Qatteri Cat in the Dog House
Last night, Qatteri Cat had what we call the cat-crazies. I think he misses my husband, who chases him around, throws his ball, tosses him on his back and rubs his tummy. We hang out together, but I’m not so much FUN as Adventure Man.
So last night, just minutes after I had turned out my light, I heard a great !!!CRASH!!! I knew what it was, as I could hear crunchings, tinglings and things falling even as I “rushed to the scene” (and a tip of the hat to the Kuwait Times who use that phrase endlessly).
Here is what it looked like before:
It was late at night. I couldn’t deal with it. I found a large sheet and covered the mess and went back to bed. Qatteri Cat was too embarrassed, he hid until he thought I was asleep, and then came in – he was cold – to sleep snuggled up next to me.
This morning, I faced this:
The cross at the top of the tree is broken, but I think me and Mr. Elmer can fix it:
Of course, any of you who have cats and understand their little pea-sized brains, will know that this morning the Qatteri Cat is totally mystified as to how this carnage happened.
That’s him, skulking back behind the newly upraised tree, still a little embarrassed and hoping I don’t remember he did it.
Adventure Man and the Space Shuttle
The phone rang this morning at 4:30 a.m. That’s never a good thing.
My husband’s voice came over the line. “I’m here in Florida. I’ve been in a terrible accident. I’m OK, but I’m standing by the side of the road freezing my a$$ off waiting for the police to get here. And the woman who hit me is really really mad at me.”
It’s OK. I’m wide awake. The first “ting” of the phone sends a shot of adrenalin running through me that never fails to give me instant focus.
“You’re sure you’re OK?” I ask.
“Yeh, I just need to hear your voice. There are all these people waiting for the space shuttle to take off, and I knew they weren’t paying attention to their driving. There are people parked all along the sides of the road, people pulling in, people pulling out and looking for a better place to park . . . .”
“Oh. . .the space shuttle. I forgot about that.”
“Yeh, there’s a huge crowd here. There hasn’t been a night take-off for a long time. So I could see traffic slowing down in front of me, I slowed down, and this woman just plows into my rear end. You should see the rental car! What am I going to do? . . .oh, the police are coming. Will you look up our insurance policy and claims number and I’ll call you back.”
I get the information, put it by the phone and go back to sleep. It’s cold here, too, but I have a very warm cat snoozing away next to me, so I drift off again.
The phone rings again at 6 and I give him the information he needs. He is still a little shaken, but the police have been very good to him, and are going to give him a ride to a hotel where he can spend the night, contact the car rental people and calm down.
“The woman who hit me is really really angry,” he says in a hushed voice, because she is still near. “The police cited her for hitting me, and she says it’s my fault for slowing down!” We both get a good chuckle out of that – in the US, under pretty much any circumstance you can think of, the person who hits another car from behind is always, ALWAYS wrong. You’re supposed to be paying attention.
“Oh – and while the police were taking the information and clearing the accident (both cars had to be towed) the shuttle took off!”
“Have you ever seen that before?” I asked
“No! And I didn’t care to this time, either. But there it was, in the middle of all this accident chaos, and everything stopped. It was pretty spectacular.”
The police told him the nearest hotel was a roach-infested druggie hangout and took him down the highway, with his three pieces of luggage, to a nicer Holiday Inn. At the Holiday Inn, the desk clerk took pity on him and gave him a very nice room and an accident victim discount. The car rental people brought him a brand new great big car with leather seats in the middle of the night and apologized that this had happened to him in Florida. He is still a little shaken – the woman really hit him hard – but all in all, things went pretty well. He is on his way to his cousin’s house this morning, and a good, hopefully uneventful, visit.
And he got to watch the shuttle take-off. We once lived in Florida. People would travel from all over the world to come watch a shuttle take-off, and it was always iffy. Shuttle take-offs get postponed all the time, weather, mechanical malfunctions . . . sometimes the delay is short, sometimes a week or more.
So I just have to laugh at his luck. He doesn’t even care about the shuttle launch, all he wanted to do was to get to his cousin’s house, and the shuttle launches when he is in the perfect position to view it.
Photo courtesy of http://www.astronautscholarship.org
Cross Cultural Flummox
Scanning through the blogs yesterday, I saw one I almost didn’t check. It seemed to be a no-brainer. LaialyQ8 asked if you would share your password with your husband/wife.
