Schmear Me!

For the past two weeks I've had a hankerin' for 2 things: chips and salsa (That is one unit.) and a bagel with cream cheese (also a unit).

Craving food from the homeland isn't anything new.  Since we've taken to this life, we have learned to press through the yearnings and find new favorites…most of the time.

So far so good.  They look like bagels!

Here in our city, there is one little "store" of sorts that sells foreign foods, but they import mostly British food.  Seriously, who ever says, "Let's go out for English tonight?"  So sometimes we just go without.  However, a few of my Laura Ingalls-like friends encouragde me to try to make some of these things myself.  (I even once had a friend who made her own crackers?!  What?!)

I can make salsa, but the chips and the smell of a greasy little restaurant decorated in red tamales can't be duplicated here.  I have now been challenged to try to make bagels.  I haven't ever really even given bagel-making a thought.  Why would I when Panera is on every corner?  (Which by the way, Panera, if you're reading this…you really should consider an international presence…now.)

So my friend sent me a recipe and step-by-step instructions for making bagels.  How hard can they be?  Well…they be.

This is the boiling stage…got ugly here.
Still not sure what happened or why.

I've documented my attempt via photos and will highlight them in the post.  While they tasted nothing like Panera or even a bagel for that matter, they were good.  I didn't have cream cheese so I put on some weird little white cheese that comes in squares here which also contributed.

Now some of you are asking, "How does this fit in with the Whole30 deal?" It doesn't.  Not even close, but some cravings can't be quelled.  Now that I've spent a good portion of my life's energy on a batch, I'll think twice before I do it again.  It's pretty tiring and my oven set on 500º almost became nuclear at such a high temp.  (Not to mention the cook was nearly a puddle at the end, too.)

John was very happy with the results.  Poor guy.  Make him eat meat, berries and cucumbers for weeks on end and then dangle a bagel-wannabe in front of him…of course it tasted good.  (That was my plan from the start. Bwa ha ha ha ha.)

Anyway, this was my first attempt.  I will have to investigate what happened between shaping the bagels and boiling the bagels…I simply have no guesses.

So if you do live near a Panera or an Einstein Bros. Bagels location, please go by there and eat a bagel for me.  Take a photo of yourself with the caption, "Schmear me!"  I'll take it as the best love note I've ever received.

Salt and sesame seeds on top.  They look like bread,
but not very bagel-esque.

Toast Sweat and Talent

My Father, Mother and Grandmother

 In 7th grade, Mrs. Meadows assigned our English class homework. We were to write a story about a future career that interested us.

At the time, I was a volleyball player so I took pencil in hand and wrote of a glorious career that would ultimately culminate as a player for the USA Olympic team.  (Of course, we won gold.)

She returned our stories replete with red ink giving comments and our final grade.  A+.  I was happy to be sure, but her comments underneath are what stuck.

"I laughed out loud while reading this.  You have a real gift, Pam.  Keep writing!"

No one had ever come right out and said that to me probably because up until this time my stories were about "Poky, the Long-Eared Dog" and "Mr. Eggo and His Waffles."  

I hadn't viewed myself from the outside before.  This was revelatory.  I knew my parents loved, encouraged and supported me, but it was from a generation that rarely spoke it verbally.  It was assumed in the way that they provided shelter, clothes and food.

My father was a first generation American-German man who loved his family and spoke rarely.  He was first a 20-year Army veteran and then worked the remainder of his life as a factory worker and maintenance man.  But he had a hidden talent.  He could draw.  Every morning (even after retirement) he rose at 5 am.  At his chair, he would tear off a paper towel and place it in front of him where he'd place 2 buttered pieces of toast and a mug of coffee.  As he ate in the early morning silence, he would take his pencil and begin to doodle on the paper towel.  Sometimes he drew people or animals or some design he imagined.

He would then finish his coffee, rise from his chair and lightly tap on my bedroom door to wake me for school.  I would groggily wander into the kitchen and pour myself a bowl of cereal.  After I read the back of the cereal box, I would pull his paper towel toward me.  I was always fascinated to see what he had come up with.

