Saturday, November 24, 2007

Zoology: And we ain't lion!

It's the ciiiiiircle of liiiiife! And it mooves us aaaawll!



You may be wondering why we haven't posted any pictures of Jon lately. Well, the carb-rich cuisine doesn't agree . . . .



So we've been to the Al Ain Zoo twice now. The firs time was at night, and there was a lot of activity, but very few decent shots. The second time was today, and Riley took pictures of everything. We'll rummage through and find some spectacular shots to share. It really is an exceptional zoo: casually laid out, with large, natural spaces for all the animals. Even at 1:30 today, under a high sun and in 32 C, we were able to see everything but the crocs (green water), though many of the larger mammals were lolling about in the shade. (J. Young, when you come next year we'll take you around.)

They even have penguins! Last week we went to the bird show--pretty decent. Today we had a complimentary zebra-painted "train" ride: like stretch golf carts with a land cruiser engine. And it's cheap: our whole fam-damily gets in for about $10. There are large picnic spaces, hourly mistings (a cool mist dispensed over walkways), and room galore. One of the highlights.

We'll be getting to more places in the coming weeks, local and not-so. We hope to get to Salala in Oman in two weeks: this is reportedly where (for all you Mos) a certain family boarded homemade ships around 600 B.C. We'll share discoveries later. Sounds like a beautiful place, but our going depends on my holidays. Dec. 2 is a national holiday, but unless I get the 3rd off, it might be difficult to go. Anyway, we'll keep you all posted.

In other news:

Jon's job is getting tolerable, and busier. He has supervised the debate society this semester, and this week they placed third at a public speaking competition. They worked very hard, and were very sweet about everything. Bright spots occur, however infrequently, and he'll soldier on.

We bought a digital video camera this week, in hopes of improving the quality of our home videos. Problem is the mac won't recognize the file types, so we've an obstacle or two to overcome before we can start sharing the fruits.

Alberta connection: the Browns, a yank family living in Abu Dhabi that came with us to the zoo today, spoke admiringly of Elder T. Smith from Southern A. We were proud to announce that he and his son were our family doctors, and that the son and his wife were also among our very best of friends.

Two days ago we went to Abu Dhabi for American Thanksgiving. It was a lot of fun. There were three other families, all with kids of various ages, and the food was fantastic. Interesting company. Good to connect.

Al AIn Branch Times:

(Too little for its own update this week): we met in the new digs for the first time, and all agree we need rugs and curtains asap. The echo was tremendous. Three nights cleaning floors and windows last week, and there was still a fine film on the tiles that we need to remove. But it was good to be there. The BP dedicated at the outset: it was a beautiful experience. Need to set up a history.

More next week, including additional video, insh'Allah. Meantime: 6 comments on last week's post? Six comments!? Just because it was Wendy directly? I give and I give . . .

Clarificatus: I do the typing because I have the surest fingers and I know how to spell and punctuate. But most of the time everyone participates. A little R-E-S-P-E-C-T, s'il vous plait!

That's all for now. More next week, once I get over my petulance. Sniff.

Shokran. We love you, Detroit!

Friday, November 16, 2007

Wendys' Say.

Hello,
it's just me and the kids tonight. Jon is away in Bahrain this weekend. We've had fun staying up late, making waffles in the a.m. and trying to catch up on conference. It took all day to watch 1 session because downloading it was VERY slow. Short spurts of it kinda worked out good though.
Sorry to all you enduring wicked November weather at home. It is like summer here and we are enjoying it. Todays' high was 32. With a light breeze. I can hardly anticipate Christmas though cause it sure doesn't feel like it. Though we have seen Christmas trees in the stores and heard"What Child Is This" chiming in the back ground.
I met a lady at the grocery store this week, rather shocked me. She was covered in her abia and as she passed me said "hello.." I thought she'd mistaken me for someone else. -You have to understand they do not speak unless they are among their own and especially not out loud. She breezed past me and continued..."boy you can find all the candy you want but not what you need..." We were the only ones in the isle. My jaw about hit the floor. The comment was very true. So I ventured to ask her a question about bulgar. She sashied (SP?) over to the bulk section bidding me to follow. She laughed and said "the prices have raised but the incomes do not match" Shocked again. She pointed out what I needed. Later I ran into her again and she asked me about the promotion fish Barracuda. Can't say I've ever had it. She muttered something happily and even cursed a bit. Come to find out she is from Florida. I am still laughing about how out of the usual it was. And rather comforting. The abias' can be intimidating but the few that I have locked eyes with have had a warm and friendliness about them. But never say a word.
I will stop so as not to embarrass my husband any more with my spelling and grammar. I am well and actually really enjoying it here. It has been great for our family. I have gained insights that I am afraid I might have missed or at least have been slower to catch if we hadn't come.
The kids are busy with exams. Rugby in Abu Dhabi tomorrow. We will be going an American Thanksgiving there on Thursday and anticipating a trip to Oman the beginning of next month. Fun times!
-Wendy

