Art Show

This year has been an artful adventure for our family as Artist Son has worked his way through the Advanced Placement (AP) Studio Art-Drawing course. I say it has been an adventure for our family (the four of us at home) because although it was Artist Son who spent up to 15 hours a week thinking, composing, sketching and drawing, we the played the role of supportive patrons who had a lot to learn about what it takes to make art.

As the end of the course approached and we realized that Artist Son had produced 24 final drawings, we decided he should put on an art show--with his agreement, of course. Dear Husband rose to the challenge of turning our adjoining sun porch, living room, and family room into an art gallery: furniture was moved, drawings were hung, easels were improvised. Tayta made cakes--four of them, and it was a good thing as many friends showed up to see Artist's Son's work and to encourage and support him.

Artist Son provided helpful Gallery Notes with an brief explanation of each drawing.


We weren't able to hang all the pieces at eye-level, but that didn't stop some of the serious art aficionados from getting close enough to appreciate the detail Artist Son accomplished in his stippled drawing.

I was impressed to see and hear some of the particulars that Artist Son's friends noticed and appreciated in his drawings.

Yesterday Artist Son hit the button and submitted his online digital portfolio and today DHL picked up his five piece quality portfolio which will be delivered to the AP readers in the US. He hopes (okay, okay, mom is hoping more than he is, but...) to post his entire portfolio online in the near future, but short of that I will post my very favorite piece from his portfolio.

I get a little teary when I look at it for any length of time. The piece is titled, "Boredom" and it is one of the pieces that was sent off today in the quality portfolio. It is a self-portrait and the setting is the side yard of our house. The bar he is hanging from used to bear a grape-vine and the trees in the distance are olive trees. A dear friend who has had three teen-age boys also picked this one as her favorite. We should receive this drawing back sometime this summer and Artist Son says I may have it. It will be one of my treasures.

Pioneer Woman's Cinnamon Rolls--With Improvements

I realize that I make a bold statement by claiming to improve on Pioneer Woman's cinnamon rolls. Pioneer Woman, herself, says, "If I had to pick one recipe of mine that I could incontrovertibly claim is the best there is, it would most definitely be cinnamon rolls. " And she is supported by thousands of readers, many of which publicly back her claim. I agree, this recipe is the best I've ever tried--with a few modifications.

I have been making cinnamon rolls for many years using just two recipes: for many years I used Fanny Farmer's recipe and a few years ago I started using a Betty Crocker recipe which used mashed potatoes in the dough. Most of the time these rolls turned out well, but the dough wasn't consistently great. I finally gave Pioneer Woman's widely acclaimed recipe a whirl a few months ago. The dough is wonderfully soft, yet not sticky, and very easy to work with. It rises perfectly every time, not just most of the time. And, the PW's signature icing includes my favorite cinnamon roll flavors: maple and coffee. I had been making maple icing for some time, but never thought to add the coffee--perfect!

My "improvements":

• Add two tablespoons of ground cinnamon to the dough. These are, after all, cinnamon rolls. We tried the first batch without this addition and found the dough to be a little bland.
• Cut the salt to 2 teaspoons.
  
• Seriously reduce the amount of butter spread on the rolled dough. PW's recipe calls for 1 1/2-2 cups melted butter. Instead, I used 1/2 cup softened butter, spread on the dough with a butter knife or small spatula.
  
• Instead of 1 cup of white sugar I spread 1 1/4 cup brown sugar on the rolled dough.
• I cut the delicious poured maple/coffee icing recipe in half and instead of pouring, I spread it with a small rubber spatula. Half a recipe added plenty of sweetness to these rolls--even sweet-tooth Tatya agrees.

As I cruise around the recipe blogs I am humbled by the fantastic photography and detailed pictorial tutorials. I just don't have the time or inclination to do all that so here is my Pioneer Woman's Cinnamon Rolls--with improvements--Recipe in basic black and white, or you can follow PW's fab tutorial. PW keeps it real, I keep it simple:

Phase 1
-Mix in a heavy bottom pan:
1 cup sugar
1 cup oil
1 quart whole milk
-Heat to scalding and take off the stove.
-Let cool for 45-60 minutes--until it is lukewarm and the right temperature for mixing in the yeast.
-dissolve 5 teaspoons yeast (2 US packets) in the milk mixture and let sit for a few minutes until the yeast begins to react.
-mix 2 Tablespoons cinnamon with 8 cups of flours and then add the flour mixture to the milk mixture and mix thoroughly.
-Cover with a cotton dishtowel and let rise for 1 hour or a little more.

Phase 2
-The dough should have risen nicely in an hours time. Next, mix together:
1 cup flour
1 heaping teaspoon baking powder
1 scant teaspoon baking soda
2 teaspoons salt
-Add this flour mixture to the risen dough, stirring to mix well.

Phase 3
-On a floured surface, roll out half the dough into a roughly rectangular shape (not too thin).
-Spread with half a stick of softened butter.
-Spread 1/2-3/4 cup brown sugar over the butter.
-Sprinkle some more cinnamon over the the brown sugar. Hint: I add just a little white sugar to ground cinnamon which I put in an old spice bottle/shaker. The added sugar makes it easier to distribute the cinnamon evenly.
-At this point you could add some chopped walnuts before you roll up the dough--Dear Husband always appreciates this effort.
-Roll up the dough.
-Slice into rolls. I slice my rolls about 1 1/2 inches each and I usually end up with about 15-16 rolls per half-batch, 30-32 total.
-Place rolls , not quite touching (or just barely touching), in a greased baking pan.

