Berry and The Alexandrian Link
On his way back from a recent trip, AdventureMan bought a book in an airport, which he read and then asked me to read. Here is what he said:
“It’s not a great book, but I don’t know why I say that. It has an interesting idea and I want to know what you think.”
So just after I finished Inheritance of Loss I started in with this book, and it was the second book I will not recommend to you.
It is wooden. The characters are about a millimeter deep. The plot is unbelievable and doesn’t make sense and doesn’t hang together. It is full of adventure and travel and shoot-outs, which our “hero” miraculously comes through without a scratch while all around him his foes are dropping like flies.
It DOES hinge on an interesting theory, one I had never heard before. There is a Lebanese historian and archaeologist, Kamal Salibi, who published a book called The Bible Came from Arabia. In this book Salibi makes his case for the “holy land” which was given to Abraham not being in Palestine at all, but rather in what is currently Saudi Arabia, along the western coast. He uses the utter lack of archeological findings in current day Israel/Palestine which support biblical accounts, and the plentitude of place names in the Asir region which closely resemble what the place names would have looked like and sounded like in ancient Hebrew, the language of the earliest biblical times.
The book, and the theory was, of course, controversial. If the contentions were true, it would undermine the foundation of the state of Israel in Palestine; it would mean that people have been fighting for the last 60 years over the wrong piece of land.
Here is a (very bad) photo of the map in the book which shows where Salibi believes the biblical cities were actually located. He believes “Jerusalem” was not a city, but an area within which were several cities. He believes “the Jordan” was not a river, but a mountain range, and that here, also, Moses and his refugees from Egypt wandered.
Unless you really love reading badly plotted books with cardboard characters, I would not recommend reading The Alexandrian Link. As a jumping off point for an interesting line of research – AdventureMan was right; this book gives you something new and different to contemplate.
Kuwait: Women Leading? Not Permitted!
In today’s (17 January 2007) Kuwait Times is an article entitled MPs still divided over no-confidence motion. You’d think this issue would be put to rest by Minister of Education Nouriya al-Sabeeh’s stellar presentation, meeting her “grillers” with calm dignity and restraint, and with facts and figures. After the grilling, her accusers admitted to newspapers that they didn’t have the votes for a no-confidence resolution, and many spoke of her in admiring tones.
In today’s paper, this issue once again rears its ugly head, and buried deep in the article (read it for yourself by clicking on the blue type above) is this paragraph:
“The Secretary General of the Thawabit Gathering Mohammad Hayef Al-Metairi asked Islamist MPs to support voting for a no-confidence motion because women MPs are not permitted to hold leading positions according to Islamic principals.“
Women not leading is an Islamic principle?
Very Orange, Very Pink
Haven’t driven down the Gulf Road to Fehaheel for a while, so when I did I found two eye-shockers. The first one is in Fehaheel, not directly on Gulf Road, but visible from the stoplights headed north. Believe me, my friends, this photo does not do justice to the incredible Pepto-Bismo PINKNESS of this building. It is a shocker:
Then, just across from the Hilton Hotel is this very very orange beauty. To emphasize the orangeness (and it is a very brilliant orangeness!) they are painting the white trim a very brilliant turquoise-blue. The effect is . . . amazing.
Please. Take a drive. These photos are washed out compared to the utter brilliance of these colors.
Sunrise 17 January 2007
A few days ago, I was taking a photo of the sunrise and my best camera broke. It has one of those auto-focus lenses, and now it doesn’t whirrrrrr. . . . it goes click click click clunk and I get a message “system error.”
Luckily, I have a second camera, almost as good, but the truth is, I really love the best camera, so I’ve been a little off on taking photos for a few days as I mourn the demise of my favorite. I suspect it would cost me more to have it fixed than to buy a new one. It was expensive when I bought it, but cameras better, smarter and faster, with greater capacities have come out since then at lower cost.
Meanwhile, I will use the second best until I can get my hands on another BEST.
Sunrise in Kuwait, temperature 0° C. / 32° F, yes, folks, that is FREEZING, but the forecast for the coming week is warmer, and even (WOOOO HOOOOOO!) RAIN!
The Door Into Summer
We had a cat, a street cat from Tunisia, named Cinnamon. I had taken our son to see a movie and when I got home, my husband looked funny. You know, a wife can tell. I said “what’s up?” and he gave me those big innocent Bambi eyes that tell you for SURE something is fishy, and he said “Nothing!”
