flew by and I barely felt it.
It's that time again.
Time to nominate the best blogs in the Islamo-blogosphere. Yes, friends, it's time for the Fourth Annual Brass Crescent Awards.
Get to reading, get to nominating, and later, you may vote!
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Pla Bla Mo Jo
I mean, NaBloPoMo, sorry.
I've taken the blogging plunge, or as one might hear in Jordan, the "blogging blunge," and 'committed' to writing a blog post each day for the month of November.
Any themes? Topics? Points of query or quibble? Anything any one wants to read from lil' ole me?
You've got one day to submit some suggestions. If I get nothing, prepare to read thirty days of what kitty did today that was cute.
Yes, he's still here. And yes, I'm still trying to bid him farewell.
I'm off to brainstorm.
I've taken the blogging plunge, or as one might hear in Jordan, the "blogging blunge," and 'committed' to writing a blog post each day for the month of November.
Any themes? Topics? Points of query or quibble? Anything any one wants to read from lil' ole me?
You've got one day to submit some suggestions. If I get nothing, prepare to read thirty days of what kitty did today that was cute.
Yes, he's still here. And yes, I'm still trying to bid him farewell.
I'm off to brainstorm.
Ode...
...to my Sweet-Eating buddy, and she knows why.
If your KitchenAid were to stop a-mixing,
would you?
Hark! I heard the clanking of a whisk
in a bowl
hard at work, aching wrists, stirring, tripling the time it takes (mechanically) to get that sweet, light,
cream to perfection.
A dollup, a drizzle, a chocolate confection, a tooth-aching sugarey cake;
A peanut butter infused fudgey-real-coconut-not-petrified-mound of morsels
melted, scrumptious, enough to make Willy Wonka blush.
(imported? 'oh yes,' nods our local gastronomic expert)
as she seeks a golden crunchiness with the perfect crust. Melt-in-our-mouths.
May I have another
cup of coffee?
Indeed, I may.
Where exists a will, multiple ways lie hiding,
waiting to be discovered (eaten).
If your KitchenAid were to stop a-mixing,
would you?
Hark! I heard the clanking of a whisk
in a bowl
hard at work, aching wrists, stirring, tripling the time it takes (mechanically) to get that sweet, light,
cream to perfection.
A dollup, a drizzle, a chocolate confection, a tooth-aching sugarey cake;
A peanut butter infused fudgey-real-coconut-not-petrified-mound of morsels
melted, scrumptious, enough to make Willy Wonka blush.
(imported? 'oh yes,' nods our local gastronomic expert)
as she seeks a golden crunchiness with the perfect crust. Melt-in-our-mouths.
May I have another
cup of coffee?
Indeed, I may.
Where exists a will, multiple ways lie hiding,
waiting to be discovered (eaten).
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Coffee Envy
I didn't say mashaAllah, did I? Nor, perhaps, did you, when you read about my nifty-difty percolator. I said, with bravado, "It can't be broken, unless you're Godzilla."
Godzilla writes this to you, now. Godzilla broke the coffee pot. She was trying to put it up, it slipped from her big hairy monster hand and landed on the rim of a large olive jar. Shattered. Thirty years (or more) of its coffee-making history, gone. Godzilla's to blame. Roar.
Are we just fated to drink instant?
Godzilla writes this to you, now. Godzilla broke the coffee pot. She was trying to put it up, it slipped from her big hairy monster hand and landed on the rim of a large olive jar. Shattered. Thirty years (or more) of its coffee-making history, gone. Godzilla's to blame. Roar.
Are we just fated to drink instant?
Mentiras
Do not lie to me. I can tolerate many, many character flaws in people, but lying is just not one of them. Lying is a sin. Liar, do not knock on my door. Do not dial my phone number. Do not look at my face with a guise of innocence and try to use me. No more! No more lies!
God Almighty is the revealer of all truths, if not in this life, then in the next. Why do you feel the need to continue to fabricate, embellish, exaggerate, and fool? Do you not know that you will stand before your Lord one day and all will be revealed? All of your wrongs will be in plain view, and no one will be there to account for your deeds except for you, naked, cold, exposed, and alone.
There is a sickness in many--a sickness that can infiltrate the very core of the soul, allowing it to create false realities and actually believe them. Your living in a false reality, displaying to the world what you want it to see, and sadly, succeeding in convincing others that your reality is the truth, is not infallible. One day, and it may be a long time from now, all will come crashing down around you with enormous force, shattering your alternate reality and demonstrating your true character. So please, go, continue to live in this false world, this world you have created from smoke and mirrors and the illusions of your illness. Carry on, live it, breathe it, convince others and suck them in. You have the traits of a hypocrite; do you not know them?
Bukhari and Muslim have related the hadith: "The signs of the hypocrite are three: When he speaks he lies, when he promises he does not fulfill it, and when he is entrusted with something he is treacherous." Muslim adds in his narration, "...even if he fasts and prays and insists he is a Muslim."
Oh Muslim, continue to fast and pray and insist on your innocence, on your self-righteousness, on your constant solicitation of pity from those who are pious (or from the ones left who have not grown tired, exhausted from your endless trickery); go through the motions while insisting on dragging others down into your dark hole of lies. I will remain quiet and let you do this; it is not my place to expose you. Again, Allah is the revealer of all truths, and you cannot hide from your Lord.
Even if you stab me in the back a thousand times, your lies really cannot hurt me. I know where I stand; I am confident in my stance. I am not a liar, I do not wish to deceive the ones I love or the ones I profess to love. If I love them, they know it; if I do not, they know it. Hypocrisy is like leprosy, and sooner or later the ones who rallied around you, who held you up, time and time and time again, will disappear. No one wants to keep the company of a leper. No one wants your disease of untruths.
Do not lie to me. Do not lie to yourself.
