Hitting Home

I feel I'd be remiss if I didn't comment or elaborate on my feelings of the past two days. It all began when I checked the news Tuesday evening and saw this article heading, "Protesters climb U.S. Embassy walls in Cairo" 

I shared it on Facebook with the caption, "*sigh* Seriously, dudes?" and went to bed shaking my head over those events and reflecting on past ones. By bedtime, I knew that a similar incident was unfolding in Libya.

In the morning, I got the kids off to school and then sat down to check the news. Events had escalated further in Libya and they knew of one State Department officer that was dead. 

Oh crap. 

I went about my morning with this at the back of my mind as I puttered about doing this or that, not really accomplishing a whole lot. Go change laundry, check news, open drapes in the downstairs, check news. By lunchtime, it was confirmed that the Ambassador was one of the dead; the State Department officer death toll at four.

I sat down and felt dumbfounded. Predictably, I went to Facebook. (if you can't tell already, I go to Facebook a lot. sometimes it's my only tie to adult interaction) I felt like I should say something, but what? This is what I said,

"I've been muddling over exactly what to say, words escape me right now . . . "too close to home" is so double entendre . . Prayers for the families and for us in this part of the world."

Profound, huh? I usually write something way too long, archive it in my writing file so I can go to it later as a writing prompt and post the boiled down meaning. 

I watched as my feed filled up with other people sharing similarly heartfelt updates. A picture of a black mourning ribbon and State Department seal began popping up and people started sharing it or changing it to their profile pic.

I went to bed again. Had it been just 24 hours? I woke up, got the kids off to school and checked in. I saw blog post memorials written by other FS (foreign service) bloggers that had had the privilege of knowing and working with Ambassador Chris Stevens. I found a Facebook page that had just been created called, "The Sorry Project"; a project showing that the majority of the Libyan people oppose the crimes and violent actions committed against the US embassy. There are over 25 pictures of people holding signs that say, "We are sorry" and "Sorry people of America" etc. at peaceful, memorial rallies being held across Libya. Here is a whole gallery on Imgur of more people.

This picture brought on the tears. 

That's basically what I tell my children.

"I didn't want to assign a nationality to who these particular terrorists were. We have lived in the Middle East for most of my children's cognitive memory. They see Arabs differently than most people do. And that is one thing that makes me so grateful for the oppotunity we've been afforded in living overseas." 
                          ~ Me on 9/11/09 (Go here --> "In Remembrance" for the full story)

I feel fragmented in thought. With a sinking feeling in my stomach that I've felt before, I want it to go away. I want to try and forget what has happened, but I don't. These events are still unfolding and have affected embassies throughout the region. And to make matters even worse, most people don't care.

What can I do? I can dash about the house, wringing my hands, making sure the passports & other documents are in my "Go Bag", living from one ten minute segment to the next. 

Or, I do what I usually do in these situations and just try to have a normal day.

A better outlet

So I bought a pressure washer at Geant last week. I needed a pressure washer. I have bikes that need to be blasted, dirt caked on anything that stays outside longer than a week and it sure would make my back porch a breeze to clean. 

I open up the box and put it together. (I even referenced the instruction book) Easy enough. It needs to be plugged in. There is an outlet in my carport.

It looks like this.                                                                                     The plug looks like this.

Yes, all outlets here in Bahrain are the British three pronged kind. All appliances, lamps, blenders, etc. are round and two pronged. But we have plug adapters for that. No worries. I reclaim a plug adapter from the blender and stick it outside. It's not working. Ah, it is one of those 'not-quite-uniform-yet-appears-to-be-normal' outlets. Using the carport plug is a no-go. So I go hunt down an extension cord, reclaim the super long one from the T.V. area and plug everything in.

You know what, I'm going to save you the time & effort of slogging through my sorrows. I spent the next 45 minutes wrestling with the non-uniform hoses and trying to avoid drenching the electrical pressure washer with water. Point is, I get it working.

I go to my backyard to hunt down a spigot. There isn't one. No biggie, I'll snake this insanely long hose from the front of my house, through the kitchen, dining room and living room to the back porch. 

Then I haul the pressure washer to the back porch, rig the whole plug-in setup and go to the carport to turn on the water. I get to the back porch, turn on the switch and  . . . *crickets* nothing. I go back to the spigot and find that the hose has blown off.

