Family Beach
Every now and then, I get a good giggle. Usually it is a European family, and it only happens once . . . they go to our local beach. They are in normal beach attire – swimsuits. And they head for the “Family Beach.”
They haven’t been here long enough to know that “Family” is a little different here, it means mostly women in abayas and scarves, or some form of head covering.Even for those not in abayas, it means body parts are modestly covered, at the very least, with a Tshirt. You will see women swimming in abayas and scarves, floating in inner tubes, fully covered.
There is usually a wide circle of empty space around the European family; people regarding them with fascinated horror. I rarely see them come back. I am hoping they find other beaches, maybe more private.
Friday Fun: Wishin’ and Hopin’
To hear this dusty old Dusty Springfield classic, you can go down to the U-Tube video below, or you can put on My Best Friend’s Wedding, just for the intro, where the song is acted out, all in pink if I remember correctly, a very 50’s rendition.
Here are the words, found at stlyrics.com. And a big thanks to Little Diamond who by finding all the lyrics to “Put the Lime in the Coconut” for me, taught me that anything, ANYTHING is available on the internet, if you have the time to search!
Artist: Dusty Springfield Lyrics
Song: Wishin’ and Hopin’ Lyrics
Wishin’ and hopin’ and thinkin’ and prayin’
Plannin’ and dreaming each night of his charms
That won’t get you into his arms
So if you’re lookin’ to find love you can share
All you gotta do is
Hold him and kiss him and love him
And show him that you care
Show him that you care just for him
And do the things he likes to do
Wear your hair just for him, ’cause
You won’t get him
Thinkin’ and a-prayin’
Wishin’ and a-hopin’
Just wishin’ and hopin’ and thinkin’ and prayin’
Plannin’ and dreamin’ his kiss is the start
That won’t get you into his heart
So if you’re thinkin’ heartbreak
True love is
All you gotta do is
Hold him and kiss him and squeeze him and love him
Yeah, just do it and after you do, you will be his
(You gotta)
Show him that you care just for him
Do the things he likes to do
Wear your hair just for him, ’cause
You won’t get him
Thinkin’ and a-prayin’
Wishin’ and a-hopin’
Just wishin’ and hopin’ and thinkin’ and prayin’
Plannin’ and dreamin’ his kiss is the start
That won’t get you into his heart
So if you’re thinkin’ heartbreak
True love is
All you gotta do is
Hold him and kiss him and squeeze him and love him
Yeah, just do it and after you do, you will be his
You will be his
You will be his
So on this lazy Friday morning, ponder this – Is My Best Friend’s Wedding really a comedy? Is there both truth and fiction in the above song lyrics (the song itself is a hoot – irresistable! Go take a listen!) And while we are laughing, to what extent do you sacrifice who you really are to attain a mate?
Update: Holy smokes, Skunk, it’s THAT easy???? Thanks again!
Dusk in Kuwait
Dusk anywhere is one of my favorite times of day. In Riyadh, my husband and I would head down to the Dira’a souk, usually arriving just before the Isha call to prayer. We would buy a couple felafel sandwiches and a juice drink and sit in the large courtyard by the fort and eat our sandwiches while all the shops were closed for prayers. The sky would go from deep blue to a very deep blue purple, and it was that moment we waited for – the stars just visible and this just-before-black incredible color.
In my mind there is also a hush, but that is unlikely, as there were usually women and their children waiting in the same area for the men to finish their worship, and the children would be playing.
We are still looking for felafel sandwiches that taste that good. We would laugh; eating out for under $2 and it felt like such luxury.
In Kuwait, we are usually on our way to meet up with friends or somewhere around dusk. I always have my camera handy – you just NEVER know what you might see.
This isn’t really dusk, but it is dusky, in the interiors/exteriors shop as you enter the Free Trade Zone in Shwaikh – I can’t help it, I love this shop:
Not crisp, but the skyline is so eccentric:
Dwarfed in downtown Kuwait:
Almost dark – the mosque in the circle, downtown Kuwait:
Donna Leon Crossing Cultures
I’m in the middle of a Donna Leon read-fest. When I wrote the reviews the last time, I saw three books by her I had never seen – and I comb the aisles of Barnes and Noble when I am in the US, and Half Price Books, looking for titles by her. I am guessing some of her books haven’t been printed in the US, but I was able to find them from the UK Amazon.com.
The two latest books I have read by Donna Leon are timely. The first, Fatal Remedies, starts out being about Commissario Guido Brunetti’s wife, Paola’s crusade against the sex tours to undeveloped countries, her outrage against trips that allow grown men to exploit the poverty and need that the poorest of families will sell their own daughters and even young children to satisfy these men’s uncontrolled lusts. Her outrage leads her to a jail cell in her own husband’s precinct.
But just when you think you know where this story is going, it turns, as many of Leon’s books do, and tackles another subject, one very much in the eye of the news – falsified medications. There is a huge profit to be made, and huge wrongdoings in the medical supplies field, as expired medications are shipped to the most needy countries, and prescription and over-the-counter medications contain ingredients that are at best, harmless, and at worst – poisonous!
