I prefer living in a cave!

Classic words from a classic Bedouin, who happens to manage the biggest corner cafe with a gift shop and a blender, ice cream, coffee maker and other modern amenities, but hey "who needs technical...we don't need technical - life is simpler in a cave". YES that it is my friend. Welcome to Petra, home of the many caves, where donkeys poop but there is a view to die for! Ah but I am getting ahead of myself.

I decided in December last year to give Aric a little trip away and we've always talked about going to Petra,  and to visit the Dead Sea. Luckily for us you can do both in Jordan! I strategically booked it so it would be after my completion of the Master's in Social Psychology, which I received May 26 thank you very much...4.0 straight A's all the way through, no really!

So on the 29th of May we were off to Amman, eager to relax and get rid of some of all that pent up stress a "technical" life brings with it. Our interaction with Dollar rental cars was similar to the last two times we booked with them...reserve a Blazer and end up with a Korean Yansoon or something along those lines, so after the typical conversation between Aric and the agent: "Get me what I reserved, I don't want this piece of  Chinese s**t" - "but Sir it is Korean and this is all we have, it's brand new, good A/C" - "look it dude, you guys either get me what I booked and paid for or I go to Avis"...it usually takes 10-15 minutes for this kind of interpersonal communication to play out, but we were eventually driven to the headquarters of Jordan Dollar (20 min outside airport) where we took over a Pajango. And then we were on our way.

I always imagined the Dead Sea with sparkling blue water and white sandy beaches. Why is that? It's DEAD, nothing grows around it...so when we took in the first glimpse of the brown, mucky shore and dull looking water, I was slightly disappointed. Wasting no time with unpacking we trekked down to the shore from the Marriott, and waded into the strange emulsified liquid. It did not particularly smell good but then again, with potassium, bromine, magnesium, potash and sodium chloride in the mix, why would it? That is all the stuff that is good for you and your skin. Floating around in 32% salt solution for 45 minutes makes your skin crawl - literally - and when you slather on the filtered mud which is provided by the hotel in big tubs, well there is just no comparison...you would pay $200 for a similar mud wrap body treatment at the local spa. Add to that the 423 meters below sea level and you really get a cleansing!

The water is so thick it looks like you're floating in vegetable oil. At one point Aric and I jogged around, held up by the water to our chest...it was very weird. He suggested we jog to the other side, which was very close - my guess is 1-2 miles. I had to remind him that side was Israel, and they may not appreciate a half naked American with no passport in his shorts.

We left behind oodles of stress and enjoyed the sunset above with an electric Margarita in hand. Superb beginning to a long weekend.

Next day after another dip and float, mud coating and a well deserved breakfast, we set out on the drive to Petra, 3 hours south. Now mind you, we got a GPS device, and I was the designated navigator, so after punching in Movenpick Hotel Petra and getting the route outlined, what else can go wrong? Well, listening to the GPS for one, a map with three different roads leading to Petra, but not a single sign telling us what number road we were on. We took the left turn when it told us. Oops. The road was paved but only for a few miles. Then gravel and potholes set in. And then there were these high mountains ahead...I mentioned to Aric how lovely they looked...I got back: "we have to cross those f***rs". Such a lovely attitude from my husband when he is driving. I now see the point of NOT getting the Korean sanyoun piece of sh*t. The next hour was spent in breathtaking mountains with just as much breathtaking nasty winding one lane roads. Nerves standing on end, we eventually came to Bedouin Village and Little Petra, and then it was downhill after that (literally) - and we coasted right up to the hotel which was situated nearest the entry to Petra's secret 2000 yr old city.

To be continued!

Dead Sea North End

I'm floating and I can't get up!

does this picture need a caption?

mud-ified

evening view across to Israel shore

hotel pool view to Israel

relaxed after cleansing, detox, salt scrub and mud treatment

you pay $10 per 6 ounces at airport...it's the new grey gold!

winding road after wrong turn - more to come...

nobody dies on my shift

My father-inlaw once called my house "Pia's Sanctuary" - not sure if it was the fact that I always make sure we have his favorite Whiskey, or if he was referring to the Dr. Doolittle setup we seem to run here in the desert.

