RIP Bridge Haven, our old home....

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  This week all of us Shums around the world (we are in three different continents) are reflecting on that beloved place in St. Louis where we all grew up--no matter how old we happened to be at the time.  Our home of 19 years will have the legal closing tomorrow.  In the children's book, Sarah, Plain, and Tall by Patricia McLaughlin, Sarah, a mail order bride, is trying to reconcile her homesickness with her Maine seaside home and the new Nebraska frontier.  She thoughtfully says, "There is always something to miss, no matter where you are."  As she begins to understand the new chapters of her life, she perceives that a part of her will always be in a myriad of places and residing in multitudes of people.  I suppose that all of us--even if we have permanently resided in the same location our entire lives--are a collected mosaic that comprises our personal story. The process of closing chapters of "our story" shows us how we can widen our scope even larger; we can learn to make room for the past, but yet embrace the future. 

We loved its every season.

 Undoubtedly, we will sometimes long for the cherished smells and sights that float in our memories of our past homes and refuges. But as I have thought about this new sudden chapter of coming to Qatar, I believe that part of "opening new skies" is to be willing to pull and stretch the comfortable boundaries that we customarily position ourselves. Navigating new paths gives us confidence and joy to accomplish things we did not know we could ever do.  

Today there are tugs, and even an ache, as I learn to cross unknown bridges (learning to speak Arabic, driving with five hundred cars going around a three-lane roundabout, etc.)--letting go of the well known and familiar territory. However, I know God, in His ultimate knowledge of our capabilities and potential, nudges and pushes us forward--sometimes to places we never sought or would have dared ventured on our own. He creates "serendibs" of meeting certain people when we need them. I am seeing the beauty in the beige, horizontal landscape, and appreciating every precious tree here in this land.  Flowers are more fragrant and colorful because there are not very many of them. But I am also viewing a more expansive sky; the fog (or sand) is increasingly lifting, and it is getting clearer...

Below is the post I wrote a few months ago, but decided to share it here. ykids wanted me to share a

Halloween with Hyrum in Grandpa's WWII army uniform.

 When we decided to move to the Middle East, I only thought about the people I would leave. I neglected to remember the farewell with the physical space, the home that we have lived and raised our six children for the last 18 years. No one apparently wanted this house, built in 1931, when we first saw it. It had been on the market for one year, with no air conditioning in St Louis!  We thought it had the bones for something spectacular, and we naively thought we could do the necessary remodeling in a year or two. Wrong!!! It has been through several paintings, stripping of wallpaper, new windows in every room, remodels of all the bathrooms and a new kitchen. We have planted almost every tree, bush, flower, and bulb on this little property ourselves, and always marvel each year that spring could return all the vibrancy and color that we forgot could even exist.

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Our home where we all were raised.

Sometimes we look around, and think, we made this place, this home. With all the cracks and leaks, we have maintained the faith that someday it would be beautiful and worth all the trouble. And it is, and we have loved it--in every stage and phase. Thomas Jefferson said, "The happiest moments of my life have been the few which I have passed at home in the bosom of my family."

In our home (we named it Bridge Haven--trying to make it a bridge and a haven) many of my best memories of my life were lived--new babies, grandparents and cousin reunions--even Grandpa Shumway living with us for almost seven years in this space. There were the struggles and tears, of course, but a rainbow came out after any storm. The birds even fluttered out to sing. We have been a happy crew who loved each other and laughed long and hearty at so very many stories and jokes.

In its quiet moments, as I am in now, with no one near to call out my name, I look around to remember the music (violin, piano, ukulele, guitar, recorder, cello, harmonica, and all the singing) filling the space,game nights (lots of intense rook, chess, risk, boggle), plays (at one time Sarah fancied herself as a playwright), wrestling, mattress surfing down the front stairs, sword fighting, lego building, and conversations that sometimes altered our opinions and expanded our views. Reading, discussing, working, creating were the rhythms of our lives. But most of all, we loved here; we learned to forgive, serve, and be resilient in any storms. We protected and supported each other.