At this point you can let the rolls rise another 30 minutes and then bake, or you can cover and refrigerate them overnight, and bake them in the morning. I've done both and they turn out equally good.
-Bake for about 18 minutes at 375 degrees F, or until golden.

PW's Crowning Touch: The Maple-Coffee Icing:

1 pound powdered sugar
1 teaspoon maple flavoring
1/4 cup milk
2 Tablespoons brewed coffee
2 Tablespoons melted butter
pinch salt

Spread over cinnamon rolls--I use a small rubber spatula--about 3-5 minutes after the rolls come out of the oven. Let cool and enjoy!

Note Bene: You can also refrigerate the dough before rolling it out, if you have or need the time. This makes the dough a bit firmer and just a little easier to work with.

My kitchen has seen the production of nearly 300 cinnamon rolls over the past couple of weeks: Tayta made (with my advisory help) a quadruple batch to raise money for her sister's Kickstarter project and tonight, Tayta and her two friends made another quadruple batch to sell at the ball field tomorrow. This time they are raising money to help rescue young woman from human trafficking bondage. Their youth group, spurred on by the vision of one of these dear young girls, has raised over $400 to help these young women.

Email Subscriptions to Quotidian Life

This might be a good way-to-keep-in-touch solution for:

(a) friends (and family) who don't get on the internet much, and when they do, don't think to check blogs.

(b) friends who are tired of clicking on only to find I haven't updated.(Springtime in particular seems to be a high-living, low-blogging time of year.)

Thanks to Blogger's new service, you can sign up for email notifications of Quotidian Life blog updates--see the sidebar on the right.

THE CROSS
by John Donne

SINCE Christ embraced the cross itself, dare I
His image, th' image of His cross, deny ?
Would I have profit by the sacrifice,
And dare the chosen altar to despise ?
It bore all other sins, but is it fit
That it should bear the sin of scorning it ?
Who from the picture would avert his eye,
How would he fly his pains, who there did die ?
From me no pulpit, nor misgrounded law,
Nor scandal taken, shall this cross withdraw,
It shall not, for it cannot ; for the loss
Of this cross were to me another cross.
Better were worse, for no affliction,
No cross is so extreme, as to have none.
Who can blot out the cross, with th' instrument
Of God dew'd on me in the Sacrament ?
Who can deny me power, and liberty
To stretch mine arms, and mine own cross to be ?
Swim, and at every stroke thou art thy cross ;
The mast and yard make one, where seas do toss ;
Look down, thou spiest out crosses in small things ;
Look up, thou seest birds raised on crossed wings ;
All the globe's frame, and spheres, is nothing else
But the meridians crossing parallels.
Material crosses then, good physic be,
But yet spiritual have chief dignity.
These for extracted chemic medicine serve,
And cure much better, and as well preserve.
Then are you your own physic, or need none,
When still'd or purged by tribulation ;
For when that cross ungrudged unto you sticks,
Then are you to yourself a crucifix.
As perchance carvers do not faces make,
But that away, which hid them there, do take ;
Let crosses, so, take what hid Christ in thee,
And be His image, or not His, but He.
But, as oft alchemists do coiners prove,
So may a self-despising get self-love ;
And then, as worst surfeits of best meats be,
So is pride, issued from humility,
For 'tis no child, but monster ; therefore cross
Your joy in crosses, else, 'tis double loss.
And cross thy senses, else both they and thou
Must perish soon, and to destruction bow.
For if the eye seek good objects, and will take
No cross from bad, we cannot 'scape a snake.
So with harsh, hard, sour, stinking ; cross the rest ;
Make them indifferent ; call, nothing best.
But most the eye needs crossing, that can roam,
And move ; to th' others th' objects must come home.
And cross thy heart ; for that in man alone
Pants downwards, and hath palpitation.
Cross those dejections, when it downward tends,
And when it to forbidden heights pretends.
And as the brain through bony walls doth vent
By sutures, which a cross's form present,
So when thy brain works, ere thou utter it,
Cross and correct concupiscence of wit.
Be covetous of crosses; let none fall ;
Cross no man else, but cross thyself in all.
Then doth the cross of Christ work faithfully
Within our hearts, when we love harmlessly
That cross's pictures much, and with more care
That cross's children, which our crosses are.

...and a wonderful meditation on the cross by Peter Leithart.

Camping Food

Frozen hot dogs, peanut butter and jelly, pita bread, fruit, chips, and potatoes wrapped in foil which didn't bake through as I didn't know to pre-cook them, all unceremoniously carted down to the Rummana campsite in plastic shopping bags, sustained us during our first Wadi Dana camping adventures beginning about thirteen years ago. We've come a long way since then, each year learning a bit more about the fine art of preparing camping food that not only nourishes but also provides pleasure--and sometimes even a little envy from our friends at the next camping table. But it is envy in good fun: we enjoy sharing with each other the best of what we bring and we tuck away new ideas of what we'll bring the next year.

One of our first family camping trips to Wadi Dana---the frozen hot dog days. (This picture graced our Christmas card that year. I had planned to take the picture in Dana and had instructed the kids that the family picture must be endured FIRST--thus our cleanliness--and then they could go off and play with their friends.)

