'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.

The Heat is On

I'm guessing when Glenn Frey sang the song The Heat is On, the one from the Beverly Hills Cop soundtrack, it probably wasn't from the perspective that I'm writing about today. In fact, I know quite well what that song was about and I'd say it's anything but. On the flip side, the title fits so I'll borrow it.

Summer has officially arrived in Doha and someone has definitely turned up the temperature just a bit. Just like last year it seemed like overnight we went from beautiful 80s and nice breezes to 104 and hot dusty wind. OK, so it really isn't quite as bad as I make it sound. After all, it is a dry heat. Unfortunately if you spend too much time out in it, it can soon become a case of dry heaves. Now more than ever water is essential, and a little sunscreen isn't a bad idea either. Even the nights are toasty, dropping into the upper 80s and low 90s. Soon however we will be heading back to the United States and we will have a little bit different experience awaiting us: humidity.

Collectively the experiences in Doha in the spring and early summer, followed by summer in the mid-Atlantic prepare us for August and our return to Doha. Instead of a dry heat, as mentioned previously, August and September bring intense heat and moisture to this place we call home. We'll be returning to a place where it's almost possible to swim in the surrounding air and where a short walk outside turns your sweat glands into a sprinkler system stuck on spray. Two years ago when we first arrived here, when we came off of the plane at 10:00 at night, we were hit in the face by a wall of heat and steam that nearly sent me back onto the plane for a return flight to the U.S. Now I have to admit that I'm glad I resisted that temptation as Doha has turned out to be an OK place to be. Still, that first blast was pretty intense.

In a lot of cases, harsh weather brings out the worst in people. We get cranky when we're uncomfortable, irritable when the temps are outside of our preferred zone. Yet we were quite fortunate to have encountered some people recently who were positively lovely people even in the blazing heat that is becoming Doha. Granted they were natives to this land of Qatar, so they're used to it. One of them who works for a petroleum company had commented on how blasted hot it gets where he works when he goes out into the field. Yet at the same time he and his friends were friendly and jovial as they helped us start our vehicle after we let our battery discharge by leaving the lights on. At one point we were unsure if we would get enough of a charge off of the vehicle we were connected to and were seeking a place to drift start it (gotta love a manual transmission) and the one guy said, "My friends will help you push it, of course." Warm smiles and handshakes as we parted company left us very pleased with the experience and the new acquaintances we had made.

That followed on the heals of a dealing with a very nice 23-year-old man working at Qtel, our local telecom provider. Having just changed villas we needed to get Internet, phone and TV connected and that meant a trip to Qtel. We love the branch at Villagio because we've always found the people working there to be polite, helpful and of a generally good disposition. Some other dealings with local companies and government offices have not felt quite as positive and the workers have not always been so accommodating, even some other Qtel branches have not been excessively pleasurable experiences. This one is different though. For whatever reason we get in and out, usually quickly, with everything taken care of. The young man working there was quite interested in conversation as he was entering our details and making the arrangements, and as we parted company with him we commented to each other on how fortuitous it was to have stopped there that evening.

Now, what exactly does this have to do with the heat? Well, nothing really. It's more a matter of examining how we are not necessarily defined by our circumstances. A visit to Qtel and a drained battery could have easily been a rotten evening. We met people who made our circumstances much more pleasant and we arrived back home with smiles upon our faces.

Earlier in the day, I had taken the opportunity to have a little stroll on the track at the school. It's become a bit of a routine to walk on the track for about 20-30 minutes each day when I find a break in the action. That varies from day to day, and I'm still technically on call during those times. Mobile phone for calls and iPod Touch for email, either of which could send me elsewhere on campus at a moment's notice. Still, walking allows me to collect my thoughts a bit and gets me out from behind my computer, where I've spent a lot of time recently getting some work done toward the end of this school year and the beginning of the next. So as I'm taking my walk one of our administrators says to me, "I can't believe you're out walking in this heat. Don't you know it's 46 degrees?" Keep in mind that he's Canadian and that 46 is Celsius, so do the math and you'll understand that it was quite warm. My reply? "I have my water and it's about the only time I have to get a little exercise. Besides if I do it now in this heat nothing I will face in the States this summer will bother me." He smiled, nodded in agreement and walked off, most likely thinking I'm a complete lunatic.

