Sometimes the cheese works

The Close-of-Service “Letter to Yourself”
(Cross-posted at my other blog, Thoughts Redacted.)

Tuesday, September 18, 2001.

It’s your (my) last day in Bayt Yafa. Surprisingly typical: I had breakfast upstairs. We watched the new miniseries, but it isn’t as good as the old one with Abu Sfooh. I came downstairs to clean and the girls came with me to help and wouldn’t be deterred. Lunch was mensaf upstairs. We made potato pancakes from the mix I had. The whole family sat around the living room, tv on but ignored, and discussed food, politics, and my personal lack of a husband.

Now I’m sitting in my disturbingly bare living room writing this. Outside a child is crying, cars occasionally drive past, men are walking home after the maghreb prayers, and the guy in the house around the corner is practicing his flute-pipe, as he so often does. The sun has set. Somewhere not so far from here Continue reading “Sometimes the cheese works”