Just then, we could hear loud loud miowing at the back door, the kind only a kitten can make, the kind that attracts attention. We went to the back door and there was this tiny little kitten, barely old enough to be away from her family, and she is stuck between the screen door and the back door.
“How very strange!” I said, looking accusingly at AdventureMan, who continued to try to look innocent.
“She looks cold!” he said. “Maybe we had better bring her in!”
Later he confessed, he has found her wandering around alone, wet and miowing in our backyard and had been feeding her while we were at the movie, then put her in the back door so we could “discover” her. He wanted to keep her. We already had one big cat, but we had wanted another, and here she was.
She was my Door into Summer cat. She still had all her wild instincts, even though we adopted her at such a young age. Once, in Germany, I found a dead hare on my steps, with it’s throat torn out, an offering from Cinnamon – but the hare was at least twice her size! She was always bringing us offerings of a dead nature; she was a born huntress. One time when AdventureMan got out of bed, he stepped on what he thought was a rolled up sock, but it moved! It was a badly wounded mouse!
Cinnamon hated winter. We lived in a house with a lot of doors, and when it would snow, she would go from door to door, asking us to open so she could go out. When the bitter cold with the biting wind would hit her face, she would back into the house and head for the next door – always looking for the door she remembered, the one which led out into summer.
moar funny pictures
I used to read a lot of Robert Heinlein. His books are SO politically incorrect, so sexist, he was an old engineer, but man, could he write. His writing takes you WAAAYYY out of the here and now, and makes you stretch to think in new ways.
He wrote a book called Door into Summer, in which he wrote about another cat:
“…While still a kitten, all fluff and buzzes, Pete had worked out a simple philosophy. I was in charge of quarters, rations, and weather; he was in charge of everything else. But he held me especially responsible for weather. Connecticut winters are good only for Christmas cards; regularly that winter Pete would check his own door, refuse to go out it because of that unpleasant white stuff beyond it (he was no fool), then badger me to open a people door. He had a fixed conviction that at least one of them must lead into summer weather.”
The Door into Summer – Robert A. Heinlein
You can read about Robert Heinlein on Wikipedia and you can find many of his books still in publication on amazon.com.
Kuwaiti Women, Minors from Cradle to Grave
In an article in today’s Kuwait Times sure to raise discussions throughout Kuwait, staff writer Ahmad Al-Khaled brings up the laws requiring Kuwaiti women to have a husband /father/ guardian present to apply for a passport and other legal papers:
Published Date: January 15, 2008
By Ahmad Al-Khaled, Staff writer
KUWAIT: The issue of gender equality under the law has come under fire of late after an exasperated Kuwaiti woman wrote to a local Arabic newspaper telling the tale of her frustrated quest to renew her passport and was told the law required her to be accompanied by her male guardian. “It is frustrating that we are not considered equipped to act as our own guardians in 2008,” said a middle-aged Kuwaiti wife and mother of five, Um Talal, who read the woman’s letter describing how she was denied the right to renew her passport unless her husband accompanied her to the ministry.
While Kuwait is a Muslim nation, Kuwaiti law is not solely Sharia based, although it uses Sharia as a primary source of legislation according to the Constitution. Adult-aged Kuwaiti women are required under the law to be accompanied by their husband or father to renew their passports. If their father and husband are deceased or should they be divorced from their husband, they may be required to provide authorities with proof of their male guardian’s death or proof of their marital status.
“Why should we be required to offer such proof. It is insulting to be treated as if we Kuwaiti women are in need of guardianship. Shame on the government for continuing to allow such a law to remain in the books,” said a 30 something Fala Jassem. “It is not Islamic to treat women poorly, we are not children! Shame on anyone that calls this law Islamic,” said 65-year-old Bedour Bader.
While Kuwaiti women speaking to Kuwait Times were staunchly against the law, Kuwaiti men were divided with some going so far as to call the law a necessary requirement to keep their women protected. “It is a husband’s duty to act as a guardian for his wife. We must lead our families and this includes the wife,” said 53-year-old father of four Abdullah Nasser.
You can read the rest of the article HERE.
Lapsang Souchong
When I was in college, my aunt sent me a box of Lapsang Souchong tea. Winters were long and cold, rainy and windy, and lapsang souchong has a very smokey taste. Often as I was studying, I would have a cup next to me to warm me from the inside, but also because I was so totally addicted to the smell, which is like that of a wood-burning fire.