Ok, I'll keep the hose on real low and tear through the house like a tornado, flip the switch and HOORAY! We have pressure washing! For about 15 seconds. Then every orifice that has water pumping through it decides to spray water, too. After all, the nozzle can't have all the fun. I turn off the washer, then turn it back on again. Nothing. I do the whole 'run through the house dance' and begin washing again. 15 seconds of amazing power washing and then water everywhere.

It is 108F/42C, humidity is at 45%, and I am wet with water and sweat. I give up. I'm done. The porch is just going to have to stay dirty. And I'm returning that fracking pressure washer. I need to go create something other than a mess.

One bite at a time

I try to maintain a positive vibe on this blog. (i totally do this every morning)

Yet in life there must be balance in all things. Life isn't all cheery times or slogging through the doldrums. I've had a hard time finding that balance again, as you can tell. In some ways, our two years here in Bahrain feel just as long or longer than the 4 in Egypt. Every 6 months, there has been an upheaval; 

- getting to post, waiting 4 months for household goods
- finally getting unpacked and we get hit with an evacuation
- return to house, re-find everything and settle into groove
- get moved from one house to another due to unstable neighborhood conditions
- get to unpack and reorganize and decorate for the 2nd time at post

And now we are back from summer R&R, have gotten over the jet lag and are starting school tomorrow. Still trying to find solutions to everyday life, like where the homework working is going to go down (dining room table did *not* work before), finding a maid (for the last year) and so on and so forth.

I have been doing some serious soul searching in the past few months. I had to find out for myself if blogging was a benefit or a burden to me. I have taken quite a long break and almost every. single. day. I had a new idea; a writing point or a blog topic. It's become quite clear to me that writing has become integral to my sanity and personal growth. Like anyone, I am afraid of failure. Am I setting myself up only to sit back and watch it all burn? Oh wait, I'm not a local troublemaker. No, I don't think so. Besides, how does one eat an elephant? One bite at a time. 

Beware the Groove

I think I can confidently state that due to my lack of regular posting, I have lost any and all interest anybody ever had in this blog. I am basically posting into thin air. 

Bahrain has been a tough post. There, I said it. I finally feel like I've got my feet under me again and it's time for summer R&R. The 26th was supposed to be the last day of school. Not anymore.

Yesterday afternoon, I got an email stating that due to possible incidents (roadways being blockaded, clashes with protesters & police, etc.) school would start three hours late on Monday. Then an hour later, another email came stating that because the possible incidents would also impact Tuesday, they would start 3 hours late that day as well. It was already a half day. Another hour and another email and the whole thing is sorted. Monday will be the last day of school for the elementary and Tuesday will start late and run just long enough for the middle and high school students to take their last exam. Yes, the MS & HS take their exams the last days of school. Crazy, I know. We have this site called Gradespeed where the students can check their test results in a week. I'll bet the teachers love that. 

The reason my feathers are still ruffled about this whole thing? We leave for the States on Wednesday night. Instead of having just one day for the kids to undo all my hard work, they'll have two. Another impediment to my progress here in Bahrain is that I lost my maid in the move back in January. (please, don't even give me any grief on that subject, k?) I have been doing it all on my own since then and it's not easy. You try keeping a 5,000+ square foot house clean. So I've been going along, working my groove, and this hits me like a ton of bricks. I tell ya, love my kids as I do, but when I've got a list of things I need to get done that didn't have the kid factor times 4 included, that messes with the math. 

So since they just left on the bus 20 minutes ago instead of 3 hours and 20 minutes ago, I've really got to get off my duff and get a move on. 

 

Rotten Thumb

I have been falsely misled into thinking I have a bit of a green thumb. I planted ornamental sunflowers about 2 weeks ago. The package said sprouts would appear in 7-10 days. And that they do best in full sun. And to water them frequently. Yes, I have to be reminded to give nourishment to things I am responsible for. (I may or may not be referring to other non-plant growths that need to be fed) 

Just 5 days after doubtfully planting my seeds, little green sprouts poked out of the black soil. Yay! I can grow something! I tended them dutifully; preparing myself for a few empty spaces in between the other sprouts, there have to be duds in every packet. Actually, I only had 5 out of the two packets not sprout. I also know that some will not make it to full size; there have to be sprouts that die, either through natural selection or thinning. I watch National Geographic, I know the circle of life. I'm still surprised that the hordes of doves, pigeons, and sparrows haven't turned it into their own personal buffet. 

