It took me 40 minutes to get to work today, and I live just 5 kilometers (3.1 miles) from the office: 20 minutes to get a taxi and 20 minutes more to negotiate through traffic.
We are trying to decide where to live, and this certainly is a factor.
On Tuesday evening, I went to look at two different villas -- my first foray into house hunting. They both were large and appealing and relatively affordable, traits I'm led to believe are rare here. But they were also just off the island of Abu Dhabi, in an area imaginatively called "Between the Bridges." Between the bridges also means "pretty darn far from anything."
What makes that particular area appealing for most expatriates is its residential feeling. The neighborhoods are desert suburbs, with three-story villas lining each brand-new road. But you have to have a car to live here, and that's something Paul and I agree on: Neither of us wants to drive in this city or even in this country.
Every day is like Mr Toad's Wild Ride, and I can't figure out why people are such bad drivers here. Traffic-related deaths in the UAE are behind only Afghanistan and Iraq, and alongside Niger and Angola. That is, it is probably the most-developed country with the worst traffic accidents.
Living in the "suburbs" can make for a nice quality of life, but as in California, if you spend all your time on the road, then that quality is already diminished. The agent said we could arrange for a regular driver to take us to work, but what about groceries and errands? Even walking a few hundred meters (which I find to be a conservative guess) is not an option in this heat.
We have also ruled out Dubai. The neighboring emirate has a lot going for it. It has a thriving nightlife and lots of activities. Its beaches are lovely and the rents are much more affordable. But it's a 90-minute drive away. No dice.
So I'm starting my search. I don't know exactly what I'm looking for, only what I'm not. I would like to be near work and near a taxi stand. I would like a clean neighborhood without too much traffic. I would love a nearby park. An ocean view is probably out of my price range, but I did see an ad that looked too good to be true: 1 bedroom, 900 sq feet, with a sea view, near a good mall and affordable. I can only guess what's wrong with it. I'll surely call and see.
I had thought we had plenty of time to look since our temporary housing (a one-bedroom hotel room of about 650 sq feet) is good for two months. But others have suggested it will take nearly a month to do the paperwork, and if getting a bank account has been any indication (yes, non sequitur) they are all right. So I've looked a bit online, and made some notes. Colleagues are passing along tips about neighborhoods ad agents.
Let the search begin.
October 29, 2009
October 28, 2009
Two Weeks In ...
So I'm here in the middle of the desert, trying to get a handle on this place. A poor man's Las Vegas? Not really, because we're sitting on a ton of oil. A less-polished Las Vegas? In many ways yes, although the hotels here are gorgeous and the quality of the restaurants there is good. There is definitely not the same aspect of excess and the sin part of it isn't as obvious. We who drink alcohol, for example, are hidden away in the Westernized hotels or private homes. The conspicuous consumption exists; but it's hidden away behind tall walls and black abayas.
It is difficult to describe a city that is at once both cosmopolitan and nearly third world. There are lovely buildings and gardens, there is a sense of business in the air. But there are also men -- workers -- loitering everywhere, laying on the grass, trying to find some shade. Internet access is expensive and difficult to get. The police are well-hidden in a police state.
There is no overt censorship, for example, but self-censorship works nearly as well. The concept of writing a blog while working for the paper is a touchy one. I know we are not supposed to have them without prior approval. Because I am read almost entirely by close friends and family, whose numbers likely do not reach triple digits, I am continuing to post. If I get banned, I'll simply send out mass e-mails to those who are interested. But in the meanwhile, I am careful about what I write and I do not post from work.
I don't love it here; but I don't hate it either. After two weeks -- admittedly a very short time -- I'm at best ambivalent. I like my job and I like the people I work with. I'm keen to earn a good salary. But I feel constrained by the climate and the culture. I dress more modestly than I ever have, yet I'm constantly aware of being stared at. It isn't just warm here, it's hot. Still-in-the-90s hot. Hot as in "I'll just stay inside until it's time to go to work, thank you" hot. As a result, I'm bored. No Internet at home yet (we need residence visas); bad cable; almost caught up on books, which I am rationing. On workdays, it's less of an issue. I work 2-10 and I sleep late. The idea of even venturing a few blocks to try to find a yoga class is daunting. It's not easy to walk here or to drive here. Cabs are cheap, but not always plentiful (like around prayer time; many cabs are driven by devout Pakistanis). Nothing quite like standing in the hot sun with long sleeves or a sweater hoping to catch a taxi so i can go somewhere to walk.
