, which they did, about 15 minutes later – they had been shopping!
And then I discovered that I had to go to the Air France lounge, not nice at all, near the smoking station so even inside the Air France lounge it smells stale and smokey. I am spoiled. I love the Emirates lounge in Dubai, where they even have tiny small containers of Haggan Daaz ice cream for their clients. 😉 This lounge was filled with American contractors. Yes, we are also American contractors, but this was the other kind – great big fat loud-voiced men, bragging about their salaries and demeaning their wives. I couldn’t wait to get out of there, which I did quickly after checking my e-mails.
The flight from Dubai to Atlanta is just long – more than 15 hours – and started inauspiciously. As we took off, as the plane’s nose lifted, some cupboard fell open and we could hear china and cutlery falling and breaking, a lot of it. I felt so sorry for the flight attendants; they have a lot to do during those flights, and now it was complicated by a disaster at the beginning of the flight. I got through it, mostly by escaping into sleep.
As we arrived in Atlanta, everything had changed. I just did this trip six weeks ago, but there is a new traffic pattern, a longer trek, sterner instructions about how and where to get into line. My bags, marked “priority’, were, as often is the case, nearly the last off the plane, and I trundled them through customs, and then had to run (honestly, this is like a herd of cattle) to get into another long, snaking line to go through security again – this time in Atlanta, where you have to take off your shoes, take out computers, can only use a 1 quart zippering plastic bag, etc.
I had thought I had plenty of time, but a large troop flight came in from Afghanistan, and we all had to move aside to give them priority. That is the one inconvenience I did not mind at all – I am so proud everyone moved over with no grumbling and let our servicepeople through, to get them on their way for R&R.
Security found me very interesting, and this is my own fault. I have a little Waterford crystal sugar jar that I took with me. I’ve had it since the early years of our marriage, and I often hand carry it to the next post. It’s too bad that lead crystal goes opaque in the scanners, and that the shape was a little like that of a hand grenade. I also had my wireless router with me, and this led to a long, long, very long inspection of everything I was carrying.
As I griped later to my son, he said “And I am sure it never occurred to you that you were arriving from the Middle East on a one-way ticket.”
LLLLLOOOOLLLL @ me. Nope. It had never occurred to me. I guess I was thinking about other things – farewells, clearing out the house, packing, mortgage papers, insurance papers, TAXES (Oh aaaAAARRRGGHHH, yes we have an extension, but we still have to get them done!)
So this trip, I was the monkey. I rolled around in that barrel. Actually, because I had no real agenda, other than be in P’cola by Monday to close on a house, I could roll with it and figure that I have had so many breaks, so many times, that if I needed to take this roll in the barrel, so be it, God is good and needed to give the breaks to that old guy in the wheel chair and that family with two kids in strollers, and all those fine young people who serve our country in strange and alien lands . . .
And, at the end of my journey is my son, his wife, and our grandson, and a sweet, relaxed day with them, doing not much but catching up. 🙂 The real chaos starts this coming week, early on Monday morning. Think I’d better get to church, get some fortification for the demands of this coming week.
Places I’ll Remember . . .
I’m not very good at being sad. Today is one of the saddest days of my life. I’ve been weeping all day, and I’m not one of those women whom the camera loves when they weep. My throat gets thick, so clogged with emotion that I can’t talk clearly, and my eyes get all red and swollen. My cheeks get all blotchy. I hate it, my eyes are leaking, and my nose is running. I think I’ve got it all stopped, and it all starts up again.
Most of the house is packed, the kitchen cupboards cleared out and all the goods not going with us distributed. I weep as I pack my bags. I weep as I take out the garbage. I weep as I load one last load of wash into the washer.
“What is it in particular?” AdventureMan asks me, as I weep, yet again, as I start to write this entry.
“It’s the end of an era,” I choke out, and the tears start rolling once again in spite of all my efforts not to succumb.
“We’ve lived our lives as nomads ever since we met,” I continue.
“It isn’t like we want to live in Doha forever, Doha is changing, too, old friends are leaving.”
“It isn’t like I love packing up and starting over in a new place.”
“I shouldn’t have scheduled to leave on a Friday after church,” I philosophized, but it’s too late now. The waterworks started in church and have turned on and off with ever fresh goodbye.
