the media

Yesterday, at a gathering of people, I met someone who was said he was aligned with neither the Republicans nor the Democrats, but that from his unbiased point of view, he thought the media was slanted towards the liberal side! I never thought I'd meet any one of those specimens! I laughed a little, and we talked a bit about it, then agreed to disagree. And then we talked a bit about the moral fabric of society falling apart and what that meant, which was not something I was worried about, we decided to avoid topics like that forever more. More than agreeing to disagree, we figured it was safer to avoid it altogether. He actually thought that the news anchors pushed people to bring up points that worked against the conservatives! Wow.

imans' ramadan

Happy Ramadan for all of you out there! Today was the first day of Ramadan (in the US and the UAE and some other parts). Here is a picture that Iman drew for Ramadan- you see the crescent moon (the symbol of Islam) in the sky and in the window (they have a moon with lights (like Christmas lights) in their window). The only thing I don't know is who the third kid is! The picture was scanned in, which is why it is cut off at the bottom (I think).

First day of fasting. Sunset around here is about 7pm. It was easier in the past years because sunset (when you can break the fast) was earlier due to switching back the clocks. I think this year is the first year in a while where we're in the longer time.

I made stuffed grape leaves and went to a friend's for some hors d'oeuvres. And so I had a lot of nice food, but nothing very Ramadan-specific. I will make some stuff tomorrow, I think, to get into the spirit of Ramadan. Some lentil soup- that's one of the key things. It's no fun though fasting while everyone else is going about their normal routine- then you just feel like it's a test. When everyone else is fasting, you feel like part of the community, and then everyone's in it together. Maybe I need to invite people over for iftar (breakfast).

Here's Iman, looking more grown up. She's modeling an outfit she's wearing to a relative's wedding, and she had all of these poses stored in her. She was modeling, most likely after those girls on tv commercials. Still, rather surprising. She's a beauty.

Rawan

So many cute things to see here. Look at that hair! Just like her aunt's. And then we are playing Pretty Pretty Princess, where as you land on the different squares, you get to put on another piece of jewelry. That's a girls' game if there was ever one! But fear not, these girls will not be too girlie- they are surrounded by women who were not ever girlie girls. So, I'm actually glad they are enjoying being girls without thinking too hard about it. But then again, Rawan's only three. There's plenty of time to come up with personal philosophies about who she wants to be.

On the wall behind her are the picures that Iman, mostly, has drawn And they get taped up all over this room. The family room, as it should be.  

confessions

After reading Confessions of an Economic Hitman, I can't stop bringing it up in all sorts of conversations. I knew of the general things discussed here, knew more about the details of things that happened in the Middle East, but it's still very different to have it validated in a book by someone who was directly involved. How much more evidence can you ask for? I think everyone should read it!! Seriously.

I don't talk a lot about my own life events here, partly because they are not so exciting. But also because there are so many aspects to my life, as there are to most, and all of the sides don't get shared with many people. Just the normal thing- I know people in different settings, we talk about certain things, and not everyone brings out the same side. I remember in grad school, my friend Lucia would ask me what I was doing all weekend on my own- she thought I had a secret life. It wasn't a secret, but that's the way it is.

Anyway, it was also pointed out that I don't have a lot of photos on the blog. So, here are some great niece photos!

gaza and sleeplessness

Last weekend I read in the New York Times a quote by a Palestinian. He was commenting on the "kidnapping" of the Israeli soldier in Gaza, and he said "We are either going to live together in peace or we are going to live together in fear." I'm paraphrasing. How accurate. Some people will argue this on and on, but when you have lived in the horrid conditions in which the Palestinians live and have lived for the past decades, you start to think at a different level. How easy it is to be detached from the situation and judge. And how is a soldier "kidnapped" but Israelis go in and take people from their homes in the middle of the night as "prisoners"?

I'm worried about the situation there escalating, but it's mainly because Israeli action is unchecked- there is nobody to make sure they do not lose control. They do not listen to the UN (have ignored UN resolutions condemning their actions for years). They do not get seriously threatened in any way for their actions. They are allowed to run free, bomb the hell out of places and claim it's in their defense. Sound familiar?