Sheerly out of idle curiousity, I checked. And I was stunned to see the responses. Almost every person said they WOULD.
I’ve thought about it all day. It has to be a cultural difference. Hands down, I bet most of my friends would say “no way!” It isn’t a question of how much you love someone, to me, I just need some areas of my life that are private. I don’t keep secrets from my husband – I share things with him gladly.
But do I think he needs access to my correspondence with old girlfriends, friends I knew before I knew him? If they confide details of some crisis to me, does he need access to that information?
He trusts me. He should! And he would never, never ask me for my password, and I wouldn’t ask for his. Of course we share passwords for financial records and access, but not for our e-mail accounts.
It never for a heartbeat occurred to me there was another way of thinking about it. I was flummoxed (that’s for you, Zin!) And it is good information; I need to think about this and integrate it and try to understand it. That’s one of the things I love about living in a foreign country; challenges my assumptions and forces me to think differently, outside the box.
The Kuwait Beauty Sisterhood
We love the Kuwait Airport. I love it that you can get a cup of coffee and just sit and wait for your arrivals to make that long long walk as you exit customs and head toward the exit. We love watching the families so excited to see one another. We make up stories for ourselves to explain what we are seeing. Sometimes, we cry, too, because it is so moving. We love it when the women ululate on seeing a new arrival, when brides arrive with their husbands, when Moms come back from Hajj.
A few nights ago, my husband was meeting late arrivals at the airport and he saw something we have NEVER seen before. He saw four women, all with identical bandages over their noses. He figures they must have gone somewhere for plastic surgery. All four at the same time? We figure they must be sisters, or cousins, or very very good friends, all having their noses trimmed at the same time. He said they weren’t at all self-conscious about it, rather they were grinning with pride. I think when there are four of you with the same big bandage, it must take the self-conscious factor WAAAAAYYYYY out.
We’re always laughing at what we call “buying hope in a bottle.” For me, it might be the next luxury face cream that promises me “visible results in 7 days”. For my husband, it is always the next super camera. For some, it is the hot motorcycle, or the next hot car. For some, it is the hottest new computer, or the tiniest, biggest gigabyte iPod with all the bells and whistles. We’re all looking for a little hope. It just gives me a big grin thinking of those four brave girls going under the knife together for better noses.
Happy Birthday, Law N’ Order Man
We drove to the hospital the night of December 2nd – it was a very cold clear night, and it seemed we could see every star in the sky, bright, twinkling, as excited as we were about the coming of this child. We were such kids, and we thought we were all grown up.
You, dear son, you taught us what being grown-up was all about. We thought we were ready for parenthood. We didn’t have a clue.
You were such a pretty baby, born early that cold cold morning in the hospital by the Chesapeake Bay. So pink and delicate we could see your veins through your skin.
We still marvel at you. After all these years, we still thank God for sending you to us, and we wonder at God’s mercy and sense of humor. You taught us everything we know about being good parents.
Oh! The fun we had! You were so funny, and so serious. We are so eager to see you, and your lovely bride.
And son, we are so proud of you. Happy Birthday, dear one, and thank you for being our son.
Alhamdallah for the Thorns
1001 Kuwait Nights and I have been exploring parallel lines of thought – thanking God/Allah for problems as well as blessings . . . even the idea that problems, too, are blessings, or a conduit to blessings . . .
A friend sent this today. I hadn’t seen it before, but it continues the exploration of the theme. . .
Thorns
Sandra felt as low as the heels of her shoes as she pushed against a November gust and the florist shop door.
Her life had been easy, like a spring breeze. Then in the fourth month of her second pregnancy, a minor automobile accident stole that from her.
During this Thanksgiving week she would have delivered a son. She grieved over her loss. As if that weren’t enough, her husband’s company threatened a transfer. Then her sister, whose holiday visit she coveted, called saying she could not come for the holiday.
Then Sandra’s friend infuriated her by suggesting her grief was a God-given path to maturity that would allow her to empathize with others who suffer. She has no idea what I’m feeling, thought Sandra with a shudder.
Thanksgiving? Thankful for what? She wondered. For a careless driver whose truck was hardly scratched when he rear-ended her? For an airbag that saved her life but took that of her child?
“Good afternoon, can I help you?” The shop clerk’s approach startled her.