I steeled myself to smile cheerily at my oldest friends, knowing we’ll meet up again – a wedding, a retirement, a gathering of old hands. But small things defeated me. The friends who switched their normal place in church and sat beside us. The communion hymn “Lord of the Dance” sung as a duet. One of our friends provided our very very favorite meal for lunch. The priest blessing my travels and sending me on with the prayers of the people. The difficult ceremony of saying goodbye to the people we love in a place which has nurtured us, spiritually and socially.
And one young woman painted a watercolor for us of our new grandson.
It is a stunning watercolor, I can hardly wait to have it framed. There is something very special in it – I have a friend who knits, but is constantly telling us how badly she knits. She knit a blanket for the grandson, and it was COLD in Pensacola, and that blanket was used over and over again. The blanket is in the lower left corner of the watercolor. 🙂
It’s going to be a long trip to our new life. We are going to a happy place – sunshine, but not so much heat. Humidity and lightning, but also four seasons and seafood. Our son, his wife, our grandson. All these are happy things. Our new house, a new life, closer to our families. All good things.
I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to my Palestinian friend, like my sister, and she shared all her children with me through these years of friendship. Saying goodbye to her was horrible. We know we may never see one another again. Her daughters assure me they will help us correspond; they will help her use modern technology to stay in touch. 🙂 I don’t know when I will ever see her again . . . and it breaks my heart. I guess I kind of thought she would come visit me. “No,” she said sadly, “no, I will never have the right papers to visit you.” Until that moment, I hadn’t realized how devastating are the restrictions on her life. And I’m just a friend. She hasn’t seen her own father, in Palestine, for years. Sometimes they can meet up in Egypt. . .
I’m not the first expat to leave here. One good friend left Doha last summer, she led the way. We all know that leaving the nomadic life is charting new territory. We’ve had a lot of fun, we’ve loved (most of) the expat experience. We know it’s time. It’s just the inner twenty-five year old is not ready.
AdventureMan’s company keeps saying “when you’ve had a break . . . ” and AdventureMan laughs and says “I’m not taking a break, I am RETIRING!” His company is savvy; they know that three months down the road the domestic life may get a bit old for these high testosterone kind of guys and they will invite him back for a special project or two. He promises me, if it is Doha or Kuwait, I can come with him. Even just a week or two, to see old friends . . . I’ll take it!
Thanks be to God, for creating us, and for giving us this wonderful life we were created to live. Thanks be to God for all these great adventures, for the exotic, the sights and smells and sounds, and for the eyes to see and the ears to hear. Thanks be to God for the generous spirited friends called to his life, who have shared the path with us. And thanks be to God for this outlet, this blog, where I can share the good, the bad and the ugly with friends from all countries who have ever lived as strangers in a strange land (even when that ‘strange’ land is the USA, LOL!) Thank YOU, friends.
Early Morning Souk Al Waqif
One set of packers coming mid-morning, so AdventureMan is staying home, and offers to take me out to breakfast. I’m a cheap date – take me to the Beirut. I love this place.
As we get to the camel lot, we see they are being fed and dressed – a parade?
These guys look sharp. They have a lot of pride in what they are doing. And they have a dashing uniform. He told us they are a part of the Emiri Diwan.
On to the Beirut, and one of my reasons for loving these breakfasts – the souk cops, on their horses. The horses are beautiful, and well controlled. The cops are friendly and patient with all the tourists, and with us ‘locals’ too, when we ask them to pose with our Flat Stanleys. 🙂
It’s a real treat for AdventureMan to have a morning when he can sit outside with me and enjoy his favorite kind of breakfast:
We walked through the souks, and found that by 9:30, it is beginning to get HOT.
Camelot
Another highlight of the day yesterday – husband came home early. I can count the number of times that has happened on one hand. He said he would take me for dinner, any restaurant in the souks. I decided on the Cafe Brussels, because I thought a salad would be good on a warm March evening.
As we parked, AdventureMan’s sharp eyes spotted something new, something I have either totally missed, or something that really is new – a herd of camels, enclosed near the old fort.
He started whistling. Camelot.
He always knows how to make me laugh. While I was shooting photos, he was going to get me in to get up close for some shots. ‘no! no! I protested, I am fine here, behind the fence!’ He said that was good, because the policeman/guard was busy texting, and didn’t want to be bothered. . .
