Chapter 21: Papers Aplenty

So today Mom and I drove through a different checkpoint. It's a beautiful drive and was even more so tonight as it was twilight and the air was crystal clear and the light from the setting sun looked fantastic on the (it has taken me five minutes to try and find the right word to describe the clouds...and nothing) clouds. While it is the longest drive home, it is often the most relaxing, or at least refreshing, so we approached the two shacks and giant cement dividers that make up the checkpoint at peace with the world, all our chakras aligned. Usually we flash our passports at the guard of the day, he gives them a cursory inspection, smiles and then waves us on, telling us to be welcome and have nice days. Tonight, our guy was a just as courteous as ever, smiling, gentle, almost welcoming...I mean, minus the giant gun of course, but then, after looking at our passports, he asked us a question. While the question turned out to be both surprising and a bit confusing to Mom and I, I think we were more shocked that we had been asked anything at all. Don't get me wrong, we are used to be grilled and not just in military situations, at the post office, the bank, sometimes even the supermarket, but this checkpoint was a beacon of hope to us, a place where they seemed strangely uninterested in what I had eaten for lunch and actively worked to keep some of the mystery in our relationship alive (they were active because they didn't ask...never mind, I'm sure you can understand me, or at least cobble together something interesting for yourselves).
Anyway, the guard, we'll call him George (as in Curious), leaned over and asked, "Is this a rental car?" And now I can explain our resulting surprise and confusion. I don't think I have ever explained the car we drive over here. It is a forest green Diahatsu Applause, no idea what the year is, but it at least a decade old judging by our registration stickers on the windshield. I say forest green, but it is more than just that for the Applause, or our little habibtee (Arabic for sweetie for girls...I learned the hard way that when you call a boy sweetie it's habibee...I have yet to live that down), has been struck with some kind of vehicular leprosy (not like a leopard...but actually, it does have spots, kind of). It looks as though someone has diligently taken a blow torch and various acids to the paint job, stripping it away chip by chip. Something must be wrong with the composition of the paint because apparently it just started washing away before the sisters eyes (I should also mention that the Franciscans own the car and graciously allow us to use it). What we lack in paint, we make up with dents and scrapes. Apparently our car is invisible to the woman who lives across the street from us, or Madame Ding-Dong/Senora Crash, for she smacks into it quite often. In short (but not really that short), our car, while reliable and wonderful, is a Middle East hooptie (on the outside), and that is why we were surprise George asked if it was a rental. What sketchy rental agencies does he think we frequent? Despite our confusion, we answered that no it was not a rental car. This did not satisfy him completely and so we started to search for the current registration paper, despite the fact that our current registration sticker was clearly displayed on the windshield not two feet from his face. We were handicapped by our inability to read or understand Hebrew, so we just started shoving random papers from the glove box at him. At one time we had all the pertinent papers in a single pouch, but things fell apart for various reasons and the center could not hold (yeah, I'm classy like that). I pretty sure I gave him a napkin at one point. Anyway, we finally gave him the correct paper, he read it, and then mumble something like "Sistermphrmga", which we understood to mean, "this name is different from the passports". We looked at each other and returned our gaze to the maelstrom that had once been the glove box for inside was the letter written by one of the sisters saying Mom has permission to drive their car, the letter we believed would set us free. As I dove in, I heard Mom mutter under her breath, "If Lily ate it, I'll kill myself." If you remember, Lily is our landlord. I knew Mom's mutter was in fact referring to the destruction of our pouch of car papers at the jaws of Blackie, Lily's giant black dog (who is incredibly sweet and under the impression that everyone greets him with gifts...like scarves or keys or scarves....he's very partial to cashmere blends). I knew that she was more concerned that Blackie had ingested the all important letter, not that Lily had taken to scarfing down bits of paper.
Eventually, I found the required item, George read it, gave us a big smile, and told us to be welcome and have nice nights thanks. As we drove away, I gazed down at my lap, strewn with papers and passports and realized I was clutching something in my hand, ready to pass George another piece of paper in case the last one failed to satisfy him. When I looked at it I realized it was a prayer card with a picture of Divine Mercy Jesus (basically Jesus with two beams of light that look almost like heavenly traffic lights, not in a good way, one red and one blue...maybe he should called Policeman Jesus) and the phrase "I confide in you, O Jesus"...or something similar to that. Probably not the best card to hand over to the soldiers, no matter how nice or curious they might be.
So that's my story for today. And now I need to get ready for bed. It's nearly 8 o'clock afterall...

Chapter 20: The Zoo (part 2)

Part 2! Well, if we had been carrying signs that read "Zoo or bust" we would have busted. After sitting at the checkpoint for nearly an hour in a bus full of kids that were both excited and impatient, playing countless rounds of Slap Jack, searching for Hidden Pictures, and even reading from my 1st grade level Arabic workbook (I was really desperate...I was doing anything to keep my group of boys at the back of the bus engaged in useful things...things like not whaling on each other), we made it to the Biblical Zoo, only to be met with disappointment. The lady at the ticket counter refused to let us come in because she said "it's not fair to the children, they will all get sick". First of all, since when is the lady at the box office in charge of the universe...why does she get to decide who enjoys the zoo and who doesn't? Secondly, if you're not going to let people in when it rains, kindly close the gate. And finally, I (and the kids) WANTED TO SEE SOME BIBLICAL FREAKING ANIMALS! Whew, I just had to get that off my chest. After we were turned away from the zoo we tried to take the kids to some place called 'YummyYummy'...I don't know what it was and I never did find out because it turned out it was closed anyway. Of course, we had to fight through traffic all the way across town to find this out. We ended up at a place called 'Goodies', essentially McDonalds, complete with indoor play area. We all had burgers and fries and Coke...some kids wanted juice (I overheard two of the oldest boys discussing how you should drink juice when you're younger because it will make you strong...Coke does not make you strong and thus we should not drink it...clearly these are very thoughtful and concerned boys) and then the kids played and the faculty tried to prevent any deaths (the play area had tile floor and the windows clearly weren't water tight because water was streaming down the walls and onto the floor making it a death trap with just one person walking across it...with 30 kids and 10 adults, it was like the car crash ending in "The Pink Panther", but no blood, truly miraculous. Anyway, after more rounds of SlapJack and War (I would like to point out that the boys were using my deck of cards which were decorated with Victorian flower fairies...but no one seemed to mind) with the older boys and playtime/acrobatic safety catches for the younger kids/harried faculty (after my 10 min shift watching the mini climbing wall, I hid in a bathroom stall to regroup and refocus), we rounded everyone up and onto the bus and headed back to school. So that was our day at the zoo. Technically we made it to the grounds of the zoo, but never stepped inside. But who knows, maybe one of the tigers got out and was wandering around, waiting for an unsuspecting group of school children. Yeah, that's my story. In missing the zoo we also missed a horrific tiger mauling, so thank you zoo box office lady, you truly were looking out for our best interests.