God Almighty is the revealer of all truths, if not in this life, then in the next. Why do you feel the need to continue to fabricate, embellish, exaggerate, and fool? Do you not know that you will stand before your Lord one day and all will be revealed? All of your wrongs will be in plain view, and no one will be there to account for your deeds except for you, naked, cold, exposed, and alone.
There is a sickness in many--a sickness that can infiltrate the very core of the soul, allowing it to create false realities and actually believe them. Your living in a false reality, displaying to the world what you want it to see, and sadly, succeeding in convincing others that your reality is the truth, is not infallible. One day, and it may be a long time from now, all will come crashing down around you with enormous force, shattering your alternate reality and demonstrating your true character. So please, go, continue to live in this false world, this world you have created from smoke and mirrors and the illusions of your illness. Carry on, live it, breathe it, convince others and suck them in. You have the traits of a hypocrite; do you not know them?
Bukhari and Muslim have related the hadith: "The signs of the hypocrite are three: When he speaks he lies, when he promises he does not fulfill it, and when he is entrusted with something he is treacherous." Muslim adds in his narration, "...even if he fasts and prays and insists he is a Muslim."
Oh Muslim, continue to fast and pray and insist on your innocence, on your self-righteousness, on your constant solicitation of pity from those who are pious (or from the ones left who have not grown tired, exhausted from your endless trickery); go through the motions while insisting on dragging others down into your dark hole of lies. I will remain quiet and let you do this; it is not my place to expose you. Again, Allah is the revealer of all truths, and you cannot hide from your Lord.
Even if you stab me in the back a thousand times, your lies really cannot hurt me. I know where I stand; I am confident in my stance. I am not a liar, I do not wish to deceive the ones I love or the ones I profess to love. If I love them, they know it; if I do not, they know it. Hypocrisy is like leprosy, and sooner or later the ones who rallied around you, who held you up, time and time and time again, will disappear. No one wants to keep the company of a leper. No one wants your disease of untruths.
Do not lie to me. Do not lie to yourself.
Untitled
The best way to remember how to spell the word definitely is to identify its root, which is finite, meaning,
1. having definite or definable limits; "a finite number of possiblities;" Etymology: Middle English finit, from Latin finitus, past participle of finire
Date: 15th century
This is one of the most commonly misspelled words I read, daily. There is no "a" to be found in it.
Do schools even bother to teach etymologies anymore? How about the fine art of lexical knowledge? Do we care about building our vocabularies, or are we content accepting our condemnation to the texting universe of CU LTR and H R U? I, for one, say "No!" (or is there an abbreviation for that these days?)
I am on the cusp of having to make some big decisions about my children's education here in Jordan. I want them to be proficient in my mother tongue, not just spitting out words, but writing with confidence and clarity. The old paper-and-pen write till your wrists ache exercises that helped me to not be a moron are lost on them here. I question whether or not they will accept instruction from me; I have always been able to teach others' children but not my own. Am I alone in this way? Any hints to help me help my kids be interested in writing well?
I definitely have some planning to do.
1. having definite or definable limits; "a finite number of possiblities;" Etymology: Middle English finit, from Latin finitus, past participle of finire
Date: 15th century
This is one of the most commonly misspelled words I read, daily. There is no "a" to be found in it.
Do schools even bother to teach etymologies anymore? How about the fine art of lexical knowledge? Do we care about building our vocabularies, or are we content accepting our condemnation to the texting universe of CU LTR and H R U? I, for one, say "No!" (or is there an abbreviation for that these days?)
I am on the cusp of having to make some big decisions about my children's education here in Jordan. I want them to be proficient in my mother tongue, not just spitting out words, but writing with confidence and clarity. The old paper-and-pen write till your wrists ache exercises that helped me to not be a moron are lost on them here. I question whether or not they will accept instruction from me; I have always been able to teach others' children but not my own. Am I alone in this way? Any hints to help me help my kids be interested in writing well?
I definitely have some planning to do.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Accentuate the Positive
When life gives you lemons, make lemonade!
(remembering the days when I used to cheer on the Little Engine that Could.)
There really is something to the power of positive thinking. Optimism isn't overrated, is it?
(remembering the days when I used to cheer on the Little Engine that Could.)
There really is something to the power of positive thinking. Optimism isn't overrated, is it?
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Dare I Scratch?
Lately I have had the itch to get back into the classroom. This feeling hits me in waves about twice a year. My experience teaching English and TOEFL preparation here in Amman was greatly rewarding. I loved every class I had--even the one containing a pack of cheaters who were in their mid-20s but made me treat them like second graders, moving them around the room during test time while I ambled around their desks, watching out for the 'wandering eye' maneuver. I know that move all too well; I taught junior high kids, too.
I feel at home standing at a podium.
I am also itching to start my project, my brainchild, my attempt to write an oral history of illiterate Palestinian women from the generation of '48--from the cataclysm, from al-nakba.
My problem: time. Four children and a house and many familial responsibilities, all of which (and whom) I love dearly. It all boils down to time, or, to be more exact, to timing. It is so easy to fall out of sync in Jordan, to get behind, to start to drown. It is a completely different pace from American life, and one I've grown to accept, but I need a window of breathing-accomplishing-examining-producing for myself.
In time. InshaAllah.
I feel at home standing at a podium.
I am also itching to start my project, my brainchild, my attempt to write an oral history of illiterate Palestinian women from the generation of '48--from the cataclysm, from al-nakba.
My problem: time. Four children and a house and many familial responsibilities, all of which (and whom) I love dearly. It all boils down to time, or, to be more exact, to timing. It is so easy to fall out of sync in Jordan, to get behind, to start to drown. It is a completely different pace from American life, and one I've grown to accept, but I need a window of breathing-accomplishing-examining-producing for myself.
In time. InshaAllah.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Sem-Sem Chicken
I am posting this recipe because several folks have asked for it. I must, however, put this disclaimer alongside the recipe: I am not a slave to measurements. Sometimes I put more of certain ingredients than other times. I’m a mood chef. Please keep that in mind when trying to prepare this dish.