As I would look at the drawing of an old man sitting next to a dog or a funny cartoon character, I would exclaim to him, "Dad, these are great!  Can I keep them?"

He would smile shyly and mutter something about toast sweat and butter being on the towel.  I didn't care.  These were good.

First published book
co-written with one of my dearest friends

I was surprised that my father's art talent never went further than his early morning routine.  Not many people knew about this hidden gift.  But I knew and I wanted everyone to know how amazingly talented he was.  I think for him this may have been the first time he too had received such affirmation for an ability.  His parents and their generation simply didn't have it in them to encourage such a pursuit.  They had recently immigrated from Germany.  Then it was WW1 and then WW2.  Survival was the goal and every family member had to contribute.

I'm a product of their tenacity and determination.  The life I have had simply wouldn't be possible without their sheer grit.  I'm sure they each had hidden talents and abilities that were pushed aside so that money could be earned for bread day to day.

So what do I do?  What do you do for those who help us "see" ourselves…who uncover and affirm abilities in our lives that we've left unrecognized or deemed unworthy?  

First, I say thank you.  Thank you for pausing long enough to investigate my life and seeing something worthwhile.  Thank you for speaking confidence in the spaces of uncertainty.  And a heartfelt thank you for taking time in your day to read…well, anything that I write.  I'm no Charles Dickens or Max Lucado and I couldn't be if I tried.  (Okay...I've tried.)  I'm simply Pam, the girl who loves Jesus and desires to live her life reflecting Him.  

Second, I say "Go for it."  Are you waiting for someone to "see" your abilities?  Believe in you?  Prod you? God certainly sees, because He created each of us uniquely.  The stamp of the Creator (who is very creative) is in you.  We are made in His image, therefore as He is creative so are you. You bring something to this world that is uniquely you.  What are you waiting for?  

Maybe I'll work on a sequel to my volleyball Olympic story.  I'll call it, "Bump, Set, Spike 2: A Tragic Story of Golden Dreams and Card Table Legs."

_______________________________________________

This entry wouldn't be complete without a shout out to my two daughters and husband.  They are a source of constant encouragement and borderline nagging, but nonetheless inspiring.  You are loved and appreciated.  

This picture makes me laugh every time I see it.  Love these two!

Who Brought the Cheese?

Our friend smiled as he recounted our time together at his recent engagement party.  He said, "I spoke with my fiancé and she said that when one of her friends walked into the house and saw Pam the woman asked, 'Who brought the cheese?'"

John belly laughed and I did too.

So now I'm "Cheese."

They eat a lot of feta cheese here which as you know is white.  This last remark has been mentally added to the collection of names that I seem to have evoked from our village here.

If you remember, I have a friend who lives at the front of the village who without fail will greet me and then say, "Entee tomatum!  Entee tomatum!"  (You are a tomato!  You are a tomato!)

We realized that this came with my red face that she sees after I have walked through the city in often sunny and 110º+ heat.

My friends that I drink tea with named me baed or "egg."  When asked if it was because I was white, one lady shook her head and said, "No, there are brown eggs too."  To this day I still have no idea what this means.

Cheese, tomato and egg.  Occasionally I have been called sucar or sugar, but that hasn't really stuck and is used often for everyone like "Honey" in the southern states of the US.

Even now as I type, John chuckled under his breath and whispered…"Cheese."

I can only attribute it to forming good relationships.  Nicknames only come with familiarity.  I am not ready to reciprocate though.  I'm afraid my well-intentioned teasing would become some major social faux paus that would haunt me for the rest of my days.  Right now I'm lucky to pronounce their real names correctly.

So that's it for today.  Cheese signing off.

Geckos and Snakes Magna Carta

John and Borris

I had designated today as an official BIC (Behind in Chair) Day. These days are part of the discipline I'm choosing to implement as a way to a) improve my writing, b) keep from the "some day" mentality and c) enjoy this creative outlet.

Usually, I can pull from some humorous anecdote that recently happened or some poignant quote that so lovingly hits me between the eyes.  Today, I have several ideas floating around but nothing seems to be working. I'm distracted.