I haven't seen the gulf/sea/bay -- whatever it is -- in daylight hours. It's been too hot to go anywhere and take pictures. We have had some lovely night-time adventures. We went for drinks last week at The Brauhaus, a German (obviously) bar in the luxury Beach Rotana hotel that was celebrating Oktoberfest. We went with colleagues and sat on the outdoor patio. There was a light breeze which mad the 80-plus degree temperatures feel quite pleasant. Paul remarked that it felt like a Club Med: Lots of well-to-do foreigners in an exotic location. I believe the feeling passed fairly quickly.
We had a fabulous meal at the same hotel, in a restaurant called Finz that stood on stilts in the water. We had a table overlooking the sand and water, and the food was very good. We started with rolls shaped like starfish and made with seaweed, and more made with squid ink and sea salt. They came with three dips: butter, crab butter and seaweed-labnah. (And speaking of butter, we had a mustard-butter mix at The Brauhaus that was really interesting).
My rambling point, and I do have one, is that I am neither content nor discontent here. But I do feel a bit in exile. I suppose that's to be expected. "They" say it takes a year to get comfortable. A year!! And in the recesses of my bad memory, I forget how I struggled to adapt in Paris, which now seems like a second home. (And my mother points out I struggled to adapt in Santa Barbara and Missouri ...) The trick is to find our niche here. To make a home as best we can and to work around the tricky things rather than trying to fight through them.
Wish us luck.
It is difficult to describe a city that is at once both cosmopolitan and nearly third world. There are lovely buildings and gardens, there is a sense of business in the air. But there are also men -- workers -- loitering everywhere, laying on the grass, trying to find some shade. Internet access is expensive and difficult to get. The police are well-hidden in a police state.
There is no overt censorship, for example, but self-censorship works nearly as well. The concept of writing a blog while working for the paper is a touchy one. I know we are not supposed to have them without prior approval. Because I am read almost entirely by close friends and family, whose numbers likely do not reach triple digits, I am continuing to post. If I get banned, I'll simply send out mass e-mails to those who are interested. But in the meanwhile, I am careful about what I write and I do not post from work.
I don't love it here; but I don't hate it either. After two weeks -- admittedly a very short time -- I'm at best ambivalent. I like my job and I like the people I work with. I'm keen to earn a good salary. But I feel constrained by the climate and the culture. I dress more modestly than I ever have, yet I'm constantly aware of being stared at. It isn't just warm here, it's hot. Still-in-the-90s hot. Hot as in "I'll just stay inside until it's time to go to work, thank you" hot. As a result, I'm bored. No Internet at home yet (we need residence visas); bad cable; almost caught up on books, which I am rationing. On workdays, it's less of an issue. I work 2-10 and I sleep late. The idea of even venturing a few blocks to try to find a yoga class is daunting. It's not easy to walk here or to drive here. Cabs are cheap, but not always plentiful (like around prayer time; many cabs are driven by devout Pakistanis). Nothing quite like standing in the hot sun with long sleeves or a sweater hoping to catch a taxi so i can go somewhere to walk.
I haven't seen the gulf/sea/bay -- whatever it is -- in daylight hours. It's been too hot to go anywhere and take pictures. We have had some lovely night-time adventures. We went for drinks last week at The Brauhaus, a German (obviously) bar in the luxury Beach Rotana hotel that was celebrating Oktoberfest. We went with colleagues and sat on the outdoor patio. There was a light breeze which mad the 80-plus degree temperatures feel quite pleasant. Paul remarked that it felt like a Club Med: Lots of well-to-do foreigners in an exotic location. I believe the feeling passed fairly quickly.
We had a fabulous meal at the same hotel, in a restaurant called Finz that stood on stilts in the water. We had a table overlooking the sand and water, and the food was very good. We started with rolls shaped like starfish and made with seaweed, and more made with squid ink and sea salt. They came with three dips: butter, crab butter and seaweed-labnah. (And speaking of butter, we had a mustard-butter mix at The Brauhaus that was really interesting).
My rambling point, and I do have one, is that I am neither content nor discontent here. But I do feel a bit in exile. I suppose that's to be expected. "They" say it takes a year to get comfortable. A year!! And in the recesses of my bad memory, I forget how I struggled to adapt in Paris, which now seems like a second home. (And my mother points out I struggled to adapt in Santa Barbara and Missouri ...) The trick is to find our niche here. To make a home as best we can and to work around the tricky things rather than trying to fight through them.