Friday, November 9, 2007

Al Ain Branch Times: Babel Edition

Had our traveling S Conference at the Shangri La hotel in Dubai. This was for all members in the UAE: 2 wards, 2 branches. We were shy at least 80 people, but even so, there were reportedly 430 of us. Maybe that helps answer Adam's question about connectivity. By the way, folks, you should take our cue and go easy on the church talk: keep it codified. We try to lay pretty low. Gov't doesn't mind, but the locals sometimes do. Wasta matters.

Anyway, second counselor presided alone. There was a concurrent session in Riyadh, and one last week in Doha. It was the most international of its kind we've ever attended. Tons of Filipinos, of course, and the boring pasties, but also members from India, eastern Europe, western Europe, and Pacific Islands, and many other places. Kinda cool.

Anyway, a few of us are off to Bahrain next week for training, but we'll be in the new digs for sure on Nov. 23rd. Moved the stuff over last week. Here goes somethin'.

Anyway, some pictures, in no particular order, most taken by Riley from a variety of vantage points. The Tower of Babel is called "Burj Dubai." We are assured the intention is not to reach Heaven. Besides, the languages are already confounded here.



























Aw, to heck with it. Here's a theme-appropriate story-draft I cooked up some time ago. No changes since we last talked about it, earth mother. Sorry. Busy days.


Babel

At the moment the languages were confounded, I was bent over a parchment, trying to ignore the sounds of construction that by now hunted every one of us across the city. I had no interest in the project myself, indeed I was apprehensive, both about the sheer hubris of the thing and mind-boggling issue of workplace safety. My brother was contracted to oversee construction of the balustrades that wound their way up the tower in slightly but ever narrowing circles—the feat of an engineering science I had never understood, but that had gripped him with a fever from childhood: numbers were his, letters mine. Daring was also his, and since his first apprenticeship he had volunteered for the most dangerous projects, and even as foreman preferred to put himself in the most precarious positions.

But I was in the minority in my apprehension, and in its specific personality. The prophets who had spoken out their warnings of judgment and destruction had all been taken forcibly to work in the quarries, so I kept quiet, and hoped that the Elders would grow bored of the project and leave it to crumble and molder as they had so many other such ventures in the past.

That was not to be, and soon my brother was strapped in ever-more complicated harnesses, launching himself out into dusty, sweltering spaces. He worked with such energy and skill that he had very nearly caught up with the construction of the tower itself. When it became inefficient to descend the tower each day, he slept at ever-greater heights, and passed into an impenetrable glare of blue.

I put him out of my mind, and bent over my work.

The moment played out so subtly, at first, that I myself hardly knew what had happened. I was writing in the free-flowing script of our old, common language—what we called it, I do not remember, for the words of that language are gone from me—when I heard a deep rumbling above the shouts and shrieks of men and instruments at work. It had a tone that marked its difference from the usual grating of stone being hoisted precariously up the center shaft of the tower. It was followed by alarums and then by screams, so I left my work and went to the window, which afforded me only a glimpse of the base of the tower, even at this great distance.