The souk is filled with people, people shopping, people eating. It delights me to see that this area has become such a magnet for all peoples, expats and locals. The evening weather is perfect right now, and so many people were there, taking advantage of the lovely evening.
A Great Day in Doha
Yesterday, I had a great day.
Most of my boxes are packed. Many addresses are changed. I know what I will take in my suitcases. The Qatteri Cat has a reservation. All the little details, by the grace of God, are falling into place.
So I could relax for a day.
I hit the pool with my long-time (I did not say OLD!) exercise buddy, and oh, that felt good! We swam, we exercised, but mostly we talked and laughed.
Joined up with another friend for coffee. Took a few minutes to shower and fix up, then treated ourselves to a Doha delight, where photos are forbidden:
Normally, and astonishingly, in the Doha Museum of Islamic Art, photos are not only allowed, they are graciously encouraged, so I was surprised and embarrassed to be told I was not allowed to take photos in the magnificent Pearl exhibit. It truly is a fabulous display. My favorite part was not the pearls, but a very very beautiful old pearling box, complete with inlay, and compartments, and a set of pearl size sifters. I know, I am weird. I would rather have that than the pearl of great price. I would worry about the pearl being stolen. The box would give me pleasure every single day, for it’s beauty and its usefulness. I have one, a plain one, and I am delighted to have it, but seeing this glorious pearl box also gave me joy.
On Mondays the special exhibit is free, but we still had most of it to ourselves, and could peruse the treasures at a leisurely pace.
I really love this place; I love the building, the spaciousness, the graciousness and serenity of it. I love that it attracts people, and that huge numbers can be in the building and you never know it.
This is what I call a phone call with a view:
Tourists can’t resist snapping:
It’s a great place for photographs:
One of these guys told me that he could see when I was younger, I must have been very beautiful. I am guessing he thought I would take it as a compliment, LLLOOOLLLL.
Buying a Car the Civilized Way
“Did you know USAA has a car buying service?” AdventureMan asked me. Well, yes, sort-of, but I’ve been not wanting to think about buying a new car with all the house-buying stuff and paper-filling out stuff and packing stuff and making lists.
On the other hand, every day I have to rent a car is money down the drain.
“I’ll just check it out,” I thought to myself.
It was so easy. You go online and tell the car buying service where you live and what you want to buy. They send your name and phone number and e-mail (since I don’t want car salespeople calling me in the middle of the night because they don’t understand about time zones, I only gave them my e-mail) to dealerships who participate in USAA’s program.
USAA also sent me a list of car dealerships in my area and a Certificate for me to print with their agreed upon price. That simple. The certificate prices were significantly lower than anything I had been offered at the dealership I visited, and these were guarantee.
Within hours, three dealerships had e-mailed me. I chose the closest, worked with a WOMAN to get what I wanted at the price I was willing to pay, and not one item more. She was courteous and helpful and respectful! She got me everything I wanted. She named an out-the-door price that I could live with.
The only downside is that the dealership is 35 minutes away, in Fort Walton Beach. The upside is that they have been known to deliver, and 35 minutes just isn’t that far. Like from Fintas to downtown Kuwait City in heavy traffic, or from my house to the Ritz Carleton in Qatar. I can live with that.
Yes. Yes, Daggero, you guessed it right, I am buying another Rav4, one with brakes that work. I’m not scared off by Toyota’s troubles. It’s like eating in a restaurant that has just re-opened after being closed for health violations; you know it’s never going to be cleaner than it is right now. 😉 I love the way the Rav4 is sort of small, I am sort of small, too. I love that it turns on a dime, and that I am high enough to look over most of the traffic, but small enough to park in a tiny parking spot. It’s an SUV, but a modest SUV, with good mileage per gallon, and a great record for reliability and repairs.
Here is what I love about this transaction. I did my homework. I know what I want. I know what is a reasonable price to pay. I am getting a better price than I expected. There are no games – here’s what I want, here is what I am getting and here is what it is going to cost, and that includes title and licensing. How cool is that? I feel like when you do business like this, everyone is a winner.
And a shout-out to Marisa at Quality Toyota at Fort Walton Beach for making the process easy and non-threatening and civil. Working with her to buy my new car was a pleasure.
Flat Stanley: Oh The Places You’ll Go!