The kitchen we remodeled a few years ago because the other one was a cave, and the appliances were from the 60's.  It took many more years to get a new kitchen than we would have ever realized.  Living here was always a "work in progress."  Ha!  

Joseph always felt that a roundtable enhanced livelier, longer discussions so he cut two semi-circles, and then put them together.  A friend and I painted the genealogy tree that adorned the room.  It wasn't a masterpiece, but it always generated a lot of conversation. 

Quotes are written with permanent marker on the walls down to the basement 

that show our family aspirations and beliefs, and a family tree that I painted with a friend adorns the dining room, showing all of our genealogy. It is easy to know us if you are a stranger here in this house because we display what we cherish and love in this space. You could hear conversations, books on tape, and music throughout its space. Bridge Haven seemed to want to be a part of the commotion or the dialogues, to feel the pulse of its occupants.

There were celebrations of every kind (graduation, birthday, Halloween, Olympics, World Series, and sometimes many in each season). Lepracan footprints (as in green painted thumbprints) could be found on the doorways and floor every March 17.   Jonathan even slept in the mud room one St. Patrick's Day to catch the ever elusive leprechaun. There were St. Lucia celebrations because Joseph's grandmother was Swedish. We wore cracker crowns because we are English, and made Icelandic pastries because we are Icelandic.

Sometimes it seemed like anything we could celebrate, remember, or memorialize, we did. I remember at Hannakuh sometimes we would even make potato latkes. Perhaps Christmas was #91's finest hour, at least I think that would be my children's vote. I remember the New Year's Eves with hundreds of candles everywhere. Mark Twain noted his Hartford, CT house "was of us, and we were in its confidence and lived in its grace and in the peace of its benediction." This home graced our efforts and intentions; it made us better than we would have been without trying to create it.

I am struck that just like a house, we too are constantly being shaped, remodeled, recreated--maybe even fixed. A house requires much maintenance, creativity, time, and love to make it into a cozy, warm, inviting place that makes you "homesick." Thanks for being our haven, our shelter from the storm. We will always love you, #91.

One of the great blessings of this house was having Grandpa live with us for almost seven years in our basement.  The last time Jonathan saw him, he said, "You were not only my grandpa, but you also were my brother, and my best friend."  Grandpa was a hero to all, and especially our children.  He was blinded at 22 after landing on D-Day, but yet lived life with immense cheer, humor, and could "out pun" anyone on the planet.  

All of the four older kids graduated from CHS.  Here is the Pete last June, as the Junior Class President.  He got to be in the graduation ceremony with his class president duties anyways.  So proud of him for his example of being willing to "open his sky" in Qatar as a high school senior this year.

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  A snow day, a day off from school.

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    This is a picture of my grandma's house in Springville, Utah--one of the great havens of my childhood.  This house was the reason that I ever wanted to fix an old house up in the first place.  I wanted to be the "creator" of memories in an old, creeky house, just like she did. 

Just meeting with the Ambassador to Qatar--that's all!

When you live about  two or three miles from the US Embassy, the ambassador just arrived new to her post, and you have a Boy Scout activity to learn to fold the American flag, you just never know who might show up.  The Ambassador to Qatar, Dana Shel King, is shown here encouraging the boys
 to be prepared and diligent Boy Scouts.  I joined the American Women's Association, as she did, and she came to say hello to me too.  Doha, Qatar is a small, small world.

Just have to say that serendip is a word coined by Horace Walpole in 1754 when he made an unexpected discovery reading the Persian fairy tale, The Three Princes of Serendib who were, he told his friend, "always making discoveries by accidents and sagacity, of which things they were not in quest of."  The word serendipity was voted in 2004  to be one of the "ten most difficult words to translate in the world."

 I think we are all both consciously and unconsciously seeking some serendib in our lives--however it is delivered.  The small, wonderful happenstances that come in our lives can be funny (like today) or transform the course of our lives.  Sometimes they are subtle, and other times they are glaring signs in the road that quickly get our attention.

