Dear Daddy, These Are a Few Things You Taught Me

Dear Daddy,

I know your memory's not quite what it used to be. I know some days you are tired and it's hard for you to remember all the fun times and the hard times we've shared. But that's ok.  Because what you've taught me, I can never forget.

These days, when I talk to you, you ask me where I'm living now?  

"You're in China, aren't you?", is what you ask me on a good day.  On a bad day, you just ask me "Where are you, are you coming to see me soon?" 

I always answer "Qatar, Papa, je suis au Qatar."  And you always say, "Yes, yes, Qatar.  It's late over there, isn't it?"

And you usually say, "I'm so happy to hear your voice.  You know, you're all special to me.  All my kids.  But you, you were the baby.  And I can't forget holding you.  You were my baby.  You're still my baby.  I'll never forget you.  You're special, you know?"

And I don't know what to say.  Because my heart is breaking.  Because I know that eventually, you will forget me.  And I curse myself for hoping the cancer takes you before you lose the memory of me. 

Some days you forget my kiddo.  Some days you mistake Smilin' Vic for my first husband.  But I guide you slowly back to the pictures on your wall of my family today.  I give you their names.  And then you remember how much you love kiddo; how she sings to you sometimes.  You remember how good Smilin' Vic is for me.  And I laugh with you as you remember.  And a little part of me dies inside.  Because I know when I hang up, you will forget again.

Then you recall that I still have to be in the ME for a few years.  You recall that you lived your life as an expat.  The other night, I said "I'll see you soon Papa, real soon."  And you replied "No, no, you don't have to come.  I know you're doing what you need to do; you're making a life for you and your family.  I've been there.  I did that.  It's ok; you're like a recording of me.  But you know, sometimes in life you realize that it's harder to be the one receiving than giving." 

And I was crying inside, Daddy.  My heart was breaking.  But we both managed to laugh out loud. 

And that's one of the things you taught me.  

To laugh even when it hurts.

 Because usually when it hurts, it means we have the memory of something good.  We have the memory of something better.  You always told me that there was a balance in life, a full circle, that a loss meant you actually had experienced something great.  And that I had to learn to appreciate what I had lost.

You told me a story once.  About how as a young boy, you rode to the "city" with your father.  You and your brother, seated in the back of a horse-drawn sled, with hot bricks to warm your feet and a woolen blanket to stave off the cold.  As you rode into the "city" (a Northern New Brunswick town of about 6,500 pop. in 1935), you marveled at the homes of 'rich folk' built on foundations.  And you told yourself that if you ever had a foundation on your house, you would be a rich man.  And you told me that you'd been a rich man from the moment you built your first house and home, because you built it on a foundation.  You never wavered from that conviction, no matter what riches or temptations came your way.  And that's another thing you taught me.  

Realize what's important, and stick to it.

When I bought my first house, you said something scary to me.  "The happiest days of my life were when I had a mortgage with the bank, mouths to feed, bills to pay.  I had a reason to get up every day, a reason to go to work, a reason to come home."  And I thought "How very depressing, that these are the best days of my life, worrying about the bills."  But I've realized since that you were teaching me something very different.  

Understand your reason for being, embrace it, and live up to it.

After my first husband asked you for my hand in marriage, he told me that you had said this to him:  "Son, I know you love her for her qualities, but can you live with her faults?"  When I told you I was divorcing him, you listened to me quietly.  You didn't judge.  Even though I know it made you sad.  Even though it went against what you believed in (though in fairness, you hadn't been successful in the relationship department yourself!).  A few months later, you said to me "Well, if you ever remarry, make sure you get a diamond big enough to skate on before saying yes!".  And years later when I told you I was getting remarried, you said to me "Make sure he's not marrying you for your brains."  You left me totally confused.  Surely I didn't want to marry a man who loved me purely for my feminine wiles?

I only pieced it together a few years later.  I think I know now what you wanted for me.  Someone who would take nothing from me.   Someone who would love me because of, not despite, my eccentricities, my failings, my shortcomings.  Someone who would protect me.  Someone who would keep me safe.  No matter what.  No matter if I had nothing to give back.  Like you had done.  You wanted to be sure I would always have a safe place.  And what did I learn from that?

Always have a safe place.  And if you can, learn to BE that safe place for someone who needs it.

When I got my first job, you congratulated me, encouraged me, told me:

"If you find a job you love, you'll never work another day in your life."

 No truer words have ever been spoken.  

Here in the ME, I have struggled with my job.  For the first time in my life, for the last two years, I have gone to work day after day, hating what I do.  Three weeks ago, I handed in my resignation.  There may or may not be other opportunities out there, but for the time being, for the sake of my family and everyone I love, it is better to forsake the salary in the hopes of something better.  For a while, at least, I know I can turn to a job I love:  being a mom and a wife.

