Outraged Innocence
We learn so much about ourselves when we bear children. As Mothers, we learn the least glamorous of all virtues: self-sacrifice, endurance, patience, steadfastness and then more self-sacrifice. Caring for a newborn baby is an endless lesson in performing in spite of sleep loss, the drudgery of feeding and caring for a being who cannot in any way care for him or herself, and the realization that life will never again be the same.
And every now and then, you get the great pay off, a great gift that makes it all worthwhile. For me, it was the first time my son came home from college, majoring in Criminal Justice, and couldn’t wait to tell me what he had learned.
“Mom, the prisons are full of poor people who committed small crimes, many because they are poor! And there are rich people who cheat thousands of people of millions of dollars, and they go free!”
He was outraged. He could not understand how a country like ours could be so unfair to a majority of its citizens.
Later, as he continued with his studies, he confronted us. “We’re like the rich! Do you know anybody who has spent time in prison? There are entire communities who know how to deal with ‘the system’ because they have family members in prison!” Once again, he was outraged, and he had begun to understand what privilege is all about.
I couldn’t have been more proud. I couldn’t take any credit; he had discovered all this on his own. I was proud to have a son who could be outraged by injustice.
He has grown into a good man. He serves justice, as best he can. There are times when he will look me in the eye and tell me cynically “there is no justice; there is only winning and losing” but I see him out there, fighting the good fight against what appear to be overwhelming odds, and I know that motherhood, and all its sacrifices, is worth it to have a son with a good heart.
Not So Fast
It is a humbling experience (she says wryly) to be experiencing a sharply upward learning curve at a point in my life when I am supposed to be wise, by virtue of age and experience.
Yes, I have been through one prior full-blown hurricane, and many tropical storms, sandstorms, more than one earthquake, and even a flood. No two have been the same. I’ve lived a life full of challenges, and thrived. I’ve learned to think fast, to solve problems. I’m good at it.
So now, I am learning one of life’s less glamorous skills – patience. We have cleaned up. By the Grace of God, we have a person willing to help us clear the last spot needing clearing in our yard, a young man, experienced in tree work, the son of a friend. God truly works in wonderful ways.
We still have a big tree problem, this huge fallen tree in three backyards, hanging over us like the Sword of Damocles. I listen to my more experienced friends; they are all pragmatic. They say a variety of different words, all of which mean “Patience. This will take time.”
Finally, a disaster has been declared in our county. It took a week. FEMA, an organization which at one time was a shining light in our governmental policies, able to respond quickly and efficiently to disasters, is now hamstrung by cutbacks in personnel, funding and political machinations. Who and how they can help has changed. It hurts my heart that aid and lucrative contracts seem to be easily come by, while hands on help to those who need it most desperately, is very slow.
People talk about the blue tarps. In earlier years, almost immediately, trucks would go around giving out free blue tarps to homes with roof damage, to prevent more damage until the roofs could be repaired. We would fly into Pensacola and see entire areas with blue tarp roofs. I have seen a lot of roof damage inflicted by Hurricane Isaias; I have yet to see even one blue tarp. Such a simple necessity that can prevent so much more expense. Where are the tarps?
Neighbors are helping neighbors. Our neighbors who share our hanging tree are being wonderful. Everyone (except me) seems to understand that it will be fixed, and that it will take time. We are not a high priority. Intellectually, I can understand that. Emotionally . . . I am practicing patience. I am learning to practice to be patient. In some areas, I am a slow learner.
I have a small white sock on my buffet; it is a remnant of the load of wash I did for my granddaughter. They will be here for dinner tomorrow night and she can pick it up then. We are also working on a quilted holder for her Bedazzled work; I don’t know who is having more fun, her in eagerness for the container or me, in the design and making of it.
As soon as they got their electricity back, we lost our water, for hours, and when it came back, it was all brown. Finally, it ran clear, but it came also with a “Boil water” notice from our utility. I am reminded of Tunis, and Jordan back in the day, when boiling water was a normal part of life, and we had a big water purifyer called a Puro that we filled with boiling water and it filtered it all through large chalk filters.
Yesterday, after six days of sunshine and no wind, another smaller storm moved in and we waited for the other shoe to drop.