It kills me to see the newspapers. In the New York Times, they had an article about the situation- last weekend there were 8 Palestinians and 1 Israeli killed. And the picture they had was of the Israeli side mourning the death of the Israeli. Shouldn't the 8 win out there? How much sympathy can you rally for the ones who are winning? How shameless. And then in the Express there was a picture of 2 Palestinian men on the doorstep of a morgue awaiting the funeral of their relative (aha, you may think, it is unbiased), but then there was an armed militant in the picture, mentioned in the caption, masked, rifled, and all. Now don't tell me that was there by accident. How dare they portray the Palestinians as these militant people who mourn their dead relatives with guns in the air while the Israelis are the innocent victims. Shameless, shameless, shameless.

I can't sleep, but this time it's because of my 12 hour long sleep last night- I'm pretty saturated with sleep. It feels good- it's been a while since I felt this awake. Those poor Palestinians.

funny signs cont'd

Ok, so this is a simple sign. But it begs the question: who the hell put their big fat butt down on top of these precious flowers? And did the guardian see them in the act of crushing the delicate petals? Or did they wake in the morning to find mysterious butt prints left where nobody would ever want to find them? 

searching

Check these out:

My japanese name is 猿渡 Saruwatari (monkey on a crossing bridge) 美晴 Miharu (beautiful clear sky).
Take your real japanese name generator! today!
Created with Rum and Monkey's Name Generator Generator.

Your Birthdate: June 10

Independent and dominant, you tend to be the alpha dog in most situations. You're very confident, and hardly anything ever shakes you. Mundane tasks tend to drain you - you prefer to be making great plans. You are quite original. When people don't "get" you, it bothers you a lot. Your strength: Your ability to gain respect Your weakness: Caring too much what others think Your power color: Orange-red Your power symbol: Letter X Your power month: October

What Does Your Birth Date Mean?

So totally off. Who the hell sees me as a monkey on a crossing bridge. Well, maybe some people, but come on.

Yes, I think we run these little tests, hoping, against all sense of reason, that it will tell us something nice about ourselves. Maybe something we like about ourselves- maybe even reveal a hidden beautiful secret?! Because the older you get (and even when you're young), people don't sit around and talk to you about you, about what they like about you. Only your parents do that. When you get old enough, your siblings maybe. If you're lucky, your partner. And then maybe your kids. Those are your family. In the end, your family. And then there are some friends who make their way into that category- and those you consider sisters or brothers, too. But don't we all feel to some level that there is some wonderful something within us that is not yet shared with the world? The source of creativity, perhaps.

late night

I don't think anyone is reading my blog, and I guess that makes it my own, private space. Not that I don't have a lot of that already, but this way I'm never really sure who might peak in. So I have to watch what I say. Writing on the edge, you might call it. For those of you who know me, you can imagine all the censoring I'm doing.

No, but really. I'm having a hard time sleeping. Anxiety attack is another word for it (two words). Wondering what I'm doing in the coming year, where I'll be, if I'll actually get around to doing all of the great projects I have in mind, if I'll ever find those perfect white "city shorts" before the season is over.

Went to an alumni dinner the other night (I usually avoid these, but I really wanted to meet someone whose name is Brewster- I imagined this would be an old, filthy rich, brooks-brothers-clad sort of sweet man, but instead it was a guy five years older than me, probably the rest applies). And during the introductions was "what would you major in if you could go back to school now". And the recent grads all said- probably the same thing (insert nasal tone here). And the older people mostly said other things.

I said art, and that I'd maybe become an artist. Partly to push buttons, surrounded by some very uptight, WASPY folk, I figured that would sort of get at them. But also, I think it would be fun. Would I have been successful? As an architect, maybe. But as an artist? Ha.

So, what ifs. And my birthday coming up (ok, exactly one month away, but still). And, so, it's one of those things. And I didn't make it to yoga this week, which really balances me- apart from all of that sort of talk, it's true.

