Chapter 26: Cabbage, Cabbage Everywhere...and ALMOST all of it for me!

Today was a school holiday, so the staff met for a short meeting and then went our separate ways. Mom's and my way included lunch at the principal's house (SCORE!), mostly because I rudely invited myself over to their house the day before...but my time here is short and I want to visit people as much as I can...and I REALLY missed their cooking. SO, we went to their house, not caring who invited who, and after we toured the changes since our last supper (not that kind of supper...notice the lack of capitalization) together (the house is still under construction...livable, but not completed) we sat down to (I don't actually have a parenthetical reference...I just thought I should chop up the sentence as much as possible) lunch. We dined on two of my top 5 Middle Eastern dishes, Malfoof (cabbage rolls...which doesn't sound exciting, but trust me, it is) and tabbouleh ('nough said). I can see it in your electronic eyes, you're wild to know the other three items, so I'll drop some knowledge on you. The following are, in no particular order (which is why the numbers are all mixed up) Gwynedd's Top 5 Middle Eastern Meals/Dishes/Delights/Yumtastickness!! (they're so good, they deserve two exclamation points)

4. Makluba (very involved dish, but essentially comes down to chicken, rice, many spices, cauliflower, many other vegetables, and yogurt...oh no, I'm drooling something fierce)
1. Hummus (but it only makes the top 5 if it's from Abu Shukri...everything else is good, but not worthy of this list, the highest of culinary honors)
3. Malfoof (leaves of giant green cabbages, rolled around rice, meat, spices, then cooked and served with fresh lemon juice)
2. Kanafeh (I believe I've described it before...basically the best dessert ever...except for creme brulee...maybe better...no, I really love creme brulee)
5. (funny how this still came out at the end...funny interesting, not funny haha) Tabbouleh (everyone has a different style for this salad...for example, when I make it, it comes out looking like soup)

And there you have it, the list of greatness and wonder. Use this knowledge well my friends...it might one day save the world...or your gastronomic adventures. But now back to our regularly scheduled program of "The Gwynedd Show"!
With two of the top five dishes present on the table, you'd think that I'd be first in my chair, banging my fork on the table, chanting something catchy and classy...like "FOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!", but such was not the case. J, the principal's delightful 2 year-old daughter, had me beat by at least 15 seconds, which may not sound like much, but it wasn't that far from the living room to the table...and my legs are considerably longer than hers. I attribute the speed to her passion for food. J loves food more than almost anything. If asked to choose between her parents or food, I'm pretty sure she'd pick her parents, but it would be close. She loves food so much that she sprinted to the table, even though she had just had lunch at her grandmother's house. And while I can safely say I ate more than J (I had seconds...okay, that's not true, I had fifths), it wasn't much more, which leads to an important question, where does it all go? Maybe she has the world's fastest metabolism or a tapeworm or a personal baby trainer...or some combination of the three. Whatever it is, it's working. After lunch, Mom and I headed to the mall to complete many pressing errands, but because it is dinner time, and I'm slightly peckish (maybe I'm developing J's metabolism!), I'm going to sign off and save the story for another day. Farewell, dear reader, until we meet again.

Chapter 25: Cupid will NOT be defeated...

...and I'm back in the game! Apparently, I only feel called to post when I'm basking in the glow of yon Holy Land. As the chapter title implies (or at least implies to me), today is Valentine's Day and I have felt more than my fair share of love today. I hadn't seen anyone from the school in over six months (too long) and all but jumped on the teachers as I greeted them today. Luckily, they had the same reaction to my presence, so our equal and opposite forces balanced out the loving/dangerous physics equations of hugs, and no one was hurt...that badly.

Hmmmmmm...I've been sitting here for the past five minutes, trying to think of something worthwhile to write and...nothing. Since it's my first day back, I'm not going to push it. Just know that I will have my eyes peeled tomorrow for a fitting story/image to post. Very exciting, very exciting indeed. Oh, and, keep on runnin' player, 'cause I got my good shoes on and I got 'em tied up tight (just in case you didn't get the musical reference in the title)! Until tomorrow.

