The Effect of the Departure of S

This morning the horizon looked so dusky and grey that I convinced myself that it was not going to wait for tomorrow to rain. Then I opened the window to a blue sky. I think I need to wipe down the windows. I also need to scrub the toilets, sweep and mop the floor, remove the rubbish from the drive, fix the leaky faucet, hug the kids and hand them their breakfast with a smile, dust, vacuum, and make supper and the beds--EVERY DAY.

We are very much missing S the Wondermaid. She started asking us in September if we would be okay without her for six weeks as she was planning a trip to Sri Lanka to happen later in the fall. I scoffed and told her that of course we would be okay—not to be silly. However, now that we are actually living through those six weeks, I am eating my words—or I would be eating them if I could find the time and energy to cook them.

Having to come home on those two busy days during the week to a dirty house and another night of sandwiches? How did I do this for all those years of my adult life before I moved to the Gulf and became convinced that I needed domestic help? And how do I go back to managing my life independently now that S is gone?

In light of the window incident, I decided that I would begin to pick up the pieces of my grimy household at that moment by cleaning the driveway. Six a.m. seems an ideal time for such tasks and besides, the windows simply looked too daunting. And so, with cats in tow and brooms in hand, I headed out to the driveway.

November is the best time to come to Oman, I thought, trying to cheer myself to the fact that I had just swept up a half-chewed gecko carcass. “The breezes blow off the ocean and the air is clear and clean,” I muttered to myself as I scooped up a gigantic pile of dust, fig leaves, shriveled fruit peelings, cat poo, toilet paper clumps, and hair balls. When I found the two dead dragonflies at the base of a palm frond-pomegranate branch structure in the middle of whale rib bones, and the cats began snacking, I decided I was done with the driveway.

This is the point at which I decided I had had enough of driveway detritus

It rained last week which meant that our house flooded, but Tony and Tian were out when it happened and so we were down on manpower to sop up the flood waters and hang out the soggy towels. I rationalized this oversight by telling myself that in this environment the towels would dry just as fast on the floor as anywhere else. In addition, wet tiles make for excellent skating and damp towels are ideal for use as a door mat. Now, though, I picked them up and set them to dry on top of the clean clothes on the back porch.

This brought me to the tissue party on the floor, off in a corner where someone or something had emptied the contents of a box of Palace Tissues. The box itself had been turned into a wooden ship with straw cannons and its adversary, an old cereal box with iron (aluminum foil) sides and a turret, lay in the tissue detritus. Scooping up the remains of the battle brought me face-to-face with a smear of…what was that on the wall? Hoping that it was chocolate, I wet a towel and began to sponge the questionable mark only to discover a furtive message scribbled on one of the columns in pencil—I love…and then some indecipherable name—large print has led me to conclude that Tehva is the author, meaning that the name is either Louis or Zain. Totally 1D. I took grotesque pleasure in scrubbing away the spastic pencil marks.

And at the base of that same column? A collection of candy wrappers. That reminded me that I needed to get into the kitchen and trash the last of the Halloween candy since I have very bitchily put Tehva on a no-sugar diet in a desperate, last-ditch effort to salvage my sanity. The diet has been wildly successful in that instead of 15 temper tantrums a day she only has one, and she tries to slaughter one of her siblings only once every other day. This is progress.

Damp and slightly mildewy swimsuits hung, stale cat food swept from under the fridge, ant hills along the base of the stairs destroyed, carpets swept, rotten bananas stuck in the freezer, and counters wiped for the first time since S’s departure, I make a cup of tea and ponder the reality of the American life that will be ours again starting next year if all goes as planned.

Removed from this equation will probably be the mildewy swimsuits and, quite likely, the ant hills that form thrice weekly at the base of the steps, and I suspect I will no longer have to deal with a driveway filled with bizarre bits of other people’s lives. However, everything else that S deals with on a twice-weekly basis will once again be part of my collection of responsibilities.

And, like every other Gulf expat I know here who is looking at the possibility of returning to the home country, I ask myself frequently, Can I stand to return to “real life” and the losses it entails? No more annual air ticket, summer holiday time in Europe, domestic help, tax-free living, huge international community, nice salary, or cheap petrol. I can do it, but can I stand it?   

