Pensacola, Sunday 0900
It’s one of those rare Sunday mornings when I am on my own, no AdventureMan, no son and daughter-in-law and grandson, just me. As a special treat, I get to go to the 8:00 service at Christ Church, and then, since I don’t have any church-girlfriends yet, I don’t have anyone to go to breakfast with, so I stop by Micky D’s and get in line for take-out.
It’s a long line. Whoda thunk, early on a Sunday morning in Pensacola, there would be a breakfast line at McDonalds?
A flashing light catches my eye, and a Pensacola police cruiser pulls up across the street, and leaves his lights flashing as he cautiously heads to the entrance of the convenience store. His hand is on his gun. No, I am not kidding!
He looks in the windows. Customers are coming out, and he keeps watching through the window as he walks towards the door. As he enters, he draws his gun. Just moments later, he and another policeman come out, with a man between them in handcuffs, white guy, looking sheepish. They put him in the back of the second squad car.
I really wanted a photo of them stuffing him in the back seat, but by this point, I was in traffic and I shot the photo I could get, not the photo I wanted. Me and my bacon, egg and cheese McMuffin headed home for coffee and the Sunday Pensacola Journal, all about school starting this week in Pensacola.
And AdventureMan comes home tonight. The house is sparkling. He has a surprise in store. 🙂 Our son and I will meet him at the airport to welcome him home, home being about 5 minutes from the airport IF there is traffic, LOL.
The Camel Bookmobile by Masha Hamilton
It took me a while to get into this book, because it is, in my opinion, badly written. The characters are thin, the story is thin, and yet . . . it is a book I will never forget.
Masha Hamilton writes of a girl with a dream of going to a faraway place; she writes a grant proposal for a Camel Bookmobile, to take books from a remote library in Garissa, Kenya, out to nomadic groups in even more remote locations. As it turns out, the book features a device I like very much – a discussion of what is knowledge, what is learning, what happens when cultures clash and how in every interaction, there is something left that changes those interacting.
As Fiona (“Just call me Fi”) McSweeny follows her dream, there are her actions, how she sees her actions, how her actions are seen from an alternate culture, and how Fi feels she may be missing something in the interaction.
Anyone who has tried to finesse their way living in an alien environment knows that feeling, and the disasters you can bring on with only good intentions. Words, tone of voice, body language – all can be interpreted in ways you never dreamed, blinded by the wisdom of your own culture.
The star of the book is the Kenyan desert. While we do get to know the characters in the small arid desert village of Mididima, it is the way of life that Hamilton captures and which captivates us. The traditional ways are already passing, and the village elders are fighting a losing battle, trying to maintain their old ways. At the same time, there is a lot of wisdom to be learned and stored before the old ways pass, if there is anyone to document, to capture the details.
How can a book be both badly written, so badly written that you are constantly aware of it, and so breathtakingly vivid, so unforgettable?
There is a real Camel Bookmobile, started in 1996, and after visiting, Hamilton began a Camel Book Drive which garnered over 7000 books for the nomadic library. You can visit the website and learn where to donate books for other schools in the Garissa area by clicking here.
That Cheeky Woman at the Well
I love this story. I love all the stories about these women, who just won’t stay in their place. What was Jesus thinking? Why would he start a conversation with this woman, a woman not even married to the man with whom she is living? Listen to her tone, can’t you hear her words, barely bordering on mockery?
It doesn’t take long, and the women to whom Jesus speaks sees the light – that this man is something special, and has something special to offer her, even her, the most humble of the humble.
If I had never lived in the Middle East, I would never have understood the nuances of this story, how men just don’t speak to women, how speaking to this woman, not a Jew, a very unclean woman, could make him unclean, how taking anything from her, much less asking for a drink of water was just unthinkable.
Jesus turned it all upside down. He often did the unthinkable – working on the sabbath, speaking to women as if they were real people, talking about how it is what is in our hearts that matters more than looking good in public . . .