Chapter 24: The 28 Steps to Great Dental Health

Some people say you can have too much of a good thing, and it's true. I always thought my "good thing" was candy or ketchup or mac and cheese or ketchup or video games or movies or...ketchup. I never considered brushing my teeth as a possible over doing it scenario...until now.
I have the world's greatest dentist and I can prove this...with FACTS. I am 24 years old and have never had a cavity...ever. In the past (the past includes everything up to February 17, 2010), I did not take the best care of my teeth...sporadic brushing (thank you "Clueless" for that vocabulary gem), lack of flossing, sometimes (often) no brushing at all. My performance was lackluster. But, when I was serious about brushing I would do the 7 Steps, and my teeth would turn into shining beacons of hope (I just realized I use that phrase a lot...I may be over doing it...or over dramatizing...or both) for myself, and possibly for my dentist. Now, you may be asking "What are these 7 Steps? And why are you capitalizing the 'S'? Are they from the Bible? Is there a holy way to brush your teeth, to be used only in the Holy Land?" (I find it highly unlikely that any of you asked the last question) Or maybe you are an independent self sufficient woman...or man (but the independent woman thing works better, because Destiny's Child never sang about independent gentlemen throwing their hands up at them) and you have already looked up the 7 Steps on the interwebs (okay, so I just googled "7 Steps" and got nowhere near what I wanted, so you have to be really proactive and put in "7 Steps Dental"...and then you hit the jackpot). The 7 Steps to Great Dental Health is an extremely effective way of brushing your teeth and it can change your life. I direct your attention to my dentist's website (www.7dentalsteps.com) for more information (it's informative and entertaining...the cartoons are pretty sweet too). Basically, the 7 Steps (oh man, I almost forgot to capitalize the s) are preventative dentistry...if you do them, the cavities will not come. (I have never written so much about teeth in my entire life). Why am I writing so much about these steps? What are these steps? Will I ever write an entry that is as amusing as it is informative? (probably not)
The reason for all the teeth-talk is that my dentist gave Mom and I tons of toothbrushes, toothpaste, dental floss, Stim-U-Dents, and other cool stuff for the kids at school. We then passed the buck to the school nurse who said that before we taught the kids the Steps, we had to have the support of the staff...and so began the Great Dental Challenge (that's the most exciting name I could come up with)! After about a week of brushing their teeth with the 7 Steps, all the teachers were convinced that this was the way to go...seriously, nearly every staff member came up to me to talk about their teeth, because for some unknown reason (Mom) I had been labeled as the poster child for dental health (if my dentist were dead, he would have rolled over in his grave upon hearing that).
(Break for delicious dinner of yummy chicken, rice, yogurt, corn and Grapefruit Fizzys...oh yeah!)
And I'm back...
So, the teachers stood as a untied front behind the mighty 7 Steps and the science teacher and I were chosen to explain and exhibit...no, that's not the right word...display...show...dang it. The science teacher discussed the importance of brushing your teeth and described the 7 Steps to the kids in Arabic. I (shoot...all I can think of is enacted...enabled...effervesced...well, the last one certainly doesn't work) put on the show, going through the Steps in front of the kids and giving them a close up (if they wanted it) of each part of the process. After that, I took 2-3 kids at a time and had them go through the 7 Steps on their own teeth with my help. I was channeling my dentist the whole time. I had on rubber gloves, corrected their brushing so that it was a steady circular motion, I even had trouble understanding them when my hands were in their mouths helping them floss...but that may have been the English-Arabic language barrier. All I needed was KING 98.1 FM gently playing in the background...and maybe some "Where's Waldo?" books in the lobby, I mean my office. This meant that I did the 7 Steps at school today...but I did them four times. Once for each class. FOUR times...for a total of 28 Steps. My dentist told me that once a day is sufficient for great dental hygiene and if you're really on your game you can add in one or two more times of just straight brushing (1 step, not 7) after meals. Doing the 7 Steps more than once a day is unnecessary...and doing it 4 times in the space of 3 hours is plain ill advised (by me, I can't speak for my dentist). In the beginning, I was excited, fresh, and ready to share the life changing experience of totally awesome teeth. After the 5th step, for the third time, I was walking through the hallways muttering to myself "I don't WANNA floss my teeth!"...this would be disturbing all on its own, but add to your mental image of me a mouth full of purply-bluish toothpaste froth. A plaque revealing q-tip thingy (I would explain more, but I'm tired and really want to watch some JAG, and I'm pretty sure no one has read this far anyway, except Dad) was included in the dental hygiene packs. You break the tip of the Q-tip and dye saturates the cotton, then you spread it on your teeth, wait 10 seconds, gently rinse with water and then look in a mirror. Any new plaque (by the way, plaque is a soft, sticky film that forms on your teeth every day...it's bacteria poop) is revealed as bright pink and old plaque shows up as a lovely lavender (but dark lavender) on your teeth and gums. It comes off with brushing, but it turns all the foam in your mouth a lovely purply-blue, as stated above.
By the fourth reveal step, any plaque was long gone and the only pink thing the kids could find in my mouth was my gums, which they delightedly told me were very pink indeed. (They were a little disappointed to find out that gums are supposed to be pink) I just realized I never told you that actual steps that make up the 7 Steps.
1. Lather up all your teeth with toothpaste.
2. Stim-U-Dent in between all your teeth
3. Thoroughly brush all of your teeth (this step should take about 2 minutes)
4. Floss your teeth (with the toothpaste still on)
5. Rinse...finally.
6. Thoroughly brush your teeth again using a small amount of toothpaste and a soft bristle toothbrush.
7. Rinse again.
(Again, I highly recommend visiting www.7dentalsteps.com, I basically brush my teeth so that I can imagine they are as happy as the teeth cartoons on the website...and good breath...of course.)
So multiply those by four and you have my day today. The end result is that my teeth certainly feel clean...maybe too clean. Right now, more than 7 hours after my last brushing, my mouth still feels like its foaming, as though the toothpaste somehow seeped into my gums and teeth and made me a mutant...whose only super power is to foam at the mouth and not have rabies. It's like my teeth are actively repelling any food or drink that may try to get stuck. And my gums feel tender. Maybe this was too much information, but I want to be clear with everyone...you CAN brush you teeth too many times in one day. Stick with the 7 Steps, but only do them once...unless you want to join my new Justice League of Hygiene. Alright, so that's enough for now. I think I will go wash my face, NOT brush my teeth, watch some JAG, knit a hat or blanket (not all tonight), and go to bed.