The past two days, though, my little sprouts have been shriveling up and dying. Wha...? I've only got about 30 percent of the original successes. I've moved them out of the full sun, contrary to the packaging directions. I know Bahrain's weather can be harsh; we've been hitting the century mark daily for the last month. This was supposed to be the perfect conditions for them, too. I saw the same sunflowers thriving last year. There are even ones that sprang up spontaneously and are being ripped out and treated like weeds. 

Last Saturday, the kids came running inside and said they discovered a tomato plant with little red tomatoes on it!. I told them to leave it alone because it's not our plant. But they insisted that it was right beside our door, so it must be ours. I went outside and looked under the tree that overhangs our steps. Lo and behold, two hardy cherry tomato plants, each bearing 2-4 red fruits and at least a dozen green ones between them. There's even a monster basil plant right near it. Seems like the previous tenants had a little tomato sauce garden going here.




So, I give up. Little seeds of any sort, stay away from me. If you are planted by me, it is surely a death sentence. I guess the green on my thumb stands for rotten. If only plants grew spontaneously around me, that would be a great superpower. ::*plant powers turning on*:: I command squash, strawberries, watermelon, and chilies to pop out of the ground. I promise I won't touch you until you're ripe.

Musings from the gas pump

I dread that moment when I look at the gas gauge and the needle is hovering near the 'E'. I've really got to get gas. I can't go any further. I only dread it when it's hot. You have to turn off the car (duh) to fill up and that means letting out all that nice, cool air and welcoming in the thick waves of heat just radiating from the heated pavement and car engines beside you. I try to do it when I don't have kids with me, so they don't have to suffer, but that means I have to go during the day. If I don't time it right, there are forever long lines. There is just one gas station in our vicinity. (meaning within a 20 minute drive)

Today, the lines are 6 deep for every pump and once I get in line, it is very shortly 3-4 deep behind me. Ok, I'm committed. No backing out now. Thank goodness it's not Ramadan anymore. I have an iced beverage and am waiting patiently. (because during ramalama-ding-dong eating & drinking in public is forbidden.)

The radio station I'm listening to can't decide if it's broadcasting AFN or this French language station. It does that a lot, though. Creep the car forward a few feet, it's Taio Cruz, then another inch and it's Francophone News. I have *got* to remember my iPod.

There are, of course, those cars/people that think they are too important to wait in line and simply navigate around the whole tangle of cars and back into the empty front slot. It usually happens once or twice every visit. (fyi, the pumps are one way pull in)

When my turn finally comes, Dudey doesn't even ask me which kind of fuel I want. He lifts the nozzle for 'Mumtaz' (which is the higher grade expensive stuff). I have to lean out the window and tell him, "La'a, Jayyid minfudlak." (no, no the cheap stuff, please) I sip on my icy bevvie gratefully and people watch. There is a ninja lady in the car next to mine. Her 3 or 4 year old is bouncing around on the front seat and trying to crawl onto the dash. On the other side, there is a white robed sheik with aviator glasses, staring at me. Ok, I will not be looking that way anymore.

The pump shuts off and I pay dudey for the gas and tip him a bit for sweating it out by the gas pump. I pull off and Sheik's glasses follow. Hope you enjoyed the view, buddy! Whew, it's all done. And it only took me 30 minutes.

Hook'd up

Slowly, but surely, the front hall decorating is coming along. All the hooks came and I've got them up. Of course there had to be the usual speed bumps along the way, but that was expected.

I changed my favorite from this (it's color was *exactly* the same as my walls):


To this:

Much better. Due to our walls being old, stupid and made of concrete, hanging them was quite an orchestration of power tools and colorful language. I couldn't get any bolts to go in all the way, so none of the hardware is flush with the hook, but they hold weight and that's what I wanted.



