Fashion Nightmare
One of the classic worst nightmares you can have is where you dream you have shown up somewhere naked. No, I didn’t show up naked. But I can tell you that it was the next best thing, and there was nothing I could do. And I survived it, and I never had that bad dream again.
The priest in our church had asked me if I would take a visiting nun around to show her some of the local spots in Qatar. She was doing work in Afghanistan, getting schools up and running for Afghani girls, and I was eager to hear about her work, and show her some projects in Doha. I had gladly agreed, and had a plan outlined for all the places I could take her.
When I arrived at the church house, wearing my rattiest jeans skirt and cover-up shirt, so as to be inconspicuous as we visited various places in the poorer sections of town, the priest came out and said the nun would be out in a minute, and why didn’t I come in, that there had been a “slight” change in plans and that another woman would be coming too, and she was taking us to a Palestinian project.
I don’t hold it against the priest. He lived in another world, a world so full of God and his glory that he didn’t really have any understanding of the world of women.
The other woman arrived, and she was gorgeous. She was wearing Issa Miyake, she was perfectly and subtly made up, and we were not going to a charitable project, but to a charitable fund-raising breakfast. I had thoughts of killing the priest.
The nun arrived, and she was dressed in a decent pants and shirt; neither of us appropriately dressed but off we go, to a clubhouse filled with dressed-to-the-teeth women and their daughters, raising money for popular causes on a Saturday morning. We were severely underdressed. All we could do was hold our heads high and pretend we didn’t notice. Inside, I was torn between laughing and crying.
Our hostess didn’t seem to see the fact that we were poorly dressed, and was very gracious to us, and in future days, the two of us became good friends. We often laughed about the priest, his goodness of heart and his blindness to some of life’s realities, like giving fair warning of what you are doing so you can dress appropriately. It all turned out OK.
When people come to me and tell me something terribly, horribly and publicly embarrassing that has happened to them, and ask me how they will survive, I tell them what I believe to be true – that most people are so absorbed in their own lives that they barely notice much about others, and that people have short memories. What may seem to be a huge deal today, will be yesterday’s news by tomorrow, and barely remembered in a couple months. By the time a year has gone by, some people will even think it might have been someone else who committed the faux pas.
On the other hand, in the small German village where I lived, there were two families who never mixed because their grandmothers had a huge fight many many years ago (people can’t remember exactly what it was about) but the legacy lives on.
So I wonder, how does it work in Kuwait?
The Little Princess
My maid/housekeeper was away, back in her own country, and her substitute can clean, but is hopeless with entertaining. I have about 25 guests coming, good people, and I am not too worried, but I am a little behind schedule pretty much the entire event, as I try to greet guests and make them welcome, get the food out, keep the food coming, keep the coffee and tea ready and and and . . . you get the idea.
As the event neared to a close, one of my friends, the little Princess, is right by my side, clearing dishes, rinsing, bringing things from the salon to the kitchen – and this is a woman we all kid, we call her the little Princess because her husband adores her, and she never has to lift a finger.
“You don’t have to do this!” I exclaim, knowing once the last guest is gone, I can take my time, and it will all get done.
“”But you look so tired!” she exclaims in return.
I am puzzled. I don’t feel tired.
“I don’t FEEL tired,” I respond, and she says “But you have no lipstick, and your hair is all tangled . . .” and I realize to my utter horror that in my focus on getting everything ready for my guests, I forgot to put on any makeup, or to do my hair. I FORGOT!
I am still laughing at myself, partly in HORROR. How could I forget to comb my hair???
Pathetic and Divorce
When I saw this cartoon in the New Yorker, I laughed out loud. I have a friend whose husband is leaving her. No, that is not a laughing matter. He wants to be young again, he seeks (to no avail) younger girlfriends, and she has discovered he has a page on MySpace where he tries to make himself younger and cooler than he really is.
He is about to be wifeless, desperate to regain his lost youth, and pathetically eager to attract young women who really prefer hot young men. The “EEEEEEWWWWWWWWW Factor” is just too horrendous to contemplate.
He also has two teen aged sons. I can’t imagine how they must feel when they see Dad is leaving Mom, and has his own MySpace page.
Ya gotta love the The New Yorker.
Michael Malone: Handling Sin
Have I told you (only a hundred times?) that our family loves books? We buy them, we discuss them, and we pass them around. The one I am about to review came from my son, who got it from the wife of his wife’s father. Heee heee heeee, figure that one out!
Have you ever read A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole? As soon as you start reading Handling Sin, you get the same impression; this book is whacky, and will probably be an underground cult favorite. The author of Confederacy of Dunces, John Kennedy Toole, committed suicide – or so we are supposed to believe. I am not so sure. Handling Sin sounds SO like it, and they both heavily feature New Orleans.
