The Wire, Season 4
This show, The Wire, is one of our all time favorites, all the more so because our son also loves this show and passes along the entire season when he has finished watching.
Season 4 is the very best so far. The major theme is a subject near and dear to my heart – the schools, keeping kids in school, and trying to find ways to help them learn. Two former policemen end up in Tilghman Middle School, working with the poorest kids in the Baltimore school system.
First, you need to know that teaching middle school is the stuff of heroes. At very best, middle school kids are dealing with those raging hormones of adolescence. They can’t sit still. They are so full of energy, and sitting and reading is the last thing they want to do.
New teacher “Prez” suffers total loss of control over his class on his first day, but slowly finds ways to engage their attention – such as teaching them to use math to figure odds rolling dice. Once they understand the value of the new information, they are enthusiastic learners . . . or at least, they co-operate with the boring stuff because he finds ways to reward them with interesting information, relevant to helping them cope with their lives. The teachers learn from the students – to keep it real, keep it relevant.
The teachers in Tilghman Middle School are HEROES. Most of the children they deal with have huge problems outside the school, poverty being the smallest of the problems. For many, their parents are their worst problems, literally stealing the food out of their mouths for another fix. The kids bring their baggage into the schools every day, their anger, their acting out. The teachers have to be a mix of tough, compassionate and flexible. They know they are going to lose some of them, and they have to keep on, hoping a few will make it. It is truly a war zone, and the teachers are the stand-up soldiers in this season.
We follow a tough race for the Mayor’s office, the rise of a drug lord, two stone-cold killers who figure out how to “disappear” their victims, and one very clever schemer who manages to pull off a major drug heist, and then sells the product back to his victims. It’s an amazing show.
If you follow this season via DVD, choose to use the subtitles. A lot of the language is slang, much of it is street talk, mumbled, garbled – real speech. It helps to use the subtitles.
Women Are Women: Abayas and Hijab
One of the questions I get most often when I am back in the US is whether I have to cover, whether I have to wear an abaya, whether I have to cover my hair.
I tell them that in Kuwait, it is still a choice. Many Kuwaiti women do not cover their hair, but most dress modestly and are still traditional and conservative in behavior.
I tell them that in Saudi Arabia, I had to wear the abaya, but that the embassy instructions were to carry a scarf, but only to wear it if the muttawa / religious police made a fuss, as it was not the law of the country. The law stated that Moslem women would be covered, but not non-Muslim women. The Saudi women would tell me all the time that I didn’t have to cover, but when I mentioned the Muttawa – they all just sighed and nodded, and said that some people have a funny idea about religion, but that this was not the real Islam.
What I loved about women in Saudi Arabia is that they have a lot in common with women everywhere. When confined, they have ways to press the envelope. For example, the malls are full of stores with the sexiest shoes I have ever seen – and when feet are one of the few things that CAN be seen, guess where the money gets spent? There were also entire floors devoted to perfumes, and women would pass and you could nearly swoon from the delicious scents, an entire cloud of scents as they passed, cloaked in anonymity. There were glove shops, with the sexiest, laciest gloves you have ever seen. At the time, most of the abayas and scarves in Saudi Arabia were plain black, although occasionally you might see one with a discreet little trim, or a tiny little sparkle.
The kids told me they could tell their family members; they learned to identify posture and voices. They didn’t have any problems picking out their Moms and sisters.
Women would approach me in stores, standing next to me, pretending to examine some goods and whisper “Hi! Where are you from?” and “Do you like it here?” Many times, on planes, husbands would make their wives change places so as not to be contaminated by sitting by the likes of me, a wicked western woman with her hair showing, but the women would smile shyly when the husband was looking the other way. Women are women. We have our ways. We manage to get around restrictions.
On the other hand, I want to share with my Western readers the trend in abayas and scarves in the last few years. They are GORGEOUS, and there are times I am tempted to buy just because they are gorgeous.
