It's Like a Puzzle from the GRE Test...

Our living room at 6 PM yesterday.  You might not realize it, but this is actually pretty organized... On a side note, why is the picture flipped (mirror image)?  I took it with the camera on our MacBook.

A new question for the GRE quantitative reasoning section:

John, Nancy, and their three kids have already packed five suitcases (on the left) chock full to burstin' for a plane ride to the other side of the whirled.  However, they still have about 157.5 cubic feet of other junk (on the right) that they want to take, including 16 tubes of Sure Solid Deoderant, 4 large bags of Reese's minis, 12 bottles of children's medicines (generic ibuprofin, benadryl, etc.), six princess dress-up gowns, two pairs of Barbie shoes, three dolls with all clothes and accessories, two posters, Nancy's 48 pounds of makeup, and a wine rack.  How can John and Nancy fit the stuff on the right into the (already full) luggage on the left?

Goodbyes

The kind lady just came and took the bird away, and I am pretty much finished balling for about the 10th time in the past week, and for someone who doesn't cry easily, this is quite a tear-duct workout. 

Do you think it burns calories???

Here are pictures of pets we'll leave behind:

El Jefe, a.k.a. Birdbrain, Birdman, Peanut Head.

He's been with us over 15 years, and I will never forget the miracle of feeding him when he was just a little, featherless bundle of beak and big eyes and little chickadee fuzz.  It was huge, learning that we...along with some invaluable coaching, Gerber baby food, and Purina monkey chow, and a ketchup-type squirt bottle...could keep something so fragile and innocent alive. He is a sweet bird (well, to me and John he is...but we handfed him monkey chow and baby food, so he thinks we're his parents), but he doesn't talk.  He's a blue-head Pionus, an incredibly easy and low-maintenance type of parrot.

S

Sammy, brought to me on Valentine's Day from the La Grange Animal Shelter.
She has a crooked back leg, apparently broken and not professionally re-set when she was a kitten. She had another owner before us, who also rescued her from that shelter, but that owner died of cancer, and the family had to take the cat back to the same shelter again.  So she was rescued from the same shelter twice.  She is quiet and shy and very lady-like.

 

 Seamus, an elderly male, came from the Vernon animal shelter.  

When I was 6 months pregnant with Hannah, I informed John that since I couldn't have a vat, he was going to have to take me on a spring break trip of my choice.  I chose to load all of us in the car and drive 5.5 hours to Wichita Falls, spend the night, and then drive another 30 minutes north to the Vernon Animal Shelter.  The cat's name was originally "Tyler Lee," but can you really say Tyler Lee without a total hick accent?  I can't.  So the more dignified and Celtic name Seamus was bestowed upon him.  Driving home, just south of Ft. Worth, Seamus started yowling and kept yowling the 2.5 hours it took us to get home from that point.  Jack calls him "The Unsettable Alarm Clock," because he is a "talker" and would (especially at night) yowl and yodle.  He also fancied himself a herding cat, as he would run along side me as I walked, trying to herd me towards the food bowl when he wanted it filled.  When I didn't go the direction he wanted, he would sit and look disgusted at my stupidity and insolence.

Admiral Lord Nelson, a.k.a. Peety, Na-na, and (more recently) Angel Buckets.

The first puppy we have owned (as an adult), he was/is John's dream dog.  He is also rather gassy and droolly and likes to hump things (he's fixed).  But his jowls are the softest thing you ever touched, and his snoring is like magic for putting humans to sleep at night.

This leaves us with one remaining pet.  Pat and Bob (John's parents) have once again gone beyond the call of duty and have said they will baby sit her.

***

You might wonder why I make trips to places like La Grange and Vernon for cats.  It is because (1) I wanted Siamese-looking cats that were adult and de-clawed, (2) to adopt cats given up at shelters, and (3) of the existence of Petfinder.com.  Petfinder is like an online conglomeration of many, many shelter animals all over the US, so you can "shop" for the pet you want but still rescue one from shelter life/death.  Petfinder is a glorious temptation.  I don't go look there unless I can adopt... :)

Random Thoughts on Unraveling a Life

Four nights from tonight we'll be out of this house, after 8 years here and over 15 years in this area.
One week from right now, we'll be airborne.

Of course, it was our choice to (1) take on the adventure and (2) move out of our house (rather than keep our stuff here).  The house was getting too small.  The boys share one small bedroom, and the bickering was pretty bad.  Of course, one of my good friends--also with two boys of similar age--says the separate rooms doesn't solve the bickering. Instead, they just stand in the doorways to their separate rooms and bicker from there.  They've had their own spaces for the past several nights.  Hannah is sleeping with me, Hank is in her room, and Jack is in their original bedroom.  I think there is less bickering, but maybe they're just acting nice because they're afraid I might lose my last ounce of sanity.

So I've/we've been taking our lives apart one box and one pet and one garbage bag at a time.  The effects have been interesting...

