Something Good

There is something about the rejuvenation of springtime that never fails to infect me. March is almost here and things are looking new and green. Yesterday was one of the foggiest, dreariest days I have ever experienced; the fog did not lift until around 1 p.m. The fog and cold did not stop me, because I know that Spring is around the corner. I had the rare chance to have a car for the day, so I took advantage and ran necessary errands. I also made a carrot cake, which I do believe is the perfect breakfast food. You have your veggies (carrots), fruits (crushed pineapple), dairy (egg in cake and cream cheese for icing), and carbs (wheat flour). It was so good yesterday, I ate it again for breakfast this morning. Sorry, I do not claim to be a photographer, and I still fumble with the close-up mode. It's my shaky hands.

After breakfast I drove straight to the Post Office to pay bills. One can check his mail at the Post Office, but it is most known for being a bill-paying center, where electricity, power, and phone can be paid off in one fell swoop. I also paid a neighbor's bill, which was a whopping 192 JD, because she only had an electric heater in the coldest parts of last month. Ya Allah. The BEST part about the Post Office visit was NOT the clerk exclaiming, "192 JD! What kind of bill is that?!" but rather finding a slip of paper in my box, announcing that I had a parcel. A parcel!

Dear sweet Umm Bilal from Al Miskeenah sent me a parcel of goodies. Lovely, lovely things, mashaAllah, one of which I wore around my shoulders last night in the moist night air. It took its sweet time to arrive and we both wondered if someone was running around Amman reading a book and wearing a scarf intended for me, but yesterday's arrival put our fears aside. Alhamdulillah.
Third stop was to drop off a second parcel included in my parcel that was addressed to Umm Zaid. Embarrassingly, I got lost trying to find her office from the place I was, so I dropped it off with her neighbor.

Fourth stop was to pick up my new spectacles. (This is going to be a PLUG for my favorite Optikos center and eye doctor.) This place, Semiramis, is owned by the family of Dr. Hammouri. Dr. Hammouri's office is in Sweifiyeh and he is the best eye doctor I know. He actually got my oldest daughter out of glasses. Semiramis had a huge sale several weeks ago in which all frames, and I mean 175 JD Fendi frames, were 10 JD. All sunglasses were 20 JD. I sent everyone I knew to their store. I got myself the ones pictured below with a special glare-resistant coating, as well as the prescription sunglasses pictured on the far back left. Two pairs of custom-made, designer glasses, and I paid a total of 57 JD, or around $80 US. Now find me that deal somewhere else, please. Hurrah for the Hammouri family.
Hurrah for the coming of Spring.

Porque soy tan blanca

This is a scientific approach to highlight and explain stuff white people like. They are pretty predictable.

I'm sitting here contemplating my race, and having giant belly-laughs doing so. Anyone who takes this to heart is certainly one of the A-type easily offended, who does not belong in my circle of friends anyhow. Funny stuff. Thanks for pointing this out, Baraka.

An Apology

Para los que yo he juzgado

I buried my gavel
in the proverbial back yard, which is
really a slab of concrete,
and the
soil is too muddy to dig in anyway.

I have hammered my gavel down
against you, him, her, others
too many times to recall or count--passing
down my ruling, my judgement,
my smirk and guffaw, my eyes rolling with
contempt for your bare feet or
pants or exposed hair to the sun or
your quest for ihsan or your silent
contemplation of Him--
in your own way.

I might as well have worn a barrister's wig
and robe all of these years, pleading my own
case.
I've been a defense gal, a prosecutor, and a juror
all rolled into one dripping, seething
critic extraordinaire.
Have you seen me in action?

How could you? How did he? What was he?
Don't they know? Can't they see?
Just some of the absurd questions I ponder
ineffectively.
Where are your socks? Is that lipstick?
What is in your heart?
How often do you weep at night at the
thought of your misdeeds?
Don't answer me; none of this is my business.

Mine is a temporary
feel-good, enough to nudge me up the
righteous ladder
a notch or two.
The top is unreachable, I think.

I always fall back down the rungs
I've climbed through my pretentiousness.
These trivialities, I know, do not count. I
lost sight of this for so many years so please,
remember that
I buried my gavel in the back yard, and I won't be
banging it down anymore, as this fraudulent judge
knows she had no place, no right--
just misinformed, displaced
pride.

