I Hope I Never Need Him

A ballroom filled with stylish crafts, expensive handmade jewelry, and organic soaps: not exactly my cup of tea, but I was curious enough to step in. I listened to a lady try to sell Moroccan oils to me just to hear her French accent; I perused the more-than-I-could-afford leather purses, and eyed the beaded jewelry from a distance. I sampled some chocolate cranberry candy and thought about buying some, but when I read the price chart, I opted to hope my taste buds had a good memory, because that’s the only way I’d be enjoying that flavor again.

Finally I found a booth with some creative pictures made out of flowers and leaves. They were intricately designed patterns and a decent price too. I couldn’t seem to pass it up, so I stood there, admiring each design. I noticed a lady beside me who also appreciated the pictures.

“Aren’t they beautiful?”

“Yes!” She agreed in a heavy accent. “They are just wonderful. I can’t decide which design I should buy. Do you think I should buy the framed picture or the ones without a frame?”

“Hmmmm,” I began.

“I think without the frame. I don’t really like the frame, do you? I think I can buy a frame myself. Which of these do you think I should buy?”

And the conversation continued like this as I pretended to help her choose the pictures she would purchase. Really she seemed to have her own confident opinion. I mostly just agreed with her.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, my name is Paree,” the woman stopped shopping and held her hand out in greeting. “Like ‘Paris’ without the ‘s’.”

“My name is Jana, so nice to meet you.” We shook hands and it was then that I stopped to examine my new friend. She was an older lady, heavy set and tan, sophisticated, and carried a kind expression on her face.

“Your accent is lovely, where are you from?”

Now I have never been accused of having a lovely accent, so I was appreciating this lady more and more. “I’m from the United States.”

“Oh! There are so many accents in the United States, and not all of them are nice, sorry to say. Take Texas for example…oh!” She brushed the ugly thought away with a sweep of her hand. “What state you from?”

Well, this is going to be awkward.

“Texas.”

“Oh! But you don’t sound like it.”

“Well, I haven’t really lived there that much. So where are you from?”

“Iran.”

“Wow, really? Why are you in Penang?”

“My husband works here. And you?”

“Because of my husband’s job as well. My children attend school at DIS.”

“Oh! All three of my children went to DIS.” She grabbed my arm. “DIS is a very good  school. You know, we are Muslim, and everyone wanted to know why we sent our children to a Christian school. But it was no problem, it is such a good school. You know, it’s the cheapest American school in Southeast Asia.”

“So they were kind and accepting of your family?”

“Oh yes. And you know, they don’t have a lot of facilities, but they teach the children the value of money. And the students, they are not spoiled American children…sorry…like in other American schools. They are a very good school. Don’t worry, your children will be fine!”

I asked more about her children, who graduated in the 90s. They attended universities and found employment in the United States and in Australia. Paree continued to rave about DIS and encourage me that it was such a good school.

When we parted ways, she handed me a business card. “This is my husband’s card, I hope you never need it.”

What a curious thing to say. I looked down at the card. Neurosurgeon. Paree is right, I hope I never need him.

Dog Lovers

I wouldn't say I'm a dog lover. I like them. I like dog stories. I grew up with a little Japanese Spaniel. But we've lived in Muslim countries for many years and dogs just aren't really an option if we want Muslim friends in our homes. Dogs and pork. They have not been a part of our lives...

Until we moved to this island...

It is such a mix of cultures that there is not one particular prevailing thought here on the island. So...a perfect time to have a dog. A boy should have a dog at some point in his life I think. And since we have three boys then they really should have a dog.

So last summer we adopted a year old female Shih Tzu named Molly (sorry to my sister-in-law, I promise, we didn't name her, she came like that). Molly is a fun little dog to have around. She makes life in the house more lively (as if life with three boys is not lively enough).

Anyway, one of her ears was itchy so I took her to the vet. Because of the countries we've lived in for so many years, the idea of a vet...a real live animal doctor...is still strange to me. It kind of cracks me up. But it is also comforting because since I really don't know the first thing about taking care of a dog, I am glad to know I can pay a lot of money for someone else to tell me what to do.

So this week I took Molly back for her check up. Like most doctors of any kind here, it's first come first serve and I haven't figured out the system of the best time to go. What time will result in the least amount of waiting? It's like tossing the dice. This week I lost.

Molly and I sat in the waiting room for almost two hours. Molly was not impressed because she has a great memory and she remembered what happened two weeks ago. She remembered the freezing cold exam table and the thermometer that got stuck up an uncomfortable place and she remembered the shot and the tweezers crammed down her ear. She sat in my lap and avoided looking at me for two hours. She gave me the silent treatment. She was also unimpressed with the waiting room filled with dogs and their "parents".

One man had a dog that wore a pink ballerina dress. One had a dog wearing a human T-shirt. One had a dog that I swear looked like Gru's monster-pet Kyle in Despicable me, under-bite and all. A lady with a Shih Tzu and a King Spaniel came and sat next to me. She was a talker so I didn't have to worry about being entertained during my wait. She told me all about her six dogs and showed me pictures of them on her phone. While oohing and aaahing over her dog pictures I glanced up and noticed two other people showing each other videos of their dogs on their phones and the thought came to me:

This room is like a room filled with grandparents and their grandchildren. Seriously, that's how they treat their little pooches. It's so funny to me. They talk to them like they are people. They dress them in clothes. This place is a great place to be a dog.