A lot of clean-up has been done. We are waiting for the disposal teams to come by and pick up debris. Meanwhile, the trees, grids, and water system still have invisible damage; changes in weather are likely to bring more unanticipated consequences.
Energy Lag
First, the good news – our son and his family, and more residents, are gaining electrical power. When I heard my daughter-in-law’s voice, saying, “We have electricity!” she bordered on giddy, the same emotion Adventureman and I shared when we heard the first click, our air conditioner coming on.
This morning, I emptied the dishwasher, folded my granddaughter’s laundry, fed all the cats and did some picking up. I planned to go to Chapel at my granddaughter’s school and then swim, but this morning I am tired and a little achy. I’ve been so pleased with my fitness level, and now I wonder if some of that wasn’t boosted by adrenaline. The picking up of debris seemed endless.
AdventureMan and I are luckily on track – we are both very concerned about our huge horizontal tree. We haven’t heard back from our preferred tree service. Our neighbor’s yards are full of our tree, and while we know, legally, it is their problem, this very large task really needs to be attacked by experts. One woman on Nextdoor was approached by one of the tree services and provided a quote of $26,000 for the removal of her tree. $26,000.
Lifelong Pensacolians tell us to wait; these are post-hurricane predators who move in to take advantage of the situation will fade away and prices will start coming down.
On the other hand, we fear a strong wind could bring this tree rolling towards our house, or the trees propping it up could fail, and the tree could roll towards our house. It seems risky to leave it in place, and yet we don’t want this tricky removal to be handled by amateurs.
This is what it feels like when the excitement of the storm ends, and our bodies and minds have to deal with the realities. In contrast, dealing with all the debris is doable and mind-numbing.
The crown of the tree, most of the leafy branches are down in our neighbor’s yard.
Legally, it is his responsibility. As good neighbors, however, we will work together. Right now the heavy branches anchor the tree in place; if those are taken off first, the trunk is free to roll. The trunk is tightly wedged, putting pressure on the other oaks; that area is clearly our responsibility. The heaviest part of the trunk is about twenty feet over our other neighbor’s yard. We need to fix this.
My house helper just asked me if we had noticed any problem with the water. We haven’t. The boil water notice ended last night and we stopped worrying about water. But when I checked, we barely have any water pressure at all, an unexpected happenstance.
So many post-storm occurrences. We know it will all be better, but meanwhile schools remain closed while they are inspected for safety. The school bus drivers can’t even get into some neighborhoods that are still blocked by trees down. AdventureMan left his famous fresh-baked biscuits for our mail carrier; she told us she still can’t deliver to the area behind our house because of street blockages and lines still down.
Isiais Coming In
We lost power just as I was making one last entry. It returned today, Sunday, late in the afternoon. I kept notes, and I will share them with you.
We lost power around 5. It happened slowly. We would lose power for a few seconds, then it would come on again. Even the last time, when we heard the transformer outside our house SNAP!, we had hopes it would come back on. It didn’t.
Here is a blessing. The weather is cool. What really makes it hard is the lack of air conditioning, but the air is cool enough: we are comfortable. With the shutters on and locked, it is very dark, and worse, we cannot see what is happening outside except for glimpses out the corners of our shutters and the back door. We have no internet. The phones are working, and we learn the storm is wobbling toward Destin.
Our phones are all charged, but we don’t want to use them because we may need them – urgently – if we are directly hit. No one really knows. We hear the storm has moved east of us, and later it learn that it hit Destin/Navarre more directly, but the preceding bands of lashing winds and rain hit here earlier in the day and got stronger as the day went on. We learned that the bridge over to Gulf Breeze closed at 3:30, in that old abundance of caution (which we learned is a good way to go when the bridge was badly damaged during Hurricane Sally, and we lost its use for months.)
We have lanterns. They are strong and glaring. The winds speed up and then pick up again. It gets very wild outside; the cats are freaking out, and a loud thump and brushing sound hits the north side of the house, and we know a limb is down, and maybe a power line with it. I go to look out the back door – it is covered with a piece of ballistic mesh, a requirement for houses so that occupants have a way to exit quickly if something violent happens – a treefall directly on the house, a gas explosion, a fire – anything requiring a quick exit.