Back at the Bedouin/Eating Tent:

When we first began camping at Dana we couldn't find a cooler or a decent camp chair to bring with us but we now have a large white American cooler, third hand from an American Embassy family who brought it in with their shipment. All non-perishable food is packed safely in Rubbermaid containers, hauled over as extra-baggage pieces over the years. We are camping in style! Below are recipes we enjoyed this year in Dana:


Camping Pasta Salad

This has become our traditional first lunch when we arrive at Wadi Dana. Thanks for this great camping meal idea goes to some Swiss friends whom Dear Husband and the boys camped with in Wadi Rum one summer. The pasta is precooked, drained, and stored in a ziploc bag. All the other ingredients are pre-cut and stored in baggies or small plastic containers. When we arrive at the campsite all we have to do is to mix the ingredients in a large bowl and dress it with olive oil and a little coarse sea salt and spices.

The ingredients for this salad are flexible, depending on what you have on hand, but here is what I used in Dana:

One 500 gr. bag pasta, cooked and drained
sliced olives
cubed mozzarella cheese
tomatoes (cherry or grape are nice but I used regular ones cut into chunks, too.)
chopped red and yellow peppers
olive oil
chopped fresh basil (or dry if you don't have fresh)
maybe a little lemon pepper and or sea salt

You could also saute some vegetables instead: onion, garlic, zucchini, eggplant. Just depends what you have on hand.

Fellow camper, Jackie, shared this great dip with us:

Black Bean Hummus

1 clove garlic
1 15 oz. can black beans, drain and reserve juice
2 Tablespoons lemon juice
1 1/2 Tablespoons tahini (sesame seed paste)
3/4 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper

Whirl all ingredients in the food processor, scraping down the sides. This is good served with pita chips--we make our own in Jordan!

This year the prize for the most ambitious camping dish goes goes to Tiffany. I could hardly believe my ears when I came back to the eating tent after an afternoon hike and Tayta ran up to inform me that Tiffany was making onion rings. "Really? Real onion rings? How is she doing that??" With a small propane burner and a small pot of boiling oil. Amazing. I would never have thought to attempt it. The onion rings were delicious and she made plenty to share. Here is the recipe she used from allrecipes.com.

A few more camping food notes:

• We now bring our french press with us so that we can enjoy coffee with the baked goods that Tayta provides;
• A typical Australian hamburger is served not with pickles but with sliced beets. Quite nice.
• Twice baked potatoes are a delicious substitute for baked potatoes. Made ahead of time and wrapped in foil, they need only be re-heated in the fire.

The Grandeur of God~Wadi Dana

Last week the city folk got out of town to enjoy each other and the unique beauty of a small yet grand corner of God's creation. We love Amman, but it is after all a city, and we anticipated--with no small hope of temperate weather--escaping the traffic, pollution, grimy streets, and winter-chilled houses for the warmth, wide open spaces, star filled night skies, and rugged beauty of Wadi Dana. I was hoping for, as writes Gerard Manley Hopkins, The Grandeur of God:

"The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod...

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs-
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings."

In the vastness of a nature never spent we joyfully rediscovered the dearest freshness deep down things.

I used to be an English-Garden-beauty kind of girl but now it is the expansive, sandstone terrain with its sparse but exquisite flora which captures my imagination.

The silence serenaded me as I walked the trails and sat on sandstone rocks, letting the sun melt away a couple months worth of winter chill.

I think I understand why so many migratory birds pass through Wadi Dana on their way to and from Europe: I can imagine they are enjoying themselves as I watch them float effortlessly through the gorge, riding from one wind current to another.

Palestinian Sunbird

The broom, in full, fragrant bloom was a-buzz with hundreds of bees. This particular bush was so big that I could easily imagine the prophet Elijah taking shelter under it as is mentioned in I Kings 19--without the bees!

This bird, among others, found it a choice shelter.


Rains had been light this year and flowers few, but once I focused my desert eyes I was not disappointed with the flora beauty I found.


Brightening the landscape in chartreuse clumps, the Euphorbia looked especially fine. And if one looked very carefully they could find a tasseled hyacinth putting on a show:

Leopoldia comoso

Somewhere along the way unruly clumps of wild mustard became more beautiful to me than beds of tulips...

and the late afternoon vision of desert sage than a bunch of long-stemmed roses.

I didn't spend all my time alone: we scrambled and hiked...

and otherwise enjoyed each other's company.

Our shrinking family--sniff, sniff. And when did Artist Son get so tall??


Up next: Wadi Dana, The Food

Resurrection Letters, Volume II~He Makes All Things New

From a favorite soundtrack for the Easter season:



"All Things New"

Come broken and weary,
Come battered and bruised 

My Jesus makes all things new, all things new 

Come lost and abandoned,
Come blown by the wind 

He'll bring you back home again, home again

Chorus:
Rise up oh you sleeper awake 

The light of the dawn is upon you 

Rise up oh you sleeper awake

He makes all things new

All things new 

come frozen with shame,
Come burning with guilt,
My Jesus loves you still, loves you still

Chorus 

Bridge:
The world was good, the world is fallen,
The world will be redeemed,
The world was good, the world is fallen,
The world will be redeemed 

So Hold on to the promise,
The stories are true.
My Jesus makes all things new,
The Dawn is upon you.



Chorus

Holy Sonnet XIV~John Donne

Batter my heart, three-person'd God ; for you
As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend ;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy ;
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

Tour for Peace

It has been a couple of months of twists and turns for Oldest Daughter, times of hard work, expectation, disappointment, revelation, and more hard work. What began as a vague but determined desire for continued musical growth and an opportunity to use the music God has given her to bring something good to the lives of others where it is greatly needed, developed into ideas which required persistent inquiries, networking, and arranging, and has culminated into the musical Tour for Peace project described in the Kickstarter project below.