I went out onto the balcony to look up, and saw, to my horror, great blocks of stone crumbling down and outward, having fallen from an unfathomable height. Though I knew there was nothing I could do, my instinct was to rush to the scene and find my brother. This was a gratuitous instinct, of course: he would have been at the very top, and my only hope was that he was on the opposite side of the crumbling rock, but even if this were so, it would take him days to come down and prove he lived. I went back to my table nonetheless, and took up my tunic from the chair. I had just reached the door when a great wail went up from the direction of the tower, and the rumbling deepened and grew to a sustained crash, drowning out the screams and cries of men and fear. I turned back to the window and knew it was too late, for in the place of the tower grew a mountain of rubble—deadly, cruel stone rained down and mocked our ambitions—until it, too, was veiled in a storm of dust and agony that pushed out further and further from the tower and touched even my home with a fine, impetuous film.

I stood looking out into the grey for quite some time, grieving without feeling, not for the tower, but what I had lost to its construction. And then there was a profound silence, into which I fixed my gaze.

I was broken from this state by the sounds of voices much nearer, speaking in words I did not know. This startled me. I had only ever known the one language, and knew it, many thought, better than any that had ever spoken it. But this I could not understand, and suddenly, apart from my grief, loomed a memory [?] and a profound fear.

I turned back to the table and glanced at my parchment, which had blown a little back on the table when the concussion of the collapse had reached my quarter. I scanned the first several lines, and did not recognize the hand or the language, so I turned to my library and pulled scroll after scroll, book after book from the shelves looking for anything familiar, anything lucid or sane in the madness of confusion and incomprehension that threatened. Nothing. I recognized, could understand, nothing. I doubted all my memories, wondered if I had ever written or read a legible word, or if my life’s work was a fantasy come crashing down in a cruel and ugly revelation, or if all that made sense in the world, all given to us from the gods, had just suddenly been re-veiled, taken from us, and we thrown back into a preternatural state.

I was too panicked to recognize that I was thinking.

I leaned, panting and wild, against a wall for several moments, sweat and clarity pouring out of me in the heat and dust and fear. And then I saw my parchment on the table, and went back to look at it once more, as if it would somehow make sense.

I could read the last five characters. Line after line of that flowing hand I now recognize as our old language were incomprehensible and alien to me: but there, at the precise moment I heard the first shouts and cries, just before the rumbling broke through my concentration, were five distinct hieroglyphs of the kind now familiar to you, and according to which system you are now reading this memoir.

Of those of us who congregated in the days and weeks after the collapse, I am the only one who remembers that old language—or rather, that there was an old language. For the rest, it is as if we always spoke what we now speak, and came to this valley only to escape the wrath of God which had confounded all those other tongues. They have forgotten brothers, sisters, lovers, and parents with whom they could no longer communicate, and forged new identities, as if we were born of the tower’s collapse, and never lived before it.

But I have spent many hours in memory [reference to brother? Trait of courage . . . to be cautious], and I now understand. I have never written of this before, my son, and never will again. And I have let all my old learning be lost, for fear it would inspire men to build another such obscenity. Perhaps they’ll be content with monuments to God, and never again presume to seek him in his heaven.

Kids' Turn" Q&A continued

Next time I'll post a video of the cutest of the kids on a variety of issues. Tried tonight, but blogspot infarcted (which answers the question "who infarcted?"). Wasn't me. Sorry.


And now for a word from the brothers, who are still awake.

Gramma P asks: Boys, have you tried any new foods? If so, what do like and what not?

C: I tried "cheese nuiche" (which of course we now call "cheese louise"), which is a thick Arabian bread with nice soft cheese in the middle and all over the outside. It's really good.

R: Uh, yeah. We had South African bread at our friends' house. Tasted like inside-out french toast. It was very good.


Who are your friends? where do they come from in South Africa?


C&R: Can't name them because we don't have their permission, but they are from Praetoria, and have lived in Russia before this. The parents are from Port Elizabeth. Down the English! Up the Boers!

We also have friends from the US, Canada, Scotland, Ireland, England, Holland, New Zealand, and India.

What is your favourite new experience?

C: Water-colors. Our adopted South African aunt gave me a set last week.

R: Rugby.

What are you learning in school that is different than in Canada?

C: History and geography.

R: The sciences are separated even in "years" 7-9. That's fun. Math is called "maths.

And from earth mother:

Riley: who've you got a crush on?

Nobody.

