PS

How did I possibly forget to include a stop to Graeter's in all that planning? Thankfully, my in-laws were prepared for just such a slip-up because they had a shwea (little) stash of the stuff in their freezer, from which I just filched a spoonful, Jacob-style, standing in front of the fridge.

Mmmmmm....black raspberry chip french-pot, full-cream ice cream.

My Old Kentucky Home

Correction: Arabic word of the day should really be "hell-u" (sweet) instead of "hell-uah" (sweetie) despite my affinity for all things and people found at home.

Update: We've moved southward for the week to Jacob's true, my adopted, hometown of Lexington. Just as with Indy, the best thing is seeing people and we've been thrilled to get to spend so much time with Jacob's family with whom we're staying (even though one sister-in-law, who shall remain nameless but who also married an Italian, hasn't made an appearance yet).

I'm loving the weather (rainy and 70s!) and (no surprise here) the food. Nearly every day has been populated by all things Haramicana, particularly pork and alcohol.

The first afternoon I dropped Jacob off in Louisville to do a bit of work with his dad at their furniture store, The Craftsman Collection, and I made my way down to meet up with a girlfriend for lunch at an old haunt, Stella's Kentucky Deli, where I thoroughly enjoyed the signature fried green tomato B.L.T. with homemade coleslaw. From there, I ran errands (in my own car, all by myself, listening to the local NPR station, with the sunroof open - paradise!) and chatted up random friends at offices and coffee shops. I had a blissful wine-and-coffee-laced salon appointment at Brittin Tate (a fab friend and stylist, who I last saw on our wedding day while she was perfecting my coif) during which I cut off and donated 10 inches of my hair (no, not drink-induced). Company joined me during the slashing, including one sister-in-law and one good friend. I stopped by to see another friend and one thing led to another led to Mexican food, of course. It was delicious to catch up on fresh guac, taco salad and a bit of social news.

Within that paragraph is one other hidden thing that I've missed while being away: a schedule! Being busy! Having "things to do and people to see," as my mom used to say.

Other highlights include Harry's signature chopped salad (ham and fritos, hello what a combination!), a stop by the old office, Smiley Pete, and a double date over at my 'hood sushi spot, Tomo (first sushi in 7 months!), as well as after-dinner drinks at Buddy's.

In the midst of all this, Jacob's family is also returning to a newly-remodeled home after the housefire that moved them out (just one week after Jacob and I got engaged last September), so we're not the only ones living out of a suitcase! As I type, in fact, a parade of boxes is passing by. Maybe I should go help now...

Still on the docket: homemade bean soup (w/pork), beer and euchre with Jacob's family tonight, more lunches (probably to catch up at frequently-dined-at spots Wines on Vine and Bourbon n' Toulouse), girls' champagne-game night, Crosby Stills & Nash Concert, Cabin Getaway in TN...how does it get any better?

Ok, well, it does get better because the true highlight of yesterday was getting a text from BFF Sarah at about 11:30 a.m. yesterday confirming that she and her husband Travis had passed court in Ethiopia and have been approved officially to adopt their daughter and travel to pick her up. After more than two years of applications, prayers, beauracracy, patience, love and hope, Mia is getting a homecoming date. We praise the Lord for his graciousness in expanding the Taylor family and bringing their daughter one step closer to their arms. Read all about it at their blog.

Home Hell-uah Home

Arabic word of the day: Hell-uah
Meaning: Sweet

After 36 hours of travel literally around the world we made it home. From Buraimi to Dubai, Dubai to Amsterdam, Amsterdam to Detroit and Detroit to Indy, we had only one small hitch and a few extra hours, but still, we made it back!

In addition to my mom, brother and BFF being nearby, some of Jacob's family came up the next afternoon to join my family and our friends in celebrating our return and the day of mom's "double nickle" (55th Bday).

So, here's the quick update on all things Haramicana (my new name for things that are typically American and that might also be shameful - haram - or otherwise unavailable in the Middle East) so far:

Day 1- Mom, Dog, Pizza (with pepperoni, ham, sausage - all porky).
Day 2- More family, lots of friends, Bratwust (read: pork), and BEER and WINE (also, cruising in our '68 GTO to pick up ice cream cake that didn't melt!).
Day 3- Egg casserole with real, porky sausage, various outdoor activities with the families to take full advantage of the 70-some degree weather (whee! outdoor activities!)

Still on the docket:
Hair cut and style - yay, more family to be visited, lots of friends, outings, foods, drinks, sights, relaxations and otherwise fabulous times!

