Paying the Price
I had two wonderful days, Thursday and Friday, out and about all day in this wonderful Kuwait weather. Saturday was out again for a short time with Adventure Man and felt a tickle in my throat. No big deal, I figure it is just allergies, or the change in seasons; I drank some ginger tea and figured that would be the end of it.
Wrong!
Yesterday, it was hanging on, getting stronger. Here come the sneezes, the swollen sinuses, the watery bleary eyes, the sneezing and the coughing. Having a cold totally grosses me out. I’m not a person who gets dramatically and romantically ill, lying beautifully in bed while people bring me hot drinks and speak to me in soft voices. I look terrible! I want this cold gone now! I’ve upped the arsenel to Strepticils, Zinc tablets, Cranberry juice and antihistimines. It doesn’t matter; I am a wreck.
I’m better during the day, it’s night time that gets me – I wake up choking and coughing, my sinuses hurt, my nose is running. . . and I sleep fitfully, with weird dreams, so sometimes I can’t tell if I am dreaming or awake.
The Qatteri Cat faithfully follows me everywhere I go. I am sleeping in the guest bedroom so Adventure Man doesn’t have to suffer through this with me, but QC just makes comforting noises and snuggles up to me.
I have a lot to do this week. Please keep me in prayer for a speedy recovery!
She Did Everything Right
When I was a little girl growing up in Alaska, we had neighbors who lived just across the creek. Our neighbors had a daughter 6 years older than me; she was my first babysitter. Growing up, those six years made all the difference – we didn’t know one another as friends, the gap was too great. Our families were very close, however, and when my parents would go to parties at her parents house, they would take us and put us to bed in her bed.
I saw her now and then through the years, but our lives were in different places. When I was just getting married, she had big boys, by the time my son was a teenager, hers were getting married and going to college. We reconnected in Florida, of all places, where we both ended up at the same time due to our husband’s jobs.
Having our Alaska childhood in common, having grown up together and knowing each other’s family through all the years created a strong bond. We saw each other often; she was like a big sister to me.
She always had it all together. She had a group that bicycled together every morning, and then had outings later in the day. She was a fitness buff, and ran in the mornings before she bicycled. She kept herself thin, and she loved to cook, but she could eat what she wanted because she exercised it all off.
She was a reader, and would pass along the really good books to me. She and her husband were also news buffs, so when we would get together with our husbands, there was never a dull moment at the dinner table.
She and her husband were sent to Egypt, and to Rumallah, and to China, and they made the most of every minute. They loved traveling, they loved their sailing boat, they loved their family. They would come to visit us in our places of the world, and we would have great reunions. They were so alive.
She could be annoying. She would chide me about not exercising enough. She would comment on how much food people ate. She always knew the latest in medical research to back herself up. She kept her mind active, and she kept her weight down. She exercised, she travelled, she took care of her parents, she did good works for others. She did everything right.
A couple years ago, we joined her and her husband for dinner. She hadn’t combed her hair. She weighed about 20 lbs more, and didn’t seem to notice. She couldn’t remember the last book she had read, and she couldn’t remember her recent trip to Mexico, or an earlier one to Spain.
It’s been downhill since then. Her loving husband is strong and able to care for her, this once-beautiful, sprite-like, spirited woman. I think she still knew me, when I saw her last summer, but she can no longer really express what she is thinking. She is restless, up and down from the table, and not able to participate in the conversation.
I am haunted. I am so much like her; I tried to live up to all that she has taught me. A part of me wants to scream at God “This isn’t fair! She did everything right!”
Perhaps doing everything right gave her a few extra years, and I am just not seeing things from the right perspective. Meanwhile, I get no answers, and my heart breaks when I think of her.
Manly Cosmetics
I vacated my bathroom for houseguests recently, and as I was moving my toiletries back in, with wry amusement I noticed how many face creams I have. Creams for eyes, creams for lips, creams for night, creams for going out into the sun, creams for after having gone out into the sun, creams for day, creams for “noticable reductions in wrinkles in 7 days or less.”
