The YaYas
I see them everywhere. Small groups of women, usually three or four, sitting in church together, heads together over lunch, power walking down the boulevard, at coffee after their tennis matches. You can see the intimacy, the trust – these are women who have grown together over time. They share their secrets. They prop each other up in the bad times. They laugh over their faux-pas.
No, I don’t envy them, nor do I want to become a part of their group. I know my own YaYas will build, and I will have women I love sharing my life here. Meanwhile, I miss my old YaYa’s.
I’ve been here a year now. The one year point, for me, is usually when things start happening. The real friends come along. I start committing and getting involved in my new community. When I think of all the details we have overcome in one year, all the anxieties I had, all the details over which I agonized, I thank God for his mercy and for the peace of mind we have now. Truly, he answered every prayer, and brought us to a good and spacious place.
Pensacola Visitors To Fort Pickens
You ask where I have been. We’ve just had two weeks and three weekends of house guests. Now, before you groan, I have to tell you that it was two different visits, with less than 24 hours in between, and both visits were old and dear friends. Our visitors are people we treasure and who are easy easy guests to have around. We’ve had two weeks of great visits and great conversations, and I apologize if you are feeling a little abandoned. I didn’t really abandon you; I checked the blog almost daily, but . . . I had a lot on my hands. I can only do a few things at a time, and do them well. I chose to focus on my guests. I hope you will forgive me. π
So I am going to share with you some beautiful sights from nearby Fort Pickens. When we first went there, about a year ago, we discovered they have a Senior Lifetime Pass for only $20. There was only one Senior in the car at the time – me – so the pass is in my name, and gets us into every national park in the United States, me and up to eight people in the same car with me. How is that for a bargain? We’ve already used it four or five times worth the original payment of $20. What an amazing deal!
Fort Pickens is out along Pensacola Beach, and is a long narrow strip of land barely above sea-level. We could see it with our eyes, and when we measured it with our iPhones, it gave us a range from below sea level to 33 feet above sea level. (iPhones must be nearly out of fashion because all my friends have them and we are OLD! If we have them, there must be something out there newer and faster and better that all the trend-setting youngsters are buying . . . so what is it?)
Oops! I got distracted! What I want to do is share some photos of what a truly gorgeous place Fort Pickens is:
I think these are trilliiums:
Aren’t these pretty berries? I don’t know if they are edible – or poisonous!
Perfect weather for a walk, and this is the walking trail, .7 miles each direction:
Fort Pickens was constructed to protect the shores from invaders, so this is one of the fortress walls”
A Heron along the nature trail:
A Turtle (we can’t agree on whether it is a Gopher Turtle or a Snapping Turtle):
We finished up with a walk along the beach, where our visitors talked with the fishermen along the shore. These are the lines they have out trying to catch some fish, but I really want you to see how clean and beautiful the beach, sand and water are looking π :
This week, I need to get some things done in the garden, before the weather starts getting too hot!
Like Cats
I was talking with a friend who had started in a new church about a year ago, around the same time we started at our church. I was telling her about the Service to Others Committee, and how I like everyone working on it, we were all kind of nerds, my favorite kind of people.
She looked a little down, and told me it seemed to be taking some time for her to find her niche in the church, and so I had to share with her my cat theory.
When you bring a new cat into a house where you already have a cat, you have to keep them separated for a while. You put the new cat in a separate room, with separate feeding dishes and litter box. Even so, the original cat is going to be a little wary. He can smell the new cat, it is something new and something strange, and it makes him uneasy.
People, it seems to me, are a little the same way, especially people who are settled. When a new person comes in, it just won’t do to try to be accepted. You just have to come in quietly, don’t intrude, let people get used to you. Little by little, people reach out to you. It can be discouragingly slow. If you have patience, it pays off.
Sometimes, rarely, but sometimes, you meet someone with a widely accepting outlook, and this time, I was lucky, I met a friend at the church who is just so full of life she bubbles with it. She makes things happen. She doesn’t have time for gossip or negative thoughts, and if you are willing to help, that’s good enough for her. She is organized and she is busy, and I feel really lucky to be her friend.
Slowly, people are starting to realize we are not visitors at the church, but here to stay, and are reaching out to greet us. It’s a good feeling.