You see, the root idea behind this "Wall 'o' Hooks" began with the conundrum of this awkward entryway. People needed somewhere to put their bags, etc. when they come in. I have a shoe cubby and shelf, but it's got all of our stuff on it. So most guests would just politely stash their shoes or bags on the opposite wall, on the edge of the rug or somewhere. A coat rack would just be in the way. I love that this is wall decoration is both decorative & functional. I'm all about keeping things simple, so I'm always looking for the dual purpose in everything.

Yes, we did have cardboard boxes (with food storage inside) covered with a tablecloth for a side table in college. #1 reason: Because we were poor. But I see no reason to stop that habit (the frugal, penny-pincher) just because we're not eating Ramen noodles every day. (and we still have ramen noodles in the cupboards.)

Oooh, pretty shells!

Or at least we thought they were shells. I booted the kids out the door this morning before 9am. The heat index was 106F and it was only going to get hotter. (p.s. they all stayed outside for a grand total of 12 minutes.) What drew them back to the door (besides their rosy, sweaty faces) was Mairyn prancing back to the house with a handful of these adorable, petite shells. She had washed them off at the hose and wanted to save them. I got out a tiny bottle & let her drop them in.

"Why don't you go find more so you can fill the bottle?" I was hoping this would encourage them back out after the H2O refuel. It worked and they went back for Round 2. For all of 26 seconds. The three-headed monster (Mairyn, Grant & Jacqui) came galloping back inside screaming, "They're alive!! There are snails in the shells!!" Sure enough, they showed me the little bottle with the itty bitty shells climbing up the sides. Eliza poked her towel-swaddled head out of her bedroom long enough to ask if she heard us right; that something was alive. (she had just finished a shower & was "getting ready". For what, I don't know)

That's when Grant suggested I run get my camera because I should take a picture. Ooo-kay, I guess I take a lot of pictures of everything. We thought we'd tip the bottle on it's side and let them crawl out on their own. I got too impatient and just turned it upside down. They all came tumbling out. The kids were afraid the snails might get squooshed, but I reminded them that they had first found these little guys as shells, they know when to pull it all in and retreat.

OMD (which is code for: oh, my dates)

So last week I was up and seeing my hubs off to work. I poked my head out the door after he left (to remind him of something that I forget what it was now) and I notice Mbumbo and his crew in my yard. Actually, it was just Mbumbo pushing a wheelbarrow toward the side yard, but he doesn't do any sort of "heavy lifting" alone. I ran back inside and followed him around the house; looking through windows in each room, as he made his way over to the back patio.

In what can only be described as a 'Psycho' moment, I freaked.

They were chopping off my dates. I repeat, They. Were. Taking. My. Dates.

Apparently it had been as clear as mud to them, when I communicated mere weeks earlier that I wanted them. Mine. Anula was not in yet, so it was up to me to rescue any remaining dates. Pep talking myself, I rehearsed a simple, yet clear statement. Out the back door, into the 108F (42C) degree weather (at 7:30 am) I plunged.

Me: Hi. Where are the dates?
Mbumbo: Huh?
Me: (walking around the house to a date tree, then pointing upwards at the now barren branches) Dates. Yellow. Where?
Mbumbo: Flower?
Me: No, date. Yellow, little, up in tree?
Mbumbo: Oh, no here. Sorry.
(now, at this point, asking why would do no good nor clarify the conversation)
Me: (walking over to the wheelbarrow and hefting out a semi-ripe bunch) Dates. I want.
Mbumbo: Oh, oh, yes.

I ran back inside and grabbed an empty book box (I knew I kept those around for a reason). I helped myself to what was left in the wheelbarrow and went back inside. They weren't my first choice, but they'd do. I had had my eye on the tree in the side yard; two bunches of dates that were perfectly yellow, no green ones and no overripe ones. But, que sera sera.

Anula came in later and was just as puzzled, confused and irate as I was. She had told them flat out that we wanted them. Grrr. Oh well. When life hands you mostly ripe dates, what do you do? Make good dates. We washed them, dried them, then set them out in the sun for a few hours every afternoon. We won't leave them out all day because of the dust and wandering cats or birds.



P.S. I spied on them through the slits in my kitchen blinds the rest of the morning and imagined my eyes were laser beams.

There's no place like home

Yep, that magnet is one of my newer acquisitions.

Home is where the cherries are 'cheery'.


And watermelon is one in a 'milon'.


And friggin' huge.

Date me!

What better way to celebrate the 4th of July than by showcasing progress?

