Pot o’ Gold

The winter in Tajikistan is over, but the hindrance of potholes is ongoing and tormenting.

The constant freezing and unfreezing of the roads has brought on an overwhelming encumbrance of deep fissures on our streets. The street name is “malevolent-satanic-indentations”

Leaving my driveway is often both challenging and surprising. 

 

Along my paths there are several imperfections that have come to have special meaning.

Kill Axle Bros
A twin set of cracks that are deep and devious.  They work in unison to threaten and demoralize.


The Bum Bump

This brute is particularly soul-destroying after a “bathroom associated illness”

Swiss Cheese Road

This is on the way to my friend Deb’s house.  I’m usually running late and try to see if maybe I can go fast enough to just “skim” over the tops. 
You can’t.

The Butt Crack

This is unusual in that it extends from one side of the road to the other.  There are several “butt cracks” that I cross daily.  Most motorists try to take it at an angle, as do I.  But I’ve seen a man try to take it head on.  He will take it at an angle from now on.

To handle this predicament, I propose an “Adopt a Pothole Initiative”. 

This would involve choosing your favorite pothole and cramming it with anything that will cushion the blow.  Once or twice a week you would fill up your selected pothole with whatever “filler” you have on hand.  Rocks, bricks, and sand can be good options.  But tree clippings, old furniture and the sturdier trash will also do.

Cherry-picking potholes can be a pickle. 

·         There is the one that popped your tire on the way to work. 
·         The one that bumped your sweet child’s head against the window. 
·         The one that made you grateful for each breath as you believe you were possibly involved in a car bombing. 

Yes, choosing will be a problem.

My husband who is more intimately acquainted with the Tajik government says that by the time I have bribed all the individuals in order to activate my plan, I could bring in a crew from Singapore to cleanse the entire country of this plaque.  But I continue to search for a cure for this vile epidemic

It has been a journey of self-discovery in many ways.

 I marvel at my ability to forget the location of my most hated potholes.  It’s not until I’m heading directly into the aforementioned that I recall my past dealings with it.

 I find I have a growing respect for the taxes that pay for road repair in the USA.  I will never complain about sitting in traffic behind a road crew ever again.

 I now know what a “dirty commy trick” is.

 I have the before unknown strength to face horizontal, vertical, perpendicular, round, odd-shaped and evilly arranged tribulations on the road of life. And the roads that are Tajik.

Pirates and Pink Balloons

We are big into balloons. For every birthday we decorate the house and blow up balloons. It's an important part of the big day and for days after. SO, being the good mom that I am, I bought several bags of balloons this summer for these special days. On the eve of Ben's 7th birthday party Miriam, Wesley and I began to decorate for his Indiana Jones/Pirate party when we discovered that the only balloons that would hold air were the pink balloons. I don't know if it was bugs, or the damp, or what, but all the other colors were riddled with holes. In spite of the pink ballons, it was still a very manly party. Nerf gun war, treasure hunt, and wii, all while surrounded by beautiful pink balloons.

So my questions are:

"Why the pink balloons? Why were the other colors holey but not the pink?"

"Why are the boys still playing with and fighting over these pink balloons nearly two weeks after the party?"

"Will these balloons ever pop? They seem to be as big and strong as ever!"

"Will my manly little fellow be scarred by an Indiana Jones/Pirate birthday with only pink balloons?"

These questions haunt me...

Cooking from a book

So on Saturday night Vimal came into the kitchen while I was making dinner. I was making ham and cheese pockets and had two cookbooks because I was also making caramel sticky buns for Easter morning. Vimal saw that I had cookbooks out and in a rather shocked voice said "Ma'am! You are cooking from books?" I said "yep!" He says "You are not knowing cooking without books?" I said "No, I use books" Then I showed him my rather vast collection of cookbooks...this was a mistake...but I didn't know it. He was very disapproving and asked why my mother had not taught me how to cook. I told him she was busy when I was young...I still wasn't seeing where this was all going. He then insisted that I go and get Miriam to show her how to cook. I was like "no way! She's playing right now." Then he quietly asked if "Sir" knew that I couldn't cook before I married him. I said "well, he sure knew after he married me!" I laughed at this...he didn't. He then told me about how his sisters know how to make hundreds of dished and his mom "taught them right, all the time". I started to see the wheels turning at this point...he was thinking to himself: one more reason to NEVER have a "love marriage". I laughingly told Wes (The Sir) that night before bed and he clued me into what was going on during my little exchange with Vimal. When a marriage is being arranged, one of the things that comes up is how many dishes a girl can make. Then after the marriage, the new bride takes over the kitchen and begins making all her dishes, to see if she was telling the truth. It's one of the things that makes a girl more or less marriage-able. Who knew? So now, Wes and I have lost even more respect...if that's possible after the whole "love marriage" discussion we had a few months back.

Trying to blog

Okay, this is an experiment. I finally feel ready to keep some kind of a blog. Up until now, I didn't have the ability to feel my feelings AND blog my feelings. But I am thinking now I'm ready.

Leaving America