Wish us luck.
October 23, 2009
Tea Time
There are times in my life when I feel particularly American. In France, I felt most American when confronted with a lot of nationalism. Here, just now, I feel it keenly in the office and in the shops. The caste system of India apparently has migrated to Abu Dhabi with the Indians, and I'm not comfortable with it.
Perhaps this has to do with my own social standing -- very solidly middle class.
At work, we have "tea boys" who are, in fact, men. They wear uniforms and silently move among us, offering tea or coffee served just the way we like it. Others on my desk seem quite pleased at this service. The idea is you pay a sort of gratuity monthly (50 dirham per month, about $14, is recommended) and then when you get to your desk in the afternoon your hot beverage arrives just as you like it. I don't drink coffee or tea and so I'm at a loss as to what to do here. But it's more than that. I don't like being waited on like this. One of the men came over to me the other day, after I'd been studiously avoiding him several days. He asked "would you like water, madam?" I did, in fact, want water -- I had been outside longer than usual and was very hot.
But it's no chore for me to get up, walk 30 paces and get it myself out of the machine. So I didn't know what to do. I said OK, yes, thank you. And he said quietly "two dirham." Now water from the machine costs 1 dirham (27 cents), so I guess the two dirham (the plural of dirham is ... dirham) includes the gratuity. I handed him a five dirham note. He brought my water, and then some time later, came back with four dirham. Since we had said two, I wasn't clear what I was supposed to do. I think I should have said please keep the rest of it for later in the week. That, I suppose, would have been the proper thing. But I got nervous. Already uncomfortable with the entire arrangement, and not wanting to make a big deal out of this (and yes, I realize it already was too late) I just waved him away generically with the change. And all of this is over 27 cents. But it's more than that. It's the servant aspect of things. While there have been many, many times in my newspaper career where I haven't had time to get up for the bathroom, much less for a bottle of water, this is not one of them. It's different, though, when a friend is already going to the machine and picks up a soda for you, too. I don't know why, it just is.
And then it extends to the grocery store as well. Our first trip to the grocery store, the boy (and he was a boy) grabbed our shopping cart and pushed it across a major street and down the block to our apartment. Yesterday, the boy bagged my groceries and I remembered reading that I was supposed to tip him, but I couldn't remember how much. I asked the cashier about home delivery for groceries -- things like water and other beverages are too heavy to lug, even if it weren't 90 degrees out. She told me they didn't have that, but that the boy could take the water to my home. I had taken a cab to the store; this certainly wouldn't work. I saw later, while waiting for the taxi, that other people had the grocery boys wheel their carts to the cab stand, wait in line with them, and put the groceries -- water and all -- into the trunk. For a mere five dirham.
I understand that these guys are trying to eke out a living. They wouldn't be here doing what they do if they had better options, would they? What I don't know is how formal their relationships are with the newspaper, or at the grocery. Have they been hired? (And yesterday, one of them came by with an envelope that said: "The tea boy is going on vacation for two months. Donations accepted.") Did they just show up, because this sort of thing is common in this part of the world? I don't know. There is nothing like this, in the States.
I don't think I'll get used to this anytime soon, and I'm sure it's the American in me.
Perhaps this has to do with my own social standing -- very solidly middle class.
At work, we have "tea boys" who are, in fact, men. They wear uniforms and silently move among us, offering tea or coffee served just the way we like it. Others on my desk seem quite pleased at this service. The idea is you pay a sort of gratuity monthly (50 dirham per month, about $14, is recommended) and then when you get to your desk in the afternoon your hot beverage arrives just as you like it. I don't drink coffee or tea and so I'm at a loss as to what to do here. But it's more than that. I don't like being waited on like this. One of the men came over to me the other day, after I'd been studiously avoiding him several days. He asked "would you like water, madam?" I did, in fact, want water -- I had been outside longer than usual and was very hot.