Chapter 20: The Zoo (part 1)

Today we (the kids, most of the faculty, and I) are going to the zoo. In Arabic, a zoo is called a 'garden of animals'....pretty huh? Anyway, I have a busy morning, but I thought I'd set the scene. It is currently 51 degrees outside (by the way, this will all be in Fahrenheit because I do not understand Celsius) but it feels like 40, due to the rain and wind. We can expect a high of 60...maybe, and the rain is supposed to continue off and on for the rest of the day. A typical fall day...in Seattle, not in yon Holy Land. Soooo, I'll let you know how it all plays out. I'm super psyched - it's raining, I'm packing my own lunch (everyone is allowed to bring items that are forbidden at school usually...like chips and cola...not sonic death rays or stuff like that...who would eat that anyway?!), and I'm bringing lots of small candies to convince the two boys that make up my group that they don't want to misbehave and instead want to listen to everything Missy Gwynedd says...and perhaps learn something at the same time. However, chocolate is not a magical substance, nor can it cause miracles. I'm just hoping for two out of three. And now, get ready for....(to be continued in part 2).

Chapter 19: VICTORY!

Oh yes, that's right. Mom and I successfully named one of Nuush's kittens. By successfully I mean, we started calling the cat by the name we thought fit it, Wassim, the youngest son, told Lily about it, and when Lily heard us calling the cat, she said "Halas, it's finished. That is his name." (You're all dying to know what it is...aren't you?) So tonight, (don't worry, I'm getting there) after I helped Mom start dinner (awesome hamburgers, tomato-mozzarella-pecan salad...which doesn't sound so healthsome...and special potatoes), I went out to the front steps to hang out with my cat posse. I couldn't see them at first because a) it was dark and b) they're freaking cats, but seconds after I sat down they slipped out of the shadows and scampered up to me. There was little Alonzo, Kautuna the only sister (Kautuna means 'small drop' in Arabic), and....Shaq. Indeed, ladies and gentlemen of the...blog?, Mom and I dubbed the largest of the kittens, the one who still did not have a name (Alonzo is the smallest and most beloved of the kittens by Lilly and the boys...and Moin (Lilly's husband if I hadn't explained yet) and so they named him first, then Kautuna...and Shaq was left nameless for months until Mom and I stepped in), the most, how shall I say...badawesome (combination of bad ass and awesome...still needs some work) Shaq, Shaq Daddy, Diesel, the Big Aristotle, etc, etc, etc. It gives us great pleasure to call him by name, and to hear Lilly and the boys use it too (actually, it's definitely more fun to hear Lilly call for Shaq Daddy). Walter, we hope you approve our name choice, he is deserving, I promise!
So yeah, even though his name isn't Gwynedd Jr, or Kristin Jr., or, God forbid, Nemo, it is Shaq...almost the best name in the world...besides Grizz and DotCom of course.

Chapter 18: The Recap

Sooo...here's what's happened so far this week-
1. Monday was a sick day...Mom was sick and I was her crafty nurse (crafty because I finished knitting a blanket and worked on a needlepoint case for glasses...not the cool kind of crafty)
2. Tuesday we were back at school but we ate out for dinner and came home late (7:30...P.M.! I mean, that's late for normal people right...never mind, I don't want to discuss it) and I had only enough strength to watch the preview for Toy Story 3 (sorry, I just took time out to post the trailer on Claire's facebook page...because there's some spanish in it) aaaaaand the new episode of How I Met Your Mother...but then I was drained and had to go to bed.
3. Today - pretty normal day at school. We had hotdogs for lunch, that was awesome, but then I ate two of them and that was not nearly as awesome. I can't figure out what new craft project I should work on. I just finished a giant (well, not giant, but certainly the biggest project I've ever done) lap blanket (pictures to be posted at another time). It's still excessively hot and humid over here. I'm talking so hot and sweaty that I was literally blinded (very temporary of course) by sweat in my eyes when I was walking through the IKEA parking lot looking for our car. This was bad because 1) Mom wasn't walking with me, but instead waiting for me to come back to her to help move the rest of our stuff, 2) blindly stumbling through a parking lot in the Holy Land is like holding up a giant Wyle E. Coyote sized sign that says "Please run me over...or at least bump me around a bit", and 3) I was carrying the already assembled (we bought the floor model) bookcase for my office at school. I have taken to pinning up my hair (averaging about 15 bobby pins), BBC Jane Austen miniseries style...minus the corkscrew and sausage curls...pretty much any curls at all. Mom has taken to calling me Jane when I do this and the guards (okay, just one guard) at the checkpoint have taken to giving me the once over when we go through (they may just be comparing my passport picture with my actual face, but it does my self esteem good to think about it the other way). And now I am deeply thirsty. Did I mention my office is a modified porch (instead of being open it has giant landscape windows...that I once crushed a finger in...but great views, seriously) on the second floor that gets great light...which will be fantastic in the winter but essentially means I work on the surface of the sun. In the afternoons, when I write my lesson plans, it's so bright that I have to wear my sunglasses, just so I'm not blinded by the spiral notebook I write in. I've been drinking cups and cups of water all day and I'm still thirsty. Truly a dangerous situation. I should go fix that. Until tomorrow...