Our meeting with the Ambassador of Qatar was of the amusing variety today; you just never know who might "show up."  Most every day I am finding people and things I was never in search for, just as in the case of coming to Qatar.  Doha was never my aspired destination to live, but I am feeling richly blessed by the unexpected miracles and unsought for quests that are distilling, and even raining on us.  So go find some serendibs today!  They are bound to surprise you just around the corner.

Our New Pumpkin Patch

Halloween spirit at its finest-- near my sister's house in Ithaca, NY

For many miles around, my former neighborhood in St. Louis was the soul of Halloween.  It was the time of year when we unified and gathered before some people wearily went indoors--for the rest of the winter.  Also, it was a holiday that all our neighbors could celebrate as it had no religious tone to it--just fun, festive, and embracing to all cultures.  Everyone of all faiths were welcomed and felt included. Most houses were decorated, and one was considered somewhat curmudgeonly if there was not a pumpkin in the front to show a little Halloween spirit. Lake Forest was the prime place to be on Halloween night, and some trick or treaters drove many miles to have the tour of winsome, magical, and a few ghoulishly decorated houses.  It was a guaranteed good, safe time.  

In front of our house last year, never imagining we would be carving Iranian pumpkins in Qatar in one year.

At our annual neighborhood party, there was even a hay ride to give a tour of the spirit-filled houses.  Lights blinked, and were lit up for the holiday.  For several years my husband even dressed up like a hobo and handed out candy on the curb--with a roaring fire to warm any celebrators on a chilly Halloween night.   I have hosted many a party to celebrate the bewitching autumn holiday that is a prelude to winter.

Our new pumpkin patch, all the pumpkins hailing from Iran.

This season I am trying to find new ways to get my "autumn fix" here in Doha, Qatar.  There is certainly no autumn foliage or pumpkin fields that are a sea of orange and green to behold.  But this last week I have discovered some gems that I can frequent all year long: the open air markets (one is Souk Waqif--Qatar's Grand Bazaar).   To me, the world becomes alive in markets, as merchants proudly show their wares, and give tips and recipes to their enthusiastic customers.  The market offers a feast to the senses--even if it has a odorous fishy smell at the Qatari Wholesale Market.  It is no matter.  I am at a market.

My aim today was to obtain some pumpkins to carve with my family--a critically important tradition that I, for one, do not want to miss--even in Qatar,   Today my neighbor, L., and I  found them, nestled on the top of the table--not bright orange, mind you, but they were pumpkins that hailed from Iran (I think they resemble a large butternut squash, don't you?).   However, I deem them lovely so I positioned them proudly on my new front porch.

Spruced up for a Qatar Halloween

One of the interesting things about the market and even the grocery stores here is that you know exactly where your vegetables and fruits come from.  Today I bought sweet potatoes from Egypt, avocados from Kenya, watermelon from Iran, tangerines from Jordan, onions from India.  The merchants are all from southern India, in the southern region around Kerala,and they eagerly served us four at a time (see a previous post on Many Hands Make Light Work).   

In every grocery store, there is a world tour of countries where the produce comes from.  It comes from Australia to Norway, and South Africa to New Zealand.  Qatar can only grow a few vegetables and fruit--mainly cucumbers and dates.

The older gentleman from India pushes a cart around the market when you buy heavy boxes of produce or large pumpkins.   I couldn't help but laugh to myself when he plucked some dates from one vender and grapes from another so we expats could taste their fruit. The merchants did not glare as he went by with handfuls of fruit from their stall--accepting the fact that the old cart-pusher was only trying to advertise their food.  

Our cart pusher arranging our produce. 

Two of the vendors were choosing, weighing, and bagging our produce, while another was cutting pomegranate or mandarine tangerine slices to taste.  When I didn't have enough change, Salim, the fruit vendor said, "Just pay me next time."  I did finally give him the exact change because I don't like to owe anybody money.  But I was hooked.  I will be there "next time" very soon.