The latest addition to the family retreat is a male Nightjar. I found him in the grasp of Miver (aka Sammie, aka Henry) the cat, in the corner of our front yard. He was frantically trying to look puffy so Miver wouldn't get a swipe...

At first I thought it was a baby hawk or falcon, because it looks kind of baby-birdish, with a wide mouth. So I took it to the Falcon Center / bird vet in Nad Al Sheba - way the heck out in the desert! They told me it's a Nightjar and that many people are bringing in the same species at this time of year. Apparently it's their migration to Africa and this one sure strayed from the flock.

The advice was to take him back, give a little water and then set him out on the balcony at night for him to spread his wings and fly away in to the sunset. Yah, that worked!  I guess you can't just set a bowl of water in front of a weak bird....he could have drowned in it. So the best way I could give him liquids was with a QTip dipped in H2O and then force open his beak (wide as a bullfrog mind you) and then squeeze out the drops. He then swallows perfect...no longer afraid of me I think he has surrendered to the fact I keep him alive.

Here we are 24 hours later and he is fit as a feather, though missing several, but he can't hop or fly! Setting him on top of my garden table, he just sat there and scooted around a little, making soft cooing sounds....I tried to hold him up high and he flopped of my hand and landed on his chest!  Something ain't working in the mechanics of his wings or tail....and I suspect one leg may be broken. I will need to take him back to the vet at some point. Googling care of a rescued Nightjar, some eat 50 moths a day!  I don't think I can go around in the night like some ornithologist catching insects fro my injured bird.

More to come....

Fringe Season 4, episode 8: The Machine from the other Universe!

Tiny beads of sweat was forming on my forehead as I stood there gazing at the buttons. It was like a bad Bruce Willis movie where he has 10 seconds to cut the wire on the bomb, before it blows all of New York to smithereens. Should I move the dial to the right, or to the left. Right had more options, but also more time and I had heard that time is money!  Left showed very vague signs. And then there was the odd compartment, divided into three - how would it be possible to fathom what went into which slot? The whole thing could implode on itself if I selected the wrong degrees on the dial.

I needed an expert. Someone cool and collected who new exactly what combination of temperature and time would make the load come through clean! My palms were wet; my heart beating heavy and fast. WHY did I agree to take on this assignment? I had been SO certain I could fake my way through it convincingly but now, as I faced the white monster with a glaring round window, I lost all confidence. I would have to tell Aric. There was no way around it. Agreeing to iron his shirts was one thing (and even that was a stretch) but this washing machine was like something out of an episode of Fringe!  How had it got to my house and how did I operate it?

My hands were shaking as I punched in the code for Kumudu, Nilan's sister. Nilan had been my trusted maid for 3 years, but I had agreed to let her go back home to Sri Lanka - thinking I didn't need her help now the boys were gone.  I mean, how hard could it be to pick up house work again?  Panic set in as I texted two words in sheer desperation: "please help!"

Kumudu knew better than to let me waddle in shame and anxiety. She sent back an immediate text: "Madam, I will be there at 4.30 to iron and wash. Thank God!  I was so relieved that I just sank to the floor, my body like Jello. It will be necessary to have Kumudu come to the new house every week to tackle the Samsung Diamond Front Loader. I just can't see how I can crack the settings!

Who says 13 is unlucky?

After a long hiatus, dreadful psychology homework, Hunter's exams, a 25th wedding anniversary cruise and work challenges, I am finally re-surfacing for air with a new attitude.

Hunter finished his exams for the IB diploma and is currently chilling in Cyprus with his gal-pal Mariana. She is off to Reading University in October for her pre-law. Hunter heads to Arizona State June 25th, to begin summer school and stay with Aidan until the fall semester starts. Aidan and his friend Cameron scored a 2-bed apt in Phoenix, 3 miles from his campus.