Ok, let's end with a little story. I was walking to work, and I saw this mousy older middle-aged woman crossing the street (I think she had just gotten out of her car). And she was walking with a cane- not for old age, but it looked like she was limping, recovering from something. The problem is that she had a big dog on a leash, and the dog was running across the street, and so she was sort of wobbling along, being dragged on by the dog, trying to avoid walking on her hurt leg, and looking super silly just for carrying a cane! And the best part was, I was sort of laughing inside, and I passed by this older guy who was also watching her, and we both just started laughing. Out loud. And we made some comment about how ridiculous the situation was. Nice start to the day.

Good night.

family friends

My father was, for a few years, a leading member of a pack of three. Three friends who worked together, who plotted together over money-making schemes in the evenings (usually at our house), who sometimes gathered their families to go out for coffee at one of the local cafes.

One year I went home, and I asked my father where his friends had gone to. He told me, George died. George died? Why didn't you tell me before? And with a little chuckle that I recognize, because I seem to have inherited it, as nervous energy bubbles to the surface when it needs an outlet, he said- George and his whole family.

The family had gone on a vacation by car to Syria. It was George, his wife, their two children, a relative of theirs, and the driver of the rented taxi. On the way back, a car hit them from behind. A potentially survivable accident. But, the containers of cheap gasoline bought in Syria were in the back, and they lit.

And it gets worse.

The ones in the back seat were found climbing towards the front, trying to escape the flames.

All this, and there's more.

The car, out of control, veers into incoming traffic and gets hit again.

You can breathe out- that's the end.

The story came out in the papers at the time. A human tragedy. Even if you didn't know them, you would have cried a little bit over their fate. There are so many questions- even the trivial ones like what happened to the house they had just bought and moved into? where do you start to pick up the pieces of all of these people? who does that? whose job is that when there is no one left? would it have been better to have one survive so some trace of the family could remain with us? Juliana, George's wife, worked passionately in a home for abused children- could those kids handle another loss?

Sometimes I remember this family. It seems to be out of the blue. I have people closer to me that I mourn like a subtle hum that stays with me. But, somehow, there is room in my heart for George and his family, too.

visit from a neighbor

Tonight I got a drop-in visit from a neighbor. She is an old lady, retired, a little afraid of people. But she still somehow made a connection with me and JQ, and she stopped by today to ask some questions about moving house. And I did not buy it, but I accepted it- her way of putting a reason for the visit. And we talked about whatever we could pull up between the two of us. Two unrelated, very different people. She, retired, no money, looking to buy a house in the middle of Pennsylvania to save money in the long run, obvously thinking that is where she will end up at the end. Me, younger, starting out, trying not to think about those years in the distant future, trying to focus on life now with energy and time. It was a nice cup of tea, and I feel connected again to life, complete life, not just my bubble.

back, baby!

My best friend's back. Yippee!!!

Kafka on the Shore by Murakami

Well, I finished reading this a little while ago. And I guess I had no strong urge to write up about it because I was a little bit disappointed. I enjoyed reading it. It grabbed me pretty early on and held me in throughout. But in the end, it felt way too science-fictiony. And that is one of the genres I really do not like. Not in books, not in movies, not on tv.

So, should I leave it at that? Speak up! The truth is that it felt too contrived, for one. He seemed to sort of know what would sell, and he told a story based on a formula. And it didn't really seem to come naturally. Secondly, he himself talked about how things have to stay vague to be able to capture the full meaning- yet he goes against that. Let me explain. He is talking about the subconscious, and while he usually keeps it very vague, in this book he defines a space where you can enter that world (based on an entrance stone) and totally deflates the grand notion of the subconscious as something you can, well, be conscious about.

Not sounding so good. Enough rambling. Anyone out there read it?

yummy cake

This is the cake I'd made for Anne's baby shower. It's a three-layer lemon poppy seed cake (really nice cake) with white chocolate cream and strawberries. It came out pretty yummy. Love those strawberries! Luckily there were some leftovers... mmmmm  

first step

Well, I thought just to be fair, I should keep everyone updated on what happens with this Northwest Airlines fiasco that took place- if you'd really like to be caught up, check out the first few days of the blog.