You have taught me so much.  

You have taught me that

silence shared with someone you love speaks to the heart.  

You have shown me that

there is merit in a hard day's work.  

You have shown me that

loving someone is truly letting them go.  

You have shown me that

laughter IS the best medicine.  

You showed me that

the best qualification for any job is "desire".  

You showed me that

the best way to live is without regret.  

You taught me that

all the degrees in the world don't compensate for lack of common sense.  

You taught me that

disrespecting my mother is unacceptable.

But the biggest thing you taught me was to enjoy the moment.  No matter how big, how small.  Enjoy the moment.  Don't ask for more.  Don't curse its passing.  Don't question it.  Simply enjoy the moment. 

Enjoy the moment. 

And tonight, as I think of you, trapped in that veil of forgetfulness that clouds your days and nights, I think it's appropriate that you should have been the one to teach me such a valuable lesson.  Because today I know that moments are all that remain.  Moments of pleasure, moments of pain, moments of anger, moments of sadness, moments of joy ... but all moments. 

There is no more continuum, no more sequence of events leading up to the end of your day.  Every moment you experience is a gift; every moment you experience is instantaneously forgotten, magically trapped and stored in a vault.  A vault to which no one has a key, not even you.  And I pray, I pray with all my might, that every moment you have left is a good one.  That you may experience only good moments from this moment on.  That at this very moment, as I write, as my heart aches for you and tears stream down my face, you may be experiencing an amazing moment of joy and love and rapture.  I pray that you may have peace in every single remaining moment; peace, laughter, joy, and rapture.

I pray that in those moments there is an occasional flash of all that you have taught me.

I love you Daddy. 

GyspsyInTheME

​Images fade ... memories fade ... but everything you taught me Daddy, will be passed on.

A Wrinkle-Free Me?

I'm going to be 43.  I don't much mind.  Inside feels pretty much the same as 34.  And 34 felt pretty much like 23.  Some days, 23 wasn't that different from 12.  I like to think I'm a little smarter and wiser than I was then, but for the most part, not much has changed.​  

I still giggle inside when I hear words like "weeny".  I still pout when I don't get to hold the remote control.  I still long for a hug from my mom or my dad when things get tough.  I still wish for snow days, even in the desert.  I still love Kraft Dinner.  Inside, not much has changed.

But outside is another matter.  My hair started going prematurely grey at the age of 18.  The dent in my chair has decidedly expanded even though I could swear my bottom is just as tiny and taut as it was 10 years ago.  But then again this could be explained by the fact that my memory now fails me at least once daily, and my vision has gone sadly downhill over the last decade.  Sciatica kicks in once a year, and every eight or nine months I find myself assaulted by hot flashes.  I find it hard to stay up past 9:00 p.m. on a weekend, and my joints seem to pop a lot more as I climb out of bed in the morning.​

For the most part, ​I think I camouflage the physical changes fairly well.  Spanx, a good pair of heels, a proper brassiere, and age-appropriate dresses that cover sagging upper arms and ever so slightly wrinkly knees!  A good blow dry and style, regular dye jobs, and no-gloss lipstick and matte eyeshadow round it all out.   

But the wrinkles ... arghhhhhhh, the wrinkles!  Those teeny tiny crows feet that first made an appearance in my mid thirties have deepened by the year.  The hollows under my eyes seem much more pronounced than they did just a year ago.  Furrows have started to appear on my brow this year.  And apparently I've developed marionette lines.  The saddest part is that these grooves and dips and sags and furrows all shine at their brightest when I smile or laugh.  The truer the laugh, the deeper the crease.  As if all brightness must be leeched from the folds of my skin if a smile is to truly reach my eyes.

And I'm thinking that I'll be damned before I'll ever let wrinkles stop me from having a good laugh.  At 42 almost 43 I need to laugh more than ever.  It's keeping my insides young ... laughing can apparently help ease digestion and stress (though you don't want to relax so much that you toot every time you laugh ... that's a true sign you're getting older), and every once in a while a good laugh lets me revisit age 12.  But I don't like the wrinkles.  

Creams and moisturizers just don't serve to mask anymore.  And while eight glasses of water a day are a good reminder that my bladder control isn't quite what it used to be,  I'm not quite achieving that hydrated glow that comes so naturally with youth.

So I turn to the alternatives.  I Google facelifts in the ME (interesting find ... Iran is the rhinoplasty capital of the world).​  Just not gonna work for me.  Far too invasive ... I don't like the thought of detaching skin from bone.  Plus I have fears of emerging looking like the cat lady or ending up with a permanently arched brow and perpetually stunned gaze.  

