A Summer in Songs

Summer will soon be over and it'll be time to head back to Doha. In the meantime, I've been giving consideration to what this summer has meant to me and how there are songs that just seem to tell the story. It's been a busy summer so far with the ending of school, the trip home, teaching, learning, and some other really incredible things. So I'm going to try to summarize it using songs that tell the story.
As per usual, the end of school for me is never complete without Alice Cooper's timeless anthem School's Out.

Seriously, who among us that has a memory that goes back more than 20 years hasn't declared this song to be the official theme song of the last day of school? When the final bell rang and the kids left I was ready to run from the building celebrating the freedom that summer brought with it, but then came the realization that it may not be the wisest thing to do with temperatures in Doha hitting 125° F that week. We literally had birds sitting outside our window panting from the heat and enjoying the shade and cool breeze that leaks out of our windows. So I thought better of it and stayed put, instead focusing my energies on getting packed for departure. The temps in Doha definitely bring to mind the great song Summer in the City by the Lovin' Spoonful.

Arrival in the U.S. brought all the usual pleasantries. Family, friends, my pickup truck, sane driving, cooler weather, pork. Yeah. The important stuff. I spent a bit more time with Alice when my college class ended in early July, then it was time to shift into a mixed musical mode headed up by Styx and Mr. Roboto along with a dose of the Beach Boys (insert song here) as we headed west for a robotics conference and competition. Finishing second in the International Botball Tournament was a great way to send off some of our graduating seniors, and catching up with some friends we haven't seen in several years was awesome too. The side trip to Colorado has me recalling Joe Walsh's Rocky Mountain Way.

First time at that elevation had both of us sucking for air, especially with the ascent to 10,000 feet on a stopover on our way back to Denver, but my goodness what gorgeous country that is.

It was most definitely a summer highlight, but did not bring summer to an end. The west coast trip was to be followed up with a trip to Southwest Virginia where we had our first opportunity to meet our new sister-in-law and nephew. What a wonderful pair of additions to our family. And what trip that way wouldn't be complete without an event that brings to mind the great song Proud Mary (CCR or Ike and Tina, you choose) and a lazy day "rolling on the river"?
Nothing this summer can compare though to one of the greatest moments in our lives. There's something incredibly special about seeing your unborn son on an ultrasound for the first time. It's a true testament to the awesomeness of God who gives us life and I'm truly humbled that He's blessed us with our first child. When I try to come up with the song that does justice to this blessing all I can think of is How Great Thou Art.

This is the End

Many moons ago The Doors recorded a song entitled "This is the End." Kind of a sad number:

This is the end
Beautiful friend
This is the end
My only friend, the end
Of our elaborate plans, the end
Of everything that stands, the end
No safety or surprise, the end
I'll never look into your eyes…again

I was reminded of this song very recently, yesterday in fact. As we were approaching the end of Spring Break we considered that we had not really gone and done anything over the break. Instead we'd busied ourselves with homework and walks with the dogs, throwing in a complete veg day as well — because after all, one day may be vegetables and should really get some practice. Anyone who has ever planted a garden knows that Spring is the right time to plant vegetables too, so with the season upon us and the break here we planted ourselves for a day. Then the desire to uproot and migrate struck and out the door we went.

Now, Qatar is just starting to heat up. Supposedly it hit 32℃ yesterday (that's 90℉, but I'm beginning to like Celsius because it doesn't sound as bad.) I'm pretty convinced it was a bit hotter than that though, especially once we got out into the interior of Qatar where there's no ocean breeze, or any breeze for that matter. Mind you, we made it home intact, including the dogs who were ecstatic at the prospect of a third day off the reservation. Almost all of us made it home. This is where "the end" comes into play.

Our plan was to do the grand tour of Qatar, which is more or less like doing the

grand tour of a really big parking lot, only with camels. We left Doha and drove north toward Al Ruwais (not the one in the UAE) which is pretty much a nowhere town on the northern tip of the peninsula. It's a straight shot up Al Shamal Road from where we live and skirts the coastline, kind of, until it runs into the Persian Gulf. Well, not quite into the Gulf but close enough. Then we drove down the back side of Qatar to Dukhan, a town that would hardly be a blip on the map without Qatar Petroleum's establishment there. Then back from Dukhan to Doha, passing by one of our favorite haunts at Al-Shehanniya where they race camels.