Anyway, I received a check saying that they were reimbursing me for my airport hotel room. And that they were sending my letter along to the next office for review. And I got some frequent flyer points. Good step. We'll see what happens next.

I met another Alaunde

First of all, check out Alaunde's blog: Alaunde's blog .

Secondly, we met Alaunde at a New Year's Eve party, and we were instant friends, just like instant oatmeal. Without a doubt. Right, Alaunde?

Thirdly, I met another Alaunde today on the train! Same size, same humor, only Slovakian and not Celtic/Scottish/Irish(?). We talked and talked on our prolonged 5 hour train ride! And Shoshana was her name-o. Ok, there were definite differences, but she just reminded me so much of Alaunde!

One thing I liked was her telling me about getting married a year or so ago. She said, it's so much fun. It's hard, too, because when you get mad you can't run away, but it's just so much fun. Basically, your best friend at home. I tell all of my friends to do it.

Nice attitude.

She liked the baby blanket I'm crocheting for my friend. And she talked so loudly, I think everyone around us heard. And since we talked about everything, everyone heard everything. And because the train kept stopping for repairs, everyone suffered together, and as my history professor in college pointed out, that makes people bond. And so by the end, everyone was commenting on the blanket. Well, maybe not everyone, but the ones sitting around me. I'll show you when I'm done. It's actually rather pretty.

farewell, Lois Lane

Superman's wife died this past week. And it's sad, not because she was a celebrity (who was she?), but because she was with an amazing man, she did great things, and she died shortly after him, not having time to really enjoy life. Breast cancer, I think, and she was only 44. She should have been rewarded after all of that, she should have had time to find a new love, to sit back and enjoy a normal life, if that's really possible. Maybe she didn't have any energy left in her. Lois and Superman, they fought some good battles. My respects.

so good it hurts

When the weather hits a certain temperature, when you walk outside and can't distinguish where your skin ends and where the air begins, when it feels so perfectly right outside, there is a pain that is ever so slight that settles in. The sensation is similar to what you feel when you have a fever, when the lightest touch on your skin hurts so good. And when the air is perfectly still, it feels that everyone is holding their breath at once, the earth itself holding its breath. And if you held your breath so you don't drown out the sound that you're waiting for, you'll be able to hear the whispers that everyone else is waiting to hear, if you would only tilt your head and lean your ear up a little closer.

Above all, at these times, a feeling of nostalgia overwhelms me. Where does it come from? What am I nostalgic for? The only explanation that comes to mind is that a part of me is nostalgic as a forethought, that at that perfect moment, a part of me is already missing the passing of that perfect moment, already nostalgic about a time in which I lived in that perfect moment. It is not a sad nostalgia, more of the romantic kind. At one and the same moment, I seem to be living and looking back at myself living. The making of memories, I guess.

beautiful, beautiful

Oh, these are the most beautiful flowers I've ever gotten! Happy Valentine's Day! (I realize it's late, but I'm still catching up with photos.)

going to all that trouble

Ok, since I'm on a roll of putting pictures out there, I wanted to share this. It seems to me someone thought that this fire hydrant would be bored if it did not have a little window to look out from- being cooped up might be too much for it? I just liked that they were so considerate. It's the simple things in life that make me laugh out loud- I love my walks to work for all of these little details.


 

and one more, as promised

Oh, and here is the hand dryer that says do not touch with wet hands- see the little sign? Funny. 

as promised

Here is the photo I took in the Amsterdam airport. As I had promised, I put it on the blog as soon as I downloaded it- yes, a month later. It takes me a while to get things set up with my new computer, etc. I'm becoming technologically up-to-date. Not technologically advanced, mind you, just catching up. Even though I'm a scientist, my home life is led more like a bohemian. Who likes to have Martha Stewart-style dinner parties. Martha in hippie clothes surrounded by hand-me-down furniture. Imagine that.

So, this is the toothbrush-ready-to-go-with-toothpaste dispenser I had mentioned. Pretty cool. How does it come out, I wonder. Wish I had tried that out. Enough to attempt that airport again? Perhaps (perhaps, perhaps).