I'm Gonna Lay Down My Loose Ways

Yes, that's right...I have officially parted ways with my loose and disrespectful ways after an encounter at the beach recently. It was the first of its kind that I have had in Oman, which makes it blog-worthy, and it highlights what some long-timers here are whispering is a harbinger of the increasing conservatism that seems to just be creeping in around the edges of life here.

Surely you are all familiar with the old spiritual hymn that goes slowly and rather morosely like this:

I'm gonna lay down my loose Western ways,
Down by the riverside, 
Down by the riverside,
Down by the riverside.

I'm gonna lay down my loose Western ways
Down by the riverside, 
Study those loose ways no more...

Anyhow, it goes something like that. And now that I have been accused of being full of evil and lasciviousness, I can officially belt out that hymn with other women who do things like breastfeed in public, wear shorts that don't quite come to the knee, and refuse to shave their armpits. We are an unholy lot, we are, aren't we girls?

But first, can I point out that not only have I reformed and laid down my loose ways, I also have begun sailing. You may think that this is a non sequitor but I will single handedly prove to you that in fact this is not the case.

But really first this time, a picture of the skull table for my brother.

And that was a non sequitor. And so, returning to topic...I went for the weekly Friday swim a few weeks back and after a kilometer in moderately rough seas I decided that I would fold to peer pressure and get out. After all, the other girl-swimmers had already bailed and were walking back toward the cars and on this Friday, the boy-swimmers were not there to make us feel guilty for getting out and so we just went ahead and did the outrageous--we exited the ocean.

I justified this move of mine by reasoning that I felt like I was going to barf and perhaps simultaneously drown, just for good measure, and so I exited the water in my swimsuit that covers all my girl parts, my hips, my boobs, my stomach, but does not cover my arms nor my legs in total. Wearing the suit was my first mistake. Getting out of the water was my second. My third is coming.

So after the girl-swimmers and I hightailed it back to the cars and wrapped ourselves in towels, a man in a wife beater and swim trunks approached very huffily and asked if I lived in Oman. I nodded, fairly sure that I knew where this was going since

1.) I was, for any other Middle Eastern country, pretty scantily clad,

2.) the man looked outraged,

3.) an older man was standing meters away, stroking his long grey beard with one hand while holding the other over his heart,

4.) and a gaggle of women in head to toe cover stood off to the side as well.

I stood and listened to the huffy one's spitting, foaming explanation of his purpose in approaching us--we all had loose morals (his English was really excellent and his word choice was admirable) and were disrespectful. He informed us that he had been to our country (never mind that this group is from three different countries) and he knows what women are like there. He went on to scream that this was a family beach and we were traumatizing his women. Then he spat on the ground and walked away.

After that it was goodbye loose ways for me--no more swimsuit at the beach. Now it is full body cover which actually works out well as the weather cools down because that is when the jellyfish come out and who knew that going local with the swim costume would actually stop those little suckers' stings from being felt!

And of course, when we go sailing I go with full cover as well since you never know when a boat full of fishermen is going to cross your path...or you are going to capsize your boat in front of a boat full of fishermen. Or you are going to capsize your boat into waters full of little zippy jellyfish.

The Pico when we haven't tipped it over

Another great trade-off for losing my loose ways is that when we go to the beach and see fishermen bringing in their nets, I can get in there with my fully clad body and glean sardines just like the local ladies without having to worry about such things as sunburn, windburn, netburn, or, well, jellyfish stings.

I am trying really hard to be psyched about this new leaf I have turned over but am afraid I am acting like something of a sot who has been forced off the bottle by the medical institution. Oops. There I go again with my loose Western ways.

I will really try to work on that over the next week.
    

The Return

I am back.

Every now and then a blog needs a year off and so I indulged myself and took the time to indulge myself. But now with life in Muscat beginning to churn again after a long summer away, I NEED to write. Or at least I tell myself that I need to write, since I am being pressured from left and right to pen something.