Chapter 17: Excitement on the...School Grounds

(High seas sounds so much better than School Grounds, but no such venue was available) Today's post is devoted to young Lucy, a girl/character I introduced a few posts ago. As I mentioned before, Lucy is rather petite, but what she lacks in stature she makes up in character...loads and loads of character. Lucy is a talker, a squealer (not in the I-testified-against-my-criminal-friends sense, but more wow that girl can squeal), a hugger, a teacher, a helper, and a director. She is an in-control type of gal, essentially the female Napoleon...but nicer. (On a side note, I recently looked up the definition for ellipsis "..." , because I'm teaching one of my students about punctuation, and I was disturbed to see just how shamefully I have abused and misused this grammatical tool...of course, that doesn't mean I'm going to stop.) And when she's got you in her sights, prepared to be dazzled, and a little bit dazed. We need two other people, besides myself and Lucy, to make this story complete, K and S, the Business and Academic Administrators respectively. I will leave a more in depth description of these two for later, for now all you need to know is that both are parents. And now we have all our dramatis personae (is that how it's supposed to look?)
(Oh, I just remembered! If you scroll down to the post about Palm Sunday you can see a picture of S, she's in the argyle sweater on the right...I am on the far left in case you were wondering)
So, it's lunch time at school and all of the kids are lining up at the two bathrooms to wash their hands and use the restroom (hopefully in reverse order from what I typed) before breaking bread together in their homerooms (today was felafel sandwiches made with love by Abu A and S and mint tea steeped with love by yours truly...I am indeed back in Lunchlady Land). S and K were working crowd control outside the bathrooms, letting one kid in at a time (perhaps I should explain, the bathrooms are single occupancy. Also, they are in the middle of the school...I just took some time out to sketch a floor plan of the pertinent part of school...the first floor of the upper school. It is not at all to scale, but at least it will give you an idea of what I'm talking about...now I just have to load it onto the computer...and here it is, I think)
Okay, so, the Xs mark the two bathrooms in question and the X that is underlined twice marks the specific bathroom that features in our story.
Lucy entered the bathroom, when it was her turn of course, with her customary style and sashays...and slammed the door. (this is not unusual...unfortunately for mine ears) Meanwhile, I am taking this time to deliver a tray of sandwiches, a pitcher of mint tea, and hot cups of tea (these are for the teachers, in their chosen mugs, and with the desired spoonfuls of sugar) to each classroom, which means that I am constantly criss-crossing the main hallway and aware of what is happening around the beehive that is the bathrooms. It was on my last trip back to the kitchen (I had just delivered the last cup of tea to the English teacher Miss G) when I became aware of trouble...with a capital T. The crowd had died down and S was trying to wrench open the door of the bathroom she was directing kids into and out of. Not only was she shaking the door, but she was speaking with great passion to whoever was inside. Strange yes, but then...K cruised by me wielding a giant squeegee (the kind they use to wash floors here)...curiouser and curiouser for K does not usually carry a squeegee with him for comfort during lunch hour. I couldn't hear any response from inside the bathroom to S's possible questions, mournful sobs from somewhere were drowning out any sound...but wait, the sobs were coming from inside the bathroom! And I knew that voice to be Lucy's! At this point, S turned to me with quiet desperation in her eyes and explained the situation as she saw it. When Lucy had slammed the door she had somehow locked herself in (we think the deadbolt that is near the top of the door jiggled and stuck...and Lucy was completely unable to reach it to let herself out). There was no other way in or out, the window for the bathroom is about one foot square and it has bars over it. S, with the fire of a mother in her eyes, told me to "Stay here (very strong finger point at the exact place she wants me to stand). I will go get her!" So I stayed put and was eventually rewarded when the door popped open (K had used the handle of the squeegee to slide the bolt over and unlock the door) and a very tearstained Lucy was revealed. It took a little while, but Lucy recovered from her traumatic ordeal (partially because of the attention, the tissues, the two huge stickers stars I had her choose from my stash...I also like to think my mint tea had a calming effect on her) and was her old self again, sprinting and squealing all the way down the football field.
This was not the only adventure of today, for I also bought, baked, and decorated a birthday cake in record time (with Mom's assistance, of course). But I think that one story is enough for today...and I want to watch the new episode of Bones. Honestly, what's a girl to do...except end her post and drink some spectacular juice?

Chapter 16: Compare and Contrast

But here's how it really happened (one of my favorite lines from Clue)
1) Went downstairs to check on the staff meeting
2) Drank some water
3) Worked on my secret project
4) Had my 3rd lesson with S
5) Drove S home
6) Hung out with S, her 3 boys, her sister, her aunt, and Mom. Had Coke, awesome salted seeds, and tea with sugar and sage. No juice was served.
7) Drove at moderately high speeds past the Canyon Mall, over Summer camp bridge and down the road to Cinematheque (which Hen told us was actually called White...this will make sense only to Dad)
8) Had a 3 hour tour of appetizers, dinner and desserts
9) Ran back to the guest house to grab some parting gifts for Joey and Hen, but mostly Hen
10) Led Joey and Hen towards the Begin north..by car...not wagon train
11) Came back to the guest house
12) Went directly to bed...collecting no money along the way
13) Slept through the night...no interruptions. I don't even think I moved...which is definitely not like me.
Mom and I are working hard on our secret project (we were given a directive by Claire many moons ago and are currently trying to do the foundation work necessary for it...all will be revealed in time)...and that sentence doesn't go anywhere. Today I walked our Lily's dog, Blackie. It was nice and also uncomfortable. I get the feeling women are not supposed to walk dogs in our neighborhood, certainly not enormous black dogs that come up to said lady's waist. Veiled women were crossing to the other side of the street, men and children were alternately cat calling are sending me dirty looks, even the wild dogs that hang out around the dumpster gave us a wide berth. However one teenage boy was happy to see us. He started talking to me in Arabic, I told him I wasn't nearly good enough for that yet, and then I asked if it was okay for me to be walking Blackie. He said, "for me it is okay, but for the people here...it is not okay" and then he called Blackie by name, gave him some cuddles and scratches and then rode his bike alongside us until we were out of the neighborhood. What a gentleman. On the way back, when I was sans escort, some little kids tried to mess with us, one in particular. But his attempts were so halfhearted, so lacking in inspiration, that both Blackie and I looked at him with a mixture of disappointment and disdain. Needless to say (and yet I say it anyway), I was happy to get back to the guest house and help Mom with dinner preparations (Special Potatoes take time, effort, and love...they don't just magically appear...they're not those kind of potatoes). I apologize for my low standards of whimsy and amusement today...I think it's because I need to take a shower. (uh oh, I can here Lily talking to the neighbor and I keep hearing the words "Blackie" "Americani" and "anjad?!?!" crop up...anjad means "really"...I did have permission to walk Blackie, but I got it from one of the boys, not their mother...granted the "boys" are 27, 22, and 18 and I got it from the oldest, but I think I'm in for talking to...)