Sounds easy enough, doesn't it? After all, the Jeep just came back from having the A/C repaired and it was pumping nice cold air. All set to go with plenty of water, some food, sunscreen, appropriate beach attire for a dip into the Gulf, camping chairs, and our dogs. Made it all the way to Dukhan, pretty much without any problems. Then the fun started as we left Dukhan and headed home. Now mind you there really isn't much between Dukhan and Doha except a highway and lots of sand, rocks and dirt. Partway back all of a sudden the temperature gauge went sky high and soon thereafter we started hearing a rattle from the engine and bluish smoke trailed behind us.

Not good.

Knowing a bit about automobiles, and knowing that this one was getting older anyway — and having my wife's expertise on old automobiles dying suddenly and with great commotion easy to tap —I put two and two together and detected the sound of a rod knocking. I know enough to know that a knocking engine rod is more or less its death rattle. Couple that with being stuck in the middle of nowhere we decided to limp home. After all, what else were we going to do with 50km to go, two dogs and a vehicle that was doing its best to win an academy award for best performance in a death scene? We made it back to Doha and, amazingly with oil pressure dropping faster than Congressional approval ratings, the thing gave all it had and got us to within about 2km of home before the thud of a thrown rod announced the arrival of its last moments.

We shoved the vehicle off of the road and into a parking space, and I set off on the walk to retrieve the rescue vehicle — our ever-faithful Land Rover that just refuses to die. Back to that fateful corner where the Jeep gave up the ghost I drove, retrieving my wife, our dogs, and all of the belongings we had in the Jeep. A few moments later we were happily in the air conditioning of our villa replenishing the lost fluids from the heat and pondering what could have gone so horribly wrong with the Jeep. I have to admit though that I wasn't particularly attached to it and really won't miss it much. The main thing now is to find someone who wants it for its parts or its metal.

Either way, this is the end.

When a Body Meets a Body Coming Out of the Roundabout...

There are things that most of us experience in life that we don't particularly enjoy. When you turn 50 the doctor wants you to get a colonoscopy. Even earlier than that the males of our species are asked to turn their heads and cough. We have to pay our taxes and stand in line at the DMV for hours on end.

And then there are automobile accidents.

Not that everyone is involved in an accident, or that those who are experience those catastrophic accidents that show up on the evening news or Youtube. No, fortunately most of us have little fender benders that inconvenience us for a time and drive up our insurance rates. Either way it goes we typically don't enjoy it.

I don't intend to imply that I'm making an exception, but a recent encounter on the roads of Doha was slightly less objectionable than most accidents. If nothing else it's given us a good story to tell. I've enjoyed telling it enough that I'm going to tell it again here.

Two days ago we were heading home after work and making our way through a particularly busy roundabout and we got cut off by another driver coming out of the roundabout. He merged partway into our lane and stopped suddenly, meaning that I literally stood up on the brake pedal in an attempt to stop. Now, this wouldn't be a story about a car accident had I actually stopped without a collision, so let's just say that the two vehicles temporarily occupied adjacent spaces. Not a smash-in-the-grill accident, but more of a love tap. The two vehicles exchanged paint and now share a bond that only the body shop can break.

So, why is this such a great story? After all, it's only a small bump that didn't involve serious injury or devastating damage to either vehicle. It's a great story for the part that came afterward. The person in the other vehicle spoke hardly a word of English and my Arabic is less than proficient. So I called a friend who is a native speaker of Arabic who showed up promptly to interpret. The exchanges back and forth involved a serious disagreement on who was responsible for another dent in the other guy's vehicle. Back and forth we went, courtesy of my friend's exceptional mastery of Arabic and English, debating the finer points of the laws of physics and how a vehicle cannot be simultaneously in two different non-contiguous locations at the same time. We hung out for about an hour waiting for the police to arrive when a phone call came to my friend asking why we had not already gone to the police station. Unbeknownst to me the other guy, having claimed that he had not, had called the police and declared the accident to be my fault.