Remember our dates back in Feb/Mar? (pods & tentacles)




Well here they are now!



And I have made it *very*clear* to Mbumbo (the gardener, our nickname for him, since I can't say his name) and Anula (our maid, that is her name & I can say it) that I want those dates. They are mine! In Egypt, we'd go out to the date farms every September. And for 20 LE (about $4) a guy would shimmy up a date tree and hack off a branch of dates for us. We had an open air screen porch in Egypt where I'd lay the dates out and dry them. I don't know how I'll do it here. I may give oven drying a try.

Pods & Tentacles

Those are date tree buds. I'm not sure of the real scientific term. But I saw these pods exploding at the tops of all the date trees in my yard. First, my wild imagination ran away with me and I was a little creeped out. Pod things growing from my trees & growing bigger than thought possible? Yikes.
If you'll look at the photo above, on the left hand side are those fin-like pod things. They were getting fatter & fatter this past week. Yes, I have nothing better to do with my time than stare at palm tree pods. When I was pulling into the driveway last week, I noticed that they had burst open! Those little tiny flowers will soon look like this.


The flowery parts mature, and most fall off, leaving fluttery little piles of petals at the base of the palm trees and the stems with the buds that will become dates! Then our groundskeepers come around and take care of the trees.

No, I don't usually have that vase sitting by the window. When I first pulled out my camera, the other dude (there are two up there) looked straight at me. I guess he could see the crazy white lady with a camera in her kitchen taking pictures of the poor hard-working schmucks in her yard. It took me another 20 minutes just to go back to the window and nonchalantly wash some glasses, pretend to wipe clean the vase and set it in the sun to dry. Then take a picture of it. I'm sure I looked very innocent & covert. But it was very cool, the maintenance they were doing on the trees. See the white parts at the top of the trunk? That's where the took their hook-like machetes and hacked off the dead, pointy parts of the bark. And they also did this.

Apparently you have to tie the tentacles together so that it produces an abundance of dates! I can't wait for my dates to grow in my very own backyard. Oh, and another reason I think the pods broke open, the weather. It has been quietly, but steadily, getting warmer. I don't mind putting a cardi on to go outside, I've loved the "winter" weather. (winter weather = 66F-72F average temp=happy Lydia) Now it is starting out at 66F at 9am and is 82F by afternoon. And the cars are heating up, too. Getting into the car after it's been parked all day and needing the AC so I don't suffocate is not something I expect in February. But hey, at least we've got the malls to go hang out in. Oh wait, those are down by the "unrest". 'Nuff said.

To-may-toe, to-mah-toe

You use an ice scraper . . .

I use a squeegee.

Welcome to my life.

(and no, it didn't rain last night)

Survivor: Bahrain

I'm no political guru. I think I have a good handle on how things work and I like to be informed. I feel like I'm writing an 8th grade current events assignment. But I've have a few people ask me why Bahrain isn't Egypt. I'll give you my point of view & then I have two really good links by the BBC News.

Why Bahrain isn't Egypt: In my opinion

Bahrain is not perfect. The major problem with Bahrain is that they are ruled by a minority (in numbers) and the majorities are treated like minorities. The ruling sheik's family is Sunni. Most Bahrainis are Shiite. The parliament, ministry and law enforcement are mostly Sunni; and a good percentage of them are imported. Imported meaning they are Pakistani, Indian, and Iranian Sunnis. The Shiite population lives mostly in the poorer parts of town and don't get the "good jobs".

I'm sure there are other contributing factors to the whole mess, but that is a simple & sweet explanation. The ruling Sheik has had their position passed down for over 100 years. The government runs much like the British, which makes sense because they were ruled by Britain until 1971. (Even the plugs are still British, the weird flat, three-pronged kind)

Why Bahrain won't turn into Egypt or Tunisia? I just don't think they've got the manpower or backing. Did you know that over 50% of Bahrain's population is expats? Oil, Embassy, and the Navy Base. Bahrain is home to the 5th Fleet. And did you know that the first oil well in the Gulf was discovered and pumped here in Bahrain? Unfortunately, their wells aren't as productive as those elsewhere. They should get a finder's fee or something. Anyway, Bahrain is a foreign country to most of its residents; India, Southeast Asia, Philippines, Sri Lanka & Madagascar to name a few. I am hard pressed to even run into a Bahraini. You know when I do? At the gas pump, the checkout cashier or some guy running up to offer to "watch" my car while I shop. Sadly, they are at the lowest rung of the job ladder, contributing another factor to the "Why this revolution won't work" dilemma.