Sesame Chicken (feeds family of 6 plus some leftovers)
To be served with steamed rice or Chinese noodles, or both!
Ingredients you will need:
4 or 5 boneless chicken breasts, cut into 1 ½ inch pieces
(If I am having a large gathering or luncheon, I will use 12 chicken breasts)
All-purpose flour
1 egg
Corn starch
Baking powder
Soy Sauce
Sesame Oil
Water
Ground ginger (optional)
Chicken stock or chicken broth cubes
2 or 3 garlic cloves, smashed with a mortar and pestal
Hot red pepper (can be from a jar or if you can get a hold of some Chinese red peppers, then by all means do so)
White Vinegar
Sugar (white or brown)
Oil for frying
Sesame seeds (untoasted)
Step by step:
1. Take your cut chicken pieces and place them in a large mixing bowl. Prepare to get your fingers messy. On top of the chicken, add ¾ to 1 cup of flour, 3 tablespoons of corn starch, 2 tsp. of baking powder, 3 to 4 tbsp of soy sauce, a few sprinkles of ground ginger, 6 to 8 drops of sesame oil, 1 egg, and ½ cup of water. Begin mixing the mixture with your hands, making sure the wet and dry ingredients blend together to make a thick paste-like coating. Add more water and/or more flour if necessary. Your goal here is to coat the pieces so that when they are fried, the batter around them will be uniform. Once the consistency is right (like thick pancake batter), place chicken and batter in the fridge and let it sit for at least 20 minutes. Go wash your hands. While the chicken is marinating, prepare your sauce.
2. In a medium sauce pot, bring to a boil one cup of chicken broth. (this can be something you already have on hand, or use a maggi cube, whatever) When the broth is boiling, add to it 1 cup of sugar and ¼ to ½ of a cup of white vinegar. Mix well. Turn heat to low, and allow the sugar and vinegar to jive nicely in the broth. Then add a few drops of sesame oil, the smashed garlic cloves and (depending on how hot you like it) add 1 to 3 tsp. of hot pepper sauce or hot chili peppers or dried hot red peppers. Do not try to substitute w/ cayenne. Mix well and allow mixture to simmer on low for 5 minutes. Then with a ladle, take a ladle-full of the sauce out and place it in a small bowl. Whisk into this sauce about 3 tbsp. of cornstarch, until dissolved. Place whisked mixture back into the sauce. Stir well. Allow to simmer for 10 minutes or until thick (honey-like). Remove from heat. The house is starting to smell good now.
3. In a large frying pan, heat oil (about 1-inch thick). Peanut oil is the best for frying because of its high smoke-point, but I’d have to sell my grandma to afford peanut oil in Jordan. Use whatever you like. Once the oil is HOT, begin dropping each piece of chicken INDIVIDUALLY into the oil. They will quickly puff up and begin to brown. Remove chicken from the oil using a slotted (metal) spoon once it is thoroughly browned and done. It will have a nice tan color…not too brown but not pale either. (see picture) Allow chicken to drain on paper towels until all chicken has been cooked.
Place the chicken in a beautiful serving dish and pour the sauce on top; mix. Sprinkle chicken with lots of sesame seeds. Serve and enjoy.
Sesame Chicken (feeds family of 6 plus some leftovers)
To be served with steamed rice or Chinese noodles, or both!
Ingredients you will need:
4 or 5 boneless chicken breasts, cut into 1 ½ inch pieces
(If I am having a large gathering or luncheon, I will use 12 chicken breasts)
All-purpose flour
1 egg
Corn starch
Baking powder
Soy Sauce
Sesame Oil
Water
Ground ginger (optional)
Chicken stock or chicken broth cubes
2 or 3 garlic cloves, smashed with a mortar and pestal
Hot red pepper (can be from a jar or if you can get a hold of some Chinese red peppers, then by all means do so)
White Vinegar
Sugar (white or brown)
Oil for frying
Sesame seeds (untoasted)
Step by step:
1. Take your cut chicken pieces and place them in a large mixing bowl. Prepare to get your fingers messy. On top of the chicken, add ¾ to 1 cup of flour, 3 tablespoons of corn starch, 2 tsp. of baking powder, 3 to 4 tbsp of soy sauce, a few sprinkles of ground ginger, 6 to 8 drops of sesame oil, 1 egg, and ½ cup of water. Begin mixing the mixture with your hands, making sure the wet and dry ingredients blend together to make a thick paste-like coating. Add more water and/or more flour if necessary. Your goal here is to coat the pieces so that when they are fried, the batter around them will be uniform. Once the consistency is right (like thick pancake batter), place chicken and batter in the fridge and let it sit for at least 20 minutes. Go wash your hands. While the chicken is marinating, prepare your sauce.
2. In a medium sauce pot, bring to a boil one cup of chicken broth. (this can be something you already have on hand, or use a maggi cube, whatever) When the broth is boiling, add to it 1 cup of sugar and ¼ to ½ of a cup of white vinegar. Mix well. Turn heat to low, and allow the sugar and vinegar to jive nicely in the broth. Then add a few drops of sesame oil, the smashed garlic cloves and (depending on how hot you like it) add 1 to 3 tsp. of hot pepper sauce or hot chili peppers or dried hot red peppers. Do not try to substitute w/ cayenne. Mix well and allow mixture to simmer on low for 5 minutes. Then with a ladle, take a ladle-full of the sauce out and place it in a small bowl. Whisk into this sauce about 3 tbsp. of cornstarch, until dissolved. Place whisked mixture back into the sauce. Stir well. Allow to simmer for 10 minutes or until thick (honey-like). Remove from heat. The house is starting to smell good now.
