towelhead

i did something i shouldn't have today... i stooped to their level. some dorky white teen in the passenger seat yelled "towelhead" out his window as they drove by, and as i was getting into the turn lane for 29 north and they weren't, i rolled down my window and yelled "redneck" as i passed their car.
normally i find such episodes hilarious. just ask me sometime about my profiling incident and i will tell you about how i laughed out loud to myself all the way home (incidentally, despite what the easton police chief said in this article, the officers who stopped me actually said i had been called in as "a suspicious-looking person of middle eastern descent"). i mean, as long as there's no harm done, these things make great stories.
but i was thinking - what if musa were older, old enough to understand that someone had just yelled something derogatory at his mother? i could certainly make it a teachable moment (especially by not responding as i did today, for which i apologize to any white folks or southerners who might be offended), but it still pisses me off to think of it. i know you can't shield your child from the overwhelming ignorance around him as he grows... but... well, what right do they have to expose my innocent child to their idiocy?
it's bad enough that children have to grow up so much faster, that they learn so much earlier to fend for themselves emotionally... but i wish, i pray, that every child could have enough security, at least until they are old enough to see past it, to be completely unaware of the fact that there are people out there who don't mind hurting them...

in other news, musa's new milestone is sticking his butt up in the air when he's on his tummy. so he rolls over, then pulls up his knees till his butt is sticking up in the air and tries to push forward, but only succeeds in sliding his legs back out again. then he gets frustrated and starts whining. then you pick him up and put him on his back again. then he rolls over and starts over again.
anyway a couple of days ago we put him on his back while he was sleeping, and a few minutes later he had rolled over in his sleep and was soundly slumbering in this position:



he is sooooooooo much fun now mashallah!! :)

another moral aneurysm? (but not really)

in the same spirit as yesterday's post, here's an article from today's Post about people who VOLUNTARILY don't use air conditioning. particularly poignant in light of the fact that our own house's AC busted two days ago (compressor is shot). the outside unit was starting to sound like it was going to either explode or take off... or both, i suppose.
anyway, they have reasons such as cost, being environmentally conscious, simply liking it better, or not liking the "artificial" and "frigid" nature of conditioned air.
personally, the last couple of days have (you know the way certain senses can recall memories very vividly?) put me very strongly in mind of our hotel room in antigua, where hubby and i went for our honeymoon. nothing but a ceiling fan in the bedroom, though our sliding doors opened directly out onto the sand, which was lovely! but your skin has that constant sort of moist, almost sticky feeling, even if it's not too hot (as it is right now as i sit in the dining room with a fan blowing on my back). i guess some people prefer that sensation to feeling cool but dry... whatever... i'm spoiled, i'm used to my AC!! i can put some lotion on...
anyway, at least the AC busted after tuesday... it's been a little cooler since then so it's not too bad, alhamdulillah.

oh, the point of the post title... the article recommends, among other tips, that if you have to "Beat the heat without AC," one solution is to avoid using the oven in the summer, and just use the microwave. well, what if you don't use a microwave... which do you choose?? :)

"a moral aneurysm"

found this washington post editorial today very interesting, as it's something i (and hubby) have been thinking about for a while now and making changes in our life accordingly, and as i read basil's post on similar issues just yesterday.
the article discusses the headache (or moral aneurysm) that can ensue when you go to the grocery store and are confronted with the wide varieties of each grocery product that each try to rid you of some measure of guilt: cage-free eggs, omega-3 eggs, organic eggs, or 79-cent eggs, for example. it's amazing how the concerns about this stuff spread into the mainstream so quickly: i had just begun trying to avoid partially hydrogenated oils when all of a sudden, everything in the store started bearing labels proclaiming "0 grams trans fats!!" but i'm trying to look past the fadness of it and remember that of all these new studies determining hidden dangers, though some might be unnecessary or (what's the word for arousing hysteria?), they are a result of the fact that people are realizing how heedlessly we have been pursuing "more" and "bigger" and "faster" without regard for earth, sea, life or our own health.
anyway, so here's what we've managed to accomplish so far (and i'll try to be good like basil and include links for explanation): we haven't had a microwave in our home since we moved to this house in january 2005. i couldn't write an essay about it, but here are some of the reasons we thought about. plus, when i was pregnant, i was warned from pretty mainstream sources to be extra-cautious around microwaves, and of course, it's almost standard now to warn new mothers not to microwave breast milk to warm it up for feeding, because some nutrients and protective qualities can be destroyed (as well as uneven heating that could burn baby's mouth). if so... how much safer is it for adults? anyway, my poor mom has planned to buy "her own microwave" to use just when she visits, because she's so annoyed that we don't have one :) for anyone who's interested, trust me, food tastes SO MUCH BETTER reheated in conventional ways, even if it takes a little longer and you have to wash out scorched pans.
the next step for us is getting rid of our nonstick pans, but i am still searching for an alternative that's not too, well, sticky. i read years ago (and no, i don't believe everything in the world i read, i just do some research) about teflon being a carcinogen as it starts to come off of the pans, which it always does in the end.
anyway. as far as the eggs go, i sort of fluctuate between cage free, omega 3 and organic... depends on the price :) but i don't buy the styrofoam containers.
we get organic milk, even though trader joe's recently pushed up their price to $3.29 for a half gallon (they were $2.99, can you believe it?). we get SOME organic fruit, but not all, it's just too pricey. i WILL get my peaches this summer from a farm, though: cherry hill farm down in southern prince george's is absolutely beautiful and two summers ago i had the best peaches i have ever had in my life from their beautifully laden trees (they have asian pears, too!).
anyhooo... we're slowly trying to switch over more and more of our stuff, but price is too often a barrier. also try to get omega-3s into our diet more often... okay i have to go feed musa now...