Since I am a marketeer at heart, and love to hear tips on how to spice up some veggies, here is a recipe:

                  Spicy Roasted Pumpkin Couscous

1 Tab olive oil
2 cloves garlic, crushed
1 large red onion, sliced thickly
l large pumpkin or butternut squash, peeled, chopped coarsely
3 tsp ground cumin
2 tsp ground coriander
2 cups prepared couscous with 2 tablespoons coarsely chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
(You could also try one or two apples that are cut up, and some pine nuts)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees, and heat oil in medium baking dish; cook garlic, onion, pumpkin, stirring, until vegetables are browned lightly.  Add spices, cook, stirring, about two minutes until fragrant.  Roast pumpkin mixture, uncovered in the oven, about 15 minutes or until pumpkin is just tender.  Add pumpkin mixture to couscous, stir in parsely.   

So go make some pumpkin soup, pumpkin bread, or eat a dinner in a pumpkin.  You can have pumpkin pie for dessert.

The Moroccan Embassy Saves The Day

 Have you ever had someone just serendipitously appear when you desperately needed some aid and assistance?  When you are a mom of a budding teenager with autism who lives far away from old familiarities, you hope for an occasional happy happenstance or unexpected miraculous rescue.  I know I cannot routinely depend on the magical design of intersecting moments with others, but sometimes they come in unanticipated ways....

Today on the road in Doha, Qatar with many embassies (such as Yemen, Cyprus, Palestine, Morocco, and Thailand), our 12-year-old son with autism had a tremendously loud, long emotional breakdown--by far the worst in recent memory. We were walking on Embassy Row when a security guard in front of the Moroccan Embassy came strolling over to us with his machine gun strapped over his shoulder.

E. stood wide-eyed, and immediately became silenced as the young guard walked toward him.  I was afraid myself because I knew his emotional outburst had probably unsettled the quiet atmosphere of the stately, dignified street.  With great kindness and concern, he came to question me if everything was alright.

He did not understand the word autism, but with a few whispered words of explanation, he put out his hand to my son, and just said, "Everything is going to be fine, my friend."  With a pat on his shoulder and even a hug, all E's fears, anxieties, sadness dissipated.  A smile returned to his face.

Making a new friend

There were no more howls and tears.  A warming sun had parted the clouds; a cool breeze blew.  As Rose Kennedy once said, "The birds always come out after the storm."  Believe me, I am always vigilantly looking for a bird to fly overhead in the sky my way.

Thank you, Mohammed, for guarding me today, and crossing the street to squelch some wound up emotion.  It made all the difference.

Many Hands Make Light Work

My personal crew this afternoon at work in our "villa"

This afternoon I strolled over to the manager in our "compound" to have them send someone to take care of a plumbing issue--mind you, not remotely an emergency.  I also mentioned in passing there was a light bulb that needed to be changed over the stove.  

When I opened my front door an hour later, there was not one person, but FIVE able young men to aid and assist me in my plight.  I was surprised to see all of their eager faces, and certainly my request did not warrant all of them.  But of course, I happily invited them in.  One carried a five foot ladder, prepared for any difficulties that may arise. Each of them had bright smiles, even though I knew they had likely been out in the heat most of the day.

There are about 30 young men from Nepal, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, and India that take care of the pool, grass, and repairs here in our compound.  Their company is called Mesopotamia,  which always makes me chuckle when I see their t-shirts.  I know their lives here in this arid desert are likely not what they intended and imagined for themselves, but they always seem to be content, and even happy.  

Three members of the team working in the bathroom

One thing in Qatar you can predict:  people like to work in clusters, not solely by themselves.   There have been  times when FOUR people helped me check out at the grocery store, and three or four attendants  will help fill my gas tank.  I suppose we Westerners would think this approach as extraordinarily inefficient, but I guess I have to admit they know how to make work fun and not a drudgery.  There is always time for a chat or a laugh as they do their job.  They enjoy someone at their elbow to share the workload--another person to ask for advise, validate their opinion on a repair, double check if it is done correctly.  