If they are successful, Oldest Daughter (who will come out of anonymity on this blog for a time), and her good friend and fellow violinist, Holly Jenkins will spend several weeks this summer giving a free recital tour, hold free workshops and give lessons for youth in Jordan and Ramallah, in the Palestinian territories.


A brief word about Kickstarter: it is an online venue for funding creative projects. All projects must first be approved by Kickstarter before they can be launched. Projects are an all-or-nothing venture: If Lauren and Holly do not reach their goal of $6000 in the next 26 days, they will receive no funds and backers will not be obligated to meet their pledges. Thus, backers are not charged (via Amazon payments) until and unless the project if fully funded in the specified time.

They are off to a good start and are hoping for a rush of donations at the beginning so that they might attract the attention of the Kickstarter organizers and be featured on their site.

Thanks for taking a look and for considering this project!

Meditation XVII~John Donne

As part of our Great Books study, Artist Son and I read and considered some works by John Donne last week, works that I first read with Oldest Daughter and Active Son four years ago. So moved was I by Donne's poetry and prose that I looked forward to reading and discussing these works again with Artist Son. And though I didn't plan our study schedule so, I found that Donne's works offered timely meditations during this Lenten season. I thought to post some favorite poems and sonnets here in the coming few weeks before Easter but it is Donne's beautiful Meditation XVII which has been coming back to me as I think of God's children, particularly in Japan, Egypt, and Iraq, where many brothers and sisters are suffering, so I will begin with it. Today I attended the funeral of the father of a dear friend and it was on this poignant occasion that I recalled in community Donne's words, "any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."

MEDITATION XVII.

John Donne

PERCHANCE he for whom this bell tolls may be so ill as that he knows not it tolls for him. And perchance I may think myself so much better than I am, as that they who are about me, and see my state, may have caused it to toll for me, and I know not that. The church is catholic, universal, so are all her actions; all that she does, belongs to all. When she baptizes a child, that action concerns me; for that child is thereby connected to that head which is my head too, and ingraffed into that body, whereof I am a member. And when she buries a man, that action concerns me; all mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated; God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice; but God's hand is in every translation, and his hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves again, for that library where every book shall lie open to one another; as therefore the bell that rings to a sermon, calls not upon the preacher only, but upon the congregation to come; so this bell calls us all: but how much more me, who am brought so near the door by this sickness.

There was a contention as far as a suit (in which, piety and dignity, religion and estimation, were mingled) which of the religious orders should ring to prayers first in the morning; and it was determined, that they should ring first that rose earliest. If we understand aright the dignity of this bell, that tolls for our evening prayer, we would be glad to make it ours, by rising early, in that application, that it might be ours as well as his, whose indeed it is. The bell doth toll for him, that thinks it doth; and though it intermit again, yet from that minute, that that occasion wrought upon him, he is united to God. Who casts not up his eye to the sun when it rises? But who takes off his eye from a comet, when that breaks out? who bends not his ear to any bell, which upon any occasion rings? But who can remove it from that bell, which is passing a piece of himself out of this world?

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were; any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

Neither can we call this a begging of misery, or a borrowing of misery, as though we were not miserable enough of ourselves, but must fetch in more from the next house, in taking upon us the misery of our neighbors. Truly it were an excusable covetousness if we did; for affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath enough of it. No man hath afflicion enough, that is not matured and ripened by it, and made fit for God by that affliction. If a man carry treasure in bullion or in a wedge of gold, and have none coined into current moneys, his treasure will not defray him as he travels. Tribulation is treasure in the nature of it, but it is not current money in the use of it, except we get nearer and nearer our home, heaven, by it. Another may be sick too, and sick to death, and this affliction may lie in his bowels, as gold in a mine, and be of no use to him; but this bell that tells me of his affliction, digs out, and applies that gold to me: if by this consideration of another's danger, I take mine own into contemplation, and so secure myself, by making my recourse to my God, who is our only security.

I Am a Quilter

I've wanted to be a quilter for a long time. I was so sure of it that I took a quilting class 24 years ago in which I learned to pick fabrics and piece a small doll-sized quilt. I machine pieced the quilt but never quite got the hang of the hand quilting and repeatedly ripped out my uneven stitches. I set the quilt aside to "finish later"and when we moved to Jordan 22 years ago I packed up the small quilt, my cutting mat and and rotary cutter, because I was sure that I would be a quilter. Other projects that came along (remember counted cross-stitch?) as did four children, and then we decided to home educate those four children. Evenings were now spent reading and educating myself, not sewing and crafting.

circa 1987 doll quilt, not yet quilted

About two years ago, when Oldest Daughter began her second year of college, I made her a simple quilt from recycled denim and through the process of creating this quilt, realized that I had been a quilter all along--I had just to discover what kind of quilter I was! I was not a traditional quilter, choosing coordinating calicoes to cut into intricate, traditional patterns and hand quilt with patient precision. (That is my friend, a true quilting artist, Renae of Renae's Quilts, now a machine quilting industry innovator. Check out the amazing quilts in her gallery.)

Searching the internet for a binding tutorial, I came across Crazy Mom Quilts' site and my quilting imagination was awakened. This was the kind of quilter I wanted to be--on a more basic level, of course--making simple, modern, bold quilts which could be machine quilted. Ever in need of keeping it simple, not to mention affordable in Jordan, I decided to limit my quilting--at least the tops--to recyclable materials.