What is church like for you?

Different. There are only 25 or so of us every Friday, and I'm the only youth. So I attend the adult class.

What activities do the young men do?

Don't know. They are all in Abu Dhabi and Dubai, but I plan on doing some Saturday activities with them.

Is there a scouting program?

Yes, but we haven't found them yet. Not church-related.

Chrispy: What's your favourite foreign food?

Bovril: a South African sausage that you eat like a hot dog. It's longer, and kinda looks nasty, but it's way tastier.

Do you guys have a cafeteria at school?

No. But they're planning one.

Jojo: . . . is in bed. In brief, Savannah, he needs to go to school, for all our sakes (especially Wendy's).

As for hot chocolate and the seventies, double-click on that picture to blow it up, turn it on its axis by 90 degrees, and then report back.



Mom's turn: Earth mother asks W about her social life and the public perception of the pasty white folk. Here is her response:

All the women I've met (and some of them are the breadwinners) have been very friendly. I have made friends with a couple of the Abu Dhabi women, both firecrackers for unbloggable reasons. I have also made friends with the boys' friends' mother, Sally, whom I admire for her courage and realism and charity. They came over for a Wii night last week and we had a blast. There are several women's clubs in town, and I have met a few of the Canadian women, who have invited me to join them. Other encounters have also been positive. But everyone's very busy here, so it's a slow integration.

Public perception: well, that depends. Older women and men tend to look down their noses, no matter how modestly I'm dressed. Younger and immigrant men ogle, so I just don't make eye contact. But younger women, even those in full veil, have invariably been friendly. They think we're odd, of course: I was driving home from getting my license, and people gave us funny looks because Jon was in the passenger's seat.

Mostly I just drag my sometimes sexy husband/chauffeur out to buy towels and pumpkin filling. He loves it. We haven't been to Ikea in four weeks. Program complete.

Casanostra a' la Greengrass

At long last, in a stunning 1 min 11 sec shot, a tour of our home. It's dark outside, and the lights are all off in the bathrooms, and I didn't show you the back "yard," but you'll get the general. Remember that the camera adds back the 10 pounds I've lost, and the angle doesn't help. No comments about the cheeks.



So that's that. New topic:

Service with a Smile

The underlings (and I'm one) around here are generally very assiduous. Yes, sometimes they are motivated by the desire for a tip, but in general they are simply conscientious. Examples: we had our first oil change this week, at a chain of gas stations called "Adnoc." The bays are spotless, as is the equipment. There is zero grease transfer, and they blow the dust out the engine and clean up any spilled oil off the engine block before they close the trunk. Always polite, of course--"Yes sir!" or "81 dirhams, please." not "Hey man. That'll be 50 bucks."--and always deferential.

Car washes are available everywhere, but when they say car wash they mean the whole enchilada. You go through the wash itself (at Adnoc), which is a scientifically calibrated precision deal, and then you drive over to a vacuum bay, where up to 6 men in impeccable uniforms descend upon the vehicle like a swarm of bees, only without the buzzing and the stinging, but with buffing cloths, air hoses, special cleaning solutions, and vacuum nozzles and give it the once over outside . . . and in. They actually polish inside the windows and the dash, etc. They insist on this. Won't take no for an answer. Then they'll check tire pressure and send you along all for under $10.

You can also get your car washed while you shop--valet style, if you're trusting, or via portable wash station: a "trolley" loaded with soapy water, rinse water, and towels. This makes homeless twenty-somethings with beards spitting on your windshield look even more pathetic than it is (though of course I sympathize). And, again, withe the uniforms and consistently cheery dispositions.

At grocery stores, especially the smaller ones, you should never expect to bag, haul, or load your own groceries. Somebody inevitably shows up who's willing to carry them halfway to Dubai, if that's where you parked. Do they expect a tip? No. Would they like one? Not always, actually. There have been times when I've perceived that they didn't want one, thank you very much: a human dignity thing. But they are always very gracious and grateful if you offer. Good folk all around.

News

Wendy is now a legal driver. Yikes. Actually, I insisted she drive home from the dmv (in the mrv) and she accepted gamely without too much cajoling. She's a Cahoon, after all: dive in first, get instructions later. Did just fine. Will wander out in gradually wider circles and at gradually more manic times of the day in the future. She is woman, hear her roar.