But it's no chore for me to get up, walk 30 paces and get it myself out of the machine. So I didn't know what to do. I said OK, yes, thank you. And he said quietly "two dirham." Now water from the machine costs 1 dirham (27 cents), so I guess the two dirham (the plural of dirham is ... dirham) includes the gratuity. I handed him a five dirham note. He brought my water, and then some time later, came back with four dirham. Since we had said two, I wasn't clear what I was supposed to do. I think I should have said please keep the rest of it for later in the week. That, I suppose, would have been the proper thing. But I got nervous. Already uncomfortable with the entire arrangement, and not wanting to make a big deal out of this (and yes, I realize it already was too late) I just waved him away generically with the change. And all of this is over 27 cents. But it's more than that. It's the servant aspect of things. While there have been many, many times in my newspaper career where I haven't had time to get up for the bathroom, much less for a bottle of water, this is not one of them. It's different, though, when a friend is already going to the machine and picks up a soda for you, too. I don't know why, it just is.
And then it extends to the grocery store as well. Our first trip to the grocery store, the boy (and he was a boy) grabbed our shopping cart and pushed it across a major street and down the block to our apartment. Yesterday, the boy bagged my groceries and I remembered reading that I was supposed to tip him, but I couldn't remember how much. I asked the cashier about home delivery for groceries -- things like water and other beverages are too heavy to lug, even if it weren't 90 degrees out. She told me they didn't have that, but that the boy could take the water to my home. I had taken a cab to the store; this certainly wouldn't work. I saw later, while waiting for the taxi, that other people had the grocery boys wheel their carts to the cab stand, wait in line with them, and put the groceries -- water and all -- into the trunk. For a mere five dirham.
I understand that these guys are trying to eke out a living. They wouldn't be here doing what they do if they had better options, would they? What I don't know is how formal their relationships are with the newspaper, or at the grocery. Have they been hired? (And yesterday, one of them came by with an envelope that said: "The tea boy is going on vacation for two months. Donations accepted.") Did they just show up, because this sort of thing is common in this part of the world? I don't know. There is nothing like this, in the States.
I don't think I'll get used to this anytime soon, and I'm sure it's the American in me.
October 19, 2009
Stay Tuned
We're having some Internet issues here. Nothing major -- it's just that we don't have any. There is the cyber-cafe in our hotel, but no access in our apartment.
Today I went out to the Etisalat compound -- the Emirates' official telecom company -- to try to sign up for service. I had a letter from the hotel allowing me to have the Internet access in my place, but that didn't satisfy the Etisalat people. They want a permanent residency visa, and we don't have those yet. Moreover we don't expect them for a month.
So for now I am exploring alternatives. There seems to a way we can get a mobile modem that allows us 10GB per month but I have no idea how much 10GB is in terms of our daily usage, and at the high price they are asking ($135/month), it might make more sense to use the cafe. On the other hand, I just did the math and if 10GB is sufficient, then it's a wash.
If those of you who are far more computer savvy than I have any suggestions, please don't hesitate to send them along.
Today I went out to the Etisalat compound -- the Emirates' official telecom company -- to try to sign up for service. I had a letter from the hotel allowing me to have the Internet access in my place, but that didn't satisfy the Etisalat people. They want a permanent residency visa, and we don't have those yet. Moreover we don't expect them for a month.
So for now I am exploring alternatives. There seems to a way we can get a mobile modem that allows us 10GB per month but I have no idea how much 10GB is in terms of our daily usage, and at the high price they are asking ($135/month), it might make more sense to use the cafe. On the other hand, I just did the math and if 10GB is sufficient, then it's a wash.
If those of you who are far more computer savvy than I have any suggestions, please don't hesitate to send them along.
October 17, 2009
The Long and Winding Road
And so the adventure begins.
We arrived after 24 hours of traveling and the first thing we did was go out for a drink. About par for the course, I'd say. A friend picked us up at the airport, and we met up with another soon after. Look at us: Brand new country and already we're social butterflies.
I like to think I'm already acclimated: went to sleep after midnight, stayed asleep for seven-plus hours. Got up and started to do things. The truth is, I'm utterly discombobulated. I know we are 11 hours ahead of California, but frankly we were traveling so long and through so much weird times (leave the house at 6 a.m., arrive in NYC after dark, at 5:30 p.m. local time. Get on the red eye to Abu Dhabi, fly all night, arrive the next night at 8 p.m. ....) So I'm pretending that all is fine and I'm on schedule. I'm also pretending that I wouldn't give anything for a nap right about now (it's 2 p.m.)
We start work tomorrow, Sunday, and meanwhile we have a host of errands to run. First on the list: get an internet hookup. We are staying in a hotel for the next two months, and while the accommodations are not luxurious they are more than comfortable. But we have to get online. The hotel has given us an official document that says we have permission to have Internet installed in our room. I still have to figure out where to go to get the ball rolling.
