Dongurigal

On hiatus, in case you haven't noticed

Is this blog on its way to the blog graveyard?

I don't know, but I'm on a break right now until I figure out whether I want to keep it going or not.

Writing Dongurigal these past couple of years has been therapeutic, fun, challenging.  It isn't that way now. Not sure why and I'm too lazy to think this one through to make it a blog post worth reading.

As for what's going on in Dongurigal's life--we've decided to settle in Asnieres, a quaint suburb just outside Paris. I'm really happy about this decision, even though it means I'm far from my family (they'll just have to visit, no hardship there, eh).  The only thing, besides dog poo, that has me stressing about the decision is dealing with French bureaucracy.

As for the blog, till I decide what to do once and for all---ta ta for now.

Hello from Dog-poo land

There is so much going on in the life of the Dongurigal family, that I don't quite know where to begin. Some of what I want to say is unbloggable, at least for now, some of it is just plain boring unless you want to hear all about what it's like to paint a bedroom and keep a one-year-old entertained, at the same time, and some of it is just forgotten, a thought or situation that should have made it to these cyber pages but just didn't.

Which reminds me, before I forget, I love finding new parks in Asnières sur Seine, the suburb of Paris where our apartment is. Most are small and compact, but perfect for an exploring toddler. Today, Hubs, Sproglette and I found one by accident next to a grocery store I sometimes shop at. It was rectangular--about one full block lengthwise and about 10 metres wide. Next to it was a dog run, a walled and gated patch of sand with poles sticking out at intervals, I guess so that the dogs can race around and in between them. 

Like the streets in these parts, the dog run was full of shit, too. Talk about an obstacle course.

Plastic bags, people, plastic bags. Poor dogs.

In other bloggable Dongurigal news:

Sproglette continues to say, yell, query, discuss, or demand Hoo-zaaaa. She's now saying Hooooooozzzzz Tha? I'm so proud of her pronunciation of the TH sound, her little tongue sticking out between her teethhhhhh as she speaks, and, uh, honey, you can put your tongue back in now. 

Everything and everyone is still a Hooooozzzzz Tha? When she points to something she can't reach, she says Hoooooozzzz Tha? If we hand her the wrong thing, she flings it away and points again and says, louder, more insistantly, Hoooooooooooooozzzzzzzzzz THA?  If we hand her yet again the wrong thing, she has a Hooooooozzzzzz THA? meltdown during which she cries Hooooz Tha? over and over again until we figure out what it is she wants. 

It would be really funny if she weren't so distraught. 

Who am I kidding? It is really funny.

The other day, after I had finally shaved my legs and armpits (a clear sign that my Doha Depression has lifted) I stood naked in the bedroom and said to Hubs, taa daaaaaa, see how silky smooth I am again.  Sproglette toddled up to me, stuck her finger in my 'most-definitely-not-a-Brazilian' and demanded HOOOOOOOOOOZ  THA? To which Hubs, who speaks a dialect of Hooz tha? called Mumble Grumble, dutifully translated, 'You forgot to shave your bird, Mom.'

Sproglette looked very concerned. Obviously Hubs' translation was spot on. 

Speaking of my Doha Depression, it is gone. It was gone as soon as I looked down on our apartment building during take off. I felt nothing as we passed over it. No sense of loss. No sadness. No nostalgia. I still feel nothing. It's as if I never lived there. But I did. And I suffered. And Sproglette kept me sane, even when she made me insane.

It's late now, nearly 11:10. Sproglette is teething, her right cheek is all red. It's going to be a long night of soothing and cuddling, so I should probably go to bed while she's temporarily asleep.

Good night.

The setting sun

One more sleep and it's bye bye Doha.

I didn't think I would, but I cried after I said goodbye to my friend and her 15 month old daughter, Sproglette's little buddy.  We hung out a lot.  We helped each other cope. Our sprogs got on well and when they didn't, their antics made us laugh.

I hate how sad this goodbye was even though I'm so thrilled to be out of here.