With Egypt & Tunisia still not sorted out, I don't think the template for a home-grown revolution is very clear. To punch a little pop-culture into this, it reminds me of the show 'Survivor'. (Yes, seriously. just keep reading) I loved the first season on Survivor. It was the first of the reality T.V. shows; uncharted territory in more ways than one. They figured out the game as they went. Ultimately, the objective was accomplished; someone won the others lost. Words & phrases had new meaning in mainstream vocabulary; 'form an alliance' and 'luxury items'. I generally liked the show. So when Season 2 premiered, I was ready and waiting on my couch for the next reality adventure. I was *so* disappointed. Nobody did anything new in the tactic department. They started talking 'alliances' in the first episode. In my opinion, the thing that drew me to the show was the game itself was the 'uncharted territory' part. On the other hand, that's what made the game easier for subsequent players; a winning strategy. I never watched Survivor again. Now I live it. Hah!

So there are a lot of people that want change. Hooray! They know what is bad & they want to cut it out. Kudos! They get the bad part taken out. Double kudos! But now what? Do they have a solution to the problem? Plenty of people can complain. And we now know that with enough people complaining, the "problem" can be removed. But who will present a new solution? That, my friends, is the question dangling in the tear gas.

BBC News - Bahrain Country Profile

BBC News - Timeline: Bahrain

* I am Lydia and I think my husband needs to come home & take me out for a Valentines Dinner.

The Hype

I thought I'd put this out there to ease friends & family's minds. We are ok!

The Facts:

- The police acted stupidly and attacked the camp-out of protesters early this morning. Many were injured, a few died. The schools are closed & the Embassy is closed.

- Things are very fluid right now. It's an hour-by-hour kind of thing. Since the overreaction of the police early this morning, lock down all over the island has been instituted. I feel safe in my little compound oasis. We've got a yard, huge house & plenty of fresh air! I think they'll all throw their little temper tantrums & this time next week, we'll be drinking fruit slushies by the pool! (The weather is *gorgeous*, btw. 73F, sunny, no wind.)

Since there is such a recent precedent, people tend to overreact. There are very long lines at the gas stations (hah, suckas! I filled up on Monday); the grocery stores are filling up with people and they are emptying the shelves. (same thing, suckas. i done got my groceries. plus some food storage) The traffic is not great because the only major arteries have been blocked off. It's just reaction to a lot of things, not a lot of action.

I have to point out that I find it hilarious, read that *hil-freakin'-arious*, that they are choosing the Pearl Roundabout and calling it the heart of the city. The heart of the shopping malls, maybe. And to call it 'Pearl Square'; the Tahrir of Bahrain? Puh-lease.

A few things the media does NOT report:

- These "protesters" applied for permits and the gov't allowed it. It's been "on the books" for weeks.
- The first "protester" was killed, yes. By a stupid policeman. But the second "protester" wasn't even protesting. He was attending the funeral and a policeman got a little trigger-happy with his birdshot. Someone could have been trampled b/c of a plain, old funeral procession any day. It just happened to be a bad day.
- Manama is not Egypt.

Just a phone pic I took on Monday for all you rubber-neckers that want the gory details. ;) This is about half a mile from our place. They just sat on their thumbs all day. If they need any help, I'll send this guy down there. He's ready for a fight! (i'm just kidding. About the sending him down there. He's always ready for a fight.)

So we're just chillin' at home, enjoying an unexpected 3-day weekend. Love ya'll!

Sandy, not the girl

It's not easy to get a good picture of a sandstorm. Usually, pictures don't do them justice and video sometimes doesn't even define the essence that is blowing sand. The picture below is the sun. At 2 pm. And yes, those are the street lights that are on. If this were Cairo, 'on' streetlights during daylight hours would not be something out of the ordinary. Here in Bahrain, the lights are all fancy-like with them new-fangled sensors that flick the light on at dusk & flick 'em off when the sun comes out.