Molly was super unimpressed when her name was called and she had to go to the torture...I mean exam room. This time they didn't attack her with the thermometer, but she still snapped at the doctor when he checked her ear. Then she grabbed on to me like she was a monkey. Good grief.

She got more medicine which I suspect is just a way to get more money out of me. But what do I know? After waiting for so long, I felt like I'd become pretty good friends with the "mommy" of the two pooches I sat by. I smiled and waved goodbye.

I'm not sure if I'll ever get used to how much dogs here are spoiled. But I have to say that it is refreshing to see people that care about God's creatures. Even if they do make them wear ballerina clothes.

The Good News and The Bad News

Enjoying a beach on the island.

The good news is: I get to live on this beautiful island.
The bad news is: I have to get a visa to do it. Not the plastic card to go shopping with. The boring paperwork kind.

The good news is: I can get one that lasts one year!
The bad news is: my year is up...time to apply again.

The good news is: I know how to do it since I did it last year.
The bad news is: some of the rules have changed.

The good news is: I get all the passports and forms and documents together and I'm ready to go to immigration.
The bad news is: It takes all morning to drive to the mainland, sit at immigration, and wait for my turn to turn in my paperwork.

The good news is: I get to see/meet all sorts of interesting people in the waiting room. Saudis, Sikhs, monks, Indian, Asian, European, children, couples, families.
The bad news is: I have to wait for an hour for my turn and the whole time I have to go to the bathroom.

The good news is: once I turn in my paperwork, I'm done until next week when I come pick up the passports, AND, I know there's a bathroom downstairs.
The bad news is: The one western style toilet has a hose in it. I'm not going to pee on the hose and I'm not about to touch it to take it out just in case someone else DID.

The good news is: There are two Turkish toilets (otherwise known as squatty potties) so I can use one of them.
The bad news is: There is water all over the floor and I have long pants on and am carrying a purse and a large plastic expandable file.

The good news is: I can somehow manage to do my business in a wet bathroom with no shelves and when I slip I don't fall or do the splits...not entirely anyways.
The bad news is: I almost did and I pulled muscles in my leg while trying to save myself.

But the GOOD news is: my kids should get their visas in a week.
The bad news is: my visa will expire in the meantime.

The good news is: They will let me apply for an extension when I go next time.
The bad news is: there are three more next times because I'll have to do this all over again three more times before the process is complete.

The good news is: when it IS complete, I'll get to live on this beautiful island!

Shout Out to Fractions!

Lessons learned today:

1. Never let your brain go on cruise-control even when using a tried-and-true recipe
2. Common sense and little red flags that go up in your brain are gifts from heaven. Pay attention to them.
3. Well, I think that's pretty much it.

Today I cooked for two different sets of folks. Why not double the recipe and just use half for one set and half for the other. Why that is an excellent idea, I think I'll do that. 

And why not use a well-liked recipe so that I know it will be a guaranteed good meal for all involved in eating it. Why that is another excellent idea. Let's do it!

So I begin preparing oven fajitas, a recipe I found on Pinterest. So far everyone has loved it. Awesome. Here I go. I start mixing up the spices that will be used to marinate the chicken. As I begin measuring out the various spices I say to myself,

"Hmmm, that seems like a lot of spices. I don't remember that...well, it must be because I have doubled the recipe. Yes, that's it."

A few spices later...

"Wow, that really seems like a lot. Well, I think I have more spices in the cabinet this time than I did last time. I must have skipped some of the ingredients last time. OK, I'll just keep on, I mean, I've made this many times and I know it's good."

I finally get to "Cayenne Pepper" which is one of the spices I did not have before. My brain is thinking about switching to cruise-control. My eyes register "8 tsp". Wow, that is a lot. I start measuring it out. Doubling the recipe, of course, will mean 16 tsp. Really? Wow. By tsp number 4 I think,

"Hmmm, that really is a lot." 

I dip my finger into the cayenne pepper and taste it, yep, it's pretty spicy. I think I'll stick with 3 tsp. I try to dig out what I can from the pile of spices I've dumped into the bowl to get the cayenne pepper down to a lesser amount.

Ok, marinate chicken. It's all in the pan and ready to bake. I double check the recipe for the amount of time to bake. That's strange. It's not on the recipe. I look it up on the internet site. That's when I notice the spice amounts are different on the internet recipe. When I go back to check the recipe I am using on Pinterest, I see that the TOP number of the FRACTION is way off in the left-hand margin, nowhere near the recipe itself. That leaves the bottom number over by the recipe. So instead of 1/2 Tablespoon of chili powder, for example, I read "2 Tablespoons". But I am doubling the recipe, so I dump in 4 Tablespoons. You can see then, that when I got down to the Cayenne Pepper (after dumping about half my spice cabinet into the bowl) I read 8 teaspoons instead of 1/8 teaspoon. That's a big difference Yo!

I look at the chicken. It is literally already baking under the heat of the cayenne attack. I think I hear it sizzling right there on the cabinet. My face burns. My hands burn. I glance at the guests in the living room. I think about the others who are innocently waiting for me to bring them a home cooked meal. This stuff is fire and I am pretty sure it's more spice than chicken at this point.