So we made our way to the traffic police and presented our respective cases to the police officer. When the particulars of the incident were explained the officer declared it to be my fault, at which point my friend intervened and told the officer that the other guy was claiming that I had inflicted damage that it wasn't physically possible for me to have done. Out the door we went and the officer looked at the location of impact on my vehicle, then over to the other vehicle to see the damage there. When the other fellow pointed to the pre-existing dent and pleaded his case with the police officer it was made clear to him that there was no paint transfer or signs of impact with my vehicle.

Apparently evidence, laws of nature, and common sense eluded my fellow guest of the traffic police and he swore by Allah that the damage was my fault. Seems this particular officer didn't much care for that as he silenced the fellow and declared him to be at fault for lying. I'm not entirely sure if it was invoking Allah's name or whether the officer thought his intelligence was being insulted, but apparently he wasn't going to stand for dishonesty; and a person who, had he just exercised a little common sense, would have been walking away with me paying for a little touch up paint, now has me filing with his insurance for repairs on my vehicle.

So, boys and girls, the moral of the story is that you don't bite the hand that feed..., I mean, three may keep a secret...er, an apple a day keeps the...um. Hmm. Maybe there isn't a moral to this story, but don't forget that a bird in the hand beats two in the bush.

'Tis the Season

Oh, the things that happen this time of year.

Funny how we celebrate Christmas by doing some of the most insane things imaginable. And it doesn't all begin in December. No, Christmas starts earlier and earlier each year. Black Friday is the traditional kickoff to the shopping season, but let's be honest about this. When you see Christmas stuff showing up in the stores right after Halloween it's no big secret that the season is really in full swing right after we all emerge from our turkey and carb-induced comas. I'm pretty sure that the real reason all of those sales start at hours fit for little else besides examining the insides of one's eyelids is because some study has shown that people are more likely to emerge from their stupor and still be numbed in the brain enough to spend incomprehensible amounts of money on things that will be of little interest after January 1.

So, many Americans awaken with neck and back pain caused by contorting into previously-believed impossible positions on couches, floors, and chairs, having taken great care to protect the now-bloated bellies containing so much Thanksgiving scruptiousness. They wake everyone else in the house, all cram into the family vehicle and head for Target, BestBuy, Wal-Mart and a host of other anxiously awaiting big box stores staffed by teenagers high on Red Bull and PowerBars. They stand in line, cursing themselves for not camping out the entire week prior like those who are in line ahead of them, hoping to get to the Sony Playstation 9000 or the Strangle Me Elmo doll that will be the big seller this year before they're all gone. Not to worry though. If the shelf is empty there is always a fallback plan. Just wait until the person who snagged the last one isn't looking and lift it from the shopping cart, or mug someone for it. After all, if you can't have it why should they?


This is all, of course, assuming you even get into the store without being trampled. The stampeding herd of Christmas cheer mauls at least 300 people annually, and rumor is that the CDC will be tracking deaths of this sort in an attempt to forestall a nationwide epidemic.

Alas, Christmas will come and go and most of us will survive with our major limbs still intact. Hopefully amidst all of the furor we will keep in mind the true meaning of the season. It's not all about game systems, creepy dolls, and manic episodes reminiscent of the vacation in Pamplona. It's really about keeping things in perspective and knowing that a little over two millenia ago a key figure in the world's history was born. It's about taking the love that He shared with us in His words and deeds and putting them into practice.

Am I against gifts and shopping? Oh, no. I just don't think they're worth risking life and limb. Besides, I'm pretty sure that I can get a deal on whatever it is that is the hot item at Christmas if I'll just suck it up until the after Christmas sales. Maybe if I hang on for a few months I'll find it at a yard sale for even less. In the meantime, my shopping is done and I believe I'll watch a little football.

Merry Christmas.

Just a Little Off Kilter

Well now. It's been about two months since I've written anything. Actually that's not entirely true. I've written stuff. I've signed my name on things. I've made lists of stuff to do. I've even written "wash me" in the dust on a vehicle. I just haven't written anything here. But alas, summer vacation has passed and I'm finally heading back to work where I can get a little rest.