Next up would be a denim quilt for Active Son to take to college with him. It wasn't finished when he moved into the dorms last fall, but I was able to give it to him before we left the States in early January. And though I had purchased a couple of inspirational modern quilting books:







it was to Crazy Mom Quilts' site I returned, using her Fair Square quilt pattern and tutorial.

Active Son's Quilt

The top of the quilt is made of recycled--or upcycled, as they now say--denim shirts. I used jeans for Oldest daughters quilt but it was tied. As I planned to machine quilt this one, I thought I'd better use a lighter weight fabric; is a good thing I did. When I chose oh-so-soft minky fabric for the back of the quilt to please oh-so-tactile Active son, I didn't realize, having never machine quilted before, how difficult I had made things for myself.

I used a walking foot for quilting but I didn't have a proper quilting table/extension on my machine which made the machine quilting laborious and less than perfect. Thankfully, Active Son has no hints of sewing perfectionism in him and he loves the minky backing, so all was good.

Next up will be a quilt for Artist Son but I'll not be starting that one right away as I've been smitten with another recycling/upcycling crafting project...

Sweet Memory

Today was Monday, March 21, a school day, a laundry day, and Jordanian Mother's Day. We happily set upon the day's studies and activities without much notice of the occasion. Dear Husband was in in the north of Jordan and didn't return home until about 8pm. Out and about, he learned somewhere along the way that it was Mother's Day and told me so late this evening. I told him that I knew and that Oldest Daughter had sent me a Facebook greeting this afternoon. And then Dear Husband reminded me of a sweet memory that I had forgotten: "Remember when I wrote a song for Oldest Daughter to sing at the Mother's Day program at the Baptist School when she was in first grade?" How could I have forgotten?!

Oldest Daughter with Tayta, 1997

I don't recall all the details of how it came about, but when Oldest Daughter was in the first grade at Amman Baptist School (Arabic school) a Mother's Day program was planned for all the mothers and children and the children were invited to present something at the program. Though I wasn't in on the planning, I knew when I accompanied Oldest Daughter to the program that afternoon in March, 1997, that she was prepared to sing a song that she had been working on with Dear Husband. Approximately 100 children and their mothers were at the program which was loud and chaotic. When it was Oldest Daughter's turn to sing her song kids were still running around and lots of people were talking, even as she took the microphone. I, of course, was at full attention, amazed that my quiet, shy daughter was actually going to sing this song in front of so many people.

As Dear Husband recalled the story this evening he remembered that it was his idea to write the song for oldest daughter to sing. She wasn't too enthusiastic about the idea but she dutifully agreed to do it and performed it boldly and unflinchingly before a noisy crowd of peers and mothers. Kind of makes us wonder if this was a foreshadowing of her performing lifestyle (see a few posts below.)

And you know I kept the words to the song. Oldest Daughter memorized all three verses.

Oldest Daughter's Mother's Day Song
March, 1997

Who serves our meals and bakes our bread
Mom is the one, Mom is the one.
Who cleans up our mess and puts us to bed
Mom is the one we love.

Chorus: Mom is the one, Mom is the one
Who loves us a lot and makes life fun.
Mom is the one, Mom is the one
Mom is the one we love.

Who teaches us things and picks up our clothes
Mom is the one, Mom is the one.
Who combs our hair and wipes our nose
Mom is the one we love.

Chorus

Who hold us close and kisses our cheek
Mom is the one, Mom is the one.
Who's the greatest mother you'll ever meet
Mom is the one we love.

Dear Husband still remembers the tune--well, you can guess that it's not that complicated--and he sang it for me tonight. Thankfully, the children now pick up their own clothes and wipe their own noses!

Damascus or Bust--Bust

It looked to be a promising weekend: While Artist Son and Tayta joined the youth group for its annual retreat in the hills of Ajloun, Dear Husband and I planned to visit friends and colleagues in Damascus. Though the trip to Damascus, a fascinating ancient city with a famous souq through which runs Straight Street (Acts 9:11), is only a four hour trip from Amman, we have not visited there for many years as the Syrian government has made it difficult for American passport holders to do so; visas are expensive and the state of cold war that exists between Syria and Israel makes if difficult to visit Syria if one has first been to Israel or the Occupied Territories.

Last year, during a time when Syria began granting inexpensive visas to Americans at the border, Dear Husband attempted a trip to Damascus, only to learn upon arrival at the border that the law had been changed just the day before. So, while we were in the US we sent our passports to the Syrian Embassy and received Syrian visas--for the fee of $120 per visa. Full of anticipation, we packed our bags, and boarded a bus for Syria.

Unfortunately, we were not careful enough in our visa/passport preparation. Dear Husband had some months ago obtained a second "clean" passport for crossing borders of countries that are still at war with Israel. I didn't have a completely clean passport; when I visited Jerusalem last year I made a common request of the Israeli border officials: please stamp a piece of paper and not my passport. They obliged. But, the Jordanian border guards stamped my passport, so while I didn't have an Israeli stamp, one could deduce that I had entered Jordan from Israel. We naively thought that since the Syrian Embassy had granted me a visa (stamped in my passport) that I would be able to enter Syria. When we reached the border control station we found out that wasn't the case. Dear Husband would be allowed to enter but I would not. We had only seconds to decide what to do as the bus attendant was hurrying us on.

Dear Husband, I said, must continue on to Syria and I would return home. Our friends were expecting him and he had work to do. With in two minutes I repacked his duffle bag with the gifts I was carrying, Dear Husband handed me the house keys and a bit of cash and the bus attendant informed me that there was another bus at the border headed back to Amman. I could board that bus if I hurried. As we parted, I must have looked pretty forlorn because Dear Husband's last words to me were, "Don't cry." He knows I'm pretty wimpy when it comes to tears, though at that point the thought or emotion hadn't even crossed my mind. It would later.

