Baking Cookies for Palestine
When I was just starting out my own life, I had an idea what kind of life I wanted, but I had no clue how to get it. When AdventureMan and I met, we had the same vision, it was so cool, so unbelievable. We married, and this amazing life has unfolded.
Not everyone is born to move. You have to be good at change. Change can be daunting. Some people are better at staying in one place, sinking deep roots, developing lifetime relationships. Some people – like AdventureMan and me – have a need for stimulation, and we get it by changing locations. We feel so blessed.
It is always painful leaving the place we have been living, pulling up roots is just plain painful. The transplantation process takes time for the organism to adjust, for new roots to develop and take hold. Sometimes, the plant fails. In our case, we have had our failures to thrive, but for the most part, every move has helped us to learn and grow in new ways. We feel truly blessed; we have the lives we were born to lead.
Arriving back in Doha, I called my good friend. We have never lost touch, with e-mail and visits we have stayed in contact, and now I am calling her so she has my new number in Doha.
“You must come Tuesday morning!” she enthused, “We are baking cookies for Palestine!”
This wonderful woman was my teacher for reading and writing Arabic, and she did a great job. I read and write about as well as a five-year-old, but I can sound out words, and can write my name. Best of all, I adored this teacher, and when she called and asked me if there was something I could teach her daughters during the long hot Doha summer, I said “yes” and a new adventure began.
One of the things that happened is that I learned I never really knew what the day might bring. Getting to know her, her daughters, and her family better, I learned now ignorant I am of how totally differently others live their lives and see the world. I was learning all the time, and most of it was from the daughters. On one occasion, the daughters called me at 6 in the morning – they are never up at six! They asked if I would take them to the hospital to see their mother, and I sleepily said “Yes, of course,” and asked what time they wanted to go.
“Now!” they replied, joyfully, for this was a birth.
My sweet daughter-in-law was visiting, with our son, and so the two of us rushed over to pick up the girls, who came loaded with carafes loaded with coffee, boxes of finjan (tiny Arabic coffee cups) and sweets, loading up the car with goods and joyful laughter. When we got to the hospital, we had a quick visit with the Mom and then – the guests started arriving.
First – the room. Our friend was in a king sized bed, surrounded by lush curtains which could be pulled. She had a marble floor and a marble private bathroom with private shower, and a small dressing room. There was a visiting area with velvet covered seating for around 16 people, and mahogany paneling everywhere. This is the poshest maternity ward I have ever seen.
Many of the guests were stopping on their way to work. “When you visit someone in the hospital,” the girls informed me, “a thousand angels pray for you, for having made this visit.” These visits are de rigueur, an absolute must. We were there an hour, a constant stream of women came and went, staying around ten minutes, each receiving a small coffee. Then, the girls told us we could go, that they would stay to take care of serving the coffee and sweets.
The entire episode, we never had one clue as to what we were doing, or what was going to happen next. I learned just to go with whatever was happening, stay quiet, watch and learn. Sometimes, I ask questions, if there is a quiet moment.
So when my friend says come bake cookies, I go. I remember when she first baked her first cookie; she called me to come. She didn’t have a mother, growing up, and there were gaps – like how to bake cookies. We spent a morning learning how to make mamool, and it took me three days to get the smell of butter out of my hands. It was so much fun.
As I entered the workroom twenty pair of eyes looked up at me. Everyone was neatly dressed in aprons and headscarves, but my friend wasn’t there! I found my friend, we exchanged greetings, and she came to workroom to get me started. I had my own apron with me, and they provided me with a headscarf; we all looked a lot alike, little baker women. As a beginner, I got to put out the dough, later put the date paste on each piece of dough, later roll the dough around the date paste and put a hole in the top.
Most of the women, vastly more experienced than I, were using little tweezer tools to crimp the dough into the fabulous tiny ridges you can see in the photo. My friend explained that one of the women’s husbands had made the special tools for making the holes in the dough, and the table for them to use packing up the cookies and wrapping them, another had provided a portable oven for baking the cookies, another donated semolina (the flour) and another the dates.
