Dinner at Beverly's

Not long after I returned from my second year in Iraq, mom's friend Beverly invited mom, my wife Ragia, and me to dinner. These pictures were taken that evening in October, 1996. That means that these images were taken almost exactly one year before mom died. At the time, mom was still "there" mentally, and only somewhat challenged physically (she still went to the supermarket on her own, for example). From then on, her decline was swift.



These pictures are not good ones, technically: the lighting is flat, the background is lackluster, and they have no artistic merit (it's OK--I took them). Yet, they brought tears to my eyes when I opened them after I found them on one of my hard drives. The one on the right looks like mom is really looking right at me (Click on the images for larger ones).

God, I miss her.

Mom and the Museum of Feet

Mom went to all sorts of places that most would not only not think of visiting, but places that many people would refuse to visit if given the chance: Somalia, the West Bank of Palestine, Upland Vietnam, the refugee camps of Yemen, to name but a few. The one that really stood out in mom's experience, though, was Rwanda.

When mom went to Rwanda, at some time in the mid-nineties, she had assumed that the conflict there was over, and that the more gruesome signs of the genocide that had occurred there had been removed. She was wrong on both counts.

She told me about the burned houses in the villages, whose owners had been killed. The Rwandans left the houses standing, uninhabited, in order to leave monuments to the evil that happened, so that they will not forget. There are, apparently, many of these houses still standing.

Mom's worst experience was when she went to see the genocide museum at one location. I suppose what she had expected was along the lines of the holocaust museum in Washington, DC; photographs and artifacts of the dead. What she found was something quite different. For example, she told me that there had been a room of feet. The room of feet contained a long table covered in leathery, dried human feet. The display made mom feel so queasy that she nearly fainted. Then she saw the arrow pointing to the room of babies, and fainted dead away.

Now, you surely know that Mom is a strong woman. She had three babies at home, naturally and without anesthesia, because she wanted to. This was too much even for her.

You might ask why I put this story here. The answer is that she told it to me, and I want it remembered.

The Mayo Party - A Letter from Aziza

Osama, I've been thinking about this story lately and thought I'd share it.

When Mom was first hospitalized, back in 2006, she came up with this idea. She thought it would be marvelous to host a "mayo party," and explained to us (myself, Sarah, and Beverly) that we'd provide platters of mayo - and only mayo - and that the invitees would bring whatever tools with which they wished to eat it. I think she suggested crackers and various veggies, but said she'd would leave it up to her guests. We all thought this was a great idea -- very "Linda." Months later, Sarah and I (and maybe Beverly?) were discussing this party idea with mom and she didn't remember thinking it up, but of course she still thought it was a fabulous idea.

A while ago Ahmad suggested that we have a mayo party in her honor... we just might.

love,

Aziza

Aziza's Wedding Photos - 2

Aziza sent me some downloadable photos. Enjoy:

Aziza's Wedding Pictures

My sister Aziza finally sent me a link to her wedding photos. She looks absolutely radiant. Ahmed, her husband, looks very handsome.

Sarah looks very good, and has lost a lot of weight (I notice that she wore mom's necklace, rings, bracelet, and shawl). Mohamed and Youssef looked very handsome. Youssef, of course, is much bigger now.

See the pictures for yourself here. I would have posted the photos, but Shutterfly won't let me download them. Maybe Aziza will send me some to post here.

I wish I could have been there. Even more, I wish mom could have. Mom would have been ecstatic; she really appreciated Ahmed, and rightly so.

I wish them the soppiest, happiest, corniest ever after.

Meet Ali (Linda's grandchildren, part 1)

Ali Ismail Lester is my son and mom's first male and biological grandchild (Farah, my stepdaughter, was the first. But she won't let me publish any photographs of her, so her profile will have to wait until she lets me publish a photo, or I will eventually have to profile her without a photo).

Ali was born in November, 2003, in Arlington, VA. He is a Scorpio (as are Ragia and Farah—Argghh!) If you ask Ali how old he is, he will insist that he is sixteen. He will correct anybody who says that he is four.

Ali loves dinosaurs, elephants, lions, horses (he rides when he is in Egypt), and books.

Ali is fully bilingual in both Arabic and English.

Ali's mother is my wife, Ragia. He has Arab, Berber, Ancient Egyptian, and Turkish blood through his mother. From me he gets English, German, Irish, French, and Native American blood. Because his mother is African (Egyptian from Tunisian and Moroccan descent), he is an African American.

If the stories cherished by my wife's father's side of the family and my father's side of the family are true (I take a pinch of salt with the stories on my side), Ali is descended from both Britain's King George III on my side and from Islam's Prophet Muhammad.* He is also related to William Faulkner through my mother's side of the family.

A few days ago, I told Ali that I miss my aunts, Janet and Carla. I asked him: "Ali, do you miss Janet and Carla?" He said: "Yes, and Linda. I miss Linda a lot."

Good boy.

* From (get this,) both sides of the family! Ragia's father can trace his lineage to the Prophet Muhammad's daughter, and so can Queen Elizabeth II through her ancestor Edward IV (who is, apparently, my ancestor, too), who is descended from the Moorish rulers of Andalusia, who in turn are descended from the Prophet Muhammad (See http://www.juancole.com/2008/02/burkes-peerage-queen-elizabeth-ii.html if you care).