Tomorrow, we have our first of two sets of house guests arriving. When our first guest leaves, I have 18 hours to get the room and bathroom cleaned, clean sheets on the bed, etc. They are all really good friends, very old friends, and all coming to escape the chill of a seemingly endless winter and enjoy a little sunshine. If you don’t hear much from me, it’s because I’m out playing. π
“Love Your Enemies and Pray for those who Persecute You”
Today’s reading in The Lectionary is the heart of the Christian faith. Jesus told us many things that turned the world upside down. If we as Christians, truly practiced the teachings of the Christ, what a different world this would be:
Matthew 5:38-48
38 βYou have heard that it was said, βAn eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.β
39 But I say to you, Do not resist an evildoer. But if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also;
40 and if anyone wants to sue you and take your coat, give your cloak as well;
41 and if anyone forces you to go one mile, go also the second mile.
42 Give to everyone who begs from you, and do not refuse anyone who wants to borrow from you.
43 βYou have heard that it was said, βYou shall love your neighbour and hate your enemy.β
44 But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you,
45 so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous.
46 For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax-collectors do the same?
47 And if you greet only your brothers and sisters,* what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same?
48 Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.
If YOU were to pray for your enemies, who would you pray for?
I tried it one time, almost as a challenge to God, I didn’t believe it would change anything but I would do it because it was required – and it turned out well – for God. When you pray for your enemy, you open a door for change to happen, unexpected change, miraculous change, transformational change.
As a young woman, I studied power and it’s application, reading books from many cultures on strategies of winning. This gospel summarizes a totally unexpected and wildly successful use of the spiritual power in each one of us, the God-given power to turn evil to good, to bring friendship out of enmity.
So today I challenge you. Is there someone in your life whose very presence makes you miserable? Pray for that person. As often as that person comes to mind, send up a prayer. I challenge you to see what happens in your life.
“We All Have Red Blood in Our Veins”
I joke with my bible study group that God kept sending me back to the Middle East until I ‘got’ what he was trying to tell me. The dilemma now is how do I share this? When my Christian friends see Islam as the great enemy, how do I tell them that some of the best Christians I know are Muslims?
Sunday, at Christ Church in Pensacola, Father C. Neal Goldsborough gave a sermon on loving one another, a “who is my neighbor?” sermon. He is only the second priest I have ever met who mentioned Osama bin Laden, that we have to forgive him and to love him. The first time, it was in a military church, and the gasp was audible. What a courageous priest! Imagine, going among the warriors and telling us we have to love our enemy! Imagine!
Living in the Middle East, living in Tunisia, Jordan, Saudi Arabia, Qatar and Kuwait, I was greatly blessed. My friends were of all nationalities, and I learned one great lesson – we all have red blood in our veins, and we all share more similarities than we do differences. I try to texplain to my friends here by telling small stories of my experiences. I blog a little about them. We are all God’s children, and we create needless barriers when we draw lines that say the equivalent of ‘our way is the right way and you way is not.’
This is from today’s Forward Day by Day meditation for today:
Today’s Meditation
Tuesday, february 22
Ruth 1:15-22. Do not press me to leave you or to turn back from following you! Where you go, I will go; where you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God.
During political upheaval and mounting racial tensions, we were having a Bible study at home. A Fijian woman came in great distress. She was from a rural area that grew sugar cane. She had grown up alongside people of another ethnic group. They were her friends. She could not understand why people were being victimized because they were of another ethnic group. She was so disturbed she had to be taken aside. She kept clutching her arm. βWe have red blood in our veins. We all have red blood in our veins!β she repeated, weeping.
In the scripture we have the moving words of the widow Ruth to the widow Naomi, whose son Ruth had married. Ruth and Naomi had in common that they were bereaved, but Ruth was a Moabite, whereas Naomi was from Bethlehem. Naomi shows kindness to Ruth, and Ruth proves loyal to Naomiβa loyalty that goes beyond narrow family blood ties.
We are all Godβs children. Today I give thanks for strong bonds of friendship. I give thanks for loyal friends who are not of my ethnic group.
The Crazy Ladies Say Goodbye
We were gathered at my place for coffee, so much laughing, so many topics. One friend stands up and I know, to my sorrow, it is time to say goodbye.
“If we go right now,” she says, “We can make it to the fabric souks before they close. Want to go?”
Her question is both a query and a challenge. That’s the kind of women my friends are. They push the limits.
“I can’t . . . ” I begin, thinking of the packing, the details that are still to be done before my departure, “Wait!” I finish, “Let me grab my purse,” and I run to the back to grab my handbag – and money. One more trip to the fabric souks? How could I say no? An opportunity for one more adventure with my friends? LLOOLLLL, bring it on!