John 4:1-26
4Now when Jesus* learned that the Pharisees had heard, ‘Jesus is making and baptizing more disciples than John’— 2 although it was not Jesus himself but his disciples who baptized— 3he left Judea and started back to Galilee. 4But he had to go through Samaria. 5So he came to a Samaritan city called Sychar, near the plot of ground that Jacob had given to his son Joseph. 6Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired out by his journey, was sitting by the well. It was about noon.
7 A Samaritan woman came to draw water, and Jesus said to her, ‘Give me a drink’. 8 (His disciples had gone to the city to buy food.)
9 The Samaritan woman said to him, ‘How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?’ (Jews do not share things in common with Samaritans.)*
10 Jesus answered her, ‘If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, “Give me a drink”, you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.’
11 The woman said to him, ‘Sir, you have no bucket, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water? 12 Are you greater than our ancestor Jacob, who gave us the well, and with his sons and his flocks drank from it?’
13 Jesus said to her, ‘Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, 14but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.’
15 The woman said to him, ‘Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water.’
16 Jesus said to her, ‘Go, call your husband, and come back.’
17 The woman answered him, ‘I have no husband.’ Jesus said to her, ‘You are right in saying, “I have no husband”; 18for you have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband. What you have said is true!’
19 The woman said to him, ‘Sir, I see that you are a prophet. 20 Our ancestors worshipped on this mountain, but you* say that the place where people must worship is in Jerusalem.’
21 Jesus said to her, ‘Woman, believe me, the hour is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. 22 You worship what you do not know; we worship what we know, for salvation is from the Jews. 23 But the hour is coming, and is now here, when the true worshippers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for the Father seeks such as these to worship him. 24 God is spirit, and those who worship him must worship in spirit and truth.’
25 The woman said to him, ‘I know that Messiah is coming’ (who is called Christ). ‘When he comes, he will proclaim all things to us.’ 26 Jesus said to her, ‘I am he,* the one who is speaking to you.’
Ramadan for Non Muslims – 2010
I miss the hustle and bustle of almost-Ramadan, the way the stores stock up with luxuries and delicacies not found through the rest of the year, the eager anticipation with which my friends anticipate the month of fasting, re-commitment, and gathering with friends and families with a month of specialty dishes.
Welcome Ramadan, which starts tomorrow. I am going to reprint here one of my all-time favorite articles. I wrote this originally in 2007 to help educate my western friends in some of the details related to Ramadan – and if you find that this interests you, you will want to go back to the 2007 entry and read the related comments, which are way more informative than my original article. 🙂
I am repeating this post from September 13, 2007 because it found so much interest among my non-Muslim friends. We are all so ignorant of one another’s customs, why we do what we do and why we believe what we believe. There is a blessing that comes with learning more about one another – that blessing, for me, is that when I learn about other, my own life is illuminated.
(I didn’t take this photo; it is from TourEgypt.net. If you want to see an astonishing variety of Ramadan lanterns/ fanous, Google “Image Ramadan lanterns” and you will find pages of them! I didn’t want to lift someone else’s photo from Flicker or Picasa (although people do that to me all the time!) but the variety is amazing.)
Ramadan will start soon; it means that the very thinnest of crescent moons was sighted by official astronomers, and the lunar month of Ramadan might begin. You might think it odd that people wait, with eager anticipation, for a month of daytime fasting, but the Muslims do – they wait for it eagerly.
A friend explained to me that it is a time of purification, when your prayers and supplications are doubly powerful, and when God takes extra consideration of the good that you do and the intentions of your heart. It is also a time when the devil cannot be present, so if you are tempted, it is coming from your own heart, and you battle against the temptations of your own heart. Forgiveness flows in this month, and blessings, too.
We have similar beliefs – think about it. Our holy people fast when asking a particular boon of God. We try to keep ourselves particularly holy at certain times of the year.