And I'm sorry.

UmmFarouq
February, 2008

Oh boy

Saturday tip:

How to take/not take care of that new bundle of joy. I especially like the TV in the crib pic.

Safeway Chronicles

My younger two children would not recognize a cylinder of refrigerated dough if it hit them in the heads. They do not understand terminology such as "slice and bake" cookies or "crescent rolls" fresh out of the oven. They have never eaten a za'atar pie made from finely rolled out Grands biscuit dough. They never ate an 1856 old-fashioned biscuit on Saturday morning with honey and butter. They have, in a word, been deprived. But ignorance is bliss, isn't it?

Nope, not really. Yesterday my family ran into the Safeway to pick up a few (read: at least 70 JD will be smacked down) items. We rounded the meat section and pushed our way to the fish section where a once thriving sushi kiosk sat empty and unattended. We looked up and saw that the Omani shrimp were on sale for 9.90 per kilo, or around $14, and for the sake of simplicity, about $7 per pound. This was a promo worth buying into, and needed no words. My husband and I exchanged looks, maybe a wink or two, and I flashed him my pearly whites. It was a done deal; there will be shrimp tonight! (Coincidentally, the littlest two have never tried shrimp, either.)

While he waited for the guy to clean the 'prawns', I ventured into the dairy section with my oldest daughter. We gawked at all sorts of products we would never buy but enjoy looking at nonetheless. They had some whipping cream from Greece we had never seen before and a few other item worth pricing. Then, we saw him. The Dude. The Dude had his arms spread out, as if to give us a big doughy hug. There were brownies, cookies, and biscuits on display, severely overpriced, of course, but just the sight of them brought back a flood of memories. I believe that every single American, unless he is on a gluten-free diet, has eaten a Pillsbury refrigerated dough product. Our teenage hood partially revolved around those melancholy Friday nights coupled with a roll of cookie dough, to be spooned out and eaten raw. There was medicine in that dough, I tell you. The Dude could work some magic.

I am pleased to make it known that I resisted, and we came home with the *best* treat of all: the shrimp. Let the little ones remain blissfully unaware of the Dude's power. We couldn't allow Pillsbury dough, just like we cannot allow the shrimp purchase, to become a habit.

::big sigh::

Impressions

photo courtesy of this site

I am an incessant poll-taker when it comes to gauging others' impressions of Jordan. Maybe they are coming for a quick business trip, or are living here transiently until having the opportunity to 'move on'; maybe they are tourists from Slovakia or Italy, like the ones I've helped order shawerma sandwiches at the 2nd circle in Jabal Amman. Maybe they are pilgrims who want to breathe the air of this pivotal location or walk on the land once tread by the Prophets of God. Whatever the reason for visiting, I always want to ask people what they really think about the land and the people, and what they will tell others once they have returned home.

Today I had an opportunity to read several posts by an American gentleman whose daughter lives here in Amman. His posts, although short, really manage to paint a realistic picture of life* here in Jordan--funny, sad, sometimes absurd, invigorating, heartwarming, and always challenging. I hope that my friends and family back in the US will read his posts and immediately start saving their coins to buy a ticket to come see me. If no coins are available, I believe I have a little glass jar at the top of my closet I can dip into.

Jordan awaits you.

*the posts run from last to first, so if you want to read in order, scroll down to the bottom and work your way up

Wednesday Wisdom

From the book Don't Be Sad, by 'Aaidh ibn Abdullah al-Qarni. This is a book I recommend to everyone, from all religious persuasions.


Grieve not over criticism from the jealous and the weak-minded
You will be rewarded if you show forbearance to their criticism and to their impertinent remarks. The more they criticize you, the more you are increased in worth, because only someone who is unaccomplished has no one who is jealous of him, and according to the Arab saying, "People do not kick a dead dog."



One poet said:
"They are jealous of he who has surpassed them,

People show him enmity and opposition,

Just like spiteful women, who speak of the fair maiden,

With jealousy and malice---that she is of a low and base character."



Another said:
"They will envy my death, what wretchedness is this,

Even in my death, I am not spared from their jealousy."



Another poet said:
"I complained about the injustice of the gossip-mongers, and you will not find,

The honorable and successful person who has escaped from jealousy.

