Ranch Life II

I wish I could tell you the big story about my Sis, but I am saving it for my book She not only runs a 400 acre ranch, but works full-time as a corporate officer of her hubby’s company. Shes up at 5am feeding animals, takes a coffee break as the sun rises (soul-food) then gets on her corporate-wear and is at the desk by 7am. Upon roaring home in her Ford 350 4 X 4, she tosses the suit and dons her t-shirt with the arms cut out and feeds the animals again. Sheep can be almost as noisy as a herd of peacocks when hungry, btw. Since big cousin Josh is away at college now, the herd is only about 35.

My Sis has a heart of gold, and although she can be tough as nails cutting a deal, is a real softy for a critter in need. Last visit, she was caring for some old retired pack llamas, several lame horses, and some ancient cows in addition to a dozen or so healthy mules, horses and cows, plus the dozen or so dogs. When the ewes are lambing in winter, she searches the fields at night to see if one of those stupid sheep dropped her lamb and left it in the snow. I think I mentioned once that she then keeps them indoors in Pampers, bottle feeding them by hand until they are strong enough to live outside.

This visit, with a gleam in her eye and a toss of her short blond hair, she told us: “We have a surprise for you inside the house!” She told us to go to her bedroom closet REALLY slowly and quietly. We peeked in, and saw two of the biggest ears you could ever see attached to a little spotted body reclining on a dog bed. Meet Flower:

Flower is a fawn that those darn Pyreneezies separated from her mom, and would have become morning dog-fodder had Sis not rescued the little dear. She was only a few days old, and the doe would not take her back after smelling like dog and human. Sis bottle feeds her twice a day, and yes, changes her Pampers when she is in the house. She is very affectionate, friendly and inquisitive, she loves to catch every smell that wafts past her nose. Although tiny, with precious teeny-weeny hooves, she plays with the big house dogs. Her fur is soft and silky, and she likes having her ears rubbed. Lil Kinz enjoyed feeding her a couple times, but Flower prefers to drink from her adopted  Mom’s hand best.

Sis’s hubby just rolls his eyes at the latest addition to their animal farm. “So just where is that animal going to live when it is grown?” he asks. She smiles and rolls her eyes back.

(to be continued)

California Dreamin’

We’re off to California bukra, yahoo!!!

First stop, my sister’s 400 acre ranch bordering a national park, with ten Great Pyrenees dogs, hundreds of sheep, one old llama, cows, peacocks and marijuana growing neighbors. The local fauna includes bears and mountain lions, so in spite of the lofty mountain grandeur, we only go for walks in groups atop horses (and Uncle A carries a handgun).

Next, a partialfamily reunion in Lake Tahoe! My bro and fam are back safe at their home and decided they NEEDED a vacation after all that drama, yay God! We are going to take the kids to all the places we loved growing up: lots of hiking, swimming, picnicking, craw-dad catching, river-rafting. We will be staying with a family with five kids, very cool folks who don’t mind pandemonium (like Aunt Jane).

Then, Orange County!!! Newport Beach, here I come!! We’ll be staying with a fam with SIX kids, just like the Tahoe family and Aunt Jane. Heh-heh, the people who call us right-wing-bottom-feeders have another word that actually works: BREEDERS. We’ll be seeing lots of friends, going to Knott’s Berry Farm, body-surfing and swimming in pools. We’ll spend a fortune on sunscreen.

One thing that WON’T be happening is meeting MAI! But, I’d much rather see her married to Sam Qwaider. Convenient match-making prayer answers: I love it when TWO I am praying for tie the knot. May God richly bless this union.

I’m sure I’ll have access to a computer, just enough to keep my addiction fed but learn some self-control as I do. See you in August!!!

I LOVE A Love Story!!

WAHOO!! I just got off the phone with an old workmate, a gal who made my then-job in human resources a tremendous joy. We would spend our lunch hour praying and talking, and fasting together. Anne is a God-fearer/lover, intelligent, witty, drop-dead gorgeous with the perfect shape. Why she was not snapped up at 25 can only be the restraint of Almighty God for a Better Plan. She was the #2 on my list of match-making list forEVER. Yesterday, when I got her email, I got to drop her from that list!!!