Working once a week, making these beautiful cookies, (biscuits, if you are British trained) the women have built two wells in Palestine, and are currently building a bakery. They took their grief and outrage over Al Raza and turned it into the most amazing effort for good. They feed the hungry, give water to the thirsty, they clothe the poor, they take care of families whose men are imprisoned.
“You must come back!” one woman says as I am heading out the door. “You are a good worker!”
I wouldn’t miss it for the world. 🙂
36 and Counting
I’ll be your pool-buddy,” AdventureMan said, as we lounged against the side of the pool. It was the best, the very best anniversary present he has ever given me.
My pool buddies are gone. One is coming back, one is not. The pool is big and beautiful, but being alone at the pool isn’t a lot of fun. Although AdventureMan doesn’t like pools as much as I do, he is willing to make the sacrifice – make the time – to make me happy.
We’ve been married 36 years. We didn’t go out last night, instead we had artichokes and tacos, and burned the wedding candle my parents gave us 36 years ago in Heidelberg. Artichokes, because at the first family dinner AdventureMan attended, my mom served artichokes as a first course, and AM thought it was some kind of a test. Tacos because in our 36 years together, it has always been one of our favorite meals, and because I found all kinds of Mexican food supplies in Qatar.
Then we walked over to the pool, swam, bounced around, talked, and when we got out – even though the temperatures were still high – there was a breeze, and we even felt just a tiny bit chilly! Chilly in the blazing heat of the Gulf summer is GOOD!
Just for our 36th anniversary, there was also a full moon. We walked home, cool and breezy, under the light of a great big romantic full moon. 36 years, and it just keeps getting better and better. 🙂
The Doha Anglican Church
Back in Doha, church at the same time as always but for once, we are late because we didn’t realize the traffic pattern had changed, and we got lost, briefly, making us walk in after the service had started. As we walked in, we were greeted by a man we knew well when we used to attend, and he was so happy to see us! The congregation is about double the size as when we used to attend, may familiar faces, even after all these years, and there are our old friends, and they have saved two seats for us. 🙂
The service was a happy combination – familiar service sheet, familiar – and much loved – music, but some new things, too, more people serving, a little more formal service, and a priest-policeman who gave a powerful testimony. Soon, we understand, we will be able to start meeting on the new compound, where the big church will be built, and many congregations will share the same buildings, as they do at the Kuwait NEC.
Later, talking with my friend, we were talking about the policeman-preist’s testimony.
“I’m a little confused,” my friend started, “I got the impression testimony was an emotional story about how people get born-again, and he used those words, but it wasn’t like in the evangelical churches.”
“Yeh,” I responded, “being ‘born again’ encompasses a wide variety of experiences. You get the impression it has to come like a mighty wind, blowing you away, but this guy talks about listening to the gentle nudge, that is also the work of the holy spirit.”
“It was so gradual!” she exclaimed. “I thought it had to be like one great emotionally moving experience.”
“So what happens if you are born in the church, you are baptized and you believe from the time you are a little child?” I asked her. “And what happens if after being ‘born again’ you make some huge mistake, do you get ‘born again born again’?”
It’s all a question of style, how the holy spirit comes to each individual, how we believe. It isn’t right or wrong; it is how the spirit speaks to you. One of the things Jesus said over and over was to concern ourselves with our own relationship to God, and not with our neighbor’s short-comings. He said we each had enough of our own short-comings to keep us busy for an entire life. When he wants us to be involved with our neighbors – and we know who our neighbors are – it is with an open and helping hand, not a pointing finger.
The essence, in my mind, is the belief, and the listening, in your heart, for the whispers of the holy spirit. I pray to hear it, when it whispers. There are enough gales in my life – like moving, for example – I don’t need a mind-blowing, scales falling from my eyes experience, although the spirit has used one or two in my life to get my attention. I mostly just need to listen better.
Some Are Silver and the Others Are Gold
Life gets funny when you move. Like 5 minutes after I landed, my Kuwait phone stopped working except for advertisements. The company provided me with a loaner, just so AdventureMan could keep in contact with me, and then like a light bulb going on in my head, I checked to see if the problem was lack of money – yep.