The heat indeed is on. The weather is hot. There's work left to be done. Things happen. Yet, at the end of it all it's our attitudes in those circumstances that matter.

A Thing Or Two About Mothers...

Some have said that I have an impeccable sense of timing. Others have said I get it right every once in a while. Either way, with Mother's Day right around the corner I guess now is as good a time as any to say a few things about mothers and motherly behavior. No, this won't be sappy like a Hallmark card with flowers, lace, cute little puppies and a sound clip of some gosh awful Barry Manilow song. Actually this is more an observation of what a mother is from my perspective.

Now, I don't really know what it means to be a mother. I do know however what it is to have one. Actually I've lucked out a bit in that department and have a couple of them. No, my father was not a member of some polygamist cult, and I'll thank you for not continuing to spread those horrid rumors. It has not been good for my reputation and it has the neighbors staring at me in a rather peculiar way whenever I leave the house. That aside, I do believe I am qualified to give commentary on mothers from a son's perspective.

First off, what is the job of a mother? What does she do anyway? Some would say she is the loving comforter among the parents. Some suggest she's the cook when friends are over. Still others say she's the person who keeps the house and has dinner ready on time for everyone to sit around the table and chow down. As nice as this sounds, it barely scratches the surface.

We have two dogs, and even though both are spayed females and neither has ever had a litter, and they are less than six months apart in age, I can draw some lessons from observing them. In fact, quite recently some of my observations have shed light on what being a mother is really all about. It's really not about conception, incubation and birth. I say that because I've seen one of our dogs act in a very motherly way toward the other, and they are entirely unrelated. On many occasions the older one will lie down beside the younger one and lick her a bit to clean her up, much like most of our mothers did for us when we were infants, only they put us into the bathtub instead because there was too much surface area on us to lick clean without running out of saliva. But she doesn't just clean the other dog up a bit. She also occasionally forgets that she's a dog and tries to hatch the other dog's head by sitting upon it. Now how is this motherly behavior, you ask? Easy. From time to time mothers need to demonstrate who is really in charge by sitting on their childr...I mean by putting their children in their place. And it's always for their own good, or so we've been told.

But motherhood isn't always that much fun. You can't sit on your children all the time and claim to be a candidate for Mother of the Year. It takes a more complete skill set than that. It involves acquiring skills that people spend lots of time and money mastering, but mothers do it without pay. They are chauffeurs in really large automobiles. I've seen mothers here in Doha driving vehicles large enough to live in and give each child his own room, with closets. I have a theory that some quite possibly might have indoor plumbing for such a purpose. On top of that, mothers have to be somewhat proficient in the skills of a nurse, at least a triage nurse. Bandages, kisses on boo-boos and an excessive supply of virtually any liquid that can sting like a nest of hornets when applied to a scrape or cut are her specialties. Many people spend years of their lives in college learning such skills. Mothers do it instinctively, and again without pay. Frequently mothers are highly skilled chefs, mastering everything from canned ravioli to a Thanksgiving smorgasbord. Friends who randomly show up are always welcome too. Mothers don't really seem to mind too much.

Exterminators. They can overcome paralyzing fears of mice, spiders, roaches, and the neighborhood bully to successfully dispatch them all. Some take care of such problems with a paper towel (with a healthy dose of ether for the bully) while others become trick shot artists with a shoe. No matter what though, they seem to find a way to get things taken care of, probably all while cooking some elaborate roast for the evening meal.

Experts at math. Many a mother has taken time to help her children get homework done. OK, so the homework may not be done right, but it is done. And all because of a mother's love.

So really, what is it that makes a mother? It's an unwavering sacrifice of self. Caring, sharing, loving, shouting, hugging, smacking, feeding, and ordering an occasional night in a bedroom without dinner. Most of all, it's doing what she believes is the best thing for her children and trying to prepare them to become good adults.

The mother figures in my life, both mother and stepmother, were not perfect. It wasn't their job to be perfect. It was to do what they believed was right for me. Did they succeed? Well, I'm still alive and I'm not in jail. I learned a lot from them. For example, I know that a hatchet and green paint in hand with the neighbor's white picket fence chosen as a subject for modern art won't endear a five year old boy to those neighbors. I really did only want to make it look nicer. Honest.

