B is for Bear

Bear is shedding. We’re talking monumental shedding. If I were so inclined (which I am not. . . yet.), I could seriously spin some yarn out of his fur. Don’t believe me? Let me show you Exhibits A and B:

This, my friends, is most of the hair that I brushed off of Bear yesterday after I got home from work. A lot of it flew around and was carried off by the wind. I bet if I brushed him again this afternoon, I would end up with just as much fur when I got done.

However, I have to say that Bear was thrilled with all the attention and when I finally stopped brushing him, he posed for me:

Notice that not only is his coat beautiful, he appears to be skinnier. Hmmm, I wonder if, if I got someone to rub my back, when they got done, would I look skinnier? Must look into this….

Now, about my trip…..

Let’s start with the Black Eyed Peas. They are a fabulous band that make me want to dance. I’m always having a great time when listening to them. Niki got to listen to them ALL the way to Charlotte and most of the way back. However, the music kept us awake and provided hours of entertainment. Literally.

For instance, somewhere either in SC or NC during a stretch of incredibly boring I-85, we were dancing along to Pump It and then Don’t Phunk My Heart. I was dancing more than Niki was. I was also driving. (I’m a professional, don’t try this at home, kids.) Anyway, as we are driving down I-85N, we pass by two boys in a truck. Probably teenagers. Maybe freshmen in college. Then they pass by us. I think they found us mildly amusing, what with the dancing and all. Anyway, maybe the second or third time we pass them, the kid in the passenger seat attempted to hand me a joint while driving down the highway. Apparently, we didn’t look like we were having a good enough time. Eh, what do they know. Also, a lot of people were laughing at us and shaking their heads. Obviously, they don’t know much either.

Driving in Charlotte and pretending to be Russian kind of go hand in hand. Saturday, while we were out and about, very much in public, I decided to speak with a Russian accent. Pretty much the whole time. At the expense of my friends’ bladders. They both had to pee, so I said to them (in the Russian accent, of course), "Here is nice bush. You pee here. In my country, we pee behind bush always. Is good. No problem! You don’t like bush? I find you big tree. Come, we go now. Is good, da?" I a so did this to Niki while she was inside a store, standing at the cash register trying to pay for her purchase. Because, honestly, what fun is it to speak with an accent if strangers can’t hear you? That’s what I thought. I knew you’d agree with me.

Anyway, after I walked up to Niki at the cash register and said, "I find you nice bush. Come, we go now." and then walked off, the lady at the cash register says to Niki, "You and your friends sure are having a good time." And Niki says to her, "Yeah, they’re from overseas." Heather, of course, is no help whatsoever. She is doing her best to simply keep from laughing. She didn’t do a very good job.

I’m sure as you’re reading this, you can hear EXACTLY what my voice sounds like and also what my voice sounds like when I’m speaking with a Russian accent. I know this is ESPECIALLY true for all you imaginary internets friends who have NEVER HEARD ME SPEAK. So of course, this is SO incredibly funny to you. Right. Whatever. Let me have that, ok? Thanks.

As for the homecoming and bitter sweet memories? This is hard for most people to understand. I grew up in a foreign country where it was always understood and present in the back of your mind that while this is your home, one day you will never be able to go back and visit.

I will never be able to go and see my old elementary and middle schools or the houses where I lived or my friends lived or see their parents and chat and visit or do any of those kinds of things. NEVER. All my friends that I played softball and volleyball with and the rec centers we would go to and swim and the playgrounds that we terrorized, I will never lay eyes on again. All the streets that we rode our bikes on together, the water tower where we thought it was so cool to just go up and hang out around are no longer available to me. Very few people know what that is like.

Tourism is forbidden in Saudi Arabia, or so difficult as to make no nevermind, and then compound that with the current world climate, the possibility of visiting my childhood home is zilch. Take into account that essentially everyone that I ever knew there is no longer there only makes it that much more sad. We have all been scattered to all the corners of the earth. Literally. So, when a few of us can get together for any length of time, we create home where we are. We reminisce about how it was and what our experiences were, the memories and what we know about extended friends. We treat each other more like family rather than just friends.

That was what this past weekend was all about. A sense of homecoming, if you will. That a small part of my childhood is still alive every time I see my friendfamily. Who we are as adults was shaped so much by the culture in which we were raised, and it is so different from growing up in the US. We all suffered from culture shock when we moved here. A reverse culture shock, if you will. In our respective new home towns, we’re still looking for that sense of home and belonging that we had growing up. A lot of my friends now have that still because they are in constant contact with their childhood/high school friends.

Most of us "transplants" don’t have that because not only did we lose our homes once we moved, most of us attended boarding schools all over the world as well to finish high school and then moved again for college. It’s the nature of the beast of growing up overseas in Saudi Arabia. At least, it was when I was there. The schools now go all the way through 12th grade, but that has been a recent development within the last 4 or 5 years.

Anyway, all this reflection has made me melancholy for the past couple of days. I have grown fond of my adopted home, but it will never take the place of my childhood home, and if you meet me for the first time and ask me where I’m from, I’ll tell you where I live and where I’m originally from. It means that much to me.

However, on a much more upbeat and happy note, I got an e-mail from my friend Robert today and that just made my day. He’s another Jeddah-ite with whom I lost touch over the years, but thanks to modern technology and the fabulous internets, we connected again. Hi Robert! Come visit me! So, yippee for the internets!