In Muslim countries, the state supports Ramadan, so things are a little different. Schools start later. Offices are open fewer hours. The two most dangerous times of the day are the times when schools dismiss and parents are picking up kids, and just before sunset, as everyone rushes to be home for the breaking of the fast, which occurs as the sun goes down. In olden days, there was a cannon that everyone in the town could hear, that signalled the end of the fast. There may still be a cannon today – in Doha there was, and we could hear it, but if there is a cannon in Kuwait, we are too far away, and can’t hear it.
When the fast is broken, traditionally after the evening prayer, you take two or three dates, and water or special milk drink, a meal which helps restore normal blood sugar levels and takes the edge off the fast. Shortly, you will eat a larger meal, full of special dishes eaten only during Ramadan. Families visit one another, and you will see maids carrying covered dishes to sisters houses and friends houses – everyone makes a lot of food, and shares it with one another. When we lived in Tunisia, we would get a food delivery maybe once a week – it is a holy thing to share, especially with the poor and we always wondered if we were being shared with as neighbors, or shared with as poor people! I always tried to watch what they particularly liked when they would visit me, so I could sent plates to their houses during Ramadan.
Just before the sun comes up, there is another meal, Suhoor, and for that meal, people usually eat something that will stick to your ribs, and drink extra water, because you will not eat again until the sun goes down. People who can, usually go back to bed after the Suhoor meal and morning prayers. People who can, sleep a lot during the day, during Ramadan. Especially as Ramadan moves into the hotter months, the fasting, especially from water, becomes a heavier responsibility.
And because it is a Muslim state, and to avoid burdening our brothers and sisters who are fasting, even non-Muslims refrain from eating, drinking, touching someone of the opposite sex in public, even your own husband (not having sex in the daytime is also a part of fasting), smoking is forbidden, and if you are in a car accident and you might be at fault, the person might say “I am fasting, I am fasting” which means they cannot argue with you because they are trying to maintain a purity of soul. Even chewing gum is an offense. And these offenses are punishable by a heavy fine – nearly $400 – or a stay in the local jail.
Because I am not Muslim, there may be other things of which I am not aware, and my local readers are welcome to help fill in here. As for me, I find it not such a burden; I like that there is a whole month with a focus on God. You get used to NOT drinking or eating in public during the day, it’s not that difficult. The traffic just before (sunset) Ftoor can be deadly, but during Ftoor, traffic lightens dramatically (as all the Muslims are breaking their fast) and you can get places very quickly! Stores have special foods, restaurants have special offerings, and the feeling in the air is a lot like Christmas. People are joyful!
There were many comments on the original post, and, as usual in the history of Here There and Everywhere, the commenters taught us all more about Ramadan than the original post. If you want to read the original post and comments, you can click HERE.
Rainbow to the Rescue in Pensacola
This post is about an amazing blessing. You won’t think it is a blessing at first, you will think it borders on disaster, but stop. Think about it.
Late this afternoon, our contractor friend was in putting bars in the guest suite that people can use to help navigate around, help lift themselves off the toilet, etc. We were busy looking for a stud for the shower bars when it started raining.
“That’s raining pretty hard.” he said.
“It rains like that all the time,” I said blithely.
But it really was coming down, and it wasn’t just for a few minutes, it poured, and it kept pouring. The lightning was really close and we heard a loud CRACK! and then BANG and the power transformer on the post near my house was hit, but my power must come from somewhere else because, by the Grace of God, we didn’t lose power.
“Oh no! This has never happened before!” I exclaimed as I saw water seeping in the guest suite where we were working. (This has been cleaned up a little bit for this family blog.)
I thought it was coming in under the French doors, but when I grabbed the old towels for soaking up purposes, I saw that there was more . . . coming from under the walls! Horrors! I was almost stopped still in my tracks – there aren’t enough towels in Pensacola to handle the amount of water seeping in!
