It’s been over a week now since we finished the end of Spring Semester. We got started a bit late, so the end-of-semester work stretched into July. Academic life is good, with its cycles of beginnings and ends. Teachers and students seem equally worn out by the end of each semester, but then we always get a break and a chance to be rejuvenated.
I’ve had a bit of time for reflection the past eight days, with Bob in Sri Lanka and a quiet home to myself. I’ve enjoyed my natural tendency toward asceticism--no meat, no TV, no AC (most of the time). I’ve been reading and writing and thinking, along with my beach walks, strolls around the neighbourhood at 115 degrees Fahrenheit, and little projects I create for myself.
I don’t feel good about the fact that I did not do much blogging this year. That’s an indication of where my priorities were—-on my job and my job alone. I didn’t even write a blog post about my job! For academics, New Year’s resolutions can happen at the beginning of a semester, not just at the start of a calendar year. Come September, I hope to write more regularly because there are things to write about. This year I’ve had the ideas, just not the words. My niece Natalie prods me every once in a while to write in my blog. My nephew Jason says he doesn’t mind posting photos for me, since for some reason, that’s not working for me in Kuwait. With the help of Natalie and Jason, I hope to be a better blogger next school year. Insha Allah (God willing).
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Baby Birds on our Balcony
After a long hiatus from blogging and an over-indulgence in administrative work, I’ve got to write about the baby birds that brought joy to our life for the past month-and-a-half. Unfortunately, I’m not able to post photos at this time, so readers will have to use their imagination.
We knew the pigeons were spending an unusual amount of time on the tiny balcony off our kitchen, but we did not realize at first that strips of wire, a metal plate, bottle cap, old business card, plastic tape dispenser, and a few twigs would actually constitute a nest. For Bob and me, life in Kuwait is often austere and unnatural. These two eggs sitting on concrete seemed analogous to our life in Kuwait. But instead of getting philosophical, let me focus on the birds.
The eggs appeared on April 4 and the baby birds two weeks later—April 19. Mama was proud, and she let us know it those first few days as we looked on from inside the kitchen. Each day thereafter, we woke up anxious to see what the birds were up to. The tiny balls of yellow feathers stayed still under their mama at first, and she never seemed to leave them. Then they curled up on their own, usually side by side, but with their heads facing opposite directions, waiting for Mama to arrive. Every time she flew in saying “It’s time for your feeding,” they chirped and squealed and competed with each other to be the first to her beak.
Watching them try out their wings was the most fun of all. We wondered when they would fly. Then tragedy struck, and at three weeks old, the smaller of the baby birds fell seven stories to its death. Was it an accident or intentional? Was Mama unable to find enough food for both of them and had to choose, like Sophie? On May 9, I felt sad all day.
A few days later, Bob and I watched the surviving baby bird grow into a small adult bird, no longer having its cute baby features. The bird practiced and practiced flapping its wings. We wondered when it would fly. Then the bullying began, with three pigeons arriving every hour or so, encroaching on the frightened baby bird’s space. We hated leaving for work in the morning. Who would scare the bullies away and protect the little one? A couple days later our baby was perched on the railing, ready to go. “Today is your day!” I said before heading out the door, wishing we could see the great departure. It was May 17, and the birdie was four weeks old when it left our home for a different one.
Within 48 hours, there was a new pigeon roosting on the already-built nest of plastic, metal, and paper, but we decided once was enough. Armed with rubber gloves and a mask, it took me half an hour and a bottle of Clorox to clean up four weeks of bird droppings.
Philosophy and analogies aside, the birds were a welcome addition to our life in April and May. My mom has been watching three baby robins in a nest in a tree in their back yard. It sounds like she’s having as much fun as we did.
We knew the pigeons were spending an unusual amount of time on the tiny balcony off our kitchen, but we did not realize at first that strips of wire, a metal plate, bottle cap, old business card, plastic tape dispenser, and a few twigs would actually constitute a nest. For Bob and me, life in Kuwait is often austere and unnatural. These two eggs sitting on concrete seemed analogous to our life in Kuwait. But instead of getting philosophical, let me focus on the birds.