Chapter 15: A Sneaking Suspicion

I have a feeling I will be too tired to post when I get home tonight (which is what happened last night). To avoid missing more days, I have decided to post from school. Never fear, I have done my work (I'm actually doing some work while I'm posting...burning pictures I have taken to a disc to give to the program administrator so he can use them in our annual report...terribly exciting, I know) and am not slinking off to post this in secret. Today was a regular day at school with all the learning and reading and crying and laughing and yelling and whispering and Gwynedd's team winning today's game 2 to 1 (OH YEAH!) and eating and other important stuff. Nothing jumps out at me that I think would tickle the funny bones (not Lovely Bones) of my dear Readers...or just my dad and sister. Instead I will tell you what I am planning to do after posting this and then we can compare what I planned to what really happened...
1) Drink some water
2) Have my 3rd language lesson with Miss S
3) Drive S home
4) Hang out, maybe drink some juice
5) Drive through the countryside, past the mall and go to the guest house
6) Say hello to Blackie and Nini and the three, as yet, unnamed kitties
7) Work on my secret project for a bit
8) Drink some more water
9) Go out to dinner with Joey and his girlfriend Henn at Cinematheque
10) Enjoy dinner and dessert
11) Go back to the apartment
12) Go to bed
13) Sleep through the night without interruptions from cats, dogs, children, cars, spaceships, etc.
These are my plans. We'll see how they go.

Chapter 14: A Parcel Man Never Lies Down On the Job

But I am not a Parcel Man, I'm just too tired to come up with anything. Hopefully people won't start selling drugs to unborn puppies. More tomorrow.

Chapter 13: COACH...and don't you forget it

October 1st, an important day for many reasons.
1. Grandmere's Day
2. It marks the beginning of the Ninja Twins (our black cats Prince and Thor) month long birthday celebration
3. People can officially go to their local Pumpkin Patches (of which there are NONE in this country/region) without shame
4. Ummmmmm...Mom and I get to look at a new picture of Vivian (wearing a Jack-O-Lantern t-shirt and socks...and jeans too) for a whole month.
And that's enough reasons.
Now, on to today's interesting tidbit, which again concerns futbol/soccer.
In case anyone was wondering, Lucy and Susan did play again today. (Mom pointed out that when using the name Lucy for this specific girl, I should be referencing Lucy from Peanuts, not Lucy from the C.S. Lewis series. I heartily agree). While Lucy and Susan were ready and raring to go at recess today, I was not. I had dressed earlier this morning with care (meaning I wore a bright colored dress, some leggings, and some slide on sandals...the red ones with the shiny sparkles...and no, that does not describe most of the shoes in my closet...only 4 or 5) and no intention of stepping out onto the field of glory. But in the moment before all the kids went to recess, I was sucked in by the girls' excitement and the boys' complete lack of confidence in my ability to play without sneakers...or at least a shoe that fully attached to my foot. So there I was, sprinting after the ball and flinging my sandals into the air every time I kicked the ball. Each time my sandal flew off (for some reason it was only the right one that went off on field trips..) I would stop, put it back on, and then run after my teammates (either to assist in scoring, blocking, or just picking up the pieces that were left in the wake of the big kids...did I forget to mention I was the tallest person on my team...by over 2ft?). It is at this point that I should introduce a new character in our daily stories. In this forum, I will refer to him as Baby Bobby Knight, my reasons for this will soon become clear.
We need to go back in time, to yesterday, when I was playing with the kids and wearing sneakers (wonder of wonders). I'm usually put in goal, but yesterday, halfway through recess Baby Bobby Knight (who will, from now on, be referred to as BBK) kicked me out and sent me into the field. The rest of the game he was encouraging (I think it was encouragement, but at times it sounded suspiciously like yelling and condemnation) me and calling and pointing to the places he wanted me to be. We developed a working relationship of sorts (I should mention that I desperately love BBK, for all his shouting and tough guy act, he is a sweet, cuddly 7 year old...with a wicked sense of humor) which would serve us well in the future...like the next day. Okay, so now everyone has a picture of BBK in their minds, let's get back to today's yarn.
There I am, having to stop every minute or so to put my shoe back on and completely losing the thread of the game every time. It was too much for me and I lost it, meaning I got on a roll and when my sandal fell off a quarter of the way down the strip, I ignored it and continued to push the ball closer to the opposing goal. I was almost there and the closest I had been to scoring a goal in weeks when someone from the other team came out of nowhere (I was blinded by sweat at this point so the kid could have been right in front of me the whole time...it's freaking HOT over here) and stole the ball out from under me (again, my vision was compromised so the ball could have been halfway down the field and I wouldn't have known it). With my play over, I stopped to look for my misbegotten sandal but such a task was unnecessary for directly behind me was BBK grasping my sandal in one hand and a red pen in the other! According to Miss S (the school's and my language teacher...a totally awesome woman to be sure), who was standing in goal, BBK had picked up my sandal immediately after it had departed my foot and had spent the rest of the play chasing me down the field, trying to return it. When I saw him standing behind me, his expression was pure COACH. He offered me my shoe and said "Missy Gwynedd" in a tone that essentially said "Miss, this is ridiculous! You need to keep your shoes on! How are we to win the game if you continuing flinging about your footwear?!?!?!? And, by the way, do you know who this red pen belongs to?" (it ended up belonging to a teacher on the other team). Nothing gets by old BBK...well, nothing on his own team at least. A few more games with BBK and I should be ready for the pros.
And now it's time to said goodnight, to all my family...M-I-C...see you real soon...K-E-Y...why? because I like you!...M-O-U-S-E...(somehow I think BBK would not approve of this frivolous goodbye...however, I could be completely wrong)

Chapter 12: Away We Go Awandering...