You remain, O' honorable and worthy friend, the victim of it,

Yet no one begrudges the one who is miserable and wretched."



Do not respond to an injurious statement that is made about you. Forbearance buries faults, tolerance is superior, silence conquers the enemy, and forgiveness is honor for which you shall be rewarded. If defamatory remarks are printed about you, know that half of those that read such things quickly forget them while the other half are uninterested in the first place. So do not create further noise and fuss by refuting what has been said.



A wise person said,
"People are oblivious of you and me, and are busily striving for their bread. And of one of them is thirsty, he will forget my death and yours."

*********************************************************************************
May I get through this week without feeling the need to seek revenge through words, or to slander my brother or sister, seeking retribution for my being slandered. May I be the 'bigger' person, although I may feel belittled or trampled upon. May I stay off of any soap box I might feel inclined to jump on, and may the need to puff up with pride in an attempt to show how right I am just pass me over like a cool breeze.

Bring in da funk, or how they found me

Someone found me by googling kool gang ladies night blog.

That one hit me as being humorous.

Today there was also the arab robe search, and from the results it got, I am concluding someone was looking for a costume.

The cross culture muslim marriage search is nothing unusual.

Jinn woman? I'm not one, thankfully.

With all of the folks reading blogs via feeds these days, these searches aren't as numerous as they used to be.

Semantics and My Scarf

I don't usually blog about hijab or anything to do with it, because to me, it's a moot point. My scarf is part of my identity, period.

I graduated from University with my hair showing, in Alabama, the Heart of Dixie. If you know nothing about Alabama's troubled past, do a few searches.

I went back to the same University, wearing a really long square scarf, folded into a triangle, wrapped around my head, and pinned under my chin, coupled with a long outer garment that, back then, lacked any sort of style and was usually the color of mustard or a really gaudy bright green. We were happy to get our hands on any 'robes' we could find. (this was 'the hijab' of the early 1990s)

Some of the professors I had as an undergrad were my same professors in grad school.

No one in my classes looked twice at me with a furrowed brow or cocked head. No one made me feel marginalized or strange. If anything, most folks wanted to hear what I had to say, about both 'secular' and 'religious' topics. They liked it when I brought my thermos of 'exotic' cardamom-cinnamon-milk tea for sharing during our four hour-long seminars. That was Chai before Chai was cool. But I was not an anomaly. If I was, they all did a superb job at pretending to accept me.

All of this scarf talk in Turkey is mind-boggling. It is fluff and nonsense. Secular vs. traditional vs. conservative vs. WHATEVER, it is just a scarf. If the ladies in Birmingham, Alabama, can study with a scarf on and get no flack, then why can't those who live in the former Ottoman Empire?

Read here, about the semantics of this ridiculousness.

Me, Me, and Me: We are all that matters

Feeling solipsistic? Are you the center of your universe?
It's time to start keeping your self in check. Turn of the computer, now, then go pick up an atlas. You know, countries and all. Start with North America--the center of the world and most important continent, and everyone knows it--and slowly move eastward. You just might learn something.

(Thanks, Umm Zaid, for this link.)

Once Again, a Plug

This stuff is gold. I read it back during the Brass Crescent Awards but I am reading it again now. I have tears streaming down my face (nothing unusual) but please, go read The Islamicist's Weblog.

an excerpt, if I may:

We had a small focus group brainstorm. I thought of ‘Down with the Imperialistic West with its Military-Industrial Complex and Authoritarian Hegemony! Up with the All-Encompassing Benevolent Muslim Theocratic Superstate with Armed Citizen-Militia and No Standing Army! That didn’t scan well, the group agreed. The chair of the focus group then decided on ‘Putting the phat in Caliphate’ for that streetvibe connecting with the youth thing. We were tired, and brother chicken and chips wanted to get home, so we agreed.

Don't Mind Me, I'm Just Antioxidizing

The slams against coffee I have heard and read lately trouble me. I love coffee--the way it tastes, the way it smells, the way it wakes up my senses in the morning, no matter what the temperature outside. I drink the stuff in moderation and am not the kind who, in Ramadan, cannot even get out of bed the first few days because of headaches or general grumpiness. As much as I love it, if I wanted to quit I believe I could. I'd switch to decaf, because it's really the taste and comfort of coffee that I love and crave.

