The New Moon

Happy Eid to all my Muslim friends. 

The respected elders spotted the crescent moon, which signifies the end of Ramadan and the beginning of  "Eid al-Fitr" (or the festival of fast-breaking) a joyous three-day holiday.

When I was little, I was very concerned about what happened if they DIDN'T see the crescent moon.  

Would they treat it like they do Groundhog Day? 

Think about it. If the groundhog didn't see his shadow we'd have six more weeks of winter right?  

Well, what would happen if the elders went out and the sky was dark? With no moon in sight?

Would this mean six more weeks of fasting???!   

My aunt Reema already looked dangerously frail already from 30 days of eating only at night. Six more weeks of fasting would surely be the end of her!...Or so my 8-year-old self thought.

And I became obsessed by the idea. 

The moon sighting was set to be on a Thursday.   So, on the Monday before, I announced that I would be camping in the backyard. And shortly after the sun set at 7:45, I went out with my Holly Hobby blanket and Snoopy pillow and set up on the lawn chair in the back. With a flashlight and binoculars...  and some graham crackers in case I got hungry. I leaned back in my chair and stared up at the sky. Waiting....

My mother humored me until 8pm when she announced I had to come in for bed. Nonnegotiable. 

I couldn't tell her what I was really up to for fear that she might sabotage it. Not that mom was a mean person but you can never underestimate the sensitivity of celestial matters. 

So I went back inside and into my room, but kept jumping up to at various points of the night to look outside the window. My reasoning was that if my young eyes could catch the sliver of the moon on this night, then three days later if it were to suddenly disappear then at least I could be the voice of rebuttal that it actually was there and could in fact come back -- Back then my grasp of astronomy was 'creative' to say the least.

This went on until Wednesday when I came down to breakfast with my shirt on inside out and my mother realized how sleep deprived I was.

I was forced to confess my plan.  

My mother, God bless her, didn't bust out laughing hysterically at me -- though I did see the corners of her mouth twitch and she quickly turned away under the guise of having to get a glass of water....

But then she came back and patiently explained to me that if the elders didn't see the moon on Thursday then they would surely spot it on Friday. And the only thing this would mean was that Aunt Reema would have to fast one more day.

Well lucky for all of us, the elders did in fact spot the moon on Thursday and so things proceeded happily as planned. Aunt Reema broke her fast and we all had a lovely three day Eid celebration.

All ended well.

But don't think that now, 27 years later, I don't get a flutter of anxiety in my heart near the end of Ramadan in case the moon is not spotted in time. 

....I mean, you can never underestimate the sensitivity of celestial matters.

Happy Eid everyone!

We've all been there

My cousin Amira is the subject of today's entry.

One day following an afternoon of shopping in Los Angeles, where she lives, she came upon a homeless woman who I'll call Lucille. Lucille smiled, said 'hello' and asked for money for food. Amira immediately reached in her wallet and, not finding anything smaller, handed her a ten dollar bill. A passerby who had witnessed this transaction casually said "Well that's very nice of you."

That's when things got awkward.

Racking her brain, trying to think of a suitable response, Amira stammered a bit until she settled on the following gem: "Well, we've all been there."
The stranger smiled politely.
Lucille smiled politely.
Amira cringed as she got in her car.

"Was that terribly stupid of me?" She later asked me.
"To tell a homeless person you'd been in her shoes when you haven't?"
"Her name was Lucille..."
"What did you do next?"
"I got into my car."

Mind you, her 'car' is a BMW SUV. So basically Lucille and the stranger were both left marvelling at this rags-to-riches success story: One day you're on the streets, and the next driving a BMW! --- I'll quickly add in Amira's defense that she bought it used and after much research into a safe vehicle.

We both laughed at the absurdity of the situation.
"Why would you even say anything like that?"
"...I didn't know what else to say!"
'How about nothing? Just smile and go about your business?'
She shrugged in response.
In hindsight she realizes that what she meant to say was 'We COULD all be there,' instead of 'We HAVE all been there' but she got flustered.

And then I realized. Amira wasn't being cavalier. She was just completely awkward because unwanted attention was called to her.

You see, Amira doesn't like to be complimented. Here she was; minding her own business, doing a good deed, when out of nowhere this stranger came and complimented her! What's a gal to do, except stammer and look for the first thing to take the focus off herself? Which in Amira's case, was to establish some sort of camaraderie with Lucille.

Sound far fetched? Maybe. But I too suffer from this malady.
In fact, it's one of the many things which bonds Amira and I, besides mothers who are sisters. Neither of us can really take a compliment. We actually hate it. And in that, we betray our Iraqi roots.

Compliments on what either of us are wearing are often met with the following response: "Thanks...this skirt hides a a multitude of sins." The complimenter then feels obligated to mention that there are no 'sins' to be seen. And then either of us has to protest a little that 'yes there are sins' lest the complimenter think we are fishing for more compliments and....oh this scenario drags on.

For years, there wasn't a picture taken of us that didn't have a piece of spinach or parsley placed deliberately so as to dissuade any comments from our mothers' friends of "Oh look how pretty your daughters are!" Of course we had another motive for doing this - as many of these woman were trawling for a wife for their sons who shared the trait of having too much hair growing out of their nostrils and not enough on their head... But that's another entry and I digress...

I might get angry emails after saying this, but in general, most Iraqis love being the center of attention. And if one doesn't share this desire, then one is not true to their roots. It's as simple as drinking Leban, talking with your hands, or taking forever to say goodbye to someone when you're on the phone with them. Traits shared by authentic Iraqis.

Amira and I might not be authentic Iraqis. We did both grow up in the Midwestern United States where it's not customary to call attention to yourself. Or perhaps we are just two very introverted gals who don't like the spotlight in even the smallest way.

Either way, I told Amira not to worry about her little snafu.
After all we've all been there in some form or another...haven't we?