“This is a task for Rainbow!” my contractor said, and ran for his truck, to exchange it for his Rainbow truck (he is both a contractor and a Rainbow franchise operator).
While Dave was gone, his assistant, Bobby, used their wet vac to get as much water up as he could, dumping the full tank several times out the window as we struggled. Finally, the rain slowed, and we could mop up the remaining wetness. He started a fan.
Dave came back with the big Rainbow truck and an intimidating amount of equipment. Now I will go into a parenthetical gripe about men and their toys. The biggest part of me is incredibly grateful to have this resourceful man who helps us with our construction and renovation needs, and then is there, like Superman, to the rescue, when disaster strikes. Another part of me wishes he didn’t have that excited gleam in his eye. My problem is his challenge – he loves the adrenalin.
Honestly, it’s only a small part, and mostly it’s because I wish I didn’t have any problem at all. Dave has a meter that shows where water is still sitting in the grout between the tiles, and how it has soaked the baseboards and begun to creep up the sheet rock. He explains how in Florida, where the humidity is so high, the sheet rock can’t always dry out fast enough to avoid mold formation, and that even though it eventually may dry on its own, the mold can survive until the next moisture hits. Oh aarrgh!
Hours later, we have huge fans running, and we have dry air in oscilations being wafted into our walls to insure they dry thoroughly, but not too much. We have machines taking readings. Our insurance company says we are doing all the right things and the adjuster will come by on Monday or Tuesday.
This was supposed to be a quiet Saturday night. If it had been a normal quiet Saturday night, we might have been upstairs, watching some TV, listening to the lightening and not worrying too much about it. We would have gotten up in the morning and gone to church. We might not have even known our guest suite was flooded for days!
So honestly, I feel blessed. I am blessed that if this disaster had to happen, I had people with me who knew exactly what to do, and did it.
As they left, the Gulf Power people were out fixing the exploding power transformer, and I thought how many heroes there are on this earth, people who do their job under the worst circumstances, people who leave their families to serve because there are jobs that must be done.
God bless you, all of you, health workers, police, firemen, electricians, plumbers, emergency services, soldiers and sailors and airmen – all who sacrifice and serve. May you sleep well at night, and may God bless you and your families who support you.
I had a disaster, but I was surrounded by every resource I needed to deal with it. Thanks be to God.
If you have a disaster, and you live in the greater Pensacola area, I can recommend:
Rainbow International Restoration Services
David Murphy
O: 850-994-4411
Cell: 850-281-0232
One Thing I Really Like About Pensacola
As I was driving along an unfamiliar highway around 11 on a Friday night in Seattle, it occurred to me how tame the driving in Pensacola is. For some reason, the traffic lanes on the highway in Seattle are narrower than in other countries. You get used to it, but it’s like the whole personal space thing; when first invaded, the adrenalin starts rushing.
In Seattle, there are just too many cars for the roads to handle with grace. Same as Kuwait. When I first got to Qatar, the roads were adequate, but no longer.
Pesacola is sweet. You can get anywhere you need to be in under half an hour. From the airport to my house is like 8 minutes, max. My house to the shops, my house to the YMCA, my house to church – all about eight minutes. There are a lot of stop signs and a lot of stop lights, and I rarely see anyone run them. I never see traffic gridlock. There is one really dangerous intersection in town, and I rarely see a problem there.
It’s not that driving in Pensacola is so consciously mannerly, as in Seattle. It’s just more laid back. No one seems to be in that great a hurry to get anywhere. Every child is in a car seat. People are careful, even if they are driving while impaired.
You can get spoiled. When you get used to calm driving, then just about anywhere you go with real traffic seems chaotic. Once you have a large number of people on the road, you increase the chances of running into a cowboy (or cowgirl), or an inexperienced driver, or a half-blind older driver, etc.