3. In a large frying pan, heat oil (about 1-inch thick). Peanut oil is the best for frying because of its high smoke-point, but I’d have to sell my grandma to afford peanut oil in Jordan. Use whatever you like. Once the oil is HOT, begin dropping each piece of chicken INDIVIDUALLY into the oil. They will quickly puff up and begin to brown. Remove chicken from the oil using a slotted (metal) spoon once it is thoroughly browned and done. It will have a nice tan color…not too brown but not pale either. (see picture) Allow chicken to drain on paper towels until all chicken has been cooked.
Place the chicken in a beautiful serving dish and pour the sauce on top; mix. Sprinkle chicken with lots of sesame seeds. Serve and enjoy.
Kitty is Cool
Here is little Romeo, after spending several days at SPANA, healing and getting some R & R.
Perhaps "Romeo" was not the best name for him. He might be more suited with "Kanga" or "Roo." His back feet turn outward because of his hip injury. He does, however, run and frolic like other kittens his age. We've even caught him slapping a ping-pong ball and then running after it. 
For a Jordanian kitty, he's not bad at all. We're going to miss him, but he's going to a good home.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
He Hates My Coffee
The only reason my man sticks around is because I serve up a mean cup of Joe. He tells me all the time.
Java Jive
In my cabinet are two pounds of coffee that remain from the stash I loaded into my suitcase this summer before I left America. I brought Maxwell House, Folger's, Choc-Full-O-Nuts, Community Coffee, Seattle's Best, and a few others. I wanted to have a selection when I came back. Anyone coming this way to visit can always bring me java. It will be most appreciated.
During the summer when I was in the U.S., my household helper text-messaged my husband that she had dropped and broken the carafe to our coffee maker. Many times over the two years she worked with (against) us, I would observe her washing the pot with reckless abandon, often smashing it against the sink or dumping it into the dish drainer on top of other breakables. Gasp! I told her, nicely, "From now on I will wash this. Just leave it to me." (LEAVE THE COFFEE TO THE EXPERTS and GET OUT OF MY KITCHEN is what I really wanted to say. Suppress that anger, girl.)
I guess going out of the country gave her free reign over my precious carafe once again. It was one of those special 12-cup kind that came with a Gevalia coffee maker: completely irreplaceable in Jordan. I tried to buy a new one in the US, but Gevalia said I would have to re-enroll in their coffee program, which I was completely willing to do. But, they do not ship overseas.
So I settled on buying instead a 9-cup stove top Corelle percolator from the 1970s, off of eBay. It can't be smashed and broken, unless you are Godzilla, and it percolates the coffee, so you can adjust how strong you want it. It also makes the house smell wonderful, and keeps the coffee piping hot for a long time--much hotter than a traditional drip coffee machine. You can have campfire coffee goodness every morning with this handy percolator. Thanks, Umm Rami, for introducing it to me.
Am I serious about my coffee? Oh, yes.
So I thought I'd post a few coffee commercials. One of them is so completely sexist it isn't even funny (oh, but it is funny). The other one is a jingle I will most likely preserve in my subconscious until my dying days. The influence of commercials on us is astounding.
Going to pour cup # 2. Sahtain wa a'afiyah.
During the summer when I was in the U.S., my household helper text-messaged my husband that she had dropped and broken the carafe to our coffee maker. Many times over the two years she worked with (against) us, I would observe her washing the pot with reckless abandon, often smashing it against the sink or dumping it into the dish drainer on top of other breakables. Gasp! I told her, nicely, "From now on I will wash this. Just leave it to me." (LEAVE THE COFFEE TO THE EXPERTS and GET OUT OF MY KITCHEN is what I really wanted to say. Suppress that anger, girl.)
I guess going out of the country gave her free reign over my precious carafe once again. It was one of those special 12-cup kind that came with a Gevalia coffee maker: completely irreplaceable in Jordan. I tried to buy a new one in the US, but Gevalia said I would have to re-enroll in their coffee program, which I was completely willing to do. But, they do not ship overseas.
So I settled on buying instead a 9-cup stove top Corelle percolator from the 1970s, off of eBay. It can't be smashed and broken, unless you are Godzilla, and it percolates the coffee, so you can adjust how strong you want it. It also makes the house smell wonderful, and keeps the coffee piping hot for a long time--much hotter than a traditional drip coffee machine. You can have campfire coffee goodness every morning with this handy percolator. Thanks, Umm Rami, for introducing it to me.
Am I serious about my coffee? Oh, yes.
So I thought I'd post a few coffee commercials. One of them is so completely sexist it isn't even funny (oh, but it is funny). The other one is a jingle I will most likely preserve in my subconscious until my dying days. The influence of commercials on us is astounding.
Going to pour cup # 2. Sahtain wa a'afiyah.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Welcome
Welcome, reader from Palestinian Territory, Occupied, Nablus.
I love Nabulsiyyah cheese. And the ice cream from there we get here in Amman is really good.
Thanks for dropping by.
I love Nabulsiyyah cheese. And the ice cream from there we get here in Amman is really good.
Thanks for dropping by.
To curtail the negativity from the last post...
...I decided to jot down some positive items about my week, and about Jordan.
1. Rain. RAIN! Beautiful, glorious rain that pelted down on us last night as I drove on a dark, winding road in a car with a broken headlight and I had to get so close to the windshield to see out of it I looked like one of those little old lady drivers, but I didn't care. It was RAIN. Fabulous, blessed rain falling from the sky, and along with it, brilliant flashes of lightning and great rumbles of thunder. Loved it. So did my yard and all of the rest of the green things trying to survive in this parched land.
