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.
“Can You Help Me Get to Bangladesh?”
I have a dilemma. I don’t know how to handle it.
I carry small bills with me, because I am often asked for money. I keep it so I always have money to give to the people who help me get groceries to my car, the people who deliver propane, people who give good service – I don’t mind. Part of the blessing of having work is the obligation to pass that blessing along to others. We know that God Almighty knows where there is real need, and he moves us to give where giving is needed; he gives us a little shove in our hearts.
Yesterday, a well dressed man with a steady job told me he wants to go home to Bangladesh to see his parents. Could I help him?
I understand about aging parents. I’ve made a few trips myself. I totally understand what it is like to be far away when crises strike. We have always had funds set aside for emergency trips, and, by the grace of God, we haven’t had to dip into those funds often.
“How can I help you?” I asked.
“I need money,” he responded.
Money for a ticket to Bangladesh – that’s not small change. Along with that thought is the thought that were I to “help” this man, word would get around, and I would have many people knocking on my door for serious help with funds.
I don’t think he wants the kind of help I could easily give – showing how to set up an account and contribute to it faithfully, letting the money accumulate until you reach your goal. I don’t think he wants to do what my parents did with me, and what we did with our son – matching funds. (You save up half and we will match your savings dollar for dollar.) He wants an outright big gift.
In our church, we sing a song that says “Freely, freely, you have received, Freely, freely give.” I’ve always believed that with all my heart, it is like a magnified spiritual Locard Exchange Principal especially for blessings; what you have received you give, and it comes back to you doubled, tripled, magnified.
We tend to give larger charitable donations to organizations that make the money work hard – Medicins Sans Frontiers, African schools, our church fund. I consider a ticket to Bangladesh a relatively large charitable donation, large especially for one individual, one individual who is well employed.
So I ask for your prayers for clear guidance. I am not feeling that shove in my heart.
Why Skidboot?
On November 18 of last year, I published a short item, very short, four lines, on Skidboot. At the time, I was so new to blogging, I didn’t even know how to embed a YouTube video in the blog, so I just referred readers to the YouTube site.
For the last two weeks, it has been my top stat getter. I have Googled, I have tried everything I can think of to figure out why Skidboot? Why now, almost a year later?
If anyone coming here to read the Skidboot article will take a minute to tell me why, I would sure appreciate it. It’s not going to kill me not to know, but it is a mystery to me!
Here is the original video:
Three Movies
Most of the time, I work in silence. I have a lot of things I need to think about, and the silence helps me think. When I am ready for some entertainment, I usually listen to BBC. Occasionally, as in the last three days, I turn on the TV, more for background noise than anything else.
Most of the shows I like the best have sharp women as main characters – I love Veronica Mars! I enjoy The Closer, and Crossing Jordan. I love how they overcome their dysfunctions, and how they use their smarts to solve cases. I love it that they screw up from time to time, and have to suffer the consequences, but that they overcome their screw-ups and prevail.
The last three days, I watched parts of three movies. In the first, Braveheart, we were watching Mel Gibson playing Braveheart, but I was constantly distracted by his preening. Have you seen Braveheart? It’s like he is conscious of the camera on him every minute, we the viewers are merely mirrors, absorbing and reflecting his glorious countenance – how annoying! His vanity distracted from a pretty good movie.
Then I watched segments of Dracula playing Ludwig von Beethoven. I am from a family of movie watchers; my son and husband know all the names and rush to IMDb to check out anachronisms, historical inaccuracies, goofs in continuity, etc. All I know is that every time he went to kiss one of those Viennese women, I wanted to scream “Watch your neck!”
The movie was interesting, and they made good use of all Beethoven’s most loved music, and they used it appropriately. Oldman did a good job of bringing Beethoven to life and making his deafness tragic and believable. He also shows the fickleness and cruelty of the audience for whom he made his music.
Then, yesterday, there was Jack Bauer playing Paul Gauguin! In the early parts of the movie, he lived in a luminously violet painted interior, one I am dying to copy. But that is not the point. Jack Bauer is a stoic. Stoicism is great when it comes to playing a guy who has so many bad things happen to him in the space of 24 hours.
(this is also beside the point, but can you imagine being married to a guy like Jack Bauer? Like he would never tell you what he was really up to, the most exciting times in his life are not with you and his children but off protecting the United States of America, he comes back to you addicted to heroin, or totally burned out and just when you have him all patched up again he gets a call that his services are needed, and you don’t hear from him because he is all caught up in his latest adventure and then after 24 hours he comes home again, a total wreck? What kind of family life is THAT??)