Right now both Paul and I are sitting in the downstairs internet cafe typing away. We've become so accustomed to our laptops -- with all its secret documents and passwords attached -- that it's quite foreign to be on another machine for personal use.
We managed to hit the bank and the grocery store this morning ... stocking up on bread and cereal and milk and yogurt. It wasn't a big store and the kinds of things they had were varied. If I knew how to cook Indian food, I'd be in pretty good shape. I didn't find any sandwich meat, but I did see Pakistani mutton. Grocery prices seem pretty reasonable.
It's hot outside, in a humid hazy sort of way. Not utterly uncomfortable, but not pretty. I have no clear sense of direction yet, and would love to see the ocean, but don't know where it is. I'm trying to decide what to make of things here, and I've decided it's much too early to tell. There is a lot of traffic, crossing the street is hazardous, buildings are unremarkable. It feels like a third-world country with some money, but there is little coherence.
It feels less crowded than Hong Kong, and much less convenient. I haven't seen the ubiquitous food stands and store-front laundries. It might be a factor of my location, but I just don't know.
There are lots of men wandering/loitering outside. Perhaps it's cooler outside than wherever they live. There are no bars to congregate at; maybe it's a way of hanging out without spending money. We haven't yet seen a lot of women. The Emirati men are notable by their traditional dress: White gowns with red checked head coverings. It is quite obvious that men are the majority population here. Also, that foreigners are a majority as well.
Now, mind you, I haven't been here even a full day yet and first impressions are often deceiving. I guess I'll give it a few more days :) ...
Next up, we get cell phone numbers and internet access -- check out the mall and get ready for a full day of work -- the first in many months for me.
Tonight we'll study our style guide, finish reading the day's newspaper (it's very nicely designed, and has a great Saturday magazine), and get used to the idea of a daily routine.
I can't wait!
We arrived after 24 hours of traveling and the first thing we did was go out for a drink. About par for the course, I'd say. A friend picked us up at the airport, and we met up with another soon after. Look at us: Brand new country and already we're social butterflies.
I like to think I'm already acclimated: went to sleep after midnight, stayed asleep for seven-plus hours. Got up and started to do things. The truth is, I'm utterly discombobulated. I know we are 11 hours ahead of California, but frankly we were traveling so long and through so much weird times (leave the house at 6 a.m., arrive in NYC after dark, at 5:30 p.m. local time. Get on the red eye to Abu Dhabi, fly all night, arrive the next night at 8 p.m. ....) So I'm pretending that all is fine and I'm on schedule. I'm also pretending that I wouldn't give anything for a nap right about now (it's 2 p.m.)
We start work tomorrow, Sunday, and meanwhile we have a host of errands to run. First on the list: get an internet hookup. We are staying in a hotel for the next two months, and while the accommodations are not luxurious they are more than comfortable. But we have to get online. The hotel has given us an official document that says we have permission to have Internet installed in our room. I still have to figure out where to go to get the ball rolling.
Right now both Paul and I are sitting in the downstairs internet cafe typing away. We've become so accustomed to our laptops -- with all its secret documents and passwords attached -- that it's quite foreign to be on another machine for personal use.
We managed to hit the bank and the grocery store this morning ... stocking up on bread and cereal and milk and yogurt. It wasn't a big store and the kinds of things they had were varied. If I knew how to cook Indian food, I'd be in pretty good shape. I didn't find any sandwich meat, but I did see Pakistani mutton. Grocery prices seem pretty reasonable.
It's hot outside, in a humid hazy sort of way. Not utterly uncomfortable, but not pretty. I have no clear sense of direction yet, and would love to see the ocean, but don't know where it is. I'm trying to decide what to make of things here, and I've decided it's much too early to tell. There is a lot of traffic, crossing the street is hazardous, buildings are unremarkable. It feels like a third-world country with some money, but there is little coherence.
It feels less crowded than Hong Kong, and much less convenient. I haven't seen the ubiquitous food stands and store-front laundries. It might be a factor of my location, but I just don't know.
There are lots of men wandering/loitering outside. Perhaps it's cooler outside than wherever they live. There are no bars to congregate at; maybe it's a way of hanging out without spending money. We haven't yet seen a lot of women. The Emirati men are notable by their traditional dress: White gowns with red checked head coverings. It is quite obvious that men are the majority population here. Also, that foreigners are a majority as well.
Now, mind you, I haven't been here even a full day yet and first impressions are often deceiving. I guess I'll give it a few more days :) ...