The bus attendant kindly escorted me to the new bus and advised me that I could find a seat in the back. When I boarded, everyone was seated and every eye was on me, the only foreigner, besides two young French-speaking tourists, on the bus. I wondered by their sober stares if they had been told they were waiting for me and if they had been told that I had been refused entry at the Syrian border. As soon as I reached the top step of the bus the bus driver began driving, and not only driving, but turning, so that I feared I might topple over as I negotiated the aisle to the back of the bus.

The only seat I could see was in the very back between a young mother with her infant and her mother. They had used the extra seat for their things and they didn't look too happy about having to shift around so that I could sit between them. We momentarily disembarked to have passports stamped on the Jordanian side of the border and I had to be escorted to a office for a special signature since I was simply having my departure stamp canceled rather than receiving a new entry stamp. Humiliation was added to my feelings of disappointment and frustration.

When I re-boarded the bus, the mother directed me to another seat in front of them, advising me that it was vacant and would be more comfortable for me. On the seat were a number of bags of food so I confirmed that this was in fact a vacant seat. She assured me it was, so I moved the bags to the adjoining seat and sat down. When the owner of the bags, a women just a few years older than myself, returned, she was surprised to find me in the seat which she had been using to store her things. By now I was fighting back tears so I got out my book to read, realizing that this would make me look even more foreign and that I was, at least for a time, putting up a barrier between myself and my new seatmate. I felt I needed a few minutes to regain composure.

On the way to the border I had been reading truths about the sovereignty of God and while a border crossing refusal isn't the weightiest of issues, these truths were a comfort to me just then. As I inwardly fumed about all the injustice and bitterness in the Middle East I also realized how, as an American, I have a deeply ingrained sense of personal freedom and rights. How many millions of Middle Easterners had suffered much more severe injustices at the hands of their own rulers and governments? And, I also came to understand in a very small way, so small I almost feel that I shouldn't make the comparison, the feeling of colleagues who have been shut out of various countries they weren't just trying to visit, but where they had lived for years.

After I regained my composure I set aside my book and discovered that my seatmate was a lovely Iraqi women, a widow who had four children (two boys and two girls, like me!) scattered around various countries. Adding further perspective to my own very small trial, she told me that she was from Baghdad but had fled when their surroundings had become too dangerous. Her husband had been a dermatologist and she told me with pride of her brother who was a physicist who studied at Oxford and now worked in California. The kindness of her pleasant conversation was a balm to my stirred up sensibilities.

It's been a little strange to putter around an empty house for two days. Thus, the unprecedented two blog posts in a 24 hour period! I'm off to meet my kiddos at our International Church fellowship and Dear Husband will be home late tonight--much to look forward to!

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.

3rd Annual Valentine's Banquet

On Thursday, the youth of Amman International Church celebrated love and marriage by treating their parents to the 3rd annual Valentine's Banquet. This year they cooked and served and entertained to a western theme and I once again helped the youth with the food preparation for the evening.

Our menu was a bit more casual this year, given the western theme and the fact that I had recently returned from the U.S. and just didn't have the gumption I'd had in years past.

From the Chuckwagon:

Green Salad with Ranch Dressing
Texas Toast
~~~
Shepherd's Pie
Corn
~~~
Texas Sheet Cake
Tea or Coffee

The chefs prepare the Texas Toast, made from thickly cut homemade white Artisan Bread

Servers patiently waiting to serve

Served with lovingly made hearts by two of the youth chefs

The most requested recipe of the night:

~Texas Sheet Cake~

Mix in a large bowl:

2 cups flour
2 cups sugar
1 t salt
1 t soda
2 eggs
1/2 cup sour cream

Boil and add to the flour mixture:

1 cup butter
1 cup water
4 T baking cocoa

Pour into a greased jelly roll pan and bake for 20 minutes at 350 degrees.

Frosting:

Mix:
1 pound powdered sugar
1 t vanilla

Boil and add to sugar:
1/2 cup butter
6T milk
4 T baking cocoa

As soon as the frosting is mixed, pour and then spread it over the cake. (Tayta's tip: if the frosting doesn't have smooth consistency, whisk in a little extra milk to repair it.)

This is our most used cake recipe ever and has fed dozens (probably hundreds) of youth and others on many occasions. I'd say it is worth purchasing a jelly roll pan (or two) just to make this recipe. I think Tayta can practically make it in her sleep.

Artist Son and Tayta

I've heard rumors that the youth would like to try an Indian theme next year, presenting some musical scenes from Bride and Prejudice...no life without wife!

The Show Must Go On

This Christmas found Oldest Daughter on tour in Asia with Oberlin's Orchestra. We missed her dearly but were glad for the opportunity she had to visit China and Singapore with fellow musicians and friends as they shared their music to full halls wherever they played.

When we caught up with Oldest Daughter in early January, as she made her way to Jordan, arriving just a couple days after we did, the first and most memorable story with which she regaled us was of their concert in Wuhan.

The short video below mostly tells the story, and features sleep-deprived Oldest Daughter and her friend, Holly, as they play in their traveling jeans for a sold-out crowd of 1300, while waiting for their luggage and the rest of the orchestra to arrive. (They are playing Sarasate's Navarra, which they performed together in their junior recital in November. They didn't have their music with them but were able to download it from a borrowed computer.)

