Dove's Eye View

Marriage Equality

I live in a very mixed neighborhood of Oakland, California - we have all races, classes, ethnicities, religions, national origins, and gender orientations here. Because the neighborhood is relatively affordable and close to San Francisco, with a long history of working class and immigrant residents, we find artists, musicians and alternative culture folk living alongside people from very traditional societies. Most of the time we all get along.

However, California's Proposition 8 is causing some conflict this month. The proposition, a voter initiative, would define marriage in the state as only being possible between a man and a woman. That contradicts the recent state Supreme Court ruling that such a limitation discriminates against gays.

For the last several weeks we have seen demonstrators at busy street corners around the neighborhood, shouting and waving signs in favor of Proposition 8. You see more yard signs (No on 8) on the subject than for the presidential race. There is a shortage of Obama signs, and anyway, 80% of Oakland is expected to vote for the Democratic nominee. No contest. But proposition 8 is causing hard feelings.
I wrote the following to my neighborhood email list ten days ago, after a particularly hot afternoon outside my son's school:

Today for the first time I happened to drive past the Yes on 8 demo at school hours, with my two young sons in the back seat.

Now it was a hot day and I had my chemo turban off, revealing my new growth of hair that looks like a crew cut. I no longer wear a wedding ring because due to treatment it doesn't fit, and I haven't replaced it yet. There I was, a tall, crew cut female with no wedding ring and two children in the car, stopped at the light while the demonstrators screamed into our open windows: A Mom and a Dad! A Mom and a Dad!

It happens that my children's father and I are happily married, making me a heterosexual. But so what? Some might think I look like a lesbian. I have many dear friends in the lesbian and gay community, some of whom have celebrated joyous weddings this year.

I felt terrible waiting at that traffic light. I felt vulnerable, that a demonstrator might scream at me, taking me for a lesbian mom, and I felt upset for my friends and the people I don't know in the neighborhood who are gay and have young children. What do they feel as they sit at that light? I have that same strange sensation when people say anti-Muslim things around me or even at me - they don't know who I am, and even if I'm not a Muslim, why is it bad to be a Muslim? Don't cast your hate on me, and don't be hating on other people around me.

My kids asked me why those people were yelling Yes on 8. I told them that they don't agree with letting two mommies marry each other, or two daddies, but we do. We aren't going to argue with them or yell back either (my 7 year old wanted to). We just don't agree with them.

Oakland is likely to go 80% for Obama or more. But this demonstration reminds me how divided our neighborhoods and schools are in other ways.

Marriage equality for all does not threaten my own marriage. How can it? The joy, hope and happiness my many gay and lesbian friends express this year as they marry and start families has given me hope, too. My husband and I feel the same about all of our friends who choose to marry, straight or gay: we wish them the best and we are glad to see them set out on this journey that gives us so much love and comfort.

I thought of the pictures of the anti-civil-rights demonstrators of the old days, angry white people screaming in the faces of young, frightened black students as they walked into all-white schools to enroll. I tried to have some compassion, too, for the demonstrators, tried to imagine that they must think they are doing the right thing somehow, they must be driven by fears I don't understand.

Why am I writing this for the neighborhood list? Well, it's in solidarity with anybody who feels frightened or vulnerable when they pass those demonstrators; for anybody who has children in the back seat who say: why are they yelling "A Mom and a Dad"? For anybody who got married this year and is trying to hold on to the love and good memories of a long-awaited wedding. I am with you and I am voting No on Proposition 8 on November 4th.

Hello Kind World

I just wrote a post at Daily Kos in response to somebody else's "Goodbye Cruel World" Diary. The diarist was facing loss of job and house, and said she might not be able to go online any longer; hence "goodbye cruel world" of Daily Kos. I called my response Hello Kind World.

There's always hope. Let me tell you that I am living with metastatic breast cancer. When they found it last year, it had spread throughout my liver, a 1/2 inch tumor in my lung, and onto rib and spine. I am now 46 with two young sons and a loving husband.

I just finished eleven months of chemotherapy in which I got infusion every week, three weeks on, one week off. 33 infusions. Took the starch out of me (as well as all my hair down to the eyelashes). Pet CT Scan shows the lung nodule is gone - no trace of it; the bone lesions are sclerotic i.e. healing, not spreading; and the liver lesions are inert, back to scar tissue. Nothing "lights up", i.e. nothing is active and cancerous. My blood counts are now "stone cold normal" according to my oncologist. So I am off chemo and I get to go on about my life, under close supervision and taking oral medication.