That leaves Aric and I alone with two four-legged, furry kids, Slim and Sammie (now called Miver [meewar] because she has such a pitiful miauw sound!) We are sacking the carwasher, the maid and downsizing to a 3 bedroom home in Garden View, a few miles south of where we are now. It's a lovely home on a slope of Jebel Ali (Mount Ali) which is more like a big hill, but who's picky?

It hasn't been easy to find a new home. You would think we have the pick of the litter with over 2000 homes being released in the last 6-8 months. However, all the homes we have looked at in the past month are either 40 miles out in the desert, or in a sandpit in the middle of a highway pringle, or they are too small, too expensive, too big, too weird in the layout, no garden, too big of a garden, etc etc. We are not being difficult but I'm thinking of an in-and-out option for the kitten who refuses to live behind closed doors. At 8 months she is a holy terror and lanky - loves to sleep outside in 45c temps under my garden furniture.

Yesterday, the 13th of June, was a day of miracles. Our friends Rina and Dave live in the Garden View Villas and I had earlier tried to find the number of the management office who once went bancrupt because of the recession...that's now history - it's amazing who can get a stimulus package thses days (I'd like some stimulus!) so Dave gave me a number and on the 12th I called several times, on hold for most of them, but managed to get a guy who said I had to call Merlin (I always knew it took magic to get a place to live). I called Merlin (who turnes out to be Marilyn...lost in translation) and when I cheerfully asked if I could view one of the villas, she said "Maaam, are you on the waiting list?" WHAT??  There's a waiting list for these unique "can't ever get into them" villas??  Well, no I am not.....so, called the first number again and put myself on the list. When asked how soon we were moving I said 2 weeks, to which I received the answer that I was number 76 and it would take a year. Back to Dave and Rina...Dave said a couple across the street were possibly moving so maybe we could take over their lease. We knocked on the door. Nobody home. Went to the leasing office and I really looked pathetic, both in my riding attire (tank top, jodphurs, boots - caked with a variety of stable and horse particles) and also in my 'sad desperate face' but never mind. I WAS desperate, so it wasn't really an act.

After speaking with Merlin/Marilyn and her boss Mr. Mansoor, a local Emirati, we were sure that it would be a long shot to find someone to take over a lease from and that was the only way to beat the waiting list. Dave said that Mr. Mansoor never even looked at my desperate face, he was more interested in my gold cross around my neck (or could it have been my chest??) Who knows... two hours later, while in a workshop, I got a call from Mr. Mansoor who said "Ms. Pia today is your lucky day!"  Allah be praised what a miracle, a tenant had just come in and announced they were leaving and since Mr. Mansoor had my card in front of him, as well as a fresh image of my chest, ehm, my cross, I got the call and beat out 75 others.

Today I went back bearing gifts for Merlin and Mansoor. Dates and Chocolate from the region...it was a big hit. I'm sure they won't forget me. We take over the house on July 5th. Pics to come later.

And in other news, I picked up several new clients in yesterday's workshop, so am now well on my way to earn enough to keep gas in my car and feed my horse!  I'm off to Beirut for consulting too later this month.  What a day it was...the 13th!!

PROM NIGHT:

Bob Marley lives in Copenhagen

Unlike Elvis who really is dead, I am convinced that Bob - through karma and ying yang voodoo - has been reincarnated and goes by the name of Mr. Bushman. My Danish friends may have met him? I was recently in Copenhagen. My dad's health has been declining for the past few years and when he fell and broke his leg just before Christmas, it took a turn for the worse. Infection and other easy to fight off elements (in normal healthy bodies) eventually weakened him and on top of that, I believe he just gave up.

He passed away about 9-10 hours after I arrived to say goodbye. Whether he was aware of my presence I can't say - I think he responded slightly, and I told him I loved him. He slept peacefully and just continued on that journey to another place.

