It’s 1650, and I’m suffering from coffee withdrawal. A few days ago I decided to cut back on my daily consumption of coffee. I haven’t been out of control, but 4-5 cups a day seems to have more of an effect on my 43 year old body than they had on my 33 year old body. My eyes feel completely bloodshot, if bloodshot is actually a feeling. I’m trying to have 1 cup a day in the morning. It’s not going so well!
Why am I cutting back? In addition to aggravating my heartburn, coffee is helping to dehydrate me. Even now, it’s 106F (41C) outside. I’m already drinking 4 liters of water each day, sometimes 5. I feel waterlogged when I go out running and dehydrated when I finish. I really need to switch to running in the mornings instead of the evenings. This morning, sunrise was at 0455 and at 0600, the temperature was 77F (25C). So there is plenty of light to run at 0600, and the temperature is still relatively cool. However, at 1900 tonight, the temperature will be about 101F (39C), and the sun will set around 1913. All of the temperature data is from the Weather Underground.
What was I doing at 0600 this morning? Sleeping. I get up at about 0630 each morning, brush my teeth and shave, watch some news for the headlines, then wander into the office around 0730. I won’t have the luxury of sleeping that late when I’m slugging to the Pentagon. Oh well. I’ll be running this evening. Tommorow, and each Sunday, is my day off from running. I’ll try getting up early on Monday to go for a 0600 run.
Mugs and the kids should be picking up our new puppy right now. I’m sure we’ll have a great post from her soon!
The previous owners kindly left a bird house hanging off my back porch awning and I have a direct view of it from my kitchen window. Two wrens began padding their nest and worked diligently for days getting it just right. A few weeks later, I walked out on to the back porch to hear the little cheep cheeps of baby birds. I have been observing the parents endless trips to bring their hungry children food. Their task may be more labor intensive than mine, but after 15 days they throw their children out of the house. For me, the feeding routine lasts 18 years for each. Two days ago, I looked out the window and saw the black neighborhood cat standing on the porch railing and reaching for the house. I flew out the door like a mad woman, yelling and chasing her off. We had previously been on good terms and I often requested that if she was going to wander about my yard, she could have the courtesy to kill a few moles. I watched her stalk a mole once, but she didn’t kill it. I read online that cats do not like to eat moles. They taste bad. I then decided that I must now take some action to keep her off of the porch railing. I read online that cats won’t jump on things if they are wrapped in tinfoil. So, I went outside and wrapped my porch railing in tinfoil. I was then on cat watch and constantly looked out the window to ensure my defenses were in place and prepared myself to chase off all cat threats. There are actually 2 black neighborhood cats. They are both solid black with golden eyes. One is fat, one is skinny. So, when I saw her fat brother sitting under my bird feeder, I charged out the door yelling, “Get out of here! Get out of here! Leave my birds alone!” He ran off and I was feeling quite pleased when I looked up to discover my neighbors sitting on their back patio. All of a sudden it dawned on me…Not only do I have my back porch railing wrapped in tinfoil, but I periodically come running out of the house like a nutcase. “She’s mad,” I say, “Stark raving mad!” I slunk back into the house. The next day, I walked out on my front porch to discover a lovely dead mouse, freshly killed, and left neatly for me. A peace offering. Being a cat person, I couldn’t help but feel touched. Our barn cat in Germany, Fruhliche would bring all kinds of things to me as a gift: whole dead mice, mice with their heads decapitated, just the head, just the tail, a mouse gallbladder, etc. When she wanted to add some excitement to our lives, she would bring the mouse in live, let it loose, and then stalk and kill it. I never knew that cats growled until I was woken in the dead of night and heard her growling at a mouse next to my bed. It was a fearsome sound. So, I knew this was an offering given in the hopes of reestablishing our peaceful coexistence. Either that, or she was making a trade for the baby birds.
Mugs commented on the surprising decor of the house I visited for lunch while in Amadiyah. It was definitely very Brady-esque. For a while now, I’ve been meaning to set up an image gallery on the blog. I thought this would be a great opportunity to get the image gallery running so that you can see some more photos of the house in Amadiyah. If you look closely at the flower rug, you might be able to see some muddy boot prints. Can you guess who tracked mud on the rug?
Let me know if you have any problems with the image gallery.
Muhsan is a 77-year old Kurdish gentlemen who lives in Amadiyah, Dahuk Province, Iraq. Amadiyah, also called Amadi, is approximately 10 miles south of Turkey. Muhsan is the most influential person in Amadiyah; he is also highly regarded and respected throughout the entire province of Dahuk. He spent most of his life as a Freedom Fighter fighting for the Kurdish people. At one point in his life, he was a Member of Parliament for Kurdistan. I had the privilege of meeting Muhsan during my recent visit to Dahuk. Gee was able to arrange the meeting because of his family ties. Muhsan is the uncle of Ravina, Gee’s wife. I visited with Muhsan at the KDP Headquarters building in Amadiyah where his son, Muhammad, works as the KDP leader for the region. It turned into quite an event. After spending a couple of hours in discussions, we had lunch at Muhammad’s house with his father and some of his brothers. In the photo, seated on the orange couch are Muhammad and Glenn. Kneeling in the front is Saleh, Muhsan’s son who is running their farm and tending the livestock. Kneeling in the back is Muhsan’s son Hakar. He is the head of the Special Forces group that provides security at PM Barzani’s ranch. Standing is Ahmad, the son of Muhsan’s daughter. Ahmad’s father was killed by Saddam’s forces in the early 80s. Next is Gee. After Gee is Hashe, Muhsan’s youngest son and personal driver. Hashe’s daughter is in the picture, but I didn’t get her name. The last one standing is Rebin, Hakar’s son. I am seated on the couch next to Muhsan, the patriarch.
After lunch, Muhsan took us into the mountains to see the snow. He is very proud of a road construction project that will provide access for some of the isolated mountain villages and wanted us to see it. We drove along the finished portion of the road and parked at the end. Then we began walking further into the mountains on the unfinished portion. He is extremely fit for a 77-year old man. As he said, he spent most of his life living and fighting in the same mountains. At the crest of one hill, we spotted a Kurdistan flag flying. It had been left by the construction crew when they stopped work for the winter.
We had a thunderstorm on Thursday night. I was in my trailer about 2100 that night working at my desk. I saw a bright flash followed a couple of seconds later by a very loud boom. I assumed it was another IED. We probably hear on average about 5-6 IED explosions per day in Mosul. The small explosions, we just hear; the larger explosions actually shake our trailers. I had felt larger detonations previously, but I had never seen a flash before. About 30 seconds later, it happened again. When I walked outside to see what was happening, it started pouring. It rained all night Thursday and into Friday morning. The roads were extremely muddy on Friday, so I wore my old running shoes for my run that afternoon. I still haven’t worn a new pair yet because they’re too clean.
We grilled steaks at lunch today to celebrate Presidents’ Day. I got to sleep in until about 0900. At 1030 I went to chapel, which lasted exactly 1 hour. Obviously this wasn’t the gospel service! After lunch, I watched Mike decimate Glenn in a thrilling game of horseshoes. Toward the end, Rick walked over smoking a cigar.
I quickly departed since even the smell of cigars makes me queasy!