We lost track of one another for six years. When she turned 40, Anne said she finally embraced that her reality was singleness. She intentionally fought the mental habit of anticipating: “Today may be the day I meet HIM”. She chronicled the event in her journal, a landmark day of submission to a severe mercy of God. Four years ago, a friend asked her if she could give Anne’s number to a man from her church who was interested in meeting a woman to marry, not just play with. In spite of the bad rep, in my circle of Christian friends we just don’t ‘date’. It’s more like intentional courtship, with no under-clavicle physical involvement until The Day.

Anne figured, ‘why not’?', and was pleased that the old familiar ‘what if?’ didn’t fill her thoughts. He called her, and after five hours of talking, she had a first time ever certainty of “Oh my sweet Lord, he is the man”. They skipped the chit-chat about favorite foods and went right into the core issues of what marriage would look like. He had already heard enough about her to be sure.

Dave lost his wife to a brain aneurysm a week after she gave birth to their fourth child.

The same day Anne gave up marriage and embraced the reality of her singleness.

Oh, shivers.

My friend Anne went from being Miss Successful Business City Woman to Mrs. Ecstatic Rural Home Schooling Mother of four mommy-less children. She could be another Pioneer Woman. Heh-heh, her hubby is enjoying her unique energy.

I cried when I heard her little girl call her mommy. God is good, all the time,

More Outside-In American Observations

Being in America continues to both delight and shock me. 

In Yer Face-ness: At the Burger King condiment counter at the St. Louis Airport (after waiting in line twenty minutes for a salad, only to be told they were out and I could go wait in a longer line at Calif. Pizza Kitchen and pay 2x as much for half the size). So read the sign above the trash bin: “Toss It In, Drop It In, Slide It Off The Tray, Just Get Your Trash In Here SOME Way”

Black Chevy Suburbans:Do not drive in pairs running you off the road. I still move toward the right shoulder if I see them coming, they look at me funny. That’s if they pass me, most seem to meander real slow-like. They must do royalty real diff’ernt here in the country.

Tattoos:I’m hoping my little slice of MidWestern Americana is not indicative of the state of the union in regard to body art. I’m ok with a delicate rosebud inside an ankle, but the excessive and seeming addictive nature of this tattooing craze is enough to make me throw up. Men seem to be covering their whole upper bodies with the most tasteless designs, then go shirtless to show it all off! It seems they were not only drunk, their tattooer was too. I think it should be a requirement that people should be able to at least spell  ‘permanent’ as a condition of being able to get tattoos. Women seem to plan wardrobes around shirts and shorts which reveal their strategically placed images. There is going to be some serious ugly going on when these folks get to be 60 and it fades and droops.

Chicago Traffic: People, no wonder you have to wait SO long stalled in traffic. You leave 20-50 feet between each car!! Get over the personal space business and scoot up! When you are going 5mph, what’s the difference? We do it in Jordan at 60kph and no one even flinches.

Pot Holes in the Roads: Yup, Amman has some serious pot-hole competition on Butterfield. And the 55, and 355 and and and. OK, so if the State of Illinois is having such a budget crisis, apply for USAID like Jordan did for roadworks. There are enough Jordanians in Chicago to justify it, mish?

Wedding Screams:  At a family gathering, a friend of the family came up to me and said: “You’re the one who lives in Jordan, right? Tell me, I have just got to know. My brother just married a nice Jordanian Orthodox girl. Really nice girl, but the family…the family scares me. It took them TWO years just to get over the fact my brother wasn’t Jordanian, then they had to pick a wedding date when the WHOLE family could fly over, then insisted in having the wedding mass said in ARABIC, I mean hey, we ARE in America, yea? To top it all off, the mother of the bride started screaming and screeching at the end of the ceremony, and the aunts made this weird sound and covered their mouths like no one should see it!!!”. I was ROFL inside, and asked her if the screech sounded something like: “AAAyyyyyEEEE blah-blah dododo, AAAAAAAyyyyEEEEEEE, sabagataba, AAAAyyyyEEEEEE lala ya helwa” The woman nodded looking astonished, and I explained it was just a tradition, I though it was a blessing of some kind, sending the bride off. I told her to go watch “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” again. 

Corvettes are the new kounouz favorite. They are wondering why all we see are Fords, Chevys, where are all the Mitsubishis and Kias?