I used to have a phone plan. I am not a big phone user. I discovered those wonderful Hala cards, and at the very max might use 10KD per month – I really am a light user.
When I arrived, my good friend two villas down had her movers – she is leaving. We had like six days of overlap. Three of those days, she had her movers there and I had people here helping me get the new villa set up. We would grab a few minutes when we could – not even enough time for a cup of coffee, but as I left, I thought “this is just like old times.” We’ve both always had busy lives, and we would grab time together when we could.
In the USA, when kids go to camp, we learn songs. It occurs to me that many cultures transmit cultural values in songs – I know I can still remember French and Spanish songs I learned in language classes . . . there must be something about singing that imprints things in your memory. One of the songs is:
Make new friends – but keep the old,
One is silver and the other is gold.
You sing it once, all together, and then you divide into four groups and sing it as a round until it is all finished. You sing it when you are leaving camp, and you cry.
Of course, we are all grown up now. We don’t cry when friends leave. (Liar! Liar!)
The movers are gone, my friend SMS’d me “how about a swim tomorrow?” and I SMS’d back “Sure!”
We lolled around in the pool, sort of theoretically exercising, but her equipment is en route back to the USA and mine is en route from Kuwait, so we were pretty lax, sort of bobbing around and laughing and catching up. She is trying to bring me up to speed on what is going on in Qatar, and I am trying to remember everything she is telling me. We walk home, head in our separate directions again. I have a loaner car, and I get to go grocery shopping ALL BY MYSELF!
I am down to putting away my last two bags of groceries when my loaner phone rings and it is my good friend saying “I have to drop my son at school, have you eaten, want to have a late lunch?” and I laugh and say “sure” and we plan to meet at 1:30, but the QTEL (Telephone) man comes (the company sent him so I wasn’t expecting him) and the problem is too complicated, so he will come back and I just barely have enough time to get to the meeting-up restaurant.
Ooops – no, forget that, I am going to be late, I had forgotten about the traffic, so I break the law and call my friend on my mobile and say “I’m going to be another five minutes at least, I am so sorry, go ahead and order for me” and she just laughs.
We have a great lunch together, still catching up on all I need to know, and I ask if they have plans for dinner tonight and she says “no” and I say we would love to have them come to our house for something simple. Like I have napkins; the ones she gave me because they were leaving, but I don’t even have a tablecloth with me, it will be something casual like spaghetti and salad and garlic bread and she says she thinks they would just love that kind of evening but she has to check with her hubby.
We talk talk talk and then her hubby calls and she forgets to ask if he can do dinner with us, but then my hubby calls and says we need to do blood work for our residency and can we do dinner another night (we already have another date set up with them) and so I get off and have to say “uh, I am sorry, but I have to take back that dinner invitation.”
This all seems convoluted and round about, but this is where those GOLD friends come in. She just starts laughing (I love it when she cracks up) and says “OK! But I’m NEVER going to let you forget this! You WITHDREW an invitation!” and then we are both laughing and oh, Lord have mercy, I am so thankful just to have a little overlap with this crazy friend, and oh, how I am going to miss her.
Some friends are just THERE, they know what the important things are. This friend has me all set up with a really good cleaning lady who will start on Saturday, she told me the really good tailor she has found, the best car rental place, and which car wash guy to keep far away from. She borrowed a cup of laundry soap. Tomorrow, she needs to come here and iron her son’s shirt for graduation, and she and her husband are bequeathing to us their leftover (legal! legal!) booze. Here is what takes it beyond gold – our husbands like each other, too. Our cats . . . not so much. Her cat wants to make nice, my cat gets all hissy.
Inside this grown up expat body is still the little Girl Scout from camp, making new friends, and treasuring the old . . .
Busted
Today, as I was getting ready to leave the church services, one of my very special friends hugged me and said farewell, and then said “But of course, I can keep up with you on your blog.”
It was as if time stopped for a second, then started up again.
“My blog? You read my blog? You know?” I stammered, not loudly because there were other people around.
She laughed.
“I figured it out when you described this guy,” she said, punching AdventureMan lightly on the shoulder. “I KNEW it was you.”
When we got into the car, AdventureMan had a big smug grin on his face.