Hmmmm...

I rinse the chicken. I dump it all into a mixing bowl and rinse it. No joke it takes about 5 cycles before the water is no longer orangey-red and the spices are mostly gone.

Start over. Wow, it sure does look more reasonable now. 

1/2 teaspoon salt instead of 2 teaspoons (doubled to 4)

1/4 teaspoon onion powder instead of 4 teaspoons (doubled to 8)

You get the idea. Whew, I baked it and it turned out just fine.

Disaster averted.

Fractions are important y'all. Numerators are vital. You can't just use the denominator.

Lesson learned.

Throwback Thursday

I haven't figured out the whole social media scene very well. I do my best, but I am definitely an outsider (read why I feel this way). But it's Throw Back Thursday today, folks. I threw back yesterday though, so I was a day early. I found an external hard drive in all my stuff. I plugged that bad boy into my computer and found pictures and videos from 2005 onward. Wow, there went my evening. I spent a couple of hours throwing back. It was great!

The Lord has blessed us with some amazing opportunities and adventures and I am so very thankful. Today I re-watched some of the videos with the kids. They enjoyed it as much as I did.

Here's a picture (I won't make you watch all the videos, although I'd love to because they are really fun!) in honor of Throw Back Thursday...

On the Nile...just a walk away from our house!

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Back In Asia

We made it back to Asia! Hello toes, I’ve missed seeing you, since you’ve been all wrapped up in socks and closed-in shoes for months. First order of business: paint toenails and find flip flops. The breeze is wonderful and the weather not too hot and definitely not too cold. It IS humid though, and mildew has attacked some of our furniture and the closets smell musty. No problem, wipe it all down and it’s good as new. Feeling great! Feeling happy! Feeling … feeling… feeeeeeeliiiiing tired … zzzzzzzzzzz (jet lag).

Friends here on our new island stocked our cabinets with food and invited us for meals. So nice. Made mental note to do the same for others when they are just moving in, especially when…jet lagging…zzzzzzzzz. We were invited for dinner! That’s great news, I don’t have to cook. I ask if I can bring anything. I get a text message, “Bring rice.” OK, no problem, I have a rice cooker. But we are two big families so I better make a lot. An hour before dinner I make a big pot of rice. When we arrive our hostess looks at my rice cooker oddly. “Did I say ‘rice’ or ‘ice’?” Oops. And I can’t even blame the auto correct because her message totally says “ice”. Well, we did not have cold drinks that night but we did have plenty of rice.

While eating dinner, I mention that instead of Australian Top Sirloin (which is very expensive beef), I found that I could order “Bombay Beef” for much cheaper. “That’s not beef,” says our host, “That’s water buffalo!”

“Are you sure? Because she said it was beef.”

“Think about it, Jana. It’s Bombay beef. Cows are considered holy in India.”

Oh great, I just bought 2 kilos of water buffalo to cook for our first lunch guests the next day. All I can think about is a large lumbering work animal pulling a plow through the rice paddies before it drops dead and the innovative farmer cuts him up and sells it to the shop owner who…well, sells it to me. Gray, wrinkly skin; tough chewy gristle. Guests coming at noon tomorrow and I have water buffalo stew. Awesome.

The next day I try to cook it anyway. It’s not a good idea. Kris and I taste test and I can literally hear Kris crunch, like it’s a bag of potato chips. Yuk. But I just used two (count  them, two) envelopes of American stew mix. I wonder if I can rinse the flavoring off the nasty buffalo meat to recycle with some actual beef. A little brain gnome is in my head jumping up and down with a red flag screaming, “Bad idea Jana!” And thankfully, I listen. I end up making ground beef (from a cow) soup instead. But that works out ok because I have a large pot of leftover rice to go with it.

  

How Are You?

You know what a TCK is, right? A TCK is a third-culture-kid, someone who lives in a country other than his or her passport country. Because of this dual culture, he or she often has a unique "third culture" that is not 100% of either one that they have lived in. I am definitely a TCK. I have never been 100%  a part of any culture. That's cool, I don't mind that. I like it. But here's the deal: as an adult I've added a few more cultures to the mix by adapting to life in several additional countries. The result? Comedy.

The other day I was inviting an Asian friend into my home. I hadn't seen her in awhile and was very happy to see her again. "How are you!?" I asked, very happily.

"I am fine. How are you?"

"Oh, I am fine. I am so happy to see you! Come in!" I ushered her in, "It's been so long since I have seen you! How are you doing?"

"Fine," she replied. My, it was good to see her again.

"So, how are you?" I asked happily. She sort of grunted. Oh dear, something must be wrong. "Oh no, what is wrong?"

"Nothing, why?"

"Well, I asked how you were and you sounded like something was wrong."

"Oh, no," she replied, "Nothing is wrong, but why do you keep on asking me how I am doing?"

Clash of cultures, none of which are mine! I was using my North African way of greeting with my Asian friend. I haven't lived on North African soil for over three years and all this time I've been greeting people this way because after so many years there, it came naturally. I didn't even realize I did it. Thankfully, my gracious friend found humor in my explanation and we spent the rest of the afternoon asking each other, "By the way, how are you?"

