Succulent Redux

I'm really digging succulents these days. Growing up in  1970's California, I didn't think succulents were anything special. They just were--everywhere. Especially the ubiquitous jade plant. Now they are stirring up memories--like those of my mom's Sunset magazines, with all its pictures of terraced gardens, natural, modern interiors, and "new" western food. My mom planted those gardens, decorated accordingly, and made those recipes.

 And now I'm appreciating the colors, textures, and lines of the succulents too.

A gardening friend let me clip these starts from his large succulent garden early this morning and I arranged them all in a tarnished brass pot that I picked up in Damascus, oh, about 24 years ago. As they grow, I plan to replace the larger plants with smaller starts. Who knows were it will all lead... I haven't had much time for creative endeavors lately, so arranging this living bouquet was very satisfying. 

Olive Harvest

One of the really wonderful things about living in the Middle East is olives. You can eat them at any meal and anytime in between. A man of humble means told Dear Husband that "olives make a meal", and that is true, especially when a meal might otherwise be bread and tea.

And, one of the wonderful things about living in Mafraq is our yard, in which grow five mature olive trees that produce good olives. Dear Husband, due to his great success last year of curing two gallons of olives, both green and black, has received the moniker "Abu Zaytoon" (Father of Olives). Even with rationing, we ran out of his delicious olives by June, so this year we begged him to prepare more, much more, than last year.

A couple local workers picked our olives one day last week, setting aside the best for curing. Dear Husband will have the rest pressed for oil. The first step is measuring--how many jars would we need to buy this year?

Next comes the sorting: black olives, large green olives with a little color, and smaller green olives. 

 

The next step is the most time consuming: slicing three small slits in each olive. This process took Dear Husband about three evenings. Note the (new) coal/wood stove in the corner of our sun porch. We are officially country folk.

Dear Husband received all his curing instruction and advice from one of the workers who picked our olives. Jordanians have varying opinions on the best way to cure olives, but since this worker's advice yielded such good results last year, Dear Husband is following his instructions again this year. He used two different methods to cure this year's harvest: one method for the black olives and another for the green.

                                

After slitting the black olives, Dear Husband salted them and put them in the sun, such as it is in early December. The salting was repeated for four days. After four days, he soaked the olives in water for about an hour to extract much of the salt, and packed them in jars with olive oil. The salting draws the bitterness out of the olives so it is possible to eat them now, though they will mellow further as they soak in the olive oil.

 

After the green olives are slit, they are soaked in water, which Dear Husband changed daily, for three days.

The  green olives are now ready to be placed in jars of brine. Exactly how much salt do you put in the water for a good brine? The traditional measure: keep adding salt until an egg floats. That is 1/2 cup to 2 liters of water, but measuring cups are an American convention, so the egg float method is really best.

Dear husband also adds 1/4 cup white vinegar. Lemons, which Dear Husband plans to add a week into the brining process, can also be added at this point, as can hot peppers. The olives will be ready for eating in about five to six weeks.

The jars of olives take a proud sentinel position on our kitchen pantry shelf o'plenty. Dear Husband thought me a little silly when I told him that one of the satisfactions of preserving food is looking at the jars of pretty food stored up for the future enjoyment. I have since seen him standing back and admiring the jars of olives he prepared. The patient waiting begins.

Yislam 'idayk,  Ya Abu Zaytoon! (God's peace on your hands, O Father of Olives)

Update: The olives have been pressed and the yield is considered low this year. A good oil yield is 16 % of the raw olive weight and this year the yield was 13%, so our 66 kilograms of olives yielded just over nine kilograms of oil. (1 kilogram = 2.21 pounds)

House Tour~ The Salon

Welcome to our "salon", also known as gurfit id'dayuf, or guest room. When we first moved to Jordan 22 years ago, I was put off by the formality of the Arab guest room. Popular furniture sets were in the style of of Louis XVI, with elaborate curlicues and gilding, and entire walls were draped in heavy fabric. One didn't purchase individual pieces of furniture, but rather a complete seven seat set (couch, love-seat, two chairs) all upholstered in the same fabric.

Our salon, as decorated here, is how I've made peace with the concept of a formal guest room. We had this set of furniture made (common here) about 15 years ago and I chose complimentary fabrics rather than just one for all the seats. In a bold move, I also mixed chair styles. Some of my friends really liked it and some others asked why I didn't use all the same fabric. This is the largest room in our home, and the dimensions/layout are almost exactly those of our previous home. While I have eschewed the opulent faux-crystal chandeliers, I have embraced the oriental carpets.