I Google "wrinkle removal"​.  This brings up millions of hits.  There are laser treatments, vitamin injections, injectable fillers, resurfacing (that sounds scarily architectural) and all manner of chemical fountains of youth.  Too many; it's dizzying for an old brain.  Pros and cons for each, each positive review negated by a horrifying experience of intensified and accelerated facial warping and wrinkling.  For every Gwyneth Paltrow there is a Priscilla Presley.  

​It's all too overwhelming.  There is way too much out there, and nothing is a sure shot.  It's a gamble, and one whose results you will have to gaze upon for the rest of your life, win or lose.  Butt implants would be much simpler; there is no reason for me to ever look at my tush again until the day I die if I so choose.  But my face looks back at me in the mirror every single day.  It might be a little wrinklier right now, but all in all it's not a horrible face.  I can still quite easily stand the sight of myself.

It's hard to chance losing that.  So I'm considering going into therapy to learn to embrace my wrinkles as a part of who I am and what I've become over 43 years.  To learn how to love my laugh lines and see them represented as a channel for years of laughter past.  To learn how to appreciate the motherly concern that has etched its line so delicately across my brow.​

For tonight I'm satisfied with downloading the "Hourface" app.  It's a photo app that ages you as you watch.  The upside is I can turn it upside down and it does the reverse - erasing the lines, smoothing the complexion, filling out the hollows.  I'm smiling as I try it out ... and I am reminded that this is likely and unfortunately contributing to even deeper laugh lines.  

And I realize that, if I'm honest, I'm gonna need a lot of therapy.  Yeah, I'd still really like a wrinkle-free me.  

​These creams just aren't as effective as they used to be ...

No Tim-'ME's Today

​There are a few universally accepted stereotypes about Canadians.  Probably none more widespread than our penchant to end each sentence with the word "eh".  Hunh?

We are also reputed to be extremely polite.  Whatever.​

​Apparently we say sorry a lot.  No apologies here.

But the truly common bond that unites all Canadians is one that very few non-Canadians would recognize.  We Canucks refer to it simply as 'Timmies'.​

'Timmies' is the true lifeblood of Canada.  It is a little-known fact that at the heart of every warm-blooded Canadian lies a cuppa.​

You can take away our snow, our tuques, our maple syrup, our moose, and even our ​ice hockey, but I rue the day anyone would try to mess with the Roll Up the Rim to Win contest.  That is a line you simply do not cross with a Canadian.

I doubt there is actually a Canadian City in existence in the 21st Century that doesn't boast a 'Timmies'.  If it does, its inhabitants must only come out at night, listless, disoriented, disgruntled and disenchanted.  ​

For it has been rumored that without 'Timmies', Canada would simply fall off the map, likely collapsing into Middle Earth.  Because we are the nation that made Tim Hortons famous.  In fact, since 2002, Tim Hortons' sales have surpassed McDonald's in Canada.  That is no small feat.

Yet Qatar remains 'Timmie-less'.  Despite the fact that even Kandahar boasts a franchise.  Despite the fact that there are over 4,000 outlets world-wide, including 20 in the UAE and 3 in Oman.  ​

As spoiled Canadian expats in the ME, few burdens are as hard to bear as 'Timmie-lessness'.  The absence of pork on restaurant menus, the impossibility of ordering a glass of wine at Chili's, the inability to wear a tank top to the shops on a really hot summer day ... these are all minor inconveniences that can be overcome.  But we really miss being able to pop by the drive-through window and order a large double-double on the way to work.

However, we remain hopeful.  It's been rumored for months now that there are three outlets set to open shortly in Qatar.  Granted, a few months here can easily translate into years, but we are keeping our fingers crossed.  ​

So imagine our delight this past Thursday when we saw advertised in a local paper that Tim Hortons coffee would be made available at the Qatar Canadian School Annual Spring Fair.  Well ... you can be sure that these Canadians were ​lined up to fill up our cup of joe.  Our daughter was waiting with bated breath to see if they would be serving up her favorite lunch sandwiches.  Our excitement was palpable.

We toured the fair grounds and food stalls three times before finally giving up hope.  There was no 'Timmies' to be found, not a single ground bean.  The volunteers on hand were as clueless as us as to 'Timmies' whereabouts.  We'd been duped.  Our dreams dashed, our spirits crushed, our morale deflated, we returned home ... Tim'ME'-less.  ​

Someone's having a laugh.  What a cruel joke.  No Tim-'ME's for us today.  Sigh....