Note to self: I only ask Asians ONE TIME and then think of something else to talk about. OK, got it...I think.

10 Reasons Why I Am a Digital Immigrant

My son is taking Digital Citizenship in high school. He informed me that he is a Digital Citizen and that I am a Digital Immigrant. That's code for, "We let you use our awesome digital stuff but our products will constantly remind you that you don't actually belong here." While depressing, I have to admit that it is true. Here are a few reasons why.


THE TOP TEN REASONS WHY I AM A DIGITAL IMMIGRANT

#10 I prefer my cheap and simple phone and I am not just saying that because I can't afford a nice one (even though I can't)

#9 I have fond memories of dial-up (at the office we even had a toggle switch on the wall to transfer the line from phone to computer!)

#8 I miss the smell of books (can't they have a scratch-and-sniff app for that?)

#7 I need Aaron to come home and help me figure out my computer program, and no, Son, I don't want to do it over Skype, I need an actual person to sit here beside me and help me.

#6 I hate updates for programs, I liked it the way it was, that's why I got it in the first place. Why did you have to go and change it?

#5 My kids have a question about the computer and they say, "Hey Mom...oh...never mind," and then they figure it out on their own.

#4 I don't know what hash tags are. And yes, I've had it explained to me but it still sounds like something illegal.

#3 When buying Aaron a wireless keyboard for his iPad, I got excited and blurted out, "I am so happy we were able to buy Aaron his typewriter." Yes, I said it loudly in the middle of the store. Typewriter? How far back in the recesses of historical vocabulary did my mind have to reach to find THAT word?

#2 I get confused and try to punch a button on my computer screen with my finger like it is a touch screen.

and the #1 reason why I am a digital immigrant is that...

#1 I still get homesick. While I love and appreciate all the snazzy gadgets, this immigrant still gets homesick for a pen that has ink, not a rubbery bulb that simulates a finger tip, and notebook paper and the feel of a (real) book in my hands.

Thanksgiving Feast: Cross-Cultural Style!

We had a great Thanksgiving Day, celebrating with many other fellow-workers. My friend Barbara is my guest blogger for this post! You won't want to miss her story "behind the scenes" at our Thanksgiving Meal. It's hilarious!

Last week a friend and I had the privilege of cooking 
Thanksgiving dinner for 120 Americans.... In the simple 
kitchen of a hotel two hours outside of our city.   Nine 
turkeys were ordered from a local importer and baked prior 
to the gathering along with plenty of pecan and pumpkin 
desserts – pecans thanks to some care packages from the 
US,  local squash was boiled and mashed to substitute for 
cans of pumpkin.  Two gallons of celery, sage (brought in 
my suitcase last year), onions and parsley were cooked and 
frozen ahead of time along with pan after pan of corn 
bread in preparation for making dressing.  But, even all 
this work done in advance did not prepare me for cooking 
in the hotel kitchen!  My friend and I have promised to 
never speak about the hotel kitchen’s cleanliness (um… 
lack of cleanliness…) with another person.  So, I won’t 
even mention all of the living creatures we encountered. 
 Nor will I mention the fact that the kitchen did not have 
a single wash rag or towel.  I won’t even mention that the 
same sink of dirty brown water (straight from the river??) 
was used all day long to “wash” dishes from breakfast, 
lunch, snacks and dinner for more than 300 hotel guests….. 
 Let’s just say, the entire experience was a cultural 
experience and was not for the faint of heart!  (Note to 
self…. Give family an extra dose or two of de-worming 
medicine ASAP!)

The kitchen equipment was mostly what I would call big 
“camp stoves” and woks the size of hula hoops.  Everything 
was giant sized and perfect for cooking for a crowd…. If 
one is a giant!  The pot they provided me with was so tall 
that it came up to my nose when sitting on the burner for 
cooking.  This was going to make stirring the gravy a 
challenge!  So, I asked the kitchen staff if I could perhaps 
use a smaller pot since I was too short to stir this one. 
 (Understand that none of these Asian men were much taller 
than my 5 foot 4 inches!)  After the men had a little 
pow-wow about how to solve my problem for me…. While I was 
trying to deny my urge to go grab and wash a dirty but 
smaller pot that I had spotted on the floor… the men came 
up with a solution they were satisfied would solve my 
dilemma.  One man disappeared out the back door of the 
kitchen and reappeared with a satisfied grin on his face 
carrying two bricks.  He deposited these two bricks on the 
floor in front of the stove, demonstrated how I should 
place one foot on each brick, and assured me that these 
bricks would make me tall enough to stir the pot.  Of 
course!  And, to think that I would have changed pots when 
there was a much better solution at hand.  Yes, I cooked 
for several hours balanced atop these bricks that were 
thoughtfully provided.

