Alexander McCall Smith: Tea Time for the Traditionally Built
This brand new book in the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series could not have come at a better time for me. Sorting through, giving away, selling my car – it all takes a toll. It’s a little like dying, this moving. I know I will be “resurrected” in another life, but in the meanwhile, I have so much grief, and I just stuff it away and keep going. These books are my carrots; they are my reward at the end of the day.

I have a stack of books and I am going through them like a locomotive – just chugging along.
Mma Precious Ramotswe and her totally different world in Botswana sweep me away totally. I love the sweetness of the way she thinks, her love for her country, and her tolerance. In Tea Time for the Traditionally Built, several things are going on at once, not the least of which is that she, also, must part with her dearly loved little white van, which has gone as far as it can go, and can go no further. The engine cannot be revived, not even one more time, by her dear husband, mechanic J.L.B. Matekoni.
Just in time, just when they need a new customer, comes Mr. Molofololo, the owner and manager of the Kalahari Swoopers, who hires Mma Ramotswe to find the traitor who is causing the Swoopers to lose their games.
Last, but not least, Mma Makutsi’s fiancee (she is the Assistant Detective now, remember?) Phuti Radiphuti, is being assaulted by Makutsi’s old rival from the secretarial school, Violet Sephotho, who is looking for a rich husband, and would love to steal Grace’s fiancee away, for all the worst reasons. How can plain Grace, with her big glasses and her unfortunate complexion, compete with the glamorous and seductive Violet? Can Phuti resist her wiles?
When I reached the last ten pages of the book, none of these crises had been resolved, and I thought “Oh no! How can the book end with all these loose ends out there?” but in a deft drawing together, McCall vanquishes the devils, finds simple solutions, and leaves us with Mma Ramotswe and Mma Makutsi having tea together at the President Hotel.
This book is a great way to end the day with a smile on your face. 🙂 I bought this book for $21 in a bookstore, but Amazon has it for $14.37 plus shipping. I don’t buy a lot of hardcover books, but this one was worth every penny.
Strasbourg Magic
It is perfect May weather in Strasbourg right now – warm and sunny, even hot, one minute, crashing thunder, lightning and pouring rain the next. One minute you are catching the last rays of the sun on the Strasbourg Cathedral, and the next, you are ducking into the nearest restaurant to get out of the rain, have a little wine and flammekeuchen, give the weather a chance to change once again and you are on your way.

Besides the fact that we always have a lot of fun in Strasbourg – it is a great town for walking – remember that shoe store that was closed for the holiday on Friday? I have French feet; German shoes are too wide, American shoes are too serious . . .but French shoes are always just right. We go again, first thing Saturday morning, and they have all the newest shoes in the yummiest colors and they have them all in my size!

Just look at these colors! Grape! Orange sherbet! Fuscia/raspberryt! I am not really so much a shoe person, but oh! When the right shoe comes along! I know it! AdventureMan waits patiently, smiling indulgently, as I try on almost everything in my size.
Looking at me seriously, he says “Buy what you want! Who knows when you will be back in Strasbourg? I insist, you must buy at least four pair!” (Now THAT is true love.)

Truly a magical day in Strasbourg. 🙂
Wives, be subject to your husbands
This part of today’s reading, among my set and the things we discuss, is one of the most controversial. We can debate this for hours.
What does being subject mean? If we, as wives, are subject to our husband, just as our husbands are subject to God, does it mean we can’t argue? We can’t disagree?
I saw a husband say to a wife the other day “I forbid you.” I think this is more common in Gulf culture than in our culture. I am sorry, but the thought of a husband daring to say this to a wife in the west is unthinkable. What I have also noticed is that when a husband says “I forbid you” here, it is not the end, but the opening skirmish. 🙂
There is a lot of food for thought in this reading, and I publish it to give you insight into what we read, and because I suspect you have similar readings.
Colossians 3:18-4:18
18 Wives, be subject to your husbands, as is fitting in the Lord. 19Husbands, love your wives and never treat them harshly.
20 Children, obey your parents in everything, for this is your acceptable duty in the Lord. 21Fathers, do not provoke your children, or they may lose heart. 22Slaves, obey your earthly masters* in everything, not only while being watched and in order to please them, but wholeheartedly, fearing the Lord.* 23Whatever your task, put yourselves into it, as done for the Lord and not for your masters,* 24since you know that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward; you serve* the Lord Christ. 25For the wrongdoer will be paid back for whatever wrong has been done, and there is no partiality. 41Masters, treat your slaves justly and fairly, for you know that you also have a Master in heaven.
2 Devote yourselves to prayer, keeping alert in it with thanksgiving. 3At the same time pray for us as well that God will open to us a door for the word, that we may declare the mystery of Christ, for which I am in prison, 4so that I may reveal it clearly, as I should.
5 Conduct yourselves wisely towards outsiders, making the most of the time.* 6Let your speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how you ought to answer everyone.
Moving Violation
You may have noticed I am not as engaged with the blog right now. Truth is, I have a lot on my mind. As with many expats, this summer will bring a move from Kuwait, and moves take a lot of energy, both mental, emotional and physical.
I do some of the packing myself, because having something to do helps me fight the sadness I feel about leaving, and also because the things that the packers don’t see, don’t disappear. I know that sounds cynical.
This is my 30th move. In one of my early moves, two packers arrived with great big bags. It did occur to me that was rather odd, but I was a sweet and trusting young woman. When I arrived at the other end of the country missing two sterling silver cups engraved with my son’s name and the date of his birth, I started to get wiser about moving. To this day, it hurts me inside that someone would steal cups given to me to commemorate our son’s birth. It isn’t the cups. It’s that they were celebrating a very special event. It still hurts.