2. Lame kitty. Lame kitty, who my children have now named Romeo, is going to be ok. Lame kitty--sorry, Romeo--is a little black and white kitten I found in the middle of the road last Wednesday. He had been struck by a car and his hind legs were just hanging. (not bloody, just broken) He looked to be about five weeks old, definitely not weaned yet, and was howling in pain smack in the middle of a busy roundabout. I stopped the car, scooped him up, and brought him home. The next day I drove him out (thank you, Umm Abdur-Rahman for your car!) to SPANA, which is a non-profit organization that cares for injured, abused, and abandoned animals. What a lovely, friendly staff they have. They took little Romeo and told me they would call me when he was better. So yesterday, I went to retrieve him. He was treated for an upper respiratory infection and diarrhea, but unfortunately his hip will have to heal itself, and will most likely result in his walking with a limp. But he's here with us, and he seems to know that I helped save his life. It's a kitty vibe thing. And SPANA is a terrific place.
3. I am helper free. Two years ago because of my bad back and small children, my husband and I hired full-time, live-in help. Her contract is up and I am once again on my own, and I feel quite liberated having her out of my home. I could go into long boring details but there is no need; the great thing is that I have my privacy and my house to myself, which is the way it should be. If any of you think how great it would be to have live-in help, you might want to re-think. Things are going to be much messier in the homestead, I'm sure, but I am really a happy camper. Or a happy cleaner. Or both.
4. Aren't three things enough for one week?
1. Rain. RAIN! Beautiful, glorious rain that pelted down on us last night as I drove on a dark, winding road in a car with a broken headlight and I had to get so close to the windshield to see out of it I looked like one of those little old lady drivers, but I didn't care. It was RAIN. Fabulous, blessed rain falling from the sky, and along with it, brilliant flashes of lightning and great rumbles of thunder. Loved it. So did my yard and all of the rest of the green things trying to survive in this parched land.
2. Lame kitty. Lame kitty, who my children have now named Romeo, is going to be ok. Lame kitty--sorry, Romeo--is a little black and white kitten I found in the middle of the road last Wednesday. He had been struck by a car and his hind legs were just hanging. (not bloody, just broken) He looked to be about five weeks old, definitely not weaned yet, and was howling in pain smack in the middle of a busy roundabout. I stopped the car, scooped him up, and brought him home. The next day I drove him out (thank you, Umm Abdur-Rahman for your car!) to SPANA, which is a non-profit organization that cares for injured, abused, and abandoned animals. What a lovely, friendly staff they have. They took little Romeo and told me they would call me when he was better. So yesterday, I went to retrieve him. He was treated for an upper respiratory infection and diarrhea, but unfortunately his hip will have to heal itself, and will most likely result in his walking with a limp. But he's here with us, and he seems to know that I helped save his life. It's a kitty vibe thing. And SPANA is a terrific place.
3. I am helper free. Two years ago because of my bad back and small children, my husband and I hired full-time, live-in help. Her contract is up and I am once again on my own, and I feel quite liberated having her out of my home. I could go into long boring details but there is no need; the great thing is that I have my privacy and my house to myself, which is the way it should be. If any of you think how great it would be to have live-in help, you might want to re-think. Things are going to be much messier in the homestead, I'm sure, but I am really a happy camper. Or a happy cleaner. Or both.
4. Aren't three things enough for one week?
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
The Surreality that was this Eid
Maybe it is just a part of getting older, but I have convinced myself that living in Amman that has turned me into a hermit of sorts. (or at least, a hermit wannabe)
After finishing dinner, my sister-in-law called to tell me she was taking my daughter and her cousins to "apulebdieh." We had a bad connection on the phone. "Where?" I asked. "What restaurant is that?"
"Abu Lebedeh's," I heard her say.
Abu Lebedeh's? I had not heard of that one. I thought, it must be some mishawee (BBQ) place I am not familiar with.
"Just call me when you get there and I'll come pick her up," I told her.
"People are coming from Duffeh (Palestine)?" she asked.
I gave up on trying to have a clear conversation with her. Twenty or so minutes later, I called her back. This time our connection was good, so I asked her where she was. "We're at Fuddrucker's" she replied. Fuddrucker's just opened next door to Applebee's, the place I had heard as "Abu Lebedeh's," which is not far from where I live. "I'll be right there," I told her.
We entered the restaurant, which was very crowded and smoke-filled. They had ordered five hamburgers and five colas. Still full from my sesame chicken, I watched them eat their meals while listening to Purple Rain and Thriller being blasted from the speakers. I gazed around the room and saw many men, women, and children wearing unfortunately unattractive Eid clothing. I thought about all the dough the Eid must generate in Amman in places like this, how families who can barely afford eating on a regular basis spend way beyond their means to show their families a 'good time.' Honestly, I wasn't having a good time, nor had I since the Eid began. Maybe it's my own cynicism that peaks during this time because I get so frustrated with the mob scenes and the fast track to hedonism the Eid seems to bring out in many folks.
My sister-in-law who lives on 250 JD per month forked out 36 JD for those simple burgers. I felt sick.
I know this: I have to make my own traditions for my family and not let society dictate them. Let the countdown begin until Eid ul-Adha...I have two months to plan.
Last Thursday, we were all happily fasting, thinking of how nice it would be to visit my mother-in-law on Friday for the final 'iftar' of Ramadan--i.e., the 30th day. My mother in law expects us every Friday for lunch, but especially in Ramadan does she love to prepare food for us and gather the family around her. Did I mention she lives in a bright pink building that can be viewed from outer space? Without GPS?
Anyhow, as we all know, the first day of Eid ul-Fitr was declared to be on Friday, making Ramadan just 29 days long. Alhamdulillah. Plans changed.
There is something about that first morning of Eid that makes me wary of eating or drinking. I believe it is just that my body is so used to fasting in daylight hours. Oh, and child #3 decided it would be an appropriate time to vomit chocolate milk and cookies all over half of the den, so I spent most of the morning trying to clean upholstery. After that, no one really wanted to eat much at all, so we waited until it was time to go for lunch at my mother-in-law's. She had prepared grape leaves and stuffed squash for us. When we arrived, she had a sour look on her face; she had forgotten the grape leaves on the stove and all of the water in the pressure cooker had boiled out. They were burned beyond edibility. In all my years of knowing her, she has never burned a meal.
