Eat My Dust?
Last night we had the first spring dust storm. I wish I could think of a word stronger than storm, because it doesn’t seem to fully describe the sight. The visibility is down to about 30 feet, the air is thick with gritty, yellow dirt, rising from the ground like smoke in 30-foot plumes and howling through the cracks in the window frames.
Now you say: How ghetto is that? They have cracks in their window frames!
Then I say: When the wind blows hard enough to tear our iron gate off its hinges (like it did last year) any window frame will suddenly have cracks through which the grit can come through.
I went up on to the roof (because I am a genius, remember?) in this big ole storm and was happy. Leave it to me to be rejoicing in a blinding swirl of dirt, (“The symbolism is astounding,” thus sayeth Aniraz) with the wind blowing my scarf backwards over my face and my pants swelled with air like sails. And my teeth filling with dirt. And my eyebrows and eyelashes turning khaki. And my skin dusted over so that I look non-white for the first time, ever. And my clothes a filthy dirty-color, and I swear they were clean when I put them on, scout’s honor. :::snicker:::
The sounds of a dust storm are quite interesting. You hear howl howl howl, crash, bang, bleat, crash, bang, howl. The wind howls, doors, gates and windows bang open and closed, sheep bleat in protest, medium-sized debris goes crashing all over the place. The dust storms always deposit the most interesting junk into our drive-way, cigarette boxes, feathers, straw, hats, handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, old hard bread, and millions upon millions of used plastic shopping bags. Once after a really nasty dust storm there was a prayer rug hanging from the electricity wires for three days, but I’m waiting for something really interesting to blow up onto our porch, like a small goat or a ufo.
I also had a few random thoughts, one of which was that I think our prayer rugs are the original flying carpets. What do you guys think? It sounds plausible, no? I rather enjoy thinking about my prayer rug being capable of flight. Speaking of my prayer rug, the three year old snuck up on me again today. I was praying Asr and I heard him walking slowly up to the room I was in. He stuck his face in the door (which incidentally, was right in my qiblah) and when he saw I was praying, he stepped in front of the rug, right at the head, and stood there waiting for me, arms akimbo, not unlike Superman. He only had to wait for one and a half rakah, because then his mother came up the stairs, gasped when she saw him, grabbed him by the arm and took him back down. Boy was he upset about that. He he.
What was the other thing I wanted to mention on my blog? Umm, I haven’t made the changes to my fly-trap because I was home today for a grand total of FIVE minutes. I left the house this morn, went to work, chilled with a friend of mine, picked my sister up from work, went home for five minutes and prayed, drove back to work with a sandwich in my hand. Then I worked, and came home two hours ago, and here I am. (it‘s 10pm)
Btw, I award Aniraz 875974.4 Sugghar points for both my mobile sandwich and the baked chicken & potato planks that were awaiting me when I came home. Aniraz zindabad! Btw, The Prophet Muhammad, peace and blessings of God be upon him, said: “Only an honorable man treats women with honor and integrity. And only a mean, deceitful and dishonest man humiliates and insults women.” Reported by Ibn Asaker.
Ahh! I can’t believe I forgot to include this: The muffler/silencer on the family car is busted, so now my car sounds like it’s burning nitro. Well, I’m being kind when I say that. It actually sounds like a contestant from a monster truck rally. It’s so bizarre, and so loud that you have to suspend all conversation when you accelerate, because otherwise you can’t make out what the other people in the car are saying. So anyways, I’ve been zooming around town in a car that sounds like ten cars, and people have been trying to drag race with me! I swear, it’s so weird. I was stopped at a light, running (but NOT revving) the engine, when I heard someone revv theirs in reply. I turned and looked, and there was a greasy guy on a motorcycle, grinning at me and racing his engine. When the light changed he burned rubber and shot ahead, giving me a smug victory grin and then speeding off.
Though I confess that I sometimes out-maneuver (but not necessarily *race*) other cars, I wasn’t even trying to race that time. What gives? There was one white car too, playing the creeping game with me. That’s where each car stopped at the red light creeps forward in turns, trying to get a lead on the other without actually braking the light. I was creeping independently of him, but the thunderous roar of my engine made it sound like I was revving again. He shot past the light when it changed and I’m sure he thought he was making me eat his dust. Sheesh. I hope the muffler’s fixed by tomorrow, any more of these bruises to my driving ego and I may have to take someone up on the challenge just to prove myself in the world of reckless (but not wreck-less) Pakistani driving. Peace!
-Terror of the Tarmac, Sensei Speed Demon