 

jackson pollock dissected

Not literally. His work has been explained by fractal analysis, which I think is really cool. Check out the latest from "Nature": Fractals and Art: In the Hands of a Master .

Not that I know what fractal analysis is, really. It's just cool to know that there is a mathematical pattern in his work. What I'm still not clear on is whether the fractal pattern that is found in Pollock's work contributes to its mesmerizing nature.

For those of you who poopoo abstract art, ha! Perhaps those of us who like it are ok with making sense of it at a more abstract level. It's very much like classical music, I think, and unless you study it or create it, you can appreciate it without knowing exactly why. It's not all about being able to talk about it or name what it is or be able to verbalize what you get out of it. Abstract art is not about saying "it looks like a..." Obviously there is a fine line between what is art and what is not, and I guess it is defined, at least on a personal level, as something that does something to you, even if you do not verbalize what it is.

Oh, that reminds me of a quote from the current book (Murakami's Kafka on the Shore): "But listening to the D major [Schubert's Sonata in D Major], I can feel the limits of what humans are capable of- that a certain type of perfection can only be realized through a limitless accumulation of the imperfect. And personally, I find that encouraging."

So, that's a little bit about Pollock, too, that the sum of all of his squiggles amount to something that is rather perfect. He perfected that style. This Murakami quote is very abstract, in and of itself. That's the hallmark of Murakami's writing because he plays with the subconscious. Good book, by the way, but more on that later.

i'm back, baby

Your Candy Heart Says "Get Real"

You're a bit of a cynic when it comes to love. You don't lose your head, and hardly anyone penetrates your heart. Your ideal Valentine's Day date: is all about the person you're seeing (with no mentions of v-day!) Your flirting style: honest and even slightly sarcastic What turns you off: romantic expectations and "greeting card" holidays Why you're hot: you don't just play hard to get - you are hard to get

What Does Your Candy Heart Say?

quote from The Autumn of the Patriarch

This bit has a lot in it, but it really caught my attention:

…when after so many long years of sterile illusions he had begun to glimpse that one doesn’t live, God damn it, he lives through, he survives, one learns too late that even the broadest and most useful of lives only reach the point of learning how to live, he had learned of his incapacity for love in the enigma of the palm of his mute hands and in the invisible code of the cards and he had tried to compensate for that infamous fate with the burning cultivation of the solitary vice of power, he had made himself victim of his own sect to be immolated on the flames of that infinite holocaust…

The part that really got me was “that even the broadest and most useful of lives only reach the point of learning how to live”. The other parts talk about what I had mentioned in a previous post, about how he tried to fill his life with power to overcome the feeling of something lacking.

the saga continues

You thought this would be about Nobel Prize-winning literature, the saga of the Patriarch. But no, it is about something much less impressive, but I just can’t let it go. It’s about what those horrible people did to me at the airport.

I went into the KLM office here to change my reservation. And as she was giving my ticket back to me, I asked her if everything was ok because I had a lot of trouble on my way over. And she said to me- get this- feeling very Elaine in the doctor’s file episode- I know, there’s a note here about it!!

Oh my gosh! And then she gave me confirmation of my change of reservation, and it says on it: “due to own mistake psgr did not pay tkt” followed by “psgr not entitled to hotel psgr missed flight”!!!!

Oh, what I would like to do to them. But all I can do at this point is send in my three page typed (and I’m not talking about super wide margins either) complaint letter. And to say it was Northwest and KLM that did this to me. It may not mean anything, it may get me in trouble, but I have named the guilty parties. Beware because they might not only screw you over, but then they will use their power to put a note in your file that it was your fault, leaving you to cry in the airport, stuck and bored out of your mind, and marked forever. Or at least until your trip is over and they erase that information from their system. It doesn’t matter though- the damage has been done.

book club session

This may be a good way to have a book club. Anyone who has comments- whether you have read the book or not- please speak! The book of the blog: The Autumn of the Patriarch by Gabriel Garcia Marquez.

