Settings change....

I know some of you faithful and dedicated three readers had wanted to comment, but hadn't been able to do so, due to my settings. I finally changed them! Now anyone who wants to comment should be able to (*cough* *Dad* *Mom* *cough*). However, all comments have to be approved by *me* before they appear - so just take that into consideration. I have no objections to being called "Your Grace," you know. Or "Your Highness." "Your Excellent and Most Revered Majesty," is, however, pushing it just a tad too far. This is, I think, a much more satisfactory arrangement all around! ;-)

I know the changes are coming late, but I'm working on the last of the Egypt, Umm Quies, and Wadi Rum tomes, so it might be just in time.

Foot it featly forth the ford, ye fair and fauny fellows...

Foot it featly forth the ford,

Ye fair and Fauny fellows.

Falter not for fear of fray -

Your faithful shepherd follows!

I awoke this morning to the sight of a herd of sheep being driven up the street below my window, just past the white gazebo. I rushed to get my camera - alas, they disappeared as quickly as their mythical cousin Tumnus.

Eastern winds....

Lovely wind from the East today, a Mary Poppins arriving sort of home-like day, today. I could not help but think of every other sort of spring day; spring is eternally typical, despite its persistent newness.

I awoke, much like the Banks children, to my new host sister being home! Much sorting of her stuff, and now, all the families are visiting. I am hiding in the bedroom.

Had a water fight with my host brother, however. I asked him if his parents would agree; he said yes. We then proceeded to sneak outside with the water bottles behind our backs, grinning broadly at his dad. Then, after we were soaked, we came back through the foyer veeerrrry sneakily. I don't think he had permission, after all. Then I spent the evening helping him with a research project.

I just want to know: when did I become the editor in chief?

Don't know how to play this game...

I spent my afternoon editing medical school statements.

In the midst of my editing, the woman sitting beside me asked for my help. Could I edit her email to a professor, since it was in English? I said yes, of course. I think I was wearing my English major perfume today.

So I went through the email and perfected the grammar, added capitalization, and improved the vocabulary. I was, however, a little surprised at the condition of the email: she was an intern at a large U.S. hospital in a state with a certain huge and well respected medical school that might start with an M. She was emailing a professor at Mayo, explaining that she wanted to do an away rotation there in order to better her chances of landing a fellowship. She was doing this on the advice of her mentor.....whom, I suspect, is a colleague of the researcher at Mayo.

It's all about whom you know.

IMMD

I took the microbus home today; I enjoyed pulling back the thick black curtain to peer out the open window.

A small sedan pulled along side us. The four year old girl was amusing herself by sticking her tongue out at the bus. I amused myself by returning the favor. She gave me a huge grin; even her sullen teenaged brothers managed a smile. I drew the curtain, and we were gone. It was just a small moment of a care-free life, but it made my day.

Last day of classes....almost!

As I just mentioned, we had a small party in class today, since it was our last day of Arabic classes. There was a lot of food - particularly cake. Particularly yummy sponge cake with whipped cream frosting and layers of fruit in between along with deliciously fresh and glazed strawberries on top. Not that I minded - not one bit.

It was a tad bittersweet - we have been together as a class with the same teacher for 3 hours Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays for FusHa and together for 1.5 hours on Mondays and Wednesdays for Ammiyya for 3 months. Plus, this means - finals! We have our first round of finals on Sunday - eek! - and for Arabic we'll have at least six hours of exams, plus another several hours of post testing to see what level we are at now. Next week we still have area studies classes, but the week after that, we have our final exams for them; another 6 hours of tests. Fun, fun, fun!

Heffla-lumps and woozles

One of the great things about learning a new language is how often normal words in that language sound like other words in your own language. This often causes me private hilarity.

For example: "Tux" means "weather". "Be-yoot" isn't an Australian way of saying that's a beyoot one, mate, it means "houses." "Biddy" doesn't refer to an old hen here, it means "I want." And "fish" may sound a lot like something that lives in the sea, but really it's a way of making a negation. Oh, and "Elvis" may be a singer in the states, but the Jordanian pronunciation of it means "I wear."