I can blame and thank my mother for introducing me to coffee, sitting at a Waffle House, trying to rejuvenate our driving capabilities, while on a road trip many moons ago. The following year I went off to college with a Mr. Coffee 4-cup coffee maker, which really produces a mug and a half. I am a confessed procrastinator extraordinaire and a sometime overachiever wannabe. My first semester I took an overload of difficult classes (trying to prove what? I still am not sure) and I became known in my hall for staying up all night to type out the multiple papers that would be due at the same time. Mr. Coffee sat by my side throughout the ordeal. He never failed to brew on command.

It disturbs me to hear my children, who love to watch cooking shows, refer to any foods they see others eating or drinking as being nasty. I like to consume many things that perhaps are not mainstream American foods (or mainstream anyone's foods) , and am offended when someone says, "How could you eat that nasty stuff?" as if I am eating refuse. I won't chastise the Mongolians for sitting down to some steamed mutton dumplings that I may find repulsive. It's what they know, it's what they like, and who am I to try to survive a harsh winter out on the steppes of outer Mongolia, munching on caesar salad? Survival of the fittest, it is. The Mongolians know what they need to keep on ticking, and if that means drinking tea with curdled yak's milk and mutton fat, so be it.

In my reality, coffee helps keep me ticking, on both physical and emotional levels. Don't dis me coffee, chaps. If it's not your cup of tea (ha!), I surely respect that.

Here are some articles on the health benefits of coffee. I'm feeling persuasive.

Coffee and Antioxidants

Coffee, the New Health Food?

Coffee Perks

Those yet-to-be-found beneficial compounds in coffee

Moderation, Moderation

My Aunt

My dear Aunt Shirley, (pictured left), who is one of the kindest women I've ever known, was diagnosed yesterday with stage IV lung cancer. I am not sure how many years she smoked, but it was probably close to forty, since she is now seventy two years old. She has not smoked for nearly ten years. My mother (on the right) just called me to tell me to pray for her.

I will pray for her. I will also pray for the millions of smokers around the world who continue to wreck their bodies weekly, daily, hourly. All of you with friends or loved ones who have not caught on that smoking is going to kill them, please help them. Be kind, but encourage them to quit. If you are struggling to quit or even thinking about trying, do not give up.

May Aunt Shirley have strength as she faces this affliction, which is sure to be difficult. Her only sign of anything being wrong physically was chest pain; she was not coughing at all. The tumor in her lungs has grown from non-existent last year (her last x-ray) to the size of a tennis ball, today. I'd love to give her a hug, but phone calls and letters will have to do. She is such a lovely person, and I am very saddened by this news.

Cereal Teachings

My kids always vie to be the Reader Of the Box at breakfast time. With two kids who can read and two who cannot, guess who usually wins? The littlest one, who just looks at pictures. Anyway, I'm forever grateful that we do not look to Post or Kellogg's for our spiritual guidance. Check out the Reese's Puffs Things To Do Before You're 18 List, on Br. Naeem's blog. It's what inspired this MeMe-rific post; I was tagged by Aaminah.

Here are Las Reglas:
1. Post these rules before presenting your list. (check!)
2. List 6 actions or achievements you think every person should accomplish before turning 18.
3. There are no conditions on what can be included on the list.
4. At the end of your blog, choose 6 people to get tagged and list their names.
5. People who are tagged write their own blog entry with their 6 suggestions.
6. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged.
7. Optional: You can include the image of the ridiculous Reese’s Puffs list in your post as a reference.

1. Memorize the Quran in its entirety, or as much of it as you can.
I know that may sound cliché to some of you. However, I became a Muslim at the age of 22, and began having children at the age of 23. Between age 22 and 23 I probably had memorized twelve surahs (chapters) from the Quran--the short surahs, mind you. Then I had another baby, and started graduate school. Then I accepted a full-time teaching position while still attending graduate school, and I had another baby. Then I moved to Jordan, where life is just upside down sometimes. Oh yes, and I had another baby. So, in the thirteen years I have been a Muslim, how much Quran have I memorized? I have not even finished Juz' A'ama, the last Juz' in our Holy Book. How much time have I wasted? Probably a great amount. How much time has truly been dedicated to raising my children? Definitely a great deal. How open are my synapses and neurons to firing off the electrochemical stuff I need to keep my brain active and in memorization mode? Not enough, obviously.
Yet, my children have the ability and I see it every day. If, however, they choose not to foster this gift, it will disappate, and they will end up like me, with no time and lots of regret. Memorize!