A view from the front sunroom entrance

Ideally the couch would be away from the door, and we may still move it, as the most inside seat, the one farthest from the door, is considered the most honorable place to seat a guest. Often a guest will begin to take the seat closest to the door, but the host who seeks to honor his guest should insist that he be seated away from the door. Nesting tables which are located between the two larger chairs are essential furniture as they are placed near the guests when refreshments are served. Here is a view taken from the other end of the salon:

The other end of our salon in our formal dining area. I am lacking the traditional, ornate china cupboard, but have instead an antique Damascus wedding chest, with which Dear Husband surprised me on our 20th wedding anniversary.

It is made of heavy oak (the lid is all one piece) and is inlaid with mother of pearl outlined with silver. Dear Husband once wondered aloud what we would do with it if we ever move overseas to which a male friend instantly replied, "Take it with you, of course." I told our friend thank you, of course!

The main modification we made to this room before we moved in was adding the large, Arab-style double door which opens up into our family room. We usually keep the doors open but can also close them when Dear Husband is entertaining male guests.

That completes the tour of the two rooms of our home that I keep picked-up and uncluttered all the time. The other rooms will likely need to be tidied before I photograph them!

House Tour~The Sun Room

We've been in our new home for two months now, boxes are all unpacked, furniture arranged, light fixtures installed; all that remains are a few pictures to be hung and a few window shades to install. This is our new home thanks dear friends whose home it was for 14 years before we moved to Mafraq. Planning to spend at least a year back in the States on an extended leave, they decided they wanted to give up their house and offered it to us, sparing us the laborious task of searching for a new apartment in a city where good rentals aren't readily available, let alone realty companies or want-ads to help you find them.

Our "flat" is the bottom floor of this traditional middle-aged Jordanian home. A young couple lives in one of the flats upstairs and the other is presently empty. As you can see, we have a large front yard with lots of dirt--which Dear Husband ordered in shortly after we moved. We brought the stones from our garden in Amman and a few perennials, which we are getting planted. (And, the trees were pruned today, after this picture was taken)

The big tree on the left is a bitter pomegranate--not sure why anyone would want one of those, but it is pretty--and the the little (look hard) tree on the right is a sweet pomegranate which Dear Husband recently planted. He likes symmetry! We have about five olive trees, seven or eight lemon trees, and a small pomelo tree. Oh, and a lowquat tree. I'll take another picture in the spring when, hopefully, the flowers will be more visible. I am so thankful for this yard! It is very unusual to have such a big yard in this city. When I look out the front windows, I feel like I am looking out into a park.

Into the house...

This is our second house in Jordan to have a south-facing sun room. I think every house should have a sun room, even a small one, and it is to this room that people gravitate for a few moments alone in the morning or afternoon with a book and a cup of tea. When Oldest Daughter was still at home, the sun room was her favorite place to practice the violin. I miss that.

This is the straight-on view when you come through our front door. The large double doors lead to the family room and the interior of the house.

To the right, is a narrower set of doors which lead into the sitting room, or guest salon and dining room. Traditional Arab homes have doors which close off guest rooms from the rest of the house so that men can visit the husband while the rest of the family, particularly the women, can carry on with living, uninhibited, in the rest of the house. Dear husband sometimes has guests which I never even see.

To the left is the sitting area of the sun room, and more plants. I'm not very clever with houseplants but I have learned of two that love direct sun: ivy and ficus. Thus I have have three ficus trees and three ivies happily thriving here. The nifty old black trunk (It has Ramallah via Jerusalem stamped on the side) on the left is my... linen closet. It really is. Jordanian homes usually don't have built in closets, instead we have cupboards, wardrobes, and trunks for storage.

This photo shows the the bright sunlight steaming through the sun room window. The bars on the windows are for protection. Robberies are rare and they say that the iron bars are the reason why. I'm used to them now and they even seem kind of decorative. They also offer protection to small children who like to hang out upper-story windows.

This is my new-ish succulent garden. Two or the plants are aloe-vera, which we really do use to sooth burns and other skin irritations. The others are new to the market here and I jumped on the succulent-fad band wagon a bought a few for our home. They remind me of my California childhood, so for me it is a retro-garden. I'm hoping to plant a succulent garden outside this spring.