“I almost told her I read your blog quickly first, to see if I’m in it,” he said, “but then I was embarrassed that I am so vain.”
LLLOOOLLLL!
I’ve gotten less careful. It’s becoming less and less relevant as I get closer to leaving.
Breathless Day
The air is still, and there isn’t a single wave on the vast, flat glassy Gulf. At eight in the morning, it is already breathlessly hot:
It’s not getting any better. Maybe by the beginning of next week, as you can see, a little “cold” weather will be moving in 😉
The only way you can determine the difference between water and air is the layer of yellow tinged haze on the far horizon:
Here is what my life looks like right now:
Yesterday, a sweet friend dragged me away from all the packing and focus on moving and treated me to a day at the Aquatonic Spa. I admit it, she had to drag me – I can get so immersed in my misery that I don’t even want to do something fun.
In spite of my churlishness, we had a great time. Playing around in that fabulous pool, and then having beauty treatments afterwards – it just took all the misery out of me. I felt great for the first time in weeks. I slept last night without waking, and awoke refreshed, thanks be to God, and thanks to my friend who knew what I needed better than I did.
Family Suitcase Culture
Yesterday was one of those “deja-vu all over again” kinds of days as AdventureMan and I hit a store and bought suitcases. We will take extra baggage with us to Doha, to carry us over until our shipment arrives, and had been tizzying a little over just how best to do it. I remembered down in the souks they have cheap rolling suitcases, that, even if you just use one time before they break, are worth the price.
Then our good friend mentioned – just in time – that Carrefour was having a sale on luggage, and it was a truly incredible price, like three pieces for KD5.500. We went, we checked, we found the bags – marked at $80. with K-Mart tags. We each bought one set.
As we were pulling them out, I started laughing – we didn’t get such a hot deal. The tag said 6 pieces for $80. so that would mean the 3 pieces we got were worth – full price – about $40. We paid about $20 – so it was as if we bought suitcases at K-Mart for half price.
Suitcases – buying suitcases – are a part of our family culture. I can’t count the number of times my sisters and I have been someplace and we’ve made a run to TJMaxx to pick up another suitcase to carry unexpected purchases. We’ve always had loads of bags, when a friend visits and needs an extra bag going home, they are welcome to take one of ours. We had some friends, long ago, visiting from Moscow, and they took a bag with them to fill with fresh vegetables, something they had been craving in February in Soviet era Moscow. The bag came back the next year, filled with a beautiful Russian samovar they brought as a guest gift, and then the bag returned with them, once again, filled with fresh vegetables.
Some of my favorite suitcases have been great buys – but where are they now? I know a couple are in our storage locker, with collected linens and finds from faraway places. One of my husband’s best bags is in a closet in Pensacola, where we left it in case we needed it some time in the future. Slowly but surely, our collection of baggage has diminished.
Thus, the trip to Carrefour. AdventureMan groaned, hitting Carrefour around 4:30, as the teeming hoards arrived. To our amazement, a car left just where we needed parking. We were in Carrefour, found the bags prominently displayed, quickly decided they would do just fine since we only need them for one trip, and out again in under 30 minutes – how amazing is that? As it turned out, they were instantly useful as AdventureMan cleared some things from his office; the empty suitcase was soon filled.
It’s amazing what comfort 4 – 6 extra cubic feet of packing space can bring. 🙂
(I found the wonderful suitcase photo on Sister’s Choice, a delightful blog.
Timeless and Practical Advice
Oh! Today I needed a good laugh, and thanks to my good buddy, I had several. Here’s what she sent me that got me laughing:
TIMELESS AND PRACTICAL ADVICE !
1. Do not walk behind me, for I may not lead. Do not walk ahead of me, for I may not follow. Do not walk beside me either. Just pretty much leave me alone.
2. The journey of a thousand miles begins with a broken fan belt and leaky tire.
3. Its always darkest before dawn. So if you’re going to steal your neighbor’s newspaper, that’s the time to do it.
4. Don’t be irreplaceable. If you can’t be replaced, you can’t be promoted.
5. Always remember that you’re unique. Just like everyone else.
6. Never test the depth of the water with both feet.
7. If you think nobody cares if you’re alive, try missing a couple of car payments.
8.. Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way, when you criticize them, you’re a mile away and you have their shoes.