As I cooked, I was able to answer many questions for the 
hotel’s kitchen staff.  I noticed they would gather into 
 pow-wow sessions and then send a chosen delegate to ask 
me a question and report back with answers. Sometimes that 
pow-wow would all need to gather to explore a particularly 
interesting situation – like opening a can.   When opening 
the cans of cranberry sauce, the entire staff gathered to 
“ooooh” and “aaaaah” over the process.  The conversation 
went something like this….. “What is that” “Can opener.” 
 “It is fast!”  “Yes.”  “Did you bring that from America?” 
 “No, I bought it at the mall here.”  “Look how that opens 
cans!  That must be something new!”  “Ya, it’s really 
helpful.”   The most common question asked was, “What is 
that??”  Answers to that question included Turkey; Mashed 
potatoes; Dressing; Gravy; Cranberries……  But, thankfully 
I was also able to tell them about how Thanksgiving Day is 
a time to thank God for all his blessings and provision. 
 Hopefully they will remember the message of Thanksgiving 
even longer than they remember the amazing can opener. 
 And, by God’s grace , I pray I was gracious, kind and 
thankful while cooking a huge meal, on a tight schedule 
with an audience of local men watching, questioning and 
“helping".

Are You in the Minority? (A TCK Moment)

The other day we were having family worship. We were studying a passage from Ephesians and talking about the believers in Ephesus. Kris asked the boys, "Have you ever been in a place where you felt like you were in the minority?" We waited for the obvious answer. I mean, think about it: the boys have lived all of their lives either in the Middle East (think "White boy surrounded by Arabs"), Africa (think "White boy in Africa") or in Asia (think "White boy in Asia") and have always lived in predominately Muslim cultures. So, yes, the answer seemed very obvious...to Kris and me. The boys thought and thought and finally, each one said, "No, I can't think of a time when I felt like I was in the minority."

I had to smile! I love TCKs! Do you know what that is? It's a kid who is from one culture, grows up in another culture, and therefore develops his or her own (third) culture. And TCKs have awesome answers to questions we think are obvious. I say "we" here because I have learned to be somewhat American, but I am actually a TCK myself. Which explains why I loved their answer! Ha! Finally one of them came up with an answer. You know when it was that he felt like he was in the minority? No really, go ahead, guess! It was when he went to public school in Texas! The one time he was surrounded by kids who were from his passport country! And you know why he said he felt like he was in the minority? It had more to do with the other kids' spiritual lives than it did to their language or skin color. Wow. He taught me a lesson and didn't even know he did!

I love that our kids are comfortable in their own "skin" (literally) and that they are sensitive to the spiritual state of the kids around them. They challenge me to look past the obvious and see the heart condition of those around me. TCKs see the world differently. Do you know a TCK? Give them a hug and tell them you appreciate them!

The Hunt For H2O2

Dad can't hear a thing!  He needs help!  Kris plays pharmacist and tries to figure out the ratio of water to Super Strength H2O2

We are having a fantastic summer with my parents and my sister & family visiting us.  Unfortunately, my dad has an ear infection.  Go to the doctor?  Ummm, well, we decided it would be better just to get advice from a doctor friend and do the treatment ourselves.  OK, no problem, we bought ear drops and then all we needed was some hydrogen peroxide so he can flush his ears.  Our doctor friend tells us to go to the pharmacy and ask for "H2O2" to get hydrogen peroxide.  OK, so we go.  No H2O2.  OK, we try another pharmacy.  Nope.  Another...nope.  Another...nope.  At the fourth one we got a yes!  Yippee!  They were confused and asked me what we wanted it for, then said all they had was 50% strength.  In the US it is more like 3% or something like that.  OK, I figure we can dilute it, so I say I want it.

"How much?" she asks.

Hmmmm, "About this much...?" I say, holding my hands up to measure the height of a small bottle.  She laughs.  And then I ask, well, how do you measure it?

Finally she asks, "One hundred mililiters or two hundred?"  Ah, there we go, something more specific.  I ask for two hundred.  We sit to wait...wait...people come in...wait...people leave...wait...a car hits a motorcycle over in the street...wow...wait...thirty minutes later a pharmacist comes out to tell us that H2O2 was in the computer, but actually, they don't have it after all.  Hmmm, this is the reverse of the spaghetti sauce incident, very interesting.  We struck out.

Eventually (don't ask how) we end up with a small bottle of...who knows...maybe 50% or maybe100% H2O2.  Yikes.  So Kris and Dad sit down and do the math, how on earth do we make it into 3%?  We get out bottled water, our newly acquired melt-threw-steel-strength hydrogen peroxide, a measuring cup...here goes nothing!  OK, now we've got what we think might possibly be about the right mixture.  I hope so because Dad squeezed it into his ear!!

The next day I asked at three more places, still no hydrogen peroxide.  Who knew it would be so hard to find?  You can ask for prescription strength just about anything and have no problem, but hydrogen peroxide is apparently a no-go!

Our city is a Bring-Your-Own-Hydrogen-Peroxide-Zone.  Good to know...

Measuring cup...luke warm water...

Be careful, this stuff is dangerous!  We make our own label so no one will think this is a normal bottle of water...

OK, here we go...

Dad!  Does it burn?

Foreign Language: Piece of Cake!

I love to decorate cakes!  What completes a birthday party better than a great cake, right?  When the kids were younger, I always decorated cakes for their birthdays.  They could choose the theme and then I'd go crazy (and spend hours) decorating their cake.  It was fun and I learned how to do all kinds of great things with icing!  I made a car cake, a computer cake, a Power Rangers cake, a Spiderman, superhero, plane, train, soccer etc, etc.  Notice the boy theme.  But, I also learned to make roses and daisies and swirls and curls and I'd decorate cakes for girls and ladies as well.