This was a particularly mild one, lasting just the duration of the day. I like to be inside and pretend that it's a cloudy, overcast, thunderstorm-y day. And really, two out of three isn't bad! The aftermath of a sandstorm; little piles of sand by all the crevices in the house, isn't the greatest, either. I could do without them. But hey, what 'cha gonna do when you live in a sandbox?

Ship tripping

I have found blogging a bit harder lately. With a laptop balanced on my knees, my office (and all the clutter that goes with it) is located wherever I park my bum. That just doesn't work very well for me. I'm like a moon that orbits a planet, my desk & computer are supposed to be the stationary objects and I come to them when I need to. Maybe because my laptop is a beast, too, at 8lbs. Just when I crack it open & plunk down on the couch, someone needs a jam sandwich or a nose wiped. I don't mind the sandwiching or nose wiping, it's the feeling of being pinned under an anvil & hefting it to a safe place multiple times in the space of 10 minutes that bothers me. I like laptops, I just like having a desktop better. I allows you to come & go without the physical workout! Though maybe I need more of that . . .

Ok, the promised trip to the USS Harry S Truman. You do know that his 'S' initial doesn't stand for anything. His middle name is S. This ship is also a Nimitz-class supercarrier. Need translation? Yeah, we did too. Nimitz class aircraft carriers are a class of nuclear powered carriers, of which, there are only 10 in the world. A supercarrier is the unofficial term for the largest type of aircraft carrier, usually displacing over 70,000 tons. {all this technical stuff is courtesy of wikipedia, since my memory isn't the sharpest. btw, think abt donating a little to wikipedia. they rock.}

The whole tour took almost 3 hours. It was not for the weak of leg or lung. Trotting up those narrow stairs and throughout all 10 levels of that ship we got quite the workout.

Top row, L to R: the chains for the anchor, Mairyn by the ropes, going up the stairs, on the flight deck, view of the tower.
Bottom row: Planes parked, solo plane, the tower close-up, the middle of the runway where they land, the cable that they 'hook' to land.



Top row: Eliza in the captain's chair, Mairyn's turn, the bell in the control room, Mairyn taking her time in the chair 'o' power.
Bottom row: *The* carbon copy of the note that ordered the A-bomb, Eliza steering, Mairyn too, the girls with Truman's bust.

Funny thing: The captain's chair. Our tour guides were Navy officers that worked on this carrier. They told us that we could sit in the captain's chair & that we should take advantage of it. They weren't even allowed to sit in it. Mairyn asked, "Not even if your legs are tired?" The guy said, "No ma'am, that's above my pay grade." They were serious! So where the girls are sitting is the view the captain, and only the captain, gets when he's commandeering the ship. Though after seeing the inner workings of this carrier, it's a team effort. I wouldn't want to park a 70,000 ton beast all by myself! Oh, funny thing #2: I told the girls to stand by the bust (for a picture) and they looked at me like I'd grown a third head. "What's a bust?" I then explained what a bust was and then they proceeded to ask, "Why would someone want a statue of their bust?" Both Mairyn & Eliza then dissolved into giggles. Probably because 'bust' sounds so close to 'butts' without actually saying it. They said it the whole way home. "Hey Eliza, wanna take a picture of my -bust-?" And I don't even have to imagine what it would be like if I had had boys instead of girls . . . . .


P.S.
I just looked it up. Top Gun was shot on the USS Enterprise and is the 11th heaviest supercarrier. USS Harry is the eighth heaviest. Just think if Maverick had had that kind of space to strut his stuff . . .

Blame it on the rain

"The rain in Bahrain mainly clogs my drains."
~ Eliza Al-Hamd'olittle

Last night, I was running back to back loads of laundry. So that meant I was going in and out of the house all evening. When I dashed out for the last load, I noticed the stairs were wet. I thought the gardener had put a sprinkler too close to the house. Then I noticed the driveway was all wet, too. "Wow," I'm thinking, "He went all out and hosed down the driveway! I didn't know he'd do that for us!" I brushed past the suburban on my way through the garage & it was all dripping wet, too. I looked around inspecting little constants that don't change . . . unless . . . RAIN! I ran back inside the house to announce the news to Spencer. He didn't entirely believe me, but I don't blame him. He thought I was kidding.