I had shown them earlier a piece of fabric I could not resist, even though it was WAY overpriced:
When we first saw it, they wanted 6KD per meter, a price for cotton that would make any serious minded fabric connoisseur gasp. I didn’t buy it, but neither could I get it out of my head. I went back with another fabric-friend a few days later and bought a meter; this time the price was 5KD, and it is still shockingly expensive, but the store won’t come down and I will be leaving shortly. There was another piece, purple, with big Arabic or Persian letters, that I couldn’t get out of my mind. . .
The woman who I saw it with first said “why didn’t you buy it when you were with me? I wanted to buy it, too!”
“I didn’t dare!” I explained. “I knew you would think me foolish to pay that price!”
So off we went, back to the fabric souks, arriving just as many shops were closing. She bought a meter – at 4 KD/meter (oh ouch!) and I bought some embellished cotton for a summer dress, then she hustled me out of the store.
“But I thought we were meeting up with (our other friends) here!?” I resisted.
“I just talked with them! They told me to get the blonde out of the store so they could get a better price,” she explained. “We are going off to buy some thread and will meet up with them.”
I am NOT blonde.
“No, but you are the kind that makes the prices go up, you look European, we call you blonde,” she explained.
I am too amused to be insulted. LLOOLL, I am a blonde. I look too European. I love these ladies, they tell me exactly what they are thinking, and only a fool would take offense. We have such a good time together; I just need to remember to give them my money and let them buy for me.
I remember once, years ago, when I had a Thai friend in Damascus, and I lived in Amman. We would visit back and forth, and once, I gave her $100 and told her to buy me things with it.
“What should I buy?” she asked.
“Oh, some copper pots and pans, maybe some brocade, you’ll know what to buy, you have such a good eye,” I told her.
A month later, a huge carton arrived, HUGE. As I opened it, I pulled out enough beautiful Damascus-made items to start a store, each unique, gorgeous, and how on earth did $100 buy all this?
Same with my friends. They get the really good prices. As hard as I bargain, they have the advantage.
It was late in the day when I returned to the chalet, but oh, what a day, what fun, and what a great way to spend my last hours in Kuwait. π
Thank you, my friends, for all the good times. π
Happy Valentine’s Day, Kuwait
And here is a very rosy pink dawn for you on Valentine’s Day:
It is a glorious day out there, folks. Last night, we could even see stars in the sky as we sat outside with friends around a fire pit, sharing stories, sharing laughter, and a wonderful meal. It’s another great day in Kuwait. π
20,000th Comment
My good friend Grammy made the 20,000th comment on this blog in the post Does Malawi Law Ban Farting?
The prize is a trip to Pensacola and free room and board chez nous. π Wooo HOOOOO, Grammy, you da WINNER!
The Book Thief by Markus Zusak
Until I sat down to write these reviews (so I can pass these along to friends in Kuwait who I know will read and discuss them π ) I didn’t realize that the books had so much in common. They both take place in the WWII time frame, and both are told from the point of view of children coming of age in this time. Both are love stories, romantic, parental, community – they have many of the same elements. They both have bullies, and children who steal. They both have wise adult conspirators, mentors and guides.
In The Book Thief, right off you get a chill. One of the main characters in a personification of Death, a tired, weary, cynical Death, but a Death who is fascinated by his humans. When the opening pages are written by Death, you get a feeling that this can’t be good.
And, in the beginning, it is not good. Liesel is on her way . . . somewhere, we don’t know where, on a long train ride, during which her brother dies. They are forced off the train, and her brother is buried in some small village where they are unknown; the grave will probably never be visited. Shortly after, they re-board another train, and when they arrive, Liesel is turned over to a government foster family agency, and she is placed with a rough, uneducated couple in a small village on the outskirts of Germany.
Not far from Dachau.
So many similar elements . . . people at the mercy of their government, and the madness of the politicians and mass hysteria. Bullies, but not just in the schoolyards, here there is also a nationally encouraged group of bullies, the Nazis, and people in every village are encouraged to join the party. The kids join Hitler Youth and practice to become good Nazis.
Except inside each one of us resides a spirit of humanity, and if you let that spirit dominate, you can come into conflict with the party, even if you appear to comply most of the time. Liesel’s foster parents turn out to be a very humane sort. They feel compassion for the Jews marched through their village on the way to the camps, and attempt to give them a little bread, for although they have little to share, they can see that these Jews are starving.
And then, a stranger arrives on the doorstep, the son of a man who saved Liesel’s Papa’s life in the first world war. He is Jewish. He needs a place to be hidden. Liesel’s foster parents take him in and hide him in the basement.