Cute Kids: No one looks twice at the kounouz here. Another blonde kid, yea, move along please. When in the mall with my Jordanian friend, she was stopped every twenty feet by some Texan woman marveling over baby M’s impossible eye-brow-hitting eye-lashes or drooling over toddler S’s perfect ringlet dark curls.  

Southwest Airlines: Akin to an American air-serveeece, now I know where they get the term ‘air-bus’. We long distance haul types are spoiled. Very spoiled.

 

Lil’ Kinz Breaks Her Arm

Not even a week had elapsed between History Buff’s cast coming off, and Lil Kinz’ cast coming on. Three kounouz in casts in eight months, it’s a family record!

She was playing with History Buff outside, and she fell off something and landed wrist-first. I watched it happen as I was walking up to call her to dinner, like one of those dream sequences where you can’t get there in time to help. I knew right away this would be a hospital visit.

Stay tuned for my foray into the American Medical System. After tonight, I’m wishing Dr. Amr Amr made American house calls.

JEERAN Baseball Creams the Competition :’(

Today, the JEERAN Kid Pitch team came from behind in the last inning to overcome an 8 point lead and win the game.

The same thing happened last week: 8 runs down and win in the last inning.

Sadly, it was McDonalds they beat, the team the older kinzayn play for, BOTH TIMES. It is a sad afternoon at Daar Al Kounouz.

Ya Omar, waynak? Yours is the team to beat!! Only two more games!

Kinzi and the Terrible, Horrible No Good, Very Bad Day

I think the Traveling Pants have flown their last frequent flier mile.

Why is it that when the man of the house is out of the house and far, far away, I always end up with a child in the hospital, a major car breakdown and an American friend married to a Jordanian guy in trouble? ALL at once???

Sigh. The mechanic just came with the latest verdict. The third verdict of this particular trip, mind you. First payout was 80JD for the twenty-year old car we thought would die by now. The second for our ‘newer’ car, 277JD to cover the blow-out, new brakes, suspension stuff, new muffler pipe and other stuff. Shocked I am, that even ‘old’ parts on ‘newer’ cars cost 3x what the older car does. Then, I could tell the newer car just was not running right and feared the gas tank was leaking. Bingo. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t taken auto-shop and couldn’t recognize spark plug issues. The verdict: nearly 500JD. I am choking, and I fear hubby will be choking too.

Not to mention the freezer defroster not working, a valve in laundry room needing replacement, having to contact the property manager AGAIN to ask why the ads aren’t in the Sunday paper. This is husband work, I am SO not cut out for it. I need my man.

My American friend is an Extreme Prodigal. You know, the biblical story of the Prodigal Son, but she is a daughter. I learned an important lesson this year: do NOT feed a prodigal. If you give them a snack when they are starving, they stay in the pig pen. Let them starve; they come to their senses, come home and repent. She came home, ready for true change, asking for help. She is making good choices, and this is a bright spot on a bad day. It’s just terribly draining to hear of West Ammani lifestyles, like something out of NYT fictional bestseller, that I wish didn’t exist. It’s also risky to get back involved knowing she may not have paid the full consequences. But that is what friends are for.

Thank God hubby doesn’t work outside Jordan permanently, that the hospital visits were brief, we don’t pay American wages to the mechanic and we have the extraordinary blessing of not one but two cars. I also thank Him that my friend could’ve gotten away with it in the US, but an honor-based society forced her back in line.

I am most thankful that the Traveling Pants have begun their descent. If he wasn’t coming soon, that last paragraph would be a fake-it-til-you-make-it-living-in-denial ending to this day.

And I know, the cool stories he comes home with will change my mind, and just another trip won’t look so bad. Plus, the next time he travels, I get to go too!

(History Buff is feeling better, thanks for asking. He was messing around with his crutches today and fell flat on his injured ankle, but seems ok now)

Black BMW Sedan License #14-55834

What is it about black BMWs and Mercedes drivers that they just MUST exceed the speed limit? Yesterday, one of each sped through a residential area when kindergarten kids were getting out. Had a child run into the street, he/she would be quite dead, not enough of a body left for proper washing and burial.

Later in the day in a different area, when another school was getting out, this particular BMW passed me three times as if on crack while school children lined both sides of the street. It was being driven by a young man, his shirt even appeared to be one of the local private school uniforms. There were young children in the car, not buckled.

The third time, I braked in the middle of the road to make him stop so I could get a look at the license plate. This is it. I hope someone does something about it.