Two days in a row? New postings two days in a row?!?! Impossible!
And yet it is possible and hopefully the beginning of a new trend as I have promised my wonderful father to post once a day. So, gone are the days of immense postings (probably...I may feel the need for postings of great size and majesty) that are months apart. Behold! A new age of blogging has come!...maybe.
I have two items of interest for today's agenda.
1. Movements of a Nativity scene participant
2. Today's game of futbol/soccer (I'm not trying to be a fancypants European...or member of any country in the world except for the U.S., but it feels weird to call it soccer in this part of the world)
We (well, really I) will address these points in the sequence I observed/experienced them...meaning Nativity stuff first.
Mom and I drove into school this morning along our usual route experiencing a rather uneventful drive (except for the guy in the white van bumping bumpers with us and then speeding away...while there was no damage, both Mom and I were unimpressed by this gentleman's lack of courtesy). As the permanent navigator of our craft, I sit in the front passenger seat which allows me to gaze in gazemazement out the window (which Kristin is well aware I like to do) and today I was justly rewarded. We were relatively near school when I saw a strikingly white donkey peer around an unfinished wall beside the street (the donkey was standing in the place where a gate should have been so as to fully enclose the field/grove the donkey had just vacated). There was nothing strange about this, in fact it would be more odd if we saw no donkeys at all on our drive into school. Sometimes we have to pass donkeys, and their respective riders, as they mosey through the street with giant coffee pots strapped to their sides (it's like a drive-up Starbucks...except they drive up to you, not the other way around...and there's only one option for drinks). I figured this donkey was like the many others we had seen, cleaner certainly, but nothing else. It even had a harness around its head with the usual piece of twine attached to...to...nothing (some of you may have already guessed, but I hope you refrained from ruining it for the others). Just as we passed our four legged friend, I realized the frayed end of the twine was dragging on the ground and as I craned my head to follow Mr. Abi-ad's (abiad is Arabic for white...creative, I know) progress he did not disappoint. Continuing on his morning constitutional, Mr. Abi-ad stuck to the sidewalk and quietly enjoyed his independence.
The second point of interest was today's soccer game during recess. The usual suspects were there (meaning about five or six of the boys and two male teachers) plus a few additions (that's kind of redundant I think). I haven't played with the kids during recess for about a week (for various reasons but mostly because I've been a bit lazy) and so when they saw me in my sneakers (which is apparently the sign that I'm ready for action) the kids got psyched up, so psyched up that two of the girls decided to play too. We'll call the girls Lucy and Susan (I've been reading The Lion, the Witch & the Wardrobe with one of the kids). Susan is around 10 years old, rather tall for her age, and quite adept at keeping goal as it turned out. Lucy is 8ish, very small for her age (her head comes up to my belly button, no exaggeration), rather Napoleonic, and entirely insane once she joins a game of soccer, as we all found out today. Lucy is of the bumblebee-style soccer, following the ball wherever it goes, and I was worried her head would be knocked off by one of the more powerful kicks (one of the boys is happiest only when he has booted the ball the length of the field...I mean concrete driveway) and the game would end in tears. How wrong I was...
Either the boys were taking it a little easy on her, she's incredibly tough, they were completely stunned by her manner, or a combination of all of these. While she never scored a goal, Lucy was the most vociferous player on the strip. Similar to me, she made noises and cries at any and all movements...even those not connected to the game (ex: a bird flying by, people breathing in and out). She was like me, but louder...so much louder. Between the two of us, we created a symphony of noises that both alarmed and confused the rest of the teachers on the playground. The game ended with the teams tied up, 3-3. I hope Lucy and Susan want to play tomorrow...
Mom is busy making chicken, rice, and the mozzarella-tomato-pecan salad deliciousness and my stomach is busy gurgling. I think I will go juice the lemons necessary for tonight's meal. Farewell...until we meet again...like, tomorrow.

Chapter 11: I'm Back Baby!

It's our first night back in the guest house in the Holy Land and Mom is making her Special Potatoes. They are called special because...well...the are eSPECIALly delicious...and we were eSPECIALly lazy in the naming process.
In other news, I have begun reading a series of books by Dorothy Gilman (I have run out of JAG DVDs and I need something to entertain me) with a title character by the name of Mrs. Pollifax. Mrs. Pollifax is a grandmother from New Brunswick, New Jersey who is tapped in late life as a courier by the CIA (and not the Culinary Institute of America...oh Daphne). It makes for some truly hilarious moments (which I choose to read aloud to Mom when we are waiting in traffic, using my patented accents...which generally all sound French in the end, and not good French, but French like the chef in The Little Mermaid). Good fun had by all!
Switching topics again, I now feel like a real teacher at school...kind of. I write lesson plans, execute said lesson plans, and then observe what was effective and what totally crashed and burned. Luckily, I have not had any flaming wreckages at the end of my lessons and so have not needed to use the Little Black Box (Mom serves as the LBB as her office space is directly next to mine and she can hear everything, if she wants to). I teach one on one classes to 5 boys, all of whom are at different levels in English. They read aloud (I have almost memorized "Dr. Seuss' ABC" book), and we do activities (thank God for Hidden Pictures and the myriad of objects written in english it hides between its pages!), and I read to them (If anyone is interested in discussing Tomie dePaola's Bill and Pete series, just let me know). It's awesome.
My nasal passages are now being caressed...infiltrated?...by the wafting smells of the Special Potatoes. I have to go make Mom her Lingonberry Fizzy to show my deepest appreciation for all her efforts. Before I go, as this post does have a somewhat Bender Bending Rodriguez-esque theme to it....Bite my shiny metal rear! (for future reference, my rear is not made of metal or any alloys)

Chapter 10: Oooooo, Double Digits!

This is just a short note to update you, Dear Reader.
1. Nuush is still pregnant...to my knowledge, so no Gwynedd, Jr.
2. I won't be posting for the next 4-5 days (shocking, I know), because Mom and I will be out of the country.
3 MOM AND I ARE GOING TO JORDAN...MORE SPECIFICALLY AMMAN AND PETRA (that's right, I just type-shouted specifically)!!! (I will take pictures...I'm so excited)
4. I'm hungry. (Not exactly pertinent to your lives but it gives you an idea of the mood I wrote this in)
I think that's it. So, for now, Blackie, Nuush, Wilson, Mom, and I wish you a fond farewell from the Holy Land (actually, I'm putting words in Wilson's mouth...beak...mouth-beak)