“I….I need an arrangement,” stammered Sandra.
“For Thanksgiving? Do you want beautiful but ordinary, or would you like to challenge the day with a customer favorite I call the Thanksgiving “Special?” asked the shop clerk. “I’m convinced that flowers tell stories,” she continued. “Are you looking for something that conveys ‘gratitude’ this thanksgiving?”
“Not exactly!” Sandra blurted out. “In the last five months, everything that could go wrong has gone wrong.”
Sandra regretted her outburst, and was surprised when the shop clerk said, “I have the perfect arrangement for you.”
Just then the shop door’s small bell rang, and the shop clerk said, “Hi, Barbara…let me get your order.” She politely excused herself and walked toward a small workroom, then quickly reappeared, carrying an arrangement of greenery, bows, and long-stemmed thorny roses. Except the ends of the rose stems were neatly snipped: there were no flowers.
“Want this in a box?” asked the clerk.
Sandra watched for the customer’s response. Was this a joke? Who would want rose stems with no flowers! She waited for laughter, but neither woman laughed.
“Yes, please,” Barbara, replied with an appreciative smile. “You’d think after three years of getting the special, I wouldn’t be so moved by its significance, but I can feel it right here, all over again,” she said as she gently tapped her chest. And she left with her order.
“Uh,” stammered Sandra, “that lady just left with, uh….she just left with no flowers!
“Right, said the clerk, “I cut off the flowers. That’s the Special. I call it the Thanksgiving Thorns Bouquet.”
“Oh, come on, you can’t tell me someone is willing to pay for that!” exclaimed Sandra.
“Barbara came into the shop three years ago feeling much like you feel today,” explained the clerk. “She thought she had very little to be thankful for. She had lost her father to cancer, the family business was failing, her son was into drugs, and she was facing major surgery.”
“That same year I had lost my husband,” continued the clerk, “and for the first time in my life, had just spent the holidays alone. I had no children, no husband, no family nearby, and too great a debt to allow any travel.”
“So what did you do?” asked Sandra.
“I learned to be thankful for thorns,” answered the clerk quietly. “I’ve always thanked God for the good things in my life and never questioned the good things that happened to me, but when bad stuff hit, did I ever ask questions! It took time for me to learn that dark times are important. I have always enjoyed the ‘flowers’ of life, but it took thorns to show me the beauty of God’s comfort. You know, the Bible says that God comforts us when we’re afflicted, and from His consolation we learn to comfort others.”
Sandra sucked in her breath as she thought about the very thing her friend had tried to tell her. “I guess the truth is I don’t want comfort. I’ve lost a baby and I’m angry with God.”
Just then someone else walked in the shop. “Hey, Phil!” shouted the clerk to the balding, rotund man.
“My wife sent me in to get our usual Thanksgiving Special….12 thorny, long-stemmed stems!” laughed Phil as the clerk handed him a tissue-wrapped arrangement from the refrigerator.
“Those are for your wife?” asked Sandra incredulously. “Do you mind me asking why she wants something that looks like that?”
“No…I’m glad you asked,” Phil replied. “Four years ago my wife and I nearly divorced. After forty years, we were in a real mess, but with the Lord’s grace and guidance, we slogged through problem after problem. He rescued our marriage. Jenny here (the clerk) told me she kept a vase of rose stems to remind her of what she learned from “thorny” times, and that was good enough for me. I took home some of those stems. My wife and I decided to label each one for a specific “problem” and give thanks for what that problem taught us.”
As Phil paid the clerk, he said to Sandra, “I highly recommend the Special!”
“I don’t know if I can be thankful for the thorns in my life.” Sandra said. “It’s all too…fresh.”
“Well,” the clerk replied carefully, “my experience has shown me that thorns make roses more precious. We treasure God’s providential care more during trouble than at any other time. Remember, it was a crown of thorns that Jesus wore so we might know His love. Don’t resent the thorns.”
Tears rolled down Sandra’s cheeks. For the first time since the accident, she loosened her grip on resentment. “I’ll take those twelve long-stemmed thorns, please,” she managed to choke out.
“I hoped you would,” said the clerk gently. “I’ll have them ready in a minute.”
“Thank you. What do I owe you?”