Perhaps they have a legitimate formula for work that we Westerners forget: work can be a lot less tedious as a team while listening to a funny joke or story.  When I opened my front door this afternoon, I felt like a boisterous party was walking in--plus they got the jobs done!  Thank you Mesopotamia! 

Embracing the Dates

In a faraway hotel room in Cairo, Egypt we were checking up on the St. Louis Cardinals (we Shums are riveted baseball fans in September and October).  It is in these moments of remembering some of our former autumn rhythms (hosting World Series and Halloween parties, and going to pumpkin farms) that we feel the occasional pang of our former lives.   Could it ever be possible to not miss seasons, celebrations, and World Series?  Do we always have to alter, adapt to new surroundings, and not have all our longings met simultaneously?  Can't we just be in a few places at one time?  If you know me, you will know that I absolutely hate to miss out on anything....

Shallow, tranquil, calm, beautiful=The Red Sea

Before I left for Qatar, I listened to a friend musing on her expat experiences.  I had picked up some red and yellow leaves off the ground that were beginning to turn in early September, and was lamenting how much I would miss the fall foliage in St Louis.  My friend wisely said, "Instead of ruminating about apples, embrace the dates."

So today I will give you a snapshot of our day at the Red Carpet Resort on the dusty shoreline of the Red Sea, and how I am learning to "embrace the dates."  We arose early to make the two hour drive from Cairo, Egypt to have a "beach experience" after having faced the large crowds of Cairo and Alexandria for one week. When we entered the resort (to some it would appear a little bedraggled and needing some repairs), it seemed that most everyone was staring at us or trying to pretend they were nonchalantly looking our direction.  A few bravely waved and said, "Welcome to Egypt" as they have been saying all week to us at the pyramids and on the crowded streets.  I walked out to the pool area, and felt conspicuous, so out of place; I was not wearing a hijab--nor was I wearing a full length black flowing robe in the hot sun. 

Playing in the sand at The Red Carpet Resort

Everyone at the resort was ending their Eid holiday, and I almost felt like we were invading a large Egyptian family reunion.  When tourists are visiting pyramids and museums, we are much more of an ordinary sight.  But this was a resort, an Egyptian resort, where families gather to celebrate and make traditions--not a typical Western hotspot where tourists flock.  For the first time in my life, I was one of the most scantily clothed people on the beach in my one pieced swim suit.  But as I looked out on the azure, turquoise sea with the sun sifting through the clouds, this San Diego girl began to feel at home. The waves tumbled on the shore and children laughed as they dug in the warm sand--the duet of some of my two favorite sounds.   As I laid down under the thatched umbrellas watching my two sons and Joseph swim in the Red Sea, I could faintly trace the outline of the Sinai desert on the other side--somewhat covered by the misty clouds.  

Sitting there on the shore with the small waves lapping at my feet, I knew I was in a revered and hallowed place to several religions in the world.  Whether on this beach or another one nearby, much history had been made in this area.  No one really knows where the Red Sea was split, but it was on these ancient shores where the Red Sea parted as Moses escaped from the armies of the Pharaoh with the children of Israel.  Like a child, I pretended for a moment what it would be like to enter the water, and know that the wide expanse of water in front of me was my only escape.

I remembered this story as one of Joseph's favorites to tell the kids when they were growing up. I have heard him tearfully relate it several times.  In Jewish tradition, it is written that Moses and the children of Israel who got to the shore first when the soldiers were chasing them, waded into the water, little by little, with unwavering faith.  The water eventually reached their necks, and it was at this point when their next step would have been over their head--only at this time was the Red Sea parted. Joseph would always tell our children that sometimes one has to work to the utmost limit before the Lord can bestow His miracles upon us.

Walking in shallow water out to the Sinai

The beach was quite empty when we arrived, but happy holiday visitors began coming to fill the beach as soon as we settled in.  They chattered and laughed as they passed by.  I didn't want to interrupt their conviviality, but as they put down their belongings next to me, I said to them, not knowing if they knew English, "Isn't it such a beautiful day?  The water is so lovely."  One of the women turned to me and said in such a direct, candid way, "You are beautiful."  Wow!  I was a little taken back, surprised--not knowing how to reply.  