Chapter 9: Impending Mother of Millions

What? 2 posts in 2 days?!?! (Also I had to change the format of the blog to support larger pictures, don't be alarmed) Madness I tell you! But now onto the chapter title. No I am not pregnant with milliontuplets...that's just weird and uncomfortable sounding. In fact, I now have sole custody, for the next 3-4 days, of one giant black dog (named Blackie), one very pregnant cat (named Nuush), and a small turtle named Wilson (they found him on a tennis racket). Nuush is the reason for my impending semi-motherhood. When Lily's family asked if I would take care of their animals over Easter, I thought it was a standard animal care job, feeding and enjoying the company of some cool quadrupeds. It wasn't until I accepted the job that they mentioned Nuush's condition. But I'm smart and resourceful and tough...so I ran upstairs and said "MomNuushisgoingtohavekittensandIdon'tknowwhattodoandwhatifsomethinggoeswronganddoIneedtools?!" Mom assured me that cats pretty much take care of everything on their own and we would probably just give her extra milk. Unfortunately, this has not calmed down my crazy any, but I'm sure extra research online will sooth the nervous wreck inside of me...and hey, maybe she won't have the kittens until the family gets back! But if she does have them, I'm naming half of them Gwynedd Jr. and the other half Kristin Jr. ...and one of them will be called Nemo, but only if it has a lucky fin. Oh God, I hope I don't have to call one of them Nemo...

Chapter 8: Holy Shirts and Pants...and Week

Well, it’s Holy Week over here in the Holy Land (and everywhere else in the world) and my oh my are things...holy. Some of you might be wondering how I’m writing this post so early in the day (those people are excellent at time zone math). Today is the first day of Easter Break...Easter Break ’09! WOOOOHOOOO! Everyone at school was exhausted even though we only had a three day week, perhaps because we’re all suffering from some sleeping sickness or maybe because we crammed seven days of ceremony/tradition/teaching into three 5 hour days...you decide. (ooooooo, it’s like choose your own adventure...If you think it’s the sleeping sickness, turn to page 10, and if you think it’s option 2, just keep reading...because you’re right!) Oh wait, my bad, we did Commitment Saturday and Palm Sunday on the Friday before...I’m such a liar, please forgive me. Maybe I should start with a Holy Week Outline. There’s Commitment Saturday, Palm Sunday, Extravagant Monday, Compulsion to Completion Tuesday, Wednesday-Day of Aloneness (this one totally screws up the pattern), Holy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday (someone at the name deciding committee was feeling a little lazy I think), and Easter Sunday. As I said before, we (kids, faculty, and staff at BHCP) did Commitment Saturday and Palm Sunday on Friday. It was cool. We committed to stuff and then processed around the school grounds with our decorated palms (the ones from trees...not the ones on our hands). I say we, but while everyone was committing and processing I was running around trying to get the best photographic angles and light. I felt like I was doing suicides on the world’s biggest basketball court...with the weirdest terrain. My crowning glory was when I sprinted from the bottom end of the property to the upper school at the top, through the school (scaring the photocopier delivery guy), and up the stairs to the balcony so I could get some sweet arial shots...it was awesome (and exhausting...I really need to come up with some workouts over here). Little did I know, my sprint to capture faux-Palm Sunday glory was only a warm-up for the real thing on actual Palm Sunday. (I really wanted to call it the Big Show or the Big Dance, but that would be wrong, so very very wrong) (Mom just pointed out that there actually were spontaneous dance parties in the procession, but I clarified that I was referring to the NCAA basketball tournament, or at least I was trying to) On actual Palm Sunday, Mom and I planned to meet up with two friends and their respective son and daughter. We ended up taking two taxis (because we couldn’t fit in one), and perhaps if we had all gone together things would have been drastically different, but we didn’t because we couldn’t. V and S and T (V’s daughter) took one taxi and sent S’s son, D, to pick us up in another taxi. D is about 12 or 13, very nice, very smart, and very shy. He speaks and understands a fair amount of English but I have rarely heard him use it. That all changed on Sunday. (I feel like I’m doing the voice over on a trailer for an action movie...In a world where no one spoke that much English...) D picked us up and we were whisked away towards the Old City. (our taxi driver was bold, which is nicer than saying he was maniacal) The procession started on top of the Mount of Olives (which is outside the Old City) and wound its way down to the Church of All Nations, then back up through the Lion Gate, into the Old City, and finished at St. Anne’s just inside the walls. We were supposed to be dropped off on top of the Mount, but the road our driver took was completely blocked off by the police and he/D/Mom and I had no ideas for an alternate route. We attempted to call the other taxi, but they only had one cell phone and it had no coverage on the Israeli side of the wall. We paid our taxi driver and hopped out, looking expectantly at D...who just looked right back at us. He had no firm idea where we were supposed to go (Mom and I didn’t even pretend to know how to get to the Mount) and we had no contact with the people that could help us...an exciting beginning to be sure. Meanwhile, Mom and I were super prepared for the excursion. We had packed snacks, water, sunscreen, we were carrying two separate cameras (one digital, one non-digital), and Mom was wearing her walking shoes and her fancy sun blocking hat (I decided against walking shoes because 1. I don’t have any here and 2. they certainly wouldn’t have gone with my outfit). When I looked at Mom, with my electric lemonade backpack strapped on her, a water bottle in each holster, the digital camera slung around her neck, and her lavender glasses glinting at me beneath the brim of her hat, she reminded me very strongly of Waldo, from Where’s Waldo. We looked more touristy than actual tourists. We had packed everything we might need...except a map. Where’s Waldo?, indeed. However, our happy/lost band of travelers remained outwardly confident in the face of this possible disaster and started walking towards the base of the Mount of Olives, soaking up the sun and snapping photos of cool stuff along the way (I lost my descriptive powers so “cool stuff” will have to suffice). D continued to try and make contact with his mother and in one miraculous moment he did, gleaning that they were waiting for us at Muquarnas (I have no idea if that is how it is spelled) Hospital. This was exciting, until we realized none of us knew where that was. Eventually we reached the Garden of Gesthsemene (again, spelling is fluid for me, not exact) which is connected to the Church of All Nations and it was here that Mom decided to set up Base Camp. We understood from all of the police and people standing around that the procession would pass by this very spot on its way to the Old City and it was a prime location from which to snap photos and look for our wayward companions. Also, there were a few shady seats available. Understandably, D was nervous about not meeting up with his mother so we started asking around trying to ascertain the location of Muquarnas Hospital. As luck would have it, one gentleman did know the location and he delightedly told us it was straight and then left...which actually made sense at the time. Armed with detailed directions, we decided that Mom should hold down the fort while D and I went in search of our lost party. When the man said straight, I think he must have meant straight up in the air, because the street (more like semi-paved back road that insane taxis careen down) we climbed up closely resembled the y-axis on a coordinate graph. While the views were spectacular (I don’t know if the photo does them justice) it was difficult to enjoy them sprawled out on the rocks beside the road.