The second illumination was arriving at my destination to discover my riding boots packed with my formal gowns. it wasn’t the dresses. It was that someone cared so little that my worn, dirty boots would be packed with those filmy, fantasy creations. It was almost hostile. I still remember it, and it has to be over 20 years ago.
One move, each piece of tupperware was wrapped individually. One salad bowl – plastic – was wrapped in one large box. Even though the government was paying for these moves, not me, it sent a strong message. Someone was stretching the square footage of the move. Now, I pack my own tupperware, and it easily ALL goes in one box, and no, not a lot of wrapping.
One move, three boxes just never showed up, and they contained things of no value to anyone but me.
I have a thing about putting too much value on things. I don’t want to miss things – I want to let them go. I am good at letting go of things I choose to let go of, and I find I am not at all good at letting go of things taken from me when I had no choice.
And it’s a whole lot easier for me to focus on packing things, and thinking about things that have gone missing than to allow myself to experience the PAIN of all I leave behind every time I move, the sweet friendships, the church, the teams I play on, the sights, the smells. Sometimes I think all my photos are an attempt to hang on to something I know I will have to leave behind.
Jodi Picoult: Handle With Care
I just finished the latest Jodi Picoult novel, Handle with Care. I was uncomfortable with it at the beginning, as I often am with Jodi Picould novels. She’s like that guest who brings up topics no one else brings up, and sometimes you wish she would stop, but the conversation gets rolling and everyone has an opinion, and the party would be much duller if she weren’t there.
She’s also the friend you would go to if you had an embarrassing problem you couldn’t discuss with anyone else. We all need that kind of friend, an honest sounding board, not afraid to deal with the grit and grime of everyday life.
I know the reason her books make me uncomfortable is that sometimes I see things I don’t like about myself in her characters.

The subject of the book is a disease called osteogenesis imperfecta (OI), and Willow, the youngest daughter, has Type III, which means she was born with broken bones, her bones would break if you picked her up wrong, changed her diaper the wrong way, even if she rolled over. Her bones were brittle, and the slightest thing could cause a break. She is also very smart, and a delightful character.
Picoult takes us inside many heads – the mother, Charlotte, a former pastry chef (Picoult includes some of her very best recipes, YUMMMM), Sean, the fiercely loving father, Amelia, a troubled pre-teen who hides her bulemia and cutting, and Marin, the lawyer, searching for her own birth mother. When Charlotte files a wrongful birth suit against her best friend – and obstetrician – Piper, her life starts to fall apart. It’s hard to believe things could get worse than having a child whose bones break all the time, but things definitely get worse.
What I hated about Charlotte, who has learned to anticipate her damaged child’s needs, is seeing myself through her eyes. Frequently, she shows us our insensitivity to the disabled, how we patronize, how we are oblivious to the simplest needs. Charlotte is a little angry at the world, so protective that she bites back scathing words to outsiders – or doesn’t. People without disabilities – visible disabilities, we all have disabilities, don’t we, just some are visible and some are not? – can be so smug, so unaware of the hardships others face. I cringe when I read this book. I see myself, and I don’t like what I see.
I admire Jodi Picoult. I will read just about anything she has written, because of the courage she has to tackle the most sensitive subjects. This is not a comfortable book to read, but it is a worthwhile book to read.
Income Tax Blessing
You didn’t think those words could all be used in the same sentence, did you? AdventureMan and I have to pay something called “quarterly estimated taxes” and this year, I guess because our investment income went seriously down, we overpaid our taxes. I know, I know, that doesn’t sound like good news to you, but it sure beats the pit-in-the-stomach of learning that you owe more to Uncle Sam. We overpaid, and we will go ahead and apply it to next year’s taxes and hope that everything works out well next year, too.
We used to talk to my father about ways he could pay less tax on his income and savings. He would look at us and say “But the government was always good to me!” (he worked for the government) “They paid my salary! They pay my retirement! They help pay my medical bills! Why would I not want to pay them taxes?”
It was an extraordinary attitude; I have never forgotten it.
The Thirteenth Tale – Setterfield
After reading some heavier stuff, I needed a break, and waiting on my “read me!” bookshelf has been this book, The Thirteenth Tale, another one of those I pick up at the last minute and stuff into the last remaining centimeter of space in my overstuffed suitcases. Nobody recommended it, it just looked like it might be good.

