I was searching my memory banks for some interesting story to pass along to you, dear reader, but I was reminded this morning that one sometimes needs to be poked or prodded to remember the important things in life.
All those who know me well, know that I wear my heart on my sleeve. And those who don't know me well, now you know me better. I am neither proud nor ashamed of that fact. It is just a fact. Emotions? Heck, I internalize everything and am quick to empathize. Cry at some silly television show? Yup. Well up when I tell someone how much they mean to me? Guilty.
So, it was no wonder that the following story struck a chord with me. And, though it is well past Christmastime, I wanted to share it with you. So, for today, I am blog cheating. These few original words, and the rest belong to someone else. Even some guy a thousand years ago said it best, in I Corinthians 13:13, "Abide in these, faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love." So, dear friend it is with love that I share this with you.
It's a little piece called "Christmas Story" by John Henry Faulk. Faulk was a gifted storyteller and former radio broadcaster. He first recorded his Christmas Story in 1974 for the program "Voices in the Wind." National Public Radio started a tradition of airing Faulk's story every year at Christmas.
CHRISTMAS STORY
The day after Christmas a number of years ago, I was driving down a country road in Texas. And it was a bitter cold, cold morning. And walking ahead of me on the gravel road was a little bare- footed boy with non-descript ragged overalls and a makeshift sleeved sweater tied around his little ears. I stopped and picked him up. Looked like he was about 12 years old and his little feet were blue with the cold. He was carrying an orange.
And he got in and had the brightest blue eyes one ever saw. And he turned a bright smile on my face and says, "I'm-a going down the road about two miles to my cousins. I want to show him my orange old Santa Claus brought me." But I wasn't going to mention Christmas to him because I figured he came from a family -- the kind that don't have Christmas. But he brought it up himself. He said, "Did old Santa Claus come to see you, Mister?" And I said, "Yes. We had a real nice Christmas at our house and I hope you had the same."
He paused for a moment, looked at me. And then with all the sincerity in the world said, "Mister, we had the wonderfulest Christmas in the United States down to our place. Lordy, it was the first one we ever had had there. See, we never do have them out there much. Don't notice when Christmastime comes. We heared about it, but never did have one 'cause -- well, you know, it's just papa says that old Santa Claus -- papa hoorahs a lot and said old Santa Claus was scared to bring his reindeer down into our section of the county because folks down there so hard up that they liable to catch one of his reindeer and butcher him for meat. But just several days before Christmas, a lady come out from town and she told all the families through there, our family, too, that they was -- old Santa Claus was come in town to leave some things for us and if papa'd go in town, he could get some Christmastime for all of us. And papa hooked up the mule and wagon. He went in town. But he told us children, said, "Now don't ya'll get all worked up and excited because there might not be nothing to this yarn that lady told."
And--but, shucks, she hadn't got out of sight up the lane there till we was done a-watching for him to come back. We couldn't get our minds on nothing else, you know. And mama, she'd come to the door once in a while and say, "Now ya'll quit that looking up the lane because papa told you there might not be nothing." And -- but long about the middle of the afternoon, well, we heared the team a-jangling harness a-coming and we ran out in the front yard, and Ernie, my little brother, called out and said, "Yonder come papa." And here come them mules just in a big trot, you know, and papa standing upright in the bed of that wagon holding two big old chickens, all the feathers picked off. And he was just yelling, "Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas." And the team stopped right in front of the gate. And all us children just went a-swarming out there like a flock of chichis, you know, and just a-crawling over that wagon and a-looking in.
And, Mister, I wish you could have seen what was in that wagon. It's bags of stripety candy and apples and oranges and sacks of flour and some real coffee, you know, and just all tinselly and pretty and we couldn't say nothing. Just kind of held our breath and looked at it, you know. And papa standing there just waving them two chickens, a-yelling, "Merry Christmas to you. Merry Christmas to you," and a-laughing that big old grin on his face. And mama, she come a-hurrying out with the baby in her arms, you know. And when she looked in that wagon, she just stopped, and then papa, he dropped them two chickens and reached and caught the baby out of her arms, you know, and held him up and said, "Merry Christmas to you, Santa Claus." And baby, little old Alvie Lee, he just laughed like he knowed it was Christmas, too, you know. And mama, she started telling us the name of all of them nuts. They wasn't just peanuts. They was -- she had names for all of them. She -- mama knows a heap of things like that. She'd seen that stuff before, you know? And we was, all of us, just a-chattering and a-going on at the same time, us young'uns, a-looking in there.