The eggs appeared on April 4 and the baby birds two weeks later—April 19. Mama was proud, and she let us know it those first few days as we looked on from inside the kitchen. Each day thereafter, we woke up anxious to see what the birds were up to. The tiny balls of yellow feathers stayed still under their mama at first, and she never seemed to leave them. Then they curled up on their own, usually side by side, but with their heads facing opposite directions, waiting for Mama to arrive. Every time she flew in saying “It’s time for your feeding,” they chirped and squealed and competed with each other to be the first to her beak.
Watching them try out their wings was the most fun of all. We wondered when they would fly. Then tragedy struck, and at three weeks old, the smaller of the baby birds fell seven stories to its death. Was it an accident or intentional? Was Mama unable to find enough food for both of them and had to choose, like Sophie? On May 9, I felt sad all day.
A few days later, Bob and I watched the surviving baby bird grow into a small adult bird, no longer having its cute baby features. The bird practiced and practiced flapping its wings. We wondered when it would fly. Then the bullying began, with three pigeons arriving every hour or so, encroaching on the frightened baby bird’s space. We hated leaving for work in the morning. Who would scare the bullies away and protect the little one? A couple days later our baby was perched on the railing, ready to go. “Today is your day!” I said before heading out the door, wishing we could see the great departure. It was May 17, and the birdie was four weeks old when it left our home for a different one.
Within 48 hours, there was a new pigeon roosting on the already-built nest of plastic, metal, and paper, but we decided once was enough. Armed with rubber gloves and a mask, it took me half an hour and a bottle of Clorox to clean up four weeks of bird droppings.
Philosophy and analogies aside, the birds were a welcome addition to our life in April and May. My mom has been watching three baby robins in a nest in a tree in their back yard. It sounds like she’s having as much fun as we did.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Our Kuwaiti Digs
As usual, the internet is not working well enough for me to post photos to my blog. That's one of the reasons I have not kept up with the blog. Nevertheless, I'll post this and hope my nephew Jason can come to the rescue with the photos later. (Thanks, Jason!)
After two major house renovations (Ashby Avenue in 2009 and Virginia Avenue in 2006), Bob and I are quite content to be living in an apartment, with someone else responsible for the maintenance. Every place we live has its idiosyncrasies. The most memorable for us date back to our second year in Romania. Here is Kuwait the routine is not unfamiliar. Call the maintenance guys and then wait! And wait and wait.
In Kuwait, a city of roughly two million people, there are apartment blocks everywhere. Villas are fewer and farther between, at least in our area of town. We call our surroundings "The Projects," but in an endearing sort of way. Our eleven-story building has eight towers, with three apartments per floor. That's a total of 264 apartments. Bob tried to capture the 264 air conditioners with his camera, but it was hard to fit them all in.
Our apartment is nothing fancy but we are enjoying it. We have a spacious living and dining room area, and two large bedrooms, one of which will eventually be converted into a studio for Bob. Interior decorating is on hold at the moment, till my 100-day probationary period at work is over.
In the meantime, we've rearranged the furniture so that the kitchen is no longer just a place to cook and do laundry.
We regularly sweep up the plaster that falls from the crumbling walls.
We've taken out the windows, caked with dust, and have gotten them into pristine condition, which makes the sunrise over the water each morning even more glorious.
Most importantly, we've gotten to know the plumber, the electrician, the air filter cleaner, and Abu Ahmed, the general manager of the apartment complex, whose good side it is important to be on. Maintenance happens when it happens, sometimes two weeks after the toilet stops working (fortunately we have two bathrooms) and sometimes late at night. The other night we were playing music with friends, and the doorbell rang at 10:00 p.m. Our new cheap toilet seat had arrived to replace the old cheap toilet seat that had broken in two.
As I write this blog post, I hear the drip from the kitchen faucet that I've heard for the past several weeks. One of these days (or nights), I'm sure the plumber will show up!
After two major house renovations (Ashby Avenue in 2009 and Virginia Avenue in 2006), Bob and I are quite content to be living in an apartment, with someone else responsible for the maintenance. Every place we live has its idiosyncrasies. The most memorable for us date back to our second year in Romania. Here is Kuwait the routine is not unfamiliar. Call the maintenance guys and then wait! And wait and wait.