In the end, I feel truly sorry for the dictator. For those of you who saw The Fog of War about McNamara (Fog of War), you may know what I mean. Although these guys were very different- the Patriarch being illiterate, a commoner, a general and McNamara being a sharp, well-educated, witty man- in the end, they both do horrible things to people on a large scale, and when you look inside, they are sad, old men.

This is a story on a more personal scale. There was a professor (let’s call him M.) in my department who was known to be quite the jerk- yelling at people when he felt like it, harassing the girls, just overall moody and arrogant. Once we had a visiting speaker, and M. invited us to his lab for lunch. They ordered pizzas, and he laid out a row of fruits and vegetables, which was apparently his customary lunch. And as everyone was talking, he would peel and cut the fruits and vegetables and offer them to the people next to him. He was in his older years at this point, and this gentle gesture, this fatherly gesture, it really got to me. And what finally did me in was watching him eat- chewing his food softly and slowly like an old man, his jaws moving side to side, softly grinding away, in no hurry. He ended up an old man, and his bitterness had faded, leaving his kindness more evident. And now whenever anyone brings him up in conversation, I come to his defense with this story.

The problem is, you know these guys can’t be pardoned just because they are- themselves- vulnerable and weak, just because sometimes they yell out at people to cover their fear or insecurities or whatever. They still are guilty for what they’ve done, but I guess this evil side comes from the same basic human fears that we all relate to. And in The Autumn of the Patriarch, you just feel with this guy who does crazy things for his mother and for his one love, this woman who taught him to read and eat properly at the table. And at the end, he dies alone- lonely and sad.

I could go on, but I guess here’s a good spot to stop. There will be more about this, I'm sure.

equal shares

Today, I started the day off right- brunch with a good friend of mine at this great place here called Blue Fig- a favorite. This friend happens to be single (only sharing this because it's an important point in the story), and she told me that a friend of hers, who had been divorced, recently got re-married. Her comment was-

She gets two guys and me none! What’s up with these people? They should leave some for the rest of us.

I couldn’t help but laugh. Partly because she was not upset at the luck, she was upset with those people- that they should accept two. Funny. What should they do- throw one back in and say - no, I've already had one?? Like those people who go fishing but throw the fish back. (Don't they think the trauma of having been caught may scar the fish for life?)

the patriarch

Could be reading, but the book I'm reading, The Autumn of the Patriarch by Garcia Marquez, is not exactly the easiest read, ie not something you can read to pass the time, without too much energy, he writes in a style where he uses very little punctuation, and he uses almost a free-association kind of writing, but he doesn't just associate freely, he directs it, and you end up miles away from where you started, but you don't know exactly how you got there, because really there are no pauses, and a few pages take you forever because you run out of breath reading them, and when the chapter ends you take a long time out just to stop and orient yourself, because he creates a world that is remarkable, but so dense you need vacations from it to absorb it, an experiment for him, this book, that style, playing with language, seeing what it can do. Quite something.

a picture to warm your day

It was hailing here today. Pretty cold, so I thought about Hawai'i. And then decided to put up a picture, for all of you who are also dreaming about warm beaches and beautiful waters. Enjoy.

oprah and the 5 million dollar lady

I was visiting my aunt, the tv was on, we saw Oprah interview this woman who got 5! million! dollars! as compensation for her husband's death in 9/11. Wow!! Some of you may have already heard about this because it was apparently in the papers, but I'm pretty out of the loop in general.

So, she spent it. She has this super fancy house with a half million dollar kitchen (surprisingly, after hearing how much some people's things cost, I guess this is not that extreme?), four thousand dollar designer purses, lots and lots and lots and lots of shoes, all sorts of great designer clothes, plastic surgery for herself (I think) and for people she knew and people she didn't (I think she paid for her manucurist to have something implanted), and on and on and on.

I do not have any comment on her spending the money- she says she was filling a void, but in the end, it didn't work. Oprah told her she understood her pain. Why do people think this is true? What I really wonder about is how the people who donated money to help the families feel. If you took money out of your account to help someone, how would you feel if they spent it on luxury items? Would it be alright if you felt that the person did what they could to deal with the situation into which they were so abruptly thrown? Would you consider giving the next time someone needed help?