And all of a sudden, we heared papa call out, "Merry Christmas to you, Sam Jackson." And we stopped and looked. And here comes Sam Jackson a-leading that old cripple-legged mule of his up the lane. And papa said, "Sam Jackson, did you get in town to get some Christmas this year?" Sam Jackson, you know, he sharecrops over there across the creek from our place. And he shook his head and said, "Well, no, sir, Mister. Well, I didn't go in town. I heared about that, but I didn't know it was for colored folks, too. I thought it was just for you white families." All of a sudden, none of us children were saying nothing. Papa, he looked down at mama and mama looked up at him and they didn't say nothing, like they don't a heap of times, but they know what the other one's a-thinking. They're like that, you know. And all of a sudden, papa, he broke out in a big grin again. He said, "Dad-blame- it, Sam Jackson, it's a sure a good thing you come by here. Lord have mercy, I liked to forgot. Old Santa Claus would have me in court if he heared about this. The last thing he asked me if I lived out here near you. Said he hadn't seen you around and said he wanted me to bring part of this out here to you and your family, your woman and your children."
Well, sir, Sam Jackson, he broke out in a big grin. Papa says, "I'll tell you what to do. You get your wife and children and you come down here tomorrow morning. It's going to be Christmastime all day long. Come early and stay late." Sam Jackson said, "You reckon?" And mama called out to him and said, "Yes, and you tell your wife to be sure and bring some pots and pans because we're going to have a heap of cookin' to do and I ain't sure I've got enough to take care of all of it." Well, sir, old Sam Jackson, he started off a-leading that mule up the lane in a full trot, you know, and he was a-heading home to get the word to his folks and his children, you know.
And next morning, it just -- you remember how it was yesterday morning, just rosy red and looked like Christmastime. It was cold, but you didn't notice the cold, you know, when the sun just come up, just all rosy red. And us young'uns were all out of bed before daylight seemed like, just running in the kitchen and smelling and looking. And it was all there sure enough. And here come Sam Jackson and his team and his wife and his five young'uns in there. And they's all lookin' over the edge. And we run out and yelled, "Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas." And papa said, "Christmas gift to you, Sam Jackson. Ya'll come on in." And they come in and mama and Sister Jackson, they got in the kitchen and they started a- cooking things up. And us young'uns started playing Christmastime. And it's a lot of fun, you know. We'd just play Christmas Gift with one another and run around and around the house and just roll in the dirt, you know, and then we started playing Go Up To The Kitchen Door And Smell. And we'd run up and smell inside that kitchen door where mama and Sister Jackson was a-cooking at, and then we'd just die laughing and roll in the dirt, you know, and go chasing around and playing Christmas Gift.
And we played Christmastime till we just wore ourselves out. And papa and Sam Jackson--they put a table up and put some sheets over it, some boards up over some sawhorses. And everybody had a place, even the baby. And mama and Sister Jackson said, "Well, now it's ready to come on in. We're going to have Christmas dinner." And I sit right next to Willy Jackson, you know, and he just rolled his eyes at me and I'd roll mine at him. And we'd just die laughing, you know, and there was an apple and an orange and some stripety candy at everybody's place. And that was just dessert, see. That wasn't the real Christmas dinner. Mama and them had done cooked that up. And they just had it spread up and down the table.
And so papa and Sam Jackson, they'd been sitting on the front porch and they come in. Papa, he sit at one end of the table, Sam Jackson sit at the other. And it was just a beautiful table like you never had seen. And I didn't know nothing could ever look like that and smell that good, you know. And Sam Jackson, you know, he's real black and he had on that white clean shirt of his and then them overalls. Everything had been washed and was real clean. Papa, he said, "Brother Jackson, I believe you're a deacon in the church. I ain't much of a church man myself, but I believe you're a deacon. Maybe you'd be willing to give grace." Well, Sam Jackson, he stood up there and his hands is real big and he kind of held onto the side of the table, you know. But he didn't bow his head like a heap of folks do when they're saying the blessing. He just looked up and smiled. And he said, "Lord, I hope you having as nice a Christmas up there with your angels as we're having down here because it sure is Christmastime down here. And I just wanted to say Merry Christmas to you, Lord."