modesty?

well, i guess i can figure out what robin givhan thinks of hijab... though the article in today's Post actually discusses a christian-run business that makes modest swimwear. i mean, whatever, this being a free country, but i'm annoyed to no end at the assumption that one who is truly liberated believes in "celebrating the body" rather than modesty. come on, people, let's not be throwbacks to the 20s!! at least wear a "demure tankini," she suggests.
okay, i know she's a style columnist, and from her perspective as a contemporary style critic, wholesome wear's swimsuits are about as stylish as a black abayah. but i'm irked. why does the issue have to defined in terms of body image? i don't care how much you try to argue that women whose bodies don't conform to ideals should just "let go of cultural expectations and their own skewed self-image," in the end society still rams it all down women's throats a billion times a day, and in the end everyone wishes they could look good in a bikini at the beach (okay, not everyone, but on a mass level, yes).
it's not immodesty, but self-confidence, to flaunt your body, she says... why is it not self-confident to choose to be modest in a world that practically hates you for it?
to be honest, i don't think the wholesomewear stuff is half-bad, but sadly, it ain't cheap... plus it doesn't cover part of the legs, argh...

a sense of wonder

did you know albatrosses can glide for up to 100 miles without flapping a wing?
one of yesterday's "diane rehm" shows talked about the earth's oceans, and one of her guests was a scientist studying albatrosses out on midway atoll... they were in the midst of breeding season, he said, and he was surrounded by almost half a million of them.
i think i fell in love with the sea again while listening to this show.
anyway... i was stir-crazy wednesday and took musa to the library, and checked out carson's "the sense of wonder" so i could finally read the whole thing. it's nothing earth-shattering (that would be defeating the purpose, i suppose :) ) but i do feel strongly about teaching my child(ren) to be keenly aware of Allah's creation as His creation, and as a reflection of His majesty and love and graciousness.
"There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature - the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after the winter," carson says. reminded me irresistibly of more than one ayah in the qur'an... here's one example...


Allah is He Who raised the heavens without any pillars that you see, and He is firm in power and He made the sun and the moon subservient (to you); each one pursues its course to an appointed time; He regulates the affair, making clear the signs that you may be certain of meeting your Lord.
And He it is Who spread the earth and made in it firm mountains and rivers, and of all fruits He has made in it two kinds; He makes the night cover the day; most surely there are signs in this for a people who reflect.
And in the earth there are tracts side by side and gardens of grapes and corn and palm trees having one root and (others) having distinct roots-- they are watered with one water, and We make some of them excel others in fruit; most surely there are signs in this for a people who understand. (Ar-Rad, Ayahs 2-4)

it is not enough to reflect, but also to understand... more of carson: "It is our misfortune that for most of us that clear-eyed vision, that true instinct for what is beautiful and awe-inspiring [fitrah?], is dimmed and even lost before we reach adulthood."
later, she says, "Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts." is it because, perhaps, even those who don't "believe" in anything beyond this earth can sense there is something about that beauty more enduring than they can imagine?

yesterday after a wonderfully uplifting visit with one of my best, lifelong friends, i had some time before i had to be somewhere so i took musa on a little walk at brookside gardens (where last i went with cousin on a wery rainy day). showed him pansies and orchids and petunias, and maybe he could smell the thyme and lavender, and then there were quiet geese and algae and stones, and sunlight reflected in quivering ponds.
found something unexpected there... i didn't know it was there. we took a turn onto a stone path with a plaque stating some commemorative terrace up ahead. by the water a wide, low stone bore an inscription begging visitors to remember those lost to violence and hope or pray for peace... i thought maybe it was done by some family who lost a soldier in war, or something like that. but i turned, and there saw a tall stone inscribed with the names and hometowns of the ten men and women killed by the sniper back in 2002. that was when i had lived not 10 minutes from this park, up in aspen hill, very near where the whole tragedy first began and down the street from where it ended. when the last victim, conrad johnson, was shot on oct. 22, they shut down the street i lived on so we couldn't get out to work... so my editor at the time asked me, if i felt safe enough, to interview my neighbors and write an article which i did, with my roommate's help (yes, sadly, it was fox news that picked up the story from my wire service...). anyway... it pierced my heart, to see those names again, so out of the blue. i didn't know any of them, but it was so close to home, and i was so angry at the time with this sniper, so disappointed that he had the name "muhammad"... i like the memorial, though. it is appropriately located, and the combination of water and greenery and stone is just sad enough...