I guess what I'm getting at is that a mother is more than just a biological contributor to a child's DNA. A mother will love you no matter what, and hopefully will be able to forgive you for all of those things she still doesn't know about.

Anyway, since Mother's Day is upon us and I have two people to call (oh, and my wife will certainly want to call her mother too) I'm going to wrap this all up and wish all mothers a Happy Mother's Day. Thanks for everything.

Pride of the Yankees

Anyone who has ever seen The Pride of the Yankees recalls vividly Gary Cooper's incredible performance playing Lou Gehrig, the Yankees' great first baseman from those amazing teams of the 20s and 30s. So potent was the 1927 Yankees lineup that included Gehrig, Ruth, Meusel, and Lazzeri that it became known as Murderer's Row. Gehrig was a mainstay with the Yankees, playing 2,130 consecutive games through aches and pains. He was voted the greatest first baseman ever by the Baseball Writers Association in 1969, and not many have come along since that could challenge what Gehrig accomplished. It seems the only thing that finally slowed down the Iron Horse was a cruel disease. Gehrig was stricken with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, a motor neuron disease that progressively weakens a person through muscle atrophy to the point that it is terminal for most people within five years.

Gehrig gave a famous speech in Yankees Stadium in which he said:

Fans, for the past two weeks you have been reading about the bad break I got. Yet today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth. I have been in ballparks for seventeen years and have never received anything but kindness and encouragement from you fans.

Look at these grand men. Which of you wouldn’t consider it the highlight of his career just to associate with them for even one day? Sure, I’m lucky. Who wouldn’t consider it an honor to have known Jacob Ruppert? Also, the builder of baseball’s greatest empire, Ed Barrow? To have spent six years with that wonderful little fellow, Miller Huggins? Then to have spent the next nine years with that outstanding leader, that smart student of psychology, the best manager in baseball today, Joe McCarthy? Sure, I'm lucky.

When the New York Giants, a team you would give your right arm to beat, and vice versa, sends you a gift — that’s something. When everybody down to the groundskeepers and those boys in white coats remember you with trophies — that’s something. When you have a wonderful mother-in-law who takes sides with you in squabbles with her own daughter — that's something. When you have a father and a mother who work all their lives so that you can have an education and build your body — it's a blessing. When you have a wife who has been a tower of strength and shown more courage than you dreamed existed — that's the finest I know.
So I close in saying that I might have been given a bad break, but I've got an awful lot to live for. Thank you.

Gehrig's farewell speech encapsulated his view of life quite succinctly. He did not believe that he had been given a raw deal. He did not think of himself as royally screwed. No, he valued the blessing he'd been given and the experiences he'd had. He showed dignity and class in the face of adversity.

They say you never know the true character of a person until you see him in the worst of circumstances. I know a man who reminds me a bit of Gehrig. A colleague and friend is facing the same cruel adversary that Gehrig's name is forever attached to. He is fighting a difficult battle with ALS. And yet in the face of insurmountable odds he carries on. His fight is not one that can be won, but the way those battles are fought shows the true character of the warrior. This man is a warrior who is fighting the brave fight. He is a model for the rest of us and I am proud to call him my friend.



This man is the one who brought me to Doha, seeing in me the qualities of a teacher that would fit in well at the American School of Doha. There are people that we meet and we remember the circumstances quite vividly. I remember Skyping to interview for the job and seeing him in his office with palm trees outside his window. I remember his friendly smile and pleasant demeanor putting me at ease as I pondered making the leap to the Gulf. I even remember vividly enough the first meeting that I recall exactly what I was wearing. That is the profound impact that some people have on others. Not everyone has it, but those that do are truly unforgettable.

My friend is leaving today to spend time with his family back home. He has earned the opportunity to be with them and to take as complete advantage as possible of the time he has remaining. I will remember what I am wearing today, for I am wearing black in remembrance of a friend and a colleague I am likely not to see again in this life. My friend, thank you for being a fine example of compassion and discipline, listening and leading, struggling and persevering no matter what the odds. You are an inspiration.