Like I say, Mister, I believe that was the wonderfulest Christmas in the United States of America."'
-- John Henry Faulk
Monday, January 28, 2008
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Lessons Learned
Please forgive this (and any future) references to Army-speak. It really is sometimes difficult to translate the language I have used for the past 30+ years into something that is easily recognized by everyone.
Lessons Learned, in Army-speak, is one of the most important tenets of survival. Not only physical survival (which is important, duh), but emotional and promotional, too! Back in the day (Geez, I hate that phrase! Who invented that?!?!), "zero defects" was a common mentality. This, of course, meant that there was one chance, and only one chance, to get something right. Get it wrong, and out the door (back to civilian life) you went. Thankfully, that did not last long and the Army (and other Services) transitioned to a learning enviroment where mistakes, missteps or FUBAR (another acronym for http://www.acronyms.com/) were more tolerated... as long as the lesson was learned and the mistake not repeated. The Army went so far as to develop a large operation called the Center for Army Lessons Learned or CALL (call.army.mil). CALL collects and analyzes data from current and historical sources, then produces lessons for commanders, staff, and students. It is a great way for leaders to learn from the experiences of others.
So, here is my main Lesson Learned: Do not have a vehicle accident in Kuwait. How did I learn that lesson? I had one. It wasn't a big one. In fact, if we were in the States, I would have likely just exchanged information with the other driver and then paid for his repairs. But not here. Oh no...
Yes, it was my fault. Well, 90% my fault.
On Friday, Will and I were on a shopping mission (you know the difference between men and women shopping, but that is another story) for a rug and a bookcase. Unfortunately, we waited until early afternoon to head to the Friday Market , which was our first mistake. It was a madhouse. Packed. Must have been 50,000 people there. Well, at least a couple thousand. Parking was horrible. Horns honking. Moving inches at a time. You get the picture. Never go to the Friday Market on Friday afternoon. Next Lesson Learned: Go early, or do not go at all. So anyway, we get there and actually find a parking spot that was fairly close (too close, it turned out) and proceeded into what must be the world's largest swap meet. This place is an open-air menagerie of gigantic proportions. There is new stuff, used stuff, clothes stuff, furniture stuff, trinket stuff, gold stuff, appliance stuff, shoe stuff, cosmetic stuff, cleaning stuff... and rugs. If you can name an item, it is there. It is a wonderful place.
Here is a cool part. There are these guys, mostly Indian (no, not Native American... from India, silly) who are there to carry the items a person may purchase. They shadow you like little stalkers, pushing dilapidated wheelbarrows, waiting to pounce the moment you buy something, so you don't have to carry it yourself. Kinda convenient, when you think about it, but it is also kinda creepy having these guys hover around you like a vulture. They especially love following Westerners (like us Ugly Americans), because we usually tip better than the Kuwaiti's do.
So we walk around the rug area, searching for a rug for our living room that matches the pattern of our other rugs that we bought at the Friday Market. Up and down the half-dozen aisles of rugs, probably 50 different rug vendors, shadowed by our little wheelbarrow-guy. Could we find the pattern? No. Every time we have been at the Friday Market for the past 4 months, we see the same patterns over and over again. Our pattern? Suddenly not available. Aarrgghh! So, my man mind (remember the difference between men and women shopping?) said, "No exact match + Don't want to buy something that Lori wouldn't like + Don't know what she wouldn't like = Don't buy anything." So that is what we did. On to the next mission... bookcase for Will.