Today I listened to my friend's feedback on the 260-page draft of my first novel, which I had finished writing during chemo. I'm ready to get to work on the next draft! Then I picked up my kids from daycare, fed them, checked homework, read to them and put them to bed, all by myself. (Hubby was at a work-related dinner). First time I've had them on my own in over a year. I handled it! I even enjoyed it, which means my energy level is good. This is a blessing and a reprieve.

Now let me back up and tell you about a family tragedy. 23 years ago my uncles and cousins in Lebanon were chased from their homes during a bad patch of the civil war. They all fled with what they could put in their cars. My 83-year-old grandmother refused to leave her house - hit my uncle with her stick when he tried to evacuate her. She was killed during a mob attack on the houses of our village. A Muslim friend (we're Christians) went in and found her the next day and buried her for us. Meanwhile my two uncles, their wives and three teenaged kids per couple were living out of their automobiles in South Lebanon. They got plane tickets and visas to the USA and arrived with suitcases and $3,000 cash per family.

My Lebanese-American father and American mother, state employees in NC, took out a lien on their house to help stake my uncles to small businesses. My uncles and their families shared a tiny rental home that belonged to another uncle. Ten people lived in a 3 BR house with one bathroom, after living all their lives in big spacious houses with gardens. My dad gave them $500 a month cash for groceries, and in 1985 that was serious money; he was still putting my brother through private college at the time.

My uncles lost everything. They had to start over in America where people saw them as foreign, alien. They had prestige in their traditional society but in America they were middle-aged refugees, nobodies. All of them - uncles and wives - buckled down to work.

In ten years they built successful businesses - a grocery store and a gas station - bought beautiful homes, and of course repaid all loans from my dad and others. All of them had to do manual labor: flip burgers, pump gas, sweep floors, make change for customers. They had been middle class, teachers and bank managers in Lebanon. They had to work hard with their hands and they did so. Their kids got educated and moved into the world as Americans, most of them with professional degrees and positions.

The sadness of my grandmother's violent death hung over us for long years, and yet I always feel she chose how she wanted to die. I think she understood what she was facing. She preferred to die on her farm than be an elderly refugee.

Friend, you are facing great loss, but you have so much. You have your health (I hope). You have your daughter. You have parents with the resources to take you in.

Last month I flew to Lebanon, not for the first time since the end of the civil war. I visited with those same uncles and aunts, now returned to their homes. They made plenty of money pumping gas and selling Wonder Bread in the USA, and have turned the wrecked shells of their war-scarred houses into mini-palaces. Their quality of life is fabulous. They miss their kids who all live in the States, but they are survivors. They enjoy the olive harvest and the friendship and community of our ancestral village. I saw people I had not seen in thirty years of war, dislocation, disease, family tragedy and more. I was so grateful that I got to make this trip - that I survived advanced cancer well enough to fly half way around the world to see my family.

This spring when my fingernails were oozing and I couldn't get out of bed from chemo side effects, when the liver counts stayed elevated and I fended off all talk of survival rates for metastatic patients, I held on to hope. I just knew I was going to get better. I can't worry about whether I'll live 20 years... I am living today, and for today there is always hope.

So please, friend, bless what you have and let go of fear for the future. Today is the only day you have got. You are breathing. Enjoy your breath. You are alive. Enjoy your life. You have a daughter and parents. Love them. Bless everybody who comes across your path. And the work? Whatever. Bless your work, too. Bless your town, your bills, your possessions. You are lucky to be here for all of it. If some of it gets taken away, well fine, something else will take its place. You are an amazing confluence of billions of variables and nobody else is having your life right this minute.

Enjoy! And don't worry about hope. Just breathe and appreciate your breath. Everything arises from that.

Roman Sea Road, Tyre

Roman Sea Road, Tyre
Originally uploaded by bedouina

I've uploaded some more pictures from my trip. Most of the pictures of me are in my friend's camera - when I get more I'll post more. This was taken in the Sea Ruins at Tyre.

Syria Comment Interview with Syrian Ambassador

Syria Comment » Archives » Interview with Ambassador Imad Moustapha: Peace Talks, Hizbullah, Palestine.