By that time, we were actually hungry. We left mom-in-law's and went to KFC where we ordered some Zinger sandwiches. I think the bread they used was five or six days old. The sandwiches were terrible, but we ate them anyway. Thus ended Eid, day 1. Someone, please contain my excitement.
On day 2, we decided to go check out the new electronics superstore that opened near the 7th Circle. It's called "Smart Buy," kind of a knock-off of BestBuy I suppose. They had iPod Shuffles for 68 JD, or around $100. This was actually a decent price, considering that taxes on imported electronics are usually through the roof. This price was comparable to US prices. My daughter got one; she deserved it, after working so hard in school and fasting and reading Quran and and and...she's just a good girl, mashaAllah. 
Here I caught her examining the new supercool item while we waited for my husband to return to the car with fast-food exhibit B: sandwiches from Hardee's. As much as I'd like to tell you how tasty they were, they were not. Again, it was a case of old bread and dry meat. What's up with this? Within two days we had spent 41 JD on bad sandwiches. That evening we were invited to my brother-in-law's for mansef, which we devoured, thus concluding day 2 of the Eid. Is anyone having fun yet?
On the third day I proclaimed I would not leave my house and throw money away on substandard sammies, but instead would prepare one of my family's favorite Chinese dishes: sesame chicken. I have worked on my recipe since 2002 when we moved here and realized that Chinese food (or any Asian food, really) in Amman is overpriced and not nicely prepared, at least in our opinion. If you've never had Chinese food in Chinatown or in a high quality Chinese restaurant in the West, then you won't know what you are missing here in Amman. But alas, dear friends, we know, and it makes a big difference. So I whipped up a big old batch, but only my 2 little daughters and I were home to eat it. My daughter had spent the night with her cousins and my husband and son were attending a jahha, or engagement party.
We ate.
After finishing dinner, my sister-in-law called to tell me she was taking my daughter and her cousins to "apulebdieh." We had a bad connection on the phone. "Where?" I asked. "What restaurant is that?"
"Abu Lebedeh's," I heard her say.
Abu Lebedeh's? I had not heard of that one. I thought, it must be some mishawee (BBQ) place I am not familiar with.
"Just call me when you get there and I'll come pick her up," I told her.
"People are coming from Duffeh (Palestine)?" she asked.
I gave up on trying to have a clear conversation with her. Twenty or so minutes later, I called her back. This time our connection was good, so I asked her where she was. "We're at Fuddrucker's" she replied. Fuddrucker's just opened next door to Applebee's, the place I had heard as "Abu Lebedeh's," which is not far from where I live. "I'll be right there," I told her.
We entered the restaurant, which was very crowded and smoke-filled. They had ordered five hamburgers and five colas. Still full from my sesame chicken, I watched them eat their meals while listening to Purple Rain and Thriller being blasted from the speakers. I gazed around the room and saw many men, women, and children wearing unfortunately unattractive Eid clothing. I thought about all the dough the Eid must generate in Amman in places like this, how families who can barely afford eating on a regular basis spend way beyond their means to show their families a 'good time.' Honestly, I wasn't having a good time, nor had I since the Eid began. Maybe it's my own cynicism that peaks during this time because I get so frustrated with the mob scenes and the fast track to hedonism the Eid seems to bring out in many folks.
My sister-in-law who lives on 250 JD per month forked out 36 JD for those simple burgers. I felt sick.
I know this: I have to make my own traditions for my family and not let society dictate them. Let the countdown begin until Eid ul-Adha...I have two months to plan.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Eid
Eid Mubarak. Blessed Eid.
Kul Aam wa Antum bi'Khayr. Takabal Allah minna wa minkom.
May all of your years be good and all of you be well. May Allah accept the fasting, from us and from you.
This marks the sixth Eid ul-Fitr I have spent here in Jordan.
Ramadan passed so quickly this year; I can barely remember any of the days. As I said before, each year I welcome this month, and each year I mourn its passing. This year proves no differently. May we stay on the path to self-improvement and self-purification through our worship, our acts of kindness to one another, our reaching out to the downtrodden, our continual taking of inventory of our actions and deeds.
For those of you who know me, forgive me of my shortcomings, as they are numerous.
May we all continue to cling to the rope of our Lord. He has thrown it down to us; may we help one another to grasp it and hold tightly.
I may be away for a few days. I'll be eating mamoul and drinking shai till they are pouring out of my ears. No seriously, my kids and I are going to make some oatmeal chocolate cookies to try to ward off the effects of too much mamoul.
Happy Eid, folks.
Kul Aam wa Antum bi'Khayr. Takabal Allah minna wa minkom.
May all of your years be good and all of you be well. May Allah accept the fasting, from us and from you.
This marks the sixth Eid ul-Fitr I have spent here in Jordan.
Ramadan passed so quickly this year; I can barely remember any of the days. As I said before, each year I welcome this month, and each year I mourn its passing. This year proves no differently. May we stay on the path to self-improvement and self-purification through our worship, our acts of kindness to one another, our reaching out to the downtrodden, our continual taking of inventory of our actions and deeds.
For those of you who know me, forgive me of my shortcomings, as they are numerous.
May we all continue to cling to the rope of our Lord. He has thrown it down to us; may we help one another to grasp it and hold tightly.
I may be away for a few days. I'll be eating mamoul and drinking shai till they are pouring out of my ears. No seriously, my kids and I are going to make some oatmeal chocolate cookies to try to ward off the effects of too much mamoul.
Happy Eid, folks.
Should all U.S. Muslims carry a special ID?
Oh, the intelligence one can find in the Wal-Mart parking lot.