Right off the top, this books starts out weird and keeps right on going. It opens with our hero, Raleigh Whittier Hayes at a Civitan (social and civic works group, kind of like diwaniyya) meeting at the local Chinese restaurant in Thermopylae, North Carolina, where his fortune cookie at the end of the meal says “You will go completely to pieces by the end of the month.” Raleigh sells insurance, he runs and watches what he eats because most of his family gets diabetes; and Raleigh likes order. When we meet Raleigh, he’s not all that likable.
His dying father takes off, leaving a message for Raleigh that he needs to do seven (crazy-sounding) tasks and meet him in New Orleans at a specific date and time, having accomplished these tasks, otherwise he won’t go back to the hospital for his cancer treatments.
His big fat best friend, Mingo Sheffield, insists on coming along. His wife, Aura, just laughs and tells him he needs to loosen up a little when he starts complaining about his Dad’s quest, and begins her campaign for mayor. His nice, safe structured little universe is flying apart, his twin teen-age daughters are out of control, reality as he knows it has just taken a big crunching shift and Raleigh is out of his element.
Perfect! It’s those times of maximum discomfort that we begin to achieve our maximum potential, isn’t it? If we stay in our safe little world, we aren’t challenged to grow, to think new thoughts, to see things from another perspective.
Handling Sin has a series of events that are at the same time heart warming, serious, and side-splittingly funny. I laughed out loud so many times reading this book, as our hero and his friend and all those he picks up along the way find themselves in the most outrageous and unlikely adventures, and learn what they are capable of (OK, for all you grammarians, do not end your sentences in a preposition, do as I say, not as I do!) I would not be at all surprised if this book were made into a movie, it is so much fun. As you rock along, Malone also deals with serious health issues, racial issues, family issues, political issues and law and order. You laugh, you cry, you learn a little and you laugh again. It’s a great read.
This was my back-up book on my flights back to Kuwait, and worth the weight – it’s a kind of big book. AdventureMan can hardly wait to get into it; he had started it but allowed me to read it while he caught up with his jet lag. Who knows who we will pass it along to when he finishes? It’s that good!
Big Diamond’s Bat-about
Oh Big Diamond, you can’t imagine. You have an eye for the very best gifts.
I’m sorry the shot is not clear. We can’t get the Qatteri Cat to stay still when he has the bat-about toy. This was the best of all the photos – most, the bat-about disappeared just as I was shooting. *dying laughing* He loved it from the minute it came out of the suitcase.
When we all woke up – around 3 this morning, it was the first thing the Qatteri Cat went for, even before his food. He loves the bat-about, and AdventureMan and I are rolling with laughter, watching him play with it. It is great exercise, and such fun for him – and for us.
It is one of the BEST Christmas gifts ever. Thank you!
What Flower Are You?
What I love about this “test” is that using a bunch of irrelevant questions, they come up with categories which identify what kind of (totally random) flower you are. Total HOOT!
The results appear unreliable and the percentages add up to more than 100%. Have some fun.
You can take the test HERE at What Flower Are You?
Your Score: Water Lily
You scored 56% exotic, 52% fragile, and 72% complex!
Traditional flower symbolism: purity of heart, wisdom, eloquence.
Your opposite is the Calla Lily.
| Link: The What Flower Are You? Test written by gnomee666 on OkCupid, home of the The Dating Persona Test |
Wish it Were Real!
Found this in the market . . . would that washing away sin were this easy!
Found this, and another soap called “Cleaning up for Jesus” at the soap store across from Emmet Watson’s.
Rain Rain Go Away
Seattle has had a record amount of rain – the second largest amount in one day in the entire history of measuring rainfall. Roads are flooded, traffic is gridlocked, and my sister is continuously sloshing out her flooded lower story, a grinding, thankless job. It’s a mess.
moar funny pictures (photo from I Can Has Cheezburger)
Not Your Kuwait Parking Lot
When I first arrived in Kuwait, two very kind Kuwaiti ladies helped me take care of an important errand, showing me exactly where to go, who to trust, etc. Their kindness to me moved me greatly. As we left, I said “you have been SO kind, I insist on paying for parking” and they totally cracked up, almost limp and helpless with laughter, and then they explained to me that parking would cost 150 or 200 fils (around 50 – 80 cents).
In contrast, here is where we parked to go to the Pike Place Market:
Signs, Signs
I love signs. The very first sign I remember photographing was in Kenya, where it said “Elephants have the right of way.” This is a couple signs we came upon while walking along the waterfront, and it occurred to me that in this very law-abiding community, there were all kinds of signs telling you what you can’t do . . . LOTS of them!
And because we ate at the Rock Tavern, I keep hearing this song going through my head and thinking my sign says “Thank you very much, Lord!”
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