In Kuwait, a city of roughly two million people, there are apartment blocks everywhere. Villas are fewer and farther between, at least in our area of town. We call our surroundings "The Projects," but in an endearing sort of way. Our eleven-story building has eight towers, with three apartments per floor. That's a total of 264 apartments. Bob tried to capture the 264 air conditioners with his camera, but it was hard to fit them all in.
Our apartment is nothing fancy but we are enjoying it. We have a spacious living and dining room area, and two large bedrooms, one of which will eventually be converted into a studio for Bob. Interior decorating is on hold at the moment, till my 100-day probationary period at work is over.
In the meantime, we've rearranged the furniture so that the kitchen is no longer just a place to cook and do laundry.
We regularly sweep up the plaster that falls from the crumbling walls.
We've taken out the windows, caked with dust, and have gotten them into pristine condition, which makes the sunrise over the water each morning even more glorious.
Most importantly, we've gotten to know the plumber, the electrician, the air filter cleaner, and Abu Ahmed, the general manager of the apartment complex, whose good side it is important to be on. Maintenance happens when it happens, sometimes two weeks after the toilet stops working (fortunately we have two bathrooms) and sometimes late at night. The other night we were playing music with friends, and the doorbell rang at 10:00 p.m. Our new cheap toilet seat had arrived to replace the old cheap toilet seat that had broken in two.
As I write this blog post, I hear the drip from the kitchen faucet that I've heard for the past several weeks. One of these days (or nights), I'm sure the plumber will show up!
Friday, October 1, 2010
The Heat of Kuwait
When people think of Kuwait, they often think of oil, money, and hot weather. It seems only right, then, for my first blog post from Kuwait to focus on the heat.
Being a record-keeper, like my dad, I kept track of the daily high temperature, the daily low temperature, and the daily high humidity for the month of August—my first month in Kuwait. The high in August ranged between 104 and 120 F (41 and 49 C). The average high temperature was 114 (45). The low in August ranged between 80 and 95 F (27 and 35 C). The average low temperature was 86 (30). The high humidity ranged between 15% and 89%, the average being 50%.
Bob didn’t arrive until September, but he still gets in on the heat. One of his first tours of the neighborhood took place in the evening—after 8:00 p.m. Bob’s thoughts: “Oh my, it’s hot.” Another tour took place around 8:00 in the morning. Bob’s thoughts: “Oh my, it’s hot.” If we would walk between midnight and 5:00 a.m., we might feel a break in the heat, but for now we’re trying to come up with metaphors to describe what this heat feels like:
--It’s like opening the oven door—when the hot air hits your face.
--It’s like sitting in a sauna.
--It’s like standing too close to the campfire.
--It’s like a blast furnace.
Even our water pipes are hot. We brush our teeth in hot water. Though our water heater is turned off, it was hard to get anything but a scalding hot shower till Bob brilliantly figured out that if we turned the water on “hot,” the water that was sitting in that tank would be “cooler” than the water coming out of the “cold” tank that sits on the roof in the sun. Now we have hot, rather than burning hot, showers.
Apparently, it’s not as humid here as in some places. But in August of this year, I experienced 65% humidity, 75% humidity, even 85% humidity. What was that condensation streaming down on the outside of my apartment windows, if not a sign of humidity? Why did my bangs flip up? Why did my glasses fog up when I walked outside? It’s just the opposite of what I’m used to—my glasses steaming up while going from the cold winter air outside to the inside of a heated building. Whether my fingers swell up, making my wedding ring too tight, is a sign of humidity or just heat, I’ll find out in the next few weeks, now that the humidity has actually decreased.
Those who live here say the weather gets beautiful around November and that it can even get close to freezing. We might be sorry that we left our winter clothes at home. We’ll have to wait and see.
Being a record-keeper, like my dad, I kept track of the daily high temperature, the daily low temperature, and the daily high humidity for the month of August—my first month in Kuwait. The high in August ranged between 104 and 120 F (41 and 49 C). The average high temperature was 114 (45). The low in August ranged between 80 and 95 F (27 and 35 C). The average low temperature was 86 (30). The high humidity ranged between 15% and 89%, the average being 50%.