There is furniture at the Friday Market, too. So, we looked. "Will, how about this one?" "Nope." "That one?" "Nuh-uh." "That is a nice one." "Are you kidding, Dad?" Oh, we are still being stalked by the way. Poor guy has been following us for nearly 30 minutes. I'm sure he is muttering, "Come on, man, BUY SOMETHING!!!" But, in the end, there is nothing that fits what Will thinks he needs. I'm sure he would have liked just about anything I brought home (had I been shopping/hunting on my own), but nope. Next Lesson Learned: Do not go shopping with Will, at least until he learns the way to shop like a man.
Back to the car we head. Poor Indian guy gives up and searches for someone who will actually buy something. He'll probably remember me... not fondly.
Remember I said we parked too close? Well, it probably took us 20 minutes to reach the main street away from the Market, a distance of about 300 yards.
So, off to the IKEA store in search of a bookcase. Actually, this was going to be easy. Lori and I had been in IKEA a week or so ago and found a bookcase that we agreed would be perfect for Will. Don't know why we just didn't buy it then, but we didn't. IKEA is fairly close, within a mile, to the Friday Market so it didn't take us long to get there. There is great underground parking at The Avenues mall, where IKEA is, so under we went. It was packed. Whoever in Kuwait City was not at the Friday Market must have been at The Avenues.
We spent the next 30 minutes or so, inching up and down the rows of parking... searching for an open spot. Finally found one that lots of people were passing by (turns out good reason...). I'll take it. It was on the end of the row, so curb on one side and car on the other. This car, well actually the driver, managed to pull diagonally into a perpendicular parking spot with about half the car protruding into the empty spot there on the end. I'm thinking, "No problem, I drive an SUV, I'll just get one side of my car up on the curb and I'll be all set." So I did. No problem. Backed right into the spot, kinda close on the one side where the other car is, but once again my superior backing skills are up to the test.
Off to IKEA we go. Find the bookcase, pay for it, and head back to the car. The other car is still there. Load up our prize and off we go. Traffic in the underground parking area is still horrible. In typical man fashion, we were on a search-and-destroy (purchase) mission so we were only in IKEA for 15-20 minutes. As I inch my way out, I temporarily forget to remember how close to that other car I am and as I start to turn.... rub, rub, scratch, OUCH, his taillight bursts red plastic shards into the parking lot! Our cars have kissed. DANG IT!! (or other appropriate words)
Now, we are warned during our orientation, first day I think, that we do not want to get involved in a traffic accident for a number of reasons. But if we do, we are told, call this number right away. So I pull out my cell phone and dial the number. The voice of one of our Host Nations reps is calming and he assures me that he'll be there in 15 minutes. Call the police, he says. Okay. Nice. Everything will be okay. So I call the police. I ask for an English-speaking operator just like I was told. "Wait," she says. Okay. One minute, two, five... finally... So I tell them that I just had a vehicle accident, there are no injuries, could you please send the police (it is impossible to get a car fixed here after an accident unless there is a police report). The answer? "The police will come... Inshallah." Inshallah. Wait, not Inshallah. God willing? The police will come, God willing? Are you kidding me?
The other driver comes back. A nice Kuwaiti young woman, good English. I am apologizing for the trouble. She calls her brother, who also turns out to be very nice. So the brother and my Host Nations guy show up at about the same time. Lots of Arabic between them, but no bad vibe detected by me... standing there looking stupid. NEXT LESSON LEARNED: I REALLY have to learn some Arabic. Now we wait for the cops. After about 30 minutes, we mutually decide it will be much faster to go to the nearest police station. Guess where? The Friday Market. During this time, we decide (actually the brother asks the Host Nations guy who asks me) if it is okay that we do all the police stuff with him and not his sister. No problem. The Host Nations guy asks if I mind saying it was my fault so we can make the process simpler. No problem, it was my fault... mostly.
We get there. Find a parking spot. More like "make" a parking spot. I am careful not to park too close to anyone. We enter the police station and my Host Nations guy is talking to the guy at the desk. They do not have a traffic investigator there. Great. The cop at the desk does some sort of preliminary report that we need to take to another police station. Back to the cars, fight traffic back out to the main road, and off to the other police station.
Okay, time reference. Our cars kissed at about 3:15 pm. It is now 5 pm.
We walk into the police station and see there are a number of people sitting. Every so often, one of them gets up and looks in the investigator's office. He is there, but (apparently) not doing much. The guy behind the desk tells us to have a seat, the investigator will be with us "Inshallah." Not again...