It was good, although now I can’t think of anything so gripping about it. Setterfield took the classic gothic novel – she mentions Jane Eyre frequently – and updates it, makes it modern and personal. It was a good, fun read, had me hurrying through my daily “must-do’s” so I could read more – I like a book like this now and then.
And – the main character, Margaret Lea, loves books. 🙂 She works in her family old-books business, leads a quiet, kind of sad life, haunted by the loss of her own twin early in life. When contacted by famous novelist Vida Winter to write her biography, she is intrigued, and accepts the job offer, which involves going to stay in Vida Winter’s house.
Part of what is fun reading this book is that we are dealing with an “unreliable narrator” with Vida Winter. Sometimes she is lying, sometimes she is lying by omission, and part of the mystery is that Margaret must try to verify what she has been told and try to figure out what has been left out. She has a great adventure in the process.
This is great escape reading. Good for a long plane trip, good for sitting by a sick relative in the hospital, good for using as a carrot (“if I get this done, and this, and this – then I get to go read ‘The Thirteenth Tale!’ “) You can buy it on Amazon.com for around $10 paperback.
Cell Phone Etiquette: What do you think?
AdventureMan and I were having lunch yesterday and I saw a couple at another table, both on their cell phones. So, like they were sharing a meal, but not really sharing time with each other.