I checked lapsang souchong on Wikipedia, and this is what they say:
Lapsang souchong is a black tea originally from the Mount Wuyi area in the Fujian province of China[1], sometimes referred to as Smoke Tea. The tea leaves have been withered over pine or cedar fires, pan-fired, rolled and oxidized before being fully dried in bamboo baskets over burning pine.[2] The result is a smoky, robust tea with an overriding scent and flavour of wood smoke, which dominates the flavour of the black tea itself.
The name in Fukienese means “smokey sub-variety”, and is a variation of the older WuyiBohea tea.[3] In popular legend the tea was created during the Qing dynasty when soldiers camping in a tea processing company delayed the drying of the tea leaves. After the soldiers had left, the workers sped up the drying process by hanging the tea leaves over burning pine wood. [4]
Lapsang souchong from the original source is expensive, as Wuyi is a small area and there is increasing interest in the tea. [5]
the Wikipedia article on lapsang souchong (which you can read for yourself by clicking on the blue type) also says lapsang souchong is “an acquired taste.”
They are right. It is strong, not at all refined. I haven’t seen Lapsang Souchong on the menus anywhere in Kuwait. It is beginning to appear on a menu or two back in Seattle, where tea shops are plentiful and tea is widely appreciated.
I fixed some for a friend who dropped by the other afternoon, and revelled in the smokey scent that lingers, even this morning, in my clothing from having brewed it up.
I wish I had a fireplace!
(It is 2°C this morning in Kuwait (36°F) at 0800, and tonight is expected to be even colder than last night.)
Favoring Co-ed Schools
Fascinating defense of integrated classrooms in today’s Arab Times, entitled Students Will Be Made More Comfortable under Co-ed written by Kuwait University student Dalal Nasser Al-Otaibi.
I learned how American Universities became co-ed, and why. (I had no idea; you grow up thinking these things are a given.) This article must have been used as a paper for a class, as it is well documented, cites sources, etc.
Well of Good Will
There are some days when ideas just come tumbling into my head, faster than I can write them, and days that I struggle to think of anything that interests me enough to write it up, much less interesting you, the reader. This is one of those days, and then, a flash! an inspiration!
I read so many other blogs dealing with betrayals in love and friendship, disappointment, personal relationships gone bad, and grudges carried forever. When I read them, I get the image of Gollum, from Lord of the Rings:
Gollum is one of the scariest characters ever created, because we know how close to Gollum we are. As he hunches over his “precious” ring, we hunch over our grudges, carrying them, petting them, talking to them, and as we cherish our hurt feelings, our anger, our resentment, our feelings of betrayal, we feed them, they grow, they take up more and more of our attention. We hide these grievances away, taking them out and petting them from time to time, outwardly looking normal, but, in time, wasting away spiritually while we focus on our “precious.”
I prefer to think of The Well of Good Will.
In a relationship, the longer you are in it, the more deposits you make into the well of good will. It is the little things you do in a relationship – how you hold the door when the other is carrying a package, how you bring a bowl of hot soup if they have a cold, how you pick up their meal when they are short of cash, how you listen when a friend has a problem, or remember to ask about their mother when she is having a bout of ill health. These tiny, consistent deposits into the well grow, they earn interest, they earn dividends, small as they are, they fill the well to the brim.
The well of good will never overflows, it just grows to hold the treasures of the relationship.
From time time time, circumstances will arise which require a withdrawal from the well of good will. We all have circumstances in which we become selfish, we strike, even at those who love us, because we are in pain. We all have times when we are tired and say something mean. We all have rough patches in our lives when we have nothing extra to add to the well of good will, and make sizeable withdrawals against the good will of those who love us.
Fortunately, all those prior deposits have earned interest, and it would take a long time for the well to run dry.
In relationships which have not existed long enough to build up that well, when a person disappoints you or betrays you, you are much likelier to just walk away. There isn’t enough history, there haven’t been enough deposits in the well to make such a sizable withdrawal. We say “shake the dust from your feet”, it’s just another way of saying “move on.” Walk away from a bad investment. Don’t look back. Just move on.