Instead, I'm thinking about the ants that have returned en masse since I carpet-bombed my kitchen with an overseas version of Raid. I'm wondering if I can use anything stronger and not grow a third eye.

The creatures here are relentless.  Just in the last month, I've had my own National Geographic experience with ants (small, medium and large), small mosquito-eating bats (maybe 6" wingspan), giant fruit bats (wingspan about 3'!), spiders (on my one imported avocado!), a family of geckos that live with us and a small snake with a big head that I found trying to get into our front door.

These are just the everyday ones.  I casually mentioned the snake to our landlord; he promptly called a guy to come out and deal with it.  Now we have little Walmart-like bags tied around the perimeter of our flat.  They have some type of snake deterrent in them.  I'm not quite sure of the science since the plastic bag is tied in a knot.  Does the snake just know it's bad juju in there for him?  At any rate, we've had no snakes since and now my patio is decorated for Fall in "Urban Hillbilly."

The giant fruit bats swoop down toward us any time we try to leave our flat at dusk.  Now, we try not to leave our flat at dusk.  The bats seem agreeable to this arrangement.  I'm wondering how I can communicate to them that I am not to be mistaken for a giant mango.  More study is required…

The geckos range from tiny (2") to Komodo dragon (8").  We have a treaty with them of sorts.  If they eat all the unwanted ants, mosquitos, spiders, etc. AND stay on the ceiling, then they can stay.  If however, they come 1) into our bedroom or 2) below the wall halfway mark, then a soccer ball may be lobbed at them by John from any angle.

While Aria was here, one tiny gecko adopted her and followed her wherever she was in the house.  In Arabic a gecko is called borse.  Knowing this, she named her new friend, Borris the Borse.  All of the geckos followed the agreement with the exception of Borris.  Borris was found in our bedroom just 2 nights ago.  He froze trying to be invisible, but John explained to him again the ground rules for living in our house and carefully escorted him out (no soccer ball for him since he had a name and all…)

As for spiders, they seem to be the least of my worries right now.  No, I don't like them…but they are in the minority of creatures that have taken up residence in our home.  I know some of you would adopt the "scorched earth" policy, but they've all worn me down.

At first, my goal was to eradicate any and all living things in our home with the exception of us.  That's too lofty.  It's not possible.  The entire building is built on sand or as the nimla like to say "one big giant anthill."  If I used enough Raid to rid ourselves of them, I do believe John and I would start glowing green very soon after.  

So we try to live in some sort of Circle of Life harmony.  I jump, shiver, smash and scream and the survivors carry on as if nothing happened.  I imagine a small, underground support group that meets weekly.  All of them joined together antennae to wing to paw singing softly together,

All creatures of our God and King
Lift Up Your Voice and With Us Sing
O Praise Him, O Praise Him, O Praise Him

All humans in our home and land,
Take heed lest we will bite your hand
O Fear Us, O Flee Us, O Leave Us.

One Sheet at a Time, Sweet Jesus

I just flipped my calendar* to August.  I stood looking at the scene of two men fishing on a hot summer's day while a boy and his dog looked on from the dock nearby.  Simple days of Summer.  Time to just "be."  Niiiiiiiiice.

John & Aria at an old Monastery

The pace here in our part of the world is definitely slower than that in the West.  One part of me really appreciates the paused approach to life.  They understand that you can't beat the sun and advocate rest in the hottest part of the day.  Another part of me, however, wants to get stuff done and having to wait for it to cool down, for the store to open, for the electricity to come back on, etc. can be maddening.

Closed shops

After Aria returned to the US following our time together here, I wanted to keep myself busy…not as easy as you would think.  I'll wash the sheets.  Yes, that's it.  Clean sheets are progress.  I took the sheets off the beds and walked to the washer.  Only one sheet would fit.  One.  Not one set.  Just one sheet.  

