Dubai

I don't think I'd heard of Dubai until last year, when I was flying to (or from) Europe, and the airline's magazine had an article about the place, describing its phenomenally quick growth, its amazing wealth, and a Disneyworld-like project that was underway.

I remember thinking it sounded crazy, a city growing that quickly and that extravagantly. But the article was so positive, as if this were the normal way for things to happen when smart people learn how to manage money.

I didn't think much more about it until a few months ago, when I heard a story about Dubai on public radio. The economic problems had finally reached that area of the world, and all those construction projects were put on hold, or stopped completely.

It was a very sad story, because men from other countries had moved to Dubai, hired by these big contruction firms, hoping to be able to send money home to their families. Instead, they were now stuck in Dubai without work, living ten and fourteen to a two-room apartment, with no income and no way to get back home. And the companies that brought them there were not offering to help get them back home.

It was terrible.

Today I heard another brief reference to Dubai, again on the radio. Ky Risdall was talking about being over there last year for a story on the amazing growth of the boomtown (my word, not his, as I recall) and how now there is no doubt that the amazing growth was built on untenable risk-taking, like certain enterprises in our own little part of the world that led up to the current situation.

I was struck by his saying, "The funny thing is that everyone over there knew what was happening, but no one seemed to care."

Seems true of so many projects undertaken by us human beings. Maybe some can claim ignorance, but a lot of people know that what we're doing isn't smart (e.g., polluting the very world we depend on for life), but we really don't seem to care.

What does it take to get people to care? I don't know for sure, but I think it has something to do with the building of community that Wendell Berry so heartily champions. When we think only of ourselves, we take foolish risks and don't think about bigger pictures and longer terms. When we think about how our decisions affect others, present and future, we act more wisely, and, I hope, more kindly.

Two Leaves

These two leaves caught my attention when I was walking recently. Of course the larger one did, because of its color. But I took the picture because of the way they were there together. They look like friends.

I've decided I want to read Wendell Berry. I've been reading excerpts from his work here and there for the past decade or more, and each time I do, I feel less lonely, even though I don't go around thinking that I am lonely.

It's just that he is so connected. Not connected to the Internet or to a network of friends on Facebook. In fact, I wonder if he ever has given in and bought a computer. He certainly wasn't planning to back in 1987, according to an essay I read.

But he is so connected to the land, to values I share. He believes in the importance of the local and of community among people. He believes technology should be seriouly evaluated before being accepted and used; like the Amish and Menonnites, he sees that technology can often harm or destroy community if not carefully chosen. He believes in taking care of the earth and living carefully, thoughtfully, slowly. Like a human being, on a human scale.

When I read or hear his words, I have the comforting thought that I'm not the only one who thinks our world is more than a bit mad. Not in a funny way--people are often saying, "Oh, this world's just crazy, isn't it?" and then going right on to join in the craziness. But I mean realizing that the world really is significantly messed up, and trying to find ways to resist the craziness.

Recently I came across the following, and I guess that's what had made me decide I need to not be satisfied with discovering excerpts, but actually seek him out and learn from him:

When despair for the world grows in me, and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be -- I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought or grief. I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Bozo's and Brownsville

Today was one of those days that help you connect past, present, and future.

Drazen and I drove to Brownsville. We took Highway 70 instead of the interstate. This was, after all, a free day, with no need for hurry.

Driving Hwy. 70 takes me back to my younger years in a way the interstate never could. If we had driven I-40 all those years, I suppose my only memories would be of whatever book I was reading at the time, or maybe of a water tower or two that you see along the way. Or the inevitable sibling squabbles that were part of every longish trip we made.

But Highway 70, with its two lanes and slower pace, was made for looking out the windows and noticing things. The nurseries and concrete statues along the way while it's still called Summer Avenue, the undulating hills that start up once you leave city limits, the cotton fields with flowery white beauty against their darker stems, the horses and cows in their pastures, the quaint houses in small towns, and eventually the swampy Loosahatchie and Hatchie bottoms were always enough to hold my interest for an hour.