Another 48 Hours...

Just another 48 hours and we'll be headed to DBX to wing our way home to the states.

I won't be sad to spend my time blogging about seeing family and friends, soaking in backyard cookouts, hiking, live music, driving (yay!), oh, and France for my birthday! Could life be any sweeter?

I guess the cultural comments this time will be more to do with what it feels like to be home with everyone and being introduced as a married couple for the first time!

Until then...

PS-My old mobile number will be reactivated on Friday. Give me a call if you want to hang out. Vmail isn't set up yet, so text if you miss me!

FAIL: Me and the Culture Guru

Arabic Word for the Day: Shoo Hadtha
Meaning: "What's this" or "What's going on here"?
Used to express surprise or to lightly call attention to a displeasing situation.

C'mon. After I decided I should let it go, of course it wouldn't just go away. I fail: at letting it go. He fails: at being reasonable in a diverse group of people (ironically).

The culture guru strikes again. Today in class, while discussing, in Arabic, places we'd traveled, our class listed most of Western Europe, some Eastern, several African States, Antarctica, America (North/Central) and the Middle East. The instructor inquired after one of the missing continents: Australia.

"Moob Australia?" (Not Australia?)
"Naam, arreed zart Australia," I said (yes, I want to visit Australia), while a couple of other voices stated the same.
Then the culture guru himself, "La. Ma arreed zart Australia." (No, I don't want to visit Australia).
"Laish?" asked our teacher.
"Oh, come on. It's just the same as America. Same as South Africa," he responded.
"What?" I said. "Really?" (thinking he must be joking).
"Oh of course it is, the cultures are very similar."
Whatever. I exchanged looks with a couple classmates and let it go (until I got home, of course).

Did I mention that his job is to educate people about cultural sensitivity here?

Shoo Hadtha?

Gimme Some (Cultural) Lovin'

Arabic word for today: Ma'sh'allah
Meaning: Whatever God wills, or thanking God for what you have in life, not coveting things you don't, etc.

I've been trying for days to write this blog post about a guy in my class who initiated a major lecture on me regarding how I was moving toward cultural hate in my insistence on finding the "correct" spelling of a word that, it turns out, is essentially slang.

I really have. I've been working it through my head and trying to find the best way to communicate the story in a funny and concise way. It just hasn't been coming. I decided today was deadline day and sat down again to compose it.

Well, it still wasn't going on and after I'd sat here working on it and written several paragraphs of prose that looked strangely like several paragraphs of argumentative and sarcastic (one-sided) banter, I decided to give it up.

Do I think that I'm really on a matrix of cultural hate, inevitably bound on my already-begun downward slope of insisting on "proper" grammar and spelling? Well, no.

Do I think it's really helping me to steam about some one else's view of my "cultural matrix." No.

So, I'm letting it go. Maybe I'm supposed to be spending more time thinking about the good things I have around me: God, a wonderful husband, food, shelter, friends and family. Ma'sh'allah.

Veiled Perspective

It's an issue in current French politics and debated within muslim and non-muslim circles alike. It's an enigma to cultures in which it is not common and a constant in those in which it is required. It's alternately fashion and conformity, a freedom and an oppression.

Veiling - the body, hair, face -for religion and modesty.

Controversial at times but, like many things that spur controversy, it also has a light side.

We were told when we arrived that wearing local dress here (Abbaya - the black dress, Sheila - the black headscarf, Burka - the veil draped across the partial or entire face) was disrespectful, unlike in Iraq or Saudi where it is required that all women be covered. So, we have observed the distinction from a distance.

Last week I got a little dose of the veiled perspective.

An Omani friend of mine, M - a sweet, smart, fun-loving and slightly-rebellious young woman with a searing sense of humor and amazing grasp on both English and its social intricacies and slang (she says she learned most of her language from listening to pop music) decided to take us on an outing.

She brought us to her house and dressed us in the garb...this time with the burka, which she wears when going out. The first time I met her mom, in fact, was just after I'd been dressed up like a true American girl doll, a life size Barbie for her to play with (she'd had to help fix my hair, drape the sheila, arrange the burka and re-drape the sheila over it). I was embarrased to meet her this way, but she just laughed. M then decided that I must be Saudi, not Omani, since I was so light-skinned. I had my identity (though I'm not sure I can live up to that!).

Then we headed out - first to the souk (traditional marketplace) then to the mall.