I admit I was tempted to cram a whole set into the washer and see what would happen.  However, our little washer is temperamental and pushing it to its limits would not be an overall productive move.  So I put the fitted sheet in and closed the door.  I turned the button to "D" and walked away to pour myself something to drink.

"D" Cycle is the shortest possible cycle on the washer in which water is still involved.  It takes 2 hours for the cycle to complete.  "Just take it out earlier," you say.  The washer is a front loader type and the doors lock for the whole cycle and then 5 minutes following.

Beats a rock any day!

According to my calculations, all my sheets will be completely washed in May 2017.  At least the 2 hours per sheet gives time for the one clean sheet to dry under the ceiling fan in our side room.

Newly organized closet

As I washed the sheets, I planned other organizational tasks.  (To see my OCD approach, click here.)  Yes, it's the "Dog Days of Summer" here…or rather the "Donkey Days of Summer…" Not sure what the actual equivalent is called.  At any rate, I'm trying to embrace the seasons of life (fast and slow) that come my way, savoring each one and not pining for a new season to come simply because the one I'm in doesn't suit me.  

You see, how I approach tasks and seasons reveals more about me than the actual accomplishments in passages of time.  So I'm chillin' (so to speak).  I'll enjoy life a lot more, probably avoid a stroke and realize there's richness in every experience whether it comes quickly or in the form of a long-awaited, lone, washed white sheet.

Donkey Days of Summer

Ancient inscription which means,
"I shall learn to play the harp
while I wait for the sheets to dry."

_______________________________

*Thanks to Bruce and Julie for the very thoughtful gift!  

Ahmed's Party

Everyone gathering for the party.

"You are invited," he began shyly, "to my engagement party on the last day of Eid."

"Engagement party!" John exclaimed, "You're getting engaged?"

Ahmed* gave a half smile and said, "Yes."

We both burst into exclamations of congratulations for our dear friend who had not mentioned a word about any particular girl until now.  He's rather shy and I suspect he knew it would cause great attention.

We immediately agreed to come.  John said, "I will even buy a new jalibaya (common local robe for men) for the occasion."

Ahmed told us that he would send a driver to our home to pick us up.  We thanked him for his thoughtfulness.

Our new duds...

The days of Eid (holiday or actually meaning "feast") passed festively as Muslims celebrated the end to the 30-day daylight fast or Ramadan. The souq (market) had been closed for the holiday so John and I had to wait until the night before Ahmed's party to purchase our new outfits.

John is very much a "search and destroy" type of shopper so we entered the souq at the exact shop we needed.  Purchased said jalibaya for him and abiya (women's robe) for me within 30 minutes.  Done and done.

We knew that these parties typically run long into the night so we had thought it best to take a nap prior to the big hoopla.

Around 9:30 pm we received a call from Ahmed saying that the driver should be arriving soon.  A friend of Ahmed's had agreed to share his car and pulled up right on time (within an hour give or take is very punctual here.)

The men's area of waiting...

We rode across town to a new section that we hadn't been to before.  Our city is half a million people so there's a lot we have yet to explore.  The roads became paths and the paths become alleys until we were in the correct area of the village where the width of a car would no longer fit.  I guess we will park here.

Our driver directed us up the alley toward loud music and flashing lights.  People in the village had already begun to line the path and we had to walk the gauntlet.  Everyone was very friendly greeting us along the way, but also declaring that "Khawaja" (foreigners) were coming.

As we approached the party, we evaluated who was where.  The men were seated in a side alley with benches and the women were inside the bride's family's home.  John and I said our goodbyes and I put on my brave pants and entered the room full of women.

I was immediately greeted by a girl about 20 who took my hand, introduced herself and directed me to sit on a padded bench.  Soon more and more women arrived.  All of them greeting one another and catching a side glance of me.  They came and shook my hand and took their place in the provided seating.  And there we waited.  Music played in the background, kids danced in the middle and the women spoke quietly to another.  

Happy Guests!