2. Learn another language.
If you are not from a bilingual family, strive to become at least bilingual and do whatever you can to learn a language that can be useful to you in your life. My first choice, of course, would be Arabic, but any language will do. Spanish is in second place on my list, and I have always wanted to learn Portuguese. If you want to study languages and find that you cannot converse enough (i.e., if you are limited to a classroom setting only), then try to study abroad. Immersion is the tried and true way to learn.

3. Use your hands to do/bring good to others.
Now this is a broad one. You can feed the needy. You can help build a home. You can make the elderly happy with your ability to play the piano. Be an artist and let your art bring beauty and joy to others. Very limitless topic.

4. Get a job.
No matter how wealthy your parents might be, understand and appreciate the value of a dollar or a dinar or a rupee at a young age. I think that all youngsters should have a part-time job by the age of fifteen, preferably one that is service-related. This is another MeMe in itself but you cannot imagine how many jobs I held in high school/college. I knew where money was coming from and where it went. Work in a restaurant where your job is not only to stand behind a counter but also fill a mop bucket and swab the deck. Understand what my grandmother called "elbow grease." You will not regret it when you are older and you just might look back and say, "Hey, working when I was a kid helped to build my character."

5. Learn to read music.
We have generations, especially in the Middle East, of tone deaf children. If you have a problem with musical instruments, so be it, but at least learn to read a treble clef and the concept of intonation. Every kids' performance I've been to among Muslim kids in school programs has consisted of children screaming at the top of their lungs. Music class (although I sing like a howling monkey) did help me understand, at least, what things should sound like. Harmony and all. It's a good thing.

6. Be physically active, and I don't mean lifting hand to mouth to insert chips.
Run like the wind! Bike till you feel like your legs are going to fall off. Play softball or basketball or lacrosse. If your community offers free League sports, join! Learn to swim! If you live in a snowy area, ski! Climb on rock walls. Please, for the sake of your health, do it. Don't wait until you are thirty five and are diagnosed with some sort of disease that could have been prevented if you had only MOVED YOUR BODY. Your body is your gym.

I now tag:
Bama Bedouin, MommaBean, Dixie Peach, Climbing Walls, Kinzi, and FloridaGirl.

Recycling is Good

It seems the little mini poetry-a-thon I hosted some months back has experienced a reawakening, via my friend and instigator of deep thinking, Umm Zaid.

If you missed it, have no fear.

Here is the first posting of the 'Where I am From' poems (all entries are from da ladies), from September, 2007.

Here is Umm Zaid's, mashaAllah.

Here is a new one, brought to us by brother Musab. His is a relatively new blog (or so it seems) and his expression gives me great hope that the written word has not been whittled down to a banal culture of instant and/or text messaging. This fellow can write.

Anyone else who wants to do this, by all means, do! Let me know what you end up with...

Aha!

I was certain today was Thursday. Before sleeping last night, I had mentally prepared myself for my usual Thursday routine, which consists of trying to clean the house nicely to prepare for Friday, my husband's only day off. Also, every Thursday evening a lovely friend drops by for a cup of coffee and a chat, and I always look forward to seeing her. She is 11 years my younger, but is a pillar of maturity and introspection; not to mention, she loves my kids and engages them in all kinds of conversations about what they are interested in, what they are reading, or what Quranic surahs they might be working on. My eldest is currently memorizing Surat al-Baqarah, while my son just finished Surat Yasin. MashaAllah wal hamdulillah.

Last week my friend provided my daughter with all sorts of nifty study strategies (which all kids here need), as well as tricks to help her memorize Quran more easily.

Alas, today is only Wednesday. I have more time to prepare myself for the weekend, as well as more time to contemplate the 'a-ha!' moment that I had with my friend last week. I do believe she is an excellent choice as a mentor for my children--someone from outside of the family, not too far removed from their generation, yet adult enough to help them along their paths. I had mentors growing up and they were invaluable people in my life.