I had a few days before the funeral, so I decided to meet my girlfriend Josephine for a glass of wine and catch up on life. As I walked from the station down through the winding cobblestone streets towards the square we agreed to meet at, I passed an old man stuffed into a huge parka and scarves, with a knit hat barely covering his greying rasta dreads. All I could think was: there goes a very cold and old Bob Marley. Our eyes met and I couldn't help smile, he has such a glean and shine about him. As we walked past eachother he turned and said in perfect Danish: "hej hvor er du smuk" (hello you are beautiful). It's not every day you meet Bob and even more amazing is his ability to speak Danish, so I just started laughing. In all my sorrow and mourning, I needed to laugh. He came back towards me and as other people walked by us, he took my hands, which were freezing, it was after all 2 degrees! I was so giggly I forgot to speak Danish asking him in English where he was from. Bob was bilingual thank God and he said, I am Mr. Bushman and I am from Ethiopia. In that 10 minute chat, he never let go of my hands (I don't normally hold hands with strangers on the streets of Copenhagen but something compelled me to leave my cold hands in his warm grip). I just about told him my entire life story - well 90% of it perhaps, and he quoted me Isiah 54:17 - which I thought was weird.....

"no weapon forged against you will prevail, and you will refute every tongue that accuses you. This is the heritage of the servants of the LORD, and this is their vindication from me, declares the LORD"

It has nothing to do with my life story, nor the death of my father. But I do believe it has to do with Mr. Bushman, who at 19 years of age was forced to leave his land and come to Denmark, a strange cold country, where he then became an architect. According to older bibles the verse refers to the land of Israel, but I suppose it could be Ethiopia....or maybe Bob Bushman Marley just got his scripture mixed up.

I felt oddly at peace and saved when I left him and I'm neither Catholic nor Jewish.

Desparate House Wife Seeks New Status!

The sentence was handed down this week. Oh I knew it was brewing of course, having alarm bells go off when Cisco HR asked me for my passport and two photos. I don't hand out my passport to just anyone but I figured they had a valid reason, since I severed my ties with them in September last year. No longer able to sponsor me, I was doomed. Aric handed me the passport back with a heavy hand. Shaking, I slowly opened it to the new visa page. There it was, black on pink (I think they use pink pages to dampen the shock) - HOUSEWIFE; NOT ALLOWED TO WORK!!

Oh the agony! How dare they throw me into the category with all the other wives who get their nails done and drive on the shoulder to get little Billy to school on time? Suddenly I'm cast from breadwinner to barefoot; from Director to dimwit; from corporate Goddess to cleaning Goddess (oh wait, I still have a maid...must I let her go now?)

I suppose on the flipside I can now, without guilt, ask for an allowance, go shopping for meaningless objects and designer clothes, meet other designated HWs for coffee at Starbucks and talk about the design of the new school uniforms. It brings a whole new perspective - this not having been a HW ever - after all, I am still raising two kids, a 3 year old (Slim...going on Fat) and Sam Henry, (6 months); they need their mom! Though they are both very well adjusted; Slim for example has no separation anxiety - I'm sure the whining and yelping when I leave the house is just him being happy that he's on his own, so he can chew various belongings - and Sam Henry, well she is already inviting Big Red Tomcat from across the alley, into our yard when we aren't around. So all in all they are very independent. I needn't worry about having had a career and abandoning them for the last few years.

The stack of unread literature on my night stand will also get more attention. Collecting dust for months, it is just a matter of days before I dive into "Dude, where is my country?" by Michael Moore; and the various autobiographies (authorized and non-authorized alike) by the latest celebrities and politicians. I'm especially keen on starting the "Dictatorships and Oppressive Regimes through the times", since I am now an eager student of Social Psychology, and study discrimination and microaggression on a weekly babsis.

So what is bringing me down? I'll tell you what! The status that comes with the words in the visa. It's a visa of non-identity, of dependence, of disrespect and of the scarlet letter on the chest. "HW" ! Hmmphh! ... I'm going to write the Sheikh. How would he like to be called His Highness House Sheikh? It's a disgrace. Housewives should not be degraded in an official document such as the passport! For the whole world to see when you enter a country's immigration points!