I have been reading Syria Comment since forever. (Three years? Can't remember). Joshua Landis, professor of Middle East Studies at U. Oklahoma, runs this site largely as a personal project, but it has become a discussion board and meeting ground for people on all sides of the Lebanon-Syria-Israel border. Anti-Syrian Lebanese, Israelis, Syrians for or against the regime, all meet in the comments section and argue at length.

Syrian officials as well as Israeli government and press read the site for news and opinion.

One of Syria Comment's readers decided to interview the Syrian ambassador to the United States, Imad Moustapha, himself an internet-savvy netizen. (Check out his blog, linked, for great cultural notes and photos) The reader, Camille-Alexandre Otrakji, collected questions from commenters themselves and put the questions to the ambassador, who answered them. This is the collective mind at work in journalism! Now they are busy commenting on the ambassador's comments. Ha'aretz (the Israeli newspaper) has already picked up on this article and reported on it.

Go read Syria Comment, especially the Imad Moustapha interview.

Warren Buffett: Buy American. I Am.

Op-Ed Contributor - Buy American. I Am. - NYTimes.com.

Just a little advice from Warren Buffett. He told his rich friends several years ago to sell all their real estate and rent. When he talks, I listen. But as a Lazy Investor I will be following this suggestion by continuing to let our 401(k) do what it does, which is buy stock every paycheck, whether the market is down or up. It's called dollar-cost averaging.

Colonel Patrick Lang lists American stocks that reflect certain favorable characteristics. Warning: this is not investment advice.

Update: The New York Times has a page devoted to Warren Buffett. Today it's running this Dove's Eye View post as a link! Thanks for the traffic, oh robot aggregator of the Times. Everybody else, consult the link for Buffett information.

Green Makes Green

UC Berkeley study: Green efforts boost economy. From the San Francisco Chronicle.

Rather than cost money, California's plans to fight global warming and improve energy efficiency will boost household incomes by $48 billion and create as many as 403,000 jobs in the next 12 years, according to a UC Berkeley economic study released Monday.

Investing in energy efficiency and alternative energy creates jobs. I have been calling for such investment for years. Yes, these concepts are Keynesian. Our country did pretty well under Keynesian economic policies.

Yesterday the Chronicle reported on California's proposed high speed rail. The arguments for and against generally fall along the same idealogical lines as those against state investment in alternative energy: anti-government-spending types are against it because... it would cost taxpayers money. Progressives are in general for it because taking the train would save a great deal of energy over flying between the Bay Area and Los Angeles, while building the system would plow money into the economy, generate jobs and spending. (I believe some environmentalists object to the rail plan for its impact on the Central Valley's ecosystem.)

To answer the anti-government-spending crowd, I say: we have spent somewhere near a trillion dollars on Iraq, and for what? Our Republican leaders propose that we spend $750 billion on rescuing banks from their own mistakes. Why would spending a mere $20 billion be so awful, especially when that $20 billion will create jobs and give us a rail service that has been proven to work so beautifully in Europe?

The trip from Madrid to Cordoba and Seville resembles 580 and I-% from Oakland to Los Angeles: hundreds of miles of sere valley plain, sparsely populated, with plenty of room for a train to zoom at top speed.

It's time to invest in infrastructure. California has the foresight to invest a small amount in energy independence and other "green" efforts - let's put more money in that direction. It will return economic as well as environmental dividends.

Lemons, Cukes and Tomatoes

Lemons, Cukes and Tomatoes
Originally uploaded by bedouina

On the Street Called Straight in Damascus, at Baghdadi Falafel, a display of cleverly sliced and arranged salad items.

Make your own yogurt

Crunchy Chicken discusses making your own yogurt.

Here is the old-fashioned Lebanese method for yogurt-making I learned from my father. I remember he taught all our American friends to do this back in the 70s. I watched him and did it myself as a young teen. Still do every once in a while.

The Lebanese way to make yogurt involves no yogurt maker, cooler, thermos or any special equipment.

First organize your yogurt container. A glass or ceramic covered bowl or crock is best. I like those Corning or Anchor Hocking glass casseroles with glass lids, but a sturdy plastic container would do. Boil water and rinse the clean container and lid, let air dry.