New Rhythms

~morning serenade of the Jordanian national anthem (Long Live the King) by the boys school across the street

~frozen lemonade cups in the afternoon
Such a simple idea (thanks Trish) and so amazingly refreshing. If you are aren't patient enough for it to thaw a little, you can put forth the effort to shave the lemon ice. We've enjoyed one every afternoon since we've were introduced to them, and we try to keep enough in the freezer for drop-in guests.

~the gentle and rhythmic cooing of a nearby dove

~dusting, dusting, and more dusting
Living in Amman for many years I am no stranger to dust, but it is mild compared to Mafraq dust. A dusting cloth mostly did the job in Amman, but since moving to Mafraq we have armed ourselves with the bouquet of microfiber dusters shown below:

Two large dusters for general use with one hanging at the ready in the kitchen. Tayta and Artist Son have their own smaller duster for their room and I keep another small one by the computer.

~the whir of the fan over the stove and a new-to-me dishwasher
I haven't had an stove fan or dishwasher since moving to Jordan so after washing dishes for a family of six and hundreds of guests by hand, a dishwasher almost seems superfluous, but my friends who have one tell me it most definitely is not. Tayta concurs. A generous US embassy friend gifted me hers when her husband finished his Amman post this summer. When we first installed it a Swiss electrician, who works in Mafraq and was checking our electricity, pronounced it unsafe (putting out a high unprotected voltage, or something like that) and didn't think he could fix it but with a couple hours of work and a new part, he did. Thank you Christoph!

~a room with a view--actually, a few
Guarding our front garden wall stands a sentinel of green, albeit dusty, pine trees, and lemon and pomegranate trees refresh the views from bedroom and kitchen windows. Behind the garden wall and trees: more dust, lots of empty chip bags and candy wrappers from the students of the boys school and a graffiti covered concrete wall. I'm thankful for the trees and for the foresight of our landlord.

It takes a heap o'living'

As we prepare to move from our home of ten years and from the city that has been home for 23, many of the sentiments conveyed in this poem mirror my own. Thank you, Mr. Guest. And thank you, Tayta, for bringing this poem to my attention . You are so good at making those poetic connections which bring beauty into our home.

Home
~Edgar A. Guest

It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make it home,
A heap o' sun an' shadder, an' ye sometimes have t' roam
Afore ye really 'preciate the things ye lef' behind,
An' hunger fer 'em somehow, with 'em allus on yer mind.
It don't make any differunce how rich ye get t' be,
How much yer chairs an' tables cost, how great yer luxury;
It ain't home t' ye, though it be the palace of a king,
Until somehow yer soul is sort o' wrapped round everything.

Home ain't a place that gold can buy or get up in a minute;
Afore it's home there's got t' be a heap o' livin' in it;
Within the walls there's got t' be some babies born, and then
Right there ye've got t' bring 'em up t' women good, an' men;
And gradjerly, as time goes on, ye find ye wouldn't part
With anything they ever used -- they've grown into yer heart:
The old high chairs, the playthings, too, the little shoes they wore
Ye hoard; an' if ye could ye'd keep the thumb marks on the door.

Ye've got t' weep t' make it home, ye've got t' sit an' sigh
An' watch beside a loved one's bed, an' know that Death is nigh;
An' in the stillness o' the night t' see Death's angel come,
An' close the eyes o' her that smiled,
an' leave her sweet voice dumb.
Fer these are scenes that grip the heart,
an' when yer tears are dried,
Ye find the home is dearer than it was, an' sanctified;
An' tuggin' at ye always are the pleasant memories
O' her that was an' is no more -- ye can't escape from these.

Ye've got t' sing an' dance fer years, ye've got t' romp an' play,
An' learn t' love the things ye have by usin' 'em each day;
Even the roses 'round the porch must blossom year by year
Afore they 'come a part o' ye, suggestin' someone dear
Who used t' love 'em long ago, an' trained 'em jes' t' run
The way they do, so's they would get the early mornin' sun;
Ye've got t' love each brick an' stone from cellar up t' dome:
It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make it home.

I wish I had the time to insert meaningful images which play through my mind as I read this poem. Someday. As important as it is to remember, right now I must use what emotional and physical energy I have to close up this home well and let my heart fill with anticipation for the next place we will make home.