And today we did something that I always wanted to do when I was growing up. We stopped in Mason and had lunch at Bozo's Hot Pit BBQ. Growing up, we did eat barbeque from Bozo's, but it was never on our way to Grandmother's. I remember going there as a group, a whole bunch of us, maybe for someone's birthday, after we'd gotten to Brownsville. And I remember various family members being sent to pick up barbeque to eat back at Grandmother's. But to just stop on the way and sit down and eat--this was a first.

For those who don't know, Bozo's has been around since 1923. The servers were all wearing tee-shirts celebrating their 86th anniversary. And this is the place used to film part of the 2005 movie Walk the Line. I remember when watching the movie thinking it looked awfully like Bozo's and being delighted to learn via the credits that indeed it was.

So, we had lunch, then drove on up the road. We visited my 91-year-old third cousin, then walked around the square, where many of the businesses have changed names and purpose over the years. But The Economy Store, which Granddaddy was part of starting, is still going strong--with different owners for many decades now, but still related to the original other owners, and related to the cousin we visited.

Granddaddy's "Christmas Furniture Store" (last name was Christmas) is now "Lock, Stock, and Barrel," but it was neat to peer in the windows and see that it is at least still a furniture store.

After that we went to my grandparents' house, whose current owners have graciously given me permission to enjoy the grounds if ever they are not home and I want to stop by. So we walked around, seeing how the sweetheart roses and crepe myrtle have grown, how the family is still using the same old swing frame--and of course I had to sit and swing a while. We looked at this plant and that birdhouse, the laundry line and the doghouse, and naturally each time I looked in any direction, images of people and memories of events came along with the views.

From there we went to the cemetery, and for the first time I actually didn't cry too very much. I tend to get very caught up in the past when I go there alone, being hit with the thought that an entire part of life is just over--but somehow being there today with Drazen, and the fact that we had gone to Bozo's and planned to go again, made a difference. It sounds funny, but it really did.

We looked around for a while at the various gravestones. For America, it's a pretty old cemetery. Another time I'll have to share some photos I made there on a visit with my sister a while back.

Then the sun was getting quite low, and we left. We drove back via Koko Road, with its beautiful tree tunnels and cotton fields and curvy hills. Then back through Stanton and again to Bozo's, this time for a shared piece of German chocolate pie. And we even got sandwiches to take home for Sunday lunch. (Meat, slaw, and buns all packed separately, of course. You can't beat their customer service.)

Then back home to Memphis, with the memory of a lovely day to savor. And the thought that we'll go back again just made the whole day better.


A church down the road from Bozo's, photo taken on another trip. No snow here yet!

Moving Thoughts

Ha,ha. Not that I expect anything I write just now will be moving. No, tonight it's just thoughts on the subject of moving. Maybe the first of a series. Time will tell.

This is our first time to both sell and buy a house. We've moved before, more than once. But it was from house to house (to house, to house....) the first three months of our marriage, visiting friends and family as guests. Then it was the big move across the ocean, to live in Zagreb for two years in a rented house, then moving from there to the house we shared with Drazen's parents.

Then we crossed back over the ocean to live in a little bitty (for America) apartment at the graduate school, and after three years moved into a larger apartment on campus.

Then we bought the house we live in. So it's the first house we ever bought, and we bought it from its owners. We met them from the get-go, and we wound up meeting their friends and being introduced to many of our neighbors through them, so that we quickly felt at home.

The whole thing of going through real estate agents has been a new experience. And rather strange for me, since before we just talked directly to the owners of the house.

As it is now, we haven't even met the people whose house we will be buying. And had I not happened to come home when I did the first time our potential buyer looked at our house (thinking he would have already left), I would not have met him. It's all done via the agents. Whenever we've gone to look at other houses, no one is home, which to me feels very strange.