Guido Brunetti follows the money, and exposes the cheats.
In the second book, The Death of Faith, the issue – corruption in the church – comes close to home, as Brunetti’s daughter gets a low grade from her religious education instructor for asking questions, logical questions, about the dogma of the Catholic faith. Leon also tackles the issue of the order of Opus Dei, the same mysterious order featured in The DaVinci Code, an order that does exist, but about which solid knowledge is murky. What is known is that the order, in jihadist fashion, seeks to establish the Catholic church as the supreme guide to behavior on earth, it’s own version of sharia law to be the ruling principle in every country.
This is an anethema to Commissario Brunetti, and to all thinking Italians who savor the separation of church and state. He asks the eternal question – who decides? Who decides what behavior is acceptable, what questions are allowable? Religious belief, or the lack of it, is so very personal – this is a very timely issue that all nations are struggling with. Religious rule? Secular rule?
Underlying all the Donna Leon books is the sweetness of daily life with Brunetti’s family, his beautiful and principled wife, his teenaged children, the food they eat, the family discussions they have, the flowers he brings home and the strength of the connection they have with one another. The Venetian setting weaves its own magical thread through every novel, as we ride with Brunetti in the vaporetto on the canals, as we sit with him in a local bar for a quick coffee – or something stronger – and as he walks the streets from home to office, or to talk with a witness.
And last, but not least, the utter corruption in the Venetian system reminds us that veniality is not restricted to the United States, or to Kuwait, or to Nigeria, or Italy, or to any one country, but wherever man seeks to impose order, the chaos of corruption must be slowly and surely overcome by the building of an honest bureaucracy, people like you and me, serving in seemingly hopeless situations, but doing our best, day by day, like Guido Brunetti, to build a better world for our children.
The Good Husband of Zebra Drive
In Alexander McCall Smith’s newest book about Mma Ramotswe, it is a time of transition and unease. Unthinkable things happen. Mma Makutsi quits her job as Mma Ramotswe’s assistant detective, and Charlie, the apprentice, quits to start his own taxi service. Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni feels a restless urge to try out his detecting skills and everything is in turmoil.
And underneath, amazing things happen. When you think differently, there is room for change, and forgiveness.
With Mma Makutsi back in her usual place, the heavy atmosphere that had prevailed that morning lifted. The emotional reunion, as demonstrative and effusive as if Mma Makutsi had been away for months, or even years, had embarrassed the men, who had exchanged glances and then looked away, as if in guilt at an intrusion into essentially female mysteries. But when the ululating from Mma Ramotswe had died down and the tea had been made, everything returned to normal.
“Why did she bother to leave if she was going to be back in five minutes?” asked the younger apprentice.
“It’s because she doesn’t think like anybody else,” said Charlie. “She thinks backwards.”
Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni, who overheard this, shook his head. “It’s a sign of maturity to be able to change your mind when you realize that you’re wrong,” he explained. “It’s the same with fixing a car. If you find out that you’re going along the wrong lines then don’t hesitate to stop and correct yourself. If, for example, you’re changing the oil seal at the back of a gearbox, you might try to save time by doing this without taking the gearbox out. But it’s always quicker to take the gearbox out. If you don’t, you end up taking the floor out and anyway, you have to take the top of the gearbox off, and the prop shaft too. So it’s best to stop and admit your mistake before you go any further and damage things.”
Charlie listened to this – it was a long speech for Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni – and then looked away. He wondered if this was a random example siezed upon by Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni, or if he knew about the seal he had tried to install in the old rear-wheel-drive Ford. Could he have found out somehow?
In another place, Charlie has just told Mma Ramotswe of his plans to start the No. 1 Ladies Taxi Service:
For a minute or two, nobody spoke. Mma Ramotswe was aware of the sound of Charlie’s breathing, which was shallow, from excitement. We must remember, she thought, what it is like to be young and enthusiastic, to have a plan, a dream. There is always a danger that as we went on in life we forget about that; caution – even fear – replaced optimism and courage. When you were young, like Charlie, you believed that you could do anything, and, in some circumstances at least, you could. . . . .
“I will tell all my friends to use your taxi,” she said. “I am sure you will be very busy.”
And oh yes, in the midst of all this, three mysteries get solved – a case of inventory gone missing, a case of a string of inexplicable hospital deaths, and a case of a husband potentialy gone astray.
GREAT summer reading, deceptively simple. You find yourself mulling over the situations, the responses and the outcomes, and trying out new ways of thinking. Give it a try – you don’t have to read the whole series to enjoy each volume.
This eighth book in the series is available from Amazon.com for a mere $12.70. It makes great summer reading.
No Accounting for Taste
My Mother once joked that the definition of good taste was someone whose taste agreed with your own. Her house is all smooth, modern, elegant lines, while mine is all old, antique and semi-antique. She has clean lines and clear surfaces, and I am guessing that to her, my decor is cluttered. (Not that she criticizes me.) We just have different tastes.
My husband and I also have different tastes. Often, his eye will alight on something, say like a Masai shield 7 feet long, and he will say “wouldn’t that be great in our house?” and my response is “yes! In your den!” He calls his den The Adventure Man Museum, and says that the only thing the Tarek Rejab has on him is that they have had a couple more decades of collecting. But he is still working on it!