Next up, we get cell phone numbers and internet access -- check out the mall and get ready for a full day of work -- the first in many months for me.
Tonight we'll study our style guide, finish reading the day's newspaper (it's very nicely designed, and has a great Saturday magazine), and get used to the idea of a daily routine.
I can't wait!
October 6, 2009
So, Abu Dhabi
By now anyone who reads me knows how much I love to pack. And that's just for a trip. Imagine me trying to pack up my belongings and my home.
And now stop laughing.
Moving a household -- whether or not you are taking your furniture with you -- is no small endeavor. And moving to another country is even more logistically challenging. I have chosen to focus on the logistical stuff -- address changes, bank accounts, bill paying, cat removal -- but that still leaves all the other stuff to be done and if you think I'm purposely avoiding it, you're right.
We are approaching D-Day. That is, delivery of the storage truck. We figured if we made a specific date then we'd have to abide by it. So the truck arrives on Monday at 12:30 p.m. and whatever we want out of the apartment has to be packed and ready by then.
It is, not surprisingly, a daunting task. Our concept of what is precious to us -- and what can be left behind for renters -- changes daily. I am working across the apartment from the collectibles and pottery to the kitchen, with dishes in between. The display cases are empty, so now on to the china cabinet. We also have realized we have woefully, laughably underestimated the number of crates/boxes we will need. We haven't even considered the books yet, although we will have to.
Because it took until last week for the company to send us visas, we weren't ever certain about our departure date and so it was easy to procrastinate. And now, even though we still don't have the tickets in hand yet we know we are leaving on Oct. 15 and that is only 10 days away. OK nine.
So today I'll do a little bit more and then find some excuse to stop. I figure if I can do one set of cabinets each day i'll make it. But I'm keeping my fingers crossed.
And now stop laughing.
Moving a household -- whether or not you are taking your furniture with you -- is no small endeavor. And moving to another country is even more logistically challenging. I have chosen to focus on the logistical stuff -- address changes, bank accounts, bill paying, cat removal -- but that still leaves all the other stuff to be done and if you think I'm purposely avoiding it, you're right.
We are approaching D-Day. That is, delivery of the storage truck. We figured if we made a specific date then we'd have to abide by it. So the truck arrives on Monday at 12:30 p.m. and whatever we want out of the apartment has to be packed and ready by then.
It is, not surprisingly, a daunting task. Our concept of what is precious to us -- and what can be left behind for renters -- changes daily. I am working across the apartment from the collectibles and pottery to the kitchen, with dishes in between. The display cases are empty, so now on to the china cabinet. We also have realized we have woefully, laughably underestimated the number of crates/boxes we will need. We haven't even considered the books yet, although we will have to.
Because it took until last week for the company to send us visas, we weren't ever certain about our departure date and so it was easy to procrastinate. And now, even though we still don't have the tickets in hand yet we know we are leaving on Oct. 15 and that is only 10 days away. OK nine.
So today I'll do a little bit more and then find some excuse to stop. I figure if I can do one set of cabinets each day i'll make it. But I'm keeping my fingers crossed.
September 22, 2009
New Home! (For Sidney)
If all goes as planned (and yes, I know I'm tempting fate!) Sidney will be on his way to his new home on Sunday. In Little Rock, Arkansas.
My fabulous sister-in-law Kati Garcia (soon to be Kati Grabham?) has offered to make room in her home and her heart for Sidney. I'm not usually this sappy, but hey, this is Sidney we're talking about.
Miss Kati arrives in San Diego on Thursday to get married, and told me to have the cat ready for transport on Sunday, when she heads back home. Pending the OK from the vet on Thursday -- and he is doing very well these days, so I don't anticipate any issues -- I'll send him via LAX, he'll get on her plane at Dallas and she'll pick him up in Little Rock.
Don't you just love happily-ever-after??
My fabulous sister-in-law Kati Garcia (soon to be Kati Grabham?) has offered to make room in her home and her heart for Sidney. I'm not usually this sappy, but hey, this is Sidney we're talking about.
Miss Kati arrives in San Diego on Thursday to get married, and told me to have the cat ready for transport on Sunday, when she heads back home. Pending the OK from the vet on Thursday -- and he is doing very well these days, so I don't anticipate any issues -- I'll send him via LAX, he'll get on her plane at Dallas and she'll pick him up in Little Rock.
Don't you just love happily-ever-after??
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