Amman Recital~Violin and Piano

Friday, January 28 · 7:30pm - 9:00pm
Union Bank, Main Auditorium (downstairs), Shmeisani

Lauren Manning, violin
Rania Ejeilat, piano

Come hear Schumann Sonata in A minor, Sarasate's Zigeunerweisen, and a few little surprises...

Admission is free

The Hegemony of American Slang

Whenever my kids visit the dentist in Jordan they come back with funny stories about the conversations which the all-woman staff have while they are working on the kids teeth. Here is a guest post from Tayta recounting such a conversation:

Overheard in the Dentist Chair

We went to the dentist yesterday to get our teeth checked, and I was chosen to go first. The dentist, walking into the room with her assistant following, warmly greeted me. They began chatting, and I don’t think they stopped chatting for more than a second or two the entire time they were working on my teeth. As the dentist began the examination/cleaning of my teeth she said delightedly, “Your teeth, they are beautiful! Fantastic!” In the beginning, the conversation was directed towards me in English, but very quickly the dentist and her assistant switched to Arabic, and since I am a foreigner, I was not expected to know any Arabic. Little did they know that I understood the entirety of their amusing conversation.

Dental assistant: "Aw, she seems like such a nice girl, and she has such beautiful teeth! We should have her come some time just so we can spoil her, although, she doesn’t seem like the spoiled type.”

The dentist agreed, and then, changing the subject, she asked her assistant. “So what is this word ‘duh’?”

The dental assistant replied, “’Duh’? Well, it means: ‘Why are you asking? It is so, so obvious!’”

The dentist replied, “Hmm, that’s what I thought. You know, my daughter is saying it all the time now! She says it after every single sentence. Do you know what I told her? I told her,” Mama, why do you keep saying duh? It is not nice! If you keep saying it I’m going to…” (Relatives here have the custom of saying their name before the sentence when they are talking to kids.) After the nurse showed her amusement, the dentist went on,” You know what happened in the car the other day?”

The assistant asked, “What happened?”.

“I was in the car with my daughter and my son--and can you believe it?-- my son does not want to study for his exams! The exams are on the 20^th and he thinks that if he just studies on the 19^th he will have studied plenty. But I told him, “Mama, what will you do when you get older if you don’t get good grades on your exams? He innocently replied that he would have a car business and sell Mercedes and Rangers, but I told him, 'Who do you expect to buy the cars from you if you don’t get good grades on your exams?' And then my daughter said in English,” You guys. Duh!”

The assistant laughed and said with a little bit of surprise in her voice, “She said ‘guys’ too, along with ‘duh’!”

A Big Pot of Comfort~Beef, Barley, and Mushroom Soup

I don't bring many food items from the States to Jordan anymore as more things are available here now and the baggage allowance has been reduced. Two carefully chosen items for transport, barley and dried porcini mushrooms, are needed for this favorite soup recipe and it was one of the first things I made upon our return to Jordan. If you need a good, inexpensive source for dried mushrooms (not to mention lots of dried fruit, nuts, etc.), check out Nuts Online. They offer the best price--by far--that I have found on porcini mushrooms.

This recipe can easily be halved. I like to have lots of leftover soup--we make a dinner of it one or two nights and still have leftovers for lunches.

Beef, Barley, and Mushroom Soup

• 1 1/2 cups dried porcini mushrooms, soaked for 30 minutes in 3 cups hot water.
• oil
• 1 1/2-2 lbs beef, cut into small pieces (I used topside which was already sliced thinly.)
• 4 ribs celery
• 2 onions, chopped
• 3 carrots, chopped
• 12-16 oz mushrooms, finely chopped (that is how we like them but you could slice them if you'd like)
• 1 1/2 cups barley
• salt and pepper
• 1/2 bunch fresh parsley, leaves chopped
• 1 teaspoon thyme

In a large pot brown the beef in a bit of oil. Add onions, celery, and carrots and cook until just softened. Add the chopped fresh mushrooms and continue cooking until softened. Blend the dried mushroom mixture in the blender and add to the pot. Add approximately 16 cups of water and bring to a boil. Add the barley and seasonings. Cover and let simmer 45-60 minutes. (This soup thickens quite a bit so you may have to add more water as it cooks.--as always with soup, adjust liquid and seasonings.)

The 21st Day of Christmas...(and a great recipe)

Now that I've unpacked the camera and had time to upload pictures, we are enjoying some Christmas memories:

After writing my post about a tree-less Christmas, a dear and thoughtful friend called to ask if she could bring us a live Christmas tree. Sure! Dear husband had to trim off a few branches so that it would fit a borrowed stand and the needles were everywhere, but oh, the scent of fresh pine was lovely! (When making our bed one day I found a tiny bough from the tree, brought to bed by Dear Husband as he was so enjoying the fresh, outdoor scent!) We improvised on decorations: a few of my childhood ornaments we had with us, a package of candy canes, and a Jordanian headscarf.

We gathered as a small extended family on December 26, waiting until our young niece could join us. Mom set a beautiful table and made a delicious dinner. My contribution: the recipe, received from my cyber-friend, Teri. This dish is Delicious and I plan to make it just as soon as I can find some prunes for less than $10 a pound! (who would have that they'd be so expensive here?)