This morning, the air was clean and a bit crisp. The humidity, ironically, seems to have been cut. Only a trace of the former thickness in the air. The horizon was piled high with clouds, backlit by the 6:30 am sun. The kids ran out to the bus & I ran back to bed. (I stayed up way too late last night) Jacqueline came in about 30 minutes later, gleefully announcing, "Mommy! It's raining and crashing!" I got up and saw that the raining & thunder had recommenced, just in time for Jacqui's school run.

Natives of Middle Eastern countries are notoriously afraid of puddles. I'm not kidding! If a garden hose overflows and floods the street in front, cars will avoid all wet surfaces and literally tiptoe their car around the pooling water. Now, part of me can't blame them for this paranoia; I've seen some potholes that would literally swallow a Vespa. But here, in Bahrain, they also seem to have an added neurosis of driving off of any paved surface. The road outside our compound has been under construction since we got here, and there are places where only one lane is paved, the other is smooth, dirt shoulder. They will *NOT* drive on it and if they do, will only proceed at a snail's pace until paved concrete is visible again. So combine the fear of driving through water & on dirt plus a country that has no water drainage system and you have a whole mess of problems.

The biggest problem? Half an hour after school started, the school called. There isn't any water at the school. Meaning no one can flush toilets or get drinks. Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink. Another 'didja know' thing about rain in desert countries; everything is dirtier after the rain. Ironic, I know. But we go so long without rain, dirt and sand accumulate on every surface. And (usually) if it does "rain" it just spits for a few minutes from the sky and really doesn't wash anything. It moistens all surfaces enough to make, even leaves, muddy. This rain, however was very cleansing. My driveway is clear of all bougainvillea & plumeria blossoms and leaf accumulation. And the leaves are actually green.

See how the dirt all ran to the middle of the leaf on the left? And the leaves on the right, just dried mud.

Call out the cavalry!

*shudder* I've still got the itchy cooties all over me. This is about as close to losing control as I can come. Autopilot switches on & I'm transformed. Must. Kill. Ants. My thoughts become singular in a mission to destroy the incoming army. Die you evil six-legged devils!!

How did this war begin? I was doing laundry. Yeah. Laundry. I have to go outside to get to my laundry room. I was coming back around house with our tighty whiteys and noticed how dirty dusty the house was. Now, I can't solve that problem in one fell swoop or even at all, but I can hose off the column bases & around the windows. Why not? I said to myself, I have a hose.

I left the laundry wagon & Jacqui on the sidewalk and went to turn on the hose. Water running I snaked the hose over to the front porch area and began squirting. The white was showing again & I felt pretty accomplished.

"I'm on a roll," I thought to myself, "Laundry, hosing off the house, what's next? Maybe I'll even get the laundry folded!"

I turned around and just about jumped out of my skin. Ants were swarming up the wall from some unseen hidey hole!! Of course, I screamed. Then I ran pell mell into the house to grab my mega-huge bottle of Raid & a broom. Wait! (i said to myself) Nobody's going to believe this. (Well, they probably would) I grabbed my camera because pictures always illustrate the moment better. (I can *say* that I found a gecko in my bathroom sink, but what does it *look* like?)



After a few quick pics, I went to town. I sprayed & sprayed & sprayed & sprayed & sprayed & sprayed. Ew, they were just pouring out of that unassuming crack in the step. No previous sign that pure evil lurked under that marble. Once they were adequately under control, I grabbed the hose and began some serious sheeting action to sweep those piles of carcasses out of sight.

This isn't anything new for me, we get ants inside the house. I put ant traps at the junctions of frequent sightings and along with a big bottle of Raid, we keep them under control. There is a bathroom that seems to attract them, but we just don't use that one anymore. At least until the weather gets colder (relatively speaking). The locals say that the ants go away during the "winter" months. What I witnessed was not unlike a scene straight out of Arachnophobia, but the ant version. (not that I've ever seen arachnophobia. don't want to, never will) I still can't sit still. My skin is crawling, ew ew ew . . . I've got to go shower. For a very. long. time. I don't even know if I can keep these pictures on my computer. I guess this is what I get for trying to be ambitious . . . As the old saying goes, If you give a moose a muffin . . .

Victory!!

I don't even know if this video works or my hyperventilating can be heard. I won't watch it.