Boys had their first actual rugby games last Saturday: two-day tournament, but they have boycotted Sabbath games and haven't looked back. Anyway, Riley got a couple of minutes on the field (it was "sevens," meaning teams of seven playing for seven minutes) despite the fact that his team was mis-managed, poorly coached, and stacked with newcomers at the last minute. Christopher played the whole game for his team and finally got into it. At one point he was bottom man in a massive ruck--every bit as rough as it sounds, named as it is for the clawing movement of cleated feet. Kids were stepping on his head and kneeling on his solar plexus, but he hopped right up and got back in the game. I was very proud.

I'm finally almost caught up at work sort of. No more all-nighters or wake-up juice. Getting too old for this.

Q&A

We finally have some good questions. From my mater familias, the following:

Is your night-time schedule the same as always, or has that changed?

Good q. This is a night-time culture, like the Spanish: siesta mid-afternoon, out late shopping. During the summer months and into Ramadan, things are often open later than midnight, with government office open until 9 or 10, depending. We hear kids out in the complex after 11, but we generally still get the chilluns off to sleep by 10. It doesn't always happen, but we're trying to maintain some modicum of reasonableness.

What is the regular food shopping like, and are you having or choosing to change the way you eat?

I think we talked about groceries once, but you can generally find what you need, though not always what you want. This is a sugar-crazy culture (and it shows in the kids' behavior), so sugary cereals and snacks are cheap and ubiquitous. Ground beef is minced, and of course pork must be hunted out like the dog it is. So we don't bother. Breads are tasty, but all refined. So we try to be careful: lots of fruit and veggies, protein-rich entrees, and keeping a lid on eating out. But it ain't easy. Exercise is mandatory.

Does the weather change things for you? does it get dark early enough, etc?


Being almost equatorial means that daylight hours do change with the seasons. Right now we get sunrise at around 6:30 a.m. and sunset at shortly after 6:00. We're down to a chilly 31 degrees right now during the day, and a positively frigid 23 overnight. It will get cool, apparently, but, I mean, c'mon.

Do you know how you're handling Christmas this year? What will you do and not do?


No. But Wendy has some ideas: ski trip in Dubai, or maybe if we can find a cheap overseas flight to Indonesia or Singapore, we'll give that a go. I'm actually working Christmas day, so that's a bummer. But the kids are off for a bit around Christmas, so we'll do something. As for Christmas trappings, apparently that happens here, and the Emiratis kinda get into it. We were in a grocery store last night and I kept hearing "What Child is This?" Another time the muslim grocery clerk was whistling "Jingle Bells." So that's weird. But hey: who doesn't love a good party? or a reason to shop?


And these from "granola," who can only be Savannah, considering that her children are the only non-immunized hippie kids we know:

[W]ould our unimmunized [sic] kids be ok cruising the exotic aisles of ikea with you?

Do you mean while you and Adam go off on an Omani holiday? Or were you planning to be at Ikea with us? Cuz if it's the first . . . . Actually, I don't know. Check with your local health authority and the Foreign Affairs travel office. Then report back. Other inquiring hippies want to know.

More above: just realized the other questions are for the kids.

Next time: whatever.

Saturday, November 3, 2007

Pazienza

Hello, Loyal Reader (which is, as far as I can tell, not far off the mark).

I mean Ashley.

Please be patient: we were all ready to go on Friday when we discovered that blogspot doesn't like long videos--a discovery more than an hour in the making. So we'll be late this week: have to do a redux of the house tour (under 1 minute). Also had a cute interview with #3, but that, too, will have to be cut. So solly.

Meantime: Halloween happened, Wii party with the Turners was a blast, took the church stuff over to the new digs on Friday afternoon, and, after hearing about Dave's interview at Mayo, vascillated between absolute self-loathing and the profound sense we are where we need to be, that my time to shine will come, and that for now I must contented be with the promise of eternal reward. In other words, get on with life.

Way to go Dave and Amber! And way to go, Ricky! No surprises on either count. Godspeed you both.

A bientot,

J