We can see through the mesh, dimly. The winds are crazy: the trees are twisting, writhing, it is painful to watch. There are no lights at all, no streetlights, no human lights. But something looks weird in our far back lot, and I call AdventureMan,
“I think I see a huge tree sort of hanging horizontally, but maybe I’m not seeing what I think I see. Will you take a look?”
He peers; I point to what I think is one end and the line the maybe-tree is taking. He agrees, and we agree that to go outside to check in the midst of wildly chaotic winds might satisfy our curiosity, but might also kill us. Being people who laugh during the worst times, we speculate on the headlines, like Pensacola couple steps into backyard, killed by falling tree.” Using our wiser judgement, we stay inside.
The winds are over by nine. It is very, very quiet. No cars are going by. There are no streetlights. There are no lights in any of our near neighbors’ houses; there is a light farther up the street where someone has started up a generator.
The stress is over, as we are exhausted. There is no electricity, no internet. We can read by lantern light, but we are tired from the stress, from all the preparations, so we turn out the light early and are asleep as our heads hit the pillows. We are thankful this day is over, and more than a little afraid of what we will find tomorrow.
“But What If I Never See Pomegranate Syrup Again?”
I had a tough weekend. You know, one of those dealing with emotions kind. Exhausting.
I’ve been chasing moths in our pantry for weeks now, and AdventureMan has volunteered to clean out the pantry totally and get to the root of the situation. I am so grateful. He was soon so sorry he volunteered. It’s a mammoth job. I know, I’ve done it before to get rid of our last infestation.
Even that word is a trigger for me. We have a moth infestation translates to I AM A BAD HOUSEKEEPER. I hear my Mother’s judgement. She raised me better. I do the best I can, but . . . I have an INFESTATION. I feel like a failure.
So I listen to my husband huffing and puffing and even cursing now and then, and I don’t feel appreciation as much as I feel guilt.
It gets worse. He wants to have “a talk.” Just the words make my heart pound. But the truth is, he is very kind. He doesn’t blame me for this at all; he just wants to find where these beasties are coming from. We wash every crevice (there are cocoons), inspect every package, put all grains and open-package wares in glass or hard plastic containers, and we crush every sign of the beasties. Yet still they appear.
AnventureMan snuggles up and says “we are buying too much food. We have a pantry full of food, just for the two of us. We eat out often, and cook less. We waste food; we throw out bread that molds, vegetables that shrink, and foods that have expired. We need to buy less food.”
I agree. I know he is right.
“I know it is hard for you to break decades of behavior,” he says, “but we have changed our habits and now we have to change our shopping.”
I agree. I know he is right.
Living on a frugal island in Alaska, then living overseas where we couldn’t get many of the goods Americans take for granted, I lived by two rules:
- If you see it, buy it. You may never see it again. This was true in Alaska, Germany, Tunisia, Jordan, Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, and Qatar. During COVID it was briefly true in the United States, as the supply chain went off the wheel, and toilet paper was absent from the shelves as people bought it up like treasure.
- If you need it, buy a back-up. This explains why I have excessive amounts of peanut butter, mustard, relish, tuna fish, dish detergent and beans. It’s no longer a question of when the boat will come in, it’s also a question of if a hurricane strikes and we are on our own for days, or weeks, or months.
I agree with AdventureMan. I need to buy less; we need to waste less.
Today, with his felafel salad, he started to grab the pomegranate syrup from the pantry and I said “Stop! We have one open in the refrigerator!” I could see it was getting low, and mentally I was thinking “put that on the list, we don’t want to run out of pomegranate syrup.”
And then my rational brain kicked in. How often do I really use pomegranate syrup? For Muhammara, which I make maybe once every three months. For Fesenjan, which I have made once, ever. And today AdventureMan wanted some for his salad. Our bottle in the refrigerator could last a year or more.
And my lizard brain screamed “But what if you never see pomegranate syrup again?”
“Mirror, Mirror on the Wall… “
I have a mirror that makes me laugh. It also makes me happy.
I have a daughter-in-love I adore, who lived in this house before I did, and every time I came to visit, or babysit, if I saw myself in the hall mirror, I was surprised, I looked so thin!
Now I live in the house, and when we were moving in, I asked her where she had found her mirror because I wanted one like it. She told me it was from Walmart.
I found one just like it, and hung it in exactly the same spot, where I could see myself as I come down to hall.
I laugh because I know that because it is a cheap mirror, it is flawed, and that the flaw is to make me look taller, and thinner, than I am. I know this.