More on this later, inshaAllah; have been offered a ride to the supermarket and I must take it.

Book MeMe

I am reading this book my sister sent to me for Eid ul Fitr, 2005. I have read it before, but it is not the sort of book you sit down and devour in its entirety. The book is called Women's Letters: America from the Revolutionary War to the Present, edited by Lisa Grunwald and Stephen J. Adler. This book is an amazing collection of women's letters, written to husbands, mothers, Presidents, sons, etc. The editors write, "Women's letters talk--they tell stories, they tell secrets, they console and advise, gossip and argue, compare and compete....And along the way, they--usually without meaning to--write history."

Here are the rules for this MeMe:

I. You have to look up page 123 in the nearest book around you.

II. Look for the fifth sentence.

III. Then post the three sentences that follow that fifth sentence on page 123.

IV. And then tag five people, just like you were tagged! (ignoring this one)

Here we go:

The tenor of his life corresponded with his profession.
He was happy in his connection with the Episcopal churches. He never regretted leaving New England on any account but the dread of a sickly climate and the distance from his friends.

I now tag Dixie Peach and anyone else who feels up to doing this MeMe.

Read the book if you have a chance.

Further Recommendations

This is a new blog launched by my friend. I like her so much that when she decided to move to Jordan, I decided to follow her. Not many people can make the claim that they are so popular, others will uproot their entire lives and families to be near them, half way around the world.

This friend is the best secret keeper on the planet. I mean it. I could tell her anything and know it would never be leaked to others' ears. Never.

She is good people, as my grandmother might say. Read her blog.

Don't Delay

Read this, now.

Mother Tongue, at Baraka.

Just beautiful.

Doubly So

It seems I have been tagged by dear Umm Bilal, from Al Miskeenah, for the same MeMe I was tagged for by Home in Kabul. I shall, therefore, present a double MeMe WowWow, tomorrow, inshaAllah, for now I need to down some vitamin C tablets and try to ward off this sore throat.

Another Quiz-ola

I owe a MeMe to Home in Kabul. I will get on that, post haste.

But first, I took the Book Quiz thanks to Baraka's recommendation. Here's my result:

You're Watership Down!
by Richard Adams
Though many think of you as a bit young, even childish, you're
actually incredibly deep and complex. You show people the need to rethink their
assumptions, and confront them on everything from how they think to where they
build their houses. You might be one of the greatest people of all time. You'd
be recognized as such if you weren't always talking about talking rabbits.

Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

I don't think I talk about rabbits that much, although I was explaining the other day how I felt like Elmer Fudd, victimized, sitting in Bugs Bunny's salon chair for a haircut recently (I had a horrid haircut but at least a flower did not grow out of the top of my head--yet.)

To those of you who know me: does this about sum me up? I sort of hope not.

Where's the cake?

Why can't I see the pictures on my Rainbow Cake post? Can anyone else? What happened?

I missed this one

I am a big Don Cheadle fan and have been for a long time, way before his acclaimed role in Hotel Rwanda.

This morning the TV was on Dubai One, and they showed a few snippets about this film, Talk to Me. How did I miss this? Was it a popular film in 2007, that long since past year?

I found myself laughing so hard at the character, Petey Greene, played by Don Cheadle. He was a shock jock before shock jocks were popular, and spoke the truth about race relations and the life of black men in the 60s. There is something about the ex-con who does well for himself story that always draws me in. I had to crack up at this line that Petey says on his show:
"Hi, I'm a recovering alcoholic. I've been sober for five hours."

Has anyone seen this movie?

WWTJT?

I'm going to manufacture and sell little rope necklaces you can hang your keys on or attach your eyeglasses to. Pretty soon we'll see all of the check-out workers in supermarkets wearing them. They will be simple, and printed on them will be just these letters: WWTJT?

What would Thomas Jefferson think? (about the US presidential candidates, that is)

I can't answer for old T.J., but this fellow's article provides a decent theory.

De Colores

Hubellubo.
My third child turned six years old on Friday. She requested a Rainbow Cake be made in her honor, so I happily obliged, but not until yesterday, when I actually felt safe driving to the store in the snow leftovers. My oldest daughter and I learned how to make this cake from an episode of Zoom, circa 2001. I loved Zoom (the original) and I was quite happy when PBS launched a modern version. Zoom was also responsible for teaching my older sister the language of Ubby Dubby (also spelled Ubbi Dubbi), which she has passed on to her children. Zoom is (was? is it still on PBS?) a powerhouse of entertainment and information, a pioneer in children's programming.