Scald enough milk to fill the container - that means heat milk until bubbles form at the edge of the pot. Don't let it foam over, or heavens forbid burn it! Let cool until you can hold your (clean) finger in the milk for the rapid count of 10. About 110 degrees Fahrenheit I believe, but I never use a thermometer. (Update: Google is our yogurt making friend. Kitchen science link below says cool to 112-115; it will reach 110 when you add the starter).

Pour milk into your prepared container.

Stir up some yogurt in a cup. Let's say about a half cup for a half gallon of milk. This is the starter, which in our village we call the "rowbih." I pour a little hot milk into the yogurt, too, to bring it to temperature. You want to "break" the yogurt curds. Use a yogurt with live cultures, and don't use one that has pectin or gelatin (or anything else) added.

Then stir the starter into the hot milk and put the lid on. To keep yogurt warm, set container on a folded blanket or towel, and then wrap it up with old blankets, parka, whatever will keep it nice and warm. Let sit for 6 to 8 hours.

Over the years Americans have suggested all manner of ways to keep the yogurt warm. A haybox, if you already use one, seems like a simple solution; also I suppose a styrofoam "cooler" would also work but I have not tried this. If you already have a warming method you like, go for it. Personally I would not keep yogurt in an oven warmed to 200 degrees (F) for 6 hours - what a waste of fuel. But people do.

The yogurt should look firm and have solidified bubbles on the top. When it has set, refrigerate.

The kitchen-science, USDA-approved method. Includes non-fat dry milk powder, which many people can taste and don't like. OK it tells you to use a double boiler which makes it impossible to scorch the milk. Whatever.

For bonus points, make yogurt cheese (lebneh):

Take your fresh yogurt, leaving some aside for another starter, and put it into a sterilized muslin bag. Add salt. Tie the bag shut and hang it from an olive tree branch. (Or your sink faucet, or anyplace else it can drain. Or put it in a colander).

Let drain until it's the consistency you like, from gooey to solid. Turn out onto a plate and drizzle with olive oil. Serve with olives, tomatoes, mint, cucumbers, and pita bread. Or eat unadorned with bread. But must add good olive oil.

Alternative draining methods I have seen include using coffee filters, layered cheesecloth or even paper towels in a colander.

Your own olive oil from the tree where the lebneh drained would of course be optimal but even Lebanese can't achieve that too often. Most of them buy their lebneh in plastic tubs like the rest of us, these days.

Another song

On the fourth day of my visit I took a walk at sunset and visited my father's cousin, Um-Camille. She and her siblings were particularly close to my father, and I knew the family well growing up; later several of her sons came to America where they are very successful professionals in medicine, IT, and economics. Her oldest son is a doctor in Beirut and kindly consulted with me by phone on a minor issue during my visit.

Um-Camille listened to my aunt's song (see previous post, "Ma Tante") and told me she also had a song for me.

The first verse means roughly "Because of Leila I learned to love the night." (Leila means night...) She chats with me a bit, then sings a second verse which I don't really get, except that it's an ode to refugees who return (mhejireen), expatriates, and Lebanon. It also includes some wordplay on "zeleftoona" which I don't understand at all, but I *think* was intended as a nod to her daughter Zelfa who was sitting with us. Would any Arabic speakers reading and listening please enlighten us?

The chat includes her lament that her voice has gone. She used to have a beautiful voice, she says, and I try to assure her in my clumsy Arabic that it is still beautiful.

In looking at the pictures of her, I remember that she said to me: "You are one of us, Leila, you have our eyes, eyes just like ours." During this whole trip strangers kept telling me I looked foreign, Russian or Swedish or German. They said my friend Laura looks more Lebanese than I do. Chemo has taken away my eyelashes, my wild Arab hair, my black bushy eyebrows, even my cheekbones. But looking into Um-Camille's eyes, which look like my father's eyes, I saw that she is right, I have the eyes of our clan, and I am grateful that she told me so.

The sunset from Um-Camille's balcony.

Daughter Zelfa.
Abu-Camille.

Ma Tante

Ma Tante
Originally uploaded by bedouina

My aunt sang me a song out in the olive groves which I recorded on my MP3 player. Trying to work the recorder made me lose my Arabic so you hear me saying "thank you" in English like an idiot. Normally I try not to mix English words with Arabic.

The song is lovely.

Download VORC005.wav (0.0K).

At the end I'm saying "Insha'allah..." and mashing buttons, hoping that it recorded. It did, humdulillah.