I've been back in Doha now for a little under a week, and the jet lag is finally starting to lift. Still not quite right but doing better by the day. Nevertheless I remain a little off kilter. I'm reminded of what George Gobel said one time. Ever feel like the world is a tuxedo and you're a brown pair of shoes? That's me right now. I'm just not quite right and it goes beyond this whole traveling-halfway-around-the-world thing. See I'm a temporary bachelor, kind of. I do have the two black girls who live in our house here with me. They lie about on the floor just as naked as they can be, as though not a thing in the world is wrong with it. In fact they seem quite proud in their nudity. Modesty really isn't among their stronger character traits, but they are quite happy to be here with me. I pretty much can't go anywhere in the house without these two naked girls following me about. The funny thing about it all is that my wife really doesn't mind if our dogs think I hung the moon.


Which brings me to my bachelorhood, the one of the temporary nature. Turns out my brother-in-law is getting married today. So being the good sister she is my wife is still in the United States attending his wedding. He's marrying a lovely girl who has absolutely become part of the family. But she has nothing to do with my temporary bachelorhood. Fact is, she is busy ending my brother-in-law's second experience as a bachelor about now and life should be getting better by the moment for them. I was fortunate enough to obtain a little footage from their wedding, specifically revolving around their vows. Lovely ceremony to be sure.

But you know, sometimes you just don't feel quite right when your own special someone isn't around and this has been a very long week. Thankfully the time will pass swiftly with school starting. Soon enough she'll be back in Doha and that brown pair of shoes will become a fine pair of Mezlan black crocodiles.

A Little Too Close for Comfort...

I'll start by saying that I've become quite used to different societal norms. I'm no stranger to shows of affection between people that are not what we normally see in the United States, and quite honestly I really don't notice it much at this point. Have I become numbed to it? Yeah, I'd say so. Different cultures, different norms, no problem. Some things though just don't quite translate well for me, and that usually revolves around too much touchy-feeliness. Not that I'm against a handshake or a warm hug. I love those things. Most of us don't really mind them when they come from friends or family members. There is a line that exists for me.

Our most recent stopover in Dubai, en route to the United States, gave me an opportunity to ponder this little matter a bit more seriously. I've grown accustomed to the increased scrutiny of my personal possessions when coming home to the U.S. and have even come to tolerate being treated as a suspect every time I go through with a medical device that is always singled out for closer inspection. After all, I want to be safe when I travel. I do find the "randomness" of the selection process for being wanded or patted down at some airports to be questionable, namely recalling a particular time we came through an airport in the U.S. and we were the only two in sight at security. We were asked to submit (perhaps "asked" isn't the right word) to a random secondary screening. Now, I don't know about you but I don't exactly find two people chosen from a population of two to be a random sampling.

Anyway, back to the most recent event. Anyone who has ever changed planes in Dubai knows that you always have your carry-on baggage screened when you are on your way to your connecting gate. No problem. They're generally pretty efficient and it doesn't take too long to get through, except when you have a huge herd of people with no concept of a queue trying to cut in front of you at the scanners. Still, the overall process goes fairly well and we usually spend less than 10 minutes getting through the screening there. This time was no different, and in fact was better than usual. Most of the time we're heading east, but this time we were on an American carrier heading west and for whatever reason we went in a different direction to our boarding gate, happily strolling through the screening checkpoint in mere seconds. We arrived at our gate to the U.S. government-mandated inspection already under way. Not only were our possessions inspected, yet again (and again, I don't really mind that) but I had a rather close encounter with one of the fellows conducting the pat-down inspections.

Now I've submitted to being wanded and patted down before, and usually it's not much of a problem. In most cases it's a simple enough process that reveals that I wear a belt and carry a mobile phone and some keys. Not really anything I'm too put off by. This time was a bit different though. Apparently the jerk that tried to blow up his underwear in December has aroused enough suspicion of anyone who shows up fully clothed to the airport to warrant a highly intimate encounter. I gladly emptied my pockets of any and all items that the screener detected with his hands, showing that I did have a wallet, an iPod, some keys, a mobile phone and one ball of lint per pocket. No major problems there.