(The problem is, seven days later when I am looking for a noticable reduction, I can’t really tell if it is working or not. I look, but I am wondering what I might have looked like if I HADN’T used the cream? I don’t know!)
And I was thinking about men, who have skin, too. Particularly I was thinking about Adventure Man, and what would it take for him to feel comfortable using a skin cream?
First – it would have to have a very manly name. None of this Homme stuff, it would have to imply that this is a product a RUGGED man would use. Like Manly Lather. “Lather” is a word that goes with men, like barbers lather up your face before they shave you. Women use foam, men use LATHER.
Another name I thought might work would be Extreme Unction because manly men like flying near that edge of the envelope, it’s a testosterone thing, and unction means anointing, like with an oil. If you are Catholic, you receive extreme unction just before dying, or before people think you are about to die, so even unction has an extreme connotation.
Maybe Braveheart? Maybe Rock?
Help me out here.
If you are a guy, (please, keep it clean) what kind of names would allow you to use a face cream with dignity?
If you are a gal (and rolling on the floor laughing) what names can you think of that would encourage a guy to actually USE a face cream?
Have fun with this!
“Where’s The Bag, Daddy?”
My friends, please be kind. Adventure Man loves plays on words. So last night I could hear him and the Qatteri Cat playing in the bedroom, the Qatteri Cat’s favorite game, Dad hides him under a laundry sack and the Qatteri Cat thinks no one can see him. Then Adventure Man dangles his belt and the Qatteri Cat slashes at it from under the bag. It doesn’t take much to amuse these two; they love this game and can play it over and over.
I can hear Adventure Man saying “Where’s the Bag, Daddy? Where’s the Bag, Daddy?” and dancing around, and he is totally cracking himself up.
“Wouldn’t that be a great blog entry?” he asked.
I dutifully grabbed my camera and tried to get some shots, which is not easy under low light conditions when the Qatteri Cat is swatting at a swinging belt.
So it’s kind of an action shot – that’s what we call it when some of the sharp edges go a little blurry 😉
This cat adores his Bag, daddy.
Rock Star Parking
Ya’ll know that a lot of this blog is about cross-cultural experiences, but this one is cross-cultural in our own family.
You know, every family, every tribe of us, has its own rituals and ways of doing things, and even when you marry someone you think you know very very well, you are in for some surprises.
One of the surprises in our marriage was that my husband thought I was supposed to fill the gas tank. Hello? Fill the gas tank? That’s MENS stuff, don’t you know? We had some tense moments in our first couple months of marriage working that one out, especially when I would leave him with nearly empty gas tank. My husband was rightfully flummoxed by my ability to be both a feminist and a princess, thinking that filling the tank and fixing car problems was HIS work. I learned *huge sigh* to watch the level of gas, to fill the tank, and to take the car in for services. *another big sigh*
But one thing that drove my husband right up the wall was my thing about parking close to the door. Well, I will give him this, he did not grow up in Alaska or in Seattle, he doesn’t know about freezing cold winds and mounds of snow and driving rain and winds that turn umbrellas inside out. My husband didn’t know that husbands, like daddies, are supposed to find the perfect spot as close to the entry as possible, every single time, or to drop us off and meet us inside. No, given I was a feminist, he expected to just take any old spot and I would just walk with him to wherever we would go. We never got that one worked out.
Not until a couple years ago. I learned that my mistake was all in trying to explain the irrationality of family culture. I learned that it was all about marketing, about positioning, something that normally I am very sensitive to and very good at doing. I was hopelessly blind in my approach and hopelessly single tracked.
It all changed when we were taking a new employee on a sight seeing tour of Kuwait. When we got to the grocery store, suddenly a spot opened up right in front of the store.
“Wooooo Hoooooo!” hooted the new guy, “ROCK STAR PARKING!”
I could see my husband straighten up and preen a little as he thought of himself as a person who got “rock star parking.” The light went on. Once he started thinking of himself as a “rock star parking” kind of guy, I never had to walk a long distance to the entry again.
(Woooo HOOOOOOOOO!)