On a deserted morning, I found these shop windows to share with you:
These are going-out-calling dresses, worn under abayas
These would probably be worn to an evening event like a wedding
Even the younger girls have special evening clothes
Not your old fashioned abayas
Love these details
Scarves to wear with abaya
Maitland and The Company of Liars: A novel of the plague
I had just finished The Swallows of Kabul and still had a long flight to go. Fortunately, I was in the Johannisburg airport, with it’s truly wonderful bookstore, and came across The Company of Liars: a novel of the plague. Well, it isn’t exactly a novel of the plague. The story opens in 1348, a year in which le morte bleu hit the British Isles, only later to be called the plague. The author captures the times, the filth, the lack of bathing, the superstitions, the ways of life.
The plot centers around a group who wanders through the island, just trying to stay alive. The spreading plague impacts on their wandering, but to call this a novel of the plague is just not accurate. The plague is the reason for the journey, but the journey is the center of the novel, not the plague.
Before I started reading the book, I read the Historical Notes in the back, and that is where I came across the most interesting information in the entire book:
The 1348 plague was only the latest in a series of disasters to hit Britain. The period between 1290 and 1348 had seen a rapid and drastic climate change which was so noticeable that the Pope ordered special prayers to be said daily in every church. Eyewitness accounts claimed that 1348 was a particularly bad year, for it rained every day from Midsummer’s Day to Christmas Day. Climate change brought about crop failure, liver fluke in sheep and murrain in cattle, as well as causing widespread flooding which virtually wiped out the salt industry on the east coast. This, combined with a population explosion, meant that as many people died from starvation as from the plague itself.
Interestingly, the book will not be released in the US until September 2008. The cover shown is nothing like the cover of the book I bought.
American issue cover:
Cover on book bought in Johannisburg:
I like the cover of mine better.
Some reviewers call this book “enthralling” or “gripping.” I wans’t all that enthralled or gripped, but it did make good airplane reading. I learned a lot about the grim brutality of life in 1348, but as I told AdventureMan, this is more a book about a slice of time than a book with a great plot. The plot isn’t that great, it is the historical detail that is interesting, and fiction just makes it more easily absorbed. (my opinion)
Masumbe’s Wisdom By the Campfire
Every night before dinner in these camps is a time for gathering around the campfire, sharing stories, getting to know the fellow guests. At Tena Tena our third night, we are sitting with Msumbe, the assistant camp manager, and listening to him talk about Zambia.
Zambia is a peaceful nation, and it is a miracle. More than seventy different tribes, and that many different languages and dialects. Rich in natural resources, full of children hungry to learn, Zambia has placed a high priority in educating everyone in getting along with one another.
“So like when you come across another person, not from where you are from, you don’t start in with a lot of questions. First you ask ‘How is it where you are from?’ and then you listen. When you know where he is coming from, and how are things there, then you can ask better questions, and not offend someone.”
Hmmmm, I thought, good advice. Sometimes I feel a little shy, especially when there are large groups of “others” like South Africans, or British, and they have their own values, their own ways of communicating, different from ours.
Soon, I was sitting next to a British woman, and desperately trying to think of a way to get HER talking, so I could be listening, and that is exactly what I asked “Tell me what life is like where you are from?”
She looked at me like I was a little crazy and asked what I meant. I said that I knew her life was very different from mine, and I was interested to know what her daily life was like. So she started telling me she wasn’t very interesting really, but gave me some details, and actually, it WAS interesting. Once she got going, knowing I really was interested, I learned a whole lot!
One detail I will never forget is that she rides to the foxes every weekend in the fox hunting season, this very respectable woman, and that they all do, even if it is against the law. No matter what the weather, they ride, hour upon hour. She laughed and said they ride so long and so hard that her clothes become discolored from the saddle leather, and she comes home stained and filthy from her rides.
Now how would I ever have known all that without Masumbe’s good question? It’s like being given a key that opens many locks. You never know what treasures you will come upon, but you have this wonderful key. Thank you, Masumbe!
The Qatteri Cat’s Five Under Five
As told to me by the Qatteri Cat:
1. The sound of Dad’s key in the door when he comes home.
2. Tuna water
3. Sleeping on my back in the last remaining spot of sunshine
4. Cat mint! Cat grass! Catnip!
5. Snuggling up to Mom on a cold winter day.
Five Under Five Tag – You’re It!