When we lived in Africa, a very sweet young lady named Ruta worked for me several days a week.  She was so quiet and sweet and I loved her dearly.  She had seen many of the cakes I'd decorated and one day she asked if I'd make a birthday cake for her son.  Oh, I was flattered!  I was so happy to get to do something like that to help her throw a party for her little boy.  I agreed immediately!  I planned to have the cake baked and decorated on the following Friday so that she could bring it home for the weekend.

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I mixed up the batter from scratch and baked it in two round pans to make a layered cake.  I covered the cooled cake in rich home-made blue icing and carefully decorated with contrasting colors.  I had studied the tribal language that Ruta and her family spoke and I thought what a special treat it would be to write "Happy Birthday" in her language.  Now, Ruta's mother tongue is not a common language, not many foreigners at all speak it, and it is written in the Ge'ez alphabet, a completely different script.  But I, Jana Kelley, knew that language and could write that script.  Yes, I have the distinct feeling that I was a bit prideful as I wrote those words in creamy white icing on that blue layered cake.  It looked wonderful!  I prepared a box for the cake and carefully packed it so that Ruta could bring it home with her.  I was so happy with the result, knowing Ruta would be so pleased, and surprised too!

And surprised she was.

"Wow," she said, "did you write that?"

"Yes," I smiled, "I did."  Yes!  This was great!  Ruta thanked me and brought the cake home, amazed that I knew how to write a greeting in her language.  We had a relaxing weekend and it was not until Saturday night, as I lay in bed, that it struck me...

My eyes flew open and I gasped loudly...

OH NO!  I'd written "Merry Christmas" on the cake!

Oh my word!  That's what I got for being so prideful about being able to speak and write in her language!  On Monday, Ruta returned to work.

"Ruta!" I exclaimed, "I wrote 'Merry Christmas' on your son's birthday cake!"

"Yes," she replied.

"I am so sorry!"

"That's ok!  It was really nice."

Ruta was so sweet and never made fun of me.  But I've always wondered what that party was like.  All those people gathering around the "Merry Christmas" birthday cake, snickering at that silly foreign lady who decorated it!  And somehow, when I think of that story, I am reminded of Proverbs 16:18, "Pride goes before destruction a haughty spirit before the fall"!

The Museum is NOT Closed...Or is it?

Today we took my sister and her family for a "cultural day" downtown. First we road a boat on the Musi River. Then, hot and tired, we went to the museum. It is a lovely building and we were looking forward to some air conditioning! We walked across the parking lot and up these winding stairs to the doors at the top. When we got there, we were met at the door by a lady who seemed to not want to let us in. She was very sweet though! She leaned her scarved head out the door and smiled at us.

"Is the museum 'tutup' (closed)?" I asked, picking up on her non-verbal cues.

"Oh no, it's not TUTUP," she said, "But the electricity is off so it is very hot and dark."

"Oh, I see," I replied, and turned to translate this for everyone else. Standing on the balcony of the second floor, it was shady and breezy and felt quite nice. We stood there to try to decide what to do next. The lady at the door seemed nervous by our not leaving.

"It is not tutup, but there is no electricity," she repeated, "so you can't see anything inside."

Standing in front of the not closed, closed museum.

"Yes, ok," I smiled at her. We continued to try to make a "plan B."  Should we go to the market? Should we go home?  So far the museum lady had been speaking Indonesian. But this time she broke out in very carefully spoken English, "It is C-L-O-S-E-D!"

I smiled again. "OK, thank you!" We finally decided to walk to the market. Before leaving, we stayed just a bit longer to enjoy the breeze. But as we did, the flustered lady finally shut the big gates on the entrance doors to the museum.

I guess the museum was finally closed in all spoken and non-verbal languages!

Home Again!

We're back home again!  We went from the slopes of an active volcano to the shores of a beautiful tropical island.  We enjoyed yummy food, excellent friendships and received quality Bible teaching.  We survived ice cold splash baths, an almost broken arm (Aaron), very little sleep the first week, and no one got sick!  We camped out, roasted hot dogs, hiked, played capture the flag, did crazy relays, sang, flew on airplanes, walked on the beach, went to a water park, spent time with friends, spent time in prayer, hugged a lot, worshiped, posed for crazy pictures, watched a baptism in the swimming pool and paid a lot of money to eat some crazy good cheese cake.  It was a great 2 1/2 weeks.  

I didn't take very many pictures, which is unusual for me.  But I couldn't resist this picture in the airport.  There was an "unattended bag" in the waiting room...does it look suspicious to you?  LOL

And then we came home.  Our cat was so happy he meowed himself hoarse and didn't get his voice back until the next day.  Now it's time to get ready for summer guests!  My sister and her family arrive in 6 days and my parents arrive in 13 days...WOOHOO!  I am trying to clean the house up.  I was aiming for neat and clean, but I think my style for house decor is "Early 21st Century Clutter" so I'll just have to embrace the inevitable and put my efforts into things like laundry and keeping the dishes washed.  