6 comes and goes. So does 7. About 8, the Host Nations guy and the brother go to a nearby shop and get Pepsi and candybars for all of us. Will is still with me. At about 9, the Host Nations guy tells me that we can either stay until the investigator gets to us, who knows when that will be... Inshallah, I guess... or we can come back Saturday night at 10pm when the investigator is on shift again. I am ready to go home, so we do.
Now Saturday night 10 pm. Remember, Kuwait is on a Sunday-Thursday work week, so Saturday night is like a Sunday night back home. Nice and quiet. We get there at 10 (just me and the Host Nations guy and the brother, not Will). Wow! Same faces as the night before... cue the Twilight Zone theme... But the investigator is not there yet. Not at 10:15. Not at 10:30. Not at 11. Finally, at about 11:15 pm, the guy shows up. We were not there first. He finally gets around to us at 11:45. He looks at our vehicles, and has the brother explain what happened. This is good. He wasn't even there... and he conveniently leaves out (I discover later) that his car was half in my parking spot. But, hey, since we are all lying anyway what does a little piece of truth matter?
The Host Nations guy tells me to sign the two forms the investigator hands in my direction. I do. One, I later discover, is an acknowledgement that I was at fault and that a court would decide, at some later date, my fine. The other is the accident report. It is now 12:15 am. And I head home to bed and wait for my alarm to ring at 4:30 am.
The cars were barely damaged. Insurance will take care of my new friend's busted tail light. They aren't even going to fix the paint scratches on my car. Over 8 hours of my life wasted because a Kuwaiti girl couldn't pull straight into a parking stall and I forgot to keep that in mind when I pulled out of my parking stall. Life is good.
Lessons Learned, in Army-speak, is one of the most important tenets of survival. Not only physical survival (which is important, duh), but emotional and promotional, too! Back in the day (Geez, I hate that phrase! Who invented that?!?!), "zero defects" was a common mentality. This, of course, meant that there was one chance, and only one chance, to get something right. Get it wrong, and out the door (back to civilian life) you went. Thankfully, that did not last long and the Army (and other Services) transitioned to a learning enviroment where mistakes, missteps or FUBAR (another acronym for http://www.acronyms.com/) were more tolerated... as long as the lesson was learned and the mistake not repeated. The Army went so far as to develop a large operation called the Center for Army Lessons Learned or CALL (call.army.mil). CALL collects and analyzes data from current and historical sources, then produces lessons for commanders, staff, and students. It is a great way for leaders to learn from the experiences of others.
So, here is my main Lesson Learned: Do not have a vehicle accident in Kuwait. How did I learn that lesson? I had one. It wasn't a big one. In fact, if we were in the States, I would have likely just exchanged information with the other driver and then paid for his repairs. But not here. Oh no...
Yes, it was my fault. Well, 90% my fault.
On Friday, Will and I were on a shopping mission (you know the difference between men and women shopping, but that is another story) for a rug and a bookcase. Unfortunately, we waited until early afternoon to head to the Friday Market , which was our first mistake. It was a madhouse. Packed. Must have been 50,000 people there. Well, at least a couple thousand. Parking was horrible. Horns honking. Moving inches at a time. You get the picture. Never go to the Friday Market on Friday afternoon. Next Lesson Learned: Go early, or do not go at all. So anyway, we get there and actually find a parking spot that was fairly close (too close, it turned out) and proceeded into what must be the world's largest swap meet. This place is an open-air menagerie of gigantic proportions. There is new stuff, used stuff, clothes stuff, furniture stuff, trinket stuff, gold stuff, appliance stuff, shoe stuff, cosmetic stuff, cleaning stuff... and rugs. If you can name an item, it is there. It is a wonderful place.
Here is a cool part. There are these guys, mostly Indian (no, not Native American... from India, silly) who are there to carry the items a person may purchase. They shadow you like little stalkers, pushing dilapidated wheelbarrows, waiting to pounce the moment you buy something, so you don't have to carry it yourself. Kinda convenient, when you think about it, but it is also kinda creepy having these guys hover around you like a vulture. They especially love following Westerners (like us Ugly Americans), because we usually tip better than the Kuwaiti's do.