I'm off to have my computer chip surgically implanted.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Sunday, October 07, 2007
The Synapses are a-Firing
During these last days of Ramadan, I've tried to be very pensive and introspective. Tried is the operative word here, because I find myself wondering how exactly it is that my brain works. Brain function and cognizance is truly a conundrum, a puzzle, a perplexity, and yes, a miraculously complex firing of energy. I used to think of myself as a deep thinker (for those of you who might remember Deep Thoughts by Jack Handy on SNL, not like that). I never wanted to think in pithy maxims, or speak in them, for that matter. I want to speak and be understood, and make sense in the process. Moreover, I want to be able to focus on the tasks at hand, and not be sidetracked by all of the distracting junkorama I have deeply embedded in my cerebrum. Or is it my frontal lobe? Or are they one in the same?
What am I talking about?
The other day someone told me I always took on the role of peacemaker in situations requiring such. That is this person's impression of me, with which I sometimes agree and sometimes do not. So, I was sitting on the couch thinking about what I needed to do with my day, and I kept contemplating this word...peacemaker, peacemaker.
This lead me to phase II of my associative thought process, which resulted in the phrase peace pigeon popping into my head. Go ahead and laugh, but I have been referred to as the peace pigeon in the family on more than one occasion. In Arabic there is no difference between a pigeon and a dove; they're both a hamam. (although in America, the connotation is typically that beautiful white doves will be released at a wedding, while pigeons will eat popcorn in the K-Mart parking lot) Hamam as-Salam. That's me. I remember laughing when my Arabic relative called me this in English. "You're such a peace pigeon," she told me, "always wanting to calm everyone down." Again, sometimes I agree with this statement, other times, not so much.
Peace pigeon..peace pigeon..peace pigeon...PEACE DOG. Yes, Peace Dog was the natural succession in my brain to peace pigeon. So I sat there, thinking, "Peace Dog? I know that from someplace...but I just can't place it...how about a Google?"
Went to computer, Googled "Peace Dog," saw that it was a song by the Cult and sung by Ian Astbury. I immediately had to go to YouTube and pull up a video. It's amazing how much of my youth I had blocked out, because I then remembered attending a concert of theirs in 1989. I am sure I was all dressed in black. (wait, I still dress in black!) I watched the one stupid video, not of Peace Dog but of She Sells Sanctuary. This was five nights ago. Unnecessary, unwelcome clutter in my brain.
Since then, I've awakened for the pre-dawn meal each morning around 4 a.m. As soon as my feet hit the floor and I prepare the food for my family, I hear the lyrics in my head...and the world, the world drags me down...and the world, the world drags me down.
The world does drag me down. And I want to go read Qu'ran.
What am I talking about?
The other day someone told me I always took on the role of peacemaker in situations requiring such. That is this person's impression of me, with which I sometimes agree and sometimes do not. So, I was sitting on the couch thinking about what I needed to do with my day, and I kept contemplating this word...peacemaker, peacemaker.
This lead me to phase II of my associative thought process, which resulted in the phrase peace pigeon popping into my head. Go ahead and laugh, but I have been referred to as the peace pigeon in the family on more than one occasion. In Arabic there is no difference between a pigeon and a dove; they're both a hamam. (although in America, the connotation is typically that beautiful white doves will be released at a wedding, while pigeons will eat popcorn in the K-Mart parking lot) Hamam as-Salam. That's me. I remember laughing when my Arabic relative called me this in English. "You're such a peace pigeon," she told me, "always wanting to calm everyone down." Again, sometimes I agree with this statement, other times, not so much.
Peace pigeon..peace pigeon..peace pigeon...PEACE DOG. Yes, Peace Dog was the natural succession in my brain to peace pigeon. So I sat there, thinking, "Peace Dog? I know that from someplace...but I just can't place it...how about a Google?"
Went to computer, Googled "Peace Dog," saw that it was a song by the Cult and sung by Ian Astbury. I immediately had to go to YouTube and pull up a video. It's amazing how much of my youth I had blocked out, because I then remembered attending a concert of theirs in 1989. I am sure I was all dressed in black. (wait, I still dress in black!) I watched the one stupid video, not of Peace Dog but of She Sells Sanctuary. This was five nights ago. Unnecessary, unwelcome clutter in my brain.
Since then, I've awakened for the pre-dawn meal each morning around 4 a.m. As soon as my feet hit the floor and I prepare the food for my family, I hear the lyrics in my head...and the world, the world drags me down...and the world, the world drags me down.
The world does drag me down. And I want to go read Qu'ran.
Saturday, October 06, 2007
Granny at the Grocery
So my nearly ninety year old grandmother was in Publix the other day in Montgomery, Alabama. She still drives. She drives herself to the supermarket and to the hair salon.
Anyway, in Publix she spotted two ladies wearing scarves and long dresses. She decided she was going to speak to them, so she sped up her cart to where they were standing, and tapped the taller one on the back.
Tap tap tap.
The lady turned around to see my grandmother. "Yes?" she asked.
My grandmother: I know why you are covered!
Lady: I'm sorry?
My grandmother: My granddaughter covers too! She's married to a man from Jordan, and she covers just like you. She moved to Jordan to raise her children.
Lady (a smile comes over her face): Jordan! I'm from Jordan. My family and I just moved here.
My grandmother and the lady and her daughter continue speaking for fifteen minutes or more. The Jordanian lady told my grandmother how she feels out of her element, sometimes not welcome. My grandmother made her feel welcome. They parted company, thanking each other and smiling.
Anyway, in Publix she spotted two ladies wearing scarves and long dresses. She decided she was going to speak to them, so she sped up her cart to where they were standing, and tapped the taller one on the back.
Tap tap tap.
The lady turned around to see my grandmother. "Yes?" she asked.
My grandmother: I know why you are covered!
Lady: I'm sorry?
My grandmother: My granddaughter covers too! She's married to a man from Jordan, and she covers just like you. She moved to Jordan to raise her children.
Lady (a smile comes over her face): Jordan! I'm from Jordan. My family and I just moved here.