Bob didn’t arrive until September, but he still gets in on the heat. One of his first tours of the neighborhood took place in the evening—after 8:00 p.m. Bob’s thoughts: “Oh my, it’s hot.” Another tour took place around 8:00 in the morning. Bob’s thoughts: “Oh my, it’s hot.” If we would walk between midnight and 5:00 a.m., we might feel a break in the heat, but for now we’re trying to come up with metaphors to describe what this heat feels like:
--It’s like opening the oven door—when the hot air hits your face.
--It’s like sitting in a sauna.
--It’s like standing too close to the campfire.
--It’s like a blast furnace.
Even our water pipes are hot. We brush our teeth in hot water. Though our water heater is turned off, it was hard to get anything but a scalding hot shower till Bob brilliantly figured out that if we turned the water on “hot,” the water that was sitting in that tank would be “cooler” than the water coming out of the “cold” tank that sits on the roof in the sun. Now we have hot, rather than burning hot, showers.
Apparently, it’s not as humid here as in some places. But in August of this year, I experienced 65% humidity, 75% humidity, even 85% humidity. What was that condensation streaming down on the outside of my apartment windows, if not a sign of humidity? Why did my bangs flip up? Why did my glasses fog up when I walked outside? It’s just the opposite of what I’m used to—my glasses steaming up while going from the cold winter air outside to the inside of a heated building. Whether my fingers swell up, making my wedding ring too tight, is a sign of humidity or just heat, I’ll find out in the next few weeks, now that the humidity has actually decreased.
Those who live here say the weather gets beautiful around November and that it can even get close to freezing. We might be sorry that we left our winter clothes at home. We’ll have to wait and see.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Bessie and the Good News Garage
Friends of ours knew our 1990 Dodge Spirit as "Bessie." We named her that because she was originally my Grandma Bessie King Yoder's car. Pictured above is my grandma Bessie, my dad Ed, my brother Terry, and my nephew Austin—4 generations—at Bessie's 100th birthday party. Here is a bit of Bessie (the car's) history:
1990—Grandma bought the auto from Hartwig Motors (Iowa) when she was 84 years old.
1998—Grandma sold the car to my brother (Pennsylvania) with 32,000 miles on it.
2003—Terry gave the car to Bob and me (Virginia) with 75,000 miles on it when we were home one summer from Palestine.
2004—My niece Kimberly, (Ohio) inherited the prized family possession at 83,000 miles.
2008—Bessie came "home" to Bob and me for our year-long stay in Virginia. The odometer read 117,000 miles, but it had stopped working a few months prior.
2010—We donated Bessie to the "Good News Garage" in Burlington, Vermont before leaving the country again
1998—Grandma sold the car to my brother (Pennsylvania) with 32,000 miles on it.
2003—Terry gave the car to Bob and me (Virginia) with 75,000 miles on it when we were home one summer from Palestine.
2004—My niece Kimberly, (Ohio) inherited the prized family possession at 83,000 miles.
2008—Bessie came "home" to Bob and me for our year-long stay in Virginia. The odometer read 117,000 miles, but it had stopped working a few months prior.
2010—We donated Bessie to the "Good News Garage" in Burlington, Vermont before leaving the country again
Like the average American, Bessie moved five times in the 20 years she lived among the Yoders. Alyse and Austin, above, were the kids in the car's life. Bessie had her share of repairs, especially in the past two years, but for the most part, she ran very well, trudging on even at 20 years old! She was happy, but she let us know when she did not want to move anymore. When we sold our home in Virginia, the power window on the driver's side stopped working. When we left Pennsylvania for a trip to the Midwest and Vermont, the AC went kaput. Riding around in Bessie at 90 degrees outside with no AC was great preparation for Kuwait! And so we decided to let go of Bessie, though it was not easy. Grandma died two years ago at age 102, and since then I loved having her automobile, such a tangible reminder of Grandma.
We all enjoyed many things about Grandma Bessie, the person. Kimberly, above, enjoyed looking at Grandma's calendars and diaries when she visited her at age 101. But all that is for another blog post! What did we fancy about Bessie, the Dodge Spirit?