~Mediterranean-Style Chicken with Capers, Plums, and Olives~

(serves 4-6)

Marinade~

• 15 small garlic cloves, whole
• 2T dried oregano
• salt & freshly ground pepper
• 1/3 cup red wine vinegar
• 1/3 cup olive oil
• 1 leek white & light green parts only, chopped fine
• ½ cup dried whole pitted apricots
• ¾ cup dried whole pitted plums
• 1/3 cup pitted green olives
• 1/3 cup pitted kalamata olives
• 1/3 cup capers with some brine

_____________

• 2 3 to 3.5 pound chickens, cut into pieces
• 2T packed brown sugar
• ¾ cup dry red wine such as zinfandel or syrah
• 2 T fresh parsley or cilantro, garnish

Instructions

1. Make marinade in bowl, stir well & place in bag w/ chicken pieces. Turn
and coat evenly. Seal and refrigerate 2-4 hours.

2. Preheat oven to 425. Place chicken in baking pans in single layer. Arrange
marinade ingredients around chicken. In small bowl, blend brown sugar and
wine and pour over chicken.

3. Roast, basting once or twice, 40-45 minutes, til nicely browned and
cooked through.

4. To serve, arrange chicken on platter w/fruit and olives and juices
around. Garnish and serve immediately.

After lunch, we broke into the gingerbread house. The yogurt and chocolate covered pretzel fence went first.

Next came the gift opening. Here is Aunt A. sporting one of Tayta's handknit hats, a popular gift-item this season.



On the day-after-the-day-after Christmas we headed up the mountain for some tube sledding.

Flying into the New Year...

The Long and Winding Road...

...that leads to our (your) door
will never disappear
I've seen that road before
It always leads me here
Lead me to our (your) door

~Paul McCartney

The equilibrium tilt began last Thursday or so, as we packed our suitcases and boxes and prepared, after six plus months in the US, to return home to Jordan. In an ironic twist we said good-bye to Active Son, leaving him in a "foreign" country to continue his studies as we returned home to Jordan, a country where we will always be considered foreigners no matter how long we live here. Such a strange life it seems, particularly during these times of transition between two worlds.

Our journey home began dubiously when our very first flight out of Boise was delayed for six hours due to mechanical difficulties, causing us to miss all our subsequent connections. So much physical and emotional energy had been spent just getting this far that we decided to wait the six hours in the airport. After a couple of hours had passed, Tayta remarked, "You know, it doesn't seem like we are in Boise anymore." Indeed, we had passed into the travel twilight zone. The other delayed passengers became our new friends. Particularly memorable was the young violinist, very reminiscent of our own Oldest Daughter, trying to get to an audition on time. We chuckled at the overheard conversation she was having with her father regarding busking in the airport-- nearly identical to conversations that Dear Husband has had with Oldest Daughter!

It took a whole day of travel energy to make the one hour flight to Salt Lake City, where Delta put us up in the very comfortable Radisson Hotel. The next morning it was onward to Boston where we had our tightest connection: just one hour to deplane, stand in line for new boarding passes for the Air France flight, and have all our bags make it onto the Air France plane. We were the very last people to receive seats on this flight; we headed for security for the third of four times. Served us right as we had our carry-ons over packed. I had even stashed a small book in my coat pocket.

We arrived in Paris to a most pleasant surprise: we had been told we would have to collect our bags, go through customs, and then re-check them onto the Royal Jordanian flight. When our bags didn't show-up on the baggage carousel we assumed that they hadn't made it onto our Air France flight. We went to inquire and were told that they had, in fact, been checked all the way through to Amman via Royal Jordanian! We walked at least a mile in the Charles de Gaulle airport and I can hardly imagine how hard it would have been to negotiate that journey with our nine pieces of checked baggage--even with carts! When we arrived in Amman we expected at least a couple of our bags to be delayed but instead we found them, all nine, collected and piled on carts, ready for us to roll through customs and out of the airport. Amazing!

We had a wonderful first night of sleep in our own beds and enjoyed a full day of energy before jet lag settled in on the second night. Day two and we are forcing ourselves to say awake until 9pm. And even though I was too tired to finish putting away the groceries, I enjoyed making dinner in my own kitchen, for the first time in months. It is good to be home.

Airport/Airline Notables

Kudos to all the airline representatives from Delta, Air France, and Royal Jordanian, who helped us on our journey. Our revised itinerary was fraught was possibilities of missed flights and lost luggage, but all went smoothly thanks their competent assistance.

Most thorough security check: Boise airport. Two of our carry-ons were unpacked and I was subjected to a pat-down search due to a quarter and a tissue I had forgotten in my pants pocket.

Most relaxed security check: Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris. Got to leave our shoes and belts on for this one.

Most comical security check: balls of yarn flowing from a 6 quart stainless steel cooking pot when Tayta's overstuffed carry-on was opened.

Best airport bathrooms: O'Hare airport in Chicago (from our November travels). One pushed button activated an automatic toilet seat cover change and an automatic toilet flush. Pretty spiffy.

Best Cuisine: Air France. Couscous, dried tomato, and smoked salmon salad, anyone? And, the coffee--no comparison.

Most Egalitarian Boarding Proceedures: European airports. No priorty boarding, just open the gate and everyone lines up and gets on the plane. I like it, course, because I am always a second class, economy passenger in the US.

A Weird Age

When we wished her a happy 14th birthday, Tayta commented with her ever present smile , "it's a weird age." At 14 one is not really a child, nor is one considered an adult. And, as the youngest child I suppose that Tayta has witnessed a fair amount of 14-year-old-weirdness in her siblings. She informed me that 15 is also a weird age--16 is moving into normalcy.

Tayta enjoying her weird age

Happy Birthday, Tayta!