So, if you rummage through items in your shelves that you haven't looked through in awhile, what do you find?  Dust?  Maybe a little bug like a cricket or silverfish?  Well, now, how about hatched lizard eggs?  That's what I found.  Awesome, lizards are setting up homes in my shelves.

Perhaps I need to say that my home is "Early 21st Century Clutter with a Jurassic Twist."

The Plight of the Spaghetti Sauce

Yesterday a friend of mine went to the grocery store.  She had her eye on a jar of imported spaghetti sauce.  Yum!  Actually, she had seen the jar sitting on the shelf for several weeks and had tried several times to buy it.  But when she got to the check out line, the jar was not registered in the computer and therefore could not be purchased.  As the expiry date on the jar approached, my friend continued to try to buy it.  Into the shopping cart the jar would go.  Up to the cash register it would ride.  Across the scanner it would skim.  No beep.  The cashier would key in the number on the bar code.  No beep.  The cashier would tell my friend she couldn't buy it.  The jar would be returned to the shelf.

So yesterday my friend had a new idea.  After the usual trip to the cashier where the jar of spaghetti sauce did not register, she smiled sweetly and said to the cashier, "I would really like to buy this jar of spaghetti sauce.  How might I purchase it?"

"It's not in the computer, so you can't," replied the cashier.

"Yes, but it is on the shelf.  Surely there is some way I can buy it?"

"We don't have permission from the home office to sell it yet, so we don't have the price."

Anger and frustration doesn't work well here, you understand.  It only scratches your own itch and accomplishes nothing.  Everything should be addressed with a smile and politeness.

"Do you have a manager on duty today?"  asked my friend, in her sweetest voice and with a pleasant smile.

"Yes," replied the cashier, confused.

"May I speak with him?"

Baffled as to why this lady would want to speak to the manager, the cashier agreed and called for him.  My friend explained to the manager the plight of the jar of spaghetti sauce.  "I am a foreigner living here in your city.  You have this nice brand of imported spaghetti sauce that I would like to buy."

"Oh, you cannot buy that sauce because we don't have permission from the home office to sell it."

"Can you call the home office to find out the price?  Because I am willing to buy all the jars you have on the shelf."

"Oh no, we can't do that."

"But then you will never sell the ones you have and then the home office will never send more sauce because it did not sell well..." nothing... "So how could I purchase this sauce?"

"You can't."

"But it's on your shelf."

"But we don't have permission to sell it."

"So this means that, even though your store carries this nice brand of imported spaghetti sauce and I can see it on the shelf, in order to purchase it, I would need to fly to the capital city and buy it there..." smile... "So why do you even have it on your shelves if I can't buy it?"

Within minutes the manager had a a group of employees go to the pasta aisle and remove the yummy jars of imported spaghetti sauce!  There!  Problem fixed!

So, today I began to think about a spiritual lesson to take from this funny situation (or frustrating?).  Are there things in my life that I put on display, but never access?  Like faith.  Do I have faith?  Well of course I do.  But are there situations in my life that require faith, and even though I say, "Well of course I have faith!"  have I been in touch with the Lord so closely that I am ready to use it when the situation calls for it?  Or do I carry a bunch of great attributes to show off on the shelf, but don't know how to use them when the rubber meets the road (or should I say when the bar code hits the scanner?).   But if you discover this is true in your own life, don't pull it off the shelf for pete's sake!  Learn how to use it!

Have I stretched the analogy too far?  Maybe.  But I'll tell you, next time I walk down that aisle of the grocery store and see that empty spot where the imported jars used to be, not only will I giggle to myself, I'll also re-evaluate myself and make sure I am in touch with the "Home Office"!

Funnies From 'Round Here

 I've found several funny things around town this past month.  I just have to share them with you!  


First of all, have you ever seen

a car with eyelashes?  Well, I had not until I saw this Mercedes with fake eyelashes.  Really!

I

 Next was this sign at a local water park that gave instructions on acceptable swimwear.  Wow, everything from string bikinis to full body "burkinis."  Once we got in the park we saw NO bikinis and several "burkinis," but mostly everyone just swam fully clothed!

 Here is some ice cream I found at the grocery store I shop at.  Would you buy Dung Dung ice cream?

And last, but not least... this lady on a motorcycle at a stop light.  Her shirt advertises Ultra Violent Skin Block.  Now, I like to protect my skin from the sun just as much as the next gal.  But I wouldn't want to but anything "ultra violent" on my skin!  How about you?

Watch Me Eat This!

Ibu W. comes five days a week to clean our house.  This is a big help to me since I am homeschooling the kids.  This week she has added a couple of hours each day and I am teaching her to cook.  This will also be a huge help for me as most things have to be cooked from scratch, again requiring more time than what I have these days.

Today she and I made peanut butter cookies.  While we worked in the kitchen I asked her about yesterday.

"Yesterday you didn't eat the food I made for you,"  I said.

"Oh, I thought it was yours," she replied.