Chapter 23: Burn, Baby, Burn...

Alright, so my posting is not as regular as before, but I'm settling in...once I'm fully settled, I'll be back on my A-game. One reason I haven't posted this week is because Mom and I are working out every day when we get home from school. For the past three days (I'm including today) we have gotten home at 5 or later (due to language lessons, all the female teachers visiting S's house, and a visit to the giant mall for various items). But why I haven't written isn't important...the exercising, that's what's important. After rowing competitively for eight years and then doing next to nothing in the exercise department for about a year and a half, I'm back in the game!...and I'm forcing Mom to play too. We using balance balls, which somehow make workouts feel more like playtime (I think it's because I harbor a secret hope that one day Mom and I will duct tape handles onto the balls and have a demolition derby around the apartment...or maybe I just like bouncing). We use workout DVDs, which are quite helpful and provide us with many opportunities to comment on/lament over our current situation (please read: we often tell the leader lady to go to Jericho...but in a more colorful manner...hint hint...wink wink...nudge nudge...I think that's it, unless someone else can think of another hinting type motion/movement). But now, I'm crazy hungry (I know, abrupt subject change) and I have to occupy myself until dinner and all this typing and writing takes too much thinkings. Maybe I'll go watch some JAG and knit a hat...yeah, that sounds nice.

Chapter 22: I AM INVINCIBLE!