Not many strangers declare that women in their 50's are beautiful.  I then responded to her,"All women are beautiful."  All of them, young and old, in the large family giggled and nodded in absolute agreement.  I began to feel that I was not encroaching on their holiday.  Perhaps they were just as  shocked to have us be the only Westerners in the resort as we  felt to be the only ones there.

Soon thereafter, a young Egyptian woman came to invite me to an aerobics/yoga class that would begin in about an hour.  I was thrilled because I have been missing my St Louis yoga friends.  She had great emotion in her voice and her hands were flying with excitement (Egyptians are very expressive with their hands. They joke that if their hands were tied, no words would come out). She then said, "Egyptians love to have big breakfasts, and then sleep, and then have big lunches, and then sleep, and then have big dinners and sleep.  No one wants to do my classes.  Will you come?  It is free."  How could I refuse that offer?  

Get on your magic carpet and fly to The Red Carpet Resort

An hour later, four middle school girls and I were her "boot camp" students.  To hear her instructions in Arabic and then occasional English was hilarious.  I was laughing to myself the entire time, having a marvelous time with these young girls.  We chuckled, and tried to imitate her demands. One mother, clad in her black robe, called to her daughter from a nearby balcony.  I am not sure what she was saying, but she did not forbid her 13 year old daughter to do an exercise class on the grass between the pool and the beach.  I think she saw we were all having too much fun in our strenuous boot camp, and she didn't pull her away.  Egyptians are very playful, fun loving people; surely, they have had their political struggles, but they prefer to see the humor, hear the joke, and enjoy the moment.  

On the beach, schwarmas were being eaten for lunch, and even a waiter carried a tray of Egyptian coffee and tea, along with soda and water for the customers on the beach.  Loud Arabic music was blasted next to the pool, and as the music played, I spotted a girl of about ten years old dancing next to the speakers.  I was intrigued because she was so completely absorbed in the music as she danced.  Everyone else was swimming in the pool, and she was the only one dancing.  As I approached her, I saw that she was a gorgeous little girl who was immersed in her own world, as she swayed and stepped to the music. She motioned for me to join her, and I too began to be enveloped by the music.  We clapped to the rhythm of the music, and moved, turned toward each other, just this little ten year old girl and me--smiling happily in our own blended dancing dream. 

Dancing with my new Egyptian friend

Harvesting the Dates

As I danced with her, I recollected the happy memories of past family reunions where we traditionally have a family dance.  It is always one of my favorite activities of the reunion where we all dance together, young and old, to about six or seven decades of music genres--twirling and turning as we laugh together.  We are all at one on the dance floor.

As I looked at that beautiful Egyptian little girl, I felt like I was dancing with one of my own beautiful nieces at the auspicious Red Carpet Resort. I am not a trained dancer in any way, but it was a marvelous moment I would not have wanted to miss when cultures, age, differences blur, and then are completely erased.  

In St. Louis right now it is apple picking season.  I have so many fond memories of happy moments with friends and family romping through the apple trees filling our sacks.  But in the Middle East, it is the date harvest time.   We have seen the dates being plucked, cut, and dried on the ground as we have driven in the country roads outside of Cairo.  I think the tour guide was surprised how interested I was in the date harvest process.

Remembering my friend's advice, I am beginning to understand that it is possible to cultivate new layers of experiences--even creating meaningful memories that enrich the previous ones.  I am trying to learn to shed the apprehensions, fears (like walking across streets with no traffic lights, with trucks, taxis, donkeys, cars, people, and even sheep and goats all around you) that can eclipse the magical moments.  I am enjoying the dates, and would even pronounce they are quite delectable.

Meanwhile, I think I will host a baseball party this week in Qatar to watch the Cardinals (sorry to my SF friends).  We brought some Cardinals attire to Qatar.  Do you think anyone will want to come?  You are invited.  Come on....  It's free.