“Nothing. Nothing but a promise to allow God to heal your heart. The first year’s arrangement is always on me.” The clerk smiled and handed a card to Sandra. “I’ll attach this card to your arrangement, but maybe you would like to read it first.”
It read: “My God, I have never thanked You for my thorns. I have thanked You a thousand times for my roses, but never once for my thorns. Teach me the glory of the cross I bear; teach me the value of my thorns. Show me that I have climbed closer to You along the path of pain. Show me that, through my tears, the colors of Your rainbow look much more brilliant.”
Praise Him for your roses; thank him for your thorns!
Early Christmas Preparations
Did you know that Thanksgiving used to be earlier in November, and when it was moved to the 4th Thursday in November, the merchants objected because it shortened the Christmas shopping season? It seems to me that the season gets started earlier and earlier every year, in spite of the Thanksgiving change.
In Germany, many people used to put up the tree on Christmas Eve day. We usually put ours up around December 15th – we wanted to have the beauty in the house, but also wanted to be sure it would last without drying out and becoming a fire hazard. It was cold enough that we could buy the tree and keep it outside, and then put it up when we had the time and energy.
And our tradition was that the tree had to be down by the Feast of Epiphany, on January 6th, the day the church celebrates the Wise Men (probably Persians) who came seeking the small baby born in Bethlehem.
We are having a smaller Christmas this year. With my Dad so ill, I don’t have the psychic energy to go all out as usual. Last year, we were all together; Dad and Mom bought tickets for Christmas Eve Day for all of us, the huge entire family, to go see the Nutcracker Ballet together. It was hugely fun. The production was lively and beautiful and delightful, all our plans went smoothly, and then we gathered back at Mom and Dad’s for finger-food dinner and a cut-throat game of Hearts. So much laughter, so much fun.
So I have the packages wrapped and my husband, God bless him, will get them in the mail today to insure they will arrive in time for Christmas. Although we are not going back, our son and his bride will be with us for Christmas here in Kuwait – alhamdullah! In my heart, I think of her as “the Seaside bride” – they were married on a gorgeous late afternoon in April on a snowy white sand beach in Florida. She was glowing and beautiful. He was beside himself with happiness. It was one of the happiest days in my life.
It was a bright, sunny afternoon. The minister, in his black suit, had sunglasses on. When we posted the photos, all our friends asked if he was FBI. He looked like a “man in black”.
On our way to church last night, I saw people who already have Christmas trees up and ready, all lit up in their windows. I remember last year in Qatar, where the word “Christmas” is never mentioned in the ads; stores advertise “seasonal decorations”. We celebrated 50 years of the church in Kuwait last night, and I thank God to live in a sophisticated country, where we are free to worship the same God, but in our own way.
(Qatteri Cat thinking about getting ready for Christmas)
But for me, it’s still too early to put up a tree. It is too bright, too sunny, the Christmas tree looks diminished in the bright light. I have my boxes labled so I can pull out the early decorations first, without having to go through everything. Just a few baubles, a few little lights, and a little more next week.
(Thought I would go silver this year, courtesy of some cool stuff from IKEA, but it was too cold and hard, softened up by adding just a little additional color)
Stocking Your Kitchen
When my husband and I married, he took me grocery shopping. Bags and bags later, I said “we have to come back for spices.” He thought to himself “salt. pepper. How complicated can that be?” only to see another whole bag appear. He discovered a love of cooking, and cooks much fancier, more complicated dishes than I do. I still laugh at the day when he thought spices were just salt and pepper.
Here is the list I made for the newlyweds and independants in our family. What would you add? What are your staples in the kitchen?
