Just thought I would post the link to my class website. All ASD teachers have to be ready and able to conduct their classes online should the school close due to H1N1.
http://sites.google.com/a/asd.edu.qa/asd-seventh-grade-language-arts-with-mrs-wolf/
I am still working on it, but take a look if you want. Suggestions welcome.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Details
I don't know how I am going to live without my beloved chard pasta. It's my comfort food. Swiss chard sauteed in olive oil with garlic, salt, and red pepper flakes, served with pasta then topped with parmesan. I also miss my Alba shampoo, my cookbooks, and my framed photos of family and friends.
These are minor details, I suppose, and I have no excuse for not snuggling them (minus the chard) next to my new Danskos and Apples to Apples in my suitcase. Somehow, Chris and I thought that our life overseas would automagically (yes, automagically . . . that term is courtesy of Floyd) invite minimalism, as if we just would not want or need all the "extras" most folks find necessary. Maybe we thought our lives would be full simply because we live abroad. As if living overseas is itself a form of entertainment.
People who know us know we lived without cable for the past twelve years, that we choose to spend our dollars on travel not trinkets, and that we pride ourselves on being a one-car family. We debated over whether or not we should purchase a blender and a microwave for our home in Doha, and chose frugality over fabulousness when we bought carpets and dishes. I am not sure when the shift happened (my guess is around payday) but, my friends, the times are a-changing. The blender and microwave are sitting pretty in the kitchen, the new flatscreen TV (outfitted with cable) is Chris's favorite item in the house, and we just spent two nights at the Doha Intercontinental Hotel. Not exactly a minimalist's destination.
We now own two cars. While our beloved Odyssey ("Homer") lives the quiet life in LaConner, our Mitsubishi (hereafter referred to as Mitsi) keeps us safe on the somewhat manical (mostly unnamed) streets of Doha. Last week, Mitsi served her true purpose when she locked into 4WD and took us to the southwestern border of Qatar to the inland sea. She powered up sanddunes and hurdled sandy bumps causing the kids to screech in delight. Okay, okay, that was me screeching with delight. It's the most thrilling, fun adventure our family has shared in a while. Our caravan was 19 cars strong. We cheered each other on as we took turns venturing up the dunes, assisting one another when the wheels just wouldn't turn, and celebrated by swimming in the salty waters claiming the border between Qatar and the UAE. Mitsi, though covered inside and out with sand, proved herself a workhorse and made us proud.
"We should get the car detailed," I mentioned to Chris the morning after the dune trip. I had made this same request repeatedly in the States.
"What do you want for your birthday, Em?"
"Maybe get the car detailed?"
"Oh."
Now Homer, our trusty vehicle since Greta turned one, has never had a detail job. That's six years of transporting cracker-crunching toddlers and hauling piles of Costco goods without a decent interior scrub and vacuum. Not that I didn't request one for him. On numerous occasions.
Along comes Mitsi. Twelve hours after her first real excursion she's in the "jackwash" line at the local petrol station. She is jacked up, sprayed, and scrubbed, then lowered and vacuumed. The station guys lovingly bathe her and dutifully detail her, then fill her with gasoline. It's a whopping twenty-five dollars. Fifteen for the jackwash and detail, then ten for a full tank of gas. Poor Homer. It's no wonder why he hasn't experienced this luxury treatment. It would cost forty dollars to fill up his tank and one hundred (?) for a good detailing.
So while Homer waits patiently for us to return, Mitsi takes us to school (a three minute drive), to the mall (complete with ice rink), to the beaches (and the warm, warm water), to potluck dinners and birthday parties (courtesy of our insta-family here in Doha), and to the numerous grocery stores where I shall continue to search devotedly for chard.
These are minor details, I suppose, and I have no excuse for not snuggling them (minus the chard) next to my new Danskos and Apples to Apples in my suitcase. Somehow, Chris and I thought that our life overseas would automagically (yes, automagically . . . that term is courtesy of Floyd) invite minimalism, as if we just would not want or need all the "extras" most folks find necessary. Maybe we thought our lives would be full simply because we live abroad. As if living overseas is itself a form of entertainment.
People who know us know we lived without cable for the past twelve years, that we choose to spend our dollars on travel not trinkets, and that we pride ourselves on being a one-car family. We debated over whether or not we should purchase a blender and a microwave for our home in Doha, and chose frugality over fabulousness when we bought carpets and dishes. I am not sure when the shift happened (my guess is around payday) but, my friends, the times are a-changing. The blender and microwave are sitting pretty in the kitchen, the new flatscreen TV (outfitted with cable) is Chris's favorite item in the house, and we just spent two nights at the Doha Intercontinental Hotel. Not exactly a minimalist's destination.
We now own two cars. While our beloved Odyssey ("Homer") lives the quiet life in LaConner, our Mitsubishi (hereafter referred to as Mitsi) keeps us safe on the somewhat manical (mostly unnamed) streets of Doha. Last week, Mitsi served her true purpose when she locked into 4WD and took us to the southwestern border of Qatar to the inland sea. She powered up sanddunes and hurdled sandy bumps causing the kids to screech in delight. Okay, okay, that was me screeching with delight. It's the most thrilling, fun adventure our family has shared in a while. Our caravan was 19 cars strong. We cheered each other on as we took turns venturing up the dunes, assisting one another when the wheels just wouldn't turn, and celebrated by swimming in the salty waters claiming the border between Qatar and the UAE. Mitsi, though covered inside and out with sand, proved herself a workhorse and made us proud.
"We should get the car detailed," I mentioned to Chris the morning after the dune trip. I had made this same request repeatedly in the States.
"What do you want for your birthday, Em?"
"Maybe get the car detailed?"
"Oh."
Now Homer, our trusty vehicle since Greta turned one, has never had a detail job. That's six years of transporting cracker-crunching toddlers and hauling piles of Costco goods without a decent interior scrub and vacuum. Not that I didn't request one for him. On numerous occasions.
Along comes Mitsi. Twelve hours after her first real excursion she's in the "jackwash" line at the local petrol station. She is jacked up, sprayed, and scrubbed, then lowered and vacuumed. The station guys lovingly bathe her and dutifully detail her, then fill her with gasoline. It's a whopping twenty-five dollars. Fifteen for the jackwash and detail, then ten for a full tank of gas. Poor Homer. It's no wonder why he hasn't experienced this luxury treatment. It would cost forty dollars to fill up his tank and one hundred (?) for a good detailing.
So while Homer waits patiently for us to return, Mitsi takes us to school (a three minute drive), to the mall (complete with ice rink), to the beaches (and the warm, warm water), to potluck dinners and birthday parties (courtesy of our insta-family here in Doha), and to the numerous grocery stores where I shall continue to search devotedly for chard.
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