All that to say, really, that today in class we had a "heffla." This does not mean that we caught the oft-fabled never seen woozle, it only means we had a party. Though, to think about it, catching the heffla-lump would be cause for celebration.

(In which I accomplish one of my Jordanian goals)

Tonight we had the host-family dinner, where all the students and their host families - over 75 of us and plus the families - get all dressed up and go to a nice hotel ballroom and eat a zaky kiteer (very tasty) dinner.

In the ballroom beside us just happened to be a wedding.

Just as our program ended, we filed out to the curved marble staircase leading from the lower floor where we were up to the lobby. We could not, however, go up because the groom and bride were coming down. Surrounding them were their family and friends; behind them was the group of singing men in dishdasha with hand drums.

We, of course, joined in with the general ululation and hand clapping. I'm sure the bride was wondering what all these Americans were doing at her wedding. I could see, however, the fear in the (very good looking) groom's eye.

"Who's paying for all these extra people?"

Now I've done it all.....

Coming home today in a taxi was quite the adventure. After some general horn-honking and confusion in the bus area, our taxi pulled out into traffic.

Beside us pulled out another taxi; the driver was a friend of our driver's.

This was evident because the two taxis drove inches from each other for quite a distance as the drivers chatted through the open windows. The buzzing traffic snarled about us. I was ready to see Jesus a lot sooner than I had planned on.

Petra, day 3

Awoke at a bit more reasonable time today, realizing that an early start wouldn't happen. Another delicious breakfast, and another stop for hummus and falafel. We decided to explore Petra's city center, which we did. We meandered along and posed in front of the tri-partite arch . Meandering along, we came to the Great Temple Complex and I, at least, had a grand time clambering over rocks. From there, to Qasr Al-Bint (Castle of the Girl), a large freestanding temple. According to legend, the princess said she would marry the man who could give it running water. I suppose human nature never changes. Human nature being what it is, I amused myself by discovering a slightly hidden doorway and going through it, climbing steps to climb onto the top of the building, walking around its crumbling roof walls to get a lovely view.

A hot walk to see some Byzantine churches - one in which a Spanish Roman Catholic group was holding a service (it was Sunday, after all) - and then on for a walk through the desert in order to get to some more tomb complexes.

And can I here insert what a trooper my traveling companion was? No complaints, even when I dragged her through the desert with no real path in sight. I had a marvelous time, but I don't think it was quite her idea of fun. However, I regaled her with the stories of what I was pretending as we trekked through the sand at noonday: I was the wife of a Roman general, station in Petra following its annexation by Trajan (in 106 A.D.) We had just returned from offering our sacrifices and libations in the Great Temple and from getting our meat from the macellum. A quick stop at the Nymphaeum, and now we were trudging back to our cool home cleft in the rocks. She was my slave, the daughter of a proud Nabataean family who had resisted the annexation. However, her lover was a proud Bedouin man who would eventually come to raid the proud Romans, destroying half the city and rescuing her to live with him in the desert. Their children would eventually come to live in the Badea and assist Lawrence with the Arab Revolt; their reward would be a rich piece of land in the place that would become the capital of the new country.

As we got farther in the desert, I imagined being lost and stranded there for days, dying a slow and painful death - eventually becoming nothing more than the bleached white bones of the goat we saw. I did not, however, tell my friend this. She might have killed me.

At her prompting, we found a nice cave - one or two of the tombs we had come to had been taken over by the goats - and had our lunch. We emerged to do some more exploring, making our way over to the more accessible town facade. This time I amused myself by pretending to be in Bedrock, on my way to visit the Flintstones.

Finally we reached the main tomb complex again, and made our way back to town. We puttered about for awhile, waiting until we could get on the bus that would take us back to Amman.

Petra rocks!