It’s a slow summer day, not a lot going on, so let’s play.
I was making the Pasta Melanzane and added some sun-dried tomatoes when the smell suddenly reached my nose and I was caught by the sweet intensity of the smell. I thought to myself “so much flavor! and at so little cost!” and it started a whole train of thought.
What gives your life pleasure and doesn’t cost much? Here are the rules – the cost of your pleasure must be under 5KD (under $20 for my USA players). See if you can think of five. If you find more than five, you can list those too, if you want – the rules here are pretty vague. so – give me five!
Here are mine:
1. The sound of my husband whistling – it means he is feeling peaceful, even happy.
2. Moments with my family when I suddenly realize how special they are, and truly treasure our time together.
3. The intense flavor of sun-dried tomatoes.
4. The sound of waves crashing onto the shore.
5. The smell of the sea, cloves, lavender, baked apples, roasting meat, a fresh pine Christmas tree,
the first rain in a dry, dusty country.
Bonus: The smell of Comfort fabric softener on laundered underwear. 🙂
The sound of my friend’s voice when I don’t expect a call from her.
Khadra and The Swallows of Kabul
While waiting for our luggage to be offloaded, we were passing time, visiting with our greeter / expediter, asking about his family, his life in Zambia.
“How does this work, travelling with your son and your daughter-in-law?” he asked us. “Do you like her?”
Nothing on earth could disguise the delight on our faces as we both said “Yes!” We truly adore her.
When our son was only seven years old, a Christian speaker passing through said that if you have children, it is likely that their mates have also been born, so to start praying now for the unknown mate your child would choose, and we did.
When our son called us from university, and told us there was someone he wanted us to meet at graduation, and graduation was still months away, we knew, we just knew, that this might be THE ONE.
We were so delighted when we met her, we liked her immediately. What parent isn’t happy to see his/her son/daughter happy, and choosing well?
“But!” our meeter/greeter added, “how do you like her family?”
And we laughed again! We love her family! Her father is smart and very funny, and her mother is kind and practical, and we all share the same values on family and friends and living our lives. She comes from a large rowdy family that gathers when they can, and so do we.
And YOU are thinking “what does all this have to do with The Swallows of Kabul?” but I am getting there.
On the trip, we all had books for our quiet time, and I could see EnviroGirl deeply engrossed in this book. When I asked her, she said she had gotten it from her father’s wife, a woman with whom I often talk books, and that she (EnviroGirl) was trying to finish it so that she could leave it with me.
And thank goodness that she did! I couldn’t put it down!
First, you think it is written by Yasmina Khadra, but that is a pseudonym. The real author, Mohammed Moulessehoul, was Algerian army officer, and he used the pseudonym to avoid having to submit the manuscript for approval by military authorities. That got my attention right away.
The book is about Taleban era Afghanistan, and starts out with utter hopelessness, describing the deterioration in life brought about by the arbitrary imposition of religious rule, as interpreted by men who have memorized the Qur’an, but have a poor understanding of what they have memorized. Women lead a dismal, limited life, at the mercy of men who treat them as detestable if they are seen in public, even totally cloaked.
His language is beautiful, poetic and compelling, even describing despair and desolation.
We meet two couples, Atiq, a jailer, and his wife, Musarrat, who risked her own life to save his life back when he was seriously wounded and left for dead, and Mohsen, former member of a moderately successful merchant family, married to the love of his life, Zunaira, who is beautiful, educated and from a wealthy background. These men love their wives, and have a strong, genuine connection to them. Their ability to maintain that connection, and to stay connected to their own values, withers in the dry, dusty context of fundamentalist rule.
Their lives and relationships have been changing gradually, increasingly limited and undignified under the stress of Taleban rule, and the novel follows a rapid spiral of deterioration and folly. The steady decline of their lives speeds when Mohsen makes a terrible impulsive decision, has to live with the consequences, and confesses to his wife.