I'm going to rebel and protest. This week I'm starting a journey to get the status changed, starting with the economic department and ending in Ras Al Khaima free zone with an application for a new status: Pia Ault, license to TRADE. Since my company has been formed, and nearly launched, I consider it a relief that I can soon change from HW to CEO or MD or BOSS and again join the ranks of working mothers and wives allowed to work.

I'm an intelligent woman - get me out of here!

Cruise Control into 2012

It was the big moment we had waited for! The very special invite from Paramount and Tom Cruise, as promised last year, was sitting in my inbox and it was glowing I tell you!

December 14, Lorraine, Peter, Aric, Hannah and I went to the IMAX theatre in the mall and lined up with all the other extras who so expectantly came to get a glimpse, not of Tom, but of themselves ;-)

Halfway through the seat grabbing action movie, there it was...so fast that if you didn't know who to look for you missed it. Lorraine and I in the background for 3.8 seconds....oh what a glorious moment to have made it on the big screen in a major Hollywood flick!! Robin (who we now all hate!) has at least 8 seconds of face time. She has now moved back to Canada in fear of other extras retaliating and egging her house! Pinkie, who we all hated from day one (as she placed herself behind Tom in every goddang scene - come on lady - REALLY??) was barely on for 1 sec (and she was out of focus). Of course now I am going to get the DVD and really start nit-picking through the scenes of the Billionaires Ball, to see if I am in fact elsewhere in the scenes. To spend 3 days filing 10 minutes of the movie now seems over the top. Wonder why it took so long to get that kiss right?!?!

Life moves on with many prospects of upcoming extra jobs, but this writer has to prioritize. Started a Master's Degree in Social Psychology early December. One can never have too many degrees or too much knowledge. My MBA served me well in moving up the ladder and earnings. This degree will see me slide back down into the social gutter where all the good stuff is waiting to be questioned. As a Social Psychologist you get to ask all kinds of questions - like why do we scratch an itch? Why do people go for plastic surgery? Or my favorite one: Why do beer ads always have women in them? I can't wait to ask, ask, ask. Aidan and I are in a friendly competition for straight A's (I have them...he got 4 A's and a B this semester) :)

My Cisco life as we knew it, is over. After a painful and drawn out divorce, battling over who gets the stock and who gets the options...and whose fault was it anyway? we settled out of court with an amicable amount of $$. I promptly placed the funds in my offshore, tax sheltered, secret, far-away lair, for a rainy day. Now I shop less fashion, dye my hair with L'Oreal Creme Colour which saves me 650 dirhams every 6 months. I've decided to go natural...meaning chestnut brown (who knew after all these years that it was truly my real color?) And we eat home more often than out. I think I can do this belt tightening no problem.

What comes around goes around and with that I have been told the VPs who were being major a-holes, have been moved and fired respectively. My boss was demoted and hates life...what more can I want? I've decided to start my own consulting company, focusing on coaching, leadership development and youth programs. It should kick off in January, once I obtain the right trade license from the government. I'm taking odd projects until then - one is with GEMS (the leading private school system in Dubai) and UNESCO, to create a plan for training 10,000 school principals in Ghana, Kenya and India. I've domne round one and it is now down to UNESCO to do the next step - which may be hindered by funds cut from US, due to the Palestine becoming member state. Why can't politics keep out of philanthropics?

This year 2011, was odd and wonderful in every aspect. We travelled far to see Aidan and we are fortunate he is with us in Dubai for Christmas and New Years. Courtney and he broke up December 20...good timing! No further details available but I daresay we are pleased (as I'm sure are her parents). The boy is gungho about getting back into the dating game and is now all of a sudden aware of the many coed beauties on campus!

Slim and Sammie have been getting closer and now play all the time. It was such a great rescue animal and we are glad we have her, though she is cheeky! She is now so agile she can jump up on anything so we have to make sure things are put away in the kitchen (at night).

New Years eve brings us on the golfcourse on Yas Island, with Peter and Lorraine and then a late lunch/early dinner, before Cold Play concert on Marina Island in Abu Dhabi. VIP tickets for free, who can say no to that? It should be a nice ending to a quirky year.

Peace to all!