Lessons from Miss Suzy

As a parent and educator I am ever thinking about how I might help my children love what they ought to love and in the proper degree. I wrote a little about that some months ago. Recently an online friend wrote about books being one of the most effective tools to help our children develop this moral imagination. And though I am usually thinking about literature and the ideas it embodies, developing the moral imagination of my children, this week, as I neatened up a bookshelf in our home and came across a favorite childhood book of mine, I pondered how it had influenced my moral imagination.



"Oh I love to cook, I love to bake, I guess I'll make an acorn cake!"

I thank my mom for introducing me to good books. Miss Suzy was one of a number of books she purchased for me on subscription from the Parents' Magazine Press. And while Miss Suzy may not be classic literature it was a beloved story of my childhood, of my sibling's childhoods, and my children's childhood.

When I was young, I loved the idea of coziness and Miss Suzy's existence was, to me, the epitome of coziness. Her home was fitted simply but cozily with homemade acorn cups, a maple twig broom, and firefly lamps, and sat at the tip, tip, top of a tall oak tree.

"At night Miss Suzy climbed into her bed and looked through the topmost branches at the sky. She saw a million stars. And the wind blew gently and rocked her to sleep. It was very peaceful."

The picture of Miss Suzy, snuggled under her thick comforter, looking out her window, is etched in my memory.

Unfortunately, a band of marauding red squirrels ran Miss Suzy out of her home and she escaped to the attic of an old house. In the attic she found an old doll house, elegantly fitted with flowered carpets, china dishes, and gold chandeliers. As the house had been vacant and everything was covered in dust, Miss Suzy set about cleaning and putting everything in order.

Next, she found a box in the attic and upon opening it discovered a band of toy soldiers. Set free by Miss Suzy, they came to live in the doll house where she cared for them, cooking their meals and tucking them in at night with a story.

As time passes, Miss Suzy became increasingly homesick for her little house in the oak tree; she told the toy soldiers the story of the her home and how the red squirrels had chased her away.

"Late that night the captain woke his men and gave them their orders. There were only five of them, but they were very brave, and their hearts were full of love..."

The toy soldiers chased the red squirrels from Miss Suzy's home so she moved back in and made the soldiers promise to come for dinner once every week. Miss Suzy then went to work setting her little home in order;

"she had to work very hard to make her old home as neat and cozy as it had been before, but she didn't mind."

I chuckled to myself as I reflected on this story, which was formative in my life, as today it would definitely not be considered politically correct: a female protagonist finds contentment in cooking, baking, and caring for her home. She then devotes herself to caring for a band of male toy soldiers, who in turn fight for her when she needs them. Interestingly, I noticed on Miss Suzy's Amazon page that this book has received 133 reviews--132 readers rated it with five stars and one rated it with four. Maybe there is something to this homemaking business? I'm buying a copy of this book for each of my children to take with them into their future homes.

Longing for Home

Even before reading Oldest Daughter's plaintive and pitiable Facebook status yesterday morning-- "no inclement weather, please. i want to go home."--I had noticed a status trend developing over the past couple of weeks:

I can't wait to go home!
One more final and I'm home
3 more days!

From Odysseus striving towards Ithaca, to the Israelites wandering in exile, to the throngs of college students flooding airports, man longs to return home. Or, like Abram and Aeneas, he searches to find home.

As I reflected on the meaning of home, my thoughts dancing back and forth between the physical and the metaphysical ideas of home, distinct yet intertwined, I considered that the meanings were inseparable . The hope of home is a theme woven throughout the Biblical narrative; it is also one of the sublime themes God writes on the hearts of all men, a theme that is woven into the narratives of our lives. Perhaps this is something of what the author of Ecclesiastes meant when he said that God has put eternity into the heart of man.

But, what is this hope of home, this longing for a place where we will find familiarity, completion, acceptance, rest? G.K. Chesterton says it beautifully in the last stanza of his poem The Christmas House:

To an open house in the evening Home shall men come,
To an older place than Eden And a taller town than Rome.
To the end of the way of the wandering star,
To the things that cannot be and that are,
To the place where God was homeless
And all men are at home.

In his book, Prodigal God, Tim Keller writes about home, "The houses we inhabit are only inns along the way."

Jesus is the homeland, the home, the rest. The Incarnation, God come into his created world makes it possible for us to come home.