Indeed, ladies and gentlemen of the blog, I feel like I could climb every mountain and ford every stream (however, I refrain from following rainbows to find my dream), and it's all due to my (well, Mom and my) victory over the blinking DSL light. For those of you who don't know, Mom and I are back in the Holy Land. We were in the States for about 2 and a half months, hanging out with family, visiting Claire (my sister...if anyone reading actually needed that clarification, who are you?) in Costa Rica (which is NOT an island), resting in Old Man Rzegocki's (Walter's) man cave (where we spent the majority of one day watching the entire BBC "Pride & Prejudice" miniseries on Blu-ray), and playing with Vivian. She has a habit of looking up at one and saying, "I hold you" when she wants you to pick her up and I have come to the conclusion that she is either messing up the words she wants to use or (and we all know an italicized or means I like the second option better) she's offering a deal that if I hold her now, she will in turn metaphorically hold me, support me when I am older. But she's offered that deal to so many people, she'll have to win Mega Millions multiple times to follow through on her end. Basically, she's awesome. Let's see...what else did we/I do...hmmmmmmmmmm...cool stuff. OH! I went to Austin to visit Caitlandia (super duper fun) and Kristin came to Seattle for the first time (also super duper fun times) and many other exciting times were had. But I can't think of them now and those that I can think of are not as engaging as I might hope. So, the moral of the ramble is that Mom and I were in the States, but are now back in yon Holy Land (we will have been here a week this Friday).
I'm sure you're all saying "She's been there almost a week and hasn't written any posts...SCANDALOUS!"(you're all saying this in the self-centered part of my brain...the one where everyone's world revolves around my shining countenance). But I have a very good excuse, our internet connection was on the fritz and by on the fritz, I mean gone, missing, broken, no good, non existent, super sucky. At the beginning of the week, I called our service provider trying to figure out what was wrong. The technical support guy and I tried many exciting things to fix our problem...but each time they failed...and each time, I sank deeper and deeper into the depths of despair (despite what Morilla Cuthbert had said). It was clear that the problem was beyond our capabilities and we would need outside help from...a technichian! My ever helpful friend at technical support scheduled me for an appointment on Wednesday between 10 and 12, making a notation in my file that I had requested someone with English skills as my Hebrew is limited to hello and thank you. Wednesday came and Mom and I stayed home to meet the technician. 10 o'clock...no technician. 12 o'clock...no technician. At 12:30, I steeled myself and called the company who was supposedly sending our repair man. I had to steel myself because the answering service is in Hebrew (I think they also had Russian and Arabic as options, but I'm not sure) and as I mentioned, my Hebrew is severely lacking. The only number I can identify with confidence is 2 (shtein...or shteim...something like that), so I blindly press buttons, hoping against hope that I am being connected with a human being and not adding seven new phone lines to our account. After half an hour on hold, I finally made it to a person and informed him of my situation. He attempted to help me, calling the technician to no avail, but in the end he said the best he could do was leave a message. I politely informed him not to worry, that I would be calling back in another hour or two if no one had arrived, then I thanked him and hung up. 2:30...still no repair man. Another round of "Guess the Operator Number!" is begun and 40 minutes later, I have a human being on the phone. But the result is the same. Time passes (in one day I watched all of the Futurama movies, finished a baby blanket, and started rewatching the first season of "Burn Notice"), I keep checking in with our service provider, polite yet insistent. At 5:15, while I'm on the phone with the technical support people yet again, I get a call on my local cell phone from...the repair guy! In my excitement to nail him down and get him to our apartment, I shoved the other phone at Mom (the one with the technical support people) who took it willingly, but with a rather bewildered expression. WIth a combination of broken English and Arabic, I was able to direct him to the right place and he got to work. Mom, on the other hand, was having some difficulty finishing the conversation that I had started on the other line. Over an hour and multiple calls on multiple cell phones later, our DSL light had ceased it's sassy winking behavior and returned to it's regular beacon of hope solidity. I yelped for joy and profusely thanked the repair guy, who had called me on the phone to confirm that our service was now running. After many hours and many phone calls and many minutes spent on hold, we had finally triumphed. I celebrated by watching movie trailers on Apple Trailers...it was delightful. And now that I have reached an acceptable conclusion and length, I will leave you and go watch some more Burn Notice...it's strangely addictive.

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...