“How’s That Working For You?”
I love watching language shift and segue like the waves at sea. One moment there will be a gust of adjectives (“cool” “hot!” “baaaadddd!” “fly”) and another there will be typhoon of localisms, like the Valley Gal phenomenon, and from time time time, apparently quiet times. If you are watching closely, however, you will see the waters twitch and a new word or phrase surface, create a few ripples, and then most of the time, fade away.
“How’s that working for you?” is a phrase that doesn’t mean what it seems to mean. Yes, it is a very neutral way of asking how a person is doing.
Underneath, however, it implies disbelief.
Language is so subtle. It’s one of the reasons I will never be fluent in French, or German, or Arabic – I can skim the surface, I can even dive beneath the surface, but there are depths that you have to be a native to plumb.
“How’s that working for you?” keeps the conversation going when an addict defends his addiction.
“How’s that working for you?” keeps the door open when your daughter defends an inappropriate relationship.
“How’s that working for you?” is the response to someone with big talk of big dreams who never gets organized enough to put the dreams into action, but wants credit, although nothing was accomplished.
“How’s that working for you?” is a compassionate response to someone who is lying to herself about an important issue and you don’t want to burst her balloon.
Most people ask the question when there are clear signs that it is NOT working. It returns the ball the the court of the person who needs to deal with the problem.
A person who is not willing to face the problem will respond “Great!” The appropriate response to “great” is “Glad to hear it!”
(“Glad to hear it!” used in this context means “I don’t believe a word of it.”)
If someone asks you “how’s that working for you?” they have sent you a signal that it’s time to re-examine what you’re doing.
Good Neighbors Blog
The Qatteri Cat knocked the lid off his cat-box at oh-dark-thirty this morning, but it was so beautiful out I decided to have a cup of coffee, get an early start and maybe take a snooze in the afternoon, when the heat kicks in and I drop out.
As I was visiting Little Diamond’s blog I noticed a blog in her blogroll that I wanted to check out. And WHOA! I’m glad I did.
The blog is Good Neighbors. It has fifteen authors – Lebanese, Palestinian and . . . Israeli. Maybe more, I don’t recognize all the flags. Totally amazing. These bloggers are educated, and highly literate. Even better, they have a noble goal. I urge to to visit them, especially if you are following the current situation in Lebanon.
Here is what they say about themselves on the About page:
The Good Neighbors Website
Building bridges for understanding and cross-cultural dialogue
This site is dedicated to increasing dialogue and understanding between Israelis, Palestinians, Jordanians, Lebanese, Egyptians, Saudis, Iranians, Iraqis, Libians, Sudanese, and Syrians on a cross-country level, as well as to increase understanding, respect and dialogue among the various strata of society within our individual countries.
The aims of the website are numerous and include:
1) discovering and fostering shared common values, interests and beliefs
2) fostering greater understanding for those views and values that are not shared
3) bringing to light “local” issues and experiences (e.g., those specific to a particular segment(s) of a particular country)
4) engaging in constructive dialogue on conflictual issues
5) providing a window into one’s culture and into the daily life and concerns within one’s country
6) educating one another and the audience about the primary social, political, and historical issues in one’s country or one’s group within one’s country.
We all of us participating here are committed to being open-minded, tolerant and respectful of others’ views and opinions even when those opinions and beliefs run counter to our own. We are committed to trying to be part of the solutions to the many problematic issues in our region. We are committed to building a better future. And we are full of hope.
Artichoke Treat
“Where did you find ARTICHOKES?” I asked the man, and I could see him wondering if he needed to back away from this wild-eyed woman who was staring at the big bag in his basket.
Well, they weren’t really very nice artichokes, kind of scrawny, kind of past-the-sell-date look to them, but . . . artichokes. I adore artichokes.
When my husband was invited to the family house for the first time, to have dinner, my mother served artichokes. My husband, to this day, thinks it was a test to see if he knew how to eat them. I just laugh . . . I don’t THINK it was a test. We ate artichokes all the time.
Here is how you fix artichokes:
With a sharp knife you cut off about an inch of the top, which will include a lot of leaves, and the long stem at the bottom. With kitchen scissors, you cut off the sharp points on the remaining leaves.
You fill a pot with water, put the artichokes in, bottom down, and pour a little bit of olive oil right into the center of all their leaves. Add a little salt to the water, bring it to a full boil and then turn down the heat and let them simmer for 45 – 60 minutes. The artichoke is done when you can reach in and pull a leaf off fairly easily.
(Some people say to cook them less, but I hate a tough artichoke).
You can serve the artichoke either as an hors d’oeuvre, where everyone grabs a leaf and dips into something (be sure to provide a bowl for the leaves) or as a first course, where everyone has his/her own artichoke. You can put a variety of dips in the center of the table (melted butter is classic, oil and vinegar dressing is great, and mayonnaise is also classic.)