So we walk around the rug area, searching for a rug for our living room that matches the pattern of our other rugs that we bought at the Friday Market. Up and down the half-dozen aisles of rugs, probably 50 different rug vendors, shadowed by our little wheelbarrow-guy. Could we find the pattern? No. Every time we have been at the Friday Market for the past 4 months, we see the same patterns over and over again. Our pattern? Suddenly not available. Aarrgghh! So, my man mind (remember the difference between men and women shopping?) said, "No exact match + Don't want to buy something that Lori wouldn't like + Don't know what she wouldn't like = Don't buy anything." So that is what we did. On to the next mission... bookcase for Will.
There is furniture at the Friday Market, too. So, we looked. "Will, how about this one?" "Nope." "That one?" "Nuh-uh." "That is a nice one." "Are you kidding, Dad?" Oh, we are still being stalked by the way. Poor guy has been following us for nearly 30 minutes. I'm sure he is muttering, "Come on, man, BUY SOMETHING!!!" But, in the end, there is nothing that fits what Will thinks he needs. I'm sure he would have liked just about anything I brought home (had I been shopping/hunting on my own), but nope. Next Lesson Learned: Do not go shopping with Will, at least until he learns the way to shop like a man.
Back to the car we head. Poor Indian guy gives up and searches for someone who will actually buy something. He'll probably remember me... not fondly.
Remember I said we parked too close? Well, it probably took us 20 minutes to reach the main street away from the Market, a distance of about 300 yards.
So, off to the IKEA store in search of a bookcase. Actually, this was going to be easy. Lori and I had been in IKEA a week or so ago and found a bookcase that we agreed would be perfect for Will. Don't know why we just didn't buy it then, but we didn't. IKEA is fairly close, within a mile, to the Friday Market so it didn't take us long to get there. There is great underground parking at The Avenues mall, where IKEA is, so under we went. It was packed. Whoever in Kuwait City was not at the Friday Market must have been at The Avenues.
We spent the next 30 minutes or so, inching up and down the rows of parking... searching for an open spot. Finally found one that lots of people were passing by (turns out good reason...). I'll take it. It was on the end of the row, so curb on one side and car on the other. This car, well actually the driver, managed to pull diagonally into a perpendicular parking spot with about half the car protruding into the empty spot there on the end. I'm thinking, "No problem, I drive an SUV, I'll just get one side of my car up on the curb and I'll be all set." So I did. No problem. Backed right into the spot, kinda close on the one side where the other car is, but once again my superior backing skills are up to the test.
Off to IKEA we go. Find the bookcase, pay for it, and head back to the car. The other car is still there. Load up our prize and off we go. Traffic in the underground parking area is still horrible. In typical man fashion, we were on a search-and-destroy (purchase) mission so we were only in IKEA for 15-20 minutes. As I inch my way out, I temporarily forget to remember how close to that other car I am and as I start to turn.... rub, rub, scratch, OUCH, his taillight bursts red plastic shards into the parking lot! Our cars have kissed. DANG IT!! (or other appropriate words)
Now, we are warned during our orientation, first day I think, that we do not want to get involved in a traffic accident for a number of reasons. But if we do, we are told, call this number right away. So I pull out my cell phone and dial the number. The voice of one of our Host Nations reps is calming and he assures me that he'll be there in 15 minutes. Call the police, he says. Okay. Nice. Everything will be okay. So I call the police. I ask for an English-speaking operator just like I was told. "Wait," she says. Okay. One minute, two, five... finally... So I tell them that I just had a vehicle accident, there are no injuries, could you please send the police (it is impossible to get a car fixed here after an accident unless there is a police report). The answer? "The police will come... Inshallah." Inshallah. Wait, not Inshallah. God willing? The police will come, God willing? Are you kidding me?