If, like the Gollem, you focus on those losses, if you carry around your resentments and grudges as if they were something precious, you starve the well of good will. If you choose to nourish your anger, you neglect your well of good will. We carry negative energy at great cost, cost to our body, minds and to our spirits.
Choose, instead, to focus your investments in the well of good will, doing good even when you don’t see the rate of return. An investment in doing good, in doing the right thing, is an investment in yourself, in your spirit, in your character, reaping dividends in peace, serenity, calmness and good cheer.
Inheritance of Loss
Most of the time, if I don’t like a book, I won’t even bother telling you about it. This book, The Inheritance of Loss, by Kiran Desai, is an exception for one reason – it IS worth reading.
Inheiritance of Loss showed up on the book club reading list for the year, and I ordered it. I read the cover when the book came, and it didn’t sound that good to me, so I read other books instead. The next time it came to mind was when a friend, reading the book, said she was having trouble with it, and asked me if I had started it. This friend is a READER, and a thinker. It caught my attention that she would have problems reading a book, so I decided to give it a try.
This is a very uncomfortable book. The characters live in the shadow of the Himalayan mountains. The most sympathetic character is a young orphaned girl, sent to live with her grandfather. With each chapter, we learn more about all the characters, how they came to be here, what they think, what their lives have looked like.
The author of this book has a very sour look on life. She has snotty things to say about every character. You can almost feel her peering around the corner, eyes slit with evil intent. She is that vicious neighbor who comes by and never says anything nice about anybody, and when you see her talking with your neighbor, you get the uneasy feeling she could be saying something mean about you, and she probably is.
The book covers a wide range of topics – Indian politics, Ghurka revolts, English colonization, Indian emigration to the US and UK, everyday vanities and pride in petty things, how people destroy their own lives, how people can be cruel to one another, oh it’s a great read (yes, that is sarcasm).
At the same time, this vicious unwelcome neighbor has a sharp eye for detail. You may not like what she is telling you, but you keep listening, because you can learn important tidbits of information from her. In my case, I learned a lot about how life is lived in a small mountain village in India, the struggles of illegals in America and how class lines are drawn, ever so finely, when people live together. I learned a lot about the legacy of colonialism, and the creep of globalization. This unwelcome neighbor has a sharp tongue, always complaining, and yet . . . some of her complaints have merit.
I don’t believe there was a single redeeming episode in the book. There was not a paragraph to feel good about. I am glad to be finished with the book – but, yes, I finished it, I didn’t just set it aside in disgust, or give it away without finishing.
Here is the reason I am telling you about this book – as uncomfortable as this book is to read, I have the feeling, upon finishing, that ideas and images from this book will stick with me for a long time. I have the feeling that it contributes to my greater understanding of how things work, how people think differently from other people, and on what levels we are very much the same.
Here is an excerpt from the book, at a time during which the Judge is a young Indian, studying in England:
The new boarding house boasted several rooms for rent, and here, among the other lodgers, he was to find his only friend in England: Bose.
They had similar inadequate clothes, similar forlornly empty rooms, similar poor native’s trunks. A look of recognition had passed between them at first sight, but also the assurance that they wouldn’t reveal one another’s secrets, not even to each other.
. . . Together they punted clumsily down the glaceed river to Grantchester and had tea among the jam sozzled wasps just as you were supposed to, enjoying themselves (but not really) as the heavy wasps fell from flight into their laps with a low battery buzz.
They had better luck in London, where they watched the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace, avoided the other Indian students at Veeraswamy’s, ate shepherd’s pie instead, and agreed on the train home that Trafalgar Square was not quite up to British standards of hygiene – all those defecating pigeons, one of which had done a masala-colored doodle on Bose. It was Bose who showed Jemubhai what records to buy for his new gramophone: Caruso and Gigli. He also corrected his pronunciation: Jheelee, not Giggly. . . .
This it was that the judge eventually took revenge on his early confusions, his embarrassments gloved in something called “keeping up standards,” his accent behind a mask of a quiet. He found he began to be mistaken for something he wasn’t – a man of dignity. This accidental poise became more important than any other thing. He envied the English. He loathed Indians. He worked at being English with the passion of hatred and for what he would become, he would be despised by absolutely everyone, English and Indians both.
I consider this a review, and not particularly a recommendation. I read the book, I finished the book and I learned from the book. I didn’t like the book. I recommend it only as a challenge, for people who like to read and stretch their minds in new directions.
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Early Voting in Florida