This title refers to two classic American books that most kids are familiar with. The first book,
Flat Stanley (at Amazon.com) is about a boy who is flat and figures out that he can go places by envelope. The second book is a book by Dr. Seuss, Oh! The Places You’ll Go by Dr. Seuss (at Amazon.com) one of those books parents read to their children and at some point the children say “Look! I can read!” and they will appear to be reading the book because they have heard it so many times.
Some really smart and creative elementary teacher figured out how to turn Flat Stanley into a lesson combining writing and geography, and now kids are making flat versions of themselves and mailing themselves to far-away places. My friend, Grammy, has received requests to help with these projects at least twice – and oh, the fun we have with these flat kids.
You take pictures. You explain what Stanley is doing. You make a slide show and send it to the kid to share with his class. What a wonderful way to make another country come to life! These kids will know where Doha, Qatar is! They will know some of the sights in Doha. Can you imagine? I wish geography had been so much fun when I was a kid!
It also reminds me to tell you, our friends in the states, that living in places like Doha is NOT SCARY. Look at the faces of all the people who helped us with Flat Stanley. Every single person we encountered was delighted to help us. No one ever said no, and some even volunteered extra ideas. In the souks today were some school children groups, and they helped too, although I am not posting photos because I don’t have their parent’s permissions, but it was one of the sweetest moments of the day, with these adorable children holding Flat Stanley.
Stanley visits the maker of lutes:
Stanley rides a camel:
Stanley takes a ride on a dhow:
Stanley visits the falcon souk, only sadly, falcon season is over, so there are no live falcons 😦
Stanley takes a rest in an incense burner:
Stanley visits the scribes:
Stanley hitches a ride with a souk cop on his Segway:
Stanley tries out a model tent at the tentmaker’s souk:
Stanley visits our friend, the Yemeni honey man, who also sells some of the worlds most wonderful baskets from the Asir in Yemen:
The weather is perfect. Take a trip to the souks. Get outside your normal boundaries and explore a little. Doha is a sweet family city, with lots to do, lots of family activities, great places for walking (the Corniche, Aspire Park, the beaches). Do it now, before the weather gets intense!
Beirut Breakfast
One of the first things that happened when I came back to Doha was my friends took me to breakfast at the Beirut. When they invited me, I was puzzled. The Beirut, as I remember it, was a place on Shara Kharaba (Electricity Street) where you drove up and guys in baseball caps came to your car and your ordered and they brought the food.
My friends are conservative, and fully covered, abaya and niqab. I could not imagine them sitting in an all-men kind of place.
But no, they took me to the NEW Beirut, down in the Souq al Waqif, and oh, what a treat! Everything, all the good foods they always had at the Beirut, only now you could sit at a table and eat! There is a family area upstairs (with a very nice restroom, by the way) and downstairs all the bachelors eat (meaning any male without a female with him) and then there is outside seating which is great when you are meeting up with western friends.
Today I was meeting up with one of my very best friends, a souk buddy, who enjoys just roaming and experiencing as I do. Actually, she had an agenda, and that will be the next blog entry, but we have been friends for a long time. Partners in crime. We egg each other on.
Most of the time we would order felafel (little balls of cooked ground chickpeas – garbanzos – and parsley, deep fried – sort of like hush puppies) and fool – beans, and hummous, with oil or yoghurt or meat. I would see guys eating bowls of stuff, though, like cereal bowls, only it wasn’t cereal, it looked maybe like oatmeal. We asked what it was, and they said it is like breakfast chickpeas and hummos with fried bread – fattoush – with yoghurt over it. So it sort of is like oatmeal, only it isn’t oatmeal. It is called Fatta.
Oh. My. Friends.
All my years in this part of the world, and I didn’t know about Fatta. Instead of forcing myself to eat oatmeal, I could have been eating Fatta.
This is SO delicious. So delicious that I beg you, if it is horrifyingly fattening, please don’t tell me. It has beans, and the fried flatbread, and toasted pine nuts, and slivered almonds, all covered with a coat of yoghurt and a drizzle of really tasty olive oil. It is so unbelievably delicious; if it were equivalent of oatmeal, this is what I would eat every day for breakfast for the rest of my life, it is so good.
But I have the bad feeling that anything so delicious is probably not so good for me. I have the feeling that it is called Fatta because it will make me big and fatta if I continue to eat it and enjoy it as I did today. Oh YUMMMMMMM.
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