The other driver comes back. A nice Kuwaiti young woman, good English. I am apologizing for the trouble. She calls her brother, who also turns out to be very nice. So the brother and my Host Nations guy show up at about the same time. Lots of Arabic between them, but no bad vibe detected by me... standing there looking stupid. NEXT LESSON LEARNED: I REALLY have to learn some Arabic. Now we wait for the cops. After about 30 minutes, we mutually decide it will be much faster to go to the nearest police station. Guess where? The Friday Market. During this time, we decide (actually the brother asks the Host Nations guy who asks me) if it is okay that we do all the police stuff with him and not his sister. No problem. The Host Nations guy asks if I mind saying it was my fault so we can make the process simpler. No problem, it was my fault... mostly.
We get there. Find a parking spot. More like "make" a parking spot. I am careful not to park too close to anyone. We enter the police station and my Host Nations guy is talking to the guy at the desk. They do not have a traffic investigator there. Great. The cop at the desk does some sort of preliminary report that we need to take to another police station. Back to the cars, fight traffic back out to the main road, and off to the other police station.
Okay, time reference. Our cars kissed at about 3:15 pm. It is now 5 pm.
We walk into the police station and see there are a number of people sitting. Every so often, one of them gets up and looks in the investigator's office. He is there, but (apparently) not doing much. The guy behind the desk tells us to have a seat, the investigator will be with us "Inshallah." Not again...
6 comes and goes. So does 7. About 8, the Host Nations guy and the brother go to a nearby shop and get Pepsi and candybars for all of us. Will is still with me. At about 9, the Host Nations guy tells me that we can either stay until the investigator gets to us, who knows when that will be... Inshallah, I guess... or we can come back Saturday night at 10pm when the investigator is on shift again. I am ready to go home, so we do.
Now Saturday night 10 pm. Remember, Kuwait is on a Sunday-Thursday work week, so Saturday night is like a Sunday night back home. Nice and quiet. We get there at 10 (just me and the Host Nations guy and the brother, not Will). Wow! Same faces as the night before... cue the Twilight Zone theme... But the investigator is not there yet. Not at 10:15. Not at 10:30. Not at 11. Finally, at about 11:15 pm, the guy shows up. We were not there first. He finally gets around to us at 11:45. He looks at our vehicles, and has the brother explain what happened. This is good. He wasn't even there... and he conveniently leaves out (I discover later) that his car was half in my parking spot. But, hey, since we are all lying anyway what does a little piece of truth matter?
The Host Nations guy tells me to sign the two forms the investigator hands in my direction. I do. One, I later discover, is an acknowledgement that I was at fault and that a court would decide, at some later date, my fine. The other is the accident report. It is now 12:15 am. And I head home to bed and wait for my alarm to ring at 4:30 am.
The cars were barely damaged. Insurance will take care of my new friend's busted tail light. They aren't even going to fix the paint scratches on my car. Over 8 hours of my life wasted because a Kuwaiti girl couldn't pull straight into a parking stall and I forgot to keep that in mind when I pulled out of my parking stall. Life is good.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
New Family Members
Just a quick note to say "hello" to the two newest members of our 'ohana, Colton and Panaewa. We are so happy that babies and Mommies are all doing well. Congrats to Kristi and Erik and Napua and Kirk.
Random Thoughts for mid-January
I hope you are impressed. Two days in a row for posting. I don't know how I'll be able to keep up.
Hopefully, I'll be able to talk the rest of my brood into writing their own thoughts here so that you, dear reader, will not be subject only to the rantings, ravings, or otherwise disjointed thoughts that seem to crash through my own consiousness (or unconsciousness, as the case may be).
I am constantly amazed by our children. In both positive and negative ways. I am guessing that my parents said that about my siblings and me. I am guessing that many (most? all?) parents say that about their children. For one child, I am so very proud of the outstanding young adult she has become. For another, I am impressed with her ability to find a friend (or to make one) wherever she goes. And for the other, I am astonished by his athletic abilities that seem to appear at every turn (sport) he takes. They are all loving and caring people and I am glad that I have been able to watch them grow. I'll reserve commenting on the negative amazement, because that is sooooo overshadowed by the positive stuff that it was barely worth mentioning.
I grow more deeply in love with my bride every day. I am thankful that she chose me. She is my staunchest supporter, my best friend, my love. Thanks for keeping me on the straight and narrow path, babe. That she continues to put up with me, my idiosyncracies (not that I have any weird habits), my hair-brained ideas and my faults (of which I have few... right, babe?), is staggering to me. I am truly blessed.