Eating the artichoke:
You pluck a leaf off the artichoke, holding the tip of the leaf in your hand, and dip it into something delicious, then scrape the “meat” off the base of the artichoke leaf with your teeth.
When the leaves start getting thin and insubstantial, you get a sharp little knife, take all the remaining leaves off, and LIGHTLY scrape off the “choke” at the center of the leaf. I emphasize LIGHTLY because the great bonus of the artichoke is the heart, which is underneath those chokes. Once the chokes and tiny leaves are gone, you can cut the heart into small pieces and dip each one . . . sheer bliss.
For me, an artichoke is an excuse to make up a batch of aioli. Start to finish, last night with the blender it took me ten minutes – and that was spending two or three minutes gathering the ingredients. Here you can find the instructions for making Mayonnaise, Aioli and Rouille using the best olive oil and knowing exactly what healthy ingredients are in it, no preservatives, and it keeps in the refrigerator. It also makes great gifts.
So yummy, so healthy and SO so easy!
Speaking English
A few months ago I made a mistake. When the complex management asked for suggestions, I told them that it did not make me feel secure that the guards on duty did not, as promised, speak English.
Ever since, I have been the focus of a lot of attention.
“Oh Madam, I am so happy to see you!” gushes one guard, and when I ask about his family, he looks at me blankly.
“Good morning, madame, yes fine, thank you” greets the guard before I have asked him how he is.
Someone is teaching them, and they are actually very happy to be learning some phrases, and they all want to be sure I know they are speaking English.
So yesterday, when a series of bulbs were replaced, when the hariss showed me the brilliant results, I said “Cool!”
And under his breath, the Nepali assistant said, with my exact inflection, “Cool!”
And I could hear him practicing, as he left. I am wondering if I will be greeted with a chorus of “cool!”s as I leave this morning.
Retro Metro
Getting ready to open at Villagio is one of my favorite places – Paul’s. When you can’t get to France, you can at least get to Paul’s. No, no little pichet of good wine with your salad, but truly great croissants, tartes and salads, and I am a great fan of their salmon fettucine.
And look what they are doing at Villagio! Look at the Art Nouveau wrought-iron trim on the shade! It looks like the Sacre Coeur metro stop! When it opens, it will be out in the open, a la Marina Mall, very French sidewalk cafe/restaurant. Unlike Al Kout Mall, this one has no outside area, tant pis!
When the weather outside is blistering hot, these malls are the only comfortable place to be. Thank God they are done with so much imagination.
Strolling Through Villagio
As I sat in the Kuwait airport, waiting, waiting, waiting . . . .I ran into a friend also heading to Doha, and we spent some time together. For one thing, she told me about Villagio, which didn’t exist when I lived in Doha.
If I lived in Doha, this is where I would spend my summer, walking along the avenues and gondola filled lagoons of Villagio. After a good stroll, I could sit down at one of the many restaurants and cafes and wipe out all the good work I had done strolling!
How cool is this?
The lagoon winds through the Mall, and you can take a boat ride when you are tired of shopping:
I love all the attention to detail, especially the streetlights, which are lit day and night, and provide a delightful romantic atmosphere:
The perfect place for a stroll – or a 10K hike!
Travel Karma Failure
I have really good travel karma – most of the time. Even when things go wrong, something good comes out of it. And before you read any further, you must know that during this trip, I had a really good time, surrounded by friends, good conversation, a lot of laughter and a very understanding husband – it had a happy ending. But this was a serious travel karma failure.
Oh, I had planned to carefully – fly out early, my friends pick me up, we loll around the pool catching up, grab a bite to eat, and eventually they drop me off at my hotel where I hook up with my husband.
Only this is what I saw on my way to the airport:
And this is what I saw as the plane was delayed – and delayed – and delayed again:
And this is what the airport looked like as more and more planes got delayed:
After – literally – hours, we board. We are rolling away from the airport when a guy a couple seats up from me says . . . something . . . to the stewardess and the guy across from him. As the plane continues rolling, I watch the guy across the aisle get up, go to the galley and make a phone call. The plane keeps rolling rolling rolling, but . . . rolls to a stop and all kinds of vehicals come out to the plane.
They all have a discussion:
But you know this part of the world, everyone has an opinion and wants to be heard. Back and forth up and down the aisle. The entire Qatar soccer team weighed in on this one:
Somehow, it all got resolved. I get to Doha – not early morning, but six at night. I’ve already told my friends to forget picking me up in peak traffic time, but I would see them the next day – we already had plans. But the topping on this perfect day is that my suitcase didn’t come. People were sent looking here and there, and another hour passed.
No suitcase. No explanation, but they assure me the suitcase is still in Kuwait. Get it here, I tell them, I need it. Send it to my hotel. And I rush to duty free to pick up some face cream and mascara and lipstick – you know, the essentials. When I get to the hotel I realize I have nothing, but the gift shop, thank God, has very large T-shirts I can sleep in, a hairbrush, a toothbrush and even underpants.