I’m not that big of a cell/mobile phone fan, although my son and my sister both have iPhones, which I look at with envy and think one day I will get one. I carry it because I think it would really be a bad thing in Kuwait to be in a car accident, not my fault, with our without a cell phone. I carry it so I can reach my husband in an emergency. But sometimes, yes, my bad, I forget it and don’t even miss it. Sometimes I stick it in my purse and remember two days later that it is still there.
Here is how I see it. If you are with another person – like if you and your best-friend-forever are having lunch, sharing your deep down secrets, how do you feel about them taking a phone call, one that really doesn’t matter? I totally understand if there are emergencies, or even if one of the children wants to ask something, but what about a full-blown conversation? Chat chat chat chat chat as if you don’t exist?
AdventureMan and I used to disagree about this. Now, if he gets a phone call and he thinks it can wait, he doesn’t answer. If he thinks it might be important, he answers but keeps it short. If we are in a large group and it is a crisis call, he will leave the group, and not subject us to be unwilling evesdroppers. I am very comfortable with this. if it is just the two of us and a tricky phone call comes in, I just pull out my Sudoku and work on a puzzle until he is free to rejoin me. It works for us.
I feel the same way about texting. Some people are very good at doing it so subtly that no one else knows; I don’t mind that. If you are in a meeting, however, and there is a speaker, don’t you think the right thing to do is to put away your phone and pay attention to the speaker? If you are with a friend, isn’t it rude to be texting all the time to someone else? What kind of message does that send about how much you value the relationship with me?
If you are texting while you are driving, how much attention are you paying to the road? I see you, half in my lane because you are trying to read the response!
I don’t like being accessible to the world 24/7. I think these mobile phones are supposed to be our servants, not our masters. I like seeing who is calling (if your number doesn’t show your name on my phone, I won’t be answering!) I like getting and sending messages. I just have a feeling there is a time and place for everything. If I have made plans to see you – I want you to pay attention to me!
Am I way out of whack on this?
There is a little voice telling me this is generational, that I am falling a little out of step with the modern way of doing things. So, you tell me. How do you see it?
Kuwait: Our History Runs in our Blood (Mohammed Ali Dashti)
Kuwaitis showing new interest in the past; Traditions, culture wiped out by ‘change’
From today’s Arab Times; you can read the entire interview by clicking here
A born artist makes it his life’s mission to chronicle the past of Kuwait using his artistic skills and his academic erudition. His brush strokes have brought to life scenes from a Kuwait straddling a dying hidebound order and a modern state taking birth. His passion drove him beyond the pale of his canvas to physically revive some lost traditions for posterity.
Read on to find out more about Mohammed Ali Dashti’s enchanting four-decade long mission and some of the precious values from the past which we have now lost and which he fears we may never recover.
Q: You are involved in a rather enchanting profession of recreating the past. What is your goal?
A: When oil was discovered in Kuwait, the state underwent a rapid transformation. The change was very sudden and very fast. In a short span of time, Kuwait leapt from an ancient system to a very modern state. This change wiped out many elements from our traditions and culture.
Until sometime ago, the people of Kuwait were disposing of the antiquated paraphernalia from their homes. But now, there is a sudden interest in these items, and now they are buying them back to preserve the past. It is the only way of holding fast to our roots and knowing how our forefathers, not from a distant past, conducted their lives. Kuwaitis are buying doors and furniture used in the old Kuwaiti homes.
We, as an organization, are working to preserve our history for posterity to learn and know. We produce ancient household items like the Mubkhar (incense stand) with which our grandparents used to scent clothes and fan fragrant smoke around the house.
In the old days, we had no airplanes or cars. The only way we were connected with other places in the region was the sea. Kuwait, owing to its geographical advantages, became a center for shipbuilding. Kuwaitis were experts in making dhows for different purposes. Boats were built in a variety of sizes and designs based on their use. There were cargo ships, fishing boats and vessels for pearl diving. The size of boats ranged from a meter to up to 6 meters. This is another aspect of history that we are trying to preserve and we have been recreating many of the original models our ancestors voyaged in.
We showcase our creations at universities, malls, schools and other places. Thus we have been able to generate interest in our past. We take our craftsmen along and explain to the present generation about Kuwait’s history.
Q: What do you think has created this new interest in the past among Kuwaitis? Can this be read as a reemergence of old traditional values?
A: Our history actually runs in our blood. It is very difficult to detach ourselves from our cultural roots. And so whenever any nation travels too far away from its true origins, at some point of time, it stops and tends to recall the past. History is what gives our existence contextual relevance. And we often try to find it by clawing back into our past, by remembering the way we came through.
Q: You said you make old-model boats. Aren’t you specialized in Warjiyas, the simplistic fishing boats from the past? Which is the biggest boat you have ever built?
A: The biggest boat I have ever built so far is 6 meters long. I make Warjiyas because it is most symbolic of our old fishing traditions. These boats were very famous among the people on Failaka Island. They used it for fishing and it is very easy to construct.
The specialties of Warjiya are: it is wholly made of palm tree to the last detail. The body is built with spines of palm leaf, which are trussed using ropes made our of palm fiber. It is very light and so easy to carry.
Warjiyas sort of became extinct about 60 years ago with the advent of oil and the independence of the state’s economy from fishing and pearl diving. We can’t return to those ancient livelihoods, and so we are now planning to start an annual Warjiya race to keep the tradition alive. The first race will be held in September this year.
Q: Do you have any plans of reviving even the tradition of fishing along with these boats?
A: No, as I said, we can’t actually go backwards to keep our original traditions alive. So, these things can only happen in a token manner. The aim is to keep the future generations aware about how their grandfathers and people before them lived. We don’t have to make our children live a similar life to make them appreciate the ancient way of life.
Q: All over the world there is great demand for antique items. Is what we are seeing in Kuwait a similar trend — a fascination for antique pieces — or is it more than that?
A: No. It is not just a fad in Kuwait. The people really care for the past and there are efforts at all levels to preserve relics from the past or have their duplicated versions. These efforts have been sincerely undertaken by Kuwait National Museum and other private museums in the country, and between them they share a vast treasure of valuable relics and information about Kuwait’s past.
The government is also giving due encouragement to all of us to help us in our endeavors. The ministry of information is doing everything within its means to promote our traditional and cultural heritage in other Gulf countries and beyond.
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.