Only after I read the book and read the afterword did I discover this is a book written for young adults, and that makes me laugh, because I am not a young adult, and I enjoyed the book so much. I love books about the triumph of the human spirit, the triumph of good over evil, and the triumph of hope and life over hopelessness. Even Death has a heart, in this book.
I know that there will be one copy of this book in Kuwait; I am leaving it with a friend I know will read it, and I know she will pass it along, because this is a book worth discussing. I hope you are friends with my friend, and that you will get a chance to read it, too!
Shopping Styles: Predatory, Social or Desperation?
As AdventureMan once said, I am not entirely sure I agree with what I am about to say. Feel free to jump in.
Today I was mopping the floors, washing the floors and vacuuming the carpets. This is not – way not – something I like to do, but something I do because long ago somewhere in my tiny little brain, a seed was planted that a dirty floor was a shameful thing. I remember once thinking “people could eat off my floor; there must be a whole meal here!” when I left it unwashed for a few days. In my last three incarnations, in Kuwait and in Qatar, I was blessed with wonderful women who came in and took care of my floors for me, also the dusting, and the laundry, and the windows, and all the things I now do. It takes a surprising chunk of time out of my day. π¦
Oh! Yes. The shopping.
I just wanted you to know that I am not cleaning my house willingly or joyfully, but dutifully. I have discovered, however, that mindless physical activity frees the mind, and you never know where a free mind will go.
I have a friend coming to visit, and this friend and I have had so much fun together, through the years, exchanging books, going out on double dates with our husbands to wonderful places in France and Germany, and . . . shopping.
Finding a person who shops the way you do is a real blessing. I say I am not much of a shopper, but we all have to shop sometimes. Mostly, I shop alone, I am a predator. I am looking for specific game, and I want the juiciest prey at the best price. Most of my friends are like me – we don’t hunt in packs, because when you shop in packs a group mentality surfaces, and you get home with things you never would have bought.
I do shop with other solitary predators from time to time; this is how you know them. You don’t shop together. You shop the same stores, sometimes just the same mall, meeting up to compare items and to go on to the next stop. Most of my predatory shoppers friends know their own style, know their own preferences, and few ask me what I think, nor do I ask them. We do exclaim gleefully over our purchases.
In the military, in Germay, there would be shopping tours to take you to places. Sometimes I took them, most times I didn’t. It depended on whether or not you had to stay together. I saw people buy some truly appalling things because it had a particular name or a particularly low price. The fact that it was obviously inferior did not even seem to strike their consciousness, once the herd shopping mentality kicked in. If the tour were going to a village, and people were on their own and then met up, I would do that. I went to Paris on such a trip; leaving
Germany at midnight, leaving the tour at six in the morning for croissants and coffee at La Duree at its original location on Rue Royale arranging to meet up with them later.
The Musee D’Orsay had just opened, and I was dying to see the exhibit. I spent the morning there, leaving as the hoardes started arriving, had a little lunch of Vietnamese salad rolls on the Left Bank, and strolled over the bridge to the shopping areas around Rue Royale. I found three great outfits at Galleries Lafayette, grabbed a salad from their gorgeous food court, and met up with my group at six to depart. I was home by midnight. π I would have liked a friend, but I didn’t know anyone, once again I was new, and Paris is so easy that just 12 hours there was a piece of cake.
Social shoppers find us solitary predators very strange. They live in a different world than we do. They consult. Their shopping goals are not so much the goods as the experience. They enjoy the company, and they like having someone to help them make their purchasing decisions. They often meet up for shopping and lunch, and some even shop to kill time. (What luxury! In my whole life, I have never had time to kill; I always have projects, and lists of things that need doing!)
I have been one other kind of shopper, though, and that is a desperation shopper. It was when I was a young mother. Shopping was for survival. I never knew when the baby would start to cry, need to be nursed, or need a change. When I had a babysitter, I was always aware of how little time I had and how much I had to get done. Once a month, I would go to the commissary, about twenty miles away, to buy a month’s worth of diapers, meat (we ate more meat then), canned goods and paper goods.
I see the same desperation in the elderly here in Florida; shopping takes energy and you never know when your energy will desert you. As you can see, I am still thinking about my experience at the Navy Commissary, and I now I can empathize. I might be grumpy and aggressive, too, when I reach a stage where I remember having energy, and now I don’t know where it has gone. I may even scowl at cheerful, energetic people because I wish I still were . . .
We’re all wired so differently. There may be some shopping styles to which I am oblivious. Can you think of any?
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