My greatest fear, as the suitcase continues to NOT show up, is that I will never see it again. It is a great suitcase, and inside it is my computer power cord. Normally a balanced, easy going person, I have bad dreams, angry dreams, frustrated dreams and I wake unrested, and wanting clean clothes.
My husband, not normally known for his patience, was very tenderly patient with me. I think he was more than a little bewildered to see me so bent out of shape. It was probably funny – if you weren’t me.
For three days, for every event, I wear the same clothes. Three days. The bag finally showed up this morning – still at the airport – just in time for my return trip to Kuwait.
Now that, my friends, is a SERIOUS travel karma failure.
Anya Seaton and Avalon
Avalon, by Anya Seaton, is an amazing book, a book I almost didn’t read, but once I picked it up, I could hardly stop reading until I had reached the end. It took me to a whole new world.
It opens in England, around the turn of the first millenium, when people had names like Aethelred and Aelfrhryth which is enough to make me NOT want to read the book. But I read another book by Anya Seaton, Katherine, and I really liked it. It, too, took place in very early English history, and had such an authentic feel. It wasn’t like you pick up the book and all the lords and ladies are in gorgeous clothes, Seaton captures the primitive life many lived in “castles”, freezing cold most of the winter, no plumbing – many of the poorest laborers in Kuwait live better, in terms of food, a roof over their head, toilet facilities – that these early nobles. And the life of villagers was even more basic, a true scrabble for survival, and under filthy conditions, not a lot of time of opportunity for bathing, so people had quite an odor most of the time.
Avalon begins with a chance meeting of a young man and a young woman, a tragedy, and a journey. Their story, as first one love and the other doesn’t, then the other does and misses the opportunity – takes us from the southernmost part of England to Iceland, to Ireland, to Greenland and to the new world, all in the space of these two intertwined lives. They never marry, and yet the book, and their relationship, is a romance.
As you can see, once I got into the book, I couldn’t put it down until the last page. These people are so real, so genuine and so human – and Seaton makes you care about them. She manages to throw in enough detail that I could almost swear I visited these places – a thousand years ago. I have spun wool to buy necessities for our sod house in Iceland, I have embroidered tapestries in the Bower of my husband’s castle, I have sent my son off to settle with his Irish bride in the new world – yes, I think I have done.
The political situation in England at this time is chaotic, with Vikings raiding their coastal cities, and deep up the rivers into the interior, feuding over who will wear the crown, and problems with the capabilities of rulers to rule. There is a constant friction between the church and state, for land, for power, for wealth. The majority of the novel takes place during the reign of – I am not kidding – Ethelred the Unready.
At the very end, I found to my astonishment, that this book also concerned the ramifications of a big lie, just as my previous book reviewed. This is a total co-incidence, something that surprised me, and this book ends in a totally different way, as the main character comes to grips with her deception, owns up to it, willing to suffer the consequences.
Is this what I want? Merwyn thought, and at once came the answer. Yes, it is. There would be boring days ahead, but never again the depressions and miseries of before . . . She felt cleansed, peaceful, and there was much gratitude. . .
That totally cracked me up, but this is a romance of a different nature, a very real romance, with the real kinds of choices that real-life romances entail, and the real life consequences. The hand of God is a major player here, and the beliefs of the characters shape events in a way consistent with the times. Dreams are taken very seriously, and the power of curses, and sorceries, which I never give two thoughts in my daily life in the 21st century.
The main characters have their own nobility, based on their choices, their growth, and their coming to terms with their lives and situations. I learned a lot reading Avalon, and I also had a great time while learning.
All in all, a fascinating read.
Tire Killer DeFanged
My husband is willing to bet that too many people ignored the sign and then got mad at the Holiday Inn when their tires shredded! The teeth are gone, but the sign remains:
Rude Awakening
In the wee small hours of the morning, my husband and I had a rude awakening. While we were sound asleep, the Qatteri Cat figured out how to open the front door and walk out. Awakening and seeing light, my husband jumped out of bed, and yelled “Qatteri Cat is gone!” but as he wasn’t wearing much, he couldn’t go look for QC. Sheer panic. We know the QC would not last long on the mean streets of Kuwait.
I’m paranoid about sleeping in nothing much, like what if there is a fire or something? So I am wearing a little more, not much more, but enough that I can go look for QC, but as soon as he hears us exclaiming, he comes back in, like “hey! glad to see you up! Did you notice my food dish is empty?”
And it was empty. I have noticed if I can remember to feed him before we go to bed, we have fewer howlings in the middle of the night, fewer jumping at the door handle. Hunger makes him wakeful and energetic. And we normally lock the front door, but when we came in last night we were both carrying packages and I must have gotten distracted, I am usually the obsessive-compulsive one about making sure the door is locked.
And the Qatteri Cat? After all the commotion, he is sleeping in this morning, while I am walking around bleary and tired. But he is so sweet when he is sleeping.
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Early Voting in Florida