How many more lives will be cut short due to stupidity?

**UPDATE: Ali blogs about a four year old boy who was killed by such a driver yesterday. On his birthday. I am ready to start a MADD group - Mothers Against Delinquent Drivers.

Congrats, Laura and Oliver!

While I’m congratulating, can’t forget my former VIVA editor Laura and hubby Oliver! She gave birth to a precious baby boy yesterday! The new Abu and Um Omar were beaming, delighted and delightful to see, as they transition from ‘couple’ to ‘family’! May the Lord bless your son with a heart like His, dear friends.

To Sue or Not To Sue: Inthar 3adileh on Labor Day

That is my new phrase of the day, and my decision of the day to ponder. What do you think I should do?

One thing I HATE about living here, is being forced to be someone I am not. I am not by nature an aggressive driver, I follow the rules and give people lots of room who don’t. But here, if I want to get in the flow of traffic, when NO ONE will move left to a clear lane to accommodate new traffic, where no one uses the nifty European ‘zipper’ method of merging, I will go fast with a big car and force my way in. It goes against my nature, and I resent it.

Another thing I hate is men who think I would be attracted by their staring, gross tongues, and grosser sexual invitations. Even in front of my kids. In order to appear ’strong’ and not weak, I have to get in their face and act like a you-know-what to defend my honor. I am a nice person, a moral woman of deep faith, a faithful wife, and their innuendo makes me want to throw up (all over them).

My latest thing I hate is the attitude of a certain magazine owner who has chosen not to pay his free-lancers for four months, letting his admin girl be the fall-gal to deliver the: ‘insha’allah next week’ refrain. For twelve weeks I had been kind, understanding and cooperative. But to him, a mild-mannered marshmallow to take advantage of. This marshmallow finally got singed to the point she is discovering her inner-Erin Brockovich.

A month ago ago I called a couple of the other free-lancers and discovered they were getting the same run-around. We decided to stop submitting articles until we were paid. It didn’t help, the mag just started advertising for more suckers to string along. I decided we may be stronger as a unit than as individuals, and began to think class-action. One of them asked me to start a union for them. Chuckle. Me, the Republican, Right-Wing Bottom-Feeder, starting a free-lance writers union. Mostly, I just want to handle this like Jesus would want me to.

I used my developing super-sleuth /journalistic skills to track the guy down, and discovered he is hardly a starving entrepreneur. He is a man of means and assets. I brought little Kinz with me and waited for him to open his store (I figured he wouldn’t yell at me if I had her with me). I sat down and kindly explained there must be some mistake, I’m sure he just forgot, but he has been remiss in paying his free-lancers, and it is time to make it right. He frowned: “How do you know them?” I said: “We are all bloggers, we have websites that thousands of Jordanians read”. He looked startled, then stood up and said: “Next week, insha’allah”. I told him, with a smile, I am tired of insha’allah, my trust has been broken and I would be happy to take goods from his store in the amount I am owed. He sat back down and smiled and said: “But no, you will have a check next week”.

A week passed. No call, no check. I asked blogger El 3atel what he thought I should do, since he had been well-acquainted with the non-paying-company-syndrome. He said “Be a lion”. ROARR!!! I roared to God in prayer asking for wisdom, hoping I wouldn’t have to do this, but it seems a part of my character development He desires done.

I sent and email yesterday saying exactly what I wanted. I got one back saying the check would be ready Sunday, but that they forgot the raise per piece they had given in December and didn’t include the latest issue’s work. I sent an email back saying I wanted the full amount as I submitted the latest issue’s work early and they were the ones who were late to print.

Today, I got the answer to my prayer. Two actually. One friend who has royal wasta said she could arrange a little phone call. The father of another friend offered his company legal counsel and advised me to file an “Inthar 3adileh”, to give the man two weeks notice before I actually start legal action against him for all the free-lancers, including fines, interest, and reimbursement for Tylenol. I sent the owner another email saying if the full amount I requested was not available Sunday, we would proceed to file the Inthar 3adileh on Monday. One of the other writers laughed that I seem to have more wasta than he does. Bizarre.

This is so scary (not nearly as scary as previous Mafia connections. But that is another story :D).

But, I think I am doing the right thing. If any of you have anything to add, please speak up! And what does Inthar 3adileh mean, anyway?