And so I find it interesting, given this indirect, impersonal way of looking for and checking out houses, that the following has transpired.

On that day I happened to come home while our looker was finishing up his looking, the first thing he said to me was, "You guys have the greatest books!" (I hear the conventional wisdom is that houses with lots of books don't attract buyers.) It turns out he is working on a Masters in English literature, so of course he noticed all the literature and other interesting stuff that lines our shelves.

Not only that, but as we talked a bit and he learned that Drazen works at a particular neurosurgery clinic, I learned that he is related to one of the founding surgeons.

Pretty cool, is it not? But that's not all.

Curious about the owners of the house we are set to buy, and with Google at our disposal, I looked them up. It turns out that she is a therapist. I don't know her, but I recognized her name because a friend of mine once shared office space with her.

And when we were looking at their house a third time, pretty much set on making an offer, I couldn't help but notice an awful lot of American and English literature on their bookshelves.

So, I'm wondering if we may have three people in a row with English degrees buying and selling houses to each other. And two of us therapists, and then the connection with Drazen's job. Who would have thought it could happen with real estate agents in the mix the whole way and no personal connections among the sellers/buyers? I know stranger things have happened, but I find it rather unusual in a very cool way.

And it certainly makes it easier for me to leave our house, knowing we're leaving it in the hands of someone whose first words were, "You guys have the greatest books!"

Thanksgiving Day

Memories of the day--

sixteen people around two tables;

the loveliness of knowing exactly what would be on the menu;

using Grandmother's measuring spoons, recipes, and serving silver;

hearing belly laughter from the four youngest as they watched a movie;

crunching through the leaves in the park, eleven of us, between dinner and dessert;

singing the Doxology, enjoying the beautiful harmonies of my singing family's voices;

burning the candle that once burned in Grandmother's house;

and giving thanks from the heart, knowing we truly are blessed beyond all we could have asked or imagined.

Thanks be to God!

Kitchen Thanksgivings

I Just love this pie plate I found last year on sale in a Hallmark shop. I'm not a big shopper and generally don't buy things on impulse, but this was too sweet and at too good a price not to bring home. It's hoping to hold a pecan pie tomorrow, though, not an apple pie.




This was the first time I ever bought whole carrots. They are just beautiful. So different from the bagged type with the green cut off.




Our little version of the horn of plenty.

Touched by God Himself

I offered to let my sister write a guest-post while I was out of town and away from the computer, but I see she didn't take me up on the offer.

She did, however, post that last Kierkegaard prayer, so many thanks to you, Lisa.

I've been away and have photos and things to share, but it's late, so that will have to wait for another day.

In the meantime, a quote from St. John of the Cross that has been with me recently:

For when once the will
Is touched by God Himself
It cannot be satisfied
Except by God....

Prayers of Kierkegaard, IV

Father in Heaven!
Hold not our sins up against us but hold us up against our sins
So that the thought of Thee when it wakens in our soul, and each time it wakens,
Should not remind us of what we have committed, but of what Thou didst forgive,
Not of how we went astray but of how Thou didst save us.

Prayers of Kierkegaard, III

Father in Heaven,
Well we know that it is Thou
That giveth both to will and to do,
That also longing,
When it leads us to renew
The fellowship with our Savior and Redeemer,
Is from Thee.
Father in Heaven, longing is Thy gift.
But when longing lays hold of us,
Oh, that we might lay hold of the longing!
When it would carry us away,
That we also might give ourselves up!
When Thou art near to summon us,
That we also in prayer might stay near Thee!
When Thou in the longing dost offer us
the highest good,
oh, that we might hold it fast!

Prayers of Kierkegaard, II

Lord Jesus Christ
Who suffered all life long
that I, too, might be saved,
and Whose suffering still knows no end,
This, too, wilt Thou endure:
saving and redeeming me,
this patient suffering of me
with whom Thou hast to do—
I, who so often go astray.