9. If at first you don’t succeed, skydiving is probably not for you.
10. Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day. Teach him how to fish, and he will sit in a boat and drink beer all day.
11. If you lend someone $20 and never see that person again, it was probably a wise investment.
12. If you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything.
13. Some days you’re the bug; some days you’re the windshield.
14. Everyone seems normal until you get to know them.
15. The quickest way to double your money is to fold it in half and put it back in your pocket.
16. A closed mouth gathers no foot.
17. Duct tape is like ‘The Force.’ It has a light side and a dark side, and it holds the universe together.
18. There are two theories to arguing with women. Neither one works.
19. Generally speaking, you aren’t learning much when your lips are moving.
20. Experience is something you don’t get until just after you need it.
21. Never miss a good chance to shut up.
22. Never, under any circumstances, take a sleeping pill and a laxative on the same night.
More-on Bullying
The bullies have always been there – Jodi Picoult in 19 MInutes says that the worst part about being the bully is that nagging insecurity that if you stop trying for even a short time, your popularity will fall. So even the bully is struggling with nagging self-doubts, and those doubts compel his/her behavior – taunting someone “different”, smaller, weaker, more vulnerable, in order to make oneself look bigger. It’s pitiful, but how do we stop it?
This is a tragic article – so tragic I didn’t really want to publish it. It happens in every society, world-wide; the strong – but insecure – pushing around those who are weaker, to make themselves feel better.
April 16, 2009, 9:02 PM
Dude, You’ve Got Problems
by Judith Warner
From The New York Times
Early this month, Carl Joseph Walker-Hoover, an 11-year-old boy from Springfield, Mass., hanged himself after months of incessantly being hounded by his classmates for being “gay.” (He was not; but did, apparently, like to do well in school.)
In March, 2007, 17-year-old Eric Mohat shot himself in the head, after a long-term tormentor told him in class, “Why don’t you go home and shoot yourself; no one will miss you.” Eric liked theater, played the piano and wore bright clothing, a lawyer for his family told ABC news, and so had long been subject to taunts of “gay,” “fag,” “queer” and “homo.”
Teachers and school administrators, the Mohats’ lawsuit now asserts, did nothing.
We should do something to get this insanity under control.
I’m not just talking about combating bullying, which has been a national obsession ever since Columbine, and yet seems to continue unabated. I’m only partly talking about homophobia, which, though virulent, cruel and occasionally fatal among teenagers, is not the whole story behind the fact that words like “fag” and “gay” are now among the most potent and feared weapons in the school bully’s arsenal.
Being called a “fag,” you see, actually has almost nothing to do with being gay.
It’s really about showing any perceived weakness or femininity – by being emotional, seeming incompetent, caring too much about clothing, liking to dance or even having an interest in literature. It’s similar to what being viewed as a “nerd” is, Bennington College psychology professor David Anderegg notes in his 2007 book, “Nerds: Who They Are and Why We Need More of Them”: “‘queer’ in the sense of being ‘odd’ or ‘unusual,’” but also, for middle schoolers in particular, doing “anything that was too much like what a goody-goody would do.”
It’s what being called a “girl” used to be, a generation or two ago.
“To call someone gay or fag is like the lowest thing you can call someone. Because that’s like saying that you’re nothing,” is how one teenage boy put it to C.J. Pascoe, a sociologist at Colorado College, in an interview for her 2007 book, “Dude, You’re a Fag: Masculinity and Sexuality in High School.”
The message to the most vulnerable, to the victims of today’s poisonous boy culture, is being heard loud and clear: to be something other than the narrowest, stupidest sort of guy’s guy, is to be unworthy of even being alive.
