Exquisite Day

In fact, the last two or three days have almost made up for the Filth Storms of last week...sorry. There is actually no way that powdered petrochemicals and dry cat feces from 47 bajillion feral cats, airborne at 20 Knots, can be mistaken for a "Sandstorm". As they say at home, 'Daz jest naasty'.

It's Liberation Day Holiday, which means that Monday and Tuesday are off for everyone. Now, my school was wavering about giving us Sunday, the 24th, off. They let us know officially...about the 17th. They let us know we had the entire week, at 1:30 on the 21st. As there is a mass migration (think aerodynamic Hijab and people tied to airplane wings) out of Kuwait during this time, I am sitting on my couch instead of gazing at the Treasury in Petra.

That's oversimplified- I'm actually super tired. I have French Lessons 3x per week, and I had my first horse riding lesson last Saturday. Then, I mistook "Super Muscle Fatigue" for basic muscle soreness, tried to go and stretch some of the kinks out at the gym. Wrong move. I came out of the gym walking like Messilina Does Milan, pondering muscle groups I'd never previously appreciated.

So I'm on the couch, stacks of books and movies and chocolate and wonderful stuff. I conceded the wonderful weather and opened the windows.

Back to Liberation Day...they take it pretty seriously here. I was out driving and we ran into a pocket (okay, we went around a round-about and ended up in a District of) of cruisers standing on top of their cars, waving flags and squirting foam as they rolled down the street. I started to laugh, told my friend it was like Gay Pride back home... men in tight jeans squirting each other and dancing with flags on top of cars. She understood- she's Swedish.

Homesick as anything these past two weeks. Terribly vivid- I'll lose myself in a memory of being at Black Diamond Mines, raise my hand...and wake up touching the window glass in my classroom, or a student will call me, "Miss? Miss?" Talk about sleep walking. It's not just places- even though I know that Ma__ is no longer the owner of a souped up Jeep Cherokee, I've seen two or three green ones just on the Motorway, and it's enough to bring tears to my eyes. A six pack and a Cow's Head...God, sometimes I miss him so much it's hard to swallow. Or Pan Dyrektor, standing and smiling at me from some rocky ledge overlooking the ocean, on a bright afternoon. Hands behind his back, that half aggravated, half amused smile.

As I found out at Christmas, the places stay the same, but the people quickly move beyond recognition.

One thing open windows do really well, is advertise the place around the corner making Samosas. Think I'm going to shuffle down and see what's cooking.