What I want to create is a top ten list of all of the things that have changed over the last year. I like top ten lists for the very obvious call out to David Letterman, but I also like them for the neatness and structure that they impart. As a writer I know where I can stop writing. As a reader you know exactly how long you have to out up with my blog.

However, I can’t think of ten changes to share. I only can think of eight. And really they are not top…they just are changes. So here are eight changes, in no particular order, that have occurred here in the last year or so since I blogged.

     1.) Puberty

          That’s it. Just puberty.

     2.) Sailing

The sailboat that sat in our driveway for nearly two years? If you visited us at any point between 2010 and 2012, you remember that boat. It was the one you practically had to climb over to enter our house. Last year we donated it to a sailing club here in exchange for the occasional sail session on it, and replaced it in our drive with a table which we have covered with skulls. Muscat has contributed to the look of the skulls by covering them with dust. It gives the driveway a very white trash sort of feel. Homey.  

     3.) Chickenpox

The Varicella fairy visited us during October. In classic American style, instead of treating the Varicella, we spent a lot of our time trying to figure out who was to blame. And with each speculation as to the responsible party, another eruption of pox occurred until Silas was covered in spots (this is what we do in Muscat when we have chicken pox...we go out for Indian food, which is probably why the virus has gone around town twice already since August).

In the end we eliminated most of Muscat and narrowed the suspected Varicella transmitters down to two individuals. Suspect 1 was a friend who had had shingles many moons before, but was the most obvious suspect because she had had Varicella and was foolish enough to admit it. Suspect 2 was some random British child encountered at a birthday party two weeks before the breakout. I blame the British.

    4.) The Black and White Cat

Harry the Cat has never gotten a mention on the blog and so I mention him now. We found him under the new expressway, probably having been thrown from a vehicle, and took him in as a favor to a friend, who promised to take him off our hands within a few days. Did I mention that this friend is British?

Harry looks like a Jersey cow. He complains loudly, drinks from the toilet, and has inspired Silas to write an epic which intertwines all of the pets in Muscat. Visit it at www.sisstoryblog.blogspot.com

    5.) A Contract! A Real Contract!

For one month this summer, I taught real students at a real school for one whole month, and was contracted to do it! Having been out of the game in an institutional sense for three years, it was validating to work in a concrete box again. And that sense of validation made me question my sanity. Trying not to think too hard and moving along…

    6.) Reading

Tehva reads. Finally. 

Poser.

Each morning she reports on the number of chapters she conquered in the previous 24 hours. This morning it was 57 chapters. I was not aware that we had 57 chapters in easy chapter books available in our house and so, while it is exciting that she is finally reading, it is questionable as to exactly what she is reading. This may be contributing to her growing penchant for racy material, whether it is in an online or paper medium.

    7.) Muscat International Airport

The construction site, just minutes from our house.

After gaining and losing a number of friends who were associated with the new airport’s construction but ran screaming from the country in frustration over how the construction was proceeding, it is comforting to see that the airport is coming along. To celebrate, Muscat Municipality has been closing lanes and roads throughout the area to enlarge them, reroute them, redecorate them, or sometimes to just erect little wooden men who have orange flags taped to their hands next to them.

If you are smart you can infer why I have included this in the list—getting anywhere on this side of town anymore involves some major road wrangling, which leads to the next change...

  

    8.) Socialization Opportunities

Many a moon ago when I started homeschooling, I was followed by the specter of potential unsocialization. No one was worried about my children academically, physically, or nutritionally, but I was questioned constantly about socialization. “What do your children do for socialization? How are you teaching them to relate to other people? How will they learn to play with others if they don’t go to school?”

And so, folding to peer pressure, we spend a good amount of time in the afternoons carting the children to socialization opportunities and our week is shaped by rugby, Girl Guides, violin and piano lessons, homeschool co-op classes, tennis and swimming lessons, pottery class, playdates, the Family Hash, and kid-only mountain walks.

In spite of all of that socialization, they remain who they have always been.

It is an expensive lesson, both in time and resources. Ah well.

So that is as things stand now. If I am as consistent as before with keeping up with this, you just might get to read a new blog post again in the next year. If you are lucky.