We made it to the top, eventually, and joined S, V, and T in the race to join the procession. We were able to join in with a group S knew and we started down the Mount of Olives...the same Mount that D and I had just finished scaling. At this point I felt that I had already done my Palm Sunday procession, but I was in a mass of people

with no way out

and I had to go back down to meet up with Mom anyway. (And it was pretty cool to walk with all those people...

but I was tired and hot and feeling sorry for myself) I was not the only one who wanted to be done. About five minutes into the procession, T, who is 8 I think, turned to V and asked “When are we going home?” I can understand her desire to be done as she is about 4 feet tall and has thick jet black hair that is about 3 feet long. Not only was she broiling from the hair hanging down her back, but she couldn’t see anything except the backs and butts in front of her. She couldn’t even enjoy the rare breezes that went by. All in all, T got a raw deal. Then again, V did tell her not to come, saying that she would have no fun, but T refused to be left at home, convinced her mother was going shopping and having a wild time. We made to the bottom of the hill with no tears shed (by either me or T) and we picked up Mom. She snapped this photo of us.

T is not pleased...but everyone else is psyched! We continued on the path of...I don’t think it was the path of righteousness, we’ll call it the path of walking...ness...to St. Anne’s where we wandered around the grounds among the crowds until I finally lost it (I was desperately tired/thirsty/unmedicated and all I really wanted was to go home...or at least get one of the brownies from the backpack) and sat down between two cars (It was actually pretty roomy, with enough space for people to easily walk by me). We were waiting for the Patriarch to come and give a speech/blessing (this is why we didn’t just go home) and he was at the back of the procession (perhaps he wanted to be fashionably late to the party...if so, I was not amused) (actually, once we were sitting down and munching on brownies, T and I didn’t really care when we left). He came and gave his blessings and his message and it was nice and then we bounced out. S, V, T, and D headed back towards the checkpoint and Mom and I went in search of dinner at Notre Dame. In all, the procession had taken 7 hours (this includes taxi rides etc.). It was only the beginning of Holy Week and already I was exhausted.
Dang it, I was going to cover all of Holy Week up to right now in this post, but I got carried away with Sunday...as usual (the carried away part, not the Sunday thing...that would make no sense). Don’t worry, I intend to write more today, I just have to take a tabbouleh break. (Did I tell you, dear Reader (oh my, I haven’t called you that for ages) that I have successfully mastered making, though not spelling, tabouli? And that I’m back in the game Marinara sauce wise? Did anyone understand that last question?) Anyway, I’ll be back right after some deliciousness...and maybe some 30 Rock...

Chapter 7: Window into my Past (if the Window were made of glitter and JAG)

So, it's been a while and it's been said (to me at least) that the frequency of my posts is decidedly low...and that this is not okay. Also, I have recently received rave reviews for the first 7 chapters of Whiskers on Kittens, allow me to share them with you (as if you had a choice)
"Whiskers on Kittens is [truly the best piece of writing I have ever reviewed. Gaze in gazemazement at the brilliance that shines from every word, clause, sentence, and paragraph...if you're not blinded by it!]"
-The New Yorker...or the New York Times...or People (whichever you identify with most)
"Write more. It's starting to [upset me greatly] when I check Whiskers on Kittens and see that you haven't written since mid-February."
-my Dad (I know that you are all duly impressed so I need not add any alternatives)
There were scores of others, but it is too much of an effort to make them up...I mean copy them down...and I don't like to boast, because I'm humble and stuff.
Let's see, what's happened since last I/you wrote/read....hmmmmmm...well, I have become master of many jobs. I am lead animal therapist (or only animal therapist) (also, I would like to clarify that I am not providing therapy for animals but for kids...and by therapy I mean we play with Lucky). In all seriousness, working with Lucky can be helpful for the kids. I work with one kid at a time and each one has to clean out Lucky's house and fenced in outside area (sweeping, raking, shaking blankets etc, removing poop (I am actually rewriting the post from this point because the post that I just finished didn't save and so didn't publish and I lost most of it, but don't worry, I'm not going to change anything, because I'm too tired)...it's not a ladylike word, but it sure is funny...sometimes), feed him, give him fresh water, and exercise him. This promotes responsibility and a sense of importance and mastery in the individual...which is good. (Obviously I can only have a couple of kids work with him each day, otherwise he would be overworked, overfed,...overcleaned?) There are other benefits, but this isn't a lesson/treatment plan and I don't feel like writing the social work rationale, I just didn't want to inadvertently belittle the work at the school while describing my duties. So I do my animal thang (I meant to write it that way) and provide a beverage service (tea or milk for the kids at lunch time and tea for the teachers that I like...I mean the ones that want it) and I also tutor two kids in English during the day. The other students are upset because they don't get special work time with Missy Gwynedd...they have no idea how not cool/not fun I can be...and how difficult English can be when you don't have any classmates to hide behind. I'm sure there's other stuff that I do, but I can't remember it right now. I am certainly able to keep busy and for those few moments of down time, there is always another level of Bejeweled 2 that needs conquering. Now onto events that have occurred since last I/you wrote/read...
In case anyone was curious, the pasta sauce I spoke of in my last post turned out okay, but not nearly up to standard. The three types of canned tomatoes were to blame...and the fact that I had to use oregano instead of basil...and the Fates were seeking to destroy my sauce-making confidence. Mission accomplished.
(I feel my focus drifting and my will to keep writing fading...especially since I have already written this post once...freaking automatic save button that doesn't save! Curse you...you inanimate almost object! I will likely be trailing off soon)
I am morphing into my high school self. Allow me to explain. In high school I was a complicated individual with many interests and layers...okay, that's a lie. I loved two things in high school...JAG and glitter (sure, I rowed and liked school and had friends and seemed like a normal individual...but really, it was all about the glitter and JAG). What is JAG, you might ask? (Or maybe you might not, because you already know it was an awesome TV show about Navy and Marine Corps lawyers which would make you a complete and awesome person) And if you did ask that question, please refer to the parenthetical reference that preceded this sentence. Anyway, I was pretty hooked (some might say addicted...I may or may not have yelled at my carpool home from crew when I thought I was going to miss a show) on JAG all through high school. When I went to college, I cut the habit cold turkey, partly because I had no time and partly because it was cancelled after its 10th season. I was JAG free until this past week, when I broke into my Christmas present of seasons 1-4 of the show (I chose not to write JAG again because I felt I was overusing the word...acronym...whatever). I only have 3 discs left in season 4. So that accounts for half of my personal High School Musical morphing. The other half came into play today. Sunday is Mother's Day over here (don't worry this connects) so the kids made cards for their moms. I was in charge of adding glitter if it was desired (and who wouldn't want it, I ask you?). I have honed glitter application to an art form and I displayed my virtuoso skill for students and teachers alike. Everyone was in awe, as well they should be. It was like Cocktail, but the alcohol was glitter and glue...and I didn't throw the jars around because 1. it would have wasted precious materials and 2. once you spill glitter, especially the glitter I use, it gets all over everyone and everything and you can never get rid of it no matter how many times you vacuum or shower...just ask Kristin and Adam (of course you'd have to know them to ask them so that reference only works for a few people...oops). But it was still super awesome and electrifying. Needless to say (and yet I still feel the need to say it) Mother's Day will be considerably more glitter-y this year.
And there's the other half of my teenage self. Glitter and JAG...JAG and glitter. It could have been worse.
And this post could have been more coherent, but it wasn't (actually, it is considerably more coherent than the original version I was going to publish but couldn't because the blogspot Fates are totally uncool and lost my work...grumblemumblemumblegrumble...count yourselves lucky that it didn't publish). It could have been worse (as I just mentioned), actually it could have been excruciating. In my JAG-crazed state, I could have given you a minute-by-minute description of an entire season...trust me it wouldn't have been pretty...even if I had thrown some glitter on it. Until next time...may you life be filled with sparkles and lawyers (hot lawyers in uniform on TV...not the ones that cost a lot of money)