When I was a teen in Saskatchewan, I thought it was so boring. My dad would say, 'yeah, but look at that sunset.' And I'd look at it, grudgingly. Saskatchewan sunsets are always breathtaking, something even my teenaged self realized. I'll be seeing a lot of those in Saskatoon, where we're moving, and depending on how long we stay, I'll probably be saying that to an eye-rolling Sproglette in a few year's time.

Doha sunsets aren't all that bad either.

 

Like Two Hummers Passing in the Night

It's a stretch to call Al-Mirqab Street (I think that's the name) my favourite street in all of Doha because there really isn't a single street that I like, at all, but if I were to have a favourite, Al-Mirqab it  would be.

First off, it has a Thai restaurant that, when you pass through the fairy-light lit doors, you feel like you're in some cheesy outdoor Vietnamese cafe with the fake pond and the rickety chairs and the delicious food.

Second off, it has Turkey Central, THE place to buy chicken shwarmas and baba ghanouj. And I mean it, it is THE place.

Third off, it's alive with walkers so cars have to slow down, just a tad anyway. There are still too many SUVs on the road, including Hummers that scritch by as they pass each other in either direction. Too many cars double parked. Too many cars honking. But, regardless, there are pedestrians. It's nice to see people walking from Turkey Central to the tailors to the barbershop to the Swiss bakery to the Filipinno grocery store to the educational wooden toy shop. (Yes, a wooden toy shop. I was shocked.)

As I sat in the front passenger seat of our not double parked SUV outside Turkey Central the other day waiting for Hubs to pick up our evening feast, I wondered if, had we lived just down the road from this street--that is, within walking distance--could I have hacked it here in Doha.

The answer is probably still no.

We are leaving Doha for good a week from today.

I won't miss this city, not even Al-Mirqab Street.  At all.

You can sum me up

Sproglette has started dancing. She claps her hands. Squats down, straightens up and then bobs up and down like a buoy on choppy water.

I don't listen to nearly enough music, so when I need a laugh, which is Sproglette's raison d'etre, making me laugh, I'll break into song. I'll sing anything: Eensy weensy spider, This old man, Shoo fly shoo, In the jungle and she'll dance. It makes me laugh.

Yesterday, for no particular reason or maybe because I'm sick of singing nursery rhymes but still need my hourly laugh, I started singing When I Just Wear My Smile by Mama Cass Elliot. Sproglette clapped and bobbed. And I laughed. And sang. And laughed again.

My cousin taught me that song years ago and we used to perform it, dressed up in tacky 70s frocks, in front of our lucky parents over several summers. I loved that song. I still do. It reminds me of summers in Quebec, playing dress up, doing skits, being goofy and irresponsible.

Until I looked it up on YouTube, I don't think I had ever actually heard it sung by Mama Cass herself, so it surprised me that I still knew nearly all the correct lyrics as well as the actual key in which she sang it.

I keep clicking the play button. Sproglette keeps bobbing up and down.

I guess I've never been the high fashion kind
Mother nature gave me a good design
But where ever I go, I know I'll be in style
If I just wear my smile

Party time friends ask me over for tea
It's not the style of clothes that they wanna see
The way I look just drives them wild
When I just wear my smile

If my fella's in a hurry, he'll never have to worry
He knows that I'm a natural girl
I never worry if I'm showing, with all that I've got going
I just wash my face, forget about curls.

Society girls may never think I'm in
But I've been a few places that they've never been
Cause it never takes no more than just a little while
To put on that big smile
                                            --Mama Cass Elliot

Who knew that that song would describe the kind of person I am today. That song is me. So very me.

Mind you, we used to also sing Do Your Boobs Hang Low all the time which pretty much sums me up as well.

Hooo-zaaaa

I thought it would be bird or kitty or cow or, heck, even jackass or frickenlandcruiser or stayinyourownlanejeez.

But it's none of the above.

Sproglette's first word is technically three. "Who's that?"

Or Hooo-zaaaa.