I continued to feel uncomfortable, even behind all the disguise of my person. No one could see anything more than my toes and my eyes, but I was convinced they could see through me. It started in the tailor shops where we purused new Abbayas. The women who usually never turned an eye to me looked to size me up like I was a new pledge in consideration during rush week. Was the sheila draped well? My hair big enough? My hem long enough? The design stylish enough without being too flashy?

Then, the surprise at the mall. Men, even, men who looked through me - a western woman - while I was dressed in my efforts at respectful costume (long pants, long sleeves, hair up), looked me up and down, sizing and re-sizing me beneath the yards and yards of drapey black fabric, usually not quite making it to the eyes. Some turned to follow us for a moment or whispered into friends' ears or their ubiquitous mobile bluetooth earpieces. They tried to conceal devilish smiles as they glimpsed toes or fingers (some women even wear gloves, making the flesh of a hand quite tantalizing).

When we got to the restaurant, the waiters didn't speak to us directly, but instead only to our other friend, who had declined the offer of local dress for the evening. We were offered menus in Arabic and a slight bow with each departure from the table.

It was exhilirating and curious to be so hidden and afforded the luxury I feel I don't really have here - to observe freely (although not the men. Keep the eyes down when it comes to approaching males otherwise, M says, "It doesn't matter if I'm looking away from them, they think it's an invitation or something." This with an eye roll and in her loathing tone regarding men and marriage).

It was also exhausting - keep the sheila draped so no hair is showing, the burka in place, hold the folds of the fabric so you don't trip but not high enough so that anyone can see anything, look down, sit gracefully - not to mention hot!

I think the most striking instance of the evening was when we'd gotten in the car to head home. My sheila had been nearly blown off in the parking lot and the burka was askew. With the sky darkening, I was less careful about maintaining my decorum and I tore off the scarf and veil and began to rearrange myself in the vanity mirror. Something moved in my peripheral vision and I instinctively glanced over. I found myself staring straight into the disbelieving eyes and gap-mouthed face of a local cabbie. I realized my situation (playing a muslim, middle eastern woman) and grasped for my sheila with a squeal, ducking below the window to toss it carelessly over my hair and face quickly and staying there until the traffic light changed and the scandalized poseur was separated from her shame.

To this man, what he'd seen was something akin to making a quick-change in the car back home and being caught. I let myself slip for a moment and, "bang," I'd just crushed my still-young reputation. I apologized to M, assuming I might have tarnished her as well, but she was just laughing hysterically, which she continued to do until Celine Dion came over the speakers, at which point she started signing along to the brazen lyrics, "If you touch me like this, and I kiss you..."

I succumbed to my own laughter and then joined in.

I Dream of Kelbi

Arabic word of the day: Kelbi

Meaning: Dog (of course)





I figured going into the intensive summer course would help the last bit of time pass before we got home. I figured it would keep my mind off all the things we are looking forward to (yes, seeing my dog is one of them). What I didn't figure was that, when I go to relax and sleep at night I can't stop the Arabic! Phrases, words, all these things I've heard repeated over and over and which I haven't understood are like the banished balls, files, clothes, brooms, books, knicknacks and other shamefully-shoved contents of a closet filled to bursting and held suspended behind a closed door. And these Arabic classes, well, let me tell you, for six hours a day it's like someone is chiseling away at the lock on the door and splintering off little pieces of the hardwood that holds everything in. And every piece chipped off lets things get a little closer to an explosion.

Or maybe the explosion is already happening?

Last night I awoke, startled, in the middle of the night. Jacob, I sensed was awake, too. "Sorry," he said. "Did I wake you up?"

Confused, but not completely so (we both talk in our sleep and are prone to knocking into the other - each occurance can sometimes stir the other, so we've gotten used to it and generally accept a no-fault waking policy), I said, "No, I was having weird sleep, I think I may have woken myself."

"Yeah," he responded. "You were talking in your sleep...in Arabic."

"NO, I was not," I said.

"YEAH, you were," he said. "You said, 'ma ayn-di kelbi."

Then I knew he wasn't lying. What I'd said?

"I don't have my dog."

Weekend!

Weekend (and holidays, as we've learned) are a completely different animal here. Partially because of the days (Friday-Saturday is our weekend). Partially because of how we spend them (malls, malls, malls, church). We'll be missing the diff'rent strokes of spending Independence Day abroad this year, but we'll let you know how it goes (ice cream social, anyone?).

For now, though, Arabic phrase that pays (thanks, Rick Dees and other random, assorted radio personalities):

Ee-jaza sah-ee-da

Happy Weekend!