And I laugh again because I don’t care! I love the daily surprise of looking thin!
(As for the rest of it – Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?” I don’t even ask. I’ll concede that to my much younger, prettier daughter-in-law.) 😊
Intlxpatr Turns Twenty Years!
Welcome to our virtual celebration, old friends and new.
Twenty years ago on this very day, newly arrived in Kuwait, I joined a very lively, edgy and welcoming blogging scene. It was frightening to me, but I had my reasons. There were bloggers I loved reading – I started by commenting on their posts. It was like a salon, topics and views and opinions everywhere, and also some facts.
There is an old story about Martin Luther, the priest who nailed his ideas for a better church on the door, and while the church didn’t change, the community in which he lived was willing to entertain his thoughts, and slowly, things DID change. When asked why he would take the risk – being called heritical could end to death – he said (in German), “I cannot other.”
Stepping into the blogworld was stepping outside a comfort zone and expressing thoughts some might think better left unspoken.
C’mon in. Here There and Everywhere has always worked to be a safe place for exploring new ideas, disruptive thoughts and how to make things better. We’ve got great virtual refreshments and a safe place to vent 😊.
There’s a little bit of Soused Apple Cake left over from yesterday’s Fish Fry.
For those who, like me, have to be careful, we also have some relatively healthy finger foods:
Grab something to drink 😊
I miss our great discussions, and I miss the liveliness of the old blogging scene. I’m not so comfortable with the arguments and name-calling I find in other outlets, nor the need to be wary of those who are monitoring – and who are they, anyway?
Meanwhile, a good friend mentioned recently how political I have gone.
Honestly, in these times, even the apolitical are speaking out. I heard a priest today talk about his anger at the hijacking of the gospel, used for vengence and not for love. I found it very brave, those strong words. If we don’t speak out bravely now, the crushing forces seeking vengence and control create a world most of us won’t want to live in.
I want a government who subsidizes health care for ALL. I want science to recommend vaccines which improve our quality of life and save lives. I want corporations that have standards to meet for air and water and environmental protection. I want our police to protect the weak against the bullying and violence of those who think might makes right. I want to welcome the stranger, creating new textures and patterns in the fabric of our nation. I want every person’s vote to count. I want responsible, accountable, educated leadership, and congressional decisions created by working together to achieve doable compromises.
“Ich kann nicht anders.”
As a post script – this is my 5,900 published post 😊.
The End of an Era
“Mr. Adventureman, the papers you have ordered have come!” the manager of the Sultan Center would say, exultantly, to my clueless husband.
“I ordered papers?” he might croak.
“Sir! It is the coated paper for you to use in the microwave!”
“Aha! ” AdventureMan thinks, “my wife has ordered this.”
“Thank you so much!” he responds brightly to the store manager. “We will pick it up shortly!”
Raised with Alaskan frugality, storing for the future, letting nothing go to waste, never knowing when we will ever see (fill in the blank) again, I store my treasures, using them sparingly. Today, I smile ruefully as I use the last of the last roll of waxed paper from Kuwait.
I think microwave technology has improved. I don’t seem to use waxed paper to defend against food explosions as I once did. Or maybe I’ve just gotten smarter?
I’m not buying waxed paper – or a lot of things – the way I once did. I’ve never lived in one place for this long – a place where, if something runs out, I can get a replacement within an hour, or at worst, a couple days. It’s not like when taco chips completely disappeared from every restaurant in Doha for a month, or cream sold out in Tunis as the big Eid approached. The closest we’ve come to a shortage is during COVID, when people hoarded toilet paper for a short time. The lasting result is that my friends discovered the blessing of bidets.
Last month, I actually came close to running out of dish detergent. I have to laugh at myself; in my own funny way, I’m making progress.
Everyday Heroes Teach Our Children
I live in a state with one of the worst education systems in the country. I live in a county in that state that has one of the highest proportions of children under the poverty line in our schools. I work in one of the poorest schools in the county as a volunteer. With great pride, I say, “I am a laminator.”
With great laughter, my grandchildren call out, “See you later, laminator!”
I LOVE laminating. I get to operate this hot shot machine, and I get to see materials our teachers are using to teach our children. With my graduate degrees, I still have a lot to learn. Last year, laminating, I learned the properties of minerals. Yesterday, I was reminded of the critical components of fiction.