Oh no!  Just what I'd feared, another mis-communication!!  Yesterday I was making bean burritos and she was asking about it.  I went into this whole explanation of Mexican food and how we are from Texas and love Mexican food.  I showed her the tortillas and the beans and cheese and the homemade salsa I had made.  Then I thought, well, I should make her one.  I cut a tortilla in half and made two little ones.  I thought I would demonstrate to her how to roll it up and eat it.  She was washing dishes at the time, but I called her to turn around and see what I was doing.  I told her she should try it and showed her the burrito on the plate.  Then I rolled mine up and showed her how to eat it, popping my half into my mouth.  But I left hers in the kitchen, not wanting her to feel like she had to eat it right away.  That's why I was surprised to find the plate and burrito still sitting on the kitchen table after she left.

So today we talked about it and I discovered that my Indonesian was not very clear yesterday!  Ha, big surprise I know.  Anyway, she thought I was just showing her how you are supposed to eat a burrito and that the extra one was mine.  I am horrified that she thought I was just eating in front of her to show her how I ate my burrito!

Thankfully we both got a good laugh about it and then talked about how, even within the same country there are many cultures and even differences in meaning between people who speak the same language.  Well, I am glad that we laughed and that she now understands what I meant yesterday.  I was VERY CAREFUL to explain today that she could take some cookies home and she even understood me! ha!

What's Your Text?

We are having a cultural exchange!  Friends from Texas are visiting us.  We enjoy seeing our life through their eyes.  They enjoy the things through our Third Culture Kids' eyes.

We enjoy things like this:

Kris says, "Do you want chicken, beef or goat?"

Chris M. says, "Wow.  I have never been asked that question before!"

They enjoy things like this:

Pastor Todd says something like, "Joel, you should preach for us.  Do you have a text?"

Joel responds, "I don't have a phone."

We've also enjoyed a visit from Grandma.  Kris' mom spent the week with us and we have so enjoyed her!  So that's what we've been up to this week.  Lots of laughing, lots of experiences, lots of memories.

So, if I had to choose a text for this week, I'd choose Psalm 116:7, "Be at rest once more, oh my soul, for the Lord has been good to you."

One Scoop or Two?

Just this morning I got a FB message from a friend whose husband is traveling for the first time in their young marriage.  She encouraged me by saying she remembers how I used to have to "hold up the fort" in Africa when we had three young boys and my hubby was traveling.

Immediately two scenes come to mind, and both involve three little boys, a broken generator, and Kris on a long trip.  Our boys were young, the littlest one still nursing, and Kris had to travel out of the country.  In our dusty little home in the desert, when Kris "got to" travel outside the country, I always fought jealousy...and things always went wrong.  On this particular trip, the generator broke.

We had a generator for the frequent power outages.  At 120 degrees, once the electricity went out, it was only a matter of seconds before we were sweating and tearfully praying for the power to return.  In the mean time we'd crank up our old half-working generator.  Sometimes it worked. On this particular day it did not.

So the first scene that pops into my head is me sitting on the bed trying to nurse my baby.  It is hot as you-know-what and I am dripping sweat.  The last thing I want is a warm little baby body up next to me and I can't understand why my baby would want to drink milk at a time like this.  Logic, of course, flies out the window when one is hot!  I can't help but imagine his little baby belly full of curdled milk.

The second scene that comes to mind is later that day.  I can't get the generator to start and am about to go out of my mind with the heat and three little heat-struck younguns.  I call the generator company in town and use my very best Arabic to tell them the problem.  The man tells me that since I had a friend look at the generator before calling them, the warranty is void.  WHAT?  I explain that my friend didn't touch anything on the generator but he maintains that the warranty is now no good.

"You had some one else look at it, that is the problem," he says to me in Arabic.  And here is proof that our deepest feelings can only be expressed in our heart language:  because I burst out in English, loud English, angry English.  I am pretty sure the loud and angry part translate pretty well even if the words do not.

"THAT'S not the problem!" I say, my voice escalating, "You know what the problem is?  The problem is my HUSBAND is gone and I am HOT!!!!  And I have three little boys and THEY are HOT.  WE NEED THE GENERATOR TO WORK!!!"

Those of you who know me can see the humor in all of this, as I have never yelled at a single soul.  But that day, I found my limit!  So here is my limit:  120 degree heat, husband gone, a preschooler, a toddler, a nursing baby, no ceiling fan, and news that my warranty is void.  That's my limit y'all, now you know.

As bad as I felt about the yelling episode, it did get the results I wanted.  The man paused for a second and then replied in Arabic, "We will come right over."

They honored the warranty and fixed the generator.  We got some air circulating in the house.  I did not hurt anyone, we all survived!  I felt a mixture of accomplishment that I'd figured out a way to fix the problem and guilt that I'd resorted to yelling at someone to do so.

So what do we learn from that?  I guess I learned my limit. That generator man learned not to mess with foreign ladies who are suffering from the heat!  And maybe we can all just learn to laugh at ourselves a little more.  I started, now it's your turn!  Laugh at the crazy things you've done when you reached YOUR limit!

Just had to show you...

 So, this is on the package of pills that our family took last week.  It cracks me up that we are swallowing pills that have this picture on the front.  Anyone want to make a guess at what the pills are for?

Here is a hint:  if you don't take the above pills, you may have to get lots of these!  Can you guess what this is for?  Yup, it's a receipt that you get each time you use a public toilet.  Don't worry, 1,000 Rupiah is not as much money as it sounds!  It's about equal to a dime.  Plus, you get a receipt!  Do you think we can claim this on our taxes?