Then my friend put on the smooth move. You've seen the TV shows and movies where the guy is at the movies with the girl and he does the big yawn and stretch hoping to land an arm around her. Well this guy was far beyond such subtle approaches. As he knelt down on one knee to check my legs out, apparently checking to see if I had anything wrapped around my ankles, I noticed a hand creeping upward. The last time another man's hand got to that point I was obliged to turn my head and cough. And it wasn't just the one hand that caught me a bit off guard, but the other hand that was thrust through the gap between my legs and resting squarely on my backside while the other one did its unwelcome exploration of areas where explosives neither reside nor are desired.

Now, I understand that this guy was simply doing his job. I can't fault him for not being thorough, as he may now know me better than my doctor does. I don't envy him his job either, as those parts of another man's anatomy I'd prefer to leave well enough alone and shrouded in mystery. At this point the only thing I can say is that the next security screener at the airport who needs to do such a thorough inspection should really consider buying me dinner first.

It's The Little Things That Matter Most...

Funny how it is that sometimes the smallest things are what make the biggest difference to us. We take a lot for granted overall, then when certain things are not readily available we discover empty holes in our lives. They're not always giant potholes, like those craters that create the pockmarked landscape we call the Doha road system. Many times they're more like the telltale signs of a long-passed case of childhood chicken pox, minor blemishes that we would prefer to be without.

This is a time for us to apply a nice Michael Jackson effect to those blemishes and fill in a few holes. For starters, you just don't realize how much you like having TV playing until you don't have it. We took satellite TV for granted while living in the U.S., then went without it for the better part of a year until earlier this spring when we decided to hook up the combined TV and Internet package through Qatar's sole provider of such things, Qtel. Actually we could have gone with Showtime Arabia and spent way too much money for way too little programming. Tried that right after we arrived here and we were quite disappointed with what we got. And to be fair, Vodafone is in Qatar trying to establish itself by offering mobile phone service, but several people I know changed back to Qtel after a less than impressive experience with Vodafone. However, that's just a matter of full disclosure. The real story is that I am writing this entry while watching Daffy Duck beamed onto my wall, thus plugging two holes in my life at the same time: TV and Looney Tunes.

We are but a short time away from some time outside of the Gulf, now preparing our re-tuned digestive systems for culinary bliss that is rarely found in this oven we call home. I speak of the creature of the curly-Q tail and cloven hooves, the pig. How much we took for granted a nice plate of pork chops or some real honest-to-goodness sausage for a biscuit, but we now find that the highway to ham is at 35,000 feet and frequently means leaving the region. So, allow me to place all American swine on alert. We are inbound and craving what lies beneath your pink surface. Quite simply put, there may soon be a new addition to the U.S. endangered species list.

I am also going to be watching some other people plug a few holes this weekend. We've reached the end for the seniors in our school. They are out the door today. Other students still have work left to do, but we'll be bidding farewell to the Class of 2010 on Saturday night. I've had the opportunity to work with some of these students now for two years and I've found them to be fascinating people. Many of them will go on to great things. At the moment though, before they can continue on to the aforementioned great things they must apply a little putty to a pit. They need that high school diploma, and they will be proceeding across the stage Saturday night to receive them and join the ranks of people who have crossed one of life's first big hurdles: high school graduation. I remember that day, and I recall how big it was at the time. It may seem small in comparison today, but without that hole being filled my life would more closely resemble the surface of Edward James Olmos' cheeks than the ProActiv-enhanced complexion proudly displayed by the likes of Jessica Simpson. Add a pockmark for a missing college degree, a missing masters degree, no teaching credentials, no overseas life, and so forth. Well, you get the picture. I'd be on TV telling the world how much I wished that ProActiv had been available when I was a younger man.

Anyway, sometimes it truly is the little things that make a different in our lives, whether it be TV service, a German sausage from the grill, or a piece of paper representing that you know enough to move on to the next stage in life. I for one will take all of the little things I can get.