Staples for Your Pantry
small cans of tomato paste
whole tomatos, 16 oz cans
tomato sauce, 16 oz. cans
artichoke hearts, 16 oz. can
evaporated milk
powdered milk
Dream Whip
olive oil
cider vinegar
red wine vinegar
balsamic vinegar
canned tuna
1 can crab (opt)
1 can smoked salmon (opt)
1 can shrimp (opt)
1 can chunk pineapple
1 can some kind of fancy fruit juice concentrate – raspberry, pomegranate, etc. (mix with soda water for a “drink” when unexpected guests drop in)
1 package nice crackers
1 pkg chocolate chips
Soups – cans, packages
bouillon cubes (chicken, beef, veg)
Saltines (for queasy stomach and when there is no bread good with PB or tuna)
Baking Staples
flour (NOT self-rising)
fine white sugar
brown sugar
baking powder
baking soda
vanilla flavoring
almond flavoring
lemon flavoring
red food coloring
green food coloring
Spices
salt
pepper
cinnamon
thyme
sage
basil
marjoram
oregano
cumin
chili
cilantro
parsley
turmeric (makes things yellow)
Spices II Only if you are into cooking:
saffron
coriander
cardomon
ginger
cloves
Pasta
spaghetti noodles
lasagne noodles
stars/alphabets (small noodles)
penne noodles (for stronger sauces)
Freezer
cheddar cheese
mozarella cheese
hamburger
chicken breasts
leftover ham
leftover turkey
1 stick real butter
frozen spinace
frozen peas
individual biscuits
Refrigerator Basics
Milk
Eggs
Ketchup
sweet pickle relish
Mayonnaise
Butter spread
Pillsbury Crescent Rolls (trust me)
cheddar cheese
Horseradish
Mustard (basic everyday yellow)
Really good French Mustard (opt)
jalepeno’s (if you use them)
Soda water (removes stains)
capers (opt)
sour cream (opt)
cream cheese (opt)
jam and jelly (your favorites)
chocolate syrup
tomato pesto (jazzes things up)
Thai chili sauce
soy sauce
Traditional Thanksgiving Day Greeting
To husband/father/son/brother/ significant other:
Choose one:
a) Sweetie,
b) Honey,
c) Snookums,
d) Lover Boy,
e) Daddums,
“______________ I need for you to run to the market before THE game starts and pick up some ______________.” (whatever you thought you had and you don’t, and you need desperately)
Deal Clincher:
If they whine about this being the only morning they get to sleep in, you say:
Dad/brother/son: “I’ll tell Mom!”
Husband or significant other: “I’ll make it worth your while!”
(Joke)
Happy Thanksgiving, hope your day is filled with the joys of family and friends.
Still Learning – Alhamdallah
Another Side of Thanksgiving . . .
My friend asked about my father, and when I told her he was slipping away, losing a little more every day, she said “Alhamdallah!”
I was caught up short. Her face was smiling. I had just told her my father is dying and she says “Thanks be to God?”
I know this woman like my own sister. Her daughters are my own daughters. I am welcome in every corner of her house, I pray for every one of her children, and being in her home is like being in my own home, we are all so comfortable together.
“No,” I said, “You’ve misunderstood what I said!” and she hugged me and said “I understood, but no matter what happens, we say ‘alhamdallah’. If you father is dying, we say ‘alhamdallah’. If Hurricane Katrina strikes, we say ‘alhamdallah’. All things come from Allah, and He knows all things. It is his will, so we say ‘alhamdallah’.”
We are both religious women. My faith says the same thing, to give thanks in all things. In my daily life, I sometimes forget. Truly, in my culture, you would never say “thanks be to God” if someone had just told you something very sad.
Being exposed to the Islamic world has complemented my own faith. No, I don’t need to be a Muslim; I think the differences between us are much smaller than the similarities. But truly, I thank God for all that I learn about my own faith by living is Moslem countries.
I love the call to prayer; nothing wrong with being reminded during the day – and night – to love and honor God. I love living among people who give thanks to God so many times a day, even for Hurricane Katrina, even for my failing father. I love watching the fathers and sons headed to the mosque on Fridays. There’s even a very gentle station with Moslem films in English that I watch from time to time because it is so peaceful, and tolerant and sweetly loving.
My friend took time from her very busy life and made a special trip to the bookstore to buy me a book called Don’t Be Sad. It’s a wonderful book by ‘Aaidh ibn Abdullah al-Qarni with chapters like “How to deal with bitter criticism,” “Do Not Carry the Weight of the Globe on Your Shoulders,” Do Not be Shaken by Hardships'” “Jealousy is Not Something New” and one of my favorites – “Do Not Be Sad – Do Good to Others.” This book is helpful to me in so many ways, including giving me good sura that are very similar to writings in our own book. This helps me clarify to others in my culture how alike we are, and how similar our faith is. My friend loves me, and I know she wants only the best for me. I give thanks to have her as a friend.
Every now and then, I come across something that shakes me – like when my friend said “alhamdallah” about my Father . . . but in the end, I learn something and my understanding broadens. Alhamdallah!
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