Around 11:30 pm an aunt of the host family walked in with a large tray of food and began passing out plates to all the guests.  I was one of the first ones served.  My plate contained a white sauce lasagne, zucchini stuffed with rice, pieces of beef, bread and tahina (sesame dip).  All of it was delicious, but I was especially conscious of the fact that everyone watched me and wanted to know what I thought of the food.  I made sure that I complimented the food many times loudly as I ate.

Ahmed's mother greeted me and insisted that I eat more.  She poured a glass of 7 up for me and told me to "Eat!  Eat!"

John in the men's area was also eating.  However, his is a different type of scene.  The men eat at long tables.  As they eat, they are silent.  They eat about half their plate and then get up and walk away.  

Dining quietly

I'm afraid that type of system would kill the women who were talking, laughing and asking each other about their day.

The plates were collected and we chit chatted some more.  I would answer a question and it would be passed along the room until everyone smiled and nodded.  Then another question.  I suppose it was a good diversion because the bride to be had not yet arrived from the coiffure (hair stylist).

It's tradition for the bride and her bridesmaids to all go to the hair salon for updos, henna and makeup.  This is an all day and mostly all night procedure.  Truly.

Around 1 am, one of the women announced that the bridal party had arrived.  Woo hoo!  Let's get this party rolling, I thought to myself.

We exited the house and gathered in the center of two intersecting streets.  Ahmed was dressed in a Western suit and tie.  The whole look shocked me.  I thought he would be in a very dressy jalabaya, but he had on our type of clothing!  

The whole village celebrates!

The bride wore a bright fuchsia dress that was completely bedazzled.  Her hair had been styled beautifully and she couldn't stop smiling.

Soon they were seated on a special bench.  A young girl approached them with a silver tray which held the engagement jewelry.  Ahmed gave his (now fiancé) a gift of gold jewelry consisting of 2 or 3 rings, a bracelet and necklace.  Ahmed received a silver ring to wear on his right hand during the engagement year.  After the wedding, he will change it to his left hand.

All of this is ceremonial since the families from both sides had already gone to the mosque for the contract signing which actually seals the engagement.  This is the fun recognition of that agreement.

After they exchanged the jewelry, guests began to approach to congratulate them.  Soon Ahmed's brothers told us to go up and shake their hands.  As we went, the bride's father insisted that we step up on the bench with them.  We told him that wouldn't be necessary, but he wouldn't relent.  John tried to step up in what would be equal to wearing a long formal gown and tried his best to keep the spectacle minimal.  However, the whole village was now watching the foreigners crawl up the bench and have their picture taken.  Oh, well.

The Much Ado Picture

The father took the picture (which turned out blurry), but we told him it was fine which allowed us to immediately crawl down and rejoin the crowd.

Ahmed's friend who drove us told us to follow him and he would take us back home.  As we were in the car, the driver stopped at the photography studio to confirm Ahmed's engagement photo session.  It would take place at 2 am.  Yes?  Yes.  We waited until Ahmed arrived and saw that everything was working out.

The car is decorated and ready!

We were then driven home.  We found out later that Ahmed returned to the party after the photo shoot for a short time of dancing.  Ahmed is quite shy so he put in the minimal time for dancing and ended the party.

As we were trying to wind down after the party, we reflected that we were the only Christians present among these beautiful people.  How privileged we were to be there, to say a pray for each one and to be allowed to participate in their lives.

We visited with Ahmed today and noticed that he had henna on both hands which marks him as a now-engaged man.  It will be his job over the next year to secure an apartment and furnishings prior to the wedding.  The wedding cannot take place until everything in the flat is purchased and completed. (Engagements typically last 1-5 years.)

Arriving at the photography studio

Ahmed thanked us for coming and we thanked him for including us.  We told him that at the wedding, however, we were staying the whole time and that both he AND John would be dancing.  He smiled and said, "This would be nice."

I, of course, will be videoing.

________________________

*Not his real name

Time Change, Mind Change

John and I had just finished our lunch when he received a call from one of our friends here.  

"Are you coming to the meeting?" he asked.

"Yes, at 1 pm. Right?" John responded.

"It's 1:15 now."

"So the time did change after all.  I'll be there as soon as I can," John said and then hopped up to get ready.