I love the school, which this past year earned an award for its test score improvements. I love the children, so fresh, so adorable, so full of energy. The librarian sings “Bye Bye Butterfly” waving her arms, and all the eager kindergarteners sing loudly and wave their arms, too. “See you soon, big baboon” makes them laugh their heads off. They are fully engaged. They are learning what a baboon looks like. With any luck at all, this year they will get a field trip to the nearby zoo.
Most of all, I love these brave heroes who work in our schools. Our state has policies which seem anti-public education. The state supports vouchers for private schools that show no accountability, and the state is proposing we lower or eliminate property taxes, further indenturing our local governments to the poohbahs in control of our state house of representatives, the state senate, and the state governor. The state has placed on the ballot a proposition to make the school superintendent of schools an elected office, not an office selected by the Board of Education, not going through any vetting process, but making the Superintendent of Education a popularity contest.
In a county known for banning more books in the schools than any other county in the United States, we NEED professionals at the highest levels.
By the grace of God, we already have them in the classrooms at the school where I volunteer. Our teachers are educated, trained, and mentor one another. They are busy at the beginning of the year laying out strict boundaries to keep the education process flowing productively. They are gathering our youngsters, corralling them, teaching them civil behavior, and best practices to achieve the standards which will propel them upwards through the system.
These teachers and administrators are planners, and their good planning gives daily examples to the students of how to succeed – in school, and in life. They live their truth. They demonstrate self-restraint, humility, humor, and toughness. They give their students the tools to succeed. They give them the basics; the ABC’s, the maths, and they polish the rough edges and develop their social skills.
With little thanks, they get up early to be at school to greet the students with a smile, even joy, so early in the morning.
These are my heroes. Their reward is touching and changing lives.
These heroes are in every school in our county, educating our citizens of tomorrow.
Pray for them, my friends, that their burden be light and that the Spirit refreshes them as they face their daily teaching responsibilities and challenges. They do the Lord’s work, welcoming the stranger, teaching the children to be kind to one another, helping them treat one another with respect and civility, how to take turns, how to make room for differences, and the fundamentals of democratic society. God bless the work of their hands!
Finally, A Quiet Moment
We’ve had a rough couple of weeks, starting with an emergency visit to a local vet clinic on a Sunday, then two weeks of constantly surveilling our sick cat. In the greater scheme of things, it’s not such a big deal, we say “it’s a first world problem,” but it creates a whirlwind of extra activity and extra work. We have three cats, and now, three separate places for them. We have our normal activities, and daily requirements. It all adds up.
Two of the cats, including the sick cat, are used to hanging out together, so they don’t understand why they have to be separated. Most of the time, things have been OK. Except at night. No sooner are we all settled, maybe even drifting into sleep, when one or another will start yowling, and scratching at a door, and you’d think it can only go on so long, but no, it keeps going on until we re-arrange things, and it’s good for thirty five minutes or mabe even an hour and then it all starts again.
So we’ve not been getting much sleep, and all this is exacerbated by the worries we have that our sick cat is not getting better. Today is a good day, but we are still worried not everything has resolved, and we have not gotten to the root of the problem.
But today IS a good day. One cat is at my feet, the sick cat, snuggled up and relaxed, which is a really good sign. The other cat, the one that joined our family at the same time as the sick cat is just feet away, on a stand looking out across the Bayou. Or, more likely, he is watching a lizard. He is crazy for lizards.
Most of the time, AdventureMan and I are pretty chipper. This cat illness, and the amount of time it is taking to resolve, and the amount of work involved in keeping cats all separated, and three litter boxes, and cleaning and all the laundry, and lugging the sick cat to the vet for x-rays and treatments, begins to wear on us. We aren’t so patient, with ourselves, with each other. We are tired. We take turns grabbing naps during the day, during cat quiet times, like right after feeding.
I barely know what is going on in the world, except that the Strait of Hormuz is not open, and our allies continue to grow in mistrust of our leadership and our lack of serious purpose. I’m too tired to get roused up as I believe the same insanity is likely to be reigning tomorrow.
I’m just thankful for these minutes of peace, that the sick cat is relaxed and sometimes you have to take what IS and say that this very minute is good enough.
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