On a less depressing, more interesting note . . . just kidding. Thanks for all the encouragement, kind words, and empathy. Josh and I know we have a million things to be joyful about and thankful for, especially as he gets on a plane this morning to head to Oman for our friends’ memorial service. We were trying to decide if and who should go when we got a message asking if he would be willing to come play guitar. I’m glad it’s him and not me. I didn’t want to bring the kids because I thought it would be confusing for them to be happy/excited to be back and seeing friends, but then to feel guilty about being happy in the midst of such a horrible thing, but I didn’t want to go by myself. I really hate funerals and would rather be sad at home, or at least in denial. I’m sure it’s selfish, but I don’t have the energy to go cry with all of my friends and then cry that I don’t live there anymore. I’m really glad that Josh can go and be part of it.
So on to something interesting about living here: We have three date palms in our yard. Three different varieties (I’m assuming, since they are different colors). These are the yellow ones and they are getting ripe. The huge red ones are supposed to be the best, but they ripen later. When the dates turn from yellow to brown, they are ready and you can eat them right off the tree or dry them for later. I never thought I liked dates, but the dates that we get here are much better than dates in the US. Chewy, sweet, addictive.
Some people eat “fresh dates,” when they’ve only partially ripened. These are half brown, half yellow (you can see some of them in the pictures). They’re OK, but the yellow part tastes starchy like a green banana and makes my mouth pucker up. Not a fan.
I thought when people harvested dates that they cut the bunches and then laid them in the sun to dry. And we have seen bunches of dates hanging from fences, so I was surprised to see one of our landlord’s men harvest them this way the other day. He has a plastic bag (not a new bag, but plastic film that looks like he pulled it off of the Sunday paper), puts each bunch inside the “bag,” and starts shaking. Whatever falls off is ripe. The rest are left on the tree to continue their journey to deliciousness.
See how it’s not even really a bag?
Then he picks up the rest of the dates that have fallen on the ground. I asked Josh if he thought they washed them before eating — you know, with all the dust and dirt in the air? He just laughed at me. When I told him I didn’t know if I could eat dates again he said he was sure that the commercial dates were cleaned. Uh huh.
You know who else loves dates? Our dog. He eats any that fall on the ground and even noses the bunches and picks them directly off the tree (I really hope they wash those dates to get the dog slobber off of them). I guess he’s a true desert dog, since the Bedouins used to feed their dogs dates and camel milk. All these dates make him poop like crazy — and it’s always full of date pits. The good thing about date season ending is I won’t have to pick up after him four times a day.
And that’s how we get from funerals to fruit to excrement. Always keeping it classy and educational!