I give you the Rainbow Cake. This cake's theme is the bluegreens, not because we're partial to blues and greens, but because, much to my surprise, we had only two shades of food coloring in the pantry. Then I remembered, I lent my RED food coloring to a neighbor who was making red velvet cake. I never got it back. Ours is not an angel food cake; no one in this household likes cake that tastes like shrunken styrofoam.


Here are my two main colors: green and blue. I will mix these colors to make a third color: bluegreen, or if you feel like being fancy, aquamarine. Ignore the honey and peanut butter in the background; they have nothing to do with the cake.


We divided the batter into three different bowls, to make three colors. Mix thoroughly.


Layer the colors carefully, one on top of the other. You need a Bundt (a what? a Bundt! a bun? no, a Bundt! It's a cake! Oh, she made a CAKE! Look everyone, she made a CAAAAKE!) pan. It does not have to be humpy but what kind of Bundt pan has no humps? Does anyone remember that Bundt cake mix from the 80s that was called Tunnel of Fudge? That was my fave. I digress.


Once the cake has cooled completely, slice it in half to make two rainbow humps, and place them back to back on a large cake plate. Take your icing (I splurged and bought Duncan Hines but I usually do not) and divide it into three bowls, and make three different colors. Once again, the shades of blue...so we threw in some strawberries for pizazz. Ignore mound of dirty dishes in the background.


This is Child #3. She took her supply of M & M minis and dotted the cake with them. This kid is about to burst, she's so excited. I just love her.


Here are the inner workings of the cake. It has that tie-dyed look to it, which we thought was rather eclectic. The Eclectic Rainbow Cake. Make one for your kids, I guarantee they'll tuck the experience back into those unforgettable things we did for fun with mom memories. If you don't have kids, make one for yourself or your significant other. Or for your best friend. This cake is promised to fill the room with warm fuzzies.

We're gonna zoom, zoom, zooma-zoom,
We're gonna zooma zooma zooma, zoom...

Please!

Let me know when the powers that be have finished repairing the internet cables that were ripped apart by a ship's anchor in the Mediterranean.

This past week has been nearly intolerable because of the flashbacks I've had of the days of yore-- 1996 AOL 14.4 modem speed dial-up ridiculousness--while trying to use my computer, here and now, 2008.

Until it's fixed, I'll be scribbling in a notebook and forcing myself to drink volumes of green tea. (with honey, it kills the bitterness, while nothing is killing the bitterness of this dastardly slow connection)

Second Chance Cheerleader

Yesterday when we visited my mother-in-law as per our usual Friday schedule, the atmosphere in her home was light and the menfolk seemed unusually jovial.

My brother-in-law, after forty-three (four?) years as a bachelor, is getting engaged today. Tonight at eight o'clock, he and the representatives from his family will walk up two flights of stairs to the neighbors' home, and ask for the hand of their daughter in marriage. This process is known as a jaha, and if you would like to read an informative, humorous description of just what takes place, please visit here. My brother-in-law's will not be as ritzy or as dramatic as the one linked to, as we do not refer to anyone in the family as a 'tribal elder,' but you'll get the gist.

I have known my husband's brother for eight years and have always noticed in him a longing for a wife, a family, and a home to call his own. He is a good guy who has suffered his fair share, and who has transformed certain aspects of his life for the better. He has a heart of gold; he has treated my children with the utmost love and kindness, and he has always shown me great respect.

He will be marrying a young woman who has been married before and whose marriage ended in divorce. She has, inshaAllah, many years ahead of her and in no way is some used up spinster, which in the culture here is often the perception. I think that some of the best marriages are the ones that are entered after others have failed, and I am sure many of you can back me up on this. As I've said before, without second chances, where on earth would we be? I, for one, would be in a pit of despair; thankfully, I am not, and I owe this to the mercy that my Lord and my loved ones have shown me.

May his upcoming marriage be blessed with happiness and love and mutual respect. Oh, and he's no stranger to a sink full of dirty dishes, so he's already won some brownie points there.