on that note, i am going to try to get some laundry done while musa is still sleeping (on his tummy i might add!)

musa rolled over!!

wish i had a pic for yall. okay, so he got stuck with one arm under him on the way, but he was rolling, using his muscles, not just kicking. i tried it a couple of times, putting him on his back, and he sort of thrust his arms out to the left, held his legs up, and scrunched in his belly till he was on his side (he's done this before but this was the first time with such deliberation - you could see him physically trying to accomplish this particular task, mashallah.) then he kept going until he was on his belly, but he couldn't get his arm out from under him... yay!! this is so exciting!!

update: babies are amazing. an hour later, he has managed to perfect the whole process and can roll over to the left from back to belly in less than 10 seconds - with both his arms out from under him. i'm humbled... can't remember the last time i worked so hard on something i had never done before and mastered it through sheer struggle... (maybe last may, 2005, when usman and i went rock climbing?)

tooooooo funny!!! for mozlum harry potter fans

"I think we should have cookies from Honeydukes at our dawah booth”... love it, love it. this is by somebody named hamzah moin, found it through following blog links... wish i'da thought of it!

Hogwarts Muslim Students Association


"Farooq was gasping for breath as he reached the Room of Requirement. He stared at the door and concentrated. “I need a room for an MSA Meeting” he thought to himself."

oh ho ho...

two stories

last week in NC my parents told me two stories that left a deep impression on me - pictures that stayed vivid in my mind long after. nothing terribly special but still...

my dad, for whom i have long cherished a plan to spend a two-week vacation with (preferably in ireland) with a tape recorder and notebook to interview for a biography, told me a little story - don't remember how it came up - ah, now i remember. my father - who will turn 73 this october inshallah - has a very old black-and-white photograph, framed in a dun-colored matting, of himself and two older siblings posed in a portrait photographer's studio. he is six months old in the picture, and wearing a sort of dress, which he said they put on all babies, boy or girl, in those days. (this is, of course, in india, in sagar, 1934). he and his sister are seated in chairs next to each other, and an older brother is sitting on a stool behind them, wearing a white pagri. behind them is a lushly painted backdrop, and the floor has an ornately patterned rug. i have seen this picture many times before (we were trying to see how much musa resembled my dad's baby picture), but this time i noticed, on the floor between my dad and phupho, a tiny doll in a seated position, dressed much the same as my father (a dark outfit with glimmering gold gota outlining it) and a painted head. my dad told me it was just something the photographer had used to get kids to smile, or at least not cry, for photos. this tidbit suddenly opened up the photographer's studio for me - instead of just a picture of my dad and aunt and uncle, it was a window into an old house in colonial india, where somebody had the same occupation as a photographer at any sears portrait studio today - trying to get kids to smile for photos.
that's not the story though!! my dad, in his typical fashion, then suddenly remembered how later on, he and his sister used to walk past the photographer's house every time they went to feed the fish in a nearby pond. my grandmother - whom i never met - would roll tiny balls of flour in oil and the kids would take them out to the pond and toss them into the water. and this window suddenly opened even further - i could picture them walking on a dusty path in the bright sun, rolling the little hard flour balls in their hands, passing by the house of the village photographer. i wonder what they would talk about... bet my dad remembers that, too. his long-term memory is astounding...

on the way back to maryland, when my parents were driving, my mom was telling me about her job. she's a retired psychiatrist, but - in her own typical fashion - she can't not work, and has taken up temporary positions at various hospitals. the current one is a trial for her because it's hectic, lacks resources but has so many new admissions, and the AC went down on the hottest day last week. in her 40-year career she recalled one incident in particular that shook her so much she still remembers it... she was going on about how difficult some of the patients can be (she generally deals with schizophrenics), and remembered one paranoid patient who had simply hit rock bottom. the man was weeping with abandon, she said, utterly emotional, and at one point he turned to her and asked her, "if you were God, what would YOU do with me?"
imagine, being the doctor in charge of this patient - in so many ways, so much of his life is in your hands - and then he throws something like that at you, from the pit of his broken soul. Allah sends you reminders in so many different ways, but it is seldom so stark... i think, for my mom, it was a reminder of both her own responsibility for her patients, and her powerlessness before the true Power.

for both of these stories, the writer in me (is it a bit of the journalist, too?) immediately thought of using these moments in some way, in some story... the first short story i ever wrote in college came from a story my dad told me, about a man in his village who had been bitten by a rabid dog, and the villagers had no way of treating him but could not kill him outright, so they locked him up in a hut and left him there... just left him. to be honest, i can't recall if this is exactly how my dad said it happened, but it made a great story, especially from the point of view of the kids in my story - i made the rabid man a sort of village outcast who happened to make really good toys. ah, fictional license...

anyway, musa has finally gone to sleep (although he has this irritated look on his face, with his eyebrows furrowed) so i am going to try to get a shower in while i still can...