The Post-Dubai Chronicles

For those of you who have doubted us when we have repeatedly stated that Dubai is not culturally in the middle east, we have two more evidences: First, Thanksgiving dinner, complete with chestnut dressing and gelatinous, can-shaped cranberry “sauce.” Second is the Christmas tree lot at the supermarket two minutes away from our house. It’s not a big Wal-Mart sized lot, but it has real, coniferous, pine-like, taller-than-me trees. Allow me to elaborate on each of these two points.

Amy has never thought that cooking a twelve course meal which takes more than several hours to prepare is worthy of being called a holiday much less of actually doing. “Either Thanksgiving cooks should be paid overtime or we should give our yearly thanks over sloppy joes and instant mashed potatoes” is the gist of her philosophy (although I am risking my very life by suggesting my Idahoan wife would even utter the words “instant mashed potatoes”). I’m a little more sentimental and demanded that we have a roast turkey dinner somewhere, anywhere--even if we had to have it with hummus and jasmine rice. So, both of us quickly and simultaneously said, “Yes,” when a co-worker invited us to her home for Thanksgiving dinner and only asked that we bring butternut squash soup (our family’s Thanksgiving Eve tradition).

Ten adults and ten children laid waste to the 20-pound turkey, and I think there weren’t many mashed potatoes, green beans with almonds, or yams left either. We had our usual trouble convincing Christian to eat any dinner followed by our usual trouble calming him down as the pies were brought to the table. Couldn’t really tell him no, though, as I was serving up my third slice of pecan pie. . . . It was a feast indeed, one for the history books. And it was great to be with friends, too. Two of them regaled me with stories of deep-fat frying turkeys for Thanksgiving. “Takes about 45 minutes and it’s the juiciest bird you’ll ever eat,” they said. I don’t know: I guess I can’t get past the idea of an entire turkey being cooked like a fish stick. Seems like you’d have to serve it with fry sauce instead of cranberry sauce. And this year’s regularly roasted bird was another reason to just roast it again next year.

The next morning we worked off the tryptophan in our bloodstreams by putting up our Christmas tree. I had to frequently turn my back on the view out the living room window: the lack of snow or even cold air made the Christmas spirit drain away a bit. Incidentally, a few days later we went to the Mall of the Emirates to check out Ski Dubai, the newly-completed and world’s only indoor ski resort. It’s really amazing, so amazing, in fact, that it didn’t dampen my appetite for a white Christmas at all; it made it worse! So, as I predicted, Christmastime is great for the decorations, the lights, the parties . . . but it’s just not the same at 80-plus degrees.

We were surprised hear radio commercials mentioning Christmas as well as stores putting up decorations right after Thanksgiving right here in Dubai. In fact, our local supermarket has artificial trees for sale! This same store has, as of a few days ago, also put out LIVE Christmas trees for sale—no kidding. They’re right across from the Hallmark and the Early Learning Center stores which has gone way overboard in trying to get kids to get their parents to buy this or that. Dubai would never pass up a chance to make bank on the commercialized part of Christmas.

One of the benefits of working for the Government overseas is you get both US holidays and local holidays off. So only a few days after Thanksgiving, we had two more holiday days for the Emirati national day, December 1st. We took advantage and went to visit some Egyptian friends of ours in a city called Al Ain, about two hours from where we live. They fed us abundantly and we had a good time visiting Jebel Hafeet, the tallest mountain in the UAE.

By the time we got back, it was time to start planning for our Christmas party which was to be followed by holiday parties for work and for church. Since many guests at our party were locals, we couldn’t resist sharing an American Christmas with them. So we blasted Nat King Cole, fired up the wassail (thanks, Cindy, for this holiday tradition!), and served fudge that would knock your socks off. All in all, it was a roaring success, though I think most guests were satisfied to curiously stare at American holiday food rather than actually tasting it. At the end of the day, I guess turkey dressing really is just mushy bread with a lot of spices in it. But heaven knows I don’t need anyone else’s vote of support to enjoy turkey dinner or Amy’s rocky road candy.

Our highest hopes were for the work party, though. Last year, Christian wouldn’t go near Santa Claus. This year, with several weeks’ prepping from mom and dad, his mouth literally dropped open when he saw Saint Nick. Sitting on his knee, he responded very seriously, “Yes, I been a good boy,” nodding his head vigorously when asked about his annual performance. Santa gave him a toy doctor kit, which is his new bed partner. (This gift stems back to just over a year ago when Christian was hospitalized for a blood infection. After showing great bravery while having an IV inserted into his arm, before leaving he gave the doctor a hug and said thanks, eyes red from crying. Ever since then, he’s gone around pretending to give his stuffed animals “a drink in the arm” using crayons, fountain pens or anything that looks like a syringe!)

Well, the boy has been completely and wholly cured of his Kringle-phobia. The next night at the church Christmas party, Christian didn’t even wait for Santa (played by a Filipino brother) to call his name. He marched straight up there and sat on his knee even while some of the older kids were being handed their gifts! Finally, parents who wanted to take pictures of their children with Santa protested another unrelated child being in the photos, so he was ousted and had to suck on a candy cane till he was called up.

Henry’s fear of Santa is at last accompanied by his ability to run, er—wobble away. He’s been walking the last few days, never taking more than two or three steps, but solid ones. He also knows what a lion says, although because he can’t make the R sound, it’s more like “wow.” As if that’s not cute enough, he tries to lower his voice for a roar by whispering. So when you ask him what a lion says, he whispers “wow” really slowly!

I suppose I should type something humorous and embarrassing about Amy since she’s not here to edit this issue. (She’s traipsing around Jordan on vacation, although I must say--she highly deserves it considering the semester of whiny students she’s had to endure.) Hmmm. Can’t think of anything . . . and I just want her back so I can stop eating left-overs anyway!