Driving in Pensacola is just uneventful. 🙂
A Wing and a Prayer
We are taught to pray for all things, great and small. I really take that to heart; I pray for the smallest things, and most of the time, my prayer is answered (with a ‘yes’ although sometimes the form the answer takes gives me a grin at God’s great sense of humor.) Today, I had to drive an unfamiliar stretch to return my loaned car – a wonderful Lexus – Little Diamond had loaned me, and that was good for some serious and lengthy prayer, and then I was also praying that the check-in people would overlook the fact that my bag was seriously heavy. Like 60 lbs.
Both prayers were answered. I only got minorly lost and got it worked out fairly quickly, and the guy who checked my bag in didn’t bat an eye, just put a tag on it that said ‘heavy’.
What I had forgotten to pray about was security, but since I was only flying within the US, I didn’t think I would have any trouble.
But here’s the thing. For a long time, I thought we would be retiring to Seattle, so slowly over the years, I would take things to Seattle and store them at my Moms or in a storage locker I rent there. So when I went to my Mom’s this last week, I took few clothes, and a big suitcase, so I can start shifting some of these household items to Pensacola. It wasn’t enough, but I packed it really really full, and then I also had stuff packed in my backpack.
So forgetting to pray about security was a big mistake. The security scanner girl kept squinting at the innards of my backpack, and then called others over, always a bad sign.
Sure enough, they went through my things with the explosives tester and their fine tooth combs.
“Are these silver plates?” the security guy asked incredulously.
“Serving plates,” I responded, and gave no further explanation. I don’t believe in telling people too much, it just confuses them and complicates things.
“What is this??” he asked, holding up two cans that said clearly on the side “smoked salmon”.
“Smoked salmon,” I replied.
Back to the scanner. Twice, back to the scanner. When he brought back all my stuff he asked if I wanted him to repack it.
“No,” I said with sheer disgust. No one can get everything back the way I had it packed but me. Even without the two cans of smoked salmon, which they confiscated. Damn.
Other than that, it was a smooth trip, and my son was there to meet me at the Pensacola airport, and I was home within 20 minutes of landing, how cool is that? Sure wish I had those cans of smoked salmon . . .
“How Do You Want to Die?”
I had taken my mother to her internal medicine specialist, she had an earache, and as an aside, had mentioned she no longer is taking Lipitor, because it gave her problems with her legs, but should she go back on it?
“How do you want to die?” asked the doctor, and we just looked at her with our mouths hanging open. It seems kind of a bald question, doesn’t it? But the doctor was entirely serious.
“Doctors ask themselves this all the time,” she continued. “Do you want to end up in a nursing home, or living with your children, as your body continues to fail and your money dwindles away and you can do less and less every day?”
“I want to die in my sleep, at home” my 87 year old Mom responded.
“Then you want to have a heart attack,” the doctor said. “That’s what really happens when a person dies in their sleep, their heart fails.”
“That’s your choice,” she said. “Doctors discuss it all the time. Most of us want to go while life is still good, and we want to go quickly. We see too many people prolonging their lives and regretting it.”
I’ve never heard a doctor speak so bluntly before. We’re still kind of in shock. It has definitely given us something to think about.
Zeitoun by Dave Eggers
Do you remember being in university, and how when it came time to buy textbooks, the new ones were really, really expensive, and sometimes you couldn’t find it used and you just had to bite the bullet? Especially in political science and international relations, it didn’t take me long to figure out that many of the authors had one little idea, and they stretched it, kneaded it, elaborated upon it, made each different iteration a new chapter – but essentially, they took this one little idea, stretched it into a book and charged $30-$40 bucks for what might have made a good essay in Foreign Affairs or the New Yorker.
I often felt so cheated. I often find that when I look at the New York Times list of Best selling Non Fiction, most of the books look just like that.
