Tag Archives: Houston

Compromise

After Son got the apartment, he arranged the furniture in my room. He hadn’t told me that mine was a mini room. If he had asked me (I was still in Peshawar– miles away from here), I would have told him not to put the smaller sofa in my room. Now there is hardly any space to move around.

When I saw the arrangement after my arrival, I was really upset over it. We tried to find hired helpers to move it to the Living area. The quotation in removing it from the room was too high for us. Son joked, “Let’s put it on the Craiglist. Problem solved. The person who buys it, will do the removing.

Son clearly forgot. Before moving from Houston, we had put it on the Craiglist for half the price. It didn’t get sold. Yesterday I thought over it, and found a better idea. If the verticals are removed to the recess, there is ample space. The room wouldn’t be so cramped, and I won’t be selling my lovely love seat. That’s a compromise, if only the management agrees.

Compromise

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Rube

Though it’s rude to call someone a rube, but it brought to mind my driver Waqas. He was definitely one. I had to employ a driver, when Son left for Houston in December, leaving me on my own. His new job in Massachusetts required him to reach there by January sixth. I would have coped without a driver, but driving in Peshawar was truly hazardous. Another thing was keeping the car not getting stolen by leaving it without a person to guard it.

Waqas belched when he would have his food. Although I had not signed him for giving him food except his pay. I had to give him food when it was meal times, and he was still with me. For the first few times, I ignored his ill manners. Then I had to find my courage to tell him off. It didn’t work. He told me, “I always belch”. I told him he can do it when he is alone, but certainly not in front of me. It was so crass. I had to repeat several times before he decided to heed me.

Another thing which was very off putting was the smell coming from his clothes in the small confines of my car. Oh God! What am I going to do? It was my reaction every time the smell hit me. For some time I put up with it by rolling the window a few centimeters down. Then it was enough. I knew I couldn’t last a month with the foul smell. I was across my limit of endurance. I bought a nice smelling bag of detergent, and gave it to him to have his clothes washed in it. That took care of the problem.

Next time Insha’Allah I’m coming back the minute Son has to leave.

Rube

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Disastrous 

This day is harried for me. I have yet to gather my things, and pack. My flight leaves in the evening, and I will be reaching Houston at midnight Insha’Allah.


.

Made pancakes for the children. I have just finished feeding M5 –coaxing her to eat her pancake, and fruit. I was putting forkfuls into her mouth, and at the same time I was ineffectually brushing her hair.

There were unidentified flakes in her hair. I kept alternating between a comb, and brush to take out the flakes adorning her hair. How she got them — it was a mystery.

This was certainly disastrous.

DAILY PROMPT

Disastrous

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Dash

After learning Son had become jobless, I wanted to dash back to Houston. The only thought which prevented me from going was, that I didn’t know when I will be able to see my daughter again. Daughter and family plans to move to Qatar, and it’s a long way from here. I used to think Hartford was far away from Houston, and now to think of Qatar.

I am not fond of traveling. The thought of a journey is mentally exhausting. And now Son and I will have to move away from Houston too, and it all depends upon his next job, and where he gets it. Another thought which I don’t like is selling my furniture, and kitchen items. Moving is so expensive if I don’t want to give away, or sell my things. The option of selling things at far less prices than what I paid for it is also heart wrenching. 

Son in law FJ sketched it out to me. He asked me, “If someone is selling used sofas at twelve hundred, and a new one sells at fifteen hundred, which one you will buy?” My answer was of course a new one. Then he asked me, “If the used sofas price came down to eight hundred?” I answered if it was in good condition I might buy the old one

“See!” He said triumphantly. He made his point.

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Dash

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Maze

I have been driving in Houston since October, but the roads still seem a maze to me. The worse thing is I keep forgetting the names, or keep mixing them to the annoyance of Son. He relishes it when he can count it as one mistake. Ten mistakes– and I have to make him a dish of baked chicken drumsticks.

We had to buy some gifts. While returning home, Son asked me the usual question, “What is this road called?” Answer was “Ah aa a!” He was gleeful. Nola (daughter) is on a very short visit to us (she saw her brother after a gap of two years). She advised me, “Stall! Don’t answer immediately. Wait till you can see the name, then answer”.

Next time, I will try her advice.

She reminded him, “Mama is almost nineteen years older to you. Wait till you get there, then I am going to ask you”. 

Son forgets names of friends mostly, but I am too nice a person to rub it in.

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Maze

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Denial 

I can’t remember road names. These roads keep changing their names. For example it is Kirkwood on one side, and straight ahead it get changed to Dulles. How am I supposed to remember? It’s difficult for me. Houston is an amalgam of cities. Highway six keeps turning up, or does the disappearing act

Son thinks by now I should be well versed with all the names. He has invented a new game. He asks, “What’s ahead on this road?” For the life of me I don’t remember as I am concentrating on driving, so I make a guess. Oh! It proved correct, though it was a wild guess. I can call it a lucky one, otherwise he was bound to be disappointed with me.

I’m going to be charged for my mistakes. The minute their  number goes to ten, I have to feed him baked chicken wings as a penalty. Son is pleased with the situation. If I am not ready by a specified time, he starts counting. Till today my mistakes amounted to seven. Son is eagerly waiting to find more.

At the grocery store the man looked puzzled at chicken trays Son left for me to pay for. I explained to him these are my penalties for mistakes I have done. He chuckled as he ran my bill.

For any mistakes I make I vehemently try to deny. He is ever ready to find them, and I at the other end is in a state of constant denial.

DAILY PROMPT

Denial

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