She did give her mother-in-law 100,000 dollars. Is this adding insult to injury, I wonder?

Human behavior is fascinating indeed.

the birth of a new blog is a beautiful thing

Check out Coco's blog at cocoquiroz.blogspot.com:
cocoquiroz.blospot.com
And notice his excellent, impressive use of the word "though".

He has entered the blogging world. And how colorful the world is- for some reason, a little like Charlie and Chocolate Factory- fluffy and dreamlike. Or is that how I feel just because I saw the movie on the plane on the way here. One of many, many movies. Nothing worth mentioning, really. And it could have been even more if they had shown any movie on the 5 hour trip from Amsterdam to Amman- instead, just a lot of Arabs talking, talking, talking, getting to know each other like they were borne from the same womb. Then, when the plane landed, pushing each other out of the way as though the first one off the plane would win the golden egg.

More anecdotes, you say? I'll have to think of a few more. I could tell stories of ridiculous things that people have said, but that wouldn't be nice, now, would it. And, as usual, my New Years' resolution is to be nice. I wonder if I drew a graph of nice-ness vs. time how it would come out. I need an outside observer to measure, I think. Any volunteers?

the blog world

I have been reading people's blogs- in particular this one from the sister of a friend (I was going to say this sister of a friend's blog, but I couldn't figure out where to put the 's). And she is a writer and provides links to blogs of her writer friends. And they are so entertaining and funny! Love them.

I guess I'm just wondering right now, as I figure this out, what do you do with the sad stuff? I mean, nobody wants to read about anything sad- otherwise you could open the paper or something. Guess you find the humorous anecdotes to share among the sadness (I've learned that much over the past 4 years).

So, here's one:
At the wake (the only sad part of the story- insert here instead an engagement party), people walk around and serve coffee. This is not the Turkish coffee we usually drink, nor is it the American coffee (as we call it) or the espresso, but something we call "plain coffee" that is served at large gatherings. With this, you walk around with four or five little round, handless coffee cups that are stacked up in each other and a thermos, and for each person, you pour them a little- it's enough for about 3 or 4 sips- and they take the cup off the top. And you move on to the person next to them.

One of my younger cousins had been doing this. She was brave enough to continue to do it even when this woman squawked at her- that much coffee! when she poured too much in the cup. How are you supposed to know this? Anyway, she walked up to someone, and it's really hard to balance all of those cups in your hand, and you are supposed to pour with your left and serve with your right, and so she poured, and held out the cups, but the way she was holding the cup, she had her finger on the top cup, and when the woman went to take the cup, she couldn't, so they sort of wrestled for it for a while, while from across the room I was trying to hold myself from laughing way out loud. After the wrestling match seemed to be getting nowhere, my cousin handed the woman the thermos, and there they stood, the guest with the thermos while my cousin, red with embarrassment and shame, humiliated at not knowing how to pour "plain coffee" properly, she held the cups.

This may be a you-had-to-be-there sort of story. But even now as I was writing it down I laughed out loud and ended up telling my dad the story. A few minutes later, he made another comment about it- he was still picturing how it went down, I guess. He said, you should have mediated, told them it was alright, tried to get them to make up.

hehe

a dream

My best friend here in Jordan sent me an email about a month ago. In her email, she told me about a dream she had had. The dream:
My mother was in a room, a small room. My friend and her mother were at the door, asking to come in, but my mother would not allow them to enter. She was folding someone’s clothes. And in the end, she gave my friend a sweater.

My friend awoke to the call of morning prayer- when the top of the sun, as it’s rising, breaks over the horizon. They say here that dreams at this time are special. Her mother told her that folding clothes means getting ready to welcome someone to your world. Whether you believe it or not, it's a good story. My friend has two toes that are fused together, not disconnected- for some reason this makes me think of her as having special powers. I don’t know what the sweater means.

the end of the road

This entry has no stories of the ridiculous, no stories of funny bathroom fixtures, no stories of frustration. It is purely sadness.