It’s weird, isn’t it, that in an age in which the definition of acceptable girlhood has expanded, so that desirable femininity now encompasses school success and athleticism, the bounds of boyhood have remained so tightly constrained? And so staunchly defended: Boys avail themselves most frequently of epithets like “fag” to “police” one another’s behavior and bring it back to being sufficiently masculine when someone steps out of line, Barbara J. Risman, a sociologist at the University of Illinois at Chicago, found while conducting extensive interviews in a southeastern urban middle school in 2003 and 2004. “Boys were showing each other they were tough. They were afraid to do anything that might be called girlie,” she told me this week. “It was just like what I would have found if I had done this research 50 years ago. They were frozen in time.”
Pascoe spent 18 months embedded in a Northern California working-class high school, in a community where factory jobs had gone south after the signing of Nafta, and where men who’d once enjoyed solid union salaries were now cobbling together lesser-paid employment at big-box stores. “These kids experience a loss of masculine privilege on a day-to-day level,” she said. “While they didn’t necessarily ever experience the concrete privilege their fathers and grandfathers experienced, they have the sense that to be a man means something and is incredibly important. These boys don’t know how to be that something. Their pathway to masculinity is unclear. To not be a man is to not be fully human and that’s terrifying.”
That makes sense. But the strange thing is, this isn’t just about insecure boys. There’s a degree to which girls, despite all their advances, appear to be stuck – voluntarily – in a time warp, too, or at least to be walking a very fine line between progress and utter regression. Spending unprecedented amounts of time and money on their hair, their skin and their bodies, at earlier and earlier ages. Essentially accepting the highly sexualized identity imposed on them, long before middle school, by advertisers and pop culture. In high school, they have second-class sexual status, Pascoe found, and by jumping through hoops to be sexually available enough to be cool (and “empowered”) yet not so free as to be labeled a slut, they appear to be complicit in maintaining it.
Why – given the full array of choices our culture ostensibly now allows them – are boys and girls clinging to such lowest-common-denominator ways of being?
The strain of being a teenager, and in particular, a preteen, no doubt accounts for much of it; people tend to be at their worst when they’re feeling most insecure. But there’s more to it than that, I think. Malina Saval, who spent two years observing and interviewing teenage boys and their parents for her new book “The Secret Lives of Boys,” found that parents played a key role in reinforcing the basest sort of gender stereotypes, at least where boys were concerned. “There were a few parents who were sort of alarmist about whether or not their children were going to be gay because of their music choices, the clothes they wore,” she said. Generally, she said, “there was a kind of low-level paranoia if these high-school-age boys weren’t yet seriously involved with a girl.”
It seems it all comes down, as do so many things for today’s parents, to status.
“Parents are so terrified that their kids will miss out on anything,” Anderegg told me. “They want their kids to have sex, be sexy.”
This generation of parents tends to talk a good game about gender, at least in public. Practicing what we preach, in anxious times in particular, is another thing.
Easter Sunrise and Noah’s Ark
Today is the most beautiful day in the church year, Easter Sunday. Mary and Mary go to the tomb where Jesus was laid, only to find the 2 ton stone rolled away from the entrance, and angels waiting there, telling the women that Jesus was not there, that he had arisen. If you have been reading this blog for any time at all, you will know that it delights my heart that women were the first to know, and that Jesus, resurrected, appeared first to a woman. In the Bible, she tells the men and they don’t believe her. LLOOLL.
It is a glorious Easter morning:
As part of her Easter greeting today, a friend sent the following, which I love. Since all three traditions, Jewish, Christian and Moslem, celebrate Noah (Noh) I thought I would share it with you.
Noah’s Ark
(Everything I need to know, I learned from Noah’s Ark. )
ONE: Don’t miss the boat.
TWO: Remember that we are all in the same boat!
THREE: Plan ahead. It wasn’t raining when Noah built the Ark.
FOUR: Stay fit. When you’re 60 years old, someone may ask you to do something really big.
FIVE: Don’t listen to critics; just get on with the job that needs to be done.
SIX: Build your future on high ground.
SEVEN: For safety’s sake, travel in pairs.
EIGHT: Speed isn’t always an advantage. The snails were on board with the cheetahs.
NINE: When you’re stressed, float awhile.
TEN: Remember, the Ark was built by amateurs; the Titanic by professionals.
ELEVEN: No matter the storm, when you are with God, there’s always a rainbow waiting.
Have a great day, a blessed day, Kuwait.
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