As Paul Gauguin, he leaves his stockbroker existence and becomes a starving painter, then a starving painter who somehow makes it to the South Seas to paint some of the most amazingly colored art every created but his facial expression never changes much. Paul Gauguin was all about passion – and it is just too much a stretch for Jack Bauer. He is not a believable Gauguin. He is not even a believable Frenchman. He barely moves his hands! I would watch the movie again, however, just for a glimpse of those violet colored walls.
It must be a problem for actors, especially TV actors who become too closely associated with one role. I had to look up his real name: Kiefer Sutherland. Fortunately, a new season of 24 starts in just three days. If you ever want to feel sorry for Kiefer Southerland, look at his dad’s resume’ of movies: Donald Sutherland. It wouldn’t be easy to live up to that legend.
The Qatteri Cat Makes the Bed
As quietly as I can, I take the sheets out of the linen closet and into the bedroom. Almost silently, I strip off the old sheets, and pillowcases. I stuff the pillows into new pillowcases, and then quietly, quietly I unroll the bottom sheet. I don’t dare give it a shake and a whip to get the wrinkles out; the Qatteri Cat might hear.
Slowly, I put the first corner on the bed, and move to the second, but it is too late. Although dead in sleep, the Qatteri Cat has detected the sound of sheets, and has made a bee-line for the bedroom.
He wants to help. He jumps into the middle of the bed, then, thankfully, he moves to one corner. I get three corners settled on the mattress, and something intrigues him to move to the center of the bed, so I can get the fourth corner.
Now, for the part the Qatteri Cat loves the best. The top sheet! I shake the sheet out and it drapes over the Qatteri Cat. He is in ecstacy; “No one can see me!” he purrs.)
He makes a quick dash for safety as I start to put on the quilt, rushing back to the corner of the bed. I arrange the quilt around him and walk away – if I am not there for him to obstruct, he loses interest quickly.
He thinks it is a game we play. He is sad when it is finished. He brings Dolly in to the finished bed and grieves that I won’t play the bed-making-game with him any more.
Community
Jeremiah is one of the great prophets of our Old Testament. The Wikipedia article on Jeremiah tells me that his name in Arabic is Eremiya. The problem with being a prophet is that not everyone wants to hear what God tells you to say. Jeremiah spent time in jail for telling people what they didn’t want to hear.
God told Jeremiah, “You will go to them; but for their part, they will not listen to you”.
Today’s reading in the Lectionary has this verse from Jeremiah. My blogging friend Kaos asked me why I care about Kuwait when I am only an expat, passing through. When I saw this verse in the reading for today, as the Jews are being sent into exile in Babylonia, I knew for myself the answer:
From Jeremiah 29 7But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare.
Wherever we find ourselves – it’s up to us to make the best of our lives. There are reasons for every expat to care about Kuwait and what happens to Kuwait. Kuwait belongs to the Kuwaitis, and 67% of the population is “expat” or “visitor” or “laboror”(whatever lable you choose.) As long as we live and work side by side, we are a community, diverse and conglomerate, but all wanting to live in peace as best we can. Kuwait belongs to Kuwaitis, and the lives we lead as individuals make up a community that belongs to us all.
No E-mail Day
Productivity at the office is increasingly becoming an issue. The industry giant Intel has introduced “no e-mail days” to encourage Intel engineers to get off their behinds, move out of their cubicles and talk to one another, rather than sending an e-mail to a co-worker just a few steps away. You can read the entire story at BBC News: Technology.
With inboxes bulging with messages and many workers dreading the daily deluge of e-mail, some companies are taking drastic action.
Intel has become the latest in an increasingly long line of companies to launch a so-called ‘no e-mail day’.
On Fridays, 150 of its engineers revert to more old-fashioned means of communication.
In actual fact e-mail isn’t strictly forbidden but engineers are encouraged to talk to each other face to face or pick up the phone rather than rely on e-mail.
In Intel’s case the push to look again at the culture of e-mail followed a comment from chief executive Paul Otellini criticising engineers “who sit two cubicles apart sending an e-mail rather than get up and talk”
Blessings of Eid and Eidiyya
(*Note for non-Muslim, non-Kuwaitis – Eidiyya is money given for Eid, mostly to young children, but I have a few grown up women friends who tell me their Daddy still gives them money for Eid, the big holiday at the end of Ramadan.)
We had a yen for French food last night, and were at the restaurant, finishing up a fairly mediocre meal. We were enjoying watching all the couples and families, all dressed in Eid finery. Many of the women literally sparkled – gold threads woven into scarf or hijab, clothing beaded or glittering. . . we were like plain little quail, surrounded by swans, but that was fine with us, kept us below the radar as we ate our dinner.
As we came in, we had been warned that the credit card machines were not working, but that wasn’t a problem for us, we tend to carry cash, just keeps things simpler.
