scholarly older gentleman who has managed to avoid getting an email address. Not many have been able to hold out for the last decade, but Nick has. I licked a stamp and sent the envelope to Washington, DC.I taught at TINS for a year before the 80's became the 90's. Nick worked there and during time off he even taught me 'sharding'. That meant going searching for pieces of pottery. The desert of the area would turn up bits left behind from trade routes of the past. I still have a dish containing bits of these ancient vessels.
Then, I left Dammam in Saudi Arabia to teach in Bahrain. Seventeen years ago today, I laboured to write this message to Nick. I surely was once quite wordy. Now, I spend my days pestering students to write concise sentences in well-designed paragraphs. The following is neither concise nor well-designed. More importantly, I have no idea about what most of it means.
Building 505
Road 2625, Block 326
Gudeibiya, BAHRAIN
February 3, 1989
Dear Nick,
More than two-thirds of the letters that I've sent off so far have been "clones". Word processors are real time savers. I generally create data in the F.L.O.P. format. This is computerese term, of my own coining, which stands for the Form-Letter Operating Principle. However, this tried-and-true method still does require the fastidious vigilance of proofreading. For example, I recently licked an envelope destined for a certain Mr. Jon Wicklund that ended with an insincere, "Lots of Love." To allay your consternation, you'll be pleased to learn that this particular narrative is being hand crafted.
Let me be one of the first to welcome you back to TINS. I am sure Naughty M probably has already offered abundant welcomes, perhaps accompanied by a half-baked demonstration of earnestness. Even her sidekick and bakemate, Jimeela, may have returned. But I'm sure if you've patronized the TINS bus to the refuse-refuge of Khobar, you've heard copious collections of complimentary colloquy. Yet, even after all of this, I'd really like to add my two, or three, cents worth.
You most probably did not receive my last letter before your departure to the States. At least this is the impression I got when talking to our mutual, spiritual consultant. I tried to convince the good father that my failure to phone him at the RSNF prior to vacation, was just an instance of neglect. Obviously it wasn't my intention to obscure my whereabouts, was it? It mattered not. He finagled his way to the General Dynamics office and left word (his own not THE) for me to contact him. Regardless, if I can count on you to pray, be it not for his departure to Bahrain. The island isn't really big enough for the both of us! (As you can see, this letter is not for casual dispersal.)
School is really peachy keen. I mean, we finally got started last week, and my boys are joys. I pre-tested the lot of forty, ability grouped the bunch, and skimmed off the best ten for my class. They are gentlemanly, inventive, dedicated, hardworking, and most importantly, always awake. And with the mishmash of curriculum and the seven-odd books we're studying, the teacher is required to actually teach. It's not a today-is-Wednesday-third-period-so-we-are-on-page-sixty-seven teaching environment. Please share this with Mr. Kline; I think we both have developed an affinity for those hyphenated, say-it-all-at-once type adjectives. On the home front, I don't see how things could be much better. Something about "matches made in heaven" comes to mind. But of course, we all know that God is the inspiration for modern technology and surely uses a gigantic disposable, butane lighter. Still, each morning seems most sunny after the warmth of the previous night.
I am running out of time and low on endurance. So, I think I'll end this one. Stay tuned for my next letter which might include my perceptions of the Bahraini culture. If you wish a glimpse at some of the basic concepts before its arrival, just ask Roy, the resident cultural specialist, for some details. I'm interested in some TINS gossip, so please add my name to those thousands of correspondi (Latin?) that you churn out each week. Believe me, a letter from you, to castrate an old cliche, would be welcomed with opened eyes.
Regards,