A Thousand Splendid Suns
Once I picked up Khaled Hosseini’s A Thousand Splendid Suns, I barely put it down again until I was finished. I found myself thoroughly involved in the lives of Mariam and Leila, unwilling even to stop to fix dinner! The author of Kiterunner has hit another home run.
There was a time when we would listen to older state department types talk – with enormous longing – about their tours of duty in Afghanistan, pre-Soviet invasion, pre-Taliban, pre-American occupation. Have you ever read James Michener’s Caravan? There are two countries I long to vist, but the countries they are now are not the countries I heard people talk about – Afghanistan and Ethiopia. Our friends loved their times in these two countries.
A Thousand Splendid Suns opens in a small village outside Herat, and then takes us to Kabul. Mariam is born harami, a bastard, of a village cleaning woman in the house of a very wealthy man. Her father builds a small hut for her mother and herself in a remote part of the small village, and visits Mariam every week. Life is simple, and difficult, but also full of kind people who visit and who are concerned with Mariam’s welfare.
After marrying, Mariam goes to Kabul and learns a new way of life with her husband, Rasheed. What fascinates me with Hosseini is that while Rashid is one of the villians of this novel, he is just a man, doing the best he can given his own upbringing and limitations. In a sense, he is “everyman”, the strutting, domineering, sometimes brutal and abusive husband we find in every culture. But Hosseini also gives him transient bouts of kindness which blow through a little less often than the transient bouts of cruelty.
He also gives us good men, in this book, in the person of Jalil, the father of Mariam, who steps up to the plate in acknowledging Mariam and supporting her and her mother, but fails to nurture in the very real way women need nurturing from their fathers in order to reach their full potential in life. Hosseini also gives us a very strong man in the book, Tariq, who, although he has only one leg, is more wholly a man than any other man in the book. I imagine that this is not unintentional. (How Kissingerian is that for a double negative?!)
Written almost entirely in the Afghan world of women, we see through the eyes of Mariam, and later Leila, the transitions in Afghanistan and their impacts on daily life. We experience happiness with them, and peaceful scenes in quiet moments, raising the children, stepping outside into the garden at night to share a cup of tea and a shared bowl of halwa.
Between the moments of peacefulness, we also experience incoming morter rounds, explosions, marauding bands of warlords, and starvation. We go into a women’s hospital under Taliban control, where there are no medications, no running water, no instruments, and an Afghani female doctor does a C-section with no anaesthesia and is required to keep her burqa on. We watch a mother abandon her role and take to her bed when her two sons are killed fighting the Soviets, we experience betrayal and we experience helplessness, and we experience a Kabul women’s prison. A Thousand Splendid Suns is a rich feast of experiences, juxtaposing the everyday chores of women around the world – cooking, raising children, laundry – with events on the world stage.
(Available from Amazon for $14.27 plus shipping.)
Big Red
Adventure Man and I have an agreement. We leave each other’s lives alone. Like I don’t try to tell him how he should work (I do try to tell him how to drive, or how not to drive, he hates it and I can’t help it; I don’t want to die!) and he doesn’t tell me how to run the house (but he does make “helpful suggestions”, he can’t help it.) We cut each other a lot of slack – it’s the only way you can stay married for a long time.
He monitors my blog closely. I don’t mind, he is like my personal security agency, making sure I don’t tell you too much about myself. I know he is protecting us and I honor that. It also helps me to think about what I am writing as I write – he has never asked me to change anything, but the awareness that he is watching helps me remember to be careful.
But I draw the line at him telling me what to blog. Here is what I say:
GET YOUR OWN BLOG, ADVENTURE MAN!
Yesterday he brought me some Big Red, with a complaint and with a compliment. Many of us in our family are addicted to Big Red, a cinnamon chewing gum. I like it because I drink coffee, and coffee can make your breath bad. Adventure Man just likes it because he likes it.
“This Big Red is not the same!” he complained. “It tastes wrong!”
I tasted it and I thought it tasted normal, but I have been buying Big Red here for a while and maybe my “normal” has gotten skewed.