We held out such hope ...​

​Canisters sit empty on our shelves, a stark reminder of what was, and what one day may be again ...

Frequent Questions About the ME ... Part II

Here are a few more questions that I occasionally get when people find out I live in the ME.   

1.  What's the weather like?  (Or ... Is it really that hot?  Are the desert nights cold?  Do you get a lot of dust storms?  Does it ever rain?  etc.)

ANSWER:  Generally, Qatar is hot.  The heat varies, but the weather never strays much from hot.  The months of October to May are actually quite pleasant, ranging from low 20's to low 30's.  Humidity is not so high during those months, and we frequently sit outdoors in the evenings to enjoy a BBQ dinner, a coffee, glass of wine, etc.  October, November, March, April and May usually make for good beach weather.

December and January nights can dip to the low teens, and our first year in Qatar it was actually 4 C on New Year's Eve.  Since we have nothing but small space heaters to warm up our living spaces, and since most houses are made from cinderblock, warm sweaters and blankets are in order on colder nights.  A few sporadic hours of rain and occasional thunder showers are not uncommon in these months, but rarely have I seen it rain for a full day or even for more than a few hours at a time.  It can happen though, and our first year in Qatar we experienced about three weeks straight of rain (during the 2006 Asian Games), but this was a truly exceptional occurrence.  The rain is usually light, and makes for a slippery mess as it mixes with dust on the ground to create a kind of sand grease that coats cars and windows and lawn furniture.

The months of June to September are not so pleasant in terms of weather.  July, August and sometimes September can quite reasonably be likened to hell, with temperatures sometimes soaring up to 50 C coupled with extreme humidity.  You do not want to be caught outdoors for any length of time without water and sunblock.  Even the swimming pools become too hot to swim in, despite the best efforts of chillers.  And on the off-chance the pool is cool enough to bathe in, you will start to steam immediately upon stepping out.  

I once went for a run at Aspire Park on a cool September morning at 9:00 a.m.  By the time I was 1.1 km into my run, I realized I had no water left, the sun was beating down mercilessly, and I still had 1.1 km left to get to my car no matter which direction I headed.  By the time I made it back to the parking lot, I was seeing spots, having visions of myself collapsing right there of severe sunstroke, dehydrated in the midst of the piped-in bird music and manicured lawns.  I was salivating like a madwoman at the sight of the manmade lake glistening off in the distance, with delusions of a sprinkler magically switching on, if only for an instant.  The experience terrified me; it made me acutely aware of the fact that it is possible to collapse from heat and dehydration just a few hundred meters away from a source of water.  

Fog rolls in during the fall months.  It can make driving quite treacherous, particularly if you are heading out of the city.​

Dust storms are frequent and quite unpleasant, but it is rare that I have seen an actual sandstorm.  We tend to get days where the sand particles just seem to hang suspended in the air.  If it is windy, the particles can sting your eyes, and if you've mistakenly left a window open while you've been out, you are likely to come back home to little sand mounds scattered throughout the house.

There is a lot of beige.  The dust particles create a haze of beige that blocks out blue skies and clouds.  There are no puffy, fluffy, low-hanging white clouds here; rare is the day that you will catch ferocious, thunderous, black clouds coursing their way across the skies.  No, most days it is just beige, though we do get some amazing flaming red sunsets on occasion.

All in all, the weather can take some getting used to, but I have to admit I don't find it as daunting as I did a few years back.  It doesn't even faze me when the weatherman on the radio declares that "It's going to be a balmy 28C today in Doha."  In Canada, that statement would read "Get the sunscreen and water spray bottles out, head for the beach, and stay hydrated, it's going to be a sweltering ​28C out today."

​2.  Aren't you concerned about civil unrest?  

ANSWER:  Is it in the back of my mind?  Yes.  Am I overly preoccupied?  No.  Qatar is by all standards a very safe and stable country that happens to be situated in a volatile part of the world.  While it would be silly not to be concerned, I truly believe the same can be said no matter where we might happen to be living at any given time.  

In August 2008, after a leisurely and peaceful 2-week vacation on the Island of Phuket, our taxi was caught in a protest on the way to the airport, resulting in us having to walk the final kilometer with our 3-year-old daughter and 4 pieces of luggage in tow through the throngs of protesters who blocked the roads leading to Phuket International Airport and eventually the tarmac itself, resulting in 118 flight cancellations.  Military and airport personnel helped hoist us over the airport gates and we were among the lucky few to board the last plane to fly out of there for the next four days. (click on the link below this post to read more about the airport demonstrations.) My point?  You just never know when chaos will strike.  North America, South America, Europe, Asia, Africa, there is no telling what awaits you. 