Everything and everyone is a Hooo-zaaa. Sproglette herself is a Hooo-zaaa because every morning of nearly every day of her whole life, we look in the mirror, I point to her reflection and say, Who's that?

And now she knows the answer. Why, it's Hooo-zaaaa, mom.

The Lazy Blogger speaks out (links) about other things that disgust her

This

and

This

My Life in a Nutshell (or a Youtube Video)

Expatriate Wives

(Thank you to the person who directed me to this duo. Made my day.)

A PG 13 rant on life here, yet again

It's safe to say that I'm experiencing the mother of all mopes this week. I'd prescribe myself some happy pills if I wasn't fully aware that the reason I'm in such a black mood is because I live in Doha and not because of a chemical imbalance or an ongoing malaise of mysterious cause. It's no mystery why I'm down.

Take for example my extreme reaction to this news story about the opening night party for the new Atlantis hotel in Dubai, a party that cost a mere 20 million dollars. The fireworks alone were something like seven times bigger than at the Beijing Olympics.

All this for a f**king hotel. (Hubs has asked me to keep my blog PG13)

A hotel!

When I saw the report on BBC, I started crying. I was so disgusted by this display of nouveau riche wealth and excess. It's Dubai, not Qatar, but still. Same kind of glee for glitz goes on here too.

I hate this region of the world. Hate it...and I no longer want to be part of its explosive growth. What I am saying is that yes, I am more than willing, eager actually, to start scrabbling for cash, start paying some utility bills, start living frugally, start saving up for holidays just to live somewhere nice and normal, in a place that is not all caught up in how great it is to have so much f**king money that it can fete a hotel--A HOTEL--in a style grander than any Olympics.

Thank you.

Back 2 and half days and what do I post about....DRIVING

While in Japan, Sproglette started eating. She took to boiled daikon, teriyaki chicken, and miso soup like a fish to water, like a jackhammer to cement, heck, like a Qatari playboy to a Toyota Landcruiser. 

She's all growed up, already. What a change.

I cried all morning the day after we arrived back in Doha and then I fed Sproglette some porridge with cranberries in it. She ate it all up, just like Goldilocks.

Being in Japan reminded me of what I'm missing in life and that is basically the freedom to get up and go. We got up and went every single day. We walked, we took trams and trains and buses and ferries. We rode bicycles. But mainly we walked.

We needed to eat. We walked to a restaurant. We needed to relax. We walked to a park. We needed to take the train. We walked to the train station. We wanted needed some kinokonyama chocolate mushrooms. We walked to a convenience store.

We walked. Everywhere.

I didn't worry about getting hit by a car (although I probably should have as more than once I looked the wrong way before crossing the road.) Even when we were in a car, I didn't worry about getting into a car accident. It just didn't even cross my mind.

I didn't use the word motherfucker once in three weeks. I've already said it several times here. I may have said jackass in the context of 'wow, I can't believe he let you merge. He's no jackass.'

I can't tell you how many times I've said jackass in the space of two driving days here.

I hate that I have to pray to Allah and God, who are One and the Same, and do this little pagan ritual of circling my car with white light before I turn on the ignition so that I can drive to the Corniche just to go for a walk. I hate being scared shitless every time I get into a car, scared that my daughter will be hurt. Or worse.

Just to go for a goddamned walk.

Yesterday, we drove in manic traffic to a soccer match between Qatar and Japan--a soccer match we were denied entry to even though we had valid tickets. On the way, I told Hubs, these drivers are killers. They're not careless, they're not assholes, they're not stupid. They are killers. Murderers. They don't give a shit about anyone's life. Not even their own.

So ok, I do have a car and technically we can get up and go, but it's scares the crap out of me to drive here and put my daughter's life at risk. Unless I make a plan with someone else, I find it very easy to make an excuse that keeps us stuck in this apartment, our own personal guilded cage. And believe me, it's a lovely cage. But a cage.

I fucking hate it here and I'm turning off comments because really, what can anyone say to that.

After a day of walking, what better way to soothe aching muscles than to soak your feet in a free public hotspring foot bath in Kagoshima.