Atiq, too, faces dismal consequences. Even though we know he is limited, he becomes a sympathetic character. His hardness of heart covers a genuine grief that his wife is dying, and he can do nothing to stop it, nor to alleviate her pain.
We all face hard times. In our family, when someone lashes out unjustly, we often ask “is it something I have done, or am I just the nearest dog to kick?” It always gets a laugh, and it puts things back in perspective, puts us on the same side. Sometimes we can’t always vent our frustrations against those people or events creating the frustration, so we take it out on those we love – and who love us. It’s not right, it’s not fair or just, but it is very human, and once you get that out on the table, it is easier to discuss the real issue.
When Zunaira ends up in jail, Atiq’s world is shattered as if by an earthquake – the earth moves under his feet, all his understanding of life is shaken.
“As he cleans up, he cautiously lifts his eyes to the roof beam looming over the cell like a bird of evil augury, and his gaze lingers on the anemic little lightbulb, growing steadily dimmer in its ceiling socket. Screwing his courage to the sticking point, he walks back to the lone occupied cell, and there, in the very middle of the cage, the magical vision: the prisoner has removed her burqa! She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor. Her elbows are on her knees, her hands are joined under her chin. She’s praying. Atiq is thunderstruck. Never before has he seen such splendor. With her godess’s profile, her long hair spread across her back, and her enormous eyes, like horizons, the condemned woman is beautiful beyond imagination. She’s like a dawn, gathering brightness in the heart of this poisonour, squalid, fatal dungeon.
Except for his wife’s, Atiq hasn’t seen a woman’s face for many years. He’s even learned to live without such sights. For him, women are only ghosts, voiceless, charmless ghosts that pass practically unnoticed along the streets; flocks of infirm swallows – blue, yellow, often faded, several seasons behind – that make a mournful sound when they come into the proximity of men.
And all at once, a veil falls and a miracle appears. Atiq can’t get over it. A complete, solid woman? A genuine tangible woman’s face, also complete, right here in front of him? He’s been cut off from such a forbidden sight for so long that he believed it had been banished even from people’s imaginations. . . ”
Atiq has a friend, Mirza, who thrives under Taleban rule, as a soldier, and also running illegal businesses highly profitable under the current regime. He encourages Atiq to abandon his cancer-striken wife, to get rid of her and to find a fresh, young wife. He offers Atiq shady business opportunities, and tells him a wise man bends with the wind. Ignorance and chaos benefit Mirza, and he has no wish to see the good old days return.
In spite of the bleakness, the desolation, the crushing arbitrariness and inhumanity, there is hope, love, and compassion in a thin, steady stream throughout the book.
Once I started reading, I had to finish. It was a great book for the long trip back to Kuwait, one I am eager to pass along to the next avid reader.
Japan, Seeking Trim Waists, Measures Millions
This article, from The New York Times (you can read the entire article by clicking here) gives me a big grin.
I can’t imagine American lining up because the government says we will have our waists measured, and be expected to meet a certain standard or lose weight and be penalized. Can you imagine Kuwaitis allowing the government to tell them how big their waists can be?
Japan is one of the most law-abiding nations on earth – I guess you have to be, when you have so many people occupying so little space. When you think of the Japanese, you think of politeness, courtesy. Outbreaks of rage are an anomoly.
And the government is right – obesity causes more and more expense down the road because it exacerbates other conditions. But someone’s weight is a very personal thing!
By NORIMITSU ONISHI
Published: June 13, 2008
A poster at a public health clinic in Japan reads, “Goodbye, metabo,” a word associated with being overweight. The Japanese government is mounting an ambitious weight-loss campaign.
Summoned by the city of Amagasaki one recent morning, Minoru Nogiri, 45, a flower shop owner, found himself lining up to have his waistline measured. With no visible paunch, he seemed to run little risk of being classified as overweight, or metabo, the preferred word in Japan these days.
But because the new state-prescribed limit for male waistlines is a strict 33.5 inches, he had anxiously measured himself at home a couple of days earlier. “I’m on the border,” he said.