“And look!” he said, triumphantly “Big Red is supposed to be RED!”
And he was right – this Big Red is WHITE?? How can that be??
But here is the compliment – look what is printed on each individual gum wrapper. (You have to read it from left to right!)
Pretty cool, huh? And this blog entry is for you, Adventure Man.
“I Miss Hamad. . . “
Talk was desultory as the book club broke up, several women had already left when Hannah hit us with this bombshell. It was a most puzzling statement. We had all passed Hamad in the hallway on our way to bookclub. He would greet us gruffly, but not really look at us as we buzzed into the women’s diwaniyya.
“What are you talking about?” popped up Lena, never at a loss for words. “How can you miss Hamad? He’s right here!”
Hannah exchanged glances with Diana, also married to a Kuwaiti. They grinned, ruefully.
“You’ve only been back a week,” Diana said.
“Yes, but I MISS that sweet, loving husband. When we are away, he turns back into the delightful, charming man I married! He holds my hand, he takes me out for dinner, it’s like when we first met! He’s a different man! Oh, how I miss him! And we’ve only been back a week.” She echoed Diana.
Diana sighed.
“And is he playing the ‘ayb’ card?” she asked? “‘Ayb’ how you walk around the house, ‘ayb’ how you smile too much, ‘ayb’ here, ‘ayb’ there, ‘ayb ayb’ everywhere?”
They started giggling. Others joined in, their giggles were so infectious. Soon, the seven women remaining from the book club meeting were gasping for air, they were laughing so hard.
“I’ve stopped changing!” Hannah hooted! “Every time I changed what he asked, he found something new!”
And the laughter started again – it’s an international group, and the critical husband thing is something that is easily understood by women of all nations.
“I want him back!” Hannah moaned, weak from laughter. “I want my Hamad back!”
Tang Chow and Gulf Road
I’ve written about Tang Chow before. I know, I know, you are looking for something new. But (there’s always that “but”) when Adventure Man called and said “what do you want to do about dinner” and I said “I just have a hankering for Tang Chow”, he said “Me too! I’ve been thinking about it all day!”
It’s great when you are married to someone who likes the same food at the same time. No, it isn’t always instant agreement.
Sometimes, we’ll be going out and he will say “where are we going?” and I will give him three options, and he won’t like any of them. So then I say, “Ok, OK where is it YOU really want to go?” and he will tell me and we will go there. Sometimes it works out OK, and sometimes there just isn’t much on the menu I really like, but we try to take turns getting to choose when we can’t agree. But if one of us really objects, then we go somewhere else.
We never disagree when it comes to Tang Chow. The only negative factor is the traffic on Gulf Road. What a hassle!
Last week we were caught in that horrid traffic (and it’s only August! Not even as bad as when school starts!) and there was a car to our left with the lights on inside, four women primping, literally with compacts, checking their own lips, checking their eyes, clearly ON DISPLAY but pretending to be oblivious to all the attention they were getting from the guys trying to get their attention.
And the guys in front of us, in a great big SUV, trying to get the girls’ attention, HIT the car in front of them, full of a family bringing a brand new baby home from the hospital.
Guys, take it off the road! Court in the parking lots, court at Chili’s, court at the coffee houses or at the Malls – take it off the road.
You have my sympathy, truly. I know it is really really tough here, almost impossible, to get to know the girls. And you have all those raging hormones. Still – take it OFF THE ROAD.
We could see the young men were really really sorry they had hit the family. I am betting they learned from the experience, and, God willing, will keep their eyes on the road when they are driving, but I am afraid to hope for too much.
Missing You, Adventure Man
I’m eating here, all alone, in a booth for one, surrounded by a million other customers. Son and his wife are at work, and Sonny’s isn’t their favorite place. It’s low brow, it’s folksy, and oh, how I miss southern barbecue when I am back in Kuwait.
The waitress, Tammy, is country and sweet and cares about all her customers, I have the fried catfish with Sonny’s baked beans and a side of cole claw . . .I have my non-sweet iced tea, I have my Sudoku . . . missing you too much, Adventure Man:
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