I can't describe what it's like for the kids or for John.  The kids are on an extended version of Christmas Crack--every day is some adventure and so they're either jumping around, singing or they're exhausted.  I think I may interview each one of them tomorrow or get them to answer questions for their own blog postings... John will have to speak for himself!

For me, it's been a definite mixture of chaotic feelings.  First, it's the feeling of a serious challenge, trying to live up to my long standing wish to purge ourselves of the 75.6% of Walmart/Target that we own.  I mean, how much plastic should one family have?  Maybe the government should put a carbon limit on each family, in terms of how many plastic toys it can own.  I want to be successful at this purging challenge.  I want to live more simply without so much to care for and keep picked up.  I want to live without that feeling of "wanting" that I think may be part of the American psyche.  I want to come out of this purge feeling less suffocated by possessions.

Second, it makes me sick in the pit of my stomach.  I think about how much we've sold, taken to Goodwill, thrown away, and packed...I think about the animals and the wonderful people who have taken them...I think about our remaining possessions sitting in a hot storage shed for two years...I think about the Talking Head's song "Once in a Lifetime": "This is not my beautiful house.  This is not my beautiful wife."  I think waking up there, after a couple of weeks when the vacation feeling has worn off.  It will be surreal.

The night before the second garage sale:
Much less "small stuff," and what you don't see are the four twin beds, 

one queen bed, washer, dryer, chest freezer, and icebox that all found homes.  

At 6:55 AM, we had 6 cars waiting in line.  By 8 AM, most of it was gone.  

By 9 AM, my fantastic neighbor had found homes for the table/chairs 

and the sewing cabinet.  By 10 AM, the garage door was closed and 

everything that was left fit in three small boxes...

Third, it makes me nervous: about the loved ones we leave in Texas and New Mexico and elsewhere in the States, about the friendships that we'll put on hold (especially the kids) being okay when we get back, about the loose ends that I'm sure I've forgotten, about how the hell I'm going to fit all the remaining stuff we want to take into the suitcases, about whether or not my shampoo will explode in my suitcase.

Finally, of course I am so very excited and anxious (in a good way).  I'm anxious to get this last push over with.  I'm anxious to see John.  I'm anxious for the kids to see John and to see this magical crazy place we've been telling them about.  I'm anxious to feel the intense heat of their summer, to see if it's really as horrible as it sounds.  I'm super anxious to take the kids to Souq Waqif for adventures.  I'm anxious for them to start school (in mid-September!).  I'm anxious to be able to post blogs about something else other than packing boxes and feeling anxious.  I am supremely anxious to meet my new students and to hopefully form bonds with them.

This is leaving about 90% of what's in my brain unsaid.

The good news for today is that I closed up my office on campus (turned in computers, keys, etc.).
The good news for today is that I'm at the point where some old plastic dishes get used and then not washed but thrown away!
The good news for today is that I've completed our HEB stock-up trip (anti-persperant, because what they have there is apparently strange...kid medicines...mini-Reese's...still have to get corn tortillas!).

Tomorrow starts the "empty the room completely" phase.  My hope is it will be a productive day.

 A view of the current almost-empty state:
Our bedroom, except I've cleaned off most of the stuff from the table.

The bed is sitting on the floor.  Thankfully, the lady who wanted my bed, 

as well well as the lady who wanted the remaining set of twin beds,

were happy to wait one more week to come get them.

I can already tell you that I HATE HATE HATE packing table lamps.

Dune Bashing with the Kallianpur's

There's a pastime here in Qatar called Dune Bashing, which is exactly what it sounds like it would be. Driving 4 wheel drive vehicles recklessly across the desert, up and down dunes, and across the flats, all at high speed. And yes, it is as fun as it sounds. Many of the dunes are at least 10 stories tall, and very steep. Hank is gonna absolutely love it - better in some ways than roller-coasters maybe. Thibodeaux invited me along on a family trip to bash, and of course I went along. It was a blast. But hard to get photos of just what it's like, so instead I'm posting shots of Thibs and his really wonderful family. Unfortunately his bride Corrinne is back in Louisiana right now - though I feel like I know her. Her kids are a direct reflection that she is a wonderful lady (Lord knows that can't be Ravi's doing). Below is yours truly with Ravi (Thibodeaux), his son Neill (who's high school graduation I recently attended) and his daughter Naina. It's her fault there were no good action shots (I'm kidding Naina, don't be mad).

This is Prakash (who's name I am almost certainly misspelling), Ravi's rather elusive brother. In going through the pictures of the trip there are like 100 pics and he's in 2. Very wily that one. I'm pleased that I will get to meet his family, who hopefully (Ensha Allah) will come for a visit in July.

Yours truly with Gazi, our guide and driver. He was a riot.

And this is Ravi trying to throw me down a very high and very steep sand dune. Smarty Pants damn near sent us both sliding down the face (grin).

In the distance is the inland sea, as they call it. It's a thin strip of gulf that seperates a long bit of the border between Qatar and Saudi Arabia. There were several times we could look across and see Saudi. This piece of the desert is very pretty. Like some of my favorite places in Texas, the beauty and the harshness are inseperable elements.