Under a national law that came into effect two months ago, companies and local governments must now measure the waistlines of Japanese people between the ages of 40 and 74 as part of their annual checkups. That represents more than 56 million waistlines, or about 44 percent of the entire population.
Those exceeding government limits — 33.5 inches for men and 35.4 inches for women, which are identical to thresholds established in 2005 for Japan by the International Diabetes Federation as an easy guideline for identifying health risks — and having a weight-related ailment will be given dieting guidance if after three months they do not lose weight. If necessary, those people will be steered toward further re-education after six more months.
To reach its goals of shrinking the overweight population by 10 percent over the next four years and 25 percent over the next seven years, the government will impose financial penalties on companies and local governments that fail to meet specific targets. The country’s Ministry of Health argues that the campaign will keep the spread of diseases like diabetes and strokes in check.
The ministry also says that curbing widening waistlines will rein in a rapidly aging society’s ballooning health care costs, one of the most serious and politically delicate problems facing Japan today. Most Japanese are covered under public health care or through their work. Anger over a plan that would make those 75 and older pay more for health care brought a parliamentary censure motion Wednesday against Prime Minister Yasuo Fukuda, the first against a prime minister in the country’s postwar history.
Qatteri Cat’s Lazy Summer Days
The Qatteri Cat sends his greetings and wants you to know he is doing fine, just kicking back and enjoying the hot summer sun. He has a couple favorite places, near windows, where he can watch the world go by. He steps down to nibble a little grass from time to time, or to go get a bite to eat, or sip a little water (especially after AdventureMan has showered, he says that is the BEST!), but he is just taking life easy right now.
Jody Shields and The Fig Eater
This is one of those books I picked up off the staff recommendations shelf at Barnes and Noble – one of the very best sources for cult classics like Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West, books that don’t get a lot of press hype but whose readership grows slowly by word-of-mouth.
The cover caught my eye. This woman is dressed modestly enough, all the important parts are covered, but look at her eyes – there is a sultriness there, and a challenge that I find intriguing. This shows signs already of being an-out-of the-ordinary book.
The book opens in the early 1900’s with a murder. We follow the investigations of the chief Inspector, and we follow the parallel investigations of his wife, a Hungarian, Erszebet, and her ally, the English Wally. It’s a mystery, and in this exquisite book, the process of solving the mystery is so much more interesting than who actually did it, or even why.
The most fascinating character in The Fig Eater is the nature of fin de siecle Vienna, it’s customs, it’s caste system, it’s manners, and the fusion of East and West. Entire meals are described, cafe’s, cakes, cooking methods. Clothing is described in loving detail, and we visit a tuburculosis sanitarium as well as an insane asylum.
We study Kriminalistics with the Inspector and his assistant, we learn the fundamentals of early photography from an three fingered photographer. We experience early Viennese medical practices.
We learn all kinds of Hungarian superstitions and beliefs, we dance at the Fasching Balls of Vienna, and we simmer with the repressed sexuality of the times. We mourn with the bereaved, we shiver in the cold winter, and we steam in the brutal heat of an extended summer.
The end is so totally unexpected that I had to go back and read it again. My bet is, that if you accept the challenge of reading this book, you will have to, too. Even after you have read it again, you will not be totally sure what has happened, and yet . . . it is a satisfying ending.
This was a wonderful read.
I will leave you with a quote:
The Inspector has always prided himself on his ability to listen, as a good Burger is confident of his business acumen. During interrogations, he can distinguish the different qualities of the witnesses silence, as if it were a tone of voice.
He had admonished Franz more than once for interrupting him. Don’t be so hasty. Slow down and listen. In the Pythagorean system, disciples would spend five years listening before they were allowed to ask a single question. That was in the 4th Century BC. Another philosopher, Philo of Alexandria, wrote about Banquets of Silence, where even the correct posture for listening was determined.
In Kriminalistic there is a text on the subject. He orders Franz to read it as part of his lesson. “To observe how the person question listens is a rule of primary importance, and if the officer observes it he will arrive at his goal more quickly than by the hours of examination.”
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Early Voting in Florida