When I bought Zeitoun, that day I just needed an escape, I didn’t know it was non-fiction. I had seen Zeitoun mentioned, even advertised in my very favorite magazine, The New Yorker. I fell in love with The New Yorker when I was a kid, even though I didn’t understand half of the comics, I thought they were hilarious. I still do. 🙂 When my New Yorker arrives, I read it cover to cover, and I often order books reviewed or recommended there.
I started Zeitoun shortly after watching the HBO series Treme´ about life just after Hurricane Katrina, so this book was timely and relevant. Zeitoun, a Syrian immigrant to the US whose wife is a Moslem convert, has a thriving painting and contracting business. When Katrina threatens, his wife and kids leave town, but he stays to watch over his multiple properties and businesses.
He survives the hurricane, and actually finds the change of pace enjoyable. He has a canoe he bought at a yard sale, and he rows around the neighborhood feeding dogs locked inside his neighbors houses, checking on his friends, rescuing stranded people or notifying rescue services where people need their help – he has a feeling he is exactly where he is meant to be, that he stayed on in New Orleans as part of God’s purpose for his life. He feels valuable and useful.
Then, one day, as he is checking on one of his rental properties, he is arrested, along with three friends, in the one house they know has water for showers and a working land line, which they all use to call their families. It is Zeitoun’s property. They are arrested by the National Guard.
One of Zeitoun’s friends, Nassar, has ten thousand dollars with him. Any of us who are expats can laugh – every expat has his cache of emergency escape money. Nassar, on hearing the hurricane was coming, withdrew his savings from the bank so it would be safe. The National Guard arrests them and takes all their money, wallets, identification and sends them off to jail, and in the chaos of post-Katrina New Orleans/ Louisiana bureaucracy, there is no paperwork and their families have no idea where they are.
Nassar and Zeitoun come into the worst of it, because they have Arab names, because of the large amount of cash Nassar has, and Homeland Security advisory that terrorist organizations could try to take advantage of the post-disaster confusion. It is seriously Kafka-esque; they are good men who are just in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong last names. Most of the meals served in the prison contain ham or bacon or pork. The system just stops working, and they never even get to telephone people who could clear their names and get them out.
I couldn’t stop reading. Eggers captures the sensual aftermath, the sewage, the foul water, the stink of rotting food and rotting bodies, and the bureaucratic nightmare of trying to prove you are innocent when you don’t even know the charges against you, and people are being picked up on mere suspicions.
While Zeitoun is eventually released from prison, and his construction and painting business flourishes, his family is not left untouched by the post-traumatic stresses the events surrounding Katrina. Every life resounds with the impact of Katrina and the damage inflicted on New Orleans. His friend Nassar never got his ten thousand dollars back.
I love books about people who come to America, create a business, and make a go of it. Zeitoun is one of the best – he isn’t afraid of hard work, and he loves his life and family. His story is well worth a read.
Zeitoun is available from Amazon.com for a mere $10.85 plus shipping, and while I own stock in Amazon, I don’t get any kind of payment for mentioning them in reviews. 🙂
The Edmonds Market
I made a quick round of the market very early, as I wanted flowers to welcome Mom back. First round – maple bars, flowers, farm grown zucinni and carrots, and some lovely farm-raised lamb chops for dinner.
Later, Mom told me about the wonderful Pear and Gorgonzola pizzas made at the market, and after some grocery shopping, I stopped by and ordered the Pear Gorgonzola and the Pizza Fresca, both vegetarian, and, woo hooo, very thin crusted, and baked right there on the street in a special oven they have created:
Mom was right. The pizzas were really, really good. We also had enough left over to freeze several slices to microwave on a night when she doesn’t feel like a heavy dinner.
While I was waiting for my pizzas, I visited my favorite soap maker. Last year, I asked for clove soap. AdventureMan and I fell in love with clove soap in Zanzibar, and we have used ever sliver and are yearning for more. This year, she had it! And more! Wonderful soaps, but these two are my favorites:
Sorry there is no photo of the gorgeous finished pizzas, but we gobbled them right up. 🙂
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