That Bedouin Lifestyle

Nancy, the camel second from left is looking at you. Yes you. He wants to talk to you.

The Bedouin traditions are srsly cool. Srsly.

Lawrence of Arabia contemplating the vastness of the Sahara, or, some dude drinking an orange soda.

Note: Pictures courtesy of Ravi aka Thibodeaux Kallianpur, because my camera got all full of sand and broke.

Thus Spake Hannah, On Her Fourth Birthday

Many of you knew Jack when he was a toddler and you will remember he was a constant fount of information and advice.  From his first sentences at 18 months old, Jack has never been at a loss for words.  This has been especially jolting after Quiet Hank.

Hannah, I had figured, was more along the "norm," with plenty of talking but nothing like Jack.  However, as the past few months have developed, so has Hannah's spontaneous attitude, and she seems to be on some sort of birthday roll.  Here are some excellent Hannahisms from the past 24 hours.  These are interspersed with pictures of her modeling the supercute outfits John gave her for her birthday.

This is her July 4th dress, which has small white stars on it.  She had a very similar dress (without the red ribbon) when she was one year old.  The twirl factor is key, and this dress meets the standard for flare.  Excellent work, Papa.

On aging:
"Today, I'm four years old.  But I'm still the same weight and height I was yesterday."

Skull and crossbones (with pink sparkling bow) to match her Mama's cowboy boots.

That, and new hottie jeans as well as lace-less pink Converse sneakers.  All authentic attitude.  Bonus points for boot/shirt tie-in, Pop.

To Jack, upon discovering his current treasure, a pocket watch--given to him by Grandfather--that no longer works:
"Why do you even want that?  What good is a watch that doesn't work?  There's nothing to watch."

Another top, in checked chambray.  Good choice for the 130-degree highs in August, JSS!

On the potty:
Hannah, screaming loud enough to call the pigs in from the neighbor's pasture:
"MAAAAAMAAAAA! I'm ready for you to come wipe my bottom!"
Mama, who is sitting less than 10 feet away from the bathroom:
"It's time for you to wipe your own bottom now that you're a big four year old."
Hannah, incredulous:
"Are you serious?  So this is how you're going to treat me now?"

From Gymboree...a place we should know better than to enter.

The skirt on the left is especially excellent for twirling.  The shirt that goes with it has "diamonds" sewn on it.  The dress on the right has golden thread embroidered around the flowers.  John has outfitted one serious fashionista.  A successful birthday.

Convincing me to buy the 99 cent Princess flipflops on sale at the Franklin grocery:
Hannah: "I need those flipflops."
Me: "But I just bought your some sandals yesterday."
Hannah: "Well, first of all, those were sandals, not flipflops.  There's a difference.  Second, today is a new shoe day."
Yes, I bought the shoes (secretly, and sneaked them into her birthday present bag).

 And of course, the most important shirt of all (I bought this one).

A Word About Service and Work Ethic

When Nancy and I were here in February we noticed, and I am constantly reminded now that I'm here, the strong work ethic of the folks here in service roles. From the man who brings me coffee at work, to the indivuals out on the University grounds keeping the place looking beautiful, to the guy who pumps your gas, everyone has a strong desire to work hard and well, and there is no innate sense of entitlement (well, actually there is a HUGE sense of entitlement, but not among the service class). It's very humbling to witness, and causes the need for some serious thought about how to react and live with this as an American. My Tea Service post aside, I'm not especially comfortable at letting folks wait on me hand and foot. I see the effect this has on the people who have lived with this kind of support their whole life and I kinda want to throw up a little.



But the thing I'm learning is that you have to honor the work that any individual is doing. In most cases they have left family and what's familiar to be here (sound like anything we see in Texas?), and without exception there is IMMENSE pride in doing whatever they do well. I am reminded of what Mom and Dad taught me early - whatever you're going to do, from physicist to ditch digger, do it well. Well, they taught their kids that lesson in India, and Nepal, and Sri Lanka, and alot of other places too, apparently.



One of my friends hired a guy to keep their yard pretty. And then he quickly threatened to quit. He caught my buddy sitting in the yard picking weeds one day, and was deeply insulted that his employer didn't think he was doing his job well. The buddy is like me - likes to be outside and work in the yard, and thought he'd help his yard guy out a little. No dice. The guy said he'd been hired to do a job and let him do it. If my buddy needed some yard work then they could designate some little area and it would be all his. But please, Sir, don't jack with the GARDENER'S YARD. Sounds a little riduculous, if it weren't a true story, but it illustrates something about owning what you do.



So what I'm learning how to do (hopefully) is to let them do their thing, but don't take it for granted. So I'll pour that second cup of coffe myself, and stand in his door and ask how his morning's going. He doesn't know what the Hell I'm saying, but he'll know that we're just two human beings sharing some space together.



And I'll hope that's what is right to do.