Hopefully, I'll be able to talk the rest of my brood into writing their own thoughts here so that you, dear reader, will not be subject only to the rantings, ravings, or otherwise disjointed thoughts that seem to crash through my own consiousness (or unconsciousness, as the case may be).
I am constantly amazed by our children. In both positive and negative ways. I am guessing that my parents said that about my siblings and me. I am guessing that many (most? all?) parents say that about their children. For one child, I am so very proud of the outstanding young adult she has become. For another, I am impressed with her ability to find a friend (or to make one) wherever she goes. And for the other, I am astonished by his athletic abilities that seem to appear at every turn (sport) he takes. They are all loving and caring people and I am glad that I have been able to watch them grow. I'll reserve commenting on the negative amazement, because that is sooooo overshadowed by the positive stuff that it was barely worth mentioning.
I grow more deeply in love with my bride every day. I am thankful that she chose me. She is my staunchest supporter, my best friend, my love. Thanks for keeping me on the straight and narrow path, babe. That she continues to put up with me, my idiosyncracies (not that I have any weird habits), my hair-brained ideas and my faults (of which I have few... right, babe?), is staggering to me. I am truly blessed.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Inspired to post
First, my apologies for the LOOOONNNNGGGG delay in posting. What can I say, I was lazy. Sorry. Next.
Having spent nearly all my adult life on active duty in the US Army, it is no wonder that friends and acquaintances come into and exit my sphere fairly frequently. It is also no wonder that some friends and acquaintances enter the sphere for a reason.
One such friend does not yet know how he affected me, this post will be his first inkling assuming he reads it which I assume he will. Leave it to say that, knowingly or not, he really has had a strong positive influence in my life. I admire the things he has accomplished, I want to go to some of the places he's been (some not), and though we see each other infrequently (would 4 times in 10 years count?), I consider him a good friend. Anyway, he recently resolved to write in his blog more frequently. He has been posting to a blog for some time, but considered that he had been "lax" (my word, not his) and resolved in the new year to post more frequently. He made this commitment publicly in an e-mail to several friends. I had no idea he was a poster. I had SOME idea that he was a good writer. Scratch that, I knew he was an excellent writer. What I did not know was the depth of his imagination.
I admit that I have taken some time from work to peruse some of his postings, and I'll make that up to the Company later. I have chuckled, laughed, raised an eyebrow (yes, just one... like another friend of mine taught me... a skill that still amazes my teenaged children... ahhhh, I love the mystique of it all), and even done an OMG! (check www.acronymfinder.com if you don't know what that acronym means)
So, here's to you, Jervis. You have inspired me once again! I resolve to post more often, too!!
Having spent nearly all my adult life on active duty in the US Army, it is no wonder that friends and acquaintances come into and exit my sphere fairly frequently. It is also no wonder that some friends and acquaintances enter the sphere for a reason.
One such friend does not yet know how he affected me, this post will be his first inkling assuming he reads it which I assume he will. Leave it to say that, knowingly or not, he really has had a strong positive influence in my life. I admire the things he has accomplished, I want to go to some of the places he's been (some not), and though we see each other infrequently (would 4 times in 10 years count?), I consider him a good friend. Anyway, he recently resolved to write in his blog more frequently. He has been posting to a blog for some time, but considered that he had been "lax" (my word, not his) and resolved in the new year to post more frequently. He made this commitment publicly in an e-mail to several friends. I had no idea he was a poster. I had SOME idea that he was a good writer. Scratch that, I knew he was an excellent writer. What I did not know was the depth of his imagination.
I admit that I have taken some time from work to peruse some of his postings, and I'll make that up to the Company later. I have chuckled, laughed, raised an eyebrow (yes, just one... like another friend of mine taught me... a skill that still amazes my teenaged children... ahhhh, I love the mystique of it all), and even done an OMG! (check www.acronymfinder.com if you don't know what that acronym means)
So, here's to you, Jervis. You have inspired me once again! I resolve to post more often, too!!
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