Natural disasters, violent protests, demented and crazed individuals out to cause maximum damage ... they're everywhere.  It's no great help losing sleep over "what if's".

3. Is it hard for a Western woman to get used to such a male-dominated society?

ANSWER:  This is really a tough one to answer.  There's no simple yes or no answer for me.  In many ways, once you've gotten into your groove, life for a Western woman here is really not that different than in Canada or elsewhere.  But there are definitely differences.  Some of these are good; for example special lines for women in banks and other public establishments, the ability for me to quite openly call out any male who shows harassing or inappropriate behavior that could be deemed an insult to my honor; the tendency to be given preferential treatment at the airport if you are traveling with a young child.

But it's important to always remember where you are.  I do not offer to shake any man's hand unless he offers to shake mine first.  Most men are not offended, but some could be; when I first arrived here I was most startled when I met a male colleague who I'd spoken to and corresponded with for months but never actually seen face to face.  He had the annoying habit of always calling me "mate" over the phone, in a very thick British accent.  I felt this was a bit familiar, but he was a nice enough guy, so I let it slide.  When I finally met him, I reached out to shake his hand, and he politely refused, telling me his religion did not allow him to touch women he was not related to.  I was truly stunned; it seemed a departure from his very chatty and congenial nature.  But I took note, and now discretely tap my heart with my right hand when introductions are made.

Older men may be particularly offended by a female's overt presence, and I have seen one become absolutely irate upon seeing a female Western customer sitting on her own, close to a young family in the male waiting area.  While most establishments have separate female and male waiting areas, it is common practice for families to sometimes sit together in the male waiting area.  But I would advise against sitting there as a woman alone.  It's just not worth the potential confrontation and humiliation.

​Some things are hard to wrap your head around as a Western woman, such as not being able to get a job without your husband's signed permission, not being able to set up initial accounts without your husband's help (e.g. phone, electricity, etc.).  Knowing that my husband gets a "ping" on his phone every time my daughter and I exit or enter the country (he gets this as he is our sponsor).  

But in general, ​life is no different here for me than it was in Canada.  I just have to think a little more.  Think about my actions, think about my surroundings.  And that's not necessarily a bad thing.

​There are many more questions ... fodder for a future post.

Click HERE to read an article on others who scrambled over the fence ...

Four Bowls and a Wedding (Anniversary) in the ME.

Sometimes, ​Smilin' Vic really bowls me over.  

It's not always a big thing.  It's not every day.  But sometimes, somehow, he manages to leave me speechless.

A few years ago, he surprised me with a trip for our wedding anniversary.  What I thought was an overnight trip to Dubai for a conference he had to attend ended up being a 2-hour layover followed by a 3-night romantic getaway to Venice.  He caught me completely unawares.  He truly left me at a loss for words.

That was a big thing.  Most people would be impressed by the big things.  I mean, I can't manage to be blasé about it.  Going to Venice for a long weekend is a big deal.  He definitely won me over with that one.

But then there are the little things.  The big little things.  The things that few people but me would 'get'.  The things that tell me he listens, the things that tell me he cares, the things that tell me he would go that extra mile for me.  Quite silly things, really, but they are the things that convince me over and over that there is ​a reason Smilin' Vic came into my life.  And I think that reason is that he actually likes to see me smile, hear me laugh, know I'm happy.

Yesterday, he did a little thing.  ​He bought me four bowls; four plain, stainless steel bowls of varying sizes.  Such a big little thing.

The story is that every year when we go on our skiing vacation, we stay in the same flat.  The flat has four plain, stainless steel bowls of varying sizes.  I use them every single day while we are on vacation, preparing salads, mixing sauces with kiddo, laying out a nightly feast for Smilin' Vic, and repeating how "one day, I'll have these bowls in my kitchen."​

Last year, he apparently inspected the bowls and discovered they were from IKEA.  

So last night, on his drive home from work, he was driving by the newly opened IKEA in Qatar (just opened March 11, 2013).  And after a long day's work, and despite the hour-long drive home, he decided to brave the throngs of people and sacrifice an extra hour of his day just to see if the store was carrying those bowls.

Today those four plain, stainless steel bowls sit on proud display on an open shelf in my kitchen.  I will never be able to use them without thinking back on amazing winter vacations, without realizing that he actually listens to me, without thanking my lucky stars that he's still willing to take the time to do a big little thing for me.

He bowled me over.​

​Four plain, stainless steel bowls of varying sizes.

“A toast before we go into battle. True love. In whatever shape or form it may come. May we all in our dotage be proud to say, “I was adored once too.” ”

— Gareth, in Four Weddings and a Funeral