- Terry thought she was a great car for hauling around two young children.
- Though not many high school students would see the value in driving a vintage car around town, Kimberly and her friends thought Bessie was pretty cool.
- Bessie's cushioned and comfy bench seats allowed her to hold six people, all with seat belts.
- Her turn signal made that old-fashioned loud clinking noise that caused first-time passengers to do a double-take.
- She had power windows and power locks, pretty modern for her time.
- Bessie was conducive to music. There was no CD or cassette player, but Bob and I created many songs in the front seat of that car on road trips, the ukulele being our instrument of choice.
The Good News Garage is a program of Lutheran Social Services. Since 1996 when it began in Bob's hometown of Burlington, it has given 3,500 vehicles to people in need at affordable prices. For more info, go to goodnewsgarage.org.
Bessie, we will miss you! We believe what your bumper sticker proclaims: GOD BLESS THE WHOLE WORLD, NO EXCEPTIONS! We trust that you will give your next owners as much joy as you gave us! We hope you will be well cared-for! Terry, thanks for sharing the joy!
Sunday, August 15, 2010
"I Got a Tattoo"
Don't worry. It wasn't I who got the tattoo. It was my niece Natalie. I was a mere accomplice on that day, holding her hand while Bob photographed and videoed the process. After the big event, Natalie and I wrote the hit song "I Got a Tattoo." 
The tattoo reads "Agape." Natalie chose this word, written and drawn to look like a human being, based on the verse in Colossians that talks about "clothing ourselves in love." The verse had special significance during Natalie's year in Mexico, and now, she'll be reminded of it for the rest of her life. Here are the words to the song:
I got a tattoo; I got a tattoo.It's what I wanted to do cause Agape is true
I got a tattoo; I got a tattoo.
It wasn't so bad, and I'm so glad
I got a tattoo.
I read in Colossians all about love,
That above all else clothe yourselves in love.
People are people all over the world.
God's love is agape; agape is love.
Below is a short video clip of our first take on the song. (Unfortunately, technical failure cut us off before we were done.) If you're interested in the sequel written by my sisters, niece, and I to sing back to Natalie, you can find it on my Facebook wall, posted by my mom. By the way, the part about that song sticking in my head is so true. I have probably sung the song hundreds of times since its creation in June. Hopefully, someday, I can get the rest of the original posted here, or somewhere.Sunday, July 4, 2010
Artistically Inspired in Mexico
It’s been a joy for me to watch Bob’s creative spirit the past few months. He’s been inspired to paint and to play music. Ever since I’ve known him, he’s been inspired to paint and to play music, but here in San Miguel, he’s inspired in a special, happy way.
He performed two solo concerts in June in the beautiful Santa Ana Theater, housed in San Miguel’s public library. Playing banjo, guitar, and ukulele, his repertoire included the following:--Mountain banjo songs such as Cookoo Bird and Red Rocking Chair
--Sailor songs such as Haul Away Joe and Lord Franklin
--Miner songs such as 16 Tons
--Irish tunes such as Wild Mountain Thyme
--Blues tunes such as See That My Grave Is Kept Clean
--Folk tunes such as Don’t Think Twice, It's All Right
--Ukelele songs such as Somewhere over the Rainbow
He had a good time working on these and other songs and then performing them for two welcoming audiences. He also did instrumental improvisations on all three instruments. He hopes to have more such opportunities in the future.
In the past, as a painter, Bob worked mainly from his imagination. Then, a few years ago, he took a landscape painting workshop in Slovenia, where he discovered the beauty of plein-air painting—painting in the out-of-doors. He would like to offer similar workshops here in Mexico, so this summer he spent his time on the edge of town or in small villages painting some of the many chapels in and around San Miguel. The architecture and simplicity of these chapels appeal to him. So do the bright colors that he decided to use as his medium. If any of his paintings appeal to you, they’ll be on sale soon. (I’m his agent—I have to say this!) You can see his paintings from the past ten years and listen to some of his improvisational music at his website: http://www.rgravelin.com/. Enjoy!
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