Desert and My Market

Here's a few teachers and I chilling and sandboarding in December.

Wandering camels by the powerlines.

I get my produce here.

Sand-Monkey

Ginger

I didn't finish a ginger root and it started to bud on my counter. I threw it in a pot and this cool plant popped up in a week.

No body told me you could plant a ginger root.

So much of what people say is wrong.

I’m baking.

A hundred degree weather allows for the perfect temperature for rising dough. They say bake in winter; the summer’s too hot to make the kitchen warm. No. It’s perfect.

Last year in Doha I had a long beard, and I ran in the sun in the desert in June. People kept saying I must be hot. Only one man shook his head at that as the sun reflected off his bald head.

I’m driving around comfortably wet in my sweat without air conditioning and they think I’m crazy.

I doubt I’ll post on this website again. I’ve been back in Doha almost a month, and I’ve not felt like sending my voice into space like an answering machine playing in an empty room. Though you read it later, I don't feel interested in communicating this way.

Considering I’m a person and the first paragraph, I must recognize these thoughts as flawed, so I may change my mind and drop a few words into the bucket later. So, when you read this, don’t hold your breath for the next post.

Be satisfied to know I’m settled more comfortably than last year. I’m creating new recipes, running in the big empty Thursday nights, working on my third book (or maybe just a short story) Friday mornings, reading, not drinking, exercising every morning at 5:45 a.m., exercising again in the evenings, and I’m teaching well. The radiator in the Pajero I bought exploded, along with countless other problems, and I had to paint it to reregister it, because Qatar doesn’t allow scratched and faded paint jobs marring their streets. A belt blew last night as I drove alone in the desert, but it was the AC, which only circulated the hot air.

Like a man drilling holes in boat, I think she’ll make it to the end. I’m enjoying driving stick and feeling hefty tires below me that can pull on the sand at the same time.

I’m okay.

Thas-a-goood-won

257000 kms.

Big old tread.

Lots and lots of thunking noise. She's beaut and she's all mine for about three grand. Yes, that is a gas can on the back. I'll be going deeper into the sands next year.

Well, I finally made it. In two hours I head to the airport. I just managed to get this beauty, go make a copy of the key and ask the guard of my compound to start it once a week while I'm gone. I fully expect it not to start when I return. Everyone tells me the heat sucks batteries dry.

Looking forward to seeing some of you. If I don't, you'll catch me next summer.

I've not gained the wisdom I'm looking for living alone here. Maybe a little more patience. Maybe next year we'll feel better, fly peaceful skies, and one fine day . . .

Well, the last few weeks felt like a tale told by an idiot, full sound and fury, and signifying nothing. Never.the.less.
I just cooked up some brussels sprouts, ginger, coconut milk, and peppers. When a math teacher who digs Murakami arrives, I’ll toss it on basmati rice, and things are certain to warm up. A little cayenne, much garlic, and we may have something.

I have moved into a new place, and I enjoyed choosing colors for paint for the first time. I went a little nuts with greens and marines to go with the red couch. The entry steps into my living room rocks.

The kitchen window, if only I can remember it, should be enough to bring some cheer. My last kitchen had no window.

A few weeks ago Dana had a ten hour lay over in Dubai.

I headed down and we proceeded to cause all kinds of trouble.

This week I've been running like an old-rust bucket with backfires and grumpy moans. So, I planned to spend my Thursday afternoon running in the desert. Two people asked me to do things, but I told them I don't like the prattle that comes between teeth and would prefer to run for a few hours in the big empty. As we approach summer, the humidity and heat make a 3:00 p.m. run dangerous, but here's an almost innocuous angle of sun at 4:30:

The hard pan between dunes looks rough, but it's really not bad. The Dunes, however, suck your feet in as you would imagine one second, then feel like the solid wet sand at the beach without warning.

Sometimes a km of hardpan separates them.

The sunset pics are when I made it back to the car.

This morning before I started writing, I began the day with some rewatching of Burns' Jazz, eggs, and an Irish coffee. It's the first Irish coffee I have made since Seattle. I used honey (from Jim) instead of sugar, and felt the pleasure a blind squirrel feels finding a nut.