My grandmother and the lady and her daughter continue speaking for fifteen minutes or more. The Jordanian lady told my grandmother how she feels out of her element, sometimes not welcome. My grandmother made her feel welcome. They parted company, thanking each other and smiling.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Let them be kids and go give them a hug
Today marks the beginning of the last 10 days of Ramadan. The month has truly flown by. I have totally plugged-up ears due to this nasty cold, and it's almost 90 degrees outside. There is not much worse than a horrendous upper respiratory infection in the heat. I have been rather irritable the past few days and probably not the friendliest mom, wife, or friend on the block.
My kids are having exams because the relentless school system here does not cut anyone some slack while fasting in nearly summer temperatures, staying up late with family, praying, reading Qu'ran, etc. Nope, no breaks. I told my kids last night I don't care what kind of scores they get this time, and I mean it. I want them to be happy and relaxed and enjoy these final days of Ramadan, and get ready for the coming of the Eid holiday.
Today I passed by my buddy Um Tareq's house. She had called me this morning but I silenced the phone, trying to catch up on some sleep. So later on, I dropped by to see what she needed. She had been crying, and told me that her son who goes to my kids' school came home yesterday and told her that one of his classmates, an 11th grader, passed away. He had a headache and was taken to the hospital yesterday morning. His blood pressure was high. The nurse checked his pressure, left the room, and came back in to find him gone. Inna li lahhi wa inna ilayhi raji'oon; To God we belong and to Him we return. Sixteen years old, and had memorized the entire Qu'ran. Sixteen years old, and his parents buried him yesterday at 'asr time.
So Um Tareq and I were wondering, what was the last thing his mother or father might have said to him? Were they worried about his grades? Were they hassling him about something he might have done, or forgotten to do? Did they tell him, on a daily basis, how much he meant to them? How proud they were of the young man he had grown into, in a time where the world is full of sorry young men? Did they remind him regularly how much of a light he was in their home, bringing them joy and happiness and making them grateful for being his parents?
What did I say to my kids before I dropped them off this morning, or before they went to sleep last night?
I'm waiting on my two older ones to walk in the door. When they do, I'm going to shower them with affection and make them some brownies. And I'm going to continue to remind myself, inshaAllah, to show them how precious they are, every day.
Update: Five busloads of teachers and students from the deceased Muhammad Ghazali's school went to pay their condolences to his family yesterday. It was there they learned that the cause of death was a cerebral aneurysm, and he had been suffering from a terrible headache for the entire day prior to his death. He tried to get through a math exam but could not. The morning he passed away, he was fasting. This family has a surviving daughter in University who has also memorized the entire Qu'ran, and another son at Ridwan school who has memorized 20 juz' thus far. May Allah give them strength and patience during this time of grief. May Allah preserve in us the ability to raise our children right and to be ever-conscious of the fleetingness of this life.
My kids are having exams because the relentless school system here does not cut anyone some slack while fasting in nearly summer temperatures, staying up late with family, praying, reading Qu'ran, etc. Nope, no breaks. I told my kids last night I don't care what kind of scores they get this time, and I mean it. I want them to be happy and relaxed and enjoy these final days of Ramadan, and get ready for the coming of the Eid holiday.
Today I passed by my buddy Um Tareq's house. She had called me this morning but I silenced the phone, trying to catch up on some sleep. So later on, I dropped by to see what she needed. She had been crying, and told me that her son who goes to my kids' school came home yesterday and told her that one of his classmates, an 11th grader, passed away. He had a headache and was taken to the hospital yesterday morning. His blood pressure was high. The nurse checked his pressure, left the room, and came back in to find him gone. Inna li lahhi wa inna ilayhi raji'oon; To God we belong and to Him we return. Sixteen years old, and had memorized the entire Qu'ran. Sixteen years old, and his parents buried him yesterday at 'asr time.
So Um Tareq and I were wondering, what was the last thing his mother or father might have said to him? Were they worried about his grades? Were they hassling him about something he might have done, or forgotten to do? Did they tell him, on a daily basis, how much he meant to them? How proud they were of the young man he had grown into, in a time where the world is full of sorry young men? Did they remind him regularly how much of a light he was in their home, bringing them joy and happiness and making them grateful for being his parents?
What did I say to my kids before I dropped them off this morning, or before they went to sleep last night?
I'm waiting on my two older ones to walk in the door. When they do, I'm going to shower them with affection and make them some brownies. And I'm going to continue to remind myself, inshaAllah, to show them how precious they are, every day.
Update: Five busloads of teachers and students from the deceased Muhammad Ghazali's school went to pay their condolences to his family yesterday. It was there they learned that the cause of death was a cerebral aneurysm, and he had been suffering from a terrible headache for the entire day prior to his death. He tried to get through a math exam but could not. The morning he passed away, he was fasting. This family has a surviving daughter in University who has also memorized the entire Qu'ran, and another son at Ridwan school who has memorized 20 juz' thus far. May Allah give them strength and patience during this time of grief. May Allah preserve in us the ability to raise our children right and to be ever-conscious of the fleetingness of this life.
Monday, October 01, 2007
a first
I use site meter to track my blog visits. I don't know why I need to know who is reading and from where, but I do.
Anyhow, I have lots of "Unknowns?", which are unknown countries, servers, and ISPs. I have always been suspicious that some of these "Unknowns" were indeed coming from the Holy Land o' Palestine.
Well yesterday when I checked my site meter stats, I had a surprise. One visit actually listed "Palestine--Occupied Territory." A first, indeed.
Anyhow, I have lots of "Unknowns?", which are unknown countries, servers, and ISPs. I have always been suspicious that some of these "Unknowns" were indeed coming from the Holy Land o' Palestine.
Well yesterday when I checked my site meter stats, I had a surprise. One visit actually listed "Palestine--Occupied Territory." A first, indeed.
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