Richard P. Nixon's Blog

I first landed in Saudi Arabia in 1978 not knowing what to expect exactly but with some wild ideas about belly dancers, night clubs, and very exotic food. The reality was very different, of course, but no less pleasurable in some regards.

Saudi blasted me with its heat and humidity the moment the British Airways crew opened the door and, soon after, the stench of body odor engulfed my senses while Saudi security guards armed with sub-machine guns looked over the shoulders of the airport workers methodically searching people’s luggage for contraband and the fellow at passport control scribbled out some offending picture he found in my Flight International magazine with a giant black magic marker.  There was no doubt I was in a different world.

My older brother, Roger, introduced me to a totally different reminder I was in a different world when he took me to a small, ordinary looking cafe in Al Khobar called the Bayouni and ordered up two orange juices and two coffees. The fellow behind the counter smiled warmly, cut fresh oranges, and used a hand press to juice them. My mouth began watering even before I’d had my first taste. Roger didn’t have to ask if that was outrageously good or not. And then the tantalizing aroma of coffee hit my nostrils, and my mouth watered all over again. Absolutely to die for.

I left Saudi Arabia in 1983 and have had a lot of coffee since, none of which has compared even in the slightest. I joke that coffee in America must sit in a warehouse for years before it’s shipped out along with whatever spillage was swept up from the dusty floor. Our local Middle Eastern shop, Haji Baba’s in Tempe, roasts the most awesome coffee I’ve come across here in the States, but it still isn’t as good as Bayouni in Al Khobar.

So imagine my excitement when Aramco Brats posted on Facebook, “Remember Bayouni Coffee in Khobar? Now you can enjoy Bayouni coffee stateside!” And so I will as I put in a decent order. Hot damn, life is weird sometimes!

I had another go at shooting comet Pan-STARRS this evening, this time using RAW format.

The other evening I went out to spot comet Pan-STARRS. I’d known about it for some time, and I’d checked to make sure I knew where to look, but for the life of me I couldn’t see anything. I snapped a pic with my camera because its sensor is far better than my eyes. Still nothing.

I wasn’t sure how bright the comet would be in the western sky through the haze of Phoenix, but I kept taking pics ever hopeful that I’d be rewarded. At one point I thought I saw a faint smudge but that’s what it turned out to be. I even came back inside to recheck where I was supposed to look, but this time instead of going with the experts I looked for an actual photo of the comet from Phoenix. I found one taken the night before and what struck me was how far off the expert diagram had been!

I headed back out, repointed my camera, and started taking more shots. Still nothing. Disheartened I went back inside to see if I at least got a decent shot of the crescent moon. One after the other I looked at the pictures starting from the last shot. I don’t know how many shots I took, maybe fifty, maybe a hundred, but near the beginning I saw something odd near the bottom of the frame. I zoomed in and – BINGO!

Was it just luck or a sign? I dunno – maybe if my camera had been set up to take both “raw” and JPEG like it has always been instead of just JPEG I would be more convinced of it being a sign. Then again the battery was fully charged so hmm. Regardless, I am pretty chuffed at capturing the comet, and it’s really not a bad pic even if it is JPEG!

Getting unstuck is my number one priority at the moment; I believe everything else will fall into place if I can conquer my biggest challenge – isolation. So I’m always on the lookout for new ideas to help me achieve that end, and when I came across 62 Tips to Get Unstuck in 2013 by Robin Sharma, author of the #1 Bestseller “The Leader Who Had No Title”, I got excited. However, as I began reading through the tips my excitement turned to a feeling of been there, done that. Most of the tips are obvious (at least to me, maybe not to others), and while some are very good there are some glaring omissions.

Most notable of all that’s missing is “Be A Friend”: listen, care, understand, help. Doing any and all of these things is far more powerful than the 62 tips combined. At face value helping others might seem to go against the “I Can Do It Alone” philosophy that Mr. Sharma et al seem to espouse as a requisite for leadership (which is rather ironic since “leadership” is a term dependent on the opinions of others), but it doesn’t. Take a look at the list to see for yourself.

A lot of people have been helped by the Sharmas of the world, and I think that is a wonderful thing and I certainly am not criticizing these folks for capitalizing on the self-help industry. I’m simply pointing out that doing it alone is, at the very least, depressing and, at the most extreme, self-destructive.

It’s easy to tell someone to smile more, be polite, and think positively. In fact it’s the absolute least anyone can do.

Mom put together some stories based on her growing up in Ireland. She said she’d finish them one day, when she had time. Unfortunately she ran out of time before she could make it all come together, and all I have are a few short stories and story fragments. Still, I think it serves to give an idea of what life was like in Ireland all those years ago.

Enjoy this short snippet.

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Mary & Red (story fragment)

Mary was silent until one Sunday after mass when she stopped by the sweet shop to buy the Sunday paper and some sweets. Mrs. Summerville was fat and rosy behind the counter with a glowing smile for everyone. When it was Mary’s turn to be served Mrs. Summerville handed her the paper and while weighing the Dolly Mixture said to Mary and this shop full of people, “it is such a shame the way that wife of your da’s treats you all Mary. I hear she never turns a hand to anything and you have to take care of the lot yourself you poor child.”

Mary shocked everyone by sharply replying quick as a flash, “Well Mrs. Summerville, did you not all know that I had to take care of everything including the twins all by myself after my mummy died, and none of you thought it was all too much then or you’d have leant a hand. At least Red’s seen to it the twins are taken care of an off me hands.”

“The twins are off your hands, is it? And who takes care of them now may we ask?” said Mrs. Summerville in a half laughing voice as sort of who do you think you’re fooling tone.

“The Roman Catholic Church,” said Mary very clearly.

“And just what do you mean by that, Mary? Explain what you mean child.”

“Well,” said Mary, “Father Keegan kept telling us how blessed we were to have the responsibility of such a fine bunch of children and the twins as well, and Red got sick of that old song and she just bundled them up and took them to the early mass last Sunday and laid them at the alter, telling the priest that she was sacrificing these two of our blessings so that he could have them.”

“She did what?” someone gasped.

“You heard right,” said Mary as she reached into her pocket for the money to pay for the sweets and paper.

“But what on earth is the father going to do with the twins for God’s sake,” croaked Mrs. Summerville.

“Well I think he’ll probably share those two blessings with the people of the parish. He did say that he thought anyone with the heart and a Christian conscience would be glad of the responsibility,” chirped Mary, turning on her heal and walking quickly into the street.

She was laughing heartily to herself all the way home, thinking how they would all be in such a tizzy, fearful of it being themselves the good priest would bring the twins to.