Chapter 6: The Return of the...ummmm...Gwynedd

And we’re back….from that extended nonexistent commercial break. You may wonder where I wondered off to, or maybe not. For those who are curious, I was back in the U.S. for Thanksgiving, Christmas, my birthday, my niece’s birthday, my cousin’s birthday…but not my uncle’s birthday. I cite UT’s birthday (February 13th…I’m sure he’s still accepting birthday wishes) because he pitched the biggest hissy fit upon hearing Mom and my departure date the day before. Sure, I could have posted while I was at home as there were many subjects to discuss…the Children of Peace Auction, the multitude of family Crèche sets, the Neverending Painting of F and A’s House, the Midnight Sledding Adventures, the First Time I Made the Family Pasta Sauce, the Trip to the Oregon Coast (courtesy of the wonderful W family), Quelf, the Arrival of Thor and Prince (new family kitties), the Integration of Thor and Prince, Etc… (I’m capitalizing as though these were chapter titles, including “Etc.”). But I was lazy and chose not to. Absence explained.
So here we are, back in the Holy Land. Mom and arrived the early evening and after corralling our personal mass of baggage (most of it was comprised of gifts, I swear…okay, Mom was carrying the gifts and I had half a suitcase full of glitter, but what art teacher type person wouldn’t?) and departing the arrivals zone, where NO ONE presented me with a welcoming balloon (please refer to an earlier post, I’m not sure which one), we headed towards the transportation station (what a delightful rhyme). We grabbed a cheroot (I’m spelling it phonetically according to how I’ve heard it pronounced), which is essentially a shuttle bus that you don’t need a reservation to ride, and sat down (because that is exactly what you want to do, sit down, after traveling from Seattle to Tel Aviv via two airplanes separated by a 6 hour layover in Newark over the course of 40 odd hours). Eventually, Mom and I were dropped off at the Pontifical Institute of Notre Dame, which is right next to the New Gate of the Old City and serves as a hotel, museum, church, and (most importantly, in this case) restaurant for tourists and pilgrims alike. I say eventually because there was a verbal altercation between the driver and a prospective passenger that went on for some time before we were able to depart the airport. Both parties were vociferous and unintelligible (the unintelligible part was likely due to the fact that I speak limited Hebrew, limited to the words for hello “shalom” and thanks “toda”, neither of which seemed to be very popular in the conversation). The drive, when it finally commenced, was beautiful. It was my favorite time of day (my dad’s favorite time also) when every object upon the earth (that was the nicest way I could say “all of the trees and power lines and rocks and hills and buildings and towers and cities and etc…”) is silhouetted against the ever changing color wash of the twilight sky (again, this sounded nicer than “tons of black paper cut outs in front of a blue/periwinkle/pink/peach/lavender/scarlet/cobalt…I feel like I’m in a clothing catalogue listing the colors…burnt orange/sienna/black sky”). Mom and I (and C a couple of times) had traveled the stretch of pavement between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem (AKA the 1) many times at various stages of the day and I had often found it attractive, once we were outside of the respective city centers, but I never found it so strikingly beautiful as on that late winter evening. (Forgive me for my writing style. I just finished “Mollie Peer” by Van Reid which is set in 1896 Maine and he has a way with words that sticks with a person.)
After we wrestled our baggage into the entrance of Notre Dame (the driver of the cheroot thoughtfully pulled our luggage out for us) and secured a safe resting spot for it (AKA the corner by the check-in desk), Mom and I devoured a delicious dinner of hummus, chicken shawarma, fries, lasagna, Coke, and San Pellegrino. The front desk kindly called a taxi for us (that poor man, he was overwhelmed by the site of our bags) and the taxi driver deposited us at the doorstep of the guest house. When we entered the guest house 6 ½ months ago, we (C, Mom, and I) were assaulted by the deterioration of the refrigerator contents and so were understandably gun shy about our approach on this particular evening. However, everything was fine and I have absolutely no story to tell…you’re crying on the inside from story deprivation, I can tell. We settled in over the next two days visiting the butcher, the baker, the…not the candlestick maker, but instead the green grocer, and the regular color of grocer, and prepared for school on Monday.
Currently, I am attempting to make Mom’s Pasta Sauce while she is out. Here’s hoping everything will turn out all right…I had three different kinds of canned tomatoes…that does not bode well.