For those of you who know why I came to Jordan, you may have been expecting the latest news.

Two years and 1 month ago, my grandmother died. One year and 2 weeks later, her daughter, my mother passed away. One year and 2 weeks later, my mother's sister, my Aunt Sameera has, too, passed on. May they all rest in peace.

photo update

I'm not going to say it (that I'm still here). Anyway, in the bathroom they had this machine, and I took a picture. Who would have thought that the airport bathrooms would be the inspiration for my pictures on the trip. Then again, after 30 hours in an airport, I guess you start to appeciate the details.

Anyway (sorry, I say this a lot), the machine was a tooth brush dispenser. I did not use it- no change and I luckily brought my own toothbrush and toothpaste (thanks, Akiko, it's from your wedding package). But it said ready to use, and something about toothpaste on it. Wonder how it comes out. I'll add it when I connect my computer- eventually.

Alright, that's it, folks.

yes, still

Well, this may be getting ridiculous. But be glad I do not have my camera cord to download the pictures I've taken in the airport. OK, kidding- it is only one picture. It's pretty funny, too- the hand dryer in the bathroom has a sign on it saying "do not touch with wet hands- danger of electric shock" or something similar. Funny, really. Actually, that was in the airport in DC. Surprise, surprise! Signs everywhere in the US. Guess that's why that song was written- signs, signs, everywhere there's signs... by ?? but redone by ??

Anyway, had a good night's rest in the little hotel room in the airport- since I'm a prisoner (guess I should watch the Terminal now even though I'm sick to death of Tom Hanks) of the airport. After asking for an extra blanket and sleeping under two comforters and a blanket, I was able to warm up and go to sleep. The only interruptions were a very welcomed phone call followed by a second very welcomed phone call after the first connection died. And then my 8:30 wake up call since I had to be out of the room at 9AM (and I had to pay 100 euro for the place!). A bit early, no? Then a final phone call saying it's 9am- check out time. Ok, ok, already.

So, have been playing around with pictures, uploading my 150 pictures from Hawaii- not kidding- and that was after I went over and over them and got rid of a ton of them. Will put some on here likely- some of my favorites.

That's it for now. I'm sure there will be more (Inshallah).

believe it or not

Due to some stupid human error- not mine, I have to say- I am still, still, still in Amsterdam. And will be for another 20 hours more. Not allowed on the plane- the guy in DC forgot to charge my credit card and issue me a ticket. But he did manage to check in my bag, give me my two boarding passes, and wish me good trip. Bastard.

So, I am at a hotel room. I had to pay. The woman who was "helping" me was blaming me for not making sure he did it right when he checked me in. Words I can't say here. And then she was so crass as to say "we'll let you fly for free". Man oh man. I am too tired to even be upset at this point. I'm sure I'll bring it up again tomorrow. Stay tuned.

Amsterdam- still

I'm still here. How much exciting news can really come up during a 12 hour layover? Nothing exciting. Reading other blogs- one is great- sister of a friend. Realize that a lot of the stories are cute kid stories- discovering life and all that's around. I have my own- niece stories. Nothing sweeter or more fresh.

One phone call, then I think it's boarding time. Enjoying the bathrooms here - stalls with doors all the way down. Saw a guy in the bathroom cleaning while I was in there- he was not sure why I asked him if it was ok to use the bathroom. Nice and free. Like it.

Shaka

Amsterdam

I'm in the Amsterdam airport for many, many long hours. I got some work done, but overall I am feeling a little bored. I've coffee-ed myself out, and I have very little else to do, although now I feel sleepiness coming on. Of course it will happen right around the time I need to get to my plane so I will be worried I'll miss it. Hopefully not. I need a good night's sleep.

Quick story about Rawan from my sister. The girls learned "shake your booty" from their cousin (other side of the family!), and my sister tells it like this:
I turn my head, and I see Rawan's butt in front of my face. She is shaking it and singing "shake your booby". I laugh, not knowing whether I should correct her. But what kind of mother corrects her child to say "shake your booty"? Then again, she picked the worst mistake to make. So, I just laugh.

You've gotta laugh. And love it.