During the month of Ramadan, the country of Egypt had changed the time by setting the clock back by an hour.  Since Ramadan is now over, the time had been returned to it's normal setup.  However, when we googled any of this information today, nothing came up.  No mention of time forward, time back or whatever.  We were just supposed to know.  Ug.

John waved goodbye to me as he hurried out the door and I stayed to hem an abiya (sort of a dress coat that goes over your clothes) that I had purchased last night for a good friend's engagement party that's being held tonight.  (More on that in another post.)

Time here seems to go fast or slow depending on the circumstances.  Just 2 months ago, Aria had arrived for a fun-filled time together hanging out and exploring Egypt.  This past Wednesday, we said our tearful "so longs" as she made her way back to the US to prepare for her junior year in college.  I can't believe 2 months went by so quickly.

Now time has returned to its "tortoise" state moving slowly through the hot, long and now quiet days of summer.

 As I sip my soda, I begin reflecting on all the wonderful events that have taken place so far this year.  We were in the US for Emileigh and Jacob's graduation and wedding. 

We had opportunity to be with our family and friends for a time of rest.  Aria and some of her friends were able to join us here in-country.  Yes, blessed indeed.

Evangel University Graduation 2014 with fam and friends!

Tulip Festival in Holland, Michigan

Post-wedding Family Dinner

Easter Sunday with my sister, Paula

Post-wedding dinner with my sister, Peggy, sil, Taressa and bil, Jeff!

Mom and Bride (SNIFF!)

However, I noticed that I am able to quickly turn my thoughts to anything but gratitude.  I begin to murmur,

"I hate goodbyes."
"Other people don't live like this."
"If only we could live near each other."
"This life isn't for me."
"It's just not fair."
"It's too much, too hard, too…everything."

Soon I find myself slipping into a spiral of despair and the very same lips that just pronounced amazing blessing is now spewing depression and defeat.

I have these conversations fairly regularly with myself.  I think it comes with the territory of this kind of life, but also just in the realization that life comes with pros and cons.  The older I get the more I realize that life is not a constant state of bliss or despair, but usually riding together in tandem.

It's in these moments of transition whether in the "so longs" in our lives or the unannounced time changes, that I have a choice.  I can choose to see the glass half full or see it completely smashed on the ground obliterated into pieces.  (I can be severe at times…)

In one book we recently read it said, "Your outlook determines your outcome."  Very true.  If I see only misery, loneliness and futility in the future, then that is surely what will come my way.  It's as if I put on a filter that will only allow my emotions to view my life with those parameters.  I've been down this road and it leads no where productive.

I have to choose to filter my thoughts and my actions with words that bring life.  Of course, reading from the Bible is always encouraging to me.  It sets my mind on truth rather than allowing incorrect thoughts of self-pity or self-importance to ruminate.

Other things include who I talk to, what I write, what I read or watch.  Keeping in community rather than isolating myself.  These are all deliberate acts of discipline.  I'm choosing to set my life up positively and in that know that I will experience the goodness of God because I'm anticipating it, expecting it, looking for it.

Does that mean to deny rough days?  No.  Someone said, "Life is 10% of what happens to you and 90% of how you react to it."  Agreed.  We can't always choose our circumstances, but we always have the opportunity to choose our response and attitude.  

Is your life what you want it to be?  If the answer is "no" then check your attitude.  My friend, Jodi, said, "Waiting for circumstances to determine your peace is like asking a thief to be in charge of your bank account."

Joy and peace do not come from the stars aligning and having that perfect ________ (job, life, spouse, question answered, etc.) They come from an inward decision to make the best of it trusting that God has your good in mind.

So I'm going to change my clock (again!) to the new current time and also choose to change my mind today and in the days to come so that I can embrace the fulfillment that comes from living a life viewed through the lens of purposed joy.

Aria and Jessi sipping Nubian coffee.

Aria and Brenden sailing with us on the Nile.

Helping Jacob and Em set up their first house!

John visiting his '55 Chevy while in Michigan.

Sipping Lemon Juice with Mint