He LOVES these trees. He keeps threatening to buy a couple for our yards back home. I mention little things like shipping expenses. . . . or maybe he is pulling my leg – ya think?
So far, we agree that they look great in context. I am not so sure they would do so sell in a rainy climate.
And this is what I love:
You used to find these everywhere in the Gulf, even in the cities you would find them in the diwaniyyas. This is the only one I have seen since I came to Kuwait, and it is in a museum. I remember being out in the beit-as-shar in the desert (for my non-Arabic speaking friends: tents, literally, House of Hair because the tenting was woven of goat and camel hair.) I remember the sound of the metal clanging as the coffee was ground in the morter, I remember the smell of the wood fire when the coffee was brewing, and I remember the coffee being poured through branches that kept (some of) the grounds out. I miss that ceremony; I miss the sounds and smells and taste, because out in the desert coffee tastes different. It wasn’t that long ago – but I never see them anymore.
Do you?
Happy Birthday, Big Diamond
You were the one with all the courage, you were the one who never understood the word “no.” With your big, sunny smile, you went ahead and did just exactly what you pleased.
“Watch me! Wheeeeeeeee!” you shouted as you jumped out of the swing, breaking your arm.
“This is how you do it!” you yelled, sliding on the ice down the long wooden walk, falling and breaking the other arm.
Nothing stopped you. You look the impossible in the eye, and you spit.
And all these years later, you still do! You are the most amazing woman, indominable, unstoppable. You set a high standard for all the rest of us, with your energy, your clarity of values, and your generousity of spirit.
And today, your birthday, will also be the christening of your first grandchild.
How amazing, how wonderful. You are in my thoughts, dear sister, and I wish I could be there to celebrate with you.
Little Diamond’s Peeve
Little Diamond, my niece living and working in Beirut, has a pet peeve, which I remembered as I was writing a comment on an earlier piece.
“I HATE it when people write ‘discrete’ when they mean ‘discreet!” she exclaimed, inflamed.
OOOps. I don’t know if I do it of not. Now, I look it up every time so I won’t inflame Little Diamond.
dis·creet (dĭ-skrēt’)
adj.
Marked by, exercising, or showing prudence and wise self-restraint in speech and behavior; circumspect.
Free from ostentation or pretension; modest.
[Middle English, from Old French discret, from Medieval Latin discrētus, from Latin, past participle of discernere, to separate, discern.
dis·crete (dĭ-skrēt’)
adj.
Constituting a separate thing. See synonyms at distinct.
Consisting of unconnected distinct parts.
Mathematics. Defined for a finite or countable set of values; not continuous.
[Middle English, from Old French, from Latin discrētus, past participle of discernere, to separate.
Here is where it get’s tricky:
dis·cre·tion (dĭ-skrĕsh’ən)
n.
The quality of being discreet; circumspection. See synonyms at prudence.
Ability or power to decide responsibly.
Freedom to act or judge on one’s own: All the decisions were left to our discretion.
The first is used to describe behavior. The second is used to describe the state of being separate. They have identical pronunciation, thank God. You can see they are from the same root.
The third is a type of behavior made by a person having the freedom to choose separately. I am guessing it is more related to discrete than to discreet, but usually when you behave with discretion, you behave discreetly.
Yeh, we are word-nerds.
Check Your Labels
On May 24, BBC reported on fake toothpastes found in Panama and the Dominican Republic. Today’s news has them found in four states in the United States. The boxes LOOK like Colgate, but have spelling mistakes that give them away. They claim to be made in South Africa, but they include diethylene glycol, the same compound found in the fakes earlier, and it is believed to be coming out of China. This is one time you REALLY REALLY want to be sure you are not buying a knock-off.
Colgate finds fake toothpaste in 4 states
Company says counterfeit products may contain poisonous chemical; fake products can be identified by misspellings on label.
June 14 2007: 6:19 AM EDT
LONDON (CNNMoney.com) — Fake “Colgate” toothpaste that may contain a poisonous chemical has been found in four states, Colgate-Palmolive said Thursday.
Colgate said the fake toothpaste may contain diethylene glycol, which the company never uses in its toothpaste. The company said it is working with the FDA to locate the source of the counterfeiting.
The fake toothpaste has been found in discount stores in New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania and Maryland, the company said.
The fake products aren’t manufactured or distributed by Colgate-Palmolive (Charts, Fortune 500) and can be identified because they say they are manufactured in South Africa or have misspellings on the label.
Comment: If this is happening in the US, where the Food and Drug Administration is careful about what is allowed to be sold, then we had better be doubly careful in Kuwait, where so much is imported from China. China appears to be cutting corners on quality across the board, and their short cuts could kill us.
Paris Hilton in Jail Video
A friend sent me this link this morning, and I died laughing. I don’t like Paris Hilton, I don’t like the vacuous life she leads, and I wouldn’t post this at all if it weren’t very cleverly done.
And, of course, it is Thursday, and many of you will have the time to waste on a good laugh:
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