So we are waiting for our change, when a very good looking family comes in and sits at a table near us. The husband and wife are dressed beautifully, not glam, but well tailored, well fitted, expensive clothing, and they have five beautiful children with them, youngest maybe 10, up to maybe college age. As they are about to order, the waiter reminds them that the charge machines are out of order and the restaurant will accept only cash tonight.
The distinguished looking man sits in a stunned and embarrassed silence. The faces of his family are all turned to him as sunflowers to the sun, waiting. Then his wife says “Don’t worry, I have 10KD here, you can have it.” (10KD would not have taken care of this family!) The oldest girl jumps in: “Dad, I have my Eidiyya with me! You can have it!” and each of the children start digging in their pockets and purses for money to help their Dad out.
Our change came back and we were leaving. I don’t know if they stayed, if the Dad accepted any of the money as a loan, but my own heart was warmed – as I am betting his was – that his family would jump to help him out, so that he would not be embarrassed and so that the family could have the meal they planned. How proud he must be of his beautiful family, and their beautiful hearts. How blessed he must feel!
I have seen in my own life how God can take the most awful circumstances, even trivial events, and use them for great good. We’re all cash-strapped now and then, but God used this embarrassment to demonstrate to this man where his greatest blessings abide – in his own home.
Picoult and My Sister’s Keeper
I don’t know where I got the idea that Jodi Picoult wrote girly books, maybe because when you go to a bookstore there are so many of them? I just assumed they were romance and passed right by until several months ago, in a small used book store, I found one that was in the book club section, and those are usually pretty good reads. I bought it, but put off reading it, assuming it was an easy read, maybe I would read it on an airplane one day.
For some reason I moved it up, maybe I had heard a review or something. It moved to the bedside group, the “in line for immediate reading” group. At a time when we were particularly busy, I finished my other book and this was next, and I thought “Oh well, yes we are busy, but this will be light reading.”
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
This book, My Sister’s Keeper, is not light reading. It is a book a lot like We Need To Talk About Kevin one of the most terrifying and unforgettable books I have ever read. It is a book about motherhood, and parenting and tough choices. It is a book about how sometimes your entire life is yanked, and all the focus is on one area, to the detriment of others. It is a particularly tough book if you are a mother.
The main character, Anna, was conceived so that her stem cells, from the umbilical cord, will be used to help her sister, Kate, who has leukemia. Family life is chaotic, to say the least, as the vigilant parents’ attention is constantly on Kate, who suffers frequent relapses.
Picoult uses the voices of Anna, Kate, Jessie – the brother, a pyromaniac, Brian (the father), Sara (the mother), Campbell (Anna’s lawyer) and Jesse (Anna’s guardian ad litem) to tell the story.
Anna has approached Campbell, a lawyer, to achieve medical emancipation. She loves her sister, she has shared a room and her entire life with her sister, she has given stem cells, she has given bone marrow, she has been through several medical procedures to keep her sister’s cancer in remission, but at 13, she balks when expected to give one of her kidneys is a last ditch attempt that even the doctors have little expectation will succeed. She hires a lawyer.
Sara is a mother you would love to hate. You would love to grab her by the shoulders and say “Pay attention! You have THREE children, and two of them need your attention, too!” but something holds you back, and that something is the serious doubt you have about how you would handle the same situation. In extreme circumstances, people make the best choices they can, and when you are in extreme circumstances day after day, things start to fray, and then they start to fall apart. This family is past the fraying part, and we hold our breaths hoping they won’t fall apart.
It’s not a hard read because of the technical terms; this is a book where a 13 year old knows all the vocabulary of cancer, and we learn it, too. It flows naturally in the book.
Kate has acute promyelocytic leukemia. Actually, that’s not quite true – right now she doesn’t have it, but it’s hibernating under her skin like a bear, until it decides to roar again. She was diagnosed when she was two; she’s sixteen now. Molecular relapse and granulocyte and portacath – these words are part of my vocabulary, even though I’ll never find them on any SAT. I’m an allogeneic donor – a perfect sibling match. When Kate needs leukocytes or stem cells or bone marrow to fool her body into thinking it’s healthy, I’m the one who provides them. Nearly every time Kate’s been hospitalized, I wind up there, too.
None of which means anything except that you shouldn’t believe what you hear about me, least of all that which I tell you about myself.
Aha! We are reading a book with an unreliable main character!
It is a hard read because we all have families, and we all face tough decisions. There is a part of us that says “thank God we are not in this situation” and another part that says “there but for the grace of God . . . ” It is a tough book because we don’t know who we will become when life-changing circumstances hit us, we don’t know what choices we would make, because we are afraid, and because we don’t want to find out.
There are some surprises, though, and you will want to keep reading. There is a lot of love here, in the cracks between the tragedies. My Sister’s Keeper has three sets of sisters, and a lot of focus on that very special relationship. The men, too, come off well at the end.
Not an easy read, but a book that will stay in your heart for a long time.
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!
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